Despite the lack of sleep, I felt better when I rose if a little stiff in the knees. I frowned down at them, dismayed by their betrayal. I asked Nef for an honest assessment. “Tell me in the sun, leave nothing in shadow: How many seasons are written on my face?”
“It’s not bad, ben Sah,” he said, examining my face closely. “There are some new fine lines near the corners of your eyes. Perhaps some heaviness underneath them. But that could be exhaustion as much as anything. You are still very—”
He blinked and stopped abruptly, and I quirked an eyebrow at him. “Still very what?”
Nef looked away to hide a grin, failed miserably at it, then looked down. “Still very much in charge of this mission, ben Sah.”
I had to laugh. “Yes. Very much. An excellent reminder. Thank you, ben Wat. To be continued, perhaps, when we return to the Canopy under less formal circumstances.”
“May the sun shine on the opportunity.”
He was being kind; he had that sort of face. I had to squash the impulse to kiss him, for he was right: it would be inappropriate during a mission while he was temporarily under my command.
Once everyone had risen, I thanked the trees for their comfort and shelter and allowed them to return to their accustomed form, and we descended to the ground. I allowed myself a private smile. We had scouted the Hathrim successfully and lost nothing this time except some ill-defined measure of my life span. But perhaps something new had taken root between me and Nef. Time and sun would tell if anything would grow out of it.
“To the north of the Godsteeth,” Fintan said, “Abhinava Khose also had the opportunity to form a new bond.”
It has been a day of incredible discoveries. First came the realization that all of my bloodcat bites were completely healed, the torn muscles repaired; even the skin was unblemished by scars or scabs. All had healed while I slept. The scratches I’d suffered from the grass puma were likewise healed. I should have had weeks of discomfort ahead of me with injuries like those, but instead it was as if they had never happened.
No: it’s much better than that. I feel better than I ever have. Stronger, faster, more alert. I feel like my senses have improved. And though I cannot confirm it yet, I suspect that I have nothing to fear on the Nentian plains anymore but other humans.
My first order of business upon waking—after stretching and such—was to ask Murr if he could understand me. He just rolled over, presenting his belly.
“Are you asking for a belly rub?” I said. He pawed at the air and said, “Murr,” which was cute but inconclusive. I didn’t move because if I was wrong about that, Murr might become annoyed with me. Even if I was immune to harm from animals now, I didn’t want to offend him.
“If you can understand me, we need to establish a way for you to signal yes and no. That would help immensely. So let’s start with that. Can you nod your head or bob it up and down to say yes?” I began nodding to demonstrate. “Like this?”
Murr righted himself, locked his red eyes on mine, and executed an awkward nod—more of a tossing of his chin than a human movement, but still, it was evidence that he understood me. Or perhaps he was just mimicking me.
“That’s excellent. So let’s say you wish to say no to something. Can you shake your head from side to side, like this, to say no?” I demonstrated again, and Murr watched me for a moment, then copied the movement.
I grinned at him. “Fantastic, Murr! Now, let me ask you that other question again and you answer, yes or no. Do you want a belly rub?”
The bloodcat stared at me for a few beats, then shook his head.
“No? I’m very glad I confirmed that, then. That could have been extremely awkward.”
Murr performed his catlike nod.
“Do you know if I can talk to all animals, or are you special?”
He shook his head, and I realized I hadn’t phrased the question very well. Did he simply not know the answer, or did he mean I couldn’t talk to any other animals? I would have to be more careful with my word choice.
“Can you say anything else besides ‘murr’?” At his nod, I asked him, “What else can you say?”
“Murr,” he said.
“That sounded the same to me. Are you saying different things, perhaps, but my human ears can’t understand the difference?”
He nodded again, and I thought that was interesting. It appeared that the kenning granted me the power to communicate clearly to animals—or at least bloodcats—but not the other way around. It required testing.
“I need to keep walking toward Khul Bashab. I’ll eat something as I go. Still coming with me?” Murr got to his feet by way of answering and took a few steps north before stopping to check if I was moving yet.
“Guess you’re anxious to go! Okay. Same as before: hunt when you feel like it and find me when you want. Let me make sure this fire is out and get my bag.”
We covered a lot of ground that morning; I even jogged for a while since it felt so effortless. I asked Murr only one question before lunch: “Am I the first human to be able to do this—I mean talk to you and not get eaten and all that?”
He nodded, and that gave me plenty to think about. The histories that I’d heard never went into much detail on the lives of the first people to discover the other five kennings except that they had all been discovered by accident by someone ready to die—suicidal, in other words, as I had been.
Their discoveries had necessarily changed their cultures forever. And they had all lived very short lives because of a combination of circumstances. Too many people wanted them dead because of the change they represented, and they were forced to spend so much energy defending themselves that they aged a lifetime in a few months. If I was going to learn from their mistakes and avoid a similar fate, I needed to be smart about this. I stopped running for a moment when I realized that I no longer wished to die.
Looking up at the sky, I asked the silence, “What do you have planned for me, Kalaad? Is this part of a plan at all, or are you just watching an accident unfold?”
No answer, of course. I would have to continue and look back at this moment sometime in the future, assigning meaning when I had the benefit of a window to the past.
I didn’t know how to use my powers yet or even what they were beyond the passive benefits that I had to admit were glorious. To walk anywhere in the plains, unafraid of predators? That’s a dream practically every Nentian shared, and the wonder of it made me smile. In fact, much of the prestige of hunting families like mine came from the fact that we walked the plains and faced those predators and wore khernhide boots that only the wealthiest could afford. Any prestige I might earn because of this kenning, though, came at the cost of my family’s lives. I would not have been in that nughobe grove otherwise.
That put a spear through my smile. I’d gladly give up this sense of physical well-being to have them back. I resumed my northward march, and it was some time and distance before I returned to thoughts of how to proceed.
The immediate conflict I saw was a religious one. The cultures of the other five kennings have the old gods, sons and daughters of Teldwen, to guide them in the use of their powers and order their societies. Thurik the lavaborn was first; Reinei was the wind, the peaceful counter to his brother’s flame yet sometimes the goad; the triple goddesses of Rael were born of earth; and Bryn of the sea. We Nentians have Kalaad in the sky, lover of Teldwen and father of the gods, but he is not especially concerned with the Sixth Kenning or with watching over animals. What shall I do, then? Go up to the gates of Khul Bashab with Murr by my side and laugh, shouting, “Ha! That Kalaad business was a pile of yak shit all along”? That would get me feathered with arrows in no time. And it is not what I feel; I just sent my family to Kalaad in the sky, and I know they are at peace there. But there will be questions of my faith when I lay claim to the Sixth Kenning. People will question priests about what my appearance might mean, priests will question me, and I could just as easily be branded as unholy as a gift from Kalaa
d if I wasn’t careful.
The Fornish are different; they worship no god but rather the source of the Fifth Kenning at Selt, which they call the First Tree. They do protect their Canopy with religious zeal, though. I don’t think that’s a path I should try to walk. I do not think I can (or should even try to) persuade people to worship a pack of bloodcats in the southern plains.
The government of Ghurana Nent will probably despise me as well. Or at least seek to control me. “Look,” they will say, “we can’t have you controlling animals unless it’s for our benefit.” I remember asking Father why the blessed simply don’t run everything with all their powers.
“Because, Abhi,” he said, “to seek a kenning you have to be willing to gamble with your own life. And if someone is willing to throw away their own life, then they won’t hesitate to throw away others. Who would want to follow that kind of leader?”
I couldn’t argue with that. But I wasn’t gambling when I ran into the nughobe grove, was I? I was simply grief-stricken. That might be a meaningless distinction to most people; I don’t know. But I think Father might have been generalizing there.
Outside of Ghurana Nent, the blessed do sometimes rule. Quite often, in fact. Never in Rael, but in Brynlön and Kauria they elect blessed rulers from time to time; I think their current leaders happen to be blessed. The Hathrim say that anyone can be a Hearthfire of one of their cities, but they haven’t elected anyone who wasn’t lavaborn for centuries.
It is a giddy, drunken thought to think of myself ruling a city or even a country. I am sure everyone would think I am too young, and they would be right. I am not wise enough to rule. I am a son who got his family killed because he never had the courage to speak up about his selfish desires until his family was in danger. But I do think life in Ghurana Nent could and should be better for its people. I don’t have to be old and wise to recognize that.
That reminds me: the king has a whole wagon full of stupid policies that he says are “for our protection” since we are a country without a kenning. Will he simply abolish them once we do have a kenning? Or would he instead rather keep those policies and see if maybe he could make this kenning disappear by making me disappear? After my death he would say, “What? That Khose boy? He wasn’t blessed. He was insane. There’s no Sixth Kenning here.”
The viceroy of Khul Bashab might think along similar lines. If I want to make sure I can’t simply disappear, I need as many people as possible to know about the Sixth Kenning before the viceroy does. A very public demonstration would need to be made.
I didn’t stop but did slow down to eat a lunch of vegetables at a walk. Murr slinked off through the grasses in search of his own meal, and I used his absence to experiment.
If my blessing followed the pattern of others, I would have the strongest powers possible and would take a title in keeping with it. The lavaborn have furies who can become fire and burn anything, the Kaurians have tempests who become the wind, the Raelechs have their juggernauts, the Fornish have greensleeves, and the Brynts have tidal mariners. And when they use the full power of their kenning, it ages them perceptibly. I am still as young as ever I was, I think, though I have no looking glass to see my face. My hands and skin still seem young, and my back is straight and strong. So I have yet to discover what I can do.
The Fornish are sometimes called Tree Speakers for their root and stem communication. I can sort of speak to Murr, but it’s not the same thing as what the Fornish are doing at all. And calling myself a Beast Speaker sounds … gross.
Beast Caller, perhaps?
Wondering if I could, in fact, call a beast, I attempted to do so. I surveyed the plains around me, stretching unbroken to the horizon, and saw nothing nearby. Any animals that might be within my sight were keeping out of it under the tops of the grasses. It was universal camouflage available to all.
Picturing a bluetip prairie pheasant in my mind and feeling somewhat foolish, I said aloud, “Are there any bluetips nearby? If there are, please come to say hello. I mean you no harm. I merely wish to greet you.”
Bluetips were notoriously difficult to scare up. They knew how well the grass concealed them and would fly only at the approach of four-footed predators. All swishes in the grass sounded alike, but they flushed at the sound of paws in the dirt. We’d have to practically step on them before they broke cover for us, and it was always accidental. That’s why someone always had a bow ready when we hunted; you never knew when a bluetip would take to the sky.
Too late, I remembered why they didn’t take to the sky if they could help it; there were also stalk hawks hiding in the grass, waiting for bluetips or other birds to reveal their whereabouts. Three bluetips erupted out of the grass to my left and banked in my direction, and before they had flown ten lengths, a stalk hawk shot out of the grass below them and took one of them down.
“Oh, no!” I gasped, recognizing that my request had exposed them to danger. I might have meant the bluetips no harm, but almost everything else in the plains did. Perhaps I could have protected it had I thought ahead. Would a shepherd with this kenning be able to protect his flock from predators, never lose a sheep, that kind of thing?
I held out my arms to either side, inviting the remaining bluetips to perch there if they wished. They did, but they looked nervous about it and minced awkwardly on my forearms, trying not to dig into my skin with their talons. They were right; it was a terrible idea.
“Go and be safe in the grass,” I told them. “Thank you for saying hello.”
They chirped, hopped into the grass near my feet, and waddled away. A grin spread across my face until I recalled that there should have been three of them walking around. My family should still be walking around, too. My primary talent so far was not thinking through the possible consequences of my actions. Even when I tried to think ahead, events never turned out the way I thought they would.
Perhaps calling something smaller would be better. Could I call insects? “Are there any bugs nearby?” I asked. I knew that there were, of course; I’d seen a few zipping around here and there. But after I made that general query, a dense cloud of buzzing, thrumming insects rose all around me, blocking out the sun. “Ahh! Silly question! Never mind! As you were!” The swarm of assorted flying creatures dropped back into the grasses to eat and be eaten, and I shuddered even though it wasn’t cold. If the smaller creatures of the world ever organized to wipe out the larger ones, they would most definitely win.
It would be useful to know what kind of animals there were in an area—and how many—without calling them individually with a demand to show themselves. Far less annoying to the animals as well. But did I possess that ability? If so, how would I access it? The information wasn’t readily available in my consciousness. I had to do something.
My thoughts before had focused on specific animals. What if instead I focused on an area?
I visualized myself in the middle of an area a hundred lengths square, focused my thoughts, and wondered how many creatures of any kind might exist in that space. My reward was an instant, staggering headache that made me clutch my head.
“Ahh. Okay, too much,” I said aloud. The sheer number of insects in such an area would be too many to count. I tried again: a smaller area, only fifty lengths square, and a query about mammals only. The images came quickly and were blessedly pain-free: A family of prairie voles to my right. Barley shrews behind me to my left. Ahead on my left, a ratcatcher sniffing out the voles but waiting for me to pass by. Nothing else.
I tried birds in the same area next. The bluetips and the stalk hawk were there, but also a pair of gharel hens bedded down for the day off to my right and about twenty tiny fly fishers that would flock at night, skimming the grass tips for insects. I repeated the process for snakes and lizards, then spiders, and didn’t ask about insects again.
There was so much hidden on the plains that I could uncover now. Of great use to me would be discovering a source of water: these animals must be drinking something.
r /> Focusing on the stalk hawk, which was still filling its belly on the bluetip, I asked it, “Where can I find water near here?” It screeched at me, annoyed at being interrupted, but they were fast eaters and I imagined it had eaten quite enough already. “Please show me where,” I said. Another screech, and the stalk hawk took wing, circled around me once, and flew to the northwest. I began to jog in that direction, and it wasn’t long before the stalk hawk swooped and climbed and swooped again at a point ahead of me. I saw nothing special there until I fell into a small pond that had been completely hidden by the tops of the grasses. It was not huge—the size of my bedroom at home—but it held plenty of water that I could boil to remove any plagues that might be living in it.
I smiled and thanked the stalk hawk. My water problem was solved, and I probably had enough dry food to last to Khul Bashab. Nothing would eat me on the way there. I would live!
Until I got there, I supposed. Then what? How would I announce to the city—and thus the world—that I had discovered the Sixth Kenning? How would I do it without immediately placing myself in jeopardy? And when they asked me what underneath the sky possessed me to wander unarmed into a nughobe grove in the first place, what would I tell them about my family?
I didn’t get a chance to think about it right then since the stalk hawk flew tight circles about my head and screeched.
“What? You’re free to go if you wish,” I said. “I’m grateful to you.” I waited a few moments to see if he would react, but his behavior continued. “Would you like to stay with me?” I asked. “I am going to fill some empty water skins, and then I’ll keep walking. You can wait for me there if you like,” I said, pointing to the nearest lip of the pond.
The stalk hawk screeched once more and spiraled down to settle on the edge of the pond. He—she?—was a beautiful creature, tall legs for walking in the grass and her feathers all wheat colored, so that if you did not see the black eyes floating above the ground or the sharp yellow beak, you would have difficulty seeing her in the grass for most of the year. There were green-colored birds who took advantage of the spring and summer camouflage, but I had always preferred the coloration and build of stalk hawks, graceful both on land and in the air.