An Elegy of Heroes

by K. S. Villoso

  Hira nodded. “Oren-yaro only lost its palace during the dragon attack.”

  “You tell them that. They sent two soldiers—eventually. And the way they acted, you’d think Warlord Yeshin had to spare an entire army.” The innkeeper clicked her tongue. “We didn’t know what happened after that. Soldiers probably knifed the driver along the road—don’t see why they’d bother taking him all the way. Imperials and their temper. The family who had him in their coop weren’t thrilled, either. Something about cleaning weeks’ worth of waste and not a single coin for their trouble.”

  “Maybe the Ikessars are trying something. Even if it means elevating Rysaran’s sisters. They did it with the merchants. Why not women?” Sume asked.

  Hira snorted. “The same Ikessars who hid those girls in the first place?”

  The innkeeper smiled at them. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it, if maybe we were better off in the days when the warlords didn’t have to share their power? More public executions. More entertainment. At least the people were happy.” She walked away, shaking her head.

  Sume glanced at her bowl and at the lone fish head floating in white broth. A single, glassy eye stared back at her. “Well,” she sighed. “There goes my appetite.”

  Hira threw coins across the bar. “Let’s go before somebody flaps their wings and proclaim himself a Baran prophet or something.”

  “Are you sure?” Sume asked. “Maybe you’ll see him lay an egg.”

  “I’m not the sort of person who wants to see a man lay an egg, Kaggawa, no matter what people tell you.”

  Sume woke up before everyone else the next day and tiptoed her way to where Arn still slept in the straw. A dagger was tucked in her belt, hidden under her robe.

  In sleep, he looked peaceful. The image of the boy in the rain returned. How could a mere boy embody so much rage and hate? Perhaps Yn Garr had been hard on Enosh as he grew up, but the man did not seem capable of abuse. Or was he? That deep-seated anxiety for Rosha returned. She could feign indifference, but the crippling thought that she was a bad mother whose decisions continue to put her daughter in danger was sometimes more than she could bear.

  Sume drew the dagger and laid it on her knee. She understood that Rosha’s life depended on her actions, not her thoughts. Pity for Arn would do nothing. The boy was hell-bent on pleasing a master whose plans included using her child. Kefier could only protect her for so long—if she led Arn right to the beast, it would all be for nothing.

  She needed to get rid of the boy.

  The thought disturbed her so much that she had to get up as soon as the words formed in her mind. She looked across the stalls to where Hira snored on a bench and wondered if she would understand if she explained everything. Maybe she’ll think you’re a madwoman and call the guards on you. And then Sagar or Enosh will have to save you and you’ll have to start all over again.

  Enosh, who, she conceded, may not be as honest about his intentions as he made himself out to be. If anyone could see the monetary value in a creature as vile as Naijwa’s beast, it would be him. She knew this, had always known it, and so Arn’s words stung all that much deeper because she had refused to believe it all these years. Is he even back in Sutan? If he’s not, will he ever be? It would not be the first time he’s left me behind. It was Enosh’s idea, after all, that she stay in Jin-Sayeng.

  If I killed Arn, I could roll him under one of the horses and pretend he got crushed to death. Her face tightened as she went over the absurdity of the idea. Maybe if she dragged his body outside and pretend a thief had stolen his purse in the night…

  She realized that a window was open and tiptoed past Arn to shut it. Her heart hammered with every passing second. Do it now, she thought. For Rosha. Worry about the consequences later. The boy will only cause more destruction. Pity him, but know that…

  Sume saw the griffon from across the street, staring at her with piercing black eyes. It opened its beak. All courage left her. She glanced at Arn, sound asleep, observed the curve of his nose and long eyelashes, and convinced herself it was just a thought, anyway. She didn’t have it in her to kill him.

  She realized that she was still holding the dagger. As she re-sheathed it, she saw the drop of blood along her palm, where she had nicked herself from gripping the blade too tightly. It dripped along her wrist and down her arm like a thin, red river on her skin. The warmth of it was strangely comforting.

  Chapter Six

  One of the most amazing things about Enosh, Sume had found, was how different he seemed whenever he thought no one was looking at him. The arrogant swagger (which he was convinced was charming) was gone, replaced by an almost child-like expression of permanent amusement. He was one of those people who thought aloud—clicking his tongue, humming to himself—which came as a relief to Sume the first time she saw it and realized things didn’t just come to him like he claimed.

  He was doing that right now. Under the dim light of the barely risen sun, his skin was darker than usual. He had gone clean-shaven since they’d lived in Jin-Sayeng, though there was a thin layer of black stubble over his chin. There was none on his cheeks, a mark of his inability to grow a full beard.

  “You would leave without a goodbye?” Sume said, visibly startling him. “Again?”

  Enosh turned to her. “You had a lot of wine last night,” he commented. He recovered from shock so easily. “I didn’t think to wake you.”

  “Do you ever run out of excuses?”

  “On occasion,” he grinned. “One time, this woman’s husband found me in the baths. Being naked, I couldn’t very well tell him I’d just gone up there to check the drain. I was lucky to escape with my head.”

  “You could have said you turned over a chamber pot and ruined your shirt.”

  “A fair point. I’ll consider it next time.”

  She stopped a short distance away from him. “You really don’t want to take me with you.”

  “Of course not,” he said. “You hate Gaspar. Muggy weather. Too-rich food. Clothes that don’t fit you.”

  “Uh, no, you do, and for all of those reasons. Of course, you also hate Jin-Sayeng, and Kago, and I think you’re none-too-fond of Cael. You’re just a hateful person in general, Enosh.”

  “Lecturing me before I go? Ah, I suppose I deserve that.” Enosh smiled, and Sume observed that he did not apologize about nor deny what he was about to do. He had made up his mind. However lightly she broached the subject, her opinion would not sway him.

  She watched him standing there with his cocky grin, and wondered about the time when she thought she loved him. It had been the only time in her life where she had given so much of herself. A part of her missed the naivete of that girl who could still believe, however briefly, in a happily ever-after. If she could offer that girl advice, it would be: “Sweet fool, let him fool you a little longer.”

  “Well,” she said, at length. “I’ll let you continue talking to yourself. I should probably warn you that it’s a sign of madness. Might have to get a healer check your head one of these days. Sakku bring you home safely.” She started to reach out, as if to touch him, but her hands fell to her side before she could even graze his shirt.

  “Home…” Enosh started. He looked amused.

  “I know,” Sume said. “It’s a figure of speech.”

  “I’ll do my best to find this thing and give your daughter some peace,” he said.

  She smiled and didn’t correct him. Her daughter only. Of course he would say that. He probably didn’t understand half the things he said.

  “Welcome back, Sang Sume,” the shopkeeper, Basing, called out. “Fuyyu treated you all right?”

  “I made it back,” Sume said. “That’s all that matters.” Being called sang made her conscious of her age. Basing was younger than her, hired by Enosh last year to take care of the shop he had set up. They sold a variety of things—knives and flour and whatever they could get for cheap from local suppliers, which wasn’t easy because Sutan was in the east and
resisted the idea of a foreigner setting up shop. They barely got by as it was—whatever profit they made was just enough to pay for the store and the house they were renting. Sapphire, who had a source of income she wouldn’t tell them about, paid for their food.

  It was an arrangement, she knew, that made Enosh unhappy. He had saved up quite a bit of money in his years working for Yn Garr, which he had been counting on to keep them afloat, but about three years ago, he had found himself unable to withdraw from his accounts. Most of his money was held in the Kag, with no direct link to Jin-Sayeng. The closest bank was in the port of Nalvor. He made the several weeks-long journey, only to find out that they no longer recognized him as the owner, despite all the paperwork he pulled out. Someone, it seemed, had used a complicated spell to pretend he had given them authorization to make transactions on his behalf.

  He, of course, blamed Yn Garr, as well as his naivety in “trusting a system as archaic as the Kag’s.” Dageian banks, in contrast, knew you could walk in looking like someone you claimed to be, have all the necessary paperwork, and still be an impostor.

  “You want breakfast? I made fried bananas.” Basing stepped behind the counter and pulled out a chipped, earthen bowl. Sume took one. The oily batter was still warm and crispy.

  “How’s business?” she asked, chewing.

  “It’s all right, I suppose. Had to make a fuss to stop people from thinking they can use credit and never pay. ‘Just because the owner’s a Kag,’ I said, ‘doesn’t mean you get to abuse him.’ Bastards made a false complaint against the guard, but it’s good, sang, I took care of it. My cousin’s in the guard himself and got them to see reason. It would be good if Anong Enosh didn’t have to find out, though.”

  She licked her thumb. “Has he been back at all?”

  “No. Good thing, too, or he’d have skinned me alive. Gotta tell you, sang, I know you love the boss and all but the man’s got about as much humour as old Ermo’s guard dog.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Well, old Ermo’s dog does this thing, you see, where he…”

  “I mean that other thing. Love him?” She blinked.

  “What?” Basing asked. “He didn’t move here for you? I thought—” He scratched the side of his cheek. “Seeing as to how he hates it here and all, I figured...well, it was either you or Sang Safira, and she’s just as humourless, so I didn’t think…”

  Sume nodded. “You didn’t think. Let’s go with that.”

  Basing’s cheeks turned red. “Sorry. This is awkward.”

  “I’m just going to grab some things from upstairs.”

  “You’re not staying?”

  “I have to head out to Darusu later today. Do me a favour, Basing. Let people continue running their tabs. I’ll ask them to pay later. If Enosh complains, tell him to bring it up with me.” She wiped her fingers on her trousers.

  “You can see why I’m confused about the love thing,” Basing called after her.

  She strode to the back. The house was built directly above a store, in the year when trade first opened with the Kag. The owner, an optimistic, offshoot royal from the Jeinza clan that ruled Sutan, had made the liberty of making the architecture as Kag-like as possible.

  What followed was a caricature building, with a modern Kag kitchen but also an old-fashioned outdoor Jin-Sayeng stove, sliding doors but a dark, wooden staircase that led—rather abruptly—to a second floor with four bedrooms. It was, in Enosh’s words, the most hideous house he had ever seen, but because the rent was cheap and because he couldn’t stand the cramped spaces of the typical Jin-Sayeng home, he had no choice. He did attempt to remind them, every so often, how miserable the house made him.

  Sume left her shoes at the top landing and made her way to her room first. It looked exactly as she had left it: a narrow mattress on a frame, in Kag fashion, a small desk. There was a stack of letters on the desk, three years’ worth of unmailed letters to Rosha. She did not want to risk sending them to her while she was with Yn Garr. She knew the decision would have other repercussions, and it was one of those things she chose not to think about. Let her daughter hate her, for now—if it kept her alive, so be it.

  There was no letter for Kefier.

  She had tried to write him one over the years—long, angry letters penned in an attempt to sort her feelings out in the months following their separation in Shi-uin. But she always threw them away after she was done. He was bound to take whatever she said the wrong way. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted to talk to him anymore, especially after what he did to Sapphire. She knew it was for Rosha, that he was trying his best—in the only way he knew how—to protect her, but it didn’t change how furious she was over his actions.

  She took a change of clothes from her closet and a spare bamboo water bottle sitting on the desk before heading back into the hallway. She went straight to Enosh’s room, not caring whether he had set up wards around it. The door opened without anything blowing up.

  Enosh had taken the largest room in the house. There was a bed there, too, big enough for two. She tried not to look at it and went straight to the papers on his desk. Most were inventory lists for the store and records of prices from local suppliers. Nothing suspicious caught her attention. There were also obscure books on spells and enchantments, one on the grisly deaths of Dageian rogue mages (with a strongly worded note from Sapphire), and another on Jin-Sayeng economy before the nation opened trade (written by a Kag). There was also an order form for a small bookcase, half-filled out. At the top, in barely legible scrawl, was scribbled, “Rosha loves books? What kind?”

  She touched the ink, wondering when he had written it. There was no date on the form. He could’ve written it months ago, or right before he left. She looked at the note again, at what he must have been thinking when he wrote Rosha. Could she dare hope that he wanted to be a father to her now, at last? She should know better.

  She went back downstairs, told her goodbyes to Basing, and made her way down the path in the orange light. It was still early morning and the sun was not even halfway over the horizon. As she came around the corner, she encountered a figure who pointed at her in amazement.

  “You’re Tar’elian’s associate,” the man said. He was an older Jinsein, balding, with a trimmed, grey beard. He was wearing Kag clothing.

  “And you’re Ramerro,” Sume said. “Ramerro aron dar Jeinza, our landlord. To what do I owe the honour?”

  Ramerro bowed. “A pleasure to finally meet you after so many years. I’ve only dealt with Enosh and that lovely, prickly lady, Safira. I’m sorry I never caught your name.”

  “Sume Kaggawa,” she said. “Alon gar,” she added, after a moment’s thought.

  “Ah! A merchant’s daughter? Perfect. What Enosh did with the place is nothing short of a miracle. I’m sure you had something to do with it.” He reached out to shake her hand, an entirely uncharacteristic thing for a Jinsein to do. “I’m sure you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

  “I thought Enosh had paid for the entire year. If there’s any trouble…”

  “Oh,” Ramerro said, putting his hands in his pockets. “Nothing of the sort. I just ah...he isn’t home yet, is he?”

  “Unfortunately, he’s still away on business.”

  “That’s too bad.” He scratched his beard. “He had asked me to send a preposition to the aren dar Jeinzas, you see. My direct-line cousins. Perhaps you know something about that?” She shook her head, and he made a disappointed sound. “Ah, well. The less who know, the better, I suppose. You’ll let him know that I sent the message? Warlord Oichi is more than interested. He wants to meet as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll let him know when he returns,” she said.

  “That’s all I need.” He smiled and turned to draw back, but hesitated. “You’ll also, ah, maybe send a message to Safira? Tell her I’ve been thinking of her.” The old man grinned.

  Sume tried to keep a straight face. “Of course.”

 
“Thank you for the trouble. Kaggawa—you wouldn’t happen to be related to that Kaggawa, by any chance?”

  “That was a long time ago,” Sume said.

  “Ah, isn’t it? There’s some truth to that. Yet here we are, shaped by our yesterdays.” The old man reached out to shake both her hands this time before heading on his way.

  “You took too long,” Arn greeted Sume as she came within sight of the camp. He was sitting on a rock, a wooden flute in his hands. This surprised her—he had talked about playing music before, but she had never actually seen him with an instrument. She stopped, because he was holding it in such a way that she wasn’t sure if he was going to play a song or throw it at her.

  “I had to speak with the landlord,” she said. “Life doesn’t stop just because you want it to, Arn.”

  “Spare me the lectures.” He placed the flute against his lips and played a quick tune. A shadow flitted through the sky and stopped to rest on a tree. “Let me guess. He’s not back.”

  “No,” Sume said. “You were right. You wouldn’t have let me go alone if you thought otherwise. There’s been no word from him, either. Don’t start, Arn.” She walked back to camp. A moment later, she heard Arn shuffling behind her.

  Hira was loading the horses when they arrived. “I spoke to a farmer earlier, mentioned we were heading northeast,” Hira said. “She said there’s trouble brewing up there. Something about the Kibouri fanatics. I guess they’ve been more active than usual since Rysaran’s death, which doesn’t surprise me. You’ve heard rumours about Rysaran being a Kibouri fanatic himself, haven’t you?”

  Sume shook her head. “I—wasn’t aware. One could see the wisdom in the prophet’s teachings without sympathizing with zealots.” She began to help loading the horses. She had named hers Barley, which was the same name of a puppy Kefier had found and brought home once. It was a thing he did too often, one she had complained about every time, but the recollection was suddenly sweeter than she imagined.