There were others. Lilia became intimately familiar with the contents of Emlee’s kit. She learned the names of all the potions and how to mix them. Emlee brought her to births and deaths. Lilia saw cancers and gonorrhea, dysentery, gangrene, syphilis, and diseases she had no name for but the ones Emlee gave them: orange fever, billicks, sen rot, and skin ulcers and lesions that ate away arms and faces and feet. They treated frost-bitten drunks, women whose insides had been cut out by Dorinahians and left ill-treated, men who had been castrated and become infected, urinated blood and pus – when they could urinate at all.
Lilia worked silently. She entered a room on the tail of Emlee’s chatter, kept her hands clean when it seemed nothing could ever be so, washed bandages and bruised, bleeding, ulcerated feet. She did not lose her stomach until the day they were brought to a woman who had been carried to Emlee’s doorstep. She had a swatch of dirty, bloodied bandaging up one leg and wrapped about her torso. She stank of dead flesh.
Emlee reached forward to take off the bandaging. Lilia saw something moving beneath it. When Emlee drew the bandages clear, she revealed the woman’s gaping wound: a shiver of writhing maggots seethed inside the rotting flesh. The smell of death thickened the room.
Lilia’s skin crawled. She stumbled outside the tent, and vomited her breakfast into the latrine gutter. She crouched with her head down for several minutes until her stomach stopped heaving.
Then she went back to Emlee and knelt beside the woman.
“Found her in a ditch at the rear of the camp,” Emlee said. “They only throw the traitors there.”
“Traitors?”
“Dajians who worked for the Empress,” Emlee said.
“Why would the Empress send them here?”
“Because they betrayed her,” Emlee said.
“Wait. So they are traitors to the Empress, not to us?”
“Us?” Emlee frowned. “Child, those who betray the Empress also betray us. We’re her people.”
“But you’re… you, all of you –”
“You’re a temple Dhai,” Emlee said. “You wouldn’t understand. But you will.”
Lilia gazed across the comatose woman to the open door, and the camp beyond. She found something to replace her numb despair, then. It was rage. Rage at all of this, at this world, at a place that could create all of this sorrow and madness, at a place that could throw her and these people away like insects.
She bent over her patient, and gently pulled her matted, dirty hair from her face. Lilia’s fingers froze.
She knew the woman’s face.
It was Gian.
40.
“I said I would tell you when it was time,” Maralah said.
“It’s time.”
“They’re keeping information from us,” the Patron said.
“And we’re keeping information from them,” Maralah said. “They have yet to ask if we’re fighting Dhai.”
Maralah, Driaa and Kadaan stood with him at the top of the keep in what had become their makeshift war room. The space wasn’t meant for it. Best Maralah could surmise, it had once been a luxurious retreat for some very old Patron’s favorite wife or concubine. Silver and gold gilted passages from the Lord’s Book of Unmaking graced the ceiling. The passages were a selection of love poetry to Oma written by a sixth century scholar included in one of the appendices of the Book.
The chamber also had a breathtaking view of the surrounding countryside. Maralah suspected that before it was tarted up that its original purpose was a military one. Village elders always told her that time was a circle, and everything came back around again. It was strange to see how literal that had become.
“I tried to keep them close by having one of their boys dance,” the Patron said. “It reminded me of happier times. But I suspect they mean to betray us, if they have not already.”
“Five little Dhai? We can deal with five Dhai,” Maralah said. “Especially one that just saved you from men that looked just like him.”
“They let my son die.”
“That was my failure,” Maralah said. “Kadaan and I were seated at that table for that purpose. I failed you, Patron, not the Dhai.”
Kadaan did not look at her. In meetings such as this, with the Patron’s mood uncertain and conditions rapidly deteriorating, she preferred to be the only one to speak with him, even if he had called up all three of them. Some part of her expected he would ask the other two to kill her, and invite Kadaan to take her place. It was a fight she had prepared for these many months by sparring with Kadaan in the courtyard and sending Driaa off on assignments. Kadaan was faster, but Maralah was better. All that remained was for the Patron to give the order.
“Why else would they bring a boy who could see through wards and not tell us?” the Patron said. “Why would Dasai bring him to my table? I know Dasai’s history here.”
“I don’t know why they failed to mention his talent,” Maralah said. “But to be fair we failed to mention they were fighting themselves.” The Patron had been drinking more of late. Rumor had it he had not visited his wives in some time, not even the formidable Arisaa, who had borne his most beloved sons, and given him sound advice when he was in these moods. When Maralah’s counsel could not keep him balanced, Arisaa’s usually could. She made a note to have Driaa stop by Arisaa’s quarters after this meeting. Arisaa did not care for Maralah, but she would tolerate Driaa.
“We must not act on fear,” Maralah said.
The Patron choked on a laugh. “Fear?” he said. “Fear? This is about respect. They disrespect me in my own house. I’ve had their correspondence monitored all these weeks, and I believe it’s been telling as to their intentions.”
“A valid precaution,” she said.
“But not one you suggested.”
“No,” she said.
He began to pace along the wall of windows. His long coat was dirty at the hem. His boots were scuffed, and his hair needed washing. Seeing him like this, she was reminded of a story of the last days of the Empire of Dhai, when a group of sanisi finally penetrated a room much like this one, where the city’s magistrate, his family, and their bodyguards made a final stand. They were mad, broken people, the sanisi said, with big bug-eyed faces and wan complexions. They had eaten their own children. What remained of their little bodies were spread out on the stones, washed and neatly butchered using skinning knifes and cleavers. Maralah wondered what she would be driven to do, at the end.
“They have found something,” the Patron said. “It’s been too long with no progress. They must be sending all the information they have back to Dhai.”
“That may be,” Maralah said, “but it does not change our position. The invading armies are marching south from Caisau. They’ve burned out four villages, and routed much of my brother’s regiment. He’s bringing what remains here – just thirty thousand. That isn’t enough to hold Kuonrada. We need to retreat south to Harajan.”
“After Harajan is Anjolia,” the Patron said, “and once they have us against the sea, we are done.” He ceased his pacing and stood motionless, looking north. From this great height Maralah thought she could see smoke from some burned-out little town. She had given her brother’s regiment permission to burn out the farms between Caisau and Kuonrada as they retreated, taking what they could for themselves and leaving nothing behind for the invaders.
“They should have stopped their advance,” the Patron said. “You said they would stop as the season deepened.”
“It’s madness to march in this weather,” Maralah said. “If I led them, I would have stopped two weeks ago. They’ll freeze in their tracks.”
“Then the weather will devour them.”
“That is my hope,” Maralah said, “but just two weeks more of bearable temperatures and then they’re upon us. They could make it here before the weather, and turn us out. Then we’ll get caught in the weather during our retreat. It’s just luck now.”
“This is the place,” the Patron said softly. �
�This is the place they’ll write about.”
“What?”
“We make our stand here,” he said. “In Kuonrada.”
“Patron, I must protest –”
“That’s my decision,” he said.
“We discussed this before we retreated from Caisau. When the time was right –”
“You are my general,” the Patron said. “You are not Patron. That is my burden.”
“We could last out the season in Harajan.”
“That’s what you said about Kuonrada,” he said. “Yet here we are, retreating again. What would my father say to this? What would Osoraan have said to this?”
“Former Patron Osoraan would not have survived this long,” Maralah said. “He would have broken his armies against them in some vain and glorious gesture early last year, and all of us would be dead. It’s what he did when he assaulted us. It’s why we won.”
“We?” the Patron said.
Maralah grimaced. “It’s why you won, Patron.”
He jabbed a finger at her. “This is where we stand, Maralah.”
“Then this is where we will die.”
“It is a good place to die.”
Maralah bowed deeply. She clenched her teeth so hard her jaw hurt. “Then I will die beside you,” she said.
“When your brother arrives, give him the order to hold this position.”
“Yes, Patron.”
“You may go. All of you.”
Maralah took two steps back before turning away. Kadaan and Driaa waited until she turned before also retreating. They cleared the doors. Kadaan shut them. They were heavy doors, amberwood banded in steel. But Driaa put up a bubble of air around the three of them anyway. Maralah’s ears popped.
“Do you want me to call back Soraanda’s command?” Driaa said. “They’ve already started the retreat to Harajan at your order.”
“What do you think, Kadaan?” Maralah said.
“I think we can last another year if we retreat to Harajan,” he said.
“Driaa?”
“I didn’t want it to come to this,” Driaa said.
“No one does,” Maralah said.
“We have no one for the seat,” Kadaan said.
“The Patron will stay on the seat. My brother will be here in four days with his army,” Maralah said. “I can convince the Patron to… retire. For a time.”
“You’d put him into a slumber?” Driaa said.
“When peace arrives, we will wake him,” Maralah said. “I’m no betrayer, Driaa. No oath-breaker. I told him I would protect him. That’s what I will do. My brother and I will lead the armies. Start speaking to those you know to be allies. When it happens, it will happen very quickly.”
“You must expect some resistance,” Kadaan said.
“His star is descendent,” Maralah said. “It won’t take but a few moments. But I want to make sure the people left in the hold are ours, first.”
“When do we begin?” Kadaan said.
“When my brother arrives. I want Para below the horizon,” Maralah said. “Parajistas who side with him will be weaker.”
“So will those parajistas who side with us,” Driaa said.
“But we’ll know what’s coming,” Maralah said. “Sometimes that makes all the difference.”
When Roh arrived back at the hold, he handed over the talamynii book to Kihin and went down to the infirmary to visit Luna. Two green-robed orderlies were helping Luna dress. Roh came up short as they pulled Luna’s soiled robe off. For a moment, Roh was surprised to see Luna’s small breasts. Though he knew Luna was an ataisa, he hadn’t really been sure what that meant, since it referred to all sorts of people who didn’t quite fit into the Saiduan conception of male or female. He wondered if Luna could have children, and if he did, if he would still live as a man. The orderlies tucked Luna into bed. Luna saw Roh and beamed.
“It’s not often you get saved by a sanisi,” Luna said.
Roh sat at the edge of the bed. “I wanted to see if you’re all right.”
“Kihin’s already been up,” Luna said. “He worries.”
Roh didn’t think Kihin was much of a worrier. “I only wish it was me who got to ride all the way back to the hold with Kadaan.”
Luna rolled his eyes. “I bet you do.”
As Roh stepped out of the infirmary, Abas surprised him in the hall. Abas cried out in delight, and asked to hug him. They embraced. He had a handful of other dancers with him.
“I heard you flushed out Kadaan, the Shadow of Casaiu,” Abas said. “Maralah and Kadaan are fighting again, come see. Your Ora Dasai won’t know any different. We’ve missed your happy face.”
“Abas has missed your face more than most,” one of the other dancers, Rasandan, said.
The dancers walked out to one of the large secondary courtyards at the center of the hold. Roh stood at the edge of the circle in the sanded snow of the courtyard while sanisi and slaves, kennel masters and blacksmiths, soldiers and clerks, crowded behind him.
The sanisi moved too quickly for Roh to understand how Maralah got the better of Kadaan during their first bout. Like any strategy game, the error seemed to lie somewhere behind them, one wrong move that set all the others in motion.
They began the second dance. Maralah stepped back at the edge of the circle, and raised her right foot. Kadaan kicked her foot with his as she moved to strike, caught her off balance, and forged a way through her defenses. Maralah staggered, rolled. Kadaan landed two jabs at her back, then a thumb at her neck, not a strike, but a press, a call for yield.
“Yield!” Maralah said.
Kadaan stepped back.
Appreciative calls came from the audience.
Kadaan and Maralah clasped one another’s forearms. Maralah leaned in to say something to Kadaan.
The crowd began to disperse. Abas called for Roh, but Roh walked out into the circle where Kadaan was buckling on his baldric. Maralah pulled on her coat.
Maralah looked up when she saw Roh. “Your puppy’s here,” she said.
“How do you know he’s not yours?” Kadaan asked.
“The dancers are always yours,” Maralah said. She walked past Roh and back into the keep.
“Are you going to teach me to move like that?” Roh asked.
“Why are you so persistent, puppy?” Kadaan said.
“You’re the one who followed after me, remember?”
“Pacifist,” Kadaan said.
“I’m going to be a sanisi,” Roh said lightly. “Why do you think I came here?”
“Youth,” Kadaan said. “Foolishness.” But Roh saw humor in his face as he turned away.
After, Roh tried to slip back into the archives unnoticed, but Nioni caught him on the stair.
“Ora Dasai wants to speak to you,” Nioni said. “In his quarters.”
Dasai’s door was open. The old Ora sat on the couch with a pile of correspondence.
“I wasn’t far,” Roh said. “I just went into the -”
“I’ll be sending you home in a few days, Roh. I’m sending a letter to your parents. They will expect your return.”
“It’s the middle of winter,” Roh said. “No ships will be going to Dhai!”
“There is a ship that leaves every year at the beginning of Siira, to bring us Saiduan steel. They winter over in Dhai. You and Kihin and Ora Chali will return with it.”
“I think you should ask the Kai first, before you send me back. And… and what about Kihin’s exile? What’s he going to say when you send Kihin back?”
“He will most likely be glad to see Kihin alive. If Kihin perishes, it could make things very difficult with Clan Leader Tir, exiled or no,” Dasai said.
“Ora Dasai, I don’t understand –”
“Then let me make it clear,” Dasai said sharply. “Shut that door.”
Roh did.
“You are an asset to Dhai,” Dasai said. “You’re a fighter. You can see past hazing wards. You think these sanisi are interested in
you for your own sake? No. They are owned body and soul by the Patron of Saiduan. We are nothing to them. Dhai is nothing. And those creatures that stepped so easily into the great hall of Kuonrada are going to be descending on Dhai. Your place is Dhai. I am getting you away from here before the Patron demands that you stay. Because if he demands it of me, I will have no choice but to honor him. Do you understand now?”
“No. Who were those men in the banquet hall, Ora Dasai? Where are the invaders coming from?”
“You’re willful, and arrogant,” Dasai said. “That will either save you or ruin you. I hope I’m no longer living when you find out which.”
“Ora Dasai, you can’t –”
“I can. You’re dismissed.”
Roh spent his evening penning letters and watching the light fade from the world outside. What would happen if he went back to Dhai? Would he spend the rest of his life telling this story, about dancing with the Saiduan and talking to sanisi and then… farming in Dhai?
Kihin returned from the archives a few hours after dark. It got dark terribly early now.
“Has Ora Dasai told you?” Roh asked.
“Yes,” Kihin said. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll be gone before then.”
“What do you mean?”
“You should know something, Roh,” Kihin said. “Luna and I are going to run away together.”
“What? Where?”
“To Dhai, eventually,” Kihin said. “Someone needs to stand up to the Kai.”
“But,” Roh tried to wrap his head around what he knew of Kihin. “Luna is a boy. I didn’t think you –”
“He’s ataisa,” Kihin said. “We’re in love, like Hahko and Faith Ahya. You’ll see. We’ll remake the country.”
Roh wasn’t sure what to say.
“Be happy for us, Roh,” Kihin said.
“I… all right,” Roh said. “Have you talked to Ora Dasai? What will Maralah say? Doesn’t she own Luna?”
“We’re not going to ask permission. We’re just going to go. I wanted to tell someone. Before we ran away. So my father knows I’m not dead. But don’t say anything yet. Luna has to get well. I didn’t tell anyone about you sneaking off with Abas. Please keep this secret?”
The Mirror Empire Page 39
