“Everyone, Ryo. I hope I have learned better skill.”
“Good. Show me.”
He jumped up, trying not to show how pleased he was at that order. At once, I discovered that his skill had indeed greatly improved. He had not only been sparring. Someone had been teaching him in a much more methodical way, which will produce far better skill than sparring alone. That person was plainly skilled at teaching young men. This might have been my brother, or Hokino inKera, but I thought his teacher had been Geras.
Something else in the way Tano fought now ... the way he held his ground, set his strength firmly against mine, and refused to give way, made me think of someone else. It made me think of Iro. Tano fought now in very much that matter. Certainly he no longer wanted to lose. That was a very good thing for him to have learned. When he finally had to yield, I turned my hand palm up to show he need not kneel.
“You have been practicing with Iro,” I said.
“Yes,” he agreed, a little hesitantly. “With everyone, but yes, with Iro.”
“He has done well,” I told him. “So have you. No one would say now that you have been badly taught. Does he make you kneel to acknowledge defeat?”
“Yes,” Tano said.
I could see he was surprised I would ask that. “Every time?” I asked. He signed agreement, as I had known he would, because Iro was not the kind of man to be over-gentle with an opponent. I asked, “You have not defeated him yet?”
“No.” Now he was a little uncertain. He dropped his gaze from mine.
“You will defeat him,” I told him. “Iro is more skilled and probably more determined than you are, but you are as strong as he is, and almost as fast. I will show you something that may work. This is usually a stupid move to try against a real enemy, but sometimes it is useful, and I think it may surprise Iro.”
I showed Tano a move I had learned sparring Lau soldiers. I gave him the right kind of opening. When he took it, I slid my sword down the full length of his to push it out of line, dropped my own sword, caught his wrist and elbow, and used a wrestling move to first jerk him forward and then throw him over my hip and to the ground. This was almost the same as the way I had thrown the Saa’arii warrior. I had forgotten that until I did it now, more gently. I put that out of my mind and offered Tano my hand to help him up.
He was laughing, in surprise as much as pleasure. “Show me, Ryo!”
I showed him, slowly at first and then faster, until he could do it with enough speed and force. The last time, I held out my hand and let him pull me to my feet. “So,” I said, satisfied. “The next time you spar Iro, perhaps he will not have everything his own way.”
“Yes,” he agreed, very pleased. “Thank you for showing me.” He collected both blunted swords, sheathing them and slinging the sheaths over his shoulder. Then he paused, facing me again. He said, speaking tentatively now, “Everyone is alive, Ryo. Your sister called everyone who died there. One of the stars echoed every person’s name. Everyone has a star now. Not me, but everyone who died. We are all puzzled at what may happen when they die again, but the Tarashana say we should trust the gods, that everything will be well.”
I nodded. I could think of some things that would never be well, but this was not one of my concerns. I knew the gods had been kind beyond any possible expectation, and I trusted that when the time came, they would be generous. I had not thought to ask anything until Tano said this, but now I found I wanted to know other things. I sat down, gesturing that he should sit too, and said, “Tell me about the starlit lands. Have the Tarashana reclaimed all their country?”
He was glad to tell me. “Yes, Ryo, they say so. They forced the Saa’arii far back to the north and did something that will make it very hard for them to come out of their sunless sea another time. I do not know what they did; some manner of sorcery. Did you know the Saa’arii live on great floating islands, that they make these islands and then build their towns on them and live there?”
I had not known this. I had not known anything about the Saa’arii, and it had not occurred to me to ask the Tarashana. Now I felt curiosity stir. “Is that why they wanted to take the starlit country? Because that seemed easier to them than making islands?”
“Saja-Serenestriel—a woman who comes sometimes and does not mind questions—she says she thinks there was a war, and the Saa’arii that lost needed to go somewhere else and so turned toward the starlit country.”
Ah. That at least might offer some reasonable explanation for what they had tried to do. I offered no comment, only nodded. I thought perhaps I might ask the Tarashana about those people, but now I asked, “Has Etta recovered yet?”
“She is better every day,” Tano said earnestly.
“Iro is helping her?”
“Iro, and ... and her brothers.” He hesitated. “Your younger brother misses you very much, Ryo. He is sorry for your absence. He does not set fault against you for anything.” My expression must have changed, because he said quickly, “I beg your pardon! Forgive me. I meant no offense.”
I could not answer at once. For some time, for the whole time we had sparred, I had forgotten everything that had happened. Or, of course I had not forgotten anything—that was impossible—but for the time, I had forgotten to mind it. Thinking about the Tarashana and the Saa’arii had brought some of that back, but not all of it. Now all my anger and unhappiness returned in a sickening rush. I said harshly, “I do not want to see Raga. I do not want to see you either. Do not come here again.” Getting to my feet, I turned and went into the house.
I thought I had at last persuaded everyone to leave me alone—it seemed to me I must certainly have succeeded in that aim—and I thought I was glad of that, except I was not glad of anything. I had half expected Tano to disobey my order to stay away. But he did not return.
But after some time had passed, I heard someone else coming. Not Tano. An older man. Someone with heft to him. A light rain was falling and the damp muffled the sounds of his steps, but from the weight of the man who approached, I thought it must be Garoyo. I did not want to see him. He was almost the person I wanted to see least. I had been sitting in the doorway of the house, watching the rain come gently through the leaves and catch on the mosses and thinking how much I would have preferred snow.
When I heard my brother coming, I stood up, resenting the intrusion. I thought I would walk away, around the house and up the hill, and never mind the rain. I might find shelter in the little wood that stood there, or if he would not leave me alone, I might go on farther, as far as I must to show him I did not want to talk to him. I stepped out of the house and turned away.
But then the man called out to me, and it was not my brother’s voice. It was Hokino inKera. I had not expected him, and the damp had disguised the difference in the way they walked. I turned in surprise before I remembered I had intended to ignore anyone who came. But then I remembered that. I turned my back to him again and began to walk away.
“Ryo!” he said. “Come talk to me civilly.”
“I do not want to talk to you,” I snapped over my shoulder, and lengthened my strides.
“Ryo inGara! Is that how inGara teaches its young warriors to answer a warleader?” he demanded. “Your father would be ashamed of you. Face me at once, and give me an accounting for your discourtesy.”
He did not speak loudly, but he made his words snap like a whip. He meant to check me, and he did. That is the way a respected warrior speaks to a boy who has not yet learned to rule his temper and behave properly. I had not been corrected in that manner for a long time. But I could not say that he was wrong. I stopped. Then I drew a deep breath, turned, bowed my head—probably too stiffly—and said, “I beg your pardon, warleader. I should not have answered you in such a way, and I ask your forgiveness. I will take your blow for it if you wish. But I do not want to talk to anyone. Please permit me to withdraw.”
“I will not permit it. Let us go into the house, out of this damp.”
I did
not move.
Hokino made an impatient gesture. “Everyone thinks they must handle you gently. I do not. Amend your manner, Ryo, or I will decide the inGara have failed in their duty to teach you how to behave. Then I will do it myself. Go into the house and sit down.”
I nearly threw his command, and every kind of proper courtesy, in his face and walked away after all. It was not the threat that stopped me. I would not have cared for any threat. But I knew Hokino was right to expect much better manners than I had shown. Also, he so clearly expected me to obey him. Finally I reluctantly went into the house, turned to face the doorway, and sat down on one of the straw mats that covered the floor.
Hokino came in after me. He looked around, then sat down as well, on the floor as I had, facing me. Then he said, speaking directly and plainly, “Ryo, your bitterness against Aras is bad for you and bad for everyone else. It is poisoning our whole camp. Everyone disagrees about what should be done. Everyone is angry and upset. People take offense at anything, and no one can settle any dispute. The fault for all this is yours. Do not answer me. Take forty breaths to consider what I have said.”
I came very close to jumping to my feet and walking out. But there was something in his manner that held me where I was. A kind of patience, perhaps, that was hard, yet not unsympathetic. Still, I did not consider anything. I counted my breaths, twenty and twenty again, and then I said forcefully, “You know what he did! And you say I am too angry and the fault is mine!”
“I do know,” Hokino agreed. “Aras confessed everything to Garoyo. Your brother might have killed him, but Geras put himself between them and argued that this was not a matter the warleader of the inGara should judge. Iro said Geras was right—”
“Iro!”
“As I say. Iro said that only one man has the right to judge this matter, and that man is not Garoyo inGara. I agreed. Eventually, the warleader of the inGara came to agree as well.”
I could imagine several ways that might have happened. All of them were difficult.
Hokino went on. “I do not say you are too angry, Ryo. I am the last person who would say such a thing.” He paused so that I would remember that he had also once known the tight leash of a sorcerer. Except that for him, that sorcerer had been a deadly enemy. That was different. I was not sure whether that was better or worse.
He went on. “So, no, I do not say you are too angry. I say you have held your anger too close, until it has become something more bitter than anger. You have permitted your bitterness against Aras to spill out against everyone else, until now everyone is afraid to speak to you. This is not proper behavior, as you well know. The young men are unhappy on your behalf and do not know how to approach you. You ordered Tano not to approach you again. That was not well done. He thinks he is at fault.”
I said in a low voice, “Nothing is his fault. Tell him I am sorry I spoke to him that way.”
“How is it my duty to put right your mistake with this young man? Be quiet and listen. Garoyo ordered Aras to withdraw to a distance. The Lau now live in a place some way from us. Because they are divided from us, because they know with what bitterness Ugaro regard Lau sorcery, they are afraid of what any Ugaro might do. They are right to be afraid. Garoyo ordered all inGara people to leave the Lau alone, but if you will recall, we also have an inVotaro warrior among us.”
I had entirely forgotten that. I remembered it now. Seroyo inVotaro, as Hokino himself, had stayed to watch the pass, and so been taken by the black tide at the same time. I frowned. An inVotaro warrior would not take orders from the warleader of a different tribe.
“So,” Hokino said, seeing I understood this. “Your brother earnestly asked this man to step back, but who knows how long that request will hold him? The inVotaro never said they considered Aras a friend, only that they would not press a quarrel. This is a difficult situation. Everyone is afraid and angry and upset with everyone else. Anything could happen. Aras is very unhappy—”
“He should be unhappy,” I snapped, focusing on this at once.
“—even though he would surely do the same again, given the same choice,” finished Hokino. “Be quiet, Ryo. Sit down. Take forty breaths. Twice forty. I will count. You will be quiet and consider whether any other actions would have been better.”
I had come to my feet, though without clearly deciding to get up. Hokino laced his fingers around his knee and leaned back against the couch to show he did not intend to fight me. I wanted very badly to fight him. Ordinarily I could not possibly win a fight with the inKera warleader, but I thought today I could win, and I was so furiously angry I did not care if I lost. But he stayed where he was, not guarding himself against me, so, as he would not fight, I snapped, “He used his sorcery to make me his slave! He made me leave my brother to die—and your son as well, Hokino, though you seem to take that lightly—”
“Amend your manner, young warrior. If you have something different to say, I will hear you.”
I had already stopped. Hokino’s tone on that order had been different; not forceful, but deadly serious. But I had checked myself even before he spoke, startled by and ashamed of the venom with which I had spoken. I said, much more quietly, “I was wrong to speak in that way, warleader, and I beg your pardon. I deserve a blow for my careless words.”
Hokino leaned back against the couch, deliberately relaxed. “I would certainly strike anyone who suggested to me that I had no care for a son of mine, but no one would say such a thing. If anyone has, I have forgotten his words. Sit down, Ryo.”
I thought about walking out. I imagined myself walking out. But I sat down.
Hokino paused long enough to let the subject turn. Then he said, “Aras did not make that choice for some light reason, Ryo. Your younger brother understands that. For your sake, not his own, Raga has not forgiven the act. But, unlike you, he has set the incident in the past. So has my son. So have I.”
I did not care why Aras had done it, and I could not bear to think of Raga, and I did not care who else had forgiven Aras for anything. I said, furious, “He put his will on me! I cannot forgive him for that.”
“Ryo ...” Hokino said, almost gently. “I think you already have.”
I stared at him in complete astonishment.
“He is still alive, Ryo. You hit him when he let you go, but your blows did not even break any of his bones. If you had not restrained your strength, how could that be so? You had your knife, Ryo, but you did not draw it. If you had not forgiven his act, why would you have restrained yourself in that way?”
This had not occurred to me. For the first time, I actually thought about what Hokino was saying to me. I was very, very angry. But he was right. I had not struck Aras with all my strength. It was true I had not drawn my knife against him. It might be true I had not wanted to kill him. When I thought of how it had been, I could see that this was true.
Aras had not used his sorcery to stop me when I hit him. But even if Geras had not stopped me, I would not have killed him. I had not understood that before. If I had wanted to kill him, I would have done it. I had not wanted that. I did not want that now. I did not want him dead. I had not understood that until this moment. Now that I understood it, I thought perhaps this was a disgraceful failure in myself—a failure of pride and honor. I did not know what to think of myself, or of Aras, or of what had happened between us.
Hokino had waited for me to think, but he had not finished. He said now, “You are not only angry, Ryo. You are hurt. You have reason to feel as you do. Everyone acknowledges this. Certainly I acknowledge it. But you know Aras was not wrong to do what he did. Or not only wrong. Even though you know this, you have allowed your anger and pain to become bitterness. This has poisoned your heart. That kind of poison must be drawn soon, or it will ruin you. That is my opinion. Consider my words for forty breaths.”
For forty breaths, we were both quiet. I hardly knew what to think, but this time I could not help but consider what he had said. I could not help but think he might
be right.
Finally Hokino got to his feet. Then he stood looking down at me. He said, “That is what I came to say. I have said it, and you stayed to hear it, which was well done. I know it was not easy for you to listen to me. I will also say this: the betrayal of a friend always strikes the heart more deeply than any blow dealt by an enemy. If you have come to feel such bitterness that you cannot tolerate the memory of what Aras did to you, then kill him. If you believe that the insult to your pride was too great to forgive, then kill him. If you decide that he is too dangerous to live, then kill him. But if not that, then make peace with him. Decide soon, before the poison eats all your heart. Garoyo and I will support either decision. But we will not permit you to delay this decision. Decide today, Ryo.” He looked at me for a short time more. Then he went out, and I heard his steps as he walked away.
I stayed where I was. I sat in that place without moving for a long time. I might have been thinking about everything Hokino had said to me, but probably I was not thinking very much about anything. I could not tell how I felt. It was a little like waking up after a severe illness. A blank quiet had come to me and lay over everything.
After a long time, a Tarashana came softly into the house. It was the man I knew, the healer with the spiral design on his face and the nine amber beads set in his ear. He had braided a narrow ribbon of much the same rich color into his hair. Threads of the same color ran through his robe. He wore a ring on the small finger of his left hand, black metal set with two white stones and an oval bead of amber. I saw he was certainly an important man, perhaps a lord among his people. I had not looked at him carefully enough to realize that before. I had not cared enough to look.
Over his arm, he carried a basket covered with a cloth. I could smell the warm bread from where I sat. If I said nothing, he would set the bread on the table and go away again as softly as he had come.
I said, “If it is not impolite to ask ... what is your name?”
He paused, looking at me. “My name is Hedesaveriel Kiolekarian seha-Toratarion.” As though my question had given him permission to speak, he went on. “Inhejeriel was my daughter. For your many acts supporting her, I am deeply in your debt. Even more deeply than every other Tarashana person. Nothing you could ask would be considered impolite.”
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