by Kate Elliott
Such a small thing, really, to mean so much.
14
Two qualities Shai possessed in plenty: He had endurance, and a high tolerance for physical pain. Father Mei had never been able to beat the stubborn anger out of him. One quality he sorely lacked: He’d never gathered enough courage to stand up to his elder brothers. Not as Hari had. Bold Hari, best of brothers.
In the early-morning twilight as he trudged along at the rear of the company among the silent tailmen, his thoughts returned doggedly to the subjects he didn’t want to think about: We’re out of water. We’re all going to die if we don’t find water soon. Dead like Cornflower. No. Nothing to be done about that. If Hari is dead, then why didn’t he pass Spirit Gate? Why is he still chained to earth?
With a stumble and a quiet, sad whuffling noise, a horse collapsed. The company halted. The grooms examined the horse, shook their heads. While life still breathed in it, they opened a vein in its shoulder and drained its blood. It was a salty brew, invigorating. Everyone got a swallow, even the slaves. When Mai drank, the blood stained her lips with red, like a cosmetic meant to beautify.
As the beast failed, and died, they made ready to move out.
“Aren’t we going to butcher it?” Shai croaked. “For the flesh?”
“Take too long, need water more, oasis ahead,” said Chaji, his voice cracked and ragged. Then he cackled. “You can stay, fight the vultures and demons, if you want.”
His feet must rise and fall, rise and fall, but he was by no means the weakest. They all struggled. The bearers were strong men, but at length some were aided by the others; they refused to let any of their number falter and fall behind. Mai walked alongside Anji. Everyone walked, to spare the horses, who suffered most. Over the course of that morning, two more horses failed, and the blood of those horses gave strength to the living. Thus, Shai supposed, did demons feast on their victims, sucking the spirit out of them. Was that what had happened to Hari?
The sun rose higher, but the air changed. He felt it as a kiss on his cheeks, as an ache, an exhilaration, in his chest. Long before they could see it, the horses smelled it and pulled eagerly, anxious to move faster. The people inhaled its promise through nostrils and parched mouths.
Water.
Discipline held. They marched in good order into an isolated oasis guarded by a surly group of twenty Qin tailmen.
“How long will you stay here?” the chief of the garrison asked them as they filed in.
“Two days,” said Anji. “We all need a rest and the horses must be well watered. There are a couple too weak to go on so we’ll slaughter them and feast tonight. If you send a few men back on our trail, you’ll find two dead horses, not too far, to add to the feast.” He walked away to where Mai was seated, washing her hands and face in water Priya had brought from the pond.
“At least we don’t have to feed your men, just the horses,” grumbled the garrison chief. “You don’t know how hard it is keeping supplies out here!”
“The worst assignment,” laughed Tuvi, slapping the man on the shoulder. “When I was a young lad just come to the army, I had a posting like this.”
“Did you?” replied the chief, whose frown curved upward at this companionable talk. “We’ve enough to eat and drink. I think it’s the boredom that kills you. All this rock and sand! No women and no pasture to admire!”
“Let me tell you about a posting that near did me in!”
The two men walked away, taking turns sucking at a pouch of an alcoholic brew, to make a circuit of the low fortifications that surrounded the well, the pool, and the scattering of vividly green trees and vegetation.
Shai waited his turn to drink with the rest of the men. The horses went first and so sullied the pool that what he drank tasted more like mud than water, but like the rest he made no complaint. Water was life. Life was better than death. He lay down in the shade of a frond tree and fell asleep at once.
“Shai. Shai.” Would Hari’s ghost never leave him alone? It had been weeks since the day Anji had given Hari’s wolf’s-head ring to Father Mei, since Shai had touched that ring and sensed Hari’s fate. Now it seemed that Hari, like Girish, meant to plague the only person who could still hear him.
“Shai. Wake up.”
The hand pressing against his chest had weight. It was insistent, plucking at his clothing.
“Eh. What? Mai!”
“Hush. Shh.” She displayed a yellow globe of fruit, twisted it so it split open, and showed him how to scoop out the seeds so he could eat the succulent flesh. As he ate, the juices dripping down his chin, she whispered, “I’m still very angry about Cornflower. You treated her badly. But Shai, you’re my uncle. We’re kin. We can’t fight like this. We have to hold together, don’t you think?”
Hu! Who could resist Mai when she was in this mood? He could!
“I’m riding with the tailmen. Cornflower was my slave. You had no right to interfere.”
“Don’t be so stubborn!”
“You don’t want me anyway. Look at you, flying that Qin banner now. Don’t think the others don’t talk around me just because I’m not Qin. I know what it means.”
The blush on her cheeks brightened her. Even worn and exhausted, she had a shine that made the world a more pleasing place. No one could stay mad at her.
“Are you happy?” he muttered.
“Oh. Shai.”
She was happy.
He sighed. He grasped her hand with one of his own, now sticky with juice. “We won’t fight.”
“Good.” The plum-blossom softness vanished, and she bent close, fixing him with a gaze as sharp as that of any merchant bargaining hard in the marketplace. “Listen, Shai. I may only have this one chance to tell you this. Do not breathe a word. Now that—well—now that—well—” She flushed. She hid a smile behind a hand. She giggled, shut her eyes, sighed heavily, smiled again, and finally sucked in a deep breath and fixed him with a remarkable glare. “I asked. And he told me.”
“What?”
“What! Where we’re going! It’s because we’re past the desert now. We can’t possibly go back, or tell anyone.”
Or he offered knowledge as payment, thought Shai, but he said nothing.
“Anji is to be a general. He’s been promoted. We’re riding all the way to Tars Fort, on the eastern border between Mariha and the Sirniakan Empire. Anji will command the fort and an entire border garrison, an army, much larger than this small company. What do you think?”
The muddy water and sweet fruit churned uneasily in his stomach. He felt a little sick. “Isn’t the border a dangerous place to be? Now that the Qin have conquered the Mariha princedoms, that border lies right up against the most powerful and largest empire known. What if there’s a war?”
“Why would there be a war?”
“Mai! Don’t be stupid. Why do the Qin need an army and garrisons along the border if they don’t think there’ll be a fight? I would bet that the Mariha princes didn’t think there was going to be a war twenty years ago, when the first Qin rode out of the west. The Mariha princes are all dead now.”
“The Qin can defeat the empire if they want to. Don’t you think?”
“Now you are being stupid.”
Defending her husband, she looked positively fierce. “It’s no more than Anji deserves!”
“No. No. Of course not.” Indeed, Tuvi had told him as much, in almost the same words, although he thought it better not to mention this to Mai. “He must be an important man, to be promoted to such an important position.”
Her anger faded, and she looked thoughtful instead. “Yes. I suppose he must. I wonder who his kinfolk are. He’s never told me.”
Shai squeezed her hand in warning. “Be cautious of asking. Don’t ask too much, too quickly.”
In that moment, as their gazes met, understanding flashed. She smiled, and a knot that had been tangling in his heart, eased.
“I’m not stupid, Shai.”
That connection still fl
owed between them. He glimpsed, then, how much it bothered her to be thought of that way. “No, of course not. Of course not, Mai.” He saw, then, that he and the rest of the family might never have understood her at all, that he didn’t know her, not really. She was a mystery. She had hidden herself well.
A shout interrupted them. “Hai! Hai! Rider sighted!”
“I’d better go.” Mai let go of his hand and walked swiftly away.
Shai got up. A soldier waved his banner at the top of the watchtower. The tower was set about one hundred strides out from the old stone-built livestock wall that surrounded the oasis and its stone-built houses. The villagers had long since fled or been driven out, and now the tiny Qin garrison used the houses to store grain for scouts and long-distance travelers. A dusty rider trotted in toward the oasis from the east. Shai wasn’t sure how long he had slept. Checking the angle of the sun, he noted that the sun’s position hadn’t changed appreciably; it still rode high overhead. Over with the other slaves, Mountain raised his big shoulders up and looked toward the gate. Priya lay beside her husband, head pillowed on arms, sleeping.
He looked around. Mai had joined Captain Anji and walked with him to the wall. Anji had a hand cupped under her elbow. Best not to disturb that pair. Instead, he trotted over to Chief Tuvi, who was reeling from the strong drink he’d shared with the other chief.
“Hu! Is that two men or one riding in?”
“Just one, Chief. Do you need an arm to lean on?”
“Pah! You can’t keep up with me!”
Shai hurried after him. They got to the gate at the same moment the rider did. The man swung down before the captain, shedding dust as his feet hit the ground. He was a typical Qin, stocky, mustache but no beard, with a handsome grin and a cheerful laugh.
“Hu! Glad to see this place. It’s dry as bleached bone out that way.” He gestured toward the east, red dry flat desert country all the way to the horizon. “I’m called Tohon.”
“I’m Captain Anji. Are you a message rider? How can I help you?”
“Anything good to drink?”
Chief Tuvi offered him what remained of the stuff he’d been drinking, and the man gulped it down, then wiped his mouth. “Whew! That’s done, then. I’ve come from Commander Beje, and I’m looking for you, Captain Anji. An important message. Most important, so Commander says. More important than anything else.”
“Commander Beje!” Captain Anji looked stunned.
“Oof!” said Tuvi.
“You know him yourself?” asked the rider.
“Who is Commander Beje?” The words leaped out of Shai’s throat before he knew he meant to say them. Curiosity had got him by the throat. He had never seen the imperturbable Anji taken by surprise.
Anji wiped sweat off his brow and shook droplets off his hand. He glanced at Mai. “My first wife’s father. My father by marriage, back then. What message?”
The rider tugged off his cap and fanned himself with it. “Whoof! Hot today! A strange message, truly, Captain. You’re not to go on to Tars Fort. I’m to lead you northeast in a circuit around Mariha City and up into the hills, where you’ll meet with Commander Beje in private. He said this: Your life depends on no man or woman knowing where you’ve gone, or that you’ve gone. And this, too: Any troops you meet take with you, even if you leave a posting abandoned.”
“Ah,” said Anji. No more than that. Only his narrowed eyes revealed the whirl of his thoughts. The wind kicked up, rustling in the fronds, but it said no more than the captain did, not really.
THEY LEFT AT dawn, absorbing into their troop the twenty tailmen who had been garrisoned at the oasis. In fact, now that Shai took the trouble to really start measuring, he began to think that Anji’s retinue was two score or more men greater in number than it had been when they left Kartu Town. But he’d been preoccupied then. He hadn’t actually counted everyone. He was probably mistaken. It had been a confused time.
Mai rode beside Captain Anji and the scout, Tohon, at the van. Shai crept his mount forward through the irregular ranks—the Qin were disciplined but not rigid—until he moved up alongside Chief Tuvi, who noted his arrival with a sour burp.
“Hu! My stomach just won’t settle after all that drinking and eating last night!”
“Where are we headed?”
“To see Commander Beje!”
“Was he really Captain Anji’s father by marriage?”
“That he was.” He patted his stomach. “Whew! Not so hot today, eh?”
It was possible that today’s sun was not as baleful as yesterday’s, but Shai doubted it. He knew when he was being told to shut up, however, and so he dropped back to the rear guard and rode in silence until the noon break. Tohon knew the route well. He led them off the main trail to a scatter of rocks where they found shade in which to rest through the hot hours. In late afternoon, they started on their way again and rode into the night before breaking. Four more days they traveled at this ground-eating pace. On the fifth, midmorning, they spotted dust in the east.
“Soldiers,” said Tohon, shading his eyes. “We’ll cut north now.”
“Aren’t those Qin?” asked Anji.
“Qin, yes.”
“But no one we want to meet.”
“Not according to my orders, Captain.”
“Is there war in the east?”
“No war. Not yet. But there might be, once the weather is cooler. So we’ve heard. I don’t know the truth of that rumor.” Tohon grinned. He was a man of mature years, a tough veteran who hadn’t lost his sense of humor. “Rumor is like a pretty girl flirting with ten different men. You never know which one she really prefers.”
“Are the Qin going to war against the empire?” Mai asked softly.
Anji shrugged, meeting her gaze. “Commander Beje will tell me what I need to know.”
The smiles Mai and Anji exchanged excluded Shai and, indeed, everyone else. This demon was jealousy, gnawing at his gut. He fought against it, but he couldn’t stop himself. Mai looked radiant and strong, but he felt weak because he was lonely. All he could do was tag along after Chief Tuvi and play at weapons with the tailmen, who respected him for his strength but ridiculed his awkward attempts to shoot a bow; they could hit a marmot from horseback. He was a little better with a staff, not hopeless at any rate, so they let him carry a spear as he rode to get accustomed to its heft and length.
The Golden Road was not actually a single trail leading west to east. It had many paths and roads, some preferable in winter while others suited summer or autumn travel. Tohon led their troop on a northeast spur at a steady clip for the rest of that day, halting at intervals to rest, water, and feed the horses. The beasts were almost as tough as their masters.
They camped that night at a water hole. In the morning they rode east until midday and then pushed north again into the foothills until sundown, when they halted by a dry streambed.
Shai was sore and nervous. Mai was laughing at something Anji had just said to her.
I hate happy people, thought Shai. Mai had confided in him, but he hadn’t the strength to return the favor. He watched Mountain and the other slaves digging into the streambed. They struck water about an arm’s length down and widened the hole to accommodate as many horses as possible.
All at once, Mai walked up beside him, hands cupped before her. She opened her hands to reveal three tiny beaded nets. “O’eki found these. I forgot to give them to you before.”
“Who is O’eki? That’s not a Qin name.”
“It’s Mountain’s name, as you should know,” she said tartly. “He found them. Here. They belong to you.” Anji called to her. She pressed the objects into his hand and walked away.
Cornflower had tied off the ends of her braids with these tiny beaded nets. He had wondered often enough what it must feel like to touch her hair, as these once had, to feel the texture of those fine strands as a caress on the skin. He shut his eyes and listened, wondering if he could hear her ghost in the objects once worn by he
r.
She had not been dead when these had come off her. They’d been discarded, like ruined clothing. Her pale gold hair had been unbound, just like that of the figure he’d seen taken by the storm.
With a groan, he cast them onto the ground, then picked them up and tucked them into the lining in his long sleeves next to Father Mei’s gold. What good was he, who was no better than his brothers, all but Hari? He had lusted after her just as they had, and it hadn’t been kindness that had stayed him from pressing his body onto hers. It had been simple stubbornness; he didn’t want to be like them. He didn’t want to follow in their dreary footsteps and do the predictable things they did. He didn’t want to want what they wanted. So he’d pretended not to want her, and by ignoring her, had left her waiting under the lean-to, easy prey for the storm and the demons that rode it.
Nothing-good boy. That’s what his mother had always called him.
“Hu!” Chief Tuvi strolled up to him. “That’s some good-tasting water once the dirt is filtered out of it! There’s a hand of daylight left, Shai. You want to see if you can hit anyone with that spear? We’ll make a soldier of you yet. You’re a challenge, sure enough, but we’re not afraid of anything, not even your clumsiness!”
His particular companions were waiting—Jagi, Pil, Seren, Tarn, and Umar—with their usual hearty grins, calling him names as they taunted him to come over and get the wits beaten out of him.
What a fool he’d been, moping all those years for the reward he’d never get, his family’s love and respect. A better prize lay within his grasp. These soldiers teased only when they liked you.
He was one of them now. He found his staff and joined them. He got the wits beaten out of him, and enjoyed it even as they mocked his clumsiness.