Path of the Spirit Runner (Rootstock Saga Book 2)

By L.H. Leonard

Gifted or cursed? Isobel is a healer, and the Hawks who accepted her, broken and different as she was, need her help. But she must hide the truth behind her healing power. She is an empath.

John Deighton, The Prophet, is back in Innis and stoking the embers of bigotry and superstition, scouring the realm and imprisoning mindgifted Aurels. When he corners Isobel, will she fight back or succumb to her old fears and lingering scars from the Beast of Monaughty? Will she answer the call of a healer if it costs her everything she loves?

Far across the sea, Tobias Buchanan is racing against time to build New Rhynn as a haven for his clan. As the noose of oppression squeezes tighter in Innis, the Hawks may soon be forced to choose between their homeland and their way of life. Can he earn a place for his Hawks amongst the Este of Tallu? Can he prove Rhynns are worthy of their trust?

Meanwhile, the Este are discovering their own place in the Awakening and the Joining. Spirit runners grow more powerful by the year, and the Mists hover closer over Tallu. But will it be enough when the water rises? Will they be ready before the cycle ends?

Path of the Spirit Runner is the enthralling continuation of the Rootstock Saga. Evolution and oppression. Magical mindgifts and dragon science. The characters you loved in Legend of the Storm Hawks come of age and weave their own threads in the Patterns.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Each Voice Publishing
• Release date: Feb 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9780989210560

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Book Extras

Thank you for reading Path of the Spirit Runner.

Please visit RootstockSaga.com for Character Lists, Custom Gallery, Historical Timeline, Chapter Extras, Ask the Author, and more.

When Malatchee’s token appears at the end of a chapter, following the link will take you to optional bonus material at RootstockSaga.com. This bonus material is not part of the story but offers context, exposition, and commentary.

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Map of Tallu

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Chapter 1

White Hawk

~

Lamochatee of Panther Clan

Este Nation, Tallu

Forsmoon, 4413

Lamochatee flattened his back against a tall pine. The morning drizzle swept a wet strand of hair over his eye. He brushed it aside and dared one slow peek around the pine’s trunk.

The men traveled the trail through the woods, their attention fixed ahead as they rode.

His toes clenched in the pine straw, and the wet seeped through his soft bucs. The sparse underbrush offered no cover, but he needed none. He moved too quickly and quietly for the men to notice. He ducked his head and bolted to the next tree.

Even stalking them on foot, he easily kept pace with the long line of riders, horses, and pack mules. At least a dozen mules trudged the path westward, laden with overstuffed packs wrapped in oiled blankets. There might be a hundred more trudging behind them. The musky scent of wet beasts blended with the earthy aroma of tobacco wafting from pipes the men puffed to keep lit in the damp.

Lamochatee peered around the next pine and searched out the lead rider, a big man with hair the color of corn.

You are caught, White Hawk. I am a hunter.

He drew back and pressed his head against the bark, waiting.

Whuh-whuh-thuk. The reverberation hummed through the trunk and prickled his neck.

Lamochatee grunted in annoyance. He stepped from behind the pine and found White Hawk leaning back in his saddle, wearing a smug smile.

You are lost? The trader spoke Estean like he was born to it. I can show you the way to Etowah, eh?

Lamochatee knew his way home. He was a silent tracker, a fearless hunter. Scowling up at the trader’s knife lodged in the trunk, he stood on his toes and pried out the blade.

A long time, I followed you. Lamochatee walked over and offered back the knife. You did not know.

Ten deer-leaps you followed me, said Captain Tobias Buchanan. I knew.

The Este called him White Hawk. Red-tipped eagle feathers in his braid marked him as one of the few white men the micos allowed to travel over Este land. White Hawk slid the knife back into his boot. He carried a brace of silver pistols in a belt of Estean weave, a broad sword across his back, and a long-barreled musket strapped to his horse’s flank.

White Hawk was not a man to make an enemy. He’d been a friend of Lamochatee’s father’s for years, ever since he’d proved he could stomach the black brew and run with the Este spirit runners. White Hawk was no soft-foot.

Lamochatee of Panther Clan, son of Malatchee Mico. The trader’s eyes shifted from blue to grey and back again. You are a head taller than last I saw you. But still young to be out scouting alone. Does Noya know you are so far from home this grey morn?

Lamochatee pulled himself up tall. He was nearly a man now. A man didn’t need his mother’s permission to leave Etowah’s walls.

A hunter decides where he hunts, he said. His eyes wandered to the bulging packs. What do you bring that I have not seen before? he tried sounding bored.

White Hawk glanced back to an old man riding behind him. Ducky wasn’t Rhynn. He came from a soft-foot town, but he was tougher than most of his kind. Ducky had a face like a dried-up apple core, and his long hair and beard were coarse as wiregrass and thin as a worn-out broom. The old trailhand was quick as a rattler and no better company.

White Hawk hired men like Ducky to tend the mules, mind the loads, and clear the trail ahead of the pack train. He trusted only his Rhynns with the pack train’s protection.

Duck, what do we have that might interest Lamochatee? White Hawk switched to a mix of Estean and Innish. I can tell you he won’t be impressed with children’s toys.

Well, let me think, boss. Ducky tugged his beard. There’s that ironwood bow we picked up in the islands. Strongest man in this train couldn’t break one of those arrows over his knee, he said in the same fluid mix of languages. Silver eagles on both tips of the bow. Would be a smart lookin’ weapon for a young man.

Lamochatee shrugged. I might want to see the bow.

He didn’t say so, but what he admired most were the pistols. More than anything, he wanted a silver pistol. But it would be expensive, even for the son of Malatchee Mico.

I hear the hunters fared well this season, said White Hawk. Etowah has a few deerskins to trade?

Mounds and mounds, Lamochatee bragged. More than fifty mules can carry. You will have to hire me to carry some back to Buchanwick on my horse.

Still trying to weasel your way out for an adventure, eh? I told Malatchee already. You should see more of the world.

Tell him again. I am old enough. Tell him again, White Hawk.

I will tell him, for all the good it does. Where is he? Sitting by his fire or off scaring Laradians?

Home. He came back two nights past. Father did more than scare them. He caught the soldiers building a fort on Mocama Island.

That’s farther north than they dared before.

Farther north than they will dare again.

Good for him, said White Hawk. Come ride with me.

He reached down an arm, and Lamochatee clambered up behind him.

Tell me more news of Etowah, but tell it in Innish. Let me hear you practice.

Chapter 2

Etowah

~

Tobias Buchanan

Etowah, Este

The deep bass of drumbeats rumbled through Tobias’ chest and quickened his pulse.

Ba-boom-boom-ba-boom. Ba-boom-boom-ba-boom.

Even before he cleared the pines, the drums began announcing his arrival. The cadence named him friend, not foe. No matter how many times he approached the largest town in the Este Nation, the wary rogue in him tensed until the drums confirmed he was still welcome.

Etowah stretched for miles along the gentle Oakmulgee River’s banks. Long ago, Lamochatee’s ancestors had taken a liking to the site and decided to stay. They dug a channel in an arc east of the river, carving out forty acres of high ground and settling on the moated half-moon of fertile land. Palisade walls outlined the town in double rows of spiked timbers punctuated by tall, square towers.

From those towers, the drums boomed, and archers watched his approach.

For centuries, it had been Este custom for a town to divide once its population neared a thousand. Willing families left the mother town to clear and build on new land miles away. But decades of prosperity and ingenuity had allowed Etowah’s numbers to swell far beyond what the land could have supported before. Over ten thousand people called Etowah home.

Etowah’s gates swung open, and a band of scouts rode out, shouting in rhythm with the drums. They wore longshirts over breechcloths, and buckskin leggings fitted from bucs to knees. Indigo tattoos circled their thighs in geometric bands. Silver flashed from fingers and ears, armbands and pendants. Red was everyone’s favorite color.

Their horses splashed across the shallow ford, passing the well-placed boulders dotting the sandy shoals. With rakes and spades, caretakers kept the shoals broad enough for two horses abreast but deep enough for a canoe to skim across. Coaxing nature into filling a need took more cleverness than bridge building, to Tobias’ way of thinking.

Tobias waited on the riverbank as Southern Hawk Trading Company’s men and mules filed from the woods behind him. He tugged off his gloves and raised a bare hand in greeting. The lead scout offered an answering hand and circled his horse without a word. When he started back across the ford, Tobias took the cue to follow.

I guess this means Malatchee isn’t still sulking over the last ball game, Tobias said over his shoulder. He came close to losing that one.

Etowah never came close to losing, said Lamochatee. We let you have a few goals to make the game worth watching, eh?

Tobias laughed as he rode through the gates. He’d been away from the castles and mountains of Aleron for so long he sometimes wondered if he remembered that life at all. At some point over the years, his visits to Etowah had started to feel like coming home. He recognized familiar faces in the crowd gathering to watch the pack train’s arrival and nodded to old friends as he followed his escort.

The houses nestled inside Etowah’s walls were built big to fit big, extended families. Hundreds more homes stretched out past the moat, beyond the original town’s walls. The Este liked more elbow room from their neighbors and more artistry in their architecture, but otherwise, their homes were much like those lining the streets of Innish trade towns up and down the coast. Waterwheels splashed, and windwheels spun beside orchards of chestnut, pecan, and persimmon trees.

Near the town’s center, flat-topped earthen mounds rose above the common ground. The mound nearest the gate stood ten feet high and had timber steps set in its four sloping sides. Not a single building marred its rectangular expanse of grass and clay. Tall poles planted at either end boasted brightly colored banners up and down their height.

The Este gathered on the plaza mound for ceremonies and festivals. It also served as the ball field, where all matters of any significance were settled.

A twin mound rose perpendicular to the plaza, with smaller mounds stacked atop its elevated plateau. The shaman’s house topped the shortest of those. The guesthouse of the heniha, town counselor and arbiter, sat on the next highest. Between them, on the tallest mound in Etowah, was the home of Malatchee Mico, the Mico of Micos, the Chief of Chiefs, of the confederacy known as the Este Nation.

Andy, take lead, said Tobias.

Andy Quinn clicked his horse to a trot and pulled up beside him. Andy was another Hawk the sea had stolen from Aleron. He’d been with Tobias since year one of Southern Hawk Trading Company. A sandy-haired fellow of average height and build, with the sort of looks most people couldn’t recall an hour after meeting him, Andy blended into a crowd. A useful trait, it had kept them both alive on more than a few occasions.

Unload at the warehouse. Have Lefty send a runner upstream to Tallassee and Chula. Tell them they can send six mules each to restock their stores, he rattled off instructions knowing Andy would see every detail done. I want a barge leaving for Kahatchi in the morning with whatever staples they need. They can send mules back for whatever else they want, but I expect them to split what they take with the Chalahume store.

Got it, boss.

And find us a practice field. Damn it, I’m tired of losing.

Andy grinned. He captained the twenty guards Tobias had brought with him from Buchanwick. It was twice as many as they needed to protect the pack train. But when he came to Etowah, he had to bring enough men to play a decent game.

Hawks never could pass up a competition.

I’ll find us a spot, said Andy. Somewhere they can’t see how much we’ve been practicing.

Practice all you want, said Lamochatee. Etowah has not lost in so long, no one can even remember.

Tobias left his horse with Ducky, and Lamochatee walked through town beside him. Children and dogs darted across their path. Clutches of old women chattered and pointed. Tobias savored the aromas of cornbread, sweetgrass, and hickory smoke.

They crossed the plaza and started their climb up the mico’s mound. Paying Etowah’s mico the respect of first greeting was a protocol Tobias knew not to delay. Never mind the drums had already announced his arrival to everyone within miles. Malatchee would sit up there and wait until Tobias made the climb.

Etowah expected it of them both.

The ritual of first greeting let Malatchee extend guest rights to Tobias and his men. He’d like to get that out of the way, considering how many he brought with him this trip. He counted on them to do what he hired them to do, but trailhands were a rough breed and not always on their best behavior in town.

Lamochatee reached for the front door of the stately brick home. It swung open before his hand touched the knob.

Took your time getting here, Malatchee snapped in Innish. You’re getting slower.

You’re getting more cantankerous, said Tobias. Noya told you to stay put until I got up here, didn’t she?

Noya is a horsefly buzzing around my head. Malatchee swatted at the air. He laughed and clasped Tobias’ arm.

Malatchee was a man built for standing his ground. His countenance could’ve been chiseled from a block of hickory. Square jaw, aquiline profile, and black brows too uncompromising to arch. His penetrating stare kept you wondering whether he was listening to what you had to say or deciding whether to go for your throat.

Lamochatee snuck out to meet me, said Tobias. The boy’s growing like a weed.

He’s a strong one, eh? Malatchee tousled the boy’s hair.

Tobias followed him to the room used for the business that came with being mico. The waxed plank floors, paned glass windows, and grooved pine paneling painted muted tones of mossy green, buttery yellow, and dark red would be elegant on either side of the Atlassia.

I see no one’s managed to kill you yet. Malatchee poured him a crystal cup of aurello.

A Hawk on the hunt is a tough target to hit. Tobias sipped the aged whiskey he knew to be of the most exceptional quality. It came from a Black Hawk barrel he sold Malatchee last year.

You owe me word of my nephews. And you owe the Este gold.

Malatchee was wearing a wrap of brushed Talluan cotton so fine it draped like silk. A gorget of silver crescents hung from his neck. A scalloped silver band anyone in Innis would call a crown rested on his head. His silver earrings, rings, and armbands were as abundant as everyone’s in Etowah.

But beyond what Malatchee wore, he gave away. It was a mindset Tobias had trouble understanding at first. The Este put no importance on material wealth. Greed was crass. One’s worth and influence were measured by what one gifted others. The gold Tobias brought would not stay in Malatchee’s pockets.

I brought the Wind Clan’s profits, said Tobias. Southern Hawk Trading fared well this year. You’ll be glad you took Murdoch’s offer of shares in the company.

Murdoch brought Ahyota’s sons to meet me. That was my condition. They are coming to know their uncle. They are learning what it means to be Este.

Redan finishes at university this year. Bryen wants to be a pirate. Tobias patted the satchel on his hip. I brought letters.

Good. I have someone to help me translate their Estean. Tybetha is back. Malatchee watched him for a reaction.

Decided to return from her spirit journey? Tobias said indifferently. Guess she found whatever she went looking for.

Or she came to terms with what made her leave.

Either way, it’s not my concern. Tobias refused to be drawn into talk of Malatchee’s wandering shaman.

Go see her. It’s been two years.

Leave it be.

Your choice. Malatchee shrugged.

Lamochatee, do not try to hide from me. Noya’s scolding drew nearer. I saw you climbing the steps.

Caw, you are caught, son. Malatchee grinned. Next time, keep running and let White Hawk climb alone.

Noya stalked in with her hands on her hips. She spared Tobias a nod.

Welcome back, White Hawk. Thank you for fetching my son.

"I fetched him." Lamochatee hopped off his father’s desk.

He tells it true, Noya, said Tobias. Lamochatee found me wandering the woods and scouted the way out.

Noya was having none of it. All morning, Holahto looked for you. Your uncle has bigger fish to catch than one little minnow slipping away from his lessons.

His lessons are boring, the boy muttered.

Find your uncle and apologize. Holahto decides whether you join the feast tonight.

Lamochatee gave his father a pleading look.

Malatchee held up his hands. Holahto decides.

The boy grumbled under his breath but ducked from the room under Noya’s disapproval. When he was well away, Noya sighed.

The curse of Panther Clan. We are born stubborn. She held out her arms to Tobias. It is good to see you again.

You are lovelier than ever, Noya. He hugged her.

You lie like an Este who wants something, she said, blunt as ever.

Malatchee’s wife was a pretty woman whose body had plumped after bearing him seven children, and she was pleasant company when she wasn’t busy scolding one of their brood.

A trader always wants something, Malatchee snorted. He rested his fists on the desk and said the words Tobias came to hear. Captain Tobias Buchanan, White Hawk of Hawk Clan, you and your men are welcome at our fires. Do no harm, and no harm will come to you.

We are guests of Etowah, Tobias offered the most powerful man in Tallu the dutiful response. We will do no harm.

Chapter 3

Tybetha

~

Tobias Buchanan

Etowah, Este

Tobias pressed his chin to the fiddle and bowed the last bars of a frisky riff. Andy and his other Hawks took the tune to its feisty finish on their flutes and geddars. Este drums beat applause, and dancers slowed to catch their breath.

It had started small, years ago, when Tobias first pulled out his fiddle and introduced his Este hosts to Aleron mountain music. He’d taught a few dancers a simple reel, and in the years since, the dancers had grown in number as the reels had grown in complexity. He wondered what his clansmen would think about Este bucs tapping to the rhythms of his homeland.

One more, said Lamochatee. Play just one more.

Enough, said Malatchee. Let our own players take up the music. Let us hear how well Etowah flutes can sing a Hawk’s tune.

We know the tune. A bright-eyed Este shouldered through the crowd. We can give the dancers a reel that will make White Hawk give away his fiddle.

Challenge accepted, said Tobias. Play the same reel we played. Let the dancers decide which was played best.

Shouts and wagers started amongst the revelers. Tobias left the mico’s steps that served as a stage, ready for a break and a stiff drink. He crossed the plaza, weaving through the crowd, in search of where he’d left Duck and the aurello barrels.

Noya appeared in front of him, holding a cup.

You know the way to a man’s heart. He took a sip and let the slow burn warm his throat. If you should ever tire of Malatchee… He winked.

You have stayed too long with us, White Hawk. You make the sweet talk like an Este buck now. She laced her arm through his. Walk with me. I will protect you from the young women sighing to gaze into your blue eyes and trembling for your touch.

The Este loved a flowery phrase. They had a knack for embellishment and were masters of persuasion. Throughout the feast, one woman after another tempted his attention with flirting and flattery. Marriage demanded unwavering fidelity, but an unmarried woman was free to take a partner when she chose. Virginity was not a prize to be hoarded. Abstinence offended the First Mother. On a more pragmatic level, it simply went against human nature.

Tobias had spent many nights in Etowah and few alone. The memories put him out of sorts tonight. He patted Noya’s arm and took her up on her offer.

Guard me, lovely Noya, he said. And we can talk about Lamochatee, eh?

We talked this talk before, she said.

A bright boy grows restless. He needs to learn of the world beyond Etowah. Let me foster him at Buchanwick. Let me teach him to deal with the kings and priests eyeing Tallu across the Atlassia.

Malatchee says you are right, Noya granted with a trace of resignation. Holahto agrees. He says you can teach my son what even the heniha cannot.

He would be gone only a year and come back to Etowah on every trip I make. You and Malatchee are welcome at Buchanwick any time, and Holahto, too. He stopped to let her consider.

I will think on it, she said. Do not pester me.

I speak of it no more… on this visit.

Good. Now you will listen to me instead, eh? She stopped their leisurely walk. We must talk about Tybetha.

Tobias drained the last of the aurello and handed her the empty cup.

Have your say, he said tersely.

She wounded your pride.

It’s over. History.

Is it? Open your eyes, White Hawk.

Noya turned him to a cluster of people a few yards away. Flaxen blonde hair stood out in a crowd of raven-black. Bitterness told him to walk away. Affection he’d thought long gone argued otherwise.

Look closer, said Noya. Down at her knee.

Tobias’ gaze traveled down. A toddler tugged on the shaman’s skirt. Tybetha bent to take the fair-haired baby in her arms. Tobias swallowed the tightness in his throat.

So, she went back to Crystal Springs and took a mate. Congratulate her for me.

Go to her, Noya persisted. Go, or I will drag you by your ear.

Noya gave him a commanding push. Tobias edged closer, and someone whispered her a warning.

Tybetha, he addressed her back.

The Nunyaehi shaman’s slender shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. The baby on her hip looked his way. Blue-grey eyes blinked back at him. Eyes like mine. A tiny finger twisted in curls the color of corn. Like his own.

Tybetha. This time, it came out a growl.

Tybetha turned to face him. She was as beautiful as he remembered. Firelight drew out the gold in her eyes, as vibrant as the first time he’d looked into them so many years ago. Her hair draped her shoulders like liquid moonlight. Fawn-colored stripes graced her slender neck.

He snapped out of his daze and shook the sense back into his head. Tybetha had some explaining to do.

It’s good to see you again, Tobias.

"Good to see me? You disappear for two years and show back up with a child—my child. And that’s all you have to say?"

We should talk.

You think so? he shouted. He rarely shouted.

Not here, she said. Come home with me.

Tobias hesitated. The music had started up again. He was well versed in Este etiquette. The guest of honor didn’t just walk off during the festivities.

Go on, Noya nudged. Andy will take your place. Malatchee will understand.

Tobias took a tentative step closer. He held out his hand to the baby, unsure what to do next. The baby reached for him, and he glanced uncertainly at Tybetha.

May I take her?

She’s decided you should, said Tybetha.

She. He had a daughter.

Tobias took his child in his arms. He realized he was grinning like a fool, and he didn’t care who saw. He held his daughter close and made her a thousand silent promises.

Chapter 4

Named

~

Tobias Buchanan

Etowah, Este

Tobias stretched out on the bearskin rug and combed his fingers through the baby’s blonde ringlets. She rubbed her Buchanan blue eyes and started to fret. He patted his pockets looking for the maplewood whistle he’d started this trip.

He found the toy squirrel with a bushy tail curled up its back. The squirrel held an acorn he’d whittled to float free between its paws. Tobias blew softly through the whistle, and the acorn danced. His daughter chortled and reached for the toy. She promptly stuck the squirrel’s head into her mouth.

Tybetha pulled a kettle from the fire and poured tea.

What a clever design, she said, blowing across her steaming cup. You carve with the skill of an artisan.

Tobias whittled when he was bored. It was something to do on the trail. Toys made good calling cards when he needed to win trust in a new town. The toy in his daughter’s hand should have been one of dozens he’d carved for her by now.

Why would you hide her from me? he said. You left without so much as a word.

I didn’t hide her. Tybetha sat cross-legged beside him. I had a dilemma, so I went home and let the elders decide what to do with a pregnant shaman. It was an unusual puzzle for them. She stretched out her legs and flexed her toes. It took them a while to figure out what happened with us.

The sages of Crystal Springs. What great insight did they come up with, pray tell?

The Joining, she said. The fruition of a dream.

Should that make sense to anyone beyond the Nunyaehi’s rose-colored halls?

They may occasionally stray from reality, but they are my people. Be nice.

Be nice. He grunted. Tell me then. What ancient wisdom explains this impossible child lying here between us gnawing the head off a squirrel?

Impossible? Don’t be coy, she said. Rhynns and nenes are bearing children in Innis, too. Your own nephew’s wife and children?

All right, so I knew it was possible, he admitted. "But years, Tybetha. We were together for years."

For a few short weeks at a time. Fertility cycles. Timing. You aren’t naive.

Tobias opened his mouth and stopped before the wrong words slipped out. He worked harder on the phrasing.

Growing the company meant visiting many towns, he said. Certain hospitalities are expected to be enjoyed when offered.

It still sounded wrong, sounded like he meant it for her. He didn’t. Tybetha was different.

You noticed there were no blue-eyed children in the many towns you visited through the years, she offered her gentle acceptance.

I noticed. I assumed I couldn’t father a child. It hadn’t troubled him much. Building the company kept him too busy for a family, and New Rhynn was his legacy.

You were wrong. Tybetha sipped her tea.

Yes, I figured that out a little while ago, he said. You could have told me.

I agonized over telling you. But I knew how much you grieved your sister Thea. Ahyota’s death only added to your misgivings. You’d learned to dread childbirth.

So, you decided you’d keep the worry for yourself. Do you think me so weak?

Weak? Tobias Buchanan? Hardly. But the elders didn’t think I would carry her to term. If anything had happened… well, I couldn’t do that to you.

Tobias reined in his temper. What was done was done. But he would have her promise.

Never shield me, Tybetha. Whatever the challenge, whatever the fear, swear you will share it with me. I need to hear this from you.

Tybetha sighed. Agreed. Whatever the challenge.

Their daughter rolled to her belly and closed her eyes, still clutching the slobbery squirrel. Tobias stroked her back as she drifted off to sleep.

Well, look at that. He lifted her tiny foot in his palm. She has the stubby toe.

Stubby toe? Tybetha frowned. There’s nothing wrong with her toes.

On her right foot, the second toe is shorter than the third. The Buchanan stubby toe.

You’re an odd bird, White Hawk. But I’m glad you’re pleased with her. I didn’t know how you would take the news.

Noya knew I’d melt like butter the minute I saw her. It took some prodding to get me close enough. I don’t handle the jilted lover role well.

Tybetha reached for him. They shared a long kiss. He’d missed her more than he’d let himself admit.

Let me move her to the cradle, she whispered. Your pride could use more soothing tonight.

It could. And the sages of Crystal Springs have spoken. He nuzzled her neck. The Joining. I’ll dedicate myself to the cause.

Tybetha scooped up their daughter. A sudden determination to protect them both swelled in his chest. He wanted them close. He wanted them in Buchanwick. Tobias was accustomed to getting what he wanted.

I don’t even know her name. He followed Tybetha to the bedroom.

Alyssa, she said. Do you think it suits her?

Alyssa. Alyssa Buchanan. He rolled the name over his tongue. I like it.

Tybetha tucked Alyssa in the cradle at the foot of the timber-frame bed. Tobias pulled the only nenan in Etowah into his arms and breathed in her sweet evergreen scent.

Tybetha Buchanan has a nice ring to it, too.

No, Tobias. A shaman can’t marry. You know that.

Let me give her a name.

She has a name. Alyssa o’Tybetha, born of the Wind Clan.

She is mine, too. You can’t expect me to let my daughter go through life a bastard.

A bastard in Innis. To the Este, she is mine. To the Nunyaehi, she is mine. Her mother gives her a name.

She belongs to us both. He’d already decided. When he left Etowah, Tybetha and Alyssa would leave with him. Marry me, Tybetha.

Tobias, I love you. But I know you. You are already married. Your very demanding wife is the Southern Hawk Trading Company, she said. And I am married to the responsibility of being shaman to Etowah and counselor to Malatchee Mico.

Alyssa changes everything. It’s time we settled down.

I don’t want you to settle down. What you’re doing is important.

It’s a foolish dream. He regretted ever telling her why he’d stayed in Tallu, so far from his home and his clan.

There’s nothing foolish about New Rhynn. You’re building a haven for your people. Buchanwick is a fine start, but until the Este accept you as they accepted the Nunyaehi, you’ll only be guests here.

Your Nunyaehi got a few thousand years’ head start on me, he said. They could help if they would.

My Nunyaehi are preoccupied with trying to spark the Awakening in the Este. I can’t imagine why they think they need a contingency plan. Your Rhynns are always so very accommodating.

Tobias frowned. She irritated him, as she’d often done through the years. She was as bullheaded as anyone he’d ever met. Tybetha could take a perfectly sound argument and turn it on its head. But this time, she was right. They both belonged on the paths they’d chosen. He wasn’t done negotiating, though.

"Alyssa Buchanan o’Tybetha, born of Wind Clan, for Hawk Clan. he countered. You said it yourself. Her mother names her."

Tybetha smiled. And so I name her. But it’s a long name to shout when she’s late for supper. Do you suppose we should call her Stubby Toe instead?

Chapter 5

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 rape. In Este, rape 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