By the end of the following year, in every region, from mountains to grassland and from ocean to wilderness, people did their work and raised their children in a daze of fear and despair. Everyone knows what happened in Rees, how a canny Sainnite commander, informed by the visions of a Sainnite seer; had his five hundred Sainnite soldiers raze the farmlands, burn some thirty farmsteads to the ground, and, after widowing nearly every member of Rees Company, finally destroyed them. The terrified family begged Chaen to take her son and go elsewhere.
So they became vagabonds again. But now, when a thief tried to steal Chaen’s little collection of coins, Chaen fought her. It was a woman, close to her own age, hardened and hungry as she was. Chaen shouldn’t have had to kill her, but she only knew how to fight to the death.
Afterwards she had said to Max, “It was wrong, but I’ll do it again if I have to.”
And she did have to.
Chapter 13
Sometimes, when Karis preoccupied herself with important and productive work, she could almost seem happy, and Zanja could almost forget that Karis had finally been compelled to announce her existence to the people of Shaftal by Zanja’s actions. But at times like this, when Karis had to act directly contrary to her inclinations, Zanja felt keenly how much of the G’deon’s role had become her own responsibility, and how heavy and terrifying that responsibility was. She stood beside Karis on the stage and deliberately exercised her trust in herself. She must heed her intuition without demanding that it serve her and without worrying that it would fail. Through long experience, she had become skilled at maintaining that balance, but she had never before done it while standing on a stage, facing a packed crowd of people, any one of whom might be an enemy determined to destroy Karis and willing to die in the process.
“Wait,” Zanja said. Karis nodded. Some four or five body-lengths away, between the sweaty musicians with their fiddle bows and drumsticks, and the astonished juice seller, Paladins in borrowed clothing picked up the assassin’s stool and materials and followed Norina through the crowd. The people in the crowd were a blur; then they became vast collection of individuals as Zanja made sense of what she saw: farmers, shopkeepers, artisans, traders, laborers, sailors, travelers, a cluster of delighted water people, a handful of Juras people who stood at the crowd’s edge, where they wouldn’t block anyone’s view. Off to the left Zanja spotted Medric, red with sunburn. Emil moved toward them on the right, until he was so close Zanja could have clasped his hand. Rein, the Paladin standing directly in front of Karis, was a fourth prescient. They could expect to know about any danger to Karis in that crowd, and, at the very least, to throw themselves between her and that danger. But Zanja felt no warning prickle or vague anxiety. The faces looking at Karis were not all friendly, but none of them were dangerous. Gradually, the restless crowd fell quiet; the assassin was gone. The heralds could be seen on both sides of the crowd, standing on boxes.
“This is a stupid idea,” Karis muttered. “Why would anyone want to hear me talk?”
Zanja didn’t argue with her, for they had resolved the matter more than a week ago. Norina could not arrest Chaen, since there was no evidence she was a criminal. In all the months Karis’s raven had followed Chaen, she had pursued an itinerant, lonely, and entirely legal life. But she was the only person they knew of who might be able to betray the rogue air witch, and they had to get her to put herself into the Truthken’s power. Karis had been willing to be the bait—she would have done anything to escape the strictures on her movements and actions—but had balked when the plan required her to actually give a speech. Emil had said, “We’ll help you, of course, as much as you need.” And Karis had said, “There’s no point to it—talking doesn’t change people!” But Emil had prevailed, mainly because Karis had relied on and trusted him for so long.
Emil signaled her. Zanja said, “Talk to Emil. Don’t worry about the rest of them.”
Karis took a breath and said, “I don’t like to give speeches.”
The man in front of her gave an ear-splitting bellow: “I don’t like to give speeches!”
To the left and right, the heralds cried, “I don’t like to give speeches!”
Medric put his hand over his mouth, and Zanja hastily looked away from him, lest she start laughing also. Well, at least he wasn’t worried.
“Actions matter more than words,” Karis said, and the heralds shouted her words. “There aren’t many earth witches. But people with earth talent are so common that everyone knows some. So everyone knows that earth bloods hate to have power over others. Everyone knows that earth bloods are driven to fix what’s broken. That’s why it made sense to the people of Shaftal to have one earth witch whose duty is to mend and protect the whole of Shaftal. It even makes sense to me, although for most of my life I have wished I could give the Power of Shaftal to someone else. Someone whose judgment is perfect, who doesn’t mind being stared at, and who never loses her temper. It took a long time for me to realize that the Power of Shaftal isn’t only in me. It is in all the people who serve the land and not just themselves. That power is exercised by farmers who give their fields a year of rest. And by families that are too large, and so refrain from having children. And by the people who take many days each year from their regular labors in order to repair the roads. Every action of generosity or hospitality benefits the whole. These things are the Power of Shaftal.
“Now I will tell you that Hanishport is a broken place that must be fixed. Other places, like Reese and Appleton, also are terribly broken. They won’t be fully mended for many years. But Hanishport must be mended now. Doing so is a difficult task, because the people of this city can’t see that anything is wrong.
“This is what’s wrong. More than thirty years ago, the people of the city helped the Sainnites create the village of Lalali. Now, in that village there are hundreds of people. Many of them are children without families. They are dying needlessly, in agony that few can imagine. Two dozen healers have been there since early spring. They have told me that the people of Hanishport have remained indifferent, even when the healers begged them for help. The people of Hanishport have refused to exercise the Power of Shaftal. Therefore, this city is broken.
“If you can do or give something to your neighbors, speak with a member of the Peace Committee at the house where we’re staying. You know where that is, I expect. Also, on the day after the Fair ends, the Peace Committee will hold a meeting here on the quay at the morning’s ebb tide. Anyone who wishes can come. Thank you for listening to me.”
When she finished, the crowd was filled with murmuring, and Zanja didn’t know what to make of it. Of course, Karis eagerly stepped down off the stage and was surrounded again by Paladins, lest someone on this crowded quay had a poisoned blade, or someone on a balcony or window shot a poison dart. Zanja stayed close to Karis, and Emil slipped through the crowd as neatly as Zanja could slip through a thicket.
Karis had not had the leisure to make Zanja a dagger to replace the one she had lost in the ocean, and she carried no weapon. But neither wits nor weapons proved necessary. They escaped the quay, and soon only a few excited children followed them. Emil trotted ahead to meet a Paladin, Lil, who said that the prisoner was secure and her darts had indeed been dipped in poison. “The poison must have been in the bag of potatoes,” said Emil.
Kamren said, “We can find the potato farmer. But I don’t know if we’ll find the other people who helped her. Unless she tells us.”
Karis asked, “Did Chaen interdict Norina?”
Lil said, “Yes. She seems to know the law.”
“She can’t interdict me,” Karis said.
In the teetering house, the hall became crowded with Paladins, whose unbuttoned wool waistcoats revealed sweat-soaked linen shirts. Garland shooed them into the right-side parlor, where pitchers of cool drinks were ready. In the left-side parlor, Norina and Maxew had a street map of Hanishport unrolled
on the table. A neat little dart lay in a dish.
Norina said, “I can confirm Zanja’s observation that Chaen has a fire talent. But she has an equally strong air talent. Therefore this woman has been at war with herself since the day she was born.”
Norina had predicted that there would be no one at all with fire talent in Death-and-Life Company, for the rogue air witch would be unable to abide such people. This dearth of fire logic might be a weakness that could be exploited. Zanja wondered if Chaen’s membership in the company disproved Norina’s theory, or the assassin’s elemental contradiction had made her more tolerable to the air witch. When Chaen survived the attack on Travesty, she had become a kind of exile, which removed her from contact with the air witch. But of course that could only have been accidental.
Zanja was trying to read events as though they were glyph cards, she realized rather wryly. They knew so little about their dangerous enemy that the impulse to fill the unknown with guesswork was difficult to resist.
Emil said, “Someone with an earth talent could befriend her. Seth seems a good choice. But Seth was immediately involved in the death of Chaen’s friend, Jareth. Would that matter to Chaen?”
Norina said, “Maxew, what do you think?”
The young man always seemed surprised when Norina asked him his opinion. This time it took a while for him to answer, as if he had not even been attending to the conversation. He said, “It won’t matter. To a person with air talent, the difference between accident and intention is meaningful.”
“I think you are correct,” Norina said. Any of the other air students would have been delighted by her approval, but Maxew always held himself aloof; whether from self-importance or from awkwardness Zanja could not determine.
Norina abruptly grabbed Karis’s hand. She had been reaching for the dart. “Let me examine your hands before you touch that thing. And wash them immediately.”
Karis allowed her hand to be inspected in the bright sunlight pouring in through the open windows. Norina, dissatisfied by the condition of Karis’s right hand, examined the left and finally chose her smallest finger, the least likely to have any nicks in the skin. With that finger Karis touched the side of the dart, not its point. Still, Zanja’s heart froze for a moment, for the snake poison was so lethal that anyone who used it as a weapon risked killing themselves with it.
Karis and Norina bent over the map together, and Karis pointed. “The poison is there.”
“That’s an alley. It’s not in a building? Or in a shelter?”
“It’s buried.”
“It can’t have been buried all winter. It must have been moved.”
Zanja took Karis by the wrist and tugged her into the kitchen to scrub her hands. Norina came in after them. Karis said, “Don’t you even trust me to wash my hands properly?”
“I understand that you want to be angry at someone, and I happen to be convenient. I came in to say something that I didn’t want to be overheard. I think the rogue air witch is here in Hanishport.”
Emil entered and announced his presence by clearing his throat, but Norina didn’t take her gaze from Karis. “Don’t go to Lalali without me. Until I return, continue to surround yourself with fire bloods, especially Medric.”
Norina’s warning was not for Karis, who almost always had a fire blood at her side. It was for Zanja and Emil: even inside the house, one of them must always be in the same room with her. Medric, who never slept at night, must be within call, with his pistols at hand, and the dogs, immune to air logic, would forewarn him even if no one else could.
“Will I never do what I want and need to do?” Karis said angrily.
“That’s a question for the seer, not for me. But remember that none of us are doing what we want.”
Norina left to dig up and confiscate the poison. That awful stuff must be rare and extremely expensive—they could hope there was no more of it in Shaftal.
Karis turned to Emil, who had missed part of the conversation but was never as puzzled as he should be. “Do you still want to be a librarian?”
Emil looked wistful. “To have quiet and solitude among a large number of books? I do, very much. But if I could have some peace while continuing to serve Shaftal, I think I would be contented.”
Karis turned to Zanja. “I know you want to bring the border tribes into the council of Shaftal, and you must be frustrated that you’re trapped into being my nursemaid instead.”
“If you were killed and I wasn’t there to protect you, I wouldn’t want to live. Next summer, perhaps, I can visit the borders.” But as Zanja spoke, a longing came over her, so powerful that it strained her voice, and she wavered into silence.
Karis was not a Truthken, but she also was no fool. “But,” she said.
“Karis . . . I want to return to the Asha Valley. I want to go home.”
Part Two: Air
The way of air is to judge and prove
Air by earth can be beloved
Air needs water so it can move
Four elements for balance.
Chapter 14
Required actions toward, and rights of, suspected criminals.
Summoning. If a crime has been committed, the elders of a community must summon a Truthken.
Detention. If the criminal is known or suspected, then the person may be detained in a locked room until the arrival of the Truthken. The prisoner is not to suffer any deprivation or degradation beyond confinement and reasonable measures necessary to ensure the safety of those who look after the prisoner.
Companionship. The prisoner must choose a friend whose duties are to be a companion, to fetch any requested items, and to verify that the prisoner is being treated properly. The friend may come and go at will. The friend may not reveal anything to anyone except at the exact request of the prisoner.
Transport. If the prisoner is detained by Paladins or by a Truthken, the prisoner must be transported by them to the community where the crime took place.
Interdiction. The prisoner may forbid a Truthken from speaking to, looking at, or being in his or her presence until the trial. If the prisoner is in the Truthken’s custody at the time of the interdiction, that custody must be transferred as rapidly as possible, and in the meantime the Truthken must refrain from speaking to or looking in the face of the prisoner. Interdiction ends at time of trial.
Law of Shaftal
Chaen’s captors locked her in a whitewashed room with a steep, water-stained ceiling through which she could hear the clicking of a large bird’s claws as it paced along the peak of the roof. The window was just an empty frame beyond which lay the sea. Chaen could have thrown herself into the garden below if not for the rusty grate that barred her way. She shook the grate—gently, then with all her strength. It did not move at all.
The wide floorboards were soft and furred with age, but they didn’t creak under her weight. The walls were shiplapped, solid. Here and there a bright nailhead attested to recent repairs. The same hand that had removed the window so Chaen couldn’t cut herself with broken glass seemed to have checked and secured every board in the room. Even the two chairs and the table were sturdy, with freshly glued joints, and the mattress lay on planks rather than ropes, with sheets of heavy linen, impossible to tear.
Chaen stood in the room’s center, staring out at the bright, busy harbor. Why had she not been able to leave this one task, this assassination, undone? Why had she been unable, just one time, to do as she was told? Fluently, softly, then loudly, she cursed herself, until the raven on the roof uttered a creak like a warped door swinging open, and the house sighed, and seemed to tilt as though under a heavy weight. Chaen heard voices and turned sharply as the key turned in the lock.
The false G’deon filled the doorway.
Beyond her, silent and fluid as a shadow, the fortune-teller dropped into a squat outside the door. With her were the shabby
man from the quay, now dressed in Paladin’s black, and a bespectacled man who peered at Chaen curiously.
Chaen had read about them, this phalanx of fire bloods. The members of her company had talked about them as though they were pieces in a game of strategy: whether Medric, the half-mad Sainnite seer, was a threat or a distraction; whether Zanja na’Tarwein had been made more or less dangerous by the extinction of her tribe; whether Emil Paladin had any weaknesses at all. Now, here they were: attentive as marksmen taking aim at a target. They were formidable.
But not as formidable as Karis. As she stepped into the room, it shrank to the size of a child’s toy. Her head brushed the highest point of the ceiling. The walls groaned as she passed.
Chaen could only show her teeth and snarl, like a lap dog. “Get away from me!” Then she backed into the window grate, and the woman’s fingertips brushed the arm she raised to shield herself, and it was like being spattered with scalding water.
The false G’deon spoke in a gravelly whisper. “So. You’re from the Midlands. You’ve been injured by fire and by blade. You’ve survived great privation, and you know your own strength. I won’t underestimate you.” She moved a step back, and Chaen was able to take a breath. “But I will let you go.”
“At what cost?” Chaen said bitterly, knowing the answer.
“Tell me how to find the leader of Death-and-Life Company.”
“I will not.”
“You’d rather die to protect an air witch, even though that person would turn Shaftal into a place that assassinates children.”
“My entire family is dead. My son is dead. Shaftal already is a place that assassinates children.”
“But, having seen your family die, you stood and watched while a poisoned dart narrowly missed my little daughter. That was your action, Chaen. Your choice.”
Air Logic Page 12
