Furnishings were minimal, finely made but without detail. Filling the entire middle section of the room was a large table. Like the building from the ground, the long table sat no more than a hand’s width above the floor. Looking at the table, it did not appear that there was anywhere for one’s legs to go.
“Sit, please?” Jiap offered, motioning to a row of low, rectangular seats placed alongside the table. The seats were designated by neat, flat, square pads. Adjusting their swords at their sides, Nien situated himself, Carly and Mien’k doing likewise. The floor was open beneath the table and so Nien found himself sitting almost as if he were in a chair.
They had not been seated long before the hall began to fill with other soldiers. The colours of their uniforms alone seemed to designate rank and Nien began to ascertain who was who by where they sat at the table. He also noticed, sitting amongst the Jayakans, two other men. Their dress as well as their physical attributes suggested an earthy, unfussed, but nevertheless menial way of life. As disparate as their presence was amongst the trim Jayakans, it was the way that one of the two kept looking at Nien that unsettled him. Nien had never felt such a gaze before and did not maintain eye contact with either of the men for long, choosing instead to direct his attention to the scene through the windows opposite him that framed the long rectangular hall. The garden was filled with trees, exquisite in shape and colour, smooth domed rocks, and various forms of flowering shrubbery.
Briefly, Nien’s mind wandered back to a small café in Quieness where Necassa had expressed her wishes to visit Majg and Jayak to experience the native valleys of her Cao City friends first hand.
Though exhausted mentally and physically, Nien found himself able to grasp the fantastic reality of the moment. He was here, doing as Natasha had wanted to do, barely able to fathom the events that had made it so.
Jiap left them at the long table and hurried to the far corner of the room where he disappeared through a short door at its end.
“What’s going on?” Mien’k asked, his tone thin with apprehension.
“I assume he’s going to inform his superior,” Nien answered.
A moment later, Jiap reappeared.
Behind him came a man whose height was, at most, diminutive. A fair portion of grey flecked his brief and fairly pointed black beard, but the hair of his head was jet black and cut very short.
The man looked directly at Nien as he entered the room.
Nien forgot to breathe as the man locked eyes with him — eyes without age, onyx black and wise.
Nien nodded to him, but the man made no such motion in return as he sat down, straightening his coat. He set his hands on the table and said something to Nien that he had no way of understanding. Beside him, Jiap translated: “The commander asks: Your presence in our valley is strange, is it not?”
Nien looked at the commander. “It is,” he said.
The commander spoke again and again Jiap translated: ‘“Why, then? And why now?”’
Nien hesitated. Obviously, the man suspected he and the other Cant Leaders of something…
But what? Of being opportunists? Hiding out in the mountains, waiting for a battle to happen and then quickly joining to curry favour? The truth, however, seemed just as ridiculous.
In the end, Nien decided that a lie would be no better than the truth. So, he said, “We are part of the fighting force of Rieeve.” He had no desire to give away that their group was comprised entirely of the Cant leaders knowing that such information might prove an irresistible target should things take an unexpected turn. “We were on a training excursion in the canyon between our two valleys. We heard the sound of battle and joined the fight, as you have no doubt been informed by your...” Nien paused, “commander?”
As Jiap translated, Nien felt that the man was studying not only the words Nien had said but if there were any truth in them.
On the other side of a few heart-pounding moments, the man seemed satisfied and, clapping his hands five times five men appeared from another door with large platters of food in their arms. The food was placed down the center of the enormous table and small, round, silver saucers were set before each seat. One double-pronged utensil was provided and the servers disappeared.
Nien simply stared at the small silver saucers. Everything had happened so fast he felt unhinged, disconnected. His head was spinning and dull grey aches had begun to surface behind his eyes.
Beside Nien, Jiap leaned in and said quietly, “You may serve yourself.”
Nien nodded, asking, “Who is that?” referring to the man who had questioned him and now sat at the head of the table.
Jiap whispered, “He is the Kiutu.”
“Kiutu?” Nien said. “That is his title?”
Jiap nodded.
Once everyone had placed only a small portion of food on their plates and filled large bowls with a clear liquid soup, the Kiutu clapped his hands again — this time only once. A young man appeared through the same short door at the far corner of the hall.
“Kicob,” he ordered.
Jiap leaned over to Nien. “The men now report on our battle outcome.”
One by one around the table, the men abandoned their food momentarily and gave their report. Nien listened carefully as the Kiutu addressed the two men in the rustic leather clothing. The only word Nien understood was ‘Legran’.
From Legran, Nien thought. No wonder he’d felt so uncomfortable beneath the gaze of the one.
The recital continued until finally reaching Nien. Nien looked to the Kiutu, then at the young man at the Kiutu’s side who was recording the reports.
“Were any of your people killed?” the Kiutu asked in Jayakan.
Nien glanced at Jiap for help.
“He is asking how many of your group was wounded or killed,” Jiap said.
Nien replied in the Fultershier. “The men that are still with me are fine. However, we are missing one of our number.”
As Nien said the words he felt his mind dissociate from both the question he’d been asked and his own answer.
How many of his men had been killed?
Killed?
Today, the Cant leadership, his comrades, his friends had slain men. Taken lives.
And Bredo. Bredo was missing.
The Kiutu thanked him with a look and, thinking the Kiutu was done with him, Nien returned to his food.
“Lant Ce’Mandu,” the Kiutu said.
Nien’s eyes shot back up. Had the Kiutu just said Commander Lant’s name? Beside Nien, Mien’k and Carly had looked up as well.
“You know Lant?” Nien asked in the Fultershier, still not sure whether the Kiutu spoke the language or not.
“Yes, I do,” he replied, speaking the Fultershier slowly, perfectly and without accent.
“He’s our Commander,” Nien replied.
“He is a good man.”
Nien noted, out of the corner of his eye, a reaction from the two men of Legran.
“We thank you for your help this day,” the Kiutu said before taking a long sip of soup. He then set down his bowl, and after a few words in Jayakan to the others, left the room.
As the rest began to converse among themselves, a few rising to leave, Nien turned again to Jiap. “The Ka’ull. Have you fought them before? How long have they been here?”
“This was the first battle. There has only been this one. We have seen them in the woods. We found Ka’ull spies among us — but too late.” He looked at Nien. “We drove them back, but they knew where to strike. They hurt us.” Jiap glanced to Nien. “You saved my life. Thank you.”
Nien inclined his head to him. Jiap did likewise, then got up to disperse with the others.
“If I may, Jiap,” Nien said quickly.
Jiap stopped.
“With whom may I inquire concerning our man who is missing?”
Jiap met Nien’s eyes briefly before saying, “He was carried off, taken by the Ka’ull.” He then turned and left with the other Jayakan Commanders.
>
Nien watched Jiap leave, stunned with disbelief, unable to speak, unable to ask how Jiap knew and why he hadn’t said so before.
Carly nudged Nien with her elbow. “What did he say?”
It took a moment for Nien to reply. “He said that Bredo was taken, carried off by the Ka’ull.”
Mien’k and Carly stared back at him. “What?” Nien could only look at her. “What do we do?”
“I don’t know,” Nien said slowly, “but I think we’d better leave here now.”
“And go where?”
Nien drew a breath. “To look for Bredo.”
With Carly and Mien’k beside him, Nien found the rest of the Cant leaders still moving about the field searching the dead for that one familiar face. Joining them, they continued an exhausting search for their comrade. As nightfall began to crest the mountain ridges and all the dead had been accounted for, Bredo was not among them.
Feeling his despair like a great black hole in his stomach, Nien glanced up toward the canyon where the Ka’ull had made their hasty retreat. Somehow, he knew that Bredo was among them. And, somehow, Jiap had known. The information must have been part of the report given in Jayakan to the Kiutu during the debriefing. For what seemed an endless moment, he fought the urge to charge up the canyon in the vain hope that they could rescue their fellow Cant member. But darkness was only a whisper away, and though he felt he might be welcome to stay a night in Jayak, he was not so sure the same would be extended to the rest of the company.
There was only one clear choice: They must return to Rieeve.
Subjugated by the sight and the smell, Nien went with the other Cant leaders as they stumbled their way from the battlefield. A little blood went a long way, and there had been much spilled. Only a few bodies remained, and the Jayakans were already wrapping them tightly in white lengths of cloth.
The small group made their way back up the mountain they had descended into Jayak. “We need to go after Bredo,” Reel said. “The Jayakans said he was taken and we know which way the Ka’ull went…”
“We are twelve” — Nien paused — “eleven. What is it you think we can do?”
Reel stood, resistant. “We can’t leave him. We can’t abandon him.”
Nien leaned into Reel, his short sword swinging at his side. “Don’t you think I want to go after him? Don’t you think this tears at my guts?” Nien’s fists clenched. “But we have to go back. Lant needs to be informed.”
“I’d rather report to Lant that we all made it back,” Reel replied.
“And I would rather eleven return to Lant than none.” Nien rested his burnished gaze upon each of them. “We know now. The Ka’ull are not close, they’re here! We have our people, all of our people to think about. We don’t know how long we will have. Turns, maybe days only.”
Teru turned to Reel. Nien knew that Reel had been closest to Bredo — they had been friends since childhood. He watched as Teru put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Bredo was our friend, too,” Teru said, “but Nien’s right.”
The rest of the leaders stood staring at the ground, waiting in silence.
Slowly, with a pain in his heart he could barely fathom, Nien threw his long sword over his shoulder and began to ascend the hill out of Jayak and back toward their discarded gear near the top of the ridge.
Behind him, he heard the rest of the Cant Leaders begin to follow.
By the time they reached their packs, there was little desire to fill their empty stomachs or even bivouac. Nien set up a short set of guard-duty shifts, and with nothing more in the way of conversation, the rest of them sagged to their tents and blankets.
With his gear strewn about his feet, Nien looked over the camp. Most of them were in a state of shock. He shook his stiff and swollen fingers, aware of the awkward dullness settling over his frame that Lant had once described. Had he the energy, he would have wept away the residue of fear and incredulity that he was feeling.
Ka’ull.
His brain could hardly process the information. The Great Fear, the cause of the dread which filled Rieeve, that drove his people into prophetic frenzy, he and the others had faced, wounded, even killed. The terror was now flesh and blood, very real, but also killable.
Nien thought he might faint. Sinking to his knees, he crawled a short way from his bedroll and vomited into the grass.
Painstakingly, he crawled back to his bedroll and fell upon it. He was still breathing fast, disturbed that he could feel the beat of his heart. He’d never even punched another human being before. Now, in the impossibly short span of an afternoon, he’d taken the lives of more than a few.
How many had it been? he wondered. He tried to remember.
And he could. Each one. Every strike. The fear. The thrill. The rage. The guilt…
Why did he suddenly feel guilty? That made no sense. He refocused his attention. Though none of them had ever seen real battle, their Cant training had made the difference between their keeping or losing their lives. On some level, Nien had always known that no amount of training could ever nudge the truth of what they were learning to do, but he had wondered if their skills would ever be put to the test.
Now, they had.
Shuddering, Nien felt as if his skin had come alive and begun to crawl, trying to separate itself from the flesh beneath.
Bredo…he thought. Bredo’s gone. I’ve lost one of us.
This struck him more painfully than anything. He couldn’t believe it, he just...
Thankfully, exhaustion doused the fire in his mind, drawing him under, as dreams replaced wakefulness, taking him on a journey into a land where he wished blood was any other colour than red and didn’t carry such a wet, malodorous scent.
Chapter 37
Tidings
“W ho is it?” Monteray called from the kitchen.
“Someone for you!” Call yelled back. He’d been shoving a handful of soft-breaded cheese into his mouth when he’d answered the door and was now trying to wipe it off his hands as well as the doorknob.
Call knew his aunt worried endlessly for his uncle in the construction of their home — and rightfully so. Even with a broken arm and a couple cracked ribs, Monteray had continued the work. Jason had been his main help until leaving with the militia for Jayak. So, Call had shown up at his uncle’s the following morning to help in any way he could.
Monteray walked through the narrow hallway to the back door. “Yes?” he asked, slapping sawdust from his hand.
“I have a message for you, Master Monteray.”
Call watched as his uncle took the short yellow vellum from the messenger. He recognized the messenger as the son of a merchant trader in town, only one of the many men who had gone into the Pass. Without dismissing him, Monteray read, his eyes brushing over the scribbled lettering. Call watched interestedly, wishing he could magically read through the back of the yellow parchment.
Upon completion, Monteray asked the messenger, “Has the family been told?”
Call glanced up at Monteray. There was something in the tone of his uncle’s voice…
The messenger only nodded.
“Thank you. You may leave.”
The messenger departed.
Monteray shut the door slowly. “Let’s go back into the main room,” he said.
Call followed Monteray, feeling as if a small wild animal had suddenly been released inside his chest.
Kate looked up as the two entered the dining area.
“You’re scaring me,” Call said.
“Have a seat,” Monteray said.
Call did so reluctantly. “What is it? Is it about the Pass? Are the men coming back? Is it Jason? Did he get hurt?”
Monteray set the vellum down on the table, taking a seat himself. With a deep breath, he placed his hand upon the letter. “Your brother is dead, Call.”
Call opened his mouth but no words came out.
“Our men came at the Ka’ull from behind while they were already engaged
with the Jayakans. The Ka’ull were routed, but we lost forty-seven men. Jason was among those who were killed.”
Call’s lower lip twisted despite his effort to stop it. “Dead?”
“I’m sorry, Call.”
Kate hurried to his side, taking his shoulders in her arms.
Call gazed numbly at the table’s shiny surface and the parchment that lay beneath his uncle’s large hand. “Does my mother know?” he asked, silent tears beginning to course down his cheeks.
“Yes,” Monteray replied.
“I should go home,” Call said, worried if he did not leave immediately he’d lose hold on himself.
“We’re going with you.”
“No,” Call said, surprised at his temerity. “It’s all right. Do you think they’ve sent a messenger to my mom yet?”
“Perhaps,” Monteray replied.
Call nodded. “Thanks.” And he was moving toward the door. He had to get home. Home…It would be so empty, so sad without Jason. How was it even possible? As he blew through the door and into the outside air the grief hit him. Tears were bolting down his cheeks as he began to run. He could barely see, choking and crying, coughing and gasping as he ran, his breath tearing through him.
Call slowed just before hitting the front door to his house. His breath shook his chest. He swiped at his eyes, opened the door. Inside, his mother sat in a chair in the far corner of the main room — her bent posture needed no explanation. He wanted to sink to his knees in front of her and bury his face in her lap. Instead, he moved across the room and remained on his feet, draped his arms around her shoulders and cradled her head in his belly. He was still holding her when he heard Kate and Monteray step quietly in through the door behind him.
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