by Ginn Hale
John relaxed in his chair and watched the flames dancing in the nearest hearth. A group of men across the room whispered about the Yah’hali Prison. John heard the name Jath’ibaye. But none of the men even glanced in his direction.
The serving girl brought John a platter of food as well as a bowl of washing water and a warm cloth, which he used to rinse and dry his hands. After the first polite bites, he devoured the mutton-stuffed dumplings, dog meat, and fried taye cakes ravenously. The serving girl brought him a dish of spiced weasel eggs and stewed greens. John finished the eggs in a few bites. Deep warmth radiated from his stomach. He sipped more wine, feeling warm and satisfied.
A light breeze rolled over John as the dining room door opened. A man, woman, and a young child came through. All three still wore their coats and snow clung to their boots. The child—a boy, John guessed, from his clothes—stared with wide brown eyes at the tables of men. He looked amazed when he caught sight of John and all the plates stacked up in front of him. John smiled at the boy.
Then he glanced up to the parents. The mother was a pretty woman but terribly thin. The silver wedding chains on her fingers seemed at odds with her red, chapped knuckles. But it was the sight of the father that almost made John choke on his wine. John had expected to never see him again and yet he recognized Hann’yu at once.
Hann’yu glanced to the big empty table near the fire. Dirty dishes and wine cups still cluttered its surface. Hann’yu turned and started towards the big common table. He ushered the woman and boy several steps before he suddenly met John’s gaze.
Hann’yu froze in place, the color visibly draining from his face. John watched him intently. He couldn’t afford Hann’yu to make a scene. Hann’yu seemed too stunned to move. The serving girl eyed him curiously.
John lifted his hand and beckoned Hann’yu over. Hann’yu initially balked but recovered quickly. He led the woman and child to where John sat at the communal table.
“Sit,” John said quietly.
Hann’yu pulled out a chair and helped the young boy up into it. The child glanced to John but seemed far more interested in his dirty plates. He stared with undisguised avarice at the small remnant of a dumpling. Hann’yu seated the woman. She, unlike the child, seemed very aware of Hann’yu’s tension. She kept her head bowed but watched John. When she noticed him returning her glances, she flinched away and hid her hands in her lap. At last Hann’yu took off his bulky pack and sank down into the chair across from John.
Hann’yu was thinner than John remembered. The smell of travel clung to his simple clothes. His hair hung loose around his face and was cut short like a laborer’s. His hands, which John remembered as graceful and soft, looked rough and nicked. Little crescents of dirt showed beneath his broken fingernails. But it was Hann’yu’s silence that seemed most at odds with John’s memory of the man. He watched John guardedly and said nothing.
The serving girl approached them. She smiled and the little boy smiled back at her, though not brightly. A nervousness had crept into his manner. He reached out and gripped his mother’s hand. Hann’yu continued to watch John.
“Shall I bring food for your friends, sir?” the serving girl asked John.
“Yes, thank you.”
Again the serving girl bowed to John and then retreated into the kitchen. The noise of conversation at the other tables washed over John. A young man wondered when the trains would move again and immediately an old man began to whisper the story of Lon’ahma’s imprisonment. Two men drunkenly sang a few snatches of a song and then burst into laughter.
John noticed that the woman very minutely jabbed Hann’yu in the ribs. Hann’yu swallowed and seemed to force the flat line of his mouth into a weak approximation of one of his old easy smiles.
“It’s been a while,” Hann’yu said. “I’m glad to see that you’re well.”
“Really?” John leaned forward slightly. He kept his voice low. “Last I remember you sent Samsango to poison me.”
Hann’yu’s eyes widened and for the briefest moment he looked terrified. The woman next to him clenched her child’s hand and the boy gave a sharp cry.
“You ended up killing Samsango,” John whispered. “Did you know that?”
“He wanted to help you,” Hann’yu whispered back. “We both just wanted to help you, Jah—” Hann’yu cut himself off before he said John’s old name aloud. “I had no way of knowing that he would go that far to rescue you. You must believe me. I didn’t intend to harm you or him.”
John felt such bitterness. He remembered the terrible limpness of Samsango’s body in his arms. At the same time, he hated seeing fear in Hann’yu’s expression and knowing that he was causing it.
The serving girl returned to the table with more hot wine and a cup of frothy goat’s milk for the boy. The boy gripped the cup in his hands but looked uncertain.
“May I?” the boy asked his mother. She looked to John.
“Go on,” John said. He watched the boy drink the warm milk. He was obviously Hann’yu’s son. They both had the same gentle brown eyes and silky, walnut-colored hair. The boy drank slowly and deeply. John imagined that he was very hungry.
John turned his attention back to Hann’yu.
“What’s his name?” John asked.
“Du’rai,” Hann’yu said quietly. He touched the woman’s shoulder lightly. “This is my wife, Istanayye.”
Istanayye held her hand up in a gesture of peace.
“It is an honor to meet you…sir,” she said. She smiled hesitantly. John could see dozens of tired lines around her mouth and eyes. “Thank you for your generosity.”
She gently brushed a few strands of her son’s hair back from his face.
John nodded. He let his old anger go. He couldn’t blame Hann’yu for not knowing what would happen that day. He couldn’t even blame Hann’yu for Samsango’s death. Samsango had made the decision for himself.
“So,” John said after a moment. “What brings you to Gisa?”
“We were hoping to take the train to Nurjima. Istanayye has family there. I had to leave—” Hann’yu went silent as the serving girl returned to their table.
She lowered two big platters of steaming dishes down in front of Hann’yu and his family. The smell of meat and fresh taye cakes rolled up through the air. Du’rai started to reach for a fried cake but pulled his hand back at a glance from his mother. Another serving girl brought them bowls of fragrant washing water and hand cloths.
Hann’yu, his wife, and son all washed their hands. Istanayye appeared almost moved to tears by the small luxury. She cupped the warm cloth around her chapped hands and very carefully dried the silver chains of her marriage rings.
“May I have a taye cake, sir?” Du’rai asked John.
“Of course,” John said. “Help yourselves to all you like.”
“Thank you, sir,” Du’rai said.
John expected the boy to just snatch the platter of taye cakes, but instead he waited for Hann’yu to serve him and his mother. All three of them ate quickly but with refined manners. None of them picked up the stuffed dumplings with their fingers or licked the meat sauce off their spoons the way John had. Hann’yu sipped his wine and closed his eyes. A faint, satisfied smile curved his lips. He opened his eyes slowly and looked at John.
“Thank you,” Hann’yu said.
“You’re welcome,” John replied and briefly he felt as though nothing had changed since the days when he and Hann’yu had spent hours preparing poultices and conversing comfortably. But things had changed, and apparently not just for him. John leaned in a little closer to Hann’yu. “So why aren’t you in Rathal’pesha?”
“I lost what faith I had,” Hann’yu replied. “The Payshmura have no honor any longer. You wouldn’t believe the things they’ve stooped to.”
“Do you mean using the ushiri’im to rape witches?” John asked.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Istanayye flinch, but she quickly turned her attention to her son
, cutting his meat into smaller pieces.
“You know about that?” Hann’yu asked in a whisper.
“More people seem to know every day,” John replied.
“You see, Hann’yu,” Istanayye said quietly. “Your letters have been read.”
“Perhaps,” Hann’yu whispered, but he looked uncertain.
“Your letters?” John asked.
Hann’yu nodded.
“Once I discovered Ushman Nuritam’s plan, I tried to dissuade him, but he informed me that the Usho had ordered it. I said that it was impossible. Dayyid’s ushiri’im would never do such a thing.” Hann’yu took another sip of wine. “I didn’t think they would, but then I saw for myself…” Hann’yu looked nauseated. “I had to do something. But I’m not an ushiri or even a gaunan of any great importance. I couldn’t order it stopped myself. So I wrote to every ushman, gaunsho, and scholar I knew. I even wrote to the kahlirash’im, if you can believe that. I told them everything and begged them to stop it.”
“And?” John asked.
“And then I fled. I knew Nuritam would have me killed if he discovered what I had done, and if my plan was successful, he would find out. So I took a few trinkets, things that might have some value in Nurjima, and I left.” Hann’yu glanced down at the pack beside his chair.
“How long ago was this?” John asked.
“Almost two months now.” Hann’yu nervously toyed with his wine glass but didn’t drink. “I’d begun to think that my letters were lost or that Nuritam had destroyed them somehow.”
“No,” John replied. “Someone has read them. I’ve heard traders from as far south as Vundomu allude to it.”
Istanayye moved a little closer to the two of them.
“When we heard what had happened at the Yah’hali Prison, I thought that someone had at last responded to one of Hann’yu’s letters. But he said that he didn’t think it was the case.” Istanayye’s voice was so quiet that John had to strain to hear her.
“That was Fai’daum work,” Hann’yu said. “I didn’t write to anyone in the Fai’daum. How could I?”
“Who knows how they learned of it. It could have been your doing.” Istanayye glanced to her son and gently brushed his hair back behind his ear again. “Don’t let your hair get in your mouth.”
Du’rai drank more of his milk.
“I wish it had been my doing,” Hann’yu whispered.
“You did all you could,” Istanayye said.
Two men near the fire began to sing. From across the room a woman raised her voice and joined them. Other men sang along during the chorus.
Du’rai leaned against his mother as she softly whispered the words of the song to him. Hann’yu smiled, watching them. John listened to the simple folk song with its chorus about taye growing wild on the hills and a long lost lover. He wondered why so many folk songs were so melancholy. The people singing seemed rather happy.
Hann’yu glanced to John.
“Is…he here with you?” Hann’yu asked. It took John a moment to realize Hann’yu meant Ravishan.
“Not right now,” John said. “I saw him two days ago, though. He’s well.”
“There are posters, offering rewards for the two of you,” Hann’yu said. “That blond boy as well. You know who I mean?”
John nodded.
“I suppose I’ll have one of my own to worry about soon enough,” Hann’yu said.
“Probably,” John replied. “It’s the price of fame, I guess.”
At last, Hann’yu managed a genuine smile.
The song ended and everyone in the room clapped, even the singers. John supposed they were applauding each other. The serving girls brought out fresh rounds of mulled wine as well as sweet cream pastries. Du’rai seemed hardly able to stay awake long enough to eat his dessert. His cheeks were bright pink. He held his hand up over his mouth as he gave a gaping yawn.
Hann’yu offered his pastry to his wife and poured himself more wine. Both he and John were quiet for a little while. John watched the fire in the hearth. His thoughts wandered to Laurie. For a moment utter hopelessness filled him. He had to remind himself that she was not dead. Eventually she would be free. She was a strong woman; she would recover from what the Payshmura did to her in Umbhra’ibaye.
When John glanced back, he realized that Hann’yu had been watching him. Du’rai dozed against Istanayye’s side. Istanayye herself leaned back in her chair sleepily.
“It looks like it’s about time to call it a night.” John gestured to Istanayye and Du’rai. Noting his wife’s near dozing state, Hann’yu reached out and tapped her arm lightly. Istanayye’s head came up at once and she met Hann’yu’s gaze with an embarrassed smile.
“Let him sleep a little longer,” Istanayye whispered.
Hann’yu nodded. He looked back to John.
“Where are you staying?” Hann’yu asked.
“Here,” John replied. “Why?”
“I didn’t know if you already had a room. If you didn’t, I thought I’d offer to split the cost…But you’ve got a room.” Hann’yu gazed at his sleeping son’s face. “This is a nice place.”
“You’re staying here as well, aren’t you?” John asked.
“No, we just bought a meal pass.” Hann’yu lowered his gaze to his hands. “I wanted to get them out of the cold for a little while.”
“You three don’t have a place to stay?”
“We’ve got no money,” Hann’yu admitted.
“I thought you took things when you left…” John didn’t have to say Rathal’pesha.
“Not money.” Hann’yu smiled bitterly. “There’s no money there to take. The things I have I don’t dare show anyone this far north. They could find us too easily if I did. We spent most of Istanayye’s money on our train passes, but of course, the train isn’t running.”
“It should be running again soon,” John said.
“You think so?” Hann’yu asked.
“I know so.”
“We’ll be all right in Nurjima,” Hann’yu said. “I have friends there. Istanayye has family.”
“You could stay the night in my room,” John said. “It’s not big, but it’s warm.”
Hann’yu frowned. John thought he might refuse, but then Hann’yu glanced to his wife and son.
“That would be good. Thank you, Ja—thank you.”
“It’s no trouble,” John said. “A friend is coming to get me early in the morning, but I think you should be able to sleep in. Come on, I’ll take you up.”
Hann’yu and his family followed John upstairs to the room. The luxury of down quilts and pitchers of scented wash water delighted Istanayye. Du’rai hopped on the corner of the bed and bounced on the soft mattress and bedsprings. Hann’yu sank into one of the two upholstered chairs. He ran his hand over the embroidered design of vines that decorated the arms of the chair.
“You’ve done well for yourself since I last saw you,” Hann’yu commented.
John shook his head.
“Some friends of mine arranged this. It’s all new to me.” He opened a small door, expecting to find a closet where he could hang their coats. Instead the door opened into a private bathroom.
“There’s a bath in here,” John said.
Istanayye gazed into the tiled bathroom like she was peeking into heaven. She eyed the large tub and water pipes with longing and then turned her large, dark eyes onto John.
“Would you mind if we used your bath?” Istanayye asked.
“Not at all,” John replied. “Go right ahead.”
Istanayye quickly caught Du’rai’s hands and pulled him off the bed. She filled the tub with hot water for him and then left him alone to wash.
“You’re next,” she told Hann’yu.
“No, you should have your bath while the water’s still hot,” Hann’yu said. “I got used to cold baths in Rathal’pesha. Anyway, I want to talk with Jahn.”
“It’s not very proper, but…” Istanayye bowed her head slightly. “If
it is your wish, I will obey.”
“It is my wish,” Hann’yu replied. There was something about his tone that made John think he was joking. “Don’t worry. Jahn hates propriety.”
“Really?” Istanayye peered at John skeptically.
“I certainly don’t think you should have to take a cold bath just because you’re a woman,” John said.
“You see,” Hann’yu said. “Jahn’s very enlightened. Nearly as enlightened as myself.”
“You’re just a troublemaker,” Istanayye told Hann’yu, and John recognized the teasing tone in her soft voice.
Istanayye walked to Hann’yu’s side. She touched his hand and then began to sink down to sit on the floor at the foot of Hann’yu’s chair. Hann’yu caught her and pulled her up into the chair and onto his lap. Istanayye blushed a little. Hann’yu wrapped his arms around her.
John hung his coat over the back of the empty chair and dropped down across from Hann’yu and Istanayye. The padded back of the chair felt good. John just wished it was a little bigger. He stretched his legs out and yawned.
“So, Jahn, can I ask you what happened after Ravishan rescued you?” Hann’yu asked.
“We hid in the forest for a while. There was a huge storm so no one came looking for us.”
“I remember. I don’t think I’d ever seen so much snow fall in one week,” Hann’yu said.
“Then the Fai’daum found us,” John said. “They could have turned us over for the rewards, but instead they gave us shelter. We’ve been with them since.”
“Were you in Yah’hali?” Hann’yu asked.
“I was. Not Ravishan.”
“You’re an unusual man, particularly here in the north,” Hann’yu commented. “The first time a merchant described Jath’ibaye, I thought of you.”
John only gave a slight nod to Hann’yu.
“You’re Jath’ibaye?” Istanayye stared at John. “You did those things?”