Path of the Spirit Runner

Balanced

Balanced~

Tobias Buchanan

Etowah, Este

Shouts. Angry shouts. A woman crying.

Tobias bolted upright. Instinct took hold, honed by years of waking up in strange places. Get your bearings. Where are you?

A woman stirred in bed beside him. Stripes graced the curve of her back, from her shoulders to her buttocks. Etowah. Tybetha is back. We have a daughter.

Contentment like none he’d ever known settled over him. Tybetha crawled toward the footboard and lifted Alyssa from her cradle to nurse.

The shouting drew nearer and demanded his attention, Estean and Innish, getting louder and angrier. This could not be good.

Tobias dressed and hurried from the cottage and down the mound to assess the damage. A young Este woman stood crying before him, surrounded by her female kin. The old woman shouting the loudest would be the matriarch of whichever clan had been wronged. Uncles, brothers, or sons of the matriarch joined the husbands of her sisters, nieces, and daughters. They flanked the women and brandished their weapons.

Tobias’ men filed out of Holahto’s guesthouse. More came running from the beds they’d shared last night. They straggled onto the plaza, half-dressed and strapping on weapons, to gather up behind him. Andy appeared at his side.

Tobias stepped up to face the angry family. He tread softly.

One of the men approached him. At his temples, streaks of white painted his black hair. He wasn’t shouting. The elder uncle, most likely.

“White Hawk of Buchanwick, born of the Hawk Clan. One of your own violated guest rights. He took from my niece what she refused him. Turtle Clan demands justice.”

Bloody hell. They were accusing one of his men of r**e. In Este, r**e and murder were the only crimes punishable by death. If he fumbled this powder keg, his men would pay for his mistake.

Tybetha was watching from atop the shaman’s mound, cradling Alyssa in her arms. Tobias glanced up at Malatchee’s house. One unfamiliar with Estean ways would look to the town’s mico for protection and justice. That’s what an outsider would do.

He was no outsider. He asked himself what a mico would do.

Seek truth. Find justice. Restore balance.

“Gather our men in the plaza, now,” he told Andy. “Storekeepers, guards, trail hands. Every last one of them.”

Andy nodded and left to make it so. Tobias called up everything he’d ever learned of Estean law. What he did next would have to pass Holahto’s scrutiny.

“You lay a crime at my feet. If any woman is harmed, Hawk Clan grieves with you and seeks justice,” he said. “Show us your truth.”

Turtle Clan’s matriarch took the crying woman by the hand and led her to him. His gut churned. She was young, very young, and probably pretty beneath the bruises. Someone had abused her. That much was obvious.

Tobias glanced up again. Malatchee was climbing down the mico’s mound. On the plaza below, Holahto was waiting to accompany him.

I can handle this.

The Turtle Clan’s matriarch narrowed her eyes. “My niece is newly wed. Her husband is away, hunting for deerskins to make the White Hawk richer. Nitta left her house for firewood during the feast. A man of Hawk Clan followed and took what she refused him.”

Bile rose in his throat. He wanted to comfort the battered woman. He wanted to raise his sword beside her uncles and avenge the wrong done her. But that was not what a mico would do. He would seek truth.

“You accuse one of my men,” he said. “Point him out.”

Andy was herding the last of them to the plaza. The stragglers ambled up, hungover, dazed, and just plain surly.

“All accounted for?”

“Every one,” said Andy.

Tobias looked at the young woman. “Which one?”

Malatchee and Holahto joined them. Malatchee’s icy stare said Tobias had stretched the limits by dealing with this on his own.

“Answer him, Nitta,” said Malatchee.

Nitta looked up. Hesitantly, she said, “He has gold here.” She pointed to her tooth. “A skull here.” She touched her wrist.

“Tusk,” said Andy.

“And he is missing an earlobe,” said Nitta. “Since last night.”

“Bring him,” said Tobias.

Tusk was from Jorendon. He was running from something. Many of his men were running from demons in pasts they’d rather not face. Tusk’s demon could’ve been a gambling debt or the husband of an ill-chosen lover. The man was good with a pistol and quick with a whip. On this, his first trail run with the company, he’d proven a sour sport at cards and a heavy drinker. A rare hiring mistake on Andy’s part.

Tobias’ Rhynn guards hauled the burly trailhand before him. Tusk wore a headscarf tied taut across his forehead. He sneered at the Este of Turtle Clan.

“Show me your ear,” said Tobias.

“Can’t.” Tusk turned his head and spat. “The b***h bit it off.”

Tobias stared him down. Tusk’s bravado wavered.

“Boss, it ain’t like she said. I went out for a piss by the woodpile. She came up to me, acting all nice like. You know how they do. I gave her what she wanted.”

Tobias was relatively sure Tusk was lying. But he had no doubt the fate of New Rhynn rested on what he did next. He walked to the timber steps of the shaman’s mound and drew his sword. Andy grabbed Tusk and dragged him along. Duck snatched Tusk’s whip off his belt.

“Hell, no!” Tusk tried to break free. “Not over a damned heathen w***e. She’d spread her—”

Andy’s fist cut off his protest. His boot planted Tusk’s head on the step. Andy’s wife had come to Tallu by way of the Pelican’s roost, a battered widow fleeing a lecherous uncle, escaping on a Southern Hawk ship with Andy at the helm. Andy wasn’t inclined to listen to a man who hurt women.

Tobias swung hard and clean, and Tusk’s head rolled to the grass.

In Rhynn, that would’ve been the end of it. For the lord, chief, or rhi, justice stopped when a body swung from a limb or a head rolled off a block. But he wasn’t in Rhynn. He wasn’t finished.

Malatchee watched.

Tobias grabbed the severed head by the hair and fought a reflexive gag. He drew the hunting knife from his boot and flayed the scalp from Tusk’s skull. He tossed away the mutilated head and approached the old woman.

“Hawk Clan offers Turtle Clan the blood price.”

“What do you know of the blood price? Soft-foot.” She spat on the grisly offering.

Turtle Clan wanted more. Tobias weighed his options. Matriarch or victim?

“Lefty,” he shouted.

The Camran storekeeper pushed through the crowd. Lefty was Lefty because half his hand was missing, taken by the ax he swung himself to break his shackles and escape a Laradish slave camp. Slavers preyed on merchant ships crossing the Atlassia, as hungry for flesh as gold, and his ship had sailed into one of their traps. Lefty managed the Etowah store, and he had a wife and children here. The Este were his people now, but Tobias counted on company loyalty.

“Nitta of Turtle Clan has a forty-pelt credit with Southern Hawk Trading,” said Tobias. “Record it in the ledger… after her aunt accepts the blood price.”

Surprise rippled through the crowd.

“Forty pelts.” Lefty whistled. “That’s a mighty big credit, boss. You meant to say twenty, eh?”

“He said forty,” said the matriarch. “We will have forty or none.”

“Forty pelts and the scalp of the guilty man,” Holahto spoke up. “Does Turtle Clan accept?”

The old woman looked Tobias over. She peered past his shoulder to where Tybetha stood holding his daughter, then back to Malatchee, waiting for her answer. She calculated her options. His offer was generous, and she knew it. Refusing to let him restore the balance would turn the town’s opinion against her.

“Turtle Clan accepts.” She snatched the scalp. “The debt is paid.”

“The debt is paid.” Holahto sealed the matter. “The scales are balanced between Turtle and Hawk. We speak of this no more.”

As swiftly as the storm had rolled in, it drifted away. Tobias had found Estean justice perplexing at first, but he’d come to admire its practicality. Once both sides agreed a matter was settled, they went about their lives as if naught had happened. The revenge and retaliation that littered the history of the clans of Rhynn didn’t exist here.

It was the simple difference between making an apology and making sure the apology was accepted.

Tybetha was on the plaza with the women ministering to Nitta. She would take the young woman to her cottage, tend her hurts, and perform whatever cleansing rites were customary. Shamans had a tea for every circumstance. Tybetha would have Tusk’s body burned, and his ashes would feed the trees of the orchard that fed Etowah.

From this day on, only Nitta could speak of the wrong she’d suffered. Restoring the balance didn’t negate the violence, but it meant Nitta owned the wrong done to her. Not even her husband would hear of it but from her own telling. When she was ready. If she was ready. Until then, the shaman’s ears were hers in inviolate trust, and a spirit’s salve whenever Nitta felt in need of counsel.

Tobias interrupted Tybetha only long enough to take Alyssa. Tybetha hesitated, but when their daughter reached for him, she let her go. He found a sunny patch of grass to sit and watch her play. He finally allowed himself a sigh of relief.

“Come with me,” a steely voice demanded.

Malatchee was not done with him. He walked away without waiting for Tobias to get up. Halfway up the mound to his home, he stopped on the steps and waited.

“Give me my niece.”

Malatchee’s demand caught Tobias unprepared. He weighed the mico’s claim to his daughter. Malatchee was Wind Clan. When he took Tybetha as shaman, he adopted her into Wind Clan as his sister. In Estean culture, a mother’s male kin had more say over a child’s upbringing than the father did.

Malatchee’s demand carried the authority of kinship. Tobias could respect his command or start an outnumbered fight that could undo everything he’d worked to build. Giving Alyssa up so soon after finding her wasn’t a choice either. He’d have to rely on his trader’s skill to win his way back into Malatchee’s good graces.

Tobias let Malatchee take Alyssa from him.

On the front porch, Malatchee settled Alyssa on his lap in one of the rocking chairs. He motioned Tobias to sit. They rocked on the porch together, watching the town below as it returned to its morning routine.

“You took a foolish risk,” said Malatchee. “You should have come to me.”

“My men. My responsibility.”

Malatchee grunted. “You have three days.”

Tobias tensed. Most of his visits lasted several weeks. Malatchee had taken greater offense than he’d thought. He had three days to set it right.

“I’ll leave instructions with Lefty,” he said. “We’ll go, as you say.”

“Go?” Malatchee stopped rocking. “You have three days to practice. You brought your sticks, eh?”

He’d been had. With the balance restored, Etowah carried on, and Malatchee’s sense of humor was as dry as ever.

“Yes, we brought our sticks.”

“You need longer?”

“Caw, you old goat.” Their rift was mended. “We’re ready to play when you are.”

“You are too gullible to be Este,” Malatchee said with a sly smile.

“I belong here, Malatchee. Rhynns are not like the others crossing the Atlassia. We’re more like you than not.”

“White Hawk is more like us than not. Your spirit was born on the wrong side of the water. The others… time will tell.”

Tobias savored the concession and kept quiet. He’d proven what he intended. Malatchee set Alyssa on the porch and let her toddle back to Tobias.

“The Brescans grow bolder,” said Malatchee. “They are banding with the ice tribes in the Frozen North and raiding Este towns on the border. They are taking our people as slaves.”

“Will you attack them?”

“With Larad gnawing at my ankles, I cannot send more warriors north. If I do, I leave our largest towns vulnerable to the south.”

“You could grow your numbers by adding ours,” said Tobias. “Rhynns are able warriors.”

“Rhynns from Innis,” said Malatchee. “Innis lusts for land beyond the towns we granted them. The three-headed serpent is squeezing us. Why should I judge you less a threat?”

“Rhynns don’t come to conquer. We come to earn our place beside the Este.”

“Then keep earning that place. Guard Buchanwick. Protect your borders,” said Malatchee. “Try to stay alive long enough for Alyssa to know you.”

Chapter 6