I gestured assent.
“He agreed to give up this power.”
I made the same gesture.
“I will not ask anything else regarding that matter.” The Sun had stepped from the sky long since, so within my father’s tent, the coals glowing within the brazier gave almost the only light. The darkness was deep, but comfortable. Along with the darkness, a kind of peace had come into my father’s tent that I had not felt for many, many days. Speaking of all that had happened had been hard, but telling him everything that had happened had somehow eased the weight of all those events, and my father’s silence had made the tale bearable.
After some time, my father asked, “Should I return Arayo inKera to his father?”
That surprised me. Then I understood. I asked in return, “Does the new custom seem strong enough to hold? Has anyone else accepted a tuyo from another tribe in the way you accepted Hokino’s son?”
“I have heard of one such incident. The lord of the inYoraro offered his youngest son to the inKosata in the hope the young man would be taken as this new kind of tuyo. You will recall that this enmity was not especially bitter, but it had lasted a long time.”
“Yes,” I acknowledged.
“The lord of the inKosata did not put the young man to death,” my father continued. “The inKosata have permitted the young man to take a proper place among their people. They have also begun to treat the inYoraro as an allied people. Geroka inYoraro tells me he did not expect that, but he has accepted these overtures.”
I thought about this. “Does is seem to you that the custom may become, not a way to acknowledge defeat or a way to end a serious enmity, but a way to ask for alliance when one tribe is uneasy with another?”
“Yes,” he said approvingly. “Good, Ryo. That is exactly what I think may happen. There will still be a place for a custom that cedes victory and acknowledges defeat. But perhaps the gentle treatment of a tuyo may become a way to encourage good feeling between tribes that have not been friendly with each other in the past. Geroka asked me if I have considered returning Arayo inKera to the inKera. I told him that, while I have considered the matter, I do not wish to be hasty in making a decision this important.”
I nodded. After some time, I said, “I think if my father wishes to support this new custom most strongly, to see what may come of it as the years run forward, then it might be better if he refrains from returning his tuyo to the inKera for some time.”
He nodded. He said nothing more, letting the subject turn. After a while, he said, “If Aras will permit it, you may sleep here in my tent tonight, Ryo. Do you need to ask his permission?”
“No. I do not ask his leave in small matters of that kind. He does not require it.” I hesitated. Then I said the truth. “I have been his friend, not his possession. Now … everything has changed. I do not know how to walk forward from the place we stand now. But when you speak to Aras tomorrow and in days to come, I ask you to remember that what happened ...” I searched for words. “It was his choice, but not ... he bears the burden of it already.”
“So do you, my son.” But my father waved away my attempted answer. “But, so, this is not my offense to forgive. You have said so, and I agree. I will speak to him in the morning, Ryo. I will say that any problem lies between the two of you. I will say that this problem does not concern me. Will that content you?”
“Yes,” I said, relieved. “Thank you, Father.”
“You will find a way forward,” my father said softly. “Perhaps not tonight, however. You are tired, my son. Go to sleep.”
He was right: I was tired. I was very tired. But I felt better now that the untold tale did not lie between us, all the bitterness unspoken. I had not known how much tension had tightened my stomach until now, when much of that tension had finally fallen away. There were plenty of furs and blankets laid out along the sides of the tent. I lay down there, and slept at once.
-33-
In the morning, when I woke, my father had already gone. I had half woken when he rose and went out, I remembered that now, but I had gone back to sleep immediately. That did not surprise me. I had been tired, and very relieved to have everything difficult over. Also, in my father’s tent, where I had seldom slept, and never since I was a boy, I had felt completely secure, in a way that is rare for a warrior.
The entrance of the tent had been pegged partway open. From the light that came into the tent, the Sun had already stepped into the sky. Cold air came with the light, but that was welcome as well. I felt rested and wide awake and familiar to myself.
I stood up. A pitcher and a basin stood on a low table, and tisane simmered on the brazier. I knelt at the table to splash my face, then crossed to the brazier and poured myself a bowl of tisane. Then I sat down and thought of everything that had happened the previous day. Many of those things had been hard. But I thought none of them had been bad. Or not nearly as bad as they might have been.
Tano had chosen far better than he might, and he had faced my father bravely afterward. He had also brought his younger brother into the inGara, so that was very good. True, Tano must stand for a beating in front of everyone, but that was not bad either. He would probably do better for that experience—provided he did not fail to stand.
Everyone knew what Aras had done to me.
I put that thought out of my mind at once.
I would have to be absolutely certain Tano stood properly. I thought Arayo would be a young man who could help me with that. I was certain he would wish to help Tano.
Arayo would not be returned to his own people. Certainly not yet. But he would do well exactly where he was. The new tuyo custom might become something different, but it would be useful. It had already been useful. The inKera were not as strong a tribe as inGara, but they were honorable people and good allies.
Soro inKera had brought some of the inTasiyo people into his tribe. I wondered what would come of that. That woman with the baby and the bitter heart might be trouble. Or perhaps living among honorable people would take the poison from her heart. If that woman caused a problem for the inKera, no doubt Soro’s wife, or Hokino’s wife, or some other important woman of that tribe, would handle that problem.
Probably many important women of many tribes, my mother foremost among them, were already discussing different ways to handle that kind of problem.
No doubt they were also discussing me.
I set that thought out of my mind again, as firmly as I could. There were many other more useful things to consider.
Standing, I left my father’s tent and walked through the inGara camp, toward the place I knew my mother’s tent would be set. Our camp was not deserted, but I saw few warriors, only women and craftsmen—and I saw almost no one who was not inGara, save a few inGeiro. My mother's tent would be at the center of the rest, and our warriors would be farther out toward the edge of our camp, watchful, or would have gone to escort our women or our craftsmen wherever people wished to go.
Aras would not have gone to any other camp. I was almost certain of that. He would probably still be my mother's guest. That would be the safest place for him and for all the Lau, until the Convocation ended and all the tribes that were less forgiving toward sorcerers left inGara lands. That would be soon. No one likes to travel across the high north when the earth begins to thaw and the soil becomes first damp and then boggy. Already I thought I felt the change in the air that meant the long cold was ending. Soon, many kinds of birds would begin to come from the south.
Etta had sixteen winters now, still early for the daughter of a singer to marry, but I thought she would probably not wait much longer. Iro would suit her. I almost did not mind the thought that she would marry him. That was a change that had come to my heart, better than other changes.
Raga had seventeen winters. He was alive. He would live for many more winters. I suspected strongly that some year, not distant from this year, he would return to the starlit lands and learn the stories of the Tarashana. I saw th
e years of his life before him, all but endless, and for the first time I realized that I might actually someday forgive myself for leaving my brother to die.
He was not dead. I had known that, but somehow, this morning, the knowledge came to me in a different way, as though the truth of his life was something I only now truly accepted.
Perhaps I might even forgive Aras for what he had done to me, if I forgave myself for what I had done to Raga.
By this time, I had come to my mother’s tent. She had laced it tight together with two other tents of the same enormous size, which surprised me a little until I thought again. No doubt after yesterday’s events, many, many singers and other important women had wanted to come to her tent to discuss everything.
From the patterns of porcupine quills woven into the sides of one of the great tents, I knew one of these was the tent of Lutra inGeiro, foremost singer among the inGeiro, Naroya’s wife, mother of Rakasa and Iro. That was not at all surprising. The third of the great tents, I did not know.
Ordinarily, with the morning fair and not too cold, my mother would have pegged the opening of her tent back to show that anyone might come and go. Today, the entry was closed fast. So was every other opening, as far as I could see. From this, I was certain at least some of the Lau must be within. Yes. I heard voices within, including, I was certain, Lalani’s quick and lively voice, speaking almost without accent, but still very recognizable.
Putting back the flap, I slipped into the tent.
The purple and blue and gold of the rugs and cushions made it seem that I had stepped inside a gemstone. Except that the place was warm and soft and fragrant with the scents of tisane and, more surprisingly, barley bread. We did not usually have much barley left this close to the end of the long cold.
Another of the great tents had many more red rugs than purple. That was Lutra’s tent. The third was blue again, and a vibrant orange. Those were colors I did not recognize. But, among the women sitting around a low, round, lacquer table near the center of the combined tents, I saw Siwa inKera, Hokino’s wife, Arayo’s mother. She was not a singer, but the tent was very likely hers, since she sat directly to my mother’s right.
Arayo sat near his mother, but he was not paying attention to her. He was showing Tano how to throw a knife hard and straight. They each had gathered up three or four knives. They were using a small piece of cowhide, hardly bigger than a man’s head, as a target. If either of them missed and put a knife through the blankets and felt that covered the side of the tent, then Arayo would soon be showing Tano how to stitch up cloth with stitches neat enough to please my mother. Indeed, I saw three rents in the fabric beyond their target already. But if my mother did not object, certainly I need not.
Tano’s younger brother was not present. I suspected he would be with Garoyo, or perhaps he had been set to some task suitable for a boy that age, but either way, Tano clearly was not concerned for him. Or he had set concern aside. He had learned to trust my eldest brother—or my mother—or even my father. This was good.
Lutra inGeiro was not present, though I knew I was not mistaken about her tent. Surprisingly few people were present. Perhaps they had gathered here last night, and meant to gather again later, but for now the large space was not at all crowded. However, Darra inKarano sat on a flat cushion, across from Lalani, with—to my surprise—a sestaket board between them. Lalani was teaching Darra to play sestaket. Lalani had hidden her deadly skill with the game behind a friendly smile. Suyet was telling Darra what moves she might make, but although he was not bad at sestaket, Lalani would certainly take all of Darra’s pegs if Darra trusted Suyet’s advice. Geras, reclining on one elbow, was watching them, smiling indulgently. He had probably made the board and the pegs.
Beside Geras, watching with interest as Suyet explained how to count out the possible outcomes in order to decide which moves might be best, sat Elaro inPorakario, with Raga close beside him. I had hoped my younger brother might be here, but I had not guessed the poet from the east might have come as well. But Darra was here, so of course that was not surprising. I thought I had caught my first reaction quickly enough that no one saw me frown.
I did not see Aras anywhere.
“Ryo!” Raga called, jumping up. “Will you join us? This is a game that I think few Ugaro would like, but it is interesting to learn.”
“Only poets and women count fast enough and accurately enough to play sestaket,” I told him, smiling. “I know the game, but I do not play it.” I added to Darra, “No one who plays Lalani should wager anything important.”
“We are playing for honey cakes,” Lalani told me, smiling. “I like honey cakes the way your people make them, Ryo, but I made enough of them myself last night that I think I can promise I will not win them all.”
I greeted my mother respectfully and nodded to Siwa inKera. Then I stole a honey cake from the basket beside Lalani and sat down beside Darra to eat it. Glancing over the board, I warned Darra, “You have let her take too many of the short pegs. You are thinking of the tall ones as more important, but from what I have seen, I think this is rarely so.”
Darra surveyed the board with a dissatisfied air. “I think you could be right, Ryo. Fortunately, I also made many honey cakes last night. We decided we would all use the last of our honey because of the feast tonight.”
A feast. This was a good idea. I glanced at my mother, certain she had suggested this. She was speaking to Siwa inKera and watching the sestaket game, pretending not to notice the game with the knives, but she smiled at me.
Darra had sounded far less displeased that I might have expected, but then, sestaket was not a game that mattered to her. I stole another honey cake—from Darra’s basket this time—and reclined on the rugs to eat it. “You made the board and the pegs,” I said to Geras. “But where did you get the wood?”
He nodded toward my mother. “A chest of drawers your mother decided she didn’t like, Ryo. Nice inlay, I expect it belonged to some lord first, but the drawers were sticking. The damp cold here’s got to be tough on wood. We got to talking about games, see, and Elaro there, he said sestaket sounded a bit like a game they play in the east, except our version’s got more counting and fewer blood-curdling threats, I guess, so I said I’d make a set if they wanted to try. I did warn ’em Lalani’s going to win all their cakes, and everything else they want to wager too. Even with Suyet to help your lot with the counting.”
I was smiling. Even Elaro’s presence could not irritate me this morning. It helped that the poet was sitting with my younger brother, not beside Darra. “Where is Aras?” I asked. Wherever he had gone, I was surprised Geras had not gone with him.
But Geras only nodded to the other side of the extended tent. “Asleep. Tough night, I guess.” He lowered his voice. “Lots of people arguing all evening, and I figure plenty of ’em went on thinking lots of loud thoughts all night. Sometimes sorcery’s got to be like people pelting you with rocks. Big rocks, last night, I guess. By dawn everybody had mostly quieted down, at least around here. Just at sunrise, your mother sang a song that seemed, I swear, to work on him just like a lullaby, and off he went.”
“The song to the Dawn Sisters,” I said. “Yes. I taught him that song.” Now I saw the shape Aras made, buried amid the furs on that side of the tent. I could very easily imagine the thoughts many people had been thinking last night. I thought Geras was right: many of those thoughts had probably struck him harder than physical blows. I said, “Perhaps everyone will soon become accustomed, as they see my mother does not fear him.”
Geras gave me a shrewd look. “Yep, pretty sure that’s why he’s here. Pretty sure that’s why she arranged a feast for tonight, too.”
“This could be so,” I agreed. She and Darra had probably arranged this between them—and Siwa—and Lutra—and no doubt the women of various other tribes. But I added, “There are always many feasts during the Convocation. Prosperous tribes wish to demonstrate their generosity, and less prosperous tribes that ma
y be short of stored foods need that generosity. This is a time when the people of tribes that have not been led as wisely may ask to come into a more prosperous tribe.”
Tano missed the cowhide target. Worse, the knife he threw did not strike point first, but hit the side of the tent flat-first. That would be one less cut to sew up, but that was not the way to throw a knife. Arayo was trying to explain what Tano was doing wrong, but plainly did not know how to explain or correct the problem. I began to get up, to show them both how to do better, but to my surprise, Elaro turned his head and said politely, “Your grip is not bad, young warrior, but your wrist should be more relaxed when you begin your throw.” Drawing his own knife, he demonstrated the proper method. He did not throw his blade, but demonstrated the relaxed flick of the wrist while first Tano and then Arayo closed his eyes and rested his fingertips on Elaro’s wrist to feel the way the bones and muscles shifted.
Tano still missed the target after that, but his knife went into the wall of the tent with a satisfying thwick, making the cloth ripple. He had been trying not to look at me—this had been plain—but now he looked my way, flinching just a little, not certain whether I would approve his throw or deplore his aim.
“That was better,” I told him. “Now learn to hit the target. Elaro, under what circumstances would you throw a knife in a real fight?”
“When I had two knives,” he answered promptly. “And probably only if I also had two opponents.”
“That is a good time to throw a knife,” I agreed. “Where would you aim?”
“For the belly. My aim is not good enough to try for the throat.”
“In a real fight, no one’s aim is good enough to try for the throat.”
He said easily, “Yes, Ryo, I think that is probably so.”
He was not smiling—he had guessed, or been warned, that he should not take a familiar tone with me. But his manner was not unfriendly. Even though I had no right to question him, he plainly had better sense than to object to being asked questions that would teach younger men what they should do. Even though he was not a warrior, his answers were good. I said to Raga, “You see, a poet can learn these useful things.”
Tarashana Page 53