— the roaring storm of the shiral crashed upon us, tearing us all away from the earth, shredding every shadow and hurling the rest of us violently into the sky.
-19-
Rightly is the shiral called the whip of the gods. This time, the blow was so unexpected and fell so hard, it seemed to shatter the whole world. Tano clung to me, and I wrapped an arm around him, but we were torn apart almost at once. I tumbled, curling myself into a ball, expecting any moment to smash into stone, but the rain had followed the wind, so violently that if some other blow struck me, I could not tell it.
Then the storm was past, rushing away into the distance, the cessation of violence almost more shocking than its arrival. I was lying on the ground, on some surface, clenched tight in a knot, my face against my knees. My ears were ringing with the stunning silence the shiral leaves in its wake. Uncurling myself, I staggered to my feet, as stiff as though I had been beaten all over with clubs, but I could stand. I still held my sword, somehow. I had tucked myself tight around the weapon. I was lucky I had not cut myself badly. I would have been wiser to throw the sword away when the storm struck, but now I was glad I had not lost it and brought the blade up to a guard position, looking quickly all around the place where I stood.
But I found no enemy to face. The shadow enemies, the strange Saa'arii warriors, were gone, destroyed or scattered by the storm.
Tano was gone as well, which I had known. I did not see anyone, nor anything I recognized. I stood now in a valley meadow, with only a little snow lying here and there across the grasses. It might have been the valley where we had rested, except there was no waterfall or stream, and when I looked again, I saw this valley was wider. On all sides, mountains reared to the sky, pale stone streaked with milky ice. If one of those mountains was Talal Sabero, I could not tell it.
Now that the shiral wind had passed, the sky was clear, luminous with moonlight and starlight. The Moon, still enormous and very bright, had finally shifted her place in the sky. She had come down at least a handbreadth, but I could not tell whether she had stepped toward the west or the north or the east. I could tell nothing about where I stood in the world. I was completely lost.
I began to turn in a circle, meaning to look as carefully as I could until I saw something, some shape of stone against the sky, the ugly smear of the shadow of the Saa’arii tide, anything at all that might look familiar. But when I moved, I realized I felt a sharp pain. I looked down. My shirt was slashed to bloody ribbons across my stomach. I had hardly felt the injury until that moment, but of course I felt the pain far more vividly as soon as I saw the blood, as one will. The injury felt serious enough now. I pulled off my shirt to look. Three narrow slices across my stomach told me which blow I had failed to evade. I was very much annoyed with myself. I had thought I had leapt back fast enough, but plainly the shadow warrior had been faster than I had realized.
The wounds were awkward to examine. But I gathered a handful of snow to clean the blood away and slow the bleeding that continued—not much blood, so that was good. I used my fingertips to assess the cuts, trying to judge how deep they were. The snow helped the pain, but not very much. I set the pain out of my mind. The injuries were not too deep. The weapon had not cut through all the fat and muscle into the gut. But if I had had thread, I would have taken time to close at least the lowest of the wounds. That one was deep enough that it might be dangerous if I had to fight again.
I did not have thread, nor a needle, nor any other supplies. Almost everything had been in the remaining packs. I did not even have one waterskin. That had been inexcusable carelessness. I should have carried one separately from the pack. I should have made sure everyone took that precaution. I deserved to suffer thirst now.
I cut my shirt into a long strip of cloth and used that to bandage the wounds as well as I could, pressing the edges together. That was not the best way to manage injuries of that kind, but there was nothing else I could do.
As I finished that task, and straightened carefully, a different feeling came to me, past and through and around all my various physical discomforts. I turned my head, then turned further, to gaze upward as well as away.
I knew where Aras was.
It was the tie. Of course it was the tie. I had never felt it before; he had never had reason to use that tie in such a way, not with me. But the feeling was unmistakable. He was alive. I was alive, and Aras was alive. A great sense of relief filled me. I knew he was not close, but now I knew which direction was right, and that if I walked long enough, I would come to him eventually.
I was very glad to know Aras lived. Perhaps everyone lived ... or at least Inhejeriel and Etta, who had been behind him, close to the cliff face, when the shiral struck. They might all be perfectly well, and together. I clung to that thought.
Obviously the gods had already been extraordinarily generous. They had sent the shiral at once in answer to my sister’s request for help. Seldom indeed do the gods answer a singer so quickly. Not only had they struck with their whip, they had shifted the world beneath me to bring me to this safe place. That was obvious. No one could have fallen from that height to this low valley without breaking every bone. The gods had shifted the winds and the world so that I would not die of that fall. Maybe, if the gods had been kind, everyone else had also lived.
I began to walk toward Aras.
I walked for what seemed a long time. The valley stretched out before me. A stream ran through it, as through most valleys—almost a river, not very wide, but deep and fast. The sound of the water made me thirsty. I set the discomfort of thirst at a distance, as I had the sharp pain of the cuts across my stomach.
The mountains were beautiful in the moonlight. The snow that here and there covered the meadow grasses seemed to glow with its own light. The breeze was cool and pleasant, smelling of snow and damp earth. Far away, wolves began to sing. Nearer, I heard the sound a goat makes when it blows out its breath in alarm. Cloven hoofprints appeared in the snow, bouncing away toward the nearest mountain. From the round shape of the hooves and the depth of the clefts, these were the white goats with the short black horns, not the tawny ones with the horns that curled. The white goats will go up a sheer cliff as easily as they cross a meadow. I looked after the hoofprints, but I knew they would not lead me to the kind of path a man could take up that cliff.
Where goats came to graze, white leopards might hunt. Or even the great tiger. I thought of Geras, and then of Suyet. Though I had never expected the land of the shades to be safe for anyone, somehow I had not expected anyone to die. Geras and Suyet and I had come through a great deal together, and now they were gone. If Esau had been with us, perhaps that would not have happened. Or perhaps he would be dead as well. I did not know whether I wished he had traveled with us or not. It was good to know he was safe in the summer country. Whatever problems he had encountered when going about his own tasks, those problems must have been small compared to the perils we faced here.
So long a time had passed since we had left the summer country. Esau must have found that woman long since ... I could not recall her name. Some long Lau name with many vowels ... Keraunani. That was her name. Keraunani of Pitasosa. Esau would have found her. She would be safe now. She and Esau would both be safe.
If Aras never returned to the summer country ... I did not know what that might mean for his people. My mother would send his letter to the king of the summer country, but I did not know what the king would think or do when he received that letter.
I thought of the reasons Aras had decided to come into the winter lands. It had been a long time since I thought of all those reasons. At least if Aras did not return to his own country, he would not have to order all those people put to death himself, nor witness it. That was some small comfort.
Perhaps he would not die. Perhaps he was right to believe Inhejeriel would work her great sorcery to bring her people back into the world, and all of us along with the many lost Tarashana. I found that I no longer believe
d her efforts would succeed. But weariness and discomfort wear at a man, and too little hope is as much a kind of self-indulgence as too much. I tried to put every kind of anxiety out of my mind.
I wished Aras could tell me whether some of the others were with him, safe, and what was happening now, and show me exactly where they were. But nothing came to me. The distance must be too great. Certainly I felt the distance was very great.
I paused. I had walked for some time following the direction I felt in my heart and my mind, which meant I was walking the long way down the valley, but also coming close to one of the steep cliffs that rose up from the earth to the sky. I had eyeing the stone, looking for any kind of path that might lead upward. But now I paused, and at first did not know why.
Then I knew. I had to stand perfectly still and listen past the sound of the breeze. When I listened that way, I could hear someone else, a person, a Lau, a woman. She was speaking in a low voice, barely a murmur. I could hardly hear her at all, but I was certain I heard this voice.
I moved forward, quickly now. The frustration in that woman’s voice came more clearly as I approached. I came to the cliff and followed the line of it toward the voice. Many great boulders lay scattered at the base of the cliff, broken from the cliffs above. The cliff itself was seamed with crevices and broken places. The climb might not be as difficult as I had feared. Though long, for the cliff reared up high above, and farther above that other cliffs led up and up and up again, until the highest peak of this mountain brushed the sky. This mountain above me might even be Talal Sabero. I could not tell. But Aras felt very far away. I thought more likely this was a different mountain.
But I came around one last long boulder, as large as a Lau house, and there was Lalani, leaning on another boulder, gazing up at the sheer cliffs of gray stone, slowly and emphatically repeating all the most vile curses I had ever heard from irritated soldiers.
“Lalani!” I said, and she jumped up and whirled around.
“Ryo!” she said, hurrying to take my hands. “I thank the gods!”
I laughed at her. “You were not thanking them a moment ago!”
She tossed her head. “I was angry. No one told me it would be like this, you know! Come on, Lalani, you’ll enjoy it! It’s summer! It’ll be fun! We’ll visit Ryo’s family! Think of the stories you’ll be able to tell when you get back! You know you want to come.”
Her mimicry was wickedly accurate. I could almost hear Suyet say all those things. Then she remembered he was dead and her expression changed completely.
Wrapping an arm around her, I guided her to sit down at the base of the boulder. She was still taller than I was, but she sat on the ground, and I knelt up on my heels, so she could lean against me and hide her face against my shoulder. She did not weep, or very little, though her slender shoulders trembled.
“I know,” I said, holding her tightly. “I am sad too.”
“Soldiers die,” she said, muffled.
“Yes.”
“I was going to marry him. You knew that?”
“Geras said you might. He approved of that.” I paused. “I am sorry if I am the first to tell you ...”
She did not look up, but she stiffened against me. “Not Geras too. Please, Ryo.”
“I am sorry,” I repeated. “He died bravely.” I hesitated, but she was due the same hope I held, even if that hope failed. “Aras believes, if Inhejeriel comes to the place where she can sing, perhaps she may help the world remember our people, even those who have died here in the land of the shades.” I had to add, “This may not be possible. Perhaps Geras fell away from this place into the place proper for your people, and Suyet the same. But perhaps, if they fell into the shadow of the black tide, if the gods are kind, Inhejeriel might—”
Lalani had pushed away from me, her hands on my shoulders, looking into my face. Now she shook me a little. “Ryo, what are you talking about?”
“Ah.” I had forgotten she would not know. She had only just come out of the shadow tide herself, and at once all these other things had happened. No wonder she had clung to me. I told her everything that had happened, as briefly as I could.
“The land of the shades,” she said when I had finished. Her tone was thoughtful, not disbelieving. “That explains the sky. I’ve never seen the Moon so close to the earth! And those stars! But I wish the Sun would rise too. I mean, I know he will. But I would feel better.”
She had sat back now, recovering herself, and she turned to look around at the valley and the high mountains that surrounded us on all sides. “If this is the land of the shades, Ryo, then we better not drink out of that stream over there.”
“No,” I agreed. “We brought water. But I have none with me. I should have carried a waterskin and kept it close every moment. Everyone should have done this, but I did not think of it. I apologize for my carelessness, Lalani. I fear we will both grow thirsty.” Then I looked at her in sudden dread. “You have not gone to that stream?”
“No, no. Almost, because who wouldn’t prefer fresh water to musty? But I would have had to walk all the way over there, and unlike certain careless Ugaro warriors, I actually do have a waterskin. More than one. Come see.” She rose to her feet with all her characteristic grace, taking my hands to pull me up after her.
In the shadow of the boulder, not far from where we had been sitting, rested the larger of the two packs we had still possessed after the tiger’s attack.
“Lalani, you are a treasure among women,” I said fervently. “How did you manage this?”
She laughed, her tone wry. “It was complete luck, Ryo. I threw myself down when the shiral hit—I had half a second to see what was coming—and the pack was right there, so I wrapped myself around it, hoping to hold myself down. That didn’t work, of course, but when everything stopped, I was still wrapped around it, except I was—” she gestured around. “Here. I had no idea in the world what to do. I know where Aras is—I can feel the pull—I bet you can too—”
“Yes.” I gestured toward Aras, along the line of the valley, but also up.
“Exactly. But I couldn’t begin to carry that pack, and climb with it? No. I thought I’d take just a few things and leave the rest. But now you’re ...” She paused, her expression changing again. “You’re hurt.”
“I think not badly,” I assured her. “I think there may be thread in that pack. First I would like water, but then if there is thread, and a needle ...” I was kneeling by the pack now, lifting everything out, looking to see what we had. Waterskins, which were very welcome, but yes, also everything else we needed. Rope, and a bowl for heating water, and travel sticks. I did not like to think of the others, who did not have these things. There was only the one other pack. I did not dare to hope everyone else had remained together.
But this was good for us—especially for me. There was not only thread, but the fine gut that is better for closing a wound. Curved needles, and straight ones, with the gut already through the eye of the needle so that an injured person would not have to steady his hands enough to prepare the needle.
I sat down and began to unwrap the bandages. There was more blood, but not enough to worry me. I said to Lalani, “This is a difficult place for me to do it myself, but if—”
“Of course you can’t do it yourself.” She took the needle from my hand. “Let me get some snow to clean this up better ... all right, Ryo, let me take a look.” Her hands were gentle. After a moment, she said briskly, “These little scratches are hardly worth the bother of stitching, but next time you might duck faster and save anybody the trouble.”
“I know,” I said. “He was faster than I expected. His weapon was so sharp I did not even know at first I was cut.”
“Yes, I can see it was sharp. It’s just as well you weren’t any slower. Lie down, please.”
I lay down, putting my head on the pack, but looking up at the sky instead of at Lalani. Some people do not like a wounded man to watch them work. She was deft. Talon wives learn how
to do such tasks. After she had completed four stitches, I said, “Put the stitches closer together when you come to the deeper part. I do not want the wound to open again if I must climb or fight.”
“I know that, Ryo. This isn’t the first time I’ve stitched up a soldier in between battles.”
“I apologize. I did not mean to slight your skill.”
She hummed absently, patting my arm to show she took no offense. “You’re certainly an easy patient, Ryo. Not even Esau is this quiet when I’m stitching him up, even when we’ve got poppy. He never lets me give him enough to make him sleep, just to take the edge off. Stubborn man. You men are mostly stubborn as donkeys.”
“I have not seen a donkey, but I am certain you are correct. We do not grow poppy in the winter country.”
“Of course you don’t.” She completed four more rapid stitches. Then she sat back and said, a note of discovery in her tone, “I suppose that’s why you Ugaro put so much emphasis on teaching your boys to endure pain. Because you must get injured all the time, and you don’t have poppy, so you’d better be able to endure.”
I had not thought of this. I said, “Perhaps it could be so.”
She smiled at me. “Plus you would just be embarrassed to show any sign of discomfort, just because you nearly got eviscerated and need about a hundred stitches. Five twenties,” she added, to tease me. She knew I could perfectly well work out how many a hundred would be.
“This will not be so many, I hope,” I said.
“About, hmm, three twenties or so, probably. Putting them close together, as you said, and the lowest cut’s going to need a few extra. Mostly these cuts aren't too deep—for an Ugaro. You’re lucky you’re not a Lau. Cuts as deep as this would have eviscerated a Lau.”
“There are many reasons I am glad I am not a Lau,” I told her.
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