Tuyo

by Neumeier, Rachel

  Hokino nodded. He looked at Lord Aras, at his face. “This is true?” he asked, speaking slowly, watching to see whether the warleader understood.

  “Yes,” Lord Aras agreed, still in taksu. He was watching Hokino closely.

  Hokino nodded. “I will be careful. I will carry your letter to my brother. He will certainly send it to Koro inKarano.” He looked at me. “I will tell Koro that this warleader is an extraordinarily generous man. I will say also that although the son of Sinowa inGara serves this Lau warleader, he brings honor to his father and his people.”

  I bowed. That was more than a man such as Hokino inKera would ordinarily say about a young man my age, and I was glad the inKera warleader might say that to Koro inKarano—or to Darra inKarano. Then a different thought struck me, and I turned quickly to Lord Aras, “May I send a letter of my own? Would you permit me to write to my own people, my lord?” The letter the inKera warleader carried to our king might make it clear I had not died a tuyo’s death, but it might not, and it would not come to my mother’s eye quickly—though Darra would send her word. But a letter from me directed straight to my mother’s hand would be better. I thought of my mother, of her face when a letter came to her from me, and my throat closed so that I could not say anything else. I had to look away and swallow hard to avoid embarrassing myself.

  Lord Aras said in surprise, “You would write your mother rather than your father?” Then he said, gently, “Of course you may write, Ryo. Please don’t describe anything of military importance, but you may tell her that I value you highly. Write at once, if you wish, while I put the finishing touches on my letter to your king.”

  I had collected myself a little by that time, so I managed to say in a level voice, “Thank you, my lord.” I moved toward the table, looking for the ink and a stylus.

  I did not write very much. Only a few lines. If I had thought for the entire day and the entire night, I could not have thought of words to describe Lord Aras, or the Lau, or the peculiarities of my life now. In the end, I put down first what I had already said to Hokino: that Lord Aras was a generous man, that he had no taste for torture, that he had found a different use for a tuyo left for him.

  I wrote that the Lau were a generous people. I did not write that soldiers accompanied me everywhere to be sure their people did not forget that they were supposed to be generous. I wrote that the summer country was beautiful and that no snow fell at all. I did not write that I longed for a cold northern wind and the quiet of the forest.

  I wrote that I thought of her often, and of my sisters. But I did not promise that I would write again. I did not promise that I would ever return to her tent.

  When I was finished, I took one of the stiff leather envelopes the Lau use for important letters. I slipped my letter into the envelope and wound the thread around the spool to close it. Then I said to Hokino, “From Lord Aras, there is the letter to our king. From me, there is a letter for my mother. Though our peoples are enemies, I ask you to do me the kindness to carry my letter as well as the one from the warleader.”

  “I will give it to my wife; into her very hands,” he promised me. “She will make certain your letter goes to your mother.” He took the envelope and bowed one more time, saying, “To the Lau warleader, I swear before the gods that I will see that the Lau warleader’s letter comes to Koro inKarano. To you, Ryo inGara, I say that I will ask my wife to add a note for Marag inGara, explaining that I encountered you here and that I found you an honorable and honest young warrior.”

  It was impossible to answer this. I could only bow.

  He stood up then, and went out of the tent. His wrists were still bound, but his back was straight and his head high. A very proud man. I was glad I would not see him put to death by the Lau.

  I said to Lord Aras, “I would like to go to walk in the breeze. Perhaps along the stream. But perhaps you will wish me to stay close.”

  He waved me away. “Go, go. If I need you again, I’ll send for you. But I don’t believe the inKera will give me trouble. The headman of Kosa Sen probably will, when I tell him I plan to take all these Ugaro away with me tomorrow, rather than putting them to death in a public spectacle.” He sighed. “I suppose I’d better ride over to Kosa Sen and talk to him. But that’s my problem, not yours.” He gave me a searching look. “You did well,” he told me quietly. “The gods were extraordinarily kind to set you into my hands. I hope you’ll think so too, eventually, if perhaps not yet.” Then he cleared his throat and added briskly, “Eat something.” He glanced at my guards. “Troop Leader Geras, see that these young men all get something to eat.”

  “Not a problem, my lord,” Geras said promptly, and nodded that we could go where I wished.

  We collected some of the meat-filled rolls the Lau like for the midday meal before we walked across the fields to the stream. I sat in the shade of an apple tree, eating my roll and dabbling my fingers in the cool water.

  My guards sat in the sunlight, for to them the breeze that came across the fields was uncomfortably cool. They all wore the light coats the Lau liked to wear in the borderlands. To me, the day seemed fine, if too warm. The sky here in the summer country seemed higher and brighter than the sky in the winter lands. Though the Sun was still high above the western edge of the world, his wife had already stepped into the sky. She showed more of her face than she had the previous night. Perhaps she had noticed that some of her people were here, in the summer lands. As a mother’s attention is drawn toward a child who is in danger, so the Moon might look first toward those of her people who were out of place and in peril ...

  Then I thought suddenly, How did Lord Aras know I meant to write to my mother and not my father?

  -10-

  It had not struck me till that moment. I was not even certain until I managed to settle my thoughts enough to be sure. I had said, Would you permit me to write to my own people? And he had said, obviously surprised, You would write your mother rather than your father?

  Cold ran through me. Lord Aras had not understood that of course I would not be able to send a letter to my father; the warleader of an enemy tribe would never have carried such a letter for me. He had not understood that a letter to my mother was different, that Hokino’s wife would send that kind of letter in the way women manage such things when tribes are enemies. He could not have guessed something he did not even understand. But he had known it. I could see that as soon as I remembered what I had said and what he had answered.

  He had taken the thought from my mind. He was a sorcerer.

  It could not be so. But it was so. Certainty came to me so fast and hard that I knew I had guessed it before, and denied it to myself, and not even known the thought had come into my mind and been put down.

  Except maybe he had made me forget. Sorcerers could make a man forget things that had happened, or remember things that had not happened.

  When he next came near me, he must see at once that I knew. Would he take the knowledge from my mind, make me forget? Maybe he had done it before. Maybe he did it every day while I sat at his table and ate his food. Maybe every night he looked through my memories while I dreamed, deciding which I might keep and which he would take away.

  Revulsion shook me. Jumping to my feet, I took three or four hurried steps away, fell to my knees, and vomited up everything I had eaten.

  Geras exclaimed, and Suyet stood up quickly. Even Esau sat up in obvious concern.

  “Bad meat?” Suyet came to set a hand on my shoulder and help me to my feet. “I feel all right. Geras, how do you feel?”

  “I don’t think it was the meat,” Geras said quietly. “I think maybe it’s been a hard day, for an Ugaro held by an oath to Lord Gaur.”

  “Oh!” Suyet looked at me with concern. “I didn’t—I forgot—” he stopped in confusion, because of course there was no way to finish that sentence. He meant he had forgotten I was Ugaro, which was absurd. But what he really meant was that he had forgotten such a thing might matter. I liked him for i
t.

  Then I realized Lord Aras might have made me like my guards because it was easier to make me do as he wished if I thought they were friends. Maybe he had made them think they were my friends. Somehow that seemed even worse. I jerked away from Suyet, gagging again.

  He said, “Ryo?” and put a hand out toward me, anxious. But I could not bear for him to touch me and waved him back, saying quickly, “I will be better soon, but, Geras, may we go back to the camp? I wish to lie down.”

  He agreed, of course, and they went with me back toward the rows of tents. I tried hard to think how to escape my guards’ attention, how to slip away from the camp, but I could think of no way to do it. Yet I had to get away before Lord Aras returned from Kosa Sen.

  A thought struck me then, and I changed my direction. I could never slip away from the tent I shared with Esau and his file. Those soldiers were too experienced and watchful, and the tent was in the middle of the camp. But Lord Aras had set his tent at the edge of the camp, a little way from everyone else.

  “He’s not here, mind,” Geras reminded me when he saw where I meant to go. “He went to Kosa Sen. Don’t you want to lie down? Your color looks bad to me, not that I’ve had much experience with sickness in your people. I could get a physician—unless,” he added shrewdly, “the problem is actually something that Ugaro warrior told you, all that time you were talking to him. Something struck you suddenly?”

  I seized on this suggestion, which was all the better because it was almost true. I turned to face him. “The inKera warleader did say something that upset me, regarding a young woman of the inKarano,” I told him. “I did not realize at first what kind of problem Hokino inKera meant, but now I understand what he did not say. I am sorry, but I do not want to talk about this. I should write to her. I will write now.”

  Suyet, his eyes wide, was clearly thinking of many different things Hokino inKera might have said to me. Esau raised an eyebrow, not persuaded—he was hard to fool; I already knew that. But there could be no difficulty with letting me write a letter, or if there were a problem, it was for Lord Aras to say so, not my guards. Geras said, “That’s fine, Ryo. I’m sure Lord Gaur will be back soon.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I will write to this inKarano woman and I will wait for Lord Aras to come. I do not care how long. You do not need to stay with me. I would prefer to be alone.” Turning, I went into the tent. The sides of the tent had been let down already against the approaching evening. I pegged the entry shut. Then I sat down at the table and found paper, and wrote words. I wrote in taksu. I wrote nonsense, pieces of the tales Ugaro mothers tell their children, anything, only so anyone who looked would see I was writing. But no one looked in. I thought mostly about the distance between the camp and Kosa Sen, about how long it might take Lord Aras to return. The moment the Sun stepped below the edge of the world—even before that moment—I shifted quietly from the chair to the side of the tent opposite the camp. There I quickly cut a long slit in the canvas, just above the floor, with the knife Lord Aras had given me. I dropped the knife on the floor, where Lord Aras would see it. Then I slid out of the tent, came to my feet, and walked away, not too fast.

  No one called out. I had known I could not walk away without being seen at all, but the dangerous moment was already behind me. The soldiers were busy, and they knew I was Lord Gaur’s Ugaro. They might wonder why I was not accompanied by my guards, but after so many days everyone had grown accustomed to me. I walked openly past one group of women who had come down to the stream to get water. They looked at me, but the women of the camp had learned not to be afraid of me, and they thought I had permission to be where I was and to go wherever I was going. When I nodded to them, they were reassured, nodding in return before going about their tasks.

  Then I was past them, and walking along the stream, through the long shadows of dusk. At first I walked as though I did not mind if anyone saw me, but as soon as I felt I could do it, I dropped low and slid into the gathering dusk, heading neither along the stream nor north, but almost due south, where the land humped up into low hills. Farms spread out everywhere in this country, and I hoped that rougher land might offer less chance of an encounter with a Lau farmer or herdsman.

  After a time, I heard a shout behind me. Someone might have been calling my name, but the sound was too distant for me to know for certain. As dusk deepened to night and the little stars came out to join the Moon, I stood up and began to run.

  Surely that I could do this proved he could not force me to obey him. Surely he had not put sorcery into my mind. Or if he had, I was too far away now for his leash to tighten. I felt nothing, or nothing I could recognize as that kind of sorcery. But I did not feel safe and I could not think clearly about anything that had happened.

  I pushed myself, taking a pace that I would not be able to hold for very long in the oppressive warmth of the summer country. It was all pastures here, and sparse woodlots, and occasional fields now filled with harvest stubble. I collected a double handful of grain from stems the harvest had missed and skirted the edge of an orchard to pick a few late apples. I still did not feel I could eat anything, but I knew later I would be hungry.

  I did not know how much distance I needed to put between us before Lord Aras would not be able to find me. In some tales, a sorcerer was unable to see a man’s thoughts unless he was close, within one bowshot or less. But in others, he might do so from farther: two bowshots, or four, or twenty. I knew I would not begin to feel safe until I had gone a long way, at least twenty bowshots. Twice twenty would be better.

  When I finally heard horses behind me, I was both cautiously pleased and nervous. They were not coming so fast I thought a sorcerer could be there, telling them where to go; they moved slowly, like men searching but not expecting to find the quarry they sought. I dropped to the earth and lay still.

  I was sure the riders were experienced, careful men. But they were Lau, unable to see well in the dark. My only fear was that Lord Aras might be with them, and I thought this was surely not likely. I feared it anyway until they went past without slowing or turning. Then I knew I was safe from them. I let them go until they were the right distance ahead—enough that I could see them, but they would not be able to see me. Then I ran hard to get directly behind them.

  I followed those Lau for a long time so that I could be sure I knew where this patrol was and that no other would come up behind me. If any farmers or herdsmen looked this way, they would see those riders against the sky and would not look for an Ugaro behind them; riders draw the eye in a way that a man on foot does not. By this time, too, I had rubbed earth on my hands and face so that I would be harder still to see and recognize.

  The patrol rode mostly west and a little south, skirting farms and villages. I had no objection to that route and followed them until they turned in a wide arc to ride back toward Kosa Sen. Then I dropped down again, waiting for them to ride past me. Once they were gone, I got up and went on, still west but now also north. I knew that I must have traveled at least twice twenty bowshots. I should be safe from sorcery, but soon I would be in more danger from ordinary Lau. When the short night of the summer lands passed, I would certainly be seen unless I found a place to hide.

  I looked for such a place. I did not want to come too near a farm or village, but finally I found a wide creek running through a narrow strip of woodlands. I picked my way down the bank at a place too steep for cattle to come there, and then along the gravel and through the shallow water. I peered carefully into every deep shadow and every tangle of roots, until I found a place cut sharply into the hillside by the water when the creek had run faster and higher than it ran now. The place had gravel below and tangled roots above. It was not high enough for me to stand up, but I could sit or lie down and it would be impossible for anyone to see me unless they went out into the middle of the little river and looked from exactly the right direction.

  Here, I finally began to feel that I might be safe.

  I was hungry now, b
ut the thought of food still made me feel sick. For this moment, I was content just to rest. I lay down on the dry gravel, trailed my fingers in the water, and at last began to put my thoughts in order.

  Was I certain that Lord Aras was a sorcerer? Was I certain I had not broken my oath for nothing, for a child’s foolish imagining? Now that I could be quiet and think, I went back and thought carefully and slowly of everything he had said to me and everything I had seen him do.

  No, I was right.

  I should have guessed immediately. How many times had Lord Aras answered a thought I had not spoken? Not only the times I had thought of already. From the beginning, he had done it. When I had felt myself unable to keep my feet, he had asked, Do you need to sit down? When I had attacked him and broken his ribs, he had said, I am sorry I frightened you.

  He had lied to me. He had said he was not a sorcerer ... but then I thought about that more carefully. I thought about exactly what he had said, and realized he had never actually said that. He had said, I am a very minor magician, and sorcery is something very different from ordinary magic. He had said, Sorcery is illegal among my people too. But he had never said, I am not a sorcerer.

  An ordinary man would have said exactly that. He had not, and I had not noticed. Had he used sorcery to make me so stupid I did not notice?—No, that made no sense. If he could do such a thing, he could do anything and I would never notice or protest. I had been stupid without any help from him. I had wanted to trust him.