The Unremembered

by Peter Orullian

  “Maybe never,” Wendra added, alone in the sun-bathed room.

  She joined them in the foreroom, where Penit was eating a mash of salted brownroot. Jastail stood near the door, beyond which many feet could be heard approaching. Wendra came up beside him.

  “Why do you suppose I purchased my own lot?” He motioned at Penit without looking at him. “I saw what happened in you at the auction. And I heard it again when you sang with the Ta’Opin. It will help me fetch quite a price.”

  “No price will be enough for you,” she said, thinking of the riverboat game.

  Jastail did smile then, an awful twist of his lips. “You might be right about that.”

  He fastened his sword belt, slipped two daggers into his boots, and called for Penit. The heavy sound of many feet grew close. He half-bowed. “It’s been a pleasure, my lady.” He then opened the door.

  Wendra looked out. Bar’dyn. Her hands started to tremble, her heart pounding in her chest. Penit took hold of her, his own body shivering against her leg.

  Worry filled Jastail’s face. He was expecting reinforcements to arrive first.

  In an instant, his smile returned, and he strode out to meet his buyers.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Public Discipline

  Taking no action when you know you should is a greater crime than deliberate harm.

  —An unspoken tenet from the Charter

  Tahn never fell back to sleep after what happened at their bedroom window. In their new room, Sutter slept fitfully, muttering and calling out, hugging his sword close, the handle locked into the hollow of his cheek like a child’s doll.

  What had he seen? The mists, what were they?

  He stood at this new window, testing his strength. Waiting for dawn.

  Over the rooftop of the next building he could see the tail of the serpent stars, dipping now below the horizon. They shone, telling their stories. He felt a moment’s peace, watching the stars turn.

  Then he imagined he could see the morn, a gentle warming of color at the farthest end of the land. “The song of the feathered,” Balatin used to say.

  “You’re up.” Gehone’s voice came softly, but startled Tahn nonetheless. “Looks like you have your legs again. Let your friend sleep, and join me in the kitchen.”

  Bright lamps gave the kitchen a cheerful look. A brick oven warmed in one corner, fired with ash logs that lay in a wood scuttle beside it. A black skillet rested on an iron grate, and the fragrance of cooking apples filled the air. Gehone took a seat at the table and poured a mellow-colored cider. He pushed one mug at Tahn. “Goes good with warm apples,” he said, and drank.

  Tahn sipped and rubbed his legs, which still tingled the way they did when he’d sat cross-legged too long.

  Gehone raised a finger the way Balatin often had, looking ready to speak. But as he opened his mouth, he seemed to think better of it, and smiled sympathetically with his eyes. He said only, “Apples first.”

  The leagueman went to the cupboard and took down two bowls. From the skillet he scooped two large portions of sliced apples warmed in what smelled like cow’s cream. Gehone returned and set the dishes on the table. Before Tahn could take his first bite, Gehone spooned a brown powder over the warm, sliced fruit. Tahn ate, disappearing into the taste of cinnamon and molasses. Gehone was right; apple cider was the perfect complement. They endfasted in silence, while outside the sun blued the sky.

  With his last morsel, Gehone licked his lips and studied Tahn’s face. “I’m not an old man. Still have use of my arms like a man twenty years younger, but I’m old enough to know young men have no business in Stonemount. Old enough to have seen sensible boys cower at the sight of an empty window, or like to it. Now, you can keep it from me, lad, and I’m bound to respect your right to do it, but if there’s trouble, I need to know. The League needs to know.”

  “The League,” Tahn parroted before he realized he’d said it.

  “Is the name sour on your tongue?”

  Tahn returned Gehone’s careful stare. “I’ve no reason to trust or distrust you.”

  “I see, other than me dragging you out of a rainy ditch and giving you a warm, dry bed,” Gehone said with a guileless smile.

  So far, I’ve come so far. Maybe he can be trusted.

  Tahn wanted to tell Gehone everything, to unburden himself of it all. But behind his need to confess lurked Vendanj’s warnings. But Tahn sensed he could trust Gehone, and decided to tell part. He related their run-in with Sevilla in Stonemount, withholding the part about the empty bow; of the library, but not of the sticks in his cloak; of Alisandra and the great striped tents, but not of the Lul’Masi. And he told of Bar’dyn, but not Vendanj or Mira. Gehone sat, paying close attention. The smell of warm apples hung in the air. And when Tahn came to the last, Sutter appeared in the door, a weak smile on his lips.

  “Smells good,” he said, the question clear in his voice.

  “Have a seat, lad.” Gehone got up to the endfast fire. “We’ll all eat. And then you’ll prepare to leave. It won’t be good for you to be here when Commander Lethur arrives.”

  The clatter of hooves interrupted them. Gehone rushed to the window and looked out. He hurried back, showing Tahn a troubled brow.

  “To your room, quickly.” He gathered the bowls and stuffed them back in the cupboard unwashed. “Get ready to leave, then hide in the closet. Be quiet and stay away from the window.”

  Gehone dashed past them and down the hall toward the front door. Sutter turned an ashen face to Tahn. Nothing needed to be said. The League of Civility had arrived, and by the sound of it, Gehone’s superior hadn’t come alone.

  They dressed quickly. Sutter buckled his sword and Tahn took up his bow. Near the window, Tahn paused and eased forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the new arrivals. Several horses stood tethered to a hitching post, their flanks steaming in the crisp morning air. A thin coat of frost still clung to the ground where the sun hadn’t yet touched. And above it all, the sky stretched in a perfect lake of unbroken blue. Then came the sound of many boots on the porch. Tahn crept forward, hoping to catch sight of the men.

  Then he saw her.

  Bound at the wrists, legs tied to the saddle straps, sat a woman, holding her chin at a defiant angle. A soiled dress gathered about her waist and thighs exposed her calves, which bore a cake of mud from her horse’s hooves. Her cheeks hung slack as though from lack of sleep, but Tahn thought he knew the look: resignation. She might hold her head up, but her expression held none of the determination she affected.

  A firm knock came at the front door and Tahn stepped back from the window. Sutter grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the closet. The smell of moths and disuse clung to the tiny space. Tahn and Sutter quietly sat in the small closet as voices rose from below.

  “We are all one,” a deep, clipped voice announced.

  “And therein lies our strength.” Gehone’s words seemed a routine reply. The exchange came muffled, but understandable through the floor.

  “To protect civility in every form, the surest call,” the other finished on cue. A rattle of armor came next, and a series of cordial exchanges.

  “You’re early,” Gehone said.

  “First Commander Cheltan thought it best that this business come to a swift conclusion.”

  The other voice worried Tahn. The man spoke with eagerness, but slowly, as if he might rush toward the exacting of a long, painful punishment.

  “What business do you mean?” Gehone answered. “I’ve had no reports. Is there news?”

  “Indeed,” the commander said in an odd tone. It reminded Tahn of a man with a surprise to share, but one he knew would displease Gehone. His speech carried a sense of perverse delight.

  “What news then?” Gehone asked.

  The gleefulness disappeared from the other’s words. “A public discipline—”

  “But we—”

  “I have authority to exercise, Gehone. Make your complaint if you will, but even
by courier bird it will arrive too late.” A shuffling of feet followed, and Tahn imagined the commander walking to the door to point to the woman he’d seen. Public discipline.

  “Can you really mean to do this?” The desperation in Gehone’s voice concerned Tahn more than the undercurrent of delight in the commander’s words.

  “The shadow of civil disobedience grows long, Gehone. It spawns insurgence everywhere. The League must stand against it.”

  “By disciplining a woman in view of children? What’s her crime?” Gehone’s ardor grew.

  “Keep your place, man,” Lethur snapped. “All of us have unpleasant tasks to perform. Remember your oath.”

  Gehone didn’t answer.

  Several moments passed before Lethur spoke. “You’re a good leagueman Gehone.”

  “When?” Gehone asked flatly.

  “As soon as the town is awake,” Lethur replied. “I’ll expect you to be there. Perhaps I’ll even leave the discipline to you. It may help folk here pay you the proper respect, cause reflection in those who do not fully understand the common interest.”

  Gehone’s next words seemed to come through gritted teeth. “It’s not really discipline at all, is it, Commander?”

  “What do you mean to say, Gehone? Speak up. I won’t listen to mumbled words.”

  “Discipline ought to mean a chance to change,” Gehone said.

  “Ah, astute as ever, Gehone,” Commander Lethur replied. “But you miss the point. You see, it’s not really the woman we will be disciplining at all, is it? The spectacle of her discipline will educate a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand. The world is changing, Gehone. Superstition has no place anymore.”

  The commander paused a long moment. “I smell cream and apples. Do you have guests?”

  Tahn held his breath.

  “I take it alone these days. I’ve few who warrant the effort.” Tahn heard the veiled insult in the leagueman’s voice.

  The sound of receding feet rose through the floorboards, and the party of leaguemen exited, pulling shut the door.

  Tahn panted in the musty confines of the closet. He finally had to open the door to catch his breath. Crawling to the window, he peered over the sill. Eight men led the woman away up the street, townsfolk stopping to stare and point.

  “Away from that window, you imbecile.” The command was soft but direct. “Tahn, your horse is in the stable. And an old mare is yours for the taking,” he said, nodding to Sutter. Then he handed them each a sack with bread and dried fruit. “That’s the last help I can be to you.”

  “What are they going to do to the woman?” Tahn asked.

  Tahn watched a slow burn etch red lines in the leagueman’s face. “It’s none of your concern. Take advantage of Lethur’s preoccupation and leave town. You’ll have several hours if you go now. I don’t know what his next orders will be, so don’t travel directly on the road. If he spots you, you’ll be questioned, and Lethur will find any petty grievance to haul you before an authority if he thinks you’re hiding something from him. And you two don’t look to be good liars.”

  “But we’ve done nothing wrong,” Sutter said, irritated.

  “It won’t matter. The principalities are afraid to challenge an argument from a League commander in open court. Lower councils and mayors are men and women with families, easily pressed.” He clutched the brocade at his neck. “This wasn’t the course we set,” he muttered, and turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Tahn called.

  Gehone stopped and turned back.

  “Thank you,” Tahn said.

  Solemn eyes searched Tahn as he approached Gehone and raised a hand in gratitude. The leagueman looked down at Tahn’s fingers with an odd expression, as though the gesture were foreign to him. Then, with a growing recognition in his face, Gehone took Tahn’s hand in his own. Tahn cupped his other palm under their handshake, as Balatin had taught him to do, emphasizing his thanks. Gehone seemed surprised at the token.

  “Go in safety, lads,” the leagueman said, a peaceful look smoothing his brow. He clapped Tahn’s shoulder and descended the stairs.

  “Can we go now?” Sutter said with slight exasperation.

  * * *

  Tahn led them out of the stable and turned up the street. Sutter rode up and leaned close. “This is the way the League went. Shouldn’t we find another way out of town?”

  Tahn didn’t answer.

  “Oh, no. You can’t be serious. What do you think you can do about it? It’s you and me against a whole band of them.”

  Tahn looked an answer at Sutter this time.

  “You’re right. What do I care about odds?”

  Further on, pedestrians crowded the streets. Fine-chipped gravel had been laid down across the main avenues. Boys gathered in clumps, taking turns running and skidding through the loose rock. The sound of so many feet across the tiny stones reminded Tahn of the Huber at spring runoff, a low white roar.

  Several streets up, they came to a broad avenue, nearly twice the width of the others. Instinctively, Tahn turned the corner and kept close to one side. A hundred strides on, a crowd had gathered. High in his saddle, Tahn saw past them to almost a dozen leaguemen in their rich, russet cloaks, preparing some kind of structure at the midpoint of the broad central concourse. Tahn could see the woman still sat her horse, the same resignation weighing in her features.

  Tahn angled to a nearby hitching post and dismounted. He and Sutter tethered their horses and blended into the crowd. Tahn positioned them in the center of the pack, not close enough to be clearly seen by the League, but close enough to have a good view of the proceedings. They’d been there for only a moment when Commander Lethur came forward to address the crowd.

  “We live in a glorious time, good people.” Lethur looked the crowd over from one end to the other. “Our knowledge grows every day, our civility improves the quality of our lives.” His voice rose stridently over the mob, which began to stretch further and further back each passing moment. “It’s your birthright, each of you, to lift yourselves up, despite the superstitions and flawed ideas of seasons long past.”

  The space around Tahn became more crowded. He and Sutter found themselves pinched in as the crowd pressed forward. He pushed back, clearing a small space for himself, to some disgruntled muttering.

  “So today, we do what is right by law. How great a reminder is this, that you are all free to act as your conscience dictates, and not as another would have you do.”

  Sutter harrumphed. “I’m a rootdigger, and I can smell a cowflop when I cross it.”

  The leagueman behind Lethur finished his preparations and stood back. A tall pole stood at the center of a raised dais. Several bundles of sticks had been placed around its base.

  “Sutter … they mean to burn her.”

  Sutter looked, a string of curses muffled in his hand.

  From the left, Gehone arrived, four men in tow. Each of the others wore the chestnut-hued cloak of the League, the brocades at their throats dazzling in the morning sun. Tahn noted that each brocade had been fashioned of a slightly different design, emphasizing the four separate disciplines of the League. Gehone climbed down from his steed, and reported directly to Commander Lethur, who nodded and motioned for Gehone to stand with the rest behind him.

  “A great commonwealth is Ulayla,” Lethur said, puffing out his chest at the name of the town. “A marvelous and industrious place, and known for its high ethics and allegiance to the kingdom’s will. It’s for you that the League works; for you we put our flesh and steel where no other would ever go. Because your concerns are our concerns. No vaunted, meaningless philosophy or tricks of the light.”

  The commander nodded, and a second leagueman pulled the woman from her perch and took her to the pole. Three others assisted him as they lashed her to the log. All returned to their positions but one, who struck flint to a torch and carried it to Lethur.

  Tahn looked desperately at Gehone, whose face showed the same awful resignation as the wom
an’s. He would not look. He stared at the ground, his hands clasped behind him.

  A fevered excitement passed through the crowd as Lethur raised the torch. There were whispers and speculations and a few gasps. Tahn looked hard at the woman and spoke the familiar words, seeking an answer.

  “If there weren’t so many of them,” Sutter muttered.

  “My friends,” Lethur continued, “this is a great day. A day for casting off the past and embracing your future. For seeing the work of justice and the truest meaning of the cleansing fire. It is us, friends. Not the myths of First Ones. But each of us. In the way we support each other, and enforce what is most right and civil among us.”

  Lethur strode to the platform. He stood beside the woman, who looked with longing toward the heavens. Tahn followed her gaze, wondering if any help existed there. Only the great blue empty sky above. Tahn clenched his fists, the words of the man from his dreams, the old words, the assurance of the right kill, rising in his mind.

  He dropped his eyes to the woman, who continued to look up on an endless sky.

  “This woman has broken the law. She is Sheason, and has persisted in spreading superstitions that hinder our civility. And so with proper authority, and a clear conscience, I carry out this sentence.”

  Sheason. She could save herself. This is self-destruction, then …

  With that thought, a familiar feeling tightened Tahn’s gut. Like he’d felt with the burned man in the tenendra camp. Dead gods, he hated this!

  The torch began to descend, a slow endless moment. And Tahn looked deep into the woman’s eyes, his body thrumming with every pulse of his racing heart. Hot waves of protest curled his fists like a man preparing to fight, and he lunged forward. Sutter caught him, wrapping Tahn and anchoring him down. He struggled against Sutter’s grip, but his friend showed uncommon strength and kept him still. The sound from the crowd swelled, muting Tahn’s cries. He twisted and tried to pull free, but his friend held him.

  He turned his eyes again to the woman as the flame struck kindling into life. Wood dust laid by the practiced hands of the League ignited almost instantly, and the fire mounted around her. Lethur stood back a pace and watched the crowd, a satisfied look on his sharp features. Tahn cast a hopeful glance at Gehone. But the man’s eyes never moved from the parcel of ground he watched.