Tarashana

by Rachel Neumeier

  My father glanced up. “Five, not six,” he said abruptly. “Let the Tarashana woman depend on the generosity of another person for every bite of food she eats.”

  I paused. Then I began to reorder the sticks into five portions.

  Aras said quietly, “I do not know much about the part of the land of the shades where your people go. I suppose there is nothing for a living person to eat there.”

  My father, though he frowned, gestured to Etta that she should answer. He returned his gaze to the fire, but my sister said, her tone subdued—for her—“Perhaps it is not the same for Lau, but our tales explain that a living person must not eat or drink anything gathered or offered within the land of the shades. Eating so much as one berry means the person will not be able to return to the land of the living.”

  “There are other dangers,” I added. “The unquiet dead, those whose skulls have not been placed within the tombs of their own people, may try to steal the life from a living person. They may try to do this even though the lives they take are not theirs and do not content them. Some of them try to come through the paths of the dead. The taiGara prevent them; every tomb is guarded by the settled dead of those people. But if a living person goes into the land of the shades, then he must be very careful not to fall prey to these unquiet spirits.”

  Etta nodded. She said, “Also, the land of the shades confuses the eyes and minds of living people. That danger may be less for us than for most living people, because Aras should be able to stop anyone from straying, or find anyone who strays.”

  Aras inclined his head. “I certainly hope I will be able to do that. I cannot be certain. No Lau sorcerer has ever returned from the land of the shades to explain whether his sorcery became confused there.”

  I asked him, “Have any Lau returned to say anything? What do your people say regarding the land of the shades?”

  He did not answer at once. Finally he said, “We consider too much speculation presumptuous. Still, I can say a little. I think I should say a little.” He glanced at Geras, who dropped his gaze but did not protest, and then looked around at all of us.

  Finally he went on. “We believe that it is the proper task of any shade to find his—or her—way to a ... a place of judgment. If a person refuses that task and turns back toward the land of the living, he will be trapped in the place where his bones lie. That is why the land near an ossuary is never farmed and why no one builds too near one: the fear and resentment of trapped shades is bad for the living.”

  This sounded like the problems that may be caused by unsettled shades, in a way. Except those shades have no place and wander, while, from what Aras said, the shades of Lau people too cowardly to go where they should were unable to leave the place near the ossuary. Now I understood much better why the Lau did not like to go near those places. I had thought a Lau ossuary to be a place much like an Ugaro tomb, but they were not the same at all.

  Aras went on. “A shade should not linger near the land of the living. It is better if that person submits to judgment as he should, though the way to the place of judgment may be long and difficult and the judgment itself is .... not without risk. When the shade comes to that place, every act of his life is weighed and measured. If the gods judge him kindly, he may pass beyond the land of the shades to a different place, a place where the light of the Sun is eternal. If otherwise, he may be cast away from the light into the dark and be lost forever.” He stopped.

  Geras was looking at him. He said after a moment, in darau, his tone uneasy, “No matter what that Tarashana girl said, they couldn’t do anything like that, those Saa- whatever. Throw people into the dark like that, I mean, my lord. That’d be dead against the will of the gods.” He rubbed his face and said in his halting taksu, “The gods would despise people who ... who made this happen.”

  Aras nodded, but he said, “The people of the sunless sea may not even recognize the gods; their sky is utterly dark, apparently. Still, I could hope that isn't actually what's been happening.” He shifted back to taksu, “Is one time better than another, to take the paths of the dead?”

  “The worst time is any time when you are tired and hungry,” my mother said calmly. She began to fill bowls and hand them to Etta to pass to everyone else.

  The food was good, but my stomach was tight and I had little appetite. I ate anyway. Everyone ate well because everyone thought of a time soon to come when we might have nothing to eat. Then everyone lay down in the common tent, the Lau in the middle where it was warmest. I do not know if anyone slept. I did not, except a very little, near dawn.

  The path to the highest tombs of Talal Soka was too steep for ponies. We would have to carry all our water and food. Weapons. Coils of thin rope. Steel spikes and a hammer—very heavy, but if we had to climb any steep cliff, we would need those tools. Dried dung for fuel, wrapped in its woven mat. Blankets. We Ugaro would do without, to make room in our packs for more important things, but the Lau would need blankets, and no doubt Inhejeriel as well.

  I made two of the packs much heavier than the others. I gave one of those to Iro and took the other myself. He shouldered his without comment, nodding as he judged the weight. Geras picked up the pack I meant for him, pursed his lips, then added two more waterskins. I said nothing. He was too experienced a man to mistake his own strength.

  When we were ready, everyone but my mother walked up the path to the place where Inhejeriel waited. My mother had already taken up her own burden: to wait, and watch the mountains and the northern pass. She would write to Lutra inGeiro and Darra inKarano and to the wife of Hokino inKera and to many other important women of other tribes, explaining what had happened. She would write to the Soretes Aman Shavet, king of the summer country. She would tell him everything. I could hardly imagine how he would receive that letter.

  Then we came to the little camp where Inhejeriel waited, and I set these broader thoughts aside.

  The Tarashana sorcerer stood waiting for us with her head raised, gazing up at the sky, her expression calm and resolute. Her back was straight, her hands taut. The spirals and circles and all the delicate tracery of lines on her face and her left hand gleamed every shade of blue and silver.

  I looked past her, up the long slope of Talal Soka, toward the high tombs, set into stone barely below the sky. But then I could not help but turn one more time to look at my father.

  “Listen to your sister, my son,” he said to me. And then to Etta, “My daughter, listen to your brother and regard his advice. A warrior should not give orders to a singer, but a very young singer should remember her brother is six winters her elder and might have decided to be a poet.”

  “Yes, Father,” Etta said at once. “I know! I will obey Ryo unless I am very, very certain that something is a matter for a singer to decide.”

  Our father nodded to her. Then he said sternly, “Iro inGeiro, I am certain you agree this is not the time to quarrel.”

  Iro bowed his head and answered, “I do agree, lord.” Turning to me, he said, “I will respect your orders, Ryo, and I will not quarrel.”

  That was an important promise, and one I knew had not been easy for him to give. I nodded acknowledgment.

  “Go, my son,” my father told me, his tone flat and hard. “Go, and be certain no Gara person is left desolate in some place that is right neither for the living nor the dead. Go, and punish our enemies. Then return.”

  “Lord,” I acknowledged.

  Aras put in, quietly, “I will do everything I can to see that all your people return safely to this side of the tombs, Sinowa.”

  “Yes,” said my father, meeting his eyes. “I know you will. My wife will send word of your courage to your king, and to mine.”

  Aras bowed his head for a moment, and then turned away, tilting his head back to gaze up toward the heights. Some of the tombs of the inGara were visible, carved into the stone over the ages of the world by the labor of many hands and the requests of many singers.

  “Yes,” I told him. “
That is the way we will go. It is a long climb to the oldest tombs. We will not come there today, but tomorrow.”

  At first the slope was not too steep. Sparse grasses clung here and there, where a little soil had gathered. Soon, as the path steepened, turning back and forth across the face of the mountain, there were no places like that and the only growing things were lichens, flat and silvery against the gray stone. In many places, the stone had been carved into shallow steps. Etta set the pace as she found comfortable. The Tarashana woman was almost exactly my sister’s height, and though far less sturdy, she also carried less weight and showed no signs of difficulty. With their long legs, the Lau undoubtedly found the pace very easy indeed.

  After some time, the path turned again and we began to pass by the lowest of the tombs. Each head stood upright in its own niche, those dead most recently set nearest the front so that they could look over our lands and see their children. Etta touched her fingertips to her mouth in a gesture of greeting to any taiGara who might be present. I did the same, and Iro as well.

  We climbed for a long time, pausing now and then to rest. Everyone managed well enough, even Inhejeriel, though anyone could see she would not be able to climb all day. Eventually I signaled a halt. Clouds, thickening all day, had by this time turned the sky the color of pewter from one edge of the world to the other. Inhejeriel’s luminescence had gradually became more evident as the daylight dulled, so that now she glimmered with gentle light. This was beautiful, but disconcerting. I thought it would be a long time before I became accustomed. But that was not what concerned me now.

  The mountain blocked most of the wind, but gusts came sideways along the face of the cliffs. The wind was colder here than at the foot of the mountain. I found it merely brisk, but Inhejeriel and Aras and Geras had laced their coats tightly and bowed their heads against the wind. And the clouds were darkening, heavy with the promise of rain.

  “Etta,” I said, and indicated a tomb some distance above us. “Go ahead of us and ask the taiGara for permission to rest there.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. She looked at Aras, who was pretending he was not tired or cold, and at Geras, who was also pretending that, somewhat more successfully. Then she looked at Inhejeriel, who was not managing that kind of pretense. The Tarashana woman stood with her head bent and her arms tucked close to her body. She was shivering, perhaps with cold or perhaps with weariness. Her breaths came fast and hard, though she had not been carrying anything at all. “Yes,” Etta said again, her tone different this time because she saw I was right. She turned and scrambled upward, moving quickly.

  “Seriously, Ryo? We’re supposed to rest in an ossuary?” Geras said to me in darau, his voice low.

  “It is not an ossuary,” I told him. “I know you cannot like entering one of our tombs. I know everything is different for you Lau. For a long time, all your customs troubled me very much. I understand our customs must seem wrong to you now, but I promise you, there is no danger here. The taiGara are our people. Besides, there is no place to rest in these heights except within a tomb. Also, I think rain may come soon.”

  Inhejeriel leaned against the face of the cliff, weary enough to rest anywhere, but Aras had turned to gaze down and down the long way we had come. I could see from the set of his back that he did not like the idea of going into a tomb any better than Geras. He did not turn, but he said, “It’s true this path wouldn’t be improved by rain.”

  “Well,” Geras said. “No. That’s a point.” But his expression when he looked after my sister was unhappy.

  I said, still in darau, “This is not a bad place, not unlucky, not dangerous. Please, Geras, do not be concerned. We can make a fire and heat water for a tisane. We will be comfortable there.”

  “Right,” Geras said. “Comfortable.”

  “Of course you’re right, Ryo,” Aras said, turning suddenly. He was smiling, a wry expression. “Very well; a tomb it shall be.” He used the Ugaro word, not the Lau ossuary, and went on. “I’m sure we’d all welcome something hot to drink.”

  “Yes,” I said, and nodded to Inhejeriel to go in front of me. She climbed fast at first, to show she could, but soon slowed. I picked her up and carried her the last small distance. She turned into me like a child, putting her arm around my neck, and tucking her head against my chest.

  When we came to the tomb, Etta beckoned, so I went in without hesitation. I set Inhejeriel down in the center of the open space. She clung to my arm, looking around, her eyes wide and pale. Her own radiance showed much more brightly in this dim place, sliding over the bone and catching in the eye sockets of the many skulls set in their niches all around us. All those skulls looked upon the center of their tomb, and beyond the tomb, out to the sky. It seemed to me I felt the taiGara looking at us from the empty eyes of those skulls, though I knew this was foolish. Any of the taiGara who might be here would certainly have come forward to look carefully at those who had come here, not stayed back along the walls.

  I set a hand on Inhejeriel’s fragile shoulder. “You are safe here. Any guest of inGara is safe here.”

  Yes, her silent voice whispered, and she moved a faltering step to sink down by the fire Etta had already started.

  This was a big tomb, so deep five men could have lain down head to foot. The space was almost as broad as it was deep. Certainly there was plenty of space for us. I said, “Come in out of the wind,” because Aras and Geras were both hesitating at the entrance.

  Iro brushed past the Lau, glanced around, knelt, and bowed low. “I am Iro inGeiro,” he said. “I ask shelter of the taiGara.” This was all he needed to say because of course inGeiro were welcome in any inGara tomb. After a respectful pause, he stood up, came forward, and settled beside Etta.

  “Tell them your names and that you came to inGara lands as friends,” I said to the Lau.

  Aras set his hand on Geras’ arm. “Spending the night here will be a most unique experience for both of us.” Then he stepped into the tomb and knelt, Geras a heartbeat behind him. They gave their names, and Aras said out loud, “We entered inGara land with permission, because we were requested to come by Marag inGara and Lutra inGeiro. We are friends of both peoples.”

  “Perfect!” Etta told him. “That is appropriate and respectful. Come to the fire. It will not be very warm, but soon there will be something hot to drink and that will help. Ryo, it may rain anyway, but should I ask? I think it would be better to ask than wait. If the clouds open now, the rain will fall and then the clouds pass on, so the morning will be fair.”

  I agreed with all this. “Ask,” I told her. “Geras, please pour water from the skins into our bowls, then bring the waterskins to the entrance of the tomb. Iro—”

  “Yes,” he said.

  We both left the tomb and began to stretch out the oiled skins with which we might catch rain and direct it into our waterskins. Etta went a little way up the path to find the quiet solitude that is best for singing. She pulled off her dress as she went, bundling it up so the cloth and leather would not get soaked through in the rain. Iro and I took off our shirts and put them in the tomb where they would stay dry. After a short time, Etta began to sing, her voice as pure and clean as the stone of the mountains, as the wind, as the sky itself. I paused to listen.

  High above, lightning flashed. A breath later, thunder boomed.

  “We will certainly have plenty of rain,” Iro said. He had straightened. He stood gazing up the mountain, the way Etta had gone. He was not smiling. The expression on his face was proud and possessive. He was sure of her, then, and he had forgotten that to show such a thing to me might be taken as presumptuous. I said nothing.

  The skies parted, and the rain came, a violent downpour. Iro went to help Etta come down from the high place she had chosen. I let him go, bending to the task of filling every waterskin to bursting.

  Before long, there was indeed a hot tisane. Aras made it, as Etta was vague and absent. It will take a singer some time to recover when the gods bend low abo
ve her to listen to her song. Aras took a handful of dried mint and some dried berries and crystalized honey and made the tisane sweet, as he preferred it. Iro silently passed journey sticks to everyone. No one complained, though the sticks were not much like the hard cracker the Lau carry when they do not have time to buy or prepare other food.

  Outside the tomb, the rain fell hard. The lightning had walked away, east and south, so now the thunder was far in the distance. Inhejeriel fell asleep with half a journey stick in her hand, her head pillowed on one of the packs. Geras stood up, gathered up a blanket and settled it over her, turned back toward the fire and realized I was looking at him. He shrugged. “She’s a little thing,” he said in darau. “I know she’s a sorcerer, I know she’s got all kinds of pull, but she’s still little and exhausted. Six, seven hours climbing way up this mountain’d wear anybody out, never mind a little thing like that.” He looked over at Aras. “She’s not got me, right?”

  “You’re fairly resistant to her sorcery, Geras,” Aras promised him. I knew he meant his own sorcery protected Geras, protected us all, but he did not say that.

  I did not say it either. Looking at Iro, I said, “Probably we have no need to set watches for this night. But I would prefer to set watches even if this is unnecessary.”

  Iro answered at once, “Yes, Ryo, I agree.” He spoke so quickly that I suspected he had probably been trying to decide whether he should offer that opinion. He went on. “I would be pleased to take the first watch. You could take the second, and the—and Geras the third, if you agree.”

  I began to agree, but Aras said, in his mildest tone, “I will take a watch. I will take the last watch.”

  “My lord, you don’t need to—” Geras began.

  “I don’t mind, Geras. In fact, I would prefer to.”

  Geras sighed. “All right, fine.” He added to me, “Third and fourth are fine with me, Ryo. We don’t expect trouble up here, surely?”

  “We do not,” I agreed. “The taiGara will prevent any dangerous thing from coming to this place from the land of the shades, and the white leopards that hunt in these mountains are not likely to come where they smell fire and men. Still, the rain muffles all sound, so the person on watch should remain alert. We may choose to go on as soon as there is light to see. Whoever is on watch when the skies clear should wake me. Everyone who is not on watch should sleep now, while we can. Rest, if you cannot sleep.”