Foxfire Read Free Page B

Keirith said.
    His father nodded once as he walked toward Mam. The chief’s confident gait was gone. Now he moved like a tired old man.
    Of all the gifts Rigat possessed, the greatest seemed to be the power to destroy their parents’ happiness.
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    Keirith loitered at the lake, helping Elasoth and Adinn repair the fishing nets. While his fingers tied on new stone sinkers and replaced broken strands of nettle-rope, his eyes followed Rigat, who scampered back and forth to the hill fort with a zeal that belied his earlier defiance. His moods had always been as changeable as the weather in spring, but he seemed positively cheerful now, reveling in his ability to complete his task before Seg.
    The sun had dipped behind The Twins when Rigat made his way back to the lake yet again. But instead of refilling his waterskins, he veered west, following the shoreline to the stream. With a sigh, Keirith rose and followed him.
    For years, he had been aware of Rigat’s power, but he had yet to determine its full extent. He had forced himself to talk about his gift, hoping it would encourage his brother to confide in him. But even as a child, Rigat had evaded his questions, offering either plausible explanations or wide-eyed looks of confusion. After the refugees arrived, he’d warned Rigat about careless displays of power. Until today, his brother had obeyed.
    He pushed through the tangle of alders, cursing as low-hanging branches snagged his mantle. The swollen stream cascaded over the rocks, obscuring all sounds except his undignified crashing through the underbrush. Pale shafts of light filtered through the leafless branches, but he still missed Rigat at first. Then he spotted the faint gleam of his hair and discovered him sitting on a rock. He picked his way along the muddy bank until he stood over him.
    Without looking up, Rigat asked, “Is Mam very upset?”
    â€œWhat do you think?”
    Even in the dim light, he could see Rigat wince. “And Fa?”
    â€œHe’s . . . disappointed.”
    When Rigat winced again, Keirith felt a pang of sympathy. Fa had smacked Faelia’s bottom as a child, and once—only once—taken his belt to Rigat. Keirith wondered if he realized that all of them would have preferred physical punishment to his silent disapproval.
    Fastidious as always, his brother had cleaned the last traces of blood from his face. Thankfully, his nose was only a little swollen. Keirith tweaked it gently and squatted beside him, staring up into the face that could be so expressive one moment and the next, a mask.
    â€œI didn’t mean to cause so much trouble.”
    Keirith had rarely heard such misery in his brother’s voice. He offered an encouraging nod, recalling that moment of anger so many years ago when he had “pushed” Fa. He hadn’t meant to do that either. Or invade his spirit. The power had just poured out of him, as wild as the stream after the spring thaw. He shuddered, recalling his father’s inarticulate terror echoing inside of him, then pulled his mantle closer, pretending it was just a chill.
    â€œWas it like the time you pushed Faelia?” he asked.
    Rigat’s eyes widened, just as they had all those years ago. Before he could deny it, Keirith said, “Tell me how you do it.”
    Rigat hesitated. “I don’t know. I just . . . push. With my mind. And it happens.”
    â€œHow long have you been able to do this?”
    â€œAs long as I can remember.”
    He must have failed to hide his dismay. For the first time, Rigat looked frightened. “Is that bad?”
    â€œNay.” When he had told Gortin about flying with the eagle, the Tree-Father’s horror had terrified him. He refused to scare Rigat that way.
    â€œYou’ve had your power since you were little,” Rigat said.
    â€œAye.”
    â€œBut mine’s . . . different. Isn’t it?”
    â€œI don’t know. Tell me what