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And what is that? Nee lahn asked. We kept nothing of yours.
Ahh, but you did. You hid it in this valley, a vale still named as we named
it long ago Winter s Eyrie.
Krai and Nee lahn voiced the same question What?
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He raised his falcon high. Seek out what we have lost The bird burst out
from his wrist in a streak of moonlight and soared across the drowned glade.
Seek out our lost king
Book Four
MOONLIGHT AND MAGICK
Tol chuk lumbered behind the others, his shoulders hunched against the pelting
rain. The storm had struck as soon as they had cleared the mountain heights
and entered the rimwood forest of the lower highlands. Spears of lightning
crashed in jagged bolts across the night sky, illuminating the dark forest
ahead in sharp bursts of blinding radiance.
In one of these bursts, he saw Mogweed and his wolf-brother almost a league
down the path. Even with the storm s howl, his companions had traveled lightly
once they reached the forest s edge. Woods were their home, and even though
this was not their own forest, the familiar canopy of woven branches and bushy
undergrowth seemed to ignite renewed vigor in their limbs. The injured wolf,
even burdened by his splinted leg, raced among the trees, while Tol chuk,
racked by rib-cracking coughs and a nose clogged with dripping slime from the
constant dampness of the weeks of travel, found himself slipping farther and
farther behind the others.
Tol chuk dreamed of his own dry caves with a roaring fire in his family
hearth. He bowed his head and dragged a forearm across his raw nose. The first
winter storm had always marked the Sulachra, the ceremony of the dead, in
which cured goat dung was burned in family hearths to honor the spirits of the
departed. He pictured the caves billowing with the sweet smoke and the females
waving fans of dried toka toka leaves to cast the mingled odors out into the
storm. Lightning was supposed to open cracks in the dome of the sky through
which the smoke would seep to the next world, letting the dead know they were
still remembered. Tol chuk coughed, an echo of the thunder above, and wondered
who would perform the Su-lachra for his dead father. And if no smoke arose for
him, would he think he had been forgotten?
As Tol chuk plodded down the path, the tapping of his thigh pouch on his leg
brought a sudden realization. He stumbled to a stop, his palm cupping the
Heart of the Og res in the pouch, and remembered the Triad s words. The
spirits of the og re dead, including his father, had not made the journey to
the next world. They were trapped here, in the heartstone!
This realization opened a hole in Tol chuk s chest into which a profound
hollowness swelled. The
Sulachra ceremony was a sham! The smoke had never reached the flared nostrils
of the spirits. The dead had never reached the next world.
Tol chuk s hand fell away from the pouch, from the gem. The Sulachra had been
a time when all the og re tribes united for a brief few days in a communal act
of homage. It was a time of peace and contemplation, a short respite from the
tribal wars. It united the og re people with its grace. But now, with the
knowledge of the lie behind the act, the beauty of the ritual was forever
fouled for Tol chuk.
In just a heartbeat, he had become less an og re. He glanced ahead at the dark
wood spread before him.
So many leagues still to cross on this journey. What else would he learn on
this trek? Who would he become?
Thunder mocked him from above as lightning split the dark roof of the world.
In the flash of illumination, Tol chuk realized he had lost Mogweed and
Fardale. His traveling companions had disappeared among the black, glistening
trunks.
Alone among the trees, Tol chuk felt as if he were the only living creature
for a thousand leagues.
Between the rumbles of thunder, the forest lay silent around him except for
the rattle of rain on leaves and the brief whistles of wind through pine
branches. Not a tor crow cawed, not a frog croaked. Tol chuk wiped at his nose
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and sniffed loudly, just to interrupt the forest s silence. I am here, he said
with each sniff. I am not dead.
He marched on. As he took his first step forward, he saw a glow blossom into
existence on his right.
How had Fardale and Mogweed gotten so far? He adjusted his course toward the
light, his legs as heavy as the tree trunks around him. These swampy woods
addled his sense of direction. The light, like an island in a storm-swept sea,
became his beacon. With his eyes fixed on the glow, Tol chuk trudged forward.
The lonely wood fired a craving for the sight of others, some reassurance that
all living creatures had not been swallowed up by this black forest. As his
legs increased their lumbering pace, he wondered how his companions could
enjoy this cramped and closed world of heavy limbs and choking undergrowth.
Where were the open views across a thousand leagues? Where was the parade of
snowy peaks spread far and wide? Here, he could barely reach a hand forward to
keep a branch from slapping his face or see much beyond the tip of his nose.
Even the tunnel to the chamber of spirits had not felt this confining.
As he marched, he noticed he was gaining ground on the glow s position. The
others must have stopped and were finally resting. Hopefully they had found a
dry spot to weather out the remainder of this night s storm. Besides the
desire for companionship, the thought of a dry shelter hurried his pace. Soon
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