Tuyo

by Neumeier, Rachel

  The skies were grey and heavy as we rode south, away from the river once more, hardly a day after returning to it. I did not look back toward the north. Neither did Geras, though he had left his wife. I wondered whether Aedani felt more fear when her husband rode toward battle than a talon wife like Lalani who cared for a whole file of soldiers. That was the sort of question more suitable for a woman to ask another woman. Probably I would never ask it.

  We rode across fields because it was the shortest way to the good road that ran south. The hooves of the horses thudded on soft soil, kicking up the scents of mud and damp grass. It began to rain in earnest before we had gone six bowshots. The rain seemed only to make the air heavier, not cooler. I lowered my head to keep the water from dripping into my eyes, wishing for snow, and the cold wind, and my own people around me.

  I knew where my family would be. My father and my brother and our warriors would be somewhere in the southern forest, watching for Lau incursions and planning the kinds of raids that would not bring our warriors against talons belonging to Lord Aras. My mother and my sisters and the other women would have gone north, beyond the Little Knife, perhaps all the way to the edge of the northern forest, where the trees become small and sparse. Perhaps they had gone into the wide, windy steppe that stretches away to the north as far as the eye can see.

  From the edge of the forest, two great mountains in the distance, the Fangs of the North, would be visible only as a hint of a shadow far, far across the steppe. They are the tallest mountains in the world. Below them and between them, snow falls more lightly, for the mountains capture most of the snow high above. When the cold deepens, we inGara and our closest allies bring our cattle to shelter there in the lee of the mountains. Our tombs are there as well, built of stone, above and behind the long shelters we build for our cattle. The skulls of our dead rest there forever, watching over our cattle and our camps and our land. That is a place no Lau has ever seen.

  I bent my head low against the rain and wondered if I would ever see the tombs of my people again.

  The heat grew worse astonishingly fast as we rode south. It rained for three miserable days and nights. Then, as we left the borderlands, where the winds from the north moderate the temperatures, the clouds finally broke and blew away. At first I was glad of that, but then the Sun poured down his full strength and I changed my mind. I had not known sunlight could come down like that, like the weight of the whole sky. The Lau opened the laces of their shirts and took off the sleeves and rode along cheerfully as though the heat were pleasant instead of oppressive. The ferocity of the Sun only burnished their dark skin to a richer shade.

  “It’ll get warmer,” Geras warned me one evening. He was worried. “The country is drier and more open the farther south we go, until we get up into the mountains.”

  “I have no doubt of it,” I answered. I was already wearing the lightest clothing the Lau made. “I can endure it. I will not complain.”

  “I know you won’t, but tell me if you feel the heat too much.”

  “Yes,” I said, though I had no intention of grumbling when there was nothing he could do. “You Lau truly do not find this weather over-warm?”

  “It’s comfortable. It was chilly near the river.”

  I shook my head in disbelief.

  Geras chuckled, but he studied me with some concern. “Lord Aras wants to see you tonight, Ryo, if you’re not too tired. He knows you’re having some trouble with the heat.”

  But I was pleased, so much so that I almost forgot the heat. He had not sent for me for during these days. I knew that he had many more important concerns, but I had not liked being set at a distance.

  I found when I came to his tent that the sides had been rolled up. Later, as dusk deepened to night, they would be put down against insects. I would have left them up and endured the insects in return for the breeze, but the Lau felt differently.

  “I know it’s warm for you,” Lord Aras said to me first, gesturing for me to sit. He looked at me with concern, adding, “It will get warmer, especially when we leave the woods for more open country. Tell Geras, or any of your guards, if you feel the heat too much.”

  “Yes,” I said patiently. I sat down on the floor of the tent. No one now carried chairs or other furniture; even Lord Aras sat on the floor, not very comfortably. I, at least, did not mind the lack, as I had never become accustomed to Lau chairs. I said, to deflect my thoughts from things I did not want him to see, “I have been teaching Suyet taksu. He is quick to learn it.”

  He smiled. “Yes, Nikoles has his eye on him for promotion if he comes along well. I imagine he will; he’s intelligent and industrious, and brave enough. He has no serious faults except youth, and time generally corrects that one. I’m delighted he’s learning taksu. That may well be useful, especially as Nikoles hates to speak it ... ah.”

  He had not meant to say that to me. I said stiffly, “I am already avoiding Talon Commander Ianan when I can. Now I will do so more assiduously. I would not wish to offend him by suggesting he should speak to me in any language.”

  “Ryo . . .” Lord Aras sighed. “I put that badly. Please don’t think ill of Nikoles, who has reason to feel as he does. He’s been making a considerable effort to set that aside, with commendable success, most of the time.”

  “What reasons?” I demanded.

  “I can’t tell you more than I have, Ryo. I really can’t talk to you about another person’s private thoughts and feelings. Think how that would be.”

  Immediately I saw that he was right. I bowed low in apology.

  “You’ve had no reason to think of such matters, of course. Long ago I found it necessary to swear the strongest possible vow to that effect—”

  “To your uncle?” I thought I could understand this. Of course a king would require such a vow from a sorcerous boy who might come near him.

  “Let us say that my uncle was instrumental in causing me to recognize the necessity,” he said, his tone mild.

  I blinked, startled by what I thought Lord Aras must mean. “Your uncle tried to make you tell him—?” This was an appalling thought.

  “Not precisely. No. That was exactly what I thought. He made me believe it, but it wasn’t true. He wanted, in fact, to be certain I wouldn’t. I did not, of course, realize that. He had by then learned to lie to me, and he ... let’s say he went to some trouble over it.”

  “So you swore an oath you would not answer such questions, so that he would stop pressing you.”

  “Yes, exactly. The man was not someone I liked: he was an overbearing man, a political enemy of my uncle’s and a personal enemy of my mother’s. But my mother had taught me to keep private things private. So I made that vow, so my uncle would stop demanding I tell him what I had seen in the man’s thoughts. Except he didn’t stop.” He smiled faintly.

  I stared at him. “He made you believe he would force you to break your oath? This amuses you?”

  “Now, in a way, yes. At the time, not remotely.” The smile grew reminiscent. “I ought to have realized he was putting on a show, but he was very convincing and I was very young. And he’d gotten a Lakasha to help him hide his thoughts from me.”

  “You gave him a proud reply.” I knew it was true. “How old were you?”

  “Thirteen. Boys that age are often ready to swear great vows and strike noble poses. Quite sincerely, of course. Yes, I gave him a very proud reply, though I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to hold to it.”

  “What had he threatened?”

  Lord Aras shrugged. “Oh, this and that. He had to be certain, so he made the trial as hard as he could. Don’t be angry, Ryo.”

  “I think someone should be angry on behalf of that boy.”

  “No,” he said gently. “You see, I had to be certain too. If he hadn’t tried as hard as he could to make me fail, how could I have known I would stand the test? Truly powerful sorcerers are so very dangerous, Ryo. Hence the current situation. I forgave him when I realized that in his p
lace, I would have done exactly the same.”

  I should not have been surprised. I had forgotten he was ruthless as well as generous. I remembered it now. I thought now I understood who had helped form that part of his character.

  “Well, you’re not wrong, but a king needs to be ruthless. I came to understand that too, not so much later.” His gaze sharpened. “I think that is more than enough about me. Ryo, I haven’t had much time for you lately, and I know you have been unhappy—”

  I cursed inwardly, and he paused. Then he said, “I mean, I guessed you might be unhappy. Under the circumstance, it didn’t take sorcery.”

  To turn the subject, I asked, “What will you do to defeat this other sorcerer? Why do you think he will not defeat you instead?”

  “Well, Ryo, I expect that the primary difference between this sorcerer and the others I’ve encountered isn’t sorcerous power, but noble birth. Or perhaps I should say, the apparent scope of this sorcerer’s ambition and political perspicacity lead me to guess he is also probably of noble birth. But I have ... I don’t think I had better say any more.”

  I did not know the word perspicacity, but it seemed clear from the context. The reason he felt he could not speak further took me a longer moment because I did not like the thought that occurred to me.

  “Yes, I hope discretion will prove unimportant, but I do think it’s wisest to say as little as possible about certain things. The only mind I’m certain a sorcerer can’t look into is mine. I’ve never met any Lau sorcerer close to my own strength. I doubt this one will be an exception.”

  I said, “You told Talon Commander Harana that you had done something to shield his mind. Could you not do that for me as well? I would permit it. I believe I would permit it.”

  “Ryo . . .” he paused. Then he said, “I’m glad to hear you say so. I have in fact already done what I can along those lines for everyone in my company, and yes, for you as well. It’s one of the few things I can do to an ordinary person without asking permission. With every oath I’ve sworn, I’ve left myself that freedom. But the protection I can give you is not, unfortunately, remotely infallible. Under certain circumstances, even a weaker sorcerer than I could break through that shield. Please try not to worry. We’ll make every effort not to give our enemy the time or leisure to do anything of the kind.”

  I understood his words, but I was not nearly as worried about the possibility as I might have been. I was too distracted by trying to feel the thing he had done to me, the shield he had put in my mind. I could not feel anything at all different. The earlier fear came back to me in a sickening wave: the fear that he might do something terrible to me and I would never know it.

  Lord Aras drew a long, slow breath. His expression hardly changed at all. But I saw it. I tried hard to put the fear away. I had said he could do it. I had wished him to do it. I was being completely unreasonable. I asked, “What else does your oath allow you to do without asking permission?”

  Another slow breath. Then he said steadily, “I can clear another sorcerer’s influence out of anyone’s mind and heart. I never swore to ask permission for that.”

  So. I could see no possible way to object to that. I would be a fool to object to the protection he had put into my mind. I should be far more concerned about his warning that the other sorcerer might break the shield he had given me. I was far more concerned about that.

  “If you need time, Ryo—”

  “No,” I said. I fixed my gaze on the floor of the tent. “I know the way I feel is not reasonable.”

  “It’s perfectly natural. I’m sorry; I knew it would be hard for you, but I could not leave you unprotected. I actually hoped to ask you to permit something significantly harder. Now I’m not certain I should ask.”

  I still could not bring myself to look at him. I said stiffly, “Ask what you wish.”

  He sighed. “Very well. I asked you some time ago whether you might permit me to put a false memory into your mind, so that I could show you how to recognize that kind of memory. I’d still like to do that. It’s another layer of protection.”

  I knew I should be grateful for any protection he could possibly give me. He would not do anything to hurt me. I believed that. I did believe it. Even so, I did not want to say yes.

  I said, “Now I need time.” Then for a little while I concentrated on breathing. On relaxing the muscles of my face, my shoulders and back, my arms and hands. On letting go of fear. Lord Aras waited. He did not move or speak. He was always patient. I had learned to trust that he would be. I did trust that.

  Finally, when I felt calm enough, I met his eyes. “You may do this,” I told him.

  The set of his mouth eased, and he smiled. “Good,” he said warmly. “Very good. Thank you, Ryo. Please try not to worry. This will be a little unpleasant, but not nearly as unpleasant as you’re imagining, and not for long. I’ll give you a false memory you won’t like, so you’ll be glad to reject it.”

  I tried to brace myself.

  I felt him do it. It was very strange. I felt my memory change, but then I could not remember what he had done. I frowned. I knew he had set a false memory into my mind, but everything I remembered seemed real and true to me.

  “It will come to you,” he promised. “While you think about that, I would like to discuss another matter that has come to my attention.” He looked at me with obvious concern. “I was disturbed to hear of your fight with Geras. I thought the two of you had become friends. Which of you deserves a reprimand for that?”

  Heat rose into my face. I had almost put that out of my mind. I had hoped he had not heard of that yet and would not learn of it tonight, though I had known he would find it out eventually. I said, “You know the fault was mine, my lord. When has Geras been at fault for anything? I deserve punishment for it, but he does not.”

  “Yet he hit you first. Is that not correct? Whatever you said to him, that’s not acceptable in a man of his rank and age. I think I have no choice but to punish him for it. What could you possibly have said or done to provoke him to do such a thing?”

  I hesitated. Though I remembered Geras’ anger and my own, I could not recall precisely why either of us had been so angry. I was beginning to get angry again now. I said, “I must have—I think—what does it matter? I said something he took as insulting, and I was too impatient from the heat to apologize. The fault was mine, not his, and I will beg his pardon for it.”

  “I don’t believe you need to. It was a hard blow you took; I think he’s the one who should beg your pardon. Your jaw must still hurt. You’re lucky he didn’t break it. You Ugaro have robust bones, of course.”

  I was lucky. But, oddly, my jaw did not hurt at all. I rubbed the place, feeling with my tongue for the loose teeth and the cut place inside my cheek. But there was no pain at all. I said, “He did not hit me as hard as it seemed.”

  He watched me, waiting. I was not certain what he wanted. I had already admitted fault. My face was still hot with shame. Men may certainly quarrel and fight, but men of good sense should not fight a friend over something so stupid.

  “Ryo,” he said. “What did you say that Geras took so badly?”

  I rubbed my forehead, frowning. What had I said? It had been something very bad, or he would not have hit me ... my breath caught. I looked up. “I cannot remember what began that fight. I should remember. But I do not.” I could hardly believe this. I rubbed my jaw again, prodding for pain that was not there. “This is ... it did not happen? But I remember it!”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “That’s how it is.” His expression was very serious. “A sorcerer can’t create perfect memories. Of course true memory can fail as well, but it’s not the same. Where a false memory begins and ends, there will be things that don’t make sense. Why doesn’t your jaw hurt where he hit you?”

  “He did not hit me as hard as ... he did not hit me?” Even now, I could hardly believe this. I rubbed my jaw again. I had to believe it. “You said it would be a memory I would not
like. I should have understood at once. But it seems real even now. It did not happen?”

  “The true memory is still there, underneath the false. Think about the things that don’t make sense. Try that tonight, Ryo, and tomorrow let’s see if you’ve recovered your true memory. Beneath what you think you know, your mind knows the truth. Trust yourself to reject whatever’s false and keep whatever’s true.” He hesitated, began to say something else, stopped, and looked at me carefully.

  “I said you could do it. Why should I be angry?”

  He smiled, but he still hesitated. “You may be angry later. Most people are. It’s a frightening thing, even if you gave me permission to do it. It’s not—I won’t be offended if you’re angry, later.”

  He would not be offended if I were angry. But he would be hurt if I were afraid. I had already hurt him that way this evening.

  He looked away, his mouth tightening. Then he looked back and met my eyes. “I don’t blame people for being afraid.”

  “No,” I agreed. “Not setting the fault against a man is different from not being hurt. I was afraid, but I know that was not reasonable. Perhaps I will be angry, but I will know that is not reasonable either. I am glad to see what this kind of sorcery is like. May I go? I wish to think.” At his nod, I got to my feet and stood for a moment looking down at him. He tipped his head back to watch my face. Then he bowed his head, as my people do, to show regret or apology.

  “That is not at all required,” I told him. “You asked my leave to do it. I gave it.”

  “I pressured you into it. If you hadn’t agreed, I would have asked again, until you gave permission.”

  I thought that this time he was not being at all reasonable. “Did you make me agree?” I asked him. “Was that sorcery?”

  “No, of course not—”

  “Then the decision was mine, not yours. Do not take more than your due.”

  His mouth crooked. “All right. Thank you, Ryo.”