She looked away, but Myar Mal caught the light reflected in the tear rolling down her cheek.
He grit his teeth. “I hope it was worth it.”
Chapter 26
What happened later was a blur. Someone dragged me to the medical tent; someone took care of my wounds. I knew we had to secure the area and wrap things up in Maurir, but I didn’t remember any of it. Then we were discharged—I guess? Because at some point, I found myself in my quarters in Sfal.
Then I crashed. Vaka could only keep me going for so long, and my body wasn’t used to it. Even when I finally woke up, it took me a while to realize where I was.
Automatically I reached toward the mail-drawer: there was only a brief note from kar-vessár, wishing me good health and saying that Ellare had already been sent to Tarviss, and Arda Nahs would take care of the Seventh Cohort until I recovered. The memories of the previous days flooded my mind in a tangled mess, and it took me a while to organize them and push them away.
My stomach rumbled. What was the point in contemplating? We were all going to die—it was in the job description. Or rather, a part of being mortal. Sooner or later, what the fuck did it matter?
My chest felt heavy. I had to get out.
I kept some Tarvissian clothes here—loose dark trousers, a purple shirt, and a gray jyat with carnelian beading. But as soon as my eyes fell on the familiar pattern, stitched with black and white thread, I froze, my hands clutching the edge of the drawer to the verge of pain.
It was ridiculous. I wore such garb for most of my life. As did my parents, my peers, everyone around me. And yet, looking down, all I could think of were people wearing the same type of garb running at me with raised swords. Karlan Peridion nearing a knife to my eye. Saral Tal with his face cut in half…
I slammed the drawer shut. My Dahlsian uniform would have to do for now. I would buy more dignified clothes when I went out. Later, I thought, as my stomach rumbled again.
Marka-na-Sfal consisted of two parts, and the difference between them couldn’t be more striking. When I finally left the maze of narrow, artificially-lit corridors, suffocating despite the constant flow of cool, filtered air, I felt like I stepped into another world. The area opened around me, the tiled floor gave way to an unpaved road. The walls receded and transformed into a tall house of yellow brick on the left and sprawling concrete barrack on the right. The air became thick, redolent with the smells of bodies, food, waste, and bushland. Two suns flooded the world with sweltering heat, and the pervasive mist quickly settled on my clothing in fat droplets.
But in one regard, the cities were very much alike. The emptiness. I could expect that from the Inner City because Dahlsi were recluses who did their best to avoid each other. But seeing the Outer City, usually bustling with activity, now traversed only by singular individuals, hunched and casting around nervous glances, felt like a punch.
On wobbly legs, I headed towards what was called The Tarvissian Street. It started near the dome and led almost to the Great Ribbon, the commercial center of the Outer City. On both of its sides sat squat buildings with whitewashed walls and roofs of red tiles.
There was no soul in sight.
I caught a dash of green and spun around, my hand on the wand.
A green ribbon flapped in the window. Leftover from the Edira festival. It should have been replaced by red by now.
With heart in my throat I resumed the walk. But when I reached my destination, I froze. My favorite restaurant was closed, its windows and doors boarded up, stupid green ribbons still flapping in some of the upper windows.
I should have known. It was too late, I realized, choking on a sudden surge of despair. We fought in vain; Meon had already changed, and nothing we did could stop it.
The owner was such a great guy. Nice, but not intrusive. He always let me enjoy my meals in solitude.
So why did thinking about him made me reach for the wand?
I closed my eyes, squeezing out tears, and rested my forehead on a window. I took a deep breath. One, two. My heartbeat slowed.
What was wrong with me?
Slowly, I raised my head and looked around. Not far was a Chaarite restaurant, The Mirrange Blossom. It was something out of this world: a tall tower made entirely of imported redwood, its strangely curved roof supported by pillars shaped like mirrange trees, decorated with big, garishly painted flowers. Blue, pink, orange, red and purple. No sign of green. It was open, the scent of spices and roasted meats wafting from the door.
I approached it on wobbly legs. The wave of heat hit me from the entrance. The place, though exotic, felt cozy—walls covered in dark wood with warped masks beneath the ceiling, little tables separated by painted screens and potted trees with red leaves and pale flowers. Invisible musicians filled the air with the soft chiming of steel tongue drums. For the briefest moment, I was relieved.
But then I realized that all the people inside were looking at me.
My shoulders slumped, and I hurried to my favorite place in the corner. It was shielded from other patrons while still providing a good view of the entrance, and luckily, it was rarely occupied. But as I walked through the room, my legs shook, and heart hammered in my chest. My Dahlsian uniform seemed ridiculously exposing, and I fought the urge to drag the tablecloth from one of the tables and hide behind it. The only thing that stopped me was that it would draw more attention.
After what felt like an eternity, I reached my place and slid onto the seat. Only then did I muster the courage to look around: people were returning to their meals. I briefly considered leaving, but that would mean going through the hall again. Plus I was famished. I tried to remember the last proper meal I had. It was before sleep, before battle… probably even before I became vessár.
One of the waitresses approached—a small humanoid who never spoke and only communicated by gestures—clad in a loose white dress, and a paper mask. The first time I came here, the staff creeped me out, but now I was used to them. I still wasn’t sure if they were servants, slaves or automats, but that was none of my business.
I ordered a whole bowl of their famous red stew, with steamed fish and sweet dumplings on the side. What I really craved was Tarvissian sausage stew with nutloaf and sauteed mushrooms, but that was out of my reach.
When the waitress left, I dropped my head, determined not to raise my gaze for the rest of my meal. My table was a beautiful piece of furniture, intricately inlaid, but the strangely contorted figures reminded me of the battlefield, and my stomach turned.
Maybe it wasn’t such a good object to contemplate after all. I lifted my head just in time to see another patron entering the restaurant and, for a moment, was too surprised to avert my gaze.
Adyar Lah.
He spotted me too, and after a momentary hesitation, walked my way. I dropped my head immediately, my heart racing. Maybe he didn’t notice. Maybe he was meeting someone else. Maybe—
“Aldait Han.”
Shit.
“May I join you?”
I nodded and gestured toward an empty seat. “Of course.”
He sat hesitantly and didn’t speak for a moment.
“Look,” he started awkwardly. I probably should have found some comfort in the fact that I wasn’t the only person in the whole Mespana with communicative difficulties, but I didn’t. “I still feel a bit shitty about that… arrest. Can I buy you dinner? You know, as compensation?”
“You don’t have to,” I murmured, daring a peek at his face. He was looking away and his brows were slightly furrowed.
“Well, I’d feel better if I did. Or something else, if you’d prefer. I’m not trying to hit on you,” he assured me hastily, and a slight blush crept into his cheeks. “I have a girlfriend. It’s just…”
“Dinner’s fine,” I said with equal haste, wanting only to finish that line of conversation before we both died of embarrassment.
He smiled with relief. “Thanks.”
Shouldn’t I be the one thanking him?
The waitress left, and I hid behind the drink. The first sip spread a wave of warmth through my body, too much to come from temperature alone. Koocha was a brew similar to Tarvissian tea, but more refreshing with a more complex flavor. I never learned if it was a drug, medication, or just a damn good drink. But Chaarites enjoyed it on every occasion with no adverse effects, so I wasn’t worried.
And it did provide a nice shield.
“So, how are you holding up?” asked Adyar Lah.
The question surprised me so much that for a moment I didn’t know how to reply.
“Alright, I guess.” I caught myself shrugging, then did my best imitation of the Dahlsian hand wave. Then I figured that Adyar Lah’s presence here meant he was at least familiar with the outworlders’s ways. Only I wasn’t sure what type of gesturing Chaarites used—probably none, apart from servants, they were very non-expressive people.
I realized that my hand was hanging uselessly in the air and dropped it, embarrassed. “Frankly, I came here right after waking up,” I blurted, “I didn’t have time to think. About anything.”
“Yeah.” He nodded absentmindedly. “I was just walking down the Outer City. It looks grim.”
My throat tightened. Too late, sang the voice in my head, and fresh tears stung my eyes. I somehow managed to collect myself and answered with a noncommittal grunt. For a moment we both looked around, trying to avoid each other’s eyes, and searching desperately for something to say.
Just as I imagined. I caught myself rocking slightly and did my best to stop, scrambling for something else to occupy my mind.
“What are you even doing here?” I asked, too late realizing how that may sound. I added hastily, “you were stationed in Tydus, right?”
He grimaced.
“Yeah, well, there’s this… investigation. Regarding Sanam Il’s actions.”
My stomach clenched.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, dropping my gaze back to the table. The inlaid figures seemed to mock me.
“It’s not your fault.” He paused, then added, with audible effort, “turned out that Tarvissi did send a response to our queries earlier. They demanded their citizens be returned to Tarviss unharmed and promised to deliver their own justice. Except that message never got to Myar Mal.”
“Did you know about that?” I asked before I could bite my tongue.
“No!” His eyes widened in shock, and I felt like an asshole. “I knew as much as everyone else; that Tarviss had denounced its citizens and didn’t bother responding. If I knew…” he faltered and fell silent.
What would he do, I wondered? Confront his vessár, risk being killed or involved in treason? Or run straight to Myar Mal, betraying his leader?
“Did you tell them that?” I asked, wanting desperately to fix the impression left by my previous question.
Adyar Lah sighed. “Yes, I did. They said they don’t really suspect me; it’s just a formality. But I needed to come here, show up for questioning, and stay until they let me leave.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” He sighed again. “You know, I was thinking… Maybe it’s better Sanam Il died by a Tarvissi’s hand…”
Than live to be tried for treason. I wasn’t sure what relationship Adyar Lah had with his ex-vessár, but it was clear his legacy troubled the young leader. In a way, I understood.
That’s why I didn’t ask if the investigation brought up anything against Laik Var.
“Now Tarviss wants to hold us accountable for the death of its citizens,” he continued grimly. “And it doesn’t look great. It’s not official yet, but I’ve heard that we may have an actual war ahead.”
The only answer that came to my mind was a nondescript hum. I didn’t expect anything less. Still, it was a sad state of things. And if we were to fight again… I wasn’t sure if I could do it.
“It’s not all bad,” he switched unexpectedly and somehow apprehensively. Was he trying to convince me or himself? “Since that rebellion, so many people want to enlist that in one cycle we’ll be able to double the number of Cohorts. That means a lot of advancements.”
“Well, it’s too late for us,” I joked.
He chuckled and raised his bowl. “I’ll drink to that.”
I did the same. We drained our koocha in no time and poured ourselves another round. Neither of us said anything about the holes in existing Cohorts. What was there to say, anyway?
The waitress arrived again bringing appetizers. Chaarites believed that anything freely given would return to you twice, so even ordering at a restaurant it was customary to receive more than was put on the bill. Milkseed, ruby beans cooked with spices and mirrange peel, steamed buns, seaweed, vegetables fresh, fried and pickled, and paper-thin slices of steamed meat and fish were laid out before us. For a moment the lavishness made me feel that everything was all right. I was just back from another mission, killing time before the next.
If only I could believe it…
We got to the food with the enthusiasm of people who hadn’t eaten in ages. I couldn’t help stealing a peek at Adyar Lah every once in a while, half-expecting him to drop into anaphylaxis. He must’ve noticed me staring because his lips twitched in a crooked smile and he asked innocently:
“Have you passed your first aid course yet?”
A pickled plum stuck in my throat.
“Not yet,” I admitted after coughing it out. My face was burning. “I crashed after the battle.”
“Hm. A shame.” Despite the words, he was smirking. “Looks like if something bad happens, I’m on my own.”
A twinge of annoyance broke through my embarrassment. I looked around ostentatiously. “With so many people, there’s bound to be someone who knows how to give an injection.”
“I don’t know, Aldait Han. If they all have your attitude…”
I couldn’t find an answer to that. I clenched my teeth and dropped my head in defeat.
“But don’t worry,” his tone was light, and I finally realized he was messing with me, “I’ll be fine.”
“I guess you wouldn’t come here if you expected something different,” I said, unwittingly making it sound like an accusation.
“When I was a kid, my family lived in a Chaarite colony.” To my surprise, he managed to pronounce the name impeccably. My reaction must have been visible, since he quickly confirmed: “Yes, I can say Chaar… Tirshan.”
It was actually Teärshan, but his version was still better than what most Dahlsi used.
“There was a restaurant,” he continued. “The owners liked me and couldn’t stand the thought of me growing up eating only tubed food. So, they started feeding me.”
“No adverse reaction?” I asked, curiosity sweeping away my annoyance. Adyar Lah seemed like a nice guy; it wasn’t his fault I couldn’t take a joke. “No allergy?”
“Surprisingly, no. At least nothing serious. Don’t ask me why. Maybe there’s something in Chaarite food that makes it easy on the stomach. Or it’s just because I have foreign blood.”
“Do you?”
He wave-shrugged. “Like every other Dahlsi. Our women are crazy for foreigners. There’s a myth that mixed babies are stronger and healthier.”
My thoughts immediately shot to Argan Am. Probably because his half-foreignness was so obvious. He suffered such horrible injuries in Maurir… But by taking him off the final battle, perhaps they saved his life.
I squeezed my eyes shut to banish the image of Saral Tal’s face creeping up.
“Are they?” I asked, desperate for something else to occupy my mind. It sounded weak.
Unaware of my sudden gloom, or just ignoring it out of politeness, Ady
ar Lah waved his hand. “No, not really. Not when we keep living in sheltered cities and eat processed shit. Still, for a nation known for its rationality, we can be pretty stubborn sometimes.”
“I don’t think much can be done,” I said, remembering Tayrel Kan’s reluctance when we talked about natural food. “Your people are too far gone.”
“Well, I’m here. And if I can tolerate natural food, so could others. If they really wanted to. Can you honestly say that what we eat does not affect us? I mean, I bet you’ve never eaten the processed shit we live on. Have you ever had an allergic reaction?”
“Never even had a cold in my life,” I admitted, not without a hint of pride.
There was more to it, of course. Tarvissian medicine, at least what I had access to, was pretty primitive, so if someone was sickly—or unlucky—they usually didn’t make it to adulthood.
“See?” He pointed his drinking bowl at me. “That’s what I’m talking about. Life outside, real food, and you don’t need a single pill. Or an injection.”
The main meals arrived, and for a moment, we cherished it in silence. Red stew was a signature Chaarite dish, packing such a punch of savory flavor that you could feel your muscles swell even before it hit the stomach.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” he asked at some point. I tore my gaze from my bowl to see him fidgeting with his spoon. “Why did you leave your world? I always thought you colonists were pretty happy with your lives.”
I took a moment, considering my reasons.
“When I was a kid, a Dahlsi woman, Girana Da-Vai, came to our world and opened a school. Obviously, she could only teach us Dahlsian things—Dahlsian language, Dahlsian math, some general knowledge, and basic spells.” I chuckled. “You know, I didn’t even learn to write in Tarvissi-é until I was an adult.”
“Well, to be fair, all you really need is Dahlsi-é,” he joked.
“Fuck you. That’s my mother tongue you’re talking about. Anyway, I think she awakened some deeper yearning in me. I wasn’t happy being a farmer anymore. I wanted more… though I had no idea what. Until one time, a tax collector came with a Xzsim guard and I learned that you accepted foreigners in Mespana. So I decided to join.”
The Outworlder Page 19