by CJ Brightley
I answered carefully, thinking about my words. “It’s not so bad, but better in the army. A man can earn respect by his deeds, and then he’s fully accepted regardless of his race. But outside among civilians, it’s different. Dari aren’t scattered about the country, so most Tuyets have no experience with Dari that they know and trust. There’s lingering aversion and fear in most areas, but no outright hatred. At least I haven’t seen any. The Dari are partly to blame for this too. They don’t mingle with Tuyets much to give Tuyets better memories to judge them by.” I wanted to be fair, but in truth this had stung me deeply.
“What about the Senga? Are they treated the same way?” The ground on the far side of the stream was rockier as we made our way slowly toward the hills that skirted the mountains.
“They are not seen as…” I hesitated again. I didn’t want to be unjust. “Tuyets generally see lighter skin as more beautiful. Senga have light skin, though it tans easily, and so despite their differences they’re more accepted. Dari are seen as ugly and dirty, which doesn’t help the persistent fear that Dari seem to inspire in Tuyets.” I took a breath. “But this is only one soldier’s limited experience.”
“Of course.” He walked behind me in silence so long I nearly forgot he was there. “What do you do when you’re not training or fighting?”
“What?” My mind was leagues away, in the southern deserts among the nomadic Senga. Their culture fascinated me, and someday I wanted to go back and learn more about them.
“For fun. For amusement. What do you do?”
I blinked. “I train.”
“I mean when you’re not training. Don’t you do anything for fun? What do you like? Do you like to read the old legends of heroes? Do you like to sing?”
I had no real answer for him. “What does a prince do for amusement?”
He laughed. “My father didn’t give me too much time to amuse myself. I studied a lot. I ride. I like to sing. Tibi and I sang together. Father thought it was stupid, of course, but Tibi said we were good. If I hadn’t been a prince, I might have enjoyed being a bard. I like to read, especially history.” Good. A king needs to know what mistakes others have made in the past, so he does not make them himself. History defines the people he rules and the challenges he faces. I hoped he understood what he read.
“You don’t do anything for fun then?”
I shook my head. “I train. I enjoy resting afterwards.”
The things that give me the most pleasure are things I cannot describe. The feel of wind on my face. A woman’s smile. Exhaustion from training, followed by the gradual slowing of my heartbeat, knowing I’m faster and stronger than the day before. The perfection of the moves, every muscle working together in exquisite coordination. The sound of water flowing over and around rocks in a river. A good meal after several days of an empty stomach.
We stayed mostly off the roads, but after a week in the woods I took to one of the smaller roads cutting northeast through the great forest. It had been paved, but in long stretches the paving stones were broken or missing, and the dirt was deeply rutted. I pulled several small trees that had fallen across the road off to the side so carts could pass, but it was still cold for most people to be traveling.
“Haven’t these roads been maintained at all?”
“Not much. Money ran out.”
“My father said the roads were the ‘cords of commerce’ across the country. He would have found a way if he’d known it was this bad.”
“This one is relatively good. They’re worse farther from Stonehaven.”
“I didn’t know there were any Dari in Llewton. Do you know if you were born there?”
The boy had an endless supply of questions. I would have preferred silence sometimes, but I tried to be patient.
“There aren’t now. Probably my mother was only passing through. No one remembered when I was old enough to ask. There was some tension between Dari and Tuyets then and I was told I should be glad I wasn’t left to starve.”
I glanced back to see him smile.
“Well I’m glad. Was that when plague broke out there?”
I was surprised he knew of it, since it wasn’t a large outbreak. “Yes, the year before I was born and then for two or three years after. I don’t remember it, of course.”
I had been accused of bringing it though. I’d been eight years old. Quite suddenly in the market a woman spit on me and shouted that I was the cause of the plague. When I’d looked at her in shocked terror, she’d shrieked that I’d put the plague on her with my demon eyes. I knew it was absurd, but I’d never forgotten the panic and fury in her voice.
I swallowed. “There were accusations that the Dari brought the plague, though I have no idea if it’s true.” I’d never told anyone that story, not even my grappling instructor, my favorite at the time.
“What do you know of the Dari people?”
“Not much else. That we are from the east. I don’t speak much Darin.”
“Temel wrote that the Dari shaped Erdemen history by supporting Kai Txomin over Inaki in the Steeling. Txomin was only able to unite the tribes with Dari help. But it doesn’t seem like you get much credit for that now. Doesn’t that bother you a little?”
I shrugged. “That was four hundred years ago. The plague is a more recent memory.” I was a little surprised he’d read Temel. His work was an unusually favorable assessment of Dari influence, and I wondered whether he meant to flatter me or whether he took Temel’s words as truth. Or whether he simply wanted to see my reaction.
“My father told me once that he wished we had such patriots now. But he didn’t blame the few Dari in Erdem for keeping a low profile; it’s only to be expected when Tuyets treat them so badly.”
“Badly is a bit harsh. I’d say with caution and sometimes fear.”
He ran up beside me and I slowed my pace a little. “They fear you, Kemen, and you can’t blame them. But not all Dari are soldiers. There are myriad reasons that few Dari live outside Joris, and many of those reasons are the fault of Tuyets.”
I would have preferred not to dwell on it. It stung me to compare my deep love of Erdem and my sacrifices and service to her with the cautious neutrality, fear, and sometimes even disgust and hatred I received in return. Unrequited love is a deep sorrow and a great joy.
The afternoon was fading into twilight, and we were perhaps a week’s walk from Benoa, the nearest town of any size. The nights were much warmer, even though we had been gradually climbing in elevation. That morning we’d seen one of my favorite sights of the foothills of the Sefu mountains, a small valley painted with an astonishingly vibrant carpet of bluecaps.
I heard Hakan behind me again, humming. I’d heard him before as we walked, but that time it was a little louder, cheerful despite his weariness.
Finally I said, “You can sing if you want.” He’d said he enjoyed it, but I’d never heard him sing.
He fell silent, and after a moment I turned around to face him. He flushed bright red and looked at the ground. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“I said you can sing if you want.”
He glanced up at me. “You don’t mind?”
I shrugged and started off again. For some time there were only the sounds of the leaves rustling in the wind, the rocks and dirt beneath our feet, and our own breathing. But then I heard his voice, tentative and a bit wavery with breathlessness.
I’m no musician. I have a terrible voice and precious little ability to tell good music from bad. But even I could recognize his talent. A gift like that isn’t given to many.
He sang a patriotic ballad of Erdem’s glory, an old song of pride. When he finished, I realized I was smiling, almost grinning, as I walked. My heart was lighter than it had been in years.
7
I stared at Hakan across the fire. “You know more about your country than you let on at first.”
He shrugged a little. “I wanted to know what you thought. All my knowledge is from books, studies, reports from
provincial governors. I haven’t actually seen much of Erdem. It’s good information, but what people perceive is their reality. I want to know how others experience Erdem.”
We sat in silence for some time. It was reassuring to know his years of study had not been utterly wasted.
Finally I asked, “What do your books tell you of the campaign against the Ophrani ten years ago?”
He smiled. “That it was an unmitigated success, a shining example of the strength and honor of the Erdemen army. Were you there?”
“Aye.” At his expectant look I smiled a little. “I commanded a kedani company in 356, then I was promoted to deputy regiment commander in 357.”
“One hundred men are in a company and five hundred in a regiment, right?”
I nodded.
“I read the terrain and the weather were more challenging than the Ophrani forces. Is that true?”
“Aye. It was very hot. We lost many horses to the heat, and men too.”
“Which battles were you in?”
“A great many. The largest was at Dorvale, in the autumn of 357.”
His eyes widened. “You were at Dorvale?”
“I commanded the right flank.” I smiled a little.
“That’s right.” He blinked. “Kemen Sendoa. You received the Iron Shield for that, didn’t you? Didn’t the right flank win the battle?”
“Not without the center and the left holding their ground.”
He nodded. “All the same, that’s something to be proud of. My father the king took note of your skill.”
Not enough to allow me to stay on after I’d been wounded. I swallowed, and the taste of bitterness was in my mouth.
“What do you know of the Tarvil?” Hakan asked.
“They’re barbarians.” I spat in disgust.
There was a moment of silence, then he asked, “That’s it? Anything else?”
I scowled. “They steal Erdemen livestock. They kill Erdemen men and rape Erdemen women. They smell like rotten meat.” I spat again to emphasize my words. “And they don’t respect the parley flag.”
I have always thought of Erdem and Rikuto as brother countries, far more similar they are different. But if Rikuto is Erdem’s brother country, a nation that Erdem sometimes wars yet generally understands, the Tarvil barbarians are the shadows in the night.
To be fair, Tarvil are not monsters. They are human. But they are different than Tuyets, and not in ways that are easily understood or loved. Where Tuyets are beautiful, their faces made of elegant curves and their hair like finely spun gold, Tarvil are ugly and stumpy. They are small and sallow skinned, with pale yellow brown or ice blue eyes. Their hair is a dirty brown or dusty reddish color, often curly. I’ve always hated that my hair tends to curl when wet; I’m already ugly enough without that additional fault. Tuyets almost never have curly hair, and when they do, it’s somehow forgivable because it’s so golden. Tarvil smell different when they sweat, saltier and more sour. Their language sounds like gravel being poured into water, an ugly grinding clamor with a deep liquid undertone.
That’s only their appearance, and I, more than most, should be able to look past that. But the Tarvil give me no reason to. They kidnap border women and girls when they can. They steal from the border settlers. They harass and rob travelers, often for so little money I wonder why they even bother. They have no discipline, and they fight like uncivilized brutes, without care for their own men and even less for the rules of war.
8
We skirted Benoa and went on to Miafal, near the base of Mount Teilar. Miafal is a tiny village, but I thought it a good place for Hakan to see the border people before we turned north toward Senlik. He trailed me tiredly as we made our way through the woods. I smelled the smoke from some distance away, and I didn’t think it odd until we were a bit closer, when I tasted the hint of burnt flesh under the stronger smell of burning wood. We hurried then, but there was little to see. Three small buildings were burned nearly to the ground and a disconsolate few villagers were watching and kicking at the embers.
“What happened here?”
“Raid.”
“Anyone hurt?” Details. Information. I cannot work without information, and the man appeared to be in shock, staring blankly at the ruined house.
“This morning.” Aye, that was clear enough.
He continued, his words coming in fits and starts. “Three men killed, protecting the livestock. Sheep taken, one hundred or so. Several horses. Houses set afire behind us.” No doubt to distract the men from the raid.
“This is Mirson’s house. Wife died inside. Trying to save the baby.”
Hakan gasped beside me.
“He’s taken the boys to his mother’s house, she’s off at the other end of town. They’re three and six.” The man’s voice faded away, and I thought he wouldn’t talk again, but just as I was about to turn away, he spoke very quietly. “Mirson’s my wife’s brother. Like as not we’ll raise the boys. Her mother’s dying.”
What can one say in the face of tragedy? I stood with him a moment as we stared at the embers of his wife’s brother’s home, the body of the mother and her infant nothing more than ashes and blackened bones hidden beneath the charred timbers. He’d run out of words, picking slowly through the ashes for some little remnant by which to remember the woman. I made my way across to another man who was sitting on the edge of the well, staring at the ground.
“There was a raid this morning? Tell me what happened.”
Hakan needed to hear it, needed to know what the people of the border faced. The raids were all too common, the story familiar.
The man looked up at me, blinking as he recognized my sword as that of a soldier, though I was no longer in active service. I didn’t wear the standard kedani armor, nor wear the insignia on my breast or the distinctive helm, but I carry myself as a warrior, my weapons well used and good quality.
“Are you from Stonehaven?” He sat up hopefully.
“Close enough. I’m traveling with a friend, and I can’t stay long. What happened?”
“They came this morning. My daughter saw it. Probably shouldn’t have fought it, we’re nothing but farmers. The sheep are gone. I don’t know what we’ll do this winter.” He leaned forward to place his head in his hands.
Hakan asked, “It’s barely spring. Surely the town can recover before winter?”
The man spoke into his hands, his voice muffled. “Some, maybe. The flock was shared by the whole town, we all had a share in it. Tesna found one of the spring lambs with a broken leg on the path already. The others are long gone. We were going to sell them along with the wool. Most of the goats are gone too. We still have the gardens, and the granary was mostly untouched. They couldn’t take it with them, I suppose.”
It would be a lean winter. By the number of houses there were near one hundred people in the town proper, not to mention those farther out. They’d be hunting for meat rather than eating the extra lambs. The children wouldn’t have goat’s milk. There would be no goat cheese. Salt would be scarce because it’s expensive. That would make meals less tasty, but more importantly it would make preserving the meat difficult until temperatures dropped in the autumn.
Hakan nodded slowly. I paced up the street, hoping to find someone else who would tell me more about the raiders, but everyone was out in the fields. What to do now? I had hoped to remain here for a few weeks before taking Hakan up the eastern border, but it was clear enough they had no food to spare.
I wondered whether it would be more helpful for me to hunt here a while, take a few deer for venison as they tried to rebuild the food stores, or whether we’d be more burden than help. The women would fear me, of course, and Hakan was hardly useful as a hunter, though I could more than feed us both. Clearly we couldn’t buy horses to speed our journey.
Finally I returned to the man sitting by the well. “You need food immediately?”
He blinked in surprise. “Near enough. We’re short for the winter, and some of
the crops were trampled. Anything we can find now will give us more to save for later.” He sat up hopefully again. “You can send word to Stonehaven? I hoped the king could help us, though I suppose that’s a distant hope these days.”
I shook my head. “No, there will be no help from Stonehaven. The king is dead, and Vidar rules now, though I can’t say how long that will last.”
“What? What of the prince? Who’s Vidar?”
Little information had come out here, then.
“Nekane Vidar, the king’s seneschal. The king died in late Kylma, and Vidar took power in Nalka. The prince is missing. I’ve heard rumors he was hunted by assassins.” I watched his face and was gratified to see a look of horror.
“Assassins! Sent by Vidar? That’s terrible!”
I nodded.
“We don’t know the prince, but he is the prince, isn’t he? Surely he’s trained to handle things like this. I’d hoped that when the king died, the prince would reinforce the borders again. Is the prince dead then?”
I shrugged. “No one knows. I’ve only heard rumors, nothing sure.”
He looked at Hakan directly, though I hoped he saw only a thin young man, tall and quite serious, standing behind me quietly, and not a prince.
“You know things haven’t always been like this. We’ve heard rumors of attacks all up and down the border, but we hadn’t seen one until now. Three men dead, you know, and Mirson’s wife and baby too. This wouldn’t have happened when the king was young. There were soldiers out here then.”
Hakan nodded silently, and I waited a moment before speaking. “Aye then. We won’t stay long, but I’ll hunt if you and the others will share the meat.”
The man nodded. “Aye, that would help. I’ll tell the others. You’ll probably stay with Rawlin, at the boarding house.”