Sotur said nothing about the betrothal to us. We saw little of her. It seemed she hadn't felt the release from fear as we did. She hadn't regained her weight and looks as we all were doing. She still had the siege face. When I found her in the library at the table with a book, she would greet me kindly but wouldn't talk much and very soon would slip away. My ache of desire for her was gone, turned to an ache of pity, with a tinge of impatience—why must she go on moping in these good days of freedom?
Everra was to deliver an address at the betrothal ceremony. He spent days getting all his quotations from the classics ready. In the benign mood of that autumn, I felt it mean and dishonorable to hide from my old teacher what I'd learned from Mimen and the others at the Shrine. I told him I'd read Denios and that Mimen had given me his copy of Caspro's Cosmologies. My teacher shook his head gravely, but didn't go into a tirade. That encouraged me to ask him how Denios' poems could corrupt a reader, since they were noble in both language and meaning.
"Discontent," Everra answered. "Noble words to teach you how to be unhappy. Such poets refuse the gifts of the Ancestors. Their work is a bottomless pit. Once you remove the firm foundation of belief on which all our lives are built, there is nothing. Only words! Gorgeous, empty words. You can't live on words, Gavir. Only belief gives life and peace. All morality is founded upon belief."
I tried to say what I thought I had glimpsed in Denios, a morality larger than the one we knew, but my ideas were mere gropings, and Everra demolished them with his certainty. "He teaches nothing but rebellion against what must be—refusal of truth. Young men like to play with rebellion, to play at disbelief. I know that. But you'll tire of that sick folly as you grow older, and come back to belief, the one foundation of the moral law."
It was a relief to hear the old certainties again. And he hadn't told me to stop reading Caspro. I did not read often in the Cosmologies, for it was difficult and seemed remote and strange to me; but sometimes lines from it or from Denios would come into my mind, unfolding their meaning or their beauty, as a beech leaf unfurls in spring.
I thought of one of those lines when I stood with all the household to watch Astano, wearing robes of white and silver, cross the great atrium to meet and welcome her husband-to-be: She is a ship on a flowing of bright waters...
Everra made his speech, bristling with classical quotations, so that everyone could be impressed by the learning of the House of Arca. The Mother of the House of Arca said the words that gave her daughter to the House of Tarc. The Mother of that House came forward to receive our Astano as the future Mother of Tarcmand. Then my little pupils sang a wedding song Sotur had rehearsed with them for weeks. And so it was done. Lyre players and drummers in the gallery tuned up, and the wellborn went to the great rooms to feast and dance. We house people had a feast too, and our own music and dancing in the back courtyard. It was cold and a little rainy, but we were ready to dance—and always ready to feast again.
Betrothed in winter, Astano was married on the day of the spring equinox. A month later Yaven was called back to his regiment.
Etra was mounting an invasion of Casicar. Votus, which had been part of the alliance with Morva against us, had come over to our side, fearing the power of Casicar and seeing a chance to cripple it while it was weakened by defeat. Etrans and Votusans together would invade and take or besiege the city of Casicar—a great city, sometimes our enemy, sometimes our ally. Again and again, back and forth, Sotur had said.
I saw Sallo the day Yaven left. She had been allowed to go down to the River Gate to see him and his troops march out to war amid the wild cheering of the people. She was not tearful. She had the same certain hope she had had for him all through the siege. "I think Luck listens to him," she said, with a smile, but seriously. "In battle, I mean. In war. Not here."
"Not here? What do you mean, Sal?"
We were in the library alone and could talk freely. Yet she hesitated for a long time. Finally she looked up at me and seeing I really had no idea what she meant, she said, "The Father was glad to see him go."
I protested.
"No, listen, truly, Gav!" She spoke very low, sitting close to me. "The Father hates Yaven-dí. He does! He's jealous. Yaven will inherit Altan Arca's power. His House. His seat in the Senate. And he's beautiful, and tall, and kind, like his mother—he's a Galleco, not an Arca. His father can't bear to look at him, he's so jealous of him. I've seen it! A hundred times!—Why do you think it's Yaven, the elder son, the heir, who gets sent off again to war? While the younger son, who should be the soldier, who's had all the fancy training to be a soldier, stays safe at home? With his bodyguard! The cowardly, pompous little adder!"
I had never in my life heard my good-natured, tender-hearted sister speak with such hatred. I was appalled, wordless.
"Torm will be groomed for the Senate, you'll see," she said. "Altan Arca hopes Yaven will be—will be killed—" Her soft, passionate voice broke on that word, and she gripped my hand hard. "He hopes it," she repeated, in a whisper.
I wanted to refuse and refute everything she said, but still no words came to me.
Sotur came into the library. She stopped, seeing us, as if to withdraw. Sallo looked up at her and said in a plaintive whisper, "Oh, Sotur-ío!"—and Sotur came to her and took her in her arms, a thing I had never seen that reticent, shy, proud girl do with anyone. The two clung to each other as if trying to reassure each other and unable to. I sat in dumb wonder. I tried to believe that they were consoling each other for losing Yaven, but I knew it wasn't that. It wasn't grief I saw, or love. It was fear.
And when Sotur's eyes met mine, over my sister's head, there was a fierce indignation in her look, which softened gradually. Whatever enemy she had been seeing in me, she saw me again at last.
She said, "Oh, Gavir! If you could get Everra to ask for Sallo to help him teach the little ones—some-thing—anything to get her out of the silk rooms! I know, you can't, he can't ... I know! I asked for her as my maid. I asked the Mother—for my nameday present—just while Yaven is away—may I have Sallo? And she said no, it was not possible. I have never asked for anything. Oh, Sallo, Sallo—you must get sick! You must starve again! Get thin and ugly, like me!"
I didn't understand.
Sotur couldn't comprehend my incomprehension. Sallo did. She kissed Sotur's cheek and turned to me and hugged me, saying, "Don't worry, Gav. It'll be all right, you'll see!"
And she went off, back to the chambers of the wellborn and the silk rooms, and I went back to the slave barrack, puzzled and worried, but always coming back to the belief, the sure belief, that the Father and Mother and Ancestors of our House would not let anything go really wrong.
PART TWO
7
I am lying in the dark in a strange, strong-smelling bed. Not far above my face is a ceiling, a low vault of raw black rock. Beside me lies something warm, pressing heavily against my leg. It raises its head, a long, grey head, grim black lips, dark eyes that gaze across me: a dog, a wolf? I remembered this many times, remembered waking up with the dog or wolf pressed close beside me, lying among rank-smelling furs in the dark place with a rock ceiling, a cave it must be. I remember it now. I am lying there now. The dog gives a whining groan and gets up, steps over me. Someone speaks to it, then comes and crouches beside me and speaks to me, but I don't understand what he says. I don't know who he is, who I am. I can't lift my head. I can't lift my hand. I am weak, empty, nothing. I remember nothing.
I will tell you what happened in the order it happened, as historians do, but there is deep untruth in doing so. I did not live my life as history is written. My mind used to leap ahead, remembering what had not yet come to pass; now, what was past was lost to me. What I tell you now, it took me a long time to find again. Memory hid from me and buried itself in darkness, as I lay buried in that dark place, that cave.
It was early in the morning, in the first warmth of spring. The open inner courtyards of Arcamand were cheerful in the sunlight.
"Where's Sallo? Oh, Sallo and Ris both went off with Torm-dí, Gav."
"With Torm-dí?"
"Yes. He took them off to the Hot Wells. Last night, pretty late."
Falli was talking to me. Falli was the gate guard to the silk rooms. She sat in the western court with her spinning, a heavy, slow-spoken woman who had long ago been one of the Father's gift-girls. She made a reverence whenever she spoke of the Father or the Mother or any of the Family or any other wellborn family. She worshipped them as gods. People used to laugh at her for it—"Falli thinks they're already Ancestors," Iemmer said. Falli was a foolish woman. What foolish thing had she just said, bobbing her head when she said "Torm-dí"—that Torm had taken Ris and my sister to the Hot Wells?
The Hot Wells belonged to Corric Runda, son of the Senator Granoc Runda, the wealthiest and most powerful man in the government of Etra. Corric had wanted to marry our Astano, and failed, but seemingly he held no grudge; lately he'd become Torm's friend or patron. Torm was always with him and his circle of young, rich men. Young, rich men could live the high life, now that Etra was free and prosperous again—endless feasts, women, drinking parties that ended up as riots in the city streets ... A strange friendship for Torm, it seemed to some of us, with his stiff grim ways and his warrior's training, but Corric had taken a fancy to him, insisted on having him; and the Father approved of the friendship, encouraging it as a good thing for the Family, for the Arca interest with the House of Runda. Young men would be young men, there would be women and drinking and so on, there was no harm in it, nothing would go really wrong.
Tib, a prentice cook now, followed Hoby about like a dog when Hoby was at Arcamand. And Tib told us the stories Hoby told him. Corric and his friends liked to get Torm drunk because he went crazy when he was drunk and would do anything they dared him to do—fence with three men at once, fight a bear, tear off his clothes and dance naked on the Senate steps till he fell down in a foaming fit. They thought Torm was wonderful, Hoby said, they all admired him. To some of us it sounded as if they used him as a clown, for entertainment, like the dwarfs Corric kept as wrestlers, or his half-witted, one-eyed, giant bodyguard Hurn. But it wasn't like that at all, according to Hoby as related by Tib. Hoby said that Corric Runda took lessons in swordfighting from Torm, treating him as a master of the art. He said all Corric's friends respected Torm. They feared his great strength. They liked him to run wild because then everybody feared him and them.
"Torm-dí is young," Everra said. "Let him have his fling while he's young. He'll be the wiser for it when he's older. The Father knows that. He had his wild days too."
The Runda estate called the Hot Wells was a mile or so from Etra in the rich grainlands west of the city. The Senator built a grand new house there and gave it to his son Corric. Hoby told Tib all about it and Tib told us: the luxurious chambers, the silk rooms full of women, the courts full of flowers, and the wonderful bathing pool in a back court—the water came up from a hot spring and was always the temperature of blood, but it was transparent blue-green, and peacocks spread their plumage beside it on pavements of green and purple marble ... Hoby had been there many times as Torm's bodyguard. All these young noblemen had bodyguards, it was the fashion;Corric had three besides the giant, Torm had bought a second one recently. The bodyguards were invited to share the women in the silk rooms at the Hot Wells, to take their pick of the food and the women, after their masters, of course. Hoby had swum in the warm pool. He told Tib all about the pool, about the women, about the food—minced livers of capon, the tongues of unborn lambs.
So when Falli said to me that Torm had taken Ris and Sallo to the Hot Wells, though my mind seemed blank as if I'd run into a stone wall and been stunned, I went after a little while to the kitchens and looked for Tib. I thought he might know something from Hoby. I don't know what I thought he might know. He knew nothing. When I told him what Falli had said, he looked taken aback for a moment, dismayed. Then he said, "There are a lot of women there, the Rundas keep dozens of slave women there. Torm just took the girls there to have a good time."
I don't know what I answered, but it made Tib go sullen and defensive. "Look, Gav, maybe you're teacher's pet and all, but remember, after all, Sal and Ris are giftgirls."
"They weren't given to Torm," I said. I spoke slowly, because my mind was still blank and slow. "Ris is a virgin. Sallo was given to Yaven. Torm can't take them out of the house. He can't have taken them there. The Mother would never allow it."
Tib shrugged. "Maybe Falli got the story mixed up," he said, and turned away to his work.
I went to Iemmer and told her what Falli said. I repeated what I'd said to Tib—that it could not be: the Mother would not allow it.
Iemmer, who like so many people since the siege now looked much older than she was, said nothing at all for a while. Then only a great "Ah," and shook her head, again and again.
"Oh, this is—This is not good," she said. "I hope, I hope Falli is wrong. She must be. How could she let him take off the girls without permission? I'll speak with her. And with other women in the silk rooms. Oh, Sallo!" She had always loved my sister best of all the girls. "No, it can't be," she said with more energy. "Of course you're right, Mother Falimer-ío wouldn't allow it. Never. Yaven-dí's Sallo! And little Ris! No, no, no. That suet-headed Falli has got something mixed up. I'll go get this straight right now."
I was used to trusting Iemmer, who generally did get things straight. I went off to the schoolroom and put my young pupils through their drills and recitations. I kept my mind from thinking until the morning was over. I went to the refectory. People were talking, a group of them, men and women. "No," Tan was saying, "I put the horses in myself. He took them off in the closed car, with Hoby and that lout he bought from the Rundas in with them, and himself driving the horses."
"Well, if the Mother let them go, there's no harm in it," Ennumer said in her high vague voice.
"Of course the Mother let them go!" said another woman, but Tan, who was second hostler now, shook his head and said, "They were bundled up like a lot of washing in sacks. I didn't know who they were, even, till Sallo pokes out her head and tries to shout out something. Then Hoby pushes her back into the car like a sack of meal and bang goes the door and off they go at a gallop."
"A prank, like," one of the older men said.
"A prank that'll get Sonny-dí and Twinny into some trouble with Daddy-dí, maybe!" Tan said savagely. He saw me then. His dark eyes locked on mine. "Gav," he said. "You know anything about it? Did Sallo talk to you?"
I shook my head. I couldn't speak.
"Ah, it'll be all right," Tan said, after a moment. "A prank, like uncle said. A damn fool stupid joke. They'll be back this evening."
I stood there with the others, but it was as if everything and everyone moved away from me and I stood alone in a place where there was nothing and no one. I moved through the halls and courts of Arcamand with an emptiness around me. Voices came to me from a distance.
The emptiness closed in and became dark, a low rough roof of black stone, a cave.
"I know things," Sallo said to me. "And I know I know them. We Marsh people, we have our powers!" And she laughed. Her bright eyes shone.
I knew she was dead before they sent for me, before Everra told me. They thought it proper that Everra should be the one to tell me.
An accident, last night, in the pool at the Hot Wells. A sad accident, a terrible thing, Everra said, tears in his eyes.
"An accident," I said.
He said Sallo had been drowned—had drowned, he corrected himself—had drowned, as the young men, who had drunk too much and gone past all decency, were playing with the girls in the pool.
"The pool of warm water," I said, "where there are peacocks on the marble."
Yes, my teacher said, looking up at me with tear-wet eyes. He seemed to me to have a sly, cringing expression, as if he was ashamed of himself for doing something he should not have done but would not confess, like a schoolboy.<
br />
"Ris is home," he said, "with the women in the silk rooms. She is in a lamentable state, poor girl. Not injured, but ... It was madness, madness. We know that Torm-dí has always—has always had this frenzy that comes upon him—but to take the girls out of the house! To take them there, among those men! Madness, madness. Oh the shame, the shame, the pity of it, oh, my poor Gavir," and my teacher bowed his grey head before me, hiding his wet eyes and cringing face. "And what will Yaven-dí say!" he cried.
I went through the halls, past the room of the Ancestors, to the library, and sat there a while alone. The emptiness was around me, the silence. I asked Sallo to come to me, but no one came. "Sister," I said aloud, but I could not hear my voice.
Then I thought, and it was perfectly clear to me, that if she had been drowned she would be lying on the floor of the pool of green water warm as blood. If she was not there, where was she? She could not be there, so she could not have been drowned.
I went looking for her. I went to the silk rooms, to the western court. I said to women I met there, "I'm looking for my sister."
I had forgotten who the women were, the people that took me to her, but I knew her.
She was lying among white cloths that covered her up. Her face, which was all I could see, was not rosy brown but greyish, with a dark bruise across one cheek. Her eyes were closed, and she looked small and tired. I knelt beside her, and they let me be there.
I remember that they came and said, "The Mother has sent for you, Gavir," as if this was a solemn, important thing. I kissed Sallo and told her I'd be back soon. I went with them.
They took me through the familiar corridors to the Mother's apartments, which I knew only from outside; Sallo was allowed in to sweep the Mother's rooms, but not I; I only swept the hallways there. She was waiting for me, tall in her long robes, the Mother of Arcamand. "We are so sorry, so sorry, Gavir, for your sister's death," she said in her beautiful voice. "Such a tragic accident. Such a sweet girl. I do not know how I am ever to tell my son Yaven. It will be a bitter grief to him. I know you loved your sister. I loved her too. I hope the knowledge of that will be some comfort to you. And this." She put into my hands a small heavy pouch of silk. "I will send my own women to her funeral," she said, gazing earnestly at me. "Our hearts are broken for our sweet Sallo."
Powers Page 12