An Elegy of Heroes

by K. S. Villoso

  “Please be quiet,” Ichi rok Sagar murmured, his ears red.

  “I think we should go before the rain becomes unbearable,” Sume said. “Everything’s ready, I suppose?”

  Sagar grunted his assent and got up from his seat. Sume wrapped her arms around Kirosha. “Be good,” she said, kissing her on each cheek. “Listen to your father. You too, Dai.”

  “My father is dead,” Dai grumbled.

  She smiled. “You know what I mean.” She reached out to him. “Tell your mother I miss her.”

  He shrugged.

  She set Kirosha on the bench and made her way to the cart. Kefier watched her and shuffled his feet, but he said nothing. After a moment, she seemed to decide on something and turned to him. “You will take care of them?”

  “I will protect them with my life.”

  Sume stepped towards him. She hesitated before reaching out to touch his cheek with the tips of her fingers.

  Tell her now, his mind protested. Ask her to stay. Ask Ing Vahn—Rysaran—to reconsider. Before it’s too late. Before—

  She turned away without another word, and he realized that there were so many other things at play than his own feelings. Her life did not revolve around what he would or wouldn’t say. He watched her climb into the ox-cart, rain dripping from his hair, and wave to Kirosha and Dai, but her eyes skipped past him as if he was nothing but another bystander, a sapling growing on the side of the road.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Come,” Ing Vahn said in a soft voice. “Walk with me.”

  He wanted to say no, and then he remembered who he was talking to, and nodded.

  “Take Rosha home,” he told Dai, before rushing off after the prince. Ing Vahn flicked a parasol open and held it out over him. Kefier glanced at his sedge hat. “Isn’t that a bit much?”

  “Rain does bad things to my complexion.” He smiled. “I must confess—I find great comfort in knowing that fate keeps finding a way for our paths to cross. That your wife should happen to become a close friend and confidante of mine…”

  “I should tell you,” he murmured. “She’s not my wife.”

  “Well, just because neither of you have gone through the marriage rites doesn’t mean—”

  “No. She’s…the child, Kirosha. She’s Enosh’s.”

  To Ing Vahn’s credit, he just looked at him calmly and waited. The man, it seemed, had a lifetime of practice in patience.

  “I had thought Enosh was dead. When I lost him, he made no effort to contact me. But he was well and alive—working as a Kag merchant, or some such. We didn’t have time to talk. Sume was with him and I ended up having to take care of her when he…when he went on his way. He doesn’t know about Rosha.”

  “While unexpected, this news gladdens my heart.”

  “I’m sorry if I don’t share the same sentiments.”

  “He’s your brother. You are angry with him?”

  “I—I don’t know.” Ing Vahn’s words brought an unexpected weight with them. He still hadn’t sorted out his feelings about that, the way he hadn’t with Sume.

  He swallowed. “It doesn’t matter. I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us, Ing Vahn—prince. Sume doesn’t know Enosh is my brother. She doesn’t need to. It would complicate things even more.”

  Ing Vahn regarded him for a moment before nodding. “I apologize if I delved further than I meant. I only wanted to speak with you about this journey she and Sagar have gone to. I wanted to reassure you that I will do my best to ensure no harm befalls them.”

  “You are the Prince of Jin-Sayeng. The rightful king, if you’d let them crown you. You need not reassure others about your decisions, do you?”

  “Believe me, my friend, it is all I do at times.” He folded his arms and smiled. “But I won’t lie to you. I sense trouble brewing on the horizon. If Gaspar, to the north, invades, and civil wars arise from the south, Shirrokaru will be trapped in the struggle. It will be wise if you take your family far from here before then. Sume said you intend to take them to Fuyyu soon, to visit her brother’s wife? Then that is a good place to be. Flee to the Kag if anything happens.”

  When Kefier returned to Kirosha later that day, she threw her hands around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. He carried her back to the house like that. At the gate that marked the threshold to the first place he had called home in so many years, he paused, his hand on the fence. Opi barked. He realized he had not yet decided where to leave her. Everything was falling apart all around him and he was powerless to stop it.

  He ducked into the yard and tried not to dwell too much on that.

  The rest of the days seem to go by in a blur. The ox-driver returned, bearing news of Sume and Sagar’s safe arrival and a little toy drum for Rosha. The dog was handed over to a neighbour’s relative in a rice-farm just outside the city. And then they left, on a clear morning, on the high road leading to Bara. Rosha leaned over the windows as the cart plodded along, her dark curls fluttering in the breeze. She had never left the city before and the prospect of a journey filled her heart with excitement.

  “What does the sea look like?” she asked.

  “Ask me what it smells like,” Dai grumbled. “Like piss and vomit,” he added, when she didn’t say anything.

  Kefier pretended to swat him with a sandal.

  “Mama said it looks nothing like Lake Watu. It’s blue, she says. I want to see it blue.”

  “We’ll see,” Kefier told her, not wanting to promise anything. If she wanted a blue sea, Fuyyu was not the place to go. “Where I was born, the seas are that sort of blue. Brilliant, like the sky, in daylight.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are we going there, too?”

  “No, child. Not this time.”

  “But someday?”

  He started at that. Someday? Take Enosh’s bastard child back home, knowing full well how they welcomed such children there? His heart sank.

  “Maybe,” he murmured. “It’s so very far away.”

  “I don’t mind,” she quipped, leaning against his shoulder. “Tell me about when you were a little boy, Papa.”

  So he did, and told her more stories in the days that followed—from Bara to Sutan on another cart, and then on the little fishing boat that had agreed to take them all the way to Fuyyu. And all the while, watching her gaze out at the sea for the first time and listening to her laugh at the way the waves rolled, the pride he felt was more than he could ever explain.

  They docked at Fuyyu early in the morning, four days after Shirrokaru. Dai stepped out first, a thin cloak wrapped around his shoulders. He shivered.

  “I think our lodging’s across there,” Kefier said, pointing over to the marketplace. Rosha was sleeping, her head on his shoulder, and he had to adjust her weight to look clear ahead.

  “Sent word, did you?” Narani murmured, pushing past him and shuffling her hips. “It better be warm. This weather is detestable. And this stench…! Worse than my son’s quarters, and it’s not even midday. Why is your mouth open like that? Are you trying to attract flies?”

  “I’m just surprised you referred to him as ‘your son’.”

  “Well, you birth a head that size once, you don’t forget it. Now walk a little faster before my hip decides to pop out on you. Messy sort of business, trying to put me back together. Don’t tempt fate.” Ignoring the horrified look on his face, she shoved her bundle of clothes into Dai’s arms and stepped ahead.

  They found the inn—a decrepit, but clean enough place Kefier remembered from when he was last there—and paid down the deposit for a week’s stay. The serving-girl led them to their room and made a passing mention of the festivities before Sakku’s day, which fell on a full moon that season. There were many days dedicated to the Goddess Sakku, spread out over the year, and all were followed by four days of quiet and introspection as the streets were closed to make way for incense and prayers.

  Kefier frowned. The Jins were not particularly friendly towards foreigners, even those who spok
e Jinan as fluently as he did, but nowhere was this more pronounced than in the west. The Four Days of Cleansing, mixed with the Kag settlements evident in those areas, exacerbated the tensions even more than usual. A couple years back, there were reports of a Kag family killed by priestesses after a heated argument. No one was sure what caused it in the first place, but remembering the news became a source of discomfort for him and he often stared at Rosha since, hoping that each day, she would grow up to look more like a dark-skinned version of her mother than anyone else.

  He was surprised to find that there were more Kags in the city than when he was last there. A woman selling mitts in the corner paused long enough to hand Rosha a little kitten, crocheted from yarn. The smell of her hair was oddly familiar. A common perfume, back in Kago—peppermint and sage, mixed with rosehip oil. He thanked her, pulled Rosha away from the crowd, and followed the path leading to the seamstresses’ building where Sume had worked before she left the city.

  A greying woman was sweeping the yard when they turned at the alley. She caught sight of them even before Kefier could say a word, and stood up, one hand on her hip. “Dai?” she asked. “That’s Dai, isn’t it?”

  Dai cocked his head to the side. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember—” The rest of his words were knocked out of him by the woman’s fierce embrace. Kefier stepped to one side, enjoying the embarrassed look on his face.

  “You’re here for your mother, of course,” she said, pulling away.

  Dai glanced at Kefier. “We’ve come a long way, mistress,” he said for him. “Sume had written to Errena about it, but she wasn’t sure where Hana had gone.”

  “That would be me,” the woman piped up. She glanced at Rosha. “Oh, dear me. Don’t tell me—that’s Sume’s little girl, isn’t she? Come here, my dear! You have your mother’s eyes!” She let go of Dai to pinch Rosha’s cheeks. “Where is she? She didn’t tell me much about what was going on in her life.”

  “She was busy. Couldn’t come.”

  “What a shame! Still, I’m glad to see she found a family of her own. I was afraid of how she would take the news that Tetsung had married Hana. They were getting along, you see? Oh, I don’t blame the fellow—they were grieving, thinking they’d seen the last of Sume, and…”

  She glanced at Dai and coloured. “Why, I don’t think I should be speaking like this in front of the young man. You have grown, Dai! Such shoulders. You’ll be a tall man someday. Look, here—what was your name again?”

  “Kefier. Could you tell us how to get there? Dai wants to see his mother.”

  “Of course! What boy wouldn’t? Though I must say, young man, it’s only about time. After what you did…”

  She asked them to come in, apologizing for the state of Mistress Iamme’s anteroom, and disappeared. Dai glanced around them, looking uncomfortable with the whole thing. Errena returned soon enough with some writing on a piece of paper and some sweets for Rosha to take home.

  He thanked the woman and gave the paper to Dai. “It’s about half a day’s journey from here,” Dai murmured, reading it. He paused. “I don’t know if I want to go through with this after all.”

  “Is that so? You could’ve told me before we left Shirrokaru.” But he didn’t press him any further. Rosha hated it when he hounded Dai, and he didn’t really want to ask him who it was he was speaking to this time. He’d had enough of that conversation over the last few years to last a lifetime.

  “We might as well get something to eat,” he said instead, glancing at the noon sky. “I know a place in the Kag quarters.”

  “Oh, I haven’t had roast beef for so long. I hate Jinsein food,” Myar said, sealing that question for the time being.

  Roast beef, mustard, and cabbages; the standard fare at the Kag-style tavern they visited was surprisingly good for what they paid, though the cabbages were doused in vinegar and sprinkled with sesame—a travesty, as far as Kag cuisine went. Other than that, you would be hard-pressed to remember that you were still in Jin-Sayeng. Kirosha stared wide-eyed at the many pale faces, remarking that she had never seen hair so yellow before.

  “I thought yours was so strange before, Papa,” she remarked, tugging at his closely cropped beard. His hair had turned a deep copper over the last few years, though a few golden strands remained. He blamed the hot Jin-Sayeng summers for it.

  Kirosha’s hair, on the other hand, was the same colour as Enosh’s—a dark brown that appeared black from the distance. He touched her forehead and smiled. “My mother was Kag,” he said, without really thinking about it.

  Rosha squealed in delight. “My grandmother?”

  He cringed and stuck a finger into his ear. “Not exactly, though she was raised in Baidh. Her father, or was it grandfather, that was a pure Kag? No, by blood she was mostly of Gorent, but her skin was the same colour as yours. Lighter than most Gorenten. And her wit! My father, your grandfather, was an intelligent man, but he often said he met his match with Soshain of Baidh.” He suddenly felt an old wound at that, one he had thought he had forgotten all these years. He bit his lip and fell silent.

  A serving girl appeared with beers in copper mugs. Dai’s eyes widened. “I didn’t order this,” Kefier said.

  She blinked. “I was told they’ve been paid for.”

  “I would remember if—” He leaned forward and knocked the mug out of Dai’s grasp. “Watch Rosha. And for Sakku’s sake don’t touch that. You don’t know what’s in it.”

  “Perfectly good white ale, if I’m not mistaken,” Dai murmured, peering into the mug.

  He got up and followed the serving girl to the back of the room. She gestured at him to wait right outside the kitchen. Several minutes went by. A serving boy ran out, carrying a steaming bowl of chicken stew and a freshly baked loaf of rye. A woman trailed behind him.

  That familiar perfume hit him again. He blinked as the woman turned to him. He didn’t recognize her until her hand cupped his shoulder, and then suddenly he felt as if he was catapulted back to the Kag, in Cairntown, following her around with gifts.

  “Oh, Kefier,” Lisa said, looking up at him. “You have grown so tall! And that beard! What happened to that dear, sweet boy?”

  “You sent the ale?”

  “I wasn’t sure how to say hello. You and Oji drank barrels of that stuff, back in the day. I barely recognized you when you walked in. That boy with you—”

  “Oji’s son,” he said.

  She clasped her hands together. “So you did find his family. I wasn’t sure what happened to you after you disappeared like that. The awful things that happened there, with the other mercenaries…poor Rok. I spoke with his mother, you know, not long after that incident…”

  “I’d rather not speak about that,” Kefier murmured.

  “But the little girl, Kefier? She looks like you.”

  He glanced at the table across the room. “My daughter,” he said, without hesitation. The words flooded him with warmth. He turned to Lisa again. Her mouth was open.

  “I didn’t expect that. You, a father!”

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “Don’t get me wrong—your kind fathered whelps often enough in Cairntown, but actually seeing you out here, taking your daughter out on a nice, sunny stroll…” She smiled and traced a line along his arm with her fingers. “I didn’t take you seriously when you said you wanted to settle down and have a family. I guess I missed my chance.”

  He pressed his lips together. “That was a long time ago, Lisa.”

  “I know. Six years, by my count.”

  “A lot has happened since then.”

  “I said I know! Kefier, you really think…” She stepped back and almost curtsied. “I manage this place now. Better than what I had. I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

  “I’m glad you received the money.”

  “Don’t think it means I feel that indebted towards you.”

  He remembered their old game and smiled at her. Without another word, he returned to
their table, where Kirosha greeted him with a fierce hug and a question about bears in those western seas. It provided a long enough distraction, and when he glanced up, Lisa was gone.

  It was strange, the difference six years made. He remembered well enough how he had pestered her in those days, and how the other men had laughed at him, calling him a love-struck puppy with the way he hung onto her every word. Oji had found the whole situation detestable. A man, he insisted, needed a proper woman for a wife. And a proper woman didn’t take men into her bed for coin, no matter the circumstances.

  Kefier hadn’t cared. He still didn’t, but a fog now seemed to surround everything that had been Kefier’s life in Kago. He remembered everything, but it felt as if it had all happened to someone else. How could he have ever imagined Lisa could love him?

  And you think Sume does?

  The thought embedded itself into his brain like a hot knife and stayed the whole night through. Only Dai’s announcement the morning after, that he had found transportation to the plains, shook Kefier out of it. A man from the marketplace knew Tetsung and was heading out soon. He was more than happy to give them a ride.

  “What were you doing in the marketplace?” Kefier asked over a mug of hot tea and fried rice, topped liberally with smoked fish and eggplant, bitter melon, and okra stew with fish paste.

  “I wanted to explore,” the boy said. “It’s not like the market in Tilarthan. There, you could get lost for days.”

  Kefier didn’t comment, but he caught Narani’s worried glance. “Dai,” he said. The boy didn’t respond.

  “Is it possible for this thing to take over him completely?” Kefier found himself asking Narani while they waited for the merchant and his cart.

  The boy and Rosha were kneeling along the road, trying to catch the emerald-blue damselflies weaving through the ditch-side grass. The boy was laughing, which worried Kefier; whenever he called himself Dai, he didn’t seem to like Rosha very much.