Tanayon Born

by Hausladen, Blake;

  “Prince Evand’s men,” a Chaukai sergeant said, clearing up the mystery for me. “These princes are clever devils, I tell you.”

  “No princes left in Zoviya,” I replied, “save the one safely in Urnedi, of course.”

  “What, Evela’s boy?” he asked.

  “First wife Evela Yentif, you mean, and her son the Crown Prince.”

  “Well, imagine that,” he replied.

  Barok did not look well but seemed fit compared to Geart and Ryat. He left them in the care of the healers. He shook Oenry’s hand and kissed mine.

  “How are they?” I asked.

  “They are doing what they can for them. Avin is certain that they would both be dead if not for your magic. Thank you, Soma.”

  “Well enough,” I said and turned to the sergeant. “Where is the Exaltier?”

  “Center boathouse,” he said and pointed. A broad lawn ran down from the plaza to the three massive boathouses and countless sheds of the arsenal. The war galleys that lined the three long piers were quiet. Men in green had even reached the towers at the ends of the two great walls that sheltered the harbor.

  Rahan had been swift, indeed.

  We started down. It was oddly quiet, and we saw no one in the rows of sheds. Each workspace was littered with the makings of ships, but there was no sign of the craftsmen. The men collected close around us as we found our way through the narrow streets.

  We entered the massive boathouse to find a crowd of many thousands gathered on the near side of a half-finished war galley. They’d taken a knee and faced Rahan, Avin, and a Hemari I judged to be Evand. The rest of the arilas were upon a knee as well, and Hemari and Chaukai were sprinkled throughout the crowd.

  I recognized the rough men gathered with them. They were the slaves who’d built the galleys and crewed them. Their master was Bendent Yentif, but he and his overseers were dead.

  We took a knee with the rest and lent Rahan our ears.

  “I am your Exaltier. Avinda Dooma is your Sten,” he said it with passion, his bloody war hammer still in hand. “We are also your brothers. In the Zoviya that I rule, there will be no slaves. You have heard of those who went north in search of a home. You have heard whispers of Enhedu as a refuge for men who want more. Your Exaltier and your Sten heard the same. Zoviya did its best to murder us. It made me a refugee and made Avinda a slave of Apped Prison. But we escaped and in Enhedu we thrived. We found there, a way for men to live without the misery of slavery and the stink of places like Apped and the Warrens.”

  Rahan had lost all but a handful of the Hemari, but here, at a fortress built to command the Bessradi River, he had found better—the millions who lived in bondage and whose blood and sweat made the city live and breathe. Rahan was freeing Bessradi’s slaves. He would not have the army he wished. He would have, instead, a navy. Ninety war galleys, and the men who could build, repair, and crew them. I knew what they were capable of. He would own every boat upon the rivers, and nothing would cross them without his leave.

  He and Avinda walked through the crowd. Those shabby men lifted their faces and listened to their Exaltier. He said, “You are each free. Free to leave this place if you wish to. I do not own you. No man upon this earth owns you. But I ask that you stay. I ask that you stand with us and help us free the Warrens. Help me defend the fortress. Help me rule Zoviya in the way it was meant to be ruled.”

  They cheered and rose to their feet. The applause shook the boathouse—shook the very earth. The Exaltier and the Sten strode back through the crowd, shaking hands and clasping shoulders.

  The day’s many remaining challenges were forced to wait as Barok, Rahan, and Evand met there, surrounded by their officers.

  They looked so young, despite the day, and I caught a glimpse of my eldest boys coming in late after some evening’s mischief. Of all the men on earth, no one knew them better than each other. They congratulated themselves with handshakes and slaps on the back and laughed at the grandness of their mischief.

  Evand clasped Barok’s hand and said, “I am sorry none of your men who went east made it home. Sahin and every one of them fought until the very end. The Hessier and their allies used us both.”

  Barok was not expecting this, and they sobered. He replied, “And I am sorry the war cost you your men as well.”

  Their smiles and postures sagged. Both were glad when Rahan stepped in. “I mean to stay in Bessradi. Evand, I would make you commanding general of my army, if you would stay, as well.”

  “I’d have it no other way,” he said.

  To Barok, Rahan said, “I believe I can hold the west side of the city but do not believe I can dislodge Yarik. I need you to return to Enhedu and rouse the provinces.”

  Barok nodded, and Rahan turned to me. He was interrupted by the appearance of a pair of women. The first had a fiery beauty that put Dia to shame. She spotted Evand, and with a joyful shout, she sprinted across with her skirt held up in one hand. He met her there in a tangle of arms, and the kiss she gave him stopped every man in the boathouse cold.

  “Kalyn got you across,” he managed to say.

  Her joy became tortured, and she said, “He did not make it.”

  “What? What happened?”

  “When he found us, he was badly wounded. He made it as far as the barge, but died before we got across. He got to see Rahan’s pennant go up. He wanted me to say farewell.”

  Evand ground his teeth together. “The last man of the 5th,” he said, and Rahan and Barok both put a hand upon his shoulder.

  As if Rahan had planned it, the harbor chain was lowered with a clang, and the Whittle and the Kingfisher rowed into the harbor. My savaged lady looked like a demon clawing her way through the water with her black and smoking mouth open wide.

  Evand was afforded a moment alone with his lady while Rahan approached and saluted me. Mercanfur and several of the greencoat officers stepped in behind him.

  All of them were staying.

  “Admiral O’Nropeel,” Rahan said. “The urgencies of the day continue. Can you manage the voyage home?”

  “The Whittle will not make the trip,” I said. “But there is no better place I could leave her than in the care of men who know how to fix her. The Kingfisher is fit. I’ll take an escort of two galleys if you can spare them as far south as Escandi. I’ll also need you to take your cargo of coins ashore. It’s too much weight for us to bear.”

  “Gladly, Admiral,” he said but lost his next thought as he was interrupted a second time by Evand’s lady.

  “I am not getting aboard that ship,” she said hotly, noticed the eyes upon her, and said to me, “My apologies, ma’am. No slight to your ship intended.”

  “None taken,” I said and pointed to her companion. “Your maid seems intent to go.”

  The girl’s smile had betrayed her, and she said to Evand’s lady, “I’d just as soon take a chance on Enhedu, Liv. Your baby will grow up the son of a Yentif. Mine will be just another bastard. Unless you mean to keep me?”

  “No one is keeping anyone,” Rahan declared with a hint of anger in his voice. The crowd fell silent for him, and he turned back to me. “Do you know if there are any Hessier left in the city?”

  The question brought focus, and every man there was listening when I replied, “You will not find a Hessier or thrall anywhere in the Kaaryon, unless there are others as strong as Parsatayn. My magic killed him quickly.”

  Avin nodded. “I agree, Lord Rahan. Geart believed that Parsatayn was the only Hessier left in the city when we fled the Tanayon. I do not think there are others.”

  Rahan stepped close, took my hand in his, and kissed it. “Thank you, Lady Soma. We owe this earth to you.”

  Every man there saluted me, and I returned it.

  The Whittle labored in, and I summoned the will to bid her farewell.

  90

  Geart Goib

  The stink of acrid smoke began to fade. The sharp cries of pain and struggle were replaced by the common sounds of a
ship. The angry and alert Spirits of the Earth and Shadow lost their focus and faded.

  I was left gray and useless. The human details of the world flowed by as if meant for someone else. Days passed until a flash of white light drew me up, and I opened my eyes.

  Barok and Ryat lay on the cots opposite me. Three Chaukai healers slept on the floor. They had exhausted themselves singing. It would take more than the nouns they possessed to heal Barok. His flesh was intact, but yellow.

  “Can you heal him?” a voice said, and I focused on Furstundish the Senior who sat like a guard dog at the foot of Barok’s bed.

  I longed to learn and sing the song that was needed but could find neither nouns nor verbs. I had crossed a line. My cold skin hung loose. I’d lost my hair and teeth. My strength was only a memory. Barok needed help I could not provide.

  “I cannot,” was all I could say.

  The tired old Chaukai sat like an angry stone for a long time. When he stood, it startled me. He searched through a crude collection of bandages and instruments in a bucket beside Barok’s cot. He found a sharp knife and knelt next to Barok with it.

  “You can’t heal him with that,” I said and struggled to sit up.

  “There is another here who can help us,” he said, and I flinched.

  “Who?” I asked.

  He ignored me, cut Barok’s forearm, and wet both sides of the blade. He carried it across to the far corner, knelt down by a collection of gear stacked beside a sea chest, and extended the blade into the shadows.

  A thing leaned out—a blackened ball with a jaw. It opened its mouth, and the Chaukai painted the crisp tongue with Barok’s blood.

  Sikhek!

  The effect was as dramatic as an ember dropped into oil. He healed—skin, limbs, and skull. The gear charred from the heat of the magic and was pushed out by his renewed body. Darkness swelled around him.

  Still, he was just a silhouette of himself, and edged out with no more strength than I had. His eyes focused on me and then on the prince.

  “Barok did not give his blood to me willingly,” he said with a strange note of sadness. He pushed away the knife as if it offended him.

  “I cannot make either of you Hessier,” he said to us.

  “That is not what I wish,” the captain said. “I wish only for you to heal our wounded.”

  Sikhek considered Ryat and I. “If there is a song that can restore your souls, I do not know it. You will never be men again like you were. Living men can sing only so much, and the story of your magic has ended. You are dying.”

  I opened my mouth to argue but knew that he was right.

  “His color,” Sikhek said and pushed passed the captain. He pulled aside the blanket that covered Barok and pressed his fingers into his abdomen.

  “Fools. They healed his flesh over debris.”

  “I can help,” I said.

  “No, you have offended the Spirit of the Earth. Do not come near him,” Sikhek said and turned to the captain, “Call for others. I will need assistance.”

  He went, and Sikhek continued to search Barok’s flesh. He asked me, “What song did you use to destroy my cathedral? I did not hear it.”

  “Granite rest. The stones don’t belong in Bessradi. They were very tired.”

  “Hmm. Clever. Efficient.” He looked me in the eyes for the first time. “You have been teaching others.”

  “I am a poor teacher. They learn on their own now.”

  “They? Hmm. Perhaps you did not fail Her after all. I am sorry that I cannot preserve you. If you make it back to Enhedu, stay close to your druids. Their singing may give you some small time.”

  Soma and others burst into the room. They came to an uncertain halt.

  Sikhek asked them, “Who amongst you has the steadiest hands? There are objects trapped beneath his skin that must be removed.”

  Soma stepped forward and took the knife from Furstundish the Senior. They began at once, and it was grizzly work. Again and again Soma cut into Barok’s flesh and dug free a bit of metal, cloth, or a twist of button.

  Sikhek’s songs were brief. He said sideways to me, “You think I should heal him in a blaze of white light?”

  I did, but even for him there must be only so much he was able to sing. The story of his magic was long, indeed, but all stories come to an end.

  Sikhek’s last song was sung with his hand inside Barok’s belly. The noun was one I did not know. I was not able to catch it.

  The song ended. Barok’s color was much improved.

  Sikhek sat back from his work, and the audience sighed with collective relief. He wiped the Vesteal blood carefully from every surface—even used a song to draw it from the bedding and the floor. He handed the bucket full of rags to Soma without comment.

  “Bring spirits,” he said, and Arilas Kiel handed over a flask.

  Sikhek poured a small draught into Barok’s mouth, and he came awake with a violent cough and a long panicked scream.

  He struggled up and looked ready for a fight. He stumbled back from Sikhek until he bumped his head upon the low ceiling. He took in the audience and relaxed in stages. The rush of the moment wore off, and he sat back onto his cot.

  Soma said to him, “We are along the coast of Heneur. You were taken by a fever.”

  He noticed the bucket of bloody rags. Sikhek was doing well not to look at it, but the prince’s glance drew the old Hessier’s eyes.

  “You want all of this in return for healing me?”

  “That and much more,” Sikhek replied. “The leader of the Ashmari remains out there somewhere. You and Rahan will be easy prey for him. You will not be safe until he is destroyed.”

  “You’ve already stolen some. Why not just take what you need?”

  “I stole nothing,” Sikhek said.

  “That was me,” Furstundish the Senior said. “I found Sikhek aboard the Whittle and preserved him upon my authority as Chaukai. You were dying, and I revived him so that he could heal you.”

  Barok grumbled but could find no way to argue with a Furstundish. He said to Sikhek, “You have not healed Geart. Why?”

  “He is dying. I cannot preserve him.”

  “What? No. You healed me. You will heal Geart, too.”

  Sikhek replied, “It is too late. There is nothing that can be done to restore him. His soul is spent. He belongs to the Shadow now.”

  “How long does he have?” Barok asked.

  “He may live to see the end of this voyage, but not much longer than that. The other will make it longer, but he will die, too.”

  Barok growled and swelled but did not have the strength. He sank back into the cot. “Damn you into the ice, Sikhek.”

  “My damnation is not for you to decide. It is Her judgment I await. All that is left for me is the fight I failed to finish.”

  “Get out,” Barok said. “Before I put you over the side.”

  Sikhek thought to argue. The tired old Hessier hefted himself up, instead, and the crowd made way for him.

  “Barok—” Soma started to say.

  “No. I will hear none of it. Sikhek murdered my family. There is nothing we need from him. We killed Parsatayn without his help. We can kill the rest of the Ashmari, too.”

  The silence lingered. I started to get very tired. I began to shiver. Barok covered me. The warmth set me on my back, and my eyes closed.

  When I next woke, the prince was there. He knelt down beside me.

  “What can we do?” he asked. “There must be something.”

  “You could get me up on deck. It is dark in here.”

  Greencoats carried me up onto the aftcastle. The view brought a tear to my eye. We’d sailed farther north than I thought. The peaks of Heneur’s Mount Lazez rose like two wolf’s teeth into the clear blue sky. The sun lit the jagged red hills and caught the tops of the choppy green waves. Every fold of the mountain and sea seemed angry.

  They fashioned a chair for me out of crates and canvas. Barok stayed with me.

&nbs
p; I slept for a time. He was there each time I woke. I stayed awake for a time one of those bright mornings.

  “So that’s what it’s like,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “To wake with someone standing vigil. Thank you.”

  Barok dried his eyes.

  “How long did you do it for me? Eleven years?”

  “Every night for fourteen.”

  He knelt down and looked into my eyes. His sadness had made him old. He searched my face.

  “Where are we?” I asked. I felt it then—a spreading emptiness.

  “We are home, Geart. See there?” he asked and yelled to others, “Quickly, help me lift him up.” His voice cracked, and he trembled as they hefted me up so that I could see. The great peak was there—a white fist thrust up from the forest.

  “Soma,” he called. “Hurry!”

  She and the others collected around me.

  “Sikhek …” I said. The words caught in my head and upon my lips. “He knows many words. He must teach Lilly … trade …”

  “Geart, stay with us,” Barok said. He took hold of my hand and wept into my sleeve. “We need you.”

  Soma began to pray, “Wayward spirit—”

  “No!” Barok screamed and drew his knife and laid it against his palm. Blood welled in his hand. He extended it to Soma. “Save him! Rot your eyes, do something. Take my blood. Save him.”

  Soma knelt down and took Barok’s hands in hers. She closed her eyes and seemed very far away.

  Everything began to fade.

  “I am sorry, Barok,” she said. “His soul belongs to the Shadow. Anything I do will kill him. These moments are all he has left. Pray with us.”

  Darkness folded around me.

  Barok’s whispers sent me on my way.