Acacia,War with the Mein a-1

by David Anthony Durham

  The servant paused mid-sentence. His eyes, which had just begun to move across the company, had found Corinn. He stared at her for a moment, wide-eyed, the full circle of his irises visible within the surrounding whites. He bowed his head and welcomed her by name, stammering. Then he turned away and gave his attention to Hanish once more.

  His look unnerved Corinn. Why did he seem frightened? He feared Hanish, that was obvious, but the look he had briefly set on the princess was a different sort of alarm. She could not entirely get his expression out of her mind, although the experience of touring the lodge largely pressed it to the side. It was strange listening to Peter lead the entourage through rooms that she already knew. He spoke as if all of it had been created especially for Hanish’s pleasure, as if the memory of former inhabitants was a distant thing indeed.

  The interior rooms were cramped and somewhat dark, lit by lamps hung on the walls and by fires in the fireplaces. Some of the old trappings were in view: a wall hanging of a hunt that ran the length of the dining room, a candelabra into whose ornate silverwork the tale of Elenet was carved, the bubbling glasswork pots of fragrant herbs and spices. How she had loved that scent. Inhaling it threatened to flood her with emotion. She tried to breathe shallowly and note the things that had been added or changed to suit the new masters. Fur rugs and furniture coverings in the Meinish style; a few low, stout-legged tables; the Mein crest stained on the stones of the floor before the dining hall fireplace: there were plenty of new touches, superficial as they were.

  Larken, the Acacian Marah who had betrayed her years before, walked beside Hanish, puffed up by his status and talking almost as much as Peter. With Maeander gone, Larken was nearly always at the chieftain’s side. Corinn still hated him, though she tried not to let it show.

  She heard the other women talking, commenting on the things they saw, finding this or that object quaint, charming. Rhrenna kept running her fingers across the tabletops, checking them for dust. They wore their new gentility so garishly it annoyed Corinn, though she did not let this emotion show either. The main weapon she had against these people was an inward defiance. Disdain nourished her, and she tended it like a gardener cares for the prickled beauty of a rosebush.

  The greatest feature of the lodge was the view that its placement afforded. Each room overlooking the King’s Preserve had an open-air balcony from which to stare at a lush canopy of broad-leaved trees that stretched into the northern distance, disturbed here and there by other granite outcroppings. Wind brushed through the treetops in places, much as storm breezes ruffle the seething sea. The rough beauty of it stunned her. This part of it seemed nothing at all like her childhood memories. She recalled only the ominous fear of the greenness of the place, the shadows beneath the trees that seemed to everywhere hide ogres, wood ghouls and wolver-bears. True enough, she could still sense the threat of all of these things, but she found it invigorating. It reminded her of the images she had conjured of Igguldan’s northern forests.

  That evening she dined at Hanish’s table in the main room. All told, the company numbered about thirty, with about the same number of servants busy behind the tables, rushing in and out of the hallway leading to the kitchens. The food was somewhat too gamy for Corinn’s tastes, all venison and boar, blood cakes and fattened livers. She did little more than move it around on her plate. One of the things she hated about such occasions was the ever-present possibility that she would be called into conversation as some sort of representative of things Acacian. Early on she had risen to the bait and worked herself up, recounting the accomplishments of her people, but this had never achieved what she wished. Either she felt a fool because her knowledge did not match the verifiable facts others answered her with, or she ended painfully aware that she had only made the Mein triumph over her people seem that much greater. Tonight she found herself again and again the focus of conversation. Larken could have answered any of the questions directed at her better than she, but no one seemed to remember that he had ever been an Acacian.

  “Corinn, that mural in the hallway, what story does it tell?”

  “Which one?”

  “The one that’s like-that’s like the entire world, so large and detailed. But it all centers around one boy-looking person. You know the one I mean.”

  Corinn did. She answered that it was a depiction of the world in the days of Elenet. She gave no more willingly, but after being probed she said that it dramatized the moment just after the Giver had turned away from the world. That, she said, was all she knew about it.

  “Such a strange belief system,” a young woman named Halren said. “It’s built into your faith that your god abandoned you, right? He loathes you. He spurns your devotion, and for centuries your people went on halfheartedly worshipping him. On one hand you say, ‘God exists and he hates me,’ and the next instant you shrug and carry on your life, without even trying to win back his favor. Do you not see the folly in this?”

  Corinn shifted, glanced at Larken, shifted again, and mumbled that she had not thought much about it.

  “Why even ask her?” one of Rhrenna’s maidens said. “She’s not a scholar-are you, Corinn?”

  The princess was not sure if this was meant as a friendly gesture or as a slight. Either way she felt her blood rise to her face.

  “If I’d lost the favor of the Tunishnevre, I’d do anything to win it back,” Halren said, looking furtively at Hanish. “Fortunately, though, I feel they’re quite content with me. With all of us, really, thanks to our chieftain.”

  This did nothing to lower the red from Corinn’s cheeks. She turned her gaze to Halren, to the silvery sparkles on her forehead and her pale features. “You’ve been ‘blessed’ for what? Nine years? That’s a sneeze compared to the Akaran reign.” Corinn might have said something even sharper-something she would have regretted afterward-except that Hanish chose that moment to become the center of attention.

  “The princess makes an indisputable point,” he said. He seemed to consider this for a moment, his gray eyes thoughtful. “Corinn, have you heard the tale of Little Kilish? Little Kilish was a giant of a man, named ironically, you see. He was a farmer who made for himself a scythe so massive only he could wield it. He loved to swing it in great swathes, cutting free grains of wheat by the millions. He crafted a second scythe and danced through the wheat fields slicing circles and patterns, each stroke like the work of ten men. He became famous all around the countryside. He had a contest against others to test who could cut the most wheat, but he always triumphed without question. Soon nobody would even contest him.”

  Hanish paused as a servant replaced his used plate with a clean one. He went on, explaining that one day a stranger arrived, a small man with dusky skin and mischievous eyes. He was a soul harvester. He had built some sort of machine that had already felled the greater part of the world. It was a great frame that stretched across an entire field from edge to edge, attached to wheels to move it about. At a hundred different points all across it he positioned mannequin figures, hinged and intricate like true humans but made of oak. Each of them gripped a sickle. When the people saw this they laughed. What sort of massive toy was that? What use are people made of wood? But this soul harvester knew some of the god’s talk. He whispered spells that stole souls out of those who were laughing at him. He placed one soul in each of the wooden figures. This brought them to life. They began to swing their tools just as real people would. The soul harvester slapped his mule and the beast pulled the contraption down the field. All the wooden people worked for him, and in just a few moments he had cut down more than Little Kilish could have managed in an entire day.

  Another servant tried to refill the chieftain’s glass, but Hanish brushed him away, impatient, it seemed, with the constant attention. “The people were amazed,” he said. “They praised the stranger. All agreed that he had won the contest and to him went the honor. Little Kilish, however, hated that machine, hated the man who’d built it. All the fuss annoyed him greatly.
Why were people applauding so vile a thing?”

  “For a moment they forgot their own souls,” Halren said.

  “Didn’t they notice the soulless zombies that now stood among them? Before he had thought through what he was doing Little Kilish swung his scythe and sliced the soul harvester’s head clean from his shoulders. It fell to the ground and chattered on for some minutes yet before the tongue inside the thing realized all was lost. Little Kilish looked around him, afraid lest he be called a murderer and criminal and find himself banished. But the people did not banish him. They rejoiced. They said, ‘Let Kilish harvest our wheat, for he is strong and has no need to steal our souls!’ And so it was.”

  Hanish motioned with his hand that there was no more to tell. Several voices praised his telling of the tale. Halren beamed as she looked about, as if Hanish had told the story particularly to her. But the chieftain kept his attention on Corinn. “We’ve told this tale for many, many years. You understand its significance, don’t you?”

  “You say that Little Kilish was a giant of a man, but I suspect at least one feature of his body was not so large,” Corinn said. “That, surely, is how he got his name. One shouldn’t trust a man called Little. No man wants to think any part of himself small. It makes him bitter, unjust, and petty-”

  Rhrenna said, “Corinn, you’ve such a way of-”

  “Little Kilish,” Hanish said, interrupting both women, “was of the Meinish race; the soul harvester was Acacian born. That’s the significance. We may be new to power, Princess, but we did not sell our souls to get it. It just took us a bit longer to achieve by honest means what your people won through treachery.”

  “You’ve just now invented that tale,” Corinn said. “And, ‘honest means’! Are you-”

  Hanish threw back his head and laughed. “I’ve angered the princess. I doubt she’ll admit that what surprises her is how accurately an ancient tale unveils the current truth of our two people’s history. It’s almost like a prophecy, isn’t it? My joy is in having had a hand in making it come true.”

  This received murmurs of approval around the table, but Corinn said, “That may be your joy, but it’s my sorrow.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Hanish said. He stared at her. “I think you say such things simply because you feel you are supposed to. But in truth, Princess, we have done you little harm. Yes, there’s your father. I won’t ask you to forgive me for that, but I will ask you to remember that in the same few moments you lost your father I lost a beloved brother. They were each instruments of a cause, of conflicting causes. This is just the way of men and there’s no crime in it.” Hanish drew back, picked up his glass, and sipped. “Beyond that we’ve done you no harm.”

  “No harm-” Corinn began but was cut off.

  “Exactly so. We never touched a hair on one of your siblings. Never. And we never would, not to harm them, at least. We’ve only ever wanted to bring them home, to the palace where they belong. They could live beside us, just like you do. Look at yourself, Corinn. Look at the life you have. You are the center of a court of women and men who adore you, despite the barbs you throw at us. You have all the luxuries of royalty; none of the responsibilities. I only wish you would warm to your position more. I would, truly, like to see you…content.”

  Corinn snapped her head up to face him directly. She had felt as if he was about to stick his tongue in her ear. That was how his last spoken word had reached her, like a wet caress that could reach across the table and touch her in front of everyone’s eyes. But he was sitting back, at ease, his glass near his nose as he scented the wine. No one except Maeander had ever made her feel more uncomfortable for no obvious reason. She said, “Then die-you and all your people-and give me back my family.”

  Halren began a shocked response, but Hanish looked only amused. “My dear emotional girl,” he said to Corinn, “you really are quite beautiful. Isn’t she, Larken?”

  “A touch petulant,” the traitor said, “but she’s no hardship to look upon.”

  Corinn rose and left the room, feeling each and every set of eyes upon her.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-SIX

  For Leeka Alain it was no easy thing to come off the mist. There were days of visions. Nights of horrific dreams. Pains shot through his body with such electric force that he went rigid and trembling on his cot. At times he had glimpses of the world as he had seen it during the raging fever he had endured in the Mein. But beyond all of this he would remember the delirium as one of consumption, a nightmare during which he was simultaneously being consumed and consuming himself. At times it felt like his body writhed with thousands of sharp-jawed worms, serrating their way through every portion of his flesh. What was worse, though, was that the worms were part of him. Leeka himself was both the devourer and the devoured. He ate himself, and he was eaten.

  Throughout all of this the former chancellor stayed at his side. From the first night when Thaddeus came upon him in the dark, he had been there to aid him, a strict doctor, nurse, jailer, and confidant all at once. Thaddeus all but sealed him in his hovel of a cabin in the hills above that backwater town. He bound his wrists and feet to the bed, wrapped a wide strip of cloth around his midsection, and sat beside him, explaining that he had a great need for Leeka’s services. He could not even begin to discuss it with him, however, until Leeka’s mind and body were free of addiction. Leeka railed at him, confused as he was and frightened by the turmoil building in his body.

  At one point when his vision had cleared enough for him to see his caretaker looking down upon him, he said with complete certainty that he was dying. This was not an ordeal he could live through.

  “Do you see this?” Thaddeus asked, stretching out his fingers to reveal a barb fastened to the tip of his little finger. “This pin has been dipped in a poison so potent it kills almost before its victim can feel the prick of it. Similar to that which I used on you in its quickness, save that this one is deadly. I will leave this here beside you. If it is true that you cannot live without your mist and wine, then use it to take your own life. Or, if you are too selfish for that, come upon me in sleep and kill me. Rob me of what coins I have in my bags and run away. Let the fate of the world rest in Hanish Mein’s hands. Stake no claim to greatness. All of this is within your power if you choose. If you kill me, it will not even be a crime; it would be a gift. You see, I have many demons to face as well. We could be cowards together.”

  The man tugged the weapon from his finger and placed it on the stool he had sat on. He untied his patient’s arms and legs, loosened the sash across his torso, and then moved away. Leeka was quite sure that Thaddeus, no matter his wisdom, would never really know how close he had come to picking up that pin and sinking it into his neck. He wanted to so very badly. He fantasized each action, each motion of gathering the man’s coins, each stride down to the village, all the transactions he would need to go through before he got his lips once more around a pipe and inhaled. For the life of him he was not sure what stopped him.

  The next morning he awoke crying. He knew without doubt that he was alone in the world. He blamed no one but himself for it. The fate of nations may have pushed and shoved his life, but it was his own fault that he had never properly loved a woman, never fathered children, never looked at the world with fear and hope for his grandchildren. If he had done any of these things he might have made better sense out of living. He could not fathom how he had lived for so many years without realizing the sums of his existence were destined to add up to naught. Perhaps he should use the release of that poisoned pin after all-on himself.

  “I can see you are not entirely done feeling sorry for yourself,” Thaddeus said, interrupting his thoughts.

  Leeka rolled over to see the man sitting once more on that stool, studying him, a hand outstretched with a cloth dangling from it. Leeka took it up and wiped his face, aware that he should be embarrassed but not quite feeling it. Thaddeus asked him if he was hungry enough to eat; Leeka heard himself s
ay that he was.

  “Good,” the other man said. “That is the right answer. I have made some soup. Just vegetables and herbs I found in the hills, some mushrooms. But I think you will like it. Share it with me, and then we can talk properly about the work I have for you to do.”

  He would think many times later how strange a thing it is that one moment a person can wish for death, only to be distracted into life by a few kind words, by a kerchief extended, by simple food to fill an empty stomach. These things, as much as anything else, brought Leeka through. After that morning it was never really so hard to refuse the mist. He did have pangs of his old hunger, certainly. He had them daily, hourly almost. He had to decide again and again not to succumb. But he found he had the power to refuse. The fact that Thaddeus gave him a mission lent him the strength.

  He left his hillside hovel with a mind full of instructions, with his hopes renewed in the most unexpected of ways. He bore an Acacian sword at his hip, a parting gift from the chancellor. In earlier years a former soldier of the empire would have drawn attention walking about armed, but the world had changed somewhat from the first years of Hanish’s rule. The resistance had been vanquished. The thinly spread Meinish troops paid little attention to individuals, reserving their energies to protecting the security of Hanish’s rule and the commerce that sustained it.

  Leeka walked, loving the pumping of air in his lungs, the ache of his legs. By the end of his first week of trekking, he had found his old discipline again. He intentionally chose routes up and over the harder passes, trudging up scree or talus slopes, each forward stride halved by the loose matter sliding beneath his feet. One afternoon while resting in the saddle between two peaks, his legs cramped. His hamstrings clenched and heaved, the pain of them all enveloping. Leeka tilted his face to the sky, crying with joy. He was getting his body back.

  He would never forget the exhilaration he felt on top of a peak near the western crest of the Senivalian Mountains, around him nothing but the clouds above, below thousands of pinnacles rising all around, each sharp as wolverbear’s teeth, each like a rebellious finger pointed toward the heavens in accusation. He danced himself through the Tenth Form, that of Telamathon as he fought the Five Disciples of the god Reelos. He had felt no purer moment in his life. It was a choreographed tribute, an act of connection with everything that he ever had been and everything he hoped he might be again. He may have been mistaken, perhaps delusional, light-headed from the altitude, vainglorious; he was not sure, but he had believed, as he slashed and swirled, leaped and spun, that for a moment all those mountainous protrusions paused to watch him.