by Jane Baskin
“You were on your ass in my rooms just last night.” To Kiome-ye: “He’s a lush. Careful he doesn’t throw up on you.”
Childish, but effective. Kiome-ye, laughing.
And leaving.
Noar: “Gods alive, Nayan! What are you doing? I was getting somewhere.”
“Do you know who that is?”
“Of course I know. We practically grew up with her.”
“She was my partner at harvest. Last year, too.”
“So what? Everyone partners up at harvest. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“What if it does?”
Noar, pausing. Stepping back a pace. A look of incredulity across his face, then amusement. “All gods, Nayan. You’re not falling in love with your harvest partner … uh … are you?” Then laughing outright.
Nayan, becoming furious. Pushing Noar against the wall. “You cheeky bastard. I can feel whatever I want for whomever I want whenever I want.”
“Shit, you are falling in love with your harvest partner.”
“I like her. How much is none of your business.”
Noar, still laughing. “How much is everyone’s business, apparently. You’re so obvious, Nayan.”
Nayan’s fists, balling.
Che, noticing from a short distance away. Coming over.
Noar: “Settle down, Nayan. You have no claim on her.”
Nayan, drawing a shoulder back. Almost ready to swing on his brother. Why am I so mad? I don’t like her that much, do I?
Che, grabbing his arm. “Gods alive, Nayan. Not here.” Steering him – them – toward a balcony. Doors open even at this time of year; the press of people, making the great hall uncomfortably warm.
Out on the balcony, Che: “What’s going on between you two?”
Noar: “Nayan thinks I’m moving in on his girl.”
“Knowing you, you probably are. Why?”
“To tell the truth, I had no idea. Nayan’s falling for his harvest partner.” Laughing, again. Nayan, stiffening. Taking a step closer to Noar. Che’s arm, across his chest. Holding him back.
Che: “So what if he is, Noar? Lots of harvest partners get together later. Some of them even get married.”
“Oh gods alive, Che.”
Nayan’s arm, shooting out before Che could catch it. Before he – or Noar – could even see it. A fast, wicked jab connecting with Noar’s jaw. One of those bizarre moves of his … so fast. (Unless an observer could peer through time.)
Nayan: had been right. Noar: already drunk. Now: on the balcony floor, dazed.
Drawing attention from party-goers near the balcony. Including Dar-agan and Ilia-te. Both, coming out onto the balcony.
Dar-agan: “What in all the hells is going on here?” Ilia-te, helping Noar stand up.
Nayan, not saying a word. Still glaring at his brother. Finally Che, managing an explanation. “Noar’s flirting with the wrong girl.”
Ilia-te: “Noar, you fool. Leave one or two for your brother.”
The fight: over then. Che, following Nayan as he strode through the great hall, headed outside. “You’re not going to leave over this, are you?”
Nayan, clutching a balustrade outside the main door. Seething.
“What – ? Nayan, who is this girl?” Trying to remember Nayan’s harvest partner … oh, right. The same girl as last year. What was her name?
Nayan, through his teeth: “It’s not about the girl.”
“What’s it about, then?”
“I honestly don’t know.” The anger, finally dissipating.
Che, keeping his friend company in the cold. Not saying anything for a while.
Finally: You know, Nayan, your little brother can sure cock things up.
He certainly can, can’t he?
5.An Unlikely Pairing
Brothers. So close … and so far apart. Loving and hating at once.
Nayan, standing out on the balcony attached to his rooms. In underclothes, wrapped in a blanket. Staring out over the little secret garden, the cliffs and sea beyond.
Had returned from Rhymney Province late, the night before. Had said a fond goodbye to Kiome-ye, the morning before. She, then in day clothes, her hair falling in a braid down her back. Still beautiful.
Had searched for her at the party. Found her eventually, with a group of her friends. Something awkward between them, then. Had she seen his fight with Noar?
Never mentioned it. Stayed with her friends the rest of the night.
A disappointment to Nayan, who had hoped to spend the night in her bed.
The next morning, found her at the communal breakfast. Asked her to walk. She, agreeing. Walking then, close together, on the back lawn behind the castle.
Without campfires, without ale; Nayan, feeling a little awkward. “I’m sorry about last night.”
Kiome-ye, seeming surprised. “About what?”
“Did you see … ?”
“You and your brother? Yes, I saw.”
“Oh.”
“You’re not … you’re not saying that was over me … are you?”
“Uh … actually, it was. Well, mostly.”
“I’m sorry Nayan. I wouldn’t for all the world come between brothers.”
“To be honest, it’s not really you. My brother and I – we’ve had a few issues. Especially lately.”
Kiome-ye, laughing. Reminded him a bit of his mother’s trilling laugh. “I guess brothers often do. And Noar … he’s known to be … uh …”
“Reckless? Selfish? Impulsive?”
More laughter. “All the heavens, Nayan. You and your brother do have some issues.”
“We’re actually very close. It’s just … lately … ”
“Well, please don’t make any of those issues about me. It’s not worth it, Nayan.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s only harvest.” Kissed him, then. A long, tender kiss tasting of winter winds. Watching her walk back into the castle, Nayan: feeling like he had dropped something. Couldn’t remember what, or where.
Now, out on his balcony in a blanket. A dark load of distress on his pale face. His hair, twitching – in the wind? – on its own? Yes, brooding.
I’m only twenty-nine. Years away from marriage age. I’ve had my share of women. Why am I so irritated?
No longer that disappointed over Kiome-ye. There would be another harvest, next year. And if not her, someone else. Nayan: always had a partner. Many young women, seeking him out. Both brothers; handsome young men. But Nayan: considered the more exotic of the two. Something other-worldly about him. And northern girls: eternally curious.
It’s Noar. I’m angry with him. Maybe it’s him I’ve been angry at all along. Not even the girl. Just him. I love my brother. But all gods! He makes me mad.
Turned to go back inside. Stopped at a flash of red at the corner of his eye. Turned back. Stretched out over his balcony, scanned the castle wall along its length. There, see. The hostage girl, Zoren-te, out on her balcony, toward the far corner of the building. Like him, wrapped in a blanket. Her hair loose, reflecting the sun.
Even at a distance, he could tell. She: weak, thin. Felt – what was that? Curious? Then nothing.
Had breakfast, went to the practice yard for some hand-to-hand work. Met by Che, a good partner. Challenging.B reathing to hard to speak out loud … so their conversation, from their minds.
Nayan: Where did you go, after we went back inside?
To get some ale. When I turned around, you were gone.
I went to find Kiome-ye.
Did you?
Yes. But it was … awkward.
Did she see the fight?
Yes.
Oops. Grinned.
What about you?
I bumped into Shar-ye. She was my harvest partner this year.
What happened?
None of your business. Another grin.
Nayan, rushing him, scoring a point, getting him down. Just a skill move, using his strength. (Nayan never used h
is gift on the practice yard) Lucky bastard. Grinning back.
Back inside, for tea. Neither especially tired, sweaty. The morning: very cold.
Che: Do you suppose they’ll raid in the spring this year? Like usual?
Hard to tell. Noar and I did some damage. And according to Andor’s riders, the South is pretty occupied.
I know. My cousin told me.
Your cousin?
You know I have family in the South.
Who doesn’t?
You don’t. Very few lords do, except by marriage.
Please don’t mention that. A sad smile.
Your parents thinking of bartering you off in some useless alliance, huh? The ones that never work? That grin.
I hope not. You’re right; most of the marriage alliances aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on. But … I guess it’s always a possibility.
Che, shaking his head. Chuckling. I don’t envy you, Nayan. I’m so glad I’m just a Person. An alliance with me would mean nothing but a small piece of land and warm ale. I can marry whomever I choose.
Well … I doubt my parents would ever do that to me.
Why not? You’re right, the marriage alliances don’t mean much, but the lords keep trying. The North wants peace, the South wants gell. They’ll keep at it until they get what they want, don’t you think?
I try to never think of those kinds of things.
While Nayan was busy not thinking about marriage alliances, his parents: thinking of little else.
Ilia-te to Dar-agan: “I agree. I’d hate to force Nayan into anything. Noar ‘d just take it in stride and keep a stable of mistresses on the side – all heavens help his poor bride when that day comes – but Nayan, he’d take it to heart.”
Dar-agan: “You’re right.” A soft laugh. “It’s interesting. Nayan is the more dangerous of the two, but the more sensitive as well.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s more dangerous. He feels things deeply, love. And he can focus those deep feelings into deadly force.”
“Hmmn.”
“But it needn’t be forced. The girl is beautiful – or will be again when she’s fully recovered. The ladies tell me she’s coming to accept her position; not fighting and spitting any more, maybe settling down. Perhaps – when she’s well enough to be restless, Nayan could give her a tour of the castle, the grounds.”
“Nayan tried to kill her.”
“He also apologized to her, I’m told.”
“I wouldn’t be too ready to forgive someone who tried to kill me.”
“What choice does she have?”
Ilia-te: like an iron trap when she seized upon an idea. Especially the outlandish ones. Persistent.
Commanded a discussion with her son, in his rooms. Sat with him before a roaring fire, shared some ale. After a silence: “Nayan, it would please me … if you would show the hostage around.”
“Mother … ”
“I know you don’t like her. And I agree with you, her presence here is more than inconvenient. But for now, we’re stuck with her. It’s only right to let her prison be a pretty one. She needs to get out of those rooms.”
“Let Noar take her around.”
“If possible, she hates Noar even more than she hates you. Besides, he’d just try to seduce her.”
“So what? Maybe he’d relax her a bit.”
Ilia-te, a mean eye turned on her son. “That’s unfair, Nayan. And demeaning to our – guest. Sex isn’t the answer to everything.”
“It is for Noar.”
“But it isn’t for you, and you know it.”
A sigh. “I don’t know what you want from me, Mother.”
“Listen to me. Think. What would have happened if you had done as your father asked – if you had cut her head off when she was unconscious on the ground?”
Nayan, turning away quickly. No answer. Silence for a few moments.
Ilia-te: “Let me tell you. You would have wounded yourself, in your deepest heart. You’ll do that anyway. Life is full of such moments. That’s how you come to the end, with a chest full of regrets. But you have no choice.”
“What are you saying, Mother?”
“There will be many times, when you must do something you don’t want to do. That sickens you. Had you done as your father asked, you would have been heartsick. You would never have gotten over it. You might have put it to the back of your mind, eventually. But it would have, in time, become part of your deepest self, for as long as you live.”
“Don’t we have choices?”
“Some, thank all the gods. But other times … you must obey the commandment. There’s no sense to it, Nayan. It’s only your path. Don’t try to find meaning in it, because there isn’t any.”
Nayan, again not answering. Staring into the fire. Feeling a heaviness settle in his middle. Understanding: this heaviness would never leave him. Feeling … not quite so young any more.
“I didn’t cut her head off.”
“No. You were spared this time.”
“And now?”
“You must make right – as much as possible – what Noar made wrong.”
Sometimes, he couldn’t help it. Especially when he was distressed. And now – his mother’s words – whatever the little storm in his heart … Nayan lifted his ale mug off the table by the firebox, brought it to his hand.
With his mind.
Not deliberate, not at all. But then, there. Look at Mother. She, just staring at him. Her eyes filling with tears.
“Mother, what’s wrong?”
Her voice, barely a whisper. “I thought … I thought you never did such things any more. I told you – ”
“Did what?”
“You just picked up your ale mug without touching it.”
Silence, like a boulder had come in through the window and rolled to a stop between them.
“Mother … ”
“Do you remember the candles? When you were just a small child?”
A nod.
“I told you never to do that sort of thing again.”
“I – I can’t help it. Sometimes it just happens.”
“Yes, I know. And I also know you and Che exchange thoughts. But you shouldn’t.”
“But … it’s not just me and Che, Mother. I know it, you know it. Gods alive, everyone knows it! I was talking to Aterya-te at the harvest party, and she said all the young people … ”
“Nayan!”
“Aterya said this secrecy thing is old fashioned … the young people are open about it. She said she and Kyrugan are even doing research into it … ”
“Stop, Nayan!”
“And she talked to me in thoughts!”
“Nayan, I mean it! Stop!”
“Why are you angry?”
“I told you years ago and I’ll tell you again. These things … are devil’s work.”
“But you put the candles out with your mind. I’ll never forget it.”
Oh. To hug him desperately? Or kill him?
Can a mother kill the strangeness within herself? That passed, despite all her prayers, to her older son? Can a mother just let it go, knowing the horrifying risk it posed? Having been chided by her own mother, and her by hers, and all the way back down the line, warned against this evil?
“Listen to me, Nayan. This thing you do … yes, I’ve done it too. My mother did it. But it’s witchcraft. It’s wrong. It can get you killed.”
“Mother, you know there’s no such thing as witchcraft.”
“Really, Nayan? Really? I know that, and you know that … but how many stupid people are there in the world that don’t know that? How many people react to the unusual with fear, and rage? How many people are – as you say – ‘old fashioned?’ What you just did is not normal. Exchanging thoughts with Che … it’s not normal. You must hide it. You must forget about it. However you can wipe your mind of this terrible thing … you must do it. People won’t understand. People will … come for you. You can do this forgetting. I do it. I forge
t, all the time. Except when I see it … in you. But I can promise you, I’ll have forgotten this – thing – before I reach the end of the hall. You must do the same. Your mind is yours to control.”
Now Mother, rising. Turning for the door. Like a dream phantom. Her body floating, while her mind roiled. Her heart, beating like a bird on a spike. Her mind, swirling so relentlessly she had to grab the chair back for fear of falling. Memories, kept in a cage inside of her. But now and then, escaping. Oh! The terror. Forget forget forget
Fortunately, Ilia-te: better at forcing herself to forget than her son. Within the hour, had forgotten the conversation. Leave me alone leave me alone leave me … yes.
But Nayan. Just thinking about his conversation with Aterya-te. And Che’s words: Thousands, Nayan. Maybe hundreds of thousands.
Two days after this conversation, the hostage: escorted out of her rooms by the maids. Covered in the heavy furs of early winter. Walking with them down through the great hall. Stared at by the few diners left over from breakfast. Carried her head high. Refused to look at them.
Steered out to the lovely meadow at the front of the castle. Led across a bridge over the wide ditch in the front of the castle. Lowering her gaze only to see the bottom of the ditch, with its slanted, sharp iron stakes. Too wide to jump, this ditch: certain death for any gantha who tried. Still kept up, the old moat.
Mid-morning: high sun warming the air. Melting the light snow off the lush grasses. One of the maids, picking some of the peculiar red twig flowers that remained, dried, through the winter until spring pushed up a new shoot. Showing them to the hostage.
She: looking at the flowers. Suddenly her green eyes, full of mist. Turning away.
“Oh, my dear. Beauty makes you weep.”
No answer.
There, look. A rider, approaching from the direction of the forest. Coming closer. Yes, Nayan. Bringing his mount to a stop at the little group of women.
Extending his hand to the hostage. “Take my hand. I’ll swing you up behind me, and show you the forest edge.”
The hostage, whirling away. Might even have run, but for the burliest maid planting herself in front of her.
Nayan, persisting. “Come on. I don’t like you either. But so long as you’re here, you may as well see where you are. Cha-Ning Forest is deadly. It should interest you.”