Shadow Gate

by Kate Elliott

  “I don’t mind your chatter. I like it. You remind me a little of my sister. Maybe it’s only that we’re of an age.”

  “I was born in the Year of the Ox.”

  “Why, so was I! Who is Nallo?”

  “My father’s wife.”

  “She’s not your mother?”

  Avisha looked at Zi, sprawled on the shawl and snoring with toddler snuffles in the blessed shade. “My mother is dead. My father remarried soon after. That’s Nallo.”

  “A second wife! Is she kind to you, or awful?”

  “She’s got a murderous temper, and she slapped me once! But then Father got angry at her, and he never loses his temper, so she apologized and she never did it again. How I wish she was here. She’s very tough-minded. Nothing scares her.”

  “Where is she?”

  “They took her to the reeve hall. They said she was chosen by an eagle and she has to be a reeve even though she doesn’t want to be one.”

  “Is that how it goes? You get chosen by an eagle? Even women?”

  “Of course even women,” said Avisha. Really, out-landers were so ignorant! “If an eagle chooses you, then you have to be a reeve. Isn’t it that way where you come from?”

  “We don’t have reeves where I come from. Although I suppose that’s not true anymore. I come from here, now.” The girl’s expression brightened momentarily, then darkened as she recalled a bitter thought. She sighed heavily. “Hu! Enough of feeling sorry for myself. What of your father, then? Where is he?”

  It was like being slapped in the face.

  “My father’s dead, isn’t he?” Avisha snapped.

  The girl flinched, and the echo of the words—not the sound but the ugly anger in her own voice—made Avisha cringe with the vivid memory of the ruined village, the swarming flies, the sweet stink of rotting flesh, and the acrid stench of burned houses. Of the way the mellow green cloth of her father’s jacket and trousers had rucked up around his corpse. She mustn’t bring that anger with her now, or she’d never save herself and the children. She heaved in breaths, shaking.

  The outlander draped an arm around her shoulders. “You’re safe here.”

  “How can we be safe?” Avisha sobbed into her hands. She’d hammered it in for so many days. “We’ve no close kin. We owe rent to the landlady, so she wants to sell our labor, so we’d have to become slaves. All I can hope for is that some outlander I don’t know might want to marry me because people say I’m pretty, and that counts for something, although you must wonder what I’m frothing on about thinking too well of myself since I must look like a field hen with my feathers all everyway for I haven’t had a bath in days and our clothes must be stinking, and all torn besides. And I have the little ones and I can’t just let them go. I wouldn’t anyway, and it would be a terrible dishonor to my father’s memory to sell their labor just to save myself. Now what will we do? Who will want us all? Why would anyone agree to take us in?”

  Her voice became brisk and competent. “Priya, bring me a cup of sweet ginger cordial.”

  Avisha gulped down sobs and raised her head, but there was no one else in the garden. The little ones still slept. They were so very tired. She was all they had, now that Nallo had been dragged from them. She hadn’t leisure for weeping. She was an artisan’s daughter, accustomed to working hard, not some city-bred girl lounging in elegant fashions and thinking she could get forty cheyt—whoever had forty cheyt altogether except maybe the temples!—from some outlander to marry him.

  With a fierce scowl, she rubbed the tears from her cheeks and swallowed her fear and her anger. “Eiya! I don’t know what came over me. Best I leave you, verea. I’m sure you have your duties to be about. I wouldn’t want you to get beaten for shirking.”

  “No, I wouldn’t want that either. Here is Priya and she’s brought some ginger cordial. Won’t you taste it? It’s very good. It’s my favorite right now, for it settles the stomach. Priya, maybe some juice for the two little ones, although I don’t think we should wake them yet.”

  A woman with amazingly dark skin and round out-lander features offered her a cup with a kindly smile. Dazed, she took it and sipped the most glorious sweet ginger concoction, sharp but light on the tongue. Its bite rose to her eyeballs, making them water.

  “Eihi! That’s good!”

  The girl stood, her expression transforming as she smiled. The older woman took several steps back. Belatedly, Avisha turned to look behind her.

  “Here you are, Mai.”

  A man walked into the garden, wiping wet hands. He wore black, like the Qin, and he was accompanied by a middle-aged Qin soldier with the typical round face and merry eyes of the foreigners and by a huge man with a slight slump and a complexion rather like the pretty girl’s. Outlanders, all. The man was not handsome but not ordinary. He halted with his hands out in front of him, registered Avisha’s presence, and looked around the garden as if expecting a tiger to leap out and devour him. Of course he noticed the sleeping children. He looked back at her. Really, he was a fearsome man with a commanding stare, a sword swinging casually at his hip, and a way of looking at you that made Avisha feel she had done something very wrong.

  Then he looked away. The older woman handed him a cloth and he finished wiping dry his hands.

  “You are returned.” The young woman used that same cool voice Avisha had noticed when she and the little ones had first stumbled into the garden, but Avisha thought she understood it better now: It was the voice of a woman holding her emotions in check.

  “We are returned, and we have seen much to interest us. Who is this?” He pointed at Avisha. “Who are those children?”

  “Don’t point with your finger, Anji. It’s considered rude. This is Avisha. And that is . . . ah, Jerad, and the little girl is Zi’an, I think.”

  “Zianna,” said Avisha reflexively. “Zi’an would be a boy’s name although that would be very old-fashioned.”

  “Thank you,” said the girl. “Avisha, this is Captain Anji.”

  Avisha rose hastily and brushed off her horrifically rumpled and dirty clothing.

  “Where did she come from?”

  “From the courtyard gate.” Mai indicated the stand of pipewood. “Now that I think of it, Chief, how will I ever convince the Ri Amarah to allow one of their daughters to visit me if I can’t promise a secure house?”

  The middle-aged man narrowed his eyes. “That door was secure at dawn, for I checked it myself.” He trotted over to the gate.

  The captain’s gaze assessed Avisha. He was like the temple clerks, toting up numbers that might not bring them any personal benefit but needed accounting because that was their job and one they were accustomed to doing well. “Who is she? Certainly not one of the Red Hounds, for they don’t admit women to their ranks. An assassin from the temples, perhaps?”

  Mai seemed amused. “She’s a girl from a village. These are her siblings. She hopes to find a husband among the troop.”

  “Ah.” He handed the cloth to the older woman and turned to look through the open door, into an interior Avisha could not see. “Nothing I need concern myself with, then. Mai, I have an idea Keshad might actually be useful.”

  The older soldier walked back to them, shaking his head in disgust. “When I find out who left that unsecured, I’ll whip him myself.”

  “Tuvi-lo,” said the captain. “Where did the prisoner go off to? He was right behind us.”

  Inside, a familiar voice rose. “Don’t touch that! Don’t you know a priceless vase when you see one? What kind of five-burned fool are you?”

  The splintering crash of ceramic meeting floor answered the question. Gales of laughter followed this assault, accompanied by a few choice swear words that genuinely shocked Avisha, for the only person she had ever heard say such rude things was the disreputable village drunk.

  “Who did that?” demanded Mai in a voice meant to carry indoors. “If that vessel was truly valuable, then the owners of this house will have to be paid its value o
ut of your own portion. What a waste!”

  Her words cut short the laughter. Three young men filed into the garden. One was smirking, one was still stifling laughter, and the third was fuming with such intensity that Avisha expected steam to rise from the top of his curly black hair. Eiya! He was the man with the handsome eyes and the overbearing sister who had rescued them at Candra Crossing and gotten them across the river.

  The law had caught up with him.

  His gaze passed over her, and she found herself smiling stupidly only he had already looked away without any flicker of recognition. He glanced first at Mai, then looked at the captain and, flushed, glared down at the paving stones.

  It hurt to be dismissed so easily. Avisha was used to being known as a pretty girl in her village, but she also knew perfectly well that her village wasn’t very large and that the world must be populated with women twelve times more beautiful than she could ever hope to be. And yet those two young Qin soldiers were looking at her in a gratifying way even if she did wish it was Keshad who found her of interest. In fact, the soldiers were staring as if they recognized her, and all at once she remembered the one with the pretty eyes. He had been part of the cadre that had intercepted them on the road in the Soha Hills. His teasing grin made her grin shyly in return, and his grin widened.

  “Which of you did it?” asked Mai in her cool voice.

  Keshad’s head came up. “It’s not just these two. They were all jostling and making jokes with no respect for the possessions of others! They all need a lesson in good manners!”

  “You’re called Keshad, aren’t you?” asked Mai in a kind voice that would have killed most men and made Keshad shut right up. “I need to hear from these two men what they will say. I thank you.”

  He gulped down a couple of breaths. Poor man! He felt things so deeply. But even as she thought it, Avisha saw Priya and the big man exchange an intimate glance, and the big man rolled his eyes and mouthed something that made Priya look at Keshad and smile with unconcealed amusement.

  The clip-clop-clap of hooves on stone clattered in the courtyard; a buzz of women talking in low voices droned under. The sounds of hooves faded, shuttered by a clang of closing gates. Chief Tuvi walked over to the children and gently tipped Jerad so he could rest comfortably on the ground beside Zianna. Then he returned to stand by the captain. Everyone looked at the two Qin soldiers.

  The soldier with the pretty eyes spoke first. “It slipped out of my hands.”

  “I told you!” muttered Keshad.

  Mai said, “Chaji, why did you drop the vase? After he said it was valuable?”

  Chaji shrugged. “How could I have known he knew what he was talking about? I only meant it as a bit of fun. I didn’t mean to drop it. It slipped.”

  “You may go, Chaji,” said the captain. “You’ll continue to ride with the tailmen until I say otherwise.”

  His eyes widened; his mouth twitched. Yet as quickly as anger flashed, he controlled it, tightening his lips into a straight line. He nodded obediently, spun, and left the garden. The other Qin soldier began to follow, but Anji raised a hand.

  “Hold on, Jagi. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  The soldier’s gaze shifted toward Keshad, who was still glaring at the pavement. Then he looked back at his captain.

  “Chief Tuvi,” said the captain, “place Keshad in a private chamber with guards.”

  “Come on,” said Chief Tuvi with a cough that was almost a laugh.

  When they were gone, the captain nodded at the remaining soldier. “Jagi?”

  Jagi scratched his pock-scarred chin. Like all the Qin, he had a mustache but no beard to speak of, just wisps of hair on his chin. Captain Anji alone had a neatly trimmed beard.

  “Speak,” said the captain.

  Jagi sighed. “Captain, none of us like him. That’s the truth. First, some of us journeyed many days with him and his most excellent sister. Now we’ve traveled with him again to the barren lands and back. He’s arrogant. He’s unfriendly. He treats us with no respect. He never shared wine or ale but hoarded his own cup. So I suppose I thought he had it coming. I admit I enjoyed seeing the way his mouth frogged open and his eyes bugged out.” His grin made his eyes wrinkle and look merry.

  “An honest answer, but yours was the behavior of a boy, not of a man.”

  The smile fled. “Yes, Captain.”

  “Furthermore, you know what situation we find ourselves in. We must establish ourselves as settlers in this land, respected and accepted by those we mean to live among, while at the same time we know that a dangerous threat remains, one we do not understand nor know the extent of. I need my tailmen to become men, so I can assign each one of you to stand as sergeants over recruits. To survive, we have to protect ourselves. To protect ourselves, we need what our enemy already has: an army. You may go.”

  “Yes, Captain.” He left.

  Mai said, “Anji, after the battle, you told the council of Olossi you were not minded to accept the post of commander of the militia of Olossi.”

  “Because the commander of the militia of Olossi can accomplish very little. This whole region needs a militia, not just the city. We need a militia, plum blossom, so our children may grow up.” He shifted, reaching to take Mai’s hand, but before he touched her he caught himself, glanced at Avisha, and withdrew his hand.

  Mai rested a hand on her abdomen. “You think the army wearing the star will attack again.”

  “I am sure they will.”

  Avisha sank onto the bench.

  Trembling, Mai sat beside her and took hold of her hands. “Don’t fret. You’ll be safe.”

  “I would attack, in their place,” he continued. “But I would also assign new commanders, get better discipline in my troops, and most importantly I would send—” Looking at Avisha, he broke off. Paused. And started again. “I would do what I have already done.”

  “Shai is not ready for this,” Mai whispered, and Avisha thought she did not mean the captain to hear, but he did.

  He said, “ ‘If you do it, don’t be afraid.’ ”

  She smiled wanly. “I will not falter. It’s just that sometimes it seems so hard.”

  He nodded. “Mai, we’ll get the land we need. We’ll build a stronghold and set up our perimeter. While you run the business, I’ll teach the people of Olo’osson how to fight. Between us, we can survive.”

  “Of course,” said Mai faintly as her expression twisted. She swayed, covering her mouth.

  He said, briskly, “Priya, can you fetch her some of that sweet ginger cordial she likes?”

  “Here’s my cup,” said Avisha.

  The older woman whisked the cup out of Avisha’s hand and knelt beside Mai. “Just take a sip, little flower.”

  It seemed unfair that the woman had ripped away her chance to give a kindness to repay the kindness shown her. She glanced at the children; their ragged clothes and dirty faces wouldn’t help her cause. But she had been rehearsing speeches for days now, making lists of reasons she would make a good wife. “My mam taught me a tincture, steeped herbs, that helps settle the stomach of pregnant women. I can make some for you.”

  Mai was still sipping, looking almost cross-eyed with nausea, trying to hold it in.

  Avisha looked up, straight into the gaze of the captain. Finally, she had caught his interest, and she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin and felt that her ears were going to burn off, only they didn’t. “For instance, you’ve got a nice stand of tallowberry over in that corner.” She pointed with her elbow. “Mama would say, ‘Inedible, good tallow for candles, oil pressed from the seeds good for varnish or paint and can be used as lamp oil although poor quality, residue of dry cakes with oil pressed out is good for fertilizer, also soap.’ The wood carves well, and can be burned for incense. The leaves produce black dye if boiled in alum . . .”

  He smiled so suddenly it made her heart jolt.

  “Choose wisely,” he said, transferring his gaze to Mai. “They
’re not all of equal worth.”

  Avisha flushed, seared as though by lightning. He had already turned his back, and anyway, a man like him was far beyond her reach. While Priya fussed, he went inside, followed by the big man talking about sheep and wool.

  “That’s better,” said Mai, sitting back with a sigh. “I thought sure it would all come out.”

  Priya set down the cup, then examined Avisha. She had a dark gaze so deep it seemed to go on forever. When she touched Avisha’s hand, tears stung in Avisha’s eyes although she didn’t know why.

  “You’ll stay with us,” said Priya. “Won’t you?”

  Tears spilled, and she began to laugh as much as cry, for it was raining finally, a mist that smeared the dirt and pattered among the leaves, presaging a fiercer storm to come.

  “You’ll want a bath,” added Priya with a kind smile. “Once you’ve gotten it all out.”

  “I just didn’t think—”

  “There, now,” said Mai. “I have to interview all those women. Later, if you feel able, maybe you can point out to me the ones who were talking about coin.”

  “O-Of course.” She gulped several times and found she could swallow, she could breathe, she could think. She fixed her jaw, braced herself. “I’m so grateful. B-But I’ll need a contract. So I have a chance to choose a husband from among the s-soldiers—” Or Keshad, if he would have her. Thinking of him made her skin scald with heat because she was so stupid, but she was alone, the only one the little ones had left. She had to proceed as she knew Nallo would, by being forceful and bold. “—and that I’m assured n-no one will change his mind and throw me out. The children have to come with me and be treated as full kin, not debt slaves having to work to offset the expense of keeping them.”

  Mai laughed. “I do like you. Is there anything else?”

  To think of her father was to yearn for him, to wish the gate might open and he, with his gentle smile and with a half-braided cord in hand, would walk in to greet her. The grief of knowing he was truly gone had not lifted, and she supposed it never would. Yet she had hope she could raise the children, and honor their father’s memory by doing so.