I Read What?!

Oh, I remember this chapter. This is probably the chapter that I remember most vividly from this book, from when I read it as a kid.

So let's do this.



So we rejoin Donal as he's waking up. He's in pain, understandably, but he's also free! And sleeping with a wolf. Which sounds quite nice actually. So all in all, he's reasonably content.

His wounds are bandaged, apparently with Evan's velvet doublet. Because Evan is a great guy. (Finn did the actual bandaging.) He does have a pretty nasty scar on his neck, but Finn reassures him that there aren't any marks on his face and no doubt Sorcha will find him just as pretty as before.

You know, I'd probably mind the love triangle less if Sorcha got to be an actual character. But alas.

Anyway, Finn decides to go hunting. As he goes, he needlessly loosens the Homanan knife in his sheath which cues Donal into remembering that Carillon is dead, and think about how bitter that must be for Finn.

Not to curtail this rare bit of empathy, but have you thought about the kingdom that's been kingless for six months? Just asking.

Anyway, Finn's off to hunt. Evan, who'd been playing possum in an attempt to get warm, is available for conversation though. We're told that he looks a sight: dirty, grimy, torn clothing and beard coming in. Donal, of course, blesses the gods for the fact that the Cheysuli can't grow beards. Whatever, dude.

Evan is actually the one who points out the problematic monarch situation and we get a bit of a civics lesson:

“It was.” Donal did not finger the puckered seam. “But I do not see why you did not simply sever the rest of my neck.”

Evan’s mobile mouth hooked down wryly. “I considered it seriously—but I thought Homana might wish to see her new Mujhar. She has not, you know….Strahan took you too soon. There are rumors you are dead.”

“And if I am?” Donal looked at him squarely. “You are the son of a king and know of such things. In Ellas, what would happen if the High King were slain?”

Evan shrugged. “Lachlan would become High King. There would be no great stirring among the subjects—do you forget Rhodri has so many sons? And Lachlan himself has two—by now, perhaps three. There would be an unremarkable passing of the throne from one man to another.”

Donal stared into the fire. “Not here. No, not here. Without me, Homana is Homanan again.” He bit at a torn flap of skin on one thumb. “Perhaps that is what all of this is about.”

...the heck?

Evan points out that this was Strahan's doing, but Donal thinks there could have been Homanans involved, since not all are reconciled to the whole heir situation. I mean...maybe. I might take this more seriously if we'd ever seen a reaction to the revelation that the would-be assassin at the wedding was Homanan. As it is, this just feels like it's out of nowhere.

Donal explores the ruins a bit and realizes that this chapel is a holy place. The runes there promise "the guardianship of the gods to any who would seek it of Cheysuli or Firstborn blood." And in a marvelous sense of drama, Donal tells us: "Even the Ihlini cannot touch us here."

Because this is when Taj screams. Donal and Evan go running, through the forest, into a tiny clearing:

Finn lay on his back in the clearing. His limbs were sprawled in an obscene parody of his normal fluid grace. He stared upward into the misted sky and blood ran from his mouth.

The sword stood up from his ribs like a royal standard. The hilt was gold, lion-shaped; the pommel stone was baleful black.

Finn never could resist a bit of irony, could he?

He's not dead yet though. Yet being the operative word. He's even conscious enough to mock his nephew and have a full on death scene:

As if it had been twisted in his body. Donal felt the wild grief break free. He swore softly in the Old Tongue, repeatedly, with all the pain and rage he felt.

Finn’s mouth moved in a tiny smile. “You have, at least, learned enough of the Old Tongue for that.”

“Su’fali…su’fali…what can I do?”

“Do not grieve, kinsman. It is a warrior’s death.”

“Who?” Donal heard his voice quaver. “Who has done this to you?”

“The boy. Retribution, he said, for the loss of jehan and jehana.” Finn’s face twisted briefly with immense pain; the scar writhed upon his cheek. “He—wanted the sword back when he was done with me. He tried to take it back. But—I am, Hale’s son and perhaps the sword knew me—the magic came, the sword-magic— Strahan was denied even as he put his hands upon the hilt—” Muscles in his jaw stood up. “He wanted you as well, harani—he wanted to slay you with the sword Hale made for you—to prove the legend false—”

And here I'm reminded that when she wants to be, Jennifer Roberson is very good.

Finn wants Donal to take the sword. Donal wants to try to seek the earth magic, but Finn tells him, "clearly, but as from a great distance" that there's nothing Donal can do. He reminds Donal of the rite for a warrior slain in battle. And he wants a promise:

“Say you will take it…” Finn’s voice was just barely above a whisper. “Say you will take it and slay Osric of Atvia with it—to avenge Carillon’s death—”

“What of yours—?” Donal cried.

But Finn's death doesn't matter. Not to him. He's always known he'd die in the service of the Mujhar. He talks about Carillon:

“You never…never understood Carillon…his reasons for doing things the way he did them. Oh, I know—you are young, and youth lacks compassion and comprehension…but—he did what needed doing in the best way he knew how.” Again pain twisted his face. “I—did not always agree—but I cannot dispute results. He took Homana out of the flames of war and oppression and made her whole again. He restored our race to freedom—”

“Su’fali—” Donal begged “—speak not of Carillon now—”

“Should I not? But you are so much alike, Donal—when I speak of him I speak of you.” Faintly, Finn smiled. “There are differences, of course…but you claim the same pride and strength and determination. I pray the gods you use them as well as he did.”

Finn is also able to have claimed to do a part of his service: Strahan now lacks an ear.

Finn has one more request. or order.

“Claim the sword,” Finn whispered. “Make it yours from this moment forth.”

“Su’fali—”

“Do as I command.” The voice was little more than a sound. “I am clan-leader of the Cheysuli….You may be Mujhar, but you are still a warrior of the clan.”

Donal heaved himself to his feet. He stood over the dying man. “Su’fali…I am honored.”

“Ja’hai, cheysu, Mujhar,” Finn whispered. “Cheysuli i’halla shansu.”

“Accepted.” The Homanan word hurt his throat. “Shansu, su’fali. Peace.”

Donal put out both hands and touched the hilt. The ruby blazed brilliant red. He shut his hands in a stiff-fingered, unsteady grasp.

And pulled.

“Ja’hai-na,” Finn whispered as blood ran out of his body. “Oh, Alix…you would be so proud of your son—”

And now, all four of the original main characters are gone.

Goodbye, Finn. I won't say you deserved better, because that was actually a death scene worthy of you. Complete with deathbed speech and personal victory. And oddly, I don't mind that. You started out as the literal worst, but once that demon possessed you or you got exorcised, or whatever the fuck happened in that second to last chapter of Shapechangers, you actually became one of the most compelling characters in this series.

One thing I really like about this is that the sword did, in the end, respond to Finn. Its maker's son. Because Finn's complicated relationship to Hale was a major part of Song of Homana (and should have been in Shapechangers, if Shapechangers weren't fucking terrible.) We know that Hale left when Finn was literally a couple of days old. He has no memory of his father as a father. And he was desperate, in his own way, to forge a connection.

And he's finally got that acknowledgement here. He's not the chosen one, but Hale's blood did give him something in the end, and I like that.

There's something else about this scene though. This is the first time we see a case where the human partner dies before his lir. So, what happens to Storr:

Donal shut his eyes. I will miss you badly, old wolf.

No more than I shall miss you. Storr’s tone was bittersweet. I had much of the raising of you.

Donal smiled. He passed a gentle hand through Storr’s pelt once more, caressed the grizzled muzzle, and knew he could not gainsay him. I will tend him, Storr. I will tend your lir as he is due.

He is deserving of honor— The wolf’s sigh was heavy, ragged; the sound of a life used up. He is deserving of much.

“Safe journey, old wolf,” Donal whispered aloud.

And in his arms there was nothing but dust.

Ah.

And with that, the chapter ends.