“Yes. His name is Wing. The Council keeps hounding me in regards to him. Their belief in him as the Leader is strong.”
“Of what family are they?”
“Do you remember my mentioning a man by the name of Joash?”
“Of course,” Monteray replied. “He was…generous…when you returned to Rieeve.”
Lant nodded. “He was practically the only one who accepted me, without judgement, upon my return. He’s a fine man. One of the finest I’ve ever met. He and his wife were kind to me and Pree K, and though I have no proof of it, I think it was him that helped change not only the Council’s mind about me all those revolutions ago, but my own father’s as well.”
“He must be a man of some weight then, in Rieeve?”
“He’s the Mesko Tender — so yes. When he speaks not only do the trees listen but people as well, including the Council.” Monteray could tell Lant was briefly back in Rieeve. “Anyway, what about here? How is your militia?”
“Ragtag,” Monteray admitted. “Jason is coming along, though. He has a good head for order, tactics, and diplomacy. Troy Naterey — the current leader of the militia — sees promise in him as well. I have plans to turn the militia into something more like your Cant, but igtakey, netaia, they are a difficult rabble.”
Lant laughed affectionately. Rieevans were a very different breed from Legranders. Strict hierarchal observation of detail, discipline, and respect were paramount in a Rieevan’s life, and that framework held within the Cant. But Legranders were wild, carefree, and hated to be ruled. The fundamentals of military conduct being such a complete anathema to a Legrander it would take a very special hand to organize a fighting force among them. Looking upon his friend, Lant knew that Monteray had the touch: He had before and could again get the people of his valley to work together.
“So, to work, then,” Monteray said. “Let me retrieve some parchment.”
The two men holed-up and worked for days. In her gracious style, Kate kept them fed, urged them to sleep, and scolded them into movement when half a day had passed and they had not so much as leaned away from the writing table.
On Lant’s day of departure he left gifts of Rieevan paper, wine, and fine-tipped brushes, hugged and kissed Kate, wished Tei well with her latest boy-crush then walked out to the river with Monteray.
“Thank you, again, for all your help,” Lant said.
“It’s a start, but you’ve got a lot to do putting all that in order,” Monteray replied, nodding at the rolls of paper and parchment in a long leather case slung around Lant’s neck. “The wording of the proposals alone will take turns.”
“As always,” Lant said, “I am indebted.”
Monteray looked upon his truest, trusted, most loved friend. “You come up with an idea that could save all the valleys from a fate such as Lou and Tou have suffered, and thank me?” Monteray shook his head in mock castigation. “Typical.”
“Well, don’t get too enamored. It’s just an idea. To work, it will require the right people in every valley to agree to it.” Lant paused and met Monteray’s eyes — eyes so similar to his own that he felt as if he were looking at himself in a mirror. “I no longer believe you and I alone can take on the world and all of its injustices.”
A grin tipped Monteray’s handsome mouth. “Do you not, now?” He raised an eyebrow. “That’s exactly what you’re doing.”
“No — I have no such grand thoughts anymore,” Lant said, shaking his head. “I’m just trying to protect my small part of it.”
And that could save us all, Monteray thought.
“Well, when do we meet again? It has been far too long since I’ve graced Rieeve with my disagreeable presence.”
“And my home has missed it. Once I get a functional proposal drawn up, I’ll be sending one of my Cant messengers to you.”
“Until the next time, then,” Monteray said.
“Until the next time.”
They locked hands and forearms. “To us.”
“To us.”
It was a heady — and to be honest — drunk-induced salute to one another from their long-ago journey together. Though it no longer shot them through with lusty jaunts of bravado it touched upon the deep feelings instilled in memories shared by no else in their lives except the other.
With smiles telling and sad, they embraced, and Monteray stood where they parted, watching as Lant headed down the muddy banks of the river and crossed the short bridge leading to the mountain pass on the other side.
Chapter 32
Sadness and Serenity
M ore than once over the next few turns Nien found himself seeking serenity and quiet near the grounds of SiQQiy’s palace. Even after so many turns now in the Big Valley, he still wished for a glimpse of her, the idea of a single ruler continuing to pique his curiosity. Marveling at the palace, he found strength in its grandeur and peace in its beauty. He would gaze upon it for long periods, tracing many images, memorizing frame by frame the appearance of it at dawn, dusk, the light of the stars, against the glimmering glow of a full moon, in shimmering beds of snow crystals. He would miss it, he would miss its comforting presence.
Since that last night in his apartment with Necassa and the conversation they’d had with Mshavka it had become evident he would be going back to Rieeve. As much as he loved the intellectuality of Quieness, he missed the simplicity of Rieeve. As much as he loved the vast halls and buildings of Cao City, he missed the open fields of Rieeve and the closeness of the great mountains. He could not abandon all he had started back there. Though the Council had closed his school, there was still, in the back of his mind, the hope that he might find a way to open it again. And the Cant. If the Cant did not need him, he needed it, and he needed his family. The Preak were an interesting people, but he was not one of them. More than ever he now knew it: his similarity with them was only skin deep.
And then, hovering above and lurking beneath, was the rumour about Tou. Tou was close to Rieeve. Tou was just above the Ti-Uki Confluence. Just above Rieeve. If the Ka’ull had plans for Rieeve, if they chose to invade, there would be nothing Nien could do to stop it. But he could at least be there, with his people, with his family when it happened. And maybe, with his voice now echoing Lant’s with the knowledge of the Ka’ull and their movements, perhaps they could get their people to leave or hide. Either way, he would be going back. And soon. As soon as the snows broke.
Nien purchased a few favourite books to take back with him and returned the rest of the books in his apartment — with the aide of the apartment owner’s hearty mule — to the library. He’d finished the work on the apartment and received a grateful thanks from the gentlemanly owner. He did not see Necassa the day of his leaving and thought it fitting. It had been what it was. Though it was difficult to touch at the moment, he knew that someday he would treasure all of their time together: the long walks, especially the talks, the day in the waterfall at the palace, the mornings in the library, and even that last painful night.
On his departing day, he passed back through the streets of Cao, loving it, hating it, knowing he would miss it, and hoping he would not. The snows had broken and the streets of Cao were already beginning to dry of mud. He left the city behind and began the first long ascent into the Uki mountain range.
He’d summited three separate ridges before pausing to catch his breath. The great valley already lay far below him and on its sunrising edge...
Cao City, he said to himself. How strange it was to look down upon it now and know it so intimately, especially as he recalled the fear and wonder it had set upon him that very first day.
A deep melancholy filled his stomach. It felt as if he was leaving a chunk of himself in the city and he wondered briefly if he would ever see it again and when that might be.
Stuffing his regret and longing aside, Nien turned and continued up the mountain. He had a task ahead of him now that he hoped he was equal to. The snows were still high in the mountains and at some point, he’d
have to pass through them. Also, he was rather out of shape having spent most of his time in Quieness in the library or reading in his apartment.
Three days on and the cold mountain weather was putting Nien’s outdoor skills to the test. The large patches of deep snow in the higher elevations had him transversing the mountain like a herd animal. Braving rough sections at intervals, Nien found that tunneling beneath heavy, low-hanging branches of evergreens offered shelter warm enough that a fire became more of a companion than a necessity. Of greater companionship were the books he’d brought with him. Heavy as they were, he’d not seriously thought once in the arduous going of leaving one behind.
As the third night drew in, Nien picked a handsome stand of tall evergreens and after making a few brief preparations for the night, sat up against one of the heavy tree trunks and laying his head back, rested the book he’d been reading upon his chest and looked up into the night sky. He suddenly couldn’t wait to be home. He couldn’t wait to see his mother and father, to see if Jake had grown or if Fey had any new words she wanted to share with him. And Wing. How much he wanted to talk with Wing. Conversations with his brother could dig up the very earth beneath them or take them past the stars. In Quieness Necassa had been a lifesaver. Their talks had allowed him to explore what he was learning. But she had not shared his background. She had not been able to help put it all into perspective with his past, his present, and what he hoped would be his future. Wing could do that. Wing understood.
Upon the growing twilight rose the first star of night. Bright and brilliant, startling in its early presence above the horizon, Nien gazed at it, wondering if Wing were still out in the fields and wishing he were already home so he could walk out the door to meet him coming in with the horses.
Though Wing had been less open with him in the past few seasons, Nien had never doubted that Wing knew the paths of his thoughts even better than Nien himself did.
So, he’s probably wondering if I’m even coming back, Nien thought.
“But I am, brother,” he said. “I am.” And in the comfort of that reassurance Nien rested his eyes once more upon the glowy white rays of the evening star…
Just a few more days.
In Rieeve, beneath a sky spectacularly heavy with stars, Wing struggled for the hundredth time and failed at last to keep his eyes from the shining black sea overhead.
That’s appropriate, he thought. The ocean is up and the sky is down, everything’s been backwards since Nien left. And now, I may be gone before he returns — if he returns — and I may never see my brother again…
Of course, the family was expecting Nien anytime. He had said he’d be returning once the mountain passes had broken free of snow. Which was the same thing Wing was waiting for in order to leave Rieeve. He’d begun his work in the fields earlier than he ever had at the end of Ime, plowing as soon as the team could pull through the half-frozen dirt, to lay down as good a crop as he could for his own family as well as those village families who bought from them. He had already been able to plant Teeana and now, the past few days had given him the chance he needed for Challak. Cloudy and warm, he’d placed three rows of the nutty grain in the past two days. Though there were still great swaths of snow in the rocky crags in the heights, Kive was certainly upon them, the Kive festival not far out. Small wild plants and weeds were up and bright green, gleaming in the light of the night sky.
It seemed as if it had been such a long time since Nien had left that Wing had wondered a thousand times, in despair, if Kive would ever come. The family was excited for Nien’s return. But they did not know of the fall out between Wing and Nien before Nien had left. However obvious it was that something had gone wrong, Wing had never said anything about it.
Trapped between the horizons of a flipped world, Wing’s emotions swung wildly between elation and anguish. It was already past the Ime-Kive season break. If Nien did not return in time for Kive fest, what would that mean? Were Wing’s worst fears true — was Nien not coming back?
But did that even matter now? Another turns worth of work in the fields and Wing would begin to squirrel supplies away in the Mesko Forest for his departure.
“Oh, Yosha,” he swore bitterly. The thought of his family losing both himself and Nien was almost unbearable. If Nien did not return…
Perhaps, Wing thought, I should wait a couple more turns, to see if he does. That would make my leaving at least a little less hard.
But every day he put off going lessened his resolve and it was already like a huge grey shadow hanging over everything. He carried it with him into the fields. It was all he could think about in the house at night with the family. He hadn’t been able to sleep for well over a turn. Ever since the first sunlight had made an inroad on the snows, ever since the first streams had started waking, crying joyfully, noisily with a fresh surge of bone-chilling water, the last bastion of Wing’s reprieve had fallen. There would soon be no more excuses for not leaving…
Except for depriving the family of both of their adult sons.
But what if it isn’t that? Wing asked himself. What if I’m a coward after all? Using Nien as an excuse not to leave?
Needing relief, Wing spread his feet and arced his back, and face up to the night sky closed his eyes against the stars. There, he floated, letting his body go, letting his mind go, losing himself in the watery realm of sky above even as he fell through the empty space of earth beneath.
Here, lost, Wing saw a picture in his mind as clearly as if his eyes were resting upon it. High in the mountains above Rieeve, hunkered down beneath the branches of a tree, was Nien. A book was resting against his chest, and his eyes, glimmering out from between the branches, were trained up, up, up to a point in the sky.
Wing opened his eyes and above him to find a single glowing point —
The star O Rih Us.
Wing felt the knot in his chest unravel, the sight of O Rih Us anchoring him in the world — the part that lay beneath as well as the one that soared above — and he knew with certainty in that moment that he’d seen Nien, that his brother was there, in the mountains, and that he was, in fact, on his way home.
Stress and grief unhitched from Wing’s throat. He laughed and cried, and in that bright, brief instant there was nothing but light against the black.
Nien was coming home.
Chapter 33
Welcome Back and Rebuttal
“J ake? Can’t be.”
Jake whirled to see Nien standing in the doorway. “Nien!” he howled.
Nien dropped his duffel and shoving Jake over to the new Mesko wood table, grabbed his little brother’s hand and dropped their elbows.
Jake grinned furiously.
Nien let him wrestle his arm back briefly, then easily pinned him.
“One of these days,” Jake said.
“You’re closer,” Nien admitted. “I’ve only been gone a season and you’ve grown four at least.”
Jake looked away to hide his pleasure, saying, “Look at Fey. She broke her arm.”
“What happened?” Nien asked her.
“A peeiopi pushed me.”
Nien chuckled. The egg-laying, nearly flightless birds were hardly creatures of vigorous territorial instincts, but neither were they known for keen eyesight. “Well, I’m sorry,” he said.
“Son.”
Nien looked up to see Reean.
Moving across the room, she clutched his face in both her hands and held it and kissed it until he could feel her tears wet his cheek.
Behind Reean, Fey looked up at Nien with eyes so shiny and open they threatened to ruin his heart.
Brushing tears from the bottom of her chin, Reean released him and said, “Welcome home.”
Nien picked up Fey as he glanced around at the many not-so-neatly packed bundles. “Looks like festival time.”
As if suddenly remembering she’d been in the midst of packing, Reean nodded. “Yes. Do you want to go? We can go a day or two late if you want to rest.”
“No, I’m fine to go.”
A moment of silence fell then — a quiet exchange between mother and son.
Reean said, “Wing’s out in the fields.”
Nien’s brown eyes glinted. “What a surprise.”
Giving Fey a quick hug before setting her down, Nien stepped out the door and, sure enough, he spotted Wing far out in the fields, moving along behind the family’s plow team.
Hoping to surprise him, Nien set off. A rising euphoria quickened his pace as his feet passed over the sunlit dirt.
Drawing near, Nien could hear Wing singing. It was an old song Reean had sung to them as children — one that not many villagers still knew:
“Tai mai cavana
I fla to veeahl
Ma ta ma ta no’va-hm
A veerta flee-ehn teeana
I pohdre Vasteel a mear hottovonee…”
As Nien walked up behind him, he raised his voice and finished the verse: “Ma ta ma ta no’va-hi min!”
Wing stopped with a halting jolt like he’d been shoved between the shoulder blades. The team dragged him forward a few more steps before he got them reined in.
Nien stopped, too.
It seemed to take forever for Wing to secure the plow, drop the reins from his shoulders, and turn around.
Nien could hardly contain the moment of Wing’s eyes meeting his. Never had the sight of any face been so sweet.
“Nien,” Wing said.
“Weed Farmer.” Wing smiled.
“Hi,” Nien said.
“Hi.”
Wing’s lip twitched. Nien’s hand trembled. And then Wing made a shrugging motion with his shoulders and Nien found his feet moving toward his brother, crossing the distance between them in a few heart pounding steps before he took Wing in a bone-crushing embrace.
The same height, they met at knees, hips, chests, and chins on shoulders.
Wing laughed and Nien felt washed clean with it.
“So,” Wing said stepping back, looking Nien over, “you came back.”
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