Tarashana

by Rachel Neumeier

  When the soldier held the goblet to the young man’s mouth, he drank some of the wine. Then he spat a mouthful at Aras and jerked his head sideways, smashing the goblet with his forehead. Splinters of glass flew everywhere. There was no point to that defiance, it was a stupid thing to do, but in his place, I might have done the same.

  “Don’t hit him,” Aras said, stopping the soldier, who had begun to raise a hand. Spitting is a serious insult for Lau, as it is for Ugaro. But Aras only asked, “Kerren, who else knew what you intended to do?”

  “No one,” the young man told him. He had overset himself, breaking the goblet, and with his arms bound behind his back struggled to get back to his knees. Geras grabbed his arm and hauled him upright, and he gathered himself up as well as he could. He said, “You know it’s true. No one knew. I didn’t tell anybody. I wouldn’t.”

  “You were Lorellan’s thrall? I’m correct in that?”

  “You know I was.” The young man—Kerren—took a breath, and another breath. Then he looked straight at Aras and began to say worse things to him than he had said to me. I had lived among Lau soldiers for a long time, but even so I had never heard some of the things he said. Geras pulled him up again, this time pressing a forearm across his throat to stop him. He said grimly, “I’m sorry, my lord. I’ll gag him.”

  “No need,” Aras said. “He’s using anger. He'll give that up soon, when he sees it doesn't help.” His tone was perfectly calm. Nothing the young man had said had moved him at all—or if anything had touched him, he did not show that. “He learned quite a bit about resisting true sorcery while Lorellan had him in thrall. More than I would have expected. I don’t know what he’s trying to hide now. I wouldn’t have thought there was anything else important enough to try so hard. A friend, perhaps, to whom he said too much. A girl.” He paused. Then he said, speaking now to the young man. “As she’s not your wife, she isn’t liable to punishment under the decree. As long as she didn’t know what you intended to do, she's safe.”

  Kerren could not lower his head; he could not hide his face. The way Geras held him, he could barely breathe. When he sobbed, he could not hide that. One of the soldiers, a younger man, shifted uncomfortably. Geras only looked down at the assassin and then at Lord Aras, waiting for orders. His expression did not change and he did not ease his hold.

  “Exhaustion alone is enough to break almost anyone’s dignity,” Aras said gently. “And the rest of this is worse. It’s not your fault.” He had not needed to say that. I thought perhaps now he was ready to take a kinder manner. But he did not stop. I supposed that, having brought the young man to this state, he would be foolish to stop while there were still things he wished to learn.

  He did not ask anything about the girl. He asked, “How long were you enthralled? All right, let me ask it this way: how old were you when he first made you his thrall? All right. How many summers do you have now? Twenty-four? Almost twenty-six.”

  That was older than I had thought, but not much older.

  Aras went on without pausing. “So you had two years to learn to resist his sorcery. Could you ever do it? How nearly did you come to resisting?” He glanced up, nodded to a soldier. “Give him more wine. Geras, let him drink. Kerren Rahavet, drink what they give you. Don’t break another goblet.”

  This time, the young man did not break the goblet. Nor did he spit, or say anything offensive. He drank the wine. Then he slumped back on his heels, his head bowed, and said, his voice ragged, “Just ask me. I’ll tell you.”

  “That would be easier,” Aras agreed. “How did you learn to resist Lorellan’s will?”

  Kerren did not look up. He said, speaking as though each word took an effort, “I couldn’t. No one could. Except a little, if he didn’t care much. If ... if he wanted something that I hated, truly hated ... I couldn’t resist, but he couldn’t make me think I didn’t hate it.”

  I wondered what acts he thought of when he explained that. He did not say, and Aras did not ask, and probably I did not really want to know.

  “Yet you could resist a little? Tell me something about that.”

  “You know it already. If he didn’t care. If he wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Fear could help you act on your own behalf at those times? And anger. Yes. I don’t think you ever said anything like that to him.”

  A slight shake of the head. Even then he did not look up.

  “You weren’t desperate enough. Well, that’s a distinction of a sort, I suppose: I’ve managed to drive a young man to greater desperation in twenty minutes than Lorellan did in two years. No, I’m honestly not at all interested in the young woman. Stop worrying about her. She didn't help you with what you tried to do? No one helped you, is that so?”

  Another headshake. The young man was slumping more and more. Geras gripped him now just to hold him up right.

  “Why did you try to kill me?” Aras asked

  Kerren looked up at that, swaying but incredulous.

  “I know,” said Aras. “But let’s be sure. I realize you believe I'm as vicious as Lorellan; that the only difference between us is that I'm better at hiding my true nature. That was the sole reason you made this attempt, yes? Yes.” He leaned back in his chair, sighing. He picked up his scepter, but put it down again at once. After a moment, he said, this time in a different tone, much less stern, “Kerren, I wish you'd managed a more rational assessment of my character, but I understand that was almost impossible after Lorellan's treatment of you. I'm grateful that you did at least have the basic good sense and decency to keep your plans to yourself. Appalling as this is, it could have been worse.”

  Then he said to Geras, “Take him away, clean him up, and put him somewhere safe. I don’t think he’ll try to kill himself now—will you try to kill yourself, Kerren?” Aras studied him again and then turned back to Geras. “He won’t. At least not right now: he’s too tired and he realizes there’s no point. Put him somewhere he can rest and see that he’s left alone. Give him something to eat. He may not want it now, but he will later.”

  Geras nodded. “Yes, my lord.” He beckoned to some of the soldiers, and they pulled the young man to his feet, steadying him so he did not fall. They took him out.

  Aras said, “If everyone would step out, please,” to everyone else, but he beckoned for me to stay and also made a sign to Esau to remain. No one argued. When they were gone, Aras said to Esau, “The girl’s bearing. The child is due in the fall.”

  “Ah,” said Esau.

  “But he did not marry this young woman?” I asked. “She is not his wife?”

  “No, and ordinarily that would be seriously irresponsible, as a girl in her situation may well wind up in a one-candle house, or at best she might find a place as a low servant, or perhaps as a talon wife with a military company. Ordinarily, especially if he’s the acknowledged father and not married to anyone else, the women’s court could sue for him to marry her and regularize the child, and impose a stigma if he refused. In this case, of course, it’s far better that no marriage took place. That puts the girl out of the way of the decree. The problem is the unborn child.” He tapped his fingers restlessly on the table, then glanced at me, seeing that I was still puzzled. “The child falls under the decree regardless, unless a court rules it isn’t his. If the girl has the sense to claim otherwise, the women’s court would probably rule that there’s enough uncertainty to justify sparing the child, but the lord’s court in Pitasosa might rule either way. I hate to risk it. Requiring this girl to carry and bear a child only to have it put to death once it’s born ... I would very much like to avoid that.” He paused again. “I gather the Ugaro customs regarding marriage and parentage are quite different. What confuses you?”

  Everything about his explanation seemed strange to me. Among Ugaro, if a young unmarried woman comes to know she is carrying, she will certainly marry at once, so that any child she bears will be her husband’s child. There is no need to ask anyone to rule on the matter. But I said
, “It is not important. I understand that this child may fall under the decree. I understand you would prefer this did not happen.”

  “That’s certainly the heart of the matter, yes. As only the gods can know for certain whether the child is his, I’d rather believe it isn’t. I’d prefer not to wait to see whether a magistrate might decide otherwise.” He turned to Esau. “The young woman’s name is Keraunani. She lives in Pitasosa. I want you to get there before anyone official arrives to arrest the Rahavet family and whomever else falls under the decree. Get that girl out of the Rahavet house if she’s there. Bribe someone to write parentage lines for the child into the register—the girl should be able to suggest some plausible name—”

  “You can’t trust neighbors not to gossip,” Esau said without emphasis. “Too likely someone’d say the wrong thing to the wrong person. Plus I wouldn’t trust a man I didn’t know. Doesn’t matter how much I paid him, there’d be too much chance he’d discard the girl once I wasn’t there looking over his shoulder. Drop her and the baby both in some one-candle house, maybe. No, the thing to do is get someone trustworthy to marry her real quick and get her out of Pitasosa and someplace safe. I can do it, if you want, my lord. Won’t make any difference to me, and I’ll do as well by her as anybody’s likely to. I can have an adjudicator write in my name, then get her away before anyone has a chance to say a word about it.”

  Aras pressed his hands across his eyes. He stayed like that for a moment. Then he took a long breath, nodded, and looked up. “You’re quite right. That’s a better solution, if you’re willing. I’d have to promote you to troop leader.”

  Esau shrugged. He had been promoted before, then stripped of that rank again as punishment for one fault or another. That had happened more than once. Everyone knew it. He said now, “If you’re willing to put a promotion through, I’ll take it, my lord. Once the adjudicator writes the lines in, won’t matter if you drop me down again later, she’ll still be my wife. I’ll take her, get her clear of this mess. You won’t want her here. I’ll take her to Gaur, set her up there, then come back when she’s settled. If that’s all right with you, my lord.”

  Aras nodded again. “Very well. Yes. This will do. If you’re willing, I’m grateful. Have I missed anything else, Troop Leader Esau?”

  Esau shrugged. “There’s always some problem or other. Whatever comes up, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Very well. Good. That will do, then, I expect. You’ll need coin. A horse—two horses. Whatever else you think you’ll need, requisition.” He wrote out a promissory note and handed it to Esau.

  “Right. Yes, my lord.” Esau took the note, saluted Aras, gave me a small nod, said, “See you, Ryo,” and went out without any further comment.

  I waited for him to go. Then I said, “My lord, I do not want to change your mind. If this solution will let Esau step between this young woman and that law, this seems good to me. But I thought your duty to your uncle would make you follow your law.”

  Aras nodded, still looking after Esau. “It’s genuinely impossible to know a baby’s father for certain. Even so, I’ll confess to Soretes what I’ve done. If he doesn’t agree, he can take whatever action he pleases to correct the injustice. I imagine he’ll let it go, given there’s legal cover for him to do so.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair, his gaze coming to me. “One life is ... it’s not enough. But it’s better than nothing.”

  “You will think of something to do for all the others who fall under the decree,” I told him. “You should eat something and rest and not be near anyone who hates you. In the morning you will be able to think more clearly. I will tell them to send you something to eat. Should I do anything else?”

  He started to tell me he did not want anything. But he stopped, and said, “Please find Leonas and let him know I’d like to see him at his convenience.”

  At his convenience was a polite way of saying at once. I said, “You are not thinking clearly now. I will tell him you wish to see him in the morning.” Then I went out, closing the door gently behind me.

  -3-

  Usually I slept in the house. But I did not want to be there now because both Aras and I were upset and angry, so I was glad enough to go to the barracks. I told Talon Commander Leonas Sharet that Aras had asked for him, but I also said I thought he should not go until morning.

  Sharet had taken this talon after Nikoles Ianan had died fighting Lorellan. He had been one of Ianan’s commanders for some years. No one had seemed surprised when he was given the place. I had not wanted to like him, but that had been stupid. He was a good talon commander. He was not reserved as Ianan had been, but friendly. He spoke easily to everyone, and it had taken me longer than it should have to realize he said much less than he thought. I did not know whether he had learned to conceal his thoughts from Aras or whether, like Ianan, he had made some accommodation with the idea of sorcery so that he did not care that his thoughts were not private. Aras did not flinch when he came near, so I assumed one or the other was probably true.

  He nodded when I said he should not go at once. “I’ll send a boy up to the house. Iasara. If Lord Gaur wants me tonight, Ias can run back and tell me so. But I expect you’re probably right, Ryo, and by the time Ias gets to the house, likely he’ll have realized it. You’re staying here tonight? Or do you plan to cross the river and sleep in the winter country?”

  I was not surprised he had understood that. I said, “I wish to go to the winter country.”

  He nodded. “Take Suyet,” he told me.

  Leonas Sharet did not have the right to give me orders, but sometimes he forgot that. Generally his orders were sensible, so it was easier to follow them than to argue. I had not realized I wished for anyone’s company, but he was not wrong. I went to find Suyet.

  The winds from the north moderate the temperature in the borderlands south of the river, just as the warmth of the south does in the borderlands north of the river. But though many Lau live in their borderlands, few Ugaro live for long so close to the river on our side. Our tribes travel more and seldom settle anywhere, but if we do linger in one place, it is farther north. The borderlands of our country are warmer than we prefer.

  But even in the warm season, the winter country is much cooler and more comfortable than the summer lands. I led Suyet up to the top of a low cliff—the land had much the same character on both sides of the river, so there were cliffs here too. I found a good place where the stone was level and where we could see a long way. Below lay a grassy meadow where a few late flowers bloomed, though most had gone to seed already. The silk of the seedheads glistened in the evening light. It was evening here, almost night, though the Sun would not step below the edge of the world for some time on the other side of the river. The Moon had already stepped into the sky. She did not show the winter country her whole face tonight. That is rare. But tonight she looked over her shoulder. From the angle of the crescent, I thought she was gazing into the starlit lands to the north, beyond the winter country.

  I showed Suyet where to roll out his blankets—he had brought two, as well as a light coat—and arranged wood for a fire, lighting it with a coal I had carried. I laid out the food I had brought: round loaves of bread and sliced beef, wrinkled black olives and soft white cheese. Suyet set down a packet of sweet cakes and shrugged when I looked at him. “Something to sweeten the evening,” he told me. Honey and sugar are greatly prized in the winter lands. The Lau make many more sweet foods than my people and put less importance on them, but Suyet understood that Ugaro consider that honey eases a hard temper. He said, “You had an argument with Lord Gaur, I heard.”

  “You heard that?” I sat down. “It was not an argument. We disagree about what he should do. I think he will come to see that I am right.”

  He sat down too, cross-legged, and leaned back on an elbow. “He probably hopes so.”

  He did not have to ask me anything. Someone had told him everything important that had happened. People talked to Suyet. He was lik
e that. I said, “He thinks too much of what he must do. He should think more of how not to do it.”

  Suyet nodded. Even if he disagreed with me, he would have nodded and not argued. He did not like to argue. He asked me in taksu, “What would your people do if someone tried to kill your king as happened today? Put the ... the warrior to death and nothing else?”

  I thought about this. Finally I said, still speaking in darau, “There is no word for assassin in taksu. The word for murderer is gutak. That may not be exactly the same as the word murderer in darau. If this same act had been attempted by an Ugaro against our king, that would not be called murder unless the one who loosed the arrow also tried to conceal his responsibility for the act. There can be no honorable reason for killing in secret.” I thought some more. Then I said, “I do not think any king of the winter country has ever been killed by murder. But if it happened, no one would say the murderer’s whole tribe should be put to death for the act.”

  “It’s harsh,” he agreed, speaking darau again. He handed me a loaf of bread and some of the beef. He took the olives for himself, knowing I did not like them. He said, “A long time ago, a lot of our kings got assassinated, one after another. That was a pretty bad time, I guess. Aras could tell you about that.”

  I was certain Aras could tell me everything about it. I did not want to hear it. I said, now in taksu, “Sometimes it happens that a tribe is destroyed completely and the name of the tribe forgotten. But no matter how bitter an enmity or how disgracefully a tribe has behaved, no one would put everyone in that tribe to death. I have never heard of that happening. Some of the people would go to an allied tribe and ask to take that name. If the tribe had no allies, the people might go a more distant tribe, one that had no opinion of the disgraced tribe, and ask there. Some might even go to enemies. If they asked humbly enough, some would be permitted to come into those other tribes. But perhaps your custom—your law—makes sense for your people, even though it is so harsh. That may be so. I do not say it is not so. That is not what concerns me.” I paused. Then I added, “Did you understand all that I said?”