Earth Logic

by Laurie J. Marks

  “Yes, it was a gift from Zanja. I’ve never seen Karis wear it,” Emil said, when Garland finally asked. “Perhaps she was afraid she’d wreck it, as she wrecks all her clothes. Did you see the spot where Norina clipped off the tassel that she tied in Zanja’s hair? Oh, our Truthken was thinking like a fire blood that day!”

  In his wandering years, Garland thought he had learned something about winning the trust of Shaftali farmers. A sober decorum and a distinct sense of shame at one’s landless state had proven essential. But this garrulous group strolled into a farmstead like a bunch of holiday-makers: oblivious to danger, indifferent to their lack of food and shelter, radically unconventional and making no attempt to seem less so. Then, Karis took out her tool box, J’han his medicine chest; and Garland his rolling pin. Leeba would make instant friends with the children, who knew a mischief-maker when they saw one, Emil and Medric coaxed the elders to talk about the past, and Norina kept out of the way with her mouth shut. The skeptical farmers were more than won over: they were astounded. This visit became an event, a progress, a performance. Whole families stayed up late and wasted precious lamp oil so they could gape a little longer at their amazing guests. Sooner or later, Emil would read part of Medric’s book to them. Sooner or later, someone looked at Karis a little too long, or deeply, and would suddenly find a Truthken whispering in his ear, and then there would be a pale and thoughtful silence.

  Sometimes, though, the entire performance proved unnecessary. One day, with the wind coming bitter from the north, and the clouds piling up in the sky like dumplings in a stew, they reached the untidy edge of a sprawling town and slipped in under cover of an early twilight, dragging their sledges up a narrow alley from which no one had bothered to clear the snow. Leeba had lapsed into the incessant whining that was the warning that they had better stop soon. They paused at someone’s back wall, which looked like all the others except that it had a few stylized glyphs carved into the stone. Medric read the glyphs for Garland while Emil let himself in the gate, waded through the snow-choked kitchen garden, and knocked on the back door. “It’s the owl glyph, which can mean searching or restlessness, and the glyph that’s called Peace, combined with Come-to-Rest. It’s pretty unambiguous, for a glyph sign. I guess that this used to be a healer’s hostel, or at least that this wall used to enclose one.”

  “There was one around here once,” said J’han, who had plucked his irritable daughter from her sledge and was rocking her vigorously to make her be quiet.

  The back door opened. Emil talked, with his hat in his hand, and then waited, and then someone flung open the door, crying, “Emil? What in the name of Shaftal . . .?” There was much energetic embracing, and Garland caught glimpses of a stout, brightly dressed woman, who eagerly started for the back gate when Emil pointed.

  “What’s this?” she cried. “A circus troupe?”

  Karis, Medric, and Garland all started laughing and could not seem to stop. “Come in!” the woman said. “Books, you say? Well, say no more! Goodness, look at that bright little girl. I’ll bet you run your parents ragged, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Leeba proudly.

  “So did I, and look at how I turned out. Come in, will you? Well, I don’t know what we’ll do with all your gear, but we’ll figure something out. Quickly, since there’s a storm brewing. I guess you’ll be staying a while? I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the floor. Well, get busy. You look strong enough.”

  This last she said to Karis, who was still struggling to compose herself, wiping her eyes on the end of her muffler.

  The whirl of words fell silent. Norina took a step forward, but Karis lifted a big, black-palmed hand and the Truthken stopped in her tracks. “I’m Karis.”

  The woman put her hand in Karis’s: stunned, amazed, then suddenly in tears. She said to Emil, who had come up beside her. “I should have known she’d be with you! Where anyone with any sense would be! The one everyone is looking for, you already found her!”

  “I found her before anyone started looking,” said Emil. He added somberly, “You need to keep this secret. Not even your family can know. Can you do that?”

  The woman turned again to Karis. “Yes. Yes, but . . .”

  “I am a Truthken,” Norina said, “And by your oath I bind you.”

  The woman replied fearlessly, “May I not ask a single question? I will go mad!”

  “A shame,” said Norina.

  “Shaftal!” the woman breathed. “Well, what am I supposed to say?”

  “Say, ‘Madam Truthken, by the land I accept the binding of an oath of silence.’”

  The woman said her part, obedient, ecstatic, like an actor rehearsing a play.

  Hers was a family of tailors, it turned out, who were as appalled by the state of their guests’ clothing as Garland was by the state of his host’s kitchen. When the travelers left after the storm had passed, every last one of them was wearing a new suit of clothes, though their old clothes had also been so finely mended that to replace them hardly seemed necessary. And they left behind at least a hundred books, which the tailors swore would be scattered through four regions by day’s end, and as far as the southern and northern borders within a week.

  The travelers would soon run out of books.

  The day before Long Night, they came through the hills on a sunless afternoon, a ragtag collection of wool-dressed wanderers, with chillblained, blistered hands. They had tied their snow shoes atop the sledges, for the snow had crusted enough to bear even Karis’s weight. Leeba had played like an otter all morning, sliding hilariously down every icy slope. She played without her regular playmate, for Medric was utterly worn out. Now, she rode in state in her sledge, blanket-wrapped in a pillowy nest.

  Medric wiped his frosted spectacles for the fiftieth time. “Maybe I’m just too old to play with Leeba. Maybe it’s time we had another child.”

  Norina said, “I hope you’re volunteering to be the mother, little man. I’m sure Karis could alter your equipment.”

  “Never mind,” said Medric hastily.

  They had seen no signs of settlement since dawn, when they staggered forth from the abandoned shepherd’s hut in which they had spent the night. A barren land: open, rolling, practically treeless, with boulders poking through the snow like broken teeth. Sheep country.

  The wind picked up. They wrapped their faces, tied down their hats, put a second pair of gloves on their already gloved hands, and faced the wind only when they had to. There was no more laughter. Karis stopped once, pointed at Medric, and pointed at the half-empty sledge of books she hauled. He mutely took a seat in the sledge, and folded himself up against the cold, passive as a piece of luggage. Karis hauled him.

  Later, she stopped again, and turned her back to the wind. They huddled around to hear her cold-slurred words. “We’ve been seen.”

  Emil tried to speak, vigorously rubbed his frozen face, and tried again. “How many?”

  “Many more than us.”

  “Armed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Paladins. They’ll try to head us off first.”

  They sorted themselves out, with Emil in front now, Norina at his right, Leeba complaining in Karis’s arms, Medric afoot again, hauling the empty sledge, Garland hauling the sledge of supplies and J’han the sledge of books. Garland supposed Karis carried Leeba for the child’s protection—there was no place safer. But perhaps Leeba would also protect Karis, for the Paladins might go out of their way to avoid injuring a child.

  Soon, a black-dressed woman swooped down the hill, flying on her skis like the ravens swooped on the wind overhead.

  She blocked their way. Two pistols, certainly loaded and primed, were holstered in the belts that crossed her chest. A dagger was sheathed at her side. “You’re lost,” she informed them politely.

  Emil pulled open his muffler.

  “Emil?” she said. “Shaftal’s Name!”

  Garland thought, Is there anyone in Shaftal who does not know and admire
this man?

  “Greetings, commander. Do you know Norina Truthken?”

  The commander said after a moment, “By reputation.”

  Garland could see only a part of Norina’s muffled face, but whatever Norina heard in the commander’s voice appeared to have amused her greatly.

  Norina said, “We’re inviting ourselves to Councilor Mabin’s Long Night.”

  Certainly the woman’s duty was to deny the Councilor’s presence, but that she apparently could not do with a Truthken two paces away. Her visible surprise became perplexity. “How do you know the Councilor is here?”

  “Perhaps you would have one of your people carry a message to her that Karis wishes to speak to her.”

  “Karis?” said the commander blankly.

  “You weren’t there by the river five years ago,” said Emil, “But surely you’ve heard about what happened there.” He stepped aside—a small movement, but it brought the commander’s attention to the large, somber woman behind him, with the wide-eyed child in her arms.

  Norina said, “Karis G’deon.”

  When something incredible must be said in such a way that it will instantly be believed, then certainly, thought Garland, that was the time for a Truthken to speak.

  “I bind you,” Norina added, “to silence.”

  The commander’s jaw shut with a click. She turned, and signaled. A whole host of Paladins came flying down the hill.

  They were as graceful, deadly, and powerful as any bird of prey. Impressed and terrified, Garland wrapped his arms around himself, shivering, thinking that at least if he were killed he would not feel cold anymore. Medric, swaying with weariness beside him, said in Sainnese, “If they’d had a few thousand more like that, you and I would have never been born, my brother. Think of it!”

  “How can you even talk?” said Garland.

  “I can always talk,” said Medric. “Gods of our fathers! What a sight!”

  His spectacles had frosted over again, so Garland was uncertain exactly what he saw. The past? The future? Or even both at once?

  The Paladins brought their swift approach to a halt in shining sprays of snow. One, designated to carry a message, skied away nearly as swiftly as he had arrived. The others formed a polite but impenetrable escort: one took Garland’s sledge, while he worried unreasonably what would become of his far-traveling rolling pin. Soon after they had begun to walk again, one firmly pressed the stumbling Medric to become a passenger again. Leeba reacted with outrage when Medric curled into her nest of pillows, but he made faces at her, and soon it became a contest. Garland realized that he, J’han, Norina, and Emil had all drawn up around Karis like ribs around a heart. Around them skied the Paladins, ice-masked, indistinguishable, wordless. If Karis stopped, they all would come to a halt. But she kept a steady, restrained pace, square-shouldered, forward-gazing, like a brave prisoner walking to her execution.

  It was a long walk. At last, it brought them to a great complex of buildings near the edge of river, from which the snow had been cleared to make it a highway. As they approached, an ice-skater could be seen in the distance, but he traveled so swiftly that he had passed before they arrived.

  On the broad porch of the central building, an old woman, flanked by Paladins, awaited them. The sun was already setting. In the garish glare the shadows were long and black, but the old woman’s face was in the light and the three gold earrings in her right ear glittered as the harsh wind swept by.

  She, too, had the blank look of a prisoner awaiting the executioner.

  Karis gave Leeba to J’han. As she turned her head, Garland saw the white lines of tears, frozen solid on her cheeks. She walked forward, and stopped at the bottom of the steps. The wind tore at her hair, tried to rip off her cap. She jammed her hands into her pockets, and waited, stolid.

  The old woman asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “Aren’t you tired,” Karis said, “of the pain in your heart?”

  “Yes, Karis.”

  “Will you allow me to heal you?”

  The old woman took a step forward. Then, stiffly, she knelt in the blowing snow. Her companions started forward too late to help her, then stepped back at her impatient gesture. The black-dressed Paladins were folding back their masks, uncovering their faces, staring in bewilderment at the old woman unbuttoning her coat, her jacket, her shirt, to bare her breast to the wind’s deadly breath, and to reveal the dull steel of the spike embedded in her heart.

  Across the glaring red field, a murmur of shock and surprise. Had these people lived with and served Councilor Mabin, never knowing that the rumor of her spiked heart was true? Karis started up the steps, peeling the gloves from one hand and then from the other. She towered over Mabin. On her knees, with her shame exposed, Mabin looked in Karis’s face. She did not ask—for healing, or for forgiveness. Her proud features revealed no repentance.

  Karis lay one hand to the woman’s breast. With her other hand, she plucked the steel from Mabin’s heart. Mabin uttered a gasp of pain, but there was no blood. Karis crushed the spike in her fist, and handed to the wind a twist of glittering dust.

  Mabin caught her breath. She said, distinctly, so that everyone within hearing could understand her, “What does this act mean? Are you forgiving me, or are you merely weary of keeping me alive?”

  “I will not come to the Lilterwess council,” said Karis. “I will not sit in the G’deon’s chair. I will not renew the old order. I will not justify this terrible war.”

  Mabin stared at her, pale.

  “I will not serve you,” Karis said. “I will not serve your dreams. I will not be your hope. I will not be your symbol. Do you understand me?”

  Mabin said, harshly, bitterly, “Then what are you doing here?”

  “Councilor, I want you to go to the Sainnites, and offer them peace.”

  “I will do no such thing!”

  “I’ll do it without you, then.”

  Outraged, Mabin got to her feet, rejecting the many hands that reached out to help her up. “By what right?”

  Karis looked at her. Then, she turned her back on her, and Garland could see her drawn, wind-flayed face as she looked closely at the stunned audience of Paladins. The tears frozen on her cheeks were visible to everyone. Garland discovered it was easy to track her gaze as one Paladin at a time looked into her eyes.

  When Garland looked back at Karis, Norina was mounting the steps. “Be silent, councilor,” the Truthken said, and only then did Garland realize that during all that time Mabin had been directing an angry tirade at Karis’s turned back.

  Councilor Mabin held her tongue.

  Norina said to the Paladins, “On the day Harald G’deon died, he vested this woman, Karis, with the power of Shaftal. Also, on that last day of the existence of the Lilterwess Council, they chose not to confirm Karis as G’deon. So for twenty years, in accordance with that decision, Karis has not exercised the power of Shaftal. By my vows as a Truthken, I affirm that I am telling you the truth.”

  Someone in the crowd of Paladins said in astonishment, “Madam Truthken, why did the council not confirm a decision already, irrevocably made?”

  Norina said, “At the time, Karis was a smoke addict, which is no longer the case. At the time, she was only fifteen and had only ever lived in the whore-town of Lalali. And at the time it was unacceptable that Karis’s father is a Sainnite.”

  The silence seemed very long. Garland realized he was shivering violently.

  Someone said, “Karis, what does Shaftal ask of the Paladins?”

  Karis’s gaze found the speaker, an older Paladin in the middle of the crowd. She spoke, it seemed, only to him. “Lay down your arms,” she said. She did not sound audacious, or even courageous, but only certain.

  The entire host of Paladins tossed their pistols, daggers, and other weapons into the snow.

  When Karis turned again to Mabin, the councilor remained speechless. With the brute force of implacable fact speaking for her, Karis also said n
othing. Mabin, General of Paladins, last legitimate member of the old Lilterwess Council, drew her dagger and dropped it to the ground.

  Chapter 30

  On Long Night, the people of Shaftal burn candles to remind the sun to come again. But in the children’s garrison there were no candles, no night-long parties to keep an eye on those candles, no festive meals of carefully balanced sweet, savory, salty, and bitter foods, to guarantee a balanced year. In the children’s garrison, the youthful soldiers were put to bed and barricaded into their dormitories by the disabled veterans who kept watch over them. For everyone, it would indeed be a long watch, but not a festive one.

  Clement sat awake in her room, with a clock borrowed from Purnal to chime the hours. With Captain Herme she periodically inspected the preparations. They began their inspection at the top of a ladder, in the attic where six soldiers and a few children kept a crouched, dusty lookout at the cloudy windows tucked under the eaves. It was terribly cold up there, and the watchers were frequently replaced, to thaw out in the warm dining hall where their fellows dozed uncomfortably in their boiled leather armor. Through the wavery glass of the attic windows, Clement might peer at a starry sky and a glowing field of snow, across which no one could have approached unseen. The inspection then continued, to the corridor that encircled the big central courtyard, where the ammunition lay ready: orderly bags of lead shot and powder tins, the little lamps by light of which reloaders could see to measure the powder. Again, Clement would check to see that nothing was visible in the darkness. They could make no mistakes.

  The wait was terrible.

  More terrible was the moment a child soldier pounded on the door and cried excitedly, “They’re coming!”

  Clement was on her feet immediately, with the door slammed open, the girl’s loose shirt captured in her fist, hissing, “Follow your orders, soldier! In silence!”

  She let her go. The girl ran for her prescribed position, without another sound. Clement stood a moment listening, and could hear only the faint whisper of footsteps, near and far, hurrying across stone as the company got itself into position. No voices, no lights.