Tuyo

by Neumeier, Rachel

“When you send for me tomorrow, I will not be afraid to come,” I told him, and went out.

  -16-

  The next day, as midmorning approached, we turned off the road and cut across open country, south and east. The woods grew thinner and then thinner again and then disappeared entirely, replaced by grasslands, like the steppe but more rolling. Great trees stood scattered here and there, each alone, lifting enormous branches to the sky.

  “Oak savannah,” Geras told me. “It’s mostly oak savannah in this part of the summer lands. Acacia savannah farther south, even drier, but we won’t go nearly that far. We’ll turn when we come to the edge of the Peacock Desert. Now, that will amaze you. It did me, the first time I saw it. Still does. But it’ll be hot.”

  “Yes,” I said as patiently as I could. I was weary of people mentioning the heat or casting me worried looks. I was making a point of riding with my back straight, pretending the heat did not trouble me.

  All day I had found myself touching the inside of my cheek with my tongue, pressing against the teeth that were not loose. The memory of the fight had become less believable to me, though I could not yet find the memory beneath it. It was very strange to remember something I knew was not true.

  “Tell me if the heat bothers you too much,” Geras said.

  I answered, “If you say that to me again, I will probably hit you, and then think of the explanations we will be making to Lord Aras.”

  Geras laughed.

  The heat did trouble me as noon came, and grew worse still as the afternoon wore past. I did not admit it. The land was beautiful: wide and empty as the sky, but it seemed to shimmer in the heat. The grasses were not like steppe grasses, but much taller, tawny or dusty green or almost blue. Many flowers grew scattered among the grasses. The high north flowers abundantly during the brief warm season, but none of the flowers here were the same as those. I thought I might ask one of my guards about the kinds of flowers, but the heat made me tired and irritable and I did not bother to ask. A slow, pounding pain had grown in my head. I concentrated on riding with my back straight and showing nothing of my growing misery.

  I had not believed the heat could grow worse, but it did. Or the pounding of my head grew worse; it seemed to me the heat and the pounding both pulsed in time with my heart. The light began to brighten and dim in the same rapid rhythm. Someone riding near me, I think Suyet, said something to me, but I looked at him in confusion because I could not understand him. Then I leaned over the shoulder of my horse and vomited.

  For a long, confused time after that, I did not remember very much. There was a time when I was lying on the ground, in the shade, but the earth was hot beneath me. There was a time when I was lying in a wagon or cart. There was a time when someone was holding me down while I struggled to get up. I realized I was fighting Geras and stopped, bewildered. I said, “I am sorry. What did I say? I did not mean to offend you.”

  “Ryo, you—” he began, but then he shook his head. “It’s not your fault. Drink this. Can you drink it?”

  It was water, with honey and salt. I tried to drink it, but it made my stomach heave.

  It was dark, but still far too warm. Then it was brighter, and very hot. Then it was dark again. I hardly knew anything. I think I asked for Lord Aras, but he did not come. I think Geras told me that Lord Aras had ridden ahead, but later I think I asked again, like a child who does not understand anything except what he wants to be true.

  Someone put a cup into my hand, but the smell was like burnt clay, only much more unpleasant. I pushed it away, and someone took my arm in a hard grip and tried to make me drink. I recognized him then, and it was Ianan. I recoiled violently, striking his hand away, sending the cup spinning in a spray of brown liquid. I tried to get up, reaching for my knife, but I was too weak and fell back, helpless.

  Then Suyet was there, holding my arms, telling me to be still, be still, be still. Everything confused me. I let him push me down.

  It was brighter again, and hotter. Lord Aras was there. He put the cup into my hands and ordered me to drink, so I obeyed him. The tisane tasted appalling, but he gave me water with honey afterward to take the taste out of my mouth. That made me feel better, or maybe his presence did. I closed my eyes. Someone put wet cloths over my eyes and on my chest and that helped a little.

  I thought I was sick in my mother’s tent, burning with fever. But my mother was not there when I looked for her. Laraut was there. I turned my face away and closed my eyes, but he made me drink some of the bitter tisane. I wanted to refuse, but I was weak and unhappy and he would not give way, so I drank it.

  I woke. It was hot, but my mind was clear. All my thoughts seemed to come slowly and at a distance, but they were my thoughts and I recognized them. I knew that I had been sick, and I knew where I was: in the summer lands, with the Lau, looking for the sorcerer who was our enemy. Or we should have been looking for that sorcerer. Except I had been sick. I did not know for how long. It seemed a long time. Maybe it had not been as long as it seemed.

  Someone was near me; I heard him breathing. I turned my head and it was Ianan. He was reclining with one leg drawn up and the other out straight, leaning his weight on his elbow. He did not move when I looked at him, only said quietly, “You look much better.”

  I turned my head away again and closed my eyes.

  “Your friends are tired from caring for you,” he told me, still quietly. “You need to drink more of this medicine. Will you let me help you sit up, or should I call Suyet?”

  I said, “I do not need help,” and began to struggle upright. The effort took a shamefully long time. Ianan did not touch me, but he moved a cushion so that I could lean against it. I pretended I did not notice because I could not have managed without that much help.

  Once I was sitting, he said, “Aras is asleep. He needs the rest. I can call him if necessary, or you can drink this and let him sleep.” Then he put the cup into my hands, steadying it for me when my hands trembled.

  I wanted to make Ianan call Lord Aras. Obviously that would have been unforgivably childish. I drank the bitter liquid. When Ianan gave me water with honey and salt, I said, trying not to sound sullen, “I would prefer plain water.”

  “Plain water isn’t good for the heat sickness. Drink this.”

  Or he would threaten to call Lord Aras. I understood that. I drank what he had given me. Then I leaned my head back against the cushions and closed my eyes. I felt weak and ashamed and very sorry for myself. “You should go,” I told him. “You must have many tasks waiting for your attention. I do not need your help.”

  Ianan did not move. He said, “Fourteen years ago, a long way to the west of here, some Lau crossed the river and began cutting timber without permission. Ugaro killed them all, cut off their heads, put the heads in a net, and hung the net in a tree. I was a commander at the time, under the authority of the lord of that county. I helped bring those heads back to the summer lands and set them out so their families could identify them and lay them to rest in the town’s ossuary. There were thirty-two heads. The lord of the county led a punitive expedition into the winter lands. My division was included. We found a small group of Ugaro warriors. Young men, your age. We brought them back to the summer lands, paraded them down the main street, pilloried them, and cut their throats. I knew some taksu. I knew those young men hadn’t been involved in the trouble about the timber; I knew they were from a different tribe. I was so angry about what had happened that I didn’t speak up on their behalf.” He paused.

  I did not open my eyes, but I was listening. I knew the tale; everyone knew it. But I did not know it the way he told it. I had never thought of it as it would have seemed to the Lau.

  Talon Commander Ianan went on, speaking calmly, without emphasis. “All this caused trouble between three different Ugaro tribes and the towns in that part of the borderlands. Fortunately, Aras came to sort it out. The lord paid a significant reparation to those tribes. After the whole mess was settled, I resigned my command
, went to Aras, and confessed what I’d done. He asked what I thought would have happened differently if I’d protested. I said only the gods can know what might have happened, but the blood of those young men was on my hands as much as anyone’s. He asked what punishment I thought I deserved. I said I should be pilloried and my throat should be cut. He asked what good I thought that would do. I said it would be just. He asked if justice was the highest end I could think of. I said it was. He asked if I would accept his judgment in the matter. I said I would.”

  I finally looked at him.

  He met my eyes. “Every time I look at you, I’m reminded of all that and ashamed all over again. It’s nothing to do with you personally.”

  I said, “I know the story. I did not know Lord Aras was part of it.”

  “Officially, the lord of that county was the one who worked it out. That was important for various complicated political reasons.”

  “Even if those young warriors had been the ones to kill the Lau who cut the timber, your people would have been wrong to fault them for it. Cutting timber without the consent of the tribe is not permitted.”

  “I know that.”

  “What does it mean, to be pilloried?”

  “Literally, bound between two posts. In this context, bound and whipped to death. Cutting the throat is a customary mercy. In this case, the knife wasn’t used as soon as it should have been because the warriors were too stoic and people were too angry.”

  This was far too easy to imagine. “You said that should be done to you.”

  “It would have been just.”

  “Did you believe Lord Aras would put you to death in that way?”

  “I had no idea what he would do.”

  I studied him. He looked back, as calm as ever. I asked, “How old were you then?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  I thought about this. Finally I said, “You would not make that kind of mistake now.”

  “No. Some other kind of mistake, possibly. I shouldn’t have allowed you to realize how I felt. That was inexcusable carelessness. I apologize.” He added in taksu, “I will take your blow for it, if you wish.” His accent was not bad. It was a little like the way people speak in the west.

  I answered him in darau. “The fault was too small to require notice. I was wrong to take offense. Thank you for explaining. You did not owe me the story.”

  “I think I did.” He stood up and went aside, then returned with a bowl of broth with meat and grain. “You should recover quickly. Most of your weakness now is lack of food. Will you let me help you?”

  I still did not like to, but I could not object. He knelt beside me, his manner completely matter-of-fact, and held the bowl for me. At least I was strong enough to hold the spoon. I had not realized I was hungry, but I ate it all. When I was finished, he helped me lie down again. “Go to sleep,” he told me. “We’ll move at dusk. You may be able to ride by then, which would be convenient, but don’t make yourself sick trying. We’ll carry you in a litter if we must.”

  I realized they might have done this before. I had not even known that much, but I remembered scattered impressions of movement. “How many days has it been?” I asked, suddenly feeling the question was urgent, though it had not occurred to me to ask before.

  “Since you collapsed? This is the afternoon of the third day. We’ve been resting from noon to dusk and riding at night. Fortunately the Moon’s been reasonably bright, even if she hasn’t shown us the round face she always shows in your country.”

  I was too surprised and upset even to think how much I missed the intensely luminous Moon of the winter country. “It has been three days?”

  “The heat sickness can be serious even for a Lau. We wouldn’t generally collapse that fast or at such moderate temperatures, but if we’re careless and don’t recognize the signs, we can die of it. We certainly thought you might die of it.”

  I stared at him. I had known from my weakness that I had been very sick, but I had not realized I had been that near to the land of the shades. I said finally, “I should thank you for your care. I do thank you. I think you have often been with me over these days.”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes you spoke while you were ill. Sometimes in darau. If you said certain things, better to me than to someone else. Go to sleep, Ryo.” He went out, leaving me alone. A wave of hot air came into the tent as he left it, showing me that someone had used cantrips to cool the air within. I had not realized because it still seemed so warm to me. But nothing, not my unease with Lau magic, not my surprise at the story the talon commander had told me, not my dismay at the knowledge I had been so sick, could have kept me awake.

  I woke some time later. The angle of the light was different; I could tell even from within the tent. Geras was sitting beside me. He was scowling at me.

  “Geras,” I said, or tried to say. My mouth was dry. Still scowling, he poured water for me and helped me sit up to drink it. This time it was plain water, not the kind with honey and salt. I thought I must be much better if he was giving me plain water. I drained the cup and then said, “Geras, I am sorry you were worried. You told me to tell you, but I did not understand.”

  His scowl deepened. “I was a fool not to realize you wouldn’t, and a worse fool not to recognize the heat sickness before you fell off your horse. I’ll take your apology and give you mine: I am very sorry I let you get into that condition—”

  “It was in no way your fault—”

  “It absolutely was.” He glared at me. “You nearly died!”

  “But I did not die,” I said reasonably. “I am perfectly well, except that you are shouting at me. Please do not. I would like to get up. I think I am strong enough. Is it nearly dusk? I should try to stand.”

  He made an exasperated sound, but he took my arm. I could stand, with his help, but I was embarrassed to find I needed to sit down again almost at once.

  “Food,” he told me. “Stay here. Stay down. If you get up and then collapse, I’ll give you something worse than heat sickness to worry about, hear me?”

  “Yes, Geras,” I answered, amused despite my deplorable condition and my worry.

  He brought me a bowl of grain and meat, and another cup of the bitter medicine. I made a face at that, which made him roll his eyes. “Drink it,” he ordered me. “It’ll help. Then eat. Go on, hurry up. Get some strength back in your blood. No one wants to carry a gods-hated litter in these hills, and you don’t want to ride in one.”

  I drank the tisane and began to eat the food. “We are in hills now?” I asked him.

  Before Geras could answer, Lord Aras put back the tent flap, ducked inside, straightened, gave me a swift, assessing look, and said, “You look much better. Very good. It’ll be a day or two before we reach hills worth the term. You might say we’re in the foothills of the foothills.”

  “I delayed you. I am—”

  “Don’t apologize, Ryo. I’m not angry with you, but I will be if you tell me you’re sorry you collapsed and nearly died because I was too stupid to realize you wouldn’t recognize the heat sickness.”

  “I should not be so weak. It was only heat.”

  “You aren’t made for it. How do you think a Lau would fare in the winter country, Ryo? It’s foolish to blame yourself for a nature you share with all Ugaro.”

  I knew he was right. But I said stubbornly, “I have delayed you. You have far more important concerns. You should have left me and gone on.”

  He answered me seriously. “I thought I might have to do that. But in fact we’ve made reasonably good time, though at the cost of extending your illness. You kept beginning to recover at night and then relapsing during the day. If you could have rested properly, I think you’d have been on your feet earlier than this. But I do think you’re past the worst of it. You shouldn’t be in danger again if we take any kind of reasonable care. I doubt you need me to list the signs off for you now, but headache, dizziness, and confusion are the first signs of the heat sickness. Tell Geras the m
oment you feel anything of the kind.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Drink plenty of water. Any time you feel thirsty, drink something. We’re a little short of water, but not that short. Will you be able to ride tonight?” He did not wait for me to answer, but turned to Geras. “Troop Leader Geras, will he be able to ride?”

  Geras answered, his tone a little stiff, “Maybe, my lord, but if he can’t, Laraut and I’ll take the litter.”

  That stiffness caught my attention and now I saw the way Geras turned his face a little aside rather than look directly at Lord Aras. That was not his normal manner. I thought of what Talon Commander Ianan had said to me. Sometimes you spoke. Sometimes in darau. I wondered what I might have said while Geras was with me. Enough that he might have put it together with other things and realized Lord Aras was, like our enemy, a powerful sorcerer? That seemed possible. I glanced at Lord Aras, but I could not tell anything from his manner.

  Then he said, “Good. I’ll leave the matter in your capable hands, Troop Leader. I’d like to be moving in half an hour. Is there any concern you’d like to discuss with me?” From that, I knew I was right.

  After an almost unnoticeable pause, Geras faced him and cleared his throat. “No,” he said. “No, my lord.”

  Lord Aras said in a polite, faintly questioning tone, “If you have any concerns, I hope that you’ll feel able to bring them to Talon Commander Ianan, if not to me.”

  Geras cleared his throat again. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good.” Lord Aras turned to me. “If at any point you feel the litter might be a better option than riding, say so. I’d like to see you much more fully recovered by dawn, so don’t push your strength too far and force yourself back into a collapse. That’s an order, Ryo, so pay attention to how you feel and ask for the litter if you need to.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but ducked out of the tent again, leaving me watching Geras.

  I could not ask him, Have you realized he is a sorcerer? Lord Aras had ordered me to keep his secrets and I did not know for certain Geras had guessed, though I thought so. I could not say, Do not be afraid of him, because even if I had been certain, that is not the kind of thing a young man can say to a man so much older. I said, “I thought he would be angry because I allowed myself to get that sick. But he is always patient and slow to anger.”