Saga of Menyoral: The Service

by M. A. Ray

  Cleaner, for sure, he thought. One of the first things he’d done when he was elected Head was order that all trash be buried or burned. Under Vandis, the Knights cleaned up after themselves. It was good when I was young, too, though. I had my friends. He lingered a little to trace a pattern with the spray, enjoying the chilly dawn that flooded his lungs and blew back his hair, and then pushed himself high again to soar over the booths and tents near the Assembly Hall.

  They were such good lads until you got hold of them. She snickered, and he laughed aloud.

  Hang on half a minute, my Lady. The touchdown was the tricky part, or had been. He had to slow his upper body just a little and pull his feet ahead of his shoulders, and at first he hadn’t had the abdominals for it. More than once he’d plowed his face into the dirt. Now he crunched down, curling and releasing in midair so he could land on his feet and spreading his arms for balance. His legs bent, absorbing the shock. He straightened, raked his hands through his hair in a vague attempt to tame it, and walked slowly toward the booths to buy a little more time to talk to Her. Sorry, I can pay attention now.

  Funny old world, though, don’t you think? Dingus has fallen in with Santo’s and Evan’s lads.

  It doesn’t surprise me. They were always good at giving a damn for no reason. Makes sense they’d pass it on to their boys.

  I wouldn’t say they had no reason! She said. After all, My own, you were a right little wanker, but you were always good for a bit of fun. I’d say Wallace and Antonio have got their reasons, same as Santo and Evan had theirs.

  He laughed again. That should probably worry me!

  I wouldn’t worry. She sounded thoughtful. Dingus hasn’t the devil in him like you had!

  They’re smarter than we were, anyway, he decided. The fair buzzed around him. Wish I had more time to talk.

  There’ll be time later, My own, She said, caressing his mind with the affection in Her Voice: a weird sensation, if he could call it that, but far from unpleasant. She always called him Her own, and he was, all the way.

  Vandis hooked his thumbs over his belt and walked to a stall selling eggs to order. He chose scramble in a blanket and ate it slowly to give himself an excuse to shoot the breeze with the cook. By the time he walked away, he’d collected a couple of interesting bits of information: there’d been a riot in the slums outside Dreamport, and somebody had taken a jab at killing Akeere’s High Priestess. He laughed to himself, thinking of the likely fate of whatever dumb bastard tried for Disa, as he walked over to Alexei the Scrivener’s booth. Alexei was a Muscodite expatriate. Mostly he did up souvenir scrolls or letters for Squires who couldn’t write, but at least once a year he had something special for Vandis: a book. It was usually another copy of Naheel’s scriptures, but sometimes it was The Life and Rule of St. Aurelius.

  Where Alexei had gotten his contact, Vandis didn’t want to know. He suspected the younger man was an apostate Aurelian, but that might have been because he was losing his hair and it looked something like a tonsure. In any case, Vandis had his money ready when he came to the booth. “Morning,” he said.

  Alexei looked up from his work and greeted him. “Happy Longday, Vandis. Here for your order?”

  Vandis jingled his purse. “Same as always. What do you have for me?”

  “It’s Sun and Steel this time. Work of the highest quality, visually interesting,” Alexei said, rising from his canvas folding chair. “Let me fetch it for you.” He disappeared under his small table and rummaged in a saddlebag, bringing out a cloth-wrapped book.

  “Thanks,” Vandis said, and handed over his money.

  “If I were you,” Alexei said conversationally as he counted change, “I’d have a look at that straightaway. As I said, the work is of the highest quality…” He leaned close and gave Vandis a few silver royals back. “…but very disturbing in places.”

  “All right. See you around.” He tucked the wrapped book under his arm, planning to glance over it at dinnertime when he could sit down. He certainly wouldn’t be eating; Vandis walked around the fair, buying food from this vendor and that one and eating it slowly in view of the booth, chatting with cooks, counter girls, and other Knights who came to buy. By dinnertime, he had a stomach fit to burst and a fairly clear picture of what was going on around Rothganar. He heard, of course, a lot about Muscoda, and sadly added a few names to his mental list of the people they’d lost; about a new Matriarch on the Council of Windish; Snorri Jarl of Jarls lying on his deathbed up in Rodansk and his son impaled by a narwhal; the desperate need for more funds and supplies in the refugee camps the Knights ran outside Brightwater. He heard snatches of personal gossip: weddings, babies, who was fucking whom, deaths, and whose daughter was just so smart she ought to be a Squire at seven years old, no fooling.

  He made a stop at a smith’s portable forge to order a set of knives; he planned to give them to Dingus after the Oath of Service. That done, he headed back to his campsite on foot, feeling too full to fly. Near the edge of the campground, he heard someone call his name. “Vandis! Hey, Vandis!”

  When he looked around, he saw Hui running toward him. “Hui. Have you seen Pearl yet? She’s been worrying over you.”

  “Not yet. I have to tell you something. I got hung up with the City Watch in Dreamport. Did you hear about Disa?”

  Vandis grinned. “I did. I feel sorry for whomever it was that took a crack at her.”

  “It was Aurelians,” Hui said, and the grin slid off Vandis’s face. “They came to Headquarters. They came for you.”

  “Anyone else hurt?”

  The young Senior shook his head. “We handled it. Someone died at the Cathedral. Disa got a whack on the head, but listen, there’s more. They went to the House of the Sun, too. They killed Solveig and five or six of the priests. They burned everything inside.”

  Vandis wished he hadn’t eaten so much; suddenly it seemed as if everything congealed into an icy ball, stretching his stomach.

  “I don’t understand it,” Hui went on. “Why’d they try after their own people?”

  “They didn’t.” Vandis unconsciously tightened his grip on the book.

  “But they worship the same Queen.”

  “No, they don’t. The Naheel who lives in the House of the Sun isn’t the same Naheel who beats down on Muscoda. They’re just coming out in the open with it.” And Lech Valitchka hated Solveig nearly as much as he hated Vandis. That was saying something; Valitchka’s sunken, faded blue eyes had about bored a hole through Vandis’s head at the last Conclave of Pontiffs. The feeling was absolutely mutual. Vandis had never in his life been so tempted to strangle someone. If the Order of Aurelius went rogue—well, it looked as if they already had. “Thanks for telling me. Go find Pearl.”

  Hui jogged off and Vandis continued to his campsite. He’d half expected Dingus to be there, but to his relief, the campsite was empty. He made coffee. His two Squires did a pretty good job taking care of him, but Dingus always made it a little too weak. While it boiled, he unwrapped the copy of Sun and Steel he’d purchased. The book was copied in Muscodite, which Vandis could get along speaking, but couldn’t read. He hadn’t bought it for the text; the books Alexei brought him were special, with a coded system of illumination meant for Vandis’s eyes. The frontispiece was a bright image of Ciregor’s apotheosis, but in the background the illuminator had painted a hawk being brought down by a murder of crows. Vandis drew in a breath and began to examine the book: illustrations, drop capitals, marginalia.

  They were trying to kill him. That wasn’t much of a surprise, given what Hui had said, though he couldn’t deny the tiny margin illustration of the white crow—Lech, of course—standing with bloody beak on the corpse of the hawk—meant as Vandis—gave him a shiver. Let him come, he thought, but it would never be Lech’s own hand wielding the sword. The fat white lapdog that represented Krakus Bartowsky snoozed at the corners of pages, though not, like he’d been before, at the white crow’s feet. A falling-out? Vandis wondered. Or
is Krakus away?

  Sometimes the picture code was a little vague, but there was nothing vague in the white crow perched on the belly of a black hound. It was Kasimir, with the white markings that resembled a crown around its head; its tongue lolled and its eyes were half-shut in bliss, and the white crow bent its beak close to its ear. Before, the crow had always been behind the dog, or next to it; but now it sat atop the dog, right over the entrails, and it chilled him more than all of the other illuminations put together.

  It was late afternoon when Vandis finished with the book and stowed it in his pack, removing at the same time a big packet of incense and another of charcoal. After he drank the last swallow of coffee, he shaved, combed his hair, stuffed the packets in his breeches, and left the camp. The scent of pork cooked with apples and onions filled his fear-dry mouth with saliva; he guessed he was hungry again after all, though he didn’t feel it. When he passed the cooking pits he responded to hails from this Knight or that one: chatting, smiling, nodding, and all the while thinking of how Lech Valitchka might try to raze it all to the ground. The hogs already lay out on tables, resting, ready to be cut for the feast.

  He walked down onto the beach. Kessa waved at him from the edge of a clot of first- and second-year Squires, most of whose names he hadn’t yet had time to learn. I will, though, he promised himself. Fuck Lech. He’s not getting even one of these, not if I can help it. He lifted a hand in return and crunched his way over the pebbles to the incense stone near the center of the beach.

  You can, My own, She said. You’ll save My Knights. I believe it.

  Thanks for the vote of confidence, he said, smiling down at the burner. It was a beautiful thing, carved into the image of the white oak, the granite leaves concealing a dish cut into the top. A woodpile stood next to it, arranged for a bonfire and ready for the lighting. Vandis took out the packet of charcoal.

  He took a deep, steadying breath, and She sent a thrill down to his toes. I can’t wait to smell what you have for Me this year.

  It’s not like You don’t already know, he told Her with another smile, laying the black bricks out in the dish.

  Well, I suppose I do, but knowing it and smelling it are two different things!

  When he looked up, there was Dingus, holding a brand, the flame translucent in the fading daylight. “Thanks,” he said, taking it. Dingus nodded and went back to sit in a clump with all Evan’s, Pearl’s, and Santo’s people.

  For You, Vandis thought, and lit the charcoal. As the gray swept across the black, Vandis stuck the brand in the gravel so it would stand up and pulled out his packet of incense, spreading it on the ground and opening each of the little pouches inside so they were ready.

  He stood and tossed a handful of sandalwood onto the glowing coals. Sharp, clean-smelling smoke poured from the burner and curled skyward. Oh, I like that one, good start, She said. Quiet blanketed the beach, and Vandis cleared his throat.

  “Now hear this!” he called, not shouting, but projecting so that his voice rang off the valley walls. The sandalwood began to burn itself out. “For over three thousand years, the Knights of the Air have gathered at Longday, to test our young people and to eat and drink in fellowship with one another. This year, our numbers are smaller than they have been in two centuries, but that’s no reason to knuckle under. Through bad times and good times, our Lady tells us to learn from the past so there’s hope for the future, and just now that’s more important than ever. Let’s have a minute of silence for the faces we won’t see this year.” While the silence stretched, Vandis threw chunks of cedar and knots of pine sap and myrrh onto the coals. She hummed quiet approbation, but She didn’t distract him.

  “Lady, remember our dead, who died in Your service,” he said. Next, once the death incense burned out, was the sage. “Lady, let all that we do, here and everywhere, be of savor to You.” Then the beads of frankincense: “Lady, remember and guard our Squires. Let them be dear to Your heart as they are to ours.” Last of all, Vandis put on a big handful of dried patchouli. The smoke exploded, yellow-white against the dusk. “Lady, remember and guide Your Knights, that we might ever serve You in this world.”

  Always, She promised.

  Vandis waited for the last of the patchouli to drift skyward, then turned to take up the brand. “Enough! Let’s eat!” He thrust the brand into the waiting woodpile and the kindling caught, to a cheer from the assembled Knights. The Moot was officially open.

  They all moved toward the food as one creature—all but Dingus, who stood on the beach with his hands in his pockets. “Thought you’d be first in line,” Vandis said. Dingus shrugged and fell into step with him. “Aren’t you having a good time?”

  “It’s all right.”

  “So who’ve you been hanging around with?” Vandis asked, as if he didn’t know.

  “Wallace and Tony. Francine, some.”

  “See? I told you not everyone would be an asshole.”

  “There’s a couple.”

  “There’s always at least one,” Vandis admitted.

  “I guess there’s got to be.”

  “When I was a kid, I think it was me. I beat the living shit out of Reed my first year—did I tell you that?”

  Dingus’s mouth turned up at the corners as they got in line for the food. “I guess you were the asshole,” he said, and then frowned. “Did you get in trouble?”

  “Only with Old Man Dingus,” Vandis said. “Why?”

  Skinny shoulders rose and fell. “Just wondering.”

  “Did you beat the shit out of someone?”

  “No,” Dingus said after a moment.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Vandis said.

  Dingus kicked at a pebble. His feet were bare. “There might’ve been a punch. Or a couple. But, you know, deserved.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Pretty soon they got up to the food and took a bread trencher each. Vandis filled his with pork, apples, and potatoes; Dingus heaped his with everything, right down to the onions and crooked purple carrots. They took the food back to the beach.

  “Sit with me for a while,” Vandis suggested. He hadn’t spent much time around Dingus for—it had to be a fortnight, and now that the kid was nearby, Vandis didn’t want to let him run off quite yet.

  They edged among the people already tucking in. Vandis made for his friends: Santo, Evan, Pearl, and Jack. “Where’s Kessa, anyway? I was hoping to introduce her.”

  “I barely know,” Dingus said. “She’s got a shitload of friends already. I can’t keep up.”

  “Girls or boys?”

  “Both.”

  “At least there’s that,” Vandis said sourly. “I thought you were keeping an eye on her.”

  Dingus sounded equally sour. “I’m doing my best.”

  “I’ll talk to her. I want you to have your own fun, anyway.”

  When they made it to the others, the conversation got lost in greetings. Vandis claimed a seat on a stone bench between Santo and Jack; Pearl and Evan sat on another, with pretty Francine on the end. Dingus folded his long legs and sat tailor-fashion on the pebbles, next to Tony, who budged up for him, and across from Wally, who sat as near to Francine as he could.

  “I need to talk to you about something, Vandis,” Jack said. “My family’s still—”

  “Not now.” Vandis tilted his head very slightly toward the kids. Some things even almost-Juniors didn’t need to hear, and never mind that his own boy noticed the motion and came alert, listening—even as the other three Squires talked around him.

  “You can’t protect them from this. They killed kids a lot younger than they are.”

  “I don’t have to justify myself to you. Let me eat. Then we’ll go talk, but I’m not promising anything. After the Moot I might have a few answers.”

  “After the Moot could be too late. Tomorrow could be too late. I’ve got grandkids stuck behind that border!”

  Vandis dropped the piece of meat he was pulling apart back i
nto the trencher. “Jack. What do you want me to do?”

  “Send someone in.”

  “I can’t do that. Don’t you think I would if I could? In case you’ve forgotten, anyone with a leaf on his hand gets staked out to die in the sun! I’m not sending anyone else to that! End of—”

  “Send someone without a leaf then. Hire someone. Send a Squire. Hell, send yours, if he’s so—”

  “Jack. Stop and think. I know you want what’s best for your family, but I need to consider the bigger picture here.”

  “For them, there’s no picture bigger! It’s life and death! They could be taken up as sympathizers any minute! My son and his family need help!”

  Vandis rubbed his forehead. What he wanted to say—“Let’s go and get them”—and what he needed to say weren’t even on the same continent.

  “I’ll go,” Dingus said quietly from his spot on the ground, and the other boys were nodding. When had he met Wally? Yesterday? And already they looked at him that way, that follow-you-anywhere way. Francine, silent, unmoving, sat next to Pearl, gazing into her trencher as if it held the secrets of the universe.

  “No.” It was reflex, pure and simple, but he wouldn’t change his mind. Not Dingus. Not these kids. Vandis lost his appetite even thinking of it. “You don’t realize what they—”

  “I know better than most.”

  “Well, I can’t deny that, but no, Dingus, absolutely not. You don’t understand. Exposure would look easy compared to what they’d do to you.”

  “They’d have to see me. Then they’d have to catch me.” The hell of it was, Vandis knew he wasn’t bragging, and he wasn’t thinking of the other Squires following him, either. When Dingus said I, when he said me, he meant himself alone—and as ill as it made Vandis to admit it, Dingus was absolutely capable of doing this thing. The other two, from what he understood, were equally serious about their work. If any Squires could, these three could.

  “So you don’t want your leaf.”

  Dingus let out a barely audible sigh. “’Course I do. Some stuff is more important than what I want.”