For a moment, no one spoke. No one had to say She is not Lau. No one had to say You cannot be certain. Finally I asked, as no one else had yet done so, “Why does she not speak? Why has she never spoken?”
Aras nodded to me. “That is another good question, Ryo. She cannot speak except by means of sorcery, but I do not know why. I believe this is a ... a discipline she has placed on herself? Or a curse someone else has put on her? I do not understand what is causing that problem, but I know this has put her in a very difficult position. An extraordinarily difficult position.” He turned to my brother once more. “Garoyo, she followed you into the pass because she hoped to beg for your help. Something terrible had happened, and she had almost given up hope, and then she saw you and your people and she had hope again. It was like ... like being lost in the dark and seeing the Moon come out from behind the endless clouds, shining her light down the path you sought. But she also knew that if she spoke to you, then you would realize at once she was a sorcerer and you would kill her. So she could not speak to you, yet if she kept silent, she could not ask for the help she needs. She has been caught in that dilemma ever since.”
“But what help does she need?” Garoyo demanded. By his manner, he was less angry than exasperated. His moderate response to the revelation that this woman he had chosen to protect was a sorcerer might have been due to his previous experience with Aras ... but I was not certain. Again, I considered breaking the Tarashana sorcerer’s neck where she knelt.
“Ah,” Aras said, unobtrusively setting a hand on my arm. “That is not entirely clear to me, warleader. If I have time, I should be able to understand this. What I understand so far, I understand from seeing some of her recent memories and seeing the ... the emotional loading evoked by those memories. But there is very much I do not yet understand.” He faced my father. “Lord, I will be able to understand this person better with time. May we have that time? You can put her to death later if you decide you should do that, but it would surely be better to understand more before you make that decision.”
“This is the time to take forty breaths,” my father said. During the pause, he considered the Tarashana woman. Everyone watched her. She bowed to the ground in the Ugaro manner, and stayed still, waiting, her muscles rigid with hard-held fear.
“So,” my father said at last. “Plainly she does not believe she could prevent me from putting her to death. What is her name?” Then he held up a hand, reconsidering. “No, my guest, do not tell me. I want this sorcerer to tell me.” He said to the avila woman, “What is your name? What is, or was, your place among your people? What do you want? Do you understand those questions? If you understand, answer.”
She straightened, looking up with her wide eyes of that pale sky color. She pressed her hands together hard to stop them from shaking. Her words appeared in my mind in a soundless whisper, each word as delicate as a single snowflake landing on my palm. Lord, give mercy to the silent. Great lord, grant mercy to the lost. My name is Inhejeriel Kiolekarian taja-Shalaseriad, great lord. I am a memory, the memory, I am one who remembers, I am the memory of my people.
Her speech was very strange. It was not exactly like the voice of a person of the Lakasha-erra, though those people also speak by means of sorcery. That felt more like natural speech. This avila woman’s speech carried much more feeling with the words.
Inhejeriel was going on. I am a ... I am a thought, a memory ... I am a remembrance of my people. I am a hope of the lost. The hope. The hope of the lost. The hope of those who are lost. Please, lord. Please do not kill me. I am not harm your people. Will not. Cannot. Please. I cannot harm any people. Please help me. I beg you will help me find, gather, regather the lost, the desolate lost, those who have been lost.
This left us all looking at one another, puzzled. Though the woman’s words were clear, her meaning was hard to understand.
“A memory-keeper?” Lalani asked, tentatively. Though I knew the words, I discovered now that I did not truly understand the meaning the Lau might put on the term.
But Inhejeriel, gazing up at Lalani, seemed to grow calmer. A little like, she said, and then, confusingly, I must remember the desolate lost. I am their remembrance. You know how to remember. Please help me.
“Me?” Lalani was clearly startled. “I’m not a memory-keeper! Maybe in twice forty years, with luck, if the gods are generous.”
You know how to remember, Inhejeriel answered. The lost must be remembered. I must be their remembrance. You might be a waiting remembrance. You have memory of a kind. Please help me. I must sing all their names to the stars, so the stars will sing their names back to the world, sing them as they should be so that they may be remembered by the world, they may be found, they may be redeemed. You must help me. Please, she went on, again facing my father. Please, great lord, please help me.
“Sing their names?” said my mother. “Do you claim to be a singer?”
Not, no, not a singer, not in the way of your people, tal-Marag, singer of the inGara. Only the remembrance of the lost, only that way, only to sing their names so that the stars return those names to the world, only to redeem the lost. That is why I cannot speak. All the names press upon me. If I speak any word, I will sing. All the names, I will sing all the names of the lost, I will not be able to hold them, I will sing them now, in this place, in the wrong place. Then all my people would be desolate forever.
My father demanded, “You say your people have been lost. In what manner has this happened? Did an enemy come upon them and destroy them? Why do you look with fear toward your own country?”
Inhejeriel gazed at him, her eyes wide and pale. Great lord, yes, not enemies, not enemies who wished to destroy us. But they destroyed us. The people of the sunless sea, the starless sea, the dark sea beneath the black sky, the Saa'arii who live there, those people wished to drown our lands, to bring their sea upon our lands. They had no care for what else might come of that. When the sea rose and flooded south, when the stars above our lands began to go out, we went north to set our strength against the tide. All my people, we set our strength against the black tide, the rising tide of the starless sea. But it came, it rose, it poured acros our land, it destroyed us, my people drowned in the dark tide, all my beautiful people, lost in the darkness, lost, lost! Please, lord, help me remember them, that the stars and the world may remember them and the starless sea may be pressed back and my people not be lost forever.
For some time, everyone was silent. The woman's story was not entirely clear, but her endless desolation was very plain.
I had never heard the name of the people against whom she spoke this accusation. The word she used for these people was strange, with vowels that lingered on the tongue and a little trill in the middle. I wondered what kind of people might live upon the darkling waters where neither the Moon nor the Sun looked down upon them; where even the stars must be a distant presence? Those people must be stranger than the Tarashana, stranger even than the Lakasha-erra.
“These Saa'arii sound very much like enemies to me,” my father said finally. The name was difficult. Inhejeriel had spoken the word with a strange catch in the middle. He did not attempt to say it that way, only set a little pause into the word. “Why did these people wish to drown the starlit lands?”
Inhejeriel held out her hands, a gesture like asking for mercy, but different. She said, The Saa'arii do not speak to the gods, they do not listen to the gods, they do not know the gods. They warred with one another and those who lost, they sought another place to go, a new place for the starless sea. They care nothing for the earth and the sky. Long ago, long ago, we used to trade with those people, but then they would not give, only take. Those who came now upon the black tide would not speak to us. Their rising sea has taken half the starlit lands. The tide rises still, lord, and my people are lost, they are desolate. Please lord, please help me redeem my people.
My father regarded her steadily. “You say your people are lost. Do you mean that they have gone into
the land of the shades? If that is so, what is your meaning when you say you will redeem them?”
Inhejeriel answered, They are gone, yes, but they are not in the way, they have gone in a wrong way, great lord. They did not rise to the stars, they fell into the earth, beyond the earth, they fell into the empty dark, the black tide, the shadow of the black tide took them and so they are lost. If they have gone, had gone, if they had gone into the heavens by the way my people should go, they would not be lost, only departed. Please, lord, I must be their remembrance. Please. I cannot die, must not die. I must remember my people. I must go to the place where the stars may answer when I sing their names. Help me come to this place. Please. Please.
When she tried one word and then another, when she tried one phrase and then another, each time she came closer to her meaning, it was as though her desperation also became more clear. When she begged for help, it was not so much as though she said the words of a plea, but more that she touched the heart with her appeal. I wanted to help her. But I did not trust this feeling.
“So,” my father said, his tone considering. “I will say, these Saa'arii may be a dangerous people, but this avila does not dangerous to me. We may choose to help her or we may decline to take up this trouble that has come to her people, but I think I need not put this woman to death at once.”
Aras inclined his head in approval. Garoyo nodded. Inhejeriel shivered, gripping her hands together, her gaze lowered.
“The little serpents seem harmless,” said Seroyo inVotaro, his tone thoughtful. “Until one discovers that they carry venom in their fangs.”
“True,” conceded my father. “Still.” He turned to my mother. “My wife, do you recall any tales of dangerous avila sorcerers? If anyone knows such a tale, I will hear that person.”
Our mother answered thoughtfully. “For many years we traded with the people of the starlit lands, amber and gemstones for grain and wine. Many tribes traded in the same way. Before our own sisters and cousins traded with the people of the starlit lands, our mothers traded with them, and before our mothers, our grandmothers. In all the many days before this day, our people traded in this way. I do not recall any tale in which our people took harm from those dealings with the avila.”
Seroyo inVotaro said, carefully deferential, “No one would question the memory of Marag inGara. But this woman is a sorcerer. Perhaps we have been made to forget. How would we know?”
My mother looked at Aras. “My friend?”
“The world is wide, and my people are not well acquainted with the Tarashana, so I cannot say what might be possible or impossible,” Aras answered. “But I truly do not believe anyone could do anything of the kind, yet conceal their forbidden acts from me.”
I am only a remembrance for my people, for their names, for the lost, whispered Inhejeriel. I cannot destroy, conceal, I cannot deceive the memories of anyone, everyone, anyone, any person. I can only ask. Please help me remember the lost, the many lost, the desolate lost.
Aras spread his hands. “This woman’s meaning is not entirely clear to me. But surely we will soon be able to understand one another. I would like to understand her. I think she is speaking the truth at least this far: I think her fear and hope are both true, and I do not think she can coerce any of us to help her. Certainly not me. Definitely not without my awareness of her forbidden acts.”
I shifted my weight. When everyone looked at me, I spoke to my father. “Lord, the influence of sorcery fades with time. A day, two days, three days, and a man will come to see the falsity and lies a sorcerer put into his mind. Perhaps your guest is right that this sorcerer is not very dangerous. Perhaps he is wise to wish to speak to her and learn better what problem brought her here. But I think he should go south along the lake’s edge, perhaps a full day’s ride, and stay there for three days. I think everyone should go that far, but especially Aras, and also especially you, lord, and my mother. In three days, if Aras still wishes to speak further with this sorcerer, if you still think this is a wise thing to permit, if my mother still believes that this Tarashana should be given shelter within inGara territory, if everyone continues to believe she is not dangerous, then perhaps we may be more certain this is so.” I looked at Aras. “I mean no offense when I ask you to consider withdrawing to a much greater distance for three days. I think this would be better. I do not trust anything anyone thinks in this place, with this avila woman making everyone feel that she is small and harmless.”
“I do not believe this is necessary—” Aras began.
Seroyo inVotaro began to speak, but Geras spoke first, in darau. “Ryo’s right.” He spoke firmly as he would when he came to a decision to which he meant to hold. “My lord, Ryo’s right and I say we’re pulling way back just like he says, a good day’s ride like that should just about do it. You’ll agree, my lord, or you’ll give a proper explanation why not. Not just a feeling it’s not necessary. That's not near good enough. No one’s feelings are good enough, not even yours, my lord, not in this.”
There was a brief pause. Aras said, in darau, “Well, Troop Leader, that’s certainly decisive.”
Geras stood stolidly, his shoulders straight, looking into the air as Lau do when they admit a fault. He said, “I’ll put myself on report, my lord, once we’re back in the summer country and there’s a report to go up to my talon commander.”
Aras smiled. “I’m sure you will, Troop Leader.” He went on in taksu, speaking to my father, “I beg your pardon, lord, for the interruption. I agree that your son's suggestion is wise. I agree it would be better to see whether anyone’s feelings and thoughts and decisions, especially mine, are different after three days in a place far removed from this place.”
“Yes,” my father agreed. He did not have to understand darau to know what had happened. He gave Geras an approving nod and said to Aras, “A lord does well to take good advice when his warriors are wise enough to offer it.”
My mother said, “Our camp has been here a long time. Moving to another place would be good for everyone. The main part of the camp will not be ready to move until tomorrow, but our guests and some of the warriors need not wait for everyone else. You should not wait either, my husband. You should go with our guests. This is my opinion.”
My father nodded in acknowledgment. “We will both go with our guests, my wife. Gekora and Lakka may take authority to organize the greater part of the camp.”
These were important people in the camp, a cousin of mine, much older than I, and his wife, accustomed to taking authority when my mother's camp divided in this way. “Yes,” my mother agreed. She walked away, at her customary stately pace.
My father did not watch her go. He spoke to one of the inGara warriors who had been listening to all this. “Go down to the grazing lands and tell the herdsmen we will move all the animals to the south. The grazing lands here should be left until the first snows begin anyway, so that should please them.” To another, he said, “Take two fast ponies and ride to the inGeiro camp. Tell Naroya inGeiro and Lutra inGeiro what we have decided and why we have come to that decision. You understand what you should tell the warleader of the inGeiro and his wife?”
“Yes, lord!” the man said promptly. “I will tell them exactly how it happened, everything from the moment your son’s Lau said we should wait two hands of time to this moment. May I also tell them Hokino inKera is here and how that happened?”
My father’s mouth tucked in a little. He did not look at Hokino, but the inKera warleader sighed and made a resigned gesture. “Everyone will know how that happened soon. This respected warrior of the inGara may as well tell the story if he wishes.”
“Tell them everything,” my father told the man. “Tell them that if the inGeiro wish to send someone to us to observe everything as it happens, that person will be welcome. Any inGeiro who wishes to come will be welcome.”
“I will tell everyone exactly what you say,” the warrior agreed earnestly. Everyone went to do as my father commanded.
> Garoyo had been watching Inhejeriel, who had lowered her gaze but had not otherwise moved. She must have understood some of what we were saying, but she made no protest. Either she could not prevent our making this trial, or she did not fear what we might learn by doing this. Or some other thing might be true that I had not thought of.
Now Garoyo turned to our father. “This is a wise decision. Yet someone should stay here, near this place. The pass through the mountains cannot be left unobserved, and this visitor of ours should not be left either unprotected or unguarded.”
Before our father could answer, Hokino spoke. “The warleader of the inGara is right,” he agreed. “I am certain he means to ask your permission to remain here himself, lord. I mean no offense when I suggest that more than one person should remain. I would be glad to stay here, near this place, if the warleader and the lord of the inGara will permit me the honor of watching over their tombs and their land.”
Garoyo did not look at him. But he said, “I am not offended by the suggestion.”
“I should stay as well,” Seroyo inVotaro said firmly.
“You will all stay,” my father decided. “Also these three young men. I am sure they will make themselves useful rather than troublesome. Raga, obey your brother and do not behave foolishly.” He said nothing to Arayo or Tano. He only added to Garoyo, “Keep the Lau horses; they will be glad of the rest, and if you must have speed, they will give you that.” Then he glanced at Aras.
“As you say, lord,” Aras said immediately. “I am glad to lend them. Accept one of my soldiers for this task as well. Suyet.”
“Lord,” Suyet agreed, touching his hand to his heart. He looked pleased and at the same time dismayed. “Yes, my lord.”
“Obey Garoyo inGara,” Aras ordered him. “You’ll do fine on your own for three days, Trooper.”
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