Tano did not improve. Or, he did, but only against Suyet, and to some measure against Geras, not when matched against Rakasa or Bara. Against me, his skill became worse every day.
Our third day after we had begun traveling across the steppe, when we had come to a shallow pond where the horses could drink and graze, I finally took Tano some distance from the others and made him spar me. This time I pressed him hard, much harder than I had ever done before. When I did not relent, his skill worsened markedly even from moment to moment. His defense became especially weak. If it had been a real fight, I could have killed him easily. I could have done anything to him I wanted. Finally I struck past his weakened guard, three times, very fast, giving him hard blows to his thigh, his side, his arm. Then I stepped back with a gesture of disgust, dropping my guard so that I offered him a very, very big opening. He could have won the match then, at that moment, if he had driven forward.
He did not. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head, panting with the effort of the fight. His color was high with exertion and shame.
I sat down cross-legged, facing him, laying my practice sword aside. I was breathing hard too, but I tried not to show that. I asked him, making certain I spoke steadily, “What do you expect me to do now?”
He did not look up. He did not answer me. I waited, leaving the question between us. After some time, he said, “I should be beaten for my stupidity and carelessness.”
I had expected him to say something close to that. “Was that stupidity and carelessness?” I asked. “It was very bad fighting. You would have done much better against one of the Lau. When you spar against me, all your skill fails. I gave you an opening that would have let you defeat me. You did not take it. Did you see it?”
He shook his head. Then he shrugged. Then he shook his head again. He did not know. I was not surprised. I said, “I would not say your failure just now came from stupidity or carelessness. I would say the problem came from fear.”
He bowed low. His breathing was easing now, but he was still red with shame. He said, “Then I should be beaten for cowardice. Or put to death for it. The inGara cannot have any use at all for a cowardly inTasiyo.”
I let that stand in the air long enough to show I had considered his words. Then I said, “I think the problem is not cowardice. I think the difficulty comes because when you face a certain kind of opponent, you have not been taught to fight, but to take punishment.” I paused again to let that idea stand in the air as well. Then I said, even more explicitly, “When you should be sparring with me, you are truly only waiting for me to punish you.”
Tano straightened, slowly, though he did not look up.
I said as gently as I could, “That is what I think I see. But I may be mistaken.”
He glanced up, but looked down again at once. I said nothing, only waited. After some time, he said quietly, “I never thought of it that way.”
“This is a kind of problem that is probably harder to understand when it has happened to you,” I said, still gently. He did not answer me. After some time, I spoke again. “You have not yet learned anything from sparring me except how to endure humiliation. That is a useful lesson, but it is one you have learned too well already. It is time to set that aside and learn something different. Tomorrow we will spar again. I will give you at least one opening, and you will take it. You will hit me hard enough to leave a bruise I know is there. If you make your own opening, that is even better, but you must take the opening I give you. If you fail in this,” I added, “Then we will spar again the next day, and the next, until you succeed. There are many faults for which I would correct you. If you show me stupidity or carelessness or cowardice or disrespect or deceit, I would correct you for any of those faults. But this problem is something different from any of those things. It is not caused by a fault in you, but by a fault in your training. I will not correct you for failure. But I want you to succeed.”
He bowed, and stayed that way, probably because he was having more trouble now keeping what he felt from showing on his face. I hoped very much that honesty and clarity would be what he needed, but I was not certain. I wished I could have explained this problem to my brother before I tried to solve it. But as that was not possible, I hoped I had done something useful.
I pretended I was certain of myself. “There is another lesson you have learned I wish you to set aside,” I told him. “Tonight, when we come together to eat, do not wait for Lalani to give you food. Go to the fire and take what you want. I am not ordering you to be impolite: you may thank her for preparing the food and for inviting you to share it. But I am ordering you to take food for yourself. Do not eat less than you want. We have plenty of food.”
“Yes,” he whispered.
I picked up my practice sword and rose. “I am going back to the others now,” I told him. “Come when you are ready. Do not delay too long. I would like to travel some farther distance before we halt for the night.”
When I came back alone, no one asked me where Tano was. Rakasa and Bara pretended not to notice his absence. Suyet frowned at me, but Geras glanced at me and then at Aras, and then, seeing that Aras showed no concern, gave me a little nod. Lalani poured me a bowl of tisane and said, “I’m sure you’re warm, Ryo. Sit down and have something to drink.”
She meant, Sit down and let us all wait for Tano. I knew she would not go on without him, but she did not say that.
I said, “In three fingers of time, we will go on.” But I took the bowl Lalani offered me and sat down with her by the small fire she had made.
Before even one finger of time had passed, Tano came to join us. He did not look at anyone, not even Suyet, and drew his horse to the rear of the group when we finally rode on. He did not speak to anyone all the rest of that day.
Later, after we made our camp, as the Moon strolled high in the vault of the heavens and the early stars came out, Tano took food from the pot without waiting for Lalani to bring it to him. He moved stiffly and he did not look at anyone, but he did it. Lalani smiled at him, a swift, delighted smile, and glanced at me, but I pretended I had not noticed and was paying no attention.
Later again, I left the fire, went to the tent where Aras slept, stooped down, and crept within. He was already there. The air was close and warm; he had used a cantrip to warm the air. I did not complain, but sat down on my side of the tent.
He said, “You don’t need my approval, Ryo.”
“I know. I am not asking for it.”
He smiled. I saw the gleam of his teeth in the dimness. Except for that, he was nearly invisible. He said, “If you were a soldier of mine, I’d make you a troop leader. You’d do very well, young as you are.” Then he went on, no longer smiling, “You know, I’ve occasionally wondered whether the relationship between an Ugaro boy and his father might sometimes go wrong. All that obedience and respect. It seemed to me that could be a disaster, under certain circumstances.”
“This kind of problem should not happen,” I told him. “I cannot imagine how any tribe could have permitted this to happen. Sometimes a man does not know how to handle his sons; I have seen that. But then an older brother or an uncle or his father should correct him. If for some reason they do not, then his warleader should correct him. If the warleader himself is at fault, then the lord of the tribe should correct him.”
“What if the fault lies with the lord?” Aras asked.
“Then his people should see the problem and protest, and if he will not mend the fault, they should choose a different man as their lord.”
“It’s probably a complicated situation.”
“To me, the problem seems simple at the heart. Honorable people should not permit a problem like this to go uncorrected. You know I am thinking very hard thoughts of the inTasiyo.”
“I could hardly miss it. What if the man who is at fault is a dangerous warrior, so dangerous no one wants to risk correcting him because everyone is afraid of fighting him? Let’s say he’s a man like, for example, Royova inVo
taro. I don’t believe many warriors would want to dispute with him over any matter.”
I considered this. Royova was the warleader of the inVotaro, and the most dangerous man in a fight I had ever seen. The idea Aras suggested explained some things. But it did not explain enough. I said, “If the lord of the tribe is afraid of his warleader, then the whole tribe will be weak and riven by discord. No one will respect the lord. If the people of that tribe are afraid of their own warleader, they should seek places in other tribes.”
He nodded. The movement was almost imperceptible in the dim light. After a while he said, “There could be many reasons the people of a tribe don’t reach that decision. Also, I think possibly your opinion could be a little slanted because your father would absolutely fight someone like Royova inVotaro.”
My father would certainly do that if he felt his honor required it. The earth would probably shatter all the way down to the land of the shades if two men as strong as that fought.
Aras said reflectively, “The problems that occur among Lau aren’t necessarily the same, but they may be more common. If a man handles his children badly, it’s unlikely his older brothers or uncles or father will know much about it, and they don’t in general have standing to interfere. Lucas was quite difficult when he came to me. My brother had indulged him too much and in the wrong way, and when he died, my sister-in-law had no idea at all how to handle him.”
“Yes, I remember,” I said. “You told me that. Probably he gave you little trouble, no matter how difficult your brother’s wife had found him.”
He laughed. “He gave me far more trouble than you might think. I was quite a bit younger at the time, you know, and I was used to being able to pick up my scepter and give orders, so I was somewhat taken aback when I was suddenly presented with a nephew who didn’t care about my authority. Lucas resented me desperately and was determined not to care for my opinions or obey my orders. It took about a year to sort that out. Your own problem will most likely prove to be more difficult in some ways, but easier in others.”
“Everything is more difficult in some ways and easier in others.”
“Yes, I know, that’s why it’s such an easy prediction to make. I do have one piece of advice, which I won’t proffer unless you want me to.”
I regarded him.
“Yes, I know; I did that on purpose, obviously. Young men are less afraid to be corrected by older men whose opinion they don’t value as highly. If you want help, ask Geras.”
“I thought of that. I was not sure it would be right.”
“That’s because you’re a young man yourself and you still feel as though you’re responsible for everything.”
“You are laughing at me.” But I was smiling now. I had not intended to ask for his approval ... but I was glad to know I had it.
“Only in the friendliest possible way, and yes, you do. I’m not an Ugaro, so my judgment is probably not as reliable as, say, your brother’s, but as far as I can tell, you’re doing fine. How much longer do you suppose it will be before we reach the mountains?”
“Did you see the mountains in the distance today?”
“I’m not certain. Possibly. Very faintly.”
“You will be completely certain of those mountains for many days before we come there,” I told him.
“Now you’re laughing at me.”
“In the friendliest way. The day you are completely certain you see them, we will be at least twenty more days from my mother’s camp. Perhaps more than that. We are traveling more quickly than I expected, but perhaps not that much more quickly. There is no need yet to think of the ending of this journey. Relax. Go to sleep. Nothing will happen for a long time.”
I should have known better than to tempt the gods by saying such a thing.
-8-
Early the next afternoon, Rakasa rode past everyone else to come up beside me. When I looked his way, raising my eyebrows, he flicked a hand at the sky to the east. I looked that way and shook my head, embarrassed. “I should have seen that.”
“It makes me feel useful to see some things before you do, Ryo. Will the Lau horses panic when the whip of the gods comes down?”
That was an important question; one I should have thought of myself. Our ponies and our cattle know better than to run before the storm, but if a pony does run before the shiral, the whip of the gods will pass him by and leave him in the quiet so that he may recover his good sense. A Lau horse might well panic, and then he might run fast enough that the storm would drive him until he died.
By this time, everyone else had come up. Everyone peered away to the east, where the blackness of the sky was now impossible to miss. The tasseled grasses were all blowing in one direction now: the wind was always from the east in this season, but ordinarily it gusted. I should have realized the shiral was coming just from that. I had been careless.
I studied the horses. They were raised and trained to trust their riders and look to people for guidance. I asked abruptly, “Can you make them lie down? Are they trained for that?”
“Yes, they are. We’ll do exactly as you say, Ryo,” Aras assured me.
“We will make the horses lie down and cover their heads with anything that comes to hand—our tents, our blankets. We will hobble them, front feet as well as rear. If they get up, we will probably lose them, so we must keep them down.”
Bara and Tano were already moving quickly to take the saddles and packs from the horses, and now Rakasa and Geras began to make the beasts lie down. The horses were so trusting that they would let a man pull their heads around and guide them to their knees, then press them to roll onto their sides.
There was a different feel to the air now: a stinging that raised the small hairs on the back of my neck and my arms. The sound of the coming storm was only a murmur, but swiftly growing louder. The approaching line of clouds was a boiling blackness across the sky, though on the other side I could already see the ordinary sky.
The horses felt the storm and began to try to get up, but by this time most had been hobbled. Rakasa tied his shirt across the last mare’s head while Geras hobbled her. Then Rakasa pressed Geras to lie down himself. “Put your arms over your head,” he ordered.
I repeated this in darau, raising my voice to be heard over the increasing roar of the storm. “Lie down! Put your arms over your heads. There may be hail. Be ready to hold your breath. There will be rain and you may feel you will drown if you stay down. Hold your breath and stay where you are. The shiral will pass quickly, but if you lift your head, the winds are dangerous. There are tales of someone whose neck was broken that way.”
“That can’t really have happened, Ryo?” Suyet said uncertainly.
“It could certainly happen to a slender Lau neck. If you try to stand up, the wind may hurl you a long way, so stay down. Lalani, lie down.” I set a saddle over her arms to protect her head against hail. I said, “Suyet, lie down with her. Cover her body with yours. Cover your head with your arms.” He did as I told him, and I set another saddle over his head. Rakasa was helping Geras, so that was well enough, and to my surprise, Tano had moved to help Aras.
The roar of the storm filled all the world. To the east, hardly a bowshot away, the shadow of the storm was black and the rain came down like a wall across the world. I ran to Aras. Tano had put a saddle over Aras’ head and lain down on top of him, with another saddle set ready to the side. I dropped down over them both, dragged the waiting saddle up over my head and neck.
Aras grunted and said, “You’re a little heavier than seems strictly necessary, Ryo.” He almost sounded amused. Obviously he could breathe well enough
“Soon you will have something else to worry about,” I told him, and the storm struck and the world dissolved into the bellowing winds and pounding rain. I could not tell if hail came down too; the rain itself felt like a single heavy blow across my whole body at once. The wind tried to tear us from the ground and hurl us into the sky—the temperature dropped from warm to cold in
a heartbeat—water rushed past; I hoped I had been right that the Lau could hold their breath long enough for that to pass. I counted, which was what my father had taught me to do when I was a child. I counted to twenty and then to twenty again and then once more.
Then it was past. The roaring rushed away to the west and light bloomed around us as the line of clouds passed on. I put the saddle out of the way and sat up, and took Tano’s hand to pull him up, then pulled Aras up as well. Everyone was getting up. The horses were getting to their feet as Rakasa and Geras released them. They were bewildered, but willing to be comforted. They shook themselves, scenting the damp air as they tried to make sense of what had happened. Higher on the slope, Lalani took Suyet’s hands and staggered to her feet, coughing and shaking water out of her face. She stretched her arms out and bounced gingerly on her toes, making sure she could move everything. Then she glared at me and said in taksu, her voice a little shaky, “Tigers are one thing, but no one warned me about that.”
Suyet grinned at her. “A little too exciting, wasn’t it? Ryo, please tell us that doesn’t happen all the time out here!”
Aras added, “Your country has the most remarkable weather, Ryo. Is this also something that comes from the gods?”
“The whip of the gods,” I told them. “The shiral. It comes only here on the steppe, and only in the warm season. It is not as dangerous as the fengol ... usually it is not as dangerous. It strikes hard, but passes quickly. Is anyone hurt?”
No one seemed to be. The water had already poured away. A great, endless quiet spread out, hot and humid now that the storm had passed. The ground steamed as the Sun poured down his strength from the cloudless sky. A new stream rushed away down a narrow gully at the foot of the almost imperceptible slope where we stood, though already that stream was shallow. The stillness was broken only by the sound of the leaping water and the distant murmur of the retreating shiral. The whole world seemed to have taken a deep breath and settled into a new calm.
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