A Shadow Tribe Story
Chapter Six
by: Yuuki Miyaka
Memory/Ebony slowly awakened, enjoying the feeling of sleeping in real furs. As her eyes opened and adjusted to the darkness of the den, she wondered for a brief moment if perhaps it hadn't been a dream. She was in her own den, and her lifemate was sitting beside her, with Laughter and Skeya waiting patiently beyond him. As she turned her head to look, Windrunner seemed to waken out of his light doze.
"How do you feel?" he asked her solicitously. She stared up at him, trying to figure out why he was being more distant than usual, and she started to sit up. But her head swam at the movement, and she sank back into the covers weakly.
"I feel weak," she told him, seeing no use in trying to keep the truth from him. Unlike her father's tribe, these people would not find fault in her being weak for a bit. As soon as she thought it, she furrowed her brow, trying to figure out just where the idea had come from. But she couldn't make sense of the muddle inside of her head, so after a moment she ignored it. When she was stronger, the words would make more sense.
Windrunner nodded at her words, and smiled as Laughter brought him a small basin full of water. She saw one of Liyra's cloths in it, and smiled at Windrunner. The cool water would be just the thing for her brow. And as the cloth laid over her forehead, he would curl around her, as he always did. But instead he merely wet the cloth, dabbing gently at her forehead. "Can you tell us who you are?" His words startled her.
"What do you mean? I'm Ebony, Windrunner. You know that." She stared up at him, but he merely shook his head, reaching up to comb his fingers through her hair. And he captured a lock, bringing it around to where she could see the snow-white hair.
"Ebony has dark curls. You cannot be her." He was still patient with her, and she looked within herself in confusion. Minutes passed, an eternity as they waited, and suddenly, the woman shuddered.
Her mind was in shambles, with snatches of memory all over. In one, she was the dark huntress angry at her lifemate. But in another she was a pale MemoryWeaver, who was hurting as her father railed at her. She couldn't make sense of it, until she saw the last memory. The memory of the two women together, one merely a dead shell in the other's arms. She wasn't Ebony. She couldn't be Ebony. Ebony was dead. She was . . . Memory.
Windrunner seemed to realize that she remembered. He didn't even wait for her answer, but merely asked another question. "Where is my lifemate?" Her eyes, which had been tracing the furs around her, shot up to lock with his. And she realized that they didn't have the same memory of Ebony that she did. She had been the one to hold Ebony's body in her arms, and she had yet to share with him. She felt trapped, frightened of what he would do.
Unable to speak, she opened her mind to him, letting him see what she remembered. Windrunner smiled for a few moments, but as the memories continued, his smile faded and his face closed off. By the time she was done, he was nothing more than a wall to her. And when he spoke, his voice was dead. "I will tell the others at the tribal meet tonight." With that, he pointedly ignored her.
As Windrunner left the den, Skeya approached her. She was about to greet the green-eyed sitter when the older elf grabbed her by the front of her tunic. "If you've hurt her," Skeya said, her words trailing off ominously. And Memory shrank in on herself, wishing suddenly that it had been her life the beast had taken, instead of her sister's. And she wished even more that she had Ebony's strength.
The tribe gathered around the clearing, and Memory sat as far from Windrunner as possible. Admittedly, that put her next to ShadowWalker, another elf she was frightened of. ShadowWalker had also been very close to Ebony. Or so the dark huntress's memories said. Memory closed her eyes, picturing the time that Ebony had asked 'Walker to teach Laughter. These were not her memories. They were precious things that should have stayed with Ebony. Instead, Memory now housed them, and she had no clue of what to do about it.
Her eyes drifted once more to her sister's lifemate, and she watched him carefully. The grief in his eyes threatened to drown the rest of the tribe. And every other member of the tribe shifted uncomfortably, knowing that something was wrong with their chief, but unable to figure out what.
"My tribe," he said, starting formally. That meant trouble. He never started formally, instead just gesturing to whoever wanted to talk. "There is a stranger within this gathering. And she brings with her news . . . ."