by Jane Baskin
Ilia-te, her birdsong laughter.
Interrupted by the newcomer, Brenchen, and his family. Coming for breakfast. Brenchen, absolutely loving the meat rolls. Practically pushing them down his daughter’s throat. Thin, her. Months on winter roads, with only occasional food. She: pale, tired.
Dar-agan: “Come, people. Join us. You haven’t yet met my wife, Ilia-te.” Motioning for the family to join them at table.
Brenchen and his family, accepting. Reluctantly? Introductions all around. The new family, reticent. Awkward?
Then Che and Nayan, appearing in the hall. Slouching at the serving table, shaking their heads to wake up. Getting food, joining Nayan’s parents at the long table. This, having the effect of relieving the awkwardness ... somewhat. More introductions. Nayan, perking up as he realized: these two ladies, the master weapons makers.
Grinning, gulping his strong black tea. “You really made rifles? And bombs?”
The daughter, Luisa-te, smiling shyly. “We did, Lord.” Looking at her hands. Bowing her head.
Nayan, confused by the girl’s demeanor. Looked at Che, who shrugged in response … and seemed oddly fascinated by the girl. Nayan, now staring at her too. She, continuing to hang her head the more he stared. Finally bent over as far as he could, nearly upside down. Trying to meet her eyes underneath the table.
Dar-agan and Che, bursting into laughter. Luisa-te, blushing bright red. Then Ilia-te with her trill … soon, everyone laughing except Luisa-te, who seemed about to burst into tears. Ilia-te, noticing. Quickly coming around the table to the girl. “Here, now. Whatever’s the matter, dear one?”
Luisa-te, meeting Ilia-te’s eyes. “It’s … it’s just that … I’ve never looked a Lord in the eye before, My Lady. It’s not proper … ”
“Gods alive, child. Where – ?” Turning to the girl’s parents. “Is this – how things are done in the South?”
Brenchen, nodding.
“All hells. This is absurd. Nayan, stop your teasing.” Took the girl’s finely sculpted chin in her hand. “Here, now. Look at me. Now, you’re looking a lady in the eye, and see? You didn’t burst into flames. You can even look my son in the eye, and be perfectly safe. This son, anyway. Steer clear of the other one, though, he’s a lecher.” Then, with great tenderness: “We do things differently in the North. You’ll get used to it; give it time.”
Luisa-te, relieved. But still flushed.
Nayan: “I’m sorry. I was just joking with you. My mother’s right; things are different here. There aren’t that many lords, and those there are, well, we’re not very different from everyone else.”
Che: “Don’t listen to him.” That grin. “He’s almost as much of a lecher as his younger brother.”
“Che!” Ilia-te. “The girl’s been teased enough for one morning. Stop.”
“Sorry.” That grin again. Nayan: mildly jealous; getting tired of Che’s natural charm. But then noticing: Che, staring at the girl intently. Huh? Almost studying … her face. Soft brown hair smelling of soap, bluest eyes ever, still trying to look anywhere but at the young men’s faces. Nayan, suddenly getting it. Che: falling into his own trap. Okay, not so jealous. Give him this one.
Ilia-te: “And Che, quit gawking at her. You’ve never seen a pretty girl before? I’m telling your mother.”
Che, straightening up at that. Che’s mother: known to have deadly aim with an ale mug when riled. Murmured sidelong to the girl: “No offense intended.”
Might have relaxed into an amiable breakfast, but for a new arrival.
See, there. Turned from the serving table, noticing the group.
A little gasp. Then: standing still as rock, apart from a mug of tea shaking in her hand. Staring. Staring at the group, in particular at Brenchen, Norara-te and Luisa-te. Staring like her sea green eyes would pop out of her head.
People can feel another’s stare. Like a slice across the back. Suddenly the talk at table quieting, then silencing. Nayan and Che, seated on the side of the table facing the server. Looking up at the new arrival.
The new arrival, looking past them, through them. Staring at the girl, Luisa-te.
Luisa-te’s eyes, when she followed the young men’s gaze: suddenly growing wide. A small yelp escaping her. Causing her parents to turn. To see behind them … her.
Brenchen and Norara-te, leaping to their feet. Along with Luisa-te. Then all, falling into deep bows, down on a knee. From Brenchen’s throat, a choking sound. “My Lady.” Echoed by his wife and daughter. No one moved.
Che: “What’s going on?”
No answer from the new family.
Oh. Awkward. Nayan, rising. To Zoren-te: “Do you know these people?”
“I own them.”
When the shock subsided … when was that?
When Brenchen clarified that he and his family were – legally speaking – peasants “attached” to Lord Vel, and therefore his property, and that his daughter and heir Zoren-te could claim them as her property?
When Dar-agan rushed over to the kneeling newcomers, hauled them to their feet, and swore, glaring at the hostage, that no one owned anyone in the North?
When Ilia-te also glared at the hostage, and informed her that southern law counted for nothing in the North?
When Nayan asked Zoren-te, softly, if she really meant what she had said?
When Zoren-te trembled for a moment, then ran from the room?
Or when everyone present learned that the manufacturing expert – the chief engineer – at Lord Vel’s gun factory, the one who had taught Brenchen’s wife and daughter everything they knew, was in fact Zoren-te herself?
Late, now. The day: busy with talk. With gossip. With more talk. With strategy meetings. Talk, talk, talk. The kind of focus that leaves one drained, empty.
What to do? Dar-agan: more convinced than ever – for reasons he did not fully understand himself – that the need for rifles and bombs was desperate. The village headwoman, in agreement. Even Ilia-te, normally cautious, in agreement.
Nayan, feeling exhausted. Yet, not surprisingly: unable to sleep. Che, having come and gone. Ale shared. Still, no rest.
Got up, wrapped himself in his heavy blanket. Stood outside on his balcony, overlooking the little garden in winter. Pulled the blanket tighter; careful to breathe through it so as not to freeze his lungs with the frigid air. Looked down at the garden. Such a dead place, now. Feeling the trespass of ghosts. Who had walked in this garden? Who had sighed there? How many loves had been shored up by the heavy scent of roses in bloom? Who had fought there? Died?
Nayan, remembering the summer of his sixteenth year, making clumsy love with his first girlfriend, there; right down there on the soft grass behind the stone bench near the tunnel opening. Wondered who else had had clandestine encounters in this place. Wondered what the garden would say if it could talk.
You tried to kill a girl here. A sick girl, half your size. Shame.
Whatever Zoren-te’s history, whatever her relatives, whatever her customs … had dishonored himself by moving against her. Oh! How things seem right at the moment, and how wrong they are, looking backward! Suddenly hating the accident of birth that made him a lord, a leader of people. If he were just a Person, like Che, he could decide if he wanted to lead, or maybe not. But for him – no choice.
What if I cock it up? What if I lead badly?
Remembered the escape from the South. Remembered the countless ale mugs he had raised with his mind. Remembered Zoren-te telling him he had had a staring contest with a lion. I made myself forget, maybe because she was there. But I did drive the lion off. That’s always how I drive them off. Suddenly felt like his heart did a flip inside his chest. What if I’m terribly powerful? What if I could really control this thing? And I use it badly?
Then remembering the times – he could have sworn – he heard the girl’s thoughts. Like she was deliberately speaking to him … with her mind.
Understanding the low hum of negative feeling beginning to build agains
t the hostage throughout the village. In just one day, from just one remark. And also getting – in a flash – the reality that little of it, perhaps none of it, was deserved.
Did she mean it?
Let’s find out.
Turned from the balcony, padded barefoot through the cold castle halls. Came to the girl’s room. Knocked softly.
No maids any more. The hostage no longer needing close supervision – they thought. Nayan, waiting for an answer. Put his ear to the door, heard some shuffling around coming from inside. Knew she was awake. Knocked again, louder.
Still, no answer at the door. Nayan, pushing on it softly. No lock: the door opened. No sight of her in the anteroom. Moved into the space quietly. Paused. Then headed toward the bed-chamber.
There. Look.
Zoren-te, shrimp-curled on the bed, her face to the wall. Small muffled sounds coming out of her at intervals, small heaves of her shoulders. The red hair, loose, flowing over the pillow behind her. Bare – probably cold – feet sticking out of her nightclothes.
Nayan, moving like a ghost into the room. Stood quietly, a short distance from the bed. Just watching.
Felt his gaze, at once. Whipped around to face him, raising herself on an arm. Backed away across the bed. Her eyes: red, wet. “What are you doing here?”
“You never answered my question.”
“What question?”
“Whether you meant what you said about Brenchen and his family.”
Rolled away; her back to him again. So difficult, her. But Nayan, having to know, for some reason. Walked around the bed to face her. She, trying to roll over away from him. But he, catching her by the shoulders, turning her back to face him. Lost his blanket in the process. Damn, cold in here. Shrugged it off. Did not entierely register her look of shock at his naked torso. Knelt by the side of her bed, a firm hold on her shoulders.
A hard stare into her eyes. “Answer me.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I want to know.”
“Maybe I don’t want to tell you.”
“That’s not an option.”
She: glaring now. Tried to wriggle out of his grasp. But as usual, he: too strong. Finally gave up, lay quietly in his hold.
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know if I meant it. The words just came out of me.”
“I understand. But do you really mean it? Do you mean it now?”
“Of course not. I told you a while ago, if it were my choice, I’d be like … more like you northerners. But it’s not my choice. And I can’t help how I was raised.”
“You can choose your words more carefully.” Like I should have, when I suggested killing you.
Didn’t hear his thoughts, this time. But his words … oh. Through her like knives. An old subject, for her. Lay still in his grasp, but closed her eyes. Would not look at him.
At first, just staring at her. What? Then knowing, as if she had placed her heart directly into his hand … how lonely she was! Taken by surprise, dragged from her home, to a strange land with customs diametrically opposed to those that had surrounded her. Nayan, suddenly having an urgent question. “How old are you, Zoren?”
Sniffling. “Nineteen. I just turned nineteen, before … I was taken.”
Oh. And barely more than a child, to boot. Nayan, suddenly realizing the cruelty of her situation. Waking up, as into a nightmare, in a strange land with strange ways and now – probably – where she would be detested simply for being what she was raised to be. Having to watch her every word, her every step, just to stay alive. This, in addition to being – roaming free or not – a prisoner. A lot to take, for someone that young.
She, suddenly opening her eyes, meeting his. “Look, I know I’m hateful to you, to your people. I’m stupid, in many ways. I’ve always had a big mouth. My father says I should think more and talk less. I’m sure he’s right.”
Nayan, looking down suddenly. “Um. I think that’s good advice … for all of us. We’re trained warriors, Zoren. We can’t afford mistakes.” I can’t believe I’m saying this to her. Look who’s talking.
“I suspect I’m a terrible warrior. Once I learn to keep my mouth shut, that may change. But I’m still an idiot.”
“You’re not stupid. You’re young.”
“Whatever the case, I can tell you the truth. I won’t be able to stand it, if suddenly everyone hates me. I have to be here all winter, and winter just started. I’m guessing here in the North, winters are long. I was just starting to relax a little – taking walks here and there. I was able to meet peoples’ eyes. Some smiled at me, even. I thought … maybe I can get through this. Maybe I can wait until spring comes. But if I have to walk amid people who want to spit at me, who despise me … it’s going to be a very long winter. If I have to stay in my room like a prison cell … it’ll be horrible.”
And just like that, he had her. Or she had him. Or they had each other.
Had thought she was closer to his own age; anger and defiance: making her seem older? But now – understanding she was still tender. Too tender.
Softly, now. “Zoren, I may have an idea for you.”
Another of Nayan’s wild ideas.
Dar-agan and Scilla, the village headwoman, practically in a single breath: “Are you out of your mind, Nayan? She’ll never agree to it. Even if she did, she’d have critical information that we wouldn’t want falling into Lord Vel’s hands. We’ve all agreed, she has to be sent home, come spring. ”
Sure of himself, this time (he hoped). “Listen to me. She’s not as hard as she tries to appear. She’s worried that everyone here will begin to hate her. Actually worried!”
“So you’ve discovered that southerners can worry.”
“It’s her weakness, don’t you understand? We can use it to get her to do what we want.”
“I still say, she’ll never agree. She may be playing you, Nayan. Why would someone in her position give a fart or a hurrah what their enemies think of them?”
“She’s only nineteen.”’
“What!?”
Others, surprised as well. “Thought she was older.” “She seems older.” “Acts older, the haughty bitch.” “That’s a surprise.”
Nayan: “A surprise we can work to our advantage. If she does this, people will accept her, more or less. And if Lord Vel discovers we have weapons the equal of his own, so what? Think about that. It’s what we want him to know. These weapons may make him think twice about raiding.”
“Hmmn.”
“It’s done, then?”
“Not so fast, Nayan. We still have to find out if – this arrangement – would be acceptable to Brenchen and his family. There’s history there. And the queen bee is useless without her workers.”
“I already asked. They told me they’ve always worked alongside her. They welcomed the chance to continue. They said she’s a wonderful engineer.”
“Hmmn.”
So it happened that the hostage, Zoren-te, daughter of their most feared and detested enemy, came to direct operations of the facility that would manufacture weapons for the enemies of her family.
Within a week, a hidden space found for the work. Inspected by Zoren-te, approved.
At least, by her. Others: not so sure. The place scouted by four fools: Nayan, Noar, Che and Colwen. An old ruin of a mansion … well inside Cha-Ning Forest.
The four young men, having returned breathless after having been chased by an entire family of lions, their ganthas heaving and panting – dangerously, despite the special woolen wraps placed over their muzzles. Laughing – as young men do – at having cheated death.
Ilia-te, unimpressed. “Are you mad? How will people get back and forth to work?”
Nayan, another hare-brained idea for which the villagers considered killing him. Or respecting him immensely. “Why should they go back and forth every day? Why not just camp at the factory, like at harvest time? There’s a lot of room. We can camp inside the walls and be safe from the lions.”
Hmmn.
Noar, of course, in favor of the idea. Already beginning to scout out extra partners for the event. Colwen, too. Noar, making certain that Nayan knew he would be primarily camping with the maid, Seren-ye. Twirling a lock of her yellow hair, pulling her close, as Nayan passed them in an upstairs hall. Looking at Nayan as he did it.
Nayan, irritated. Why is he trying to make me jealous?What’s happening to him? Every since he stole Zor – the girl … he’s not the same.
The older brothers: less interested in who they would sleep with than whether they would sleep at all.
Zoren-te: “This is dangerous work, make no mistake. We use the most advanced chemicals, which have deadly fumes and are very volatile. This is a whole different process from those little paper tubes with pellets inside. Making and handling high powered bullets is dangerous. Make them wrong, and the soldier may blow up along with his weapon. We have to use a lot of fire to melt and shape the metals. It’s critical to keep it far away from the powder. Fire and powder together, we all go to the heavens.” Glanced over at Nayan. “Or the hells, as the case may be.”
No one laughing after her speech.
Understanding, once things got underway, that this effort would take nearly everyone in the castle villages and outlying towns.
Plans made: import people slowly, so as not to arouse suspicion from southern spies very likely in the area. Normal, this (everyone spies on everyone else). False information spread widely; perhaps a second harvest, this year.
Cha-Ning Forest: soon filling up with hordes of people. Escorted by riders armed with long whips. These: barely needed. The lions, apparently overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of humans … perhaps deciding to retreat to the center forest.
Zoren-te, working around the clock. Setting up work areas for smelting, mixing, shaping. Places to combine the elements of a cartridge: bullet, powder chamber, jacket, rim and primer. Nayan, fascinated by the latter. “Who designed this?”
Zoren: “I did.” Her eyes, lighting up. “See, I got the idea to combine all the elements in one container. If you can put everything inside a metal jacket, like we mold here, then you don’t have to stop and prime every time you want to fire.”
