by Raby, Amy
Taya glanced at the dry grassland and scrubby trees that surrounded them. “How can that be, when we’re in the middle of nowhere?”
“That’s where Tufan lives.”
“Why, when he’s a prince of the realm and can live anywhere he wants?”
“Tufan likes to be in control of whatever environment he’s in. Total control. He left the palace because he couldn’t handle being under the king’s thumb. He doesn’t like being around his brothers either, because they share authority with him.”
“How can he support a household? There’s not much farmland here.” The soil was thin and gray, not the rich loam one found along the Lioness after the inundation. This tributary, it seemed, did not overflow its banks.
“He ships everything in.”
“The king allows this?”
“He encourages it,” said Mandir. “It’s worth it for him to pay Tufan’s expenses so that Tufan can live on the outskirts, away from the palace. This way he avoids the embarrassment and aggravation of having Tufan in civilized society.”
“If Tufan is so awful, why doesn’t the king just get rid of him?” said Taya, “Exile him to the mountains or something.”
Mandir shrugged. “He’s the king’s son. I imagine it would be hard for a father to do that to his own flesh and blood.”
“And yet he allows Tufan to abuse his children, who are also the king’s flesh and blood.”
“We’re illegitimate,” said Mandir. “We don’t count.”
Taya grimaced. Mandir seemed glum about this mission, as if it were a punishment he had to endure rather than a happy opportunity to save a boy, probably Mandir’s own half-brother, from an unfortunate fate. She didn’t think his reluctance stemmed from a lack of caring about the boy. Rather, he seemed to believe they had little chance of success. And yet by law they had every right to remove the boy from Tufan’s household. If the boy had the Gift, the Accords of Let gave them the authority to take him from anyone, even from a prince of the realm.
Later that day, they passed through a small, desperate-looking village. Houses clustered round a central square, their thatched roofs pocked with holes. A few spindly date trees dotted the village, and crops grew in the surrounding fields. A skinny dog slept in the dirt beside the road. Her farming village had been a humble one, but never had it looked as dejected as this one. “What’s the name of this village?” she asked Mandir.
“Gardana,” he said. “It used to be nicer, but anyone with the ability to leave has gone by now.”
“What does Tufan do that makes them want to leave?”
“He steals from them,” said Mandir. “Food and sometimes people. He stole a boy from here once, and used him to test his hunting dogs’ skills.”
“What?” cried Taya.
“Don’t ask me for details.”
Taya was beginning to understand Mandir’s increasing tension as they neared this sick little kingdom—and to wonder if perhaps she had been hasty in presuming that, as a Coalition fire seer, she was in no danger from Tufan. Still, they had a purpose here, and it was a noble one. She would walk with courage into the lion’s den, if that was what it took to save an innocent boy from Mandir’s cruel father.
Farther along the road, they passed the first traveler they’d seen in days: a man leading a zebu-drawn cart. His cargo was covered with a cloth, but its bumpy shape suggested supplies and foodstuffs, perhaps destined for Tufan’s. The carter was heading up the tributary, as were they, but his zebu were slow, and Taya and Mandir quickly passed him.
Late that afternoon, the top of a building came into view on the horizon, and Mandir identified it as Tufan’s residence. Hoping to reach it before dark, they sent the horses into a canter, which Soldier handled admirably.
Taya watched with keen interest as they came closer and more buildings became visible. Tufan’s household was not a single building, but a compound. One large mud-brick house dominated the property, while several smaller buildings encircled it like kneeling supplicants. Nearby were a stable, a dog kennel, and a fenced area that appeared to be a corral for the horses, although at the moment it was empty.
The place looked a bit dumpy, and somehow it didn’t meet her expectations. “I thought it would be more like a palace.”
“It’s just a homestead. The king hasn’t been particularly generous to Tufan, and you’ll see why.” Mandir’s eyes were hard and his jaw tight. “Show no weakness here. Tufan and his people see vulnerability as opportunity.”
“I understand.”
They dismounted and led the horses toward the front door.
A young boy hobbled in their direction, seemingly from out of nowhere. Without saying a word, he took the horses’ reins and began to lead them away.
“Wait,” said Mandir. “We need our bags.”
The boy stopped and waited. Each horse carried two bags, one filled with barley to supplement his feed, and another packed with his rider’s food and supplies. Taya and Mandir took the supply bags, leaving behind the barley, and waved the boy on.
Taya stared after the boy. One of his legs was shorter than the other, giving him a pronounced limp. Her heart ached for him. If this was as hard a place to live as Mandir claimed it was, how much harder must it be for a boy who had difficulty walking? “He’s crippled,” she said softly. “Do you suppose that boy could be Setsi?”
Mandir shook his head. “Too young.”
“He never said a word. Is he mute?”
“Probably just knows to keep his mouth shut around here.”
A man stepped out of the main building’s front door. Taya was immediately struck by how much he looked like Mandir. Both men were tall, dark-skinned, and light-eyed, and they had identical facial tattoos: sunbursts on their foreheads and lines under their eyes, all in dark red. But where Mandir was burly, the new man was lean, and his facial features had a slight downward slant, making him look perpetually morose. Given the man’s young age, Taya guessed he was one of Mandir’s half-brothers.
Mandir studied him. “Shardali?”
The man’s eyes widened. It seemed he had not recognized Mandir, though Mandir had recognized him. Something about Shardali’s manner struck Taya as odd. His eyes were like Mandir’s in their shape and color, but they darted about, showing white.
She instantly disliked him; nonetheless, she extended her hand to touch fingers. “I’m Taya, and this is Mandir. We’re—”
“M-m-mandir?” Shardali took a step back.
“It’s all right,” said Mandir, following him into the doorway.
Shardali retreated. “You w-went to the Coalition. You w-w-weren’t supposed to come back.”
Either Shardali was terrified of Mandir, or he had a stammer. Taya felt sorry for him, knowing he’d probably spent his entire life in this house of depravity, and not by choice.
Mandir halted. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“You w-weren’t supposed to come back.”
Another man stepped into the hallway. “What’s going on?”
Taya blinked at the sight of yet another man with identical tattoos and a resemblance to Mandir. It was unsettling. She’d stepped into an alternate world where everyone was some variation on the theme of Mandir. But of course he looked like Mandir; this would be another half-brother. He stood out as being a little older than the others, probably in his thirties, and he had a scar on his left cheek, over an inch long and white in color—a handy identifying marker.
“Mandir’s back,” said Shardali.
“Oh.” Recognition lit the new man’s eyes. “Mandir—of course! Have you come for Setsi?”
“Yes, Runawir, and that’s all we’re here for.” Mandir touched fingers with him. “This is my Coalition partner, Taya.”
Runawir touched fingers with her but directed his words to Mandir. “You’d better keep an eye on her if you want her for yourself.”
“Taya’s a Coalition fire seer. Anyone who touches her can expect to be burnt to a cinder.”
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Runawir snorted. “Then you’d better hope Tufan doesn’t see her. Don’t want trouble with the crown, do you? I suggest you complete your business with Setsi and leave this place as quickly as you can.”
Chapter 5
Mandir followed his half-brother Runawir deeper into the main house. As they moved through a narrow hallway toward the dining hall, he took Taya’s hand in his own, more for his benefit than for hers. Every corner of this house held unpleasant memories. “Who’s still here?” he asked Runawir. “Give me the lay of the land.”
“You saw Shardali,” said Runawir.
“Yes.” Mandir judged Shardali to be of low-to-moderate threat. Mandir and Shardali had been boys in this household together. The younger Shardali had been a coward, easily bullied into submission, and his cringing and stammering suggested he was largely the same as a grown man.
But Shardali could be sneaky and underhanded. He would cower and simper in public, while secretly putting ants in Mandir’s bed. Now that he was older, he had the potential to be more lethal, especially if he had it in mind to get back at Mandir for past offenses. Perhaps Mandir could mollify Shardali with an apology for the things he’d done when they were boys. But he wasn’t certain how Shardali would respond. He might interpret an apology as a sign of weakness and become more aggressive. Mandir would have to keep an eye on him and see what developed. Or get out of here before anything could develop.
As for Runawir, it was early yet but Mandir considered him a serious threat, as he’d always been the smartest of the brothers.
“You saw Nindar already, and you know about Setsi, since you came here to see him,” said Runawir.
“Who’s Nindar?” asked Mandir.
“The stable boy.”
“Oh,” said Mandir. “Is something wrong with his leg?”
“Broke it as a lad, and it didn’t heal properly,” said Runawir. “He stays mostly in the stables, since he’s good with the horses, and he’s great friends with Setsi.”
“Hmm.” Nindar didn’t sound like a threat. “Who else?”
“There’s a woman here, Shala. She’s pregnant and due any day.”
“Pregnant by whom?”
“Tufan,” said Runawir.
Mandir doubted it. Tufan had been impotent for years, and while it was not impossible he might occasionally impregnate a woman on a lucky night, it was far more likely that one of his sons had done it. In fact, Mandir suspected that both Setsi and Nindar had been sired by one of his brothers and not by Tufan. “What about Haban and Yanzu?”
“Yanzu’s still here. Haban left a few years back.”
“Where’d he go?” asked Mandir.
“Don’t know,” said Runawir. “He just left.”
“And Tufan let him go?”
“Oh, no,” said Runawir. “He sent men and dogs, but never found him.”
Haban was one of the few decent people who’d lived here. Good for him for getting away, but Mandir had hoped to get some information out of him about Setsi if the boy proved hard to persuade. And he wasn’t pleased that Yanzu was still here. Yanzu, like Runawir, was among the more dangerous of Mandir’s half-brothers. Those two, along with Nabua, had been Tufan’s primary sycophants, competing viciously for his favor. “What about Nabua?”
“Dead,” said Runawir.
Mandir blinked. “How?”
“He took a particularly bad beating,” said Runawir.
“From Tufan?”
“Yes.”
It happened occasionally; Tufan would lose his temper so badly that he killed someone. Usually it was a woman. Occasionally it was one of his own children. Nabua, however, was no great loss to the world. “Dakuri and Shamas?”
“Dakuri died in a riding accident, Shamas drowned,” said Runawir.
Most likely those hadn’t been accidents. “Did I miss anyone? The household seems diminished.”
“Well, of course there’s Tufan. And his guards. And the tutor for the boys.”
“How is Tufan’s health?” asked Mandir.
“Well enough.”
Mandir frowned. For some reason, the worst people in the Valley seemed to live the longest.
“Oh, and there’s Ilinos,” said Runawir.
“I don’t remember him.”
“He was—I’m not sure—perhaps six years old when you left? Almost grown up now.”
Mandir did some rough figuring. Ilinos would be older than Setsi and Nindar, but younger than the others in the household. He vaguely remembered a small boy in the house back in his day, but he had no idea what sort of young man that boy would have grown into. Ilinos was the biggest unknown to him thus far.
The hallway opened up into the dining area, and Mandir hesitated before walking through. As a child, he’d never entered this room without fear. Tufan insisted on his entire family taking supper together every night. It was here that he rewarded those who pleased him and punished those who didn’t, according to his whim. One never knew, sitting down to the supper table, whether one was in for unexpected praise or a nasty chores assignment or a vicious beating—and attendance was not optional.
But it appeared supper was over for tonight. The dishes were partly cleared, and Tufan was not at the table. Mandir still harbored hopes that he and Taya might talk to Setsi and persuade him to leave without ever having to lay eyes on Tufan. Two people sat at the table, picking at their food without conversation.
One of them was the pregnant woman. She glanced up at Mandir and visibly started, calming only when she saw Taya at his side. Mandir couldn’t blame her for being skittish, given how women were generally treated in this house. The other person at the table was Yanzu.
“Coalition?” said Yanzu. “Are you here for Setsi?”
As Yanzu opened his mouth, Mandir noticed that his front teeth were missing. That was a new development. Someone must have punched Yanzu in the face, and he’d likely deserved it.
“Have your brains leaked out your ears?” said Runawir. “That’s Mandir.”
For a moment, Yanzu looked puzzled. Then his eyes lit, and his lips curved into a thin smile. “Mandir, what a pleasure. And your woman?” He gave her a brazen stare.
“Taya, a Coalition fire seer,” said Mandir. “Touch her, and you will regret it.”
Yanzu’s eyes lingered on her. “I hope you enjoy your stay, Taya. I expect to enjoy your stay very much.”
“Thank you. But if you take liberties, you may find the situation gets hotter than you expect.” Taya twirled her hand, summoning a small orb of flame that burned in the air, drawing every eye in the room before it disappeared in a wisp of smoke.
Mandir smiled. She was answering Yanzu exactly as she should, meeting his threats with her own. Nothing else worked on men like Runawir and Yanzu. “We’re just here to retrieve the boy Setsi for the Coalition.”
“Good luck.” Yanzu sniffed and turned to the pregnant woman. “Shala, clear these dishes.”
The woman rose heavily to her feet—she was massively pregnant—and began to pick up the dishes from the table. The way Tufan’s household worked was that those with the lowest status did most of the work, while those with high status pushed them around. A woman had the lowest status of all, even a pregnant woman who ought to be looked after. Taya was no doubt horrified to see this in action, and it embarrassed Mandir to be associated with a place in which this was common practice.
“Bantu kasu annasi,” said Taya to Yanzu. “Are you a weakling, that you can’t clear your own dishes?”
“You fail to understand the true nature of things. It is the duty of the weak to serve the strong.” Yanzu flashed his gap-toothed grin.
Taya shook her head.
“You missed supper,” said Runawir.
“Thank the Mothers for that,” said Mandir.
“Shall we fetch you something from the kitchen?”
“No.” He and Taya had brought several days’ worth of food with them. It wasn’t wise to eat Tufan’s food if one had a choice a
bout it. “We’re travel-weary, and we’ll need a place to sleep. Show us to one of the guest rooms.”
“Separate rooms, or are you sharing?”
“Sharing,” said Mandir.
Runawir rose from the table. “This way.”
Chapter 6
Taya found the guest room at Tufan’s curious compared to the one she’d occupied in Hrappa. The Hrappan guest house had been simply furnished, yet comfortable and modern in its accoutrements. This room, on the other hand, was meant to impress with its wealth. The wooden furniture was heavy and elaborately carved. A tapestry on the wall depicted the golden city of Zhaerath before its fall, and a lovely painted vase sat in the corner.
A chest against the wall, which held silk robes in a variety of sizes and colors, was a courteous touch, if not quite to her taste—she preferred cotton garments for their comfort. But when she checked the washroom, it struck her as downright primitive. Fresh water sat in a ewer on the counter, but there was no toilet, just a large wooden tub and a smaller one, both empty.
She returned to the bedroom, where Mandir was inspecting the bedsheets. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Where is the toilet?”
“Did you see a pot in there?”
“Yes...”
“I’m sure you can figure out how to use it,” said Mandir. “There’s no running water at Tufan’s. Never has been.”
Taya wrinkled her nose. “How backward.”
“Says the farmer girl.” Mandir had pulled the blankets off the bed and was inspecting the tick underneath.
“Even my parents’ farmhouse had flush toilets.” She didn’t like the room. It was meant to show off, but it wasn’t as livable as even the humblest farmer’s house in Hrappa. The apparent opulence was a veneer over a fundamental cheapness.
“There are no sewers here,” said Mandir. “No wells, either—we draw our water from the river.”
“What are you doing with the bed?”
“Checking for ants.” Apparently satisfied, he pulled the bedsheets back into place.