Wing & Nien

by Shytei Corellian

  “You weren’t worried about that, were you?” Nien said, the hint of a grin playing at the corner of his lips.

  There was a shift of emotion over Wing’s features and Nien wasn’t sure if his brother was going to punch him or embrace him again.

  In the end, Wing simply shook his head, and asked, “Are you heading into the festival or are you too tired?”

  “Tired? Yes. Too tired? No.”

  “Oh.”

  “What?” Nien asked. “You aren’t going?”

  “No.”

  A depressing bit of silence followed.

  “Well,” Nien said, “I won’t be staying long. I want to find Lant and I want to get some sleep.” He gave Wing a playful shove. “You should get some sleep, too — we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  “I’m sure,” Wing said, clearly pleased to hear it. “Here, help me unhitch the team. I was about to quit for the day anyway.”

  The brothers released the plow and unhitched the horses.

  Nien took note of Wing’s brown hand as it took one set of reins, and then his own black hand as he took the other, and they fell into step leading the team off across the fields in the direction of the barn. Side by side, they entered the barn to find Joash coming out of the last stall with a bucket of warm milk, leaving the family cow, Jhei, to chew her cud in peace. As he maneuvered the bucket carefully around the stall door, Nien said, “Need some help there?”

  Joash jerked, caught his sleeve on the latch, and almost spilled the milk.

  Nien stepped forward and rescued the milk as Joash unhooked his sleeve off the latch, crying, “Son!” Nien just had time to set the bucket down by the time Joash took him in a full-bodied hug. “You’re finally home!”

  “Taking the milk to the festival?” Nien asked, laughing with joy.

  “It’s for Mother-Yiete, she’s making some sort of sauce.” Nien offered a lop-sided grin as Joash looked him over. “So how are you? How was the trip?”

  “I’m excellent. The trip was not too bad. Probably would have been a bit easier if I’d waited a couple more turns, but it was time to come home.” Nien glanced around him, at the barn, at the eager faces of Joash and Wing. “It’s so good to be home.”

  Joash stood back, taking him in for a moment with a pleasant sigh. “Well, let’s get going. We can talk on the way into the Village.”

  Back in the house, as Wing passed into the back room, Nien stepped up to Reean. “Wing not going to the festival?” he said quietly.

  “E’te,” Reean replied, her eyes darting toward the backroom where Wing had just disappeared. “It started about the time you left.”

  “What is it?” Nien asked, knowing he would not hear it from Wing’s lips.

  “Your leaving gave the people the opening they were looking for — he was asked if he would be taking your place in the Cant while you were away, among other things.”

  Nien’s brow furrowed.

  “The children call him ‘Merehr’ openly. And then a, uh...”

  “What?” Nien asked.

  “A group of Council members and villagers came out here to talk to him. They asked him to heal a child with the nespa fever. The boy died the following night.” Reean searched Nien’s eyes. “He hasn’t been into the Village in over a season.”

  Shades of horror, regret, and sadness played across Nien’s face in equal measure as he glanced across the room through the opening into their bedroom where it appeared Wing was helping Jake look for a missing shoe.

  “Their capacity to resent and worship him at the same time is awe-inspiring,” Nien said softly.

  Reean said nothing, her silent agreement evident between them.

  Picking up his gear, he hauled it into the bedroom where he hefted it onto his bed.

  From Jake’s side of the room, Wing said to Fey, “If you’d leave them by the door like you’re supposed to...” “I know!” Fey barked angrily.

  Nien sat down on Wing’s bed. “I’m sorry,” he said to Wing’s backside.

  “About what?” Wing asked cursorily, on his hands and knees, his head all but disappeared as he rooted through the mess under Jake’s bed in search of the missing shoe.

  “About the position my leaving put you in — with the Cant and the people…”

  “It’s not your fault, Nien,” Wing replied. “Ah ha!” Climbing to his feet, Wing thrust the shoe at Fey. “So,” he said to Nien, “we can talk when you get back? I want to know how it was, what it was like, what you learned. And I promise,” he added, “I’ll listen.”

  Typical redirection, Nien thought before replying, “I’ll hold you to that.”

  Only a short time later all the family but Wing headed off across the fields.

  Nien glanced back once, spotting Wing where he stood, watching them go through the small back window.

  The outskirts of the open fields surrounding Castle Viyer were filling up with families in the process of making camp. Nien looked around at all the activity and smiled. Mid-Kive was a good time. Everything was new, the coldness of Ime giving way to crisp mornings and longer evenings, a hint of warmth in the afternoon breezes. Reean and Joash were quick to set up their selling booth as Nien arranged the family tent behind it before setting off to find Carly and the other members of the Cant.

  He didn’t make it that far.

  “Son-Cawutt Nien, we heard you’d returned.”

  Nien stopped mid-stride.

  Coming up the path were three Council members, one of them the Council Spokesman Grek Occoju.

  “Uh huh,” Nien replied warily as everyone exchanged polite greetings.

  “And how are you?” Councilman Fu Breeal questioned.

  “Very well, thank you.”

  “You are in a rush?” Grek asked.

  Nien nodded. “A little, yes.” Though he would have lied to get out of the inevitable catechism, he was anxious to meet up with the members of the Cant, and hopefully, find Commander Lant.

  “We were hoping to be able to talk with you,” Grek said.

  I’m sure, Nien thought ruefully.

  “We would like to discuss your trip, and,” there was a heavy pause, “whether we can allow you to continue in the Cant or as one of the people.”

  Though it had been a concern, Nien had not seriously thought that, upon his return, he would ever be shunned as Lant had once been. Such behavior seemed a thing of the very distant past — and Nien had not been gone nearly as long as Lant had. So, he was shocked, his mind stuck on the words: Or as one of the people.

  “What would you like to know?” Nien managed to choke out.

  “How it went. What you did there.”

  Nien found himself staring back at the Councilmen. He couldn’t possibly answer that question. There was too much. There was no way to encapsulate all that he had done, read, learned, and felt in a single reply. Or, maybe, he thought quickly, I should lie about all of it. Say I hated it, never should have left, and beg their forgiveness for ever having gone.

  But he stopped himself and took a breath. That was what he probably should do, but there was too much at stake. Their questions and the consequences of answering them all paled in comparison to what Nien knew: that the Ka’ull were at their back door. A part of him ached to tell them, right now. Taking a beat, he held his tongue. That time would come. First he had to speak with Lant.

  So, he said, “That would be difficult to answer.”

  “You went to study, did you not?” Grek said.

  “I did.”

  “What did your studies include?”

  “Many things.”

  “For example…?”

  “More than I could recount — here in the street.”

  “Did you study the beliefs of the Quienans?” Brap Cuiku said.

  The most abrasive of the Council members, Nien tried to keep his tone respectful as he replied, “They’re not a pious people.”

  “And this intrigued you?” Cuiku asked.

  Nien’s eyes moved from C
uiku to Grek and back again. “Intrigued me?”

  “Yes, that they lack a broader perspective than that of the temporal,” Cuiku replied.

  “Broader perspective?” Nien asked, incredulous.

  “That they lack the teachings of Eosha and the other prophets,” Breeal said, as if thinking he were being helpful.

  “I wanted to know what they do believe in and why,” Nien replied.

  “But you just said they were not a largely religious people,” Cuiku said.

  “Not by our terms, no.”

  “Our terms?” Cuiku asked.

  “Yes. They have ideas of their own. I wanted to know what they were.”

  “You were curious,” Grek Occoju said.

  “I was interested.”

  “Such interests can be dangerous,” Cuiku said.

  “Dangerous for whom?” Nien replied slowly.

  Everyone felt Cuiku bristle at the insinuation, but before he had the chance to open his mouth and worsen the matter, Grek said, “We are concerned for the welfare of our people, you, and your family.”

  Nien looked at Grek. The Council Spokesman’s concern was far more warranted than he knew. “I understand,” Nien replied.

  “Do you?” Breeal said. “I don’t think so.”

  Nien did not look at him.

  “Were you tempted to stay?” Grek asked.

  Nien felt his stomach recoil. Reactively, he began to formulate a half-truth to appease them, but before he could speak it he heard a voice that filled him with such relief he almost laughed out loud.

  Lant.

  He turned to saw the Commander coming up the path toward them.

  “Councilmen,” Lant said. He turned to Nien. “You’re back. It’s good to see you again, Son-Cawutt.”

  Nien nodded to him.

  “We were taking a moment to talk with Son-Cawutt about his trip.”

  Nien could see that Lant knew perfectly well how it was going.

  “I had just asked him if he had been tempted to stay in the Big Valley,” Breeal said.

  Here we go, Nien thought. At least Lant’s here.

  Nien raised his eyes to Councilman Breeal, and said, “For a brief time, yes.”

  Breeal and Cuiku shared a pretentious nod of agreement.

  “Then why did you come back?” Lant said. There was something in Lant’s voice. He was giving Nien an opportunity.

  The Council members waited for Nien’s reply. Nien took a still breath — he hoped he wouldn’t waste the opening Lant had provided.

  “I left because I felt like I had to, like I was missing something. Turns out the only thing I missed was this place, Rieeve, my friends, my family, my people. I am, Council members, happy to be home.”

  Nien could see that Cuiku burned to say something to this, but the silence of the other three kept his tongue still.

  “Until we can meet you with further,” Grek Occoju said, “we suggest that you keep your interaction with the people to a minimum.” Grek looked at Lant briefly. “Commander, you will be meeting with us after the festival?”

  “Of course,” Lant said.

  With Lant beside him, Nien watched the three Council members move off down one of the many footpaths smoothed through the fields of the festival grounds.

  “Well,” Lant said dryly, “that wasn’t the least bit awkward for them.”

  Nien didn’t know whether to vomit from nerves or laugh with relief. “Do you think I appeased them?”

  Lant looked at him, his face was grave. “Unlike when I returned, they had nothing to lose by pretending I didn’t exist. You…well, they can’t banish you from your family.”

  Unhappily, Nien understood. “Wing.”

  Lant nodded, adding with a touch of sarcasm, “Welcome back.”

  “Yeah, welcome back,” Nien replied.

  Lant’s expression brightened then as he said, “I just got back myself — but they don’t ask me anymore where I’ve been.”

  “So, where have you…?” Nien started to say, but Lant cut him off.

  “ — Later. Right now, I’m having a small get-together at my house. Members of the Cant are already there, probably destroying it. You might as well come and see.”

  Nien happily agreed and Lant threw an arm around his shoulders.

  The two walked in silence for a few paces, before Nien asked, “In all of your journeys, were you…” Nien paused. “Were you ever tempted to stay?”

  Lant’s eyes were tracing the deepening shadows cast by the mountains across the valley. After a couple steps, he looked over at Nien and imparted a wistful smile. It was all the answer Nien needed, though he would have relished the details, the stories that must have filled Lant’s time spent away from Rieeve, just as Nien now had his own stories from his time in Quieness.

  He and Lant left the abandoned Village streets and headed into the short stretch of fields between the last row of homes and Lant’s home on the northing edge of the Cantfields. From halfway across the clearing Nien could hear laughter and loud voices.

  “Wonderful,” Lant said, rolling his eyes. “I told you.”

  Approaching the house, Lant went around the side and entered through the kitchen to a gust of hot air and even louder revelry.

  Nien threw a grin at the Commander and stepped into the main room.

  “Nien!” someone shouted as he appeared, and before Nien could avoid it, Carly had crossed the room, leapt into his arms, and sloshed warm beer from her mug down his back. Nien just managed to catch her as he took in the spacious area filled with Cant members and the smell of fresh brew.

  Emerging from the floor and walls like inebriated ghosts, Cant members began to leap — or stagger — to their feet, greeting Nien with backslaps, hugs, and roars.

  “Welcome back!” This came from Mien’k who, slamming into Nien’s side, gave him a rare hug. “How are you?”

  “Excellent. You?”

  “As you can see, very drunk.”

  Still in Nien’s arms, her legs wrapped about his waist, Carly grabbed Nien’s face and, staring him in the eyes, said, “You,” as if that explained everything.

  Holding her with one arm under her legs, Nien pushed a finger at a small red cut on her cheek. “Short blade practice?”

  Carly bobbed her head to the affirmative, knocking Nien in the head, as she slurred, “You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

  Slithering out of his arms to her unsteady feet, she looped her arm through Nien’s and dragged him through the maze of people to a side table where she poured an enormous amount of the warm brew into a mug.

  “Short blade practice isn’t the only thing you’re behind on.” She thrust the mug into his hand.

  Nien took the mug, saluted her, and downed half of it.

  “We informed Lant,” Mien’k said, “that we planned on making a wreck of his home while he was off on his latest subversion.”

  Nien looked around at the mess of furniture, food leftovers, and sprawled bodies. “Well done.”

  Beside him, Carly said, “Look.”

  Nien looked up. Across the front room, on one of Lant’s sofas, sat Wing. He had a drink in his hand and he was smiling. Nien nearly dropped his mug. By Wing’s reaction, his face must have gone entirely blank.

  Carly moved over to Wing, sat down beside him, and curled into the circle of his arm.

  To Nien, Wing held out a fist full of cheese. Nien went to the offering as if he were on the sharp end of a fishing line, and took it from Wing’s proffering hand.

  “Have we met?” Nien asked farcically.

  “Shut up and eat the cheese,” Wing replied.

  Carly laughed, Nien bit into the cheese, and all attention turned to Mien’k and Teru wrestling each other into a drunken knot on the large rug at the center of the floor.

  “You did!” Teru howled. “Wrapped in nothing but denial, you stood there” — he grunted as Mien’k got an arm over on him — “insisting that it got in there all by itself!”

 
“Keep going,” Mien’k said with a growl, “and I’ll give you a direct demonstration.”

  One of their feet caught the edge of the great rug and it began rolling them into a tight, awkward embrace.

  “Wonderful,” Nien said. “At least somebody’s having sex tonight.”

  Stepping around the convulsing rug, Nien made his way back into the kitchen to look for Lant. He found him there, opening a bottle of Hiona wine from Legran. Nien raised an eyebrow in question.

  “It’s a special occasion.”

  “Wing?”

  “Huh?” Lant looked out into the main room where Wing sat with Carly. “Oh,” he said with a wink. “That’s my fault. I sent Pree K out to tell him.”

  “Tell him what?”

  “That there’s something I have to tell the Cant. Though they might be too drunk to remember tomorrow what it was.”

  With a cursory glance over the carnage in the main room, Nien said ruefully, “We may have to remind them.”

  “Come on, then.” Grabbing Nien by the shoulder, Lant guided him back into the main room. Clearing his throat loudly, Lant raised his glass. “Everyone!” he called. “We all know why we’re here tonight, except for Nien.” He looked at Nien. “This isn’t just a welcome home party. We’ve been working on a few things while you were gone.”

  Lant nodded to Pree K.

  Pree K came forward and placed a bound package in his father’s hands.

  “Here,” Lant said, handing the package over to Nien. “It’s long overdue.”

  Nien pulled the leather tie free and unfolded the contents. Inside was a leather shoulder mantle meant to be worn over his Cant uniform. Across the right shoulder was engraved the likeness of a shy’teh with a short blade clenched in its teeth.

  Nien couldn’t believe it. “The Cant symbol?”

  “Thought you might recognize it,” Lant said.

  Nien had worked early on with Lant to create a symbol for the Cant. It had turned out to be a crouching shy’teh holding a blade in its mouth. Elusive and timid, rarely seen and little understood, no other valley regarded the shy’teh as sacred except for the Rieevans so that part of the symbol had been easy. But the blade. Nien and Lant had juxtaposed the blade into the image as representative of the Cant, as if to say that hidden somewhere inside the timorous shy’teh was a fierceness overlooked and often forgotten.