“All right. How can you be sure this is going to work? A tunnel to the Dageian border is going to take a long time. You told me yourself it took ten years to connect the Serpentsridge mines to Hartmur. The tunnel the company made from the northern mountains took at least three, and that was a strip through the mountain—a tiny sliver on the map, compared to what you were planning. And to do all of that under the noses of Gasparian authority…”
“Did I ask you to worry about the details?”
“You haven’t, but in case you haven’t noticed by now, master, I tend to deal with all the unpleasantries brought on by these details. You still haven’t told me what happens after we connect the Al-ir project to Hartmur.”
“What do you mean, what happens? You know exactly what happens, Ylir.”
Ylir pretended to rub his head. “I’ve been away, master. The longer I stay away, the stronger it grows.”
“Which is why you’ve been honing your skills all this time. Tell me about this man.”
“He’s one of Baeddan’s younger officers. About a year ago, one of Baeddan’s men returned and killed another officer. He escaped, but this officer, Gaven, caught him after being eluded for many months. You can imagine how frustrating that was for a man who only wanted to go home and enjoy the comforts of his new ranking.”
“You smirk.”
“I can’t help it, master. I spoke with him, and he let this man go. I watched him escort him out of the grounds himself.”
Yn Garr took a deep breath. “Where is he now?”
Ylir blinked. “I’m sorry, sir? I wasn’t aware I was supposed to keep track of him.”
Silence followed. Ylir glanced down and pretended that his heart hadn’t started hammering against his chest. He tried to imagine what the old man meant and why, in God’s name, it mattered where a half-breed went after one was done with him. What did he miss? No one would for a second believe Gaven that he’d been witched—there was no proof of that. And that their faction’s best client did it? If he hadn’t done the deed himself, he wouldn’t believe it.
Yn Garr’s fingers started to drum across his knee. Ylir had been his apprentice long enough to know, at least, that it meant he was thinking deeply about something else. He took the opportunity to breathe. The movement made Yn Garr turn back to him, but that something else, whatever it was, still weighed on him. His eyes were very far away. “This man, Gaven,” he said.
“What about him, master?”
“You must have worked a very strong spell to cause him to go against his nature.”
“I—yes, master. It was strong. I’ve not worked a spell like that before in my life.”
“You dared risk that?”
“Sir?”
“A spell that strong might have worked against you instead, turned you into a cripple for life. You must have put a lot of yourself into it—I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve imprinted yourself on him, given him a shadow of you, so to speak.” Yn Garr paused, as if weighing yet another thing on his mind. “All to prove a point?”
He shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. “I’ve risked my life before.”
Yn Garr pressed his lips together, but if there was doubt on his mind, he didn’t say it. He threw a hand back. “Send word when you’re in Al-ir.”
“Sir—”
“What now?”
“The mages, at Enji…”
“What about them?”
“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. The site is too close to Lake Enji. Surely Bannal’s mages are as bad as any of the mandraagars? I don’t really want to face Bannal again, not when there’s too much at stake.”
“And I told you to let me worry about that.”
“As long as we’re clear that I warned you, sir.” He smiled thinly. “Will you be staying home?”
Yn Garr smiled. He rarely did. “Home? No. Never. But I’ll be here.” He gestured to the dog and disappeared upstairs.
Chapter Two
Market day at the docks in Fuyyu was a pleasant enough affair on its own. Hana had urged her to stay behind and work—what money did they have, after all, for spending? They had left Akki and moved to Fuyyu after her father’s death to work and nothing else. But Sume couldn't do that to the boy. Not a child like Dai, who never complained, did all his chores, and kept out of the women's way. Just last morning she had seen him peering through the shutters to watch the other children play on the street below. She'd heard him sigh once, as if aware it was a luxury he was denying himself, before shuffling off to help chop the vegetables.
He went to school, in Akki. A soldier's widow from Bara had set up a store there and taught some of the children how to read and write for a small fee. She had told Sume once, over a hot cup of tea during the monsoon, that she found Dai terribly intelligent. At six, he had already gone through the modest primers and scrolls she'd taken with her from the mainland and knew enough arithmetic to help out with her store once in a while. Sume had dreamt he might attend one of the colleges in Shirrokaru or Anattu when he was older and grow up to be a scribe, perhaps even a priest or a scholar.
Now, of course, there was no chance for that happening, not even had they still access to Oji's sporadic earnings. Children in Fuyyu were taught by their parents or not at all. The port city, already half-forgotten by the shaky monarchy, lacked any sort of formal educational arrangement. The richer folk—the ones who had no choice but to do business here—sent their youngsters off to better pastures. Tetsung himself had grown up in a town to the north, where the priestesses of Sakku made children recite proverbs from the prophet's own texts. Both she and Hana would have to work twice over to even afford such a thought.
If he wasn't going to have the assurance of a bright future then she would at least give him the chance to be just a child for one afternoon.
It took her some time to build up an argument, but once she started, Hana couldn't even get a word in edgewise. They'd been working hard, she said. They did have some money. Enough, at least, for them not to go begging out on the street for food. They weren't really going to buy anything. The boy deserved a break. She deserved a break. Maybe Hana would like to work herself to hag-dom but she would like to find a husband herself before she got too bent and wrinkly.
“Dear Sakku!” Hana had screamed, throwing a spool of thread in her direction. “Go! Take the boy, if that will keep you out of my hair for a day!” Sume had laughed, hugging her, before dashing downstairs to grab Dai from Errena's doting company.
Dai had only seen the market that one time they got off the ship at the docks and it had been a quiet evening then. Now, the sights, the smells, and the sounds mesmerized him. Vendors of every sort of item imaginable crowded the streets. There was red rice from Natu, candied nuts and fruits from Bara, painted sparrows from the mountains and leaves of apaiy from the Sougen plains. She went to one of the brightly coloured stalls and bought a bag of honeyed plums. Dai's eyes grew wide at the sight of them. “Don't tell your mother,” Sume grinned, pressing the bag into his hands.
“She'll know,” he grumbled. “She always knows.”
“Then I'll tell her that it's my money and I can do whatever I want with it.” She drew him close to her and kissed his mop of curly black hair. “Within reason, of course.”
“Oi, Dai, Sume!” a vendor called, waving at them with a fly-chaser.
“Tetsung!” Sume smiled, grabbing Dai's hand and whisking him towards the stall. “Your father's grain came in early this year?”
“Easier now that I'm here, ah?” His face was bright underneath the mass of pimple scars on his cheeks. He winked at Dai. “Hello, little man. You've gained a bit of weight.”
“Errena's been spoiling him,” Sume laughed. “Dumplings and sweet cakes every day, isn't that right, Dai?”
Dai frowned, his cheeks dimpling. “When I tell her I'm full, she gets this look on her face, so I don't have a choice but to start eating again.”
“That's women for you,” Tetsung agre
ed. “Tell you what. Probably by the time winter's over we'll have better prospects in this city and I can afford to hire you to do odds and ends for me. Give you something to do, keep you out of trouble, you know?” He winked.
“Oh, Tetsung, don't you think he's too young?” Sume asked.
Tetsung snorted. “Nonsense. How old are you, Dai?”
“Eight,” Dai replied. He suddenly looked thoughtful. “Can I, big sister? It would help mama out so much.”
“I suppose,” she said, struggling to keep the pride out of her voice. The last thing she needed was the boy's head bloating over something like this. She wagged a finger at Tetsung. “Only if you promise you'll keep him out of trouble.”
“Trouble? No trouble when Tetsung's concerned,” Tetsung smiled. He pointed towards the wharf. “Look, Dai, there's a ship just coming in over there. You want to go and take a look? We can see you from right here.”
The boy glanced at Sume. She pretended to think about it for a moment and then nodded. He scampered off without giving her a chance to change her mind. She turned back to Tetsung, who gave her a sheepish grin. “He's a boy, Sume. I was one too, once, you know.”
“I remember having that exact same conversation with Hana this morning.”
“So you know that as a boy, he needs to be around men, right? Not a bunch of nagging, pernickety old women.” He winked. “Not counting you and your lovely sister, of course.”
“I do know that, Tetsung,” she said. She turned to watch Dai's figure in the distance. He had joined a group of other boys and had begun trading friendly insults with the men onboard the incoming ship. She couldn't remember when he'd grown so tall. Was it only yesterday that they were children together, playing jackstones or chasing kittens out in the yard? He had been so small he would trip on his sandals when they ran. She remembered a blazing afternoon hunting damselflies through the tall yellow grass. She was better at it than Dai was, while he loved singing,
Dragonfly, oh dragonfly
Don't run away
We'll spend a day together
Then I'll let you on your way
Tetsung coughed. She suddenly remembered how her silences disconcerted him. She turned back with a smile, trying her best to soothe that crease of worry on his forehead. “What were you thinking of?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“You lie badly.”
She smiled. “It’s nothing, really. Only that it’s so unfortunate how some of us have to grow up so fast.”
He flexed his fingers in front of him. “I wouldn't call that unfortunate. Those who don't grow up—ah! Now where do I start? Look at my cousin, who hasn't left his father's house. He's unmarried and nearing thirty years. Let's talk about something else. Sume, next year, my father says he'll give me my share of my inheritance, which means I can get a house of my own. I was thinking maybe I could get one close to Errena's place, so you wouldn't have a hard time walking.”
“Now why would you say that?” she asked.
Tetsung gave her a painful smile. “I should've started from the top. You and your family—you can come live with me then. It would be so much easier. And Sume, it's been more than a season since I first met you, and you should know by now that...Sume? Sume, are you listening?”
She wasn't; not to him. Instead, she was listening to the screams coming from the dock and the footsteps of people rushing in at once. An empty feeling descended into the pit of her stomach. She didn't know why, because she didn't really know what was going on, but she abandoned Tetsung at his stall and darted down the cobbled street as fast as her sandals could take her.
“Step back! Give the boy some air!” someone cried out, confirming Sume's worst fears as she tore through the crowd and saw Dai's pale body lying still on the ground. She held her breath in check and started walking, forcing herself to be calm. The blood pounded in her ears as she knelt right next to him and placed his white, clammy hand in hers.
“Can't you hear me?” a man was saying in roughly accented Jinan. “Give me a moment with him.” He shoved her to the side. She didn't protest. She watched as he bent over Dai, pressing his hands into his chest. She blanked out right around that time. She didn't faint, but everything around her became a blur. People walked about her and talked but all she could comprehend were waving arms and moving mouths.
And then she heard a coughing and her heart lodged itself in her throat. Dai's eyes were open now—when did they open? They allowed her beside him again, this time letting her cradle him in her arms. Only then did she allow herself to weep—for the loss of her brother, for almost losing his son. She didn't really notice it when somebody touched her shoulder and asked her to follow him into the ship. Without a word, she braced her feet and carried Dai up the ramp.
They ushered her into a room, with a clean bed. “Look,” the same man said, nudging her towards a chair. “Calm down. We've called a physician. The boy will be fine.”
She found her voice, then. “I am calm.” She sounded like it, too, which surprised her. They were removing Dai's shirt and covering him up with warm blankets.
“All right, then.” He gestured at a man by the doorway and screamed in Kagtar. “Brew her some tea, whatever passes for tea in this Agartes-forsaken port. Now—” He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Your boy's fine. What's your name?”
She found herself gazing into his solid, brown-gold eyes. They were very warm eyes. They belonged to an even warmer face, framed with dark hair in a shaggy crop, and a beard trimmed close to his mouth. “Sume,” she responded, fidgeting in her seat.
“Sume,” he repeated, standing up.
“Sir Ylir!” someone called from the deck.
“The physician should be here soon,” he said, smiling ruefully. “Until we meet again, my lady?”
She felt the heat rise in her cheeks, but only for a moment. Dai was reaching out for her and she forgot everything else. She was at his side at once. “I'm sorry,” were the first words out of his mouth. “I was trying to get a closer look. One of the boys knocked me to the side and I slipped.” The colour was returning to his skin. He glanced around the room for an instant before giving her an imploring look. “Please don't tell her. Don't tell mama. She will never forgive us.”
Dai always said that, of course. If he broke a bowl, or came home late from a fight, or that time they had an argument and she chased him around the neighbourhood until she fell and skinned her knees. Hearing the familiar words, after she had been so close to losing him, made her feel like crying and laughing at the same time. She pressed her hands over his cheeks, making him stare into her eyes. “I won't if you don't,” she murmured.
“Good,” he said. “'Cause she'd kill us, you know.”
“I know, my heart.” She tried to smile back. “She'll skin me alive, and shove you up a horse's ass. I know.”
They were interrupted by the arrival of the physician and a bedraggled Tetsung. Dai was prodded, his breathing listened to, and his urine examined for its colour before he was proclaimed none worse for wear. A sombre young man with the colouring of mixed Jin and Kag descent, who called himself Burg, brought them a simple meal of rice and fish-cakes—courtesy of his master—and then took it upon himself to walk them through the streets and back home. He was polite enough, but he didn't talk much, and Sume wasn't quite sure he took her words of thanks seriously enough.
Hana was asleep against the window, her work on her lap, when they stepped in. Sume placed her finger on her lips and ushered Dai up the stairs to get dressed. Then she tiptoed into the work-room, past the folded shirts, and placed her hand on Hana's shoulder. “Sister,” she whispered. Hana's eyes opened. There were dark hollows around them, wrinkles she'd never noticed before.
“Oh. You're home. Is it late?” Hana glanced out of the window.
“No. Afternoon prayers haven't started.” She knelt down and started helping her with folding. “Have you had your lunch yet?”
Hana paused, as i
f just considering it. “No. I think Errena made fish stew? I could take a few minutes, I guess.”
“That was yesterday, sis,” Sume said kindly. “Do you want me and Dai to take you outside?”
“You mean to buy food?” Hana's eyes were wide open. “We can't afford that, Sume! You know that.”
“I'm sure we could spare a bit of coin to get you some soup. Can't we, Dai?” She had heard his tiny footsteps by the door. “Come and join us. You haven't kissed your mother yet.”
He approached tentatively. He almost died, Sume tried hard not to think. She pretended there was dirt in her eye when Dai bent over to wrap his arms around his mother.
“Soup today, and then what?” Hana patted Dai's arm. “Every day, just because we're too lazy? Go buy some tomatoes and onions, I'll make something. I'm not hungry yet. You both know we can't be throwing coin around. Times were tough enough when your brother was out there working and now that he's gone—” That familiar wrinkle of irritation appeared on her forehead. She returned to her work furiously.
“It's all right, mother,” Dai murmured. “Tetsung said I could start working for him after winter. That'll help, won't it?”
“For what? Buying yourself baubles?” She made a dismissive gesture with her hands. “I'll cook. Be patient.” Without another word, she took Dai aside and got up through the door.
Sume turned to her nephew, but the boy shook his head. “Maybe I can learn to sew,” he said, smiling. Perhaps the thoughtless jab at his suggestion didn't hurt him. He was used to it—they both were. Sume had the fleeting memory of tearing down the street as a young girl, trying to find the midwife's house while Hana lay on the floor in a pool of birthing fluid, cursing her brother's name for all of heaven to hear. That night, there had been so much rain that Sume was sure she was going to drown in it. She turned to return Dai's smile and realized the boy had already gone.
An Elegy of Heroes Page 17
