by Kate Elliott
“Yes, Kirit. We will kill the many bad people.”
47
On Wakening Rat, the last day of the Month of the Ox, Avisha woke trembling and wiped her face with dry hands as she rose. Sheyshi was still snoring. Outside, the Barrens still lay in shadow. Avisha lit a lamp and washed herself with water from a basin. She dressed in a taloos she had never worn, winding the cloth tight. After combing out her hair, she pinned it up in coils as for a festival day. Slipping on sandals, she padded to the kitchen gardens with the basin clasped against a hip and poured the water over flourishing rows of immortal sun, whose petals were edible and whose roots could be ground up into a soothing medicinal good for pregnant women taken by nausea. The sun broached the horizon, painting the sea with light.
One of the kitchen women looked up, smiling. “That’s cloth I’ve not seen before. Good quality, too! You going to sit on the bench today?”
Avisha blushed.
“You know, that girl from Dekos village, she is already pregnant! So they are saying.”
“Is that the girl who got a belly full in Olossi?” Avisha asked. “That one who had to come out here before all of us? The chief wanted the soldier whipped.”
“Aui! That one! Neh, those two made the offerings in Olossi and came here already married, but without a feast. That Dekos girl, first day the altars were up, she and her lover they sat on the bench. Don’t you remember? It was only a week ago.”
Twelve days ago Avisha had been in the middle of a roaring conflict with Jerad about his fights with other boys, which had ended with him storming off to sleep in the stables. Chief Tuvi had assured her he was being looked after by the Qin soldiers, and anyway he was always following Jagi around.
“I was too busy to go down into town. Let me get Zi.”
The little girl was snuggled in with other small children belonging to the kitchen workers.
The kitchen woman touched her on the shoulder. “Let her sleep, Avisha. You don’t want her fussing to distract you, eh?”
“Maybe it would be better to wait until the next auspicious day. I’m not a Rat, to find good fortune on Wakening Rat, but I am an Ox, and I don’t want to sit on the bench next month, Snake Month. Snakes are good people, of course, serene and wise, but that doesn’t mean I want to make such a big decision in a month dedicated to an animal known to be strict and secretive, liable to hide its hostility in a crack in the ground and then strike when least expected.”
The other woman kissed her on the cheek as a cousin might. “If you aren’t sure, don’t go. The mistress would never turn us out.”
“I’m eighteen.” She patted her hair again to make sure nothing had slipped out of place. “What use is there to remain an unmarried girl? You’re already a married woman, with two children of your own.”
“A widow, without kinfolk. Still, now that I’ve work, I’m in no hurry to marry again. I’m not sure I fancy any of the outlanders. There’s a laborer come out of the village that was neighbor to mine before they got burned down. But he’ll have to buy himself out of his debt before I’m likely to look in that direction!” She laughed, pleased at her independence, a capable woman who knew where her next meal was coming from.
“I’m going down,” said Avisha in a rush.
“Eihi! As pretty as you are, and beloved by the mistress, I am sure you won’t be sitting there long, not like that one poor woman last week. Here.” She scooped rice into a humble bowl and handed it to her.
The simple gesture brought tears. Avisha thanked her tremulously, and walked away before she could lose her courage. She knew what her father would want her to do, what her mother would counsel. Even Nallo would tell her that being married was better than living on the sufferance of others, no matter how well they treated you.
The settlement did not yet have a council house, but brick benches had been placed to form a large square and canvas raised on rope to offer shade. In her village, the council house benches had been carved from wood, enclosed by a courtyard ringed with trellises heavy with falling-water and murmuring heart and decorated with festival cords braided by her father. Her village hadn’t the coin to build a roofed council hall, but the courtyard was a particularly pretty one, especially when the vines were in bloom. Travelers said so. Once a poet had come just to sit there for three days and contemplate its beauty while the villagers fed him, but he hadn’t composed any chants so afterward her father said, in private, that perhaps the man had been a fraud. Although why in that case he hadn’t just come around as a beggar, Avisha could not imagine. The temples gave alms without question. She felt herself a beggar, living off another’s handouts for one too many days.
Every day, now, you were likely to see one or two women sitting on the benches. Today two young women had already each taken a place, seated far enough apart that, if a suitor did arrive, there could be no confusion about who he meant to offer for. Because the council benches were sited at the upward edge of the growing settlement, only a few people passed on their way to and from their labors at the captain’s hall above. But folk did come just to stare.
She sat, clutching the bowl of rice. A pair of young Qin soldiers had walked up from the barracks. One nudged his comrade, and that man ventured forward hesitantly and sat down by one of the young women, who smiled shyly as she handed him a bowl of rice.
Avisha looked at her hands. After a while, she heard a new rustle of arrivals. Over by the other corner, an older Qin soldier strolled up to the noodle-seller, Darda. He was received with a pretty greeting and an offered bowl of rice.
Her mouth was so dry. Again, she looked away. She had to be brave and determined. She had to take care of the children. Her life in the village was lost; she must build a life here.
The settlement lay in four pieces: the reservoir, irrigated fields, and parade ground beyond the embankment; the settlement growing out from the gate; the altars and council square sited on the upper hill; the captain’s house on the farthest spur of ground with cliff-side for its skirts. There was plenty of room for the settlement to grow, both expanding across the low hill and out into the surrounding land.
From this corner she could see three of the altars. A simple wooden gate with three lintels, facing east, marked the Herald domain of Ilu. Adjacent to the council square, stone walls delineated enclosure of Kotaru, the Thunderer. A flat boulder, brushed clean and sprinkled with water every morning, offered a resting place for Hasibal, the Formless One.
The Lantern’s accounting house, so far just a one-room hut, had been raised beside the market square, the With-erer’s roof thatched by the fields, and the Lady’s shelter planted farther out yet where a footpath ran south along the shore toward distant villages. As for the Devourer—
“Avisha!” Mai came lumbering down the path, dust kicked up by her sandals. Priya and Sheyshi walked close on either side, and Chief Tuvi and a pair of guards paced behind her. “I was looking for you everywhere!”
Mai assessed the situation with a sweeping glance. As she turned to speak to Priya, Chief Tuvi strode forward into the shadow of the canvas awning and right across the dirt square to Avisha. Up from town a Qin soldier came running, riding whip in hand as though he had been interrupted at drill.
Chief Tuvi glanced that way, and stopped, dust settling around his boots. Seeing him, Jagi slowed, then halted, hand tight around the whip. The chief made a gesture with his right hand, visible to Avisha from this angle only because she saw the chief’s arm move. For an instant, Jagi remained poised; then he took two steps back like a horse under tight rein. Obedient to his superiors.
Not even willing to fight for her!
The chief sat down on the bench beside her. He had a pleasing smile; all of the Qin did, able to find humor in most everything. He was old, but the second most important man among the Qin.
Hands shaking, she handed him the bowl of rice, cold by this time. He took it, as they had all been instructed to do, carefully ate half of the rice, then returned the bowl. Its curve
rested in her cupped hands, the weight of her future not so very heavy when measured in rice.
The other women had eaten and gotten up to laugh and talk with friends. Here no clans showered them with flower petals or set out a betrothal feast for the village. The Qin had no such customs, and the women had no family nearby to carry out the proper rites.
She could be the wife of an important man. She could expect to live in a substantial house, exert considerable influence over the settlement as it grew, and raise her children to positions of prominence.
Beyond the council benches, Mai smiled sadly. A few more soldiers had come, curious to see their chief catch himself a wife, but Jagi turned to walk away. A boy dashed up from the settlement, carrying an eating bowl covered with a warming lid. He said something to Jagi, then looked beyond the young soldier to see Avisha and Chief Tuvi sitting together. It was Jerad, of course, staring at her with a look of such accusation as he tugged on Jagi’s sleeve to move him to Avisha. Jagi refused to budge.
Chief Tuvi followed her gaze with his own. “He’s a good lad, is Jagi. If he can work his way up through the ranks, then he has a hope of getting what he wants.”
But not before. Not if a man wielding more influence wanted it instead.
She thought of her father, braiding cord and rope day after day, year after year, investing the humble labor with something akin to prayer because he cared that his work itself be an offering.
She set the bowl down on the bench without eating.
Voices murmured, startled and speculating. Has the pretty clan-less girl turned down the chief? Impossible!
She hadn’t thought the Qin could look surprised at anything. The chief’s eyes widened as he looked at the bowl, her empty hands, and her face, which she knew was flaming. What if he was angry?
But he shrugged in good part, rose with the faintest of smiles, and left, scratching his chin as if trying to figure out where he had gone wrong.
Tears bloomed. She choked down a sob, felt it lodge in her heart. Was she simply too afraid to go through with it?
She had to cling to the one thing she knew: Her father had been a good man, a gentle man, a kind man. He had treated her mother well. They had been fond of each other. He had treated Nallo with the same kindness, and even Nallo had found a bud of kindness in herself, not much of one, but her surly nature had tempered in the house, only to surface again in its full fury after his horrible death.
“Vish?” Jerad cantered up, all gangly legs and arms. Aui! He was growing! He shoved the covered bowl of rice into her hands, and snatched the half empty one off the bench. “I knew you weren’t that stupid!”
He bolted back to Jagi. Without really stopping, Jerad grabbed the man’s sleeve and yanked, and tugged, and pulled, while the soldier stood blinking like he’d been blinded by the sun and could not quite make out what was going on right in front of his eyes.
Someone laughed.
Abruptly, Jagi shook free of Jerad, took two steps, then thrust the riding whip into the boy’s hand and strode the rest of the way. Not smiling, not today. He plopped heavily down on the bench next to Avisha. He seemed about to say something, but then he let out all his breath as he fixed his gaze on the distant mountains. He was blushing.
The bowl of rice Jerad had given her was still warm, because he had been thoughtful enough to bring it covered. Just as her father would have. She laid the cover aside and handed the bowl to Jagi, because if a man sat on the bench next to a woman, the woman had to offer.
Hands trembling, he carefully ate half, and gave the bowl back into her hands.
Any man might eat, but to seal the agreement, the woman must finish the rice.
Chief Tuvi had an important position. Jagi did not; he ranked among the youngest and least experienced of the Qin soldiers.
Chaji—before his awful death—had been the best-looking of the Qin, since he looked more like the Hundred folk than his comrades. The scars of a childhood disease pocked Jagi’s round face; he could not be called a handsome man, but he had nice eyes and a sweet smile.
Keshad, of course, had a bold, bright, intense spirit. Having met him, she would never forget him. Did she regret that he was never meant for her?
Jagi shifted nervously on the bench, and looked at her. Not accusingly, but questioningly, as if to say: What will happen now?
After all, a kind man is best.
She raised the bowl, and ate the rest of the rice.
48
The Qin had set up their main militia training compound outside the city of Olossi, separate from the camps in the Barrens and at Storos-on-the-water. For Joss, the journey from Argent Hall to the substantial military camp was an easy one, up on a thermal and a long, long glide down. The local militiamen standing guard at the gates waved him through. The Qin guards allowed him entry past the inner palisade to the captain’s office, a raised platform built of planks and covered by a canvas roof. Its inner and outer walls were tied up in a configuration that let through light and air while concealing the innermost chamber. Rather like the man himself, Joss reflected as he navigated the brief maze.
Anji was seated at a low writing desk with paper unrolled on the slanting desk, one hand holding the missive open while he mouthed words.
As Joss entered, Anji looked up and smiled. “Sit, my friend. Let me finish, if you will. I have received a letter from my wife.”
“Are you reading?”
“Is that so surprising?”
“Not in one of the Lantern’s hierophants. Mai can write?”
“She can tally an accounts books. As for writing, I believe she may be learning the temple script. However, it is Priya who has written this to her dictation.”
“Priya? The slave?”
“She was a priest before she was taken captive. She is an educated woman.” His gaze drifted back to the page, and he smiled absently as if he could hear Mai’s voice through the words. “Heh. That pretty girl Mai took in. It seems Chief Tuvi attempted to marry her, but she turned him down and chose one of the tailmen instead.”
“A good-looking one? The young are enamored of looks.”
Anji glanced up. “Not only the young.”
“I’m hit!” Joss staggered, a hand clapped over his heart.
Anji laughed. “Sit. Since you came yourself, your message must be important. Let me just . . .” His voice trailed off as his gaze tracked lines from top to bottom. The smile drifted back.
Joss settled himself on one of the pillows. With Mai in the distant Barrens, he thought it likely that Anji had himself chosen the elegant furnishings: masterfully painted silk wall scrolls depicting lush green stands of pipe-brush, embroidered gold silk pillows, five vases filled with yellow and white flowers. The stubby legs of the desk had been lathed by a master into smooth curves. Was Anji’s weakness that he loved beauty too well, starting with his wife? Hard to say. Certainly any man might stumble in the face of beauty, and desire yet more comforts. It was possible, and yet Mai herself possessed other qualities that made her formidable. Anji slept, it seemed, on a simple pallet on the floor, and a single ebony chest sufficed to hold his possessions.
“As news comes in that men in the Barrens settlement are finding wives, the men stationed here and at other postings become anxious, although I have given permission for a few to—how do you say it—sit on the bench. Have you ever married?”
Joss shrugged uncomfortably. “It always seemed I was too occupied with reeve’s work.”
Anji rolled up the letter and set it aside. “What news?”
Joss mentally scrambled back through thoughts of his mother and aunties inquiring in their gently persistent way about his prospects, now that he was getting older, and older. And older. “Eiya! Yes. A cloaked man like to a Guardian has been sighted on the Rice Walk, accompanied by about three hundred soldiers, marching northeast. They’ve been marching at night, when reeves can’t spy them out, and camping under cover of trees during the day. A local villager alerted a pair of
reeves on patrol after his village was ransacked for supplies. They scouted the road at dawn and dusk and caught a look.”
“About three hundred? The reeves didn’t count exact numbers?”
“Being inexperienced and therefore cautious, they kept elevation. I’ve lost four reeves in the last four months, and there’s no knowing whether they’re dead, captured, or run off. Meanwhile, I’ve sent an older reeve to confirm the sighting.”
“Could this be a scouting force come out of the north and now headed back?”
“Perhaps. But I think these are stragglers he’s rounded up and is leading back north.”
“Men who went to ground for five months instead of running? It’s possible.” He tapped fingers on the desk, thinking. “I’d like to get my hands on a Guardian. Can we ambush the company and take prisoners?”
“I should think it would be impossible to take a Guardian as a prisoner. If it is a Guardian. Maybe it’s a demon.”
“I’m willing to try. How far ahead are they?”
Joss brushed a hand over his tightly shorn head. “I have a difficult time with earth-bound distances. Fifty or sixty mey.”
“A strike force with remounts can travel that in two days.”
“Impossible. A message rider would take four days to cover that distance. Regular traffic, ten or more.”
“For a fixed distance, along a good road? If we change over to remounts at Storos?” He was well started now, a wolf already begun its race after a herd of scattering red deer. “We’ve got militiamen in training who need experience fighting. Such a strike would build cohesion, and give them a sense of triumph.”
“If we win.”
“Against three hundred of the same rabble who besieged Olossi? If we remain steady, and allow for the troubles that invariably beset orderly plans, it could prove a small but significant victory.” He stood, grabbing his sword belt and riding whip. “Especially if we capture a Guardian.”
