Brothers of the Wind

by Tad Williams

  “Ineluki is not my master but my master’s brother,” I said. “In any case, though, you give me too much credit, my lady.” I turned to Ona. “I merely gave Ineluki a message from Lord Hakatri.”

  “Yes, I think I heard them talking about it as I passed your master’s room,” said Lady Ona, smiling. “Hakatri was saying that the message was wrong, that he was not intending to speak to Ineluki this night.”

  “There!” said Sholi. “I was right. This Pamon is a true lord-errant, rescuing the innocent.”

  I was still so bothered by deceiving my master’s brother that I could not much enjoy their banter. “Lord Ineluki can be heedless and contrary, but I am sure he meant nothing ill, Lady Sholi.”

  The mistress of Ravensperch turned to me. “Are you one of those who sees only good in others, Kes? That can be a kind of blindness that endangers you more than those you defend.”

  “I think you see altogether more things in me, Lady Ona—for good and for bad—than a life like mine warrants.”

  “So you did not try to help Sholi?”

  I was uncomfortable. “Are you asking me to speak ill of my master’s brother, my lady?”

  She stared for a moment, her yellow eyes fierce even by candlelight. At last, she reached out and patted my hand. “Of course not. But on Sholi’s behalf, I still thank you.”

  A little flustered by so much attention, I let the mistress of Ravensperch turn the subject to less complicated things, questions about Asu’a and its leading family.

  “I have always wanted to meet the Sa’onsera, Lady Amerasu,” Ona said. “I hear that even those who are not of her own Year-Dancing Clan call her First Grandmother.”

  “Was she truly born on one of the Great Ships?” asked Sholi.

  “So it is said, and so I believe.”

  “And is she as wise as all the tales of her say?”

  I smiled. “Here I will have no trouble speaking. I have never met anyone like her. Amerasu’s patience, her wisdom, her love for her people—for all her kind, even Utuk’ku’s Hikeda’ya folk—are all remarkable. To me, she is like the dawn itself. If you had never seen it, you would think the tales of its magnificence were exaggerated. But the first time you saw the night retreat and the sun rise, you would know you had not understood the truth until that moment.”

  Sholi laughed and clapped her hands. “My lord-errant is also a poet!”

  Ona was again looking at me intently. “And is she as good to the Tinukeda’ya of Asu’a as she is to her own folk?”

  “She has never treated me with anything but kindness and dignity,” I said quickly.

  “And your fellow Tinukeda’ya? How is she to them?”

  I hesitated, since my first reply had been warmer than I might have wished. I thought carefully about what I had seen of Lady Amerasu’s dealings with my own folk. “From what I have seen, she is as good to us as to her own kind. She was gracious with the mortal visitors as well—the mortals whose pleas for help started us on this journey.”

  “Ah, yes. Tell us more about that,” said Ona. “My husband has barely spoken to me since you came, so what brings you here is still much a mystery. I know only that it has to do with a dragon.”

  Lady Sholi wrapped her cloak tighter. “I am not sure I want to hear about dragons—not in the middle of the night.”

  I begged her pardon, then did my best to relate what had happened since we left Asu’a, but I did not dwell too long or too deeply on the death and mayhem our company had suffered in Serpent’s Vale. “That is why we came to your husband, the famous dragon-slayer,” I finished. “My masters want to end the menace of the Blackworm.”

  “I cannot even hear that name without shuddering,” said Sholi.

  Ona patted her hand. “Then let us change the conversation. Tell us more about Asu’a, Kes. As you know, we do not hear much news in our mountain retreat.”

  I told them a few more stories about Asu’a and other places I had seen in my master’s company but did not say much about the disaster in Serpent’s Vale or Ineluki’s pledge. The two women gave me the courtesy of listening attentively, and I even made Sholi laugh a few times, which was quite a charming thing to hear, a flurry of silvery notes like the splashing of a mountain stream. Once she laughed so hard that she had to reach out and clutch my arm for support. I found myself responding, both in my flesh and in my feelings, and could have happily remained longer in such pleasant company, but then I remembered my duties. I drank off the last of my cup, stood, and bowed. “Lady Ona, Lady Sholi, I thank you for your hospitality. My master usually rises early. If I do not sleep a little, I will be small use to him.”

  “Of course,” Ona said. “Sholi, will you walk our new friend Kes to the door?”

  “Certainly, my lady.” She rose to accompany me. A Niskie, I thought as I watched her. Does she think often of the sea? Long for it? Or is she like me, content with where she is and the life she has been given?

  As we reached the door of the retiring room, Sholi smiled and said, “My thanks again for your gallantry. I hope we will see more of you, Armiger.”

  I bowed once more and took my leave, though I was too enlivened by both the wine and the company to sleep for some time afterward.

  * * *

  • • •

  We stayed at Ravensperch for several days. My master spent a great deal of time deep in conversation with Lord Xaniko. They even made drawings, as though working out the plan of a battle—which, I suppose, was exactly what they were doing.

  Ineluki, as was often the case even at home in Asu’a, seemed to lose interest in the planning before too long and took his horse Bronze to ride the mountain paths instead. By the third day we spent on the Beacon he would be out from early morning until almost dark. Ineluki always had that streak of impatience. I think if he had been with anyone other than his brother, he would have insisted we leave, though it was his own ill-starred oath that had brought us to this isolated castle. But even in his strange mood he remained deferential to Hakatri.

  As for me, I spent many hours over that span talking with kind Lady Ona and clever Lady Sholi. I could not guess what they liked about my company, but I was happy to provide it to them, since my master required little from me while we remained atop the Beacon.

  “You must forgive me taking up so much of your time,” the mistress of the house told me one day. “I love and honor my husband very much, but still pine for company. I knew Xaniko was of a solitary temperament even when I first met him, and I knew it even better by the time we wed, but I confess the solitude began to wear on me. In truth, it was Xaniko himself who suggested I invite Sholi to be my companion.”

  “Invite? I was all but kidnapped,” Sholi said with a smile to show she jested. “But the Garden is my witness when I say I found life rather dull in my father’s house and did not resist much.”

  I enjoyed my time with the two ladies very much, but there were still moments I felt myself to be at a disadvantage. I was never certain whether they actually enjoyed conversing with me or if I was an object of interest because Ona was fascinated—or frustrated—with my ignorance of our shared heritage. At first we spoke mostly of the simple things of everyday life at Ravensperch—trying to find a sunny spot for Lady Ona’s garden, or Sholi’s pampered cat Lambkin and his life-and-death battles against aggressive ravens. But sometimes Ona gave me little lessons about our Tinukeda’ya people and their long history, a history usually hidden beneath the shadows of our Keida’ya masters, both Hakatri’s people and Xaniko’s death-pale folk. Of course, my father had told me almost none of this, if he had even known it.

  One day, as I told them of the way the Tinukeda’ya co-ruler was treated in Mezutu’a, I saw Ona’s face grow somber.

  “That is not the worst thing that has been done to our folk,” she said, “but it truly is one of the most shameless. Enazashi could not simply push the Ti
nukeda’ya out, for many reasons—our people are too necessary to the mines and other things Silverhome needs—but Enazashi has made certain they have no power.” The spark in her eyes looked dangerous. “You saw Kai-Unyu—that poor, gelded creature. He and his wife were once the leaders of our folk in Mezutu’a, but now they are nothing but Enazashi’s puppets. Mark my words, a struggle will come one day, and I fear it will be a bloody one. You cannot hold a people down forever.”

  This kind of talk unsettled me, of course, and not least because I feared for the Tinukeda’ya of Silverhome. If such a struggle happened: Enazashi, I felt sure, would be remorseless in his dealings with any threat to his rule. But I also wondered what would happen if such unrest spread to Asu’a and other Zida’ya settlements. I did not think Tinukeda’ya were anywhere near strong enough to overthrow their masters, but I feared what such a struggle might do to the long bond between my folk and my lord’s.

  And what of me? I thought. Surely I would have to side with my master’s people if Hakatri and his kin were in danger. But against my own race?

  These thoughts disturbed me, and kind Sholi seemed to sense it. “Let us talk of something else,” she said brightly. “It is a fine day. It seems a shame to waste it on such sad things. We could walk on the battlements.”

  Lady Ona waved her hand. “You go, dear Sholi. Take our new friend Kes out and let him breathe the air. I am tired, but I will join you later.”

  As I look back now, it seems clear that the two women were conducting a careful campaign, but as has, sadly, often been the case, I was slow to grasp the truth. In any case, Sholi and I were about to be alone together for the first time.

  The day was bright, but the wind was still brisk, and our cloaks billowed as we walked along the walls. Below us lay the forested skirts of the Beacon, and beyond them the hilly meadowlands spread in all directions, lush with the greenery of Renewal.

  “You look gloomy, Kes,” Sholi said. “Are you downhearted about your master and his brother?”

  I was still unused to being addressed by my own name, and it seemed even stranger from the lips of someone I considered above me in station. “I fear for them both, of course, Lady Sholi—and myself too, I suppose, since I am bound to my Lord Hakatri wherever he goes.”

  “Why?”

  For a moment I could not understand the reason for her question, since the answer seemed so obvious. “Why?” I said at last. “Because I am sworn to him, of course. I am bound for life to his household. He chose me for a great honor.”

  “Being his servant.”

  “His Armiger.” I felt a need to defend myself. “The first of our race ever to be given that privilege—to be treated almost like one of the Zida’ya themselves. I can never forget that.” I was nettled she could not understand it. “And you? Could you leave Lady Ona?”

  She gave me a hurt look, as though I had changed the rules of a game without warning. “She would be alone here if I did, with no one of her own kind to share her exile. Xaniko is a good husband in most ways, but he is also full of brooding silences that can last for whole seasons.”

  “So perhaps our loyalties are not so different,” I said, and in that instant I still believed we were talking only about obligations to our benefactors.

  Then, as we stood in the swirling breeze in that high place, she asked me, “So you owe your master everything, Kes—even your chance for some happiness of your own?”

  Surprised by her tone, I looked at her and suddenly realized what I should have seen long before: Sholi was not merely interested in me because I was from Asu’a, a guest to their backwater castle who could tell stories of the great court.

  A surge of feelings washed through me then, but they were as mixed as the convergence of several streams, some muddy, some clear. In the past, I had known a few women of my own race to look on me with favor, but always, I assumed, because of my rarefied position as Hakatri’s squire. This seemed different. I was flattered and moved by Sholi’s interest in me, of course, but also saddened, because I had told her the truth: I could not leave my master without betraying my honor.

  Of course, callow as I was, I saw the contradiction even then. The same sort of “honor” has thrown Ineluki and my master into terrible straits, I reminded myself. The same honor may kill all three of us in the end, and who knows how many more? And Sholi is bound by honor too, though of a slightly different kind. But I only said to her, “The Garden does not always give us what we want in life, Lady Sholi.”

  After that we fell silent, both of us lost in our thoughts, both brooding over things that could not easily or happily be spoken aloud. Lady Ona did not come to join us, and at last we went down out of the wind.

  * * *

  • • •

  “Are you learning much from Lord Xaniko?” I asked my master on the third night atop the Beacon. As might be guessed, I was hungry for distraction.

  “Yes, I am, Pamon—about many things. He has a thousand stories to tell of the Hikeda’ya court, some that amuse, many that horrify.”

  “I was under the impression,” I said carefully, “that we came here to learn about killing one of the Great Worms.”

  Hakatri smiled. “Oh, we have spoken much of that, do not doubt. In truth, I have learned what I need. I expect we will ride out tomorrow, so be ready before the sun drives the Heart from the sky. We will have a long ride back to M’yin—” he checked himself, “back to Hernsland.”

  “So we are going back there,” I said, trying to hide my apprehension. “I will go to the castle kitchens, then, and see what I can get from them for our journey and afterward. How long will we stay among the mortals?”

  “Long enough to kill a dragon, I hope.” But though his voice was light, his statement hung in the air between us.

  I could think of nothing to say at first, so great was my unease at the idea of hunting the worm of Serpent’s Vale or even approaching that deadly spot again. “May the Garden keep you and your brother safe,” was what I finally summoned. The past few days of rest and comfort had allowed me to pretend that we were only on another journey, another hunt, but my master and I both knew that was not the truth.

  As I was finishing the last of my arrangements for our departure, I encountered Lady Ona—by accident, as it seemed. She was sewing in the antechamber outside the castle’s main hall, and she rose as I passed through it. “Armiger Pamon Kes,” she said. “I hear that you and the two Sa’onserei lords are leaving us.”

  I bowed. “So it seems, my lady.”

  “We have enjoyed meeting you.” The “we” she spoke of must mean herself and Sholi, I guessed, since I doubted Xaniko would even remember me. “Perhaps we may hope to see you back at Ravensperch again one day.” She tipped her head a little at that, as if looking to see something confirmed that she had only heard about.

  I bowed, suddenly weary with my muddle of feelings. “If my master’s service brings me back here, it would make me very happy, Lady Ona.” This was not mere courtliness on my part. It had been a rare and pleasurable thing to be sought for my own company, not just because of my master’s high name.

  In the last hours of dark, one of Lord Xaniko’s guardsmen brought my master an earthenware jar, handling it with exaggerated care, as though it contained some dangerous living creature. Hakatri put it in a leather sack and hung it on his saddle. He and his brother were both more silent than usual, as though neither had spent a restful night. A short time later we rode out into the dawning light, the evergreen trees of the mountaintop gleaming around us in the early sun like icicles turned upside down.

  As we rode back along the edge of the mountains the brothers did not speak much, either to me or each other. I suspected they had fought again over Ineluki’s oath. When we struck the wide Silver Way, we turned and followed it northwest. At the end of the day we reached the road that led to Snowdrift, Lord Dunyadi’s house on Birch Hill, where
a small group of my master’s people had settled near the confluence of two important rivers, the Great Redwash and the Mountain’s Milk. To our surprise, we found someone waiting there on horseback.

  “It is my wife’s sister, Nidreyu!” said Hakatri when he was close enough to see the rider’s face, although at that distance she was still little more than a blur in a gray cloak to me. I could hear anxiousness in his voice and understood it immediately—he feared something had happened to his family back in Asu’a. Ineluki looked no happier to see her, although he and Lady Nidreyu had always been so close that many thought they would marry one day, though many who knew Ineluki’s ways did not think that day would come soon. As Hakatri spurred ahead, his brother hung back, as if he knew already what Nidreyu wanted and was in no hurry to hear it.

  “Greetings, Lady,” Hakatri called as he reached her. “I hope you do not bring us bad news.”

  “No, no, you can ease your heart on that account,” she told him, smiling—though I have seen happier smiles. “Your wife is well and so are your daughter and your parents.”

  “Thank the Garden for that. And your own father, Lord Ja’aro?”

  “Well, too, though he complains often about the way the world spins,” she said, “—not to mention the flaws of everyone born since ice took Tumet’ai.” The father of Nidreyu and my master’s wife Briseyu had been known in younger days as Ja’aro the Silent, but if the name had once been appropriate, he had long ago outlived it: as Nidreyu had suggested, Ja’aro had a word to say about everything, and most of those words were unfavorable.

  “May I ask, then, what brings you so far from Asu’a?”