Tara Runeweaver's Arc

Chapter 19 of 19

The morning after Bjorn's quiet vow, Tara walked to the yard with the blue stone warm at her throat. She found the elders gathered around the clan birth stone, its cracked dark surface waiting for the next name. Bjorn's mother stood at its edge, her face grave. "The child needs a true name-rune," she said. "Without one carved by the father's hand, the clan will name it for the mother's line. For you, Tara. Not for Bjorn." Tara felt the old fear bite. She had won his words. She would not lose his name on their child. She crossed the yard to the tall carved pillar Bjorn had staked for his bloodline, the ice wolf watching from its top. The rune space below it was bare. She pressed her palm to the cold stone and turned to find Bjorn already walking toward her, jaw set. "Teach me," he said. He did not look at his mother. He looked at Tara. "I will carve it myself. Tonight." She took his hand and led him to the slab. She placed the ice axe in his grip and guided his fingers through the shape of the rune — half his mark, half hers, a thing only they would know. He cut slow. He cut true. When the last line bit the stone, his mother stepped forward and laid her hand flat upon it. "It is his," she said. The elders bowed their heads. Tara breathed out. The child had its father's name before its first cry. But as she turned to leave, she saw the youngest elder staring at the rune — at the half that was hers, the sorceress half — and his mouth was tight. Word would travel. Not every hearth would call this name clean.