Acacia, The War with the Mein

by David Anthony Durham

  Corinn came straight to the point. “What is going on?” she asked. “There is something strange in the air. Something is happening. Do you know what it is?”

  Rhrenna’s blue eyes looked everywhere but at Corinn. “You don’t know?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Hanish didn’t tell you?”

  “No.”

  Rhrenna considered this for a moment. Her voice did not soften. “Why should I tell you, then?”

  “Because I’ve asked you.” When this got no response, Corinn said, “Hanish doesn’t tell me everything. He keeps a great many secrets from me.” She did not like having to say this. She was not even sure if it was true, but she imagined hearing it might soften Rhrenna. It was what they all wished for, wasn’t it? To be reassured that Corinn had not truly won their beloved chieftain’s confidence. She was but a plaything for him, nothing more. Part of her wanted to slap Rhrenna across the face that very moment, to spit at her and declare at the top of her lungs that Hanish loved her above all else, more than he had ever love a weak-skinned, goat-faced Meinish girl. But that would get her nowhere.

  “I know what the court thinks of me,” she said, her voice weighted with apparent umbrage. “I know you all hate me because you think Hanish favors me too much. You don’t really know, though, what it’s like between us. He doesn’t feel for me the way you think he does. Please, Rhrenna, tell me what you know. We were friends once, weren’t we?”

  Something in Rhrenna gave. It happened on the inside and spread up through her features. “But if Hanish doesn’t want you to know…”

  “Rhrenna, you know something that I do not. Perhaps everybody knows. I could find the answer a thousand different ways, but I am asking you. Whatever you tell me, nobody will know that I learned it from you.” Then she added, “I will be in your debt.”

  Rhrenna lifted her blue eyes a moment, questioning what power Corinn had left with which to repay a debt. “It is not true that you could find the answer a thousand different ways. What is happening isn’t public knowledge yet. It will be soon, I suppose, but I only know because my father—who is on Hanish’s council—told my brother. And he never keeps secrets from me.” She looked around. Annoyance flashed across her face, although whether this was directed at Corinn or at herself was not clear. “It’s your brother.”

  “What?”

  “Your brother Aliver. They say he’s been living in Talay. He’s just come out of hiding and he’s gathering an army to attack us. He has no chance of winning, but—” Rhrenna paused, alarmed at the expression on Corinn’s face “—he is going to start a war.”

  Corinn, who had stood throughout their conversation, now sat down. She touched her knee against Rhrenna’s and let the woman clasp her hands. Of all the things that Rhrenna might have said, she would never have imagined news of her brother to be a possibility. It hit her like a blow to the abdomen that thrust up toward her heart. She felt the oncoming rush of a great weight of thoughts, but she knew that she was not ready to confront them yet.

  Throughout the hours leading up to the evening meal, through the meal, and on into the early evening, the weight of the news perched on the crown of her head like an inverted pyramid, the point touching her, the vastness of it stretching up from there. Her brother was alive! That much echoed in her ears. He was trying to start another war. That part of it was spelled out as well. But she did not take her thoughts the further step toward formulating what her response to this news was. She actually moved through the evening with the erect posture and slow bearing of a person balancing an object on her head. Hanish acted normal all evening, not discussing the earlier incident or even mentioning that he’d had a council meeting.

  Later, she prepared to spend the evening with Hanish in the private baths. Steam baths had never been an Acacian custom, but the Meins had managed to channel heat from the subterranean ovens for the purpose. Corinn had been slow to enjoy lounging around naked, sweating and breathless in the heat, but she had come to accept it as part of the day, a time spent with Hanish in a manner no other woman did.

  Alone in Hanish’s bedroom, they had both taken off their clothes and slipped on their robes before Corinn asked, “Why did you treat me so rudely?” She had not planned to call him on this. It just came out, perhaps because she had a whole host of other things to keep from him now. This thing seemed small by comparison.

  Hanish spun to face her, incredulous. “What do you mean? When was I rude?”

  “Today, when you slammed a door in my face. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

  “Oh,” the chieftain said, nodding in a way that indicated he recalled the incident but somehow also conveyed that Corinn had misunderstood it. He came back to her and took her hands in his. “I meant no insult by that. None at all. You must understand, though, that what passes between my generals and me is for our ears only. I share everything with you, but that does not mean my officers should have to as well. They must hear me without distraction, and they must speak without censoring themselves. They would do that in front of you. Men of the Mein—”

  “They hadn’t even noticed me.”

  “Who can know what another sees? Men of the Mein don’t discuss serious matters in the company of women. This is just the way my people are. And there’s the issue of who this particular woman is.” He invited Corinn to smile. She did not. “Think of it this way: you did me a great favor. I am in your debt for it. You know, of course, that many say I’m too close to you. Many wish we weren’t so enamored of each other. With that small action of demonstrating where I draw the line, I have assured my generals’ confidence. They’ll happily wag their tongues to others. They’ll say, True enough, Hanish may dote on the princess, but he knows how to keep her in her place. Let them think that, Corinn. If they do, you and I can enjoy each other all the more.”

  “What were you talking about, anyway? Something with Maeander…”

  Hanish dismissed it with a flick of his hand. “Don’t worry about it. Unrest in Talay. It’s nothing, though. Rumors, grumblings. Honestly, Corinn, if it becomes anything of importance I’ll tell you all about it. But, now…” He stepped closer, changing the pitch of his voice in a way that suggested carnal intimacy. He slipped an arm down the small of her back and tugged her close. “Let’s make our way to the baths, yes? We’ll soak, and then we’ll lie side by side as the kneaders do their work, hot oil and all. And then, once they’re finished…we’ll send them all away and think of something more to do as we steam.”

  As he walked away, Corinn had the uncomfortable sensation that he had slammed a door in her face again. Hanish paused at the far side of the room. He let his robe slip from his shoulders and crumple on the floor. Naked, he dipped his hands in the basin of oil and herb-scented water there, massaging the moisture onto his shoulders, rubbing the muscles of his neck. The lamp to his side highlighted the contours of his body. His back muscles reminded her of slender wings, folded and hidden beneath his skin. He glanced at her and said, “Come.”

  He walked through the portal and out of view. Corinn—twisting and heaving on the inside, still expressionless on the outside—followed him, loosening the knot that held her robe as she progressed.

  And so despite the things unsaid by her lover she might have allowed herself not to determine her allegiances based more on desire than on blood kinship. She did not think this through in so many words. She did not say, “No matter what is to come I choose Hanish. He is the one I love, need, want most in the world. He is the one I can believe in because he’s here beside me now. I hunger for him; he feeds me. Nothing else is as real.” But had she been forced to say this, she might have. And even if she wasn’t forced to, she might have lived by such a creed without ever having uttered it.

  Might have, that is, up until the middle of that night, when she was pulled out of a dreamless sleep. She waited a moment in the stillness, sure that her name had just been spoken. She turned her head enough to see Hanish. He lay on his back bes
ide her. He was awake. She almost lifted her head and asked if something was troubling him. His eyes were open. They stared straight up at the ceiling, but his expression was vague, unfocused, his cheeks flaccid and mouth gaping. He might have been asleep, except that his gray eyes were open, blinking every so often. And then she heard him say, Of course. I have not forgotten.

  She heard him say this? No, she hadn’t heard anything. He did not actually speak. His lips had not moved. The room was dead quiet and had not been disturbed by anything louder than their breathing. But somehow he had formed that thought and sent it out and she had picked it up.

  Again, she nearly sat up and spoke, but she was stopped by something issuing from another source. It was a force that she felt in the air, which she pinpointed as being beyond the foot of the bed. It was not a single person; it was a chorus of separate, intertwined entities. She could not actually hear their words. It was something more amorphous than that. She knew, somehow, that they were not even in the room. She simply understood the content of their message. She knew what they were saying. They were accusing Hanish of weakness. They were testing his devotion, prodding him with accusations that he was betraying them.

  Ancestors, he answered, you are all that matters to me.

  Corinn lay without moving a muscle, staring at Hanish’s open eyes, listening to it all, chilled to the center, breathing shallowly. She took in the back-and-forth between them, the accusations and denials. At first it just seemed a bizarre thing, an incredible curiosity. She was so perplexed by what was happening that it took her a while to realize that they were circling around and around one particular issue—herself. When they brought it up directly, she felt her breath catch in her throat. They asked Hanish if he would kill her. If it came to it and was necessary, would he drain the Akaran bitch’s blood?

  Hanish did not hesitate in answering. She is nothing to me, he said. I hold her close only to make sure she’s safely here for you.

  They did not believe him. They asked again. This time he answered directly, so clearly Corinn had no difficulty understanding him. Clearly enough that she would hear the words over and over again in her mind ever after.

  I would kill her without remorse, ancestors, Hanish said, at the very moment you wish her dead….

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  The note lay on the pallet beside him. The corner of it was warm from where his forearm had rested on top of it. It was impossible for Melio to believe that anyone could have placed it there. He was a light sleeper, likely to wake at no more than the sound of another person’s breathing. As part of his Marah training, he had learned how to be watchful of the world even while he walked through dreams. Yet there it was. A square of paper that could have been placed there only by someone’s stealthy hand. He would have grabbed the missive up quickly, except that he dreaded its mysterious placement was a harbinger of news he could not face. When he noticed Mena’s Marah sword leaning against the wall he was even more worried.

  He lay propped on his elbow for a time, staring at the letter, at the weapon, hearing the sounds of the waking world outside the open windows and through the thin walls, the drip, drip caused by the night’s heavy rains. Since Mena had disappeared a week earlier, he had been staying inside the priestess’s compound. The servants, fearful and superstitious, had accepted his presence. They even took comfort from it. They had grown more dependent on him than any of them would have predicted. They had been taking orders from Mena for so long, they were at a loss for how to act without direction. They needed the focus he provided as he organized a search effort. Even as he lay there, Melio knew they were but a word away. He almost called to ask how the letter might have gotten there beside him and to have their company as he read it.

  Eventually though, he unfolded the paper and read it in solitude. As soon as he had digested the words, he bolted from the pallet. He sprinted from building to building, room to room, calling Mena’s name. His voice alternated between rising and choked, desperate and sternly controlled. The servants followed him. They fanned out to every corner of the priestess’s compound.

  Within a few minutes it was clear Mena was nowhere on the premises. None of the servants had seen or heard anything of her, and they were most distressed that Melio had a piece of physical evidence that she had been among them. He did not divulge the contents of the letter. He crumpled it tight in his fist and sat down on the wet dirt of the courtyard. To the horror of the servants, he cried into his clenched hands. He knew it was unfair not to tell them what drew the tears. He knew that they could only misinterpret his emotion in the ways most frightening to them. But he could not help himself.

  His breakdown was short-lived. The man who regularly made the first morning trip to the markets returned, shaken by something he had seen outside the temple. On looking at the man’s face, which was a pale, ashen shade of his natural reddish brown, Melio found a way to act again.

  By the time he and the servants arrived at the main entrance to Maeben’s temple, a small crowd had gathered and was growing moment by moment. The gates were closed, but it was not entry to the sacred grounds that the people wished for. They all stared—silent and slope shouldered, some with hands to their mouths, a few on their knees, one with an arm raised and pointing, as if he doubted that the others could possibly see what he did—the corpse of a large sea eagle.

  The rope attached to the corpse had been flung over one of the carved figures of Maeben’s head. The dead eagle half hung beneath this, leaning awkwardly against the wooden pillar, its head crooked at an angle only the deceased could manage. It was sodden from the night’s rains and bloody and mud stained. Its open eyes were crusted with filth, immobile, staring. As a once-live predator it had been massive, impressive, and frightening, but Melio knew that was not what drew the slack-jawed wonder out of these people.

  “Look at your goddess,” Melio whispered.

  The woman just next to him turned. She had heard him. Her greenish, gold-flecked eyes half hid behind a crosshatch of black hair, but they were intense, probing. He could not help but answer them.

  “That’s what you fear, isn’t it? That this bird is the one you call Maeben. I think she is. You are right.” He turned back to the corpse, feeling pieces of the cryptic missive falling into place. “Your Maeben is dead, and I know who killed her.”

  The villagers had begun to back from him as if a dangerous animal had materialized in their midst. Their eyes shifted between him and the corpse, unsure which was a greater threat.

  Melio tried to gentle his voice. He wanted them to understand, not to fear. He needed them to trust him, although he was not sure why yet. “Mena—the priestess you called Maeben on earth. She did this—”

  “Silence!” a voice bellowed. The first priest, Vaminee, arrived, shrouded in the trappings of his office. The peasants parted for the priest, bowing and deferential. Tanin stood just behind his shoulder. Melio had never seen either of them, but he knew them without introduction. In vulnerable moments Mena had described them with words that suited the figures before him exactly. Temple guards flanked them. Instead of metal blades their swords were wooden, with edges only as sharp as the material would bear. They were skilled, Melio knew, at their own style of swordsmanship, a technique something like stick fighting.

  “But it’s true,” Melio said, forcing his voice to steady. “This is her doing. This is a message to—”

  Tanin answered. “You are not a prophet of Maeben! You’ve no right to speak for the priestess. Nor for the goddess. First Priest, I charge that this man is defiling Maeben through some trickery. He has killed…one of Maeben’s warriors.”

  The expression on Vaminee’s face never wavered. His features were rigid, anger trapped in stone. He said, “Find the priestess. Bring her to me. The rest of you, crawl from here on your knees. Pray forgiveness for having witnessed this vileness.” The peasants began to drop into the mud as instructed. Vaminee turned and locked eyes with one of the temple guards.

 
Melio understood enough what message passed between them. He would be seized and bound in a few moments, perhaps beaten or ceremonially killed. He knew that it would look criminal to the villagers around him, but he could not let himself be captured. These priests would twist everything. Even Mena would not be able to stop them.

  Just to his left stood another guard, a young man who had forgotten the sternness of his office on seeing the dangling raptor. Melio rounded on him with an open expression on his face, as if he were about to offer a word of apology or explanation. He drove the flat of his left hand up into his nose with force enough to shatter it. His other hand found the man’s stick hilt and drew the weapon as the youth fell, howling and spraying blood.

  “Kill him!” Tanin said.

  His words carried enough authority that the rest of the guards swarmed. They drew their weapons and created a circle around Melio and steadily closed the perimeter. By design their weapons were meant to inflict punishment and demand obedience, but they had been trained to use them to lethal effect also. Melio kept up a constant motion, spinning this way and that on sure feet. He tried to recall his lessons on fighting multiple opponents, but nothing in his recollection addressed fighting out of a circle of fourteen foes.

  “You’re making a mistake!” he cried, both for the guards to hear and for the priests and the crowd. “Harm me and the priestess will rage at you. Don’t you see what’s happened here?”

  The guards faltered, slowed.

  “I said kill him,” Tanin repeated.

  Melio took one hand from the stick hilt long enough to point at the corpse. “This Maeben is no more. This Maeben will never take your children again. The priestess did this for you.”