The Complete Ivory

by Doris Egan

  They brought him back to us with his hands tied behind. He was young, maybe sixteen, with a torn shirt and the trousers of a provincial worker. He wore a wide-brimmed

  green felt hat. too—his family understood the effects of sunburn on the Plateau better than expatriate outlaws did.

  Des said, "Hello, friend. Honored by this meeting. Are you of the Hock-Tyan family?"

  The boy glared up at him from beneath the crooked brim of his hat. One eye squinted as though Des were framed by sunlight; but he wasn't. A squint like that is the lower-class way of saying "I don't choose to trust you."

  Des laughed. "Ishin na' telleth. You're welcome to ray name, though—Des Helani, gracious sir. And the lovely lady beside me is Tymon. And Grateth Tar'briek and Komo had the honor of meeting you just before me."

  The boy glanced briefly at the two men on either side of him, apparently not surprised at hearing road-names. Then he folded his arms and stared back at Des, waiting.

  Des said, "Help him up, you two. He can sit in front of me when we ride in."

  The boy's eyes widened. Grateth and Komo boosted him up on Des' mount. Once on top his head turned right and left, confused by this new perspective on his world. He made an effort and twisted back to look at Des.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Visiting," said Des. "Being neighborly. A little late, but that's better than not at all."

  The boy said, "My uncle Tades will kill you. For stealing our mounts." When there was no immediate answer, he pursued it: "What'll you do about that?"

  I wondered myself. We followed the stone wall until we reached a gate, and Komo opened the lock for us, making the ancient metal hinges scream. A dirt path led far ahead, cutting through the tall stalks until it disappeared around a corner somewhere near the vanishing point.

  We rode down the path, spiky green leaves rustling in long, oceanic waves around us. It was eerie. Komo spoke at last, in a loud whisper—it had to be loud to be heard over the crop—"Should I ride out first?"

  "No," said Des, "we want them to see the boy."

  Something in his diction reminded me a little of Stereth, but I decided it was imagination. The mobile green curtain around us encouraged bizarre ideas. You wondered what you would ride into when the stalks ended.

  "I'm not a boy," said our hostage, several minutes of green silence later.

  "Sorry," muttered Des. The breeze ruffled the pale fur on his mount. The animals at least were immune to the general spookiness; nervousness was bred out of them.

  And then a curve, and between one footfall and the next we were out of the alien country and in a clearing on a shallow hillside, near a stone house with two chimneys and a covered well. Laundry flapped in the wind. Normality.

  A pistol shot singed the ground in front of Des' mount. It took a few steps backward.

  "It's all right, baby, it's all right," he said. His grip tightened on the boy. "Hello!" he called. "I've come with a message for the Hock-Tyans."

  Silence, the stalks and the wind. He called, "I'm not here to cause any trouble. I have good news, news to the advantage of your House."

  "What news does a can try tar'meth have? Let the boy down and say it." The voice was older and male.

  "Tades Hock-Tyan? I'd rather speak face-to-face, gracious sir." He kept hold of the boy, who had started to wriggle. "I mean no harm, sir, I'm just sort of nervous."

  A man appeared from a corner of the house. He was stocky, short for an Ivoran and with a fine, fuzzy beard. Funny-looking by the standards of his people, but the expression on his face would have cut short any laughter. "Your road-friends are nervous, too," he said, "or they wouldn't be holding weapons."

  I realized for the first time that Komo had a knife and Grateth a pistol. Des said, "Put them away." They did so. I admired their discipline, and hoped Des wasn't crazy.

  The man said, "You come holding our boy and riding one of our mounts. Is this polite?"

  Stereth had specifically asked that the mounts we took not be ones stolen from this farm, but Des showed no annoyance at the slip-up. He slid down at once. "Do you want it back? It's yours. Or would you prefer compensation?"

  The boy, left to himself, slid down the other side and ran into the house.

  We all regarded each other. The man said at last, "Tades Hock-Tyan, honored by this meeting."

  "Des Helani, likewise. This is Grateth Tar'briek, Komo, and the lady is Tymon."

  "Honored, gracious sir," I added, feeling there was no need to waste my capital accent if it would impress anybody.

  He inclined his head. "You said you had a message."

  "And a gift," said Des. He unbuckled a pack from his mount's gear and held it out to the farmer. "You can open it, or I can open it. Whichever you prefer."

  "You open it."

  Des reached into the pack and removed two bags. He hefted them and let their jingle be heard; and said, "Eight hundred gold tabals."

  He extended the first bag toward the farmer, who made no move to take it. He stared at us. Des placed the bags in the dirt by his feet and moved back to stand with his companions.

  "What are you doing?" asked the farmer, at last.

  Grateth and Komo were in the dark as well. Something came over me, and before Des could reply I spoke with the certainty of inspiration: "It's from the quarterly tax shipment," I said. The farmer turned to me. "It's your share."

  "It's my what?" he said.

  Des smiled and whispered, "Very good, Tymon."

  Tades Hock-Tyan blinked and stared down at the bags. He still made no move to pick them up. Then he looked up at us and said, "Would you care to come inside for some tah?"

  "They say that when your tax money is gone, it's like a funeral. You're never going to see it again, no matter what anybody says." Tades Hock-Tyan poured us new bowls of wine to go with the new cups of tah.

  There had been no need for Des to point out the justice of our mutual position on taxes. It is the deeply held belief of all people on Ivory that' the government exists for the sole purpose of extorting money from them. Nor are they far from the mark.

  Komo reached for another seed-cake, stuffed it in his mouth, belched, and said, "Excellent cake, my friend. My compliments to your wife."

  There was a moment of silence at this faux pas. Tades was part of the outer life of the Hock-Tyans, like the facade of an Ivoran building; the inner life, the women and children, were only shared with trusted associates. Komo should not have even hinted at their existence. He'd spent all his life with his army mates and outlaw bands, and was oblivious to the glance that passed among the other four of us.

  Des leapt in to cover the gap. "If I might bring up the subject of business prematurely," he began—we'd only been there twenty minutes—"I'd like to discuss that matter of advantage to your House."

  The farmer smiled, his fringe of beard making him look like some woodland nature spirit. "The tax money and the return of our mount are of advantage already."

  "But we'd like to be of further service, if you'll permit."

  "So?" He took a long draught of the impossibly strong Sector wine. "Say on, then, and I listen with a favorable ear."

  Des leaned over. "Our leader regrets the troubles that cantry tar'meth such as ourselves have caused you over the years. He's sent us to offer apologies and recompense."

  Our host's eyebrows raised. "Kind of him," he said non-committally, "and you've done so."

  "He'd like us to go further, though. Now that we're convinced of the error of our ways."

  "I listen."

  "He'd like to make a treaty between our band and your House."

  Tades Hock-Tyan began to laugh. "A treaty? Like what the Emperor has with Tellys?"

  "Why not?" asked Des. "Who rules the Sector, the Emperor or you and me? Why can't we make treaties if we want to? What's the empire done for you lately?"

  Hock-Tyan set down his cup of tah and said seriously, "What has it ever done in the Sector since the beginning of time?"


  "Exactly," said Des. "Except take your money. But we're remedying that."

  Our host stroked the fine hair of his chin. Then he said, "No. I say this meaning no offense. I won't have our House

  involved in treasonous activity, and that's what they'll call it when they find their pockets empty."

  He and Ran must have gone to the same school. Des said, "We're not suggesting that you support us openly. If anyone asks if you've heard from us, deny it. We will. Keep your money in a secure place. As time goes by, we may be able to add to it."

  "What would you want of me, then?"

  "Your friendship. We promise, no more mounts stolen, no more fields trampled. You just… keep us in mind. Don't join the militia if it asks for volunteers to hunt us down. Tell us if you hear anything of interest. Is that too much to ask?"

  "You're asking to be a House ally, and I don't even know you. Our allies go back ten generations."

  "It's a new age," said Des.

  Hock-Tyan sat there silently, thinking. Then he said, "What's the name of your leader?"

  At that moment a small whirlwind burst in from the lit doorway that led toward the kitchen: A boy of about five, plump and messy-haired, with fiery dark eyes. He wore a torn red jacket, and must have just come in from outside. He snapped a carved wooden pistol from his belt, pointed it at Grateth and yelled, "Zip!" Grateth blinked mildly. The boy shot Komo, too, but he was too busy swallowing more wine to react. Then the child shot Des. "Zip!"

  Des took it in the chest, tottered, reached for the side of the table, groped, fell sideways over the cushion, and gave out an alarming death rattle. Then he lay there in total stillness. Des was a ham.

  The child was both shocked and thrilled. He walked over to Des' corpse and poked it experimentally with the snout of his pistol. Des' shoulder moved with the pressure and then fell back when the pistol was taken away. "I killed him," the boy announced, with great pride. He looked over at Hock-Tyan, his eyes brighter than ever. Then, with a child's instinctive understanding of the parallel roads of fantasy and reality, he slapped Des softly on the arm to get his attention. "Who are you?"

  Des opened his eyes. "Who are you?"

  "Bedis Jer Hock-Tyan."

  "If I get up, will you kill me again?"

  "Maybe."

  Tades Hock-Tyan spoke up. "Leave our guest alone, Bedis, you've troubled him enough. Take off your jacket in the house. And go in the kitchen." The boy moved away from Des disappointedly. Tades watched him go with a thoughtful look. He said, "And tell your mother and sister to come in and say hello."

  Des sat up. "You honor me," he began.

  "I know I do, but I think you deserve it. Let's not speak of it further."

  Treaty or no treaty, it was going to be socially impossible for Stereth's band to steal from this farm again. I was glad. They seemed to be good people, even if they did try to kill us first.

  A minute later a fat gray-haired woman entered, followed by a teen-aged girl with a silk bow in her hair. The nephew—our ex-hostage—peered around from the edge of the door. "Welcome, sir Helani," said the wife, who had clearly been listening behind the door. I would have done the same.

  We all rose and exchanged bows. The girl with the silk bow smiled at Des. I could understand it—he was the picture of a storybook hero—but hoped he wouldn't rise to the bait. We were just starting to get along with these people.

  "You were telling us your leader's name," said the girl. I pictured the whole family pressed up against the door.

  Des turned to Tades and said, "Our leader is Stereth Tar'krim."

  The girl clapped her hands. The farmwife cried, "I knew it! What did I tell you, Tades, our mounts were stolen by Stereth Tar'krim himself." She turned to Des. "He's a fine-looking man, sir Helani. I've seen the pictures."

  Everybody on the blasted plateau must have seen the pictures. I felt my heart sink.

  "He's young," said Tades, "for so successful an outlaw leader."

  "He's a genius," said Des simply, only saying what I knew he believed of Stereth.

  Tades bit his lip. "A treaty with cantry tar'meth is a big step. I don't know what my ancestors would say."

  "I know a face," said the wife, "I'm never wrong. And

  when I looked at the poster of Stereth Tar'krim I said, 'That man has eyes you can trust.' This is someone who understands debt and obligation, Tades. He'll honor a contract."

  "Please, father," said the girl, whose motivations were so clearly suspect her mother bundled her out of the room before she could ruin the situation.

  Tades drew himself up and bowed. "If you'll stay to dinner, sirs and lady—if you have room for it—I'll consider the matter, and give you my answer with the sweet after-meal wine."

  The woman's face broke into a victory smile.

  It was full dark on the plateau when we left the farm. The unmixed wine of the Northwest Sector was bringing me to a whole new understanding of my lack of capacity. Back in the capital, I'd thought I'd been doing rather well.

  The Hock-Tyans had signed up as allies. I think Stereth's reputation had had as much to do with it as Des' hand with women and children. It's true that the people of Ivory are ruthlessly practical, and money often seems to be their chief love; but anyone who thinks they are not moonstruck romantics as well has never seen them at the theater. They cheer on the heroes, laugh at the fools, hiss the villains, and cry openly at parted lovers—in short, they are as easily manipulated as seven-year-olds, and the price of a ticket is the only thing I've never heard them grudge. They love a good story; a good story has a hero; and heroes fall into a lot of categories on Ivory. Stereth was on his way to writing his own story, and there were doubtless many who felt a bit part in it was worth risking their lives.

  When you've been a collector of myths and legends as long as I have, you become aware of the distinction between glamour and reality. I would as soon be back at Cormallon, picking cherries for dessert. Still, I understood the pull for Stereth's followers and was not so presumptuous as to try and stop them.

  "Comfortable, Tymon?" Des inquired. I was sitting on the bow of his saddle, where Hock-Tyan's nephew had sat on the way in. Tades had suggested we take their mount back again, but I don't think he expected anyone to agree.

  As the small barbarian of the group, it was clear who was going to have to share.

  Past the mysteries of the crop— "What is this stuff, Des?"

  "No idea, Tymon, I'm a city boy myself. I don't think it's wheat. Maybe it's rice." Grateth's voice rumbled behind us: "Are you crazy? It's nothing like rice." Komo's voice, thick with drink: "It's wine."—and I still don't know. Even I've heard that wine comes from grapes, but Komo made a good case for some sort of local variant distilled from these plants. We were still arguing about it leagues later, at the Mid-Plateau Road.

  And far down the road in the blackness, there came a shout. It was just any shout to me, but Grateth said, "Militia."

  "Kanz," said Komo. "What're they doing at this end of the road?"

  "Break up and ride," said Grateth, and Des said, "Go!"

  I'd thought the night of the cattle raid had been a wild ride. I dug into the soft neck fur of Des' mount, clamped my legs like a vise, and held on. We scrabbled straight up and over the first available hill. All I could hear was the wind and the muffed sound of hooves in the dirt. Ten minutes later Des brought us to a stop and said, "Shh."

  We listened. Nothing but night and the edge of a moon on the horizon: We might have been alone in the world. Then, far away, a soft pounding.

  "Kanz," he said in my ear. "They're following us."

  With all affection to Grateth and Komo, I, too, would have preferred it differently. We flew down the other side of the hill and headed… south, I think, though I was losing track.

  "Here." Des slowed us down.

  "Why are we stopping?"

  "Get down." He slid off and helped me dismount. I lost my footing and nearly went head over heels down an incline that appea
red out of nowhere. Des kept hold of my hand and jerked me back to my feet.

  The mount picked its way down the slope behind us, calm as ever. Bless his engineers. At the bottom of the ravine we stepped into a shallow run of water.

  "It's too dark to see a thing," said Des. "We'll wait down here for them to pass."

  The water was cold. "Is this stream poisonous?"

  "Yes."

  "Will it hurt us to stand in it?"

  "I don't know. I never tried it before."

  "Kanz."

  We both shut up then and waited.

  Two hours later we rode into the grounds of the fort. Grateth and Komo were already back, and people were waiting for us. Ran was prominent among them.

  Des dismounted and swung me down. He grinned at Ran and said, "She's safe and sound. No problem at all, in fact—" as he opened his arms to include the others,"—you people worry too much."

  Ran gave him one of his unreadable looks: I left Des to enjoy his boasting and took Ran to one side. We went around the corner, out of the wind and out of earshot. "You're smiling," he said to me.

  "Am I? We were nearly caught by the provincial militia. They were six meters away from us at one point, I could hear their gear jingle."

  "Then why are you so happy? Your eyes are shining."

  "I don't know," I said, and pushing him a little farther against the wall I started to pull off his outer robe.

  "And what are you doing?"

  "I don't know that either." Having gotten rid of the outer robe, I unbuttoned the top of his tunic.

  "Heavens," he said, and his voice had lost its moodiness, "you're usually not this aggressive."

  "No?"

  "I'd forgotten the effect adrenaline has on you."

  The clothes pile was growing. "Shut up," I said, and although Ran outranked me in House hierarchy he did not appear offended.

  In fact, the next morning he ran a hand through his hair and said, "If only we could reproduce that chemically."

  I was rinsing my mouth with a dipper of water from one of the jars. "I thought you preferred being the aggressor."