An Elegy of Heroes

by K. S. Villoso

Dai was sitting cross-legged against the railing. All the doors were open, allowing what little sunlight there was to streak in. He glanced up at Kefier’s arrival. “Welcome home, brother,” he said.

  Kefier recognized Dai’s sullen voice and reached forward to clasp his shoulder in greeting. “You’re back early.”

  “A small incident with old man Jorri. Something to do with questionable porridge from an eatery in the north side. Is your aunt back yet?”

  “No,” Dai murmured.

  “Went off to the palace again, I suppose?” He started to swear before he realized Rosha was still looking at him. “I’m not angry. But she could tell the prince she has a family to take care of once in awhile.”

  Dai blinked at him. “Tell the prince? Just like that?”

  “I don’t see how she can’t just sneak it into their conversations. ‘By the way, Your Highness…’”

  “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of the Dragonlord.”

  “Myar or Dai?”

  “What?”

  He tapped the boy’s head. “You’re becoming too nosy for your own good. Did you go to the market this morning like I asked you to? It wasn’t easy talking to Anong Amad to consider you for an apprenticeship.”

  “I don’t want to make shoes for a living.”

  “So you didn’t go! Do you just want to laze around the house all day, doing nothing? You’re nearly fourteen, Dai. You need to pick up a trade. I was only a little older than you when your father took me under his wing. I’m sure the last thing he would want is to see his son waste away.”

  Dai slumped back against the wall and was silent for a time. Kefier stepped over the doorway and pressed his hands over his head. “What am I going to do with you, Dai?”

  “I…I want to go back to Fuyyu,” Dai murmured.

  He peered into the boy’s face. “You want to find your mother?”

  Dai nodded. “Myar wants to meet her,” he added, after a moment’s hesitation.

  Kefier pressed his lips together. “That’s—”

  “He—he insists he will give me more time to myself, if he meets her. I think he’s lonely. For his own mother, I mean. Maybe he thinks if he meets mine, it’ll help. I don’t know. I can’t explain it. He’s like a little bee inside me, Kefier, buzzing away at the slightest things. It’s so hard to make him shut up.” Dai closed his eyes.

  “Where is he now?”

  “Hiding. I don’t know—somewhere. He knows you don’t like him.”

  “I’ll like him more if he leaves you alone.” Kefier folded his arms over his chest. “Between you and Rosha’s fairies, I don’t know anymore. You really want to find your mother? It won’t be easy. You’ll have to get up and walk a couple of steps from the front gate.”

  “Don’t insult me,” the boy said. Kefier stepped aside at his change of voice.

  After all these years, he still wasn’t sure what he believed. He knew Sagar and Narani probably had it right, spirit or agan or whatever it was that affected the boy, but a part of him could not help but think that Dai was merely ill. A change of air, or something better to do with his time, would do wonders for him.

  What he did know was that when he called himself Myar, the boy Dai was a less reserved. A little more violent. He knew it appalled Sume, who had raised the boy not to lift his hand at his elders, and that it made the neighbours talk.

  As if fully aware of his thoughts, the boy waved a hand. “I’m not trying to pick a fight this time. Maybe if you let him join the Dragonlord’s Army he’ll be less argumentative.”

  “Dai is argumentative,” Kefier snorted.

  The boy shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

  “They don’t allow conscripts your age anymore. The Dragonlord’s rules. I don’t make them. Don’t go down this road again, Dai—”

  “Myar.”

  “Right. I’ll take you to Fuyyu if I get the chance. If your aunt lets us. I can’t make any promises beyond that.”

  But Sume did not show up early enough for him to be able to ask her at the dinner table like he thought he would. The evening waned, and they ate their meal in silence, save for old Narani berating them over having done chores her crooked back still allowed her to do. He told Kirosha stories from his boyhood—how Ab ate all the moon and stars, and spat them back out when they burnt his belly—and watched her fall asleep, the single candlelight casting shadows over her long lashes.

  The muted footsteps along the outside hall that he was waiting for did not arrive. His sore muscles melted into the futon underneath him and he dozed off.

  Sume was becoming good at picking out pretend laughter from a distance. Even when she couldn’t see, she could imagine how it started—the cursory half-nod, as if they couldn’t quite contain themselves, mouth delectably hidden behind a fan, and the quick darting glances to assure themselves that their effort has been noticed. That, or maybe it was fear; in the old days, they chopped heads off for staring at a member of the royal family too long.

  She shifted from her seat. Ichi rok Sagar, kneeling from across her, threw her an accusing glare. Sometimes he acted as if her slightest breath was enough to give them away, and she rolled her eyes at him in response. He pretended not to notice, but a vein popped along the side of his jaw, rising to his temple.

  She tried to concentrate on the conversation beside them. “You must admit, my dear prince,” the man said, having regained enough composure to formulate coherent words. “We cannot delay action any more than we have. Zoiron An-Albahtal is a mouse compared to his lion of a father. His claim on Gaspar’s throne is weakened by reports of his older brother’s desire to shed away the mandraagar rites he had uttered and take what is rightfully his.”

  It was Rysaran’s turn to laugh. The prince’s own voice was high and youthful. “I’m sorry, Warlord Lushai,” he said. “Such a rumour—but it is as unthinkable as a boy, pledged to the priestesses for possessing such powers as the mandraagars hold, being allowed by his village to return to his father’s farm…” There was a pause as Rysaran’s shadow bent over, presumably to pour himself some tea. A servant’s shadow lurched forward, too late.

  Rysaran waved him off. “So we think this new Gasparian king is—not what his father was.”

  “No. So I say we act. The attacks on our borders, all those long years ago, remain unpunished. If we march our armies forward, and take the lands north of Shirrokaru as just payment—it is less than they deserve, for all of that.”

  “That sounds interesting enough, but if I may say so…the lords of Al-ir and Barun will not stand idly by while we invade their lands. They will retaliate.”

  “Goatherds and rabble. Why should we care for that? You know, don’t you, that it was K’an Barun’s son-in-law that murdered the old king?”

  “One of the few imprisoned for it, I am told. There was ah—I think a Dageian figurehead with the rest of them. They have not yet determined who it was that did the deed.”

  “Details, Your Highness. Why should we care for details?”

  “I will think on your words, my lord. And now—the night wanes, and I’m sure you have a long way back to your quarters.” There was a quick shuffling of robes.

  Lushai took a deep breath. “My lord,” he said. “I don’t think you understand. The gravity of your position—”

  “Like I said…”

  “Yeshin is gathering an army, my lord. His guards are training too many recruits.”

  “Maybe someone’s stealing his rice.”

  “I said recruits, Your Highness, not rat dogs. I beg of you—remove the blinders from your eyes. If you wage war against Gaspar, the other warlords will have no choice but to support you, and Yeshin’s petty grievances can be swept under the rug. He thinks you weak, that the Dragonlord’s throne is wasted on your—”

  “Good night, Warlord Lushai.”

  “My lord!” There was the distinct sound of the guards’ boots, and then the heavy sweep of a door sliding shut. A few more rustling, and then silence. />
  Sume glanced across at Sagar, who was chewing on his moustache.

  The screen in front of them was dragged away, revealing the prince still sitting squarely in the middle of the room. He pointed at the cushions with his hand. Sume and Sagar both bowed to him before taking their seats. “What do you think?” Rysaran asked. He looked a little pale, as if it took a lot of effort for him to remain calm.

  “If Yeshin does march against you,” Sagar said, with a snort. “He will drag Lushai with him. Bara is too close to Oren-yaro not to get involved in any conflict the Orenars decide to get themselves in. Of course he’d be worried.”

  “So he would have you wage war on Gaspar to save his skin?” Sume broke in. She shook her head. “My lord, I was in Al-ir when those attacks happened.”

  “It’s why I asked you to listen in,” Rysaran replied. “I had figured Lushai would bring up exactly what he did. You told me that the Gasparians thought those attacks were mere spats between the local villagers.”

  “That’s what it seemed like.”

  Rysaran touched his teacup with a finger. “I was travelling there, too, at the time. I distinctly heard that war was being waged against us. Those were not bandit raids—I saw armed Gasparians marching against our soldiers under direct orders from their captain. After they destroyed the border guards and the first village, they turned back, as if it was just a game.”

  He swallowed. “What Lushai said has some merit, does it not?” He glanced at Sume.

  She bowed her head. “It sounds drastic, my lord. Lives will be lost.”

  “They will be too, if Yeshin announces civil war.” He sat back and drew a deep breath. A small smile appeared at the corner of his lips. “What would my father do, Magister Ichi?”

  Sagar drew his hands from beneath his sleeves. “Worrying about Oren-yaro is not unique to your reign. Those fools…”

  He glanced at Sume, and it seemed to her that he stopped himself from uttering obscenities he would have happily belched out had he been alone with the prince. “You were married in Gaspar, were you not? How are the defenses at Al-ir?”

  “Magister Ichi!” Rysaran barked.

  Sume didn’t flinch. “I was not allowed beyond the confines of my room, but from what I saw, there was nothing particularly special about it. But then, I know little about such things.”

  “Would you be able to draw a map of their outpost?”

  “Magister Ichi,” Rysaran said. “I didn’t ask her to sit with us for that.”

  Sagar spat. “Then what good is she for? A woman does not belong on your council, my lord. I have told you before that her frequent presence here has done little to change people’s misconceptions about you…”

  “I am not on his council,” Sume broke in.

  “Then it should remain that way!”

  Rysaran held out his hand. “There is nothing official about your presence here, both of you. If you insist on arguing, I might as well just sit with Ryabei and the rest of them.” He sighed. “I would not call it wisdom, but there is…sense…in what he is saying. Some sense, anyway. Yeshin must be taken care of somehow.” He folded his hands together.

  Sagar rubbed his chin. “You can’t act without evidence. I would go to Oren-yaro for you and investigate.”

  Rysaran seemed to think on that for a few moments. He glanced at Sume. “Take her with you. Alone, you would draw too much attention. If it is not too much trouble, Sume.”

  “I was last seen at Oren-yaro with my family, my lord,” Sume ventured. “They might remember.”

  “Perhaps. But there are also a hundred reasons why a woman might choose to accompany her ailing father back to her hometown.”

  “Tsah! I am supposed to pretend to be Goro? I have sunk so low,” Sagar grumbled. But his eyes were twinkling. “If I make the arrangements, we can be ready to leave in a week’s time. You are up for this then? I do not recall hearing you agree to this.”

  She turned to Rysaran. His face was hopeful. The words left her mouth before she could even think about them. “I will do what I can to serve the Dragonlord.”

  “Excellent!” Sagar clapped and bowed. “If Your Highness will let me take my leave…”

  “Start tomorrow morning, Magister Ichi. The servants complain of your midnight activities.”

  “They would, too. You have lazy subjects, my lord.” He bowed a second time and strode out of the room.

  Rysaran laughed. “That man! But now he is gone—speak freely, Sume.”

  She arranged the pot of tea to give herself time to think before replying. “If you wage war on Gaspar, both sides of Shirrokaru will be undefended. I do know that the Lord of Al-ir, Rajiat, is a shrewd man.”

  He peered into her face. “You don’t speak much about those days.”

  “There’s not much to say.”

  “Ah, come now, Sume. We have been friends all these years, but you remain tight-lipped. How did you come to leave Al-ir, when your husband died on your wedding night? I assume Rajiat would have had you killed on the spot.”

  “Are you ordering me to speak?”

  Rysaran gave her a pained look. “You know I won’t do that.”

  “Then I will hold onto my secrets. You have, I am told, some of your own. A girl you visit in the next town? Palace servants are not discreet.”

  He smiled sweetly. “I assure you, they have their fair share of rumours about you and I, as well.”

  “And you and Ichi, no doubt. It is not easy, this world of yours. But it is getting late and I must head on home before Kefier lectures me again. Not that he won’t, by this point. But I have to try to pick my battles.”

  “I apologize. How do you think your husband will react to me sending you to Oren-yaro? I hope it won’t be a big problem for you.”

  “It’s my decision to make. He will be angry, no doubt, but—”

  “I can speak with him, if you want. We’ve yet to meet, after all, and perhaps a conversation will set his mind at ease.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She got up and slid into her sandals.

  “I picked up a trinket for Kirosha from my trip to Sutan. Ureji will know where it is. If you don’t mind, Ureji…?” The guard dipped his head in response and gestured at Sume. She smiled at him before bowing to the prince.

  “Serene dreams upon you tonight, my lord,” she said, out of habit.

  “Oh, I highly doubt that.” He grinned. “But thank you all the same, Sume.”

  The wooden ball—gracefully painted with the star-fruit that had been the emblem of Sutan for decades—felt light in her hands as she trudged along the path home. Ureji remained at a respectful distance behind her. She had not liked this arrangement in the beginning. Ureji was an Akkian who had moved to the mainland with his mother in his youth, and she had wanted to speak with him about things from their childhood. The lighthouse by the docks, the coloured rice-paper lanterns during summer festivals (you could eat pieces of them, fried in corn oil), the bubbling streams north of town where the women did the washing…she was afraid, most days, that the memories would leave and never return, and she thought speaking would make it easier to hold on to them, if just for a little longer.

  But Ureji was a silent man who only spoke if the prince wanted his opinion. She was not sure if he actively disliked her, but he seemed unconvinced that her association with the prince would do anything but harm. She did notice, though, that he seemed to appreciate her stopping by the Sakku shrine whenever they ventured this way. You can take the Akkian out of Akki, but never the Akkian out, or so the saying went.

  “You could head back now,” she told him, fiddling with her sandals when they left the shrine. “It’s almost light, and I can make my way back home.”

  “The prince would have me decapitated if something happened to you under my watch.”

  “Oh, he would not.”

  “He might as well.” He took a deep breath and seemed to rein himself in. This stopped her in her tracks. “That little plan of his—s
ending you to Oren-yaro with Magister Sagar…”

  “You know about as much as I do, Captain.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking like the long-limbed, wiry young man that he really was and not the Dragonlord’s Captain of the Guard. “I’m concerned that you’ll betray the prince’s trust in you. Don’t take offense to my words, Kaggawa. Only that in matters of political secrecy, Magister Sagar is skilled, while you’re a young mother…”

  “Ah,” she said, understanding.

  He squinted at her, the lines across his sun-wrinkled face deepening. “You see what I mean?”

  “I can see that you hold a very low opinion of me.”

  “The thing is, Miss Kaggawa…” Ureji drew another deep breath, as if his every word would later be laid out for examination by the court. “I have been with our prince since he was a boy. Times have changed, and I have moved up in position as our prince grew of age, but he remains the same, impulsive young man. Some of his ideas are…”

  Sume cocked her head to the side. “Are you criticizing our prince, Ureji?”

  He turned red. “No, by all the gods. No! Oh, just be silent, woman. Try not to get your throat slit by the Oren-yaro when you’re there.”

  They reached the bend in the path that led home. The sound of wood being split reached her ears even before she saw the house. When she did, she was greeted to the sight of Kefier at the edge of the yard, methodically setting a log in front of him before bracing himself with a wood cleaver. He did not see her, or if he did, he was doing a good job keeping it to himself.

  She noted the lines over his brow, ones he hadn’t had when she had first met him. They had grown, no doubt, out of worry for her daughter. She found herself mentally tracing the firm ridge along his jaw, covered with dark stubble, and the strong curve of his shoulders, before stopping herself. That, she thought, is not a road you want to take. Don’t even consider it.

  She heard Ureji clear his throat. “Good day to you, Anong Kefier,” the man said, dropping his head as they neared the gate. “I bring your wife back safe and sound.”

  Kefier wiped his hands on his trousers and did an awkward half-bow. “I hope she wasn’t much trouble. How’s the family?”