"You know my name," he said, ears splaying.
"We're a small House yet," I said. "Don't let me interrupt you. You were coming for a late supper?"
"Just tea," he said, edging toward the hearth. His eyes flicked toward Hesa, then back to me. "It was a long day."
"For all of us," I said. "But perhaps this was a fortuitous meeting. You're one of my few emodo from a House other than Molan... Kaduye, wasn't it?"
"Yes?" he said, hesitant.
"Perhaps you can help calm my pefna's fears, then. It seems to think that I should schedule nothing in the afternoon following House Asara's visit to the anadi residence. Have you done breeding duty? Should I be giving the emodo the remainder of the day to compose themselves?"
"The emodo and yourself," Hesa said in that unfamiliar voice, so distant, as if nothing could affect it. I realized now where it had learned that intonation: Ilushet used it, this voice like mountains and the earth.
"Molan," I said, as if I was ignoring the eperu, "did not do that duty. So none of them had advice to give me."
"Of course," Kaliser said, flattening his ears, for as a native of het Kabbanil he knew as well as I did that a House in disgrace would never be granted leave to breed. He cleared his throat, and I observed that his cheeks had gone gray beneath skin an otherwise appealing clay-rose color. He seemed to be struggling over some internal decision, but he made it by speaking. "I have had the opportunity, ke emodo. And no, I would not plan to do anything the remainder of the day. Perhaps even several days."
"Would that we had several days to be idle," I said. "But the afternoon I can do. Thank you for the warning, Kaliser."
"Ke emodo," he said, quieter. "It is my duty."
He drew the tea for himself, watered it and left without looking at us again. When I could no longer hear his footfalls in the hall, Darsi peeked inside, then padded to us, looking over his shoulder at the door. "Did I give enough warning?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "And thank you."
"That was luck," he said. "I was coming back myself because Abadil wanted to finish the cup he'd left. Did he, I mean did the emodo..."
"See anything?" I said. "No. We were just talking. But I don't think it matters. He won't betray us now."
They both looked at me, but it was Darsi who asked, "How can you be sure?"
For once he didn't sound belligerent. Cautious, certainly, but caution I could approve of. "Because he told me he'd bred the anadi. I saw his record at Transactions when I hired him; according to what was written there, he was superfluous in House Kaduye, sufficiently so for them to let him go. They would never have let someone important leave the House."
"So he should never have had a chance at the anadi," Hesa murmured.
"And yet he chose to tell me he had," I said.
Darsi frowned. "What if he was lying? To make you think he was revealing the truth about his background? So you would assume he was on your side and start trusting him?"
Hesa and I both stared at him. I started laughing. "I'm glad you're on our side, Darsi."
"Well, he could have!" Darsi said.
"Yes," I said. "He could have. But I don't think he did. All the same, I won't be bringing him into our council, ah? So no fear there."
"Maybe," Darsi said. "But don't let your guard falter, ke Pathen. There are enemies all around us." He inclined his head to me and left.
"Enemies all around us," Hesa murmured. "And allies as well. And the trick of it is separating them from one another without making a mistake."
"It's no different from how it was in het Kabbanil," I said.
"No," Hesa agreed and sighed. Then looked at me, head canted. "You really think Kaliser has thrown in with us?"
"He chose the well-being of the emodo of House Asara over concealing the lies on his record," I said. "What do you think?"
"I think," Hesa said slowly, "that you should take his warning seriously." And left with a brush of its fingers on my wrist.
"Former eperu caravan members," Thesenet said to me two days later. "Are you certain about this?"
So far I had attended five of these evening gatherings at the cheldzan shervel, where my work consisted of drinking a great deal of wine, tea or spiced broth and listening to other Heads of Household indulge in what amounted to gossip. I found it tiresome and wished they would talk about more useful topics. Like the weather. Or taxes. I would even have listened to dissertations on religion before putting up with trivia like who was seen last with whom. I suspect it even bored Darsi. It made Thesenet's occasional visits feel like water after drought... even when he asked uncomfortable questions.
"Who else, Minister?" I asked.
He frowned, just a touch of a crease between his brows.
"Let me frame the question differently," I said. "Right now, het Narel has eperu working in labor camps whose talents involve running caravans. What does het Narel need to begin its trade initiative?"
"But are they trustworthy?" Thesenet asked bluntly.
I arched my brows at him over my cup of broth. "If they aren't, why haven't they been executed?"
"Execution without evidence—" He halted at my expression.
We were standing in the back of the cheldzan near the shadowed stairwell, out of the press of the room in front of us. So I said quietly, "Ke emodo... I was a Claw."
He looked away, then said, "That's not how we do things here."
"No?" I asked. "No disappearances? You know as well as I do that the empire needs to maintain discipline to function and how that discipline is expressed when there is insufficient evidence for a public punishment."
"Yes," Thesenet said, meeting my eyes with something fierce in them, and angry. "But that's not how things are done here." And then, his shoulders losing their tension, he finished bitterly, "When it can be helped."
I looked at him, thoughtful. And offered, "Dead Jokka do no work for the empire."
"No," he said. "Your decision might be construed as... reckless, though, Pathen."
"By those eager to find fault," I said. "But you and I know that gainfully employed Jokka content with their jobs do not agitate for rebellion. The empire deprived a great number of eperu of the work they'd spent their lives perfecting. Now it will give them back that work to earn coin for the Houses of het Narel. How does that not serve the Stone Moon?"
"It serves the Stone Moon so long as the eperu don't hold a grudge against the empire for their disgrace," Thesenet said.
"The eperu live to work," I said. "Is that not what we are taught? By the eperu themselves?"
"Yes," Thesenet said. And then surprised me by sighing. "Perhaps I have been habituated to seeing threats where there are none."
"You do what you must," I said. "But Minister... you gave me this contract. Let me build your trade network."
"Ah well," Thesenet said with a huff of a laugh. "If I can't trust a hero of the empire, who can I trust?" He smiled and grasped my arm. "If you say it will work, Pathen."
"It will," I said.
He clapped that arm and left me in the shadows by the stairwell. I watched him merge back into the crowd, just long enough to find a path through it to the exit, and caught a few curious glances cast my way; no doubt it was noted that Thesenet had arrived, spoken with me and left without participating in anything more strenuous than a few desultory greetings. Joining me with a little cheek-rub that I permitted with resignation, Darsi said, "They think we're important to Thesenet."
"They're right," I replied.
The day of our visit to the anadi residence dawned gray and dim... appropriate to the errand, I thought, if a touch dramatic on the part of the World. I dressed and met Darsi and the other volunteers in the courtyard, where the eperu were readying the rikka. The anadi were kept in a separate facility on the far side of het Narel, far enough to require a quarter hour's walk merely to reach the city's edge; had it not been so far, I would have walked. I didn't think any of us would want to handle beasts later after seeing similar tac
k on a Jokkad.
The only noise in the courtyard that morning was the trickle of the fountain and the creak of leather as we mounted. It made me realize that House Asara was never quiet. In the fields where the eperu worked, in the House where the narrow corridors carried the sound from larger rooms, overwhelmingly what I heard was laughter, talk, the sounds of camaraderie. I might catch Hesa in rare moments of silence, where I could almost feel the grief it no longer spoke of... but the remainder of House Laisira had settled very well into our new estate and for some reason did not live in the fear that they rightly should. They had lost their comrades, but the World went on and there was work to be done, and they were willing to do it given a safe place to put their heads down at night.
I liked their laughter better than this quiet, but for what we were about to do gravity was more appropriate. I led the group away without looking back and heard the gates close behind us.
The sun had risen high enough to gild the edges of buildings, if not high enough to disrupt the autumnal chill, when we presented ourselves to the Claws guarding the residence. From there we were escorted to the building and refreshments were distributed to my people while the administrator of the residence took me aside to discuss arrangements.
"We might be asked to come again?" I said, dismayed and hiding it.
"The custom elsewhere is to ask the emodo to stay for a week in order to ensure that the anadi will have conceived," the administrator explained. "In het Narel it has produced better results to allow the emodo to leave after their session and ask them to return only if necessary. But we do require that two-thirds of the anadi conceive for the House to be eligible in spring for their children."
"I understand," I said.
"There will be an attendant assigned to each of you," he continued. "To guide you through the process. You may ask for a different witness at any time, but you cannot be permitted in the chambers without one. This is for their safety as well as your comfort. The koli is administered to all the emodo serving, unless they request otherwise."
"Of course," I said.
"Finally, you understand that the draft is for ten percent of the House's populace," he finished. "And as House Asara is listed at one hundred and fifty members, we have provided fifteen anadi for your stay. If you do not have fifteen emodo with you, someone will be asked to serve twice. That is the contract."
"We have the requisite number," I said.
"Very good," the administrator said. "Then if you will leave your House mark here—thank you—we may begin."
I returned to the others and said, quiet, "This is our duty. Let us do it with dignity and compassion."
They murmured their assent and were led away by the waiting attendants. Darsi paused long enough to say, "It's just a few hours. It'll be over before lunch."
I didn't know which of us he was trying to comfort, and I think he knew that he wouldn't succeed. Nevertheless, I answered, "Yes."
My reply provided no more comfort to us than his observation. We both knew that it only takes seconds to make a wound that leaves a scar.
And then he was gone, led through the corridors, and so was I.
"Will you take the koli, ke emodo?" my attendant asked.
"Yes," I said. I knew better than to think I'd be capable of the duty without it. As I had told Darsi, the fear of other Jokka didn't move me... and pity didn't either. So in a narrow room I sat on a bench and drank the preparation, wondering what to expect from it and trying not to think about the hours between me and freedom. And yet... I would walk free of this. The anadi never would. I held the cup in my hands and strove with that truth. The empire thought the plight of the anadi regrettable but believed there was no saving them from the cruelties of biology. Worse, the empire had seen that we had increasingly shirked from our responsibility to beget children to the point of winnowing our own species. In the end, I was to blame for the anadi residences, as were we all. Had we been more diligent about making children when we'd lived free, the cruel calculation of the empire's breeding plans wouldn't have been necessary.
We had a great deal to answer for. And much to fix, when at last we shook off the empire's hand. Gods knew how we could do it, but there had to be an answer that did not involve imprisoning a third of us underground.
The drug worked. I would have found it distasteful before; after the experience of having a lover in my bed that I wanted, that I cared about, it was almost unbearable. The falseness of it was a taste under my tongue, and the fever it inspired artless and without discrimination. The emodo who'd given me the cup crouched in front of me and considered my face before saying, "Are you ready, ke emodo?"
"It will do," I said.
He said, "This way, then." As he stopped before a room, he said, "We do not recommend walking to the front of the chair. It can be distressing to both participants." He opened the door for me. "If at any time you require aid, you may ask it of me. I will be sitting in the alcove." He pointed, and I looked but didn't really see. Whatever I said must have satisfied him, though, for he retired to his shadowed niche and left me to the heartbreak of what we'd fallen to. I rested my hand on the edge of the stone slope. My fingers twitched near the buckle of the harness, but didn't touch it. And though it had not been recommended, I did walk around to where the anadi had her cheek resting on the sculpted headrest. Her eyes were just open, lashes gleaming in the low light. She did not seem to notice me, nor did her pupils shift as I moved my hand between her face and the light above us. I glanced at her ribcage and measured the intervals between its rising and then cupped her face and rested my brow against hers. Her skin was cool... of course, for they'd sedated her.
I don't know how long I remained there. Somewhere past the heart-racing, mind-clouding effects of the koli I could taste the tears in my mouth. I let them gather until they stung my gums, my tongue... then I swallowed and waited for them to accumulate again.
My attendant did not interrupt me. I wondered how many emodo he had watched suffer through this cold, impersonal transaction. I was grateful for the time, and I took what I needed to compose myself and to grieve before I judged it unwise to prolong the wait. I didn't want the koli to wear off before it served its purpose.
Gods alone knew how I managed, even with its help. I have done many bitter things in my life, most of them during my short tenure as a Claw. I have killed in the emperor's name and drawn blood in useless sacrifice on his dais, and yet the hour and a half I spent in that room harrowed me in a way none of those acts had... perhaps because my duties as a Claw had been ordered by another Jokkad and I could tell myself that one day there would be no more such orders. But this... this was not an injustice dreamt up by a Jokkad. This was nature itself. And if we did not find some other way to serve nature, we would die.
"You did well," the attendant said, handing me a robe. "If you wish to wash and dress, you may return to the antechamber."
"Yes," I said, hoarse. "Thank you." And excused myself. Once I gained the privacy of the room with the bench I sat and covered my face and did not move until the drug began to wear off. Only then did I clean myself with the towels and water left there. I didn't look at myself while doing so, and I dressed without grace.
When I left I was escorted to the foyer to await the rest of my emodo, and when I was offered wine I didn't decline it. To become drunk would be disrespectful. But enough to distance myself from the memory... that I could do, and did.
One by one the others joined me. All of them were subdued; several looked sick, and I didn't know whether they had reacted poorly to the koli or to the encounter, and didn't ask. When the last of my volunteers returned, the administrator conferred with his attendants and then beckoned me back. Weary, I joined him.
"Your House has done well," the administrator said. "My congratulations, ke emodo. Only one of your number was unable to perform. Would one of you like to volunteer to complete the draft today, or do you wish to return at a later date?"
"What?" I said, stun
ned. And then gathering my scattered wits, "I believe you only required two-thirds..."
"To conceive," the administrator said, not unkindly. "Which we will not know for several weeks. If two-thirds of them conceive, then you will be given the children in spring. But the duty is for ten percent of House Asara's number: fifteen anadi. You have serviced fourteen. One remains." He met my eyes and said, "It must be thus, ke emodo. If we do not require the pairings, then inevitably they will not be enacted. The conception rate cannot be controlled. The matings can be."
I stared at him, trembling. Then slowly turned and looked at the emodo waiting to leave. Read the dejection in their posture, in the cant of their ears and the slump of shoulders. They were exhausted; the day was barely five hours old and they were done with it.
"All right," I said to the administrator. "Give me a moment."
I pulled Darsi aside and said, "Take them home. I'll be back in the afternoon. Early evening at the worst."
"Back by—but why?" Darsi asked, ears flattening. "You're staying? Why?"
"Someone didn't manage," I said. "And all of it will be for nothing if we don't finish. The children conceived today won't come to us; they'll be put in the orphan pool to be doled out to other Houses. And we won't be in the record as having completed the duty. It has to be done."
"Does it have to be you?" Darsi asked, surprising me.
"Look at them," I said, quieter. "And tell me who I should pick. Who I could pick in good conscience."
"If you're doing this to prove something..."
"Of course I am," I said. "I'm doing it to prove that House Asara is a dutiful member of the Stone Moon empire."
He looked at me, pained. And then surprised me by resting a hand on my shoulder, not with the cloying falseness of his lover's mask, but with actual feeling. Then he turned from me and said to the others, "Ke Pathen has business to conclude with the residence, but we need not wait through it. Let's go home."
A Bloom in the North Page 14