Flesh and Bone

by Robin Lythgoe

  His hands on her narrow waist—too familiar by far—he lifted her easily. She weighed no more than a bird. The captain took her arm to steady her, to restore her dignity. Still, she needed several attempts to form words.

  “Captain, my son will escort me. You will see to his horse and his things.”

  “My lady,” he murmured and bowed, wariness in his voice and eyes.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Sherakai said, though his mother filled his vision.

  She waved at him to stand, held his arm, then let him go again. “You have no shoes.”

  “I would trade my shoes for you a thousand times over.”

  She shook her head and patted her mouth, hugging herself tight. “Do not make me cry again.”

  One man handed him his boots and saved him from trying to tell her he could not promise that. His jaw worked as he pulled them on. When he straightened, he drew a sleeve over his eyes, then offered his arm to her. She held onto him tightly as they started across the bridge. They hadn’t even gone a dozen steps before she sagged against him.

  “Mama?” He caught her before she fell, then shifted to check her pulse.

  The captain was beside them immediately, along with several of the guards. “What have you done?” he demanded. The hiss of steel announced the baring of two or three blades.

  Sherakai froze. More than anything, he could not risk antagonizing the soldiers. “Nothing, I swear it. She fainted.”

  The captain touched the side of her neck, his features stiff and angry. “Give her to me.”

  “No.” Foolish, yes, but she was his mother, his responsibility. “I’ve got her,” he appended more gently.

  “Yes, you do. It would be wise if you released her. Now.”

  “If she were your mother, would you? Is that what she would want?” The captain glared at him, and Sherakai went on before he could argue. “I did not come all this way to hurt her. If I had, she’d be dead already, and so would you. I am going to take her to the hall. If it makes you feel better, put a pair of swords at my back. Put your crossbowmen right behind them.”

  He did not wait for the man’s approval, but lifted his mother into his arms and tipped her head against his shoulder. Without another word or a backward glance, he strode away.

  Chapter 49

  Imarasu’s garden was smaller than Sherakai remembered it. Everything was smaller, but for the space at the dinner table. Others invited to dine with the family—Captain Tuketa (who had replaced Nayuri), Ginsaka the steward, Master of Arms Chimoke—filled chairs but could not replace the dead. The meal was an awkward event. His sisters-in-law greeted him coolly and with hard suspicion in their eyes. Little Kanya, a young lady now, had developed an acute sense of shyness. Elinasha took one look at Sherakai, paled, and left the room, taking all three of her children with her. Three! Had he been away so long?

  He did not ask why she would not speak to him. Esume, Tasan’s widow, informed him that Elinasha’s husband had been killed on the border. Her chilly expression suggested that Sherakai had done it himself. He bowed his head in sorrow, aware that he well might have.

  The little ones, his nieces and nephews, had grown so he hardly recognized them. The difficulty was mutual. Reserved and polite, they kept their distance at the far end of the room. Perhaps their parents hoped to keep them safe from him. He could not blame them, but it didn’t ease the hurt. He remembered wild chases, shrieks of laughter, shafts of sunlight, sweet freedom.

  Tension ringed the table and armed guards stood at the doors and in the corners. Not, he thought, his mother’s doing. Bright places on the walls distracted him. Did not tapestries once hang there?

  The men barely waited until the food was served before aiming a barrage of questions at Sherakai, sharp and quick as arrows. What brought him back to Tanoshi? Was he staying? Was it true he’d fought with Lord Bairith’s forces, or had he gone rogue and joined the Romuri? Could he explain the conflicting rumors? Why had he remained at Chiro when his place was here?

  Lady Imarasu banged her spoon on the table to get their attention; she had not the voice to shout them down. “Is this a court of inquiry, or is it the dining hall of House Tanoshi?”

  “Is he a criminal, to refuse to speak of what he’s done while he’s been gone? Is he ashamed of his actions?” Ginsaka, who must be in his fifties now, was much the same as ever: immaculate and unimpressed.

  “One might expect reports from a traveler long away,” Esume inserted. She sprinkled salt over her food, then peered at it to see that she had enough.

  Sherakai took a bite of chicken and savored a spicy sauce he had not enjoyed since he left home. The everyday fare at the Gates was hearty and nourishing, but bland, while the foodstuffs at the jansu’s table were flamboyant and exotic. This tasted like his childhood, safety, and comfort. It was such a strange contrast to the volley of suspicious questions.

  “Have you nothing to say in your defense, boy?”

  He swallowed and licked his lips, meeting Ginsaka’s flinty glare evenly. The man had never liked him; that hadn’t changed. “My experiences are not suitable conversation for the dinner table, Suchedai Ginsaka.” If he’d imagined using the man’s formal title would sway anyone, he was wrong.

  Tuketa leaned forward. “Is it true, then?”

  “I do not know what you’ve heard—” he began.

  His mother put her hand on his arm and stood. “This is honor? This is compassion? If you have none for him, then show some for me.” She looked each of them in the eye, trembling. “It is shameful enough that you’ve forced us to accept armed guards while we break bread. Will you crucify my son in the very hour of his return? I will share this meal with Sherakai, and I will rejoice to see him living and breathing beside me when I long thought him dead.”

  “And if he is the traitor he’s been painted?” Ginsaka asked, unruffled.

  Sherakai set his utensils down and stood. “I beg your forgiveness, my lady,” he murmured. “This was a mistake. I did not come here to divide House Tanoshi.”

  “Of course you didn’t—”

  “What did you come for?” Chimoke inquired, peering at Sherakai through eyes no longer as keen as they once were.

  “To see my family. That is all.”

  “Why?”

  “That is enough,” Imarasu snapped, gripping Sherakai’s arm for support. “If any of you do not wish to sit at table with me and my son, you have my permission to withdraw.”

  They all stayed. The men perched like vultures. The women rustling like ruffled doves.

  Sherakai helped his mother resume her seat then took his own. He glanced at his opponents—then brusquely reminded himself that this was not the arena. What was the worst they would do to him? Scream at him? Spit? Throw a potato at his head? He would likely survive the assault, he reckoned drily.

  Conversation lurched along for several minutes, wings disabled. Rila, Fazare’s widow, deftly drew austere Ginsaka into an accounting of the second planting. Afterward, the discussion flowed into other channels. Sherakai kept his peace, listening more than speaking. The meal ended far too quickly. Before Ginsaka and Tuketa could try to corral Sherakai and press him for answers, he begged to be excused.

  Instinctively, he’d sought his mother’s garden. Beneath the lacy leaves of the old hornbeam, he remembered when he used to climb the tree. He’d once thought it a giant. It still had a powerful presence, long limbs stretched out protectively over the walls. A branch had been cut back from the roof recently; the pale wound glimmered in the twilight. The gurgle of the hidden fountain brought memories of quiet times spent reading or listening to the women talking or singing in the room just beyond.

  He fingered a crinkled hornbeam leaf and inhaled deeply. The scent of water and moss and green, growing things filled his lungs. Sweet. Soothing. He ignored the approach of footsteps and wished the intruder away. He wanted a few minutes to himself in this garden of memories.

  “So it’s true. You are alive.”


  Sherakai turned to the voice behind him. “Chakkan!” Gladness swelled his heart and brought him closer.

  Chakkan dan Maeda, his best friend since toddlerhood, took a step back. He looked older, harder. A jagged scar disfigured one cheek, but he still wore his hair the same way, carried himself the same way, wore the same determined air Sherakai remembered. And he was… smaller.

  He trailed to a stop, leaving a safe distance between them. A chasm. “I thought you were killed in the fight.”

  “There were a lot of fights.” He drew a finger down the scar. “You didn’t ask for me.”

  “I was told—”

  “By who? Bairith? And you believed him?”

  “I was there, Chakkan.” So much blood, so much fear. One would think that years and more blood would rob the battle of its horror. It did not.

  He grunted. “Yes, you were.”

  Silence spun out between them, fraught with tension. Sherakai went to hook his thumbs in his belt, forgetting he wore the loose tunic his mother had provided. He folded his arms instead. “How did you survive?”

  “Nayuri.” He did not elaborate. “He gave his life for you. They all did.”

  Sherakai nodded. The blood dreams never let him forget.

  “Were you worth it?”

  He sucked in a breath. “You believe I’m to blame for their deaths?”

  “You are.”

  Stupidly, the injustice of the accusation surprised him. He’d been a frightened, angry, grieving boy. He opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. That day had changed everything for him; how could he expect Chakkan to have been unaffected? “You’re right.”

  “What?”

  Sherakai shrugged. “I said you’re right.” To point out that things would have been much different if he’d never been born seemed melodramatic, so he said nothing.

  Chakkan’s features twisted into a sneer. “They were my friends, my brothers, and you just shrug their lives away? I should beat the crap out of you.”

  “You can’t.” He scrubbed his face roughly and dropped onto the nearest bench. “If you strike me, you’ll die.”

  “Oh, is that so? You grew a little taller and gained a few pounds, and now you’re the mighty warrior.” His mockery bore an edge Sherakai did not recognize.

  He imagined Chakkan in the arena and his hand curled into a fist. He would not wish anyone there. “It is what I am trained to do. I kill people. That is my only purpose.” He could not even muster a flicker of emotion to color his voice, to shield him from Chakkan’s scathing opinion.

  If the silence had been tense a moment ago, it grew so rigid now that the air might break. “Did you kill good Alshani men?” Chakkan ground out, and the air didn’t shatter, though it vibrated uneasily.

  He hesitated, sensing an opportunity to have some questions answered. “Will you tell me what makes you think I did?”

  “Stories about Tanoshi’s turncoat youngest son at the battles, fighting for the Romuri. Bigger and meaner than any of his kin. Looks like they got the last part right.”

  Head bent, Sherakai loosened his fist to rub his fingers together. It sent frissons of energy hissing into the air and he stopped. “I have been away for a long time. I have no right to ask anything of you, but if I could prevail upon our old friendship, will you do me the favor of telling me what happened after our company was attacked?”

  The weight of Chakkan’s consideration rested on him, judging, angry, needing something indefinable. “That’s a question straight out of the Abyss.”

  “I know.”

  “You take up with that—that—” He stabbed the air with his forefinger, searching for a suitable description.

  “Monster,” Sherakai supplied, knowing that didn’t begin to suffice.

  “I was looking for something a little more harsh, but that will work. So you take up with the monster, then you want me to tell you our story? Why?”

  “I don’t know anything but what Bairith’s chosen to tell me, Chakkan. One man told me that Papa fielded an army to fetch Mimeru and me out of the Gates. Is it true?”

  “Of course it is. He was your father. He’d have done anything for you. We all would.” He paced a little away, rubbing the back of his neck, sending up sparks that threatened to ignite the air. “Fine,” he said, and sat across from Sherakai, elbows to knees, features hard. “The man we sent back from the horse camp didn’t make. I was the only one, and only because Nayuri saved me. Doesn’t matter how. But I was a boy, and who was going to believe me? Bairith told everyone we were attacked by Romuri raiders, and his men saved you. He also decided it would be smarter and safer to keep you at the Gates. Your father had already lost three boys. His protection wasn’t exactly reliable.

  “Tameko—” Chakkan made a face. “He was so mad. He sent to the capital, but the government was still a shambles after Muro’s death. Bairith countered with threats about legal action over Mimeru’s barrenness, but he was oh-so-generously willing to put that aside if Tameko would bury his unfounded hostilities and let you stay. I knew it was Chiro men at that canyon, Kai, but your father turned a little—”

  “Crazy?” Bairith had played that game so believably at his celebration.

  “Desperate. Didn’t matter. We still backed him. He found another glim—a spirit mage, sorry—to read me. To see if I was telling the truth. Just to make sure everyone knew. And we hit Chiro again, for all the good it did. He lost a lot there. Men, money, allies, respect. Bairith was just defending himself, you see, and it got politically unaffordable to sponsor Tanoshi after that. It took a while, but Tameko rounded up more men. Sappers and earth shapers mostly, but a couple of spirit mages, too. He was going to sneak into the Gates and kidnap you and Mimeru back. He came home in pieces. Romuri raiders again, if you can believe it.”

  Sherakai closed his eyes, seeing those awful images all over again. The rakeshi lashed its tail viciously.

  “And never a word from you. Why is that, Kai, if you did not turn your back on Tanoshi and swear to Chiro?”

  “I was… rather deeply involved in lessons.”

  “Really.”

  “Do you remember how I used to think Master Chimoke was a difficult taskmaster? He was a doting nursemaid compared to Bairith and his tutors. This is the first respite I’ve ever had.” How unbelievable did that sound?

  “Huh.” Chakkan clearly wasn’t convince. “They finally teach you to fight?”

  “Yes.” Reluctance weighted his voice.

  “Will you answer me now? Did you kill good Alshani men?”

  “I don’t know.” Soft words to preserve their senses. To preserve his fragile sense of calm.

  “Don’t give me that.” Chakkan did not realize how his harsh voice threatened the balance. Didn’t perceive how his swift approach with a fist ready to fly threatened his life.

  Sherakai caught the blow with one hand and held up the other in a placating gesture. The rakeshi uttered a soft, warning growl. He wasn’t sure the other man heard it, but Chakkan’s eyes widened even as his brows lowered. Sherakai squeezed and slowly twisted until Chakkan’s knees hit the ground and his breath came sharp and strained.

  “Gods!” he gasped.

  “Hush.” Only a whisper. “Be still a moment. Please.”

  Chakkan had not been a small person when they’d last seen each other; time and hard labor had increased his size and strength. He struggled so mightily against Sherakai that his bulging muscles trembled and a sheen of sweat damped his skin. He drew back his other fist, but Sherakai’s hand flashed out and caught his wrist.

  “Please do not make me kill you…”

  “You cannot be this strong,” came the ragged return, disbelieving. He fought a little longer before he surrendered. The tension remained in his brawny shoulders.

  Sherakai held him until the scrape of claws beneath his skin abated. Until he thought Chakkan would not try to hit him again. He put his hands up, fingers spread, then linked them in his lap. “Are you hurt?”
/>
  Chakkan sat back on his heels, rubbing his wrist. “Bruises and stung pride. Are you going to explain what just happened?”

  Head bent, Sherakai pushed his thumbs together hard. Watched the skin turn white and the digits tremble with the pressure put on them. He had not yet figured out how much of his story he could share with his mother, nor whether his decision to conceal certain events was born of compassion for her or fear for himself.

  “Your eyes changed color.”

  So the fall of shadows had not hidden that… He nodded and bit the inside of his lip.

  Getting to his feet, Chakkan sat on the bench again. “Will you tell me why? How?”

  A slow breath in, then out again and he lifted his head. “That depends on who I’m talking to.”

  Chakkan winced. “I guess I deserved that.”

  It was true, but Sherakai chose not to pursue the subject. He studied his companion, then gave a mental sigh. What kind of man was he to wish Chakkan had remained his dead best friend instead of becoming a live antagonist? “Alive is better,” he decided.

  “What?”

  “I’m glad you survived, Chakkan. No—I am relieved and overjoyed.” He managed a small smile. How long had it been since he’d smiled?

  “You look it, too.” Another grimace.

  He abandoned the forced smile and studied Chakkan, memorizing his features. “Even so, it is true,” he said, standing. He needed to leave this here before he lost Chakkan again. The breeze stirred the leaves high overhead but did not reach the garden, where the air was still and sad.

  “Where are you going? Are you not going to tell me what happened to you after you were captured or how you got away?”

  “I didn’t.” He touched Chakkan’s shoulder as he passed. “Sleep well.”

  “Kai, wait.” He surged upright. Sherakai slipped out of reach. “What do you mean, you didn’t? You didn’t escape? But you’re here…”

  Sherakai lifted a hand in farewell and stepped through the darkened doorway.

  Chapter 50