My father ignored us all, arranging the coals in the central brazier and setting water to heat. After a little time, Garoyo came into the tent. Our father sat back, looking at him, and said, “The inTasiyo will probably attempt some attack against our people or against our herds. I think Yaro inTasiyo is certain to strike against us in some way. He will care nothing for the ban, especially as his people have already been ruined. He may try to strike at me or at one of my sons, but I think he is most likely to strike against my wife or one of my daughters, or perhaps, if he cannot come close to these women, some other inGara woman. What precautions have you set into place against this threat?”
I had not thought of this appalling idea, but Garoyo merely inclined his head. “Lord, I have instructed your wife and my sisters that they are not to go anywhere beyond our camp without at least two warriors to accompany them. I have given orders that no woman is to leave our camp without a warrior to accompany her; not even to go to the camp of an allied people; not even to the lake for water. I have asked your wife to instruct the women to move every tent and wagon close together. I have also set men to watch the perimeter of our camp, with orders not to permit entry to any man or woman they do not know, unless I personally give leave for that person to enter. No inTasiyo woman or man is to be permitted to come into our camp unless you give leave.”
“Good,” said my father. “I approve all this. The herds?”
“I have given orders to mingle our herds with the beasts inKarano brought with them. I know the inGeiro have done the same. That will provide more eyes to watch over all the animals. Even inTasiyo warriors should hesitate to attempt any act against the beasts if they must come against inKarano warriors to do so.”
My father nodded curt approval of all these precautions. He turned at last to Tano, “How old is this boy? What is his name?”
Tano looked up, but carefully, through his lashes. He answered very softly, “He has nine winters now, lord. His name is Ensu.”
My father studied them both. “You told me this boy has been taught nothing useful. You told me he has no worth to anyone.”
Tano raised his gaze at this, then caught himself and lowered his eyes again. “Lord, I said this, but I hope perhaps he may learn better.”
My father studied them both. Then he said to Garoyo, “Perhaps some respected warrior among the inGara does not have sons to teach. A man without sons might have room in his tent for a boy. In the tent of such a man, perhaps even this boy might learn all the things he should know.”
One corner of Garoyo’s mouth had tucked up just a little. He answered gravely, “I have no sons, lord. Now that Arayo inKera is a man, I have room in my tent for a boy.”
My father said, his tone stern, “Arayo inKera was well taught. Even before he was given to me, his father taught him everything a boy should know. Perhaps this boy is not worthy of my son’s attention.”
“He belongs to the inGara now,” Garoyo answered. “All inGara boys are worthy of the attention of the inGara warleader.”
My father nodded. “So. That is true, my son. Very well. You may take this boy into your tent if you wish. Take him away now. I will expect a good report of him, eventually.”
Garoyo inclined his head, acknowledging this command. Then he looked at the boy. “Ensu, get up and come with me.”
Ensu got to his feet, hesitated, then went to Garoyo. My brother dropped a hand to the boy’s shoulder, a light touch. Ensu flinched, steadied himself with an obvious effort, threw one wide-eyed glance over his shoulder toward Tano, and let himself be guided from the tent.
Tano bowed, touching his face to the rugs that covered the floor of the tent.
“Well?” my father demanded.
“Lord,” Tano said, not moving. “Thank you, lord. Perhaps my brother may be worthless now, but he will try hard to please Garoyo once he sees it is possible to earn his approval. I am very, very grateful for your extraordinary generosity to my brother.”
My father’s eyebrows rose. “Do you consider my generosity extraordinary?”
“Yes, lord,” Tano answered, still with his face to the rugs. “I am very certain your generosity is indeed extraordinary. I do not think anything could make me less certain.”
“So,” said my father. “You may sit.”
Tano straightened, though he stayed on his knees and kept his head bowed.
“Your shameful behavior today brought disgrace to me and to the inGara,” my father told him. “Explain to me how and why this happened.”
Tano took a breath. Then he said, still not looking up, “We came out of the high pass and saw the Convocation had come here. I realized the inTasiyo had probably come here as well. I thought immediately of the ban between inTasiyo and inGara. I saw how easily the inTasiyo could be destroyed. I thought ...” he stopped.
My father did not say anything. Neither did I. For a long moment, there was silence.
Finally Tano said, his voice low, but steady. “I thought this would be very easy to do, but it would have to be done at once, before any inTasiyo learned I was no longer one of their people. I would only have to provoke my fath—the warleader of the inTasiyo. He would have no right to raise his hand to me, but he would not know that. He would break the ban.” Tano stopped.
“Not if you did not explain you had become inGara.”
“I intended to say that I told him and he disregarded this warning. He would deny the charge, but if my words were clever enough, no one would believe him. I thought I could do it. I thought I could make the inTasiyo believe what I said. They know their warleader will lie. They say he is clever and they scorn other tribes that do not have a warleader as clever. I thought I could use that. Other people would see what they thought. Even if he were not perfectly certain, our king might say the ban had been broken. If he did not, the inTasiyo would still lose standing among the tribes. That was not what I wanted, but it would be a beginning—” Tano cut that off. This time my father only waited.
Finally Tano looked up. He looked at my father, not at me. He said, “When I saw Ryo, I realized I could not do it. I knew he would despise me. I tried to do it a different way instead, by speaking only the truth.” He took a breath and went on. “But that does not matter. Everyone knows I meant to lie. Everyone knows if I had not intended that, I would have told my father—I am sorry, lord, I mean the inTasiyo warleader.” He paused again to steady himself. Then he said, “Everyone knows that if I had not intended to lie, I would have told him that I am inGara now. Everyone knows I told him true things in a way that would make him believe things that were not true. They may consider Yaro inTasiyo acted more shamefully than I did, but everyone understands that my actions were also shameful. This is the manner in which I disgraced the inGara.”
“No,” said my father. “My son, correct the error this young man has made.”
I said, “Tano, the disgrace comes from what you intended to do, not from what anyone else knows or does not know. That you changed your mind and spoke the truth to Koro was not as bad. But that you had to change your mind in order to speak the truth is disgraceful. This would be so even if no one in all the winter country knew your intention. Even worse, you put the lord of the inGara in a position where he was wrong to bring charges against the warleader of the inTasiyo. Even after he declared the ban held, if the inTasiyo had not lost so much standing, Koro might well have set a judgment against the inGara for bringing a false charge against the inTasiyo. He would not have been wrong to do so.”
“Oh,” Tano said, almost voicelessly. He bowed low. “I apologize for my stupidity, lord.”
My father said, “I accept your apology. You may sit.” He waited for Tano to straighten again. Then he went on. “Before you were inGara, you learned to think of tactics that are not honorable. Thinking of those tactics is not wrong. Putting them to use is wrong. I am pleased that the inTasiyo have been ruined. But I would not have sacrificed the honor of even the least of my warriors to make that happen.”
“Yes,” Tano said, his voice very low. “Whatever punishment you give me, I will not protest it. If you—if you say I am not inGara any longer, I will not protest your decision, lord, but ... I hope you will not say that. Please, lord.”
My father turned to me. “My son, what punishment is appropriate for this young man’s disgraceful actions?”
I answered, “When Koro asked him to tell the truth, he obeyed. That is very important. His mistakes were serious, but not irredeemable. He should not be cast out of the inGara. He should be beaten very severely.” I met my father’s eyes and added, “But please, lord, not today.”
My father smiled slightly. He said to Tano, “My son is remembering a day when he was your age. He earned two beatings that day, one from Garoyo and one from me. Twenty strokes, and then twenty and ten.”
I could not help but smile as well. “Yes, that was what came into my mind. I am unlikely to forget that day.” I added to Tano, “I deserved both those beatings. In some ways, I was a much more difficult young man than you are. I thought I was right about everything. This is a problem you do not have at all. But it would never have occurred to me to bring a false charge against any man for any reason. That is a problem you have.”
“Yes,” he said, bowing his head to me. He said to my father, “I would be grateful if my punishment is only a beating, lord, however severe.”
“Yes,” my father said. “You should be. The cuts on your back should be fully healed in seven days. When those days have passed, bring me a whip. Ryo will show you the kind I mean. I will beat you in front of everyone, so that everyone understands inGara does not take lightly the fault of sly dishonesty.” He added sternly, “You will stand properly, not as you did today. You will stand straight and demonstrate a warrior’s courage.”
“Yes,” Tano whispered. Then he said properly, in a clearer voice, “Yes, lord.”
“It is easier when the whip is not held by an enemy,” my father said more gently. “You will stand as you should.” Then he spoke sternly again. “During the coming year, if any respected warrior corrects you for anything, you will bring me a whip and explain your fault. If the fault involves any kind of dishonesty or slyness or dishonorable action, I will beat you again myself. If you act in any dishonorable way that no one sees, you will come to me in the same way and explain your fault. If you are not certain, you will come to me and ask for judgment. In a year, if this is still a problem, if I have come to believe you cannot learn to behave as you should, I will put you to death or send you out of the inGara or make whatever other decision seems necessary. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Tano said, subdued. “I will do as you say.”
My father nodded. He looked at Tano for some time, consideringly. Then he said, “I do not think I will have to make any decision of that kind. I think in a year you will not be the least of my warriors. I think you will earn everyone’s respect and good regard. When you have as many winters as Ryo has now, I think you will have become a warrior who brings honor to the inGara. When you have as many winters as my older sons have now, I think younger men will look to you to set the example for how a man should behave, and they will be right to do so. Perhaps I am wrong. But I do not think this is likely. Go to Garoyo. Do as he tells you.”
Tano was staring at him, utterly astonished. After a pause, he blinked, bowed low, rose to his feet, and went out.
My father looked at me. I bowed, and straightened, and waited for him to speak. He sighed. Then he said, “Be certain that in seven days the young man is able to stand perfectly. He must not fail.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“He is very intelligent, and he makes decisions quickly. That is a good thing and a bad thing.”
“Yes, lord.”
“His brother is too young for bad teaching to have ruined him. The boy will not have this kind of trouble.”
“No, lord. I think that is not likely.”
My father made an impatient gesture. “Say what you wish, Ryo.”
I laughed. This was not properly respectful, but I could not help it. I said, “My father knows exactly how to handle young men. You have given Tano a standard he would rather die than fail to meet. He will do exactly as you ordered, no matter how difficult that may be. I told him to be strict with himself, and for me he tried to obey. But for you, he will do better than try.”
“I could be wrong in my judgment.” But my father was smiling a little himself.
“You know you are not wrong. The eagle favored him. In making certain this young man becomes a warrior any man must respect, you will please the gods. Our people will be lucky in the coming years because the gods will return to us the generosity you extend now to a young man who was the son of a bitter enemy.”
My father said mildly, “You were the one who first chose to be generous, my son. If you were right, I would be wrong to choose otherwise.” He paused. Then he said, “There are times I wonder whether you may be too generous. But I have no opinion regarding certain matters, and I will not ask any questions regarding those matters.”
Now I did not feel like smiling.
“Sit,” my father told me. Rising, he took up a jar set ready to the side and poured the dried plums and crystallized honey and dried mint into the boiling water set over the brazier. The sweet, mingled scents rose up, comforting in their familiarity. It was not proper for him to take on such tasks when a son of his was present, but he did not even glance at me. I stayed where I was, thinking of different things. When the tisane was ready, he poured some into a bowl and brought it to me.
I sipped the sweet liquid slowly, a little at a time, until the bowl was empty. Finally I set the bowl aside and said, “The people of the starlit lands make tisane this way, with honey and mint and fruit. Their fruits are sweeter than ours. Some of them shimmer with light, as water in the moonlight.”
“Yes,” he said. “I saw that now and again when I was a young man and went into the starlit lands myself. Everything glows with its own light in that country. That is beautiful. I tasted their foods and the tisanes they make. These were not unpleasing. Nevertheless, I would not have wished to live in that country for an entire season.”
“We were not there as long as it seems. Time passed strangely in the land of the shades.” I hesitated. Then I said, “We could have returned through the pass more quickly. But not until Etta had recovered herself. Also, for a long time, I could not have endured it.”
My father said nothing. He set his own bowl aside, and looked into the coals of the brazier, not at me.
I said, “I do not understand Yaro inTasiyo. But I think I may understand some things. I think perhaps he was a man who was angry, and who clung hard to his rage until it became something more bitter than anger and poisoned his heart.”
“That may be so,” my father said, his tone neutral.
Eventually I went on. “I was so angry. When Lorellan used sorcery against me, that was different. When an enemy does something terrible, that is not the same. In some ways what Lorellan did to me was much worse. But in other ways ...” I did not know how to finish that sentence.
My father nodded.
“After many days, Hokino warned me that anger can become a bitter poison. He ordered me to kill Aras, or forgive him.”
“Hokino inKera said this?”
“Garoyo tried to tell me that there was this problem. I did not listen. Hokino did not give me any choice but to listen.”
My father nodded again. He picked up his bowl, drank some of the cooling tisane, and set the bowl aside once more.
I said, “I did not forgive Aras for doing this to me. But I forgave the act itself. Not because it was the right decision for the moment, though it was, and perhaps that might have been enough. I had to forgive the act because the bitterness had become too great. Both of us were suffering because of that. Everyone was suffering because of that. But now ... now I think ... now I am certain I made the right choice. Now I think perhaps I should set
aside every trace of the anger that still lingers in my heart and forgive everything. But, no matter what my father may believe of me, I do not know whether I can manage that much generosity.”
My father grunted. Then he said, “Nothing could make my son into a man like Yaro inTasiyo. If this is his concern, I think he may lay that fear aside. It could never happen.”
“I think I came closer to that than my father believes.”
My father raised his eyebrows. “Such a thing is utterly impossible. Do not argue with me, my son. That is not proper behavior for a young man, and I expect you to set an example for your younger brothers.”
Nothing could have made me laugh, but I smiled.
“Will you tell me the tale again?” he asked, much more gently. “Not all of it, if you prefer not. Only what you wish to tell.”
I told him almost everything. Some of the tale was difficult, but my father did not react to anything I said. He listened without saying a word. After some time had passed, someone brought food. He signaled that I should stay where I was. He stood up himself, took the platter from the woman who had brought it, put the entry of the tent down again and came back to sit across from me again. Even then he did not speak to me.
I took a bite of the food. It was beef braised in milk, which meant some of the heifers had already calved. We had indeed come from winter into spring, whatever the chill in the air. I had twenty-two winters now. I felt much older than that.
This was a kind of food I had missed without realizing it, and I discovered I was very hungry. We both ate in silence for some time. Finally, I told him the last part of the story. I told him that I had demanded Aras take out the leash—that Aras ask a Lakasha sorcerer to do it because there he could not do it himself.
My father said quietly, “This is because it is not fitting for a man to hold that power over you. This is not because you no longer trust him to hold it.”
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