I had not guessed he might be Inhejeriel’s close kin. I had not wondered about him at all. I was ashamed of that now. I said, “I am sorry for the loss of your daughter. She was a courageous woman.”
“Her star knows her name,” he said softly. “Every star knows her name. Her name will be sung in these lands as long as the stars dwell in the sky. So will yours, Ryo inGara. If you have any desire I can provide, I will be pleased. Ask me for anything you wish.” He paused, perhaps to see if I wanted anything else. When I said nothing, he bowed slightly and went out.
I was not hungry. But I did not feel sick. I felt different. Quiet, in a way that was different than trying not to think or remember anything.
I did not know what I thought now. I would have to see Aras before I knew what I thought.
I went out of the house. I took nothing with me except the little glass bottle of wine, which I had set aside and disregarded all this time.
-27-
It took me a long time to walk all the way back to the village at the foot of the pass. I went slowly, looked at the country as I walked. I had not been curious enough to look at the land much before. The rain had passed. The air was warm and soft against my skin, the earth moist and fragrant with green and growing things. I passed Tarashana, men and women working in their fields and orchards and gardens.
Everyone I passed turned and bowed when I came near them. One person and another hurried into one of their low, earthen houses and came out to offer me something: a cup of water or a flower or a slice of bread. They spoke words in their own language and murmured my name. They all knew who I was.
Twice, children ran up to the path. They did not crowd up to talk to me as Ugaro children would have; nor did they shy away and hide behind their mothers as Lau children would have. These children ran to the road, nudged each other as I approached, then, like their elders, folded their hands together and bowed as I passed. Once, I encountered a man riding a pony. The animal was not like an Ugaro pony. She was much more delicately built, with a small head and a long neck and tiny ears. In her build, she was almost like a Lau horse, except so small. Her coat was earth-colored, very dark, but her flowing mane was pure white, coloring I had never seen among either Ugaro ponies or Lau horses.
The rider drew his mare aside to let me pass, dismounting and bowing in the same way as the children. From the intricacy of the design on his face and both his hands, from the delicate embroidery of his robes and from his manner, I thought this must be a lord among the Tarashana. Many small oval white stones were braided into his hair, and he pulled one of these from its place and held it out to me as I came near him, murmuring words I did not understand. The stone glimmered with its own light, as so many things did in this country.
All this made me uncomfortable. I had not expected any of this attention. I accepted the white stone as I had accepted cups of water and bread. The Tarashana lord bowed again, touching his fingers to his heart and then his lips. Even after I had passed him, he did not mount his animal and ride on, but stood on the path, watching me. I looked back twice, and both times he was still there. I did not know what to do with the white stone, but since it was set in a ring and meant to be bound into someone’s hair, I braided it into mine as I walked, in a way that would let it swing below my ear.
The moon had stepped above the mountains before I came to the village. Her face was turned mostly toward the winter country, but I felt a little better to see her in the sky.
Garoyo had been watching for me. Hokino must have told him I would come. He met me even before I came amid the low houses built into the hills around the one hill. Ugaro people were living here, all those who had been taken up by the black tide of the Saa’arii and then redeemed. I felt a little better, seeing them. It was hard to be so bitter regarding everything that had happened when those acts had brought all these people out of the darkness and back into the land of the living.
No one approached. Garoyo had probably told them to stay back. My brother said nothing, only looked at me and waited.
To show proper courtesy, I should have knelt to greet him. I did not greet him at all, but only asked, “Where is Aras?”
My brother turned and pointed. “A village that way. Twenty bowshots, twenty and two, twenty and four. There is a small lake, and the village lies to the south of that lake. The Lau stay in a house there. The ninth house you come to as you walk along the south bank of the lake. There is a tree with silver leaves and white flowers beside the house, with three trunks. The bark is smooth, dappled green and gray and tan.”
I nodded. I knew the kind of tree he meant. The place he described would be easy to recognize. “All the Lau are there?”
Garoyo signed agreement.
“I would prefer to see no one but Aras. I do not want to argue with anyone. I do not want to fight anyone.”
He nodded again. “Make your way slowly. Hokino and I will go before you. We will bring the other Lau here, to the place we have been living. We will bring them by a different path, one that runs close to the mountains, so that you will not meet us on the road. How long shall we expect to hold them close?”
I had not thought about this. Now I looked at the sky. The Dawn Sisters stood together just above the mountains. I knew the long cold must have come to the winter lands; that is when the Dawn Sisters stand in that place. I had not realized so many days had passed. But I only said, “Until I come there, or until the Dawn Sisters stand again where they stand now.”
“Very well,” Garoyo agreed. He looked at me for some time, neither of us moving. He said finally, “In battle, a warleader must often make a hard decision. If that decision had been mine, I would probably have made it differently. But Aras is not exactly like a warleader, nor exactly like a lord. I think he is also not only a scepter-holder for his king. He is something else besides all those things. He had no choice but to make the decision as he made it.”
“I know that.”
“Yes. You have probably known this for a long time. I remind you not because you do not know, but because you may have set aside your understanding. You should not.”
I said nothing.
Garoyo looked at me a little longer. Finally he said, “If you kill Aras, I will understand that. Everyone will understand it.”
“Yes,” I said, though I was not certain this was so. Certainly the Lau would not understand it, or forgive it. But Garoyo was not thinking of the Lau. I added, in case he had not thought of this either, “The Tarashana people might not forgive it.” That was a problem I had thought of while I walked from the place I had been living to this place. I should have thought of it before, but I had been distracted by many other thoughts. But I had to say it. The possibility was one that made the whole matter something for a warleader to decide.
Garoyo only nodded again. “Hokino and I have discussed that. We have decided we need not regard their opinion in this matter. We agree the decision is yours to make. Kill him if you must. I think the act would be wrong for you, I think you would be hurt by it, but if you feel you must do it, I will not say you should have decided otherwise. No one will say you were wrong to do it.” He looked at me searchingly for a long moment and then sighed and left me there.
I had been walking for a long time, so I sat down where I was and rested for a hand of time. For two hands. Three. I needed to prepare myself. There were certain thoughts I would soon want to have in my mind, and other thoughts I wanted to put away for the present.
After enough time had passed, I stood up and walked the way my brother had showed me. Twenty bowshots, twenty and two, twenty and four, was not so great a distance. I could run that far in three hands of time; less than that if I pushed myself. I was not so impatient now. I did not run. I walked, slowly at first, but faster as I came to the lake. The houses of the Tarashana blended softly into the low hills, but I had by this time learned to recognize a Tarashana house when I saw one. I counted each as I passed it.
I thought about the trees an
d the scent of the breeze—here, this close to the mountains, the wind carried the scent of snow and stone. I longed for the winter country. I let myself feel that longing. Those were the thoughts I held in the front of my mind. Below that, I let myself think of what Aras had done to me, of the rage and the growing terror as I understood what he had done. Below that, I came to one decision and then another regarding how I would answer that act. I came to each decision firmly, meaning to hold to it. Then I made a different decision and meant just as firmly to hold to that one.
I put every other thought out of my mind.
When I came to the place, I found him there, waiting for me, sitting with his legs drawn up, below the tree Garoyo had mentioned. The soft radiance of the flowers shed light rather than shade below a tree like that. At first it seemed to me that he looked just as always: imperturbable, impervious. The only difference was that his left arm was in a sling. Then he moved, getting to his feet and coming forward a little, and the light showed me that was thinner than he had been, with a tracery of new lines at the corners of his eyes and his mouth. The set of his mouth was hard, in the way that meant he was exerting himself to show less than he felt.
He had known for a long time that I was coming. He could hardly have failed to know it, probably before Garoyo and Hokino and the others came here and took the other Lau away. There was no sign anyone had fought. The mosses were not torn or trampled. Garoyo was too wise a warleader to hurt a friend when he had to take him by force. Hokino was just as wise. They would not have let Geras fight them. Certainly not Suyet.
Also, Aras would not have let anyone fight. If Geras would not take his orders in the matter, as I knew he would not, then Aras surely have prevented any kind of struggle by means of deceit. Or by sorcery, if he felt he had no choice.
He did not flinch at that. He met my eyes. “Ryo, I’m sorry.”
I said, speaking in a curt, hard tone, “Do not apologize for something you do not regret and would do again.”
He bowed his head. But he said, “I regret the necessity very much, Ryo. That was one of the worst things I’ve ever done. It was certainly the worst thing I’ve ever done with sorcery.”
I almost hit him. But I restrained myself. Holding out the flask, I said harshly, “It will make you sleep.”
“I know,” he said. He took the flask, removed the stopper, and drank the liquid inside. He tried to put the stopper back into the mouth of the flask, but his hand missed the opening. Then he dropped the flask, stumbled, caught himself, stumbled again, and folded softly toward the earth.
The drug had taken Aras quickly, much more quickly than I had expected. I let the flask fall and caught him, easing him down to lie on the mosses that covered the ground, careful of his injured arm. I could have carried him into the house, but then I looked up at the sky, clear now, and decided I preferred to stay outside. I only straightened his limbs so that he lay in a more comfortable position. Then I sat beside him.
Finally, I let go of everything I had held in my mind for the past hands of time.
At first, the freedom to look at Aras and yet think of anything I wished made it oddly difficult to think at all. I drew my knife and turned it over in my hands, blade and hilt and blade again, studying the play of light across the steel.
The only good time to kill a sorcerer is while he sleeps. Every child knows that.
I looked down at Aras as he slept. The tension that had tightened his mouth and drawn new lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth had smoothed away. His breath came slow and quiet. His right hand lay at his side, relaxed. His left hand, tucked against his chest by the sling, had opened. He looked less like a warleader now, and not at all like a scepter-holder. He carried no knife at his belt, no sword at his back. Of course, he held other weapons that he could not lay aside.
Except he had laid those weapons aside. He had laid aside every defense. He had not hesitated to drink the wine I gave him. He had known exactly what I gave him to drink. I had made certain he knew.
I put my knife away and leaned against the bole of the tree, thinking about oaths and oathbreaking, and the gods. This was not the first time I had had occasion to think about such matters. But this was different. I realized now, for the first time, that some of my fury at what Aras had done to me was actually terror and rage at what he had done to himself.
As a man cannot take back a spoken word or an exhaled breath, so he cannot take back a broken oath. The gods despise oathbreakers. However deceitful they may be in many ways, Lau agree with Ugaro that this is so.
The stars above us paced through their slow, orderly measures. The Moon, her face still turned mostly away, passed below the edge of the world. The Dawn Sisters descended slowly to touch the tips of the mountains, then began their climb upward again, north, toward the vault of the heavens. Day had come to the starlit lands, so far as day ever came here. The light was the same, soft and gentle. I heard nothing but the soft wind rippling through the leaves in the branches above me, but I imagined I might hear the endless song of the stars.
Aras drew a deeper breath, and then another. He opened his eyes. His forehead creased in puzzlement as he realized he was lying outdoors, on the ground ... then he drew a different kind of breath and turned his head to look at me, pushing himself up on one elbow. “Ryo,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to be here when I woke up.” He added, after another moment, “I really did not expect to wake up.”
I asked him, “What would happen to a Lau who died here, where the Sun does not come into the sky?”
“I ... have no idea. Perhaps it would be best to take the body of such an unfortunate person to some land where the Sun might look down and see the pyre.”
“You broke your oath to me,” I said.
“Yes,” he said. For a moment, he said nothing else. Then he said, “It might actually be better for me to die here, out of the Sun’s sight. But despite everything, I can’t find that an inviting prospect.” He moved to sit up. He pressed a hand to his forehead and then to his eyes, then dropped his hand and looked at me, meeting my eyes. “I won’t ask you to forgive me—”
“It was the right decision.”
That made him stop. He had not realized I meant to say that. I had spoken without thinking much of what I meant to say. I went on more slowly, thinking now of every word. “It was a wrong decision for you and bitterly wrong for me, but it was the only possible way to give Inhejeriel time to complete her task. It was the only way to save the Tarashana and the starlit country and push back the people of the sunless sea. I understand that. Everyone has taken the trouble to explain this to me, but I understood it already. No matter why you did it or what came of it, no matter what would have happened if you had not done it, the act was still unforgiveable.”
“I know,” he said softly. “I know that. You don’t want me to apologize, I understand that, but what should I say?”
I glared at him. There were several things I had intended to say, but instead of any of those things, I demanded, “Why did you not put into my mind an understanding of what was happening and ask me to make the choice? Did you think it would be easier for me if you forced me?” I almost spat the word easier. Nothing could have been harder than making the choice at that moment in full awareness of what my choices must mean, but having the choice taken from me had been far worse than hard.
“Ryo, I couldn’t. Truly.” He rubbed his good hand across his face again, sighing. Then he dropped his hand to his knee and went on. “For a long time, you were too far away for me to do anything so complicated. Then suddenly you were close enough, but it was too late. A great deal was happening just then. Garoyo and Hokino had held for an astoundingly long time, but Garoyo had just fallen and I knew Hokino couldn’t hold long by himself. I was working with Inhejeriel, which was something else I’ve never done before. I couldn’t work with her and fight at the same time, and I couldn’t do either and also construct a false memory to show you what was happening. Even if I’d dropped e
verything else, even working as fast as I could, it still would have taken time for me to construct that kind of memory and longer for me to put it into your mind. That was ... it was the kind of situation where no one has even a breath to spare. And then Hokino fell, and it was too late even to think of trying to do anything of the kind.”
I nodded, acknowledging his explanation. I did not doubt that he spoke the truth, but it did not help very much to know how difficult his situation had been.
It did not help me at all to know that.
Aras sighed. He said, “I don’t—I can’t protest your anger, but you have absolutely no cause to feel shame for anything that happened. I know you know that; I know it doesn’t help for me to say it, but—” he broke off. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I can’t see your thoughts very clearly right now. I’m not certain what you want of me.”
“I want you to take your leash from my mind and my will.”
He was silent for a little while. Then he said, “You know I can’t do that. There’s no way for me to do it. I can release you from every oath you’ve taken to me, let you stay with your own people when—if—”
“When,” I said.
“When I return to the summer country, you certainly should not come with me,” he said. “Enough distance will render any tie—”
“Leash.”
“Any tie harmless.” He held up a hand when I began to speak. “I won’t use the taksu term, and I would greatly prefer you do not use it either, Ryo. I can’t break the tie. But enough distance will render the difference between broken and quiescent moot.”
“Not to me,” I told him. “You broke Lorellan’s leash to Hokino, to every Ugaro he made into his dogs and his slaves, by setting yours more deeply and strongly, then using your leash to break his. Could a Lakasha do that to yours? Could Tesmeket-an break your leash to me in that way?”
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