We Lie with Death

by Devin Madson

  “Captain,” I said.

  “Oh yes, of course, do forgive me. At least I did not make the error of calling you General e’Jaroven, which would be your title under true Kisian conventions.” He swept his happy smile first to me then Gideon and, getting no response from either of us, settled on sipping from his tea bowl. The serving girl went past into the room and began setting each dish upon the table.

  Baln kept the door open, his hand on the frame, but I shook my head and gestured for him to close it. He did so with a shrug, the soft tap of the sliding doors meeting as definite as the click of a lock.

  Gideon looked up, making a small gesture used to halt herds, and said, “And you bury them?” as though picking up the thread of an interrupted conversation. “Without doing anything else to the body beforehand.”

  “Yes,” Leo said, cradling his tea bowl. “The body was created by God and gifted by God; it would be wrong to desecrate it in any fashion.”

  I was glad to see a frown of annoyance cross Gideon’s face at the term desecrate. “Why bury them though?” He seemed genuinely interested, a curiosity I recalled many feeling during our early interactions with the missionaries. “They rot in the ground and so the gift is ruined just the same. Burning would achieve the same effect faster and involve less digging.”

  “Because to burn would be to lose that gift. Buried in the ground it can be… I cannot think of the most appropriate Levanti word, but digested is not too far wrong if a little unsavoury. Broken down. Then rebuilt. Made new. Just as you believe the soul is reborn and made new.”

  “And that is the basis of your religion? Bodies instead of souls?”

  “To be of our faith is to serve God’s purpose; burial is but one part of that.” Again Leo looked my way. “I believe Captain Dishiva has something she wishes to say to you, Your Majesty.”

  Gideon looked up. “What is it, Dishiva?”

  Leo met my gaze with steady, polite interest, and the urge to throttle him was alarmingly strong for a man who was doing nothing, who I could not even be sure was truly our enemy. Time, perhaps, to see how he would react. I drew myself up, hands tucked in the small of my back. “I wish a copy of the holy book of the One True God, Your Majesty. I understand you had them confiscated from Lord Nishi, but—”

  “Confiscated?” Gideon’s brows dropped low and he parted his lips to keep speaking, only to close his jaw so fast his teeth snapped. He stared down at the table.

  “Your Majesty?” I said after a lengthy silence. I glanced at Leo, engrossed in his tea. “Herd Master?”

  Gideon looked up. “Pardon, Captain Dishiva? I am afraid my thoughts wandered.”

  “I… requested a copy of the Chiltaen holy book. I wish to use it to begin learning their written language and gain a better understanding of our… new arrivals.”

  “Admirable plans, but I am afraid I do not know where they are or what happened to them.”

  Leo looked up from his tea bowl. “It might be wisest to ask Lord Nishi.”

  Again with the mild, polite response and kind smile. Yet the revulsion I felt was stronger than I had ever felt even for a Tempachi. I forced something like the same smile to my lips and told myself that despite what Jass and I had spoken of in the passage, despite the dead guard and the story about Veld and the gods-damned creepy puppet the missionaries had carried with them, he was important to Gideon. Here was a man that, properly used, could perhaps outweigh all Grace Bahain’s military might.

  With a little grunt of effort, Leo Villius got to his feet. “I can ask Lord Nishi about the books on your behalf, Captain. I ought to be getting back to my people as it is. Your Majesty.” He bowed and was most of the way to the door before Gideon seemed to come out of his reverie. He made no attempt to call Leo back, seemed satisfied to see the back of him, and I wondered where his thoughts had wandered to so suddenly.

  Once the door was closed behind Leo, Gideon heaved a sigh, and having let go so heavy a breath he looked up at me, brows raised in question. Troubled lines cut his forehead and dark circles hung beneath his eyes. I realised in that moment that in the absence of Sett, or Rah, or any of the First and Second Swords of Torin, he had no member of his herd to confide in. Despite the length of time she had been here I could not even imagine him confiding in Yiss, because her loyalty was too important to risk on truths. Somehow, strangely, I had become his only confidant.

  “Is something worrying you?” I said, fear twanging my every nerve.

  “Everything. Is that not the part a leader has to play?”

  “Anything specific then. You look troubled.”

  He let out another sigh, shifting his weight on the silk cushion. “I am troubled. It appears I am going to have to send out most of our Swords to hold the north through the winter. I had hoped the Kisians would be… disinclined to fight me until spring, but—”

  “But winter is the best time for war.”

  “On the plains it is, yes. Here it snows and the wells and lakes freeze over and people are too busy trying to keep warm and not starve.”

  I felt foolish and saluted. “Of course, I had not considered the difference.”

  “Understandable. You haven’t been here long. But in any case, it looks like it won’t change anything. You see, not all the northern Kisians have bowed to me or allied themselves with us, so even with the Chiltaens and the southerners keeping out of the way for now, it will take many Swords to hold what we have against uprising and malcontent.”

  “Your Swords are always ready to fight for you.”

  “So they might be, but if I send you all out into various parts of my empire to keep the peace, I will have none of you here. I also risk Levanti lives when there are already so few of us by comparison, and how would you communicate with the people you are protecting and being served by?”

  Language, so many of the problems came back to language. The difference between Levanti and Tempachi was enough to make clear, nuanced discussion difficult, but close enough to allow for basic understanding if you added a few hand gestures. Kisian was nothing like either, and hearing it spoken all around me hadn’t helped me learn it.

  “And,” he went on when I didn’t answer, “if I let Grace Bahain and the rest of my Kisian allies deal with the problem as they have so very helpfully offered to do on my behalf, I risk having them keep the peace in their own names, not mine, and the people of Kisia will go on seeing us as conquerors to be ousted.”

  It was what we were, but still I did not speak.

  “And if I send say ten or even twenty Levanti out with each group of Kisian soldiers, putting some sort of”—he waved a hand—“joint command in place, it’s no better. Not only is that spreading my Swords thin and risking Kisians turning on them, but with only three Levanti able to translate fluently we run into the same issue as the first idea. Because they know the language, the Kisians would end up taking over. How much more encouragement would loyal Swords need to desert their herd?”

  He had talked himself out and for a moment sat in silence.

  “We ought to learn their language,” I said at last, though I hated what the words meant. I was proud to be Levanti. I wanted to build a new home for us, but was it worth it if the only way to do so was to conform to another culture? Hadn’t we fought the city states because that was exactly what we didn’t want to do?

  Gideon grimaced. “It would take a while, too long for the purposes of this mission. And… that wasn’t how this was supposed to work, Dishiva. We did not suffer so much to lose ourselves completely.” His sighs seemed to be getting heavier. “There is no good answer and yet I must find one.”

  I wanted to sit with him at the table, wanted to offer all the comfort I would have offered a fellow captain, a Levanti, a friend, but the crimson silk robe he wore acted like a protective shield I could not bring myself to penetrate. Whatever had been his intentions for this empire at the outset, he had chosen to don the trappings of a Kisian emperor, to wear their clothes and speak their langua
ge, to eat their food and drink their tea and sit upon their cushions, eschewing herd master for His Majesty.

  So I stayed where I stood with my hands gripped tight behind my back, trying to keep the rest of my stance and my expression calm despite the turmoil his words had let loose inside my head. I had come to speak of Leo, to ask him not only about the holy book but also about what he planned to do with this Veld Reborn, to warn him of the extra danger the priest could pose, but with so troubled a look upon Gideon’s face I could say none of it.

  At last he looked up with a forced smile. “At least since I cannot put off marrying Lady Sichi any longer we will soon have an excuse for celebration. I feel we could all do with one.”

  “Putting it off? You said marrying her was important.”

  “It is, I just wished to choose when. Waiting gives me time to weave a safety net should I fall from so high a tree.” His words brought back memories of climbing the rough trunks of the olive trees at Hophset Shrine, of the horsehair nets herd members would stretch beneath the children as they climbed to the thin, supple branches right at the top. Homesickness stabbed deep into my stomach.

  “Grace Bahain is beginning to get… impatient to be sure of me,” Gideon went on, the spill of his worries splitting my confidence like fruit oozing through an overripe skin. They had gotten like that sometimes, near the coast, when bursts of rain could drop whole rivers upon a grove. “Can I even trust Lady Sichi? I don’t know.”

  “Nuru thinks we can.”

  He gave a tired, mirthless laugh. “Can I trust Nuru?”

  “You have to,” I said. “You have to trust us because you cannot do this alone.”

  The words vibrated with suppressed passion, but he gifted me only a wan smile and reached for his wine bowl. “That sounds like something Rah would have said.” He looked away. “Go on, I think I would like to drink and be maudlin on my own for a while.”

  Uneasy, I left him to it, glad it had been me and no one else who had seen him in so troubled a state.

  Lady Sichi had been out in the yard when I saw her last, but as I passed her door the sound of deep laughter came through the panes and I halted.

  “Who is with Lady Sichi?” I asked of Esi and Shenyah, the two Jaroven women guarding her door.

  “Dom Villius, Captain,” Shenyah said, curling her long fingers to salute. “He met us in the entrance hall.”

  I bit back a frustrated growl and knocked two raps upon the door before sliding it open. Leo looked up from the table exactly as he had when I’d walked in on his meeting with Gideon, and pretending this wasn’t the second time we had done this today, said, “Ah, Captain e’Jaroven,” saluting me in the Levanti way, which made me itch to chop off his hands.

  “Dom Villius,” I returned. A glance at the tray informed me he had been there longer than I would have liked, the tea almost gone from his bowl. A second, smaller bowl sat beside it, filled with what looked like rabbit droppings.

  A smile twitched Dom Villius’s lips and he popped a rabbit dropping into his mouth. While he crunched it, I realised everyone was staring at me, waiting for me to speak my purpose.

  “My apologies, Lady Sichi,” I said and, unable to think of another excuse, added, “I wished to speak to Nuru.”

  “If it’s about the—”

  She stopped at my intent stare, and mumbling something to Lady Sichi, Nuru ducked past me into the passage, the smell of dried flowers wafting with her. Conversation resumed. Lady Sichi was a quiet, serious young woman when she was alone, but in the same way she performed for the Levanti out in the courtyard, she performed for her visitors, Dom Villius no exception.

  Nodding to the woman who would be empress, I slid her door closed, grateful for her Kisian ladies sewing in the corner. Leo Villius was the last person I felt comfortable leaving her alone with.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t meet you to talk to that soldier,” Nuru began pettishly as I pulled her out of earshot of my Swords. “But—”

  “That doesn’t matter. He’s dead.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Dead?”

  “Yes. Did you tell anyone you were supposed to be meeting me there?”

  Nuru shook her head, jaw still dropped, her mouth a circle of shock.

  “Did you tell anyone I spoke to the man when he arrived?”

  Again she shook her head.

  “Did you tell anyone about him at all?”

  “No! Why would I? He was just a soldier.”

  I bit back the urge to point out all Swords were soldiers and ought not to have jewelled pins stuck in their hair. But whatever recriminations I might have uttered were waylaid as running footsteps fought their way to my ears. “Captain!” Loklan was hurrying toward us. “Captain, I—”

  “Can we make another time to discuss the horses?” I said. “I am—”

  “It’s not about the horses, it’s… it’s one of the pilgrims, Captain. She—”

  “Livi.”

  Loklan stepped back, a glint of fear in his gaze. “Yes. How did you know?”

  “A hunch. She was unwell. What happened?”

  “She took an arrow to the throat, loosed from the north tower.”

  I tried to look surprised, tried to force shock to my face though I felt none, only a sick horror that tasted like bile. “An arrow… Did you catch the—?”

  I broke off as Loklan held up a bow. “Keka found this on one of the upper floors. Nothing else.”

  I took the bow and ran my fingers along its worn length, but I didn’t need to examine it. I knew whose it was because I had carried it with me every day since being Made a Sword of the Jaroven.

  Loklan looked at a spot on the wall past my ear, neither he nor Nuru daring to say a word.

  The door to Lady Sichi’s room slid open and Dom Villius stepped out, he a curse I seemed unable to escape today. “Captain,” he said, striding toward us. “I have an answer to your earlier query if you will give me a moment of your time.”

  Unsure what else to do, I thrust my bow back into Loklan’s hand. “Yes, of course. I’ll be with you in a moment, Loklan. To discuss… the issue. With the horses.”

  My horse master’s eyes widened, but he nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

  Nuru took the opportunity to excuse herself, and having hovered for a few awkward seconds, Loklan followed, leaving me alone with the God’s child.

  I must have worn out my ability for diplomacy, for rather than wait for him to explain his meaning, I said, “Why are you here?”

  His brows rose. “I am paying respects to my future empress.”

  “No, I don’t mean why are you here. Why are you here? Gideon killed you. Why come back?”

  “Because belief is more important than life. Resolve more important than fear.”

  “Well, I don’t trust you. And if anything happens to Gideon, or to Lady Sichi, I will kill you. And if you come back, I’ll just do it again. And again. As many times as it takes for your god to get the message.”

  He met this threat with a bland look. “And to think, I caught up with you to tell you where you could find a copy of our holy book.”

  “Where?”

  “Locked in one of the storerooms downstairs. They are still in the travel boxes and shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

  Refusing to thank him, I turned on my heel and was halfway to the stairs before he called after me. “You’re very welcome, Captain.”

  While the upper half of the manor was all heavy wooden beams skinned in decorative panels, the lower portion was hewn from stone. The palace at Mei’lian had been the same, owning the same confusing collection of small storerooms with heavy doors. Despite Leo’s confidence, it would have taken all day hunting room to room to find the books, but panicked Kisian voices met my ears at the bottom of the stairs. The acrid smell of smoke bit my nose and sent my steps thudding along the passage.

  A group of Kisians had gathered outside a heavy storeroom door. Smoke spilled out and they were shouting at one another while a man tried ke
y after key in the lock with shaking hands. Others held buckets of water and large blankets at the ready. Even as I approached, two soldiers ran toward them from the opposite end of the passage, water slopping from buckets in either hand.

  “What’s going on?” I demanded as I joined them, every breath of smoky air making my head throb.

  The woman closest gestured at the door and rattled off a squeaky response between coughs, before pointing up at the roof.

  “Emperor Gideon!”

  “Wait,” I said, gripping her shoulders. “Are you saying Gideon’s room is up there? Shit!”

  The man with the ring of keys flailed it in the air, turning to shout at those crowding behind him. I slammed my foot into the door. It did not open, but more smoke puffed through. I kicked it again, holding my breath against the onslaught of smoke, smoke that was beginning to fill the passage, stinging my eyes and shredding my throat. When a third kick did nothing, I wrenched one of my swords from my belt and thrust it into the gap above the lock. While I levered it, a Kisian soldier slammed the door with his shoulder, coughing all the while. He rammed it a second time, and the sound of splintering wood pushed back my rising panic.

  “Again!” I shouted, and though he could not have understood the word, the meaning seemed to be enough, for as I tugged my sword hilt, bending the steel, he threw himself against the door. More cracking. The other soldier joined us, adding his might, and the door burst wide, slamming back against the wall as smoke poured forth in acrid black clouds. One of the soldiers grabbed a bucket and ran in while his companion hacked upon the floor, tears streaming. Tears wet my face too, but I snatched up the other buckets and fought my way in, lungs bursting. I threw the water blind, and dropped to the floor to suck lungfuls of slightly clearer air as more water splashed over me. More footsteps. More coughs. Blankets came in on a tide of short, sharp shouts. More water followed. And slowly, bit by bit, the panic waned into pained gasps.

  When I dared to look up through watery, stinging eyes, it was to see the boxes full of Lord Nishi’s books sitting in the centre of the room, charred and dripping, bundled blankets covering them like a lid. A servant was pointing at a pair of lanterns hanging above, seeming to suggest one had fallen and set the books alight. I had neither the energy nor the language to tell him he was wrong.