That answer was not calculated to please me. Nothing Iro had said in this conversation had been calculated to please anyone. I was coming to understand why my sister favored this young man. We rode side by side for a little while, not speaking, but not in hard temper with each other. Before either of us spoke again on an easier subject, my father turned in his saddle and called my name.
I nudged my pony, and everyone came together in a tight group so we could all speak easily. My father said, “We have passed no one coming south for more than four hands of time.”
For a long moment, everyone stared at him, except Aras, who had known what observation my father meant to make.
I had noticed nothing, but this was true. For some time we had passed people often, and then a little less often, but for at least four hands of time, we had seen no one at all.
My father said, “By this time, Gekora and his wife and the slowest wagons of our people should have passed us.” He named other people we should have seen, but had not. My mother explained to Aras, who would not understand everything that my father meant. “The number of people we should have met and have not is something close to forty and forty and forty. Perhaps soon we will see them. But a broken wheel or something of that kind would not delay so many wagons.”
“I understand,” Aras said quietly. “I hope I do not offend when I say that I can find no one on this path before us. Although I would not be able to see their thoughts clearly over a long distance, if I am looking hard, I should be able to tell someone is there from at least ten bowshots away—twice that, sometimes.”
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then my father looked up at the distance the Sun stood above the western edge of the world, looked around at the land to judge our exact location, and said, “We will go on more quickly.”
We had meant to ride just fast enough to come to the site of the deserted camp by evening. We could speak to Garoyo and the others, rest through the night, and go up again to see the avila woman at dawn. Now we pressed our ponies harder, cantering where the path was good and trotting where the ground became rougher. Aras caught my look during one of the times we drew the ponies down to a trot. He shook his head, meaning he still saw no one before us. I called to him, “How near would we have to come to him before you could see Suyet?”
He shook his head again. “You’re right, Ryo,” he answered. “I should probably be able to find Suyet’s mind by this time, even if I couldn’t find anyone else. But I don’t see him.”
They were all dead. That was my thought. Any moment we would smell the copper-and-bowel odor of death, and then we would find our people tumbled along the path, the wagons overturned or wrecked, the animals gone or dead ... the terror of that thought came to me so fiercely I could hardly press it aside, even though I could not see how such a thing could happen. No enemy should be able to kill so many Ugaro, so quickly that no one escaped. But I could not put the idea out of my mind.
Still, as far as we rode, we came upon no dead inGara. But we began to pass riderless ponies. A handful at first, and then more, nearly all saddled, but wandering off the path, to places where the grass was better. Some lifted their heads to watch us. A few followed, as ponies will when they see other ponies moving decisively. I exchanged a look with Iro. Neither of us said anything. There seemed as yet nothing to say.
Then we began to pass wagons, one and then another and a third. There were no people with those wagons. The ponies were still harnessed, but no one guided them, so they had turned aside to graze near the lake, where the grass was good.
Still without a word, Iro and I went to free the ponies from their harness and turn them loose. Then we cantered to come up again to the others, who had not waited, but had gone on more slowly. No one discussed the kinds of things that might have happened. Plainly no reasonable explanation could explain what we had found. Finding our people dead, killed by enemies, would have been worse than this. But at least that would have been something anyone could understand.
The rough foothills of the great mountains stretched off toward the high steppe on one side of the path and the placid lake to the other, the water ruffled by the breeze that came from the heights as evening approached. The red light of the lowering Sun tinted the pale stone and ice of the mountains and the waters of the lake in colors that would have seemed like fire on an ordinary evening, but now looked like blood. We came to the place where our camp had been. Nothing was there except the debris that any camp leaves behind when it moves, and a few abandoned tents, and a handful of wagons, equally abandoned.
No one suggested we halt there. We rode on toward the place where we had left the Tarashana sorcerer. Impatient as we all were to come to that place, my father set a more cautious pace, signaling my mother and sister to drop back to the rear of our small group, Iro to stay with them; signing for me to come up to support him.
We came to the small campsite where the Tarashana sorcerer’s wagon stood, and that wagon was still there. No harm had come to it; no violence had touched this place. She knelt on the rug in front of her wagon, waiting for us. She appeared exactly as small and harmless as ever, but this time, as little of the Sun’s light lingered in the sky, we could see how her pale skin and her white hair glimmered softly, the patterns drawn on her face and arm and hand stark and vivid against that luminescence. The three spirals on her cheek had become as dark as the midnight sky; the circles and dots set around and among the spirals gleamed bright and dark by turns as she turned her head to look at us. Her eyes were not pale now, but the color of dark storm clouds.
No one else was anywhere in sight.
Then, as we rode toward her, Inhejeriel held up her left hand, the back of her hand toward us, the elegant tracery of lines on the back of her hand and her fingers gleaming in the light. The gesture forbade approach as clearly as though she had called out aloud.
My father lifted his own hand, commanding everyone to stop. He jerked his pony to a halt so abruptly that the animal half reared and then jigged sideways in protest. All the ponies were confused, edgy, angry; our fast pace and tension made them think we faced battle. They wanted to run forward and trample an enemy. If my father had relaxed his hold, his mare would certainly have tried to trample the Tarashana woman. I am sure we were all as confused and angry as our beasts.
Inhejeriel said, Great lord, great lord, listen to me. Your people can be remembered, they can be redeemed. Help me redeem my own people and I will also sing the names of your people so that all will be remembered by the world. All, all, great lord, I will redeem all your people, only you must help me or they will be lost, desolate, forever lost in the dark.
Every word carried a clear sense of her resolve. Nothing she said came with a feeling of malice, but it seemed to me there might be a thread of triumph behind the determination.
My father stared at her. Then he said to Aras, not to her, “She did this to make us help her.”
“I think that is why she let it happen,” Aras answered. He had not let his pony past my father’s animal, but now he dismounted, tossing his reins to Geras. Then Aras walked forward, faced the Tarashana sorcerer, and said, “If you want our help, if you want to live through another dozen breaths, you had better tell us everything. What has happened here? Where are our people? What is it you want, and what is it you promise, and why should we believe any promise you make or anything you say?”
For Aras to put himself forward and treat with an enemy without asking permission was extraordinarily presumptuous, but my father said nothing. He dismounted too, giving his reins to me. His mare tried to bite, swinging her haunches around, threatening to kick. I slid down from my saddle, and took a hard grip on the reins of both animals, directly under the jaw, so they would be quiet. My father strode forward and stood behind Aras. He had drawn his sword. One did not have to be a sorcerer to understand that he was considering using that blade right now, regardless of anything else.
The Tarashana woman spoke quickly, as Aras
had advised her. It is the tide that took them, the black tide. The Saa’arii, the people of the sunless sea, they want all our lands, the starlit lands, the winter lands, all the lands of the world, they want to take all our lands for their own. They came against us, they withdrew, they came again, they sent the black tide to drown my people, my beautiful people, all my people. We could not stop them, we did not stop them, we did not understand and then it was too late. Great lord, your people were lost to the same tide, the shadow of the black tide carried them into the earth, below the earth, into the dark.
My father stared at her. He asked finally, his tone unreadable, “Do you claim your enemies cast my people into the land of the shades below the earth? Is this what you say?”
The land of the shades, the place below the earth, yes, lord, that is so, but not to the place they should go. Your people are lost, they are lost, but I will be their remembrance, I can redeem them! If you will not help me, they will be lost forever. But help me come to the place, the high place below the world, the place below and above, the place from which I may sing to the stars and be heard and answered. Help me and I will sing the names of your people as well as those of my people, I promise it, I swear it, I will remember all your people, every one of them, all the lost, only help me and they will be gathered and found and remembered and redeemed.
Determination underlay every word. Determination and triumph—she thought she would win this contest with my father—but beneath that, exhaustion and fear and desperate hope.
My father said in a harsh tone, “These people of the sunless sea, these people whom we do not know, these people who are your enemies, these Saa’arii defeated your people.” As before, he did not attempt the trill, but substituted a tiny pause in that place in the name. He went on. “Now you have made those people into our enemies as well, because you wish our help so that you may go into the land of the shades and there in some manner redeem your people—”
All, all our people, all our beautiful people, Inhejeriel broke in. All the lost, all the desolate lost, all those lost in the dark tide, yours as well as mine. Yes, everything is as you say, but only help me, great lord, and I swear, I promise, I will be the remembrance of all your people as well as all of mine, I will redeem them all, every one of them, all the lost. If I die, all our people will be scattered into the dark, forever drowned in the black tide. I must travel the way that leads below the earth, I must go to the place below and above. Help me, great lord, and I promise, before every one of the uncountable stars, that I will redeem all the lost, I will remember all, all the desolate lost, yours as well as mine.
“She speaks the truth,” Aras said quietly. “So far as I can tell, lord, but I think I would know if she said anything she believed false.” He added, his tone rising a little, “Lord, do I understand correctly that your people know a reliable way to enter the land of the shades?”
My father made an impatient gesture. “The paths of the dead lie through the oldest tombs, where the taiGara have come and gone for age after age. Anyone can pass through those tombs into the land of the shades, but seldom indeed does anyone return that way.” He glowered at the Tarashana sorcerer. “Do you claim that you know a way for the dead to return to the land of the living? The land of the shades is different for every people. Do you claim to know a way for my people as well as yours to return? How should this be so?”
Lord, great lord, your people are not dead, they are not shades, they are lost, lost, lost in the dark. All our people are lost, but they can be redeemed! I can remember them, I can sing their names to the stars and the stars can sing their names back to the world so that the world will remember them—
Aras held up a hand, checking her, compelling everyone's attention. He said, his tone incredulous, “Show me that thought again.” Then he paused. They looked at one another, the tall Lau sorcerer we had all learned to trust and the tiny Tarashana sorcerer no one trusted at all.
After a little while, Aras turned to my father. “Lord,” he said, his voice carefully level, “This woman believes that all these people have been cast into a place, or a ... a state of being that is out of the sight of the gods. I do not know that this is true. But I think she believes it is true.”
Everyone looked at Aras. No one said anything. Certainly I could not think of anything sensible to say in response to this idea.
Inhejeriel said, They have learned such power. This is true. This is all true. The Saa'arii have learned by their arts to raise up the dark sea. They wish to drown the earth and the sky and call up the starless sea to cover everything and rule everywhere. That is what they wish. Please, you must help me. If you help me come to the place below the world and above the sky, to this place where the world touches the sky, I will make the world remember my people, your people, all our beautiful people. I know the way to do it. I promise, I promise I will do it. Then my people will press all the sea back into the place where the waters should lie and the stars will remind the earth where it should stand and all our people will be remembered by the world. I take every oath all I say is true.
There was another pause, shorter this time. My mother said, her manner quiet, “This woman must know as well as we do that the gods despise oathbreakers. Perhaps she speaks the truth.”
“To redeem her people, she would lie and lie again,” my father snapped. “Look what she has done already! She deceived us by means of her silence. She brought her enemy here—invited her enemy here, let this enemy come against our people—”
I need your help, Inhejeriel said, her silent voice like a cry. Yes, yes, lord; I would say anything, I would do anything. Yes, I let your singers go away so the dark tide would flood through the pass to find me and drown your people so you would have reason to help me. Yes, yes, that is all true. But if you help me, I will remember all your people for you and for the world! I do not need to lie about this. Even if I wished to deceive you now, I could not. This Lau sorcerer would know.
“I think I would know if she lied directly,” murmured Aras. “I am certain of it. But if she again deceives us with silence, I might not see that.”
The woman held up her hands in the manner of a person asking for mercy. I will remember your people for you, I will make the world remember them. I promise I will sing them first of all, even before my own people. Only you must help me. My enemies, our enemies, the enemies of my people, our people, they hunt me, they will drown me if they can, and then everyone will be lost, all our people, no one will show the world how to remember them, they will be lost forever. Please help me.
For a long moment, my father only glowered at her. He had not sheathed his sword, and still did not. But I knew that if he had intended to cut down the Tarashana sorcerer, he would have done it already.
I said, not addressing my father but as though I spoke to no one, “If our people have been cast into some dark shadow out of the sight of the gods, then these enemies of the avila have made themselves our enemies. If these Saa'arii have set themselves against all other people as this sorcerer claims, then someone should help her, faithless as she has shown herself to be.” Then I asked Inhejeriel, “What help do you require? The knowledge of an Ugaro to lead you through the land of the shades? If you must go into the part of the land of the shades known to my people, then I know many tales of that place. If you require the strength of an Ugaro to protect you from the perils of that place, I have that strength—”
“My son, be quiet,” my father ordered me.
I faced him. “Two other sons of yours are lost in this black tide, lord, and many more of our people. You cannot take on this task; you must see to broader concerns for all our people. If this Tarashana sorcerer must have a guide and a protector, I will be that guide and that protector.”
Before our father could answer me, my sister said quickly, “Ryo knows some of the tales, but I know all of them!”
Our mother began, “My daughter—”
“They are my brothers too!” Etta cried. “These are
all my people! What if our people are neither inGara nor taiGara, but lost to both the land of the living and the land of the shades? Is that not what this Tarashana sorcerer said of them? I think she said that!”
“I think that too,” my mother answered quietly. “I think she promises that she can return all our people to this side of the tombs, but I am not certain anyone would be wise to trust any promise she makes.”
“I am perfectly certain this would not be wise,” my father said darkly. He turned his sword so that the light that surrounded the Tarashana woman slid along the blade. His expression as he studied her was not reassuring.
“Yes, Father,” my sister agreed. “But—”
Iro interrupted her. “Forgive me for putting myself forward, lord. No one has yet asked whether anyone who accompanies this sorcerer as she asks may be redeemed in the way she promises for those taken by her enemy. I think that may be a different question. But whatever the answer may be, if Etta inGara goes into the land of the shades, I will go.” He added to my mother, “I know you will explain everything to my mother.”
“If my daughter takes those paths, you may go with her, and I will explain to Lutra inGeiro the way in which all these things happened,” my mother agreed. “I know my son would be glad of another warrior to stand at his shoulder.”
I looked measuringly at Iro and found him studying me. He dropped his eyes quickly. I thought if we both took on this task, we would probably both have to make an effort not to quarrel. Even so, I thought he would be a good man to have at my back in any serious undertaking.
My mother had returned her attention to Inhejeriel. “If you must have our help, then make your meaning clear,” she commanded the Tarashana woman. “Do you say you can bring all our people, all your people, from this dark place and return them to the land of the living? Or do you say you can help all those who had been lost go to the land of the shades, but properly, so that your own people go to their stars and ours come into the light of our Moon? Or do you mean something else?”
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