Iro dropped his gaze, reluctant to show disapproval, but Etta sat up straight. “Yes! Rakasa told us about that when we met him. You do the most surprising things, Ryo! Rakasa told us the story about Tasig inGara and Yaro inTasiyo and our father, but he said you should explain about this young man who used to be inTasiyo. Tell us how it happened!” Everyone else nodded and gestured to show me they were interested.
I hesitated. There were very many things I did not intend to explain. But finally I said, “I would not give the inTasiyo warleader a young dog to train, nor a colt, nor a boy. Some men should leave such tasks to others.”
All around the fire, people sat back, frowning. Etta said more softly, “But this young man has not been altogether ruined by bad teaching, or my brother would not have taken him into his own honor.”
“I think he can learn better. I think he wishes to learn better.”
Iro did not look up, but he said, his tone neutral, “What a boy learns before he becomes a man is important.”
I was surprised. Plainly he was less deferential than he appeared. I said firmly, “What a man learns after his fifteenth winter is also important, or no warrior would ever learn good judgment and we all would be fools for our whole lives.”
My sister and some of the other people at our fire laughed. Iro smiled and made a gesture of agreement, conceding that this was true.
After enough time had passed to let the subject turn, I said to Iro, “Someone probably has practice weapons, and the Moon is bright enough. Would you wish to spar?” I had eaten lightly, knowing I would ask that. So had he, for the same reason. He even had practice blades laid aside, ready for that kind of suggestion.
The Moon was more than bright enough for any kind of contest. The sky was cloudless, and the Moon had turned her round face fully toward the winter country tonight. Her light poured down and reflected off the lake until the world was nearly as bright as though it had been daylight. The stars shone bright as well, as close to the earth as I had ever seen them.
I knew Iro would be well-taught and I assumed we would be closely matched. But I did not doubt that, barring misfortune, I would be victorious.
After the first few exchanges of blows, I discovered, to my surprise, that he might be able to take the victory. He was skilled, and faster than I was, and almost as strong. Rakasa was easy-tempered and friendly, not much concerned with who might win or lose a match. Iro took the matter much less lightly than his brother. It was difficult to get past his guard, and he was quick to take advantage of any carelessness—I took a slashing cut across the forearm that might have made me drop my sword if our weapons had been sharp-edged.
I was embarrassed, but I dropped my blade, caught it in my left hand, and pressed the fight hard. Iro was slower to meet me that time, perhaps surprised because I had chosen to acknowledge the hit, or perhaps a little uncomfortable to face an opponent who was suddenly left-handed. I pressed harder still, taking the advantage he gave me.
Then I discovered his hesitation had been a ruse. I might have lost the match in that instant, except that we were using practice blades. When I could not block his unexpectedly aggressive blow, I seized his sword by the blade and jerked hard. But instead of letting himself be pulled forward, Iro let go of his sword’s hilt and leaped back. I threw both blades aside and tackled him bare-handed, making the match into a different kind of contest. Now the advantage was mine, because my greater strength was more important than his superior speed and because I had been practicing Lau wrestling for a long time and knew some things to do bare-handed that he did not.
Even after he knew I had the advantage, he fought hard. When I pinned him in a way that would have made a Lau yield, Iro twisted around and forced himself up so that I had to either let him go or break his elbow. Of course I let go, scrambling to get enough distance that I might be able to gain my feet before he took the chance for a decisive blow. I was surprised when I made it up—I had expected to take at least one blow—and then more surprised to see Iro holding up his hands in the way a man will when he wants to stop a match or a fight. I knew now that he was not a young man who liked to lose a contest. But I caught myself and answered with the same gesture, agreeing to stop.
He said, “If that had been a real fight, you would have won. I should have yielded the match. I will yield it now.” Then he began to kneel, to acknowledge the defeat.
I stopped him with a gesture. “If our blades had been sharp, you would probably have won,” I told him. “I will say no one won or lost if you will say the same.”
He was not certain he liked that. He thought perhaps I was showing a condescending manner. This was plain in the way he looked at me and in the pause before he answered. But he said at last, “I will say the same.”
I did not say good because I knew now he might take any expression of approval from me as an offense to his pride. I merely nodded and went to collect the practice blades. I was not certain I liked him, certainly not as well as I liked his elder brother, but I thought, young or not, Iro was already a warrior to respect. Perhaps Etta’s light heart and quick friendliness were better balanced by a man whose nature was more serious.
We both sat down by the fire again, letting other young men take up the practice weapons. I was not very interested in watching those contests, so when Etta went down to the lake to get water, I jumped up and went with her before Iro could get to his feet.
“I know!” Etta said, the moment we were far enough away from the fire that no one could overhear what we said. “You are not certain you like him. He is too much like you, Ryo, that is why you feel that way.” I stared at her, and she added, “He is more like you were before you were given to the Lau as a tuyo. You always wanted everyone to behave properly. You still want that, but I think you are kinder now. Iro is like you were before: strict with himself and with everyone else. But that severity is why everyone trusts you. Everyone trusts Iro too.”
“I was never so serious as that,” I protested, ignoring the rest of her words, though I knew I would think about them later.
She laughed at me. “Of course you were, Ryo! You still are. Iro is not serious all the time. You intimidate him.”
“I think that is unlikely.”
“I promise you! He hopes for your good regard, but he is afraid you will dislike him. He is used to everyone preferring Rakasa. His brother is a fine warrior and a good man. No one settles hard tempers in a camp better than Rakasa. But Iro is the one who will be lord one day, if no mischance comes to him.”
This surprised me again. “Lord?” I asked her. “Not warleader, after his father?”
“Lord,” she said firmly. “Bara will be warleader.”
“Bara?” His father was no one important, nor his grandfather. That was one reason her suggestion surprised me. Also, the lord of a tribe is usually much older than the warleader; that was another reason. Seldom are the two close in age. At first my sister’s prediction seemed unlikely to me. Both her predictions. But when I thought about the matter more carefully, I could see she might be right. “Rakasa is so easy-tempered,” I said finally. “You think he will step back. Then Iro and Bara will look to him to keep peace between them when they cannot agree, especially because Iro is the younger? Perhaps it might happen that way.”
“If no mischance comes to them and they all live, it will happen exactly that way. Wait and see, Ryo.” Etta looked at me sidelong, smiling. “You may never be friends with Iro, but I think you will respect him. That is more important.”
“I do not dislike him, and I respect him already,” I told her. But I added, “The next time I spar with him, I will win.”
“Perhaps. And perhaps he will surprise you again. He surprised you tonight.”
I smiled at her. “He did.”
We had come to the edge of the lake, picking our steps carefully as we crossed the marshy ground to a rocky place where we could stand to dip up water. Etta filled the waterskins and handed them to me, then took my hand and let
me steady her as she stepped up to drier ground. As we began to make our way back toward the fires, I asked her, “During the most recent Convocation, did you meet the poet from the east?”
She brightened at once. “Oh, yes! Elaro inPorakario.” She rolled the name off her tongue. “He is so interesting, Ryo! He knows many tales no one here has heard before. Raga likes him very much. Everyone likes him. He is easy to like, even for a poet.”
I made a noncommittal sound, and she looked at me a different way, suddenly realizing why I had asked. “Ah. Well, I do not know whether he means to settle here or continue his journey into the west. I did not hear him discuss that decision with anyone.”
“Is he good to look upon?” I asked. That was not a question I would have wanted to ask our mother, but I could ask my sister.
Etta did not laugh at me now. She answered me seriously. “I think many women would probably consider him so. His face is broad and his bones strong. His eyes are set wide and his hair has a little red color to it that I have not seen before. He is quick of wit, but he knows when to hold his tongue. His temper is easy, but he will fight if he is provoked. He has thirty winters, I think. Maybe one or two more than that.”
A man who had come to the prime of his life. I did not like that. I did not like much that Etta told me.
“I think perhaps the elder son of our mother should visit the inKarano before he returns to the summer country,” my sister suggested.
“Yes. Though it seems to me that if I return to the summer country, a woman would have every reason to look elsewhere. A woman should have a husband who comes to her tent more than once in two winters.”
Etta answered me even more seriously. “Perhaps a woman might prefer that. But that is something you should ask her, Ryo, not something you should decide yourself.”
I could not disagree with that. We walked the rest of the way back to the fires without speaking, both of us thinking our own thoughts. Once we came to the camp, I went to the fire where Aras was sitting with Geras and my father and my mother and some of the older people who had ridden out with us—the other inVotaro warrior; a great-uncle of mine, my father’s mother’s brother; and a distant female cousin, one of the oldest women among the inGara, whom everyone respected; and some others.
“Ryo, good,” Geras said, holding a bowl of berry tisane out to me. “We’re telling stories, or trying to; come help me out with my taksu so I don’t make a complete fool of myself.”
The evening was unexpectedly good. Geras told a story from the summer country, about a clever farmer who set himself against a band of bandits. My great-uncle told a story from the time when he was young, concerning the ending of a disagreement between two families through the work of two young women, each a daughter of one of those families. My mother told a story she had learned from the poet from the east, about a boy who, alone in the winter forest with only a sledge and a team of three dogs, outwitted a white tiger and brought home five of its whiskers to give to his five sisters. I had to agree that this was a good tale, cheering with everyone else when the boy snatched the whiskers from the tiger’s jaw and got away.
No one spoke of the Tarashana woman who was a sorcerer, or of anything else unpleasant or worrisome or important.
So the evening was good, and the night pleasant. The day after that, my father and my mother and some other people stayed in that camp, but Aras and I and many of the younger people rode on along the lakeshore until we came to the marshes at the tip of the lake. We set our camp there. We came to the place as the Sun set his foot on the western edge of the world, with just enough time to make ourselves comfortable before his light departed the land of the living.
We stayed at that camp for one full day. We heard wolves, and saw one family that came to the lake to hunt and drink. The wolves knew we were there, for wolves are aware of everything that moves in their territory. The mother wolf came close and watched us carefully. Etta set out a marmot already cleaned for roasting, and the mother wolf took that offering before the wolves disappeared back into the reeds of the bog.
“For luck,” Etta explained to Aras, when he raised an eyebrow. “It is always good when the wolves sing to the Moon and tell her we are generous people.”
I sparred Iro again, twice. He had continued to be very polite to me, but by this time I knew he would set aside every kind of deference when we sparred. The first match, I won. The second, he did. We were very closely matched, and both of us wanted to win. I thought about this, and about my sister saying we were too much alike to be friends. I could not decide whether she was right, but I saw that all the inGeiro people respected Iro. Even warriors with more winters deferred to him.
For the first time, I realized that I sometimes expected older warriors to defer to me, and that they usually did. For the first time in many days, I thought of how I had told the warriors pursuing Tano that I wanted to take the decision regarding his fate on myself. I had known they would agree, even though they were all older than I. At the time, I had not even found that surprising.
I did not ask Aras whether he thought Iro and I were alike.
-14-
The next day, we rode back around the marshes. My father and my mother had already ridden back toward the mountains. No one else had accompanied them; everyone was busy making this camp into a more comfortable place where everyone could live for a longer time. The people who were making the bigger camp wanted us to stop and talk to them, but I was impatient—we were all impatient. Now that we had better reason to believe the woman was not evil, everyone wanted to understand her story.
So we set a brisk pace, declining to halt for more than the briefest moment. No one disagreed—or rather, those who were traveling north all agreed. Etta would come all the way, of course; she would never choose to stay back when she could go forward. Iro would come if Etta did; no one had to say so. But the tasks necessary to arrange the larger camp would take many hands, and besides, many people did not want to go near a woman they now knew was a sorcerer—and hesitated to stay near Aras as well. So in the end, only a small group continued toward the mountains: Aras and Geras, my sister and Iro, and I.
So small a group could ride fast. We pressed our pace, passing more wagons that were making their way along the lakeshore, and finally came up with my father and my mother midway through the afternoon. My father nodded a welcome as we came to ride with them, showing us a palm-up gesture to say no one needed to greet him formally. Aras nudged his pony, going to ride beside my father. Geras followed him, and Etta drew her pony in beside our mother. This left me suddenly riding beside Iro, with no one else too near.
I said after some time, “Etta thinks you will someday be the lord of the inGeiro.”
He kept his gaze directed to the land before and around us. “No one but the gods can know what the coming years hold. But if no mischance comes to me, then it may happen in that way.”
“Perhaps it may,” I agreed. “In your judgment, who was most at fault for the problem that came between the inGara and the inTasiyo?”
This time Iro glanced at me. Then he turned his gaze forward again. “Everyone was at fault. Yaro inTasiyo was most at fault, but the problem only became so serious because no one behaved as they should.”
“No one?” I said. “Was Tasig at fault?”
“Your father’s wife should have killed Yaro herself—but if she could not, then she should have laid the charge before Doroya inKarano at once, before Sinowa inGara could go after the man who had offended her. If the king had ruled on the matter quickly and firmly, that would have ended the problem before it could become so serious. I mean no offense when I set some of the blame against your father’s wife.”
“I take no offense. But perhaps she knew Doroya would not rule against the inTasiyo. They are a strong tribe now, but they were even stronger then.”
This time, Iro’s tone was a little impatient. “If the king would not find out the truth and rule properly, that would have showed everyone
he did not have the strength of will to be king. Then someone else would have taken his place and ruled properly.”
I nodded. He was right. I asked, “And my father? Was he at fault?”
“So seriously at fault, he is fortunate that the lord of the inGara did not put him to death for his actions.” Now Iro looked at me directly. “I mean no offense, Ryo. I think you ask me these questions because you want to see whether I will answer honestly even though my answers might offend you and because you want to see whether my judgment agrees with your own. If I have misunderstood you completely, then I ask your pardon.”
“I take no offense,” I told him. He was right about everything. I could not say so, as that might be taken as disrespectful of my father. But, as I had pushed him hard, I said, “You may ask me something if you wish. I will set offense aside.”
That was an invitation I knew he would not decline. Nor did he. He took his time to consider what he might ask. Finally he said, “You spared the life of an inTasiyo, a young warrior who was the son of a man who had bitterly offended your father and his first wife and all the inGara people. You did more than that: you took this young man into your honor. Was that decision just, or was it too generous to be just?”
I was amused despite myself. It was the sort of question my younger brother might have asked me—or my younger sister. “My decision was generous, but whether it was too generous, I do not yet know. In days and years to come, I may know that. If I had chosen otherwise, neither I nor anyone else would ever know. If my decision was not too generous, then it was just.”
Iro glanced at me sidelong. “You answer like a poet.”
“You disagree?”
“In days and years to come, I may find I have an opinion.”
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