Kavio
To walk the path of the Deathsworn meant to join them—or to join the dead. In return, the Deathsworn were not allowed to walk the paths of normal people.
They were not fae, and not exactly human either—though they had once been human. The fae could not see them. The Deathsworn came from all tribes, but belonged to none. They were not allowed to take part in tribal wars or clan politics. Their work was bloody and dark. Most people feared and hated them. But everyone needed them.
Kavio left the dead men beneath the skull stone. After a small pause, he took a pair of legwals and a spear from one of the bodies.
The legwals smelled like sour milk and blood. That smell reminded him of the first time he killed a man. He had only been ten years old. Not even a man yet. But he had already passed the Test and become a Tavaedi. During that fight, he had been so scared he wet himself. He never told his father. He had been too ashamed. That stupid fear—his stupid pride—almost started a war.
Is this what my journey omen meant?
He had spent his whole life trapped in the physical and political mazes of the Rainbow Labyrinth tribehold. Now was his chance to leave those limits behind. To grow into someone new.
He didn't want to be his father's shadow. Or his mother's reflection. But he didn't want to become a Rover either. If he was going to remake himself, he wanted to become something more—not less.
Sheer cliffs rose to the west. So he took the easier eastern path out of the box canyon, then circled back into the mountains.
A generation ago, many clans had lived in the cliffs and canyons here. Now, eagles made nests in the bomas—tall and skinny wooden lookout towers—where warriors once stood guard. Those clans left nothing behind but bones.
His father would not speak of that time. That generation kept food and secrets to themselves. But Kavio knew more than his father guessed. It was in the West—in Yellow Bear—where Kavio first learned his father was not the hero he had believed.
Sometimes, Kavio felt like someone was following him. He even doubled back on his own trail to check. Maybe the Rovers had friends. But he saw no one.
Then, at a major crossroads, he found a crowd of people waiting for him.
He growled under his breath. He had sharpened the flint stone point on the spear he'd taken, but if a real fight started, he wasn't ready.
This group looked more dangerous than the Rovers. He knew them. Many were Tavaedies. It hurt more than he wanted to admit that many were young people from his own generation. People he had called friends.
Even Nilo stood there, the son of Danumoru and Shula.
Kavio hid his feelings. He had learned one thing from his father: never show weakness.
"Well?" he asked.
"We want to come with you," said Nilo.
That surprised him. "Are you mad?"
"If the Morvae start exiling Imorvae again," said Nilo, "we want to stand with you. If the blooded spear rises, we will be on your side!"
The others made sounds of agreement.
"Don't be fools," Kavio said. "There must be no blooded spear. No war. That would tear the tribe apart."
"So you're just going to let them smoke you out of the Labyrinth like a rat?" Nilo shouted. "You're just going to let Zumo win? You know none of us will ever follow him as War Chief!"
"It's too soon to say it will come to that."
"His blood comes from the Bone Whistler, and so do his dreams," Nilo said. "He already pushed you out of the way! The White Lady is under the Curse of Obsidian Mountain. Your father is growing old. Now you're exiled. Who else can stop him?"
"Going into exile with me won't help," said Kavio.
Nilo looked at the others, then said, "It will—if we go to the Yellow Bear tribehold to raise an army. Many of our people still live there. They would follow us. They would follow you, Kavio. You could return in a year, with Tavaedies and warriors behind you! We could finally destroy—"
"Enough!" Kavio snapped. He sucked in a deep breath through his teeth to calm himself. "Enough, Nilo. You must not say that. You must not even think it. I will not raise an army against my own tribehold. And I will not take others into the exile that I alone earned."
A moment of quiet followed. His friends sighed and exchanged glances.
"I guess we all knew you would say that," Nilo said softly. He shifted on his feet. "That's why we brought journey gifts."
He held out his spear.
"I want you to take this—no, don't shake your head. You can't refuse a journey gift. We were careful. We took nothing from the Labyrinth itself. Only from the outlying holds."
One by one, each of them came close to Kavio and gave him something. Weapons. Clothes. Food. Water. Even jewelry.
He was overwhelmed. Touched. He could only whisper his thanks.
By the end, they had dressed him and loaded him down with more than he could carry. Then—and only then—they let him say goodbye.
Nilo shook his hand. Then hugged him. He leaned in and whispered, "But you are going to Yellow Bear, aren't you, Kavio?"
"Perhaps."
Nilo smiled, pleased with that answer.
"Whatever you do there," he said, "we'll be waiting when you come back. We have no doubt you'll return. And when you do, the blooded spear will rise, whether any of us want it or not."