An Elegy of Heroes

by K. S. Villoso

  “You wouldn’t have been wrong, if we didn’t come.” Sapphire walked to the desk, picked up a scroll, and threw it at his direction. He caught it. “This is why we took the risk. People have been clamoring for someone to be hanged for K’an ono K’an Zilfikar’s death. That Dageian ambassador, Hegas, was the most popular choice, and likely they would, in time, have found enough evidence to pin it on him. Wouldn’t matter. We’re talking about Gasparian law here, and none of you could have walked out of there alive.”

  “Tonight was a good night to kill you,” Vilum added. “That news just broke out a few days ago, and tomorrow, they were going to let the mandraagars work on you. Anyone who wanted you dead to make it easy to hang Hegas instead would have done it tonight. If we did things right, they won’t even look for us at all. If you were smart, you’ll work with us to keep things that way.”

  He fingered the scroll. “My wife,” he said, after a moment. “What has become of her?”

  “You cared about that harpy?” Sapphire sounded genuinely surprised.

  “Don’t tell me you’re jealous. No—I just want to know if she’s well. Nobody in there would tell me anything.”

  “She’s very well, Enosh. Why wouldn’t she be? When they dragged you into the dungeons, she told them she had seen you prepare a vial in your tent. Her father sent documents that further incriminated you—materials you’ve ordered over the years, some of which could be made into the exact sort of poison that killed the king.”

  He felt his hands grow cold. “She did that. She…” His mind darted back to the events that led up to the king’s death. Reema had insisted they share a tent, if not a bed. But any wife would have asked the same, wouldn’t she?

  “If you ask me,” Sapphire continued. “They were reaching. But it cast enough doubt on you to keep you in there all this time.”

  “Oh, Ab,” he groaned, dragging his hands over his face. “Has she returned to Barun?”

  “You’ll be surprised to know that her father has kept her in the nobles’ district in town.”

  “All right, Orsalian. Take me to her.”

  “You must be out of your mind.”

  “Take me to her.”

  “No. I thought I’ve made it clear that you work for me now.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Vilum smirk before walking away.

  Chapter Three

  The smell of burning metal clung to his nostrils like a thin layer of paint. Some days, it was all he could smell. The smith Jorri told him it was due to the ores he used, imported from Kago, and that an ointment of camphor, applied over his lip each day, should help chase the scent away. He took the advice one time, but the camphor had made his lip swell so much that Narani and Sume wouldn’t stop laughing for days.

  Kefier realized where his train of thought was leading him and tried to turn away. By Ab, he thought, turning his face away from the sudden spray of ember from the forge. What is wrong with me? I’m too old to be acting like a boy, and that woman—that confused, infuriating woman…

  But she had been all he could think about for days and it was enough to make him deaf to the world around him. Jorri frowned at him for the umpteenth time, but the man had a notoriously short temper anyway and he ignored him.

  I remind her of my brother, he continued, mishandling the tongs while trying to drop a piece of iron into a pail of water. She doesn’t even know it, but that’s what it was. Of course that’s what it was.

  He returned the iron to the anvil, lifted the hammer, and swung. Sweat poured along his jaw and dripped down the loose cotton shirt he was wearing. I mean, we don’t look alike, and I know women flock to him like flies to shit, but…

  “Kefier,” Jorri said.

  He grunted, and didn’t see it at all when Jorri came up to him and smacked him with his palm. He remembered where he was and swore out loud.

  “You want to smash your hand to pieces? If you’re going to be careless, don’t do it inside my shop. I can’t afford healers. Can’t even pay one to help with my father’s rash, the old skirt-chaser.”

  “I wasn’t.” But he clenched his hands and stepped back from his work.

  Jorri peered at him from under heavy, grey brows. “Everything all right at home? Is your baby well?”

  “We’re fine.” He wiped his hands on his shirt.

  Jorri’s youngest son appeared near the doorway. “Your wife’s here,” he said.

  Kefier was still so entrenched in his own thoughts that he almost didn’t realize the boy meant his wife. His! The only girl he had ever actually married turned out to be Enosh’s, too, and Ab knew how that turned out. And now this one. Was he forever doomed to be a doormat to his brother’s women?

  He found her sitting by the bench outside, feeding Jorri’s dogs with pieces of bread. Seeing her, his irritation came and went, replaced with an odd sense of shame. Sume glanced up at him and coloured. He pretended to ignore that. “What are you doing here?”

  “Narani made extra food, so I thought I’d bring you your lunch.”

  He looked at her. She had sent him lunch in the past, by way of Dai or a neighbour who happened to be passing by the palace district that time. She had never brought it herself before. Scratching the side of his cheek, he took the bamboo container from her and cracked it open. It was rice with taro leaves and white beans stewed in creamy coconut milk, still so warm that steam rose from the small gaps in the side. He fumbled for something—anything—to say, and managed to mutter, “How’s Rosha?”

  “I told her about my trip. She asked me to buy her a dress from Oren-yaro. I think she’s taking this better than if I said I was taking her with me and we were leaving you behind.” She laughed.

  He smirked, before glancing down at the boxed lunch. “Sume…”

  “Dai said there was something you needed to ask me.”

  That caught him off guard, and he gaped at her until she laughed again, pressing a finger on his jaw.

  He pulled back. “I don’t…”

  “He mentioned Fuyyu? Did I hear that right? He wants to go to Fuyyu?”

  “That. Right—he asked me to take him to Fuyyu. He wants to find his mother.” The change of conversation made him feel like a weight had been lifted off his chest. He was suddenly aware of the dogs milling around his legs, and he pressed his hand on the one closest to his knee and tapped it on the nose.

  Sume leaned back into her seat. “I sent a letter to Errena a couple of years back. You remember the seamstress I was working with when we met in Fuyyu? She said that she’s moved away, gone to live in Tetsung’s family’s farm. I tried to send word to her, but she hasn’t replied. It’s best if you do take him home yourself. I—I wasn’t aware Dai wanted this.”

  “Perhaps if you spent more time at home—”

  She glanced up at his rebuke.

  He pretended to clear his throat. “Anyway, it’s not Dai’s idea. Apparently, it’s Myar’s. Whatever that means.”

  “I see.”

  “Jorri’s closing shop in a week or so to travel to the mountains to visit his parents. I suppose we can go, then.”

  “I leave in two days, Kefier. I don’t know when we’ll be back.”

  He tightened his jaw. “I know.”

  “And Kirosha? Sang Narani is supposed to care for her by herself?”

  “I was thinking we could take her along.”

  She was silent for a moment. “This is why you didn’t oppose me when I told you what the prince wanted. Kefier, it’s not safe out on the road!”

  He felt his ears begin to burn. “You would take her to Oren-yaro if I let you.”

  “Because I’m her mother. You’re just…”

  He turned away, not wanting to hear the rest of what she had to say. Sume got up and called his name, but he didn’t turn back and went up the stairs into the smithy. She didn’t follow him and he wasn’t sure, for the rest of that afternoon, if that disappointed him or not.

  It was dark by the time Kefier returned home. Sume had been ai
ring out the mattresses in the yard when she heard the gate click. He looked startled when he saw her, like a cat caught slinking in a kitchen where he didn’t belong. Without a word, he closed the gate behind him and headed for the house.

  A few moments later, he returned to the garden. “Where’s everyone?” he asked.

  “The neighbours are celebrating a family anniversary. Rosha wanted to stay the night so she can play with the girls. I sent Dai over to keep an eye on her.” She glanced at him. “You can go there to check up on her, if you want. I needed to stay and pack.”

  Kefier left through the gate as quickly as he’d arrived. Sume glanced at his retreating figure and smiled to herself before dragging the mattresses back to the house. The silence that greeted her was unsettling, but she told herself she needed to get used to it. The road to Oren-yaro was long, and Sagar made for poor company.

  Not for the first time, she considered what she was about to do. The prince’s decision to send her with Sagar had come as a surprise. She had tried not to dwell on it because he was her prince and was not, after all, asking too much from her. But in all her life, she had never expected to be embarking on something that didn’t involve trying to stay alive long enough for her next meal. To be assisting the Dragonlord, the way her father must’ve, once…

  When she was growing up, all she knew of her father, Goran alon gar Kaggawa, was that he was a learned man, a merchant who thought too deeply and drank a little too much. Oh, she had loved him, with the ferocity only a little girl could muster. He had argued a lot with Oji, his eldest, but she had him wrapped around her little finger, pliable as clay. He’d taken her with him on trips to the mainland, sometimes allowing her to take the ship’s wheel in good weather. That had been all she’d needed to know—that her father, for all that his life ended stinking in wine and urine, was a good man, struck by too many misfortunes.

  If not for Enosh, she would have never learned of her father’s involvement with the Seven Shadows, the merchant group led by Ichi rok Sagar. The Seven Shadows helped Reshiro aren dar Ikessar maintain his throne during the revolts that followed the Empire of Ziri-nar-Orxiaro’s attack on the mainland a few decades ago. It was disbanded years before Sagar was imprisoned in the dungeons, though she wasn’t sure why. She had tried to ask him, but on that subject, even more so than others, Sagar kept his lips sealed.

  What she was sure of was that she was her father’s only living child. And with that, she felt an urge—stronger than any she’d had in her life—to continue her father’s legacy. Even if it meant occasionally withdrawing from this family and allowing silence to seep back into her life.

  She was folding Rosha’s clothes when she heard the door slide open. Expecting Narani, she turned to greet her, saying, “They’re all next door, Sang…”

  But it was only Kefier again. “I saw Narani on my way back here,” he said. He looked amused for a moment. “Something about her son sending for her. They’re visiting a relative in the city.”

  “That’s—I don’t know what to say.”

  “She didn’t even look frazzled, like she has tea and cakes with him every afternoon.”

  “Maybe they do and we just don’t know it.”

  He snorted, the way he did when he wanted to laugh but was still angry with her for some reason, and sat against the wall. Shadows danced along his frame, hiding the broadness of his shoulders. He was not as lean as he had been when she first met him. Solid meals and his work at the blacksmith’s had done their part over the years. She was suddenly aware that they were alone in the house. Something about that unsettled her.

  “You can take her with you and Dai to Fuyyu,” Sume said, hoping the sound of her voice would calm her nerves. “Anyway, I think it’s better than leaving her with Narani, and you can take care of her better than I can in Oren-yaro. We both know it.”

  He tried to hide it, but he looked relieved. After a moment, he muttered, “I thought you said—”

  “Kefier, if you spent less time throwing back the things I’ve said to my face, we’d argue less. Sakku below, why do you hate me? And if you do, why don’t you just get up and leave? I’ve been asking you to for almost five years. Five years, Kefier. I mean, I know I’m a terrible mother, and…that’s it, isn’t it? Oh Sakku, that’s it. You think I’ll strangle Rosha in her sleep if you’re not here!”

  In the time it took for her to catch her breath, she realized that he had crossed the room to her. She wasn’t quite sure what happened next, but she thought she caught him say, “What makes you think I hate you?” and then there was another perplexing moment where his lips touched hers and she forgot that they weren’t really married. Far from it.

  But life—her life, in particular—was confusing like that. And she had been alone for so very long. She allowed her fingers to comb through his coarse hair, deep brown in this light, and down the knotted muscles along his back. A part of her conceded that she was just waiting for something to interrupt them, but the rest of her agreed that she didn’t want that to happen anytime soon. A little after she managed to drag his shirt off, she admitted to herself that she was beyond caring.

  She pulled away from him and for a moment, read disappointment in his eyes. She ran a finger along his collarbone before reaching back to blow out the lantern. In the darkness, she slipped her tunic from around her shoulders. From behind, she felt him place his jaw on the crook of her neck, his stubble grazing the skin there.

  “There’s something else on your mind,” she started, sensing his hesitation.

  He kissed her skin softly before replying. “Women. All you want to do is talk.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “You’re asking me now?” His voice was very low. It was not a tone she had heard from him before and the sound of it slid along her skin like a cold blade, making her shiver.

  “I’m thinking maybe you don’t really want to. Last time—”

  “I’ve slept an arm away from you these last few years. Don’t think it’s never crossed my mind before.”

  “So why…”

  “Sume,” he hissed. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No.”

  “Then be quiet.” Despite his words, his touch was the gentlest she’d ever known. He touched her shoulder, turning her slightly so that he could kiss her again. She could taste the hunger on him, a sweet concoction of breath and heat, and wondered if he felt the same way. There was a roughness in the way he fumbled with the rest of her clothes that spoke of inexperience, which was surprising for a man of his age.

  Not that Sume knew that much more herself, anyway. She found herself guiding Kefier’s hands over her, allowing him—once and for all—to break the wall between them. Years she had known him, years of laughter and arguments and then her brother’s stories before that, but it was the first time she thought she caught a glimpse of the man underneath. He kissed her again, half-consuming her with his lips, and she sensed cold rage underneath the fire. He was fighting something. Even as this thought occurred to her, it also became frighteningly clear that if she changed her mind, he might not let her.

  But she wanted him just as much as she thought he wanted her, and then in another moment there was not much room for thought anymore. Then, there was pleasure with a shot of pain, and then the taste of his sweat and the feel of his name was on her tongue. In a world of fleeting happiness and run-down sorrows, it was, for the time being...enough.

  Kefier woke up and got dressed before the sun had the chance to spill through the curtains and remind him of what he had done. He went outside, under the cold, grey cloak of dawn, and paced along the garden before sitting on the bench against the fence. The taste of her was still on his lips. Stubbornly, he wiped at them, and told himself he would never be able to look her in the eye again. He would certainly never be able to look into Enosh’s. For a long time, he remained there, statue-like, his face buried in his hands. A visitor, peering through the gap in the fence into the garden, would not have
noticed him there.

  Around him, the roosters began to crow. Eventually he got up, straightened his shoulders, and prepared to meet the day.

  Chapter Four

  Mornings in Gaspar were irritatingly frigid. Enosh, walking along the rooftops in only a tunic and cloak, felt under-dressed, and he had to force himself to move quickly to keep warm. It was a good thing that the crowded, box-shaped buildings allowed him to traverse through rooftops with ease.

  Along the horizon, he saw the first glimpses of the sun’s rays and glanced at the manor in the distance. He wasn’t that far. He prayed that it was unguarded. Although in truth, he had long abandoned his beliefs, Ab—or someone—clearly had not abandoned him yet. It probably didn’t hurt to try.

  He made his way across the banister and along a carved stone balcony. The years of imprisonment had taken its toll on him, and he found his movement hampered by the pain in his muscles and joints. He paused for a moment to catch his breath and re-adjust his boots. Below him, he smelled meat and bread being grilled on hot coals outside the baker’s yard, and forced himself to walk again.

  By the time he reached the manor’s first tower, he was limping. The windows were still several feet off the roof he stood on. Though there were several bannisters that he would’ve been able to scale without a problem in the past, he realized there was not much he could do in his state. He crossed his arms and stared at the windows while he considered his next step.

  By chance, or perhaps, because of an answered prayer, he caught sight of a rose-coloured scarf draped along one windowsill. The pattern was familiar. Maidservants and commoners preferred drab colours. He took a deep breath, found a loose tile from under his foot, and aimed for the screen.

  It took several embarrassing tries before he managed to hit it. The loose tile bounced along the eaves and along the copper grooves around it with a resounding clang. He didn’t have to wait long. He saw the screen being loosened from the inside, and then a head poked out.