Khell, four Summers before
The Dhuciri came as Maia had predicted, three days after the Liathua Khell had left the summer camp and begun the long trek back to the mountains for the winter camp. They came at sunrise, and the grandfather on watch spread the word quickly and quietly. Maia doused her fire and left her egla of bones and draped boareal hides. She stood at the edge of the camp and watched tiny dark specs in the pale sky turn to giant flapping birds. Five of them; they circled the camp twice before landing on the ice a short distance away. The birds preened themselves like gwenwing after a dive.
As always during the tithing, Maia saw flashes of memories from long ago. Dust everywhere. Black figures surrounding the egla. Screams and moans. Her feet running over ice.
“A fine day for tithe.” Hakua spoke behind her. She turned and saw that the tithing party had arrived. Lubar lay on his doal-drawn sled, his face pinched and drawn with bitter rage. Around him stood the tithe, ten people, one fifth of the number the Liathua claimed to have. In the camp, about forty people wandered between the egla. The rest huddled within their dwellings in silence.
Four warriors surrounded the tithe as they moved out over the ice toward the dark birds. There were three grandfathers in this group, who would never take their Journey over the Ice. A woman nursing a babe; they were Liathua, a volunteer sacrifice; her mate had died in a raid and she would have killed herself. The rest were captives from the summer raids. Two children, about the age Maia had been when her tribe was taken. Two warriors, their tongues cut out, the tendons in their wrists slit so that their hands dangled limp and useless. And a maiden a little younger than Maia, with a look of terror on her face. The Dhuciri demanded a cross-section of the people in the camp, rather than all the old or all the young. Maia wondered why they would care. The people would all be dust soon. Why did it matter if they were young or old, male or female?
As she walked, a wave of stench hit Maia, worse than a months-old boareal carcass. She tried to breathe only through her mouth, but that didn't help; she could taste rancid meat. The Dhuciri stood a few paces away now, gathered in front of their birds. There were five of them, one rider for each bird. They were tall and wiry, draped in black garments made from the feathers of their steeds. Their faces were pale and gaunt, void of emotion.
The warriors herded the tithe toward the Dhuciri. Lubar stopped his sled just short of them. He began the ritual greeting, bowing his head. Maia and Hakua bowed low and then rose, smiles plastered over their faces, both watching Lubar anxiously. He did not wear a smile. He opened his mouth and began to say the words of the ritual, offering the tithe in the tongue of the Dhuciri, but the words were spoken with heavy anger, not the soft monotone that was expected. He still was not smiling. Maia was aware of the Dhuciri watching him intently, their eyes sharp like the eyes of their birds.
“Boareal-dung doal-rapers. Take the whole tribe! Take my worthless sons and my good-for-nothing mate!” Lubar spoke Khell now, but even if the Dhuciri did not understand his words, his tone was unmistakable. “Take everything and give me back my legs!”
Hakua spoke quickly, interrupting Lubar. “Many apologies, Dhuciri Masters,” he said in their tongue. “His mind has gone. He thinks he is still Chief. I ask that you take him as an addition to the tithe, a gift to you for your mercy these many winters.”
Lubar spat and cursed and began to yell at Hakua. Hakua smiled through his teeth and bowed again to the Dhuciri. Then he began the words of the ritual, nearly obscured by Lubar's shouts, in a gentle monotone, offering up ten Khell to appease the Dhuciri this winter. As he spoke, Maia watched one of the Dhuciri step over to the sled to inspect Lubar.
She was close enough to see something strange. The Dhuciri was shaking slightly, trembling and sweating. His face seemed even paler than the others. Maia realized where she had seen such a thing before. It was hard to imagine any similarity between the Khell and these dark creatures, but she had seen warriors who drank too much fermented urchin broth during the summer, then be unable to drink it when supplies ran low in winter, shake like this. The Healer in her realized she was looking at a creature suffering from the urchin-shivers, or something very similar.
The Dhuciri stepped closer and reached out to touch Lubar's forehead. The former chief went silent; even in his madness, he was aware of the danger. In the same moment, Hakua's ritual ended in silence, and the only noise was a soft breeze whistling through the feathers of the giant birds. The Dhuciri touching Lubar breathed deeply; the shaking ceased, a little color returned to the Dhuciri’s face, and he seemed strong, a warrior at high summer.
Maia saw the light go out of Lubar's eyes. His face went ashen, and froze in time. The wind gusted and it melted Lubar's features, carried them away in a stream of black dust. Maia stepped away so the dust would not fall on her.
She was sick to her stomach. She saw again the patches of black dust covering the ice where the camp of her tribe had stood. It took all her strength not to cry out or retch. Even Lubar had not deserved to end like this.
A tongueless groan broke the silence and Maia realized that the raid-taken warriors had begun to struggle. Hakua straightened from his bowing posture to help his own warriors restrain them, but black chains had closed around all the necks of the tithe. The Dhuciri began to walk away, towing the offering of the Liathua Khell to their birds.
Maia and Hakua stood together beside the dirty ice that had been the chief of the Liathua, watching the black birds circling higher and higher. Hakua sent the warriors back with sled and doal, ordering that camp be stricken. Then he knelt by the line of black dust, uttering the words of ritual that sent the dead safe on their journey over ice. He cut off his long black hair, a sign of mourning, and cast it onto the patch of dust. The strands blew across the ice as he stood.
Maia left her braids intact. Everyone knew that the tithe must not be mourned. Hakua could not accept the manner of his father’s death, she realized. He wanted a nobler end for the former chief of the Liathua Khell. Maia stepped closer to him, took his hand in hers. It hung limp in her grip.
“What?” he asked her. “Do you wish to mate, now that I am chief?” His words sounded as lifeless as his hand felt.
“We can never mate, Hakua. I saw this in the bones. There is a man coming who will take me as his. If we are mated when he comes, you will die.”
His lip twisted in scorn. “Let him try. I will prove the better warrior.”
“I wish only to offer you comfort, Hakua. Remember when we were children, and we comforted each other? Can we not have that now?”
He pushed her hand away. “We are no longer children, Maia. I am Chief, or will be next summer, and you are Healer. I think—” his voice caught for a moment “—I think there can be no comfort for us.”
Maia took his hand again. He did not pull away this time.
“I begged him to stay in egla. I told him I would handle the tithing. What could I do, Maia? It was as you said. His madness would have brought them down on the tribe.”
Maia said nothing, just squeezed his palm. After a time they walked back over the ice to the camp, mounted their boareal, and rode into winter, leaving the dark patch of dust and hair behind to be blown away by the coming storms.