He had become more short-tempered after Aaraduan. Four of his cousins had died when their retreating caravan was ambushed by a small force of invaders. She worried he was losing his faith in her, and the sanisi who had risked everything to keep his heart beating.
He drew away. “Set things up with Driaa and Wraisau,” he said. “I’ll want to meet with these Dhai before we let them into the archive room, though. I want to be absolutely certain there are no enemies among them. We can’t have Caisau compromised.”
“I understand,” Maralah said.
“You can go,” he said.
Maralah relaxed, and moved toward the archway.
“Maralah?”
“Yes?” She did not turn. There were times when she could not bear to look into his face, because she saw the young man he had been, the sparkling, handsome youth with the black eyes that everyone – man or woman – fell headlong into, until all they could see was his vision for Saiduan, for the restoration of a bloated empire stretched far too thin. Twenty years he worked to make them stronger. But it hadn’t been enough. Now, to her eyes, he looked tired and broken, and she feared that if she looked too long at him, too often, she’d see her own broken face reflected back at her.
“If you betray me,” the Patron said, “by twisting Taigan or anyone else, or if you are not the Maralah I know, I will have your hair, and then your life, however little that means to you now, and however much I cannot spare you.”
“I understand,” Maralah said, and left him.
She made her hand into a fist. He could take her life, but she would always have his heart.
22.
Ahkio wore red, the color of mourning, and rode at the head of a procession of corpse-filled carts. Ghrasia Madah and Liaro kept pace with him. Two dozen militia took up the flank and the rear. Any journey by foot outside the temple required an Ora. Ahkio had brought a dozen of them, including Nasaka’s assistant, Elaiko, and Ohanni and Shanigan, two of the only senior Oras in the temple that Ahkio could stand. He also chose four novices, younger, less predictable choices like Caisa, and a boy named Jakobi, and a powerful parajista called Naori who was about the same age as Ahkio and also his third cousin once removed. She reminded him just enough of Kirana that he was willing to see where her loyalties lay after six years inside the Temple of Oma. He had specifically chosen a greater number of novices than senior Oras for this trip. They would begin in Garika, but end in Osono, because Yisaoh was not the only woman he meant to meet with.
Meyna had still not answered his letters.
As they neared the clan square, Ahkio sent Caisa off with six militia to clear out Kirana’s quarters. She had kept a temporary house in Garika for long political visits; he only hoped Yisaoh had not cleared them out first.
“What if they fight us?” Caisa said. She had been humming bars of a terrible Dorinah opera for the last eight miles that she’d picked up from a way house minstrel. Now she firmed her jaw and sat up a little straighter on her bear, and Ahkio was reminded of her age. He wasn’t much older than her, and he was sending her off to wrangle with an angry family who’d just tried to kill him.
“That’s why the militia’s with you,” he said. “I expect Yisaoh is going to be waiting for us in the square. They know we’re coming.”
“Why would she want to talk to you?”
“So she can tell me she’s right, and I’m wrong,” Ahkio said. “If you go to my sister’s rooms, or Yisaoh’s, and you meet resistance. Turn back.”
He watched Caisa and the six militia members break off from the group.
Ghrasia leaned over on her bear, said, “She’ll be all right.”
“She has a better chance than we do, certainly,” Ahkio said, and waved the procession forward.
The Garikas waited for them in the amber-tiled square of Clan Garika, tucked five miles inside the textured webbing that kept out the worst of the plant life. The massive, gnarled bonsa trees surrounding the square were draped in red. Garikas came out onto their doorsteps or stood under the awnings of their shops and trading places. The weather had turned, and a warm, drizzling rain fell. The sky was a gray wash, heavy and oppressive. Outside the square, fog moved among the trees. Ahkio was not ready for low autumn; he wanted summer to last forever.
Clan Leader Tir Salarihi Garika stood in front of the council house. He wore one red armband, all he had given over to mourning. His broad frame was clothed in a black tunic and dark trousers, and a gray overcoat stitched in silver. He had a thick beard, and the same heavy brow Ahkio remembered.
Yisaoh stood just to the right of her father, smoking and smirking. Ahkio recognized Yisaoh’s mothers as well – Alais, Gaila, and Moarsa. All formidable as their daughter. He felt like an animal being tracked.
The militia Ahkio had brought fanned out ahead of him. Ahkio slid off his bear. Liaro leaned over and said, low, “You sure you don’t want me next to you?”
“Just me,” Ahkio said, and patted Liaro’s bear. Liaro’s injuries from the week before had been minor. He had strutted about the temple with three stitches on his brow and some bruised ribs, but had otherwise escaped the fray unscathed. If anything, Ahkio suspected it had hurt his pride more than his flesh. Liaro was not a man made for conflict.
Caisa and the novices moved toward him as well. Ahkio waved them back. He had already told them all he wanted to walk out alone. Ghrasia was the only one who had not questioned that decision.
Ahkio saw none of Tir’s other sons, though they may have been among the crowds lining the square. His blood quickened. He wondered if he would be the first Kai torn apart by his own people.
Ahkio pressed thumb to forehead. “Clan leader Tir,” he said. Because though he suspected Yisaoh and her mothers were the true instigators of this particular plot, it was Tir who bore the title of clan leader.
Tir did not return the gesture. “Ahkio,” he said.
“I’ve brought you your sons,” Ahkio said, “and your militia.” His voice sounded steadier than he felt. He summoned up the courage to speak. It was like pitching himself from some great height.
Ahkio gestured to the militia. They unloaded the bodies. Lined them up neatly in the square. Four rows of five, including Lohin. As Ahkio watched the bodies laid out, he wondered how it had come to this. He had spent a decade hiding from Dhai politics while old wounds and rivalries festered until his sister was dead and half of the most powerful families in Garika lost kin.
“Those that survived have been exiled from Dhai,” Ahkio said evenly, “as set down in The Book of Oma.” He waited, but Tir said nothing. Ahkio did not look away, though his left hand started to tremble. He pressed the offensive hand into his tunic pocket.
Ahkio nodded to Yisaoh. “I’m certain your daughter told you when we spoke that if your house threatened mine, I would exile you and your kin. I am here to make good on that promise.”
“The Oras have given you much power,” Tir said.
“No,” Ahkio said. “The people did, and you sought to usurp them. This could have ended differently. I could have married into your family, Tir. We could have been friends, and kin.”
“You will break ties of kin to keep to a code made for former slaves,” Tir said. “We are no longer those people who fled Dorinah five centuries ago. We need better leadership. You must know by now that change is coming to Dhai. We will need strength. A new way of doing things.”
“According to –”
“Don’t quote the Book at me, boy.”
“I will quote the Book all I like,” Ahkio said. Every old person in the country wanted him to keep quiet, to take a seat and die for it, but do it quietly. “You broke our kinship with your betrayal. Tell me what other fate Faith Ahya and Hahko would have for you.”
“You are no Kai.”
“You think we need a new government,” Ahkio said. “You think I’m unfit for what’s coming. You aren’t the only clan leader to express such concerns. That’s why I’ve called for a circle of the clan leaders
, in Osono. We’ll discuss changes peaceably, as Dhai do. Not like bloody Dorinahs.”
A flicker of something… surprise? crossed Tir’s face. “I would sit in that circle.”
“Perhaps you don’t understand,” Ahkio said. “You will not be sitting in this circle. You and your family have forfeited that right. I’m exiling you to Saiduan, to the third degree.”
The crowd gasped. Even some of the militia looked unsettled. The third meant Tir and his wives, their children and children’s spouses, and their children’s children would be banished. Ahkio held up a hand for quiet.
“You have an apprentice,” Ahkio said. “Where is she?”
“Here,” said a woman from the crowd around the council house. She was broad and tall as Tir. Hazel eyes, a bit of a squint. Ahkio had looked up her name before they arrived. She looked nothing like her grandmother.
“You’re Shisa’s granddaughter,” Ahkio said.
“Yes. My mother was clan leader before Tir.”
“Will you sit with me in Osono as clan leader of Garika?”
“Don’t you – “ Tir began. He stepped forward.
Three dozen militia drew three dozen glowing blades. Ohanni and Shanigan and the other Oras raised their hands, and the air in the square grew heavy. Ahkio knew the Oras’ stance was a ruse; they would not unleash Para on their own people. But the heft of the air made a strong statement.
Tir grunted. “You leave me with no choices.”
“You already chose,” Ahkio said. “When you murdered my sister.”
Yisaoh sneered at him, and pointed with her cigarette. “You listen, you arrogant fool. Kirana’s messes were her own. You were off fucking sheep in Osono for years. What do you know what happened with Kirana, what promises were made? We did not touch your sister.”
“Only innocent novices and Ghrasia Madah’s fresh-faced militia, then?” Ahkio said. “You only murdered youths drawn from your neighboring clans?”
“There is a great assumption here,” Tir said. “You assume my sons acted -”
“Don’t lie to me in your own square while the bodies of your sons lie next to us.”
“You’re a fool boy.”
“A lot of old people tell me that,” Ahkio said, “usually when they fear me most.” His other hand had begun to tremble. He stuffed that one, too, into his tunic pocket.
Tir’s gaze flicked to Caisa, riding at Ahkio’s left elbow. “Why isn’t my youngest here, Kihin? Let him at least look his mothers in the face before you cast us off to Saiduan.”
“Kihin’s fate won’t take him to Dorinah,” Ahkio said. “Ora Dasai has agreed to take him to Saiduan on a mission of importance to Dhai.”
“You mean he’ll be your hostage,” Tir said.
“If you step away peaceably, you can make a life with him in Saiduan, when he’s finished his task for me,” Ahkio said.
“You’ve overstepped. They’ll make us slaves in Saiduan!”
“Would you rather he was lying here?” Ahkio asked.
Tir’s wife Alais put her hand on Tir’s elbow. A moment, no more. She was a solid woman, not yet fifty. Tir did not look at her.
“The militia waits on your decision,” Ahkio said. “Half a dozen will escort you and your family from Dhai. Whether they must do so forcibly is up to you.”
“You ask me to casually choose the course of my life. My children’s lives. It is a decision I cannot make in a moment, a day, a month. I need time.”
“You don’t have it,” Ahkio said. “
Alais said, “We will step away peacefully.”
“Alais –” Tir said.
“We will step away,” she said. “He brings us our dead sons, and keeps our youngest with his Oras. Do you see another path? I did not birth my sons, nor raise that of my sisters, to see them slaughtered now.”
“It has always been their decision –”
“Shush,” Alais said.
Ahkio felt Yisaoh’s burning black gaze on him, but did not look at her. A single man or woman did not make a decision his family did not support, not in Dhai. There were too many family ties to consider. Kin were too close. Tir had not acted on his own. At the very least, his spouses supported and encouraged the actions their sons and daughter took. That’s why it had to be an exile to the third degree… even if it included people Ahkio wished it did not.
Ahkio nodded to Tir’s apprentice. “I will see you in Osono,” he said.
Ahkio held out his hand to Tir. He could not stop the trembling, and he cursed himself for it, but he held the hand there, a last gesture of goodwill.
“Don’t look at me, boy,” Tir said. “Your mother twisted this country, and your sister was blindered to what’s coming. My family’s known for years what we faced, while you relied on some foreigner to come here and set you right. You march Oras and our own militia into Garika, two forces that have never been given leave to work together. You defile your own Book. I will not speak your name again.”
Tir turned into the council house.
His wives followed. Yisaoh made to do the same, but Ahkio stopped her. “Not yet, Yisaoh.”
“Go soak your head.”
“Would you rather I say this in front of your family?”
She walked down the steps to him. Her mother, Alais, paused in the doorway and watched her.
Ahkio moved away from the house to a barren patch of ground near the rain barrel at the side of the council house. “You know I could have done worse, for you.”
“Why? Because I had the heart to stand up to you?”
“Let’s not play. The boy you tried to kill in the temple lived.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The novice you stabbed on the steps of the scullery stair, sneaking around with Ora Almeysia.”
Her look was incredulous. “Don’t insult me.”
“You were in the temple the night my sister died. I have a witness.”
“The night she died?” Yisaoh shook her head. “I wasn’t there. Check the Line records in Garika. I left the next morning, the day I heard word of Kirana’s death. Not before. You think I walked there, attacked some boy, and then walked all the way back – a two day journey! - only to take the Line the next morning? What, do you think I flew home on the back of a parajista? It’s quite obvious you never taught logic to your little sheep students.”
She made to walk back up the steps.
He grabbed at her sleeve. She jerked her arm away. “Don’t even think about touching me, any part of me. Don’t come within leagues of me.”
“You say you wouldn’t kill a boy, but you were happy to kill me.”
“That wasn’t my preference. Now, if you’ll give me back some measure of my own autonomy, I have things to pack.”
“I’m afraid you can’t go back to your rooms.”
“What?”
“I’ve sent my assistant and a contingent of militia to empty your rooms, and Kirana’s quarters here in Garika, as well.”
“You have no right.”
“I have every right. You’ve been exiled.”
She took a pull from her cigarette and regarded him a long moment. “You think you’re clever enough to save this country on your own? You aren’t half so clever as you think. I wish whoever killed Kirana had killed you instead. The country would be better off for it.”
She crushed her cigarette under her heel and walked back into the council house.
Ahkio twisted away stiffly. He paused a moment in front of his bear, then mounted. He looked at the mob in the square. He needed to say something to them. Anything. Instead, he was leaving militia the color of mourning in their square. And he could think of nothing to say to that, nothing that would make it any better.
As he turned his bear about, Liaro rode up beside him. “Could have gone worse,” Liaro said.
“They may kill us yet,” Ahkio said.
“They’ll think about it a lot harder this time.”
“Let’s hop
e.”
“Did you really mean what you said, about exile to the third degree?” Liaro said.
“Yes.”
“You know who else that means, right?”
“Yes.”
“That includes some of my cousins. It nearly included me,” Liaro said. “And it definitely includes Meyna and Mey-mey. Rhin and Hadaoh.”
“I know their names, Liaro.”
“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t forgetting.”
“I’m not going to forget.”
They were a sodden, downtrodden group filing into Osono four days later, short dozen militia members who had stayed behind to escort Tir and his family to the harbor. Caisa had returned with her escort, though, driving a cart full of Yisaoh and Kirana’s belongings, unhurt and fairly crowing at the success of her theft.
Clan Leader Saurika met Ahkio in the Osono square. It was not a market day, so there were few people out to greet them.
Saurika reached for Ahkio’s hands. “Are we kissing now?” Saurika said. “I’d like to welcome you as clan family.”
“I accept,” Ahkio said. He kissed both of the old man’s cheeks.
“Welcome home, Kai,” Saurika said. “Fancy a game before we talk business?”
“I’ve had enough games in Garika,” Ahkio said, and he was surprised when Saurika laughed.
“Welcome to the seat, Kai.” His face grew serious. “You’re here to see Meyna and her husbands.”
“I wanted to tell her myself.”
“Too late for that,” he said. “We had a messenger arrive hours before you.”
“Is Meyna still here?”
“I don’t know if they’ll see you.”
“Let me go with you,” Caisa said, sliding off her bear. Ghrasia had issued her a sword along the way, a plain metal blade, not infused. Ahkio worried she didn’t know how to use it, but she insisted she took classes at the temple, and was very capable.
“I’m going by myself,” Ahkio said.
“I know Meyna,” Liaro said. “That’s not terribly smart.”
The Mirror Empire Page 20
