by IGMS
"Break me?" He genuinely laughed. "Girl, it has taken a lifetime to earn these titles. I do not break."
"My poem has shaken greater men than you, General Veritas. Changed them. If I am to speak it, you must answer my questions first."
He frowned, irritated. "I will consider."
But his heart beat fast as he went to unsaddle his horse and fetch his pack. This was a poem of power; rare power if it had upset a Lord Emperor. Veritas poured oats to supplement the grass his horse pawed at beneath the snow. Let Theseda Ys wait on his decision.
As he gathered deadwood for the fire, his old knuckles ached in the deepening cold. The sun was gone, leaving a sky of washed-out blue like the eyes of the hanged woman. She kept her face to him as he piled wood, and he could hear the dried sinews in her neck ticking and popping as she turned.
He didn't know if the magic in her poem would do anything for him. That was the risk. Poems could be fickle, even poems of power, and he would be taking a tremendous risk dealing with the dead. He could easily end up damned, like her. But what did he really have to lose, except old age and ebbing strength?
"Why can you still speak to the living?" he asked. He kicked away snow to expose hard ground.
"My poem sustains me. So long as it is remembered, I live."
"It also condemned you," he countered. "You must have upset the Lord Emperor very much if he sent you so far to die." He masked his keen interest by tearing up handfuls of dead grass for kindling and throwing them into the bare space.
"I was not sent by the Emperor. I was brought by High Priest Edo."
Veritas straightened, the grass falling from his hand. "Edo? A black name in the history of the empire. Have you hanged here so long?" A poem powerful enough to keep her awake for almost a century, and powerful enough to frighten Edo. Edo had been fearless in his rebellion against the first Lord Emperor, Teron.
"Edo was not the heretic they make him out to be," she said, "and I have lost count of the years. You are the first to share my tree in a long while. I did not know death would be this cold."
"I have heard it is so, but I am an old soldier. Still, it must be gratifying that your poem is remembered. Perhaps I've heard it?"
"No. High Priest Edo forbade writing it down. Those who know it teach it in secret to those worthy to hear."
Teaching poems in secret was seditious. The young Lord Emperor would welcome news of a simmering rebellion, especially one centered on a poem that had frightened Edo. Veritas could be the messenger and use that to return to the capital. "What if no one remembers it?"
"Then it must not be needed. I shall fall and the wild dogs will have me at last."
"Needed for what?"
"That can only be answered by the poem itself, and the ears that hear."
Veritas crouched and struck steel against flint, showering the grass with sparks. He had begun to feel the atmosphere of the place and wanted the fire for light as well as warmth. Theseda Ys rocked in a breeze and her noose crrrkk'd as it rubbed across the bark of her tree.
"I collect poetry," he said, his breath billowing in the evening air. "I have gathered a few poems over the years, the poems that have changed me. Ask your questions and I will hear your poem."
"Such faith. What if my poem doesn't affect you?"
"As you said, that can only be answered by the poem itself. And my ears."
"Are you worthy?"
"Poems have been written about me, girl, seeking to draw strength from my glory. I am second only to the Lord Emperor. I am worthy to hear any poem."
The fire grew, casting light on her seared features. He saw something alert and swift in her eyes and reminded himself to remain wary.
He drew an inkpot from his pack and placed it next to the fire to thaw.
"You are presumptuous," Theseda Ys said. "You wish to write it down in defiance of High Priest Edo's edict? Tell me, great General, what will you do in the south now that the empire no longer needs you?"
He scowled, examining his frozen bottle of ink. "The Lord Emperor granted me an estate. I will rest."
"You don't sound happy."
"The Lord Emperor honors me."
"Does a life of leisure frighten you, Prince Keal?"
"I am General Veritas!"
"That is a northern name. Can you do anything other than fight?"
Veritas barked a bitter laugh. "There has been no fighting for almost eight years. The empire is quiet."
She twitched and he thought she looked surprised. "The wars have ceased?" she asked quietly. "Then the empire must have nothing left to devour." Louder, "I will tell you my poem after you read me the oldest poem in your collection. The poem that changed you first."
He tried not to shiver in a sudden chill. "You said I only had to answer your questions."
"I am asking you for your poem."
"I will not read it to you."
"Come, General, you are a great landowner, a prince of the south. You must learn the value of barter. There must be an equal trade."
She stretched her cracked lips into a smile. She mocked his honorable exile. He grew angry.
"All of the poems in my collection are equally important. All changed me," he said.
"Tell me the first one."
"I will read you any other."
She didn't answer, so he crouched down and erected a spit over his crackling and flaring fire.
"Give me your poem or I will lay you on the ground for the dogs!" he ordered in his most commanding voice. He looked over his shoulder at her. She did not tremble with fear as most people did.
"You think that would be easy to do?" she said, "Unbind me and see."
The silence stretched; neither one broke eye contact. His hand wanted to return to his belt-knife.
"How did a man from the southlands end up as a general?" she said at last, though she did not look away. "You are a long way from home, and emperors do not normally trust foreign men in such high positions."
"Lord Emperor."
"Why do you insist on that?"
"The Emperor is God-on-earth. Address him as such."
"Ah. God-on-earth. High Priest Edo fought against that belief. I am from a time before, when we worshipped Aztibel. Aztibel was usually more forgiving."
Veritas snorted. Aztibel was weak. "A few people still worship her, but first they must acknowledge the Lord Emperor."
"You would be surprised how many still believe."
"You would be surprised at how quickly they bow to the Lord Emperor when arrested."
"How did you become a general?" she asked in a flat tone. He thought perhaps he had stung her.
"I worked my way up through the ranks of the Southern Legions. We had a lot of fighting to do then. The empire was smaller, with many enemies. I am undefeated in battle, so it is said I am the reason for the empire's current size. The Lord Emperor brought me north in due time."
"That is the story of General Veritas. I'm more interested in Prince Keal. Why did you leave your people?"
Veritas pushed the spit through a strip of salted beef and an onion. He hung them over the fire. "There isn't much to tell of my princely youth. I was engaged from before I was born to Princess Duranni. That was during a time of peace between the tribes. Growing up, we would sit around the fires and listen to old men tell tales of raids and plunder, but we were bored and restless. The elders hoped marriages between princes and princesses from rival tribes would extend the peace."
"It did not?"
"Peace never lasts. The Malawha Tribe attacked while I was meditating in seclusion. I slew many with a tree branch, and I enjoyed the battle. I joined the Lord Emperor's army."
"That was a great decision to make - to leave your people. Did you see Princess Duranni again?"
"Never."
"This first poem, the poem that changed you, when did you hear it?"
Veritas looked out past the trees. The flickering firelight turned the plains and hills to impenetrable blackness. Light gli
nted in the wild dogs' eyes. He threw more branches on the fire. "I will not tell it to you."
"I asked you about it. I would know something of the man who desires the poem that has let me live longer than my life."
Veritas eased himself to the ground, conscious of old wounds and aches. "I received the poem not long before the attack of the Malawha boys. It was a sunny day after the wet season, when the beautiful days had begun."
"Who wrote the poem?"
He looked up at her. "Princess Duranni wrote it. But if you want to know more, then you must answer my questions."
She smiled. "Now you understand commerce."
"How did you gain an audience with the Lord Emperor? Poetry is high magic, and there are things you can do with a poem. I am surprised the priests let you speak at all."
"I know that now. Then I was merely a supplicant, one of thousands who came on Forgiveness Day in hopes of having my debts forgiven."
"I have seen Forgiveness Day. It is difficult to contain so many desperate people within the city walls. Congratulations on achieving an audience."
"I was a pretty girl, to the Emperor's taste. I assumed I would have to lay with him to ease my debts. I hoped he would require only a few months and not years."
"Was your debt great?"
"Very great. I was desperate. Unfortunately on that Forgiveness day the Emperor Teron fought with High Priest Edo. It was three weeks before Teron's fortieth birthday, you see, the day he would be sacrificed to Aztibel. It was known that Emperor Teron feared death."
"Lord Emperors fear nothing. They are gods greater than all others."
"He was in a stormy mood when we entered the Great Hall," she continued as if he had not spoken. "Instead of asking why our debts should be forgiven, or asking for our bodies or some other token of sacrifice as in previous years, he demanded we each recite a poem of our own making. You who collect poems, have you ever created one?"
"I do not have that divine gift."
"Nor did we, standing in the echoing Great Hall, looking up at the Emperor. We were terrified. Who can think of poetry under such circumstances? The guards along the walls held their spears high while one by one Emperor Teron summoned us forward.
"The first man cried that he was no poet. He was killed immediately for disobeying. After that everyone tried, hoping the Emperor would be pleased.
"By the time I stepped forward, many lay dead before the dais and a bare few had escaped. The smell of blood was terrible. The emperor commanded me to speak."
Veritas pulled meat from the spit and tugged on it with his remaining good teeth. He closed his eyes as he imagined the blood and the bodies and the poetry.
"A guard approached," she said. "I took a trembling breath and began a poem about a flower. The priests are right to fear poetry. It slipped from my control. I barely knew what I spoke."
"I wish I could feel that just once," Veritas said. "Feel a poem bursting from my mouth. The Lord Emperor was changed?"
"Oh, yes. He forgave my debts and asked me to lay with him. He honored me."
"What words sped from your mouth?" Veritas asked in awe.
"Princess Duranni sent you her poem, a poem that changed you greatly by your own admission. Was it a sad poem, or an angry poem? Did she break your heart?"
"It was a goodbye poem, though it was not her fault. I understood."
"Sometimes princes and princesses must do things that they do not want to do. Did you love her?"
"I did not."
"Have you ever loved anyone?"
He smiled. Love was a hindrance. He wasn't surprised by her question, though. She was a woman, and women always talked of love. "I have not."
"A man goes his whole life, and it is a long one, and does not love. Perhaps that is not so strange, but I am sad for you."
"You were young when you died, still naïve. I am certain you loved."
"I did. I miss him."
"You are lucky. You didn't live long enough for your love to sour. You have a memory of a brief and pure thing."
"It wasn't brief. We were together for years."
He glanced up to see if she joked, but it was hard to tell. He didn't think her face capable of many expressions anymore. She seemed too young to have loved for years.
"Who was he?" he said. "A childhood friend? Some shepherd, wooing you with flowers and promises of marriage?"
"You don't understand love."
"Understanding is not necessary to recognize the damage it can do," he scoffed.
"Understanding is everything, in love and in poetry. If you don't understand them they both can consume you. Theirs is an unstable power."
"Are you saying I don't understand poetry?" He stood again, glaring at her.
"Don't be angry. It has been a long time since I have spoken of poetry. Or love."
"You're the one who doesn't understand! One divine poem crossed your lips. You loved a man once. Now you hang like a memento, forgotten."
"You are more right than you know. And I was taught to understand from a young age."
"Taught?"
"Don't let my tattered dress fool you. I am a princess of Porrin."
"A princess?" He searched her face and dress for a sign he had missed, but sun and frost had done their work. She was a mottled, frozen husk. "I thought you were a village girl. Porrin is a wealthy country."
"Porrin is wealthy because the Emperor forgave their debt on Forgiveness Day."
Veritas was stunned. "You sought the Lord Emperor's forgiveness for the debt of a country? And you sought it with only your body?" He was appalled at her arrogance. If Black Edo had not hanged her out here, Lord Emperor Teron should have.
"It was a desperate gesture from a desperate people. I was the eldest daughter, so that counted for something."
"That must have been some poem." He wanted that poem. Surely it could change him back into what he had been.
"It was just a poem about a flower."
Veritas sat carefully and threw more sticks on the fire. "What did Black Edo fear in your poem?"
"Edo feared many things." She closed her eyes. "The Emperor fought to throw down Aztibel, after all."
Veritas drew out his scroll of poetry and unrolled it to the last poem in his collection. It was the song of a wine steward that had led him to accept an administrative post in the capital, and thus preserved his career for eight years after the wars ended. Only tan vellum, empty of words and power, remained after this poem. He gazed at the vacant space. A future without guideposts.
"There is nothing in this whole world but strength," he said quietly. "I had some, but now it is gone."
"Sometimes all that is left is to breathe," Theseda Ys replied, equally softly.
"I need your poem."
"There is a price to be paid for hearing it."
"Please." He hunched forward over his scroll, chin down, hands pressed onto his knees. It hurt him to say the word.
"I will have your poem first."
He breathed, inhaling the scent of wet earth, melting snow, and smoke from the fire.
"At least tell me how it came to be," she said. "You left your people after Princess Duranni's poem changed you. That is not how a prince should act. I went to the palace intending to sacrifice my honor for Porrin. You enlisted in the army of your homeland's conqueror."
Veritas closed his eyes. He had not revisited the past in four decades. He had avoided it, intending to confront it when he was ready. When he finally journeyed home to where he could sort it out, the gods above placed this woman in his path halfway between the journey's beginning and end. They had their own timing for such things.
"When I first came here you seemed like a village girl," he said at last. "I didn't know you were a princess, and the eldest princess at that. You know of responsibility. I am not the first prince. I am not the second or third. I was thirty-seventh in the line of succession, born of a mother as poor as a village girl. I wore a loincloth, while my princely cousins wore robes
and pearls. I was Prince Keal, but it was only a title." He looked up at her, steeling himself for her mockery.
Instead she said, "Was Princess Duranni regal?"
He struggled to remember what Duranni looked like. "She was as low as I. When the elders agreed to wed the princes and princesses to keep peace, I think they included us lesser cousins as a joke."
"And now here you are, second only to the Emperor. Your homecoming will be momentous. Why do you fear it?"
"There is nothing for me there," he said bitterly.
"The Emperor gave you a great estate, and land is power. You will be a prince in truth."
"Land is not strength, and titles tell no story."
"There is always more to a story than a little bit. What made you leave?"
"You shame me with your questions."
"I must understand you before I give you my poem. That has always been my intent."
Veritas sat as the stars wheeled across the sky and the bitter wind sang softly. He felt weary. The rope of Theseda Ys beckoned. But that way would be easy. One thing he could truly claim, he never chose the easy path.
He would give her his poem. She thought she knew his shame, but there was always more shame to reveal.
"I have not read this poem since I wrote it down. Not a single word." He unrolled the scroll, all the way back to the beginning where the vellum tightly curled and the ink was faded. It was scribed in the hand of a much younger man. "Here is Princess Duranni's poem:
I looked into the well at the edge of the village,
the one where Bayati was struck by lightning.
The voice of the sea blew over the well-mouth,
Telling me you are far away.
I asked the well would I see you again,
"Not with your eyes," it said.
I returned to my hut by the Limde River
and wept.
On Hanik's Day I will marry your brother
for you are already dead."
He rolled the scroll until he had buried the poem again.
"What caused her grief?" Theseda Ys said.
"I had been sent away." Veritas rubbed his aching hands together. "Exiled. I drank too much at a celebration and struck a prince of higher rank. The Council sent me to tend goats for the rest of my life. So where I had been nothing before, I was made to be less than nothing. A goatherd with the title of Prince."