by Jane Baskin
This one, determined not to be run off by puny humans. As if knowing they would not truly hurt him. Dodging and feinting with Che, pushing him slowly backward. Until Nayan finally got the long whip off his gantha … only to see the gantha pull the reins off the tree and gallop for home.
No time to chase it. Nayan, returning to the kill. Drawing the terrible whip back, snapping it just onto the animal’s nose. The lion, stopping in its tracks. A massive paw to its stinging nose. More snarls.
Che: Gods alive, Nayan. It’s about time.
I’m here now. Quit complaining.
Another snap of the whip; just before the lion’s huge gold eye. Not hitting it of course, but causing the beast to sit back on its haunches. Perhaps consider whether it wanted to move forward. One more snap, almost onto the end of its nose. Oh. Back onto its feet, roaring its rage. But the whip, rising and falling steadily. Nayan, now beating the lion back. Now making enough room for Che to grab the kill, hoist it onto his own hysterical gantha. Buying enough time for Che to lash the game onto the saddle; then return, firing his rifle steadily just before the lion’s huge front paws.
The lion, basically a sensible creature. Knew, once the game was taken, the fight wasn’t worth it. With a final roar, wheeled; disappeared into the trees before any human eye could track him.
Che and Nayan, facing each other, breathing hard. Both having worked up a sweat. Meeting each other’s eyes. Then bursting out laughing.
Che: We’re a couple of idiots, you know that, right?
Yes.
The sensible thing to do, would have been to let him have the kill.
Yes, it probably would have been.
Then laughing so hard they nearly doubled over. Huh? Here, at the edge of the forest, one gantha run off and the other now a pack animal, night coming on, the temperature falling … seemed absurdly hilarious, somehow.
Finally sobering – a little – taking the gantha’s reins. Che, leading it back through over the meadow. Nayan, following behind with the whip. Just in case. Both young men, chuckling all the way back.
But Zoren-te, unable to chip away at the horror in her soul with hunting antics.
She, pulled backward in time. By fervent, powerful ghosts. Most often, staring blankly into the fire. Sometimes out in the little garden, staring at the wall where she nearly died.
Come with me through the tunnel. Let me show you the sea.
Not now. But thank you.
When?
I don’t know, Nayan.
So hard! War scars: eternal? And Nayan himself, bothered by Zoren-te’s revelation of her father’s gifts. No wonder they were so close. Understanding that her father’s death: more than a death. More like an amputation.
Finally, unable to bear her silence: Zoren, speak to me. I can’t stand this.
What? She, as if waking up from sleep. Oh, my love. This isn’t about you. I’m trying to get free, but they hold me.
Who?
The ghosts of Vel.
There’s no such thing as ghosts, Zoren.
A strange smile from her then. Oh Nayan. Don’t you know? There is no death.
But we’re alive!
Finally, getting her to the sea. Getting her cloak, putting it on for her. She, standing like a child’s doll. Then understanding what he was doing. Helping with the cloak, putting on her gloves. Her desperate question: Do you suppose it’ll help?
I know it. Led her through the halls, out through a different door than usual. Not through the little walled garden. This time: a tunnel through a large garden, filled with summer’s last roses now drying in the early winter wind. Graceful trees, arching over the morgaden moss, now gold after the fall. Pathways of stone, leading … to the ridge path, guarded by a wooden railing worn smooth from wind and mist. The path that led to the beach below.
There. The crystal white sands, streaked with fingers of water – now turning to gooey salt ice – reaching out of the waves. Nayan, smiling at the memories. “Lovers use this beach at night. If you go for a walk, you have to be careful not to trip over them.”
Zoren-te, struggling to smile. “And were you ever among them?”
How rarely they used words, these days! Both, smiling at the novelty of speech.
“Um. I might have been. As a teenager, just.”
“Liar.” A smile. A real smile. One he hadn’t seen in a while. Nayan, taking her into his arms, letting her lean back against him. Both, gazing outward at the dark waters.
Zoren-te: “The beach is so different from the cliff.”
“It’s a more peaceful place. I can’t believe I haven’t shown it to you.”
“We were busy.” Suddenly she, turning inside his embrace. Looking deep into his eyes. Nayan, save me. Please. Only you can do it.
Held her close in comfort. Tell me how. Just tell me.
So. For the next weeks, keeping largely to their rooms. Now and then, walking outside in their lighter cloaks. Still not bitterly cold yet. Walking through the big garden, down to where they could see the beach.
Always exploring. Endless conversations – by thought transfer.
Nayan, trying to comprehend what Zoren-te told him, that her father had told her. He said his mother often spoke to him in thoughts. And that he could read her feelings even as a child. Her sadness – she had not wanted the marriage. Her loneliness – how she found southern ways abhorrent. He said I looked so much like her – maybe that’s why he raised me so differently. He said when I showed tendencies – like her – to be repulsed by cruelty, he just let me be. I believe he was as repulsed as I was, much of the time. He also said he thought his mother finally died of grief.
Is that possible?
Of course. Nayan, you have so much to learn.
What did he say about the commonness of – this – in the North?
He said lots of the aristocrats had the ability. He wasn’t sure about ordinary people, but said he wouldn’t be surprised. There’s so much intermarriage. Even though he argued with your father over that … he was just trying to be difficult. He knew about northern People. He said that some aspects of character are bred into people. That if you have this ability – this – then your children will have it too. Or at least, some of them. He wondered about my sisters and brothers. He once said he thought his oldest son had it … but was afraid of it and managed to suppress it. But he said his mother was Chani clan, and she told him that many of her clansmen could speak with their minds. And other things.
What other things?
Things like – like your bullet.
Oh, Zoren.
How is it that you know so much more than I about this, and I’m the northerner?
I’m lucky; my father taught me. You, like most people, are frightened of it. And you keep it a secret.
Remembering Mother. The warnings. The commandment. Forget forget
Isn’t that the right thing to do?
No. Never.
Charming.
Yes, this time I agree.
This will be a good breeding.
I suspect you’re right.
Winter, not truly set in yet. But still, the young men, spending more time in their rooms. Especially lovers.
Che, glad to rest in the warmth of Luisa-te, who had not accompanied him on the southern raids. Who had told him outright, it was simply too painful to ever set eyes on the South again. Who had told him many things of her life there, before her escape with her parents. Things that made him sad, furious.
Now, just lying back on top of the covers of his bed, the room warmed by a blazing fire in the box. (Had managed to bring the heating pipes into the anteroom, but preferred the firebox in the bedroom.) Holding her close. Listening to her steady breath as she dozed off in his arms. Trying not to remember so many of the things she had told him. Not to think about the backbreaking work at Vel, doing the bidding of the family and friends who owned and named the keep. Trying not to think of how she had to work until she could barely stand, often awoken fr
om whatever pile of rags she had fallen asleep on, at whatever hour of day or night she might be needed. All this, from earliest childhood. By day, in the fields or the house. By night …
Che, trying not to recall her coming of age. How she grew into a surprisingly pretty young woman, despite the hard work. How she drew the attention of more than one young lord. One of whom, insisted she accompany him in bed after a night of lordly revelries.
How her resistance was pointless. How she wept afterward, only to be slapped and punched until she stopped. How her mother tried to comfort her. Understood. Of course, the same had happened to her.
How the youngest daughter of the house had observed her bruises, her misery, the next morning when she was required to help serve breakfast. How this daughter – known for a rebellious spirit – observed the shameless young lord touching Luisa-te improperly as she served him. How this young daughter rose to her feet and had a knife at the young lord’s throat before he could blink.
“It was a sight, Che. Zoren-te, almost drooling with rage. Said she would slit the bastard’s throat on the spot … how dare he insult her house … how dare he abuse her ‘people.’ I remember that, especially. She referred to us as ‘people,’ not ‘peasants.’”
“What happened?”
“The Lord said, ‘without my permission.’”
“What?”
“Lord Vel, he said ‘how dare you take liberties with my peasants, without my permission.’”
“Then what happened?”
“The young lord said, ‘would you have given it, if I had asked?’ And Lord Vel said, ‘No.’ Then the lord rose even faster than Zoren-te, knocking over his chair, grabbed the young lord out of his seat, and punched him so hard the bastard passed out on the spot. Then he dragged him through the room, tossed him out the front door. After that he kicked him and his party out of the house.”
Why did that fail to comfort? Che, considering that even the South might have its more reasonable residents. But. Such things should never happen in the first place. Stroked Luisa-te’s fine hair, eventually fell asleep himself.
Nayan, still waiting for Zoren-te to realease – or be released by – her “ghosts.”
Then one early evening … Nayan, seeing her look up as he entered. Saw a light in her eyes that he had not seen in months. Saw her rise from her chair, approach him. Smile. Huh?
Yes, a smile. Oh! How he had missed that smile, so rare lately. But see here: a beautiful smile. Sensuous. Came to him, wrapped her arms around him. Buried her face in his cloak, then raised it for his kiss.
Barely had time to get his cloak off before she was pulling him into the bedroom.
Afterward, lying in the afterglow. Warm steam rising on lazy currents from their skin. Nayan: What’s different?
I told them I wanted to live. And they let me, they said it was time.
24.See Where You Are, And Dance
Nayan made the decision.
Before winter closed in, made travel impossible: he would marry Zoren-te. We should do it now, love. Before the hard part of winter. She, agreeing.
You want to offset the heaviness with a day of joy.
Don’t you?
Smiling at him. Yes. I think that’s a good idea. He, relishing that smile, now. All the more, now.
All castle residents: had been working hard. Harvest, hunting, the munitions factory. Restocking the weapons stores that had been depleted by the recent action. Building up extra supplies … just in case.
All of this, of course, doing little to cheer the pervasive bleak of war recovery. Zoren-te: not the only one haunted by the dead. Others, too. Most villagers, especially those who lived in the castle. Where Death still cruised the halls, weeping.
The darkness of fatal raids, still floating before every window. Blocking what light there was. When people realized what they had lost. When they understood who had not come home. Not that many … but a few. Enough. Enough to remind them … of those who had been lost in the castle itself. When they looked at the former seats of those who were cut down where they stood, and for whom vengeance had been exacted ... with less than heartening results. Vengeance: thin comfort. Loss: forever.
If work were a distraction … not distraction enough.
Che to Nayan on the practice yard: I wish I could shake this lousy feeling.
You too, huh?
Everyone, I think.
Zoren and I have come to a decision.
Is that right? What?
We’re going to get married now, before winter really sets in.
Che, a sudden smile. You know, that’s a good idea, Nayan.
Later, in his rooms, getting a similar idea. Asking Luisa-te to marry him. Not the first time they had discussed it, of course. But she before: refusing to flesh out the discussions until after the southern raids. Until after Che returned. Until she was sure she would not be a widow before she had had a chance to be a wife.
Now, curling inside his embrace. “We don’t want to steal Nayan’s and Zoren’s thunder, though. Maybe … we should wait until spring.”
“I don’t want to.” Young men, once the leap has been made, not wanting to wait to feel the ground under their feet. “There’s time. We can have one wedding, then another.”
This idea, discussed by Che and Nayan the next evening after supper. Nayan, a grin. Who goes first?
Both young men, enjoying a laugh. Sitting in the great hall by the huge fireplace, sipping warm ale. After a little while, getting lost in the flames. Just staring. Slightly bewitched, as fires can do. Enjoying a – rare – moment of relaxation.
Joined, a little while later, by a small group of young people. Carrying chairs over to the fire. One of the young women; to Nayan’s surprise, Kione-ye. She staring into the fire. Her mere presence: bringing Nayan to consciousness. In a moment, Che, also present.
Nayan, just looking at Kiome-ye for a moment. Still beautiful, her. But … all over now. She: not Zoren-te. A smile – a small relief? – coming to Nayan.
Kiome-ye: “We need to talk, Nayan.” Or should I say, we need to talk.
Nayan, not even surprised. Not any more. After the battles at Darleigh and Vel … Yes, I suppose we should. Kiome-ye: a glance at Che, a question in her eyes.
Nayan: Yes. He also.
Kiome-ye: Good. So. Listen to me. We have much to discuss.
Che: Yes. I imagine we do.
One of the young men, a deep breath. Then: This battle. It was not an ordinary battle.
Nayan: No.
It was … despite our expert planning – your planning, Nayan. Despite Zoren-te’s expert intelligence. We were vastly outnumbered. Knew we would be, going in. And yet, we prevailed. With few casualties. Astonishingly few casualties.
Nayan: Yes. Your point.
Kiome-ye: Come to the point, Erad.
Erad: Many people have the gift. Most of us, even … can exchange thoughts. But this other thing – the ability to move things with our minds. Deflect bullets. Cause the enemy … to …
Kiome-ye: To fall dead. Just when we think of it. When we will it.
Erad: Yes, that. The ability to kill, just with our minds. You have it. It seems Che has it. At Rhymney and Aurast, the same. Not that many, but –
Kiome-ye: Enough. It doesn’t take that many.
Nayan: Do we have any idea – how many have this ability?
Kiome-ye: Here, you and Che. A nod toward one of the young women. And Arina-ye, there. Maybe one more, Erad; he was in the line message room at Vel. You can check further. I’ve talked to my family and friends at Rhymney. There, one they know of. At Aurast, the same again. Maybe a half dozen in all.
Che: Just young people, I think. Although my mother had it.
Nayan: And mine. But she was terrified of it. She said people would regard it as witchcraft. She made me swear never to use it Never to speak of it.
Erad: Your brother? And Che, yours?
Head shakes from both young men.
Kiome-ye: My m
other could transfer thoughts. Many of the older generation … all gods, we have no idea how prevalanet the ability to transfer thoughts may have been. They still refuse to talk about it.
Nayan: Aterya-te told me that. She can transfer thoughts.
Kiome-ye: Kyrugan also. I think his parents can … but they won’t talk about either.
Kiome-ye, a quick head shake. Here’s the point. We’ve been talking; here and at the other provinces. This thing … the ability to affect objects by thinking about them … it’s – to use an old fashioned expression – it’s devil’s work.
Nayan, a stone in his throat. That’s what my mother used to call it.
Kiome-ye: She wasn’t wrong, Nayan. Listen to me. We’ve all been talking. What we did, at the battles –
Erad: And before. Don’t forget that. Here, at Cha-ning. When the bastards were in retreat. My rage – my father was killed, as you know. Shot in the head. My uncle, too. I chased the bastards out. I – I didn’t know I could do it. But I wished them dead, and they fell. At first I didn’t realize it was me. But at Vel … that was me.
Several nods, from others. The young woman Arina-ye: I did the same. I was holding my little sister’s body – all gods, she was only twelve. Shot in the back. I expected to join her; I almost hoped … then I saw them leaving. Many of them smiling, laughing. One looked over at me, I expected to be shot. But no. He just laughed. Laughed! At a dead little girl. I can’t describe the rage. I never felt anything like it in my life. Not even in raids. And then something happened. Like a switch went on in my head. I ran after the bastard who laughed at me. I focused on his back, as he mounted his gantha in the courtyard … and then he fell to the ground. I ran to him, and there was gray stuff coming out his nose. His brains, I guess. Then I went after others. Those who were mounting, those already mounted and starting away. The rage – this thing in my head – it was like a fire. I directed it at half a dozen of them … and they fell. Every one of them.
Nods, around the group. Every one, nodding.
