So. That was true. That made me feel a little better. Troop leaders keep track of many men all the time, whether in barracks or in town or in battle. I was still ashamed I had not realized Tano was missing, but it was true that Geras had been a troop leader for almost as many years as I had been alive.
The inTasiyo had set their camp a little distance from the nearest other camp, in a place somewhat screened from view by the way the roots of the mountains enfolded the land. Rakasa, walking on my other side, said in a thoughtful tone, “They do not mingle very much with other people. I think there are no inTasiyo among the people following us.”
I glanced back, and around, and realized he was right. If anyone here was inTasiyo, that person should have run ahead to tell their people we were coming. No one had done so.
Lalani had been murmuring rapidly to Darra in darau. I thought she was telling Darra the story about my father and his first wife and Yaro inTasiyo. Darra was nodding, silent, her mouth pressed thin. She did not like the tale she was hearing. I wondered if she had known it already; whether she had heard the tale from her aunt or from her grandfather or someone else who had lived through all those events.
Ahead of us, someone, my father or one of the many warleaders or someone else, clicked his tongue, the way a warrior will in reproof when young men are behaving badly. Everyone fell silent, and for the last distance, no one spoke. The silence spread as everyone who had not heard that sound realized that someone important must have signaled for quiet. Almost the only sound was that of feet stepping across the earth. Even though many feet trod the ground, that was not loud.
In the hush, the sound of leather cracking against flesh carried surprisingly well.
Ordinarily, no one pays attention when a respected warrior corrects a young man, or when a father punishes his son, or anything of that kind. That is an ordinary occurrence. This was not like that. The moment we came near enough to see what was happening, anyone could see this was different.
None of the inTasiyo acted as though what was happening was unimportant. They were all quiet, and all attentive. And they were all here, or so many it might be all of them. Their camp was neat, everything in good order, everything in good repair, but no one was engaged in the normal activity of a camp—preparing food or making cloth or working with leather or all those tasks. No one was talking about unimportant things. No boys were quarreling, no girls singing. Nothing of that kind. Everyone was turned toward the other side of the camp, where Yaro inTasiyo was beating his son. The young man he almost certainly thought was his son. Only as we came among them did those people realize anyone had come—that alone was remarkable enough. Someone called out at last, and someone else hushed him, and Yaro turned, the whip still in his hand. It was the most brutal kind of whip, stiff leather from haft to tip, with metal braided into the end. We inGara do not consider a whip like that appropriate for correcting any but the most serious faults.
Yaro’s expression was calm. That was what I saw first. This was a brittle calm laid across rage; that was what I thought of him after another heartbeat. I did not see hidden pleasure in his expression, in his eyes, in his mouth. That was one possibility I had thought of, but I did not see that. Only that rage. I thought I knew what had caused that today, but I also guessed, studying him now, that he might be a man who always found one reason or another to be angry.
His anger did not make him stupid. His glance went from Tano to my father to Koro and back to Tano. When he faced my father again, I thought he very likely knew exactly what was happening. From the suppressed fury in his expression, I thought he believed my father had arranged this. Perhaps he had so little regard for the young man who had been his son that it did not occur to him that Tano had done this on his own.
Yaro took a step forward. He was a very big man, as the story said, but there was something else to him that made him more impressive still—a burning intensity that was not exactly anger, but something different, stronger and more dangerous. Even in this first glimpse of him, I felt that. All his own people swayed back when he moved. My father did not. His hands were at his sides, not near his knife. I thought many things might happen now, but I was not concerned that my father might draw a weapon. He had promised Koro he would not do it. I shifted a step to the side so that I could see better. Then I walked forward. I pretended to ignore Yaro, knowing that my father would keep his attention, or that if Yaro’s attention did shift to me, someone would call out to warn me. I did not expect anything of the kind. I thought Yaro was too proud a man to notice me when he had no way to prevent me from doing as I chose.
Tano was on his feet. His hands rested against the side of a wagon, not entirely relaxed, but open. He had pressed his forehead against the side of the wagon, which was not correct, and his eyes were closed, which was a fault. He had not straightened, and did not even yet, which suggested he might not feel steady enough to move without staggering, which would be shameful. But overall, I thought he had not done badly. Blood coated his back. I did not count the cuts, but I thought the number greater than twenty, but fewer than forty.
If we had not come, I wondered how many more strokes Yaro would have dealt. The arm of a man that strong would not tire very quickly.
I set my hand against Tano’s arm and said his name.
The muscles beneath my hand were rigid at first, but the tightness eased a little when I spoke. “Ryo,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I thought you would come. I—I thought—”
“You will tell me later what you thought,” I told him. “For now, straighten your back. Turn. Do not show pain. Set that aside. It is not important. Go to the lord of the inGara and beg his pardon for putting him to so much trouble.”
He did stagger when he straightened. I kept my hand on his arm, steadying him, and he caught his balance after that first moment. I turned with him, ready to steady him again if he needed that, but he did not. He did not look at Yaro. He did not look at anyone. He walked straight to my father. He had to pause before he knelt. But he managed that, and bowed, and said, carefully and clearly, “Lord, I apologize for causing this trouble. I know all your concerns must be much more important than this, and I beg your pardon. I put myself in the way of an enemy of the inGara. I deserve your punishment for behaving stupidly and causing trouble.”
“Perhaps this may be so,” answered my father. “This is something I will consider later.” He was not looking at Tano. He was looking only at Yaro. He said, in the same calm way, “If an inGara warrior offended the warleader of the inTasiyo, then that is a complaint that should have been brought to me. If a respected warrior of an allied tribe considered it right to correct a young inGara warrior, that would be different. I would not take offense at that. But an enemy should show far better manners.”
“That is my son,” snapped Yaro—which was all he could say, but I was certain he knew even as he said it what the response would be. I was certain he knew what he had done. He knew what had been done to him. He knew everything, or nearly everything.
Not a stupid man, not by any measure.
“No,” my father said softly. “This is Tano inGara, a young man who does not remember any other people before he came to inGara. This is my son’s brother.” He turned slowly to look at Koro and said, even more softly, “O king, I bring a charge against the warleader of the inTasiyo. By lifting his hand against my warrior, he has broken Convocation law. He has also broken the ban that forbids acts of war between his tribe and mine. I ask you to judge both charges now.”
Koro’s expression had long since settled into the calm that befits a king. If he had not already understood everything important about what had happened, I would be very surprised. He was the kind of man who knows how people behave. He said, “I will judge these charges at once. Yaro inTasiyo, warleader of the inTasiyo, how do you explain your actions?”
“The young man did not tell me he was inGara,” said Yaro, which was the only possible answer he could make. I did not even doubt his w
ords. He went on vehemently, “A man has a right to punish his son and a duty to correct the failings of his warriors. If this young man had become an inGara, he should have said so. The fault for this misunderstanding lies on this young warrior.”
His voice on that last word held open contempt. I was certain he did not realize Tano had done this to him. He set the fault against my father. He was not stupid. But in some ways, he was blind.
Koro listened to him without changing expression. Then he looked down at Tano and asked, “Tano inGara, have you anything to say? Or do you ask your lord to speak for you?”
Tano straightened, though he did not stand up. His expression was hard to read. He might have felt triumphant, but I did not see that in him. He might have felt rage, but I did not see that either. I had never wished more for the curse of sorcery, so that I might have known what was in his heart. I did not allow myself to look at Aras.
Tano said, “I told the warleader of the inTasiyo nothing but the truth. I told him that I encountered Ryo inGara by chance. I told him that I lied to Ryo, telling him I had only fourteen winters, and belonged to the inRasiko. I told him Ryo believed these lies. This pleased the warleader of the inTasiyo, because he saw that I might have killed the son of the lord of the inGara without anyone setting the fault against the inTasiyo. Then I told him that although I had many, many opportunities to kill Ryo, I had chosen not to do it. This did not please him. He declared this a disgraceful failure of courage. I protested, saying it would have been dishonorable to kill the son of the lord of the inGara and put the blame on the inRasiko. This protest did not moderate his anger. He said I should have committed this act. He said my failure to do so showed a lack of courage and resolve.”
A low murmur had risen up here and there as Tano told this story. Koro’s expression did not change. Tano had not looked at me at all as he spoke. He had not been looking at anyone, but straight ahead. He had recited all this almost as though none of it mattered to him. But now he hesitated. Bowing his head, he said, his tone bleak, “When Yaro inTasiyo picked up the whip, I told him he was making a mistake. He did not regard this warning. He did not ask me why his act might be a mistake. This is a true account of everything I said.”
Koro had listened to him carefully. Now he nodded. “What important things did you not explain to the warleader of the inTasiyo? Did you tell him that you had become inGara?”
Tano did not answer that question at once. I waited. Everyone waited. No one spoke, or shifted position, or coughed. Despite the crowding witnesses, the silence seemed immense to me, as though even the earth and the sky waited for this answer.
That moment did not last long, although it seemed long enough to me. Then Tano said, his voice very low, “No, o king. I did not explain that. I did not say that Ryo discovered all my lies almost at once. I did not say that he asked me to take oath to obey him as though he were my oldest brother, nor that he took oath to behave toward me as though I were his younger brother. I did not say that the lord of the inGara was generous enough to permit me to come into his people.”
I exhaled, a long breath, trying not to let anything show on my face.
Koro merely nodded a second time, showing no other reaction to any of this. He said, “The ban between the inTasiyo and the inGara holds. Convocation law has not been broken.”
At this, there was a louder murmur. Some people agreed and some did not and many wanted to argue with one another or with Koro himself, though they would do it yet, not here. People would go away from this place and argue about this decision for many days—probably for many seasons. My father did not move or speak, but a muscle in his jaw tightened and then relaxed.
Yaro said, his tone savage, “The young man tried to make me break the ban. As he is an inGara warrior, this act should be set against the inGara.”
Everyone became very quiet. My father gave no sign he heard this accusation. Koro said, “That may be so. I will consider that later, after this other matter. If the warleader of the inTasiyo wishes to explain why he set fault against a young man he believed to be his son, for failing to break the ban and for failing to murder an inGara warrior, I will hear that explanation. If the warleader of the inTasiyo wishes to explain whether he considers it honorable for a young man to pretend to be a boy, or for the warrior of one tribe to say he belongs to another tribe, in order to break a ban forbidding violence between two tribes, I would be very interested in this explanation.”
I had certainly been right. Koro inKarano understood everything. Everyone watching become silent again, as the whole gathering and the Moon herself waited to hear what Yaro inTasiyo would say.
“I said he was a coward,” Yaro said harshly. “Not that he was dishonorable. The young man lies in setting this accusation against me. For this, his tongue should be cut out. That would be the just punishment for speaking such lies.”
Another murmur, louder this time. Seldom indeed will a man set that kind of charge against his son, even against a young man who was once his son.
“So you would have been displeased if this young man had committed the acts I have described?” said Koro.
“Yes,” snapped Yaro. “Of course I would not approve any such acts!”
Koro nodded. He said, his tone still unchanged, “If the lord of the inTasiyo is here, he is very quiet. The decisions that are made within a tribe are not properly my concern. But if the lord of the inTasiyo considers that his warleader has behaved disgracefully, he should remove that man as warleader and give the sword to a different man. That is my personal opinion.”
I had not even realized the lord of the inTasiyo was present. I followed the direction of Koro’s gaze and found myself studying a man who looked like anyone. I had never before realized a man could be the lord of a tribe and yet not show anything of forcefulness or strength of will. I did not even remember his name, if I had ever known it, and I had not realized that either until this moment. The territory of the inTasiyo did not lie close to inGara territory, but I knew the names of all the lords of all the tribes between us. Now it seemed remarkable to me that I did not know this man’s name.
Fixed by Koro’s steady attention, this man opened his mouth. Then he looked at Yaro and said, not loudly, “I have no reason to consider that my warleader acted dishonorably in anything. The young man should have said he was inGara.”
“Everyone knows the young man should have said so,” Koro agreed, his tone utterly level. “Are you certain you have nothing else to say regarding this matter, Duryo inTasiyo?”
Duryo. That was his name. I remembered now that I had heard it, but so seldom and with so little emphasis that I had forgotten it again.
“I have nothing else to say,” the man declared, his voice a little stronger this time.
Koro nodded again. He said, “The decision of what man should be lord and what man should be warleader are matters for the tribe and not the concern of the king. I have no opinion regarding such matters among the inTasiyo or any tribe. I will rule on one last detail regarding this problem before I consider any other charge that has been set against any other tribe. Although no law has been broken, a wrong was done to the inGara by the inTasiyo. My decision is that the inGara are owed some recompense for this wrong. Tano inGara may claim a forfeit from the inTasiyo.” He looked down at Tano, who still knelt before my father. “Claim your forfeit now,” he ordered.
Tano hesitated, but not for longer than a heartbeat. Then he stood up. He had had time to recover his balance, and showed no sign of pain or unsteadiness when he moved, so that was not badly done. He turned to consider the camp of the inTasiyo and all the people gathered there. His jaw was set, his mouth hard, his gaze steady. He did not look at Yaro. But he paused no longer than another heartbeat before walking into the camp.
He did not go far. He went to where some people, inTasiyo, watched everything. He seized a boy by the hair—a boy of eight winters, ten perhaps—and dragged this boy out of the group, ignoring the murmur from the gatheri
ng. The boy pulled away, reaching to grip Tano’s wrist, gasping something. Tano said something to this boy, his words too quiet for anyone to overhear, and the boy stopped resisting his hold. Then Tano turned, pulling the boy after him, still by the hair, which is a way a man may handle a boy who has behaved very disgracefully. Yaro did not try to stop him, though his jaw was set with fury. No one tried to stop him. Tano brought this boy to my father and pushed him down, all the way down, so the boy lay on the ground.
Tano knelt, his hand resting on the back of the boy’s head, gently now. He said, “Lord, please accept this boy into the inGara. He is utterly without worth, a boy with nothing to recommend him. He has been taught nothing the inGara would want a boy to know. He is not brave. He knows nothing of honorable behavior. He may never be any use to the inGara. But it is better for a boy to be counted worthless among the inGara than for that boy to be the son of the inTasiyo warleader, so I ask that you accept him.”
I had not expected him to say anything like that. But at once I saw that I should have. I had already known that Tano made important decisions very fast. And I had known he was very intelligent. He had wanted to bring this boy, obviously his brother, out of the inTasiyo—but that was not all he wanted. He could have done that without saying the words he had chosen to say.
Yaro’s eyes were dark and hooded with restrained fury at the insult. He and my father were looking directly at one another. Neither man moved or looked away.
My father said, still looking at Yaro, “This boy is inGara now.” Then he looked down at the boy. He said, “Whether he is entirely worthless, the years will show. But we inGara are unaccustomed to teaching our boys so poorly that they fail in everything.” He paused. Then he turned his head, looking slowly and thoughtfully around at all the inTasiyo. He said, every word flat with disdain, “When people choose to follow men who lack strength or honor, they do not deserve to be led by anyone better.”
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