Storm Bride

by J. S. Bangs

  “He is disappointed. He says that he rallied the remainder of the Yivrian forces, and he came here under the color of peace so that he could speak to the Yakhat as civilized people, but he is not sure you qualify as civilized.”

  Keshlik frowned. “We’re here because we, too, want to speak. Tell him that.”

  She did so, and Narista responded with a curt gesture that invited Keshlik to do just that.

  Keshlik stepped forward and bowed to the young man. The other did not bow in turn. The insult burned, and Keshlik fought the urge to unsheathe his knife and strike the proud fool down where he stood. But that would be an inauspicious beginning for a truce.

  “I’ve come to offer peace,” he said.

  “What?” Juyut said from the edge of the circle of elders. Mutters spread out through the gathered warriors.

  Keshlik silenced them with a glare. “Listen to our offer.” Saotse nodded at him to continue. “First, we will return the city of Prasa to the Prasei. All those who were cast out of it will be allowed to return. Furthermore, the Yakhat will provide to the city cattle in the number of four thousand cows giving milk and calving, one thousand gelding calves, and one hundred untouched bulls. We will also give horses from our own stocks in the number of eight hundred fertile mares, four hundred gelding colts, and fifty untouched stallions suitable for stud.”

  As he spoke, the mutter of the surrounding Yakhat warriors turned from a whisper to a growl. Juyut stared across the fire at Keshlik with fury and incomprehension. The chieftains attempted to calm the warriors around them, though even they looked uncomfortable and sour as Keshlik recited the numbers. They had all agreed on them and recited them the night before, but it was still a bitter root to chew.

  Only the envoy seemed pleased as he listened to Saotse’s translation, though confusion clouded his expression. He spoke to Saotse.

  Saotse translated. “He says that this must be some kind of trick. What do you want in return?”

  “In return, the Yakhat request the following: We ask for freedom to travel with our herds on the plains north of the River Prasa, from the mountains of the White Teeth, to Azatsi’s Fingers and the Gap where the Guza once lived. We ask that we be allowed to trade in the city of Prasa, and that we may replace the Guza at the trading posts of the Gap where formerly the caravans from your cities met. And we ask that the Prasei and the Yivriindi enter with the Yakhat into a covenant of perpetual peace.”

  The envoy studied Keshlik intently while Saotse translated. The murmur of the Yakhat warriors around them had subsided, though Keshlik still saw them muttering and staring at him in shock and betrayal.

  When Saotse had finished, the envoy responded in cold, bitter tones. She looked pained by the words but softly translated, “If those are your demands, was it necessary for you to sack Prasa, to plunder the farms and villages of the whole region, and to kill the kenda in a pitched battle?”

  It was not necessary. But Keshlik didn’t know how much he could, or should, explain himself to the boy. “No.”

  Judging by the murmuring and scowls on every side, neither the Yakhat nor the Yivriindi were pleased by his response.

  With a sour grimace on his face, Narista replied, “Then why, after you’ve destroyed so many of our people, do you come to us suddenly seeking peace? Since we were injured, let us make our own demands.”

  “And what are your demands?” Keshlik asked.

  Narista responded, and Saotse translated with an expression of surprise. “That you submit yourselves to the suzerainty of the kenda and pay perpetual tax in the form of gold or silver coin to the kenda, at the rate which he should establish.”

  Those terms were impossible. Keshlik had barely wrung the initial concessions from the chiefs, and if the condition of peace were submission to the kenda, then there would be no peace. The hard fact of any parlay was that the stronger party made the demands. He would have to be strong.

  “You step beyond your place,” he said. “We still hold you under our power. Where is your military might, that you make demands of us? I am making you a peace offering. The only other offer is war.”

  Saotse translated, and Narista flinched a little. He answered with less pride, and Saotse repeated, “Then why do you offer us peace now?”

  He would have to explain. There was no way around it. And it would be better, for the Yakhat and for the Yivriindi, if everyone knew. “Because I have laid aside my spear forever, and I will hear no more of war.”

  And he told the envoy and all the gathered Yakhat what he had found when he returned to see his newborn son, how Golgoyat had answered him in the storm, and how he found the witch wrapped in a white sheet at the place that Golgoyat had shown him. He asked Saotse to repeat what the sea had told her. Then he reminded the warriors that the captive woman had given up her oath in order to save his son, and he repeated his plea for peace.

  After he finished, there was a long silence.

  The envoy said something quietly. Saotse laughed. “He says, ‘Strange are the ways of the Powers.’ I can only agree with that.”

  “Ask him if he believes me.”

  She asked. “He does,” she translated. “My presence here, speaking Yakhat, is proof enough for him.”

  “Then ask him if he will make the pact of peace with us.”

  “He will.”

  “Wait,” Juyut shouted from across the circle. “I don’t agree to any such pact.”

  Bhaalit said, “You have no standing to speak here, Juyut.”

  “I led the Yakhat horde while we routed the enemy. The warriors followed me. And do any of them still follow me?”

  He pounded the butt of his spear on the ground and jabbed the point into the air. Rumbles of agreement thundered through the warriors. Several of the chiefs looked upset, and some of them began to mutter among themselves.

  Juyut folded his arms, his expression pleased. “I say that I have standing here.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” Keshlik spat the words like stones. He had known that he would face opposition, but he hadn’t expected to fight his brother.

  Juyut looked back at him, eyes burning with fury and betrayal. “I’m ashamed of what I’ve heard tonight. You’ve led the Yakhat horde through uncountable battles. I’ve never seen a warrior more courageous and more fierce than you. And yet you’ve been bewitched now by a woman telling lies? Golgoyat has fought among us since you were a child, and he rumbles still in the storm clouds. He has no need to lay aside his spear and marry. And the Yakhat have no need to lay aside their war and make peace with a nation of city-dwellers. You shame us with the stench of defeat when we should be exulting in victory.”

  Shouts and ululations of agreement sounded throughout the Yakhat horde. Juyut spoke more strongly, striking his spear repeatedly against the ground. The warriors were with him, Keshlik noted grimly.

  “I say, let us press our victory to the end. When the voice of Golgoyat came to our father, he did not tell us when we should cease to war. And while Golgoyat fights, so do the Yakhat! We are warriors. We don’t listen to witches weaving tales.”

  “But Tuulo,” Keshlik said quietly.

  “What about Tuulo?” Juyut’s voice dropped, and he leaned closer to the fire to look Keshlik in the face, wearing an expression of pleading. “Brother, I weep with you for her death. But one man’s dead wife does not mean that the Yakhat have to turn back from battle like rabbits.”

  “One man’s wife might not mean that.” Keshlik raised his voice. Golgoyat help him, but he would have to convince them now if he had any hope of bringing the Yakhat horde to the peace table with him. “But most of you warriors here have wives, no? Will you give them up so that you can continue war? Will you drive a spear through their bellies when they ask you to come home to them and live peaceably?”

  There was silence.

  “Good,” Keshlik continue
d. “Listen, men of the Yakhat, children of Golgoyat: Tuulo’s death was a sign. She was the victim of war as surely as are the men being devoured by worms on the fields behind us. And this is the meaning of the sign: the spear that we have carried against our enemies since the Sorrow of Khaat Ban is thrust into our own hearts. If we continue in this manner, we create only sorrow after sorrow, and our wounds are neither healed nor repaid. The only way to win the battle is to cease from it. Let Golgoyat return to his bride. Let Khou bless this place as her home.”

  “No,” Juyut said. “No. This is the witch’s lie. Golgoyat is a warrior. The Yakhat are warriors. If we cease to fight, we die. The way you’re offering us is the way of death.”

  “So what do you want then, Juyut?” Keshlik said. “Are you going to take your warriors and fight? Without the elders, without your clans, without your women, without the herds and the yurts and all the rest of the Yakhat?”

  Juyut stiffened and raised his chin. He regarded Keshlik with a tempestuous glare. “I’ll lead the Yakhat horde. If you’re offering to lead the Yakhat into surrender, then I’ll lead them into victory.”

  “What?” Keshlik’s words thundered out of his mouth in equal parts fury and dismay. “Are you challenging my command?”

  He briefly seemed to waver, his spear quivering in his hands. “Yes,” he said at last. “If the chiefs will follow me.”

  Argument broke out at once all around the circle. Bhaalit shouted over the bickering of the elders, trying to restore order.

  Keshlik stood silently, watching his brother. Juyut’s eyes met his, his gaze as hard as a spearpoint.

  Bhaalit’s voice boomed across the council. “Let us not bicker like children! We can discuss this like free men. First, let every tribe declare who it stands with. Since Keshlik speaks here as leader of the war band and the chosen of Golgoyat, I will speak for the Khaatat in his place. And I declare the Khaatat for Keshlik.”

  The census went around the circle. Six tribes were with Keshlik. Five were with Juyut. Many of the chiefs added arguments of their own, pointing out Keshlik’s century of leadership and his support by Saotse, or countering that Juyut was also a son of Keishul and an accomplished warrior. Few minds were changed.

  Keshlik awaited the words Bhaalit would have to say next with dread.

  Bhaalit shot Keshlik a heavy glance, his mouth pulled down into a sorrowful frown. He raised his palm and addressed the chiefs. “Since we are divided, shall we allow Juyut to challenge Keshlik?”

  The chiefs assented.

  “And will every one of us recognize and submit our warriors to the victor?”

  Again, assent came from all around the circle.

  Bhaalit sighed deeply and turned slowly to Keshlik. He lowered his voice, as if speaking to Keshlik alone. “And do you accept the challenge, Keshlik?”

  Keshlik’s mouth was dry. Dread of this very outcome had grown from the moment that Juyut had opposed him. If he wished to lay aside his spear, he would have to take it up one last time. He scraped his tongue against the roof of his mouth and said, “I do.”

  “And Juyut, you will abide by it?”

  Juyut nodded.

  “Then we have agreed,” Bhaalit said, disappointment shadowing his face. He looked from Keshlik to Juyut and back in bewilderment. “If Juyut does not back down. We meet at dawn.”

  Saotse spoke up from where she had retreated to the fringes of the circle when he wasn’t watching. “What shall I tell the envoy?”

  The Yivrian prince still waited in the same spot, regarding the arguing warriors with wide eyes and a nervous posture.

  Keshlik shook his head. “Tell him that his fate, like all of ours, will be decided tomorrow.”

  Keshlik sat at a fire, across from Bhaalit. The logs crackled, and the sparks ascended to Golgoyat in the windless night. Somewhere nearby, the witch and the mother were sleeping in a tent, together with Keshlik’s son. He had almost gone to wake them, to see the child one last time, but he restrained himself. Such a visit would only make the night more difficult, and he needed to keep his composure. If he did not let himself dwell on farewells, then there was a chance that the farewells would not be final.

  A twig snapped at the edge of the fire’s light. Bhaalit immediately leaned forward and had his hand on his spear.

  Juyut appeared, his hands empty. “I’ve come alone. I want to talk to my brother.”

  Keshlik started to get up to meet Juyut alone, but Bhaalit waved him down.

  “No,” Bhaalit said. “I’ll go. Juyut, take my place.” He rose and disappeared into the dark, leaving Keshlik and Juyut alone.

  Neither of them said anything for a while.

  “I don’t want to fight you,” Juyut said.

  “Then don’t. Take back your challenge.”

  “It’s too late for that. I cannot take it back without shame.”

  Keshlik murmured, “Are you still young enough to care about shame? I have more important cares.” He gestured toward the tent where his son slept.

  “Of course I care.” Juyut seemed wounded. He searched out Keshlik’s expression, his own reflecting dismay and distress. “It seems that you don’t care. You care neither for your own honor nor for that of the Yakhat.”

  Keshlik threw a stone into the fire. “Honor will not save my child or bring back my wife. I desire peace. The Powers desire peace.”

  “The Powers.” Juyut spat. “That is witch’s speech. Golgoyat is the only Power that the Yakhat have ever needed.”

  Keshlik studied Juyut. “You actually believe that. That is the root of all our trouble. Those of you who do not remember the Bans have no memory of the marriage of Golgoyat and Khou. You have no knowledge of what it would mean, for them to wed again.”

  “That time is past. The Yakhat are warriors now. We cannot go back to what we were.”

  “We’ll find that out, soon enough.”

  Juyut circled the fire and came to sit next to Keshlik. “I came to urge you to reconsider. The Yakhat should not be divided.”

  “And if I said those same words to you, would they change your mind?” Keshlik plucked a blade of grass from the ground and threw it into the fire, watching it bloom in flame, then fade into a writhing black line, then disappear. “You can no more change my mind than save the grass from the fire, Juyut. Even if I cannot make peace, I will not ride into battle again. Of all of the plunder of a thousand raids, Tuulo was the only prize I truly wanted. You know that when I first brought my spear to her yurt, she made me wait outside for three days before letting me in?”

  Juyut chuckled. “You’ve told me the story.”

  “Then maybe you’ll understand why I have no more desire to fight.” He hung his head. He swallowed a sob, but he could not restrain the tears which leaked from his eyes.

  Juyut reached over and brushed the tears from his cheeks. “Brother. Why are we suddenly on opposite sides, when we have fought so long as one?”

  I wish we did not have to be. He could not say it, though. Instead he swatted Juyut’s hand away. “Leave me alone. If you cannot rescind your challenge to me, then don’t make this harder than it must be.”

  Juyut reluctantly rose to his feet. He crossed to the far side of the fire, hesitated, then turned back to Keshlik. “I love you, Brother.”

  Keshlik covered his eyes. “Just go, Juyut.”

  He left.

  Keshlik was alone with the fire and the darkness. He looked toward the tent where Tuulik slept, then to the place where Juyut had been. “I love you, Brother,” he whispered.

  Chapter 33

  Uya

  Saotse woke Uya from her sleep. Uya would sleep the whole day if she could, if Saotse weren’t shaking her shoulder and repeating her name insistently.

  Wake up, Uya. Please, Uya. It’s important.”

  Of course it was important. Uya had experienc
ed nothing but important events lately. And perhaps—probably—this important thing was more important than claiming a precious hour of rest while the baby slept. “What do you want, Saotse?”

  She opened her eyes. The light of dawn poured in the door of her tent.

  “Come to the battleground. And bring the child. In case… Just bring the child.”

  “Why?”

  “Keshlik and Juyut are going to duel.”

  Uya blinked and allowed her eyes to take in the light while her ears absorbed Saotse’s words. “Who is Juyut?”

  “Keshlik’s brother.”

  “Oh, him. Why would they duel?”

  Saotse voice was heavy and scored as if by gravel. “Because Juyut will not consent to peace.” She explained to Uya what had transpired while Uya and Tuulik slept.

  Saotse’s story jarred Uya into alertness, and she rose to her feet. Tuulik was tightly swaddled and lying on a blanket on the ground.

  Uya touched his nose and brushed her finger against his cheek. “So you want me to come to the duel. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Just be there. Keshlik will want to see his son. And if it comes to that, perhaps Juyut will pity us if he sees you carrying the child.”

  “Pity us? You mean…”

  “If Juyut wins, I don’t expect either of us will see tomorrow.”

  Uya looked down at Tuulik again then reached for the leather thongs that would bind him safely to her back—a gift from Dhuja. I should be afraid, she thought as she bound the lowermost straps above her hips. But she seemed to have run out of fear. Too many days in the wolf’s mouth, too much death all around me. I want to sleep, and I want to stay with the baby. Everything else was a matter too distant and unimportant for her to waste her thoughts on.

  “I’m coming,” she said. “Just give me a moment.”

  Dawn spilled like yellow wine across the battlefield. The grass was bent with dew that soaked Uya’s and Saotse’s leggings as they strode to the place of the duel. They were among the last to arrive. The Yakhat had already formed a ring around the designated place, though they parted to let Saotse and Uya through, tongues clicking with gossip when they saw the Yakhat child bound to Uya’s back.