They approached Ziana, Darioch with a normal stride, Tamroch with an absurd high-kneed walk that caused Ziana to laugh her breathy laugh.
They clapped and Tamroch bowed to her. Ziana turned on her side, with difficulty bringing her feet down to the ground. Darioch made haste to raise the back of the chair so that she was almost sitting, reclining on her side.
"A pleasure, good Tamroch. You should ghost us more often; it would do Darioch good to see you. That is very beautiful apparel; the latest style, I have no doubt. Well, and I suppose you are retailing old memories; you are childhood friends, as I recall."
"Yes, heh, as boys we occasionally camped here at Jollicot, when it wasn't wanted for housing servants," Tamroch said. "Nearly drowned in Little River, which saved us from drowning in Xanthides. Darry, remember when we took part in the aluminum-nut harvest across the road, and nearly broke our backs wheeling barrows of nuts to the wagons, eh?"
"Yes, heh, and how all the peasants laughed at us and clapped us on those aching backs."
"Ach, and our introduction into Society at my cousin Hurrish's wedding." To Ziana, Tamroch added, "The fools seated us together in the balcony, and neglected to search us for our blowpipes and peas."
They chatted a while longer, laughing immoderately, then Tamroch said, "Yandle informs me that the Patron wishes me to return to his domicile. Anon, the both of you, ha!"
"Aroint thee, wretch, ha!" Darioch said, still laughing.
"A good man, and good medicine. I hope he ghosts us again, and soon." Ziana yawned and stretched. "His jests and japes have exhausted me, but it is a good exhaustion. I am not at all sleepy. He came to visit, for why, eh?"
"At the order of his father, heh. He was to urge me to abandon you and return to my 'duties' in the Capital. Sonny Purzan put the Patron up to it. I forgot to mention—Sonny ghosted me earlier to urge me himself. When you stood up, it gave me such a turn I forgot to mention it."
She smiled apprehensively up. "And your decision—it is made, eh?"
"Let me wheel you into the grove. Here I may work while we speak. Yes, heh, I have decided not to abandon you. So far they have pointed to no duty higher than that to you."
"Not even to the Yellow Land, eh? This is flattery indeed, ha!" More seriously she said, "I should be sorry to hear that you cannot prevent the war that all expect, but I own that I am selfish enough to wish you here. I do at least hope the war will not come. I am so very bad, eh?"
He smiled, distressed. "No, heh, I think not. At least you desire me to stay—this morning you urged me to go." Looking wistfully into the distance, he mused, "I own that at times I yearn inexpressibly for that life, which now seems as remote as boyhood. Och, if you were but well again, ha!"
"Och, if I were but, ha," she echoed faintly, "for both our sakes."
4
Their meridional meal was but a light repast, as was their custom: she for lack of appetite, he also for lack of appetite. Afterward, Ziana was able to sit up, and even essayed to do a little fancywork on her current project.
"So that I do not feel utterly worthless," she said.
In the heat of the afternoon, she dozed within the cottage, whose thick stone walls retained some of the coolness of the night. Darioch busied himself about the tansy tree, and further about the utility orchard.
This grove ran to things like handmeals, fruit, salads, cheese, milk, bread, and the like, foods that could be eaten with no or little cooking. Darioch had chosen Jollicot for their exile for that reason, as he had determined to bring as few servants as possible. Of the three they had brought, only one remained.
While he busied himself, Ginchy approached with the familiarity of the privileged old servant. "Sir, she sleeps well."
"That is good. Too often she tosses and moans."
"The new unguent is a help." Ginchy paused. After a moment, tentatively, she said, "Those two men who visited you, sir—they came to persuade you to abandon mea domina, eh?"
"Yes, heh. That is, one of them did."
"You will go then, eh?"
"No, heh." Darioch leaned his head on his arm against a trunk and remained in that posture for a couple of tetrons of heartbeats.
Finally Ginchy cleared her throat. "So you have not made up your mind to leave us, eh?"
"No, heh, I have made up my mind not to leave you. But, O Ginchy, it is so hard to hold my mind to my resolution, ha! You withstand the strain of caring how, eh?"
"It may be, you should go back to Manming for a week, to re-create yourself. Do you good to get away from your worries, mea dominus."
Darioch raised a haggard face. "Do not think I have not thought of this. But I fear that away, I would find reasons, say rather excuses, for not returning."
"Once it would not have mattered to us. But this past winter has made us both rely upon you, mea dominus. If you did not return, belike she would pine away. She feels she has no one but you, sir."
"She has you, and you were her NaNa. That is much."
"It is no longer enough. She has found a husband."
Darioch stared at her, then sighed. "And I have found a wife."
When Ginchy had returned to the house to watch over the form of her lady, Darioch seated himself on an orchard bench and stared at nothing for some time, made shift to busy himself, and again sat and stared. In this latter occupation he again saw a dancing whirl in the air.
"Sophonid Zelander speaking, huh. The man-kin Masanvis Rioni and Havaride of Great Orchard, Primus Dominus of the Yellow Land, requests permission to intrude, huh."
"Permission granted, ha! Mea dominus," half-kneeling and rising.
The First Lord was an old and craggy man-kin with a neatly trimmed white beard, a mane of silvery hair down to his shoulders in the fashion of olden time, and the golden wand of his office. The small cap-of-maintenance of purple and gold velvet was not so much to do Darioch honor as to cover the bald top of his head, baldness being a rarity among the man-kin. An austere chiton in dark green with a gold belt covered him from shoulders to knees, and his skinny calves were wrapped about with cross-garterings in matching green.
But what one noticed was the dark predatory stare.
Masanvis grunted. "So it's true, what they say of you: you are indeed rusticating in some country cot. And won't return to the Capital and to your duty. I know, I have heard," raising his hand to forestall Darioch's answer. "Your duty to your wife. How about her duty to you, eh, a woman's duty not to come between a man and his duty to his country, eh? Eh, eh?"
"If you have heard so much—and I doubt not that you have had full reports this day— then you know my reasons. I am not wantonly rebelling. But I count for nothing amid the hordes you can command, and the small services I might do can be done by many another. I can do what, that Sonny Purzan cannot do, eh?"
"If I could command the aid of those others, I would command your aid. I can command no aid, and I do not have 'hordes' of aides and assistants. Purzan SonPurzan can do nothing that you should be doing, because he is already doing more than he can do, and still it is-n't enough, ha! Your place is here, young Darioch, not interfering with the care of a sick woman; your duty is here. You at least understand the gravity of the crisis. Most men merely shrug and continue their flirtations."
"If both governments had been doing that, there'd have been no crisis. Who in either land wants a war, eh, except some in government who will risk it rather than to seem weak?"
The First Lord stared half a glare at him, then barked an unamused laugh. "You're as radical as ever. You do know, or do you, that there's a man-kin in the Westerlands embassy who has notions similar to your own, eh? I'd hoped you'd meet with this Caragan Zhin, possibly find some kind of compromise to save all our soup. I cannot do it; if I exhibit weakness their position would harden at once." This time it was a glare. "But you..."
"Or Sonny, or Judian, or any of half a tetron of others either on your staff already, or within reach. And there are any number of great ladies who could be pres
sed into service to convey a message of peace. But none of them will avail if it is not peace you want, but regency over the Veliana Vale. You want me, because you think I can cozen them—especially if I truly believe the message you would have me deliver."
"If war comes, you will acquit yourself of blame how, eh, seeing you did nothing to prevent it?"
"The same as you, I suppose," Darioch said sturdily, "if you'll pardon my insolence. I notice you seem to have little fear of war. You do not really expect it yet; you think you are in control of events, like steering a stripey cat by pulling its whiskers while seated on its back. Events are as flexible as cats; it won't do, mea dominus."
Again the dark stare; another grunt. After a moment the proud head bent, the gaze directed to the litter of sticks and leaves on the ground.
"There is much in what you say, young Darioch," said Masanvis grudgingly. "I own I am not as sanguine as I perhaps sound; I do not sleep well o' nights, these nights. Sometimes I feel we want a fresh outlook, a new departure. And this Caragan Zhin..."
"He has what sauce in their councils, eh?"
"Less than you would have, I think, heh. But it is a start." And now the dark stare was, ever so faintly, pleading.
Darioch was trembling, but he spoke firmly, albeit with an occasional swallow. "There is something in what you say, mea dominus. But... you know my message. It is a general one; no burnt soup is worth going to war over. I would seek any honorable way out. I think you stick at the 'honorable' part, deeming any spilling of your soup a defeat not to be borne. How then is my dereliction of duty greater than yours, eh?"
The dark gaze was indisputably a glare.
"You are adamant then. I have wasted my time, and Zelander's. Good day to you, dominus."
"And to you—" But the First Lord's image rudely vanished partway into Darioch's farewell and kneel.
Darioch wandered into the cottage, poured himself pale wine, stood sipping it and staring out at the aluminum-nut bushes across the road.
5
Darioch walked aimlessly about the orchard with the expression of a somnambulist. At length there came again the fateful dancing in the air, and his expression became one of pained resignation.
Then it changed to one of hope and despair: the blue light before his eyes trailed silver sparks, and as they dripped, the notes of a wind chime tinkled randomly. These were the significations of Ifft the Weft, a tiny force-wefkin too weak to move a hair and needing to be fed daily by means of a force-fountain of magnets whirling within coils of wire: the property of—
"Lisiani, ha!" he exclaimed in a half-whisper; and in truth it was the well-loved tones of his former paramour which sounded:
"Darioch, mea dominus, it is you, eh?"
"Lisiani, ha! Yes, heh, it is I, Darioch. At last you ghost me."
"O my love, ha! I see you, ha! Come to me, come to me, oh please—I am on the edge of your yard—you do see me, eh, behind the thicket?"
Darioch started and looked, and saw a gleam of silver. "I do see you, heh—I come, I come, ha!"
He hurried across the yard to the bordering thicket of decorative trees and shrubs, forced his way among them, and in a moment stood before her who was the love of his life: Lisiani Chomney née Radann of Lucrecious Ironfields. She was a small woman, slender, with large dark violet eyes, wide now with apprehension. She wore a delicate silken chemise in silver, so thin it concealed little, and trimmed in violet to match her eyes. Her cloak was a glassy waterfall down her back, under the black waterfall of her hair. Beyond her an Aelopede, swiftest of the volaunts, stood lathered and breathing heavily though already beginning to crop the herbage.
Then she was in his arms, weeping.
"O my love, I should have come to you long before, but I did not dare. I feared you had put me aside for your duty to your wife, and I was so desolate. I dared not even send Ifft to you, lest you return a harsh answer. B-but I could not keep away from you longer, and I only hope you will f-forgive me for intruding on y-your retreat."
Darioch gripped her fiercely, his face a mask of anguish. "O Lisiani, could you think I could ever be harsh to you, ha! I have missed you so; the hardest part of my exile is the loss of you. And now you have come, to torment me with all I have renounced."
Their conversation became incoherent, neither waiting for the other, for a few moments. Then Lisiani backed and looked up at him.
"Ziana does how, eh? I was never her friend, but neither was I her enemy. I grieved for her as well as you when I heard the sad news."
"She does poorly, heh, and the doctor holds out little hope that she will soon, or ever, do much better."
"Alas for her and alas for you. I feel ashamed to think of my own sufferings when I consider yours." She hesitated, looking at him with a beseeching gaze. "O Darioch, ha! You do not love her as you love me, eh?"
"No, indeed, heh, Lisiani, I have never loved any as I love you; not even my early boyish loves grip me so strongly."
"And yet you left me, as it were, with but a backward glance, to come here with her."
"It was my duty, heh; I could not abandon her, eh?"
"No-o-o, heh, but need you have left all behind, eh? You could have kept her at your town house in Manming—you need not devote every moment of every day to her care. Even now, some servant watches her much of the time, eh?"
His head bent until he was looking unseeingly at the ground. After a pause, he said slowly, "Lisiani, I have thought all that you have said, many times, and I return always to my first conclusion. A stronger or better man than I might do so, but I am too weak. By insensible degrees, if I trusted her care to anyone else, I would find reasons to see her less and less, until I had abandoned her. It is my duty to stand by her; if she needs nothing, then it is still my duty to stand and wait until she does. For always she needs me—my care and attention, the care and attention of a person of her own rank, not the doubtfully boughten loyalty of servants. And from whom has she more right to expect that, than from her husband, eh?"
Now Lisiani hung her head. "I cannot gainsay it, heh. But, och, it is so hard, ha! You do know, I have taken no new lover after you, eh? I am quite laughed at for a fond fool, but this I do not regard. My mother scolded me for looking so wan and distraught at her Equinoctial party, but I scarcely heeded her."
"I hope your noble husband, Forizan Chomney and Quain of Lucrecious Ironfields, has been supportive."
"Oh, Forzy has been kind enough, though he professes not to understand me at all. He suggests a baby, if I will not have a lover, but after Ziana's experience, I shudder with fear at the thought. So," she breathed wistfully, "you have quite made up your mind never to return to—to me, till your wife be well, eh?"
"No one can say what the future's shape will be, heh. I long inexpressibly for you, for the easy happy life we once knew." He was silent for a moment. "But if the war comes, and it may well, we will probably never know that life again. Indeed I think we shall not; I think that I have merely been given an early draft of the drink of pain and sadness we all must swallow soon."
He bent, and buried his face in her hair. "But, och, how I have missed you, ha! How I shall miss you, all the days of my life, ha! Sometimes, when the evil fit is on me, I can hate her for all she has taken from me."
After Lisiani's departure, the rest of the day passed in an agony, as Darioch attempted to seem normal. Their evening repast was heavier than their meridional meal, and Ziana, rested perhaps by her afternoon nap, exerted herself to talk in the entertaining fashion he knew so well from before her illness. Darioch tried to respond in kind, but knew his abstraction must be observed.
Indeed, she said, "I fear these visitations today have put you out of countenance."
"Yes, heh, I am poor company for you, I fear. I am shaken—I have had to re-fight battles I fought with myself last autumn. I am again victorious in the fight," he added, smiling at her reassuringly, "but I own myself mazed."
"My prattle I hope does not distract you."
"Well, however the others may have affected you, for my sake I cannot help hoping we see Tamroch again soon; but I suppose it is not likely."
"No, heh, unless he visit in person. I think the Patron will keep him on as tight a leash as he can."
"A pity, but maybe he will indeed visit. Though if he does, I cannot hope he will favor us with anything so delicious as his morning costume, ha! That was a treat indeed. It took me back at once to happier days...."
After she had dined, Ziana lay face down with Ginchy's help on the commons room couch. Darioch read to her until he thought her asleep, then sat musing on the dusk through the window. At length he was startled by her voice, without any stir from the couch.
"Darioch, eh?" softly.
"Yes, heh, Ziana my dear."
"I have been lying here thinking, when I should have been sleeping. Even now I am not sleepy, though I own to tiredness. Still... you would carry me down to Little River, eh? To see the glowfish, eh? Often you spoke of watching the glowfish run the Little River when a boy. In my illness, perhaps I become childish."
"I had forgotten I told you of them. And yes, heh, it would be no great trouble to wheel you down the boathouse path. We shall go now, eh?"
Ginchy entered hastily, with a look of alarm, but Ziana reassured her.
"Mea dominus can carry my wasted frame well enough without help. I have been lying face down a good part of the day, so my sores are improved; and afterward Darioch can massage me again. You may as well go to bed."
Darioch wheeled her out of the cottage. It was a two-moon night, Second Moon rising glorious in the east, approaching the full, Sigil Moon already high in the sky, near the half. They poured silver light tinted with blue over the land, a great storm on Second Moon making of it a cloudy white swirl. Sigil Moon had clouds, but the seas and forests showed between them.
Shortly they reached the boathouse. Darioch lifted her from the chair and steadied her as she walked to a great rock above the pool that marked the head of "navigation" on Little River. The rock was under trees and bushes that here made a tunnel of darkness through which the river ran.
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