“Nor will she write, I understand,” said Aras. “Or had that changed since I was informed?”
Raga nodded. “That has not changed, lord. She will not write, not in any language, though she can read the script her own people write. I have one scroll in the avila tongue—”
“Lasije,” said Aras.
“Yes, lasije, that is the name of their spoken language, but if you will forgive me for correcting you, lord, the Tarashana call their written language tanije. But when I showed her the scroll, though she took it and seemed to read some of it, she would not take a quill and write anything, in tanije or in any other tongue.”
“Indeed,” said Aras. “Thank you for the correction, Raga. I did not know the Tarashana had different names for their spoken and written languages.”
“I am glad to explain this,” my brother began eagerly. “Tanije is like a different tongue entirely, each word made as one symbol, but the symbols are complicated. The words in tanije relate to one another, one sees it in the patterns of the written words, but they do not relate to the sounds of the spoken tongue as is the way for taksu or darau—”
I bumped my brother’s shoulder with mine to cut him off. “Once a poet begins to explain something, he will speak for a year,” I told Aras. “You may ask Raga anything, but we are coming to the wagon now, so perhaps you may wish to ask later. I warn you, my younger brother will also ask you many, many questions about every possible matter.”
Raga grinned. “I will!” he agreed. “I have never met a Lau, nor a Lau lord, nor a Lau sorcerer, nor a Lau scepter-holder, so I fear I will forget courtesy. You must correct me if I ask too many questions or if my questions offend you in any manner. I am very accustomed to being corrected for that kind of failing. I mean no offense when I ask, can you see the Tarashana woman’s thoughts yet?”
We were close enough now that Aras should have been able to see anyone’s thoughts, but he answered thoughtfully, “I take no offense, but no. I see nothing clearly, not yet. I can barely tell someone is there. Perhaps the Tarashana are so different from Ugaro or Lau or even Lakasha that I cannot see her thoughts properly. That would certainly be unfortunate.” He paused to study the wagon and the surrounding area.
The wagon rested perhaps half a bowshot farther, in a small meadow where the ground was nearly level. To one side, the roots of the mountain humped up toward the higher slopes. To the other, a little path led down toward the lake. My mother was coming along that path now, with Lalani and some other women, but they were still some distance from the meadow.
The wheels had been taken off the wagon because they would warp if the wagon were left to stand in one place too long. The quills decorating the covering had been dyed pink and brown, and from the colors and the patterns, I knew this wagon belonged to Garoyo’s wife. The awning had been put up over the entry, and rugs, red and blue and purple, spread on the ground, with cushions laid on the rugs to make a comfortable place to sit.
The avila woman herself was not in evidence.
“Perhaps she does not know we have come,” Raga said uncertainly.
“Perhaps,” my father said, though we had not taken pains to be quiet. He studied the wagon a moment longer, while he waited for my mother and the other women to come to us. Lalani had smiled when we first came in sight, but Geras caught her eye and she stopped smiling and came quickly to join us, moving to put herself behind Geras and Suyet. Neither of the soldiers had drawn their swords, but Geras had set his hand on the hilt of his knife. So had I, though I had not realized this until then. I took my hand off my knife, but I did not feel easy and did not move my hand far from the hilt.
My father did not show such obvious unease. But he said to Garoyo, “Tell her to come out.”
“Yes,” Garoyo said. He was expressionless. He did not like this either. He took a step toward the wagon, but the cloth of the entry stirred, so he paused.
Then the avila woman came out. She stepped carefully down from the wagon, came as far as the rugs, and knelt there, clasping her hands together. She tucked herself down low, trying to make herself seem small. This was an unnecessary effort for one of her kind. She was a very small person, not even as tall as an Ugaro and much slighter, as slender as a Lau child.
She was very different from either Ugaro or Lau, in her own way almost as different as the Lakasha-erra from the land south of the summer country, and they are very different. The Lakasha are even taller and more elegant than the Lau, and even darker, black-skinned rather than warm brown, but more than that, the Lakasha have the heads of jackals. They are beautiful, but strange to look upon, and they are all sorcerers. My people would fear them for that reason, except that they find even the summer lands cold and would never venture into the winter country.
The Tarashana are different again. This woman’s skin was very pale, almost translucent. Our tales say that the avila take in the light of their stars and give that light back again, but as Raga had explained, we could not see this now, in the bright light of the Sun. Her hair, drawn back in a single braid, was straight like the hair of my people, but the white of fresh snow rather than black. She had large eyes set wide, a small nose, a narrow mouth, and a delicate chin and jaw. As my mother had said, elaborate, elegant pattern of lines, ran up her throat and curled across the right side of her face: spirals and circles and dots. That pattern poured down her left arm too, and across the back of her left hand, and down the two middle fingers of that hand. At the moment, all these patterns glimmered in luminous blue and silver and white. Ugaro have no art of that kind; nor do Lau; nor, so far as I knew, Lakasha. This is an art only practiced by the Tarashana of the starlit lands.
Even though her eyes were lowered, I could see they were at the momet a very pale shade of blue, almost white, like the dawn sky in the winter. Every tale teaches us that this color means an avila is afraid. But I would have known that even if we had known nothing at all of her people. She looked as small and fragile as a bird, and as frightened as a bird broken and flightless, with no hope of mercy from the predators who would find her.
“She has not been as afraid as this since we found her in the pass,” Garoyo said, frowning down at her.
“She is certainly very frightened now,” Aras agreed. “I hope everyone will be patient. I can see nothing unless I can persuade this woman to be less frightened. I would like Ryo to stay with me, but perhaps everyone else will go some small distance for ... a hand, two hands of time?”
Geras drew breath, and Aras switched to darau to add drily, “Not you, of course, Troop Leader; I’m perfectly aware of your opinion.” In taksu, he said, “I ask my soldiers to move back a little. I ask Ryo to stay here with me. I ask everyone else to go some small distance and wait.” He caught my thought and turned quickly to my father. “I mean no offense. If the lord of the inGara does not object, this might be helpful.”
One of the inVotaro warriors said quietly, “One of us should stay. If the lord of the inGara is not offended by this suggestion, I will step back, but remain.”
My father looked at him for a moment. Then he looked at Aras.
“Yes, if you prefer,” Aras agreed at once. “Seroyo inVotaro may of course stay, or anyone you wish, lord, but please, if everyone will move back a little.”
My father gave the inVotaro warrior a curt nod. He said, “In two hands of time, everyone else will return.” He added to Hokino, “Two hands will be long enough for you to show my warleader all the places you concealed yourself and explain how you remained unseen. Take your son with you; he may learn something useful. Take these other young men with you as well. My wife, my guests, perhaps you will accompany me.” He walked away, back toward the main part of the camp. My mother gave Aras a thoughtful look, but she did not protest.
Once everyone else had gone, and Geras and Suyet and the inVotaro warrior had retreated a small distance, I said to Aras, speaking quietly in darau, “This woman is a sorcerer?”
“I knew you guessed that. I’m not ent
irely certain how I gave it away.”
“You cannot hear her thoughts. That could be because she is an avila, but it was that way between you and Lorellan, so I wondered as soon as you said that. Then when you sent everyone else away, it seemed likely. You want only me to stay with you because you think I may be able to resist sorcery better than anyone else here except you. I am not nearly so confident of that, as you would know, except perhaps you cannot see it because I am angry and frightened.”
Aras touched my arm, a rare gesture from him. He said, “And you’re encouraging your own anger and fear as an extra layer of protection. Well done. But I truly don’t believe there’s much danger. I don’t think she’s dangerous. She’s been here for a long time already and done no harm to your people, so far as I can tell. But I realize this wouldn’t be a good moment to suffer from overconfidence, and I could be wrong.” He gave me a slight smile. “Just ... pay attention and trust yourself, Ryo. I trust you to take very fast action, should that turn out to be necessary.”
“I could take very fast action now,” I pointed out. But I did not really want to do that. The woman had not moved. She still knelt there, her hands clasped together and her head bowed, not looking up. She probably did not know what we were saying. I could hardly imagine she understood darau. But she might know I was thinking of breaking her neck. I could do it as easily as a wolf breaks the neck of a rabbit. But she was so small, and a woman, and even though I wanted to do it, I would also have been ashamed of the act.
The reluctance I felt might have been sorcery. I could not tell.
Aras said, “There’s some sorcerous influence involved, I think, but definitely not enough to stop you if you decided to do that.”
“Are you shielding my mind? Is what I should feel different from what I do feel?”
“The tie I hold to you is so strong and deep, I don’t need to do anything else to protect you. No sorcerer should be able to influence you to any great extent without my noticing, and I should be able to stop any sorcerer who tried.”
I did not like to think of that tie. Usually I did not think of it very much. In taksu, there is another word for it, not so pleasant. We call it the sorcerer’s leash. It is used to compel, not to protect. But Aras used it to protect, not to compel. And it made me feel better to know this avila sorcerer could not do anything to me.
“Yes, I know,” Aras told me. “I’m endlessly grateful for your trust, Ryo. You could certainly kill her, but that would leave us with a great many unanswered questions. Leave her to me for a little while, please, and I’ll see if I can speak to her.”
Then he walked forward and sat down on the rugs, facing the Tarashana woman. He laid his long hands on his knees and simply looked at her, for a long time.
I stood where I was, my hand on my knife, wondering if I would suddenly draw the weapon and kill the Tarashana sorcerer without clearly knowing why. I might do that, if she tried to take me as her slave. Part of my mind would probably know if she tried such a thing and then I might move without thought.
If I felt my memories start to change, I would know exactly why I killed her.
Aras merely sat where he was, looking at the woman. By this time, she had lifted her head. She looked Aras in the face now, her expression intent. I thought suddenly that this might be dangerous. But as soon as I thought that, Aras said softly, “I’m perfectly all right, Ryo. I’m beginning to think she is actually quite powerful, in a strange way, but ... not very dangerous. Or not in the ordinary sense. She’s not mad ... or not in the ordinary sense.” He sighed, straightening. “She’s terrified of your father. For very good reason. When I tell him this woman is a sorcerer—”
“She is begging you not to do that,” I said. The woman had bowed her head and lifted her hands, palm up, in the gesture that ask for mercy.
“I know,” Aras said, glancing at her. He spoke slowly and clearly in taksu, using simple words. “This woman has been brave for a long time, but her silence can lead only to longer silence. She can only ask for help by asking. What better time will ever come than this time?”
The Tarashana woman raised his head. After a moment, she lowered his hands. She folded her fingers together, resting her hands on her knees.
“Yes. Better,” Aras said. “Think past your fear. You see I am here, even though I am a Lau and a sorcerer. The Ugaro have far less distrust of your people than of mine. Perhaps Sinowa inGara may not kill you if you give him a reason to be generous and no reason to be afraid.”
“You are giving this woman good advice,” I said. “You believe she is due generosity?”
“I don’t quite know. I can’t yet tell what dire problem drove her here. I would like to find out, which I can’t if your father puts her to death, so I would like to prevent that if possible.”
“Ask for a pause,” I suggested. Everyone was coming back, my father and mother and our people and the inKarano singer and the inVotaro warriors; also Garoyo and Hokino and the young men picking their way down the slopes above us. Geras and the others moved forward too, everyone coming close.
I imagined how that might seem to the Tarashana woman. Unless she were very powerful indeed, she had every reason to be afraid. She was trembling, slight tremors, but perceptible. I wanted to protect her. When I realized that, I raised my eyebrows at Aras.
“Yes,” he said in darau. “But under the circumstances, it’s hard to blame her, and she truly can’t influence you very much, Ryo.” Getting to his feet, he faced my father and said in taksu, “Sinowa inGara, I still have many questions, but I know some things now. I ask that you wait for forty breaths after I speak before you make any decision.” He looked around. “I ask everyone to wait that long.”
My father raised his eyebrows.
“Everyone will pause for forty breaths before anyone acts,” my mother said, her tone tranquil. “Unless my husband decides he must act more quickly.”
Aras sighed, but he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Thank you.”
“Explain,” ordered my father.
He had given no assurance; my mother had made certain he would not and need not, but Aras bowed his head. He said, “Lord, this woman is a sorcerer, but I am almost certain she is not dangerous to your people. I ask you to respect my judgment and to pause for thought before making any important decision.”
The Tarashana sorcerer gripped her hands together hard, staying very still. Her eyes had become almost pure white with terror. She covered her face with her hands, bowing low. She did not move.
My father studied her, his expression thoughtful. Eventually, he observed, “For a sorcerer, she seems very afraid. One might be surprised to discover that someone this afraid is dangerous.” He paused. Then he said to Aras, “If I drew my knife and stepped forward at this moment, she could not prevent me.”
The Tarashana woman looked up at him in urgent appeal, then bowed again, lower still.
“She could not,” Aras agreed. “If you choose to kill her, then she will die here. Sinowa ... lord, you are not as angry as you think you should be. You wonder if this is sorcery. It is. The anger you feel is muted by this woman’s sorcery. This is similar to the kind of sorcery that my people call pull, or, more formally, allure.”
“Attraction,” I said in taksu.
“Yes, thank you. That is close to the meaning. With your permission, lord, I will shield your mind from this kind of sorcery. This is the anger you truly feel.”
My father frowned. He said after a moment, “Show me again. One and then the other.”
“Here her sorcery affects you,” Aras said, perfectly patient. And ten heartbeats later, “Here I am shielding your mind. Again, now, her sorcery touches you. Again, now, it does not.”
“The way I feel changes when you do that,” said my father, still frowning. “But not as much as I expected. I should be much angrier than this.”
My mother said, “She is so small. You feel as though this is a child. A girl-child. That is not her sorcery. Her helples
sness makes you wish to restrain your temper.”
“Is that how it is?” my father said drily. But he was not offended, because it was my mother who had said this. She smiled. She did not have to say Yes, that is how it is. Everyone knew she was right. My mother was always right about things of that kind.
Aras said, “Allure can be dangerous if it is strong. This woman’s sorcery is not that powerful ... or her sorcery is powerful in a different way. I think she is not very dangerous. I think if she were dangerous in the manner of a Lau sorcerer, then she could have enslaved all your people long since.”
“Yes,” my mother said. “We all understand what you say.”
My father, still looking steadily at the Tarashana sorcerer, said, “If you attempt to influence me or any of us, I will put you to death. If you use any kind of forbidden arts, I will put you to death.”
“I have warned her that she must not,” Aras said softly. “She is trying not to do it, lord. She is so afraid, she cannot prevent some allure. But she cannot influence your actions to any great extent by means of her sorcery.”
My father frowned.
“If I may ask,” Hokino inKera said. “I beg your pardon for putting myself forward, lord. I would like to ask the Lau lord whether this kind of sorcery, this allure that creates so little influence and cannot change how a man may choose to act, is this something that might affect another sorcerer?”
I had been thinking of how best to ask exactly that question, but Hokino had posed it more elegantly than I could have.
“A very good question,” my father acknowledged. “You need not be so circumspect. No one of sound judgment is offended by good advice. I am certain my guest will consider his answer carefully.”
“It is a good question,” Aras agreed. “The answer is: I believe I am not affected, but I am not perfectly certain. I have never met any sorcerer who had the strength to touch my mind when I did not permit it; certainly no one with the subtlety to do it without my awareness of that touch. If she were Lau rather than Tarashana, I would be perfectly confident.”
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