Traitors' Gate

by Kate Elliott

  “No one can hope to live in peace,” cried Shai, “until Lord Radas’s cruel army and the cloak of Night’s twisted plans are defeated! Hide if you wish. But in the end, if you do nothing, they will find you anyway. And then there will be no one left to turn to.”

  The ears of the elder wildings flicked high and flattened low, a sign of displeasure, but he plunged on.

  “I must leave the Wild. I did not betray the rebels, nor will I ever betray the wildings, because they saved me and have shown me hospitality. But I must go to join those who fight Lord Radas’s army. To say more would be to betray their secrets. Put me on the road to a reeve hall, or a port, any place not overrun by Lord Radas’s army. All of this I have said already, a hundred times. What else must I say?”

  She watched the elders, then spoke. “Where did Lord Radas’s army come from?”

  Startled, he tugged on an ear. “I truly don’t know. That all happened long before I came to the Hundred. There’s a camp in Walshow. Isn’t that in the north? And the town called Wedrewe, in Herelia. That’s some kind of headquarters.”

  “The wildings have never before involved themselves in human quarrels. Why should they start now?”

  “If they don’t wish to, they can let me go and go back to guarding their boundaries! Maybe that will protect them for now. But in the end, it’s like hiding your eyes while the sand of the desert engulfs you. That you refuse to look doesn’t drive away the storm.”

  All at once he was seized by such frustration that he feared he would leap off the netting just to relieve the pressure. He groped in the pouch Sis had woven for him, and withdrew a small block of deadwood, caressing it and listening to what it told him. Its glossy grain shimmered in the tapers’ light. He unsheathed his knife and began to carve, revealing a horse’s muzzle as the conclave watched in a kind of silence. They weren’t voicing sounds, but they were speaking with their hands in the most ancient language of the Hundred, the one he did not know.

  “How old are you, Holy One?” he asked. “You look older than the cloak of Night. Is she also one of the first—the true—Guardians?”

  “How can she be, if I am the last of the true Guardians?”

  “She told me she was responsible for the greatest act of justice known in the Hundred.” He shaved down the slope of a long, elegant neck. “I may only be an outlander, who knows the tales poorly, but isn’t the tale of the Guardians the most important tale sung in the Hundred?”

  “According to humans.”

  “It’s humans I’ve walked among, demon that I am. And in the tale of the Guardians, isn’t it the orphaned girl who prays for peace to return to the land? Isn’t she the one the gods listened to?”

  The tapers illuminated the Guardian’s aged face and bitter smile. “ ‘In the times to come the most beloved among the guardians will betray her companions.’ Only we did not realize then, that those of us first raised as Guardians would not remain Guardians forever. That some would grow weary and ask to be released, that one might become corrupt and need to be removed. That new faces—new guardians—would rise wrapped in the cloaks. And when she whose pleas the gods heard and responded to became a Guardian in her turn—for did she not offer her life for the sake of justice?—how could any of us have supposed she was the one who would in the end betray us?”

  “Night is that girl? The very orphaned girl from the tale?”

  Wind rattled in the branches. The wildings listened intently, as if by listening they spun yet more detail onto the map of the Hundred, the unfolding tale of the land. The cloak of Earth did not speak, and for the first time Shai felt pity for her, because although she was veiled to him, as he was veiled to her, her expression spoke as any face might: it seemed to him that it was an inconsolable grief mixed with furious regret that stilled her tongue. To be betrayed by the one we have loved best is the worst pain.

  “There’s a way to kill her and the others, isn’t there?” he asked softly as an elaborate fold of feathered wings came to life beneath his knife. “To take their cloak and pass it to a new person. Not the Guardian council, five to remove one, but a different way. A way no one is supposed to know.”

  A sigh fell like wind through the wildings.

  “Tell me what it is,” said Shai, “and then maybe I—or others like me—can stop these cloaks from killing demons and innocents. And if that’s what the wildings want, that demons no longer get killed, then perhaps in exchange they’ll tell you what you need to know, about a haven for your people.”

  She bowed her head. Many among the wilding conclave flicked their ears, but whether to show approval or hostility he could not tell.

  Without looking at him, speaking into the darkness and the silent stars, she said, “There is a way.”

  26

  MAI BIDED HER time and made her plans, and early in the Month of the Horse when Anji returned flushed with pride over a successful negotiation with the lendings for breeding stock, she struck.

  “I would have liked to travel to the Lend with you, Anji,” she said in the privacy of their innermost courtyard as she poured tea and flirted with him. He was freshly bathed, wearing a silk robe and soft slippers and lounging on pillows. “I am shocked beyond measure that you bargained such a poor deal.”

  “You mean when their headwoman offered ten horses in exchange for Tohon, I should have taken the horses?”

  She laughed. “Did that really happen?”

  “They remembered and valued him from their last encounter. But you would have approved. I said ten mares wasn’t nearly enough, and they wouldn’t go any higher.”

  “I suppose you did as well as you could. I would have held out for one horse in exchange for each lethra of oil of naya.”

  “No doubt you would have. I knew I was overmatched the moment she started negotiations by offering for Tohon.”

  “Then why didn’t you take me? You’ve taken me on a circuit of Olo’osson now.”

  “I control Olo’osson. I cannot take my troops into the Lend without violating border rights, and I will not risk you and Atani out in such territory with no proper protection. I do not know what manner of creatures the lendings are.”

  “Except that they value men like Tohon.”

  “Yes. It was better to pay a worse price and not take the risk that they would value you.”

  He was in a good mood. The sun was shining over blooming troughs of gold butter-bright and blue heaven’s-kiss; her favorite white and blue falling-water tumbled out of pots hung from the eaves of the little gazebo under whose shade they rested.

  “It’s almost around again to Wakened Ox. Time for our monthly trip to Astafero.”

  “You are eager to see Miravia,” he said, humoring her.

  “I have been thinking, Anji.” She sipped at her tea, composing herself. “Since our circuit of Olo’osson back in the Ibex and Fox Months, I’ve been in correspondence with many village and town councils. I attend Olossi’s council meetings every week. The question that most troubles people is the situation in the north. Naturally people fear the Star of Life army will return to Olo’osson.”

  He nodded.

  “But the question of the assizes also troubles people. Two generations ago the Guardians presided over the assizes—”

  “So folk say. Whether the tales are true, we cannot know.”

  “The Lantern’s hierophants have shown me records held in Sapanasu’s temple recording assizes a hundred and more years ago. They were presided over by Guardians.”

  “Or folk calling themselves Guardians, pretending to a tradition they believed was inherited from even more ancient times. Maybe it’s true; maybe it isn’t.”

  “Yes, exactly,” she said, more tartly than she meant to, “but they believe it, and they are not content with the manner in which their assizes are now conducted. Should reeves preside, or are they only meant to patrol and bring in people accused of committing crimes? Should councils preside, or may they be disposed to judge according to what benefits
those with the most wealth and power?”

  He set down the cup, his expression as smooth as the balmy sky, untroubled by cloud or wind. The cool weather of the early dry season was passing off and it was getting hotter each day heading into the last season of the year, Furnace Sky.

  “Where are you going with this, Mai?”

  She went on in her market voice. “We have seen Uncle Hari twice, the first time in the Fox Month and last month as well. I am encouraged that he has not fled. But he is restless and discontented—”

  “So demons must be, because of their essential nature.”

  “What folk in the Hundred call a demon and what you call a demon is not the same thing.”

  “You may call a demon any other name you wish, but it is still a demon.”

  “That is not what I meant.” She rapped him lightly on the back of the hand, a piece of flirtatious scolding that made him smile and twine his fingers between hers. “Be serious, Anji. Please listen to me. I would say Hari despises himself. No one should have to live with such despair eating away inside them. Especially not my beloved Uncle Hari! Anyhow, even if you wish to consider him a demon, is it not better to give him a reason to want to be part of what we have built rather than merely wanting to avoid the cloaks he hates and fears? Will I not get a better price for the peaches I am offering for sale if the customer has a hankering for such fruit, rather than feeling forced to haggle where he does not—”

  Anji laughed, and she blushed, seeing he had conceived a more intimate interpretation of her words. “I am not convinced that is a good comparison, whatever it was you meant to make of it,” he said. “But you are right. It is better to act out of desire than fear. What are you thinking?”

  ON THIS, HER third visit to Uncle Hari in the valley, she waited until she had hot tea poured and cups set on a tray, all the while chattering about the various councils of Olo’osson large and small as if this conversation were merely a way to pass a quiet afternoon. They sat, as before, in the ruins sprawled alongside the pool and waterfall. The cave and its altar remained dark and dry; no threads glimmered on the sloped roof, and no dark shapes roiled beneath the pool’s murky waters.

  They were alone in the upper vale: she, Uncle Hari, and Anji with the baby in his lap. Chief Tuvi stood below, where the path emerged out of the tangle, while Sengel and Toughid waited out of sight. Five reeves had dropped them off with an offering chest, none the wiser, and departed with orders to return a hand’s span before sunset.

  “You want me to preside over an assizes?” Hari asked.

  She flushed. She had not yet spoken of her plan, although naturally it sat forefront of her thoughts.

  “I know,” he said, “that you were waiting to broach the subject until you had soothed me with gossip and tea, but you cannot conceal your plans from me. What use would I be at an assizes? Have I ever shown the least sign of wisdom in conducting my own wasted life?”

  “Do this one time as a favor for me, Uncle. I beg you. Just one time. And then, afterward—”

  “Stop!” he cried, laughing in the old remembered way, with his big grin and crinkled eyes. “You will slay me, Mai. I can refuse you nothing when you stare at me with that hopeful face. You want to make a song of it all.” He looked toward the wash of water as it rained into the pool. “I once wanted to make a song of it all. You see how it worked out.”

  “The tale is not yet finished, Uncle. That is the mistake you are making, if you don’t mind my saying so. You’ve closed the gate, but you can open it again. There are other paths—”

  “Aiee!” He laughed again and this time, remarkably, looked at Anji. “Is she always this persistent?”

  Anji smiled.

  “One time,” said Hari to Mai. “Because you asked.”

  “I have it all arranged,” she said, although emotion tangled in her market voice, making it hard to speak. “You need only arrive at the council square just before sunset tomorrow, Uncle.”

  “They won’t know I’m coming,” he said, and she dreaded the way his voice softened, as if he were changing his mind.

  “You’ll come to Astafero and preside over the assizes, just like the tales say it happened in the old days. You’ll see. Please—”

  “No tears! Just this one time.” He rose without drinking his tea and began to pace. “What am I to do? What am I to say?”

  “Say as little as possible,” said Anji.

  “Let them speak,” added Mai. “There will be a clerk of Sapanasu, to record the proceedings, and an envoy of Ilu, one of Kotaru’s ordinands, a mendicant sworn to Atiratu, a diakonos serving Taru, and a kalos from Ushara’s temple in Olossi.” She glanced at Anji, who betrayed by no flicker any discomfort at this mention of the Devourer’s temple. “There must be representatives of each of the seven gods at an assizes. Except for the pilgrims of Hasibal, because the Formless One has neither temples nor priests.”

  “You know the Hundred well, Mai.”

  “I’m just saying you need only listen and hear. Others know the law. But in the case of certain intractable cases, you’ll know the truth.”

  THE NEXT DAY—the auspicious day known as Transcendent Snake—passed slowly. In the afternoon, after a draft of calming tea and water to cool her face, feet, and hands, Mai walked down to the council benches. Would he come? Or would he turn away?

  The council speaker called the council to order. The first business was a continuing discussion of certification in the market. What authority determined which goods could be certified as best-quality, good-quality, everyday-quality? Should shoddy work be forced off the market, or fined? What if a competitor brought a charge of shoddy work merely to cut into another’s sales? In Olossi, the council controlled certification, but in Astafero, no standards had yet been set. People had settled here from villages and towns all over Olo’osson, and naturally they did not always agree.

  As the debate dragged on, Anji without fuss or announcement walked up with Sengel and Toughid to stand at the back in the last hand’s-breadth of shade. A few people noted him, but the discussion flowed on regardless. His gaze wandered. He tipped back his head, following an object moving in the sky.

  “Heya!” cried a youth loitering near Chief Tuvi’s guardsmen. “What is that?”

  A rider on a winged horse cantered to earth. Mai rose, heart pounding, as the assembly fell into a dead silence. Hari hesitated, looking—she thought—ready to fly away. What must she say, to draw him in without betraying her knowledge of him? He did not particularly resemble her except in coloring, but might people wonder anyway? Or would they not see past his winged horse and Guardian’s cloak?

  A faltering voice trembled through the first lines of a song, and other voices joined in.

  come in, come in, we welcome you with garlands

  come in, come in, at long last you return

  The noodle seller, Behara, beckoned to her daughter and sent her running down into town. The six priests rose in consternation, and finally the hierophant extended open hands.

  “Holy One,” she said, but faltered, washed bloodless and unable to speak further.

  “Make a space for the holy Guardian!” snapped the Lady’s mendicant. “For as it says in the tale, face south in the morning and north in the afternoon. Isn’t that how it goes?”

  At first no one moved. Then, awkwardly, one man and another woman and more cleared a bench and backed away. Hari dismounted, and the horse furled its wings. A child came running up from town in company with Behara’s elder daughter, and the little one—not more than seven or eight—without the slightest self-consciousness pattered forward with a garland draped over one arm and raised it as an offering. The garland was a little withered, truly, and where it had come from in this season Mai could not imagine.

  Hari stared at it until the child said in a clear, carrying, and somewhat exasperated voice, “You’re supposed to take it. It’s an offering, Holy One!”

  Hari’s grin blazed. He bent low so the child could drape th
e garland over his head, then he walked down to the cleared bench, the child trotting behind. The silence within the assembly was so intense that Mai realized her nails were biting into her palms. She opened her hands and sat, to avoid notice.

  “And stop pinching your big sister when no one is looking, just to get her into trouble,” Hari said to the child, who chortled wickedly and bolted into the crowd.

  Behara actually laughed, although it was her own grandson so accused. She stood. “Holy One, I pray you, sit down. Why are you come?” If she was nervous, she hid it well.

  “I am a Guardian,” he said as he let his gaze pass once over the assembly. Startled gazes flicked up, or down; a man gasped out a word; a woman chuckled; another sobbed into her hands. “Is this not an assizes?”

  He sat.

  Everyone looked toward the six priests, who were conferring in frantic whispers. No one knew what to do!

  “Bring cases forward,” said Behara impatiently.

  “But there is a proper form—” cried the hierophant.

  “Never mind the cursed proper forms,” said Behara. “How are we to remember a ritual no one here alive has ever witnessed? We’ll discuss the certification issue next council meeting. Aren’t there other disputes to be brought forward today?”

  It took some effort to force the first set of disputants to present themselves before a cloaked man with his outlander face and ominous Guardian’s eyes.

  A flock of sheep had been deliberately stampeded, and several lost. The man who owned the flock said those who had scared the beasts had stolen them. Not so, said the accused young debt slave, although he blushed and stammered as he spoke. He’d done no such thing; he’d been out walking and only fallen into the way of the scattering sheep and tried his best to round them up as a courtesy, only to be accused of theft!