Ruudi swung wide of the line of tracks leading back to the ice, running hard, yelling for Stel. No answer came. When he reached the shore, he saw the burnt-out fire, the wreckage of the shed wall, a wisp of smoke from the fire curling up into the early sun. Then he saw a message in the snow, written deep and large. Panting, he shaded his eyes to read it:
Good-bye, Dahmens. You must play your games with others. I have taken what is called the coward’s route. Good-bye to all the Arden, and to you, Ardena, whom I salute. May you all prosper, as is proper. Ahroe, you are free. I take all the shame upon myself.
A large arrow pointed out to the river, and Stel’s tracks began from the tip of it, moving directly toward the hole in the ice.
“Great Aven,” Ruudi choked, then turned again and raced out onto the ice, shouting.
It was not long after quarter sun that the whole council met, with Jestana, the Protector, presiding. The council room was full of tension. Rago, the Dahmena, Northcounsel this cycle again, was surrounded by a small knot of whispering family members. Ahroe was there, looking grim and empty. She was deeply shamed, but forced to be present at this review of the suicide of Stel. Across the room, the Southcounsel, Ardena, sat with Sagan and Rutch, and a small cluster of others. They were grim and silent, also shamed by Stel’s act. Ahroe noticed that Sagan, though, was curiously composed. She had nothing to say.
Ruudi was asked to recount all the events of the previous afternoon, and of the morning. The Protector allowed no accusations, only evidence. When Rago remarked that Ahroe had married beneath herself, she commanded the Northcounsel to silence for the rest of the hearing. Nothing could be proved. It was claimed that Sentani, camping outside, had cut up the ice spanner for firewood. Others disagreed. No one knew surely. The Protector was careful not to let the session disintegrate into a wrangle.
It was near high sun when she raised her hand and called for silence in the council room for fifteen sun spans. It was a time, she said, for prayer to Aven, for reconciliation, for sorrow. Most of the people, though, neither shut their eyes nor bowed their heads, but watched the dust swim in the shafts of light streaming in the long windows on the south side of the chamber. The Jestana, though, sat perfectly still, eyes shut, hands in her lap. No one dared stir very much.
Finally she opened her eyes. “Now, listen to me,” she began. “I have reviewed the testimony in my mind. It is my feeling that Aparet was endangering the life of Stel with premeditation, and that she was aided by her family in doing so. And yet there is no proof of this; therefore, it is not legally a reality.” A stir from the Northcounsel caused her to raise her hand. “On the other side, without question Stel had given the Dahmens severe provocation, because by law he was now a Dahmen, hence subject to their family rules. He knew the severity of the family be fore he married. It is my judgment also that Ahroe should have no blame and receive no shame. I know that in practice, though, this will not be so, and it seems very likely that she will live the rest of her life here without a husband, so strong is the feeling from the south and west quadrants. Perhaps, Ahroe, you will find a husband in some far branch of your own family.
“What is more serious, in my judgment, is the increase of tensions caused by this incident. As an enclosed city— and this is still what we are, although there is some movement toward opening—we must cohere. But with the removal of outside threat, our differences are becoming more apparent. We will have to guard against this, for it will have severe repercussions. Just because we are open to the outside tribes, we have not changed our social order. The Dahmens have the right to interpret that severely. Other families have the right to read the word of Pell in other ways.” Again she had to hold up her hand for attention.
“And yet there is one whole aspect of this situation that puzzles me. The message of Stel, left in the snow, is a curious one. It expresses regret, but not desperation. It jokes. It was written by a man who had just, by valiant effort, saved his life from the river. He was being asked by the Dahmens to violate his own basic nature. I don’t understand how he agreed to his marriage in the first place, but having done that, his doom was, as it were, already signed.
“This occurs to me. Are we sure he went under the ice? We have no body. We have also the fact that Ruudi took him a sack of food and a sleepsack last night. Did Stel take that into the river with him? It was not found.
“Now I direct that this matter be not fully adjudged at this point. I direct that the guard send upriver to the Shumai camp for a hunter to come and examine all the evidence on the west bank, that is, if the curious have not wholly trampled it out. We should have this information by sunset, and I direct that we will meet here once more then.” She held up both hands for silence again.
“Until then, I command that the families in contention in this issue have no words with one another about this or any other matter. Now, guard, send as I have directed. This council stands recessed.”
A strangely long moment of silence hung in the chamber before anyone moved. The Protector was known to be a wise woman, through long experience, but no one else had thought of the possibility that Stel was not dead. What if he had fled, perhaps to Northwall? Slowly the murmur of voices grew as they left the room.
Not only did a guardsman immediately begin the short run northward to the Shumai winter camp, but six more crossed the ice spanner to prevent any further interference with the remaining tracks left by Stel. The scene moiled in confusion, though. A number of people had been across the river that morning, and tracks crossed tracks in a bewildering array of footprints. The ice on the river was partly snow-covered, partly blown free. As far as Ruudi could remember, Stel had crossed several snow-free places, his tracks resuming again in the tongues of snow beyond them.
The sun had not passed one-eighth of its way toward setting when the guardsman reappeared with three Shumai, trotting easily along the free ice near the shore, then swinging out and crossing the ice spanner. Hagen, the oldest, a thin man with long light-blond hair in a braid, went to Stel’s message with the guard. The other two examined the ice, one to the north, the other to the south, walking in the typical loose-hipped gait of habitual runners, casting their eyes about, occasionally stooping.
The guardsman read the sign to Hagen, who smiled ironically at the thought of a man allowing himself to be so ruled by a family that he had to leave home because of them. “He will be happier out on the prairies, perhaps,” he mused. “But let us look at the tracks, if they haven’t been wholly trampled out by all you big-footed Pelbar.” He picked up the tracks at the message, trotting easily out toward the channel, seeing Stel’s footprints among the many similar ones as if they had been painted blue. About three-quarters of the way out, he stopped and bent down. The snow there was a light scurf blown onto the ice, next to clear ice.
“From here on out he backed up in his tracks,” said Hagen. “A simple trick. Even foxes use it. Look. See the way the heel rolls? Why didn’t you see that?” Hagen looked south at Assek. He cupped his hands and whistled. “Did he go that way?” he called.
Assek was several hundred spans away. He waved his arms. “Somebody did. A man of medium height,” he called back. “Should I track him?”
Hagen looked at the guardsman with him. He shook his head. “No. But please check the tracks all the way out to the channel so we can give a clear report to the council. Ask him to follow the trace another half-ayas. And please come to Pelbarigan for some food and drink, and the pitched baskets we promised.”
At the reassembled council, Leyye, the Southguard captain, reported Hagen’s findings. The Protector nodded. “Well,” she said, “then the matter is settled. Stel has left. If he does not return, then after the prescribed time, Ahroe will be free again. If he does, he will be subject to the discipline of his family—the Dahmens. However, I might point out that I have investigated the discipline that Stel was already under, and I regard him as a very sturdy person to have lasted this long. I suppose one might, with certain atti
tudes, demand that he kneel and press his forehead to the floor whenever a Dahmen woman entered the room, including his wife, or a five-year-old child—though some of us might consider that an odd procedure. But the withholding of food, wearing of weights, performance of extra duties, deprivation of sleep may eventually chafe at a person’s sympathies. Were he to return, and more severe measures were applied, short of outright torture . .
A murmur of protest from the Northcounsel caused the Jestana to raise her hand for silence. “If more severe measures were applied, short of outright torture, Stel would be in a position himself to apply for relief from the general council. I believe he could have applied as things stand, but he would not. Given his nature, it is my judgment that he will not return. He has been shown that there is nothing here for him, not even Ahroe, who has been taken from him. So, Sagan, you will have to endure without the sight of your son. I did that for quite a time, as you know, and my pity goes out to you.” Smiling, she added, “I hope, however, that if Stel returns, for our sake, it will be somewhat less noticeably than Jestak. This council stands dismissed.”
The entire Northcouncil rose to protest, with loud shouts of dissent and anger. The guard moved out in front of them and around the Protector, who simply smiled ruefully and raised her hands for silence again. “It seems we are not done, then. Well, Northcounsel, what is the will of your constituency?”
“Protector, we protest this decision in the most strong terms imaginable. We feel that it is perhaps time to call again for a general election. It is our unanimous view that guards, or perhaps Shumai, who are better at it, must be sent to bring Stel back. He has insulted the Dahmens, flouted his marriage vow, deserted his people, and deceived us into grief for his death and consternation at his lack of character. That the Southcouncil, and particularly the Arden, must bear, for it belongs to them and their loose methods. We demand this.”
The Protector turned to the guard captain. “I do not see Aparet here. We will send for her. Now let us wait in silence. And have Hes bring the lamps.”
Again the Protector sat with eyes closed and hands folded. A few of the council did likewise, but most were restive. It was a relief to watch Hes hobbling around slowly, deftly lighting the forty wax lamps in the hall from a long spill. The Northcouncil was especially grim. They looked at each other, nervous and angry, but the Protector’s silence was one of the most basic orders of the council. It had often served to quell overflowing tempers. Finally Aparet came, her guardsman’s tunic askew as she tried to smooth it down. The Protector motioned her to the dais.
“Aparet, it was reported to us yesterday that you had said to Stel, in ordering him out onto the thin ice through which he fell, that because of his reluctance to go, you were about to recommend for exclusion from Pelbarigan. Is that or is that not so?” Out of the corner of her eye, the Protector saw Ahroe wince.
“Protector, who reported that to you?”
“Witnesses. Is that or is that not so?”
Aparet dropped her head. “It is so, Protector.”
“And was that the general decision of the Dahmens, or did you say that on your own?”
The Northcounsel rose to protest the question. The Protector looked at her but did not give her the floor. “Well,” the Jestana said gently, “I see the Northcounsel protests my question. That is all right. I need not put it. I think it is clear that Stel had good reason to believe that it was the view of the Dahmens as a family, did he not?”
“No, he did not,” the Northcounsel broke in. “It is evil to make that insinuation just because Aparet, driven to exasperation, let slip her tongue. You have—” “Northcounsel,” the Jestana interrupted. “You will recall, no doubt, other facts. Stel did in fact fall through the ice that Aparet ordered him onto, against his will. She ordered him to recross the ice he had just fallen through. The ropes were not in their usual places. Fourth, Stel had little reason to have felt welcome in the family of the Dahmens. The fact is that Stel had plenty of reason for thinking that he would be excluded from Pelbarigan, if not harmed, and so he excluded himself while he was still unharmed. Now you wish him brought back. Is it so you will have the pleasure of excluding him? However, I do not excuse him. He has wronged you. I, the Protector, say so. And if you wish the record to show that he has been excluded, I have no objection. Do you wish to say anything to that, Sagan?”
“What is there to say?” said Sagan. “You may do as you wish. We all know the facts, don’t we. Stel has saved his life, but you want that collection of tyrants to look good to posterity.”
“Well, then, though your expression of your opinion seems rather harsh, the Dahmens also may feel free to express theirs by excluding Stel. I might point out, however, that this is their ninth exclusion in the last thirty-two years. All other families together have excluded seven in total in the same period. But this is the right of the Dahmens. It is not the business of the council so long as physical abuse is not recorded or appeal made on such grounds by the one excluded.
“These situations are never easy. I would like to request that Sagan and Ahroe rejoin their families with the embrace of peace before we adjourn.”
But Ahroe was no longer there. No one had seen her leave, but she must have slipped out during the North-counsel’s protest. The Protector had to end the meeting without the ceremony. This troubled her, because it was more than a formality. It was a sacred pledge. Well, when Ahroe returned, she would reconvene the council, if necessary, for the embrace alone. It would be worth it. She left the hall frowning as she leaned slightly on Druk, her servant. The rest of the council followed, largely silent. The city was small enough to be deeply troubled by the vanishing of Stel. At this moment, they knew, he was out in the dark winter night, somewhere not too far off, but alone. While he did not have the tribesmen to worry about, it still was not a happy consideration to a close-dwelling Pelbar.
3
Ahroe had watched when the guardsmen and the three Shumai recrossed the ice spanner and walked briskly up the bank to Pelbarigan to report. Hagen and his two men did not enter the city, which plainly made them uneasy with its size and enclosure, but the group spoke in low tones at the gate. The guardsmen brought them drinks and a present of pitched baskets, which would hold water and yet travel well—much better than ceramics, which would not last long in the habitual rough journeys of the Shumai.
Ahroe’s heart both rose and sank when she heard that Stel was alive. Perhaps she might recover him. She still had her bride’s ardor, though its fulfillment had lately been denied her. She longed to hear his wit, to see his whimsical smile and soft, gray eyes. And yet his flight meant that he had not only consciously rejected her but had deceived them all as well. A momentary fury rose in her, erasing her hopes. Stel had some other motive, some vision of life beyond their lives together, beyond Pelbarigan, some aspect of himself he had never hinted at.
All her Pelbar and Dahmen sense of female pride tightened at this. For a moment a whirl of anger almost made her stagger. She would pursue him and bring him back, perhaps even to reject him in front of them all. Had she not been at the fight at Northwall? Had she not run there herself and stood in the line of guardsmen blocking the flight of the beaten Tantal? Stel had done nothing like that. He was a builder, a worker in stone, a townsman.
But then what would she say to him when she had caught up with him? And what if she never did—out there on the vast snow-covered prairie and among the bare-branched woods. She really knew little of the wilderness that began at the west river bank. If Stel refused to come with her, what would she do? Would she take out her short-sword and make him come? If he still refused, how would she make him? Would she hurt him? And if he did come, what then? What of the family?
Clearly he hadn’t gone to Northwall. That would have been easy. She began to surmise that he had gone westward. He had heard Jestak’s story with eager intentness. He had listened to the Shumai with obvious fascination and had sat on the river bank with band after band of the
m, questioning them, mending their equipment with his deft hands as he drew out of them stories of their life. He had even reported much about them to Sease, for her records. A slight fear went through Ahroe. Perhaps he knew more of life to the west than she had realized. She remembered him telling her of rumors of a vast sea beyond endless mountains to the west, though none of the Shumai had ever been there. Who told him? She recalled how his gray eyes gained their hint of warm blue when he speculated on all this. He even suggested they might take a trip sometime.
Damn him. She had married a dreamer, unfit to be a practical and serviceable husband. But what if she really were pregnant? Did she dare appeal to him on those grounds? She knew he would instantly honor his responsibility. But that would be appealing to him, and a Dah-men never appealed. With men it was proper to control. And if they did return, how could they ever live at Pelbarigan? It would be impossible. Perhaps they could go to Northwall, or to the other Pelbar city, Threerivers, far to the south.
As she stood musing, the Shumai drank their steaming tea and ate honey-topped cakes, talking quietly. She caught a silence and looked up. They were watching her, and one was grinning. She detested his look, and, spinning on her heel, left, faintly hearing behind her a Shumai voice saying, “Now why would any man leave that?” It was followed by an ugly laugh, then a curt murmur from the old man, the one called Hagen.
Paul O Williams - [Pelbar Cycle 02] Page 2