by Kate Elliott
“After so many years and such an arduous journey, I expected further trials of a very different sort.” He chuckled. “So I am paid in my own coin, being given what I had hoped to avoid. Yet it did seem to me that you recognized something, that there was a spark of knowledge, a moment of trust, when we first came face-to-face in the temple of the Devourer. You gave me a question, and a decision. You asked me, ‘Who are you?’ You told me, ‘I will come with you.’ And here you are, and here I am.” He smiled, amused by his own consternation. “Aui! Now it seems you cannot speak, or will not speak. I love conversation above all things. Shelter over my head, a dram of cordial, a well-laid table, and a few cheerful companions with whom to pass the evening! I like to think of myself as a man who makes few demands, and is easy to please, and content with little enough, but I see the gods have chosen to test me in the manner meant to make it hardest for me. So it goes.”
Her torso expanded and contracted as she took in and released breath, that was all.
“I remember my own awakening—a long time ago now, to be sure! It took the patient coaxing of a pair of cloaks—like you and me—to instruct me. Twilight was one. Strange that I can’t now recall the other. Yet there is more to your silence, for it’s not the usual way—not that there’s anything wrong with it, mind you! What brought you here? Where did you come from? How—why—did the cloak of mist reach to you? What is your name? I have a name, too, although no person has called me by name for a very long time. I was born in the Year of the Blue Rat, which is what makes me what I am. We Rats are known for being acquisitive, but Blue Rats don’t grasp after money but rather after company and conversation and secrets. Then I was dedicated to Ilu, the Herald, because I was always restless, seeking, wandering. And named by my mother in honor of the Water Mother, whose fluid nature thereby enhances those other qualities. It’s a wonder I can keep silence at all! Nothing like you. I suppose we’re well matched in that way. I talk, and you—heya!—maybe you listen and maybe you’re hearing some other voice entirely, one I can never hear. Maybe you’re tired of voices.”
The wind has a voice, light and airy, full of promise, but sometimes cruel and rough. So does the rain have a voice, and the waters of the sea lapping the shore with their constant motion, never entirely quiet, able to choke and drown those the sea swallows. Fire has a voice, first crackling and impatient and later fading into a soft burn that may spark again when least expected. The earth’s voice seems to slumber, but she, too, speaks in her slow, measured way and she may crack when none expect her temper.
Even demons and ghosts can speak, if one has the ears to hear.
She raised her head.
He smiled gently, to encourage her.
She was looking beyond him. He turned. The two horses had wandered back into view. They differed from ordinary horses in several ways, two of which were obvious now: they possessed uncanny night vision, and they had wings, at this moment folded tightly over their backs and flanks. She rose, walked past him, and went to the horses.
She didn’t approach too quickly but held back, waiting for them to invite her. They let her know they’d allow her to approach. She stroked their ears and noses. She had a treat for each, shriveled pieces of fruit he’d not seen her hide in her sleeves.
He must coax her as one would a skittish, abused, anxious horse. Her scars ran deep, certainly, but she hadn’t run away from him. Or maybe it was just that she hadn’t run away from the horses. He must be patient. He had time in plenty, after all, as long as their enemies did not catch up to them before he had won her trust and taught her the terrible truth about what she had become.
13
The surviving militiamen from various villages and towns in the eastern Olo Plain had been hastily organized to patrol the roads and tracks and to guard safe havens. In these havens, folk who had fled their villages or lost their homes could gather, catch their breath, reassess their situation, and decide what to do next. That was the idea, anyway. In practice, it wasn’t so easy.
After a day searching the Soha Hills, Joss and his eagle returned to the staging camp at the southwestern edge of the hills. In ancient days, a refuge had been constructed on a pair of hills joined by a narrow ridgeway path. Farmers still worked the terraced fields, but the walled fortifications had been uninhabited for as long as anyone could remember. Both hilltops had been stripped of trees and substantially leveled, although the taller hill retained a rocky protuberance on the northern edge of the steepest slope, a perfect landing and perch for the big eagles. Leaving Scar up in these rocks, he scrambled down to the open ground and walked straight into an assault of petitioners.
“Reeve! I have a complaint! This man’s cart blocked the trail. . . . When will there be an assizes? Two men got in a fight. How are we to make provision for—? What’s this I hear about people burying the dead—?”
He raised both hands to show he’d not be answering questions yet. Much of the crowd moved away, but perhaps a dozen followed him across the summit. They just would not stop talking. He walked past women cooking over fires and men hoisting canvas awnings to make shelters against what remained of the old walls. Bedraggled hierophants paced out the proper dimensions for a temporary foundation temple to Sapanasu, the Lantern, while in the distance a cadre of young ordinands cleared stray rocks from a section of ruined wall so they could patrol on top of it.
He turned on the petitioners. “Enough! Give me time to take a drink and eat something. I’ll hear your petitions at the assizes.”
They backed off. He cut over to the ordinands, climbed onto the old wall, and shaded his eyes as he surveyed the countryside. The landscape rolled away westward into the Olo Plain. On the road, a dozen wagons and many people moved toward the haven. From up here, they looked so small, but you could never know how big their problems were.
The sergeant of the little group approached him diffidently. The hells! The lad was so young he had scarcely any beard along his jaw. “Reeve. If I might—?”
“Yes, what is it? I’m Joss.”
“I’m called Gani. Out of Sund.”
“You’re a long way from home.”
“I am. I was sent to the temple in Westcott to do my year’s service with Kotaru. I made a pledge for the full eight years of obligation. They sent me on to the temple in Candra Crossing. We had to flee for our lives.”
He was a quiet lad, not at all belligerent, with a humble manner that Joss liked.
“How can I help you?”
Gani scratched his forehead, rubbed his chin, and looked back at his cadre, who were all watching him intently.
“Go on. I won’t tear your head off, whatever you might be thinking.”
“Is it true you’re the marshal at Argent Hall?”
Joss sighed, feeling the weight of responsibility settle back on his shoulders. “I’m Marshal Alyon’s successor.”
“There was another man serving as marshal before you.”
“He wasn’t a real reeve. He had no eagle that anyone ever saw. Anyway, he’s dead.”
“Ah. Eh. That’s it, you see. There came a pair of Devouring priests, a kalos and a hierodule, with a message from the Hieros of the temple in Olossi. It’s said there was a conclave of all those holy ones in charge of the temples in Olo’osson. They agreed that any of the men from the army that attacked Olossi and who are dead now are to be . . .” He stiffened.
“You haven’t been sergeant long, have you?”
“I am most senior of those left,” he admitted, but the comment gave him courage—or made him ashamed of his hesitation. “It’s like this. We’ve been told to dig ditches out of sight in the forest and to—to bury those dead men and cover them with dirt.” Having started, the rest poured out in a rising voice. “But if we do that, then they can’t rest. They can’t pass the Spirit Gate. What if they turn into demons? Or haunt us? Their ghosts will be angry, and trapped! I know it’s meant as a punishment for them, but what will happen to us who are assigned to complete such a task
?”
“That’s not reeve territory, lad. I can’t help you.” Thank the gods! Still, it was shocking. A brutal, calculated impiety. “Yet the army that invaded us has done terrible things, rape and murder, desecrating temples, defiling corpses.”
The lad looked at his companions. They were silent and uncomfortable. They didn’t want to talk about it in front of him.
Such talk made Joss uncomfortable, too, and he let his gaze wander. Six children worked the slope leading down to the terraces, picking petals of the baby’s-delight that flowered with the first rains. The pale flowers brightened the slopes, which evidently had been recently cropped short by industrious sheep. He met the lad’s gaze with a stern one of his own.
“It’s an ugly thing to contemplate. But I saw the army marching Olossiward on West Track. I saw what they left behind. Maybe it’s best if their spirits are crushed beneath earth. They’re already corrupted. This is a pollution that must be buried before it consumes us. But that doesn’t mean you have to like it. That it bothers you means your heart and spirit are clean.”
“Very well, Marshal.” The lad nodded, so tense it made Joss sad to think of what he must have seen in the last two weeks to cause him to look angry and worn down. “We’ll do as we’ve been bid. Perhaps you’d come at dawn, to where we’ve been assigned to dig the ditches. By that stand of ironwood.” He pointed toward a dozen mature ironwood trees towering above the edge of dense scrub forest that flowed away over the nearby hills. “Just in case any folk see what we’re doing and make trouble. You could let them know the temples gave the order.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be there at dawn.”
Below, a crowd had gathered, waiting on Joss. He assured himself that Scar was at rest, preening as dusk settled. Then he clambered down and waded into the roiling waters.
A temporary court had been set up within the compound. Who had he assigned here?
Ah. The Snake.
“I don’t care if your son is younger than the other man,” Volias was saying to a particularly persistent woman whose face was flushed. “Every witness says they were both drunk. That makes them both culpable. Why these young idiots should make themselves free with wine in times like these is more than I can understand. Haven’t they anything better to do, with folks living under canvas and desperate for water and food, and babies sick with diarrhea? Well, they will have something to do now, since I’ve assigned them both to dig and cover night-soil pits for the rest of the month.”
“You can’t—!”
“I can. Now get the hells out of my face or I’ll ask my militia escorts here to drag you away and toss you into the pits. The ones that are already full with the same crap that’s coming out of your mouth. Gods! Let someone else have a turn.”
He looked up, sensing the crowd that approached. Seeing Joss, his ugly scowl turned into a sneer. He waved away the next petitioner, rose, and strode over to Joss.
“You gods-rotted rutting ass! These people are impossible.”
“Such a good match, you and them.” Although he knew better, he grinned because he did so enjoy seeing Volias suffer.
“You’ll drown in your milky self-love someday. And I hope I’m there to watch and not throw you a rope. Listen, can we talk with some privacy?”
The crowd refused to give them up. They pressed around, everyone talking at once. “What about the theft from my cart? I’ve nothing to feed my children. We’ve no shelter. We were told we could return to our village, but it’s not safe to go back. Is it true the outlanders are looking for women to marry? Why aren’t there more reeves here? One isn’t enough.”
Joss raised both hands to get their attention. “Heya! Listen!” At length, they quieted. “We’ve got business to talk over between ourselves, and then we’ll open the assizes for another session this evening. There are other reeves, at other refuges. But in the end you’ll have to either go back to your homes and rebuild, or go to Olossi. If you’re thinking your lives will be easier in Olossi, be aware that much of the outer town was burned. The folk there have all they can do to rebuild. Go back to your own homes.”
“Why shouldn’t we go to where walls and numbers will make us safe?” shouted one man.
Joss identified the speaker and noted his close-cropped hair and broad shoulders and the plain leggings and jacket commonly worn by farmers. “You’ll get safe passage in a few days. I expect the roads from here back to Olossi to be as safe as we can make them in the time we’ve had. I can’t promise safety on the Hornward road, but patrols will continue to range as far as East Riding. You must take responsibility for local patrols. Each village must set up a militia of able-bodied adults. There may be a few outlaws left hiding in the woodland. You’ll need to capture and turn over to the Olossi militia every straggler you find. Meanwhile, the single most important thing any of you can do, ver, is to plant fields for the coming year while the season is ripe for planting.”
“Can’t Olossi’s militia protect us? What of those black wolves who rode through here a few days ago, chasing the invaders? The tale says that an outlander will save us!”
His questions were echoed by others, all pressing forward so eagerly that Volias actually took a step back. Joss held his ground.
“We were aided by the outlanders. Captain Anji’s company served us well. But another army, a stronger one, may attack out of the north in the months to come. Don’t give the responsibility to protect yourselves to someone else, lest you forget how to defend yourself when there is no one to lend you a sword or bow. You’ve faced that day already, and lost your homes and kin. Best we don’t walk this road again.”
He nudged Volias’s elbow. Before the crowd could recover, he and Volias moved back behind the table set up to mark the assizes court and into what had once been a house. The upper courses of the stone walls were gone, but the sections of wall that remained served as a barrier. He leaned against stone and scratched at a watering eye.
“Dust everywhere,” he muttered.
The Snake paced. “You get all puffed up with your hectoring. Half the women in the audience were eyeing you, hoping for a glance from those pretty eyes.”
“Enough! What do you have to say to me?”
“There’s a solo eagle hanging around, comes and goes. No reeve. She favors one wing, a recent injury.”
“Tumna?”
“Is that her name?”
“Yes. She’s out of Argent Hall. Her old reeve’s dead. It seems she’s already chosen a new reeve.”
“How could she have done that? No one’s stepped into the circle.”
“I don’t know. But it happened. Hasn’t the girl made herself known to you? No, maybe she isn’t here yet. It’ll take her days to reach here, and she has small children with her.”
“Married?” asked Volias with surprise.
“Widow. They’re stepchildren. The father must have been a lot older.”
Volias leaned on the wall, propped on his elbows, and stared over the darkening hills to the northeast. Their personal feud had gone on so long that Joss rarely saw on Volias a neutral expression, but the man had borrowed one now, and it softened his features and made him appear almost likable. “You weren’t just putting her on to try to get a taste of her, her being thankful for the attention?”
“Gods! For sure that’s a likely thing for a newly appointed marshal to do. And in such times as these! The hells, Volias! Is that really what you think of me?”
“Heh. Got you.” There it was: a grin. Not precisely friendly, but not quite bitter and mocking either. “I’ll keep an eye out. What do I do with her?”
“She’ll have to go to Argent Hall to train. Tell you what, when she comes in, you fly her back to Argent Hall, or delegate another reeve to do so. Yet I’m not sure she’ll be willing to separate from the children until we can get them settled in some other way. There’s an older girl, old enough to marry. I’m hoping she might be persuaded to marry one of the Qin soldiers.”
“Whew! It’
s a cursed shame, us encouraging good Hundred girls to marry outlanders. You can’t trust foreigners. Everyone knows that. Maybe they don’t even have eggs. Maybe their members have thorns on them, like it’s said in the tale about the wildings. Best if our lasses stick to their own kind.”
Joss wanted to slug him, but refrained. “We have over two hundred unmarried men who have weapons, who know how to use them better than our militia do, and who might expect a little gratitude after saving Olossi and Argent Hall. I’d rather these outlanders marry good Hundred girls and have a reason to settle down and ally with us than go riding after someone who’ll make use of them. Like the Northerners.”
“I don’t like their slanty eyes. They look at us like they think we’re so much smaller than they are. They remind me of you in some ways.” The sneer was back.
Joss pushed away from the stone. “Is there anything else? I’d like to eat and drink before I sit down at the assizes for the evening.”
“Are you going to allow this order that came from the Olossi temple conclave? To bury the corpses of the dead soldiers?”
“I am.”
“The hells! You can’t mean it. It’s going against the laws of the gods.”
“You saw what those criminals did in the villages. We must bury such spirits.”
“And become as impious as they were.”
“Maybe so. But young men—and debt-bound slaves—will think twice about running away to the north to make their fortune robbing and raping and murdering, won’t they? Anyway, it’s the punishment spoken of in the Tale of Fortune, isn’t it? That must be where the temple ruling comes from. That’s all I have to say. Make sure Nallo—that’s the new reeve’s name—gets to Argent Hall. If she won’t leave the children, then make sure some provision is made for them, else she won’t cooperate. Otherwise, you’re in charge here at this haven until everyone has dispersed. Then you can return to Clan Hall.”
Volias was still stewing. Joss took his silence for assent and went to find something to eat. A scrap of bread, sour wine, and the leavings of watery soup were all that was available, and even that must be eaten with folk rudely trying to get his attention while a trio of young militiamen out of Olossi did their best to hold back the crowd. He set up afterward at the makeshift assizes court, and the petitioners kept coming to him and Volias for hours. A woman needed a healer for a broken hand. Every small child in one corner of the sprawling encampment had diarrhea. A dispute had broken out between two families over the contents of a wagon full of goods salvaged from their burned village. A lad and a lass wished to sit on the marriage bench, but both their clan heads forbade it, while the hopeful couple claimed that they had already received permission from clan elders who had, alas, been killed in the recent trouble.