The Three Lands Omnibus (2011 Edition)

by Dusk Peterson

  Verne, sitting with ease in his chair at the head of the table, said, "And have you found what your heart desires, here on the Great Peninsula?"

  "I believe I have, yes." Alaric continued to smile. "And so I will start my journey back to the mainland soon, since my quest is finished."

  Carle exchanged looks with me. Only a fur-covered barbarian, we supposed, would travel north during the winter. Well, I suppose that if my father could see me now, sitting in a house surrounded by snow that won't melt until April, he would think that I'd gone mad as well.

  "Oh, but you must stay until the wedding." Erlina leaned forward. She had ignored her father's signal earlier that the after-dinner talk would be for men only, though this was the first remark she had addressed toward the oddly garbed barbarian. "I am sure that you have never seen such festivities on the mainland, not even at your own wedding. And my husband will be so eager to meet you in the spring."

  Carle, who had been swallowing some wall-vine wine, was suddenly taken with a fit of coughing. As I pounded him on the back, Alaric said serenely, "The warmth and kindness of Emorian women never ceases to amaze me. You and your mother are like bright flowers peering out of the snow. Yet I, who have taken so much already from your father, cannot impose on his graciousness further." And he bowed again toward Verne.

  "There is no imposition." Verne flung his courtesy whole at the barbarian, smiling back at him. "We would welcome your company until spring. Perhaps you can persuade my son and his friend to stay as well."

  Carle managed at that moment to still the last of his coughing. He said nothing, which gave me hope. Could it be that, if we stay the winter, I can succeed in reconciling Carle to his father? I would so much like to give him that gift.

  o—o—o

  The first day of January in the 941st year after the giving of the law.

  The village held celebrations today in honor of the founding of the laws of Emor. I could imagine my own family gathering today to offer up sacrifice to the gods in thankfulness for the creation of the gods' law at the turn of the year. I am filled with gratitude that I'm here rather than there.

  Carle spent much of yesterday and today showing me around the village, where he is, it seems, much liked by the inhabitants. He also showed me his family's graveyard – a body-cemetery rather than an ash-cemetery. It lies upon a beautiful part of the mountaintop that overlooks the Chara's palace.

  Carle has demonstrated greater reluctance to guide me around his home, though I have explored on my own during the periods when Carle and his father are closeted away together; Verne is evidently keeping his promise to listen to Carle's accounts of what he has learned in the army. The only section of the house barred to me is the slave-quarters, which are located in the basement. Nothing was explicitly said to me, but Carle made clear that Emorian views on rank do not allow for such mingling.

  The rest of the house is beautiful and ancient, filled with carvings and decorations that date back to the early years after the civil war. One of the more recent tapestries evidently shows the family tree, though it is so filled with woven names that it is hard for me to read them. I will have to ask Carle about it.

  I spent this evening talking with Verne. He was curious to know about my family background, and I found myself telling him the whole, terrible story of the blood feud. He was very sympathetic. Carle was angry at me afterwards when he learned that I'd spoken to his father about this. He reminded me that Quentin had advised me against telling this story to any but my intimates. Surely, though, Quentin never meant to suggest that I shouldn't tell the story to Carle's own father.

  o—o—o

  The second day of January in the 941st year a.g.l.

  Carle was with his father all of this morning, and Erlina was invited to spend the day with Gervais's family, so I whiled away my time with Alaric. He tells me that he learned Emorian as a boy from a traveller who was mauled by a snow leopard and who was forced to spend many months with Alaric's family while he was healing. Alaric was surprised to learn during his travels here that Emorian can be voiced through symbols on paper. Apparently he had never seen a written word before he arrived in Emor, so I spent the forenoon teaching him the Emorian alphabet. He told me that he would continue to practice his letters until he was as good at writing Emorian as he is at speaking it, and he thanked me at such length that I was nearly yawning by the end.

  He really is quite clever, for a barbarian. I feel as though, for kindness' sake, I ought to drop him a hint as to how unattractive long hair on a man looks to women.

  o—o—o

  The third day of January in the 941st year a.g.l.

  I see that I haven't written anything about Carle's mother. This is because it's hard for me to know what to say about her. She is the shyest woman I have ever met; she never speaks unless Verne gently coaxes her into doing so. He is all kindness to her and often puts his arm around her in an affectionate manner.

  Because of this, I am beginning to see that the disagreement between Carle and his father must have been serious indeed to cause the two of them to be estranged. Verne is not the sort of man who would ordinarily distance himself from his blood kin. On the contrary, he is always involving himself in his household's activities, flitting from chamber to chamber in his quiet manner.

  Carle's mother I scarcely ever see, and I think that is by her wish. I came across her today, dressing the face of one of the slaves; he had evidently been in a fight with another slave, for his flesh had been laid open in a manner I've only seen among duellers. When she saw me, she was so startled that she fled from the room. I finished mending the slave's face, trying to converse with him, but to no avail. Eventually I realized that we were being watched by Verne, who smiled and thanked me for the assistance. He says that his slaves often get into such mischief as this. I fear that Verne shows too much softness toward the members of his household. Perhaps that is why Carle has leaned the other way and is keen on army discipline.

  o—o—o

  The fourth day of January in the 941st year a.g.l.

  Carle and I spent this afternoon exploring the contents of his main bed-chamber. We found many old writings by him about the patrol; the writings made us laugh, since they showed a boy's view of what the patrol is like. We also found a copybook filled with Fenton's handwriting, which stung my heart.

  Carle was just pulling an old tunic out of a chest when I heard a barking from under the window. Looking out, Carle said sharply, "Home! Go home, girl!"

  There was a puzzled whimper from the dog, but Carle's tone of voice evidently permitted no disobedience, for when I looked out the window, the red-furred dog was gone. "Couldn't you have let her come inside?" I asked.

  Carle shook his head. "She's Myles's dog now. Besides, my father never allowed my dogs inside the house. —Ah, I'd been thinking about this tunic." He held it up to the firelight. "I wore this in the last year I lived at home. I'd guess that it still fits me . . ." He glanced over toward me, then back down at the tunic again.

  I quickly rose and voiced a desire to use the lavatory. (So luxurious is Carle's house that it even has a chamber that is filled with nothing other than a chamber-pot and washbasin.) In actuality, I simply wanted to give Carle the opportunity to undress in private. He is still modest about his body, even in my presence.

  When I returned, he was gazing with satisfaction at the most peculiar tunic I have ever seen anyone wear. The cloth is made all of one piece and wraps around him; the belt too is attached to the tunic, so that when it is untied, it remains with the tunic rather than separating.

  "I wanted to show this to Quentin," said Carle, tying his belt. The belt was naked of weapons; here in Emor, I've learned, even soldiers and nobles walk unarmed when they're at home. I can't imagine what men here do when they're challenged to a duel.

  "I had an idea that a uniform made in this style might come in handy during the summer months," Carle continued. "Patrol custom is to sleep in one's uniform, in case a danger w
histle is emitted, which means that we sweat like dogs in that closed-in hut during the summer months. This tunic, though, can be quickly donned."

  As he spoke, he unclasped his honor brooch, unfastened the belt, and swung the cloth open for me to see. He had not bothered to put on his winter breeches underneath or even to retain his breech-cloth, which surprised me, given what I knew of his shyness about showing his body.

  He turned so that I could see how the cloth wrapped around the back. I asked, "Where did you find such a tunic?"

  "Oh, I asked my mother to make it; I designed it myself. I got tired as a child of taking my tunic on and off several times a day. I decided that I might as well make matters easy for myself."

  I was going to ask him then about the swimming basins at Peaktop – for that is what I assumed he was referring to – but we were called to the table then. I did mention the tunic to Verne at supper, and I've never seen him smile so deeply. I think he must be very proud of Carle's inventiveness. If only I could make Carle recognize how warmly Verne loves him.

  o—o—o

  The fifth day of January in the 941st year a.g.l.

  Trouble has arisen, but not from Carle or his father. During my exploring today, I stepped into a dark corridor and discovered Alaric and Erlina in the shadows, kissing each other.

  As instinctively as though I had sighted a breacher, I stepped back into the doorway through which I had entered. The kiss was evidently not long, for Erlina soon walked down the corridor, past where I was hiding. She was looking from side to side, as though worrying that someone might see her – as well she might. I waited until she was beyond sight, and then I stepped into the corridor.

  Alaric sighted me at once. For a moment he stood frozen, reading from my expression what I had seen. After a bit, he came forward, a smile across his painted face. "Ah," he says, "we are discovered. I had expected that it would happen eventually."

  His easiness about what he had done made me uncomfortable. How do you explain to a barbarian the notion of honor? "Sir," I said, falling back on my patrol politeness, "I know that you are merely visiting this land and cannot be expected to adopt the customs of the people here. But surely, even in your own kingdom . . . I mean, your wife . . ."

  "Ah, yes, my wife." Alaric's smile did not waver, though his voice was discreetly low. "I have been interested during my travels through the Great Peninsula to learn of your customs of marriage. You come from the south originally – tell me, do they practice divorce there?"

  "It's not as common as in Emor," I said. "It's against the gods' law, actually, but sometimes a priest will give a dispensation—" I took in suddenly what he had asked and said, "Do you mean . . .?"

  He shook his head. "Divorce is a custom that we mainlanders find – I pray you to forgive how I express this – barbaric. The idea that I, after joining my body and life with a woman and sowing children upon her, should discard her and say that she is no longer my wife . . . That is hard for me to understand." He smiled at my puzzlement and added, "Yet I find it hard also to understand the view in the Three Lands that if a man and woman marry too young and discover that they do not love each other as a husband and wife should, their only other choice is to keep up the pretense that their marriage is fulfilling, so that they continue to live a loveless existence. Surely the gods within us would not be so cruel as to demand this."

  I have my own views on what gods, Koretian or barbarian, might demand, but I confined myself to asking, "But what other choice is there? If you are divorced, you may decide to take a second love, yet if you are married—" I stopped, abruptly seeing the gulf between civilized life and barbarian life.

  "You see how much wiser our gods are," said Alaric, his smile growing bright. "My wife and I live apart now, though we retain affection for each other. I have even allowed my wife to take a lover, which many husbands would not permit. Yet I think it is only fair that she should be allowed a love, since she has urged me so strongly to seek a second wife for myself. 'Go to the Great Peninsula,' she tells me. 'You are not drawn to shy women such as me; bold-speaking women are who you desire.' She knows me best, you see, since we are married. And so I have travelled many miles through the Great Peninsula, and I have sought far for my heart's desire. Finally, when I am close to giving up hope, I find my desire – but she is already promised to another man. And so I must return alone to the mainland, for I know now that I will never find another woman like her. Yet, though it pains me further to stay here and know that she will never be mine, I cannot help but desire to bring her happiness in this period before her marriage, for I fear that this is the only chance she will have to know what it is like to find happiness and love in the company of a man."

  I had no notion what to say. Alaric, I was sure, could not recognize the full harm of what he was doing. Raised with romantic barbarian views of love, he did not see how even an arranged marriage, such as that of Titus and Chloris, could be blessed with happiness if the husband and wife gave love to each other – and such love, I am now sure, Erlina will receive from any man selected by her father. Yet it really wasn't my place to offer Alaric lectures on his conduct. The only question that arose was where my own duties lay.

  Alaric must have sensed this, for concern finally entered his face. "You will not tell him?" he said. "For Erlina's sake, you will remain silent?"

  "Carle is my partner," I said, struggling to make the barbarian understand. "I can't keep this from him—"

  "Oh, Carle." The lines of worry in Alaric's face disappeared, leaving only the swirling paint. "Carle you most certainly must tell, but not our host? You will not leave Carle's sister naked to her father's hand?"

  o—o—o

  "Yes, I knew," Carle said that night when I told him. "I'd guessed, from the way that she avoided speaking to him during meals. That's not Erlina's usual manner of treating guests."

  "And you don't mind?" I said with surprise. We were standing next to the window in Carle's main bed-chamber – Emorian windows are too small to sit on – and were feeling the winter wind scurry over our skins. Beside us, though, blazed a generous fire that frightened away the cold.

  Carle shrugged his hands. "It's as Alaric said: this is Erlina's last chance for happiness before her marriage. Alaric strikes me as an honorable man, for a barbarian – and what is more important, he strikes me as a man with too much desire for self-preservation to risk impregnating the daughter of his host. I'm sure he'll be careful not to take matters too far with Erlina."

  "But Carle," I said, "surely any man honored by your father with your sister's care—"

  Carle turned abruptly away from the window. "It's cold tonight," he said. "I'd best go see that the slave-servants are well supplied with fuel." And he left the room without saying farewell.

  How I wish that Fenton were here. Carle's hatred of his father is so great that it is poisoning his most elementary judgment. I'm tempted to go directly to Verne with this problem, but I suppose that I shouldn't give up so easily on awakening Carle to how blind he is being.

  Fenton, I'm sure, would have found a way to show Carle his father's true character.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The sixth day of January in the 941st year a.g.l.

  This will be a long entry, for much has happened since I wrote last – all of it my fault, alas. I suspect, though, that it would have happened sooner or later, no matter how innocent any of us were.

  It started in Verne's study chamber.

  "I can't resist showing you this, though my father will tear us apart if he finds us in here." Carle tilted his head back to look at the bookcase before us. "He won't even let anyone except his personal free-servant clean this room, and then only under his watchful eye. I remember it being a great privilege when I was a boy to be able to watch my father take a book off that shelf and read passages aloud to me."

  I scarcely heard what he was saying. My mouth was agape as I stared up at the row upon row of books, all bound in creamy leather, all shining golden
under the afternoon light. "I didn't realize there were so many," I said in a hushed voice.

  "You may find this hard to believe, but my father only owns about half the law books." Carle smiled serenely with his half-raised lips. "He'd have to possess the income of a council lord to be able to afford the full set. Most of these books my father inherited; a few he was able to buy from the profits of our orchard."

  A smell of aging paper was hovering in the room, as delicious to me as the scent of a fine feast. I reached out and touched the soft hairs of the binding. "May I look at one?" I asked, continuing to speak in a low, reverent tone.

  For the first time, Carle's smile disappeared. He stood silent for a moment, biting the tip of his thumb, then said, "We really shouldn't, but I can't resist showing you the passage on the Chara's burdens. The volume on the Great Three is all the way at the top of the case; he'll never notice if we've touched it."