“May I suggest one more thing?”
“Of course.”
“When you send word of the assembly, if you can find a way to do so, send a copy of Colm’s history to each village. In Tirvan, we have forgotten—if we ever knew—much of what is written there. To make informed decisions, everyone should have the chance to learn what you and your advisors know.”
He raised his eyebrows. “An interesting idea,” he said. He turned to his brother. “Could we do so?”
Colm considered. “Not the full history,” he said finally. “But if it was summarised, leaving out some of the details, then, yes, I think we could. There is a copy at the cadet school. I could send a messenger, asking them to condense the last chapters while I begin on the early ones.”
“Write the order, and I will sign it.”
“Do you need your book?” I asked Colm.
“No,” he said, “I have another copy.”
“Thank you, Cohort-Leader,” the Emperor said. I took my leave. Outside, in the thin sunshine, the flag of the Empire—a white horse before a wall outlined in grey and black, against a green background—snapped in the breeze. From my reading, I now knew the flag had once had only the horse as insignia. I wondered when the Wall had been added. I walked back to my tent. I wanted to be at this new assembly. I had helped to shape it, and I wanted to see the outcome.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Elon, the deposed king of Leste, arrived the next day. I stood among the officers as he and the soldiers guarding him entered the camp under grey, afternoon skies. Elon had a thick cloak wrapped tightly around him against the biting wind. A hood covered his head, and he wore fur gloves. I could hear him coughing. Finn snorted. “He doesn’t look much of a king.”
“Have you even seen a king before?” I asked.
“No,” he admitted. “But I expected a soldier, like the emperor. Not a sick old man.”
I shook my head. “Leste barely had an army. Why would he be a soldier?”
Finn shrugged. “I just expected it, that’s all.”
They rode to the council tent. We watched as the effort of dismounting brought on a bout of coughing that nearly bent him double. One of his escorts took him by the upper arm, helping him into the tent.
I walked with Finn back towards the junior officer’s common.
“Who are the officers guarding him?” I asked Finn.
“Majors Blaine and Nevin,” he replied. “I don’t know them, really. I spoke to Nevin once when I was delivering weapons to his section of the Wall. They both held Wall posts until a year or so back when the Emperor brought them south. Blaine commanded the troops that took the palace on Leste.”
“And they’ve been there ever since?”
“Yes. There’s a lot of work to be done there, and Elon had to be well-guarded. My guess is they’ll go back with him to be the Empire’s force behind the king’s nominal governorship.” He grinned. “That should suit them after years and years on the cold Wall. Although maybe not,” he added, “they were born up there, somewhere. They have the same mother, but different fathers, I think. Nevin’s son now holds the garrison that his father used to. Maybe they like the cold. Like you,” he said, giving me a gentle poke.
I twisted away from his teasing fingers, smiling. It felt good to be treated casually. I liked Finn. The somewhat staid and formal character he had presented when we first met hid a well-developed sense of humour and a keen understanding of men. I guessed that senior officers were always the topic of much gossip and speculation among cadets and junior officers. I wondered what they said about Callan and his brothers, Colm especially.
“Quite a job they’ll have,” he said, “bringing the Empire’s ways to Leste.”
“Will they have to abide by the Partition agreement?”
Finn nodded. “There can only be one set of rules. Anything else would breed discontent, both here and there.”
“But men who have never fought and women who have never learned the trades—surely it can’t happen all at once.”
“Probably not,” Finn agreed. “But we can’t leave the men to start plotting rebellion. They’ll have to be brought into the army somehow.”
“What happens to the trading ships?”
“They live by the agreement,” Finn said firmly.” A burst of laughter from a row of tents caught his attention. “I’d best get those men working. See you tonight?”
I nodded, continuing to the commons. I wanted some tea, and I had nothing particular to do this morning. When the steward brought my tea, I settled down at one of the tables. Finn did not even consider that the women of Leste could start a rebellion. Nor had I, I reminded myself, until this year.
Midwinter’s Eve dawned cloudy and cold, the coldest day of the winter so far. Light snow fell. Today, the leaders from the women’s camp made their formal petition to the Emperor, and Callan had asked me to be present.
“Maya won’t like that,” I said to Colm, when he came to tell me.
“But the Emperor will. Callan has the right to choose his advisors, and his audience,” Colm reminded me. “You won’t be asked to speak, but your presence is requested.”
The meeting began an hour after mid-day. I had slept badly, lying awake in the small hours, wondering if Garth had reached Skua. I spent a restless morning, grooming Plover and Clio, attending to small chores. At mid-day, I washed and combed my hair, before walking down to the junior commons. Finn’s orders required his presence at the petition hearing as part of his education, and we had agreed to meet beforehand.
“This could be long,” he said. “Better have something to eat.” I helped myself to bread and cheese, and an apple.
“What’s the protocol?”
“Follow the lead of the senior officers. Stand if they stand, and sit when they do. We’ll be seated by rank with junior officers at the back, so just do what I do.”
“That’s assuming I’ll be sitting with you,” I said.
“Where else do you think you’d be?” He grinned. “As long as you’re here, Cohort-Leader, you’re one of us, even if we don’t make you drill troops and ride guard.”
“I’d be happy to ride guard. I wish you’d suggested that earlier. It would have given me something to do.”
“You still could. I can speak to the officer in charge.”
I shook my head. “No point, now. I’m leaving after the Midwinter ceremonies.”
“Going home? That’s too bad. I’ll miss you.” He pushed his chair back. “We’d best go. Doesn’t do to be late.”
At the council tent, the women had not yet arrived. The Emperor’s chair of state stood centred against the long wall, flanked by chairs for Colm and Casyn. Three rows of seats extended out from and behind them. As Finn had predicted, we sat at the back behind the senior officers, facing a half-circle of chairs.
I heard voices outside then several men entered. I recognized Elon and two of his guards. “Why is he here?” I whispered to Finn.
“To witness the Emperor’s judgment,” Finn whispered back.
They sat in one of the front rows. From behind, I could see the governor’s greying hair, curly and close-cropped. He wore a shimmering blue-green robe. When he turned to speak to his guard, I saw a thin, lined face. He coughed, but not as badly as he had on his arrival.
Other officers came in, Turlo among them, to take the other chairs, until only the Emperor’s chair and the two flanking it remained empty. It no longer felt appropriate to whisper to Finn, so I sat quietly, watching.
Six women entered, Maya, Alis, and Kirthe; the others I did not know. They had dressed in their cleanest clothes, but they looked worn, and their boots were covered with scuffs and patches. The women sat in the half circle of chairs facing us. I hoped they could not see me. We waited.
Finally, the tent flap opened one more time, and Callan entered, followed by his brothers. Callan wore dark grey, with a robe of the same colour, trimmed with white fur. His head was bare. We all stood. The women
glanced at each other, unsure, and followed our example.
Callan sat in the chair of state, resting his hands on the carved arms. Casyn and Colm took the chairs flanking him, and the rest of us sat. When the room quieted, Callan spoke.
“We are here today to hear a petition for the founding of a new village.” At the side of the tent, I noticed someone writing, keeping the record. “Who speaks to this petition?”
Three women stood.
“Name yourselves,” Callan said.
“Alis, formerly of Berge.” She sounded calm.
“Maya, formerly of Tirvan.” Her voice did not waver, but she spoke quietly.
“Kirthe, formerly of Torrey.” All three met the Emperor’s gaze.
“Have you the guild document?” Callan asked.
“We have.” Alis came forward, and Colm rose to accept it. He unrolled it, read it through, then handed it to Callan, who did the same.
Callan nodded. “These are in order.” He looked up at the women. “Who will speak?”
Alis stood. “I will begin.” She took a moment. “In the spring of this year, messengers were sent from the Empire to ask the women’s villages to break with the Partition agreement and learn to fight, to defend the Empire. I, the other five women here, and the thirty waiting at the camp, said no, choosing exile.
“Those who are here today chose to go south, hoping to find a village to take us in, one that had voted against the Empire’s request. We found no such village, but as more women joined us, we began to talk of forming a new village that would be true to the tenets of Partition.
“As we travelled, our numbers continued to grow. We went to Casilla, thinking we might find a corner of the city where like-minded women had gathered, but we could not find one.” She paused as Elon broke into a bout of coughing. Then she continued. “We travelled east to the edges of the Empire, and then north again, on the track that runs along the mountains. Eventually, we found a valley where we thought we could camp and be safe. We spent the rest of the summer there, hunting for game and fishing. We survived.” She stopped. “I will let Kirthe speak, now.”
From my seat at the back, I could not see the reactions of the officers. I glanced at Finn, trying to read the expression on his face. He looked thoughtful.
Kirthe, short and square, looked to be in her late twenties. She spoke clearly: “In the autumn, after we had been in the valley perhaps eight weeks, an Empire’s Messenger stopped to tell us the invasion had been thwarted, and the Empire was safe. He was riding north to the Wall, but took the time to deliver this message to us. We thank the Empire for this courtesy.” Callan inclined his head, and Hedda continued. “We decided then that the time had come to petition for the right to form a new village. We debated sending only the three of us, but in the end, we wanted our numbers seen, so we are all here.”
The Emperor held up a hand. “You are exiled only from your home villages. Why do you not seek work and a home in another village now that the fighting is done? To build a new village—plough unbroken land, clear forest—is an enormous task.”
“For two reasons. First, we have been together now since late spring,” Hedda said, “bonded by our shared beliefs. And we are mostly young, strong, and skilled in many trades. We would prefer to stay together.”
“Why did you not all arrive together?” Callan asked.
Maya stood. “I will answer that,” she said. I watched her closely but could see no sign of apprehension. “One of our number, Willa, from Ballin, died of a fever in the late summer. Three of us went to Ballin first to bear news of her death. Two others were late arriving because they had gone north to take two girls home. The girls were too young to choose to join us, and we would not let them stay.” Zilde’s daughters, I guessed.
“Why did you not send them home immediately?”
“They came to us late in the summer. With the invasion imminent, we felt they would be safer with us.”
“Your plan is to keep this village true to the Partition agreement,” Callan said. “But what if a new assembly changes the law of the land, and the Partition agreement is obsolete? Will you abide by the law, or choose to be exiled beyond our borders?”
“That will depend,” Maya said, “on what the law is. If we cannot live by it, I suppose at least some of us will look for another land where we can live in peace.”
“Exiled,” the Emperor said again. My heart clenched at the word.
“Perhaps,” Maya said evenly. I could see the resolve in her face and hear the iron in her voice. Like Garth, I thought.
Callan nodded. “I would hear the second reason you wish to build a new village.”
Maya glanced at Alis, and then over at me. Alis started to stand, but Maya shook her head, once.
“No one village could take us all, and wherever we were, our beliefs would once again place us in the minority. We would always be waiting for the next time an Emperor’s Messenger arrived, always waiting for the next time we would have to choose exile. We are not prepared to do that. If our petition is refused, many, if not most of us will choose to leave the Empire, sir.” Now I could see the signs of strain in her tight jaw, and the tiniest tremble of her muscles.
“If your petition is granted, and the Partition agreement stands,” Callan said, his voice breaking into my thoughts, “your village will follow it. You would provide food and other goods to the Empire’s armies and bear children by her soldiers?”
“As a village, we would,” Maya said. “Whether or not a woman chooses to bear a child would remain her decision, as it is now.”
An evasive answer, but not one Callan could dispute. I wondered how much of this he knew already from his previous meetings with these women. He bent to Colm, asking him a question. He listened, nodding. Then the Emperor straightened.
“One last question,” he said. “If I choose to grant this petition, I also must decide what land to grant with it. Did you raise buildings at the eastern valley?”
“A few,” Maya replied, “but none of any permanence. Brush and log shelters, for the most part.”
“I will consider your petition, and tomorrow I will give my ruling. Please return here at mid-morning.” He stood. We followed suit. He saluted his officers, inclined his head to Elon, and walked out of the tent, his brothers just behind. Elon followed them, flanked by his two guards. The women left last.
Outside, a weak sun had broken through the clouds. I asked Finn to excuse me, following the path the women had taken away from the council tent. On the far side of the camp, I called to Alis. All six women stopped and turned.
“May I speak with you?” She looked at Maya, who shrugged. They conferred in low voices, then the other women continued on while Alis waited.
I took a leather purse from my pocket as I approached. I held it out to her. “Maya and I held a boat in joint ownership in Tirvan. I leased the boat out for a year when I left. By law, I can’t give her half the lease money, but nothing prevents me from giving it to you.”
She looked at the purse, and then at me. “I’d be foolish to say no. We’ll need money, whatever happens.” She took the purse, began to leave, then turned back. “Thank you.”
The petition hearing had not taken very long, after all. I wondered what to do now. Tonight, there would be some merriment at the junior commons, Midwinter’s Eve being a traditional time of fun and feasting. I thought about the games and song and food I would miss tonight in the meeting hall at Tirvan. Even the littlest babies came, and toddlers fell asleep on benches or the floor as the night progressed. Traditionally we stayed awake long into the night, sleeping late the next day.
Finally, I went back to my tent to nap. I slept fitfully and lightly, disturbed by dreams. When I awoke, it was dark. I washed my face and brushed my hair, then walked through the rows of tents. Already the camp seemed noisier than usual with voices raised in song and laughter. Inside, the junior commons smelled wonderfully of food. Gulian, seeing me come in, poured a cup of something and han
ded it to me. It steamed, smelling of spices. I sipped carefully, tasting cider.
We ate roast pig and goose with winter vegetables, followed by nuts and dried fruits. Spirits ran high. “I’d rather be me than the Emperor, tonight,” Finn shouted in my ear at one point. “He has to entertain the governor of Leste. It’ll be all protocol and politeness, there.”
After we had eaten, the stewards and some of the officers moved the tables back, leaving a clear space in the centre of the tent. Instruments—an elbow pipe among them—squeaked and moaned in discord while their players tuned them, and then a lively, irresistible jig began.
I let myself be pulled onto the dance floor. The dance had steps, and I worked them out after a minute or two—a pattern of back and forth, meetings and partings. No one minded my missteps, and when that dance ended and another began, I kept dancing.
Later, hot and sweaty and thirsty, I stood beside Finn when the pipes changed their tone to something low and mournful. The tent fell silent. One man stood alone on the floor. When the drummer began a low, slow beat, he began to dance, slowly and formally, his hands raised, his fingers gesturing. I did not understand what I saw, but my throat tightened.
“What is it?” I whispered to Finn.
“The Breccaith,” he whispered back. “It is always danced this night, and at Midsummer, to remember those who will never feast with us again.”
I watched the dance, and the faces of the men I could see in the firelight. Some shed unabashed tears. The stewards moved silently among us with trays bearing filled cups. Finn handed me one, indicating with his fingers not to drink. The music slowed, and the drumbeats ended. On a last wail of the pipes, the dancer sank to the ground.
In the silence that followed, Finn raised his cup. “To our fallen brothers.”
“To our brothers,” the tent echoed.
“And sisters,” I said quietly, drinking the toast. The dancer stood to join his friends, and the music began again, now softer, less insistent. The men danced in pairs or small groups. Finn touched my shoulder.
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