From Across the Clouded Range

by H. Nathan Wilcox

The sun poked over the trees with an ominous glint that confirmed Dasen’s suspicion that the forces of nature were colluding against him. That oppressive midmorning sun had already combined with the considerable moisture left by the recent rain to transform the air into a sweltering stew that sent huge salty beads running down his nose and chin. The sweat careened off his face and soaked through his crisp white shirt and black woolen jacket until they clung to him. Now, the blinding light added a painful squint to his already throbbing headache.

  He could not remember having been so hung over as he had been that morning. He could not even clearly remember how he had gotten into his bed – he had a faint memory of Elton carrying him. If not for this ceremony, he would surely still be there. A bath, shave, and hearty breakfast had helped, but his head still throbbed, and he felt decided wrung out. Now, he had to stand in front of an entire village in a full suit with the sun beating him like a hammer on an anvil. If not for the nervous energy rushing through him, he would collapse. Of course, that energy also made his stomach churn like a dairyman’s wife and head swoon in orbits to match the heavens. He held his hands clenched in front of him, feeling them growing moist as he pressed them together and hoped that no one could see him trembling. This is really happening, he kept telling himself. His pending joining had never seemed real until now. He had contemplated it, dreaded it, planned for it, but now it was really happening. Despite what he had thought and said the night before, he was terrified.

  He scanned the village green but found no reassurance there, only five hundred sets of eyes staring intently into his. Overwhelmed, he snapped his gaze back to the dais but still felt those eyes boring into him as if trying to look into his skull. The collective stares created a steady pressure that he could feel. To calm himself, he took a long, deep breath that felt like it had been drawn through a wet rag.

  A hand landed on his shoulder. He jumped then looked back, saw Rynn’s relaxed smile, and tried to match it. “You look like you’re on your way to the gallows,” Rynn whispered in his ear. “Granted your life is over, but it will be a lot longer and slower than the noose.”

  Dasen’s scowl only solicited a chuckle. Somehow, Rynn did not seem to feel the effects of the previous night’s excesses or the morning’s inhuman conditions. When Dasen had finally stumbled out of the inn, Rynn had been holding drunken court, regaling all who would listen with bawdy stories of life in the Liandrin court. His audience had been howling. Rynn had been in heaven. Dasen could only imagine the stories his friend had told about him. He scanned the crowd again and found Pete and his gang standing in a knot near the trees. They were dressed in what had to be their best Teaching Day clothes, ill-fitting suits of poor cloth and worse workmanship. They laughed among themselves casting frequent looks toward the dais that gave away the subject of their mirth. Dasen could only groan.

  Then, through the murk of his mind, he began to remember the conversation they’d had. The villagers had told him many stories. None of them had been flattering. They portrayed Tethina as some kind of demon, always seeking to disrupt and destroy, scorning those who would help, bullying the innocent, countermanding the local counselor. They made clear all the ways she had wronged them and all the injuries they had sustained at her hands. They did not hide their embarrassment at having a woman compete in the games but claimed it was only her cheating and their discretion that had allowed her to win. Their hatred of her was plain in every word, every expression.

  Though he was smart enough to know when he was getting one side of a story, it confirmed what he already knew. Tethina as she was would create nothing but problems. She was so far from the Order as to have become an engine of chaos. She would sew it wherever she went and bring Dasen down with her. It left him convinced that she would have to change, quickly and radically, and that he would have to do whatever was required to bring about that change.

  A collective gasp broke Dasen’s contemplation with stunning efficiency. He felt the muscles in his stomach clench like someone had hit him. His eyes went to the aisle that had formed in the crowd of villagers. They provided a kaleidoscope background for the black and ivory figures that were marching slowly between them. Dasen’s eyes locked on Tethina, but the only thing he could see was layer upon layer of silk and lace. Covering her face was a lace veil that only hinted at her sharp features with shadows and ripples. Her body was similarly masked by an immaculate silk gown of creamy white. Designed to accentuate, the gown had been clumsily altered so that it revealed almost nothing about the woman wearing it. It sagged where it should billow, billowed where it should conform, and only made Tethina look more out of place than she already was.

  What a waste, Dasen thought, as he examined the gown. Though she had tried to hide it, Dasen could see how the magnificent dress had been butchered then sewn back together with stiches that would make a proper dressmaker weep. And this after Ipid and thousands of his workers had paid an extraordinary price for it. Lacking the time to have a proper dress made, they had found one that was waiting for another bride, the daughter of one of the Kingdom’s defunct dukes and largest landowners. To pry it from her father, Ipid had promised him the exclusive right to provide meal for his mill towns. Dasen could only imagine how much more the workers would now pay for their bread so that Tethina could mangle a dress like a child using a needle and thread for the first time.

  And Ipid seemed to notice none of it. He held Tethina’s bare hand – strangely, the only part of her not concealed – and whispered in her ear as they walked. He was glowing with pride. Is he completely blind? Can’t he see the mess he has made of this poor girl? Dasen tried to keep the dismay from his face as he watched his father escort his bride down the aisle like he was joining her rather than his son.

  Then Dasen noticed something that set him back more than Teth’s mangled dress. Ipid’s suit was the same as his, shimmering black material of the finest possible Liandrin weave and craftsmanship. Between the top of the suit and the ivory silk scarf peaked a vest that was so heavily embroidered with precious metals that it shimmered in the morning sun. He wore no hat as was appropriate in the presence of the Order, and his hair had been slicked across his head to hide his expanse of bald pate. A jeweled ring shone from each of his hands and his mother-of-pearl buttons created a line of rainbows down the expanse of his jacket. But in the middle of all that opulence, as out-of-place as a lump of coal in a pile of diamonds, was a polished wooden pendant held around his neck by a simple woven band. The pendant was in the shape of his crest, or at the time it had been made, the sign that had hung outside his family’s shop. It was Ipid’s joining pendant, the mark that had symbolically linked him to Dasen’s mother when they were joined. As far as Dasen knew, his father had not worn it since its twin had been consumed along with the woman wearing it. But there it was, tan wood almost lost against his ivory scarf.

  Dasen glanced at the box under Rynn’s arm and felt suddenly ashamed of the twin gold and silver pendants it held. He knew that his father had carved the pendant he wore with his own hands, had sanded, polished, and lacquered it until it shown. Looking through the crowd, Dasen saw similar pendants on nearly every man and woman, all wood, all hand carved and polished. How much dedication must have that required? How much love? And Dasen, in a fit of juvenile impertinence had not even bothered to purchase the pendant he would give to Tethina. His father had forced a jeweler to slave for three straight days to complete them, and Dasen had not even come along to place the order. Tethina had meant that little to him. It left him feeling cold but also angry. He now realized what his father was denying him. He would never feel the love, the sense of rightness that impelled a man to take knife to wood and create something worthy of that love. His father had felt that. How could he deny it to his son? And its reciprocal to Tethina?

  Drawing a deep breath, Dasen turned and accepted Tethina’s hands from his father. Ipid beamed an
d patted him on the back before taking his place at the front of the crowd next to Milne, who was the only one sitting. Dasen stared for a moment at Tethina’s tan hands held in his thin white fingers. Her grip was strong, the fingers rough and calloused, the skin along the top soft, light brown, and marked with blue veins that stood out over the muscled exterior. His own were pale white in comparison, thin, and soft. An observer seeing only their hands would wonder why the boys were captured inside the girls.

  Dismayed, he brought his glance to the veil and tried to assemble the shadows there into the semblance he remembered from the previous day, but the only thing that shown clearly through the veil were Tethina’s striking blue eyes. They shone even brighter today, if possible, through the white as they scanned him up and down then turned to the sound of a clearing throat.

  Following Tethina’s glance, Dasen found the old counselor standing on the dais before them. He looked like an ancient bird on his round perch. Utterly hairless, he was nearly as thin as Rynn and would not have come up to Dasen’s shoulder if not for the dais. His face and hands were marked by the brown spots and sags of age, but his posture was straight, and he carried himself with an importance that seemed inherent in counselors. He wore the customary brown robe, but it was well-tended and of a fine weave. In front of him on a wooden stand was a huge, ornate copy of The Book of Valatarian. It was open, but he did reference it.

  When he had his subjects’ attention, the counselor’s eyes rose to the crowd gathered around him. He smiled at the villagers and spread his arms wide. “May you follow in the steps of the Order and find peace in its embrace.” His voice was clear and strong. It did not betray any of his obvious age.

  “We strive for the harmony of understanding.” The crowd adroitly declared. Dasen did not know if he could manage speech, so he remained silent.

  “We are arrayed here today to witness the joining of Dasen Ronigan and Tethina Galbridge. Does this community support their union and believe that it is consistent with the Order?”

  “We do.” The response was less strong but no less unified than the first.

  “In that case, I turn to Dasen and Tethina.” The counselor looked down at the couple and allowed a long stretch of silence to pass. “Dasen. Tethina. Before you commit your lives to one another, it is important that you understand the divine laws of the Holy Order and the mundane ones of this society as they regard your union.” There was another pause. Dasen nodded reflexively, which earned him a smile from the counselor.

  “In the beginning, Hileil created the world and laid upon it his laws. Those laws define nature, life, and everything that is meant to be. Together we know those laws as the Holy Order. Yet Hileil gave humans a special gift that was denied all other creatures, the ability to understand. Humans alone were given the ability to see and understand the delicate tapestry that is the Holy Order. It was a great gift, but it angered his jealous brother, Hilaal. To spite his brother, Hilaal created a power counter to the Order and gave humans the freewill to act against the beautiful order his brother had created. This is our burden: understanding and the freewill to act against that understanding. Unlike other animals, which are simply an unthinking part of the Order, humans have the ability to choose their actions, the ability to act against Hileil’s divine plan.

  “However, to act against the Order is to create suffering and strife. Legend tells us that the Lawbreakers brought us to the very edge of destruction with their disdain for the Order. Only our savior Xionious Valatarian, through his divine clarity was able to guide those who would follow the Order back to its path and through that unity drive chaos from our world. Though he no longer exists to be our guide, he left us with his laws, and it is up to each of us to follow them, to meld our lives to the Order and thereby achieve harmony with the world. It is the call of that divine state that brings us here today, for the joining of a man and a woman is central to the Order.”

  The counselor paused again before starting into the detailed explanation of the laws that pertained to the joining of a man and woman both from the perspective of the Church and the Unified Kingdoms. Dasen tried to follow the lesson, but his mind was so shattered by nervous energy and the words came in such an incredible succession of syllables that he could not hope to keep up.

  His eyes drifted to Tethina, studied the profile of her veil, her hands pressed in his, the broad shoulders nearly bursting from the dress, but found nothing to hold his scattered attention. Soon his thoughts returned to what would follow the ceremony. What would Tethina expect of him? He had not thought much about the physical side of their joining until last night – had banned the thought from his mind – but now his mind returned to it again and again. What if Tethina actually wanted to consummate their relationship? Could he tell her no? What if she refused to change, would he take the villagers’ advice, force himself on her? Beyond the likely impossibility of that effort, the very thought sickened him. And if she became pregnant as a result?

  As if in answer, he felt a pressure smashing his hand. Wincing he brought his eyes to Tethina’s. They were wide with urgency. She smashed his hands again and only then did Dasen realize that the village green was deathly silent. The lesson was over. The counselor had asked Dasen for his vow, and he had completely missed it. Everyone in the village was waiting. Tethina looked desperate. She squeezed his hands until the joints popped and he nearly fell to his knees.

  "I unders. . . ." His voice cracked, and he stopped to spare himself further embarrassment. He cleared his throat and repeated, “I understand the laws of the Holy Order and the Unified Kingdoms and will strive to follow them in this union and throughout my life.” He said the words quickly and made it without a break but felt the temperature rise in his face and knew that he was beet red.

  "Understanding the laws as they apply to the Order is one thing, but understanding them as they apply to yourself and your wife is another.” The counselor paused, and Dasen gathered himself. “Dasen, do you swear to follow these laws by providing for, protecting, and supporting Tethina and the family you create together? Will you use your wisdom to guide them in the ways of the Order and ensure that they obey Its divine laws? With this pledge, you take on responsibility for Tethina and any offspring you produce. It will be your duty to provide for them and align them with the Order just as you do yourself. They will be an extension of you, your custody and your responsibility every bit as much as your hand and arm. Do you accept this responsibility and promise to fulfill it to the best of your abilities?”

  “I do,” Dasen managed. “I will guide Tethina to the Order. I accept responsibility for her and our children in all ways under the Order.” Having finished his pledge, he spared a glance at Tethina and found only ice in her eyes. Her glare vanished as soon as he met it, but he knew what he had seen. She was clearly upset, but what had she expected? That was the oath used in every joining ceremony Dasen had ever attended.

  He contemplated this as Tethina made her oath. Was he imagining that the words were strained, that the hitch in her voice was caused by more than nerves, that a tear escaped and streaked down her cheek as she spoke of her promise of obey, to be subservient, to dedicate herself to raising children, to supporting Dasen in all his endeavors? Seeing that tear, Dasen realized how hard this must be for her. She was swearing away her world and placing herself in his hands completely, into the hands of a man she barely knew, had met only once. As hard as this was for him, she had far more at stake, was giving up a hundred times as much.

  Overcome by that thought, he looked deep into her eyes, squeezed her hands gently, and silently promised that he would remember the trust she was giving him, that he would not abuse that trust. He would guide her but try to do so gently, patiently, as a friend. He smiled reassuringly and mouthed, “It will be okay.” He could not be sure through the heavy veil, but some small part of her seemed to relax in response.

  Chapte
r 8