Tuyo

by Neumeier, Rachel

  Then I steadied myself, or tried to, and waited. When Aras set aside the bowl he had been holding and knelt facing me, I was able to meet his eyes.

  He said, “Ryo. Think of Etta. Think of what I did to her.”

  The memory leaped into my mind instantly, complete and terrible. The soldier dragging her to him, throwing her at his feet. Him, grabbing her, pulling her up, tearing the dress down her front while she struggled. She had been so terrified, she had fought so hard, he had hurt her so badly ... He had smiled at me when he cut her throat afterward . . .

  Suddenly I could see these were the edges of the memory, which was complete and distinctive in a way that no memory ever is complete. Like the hem around a blanket, the memory had boundaries. As I saw the border, the memory faded ... it did not become less clear. But it became transparent. Where that memory had filled my mind, now it was like ice coating a stone. I could see the stone clearly through the ice. When the ice melted, the stone would still be there, unchanged.

  “It was not real,” I said, in uttermost relief. “It never happened.” I had known that. But now I could believe it.

  “Lorellan has the most revolting mind,” Aras said tiredly. He rubbed his eyes, pressed his hands against his forehead, took a long, slow breath and let it out again. “I am so very glad you won’t be throwing that one at me any longer, Ryo.”

  “I—”

  “If you apologize, I’ll hit you, and then your sister will shoot me, so please don’t.”

  I laughed. It felt like I had not laughed for years. It hurt my throat. But it felt like moonlight coming into my heart.

  “Good,” Aras said, smiling. “That took a while, but it wasn’t as difficult I thought it might be. I think lifting just that one false memory out of your mind might unravel the rest, eventually. But we won’t wait to see. If you’ve got the strength to endure it, I’ll take another now, before we rest. Can you see how the edges of the false memories fray where they come against the true memory?”

  I could. I could see that. I remembered my younger brother struggling, dying, impaled through the belly, Geras laughing as he leaned on the spear. But at the same time, I remembered Geras speaking kindly to me. Both things seemed true, but one was false. I knew which. “Take it out,” I said, furious and sickened. “I cannot bear this. Take them all out, all those lies—”

  “Yes,” he said gently. “That one next.”

  My younger brother struggled, impaled through the belly ... The memory lifted and lightened and faded, transparent as ice. False. It had never happened. I remembered instead trying to kill Aras the first time, when I knew nothing at all about sorcery. I was glad to recover that memory, but I flinched with embarrassment.

  “It was a perfectly natural mistake for an Ugaro, Ryo. I think you showed admirable flexibility of mind.”

  “You were much too kind to me,” I told him. I had thought so then too. The true memories ran against the false, making me feel dizzy and exhausted, but I could tell the kindness I remembered was true.

  He smiled. “I think we both managed the incident fairly well, everything considered. You’re very tired. Go to sleep.”

  I did sleep. I did not wish to; I wanted all the lies gone immediately. But when I lay down, I slipped at once into the dark.

  I woke to find another false memory lifting, and another after that, until I saw beneath them. I remembered riding through the borderlands, my distress as the Lau took the inKera warriors on their raid. I remembered discovering that Aras was a sorcerer, how afraid I had been ... I remembered becoming sick from the heat ...

  “I was scornful because you cannot bear the cold,” I confessed.

  Aras smiled at me. “I know. I would have despised my own weakness, except that I remembered so clearly how you despised yours and how I told you that was foolish. We are each made for our own country, Ryo. Drink some water. Your voice is giving out. Stop trying to speak. Rest. Tomorrow I want to try to take out the memory of Garoyo’s death. That one is big and important. It’s feeding a great deal of confusion, but I think you’re less precarious now. If it’s too much, I’ll stop and take care of some of the smaller, less intense memories first.”

  “Take that one now,” I said, shuddering. “Even if it hurts me, take it out.”

  “Trust my judgment, Ryo. I’ll take it soon. I’ll take all the false memories back to where they begin, and then forward to where they end.”

  It took a long time. I did not know how long. Sometimes I came back to myself with a bowl in my hands and the taste of food in my mouth, or the taste of wild plums and honey mixed with snow. Sometimes I woke and it was dark; sometimes I came to myself and it was light. Sometimes Garoyo was present; sometimes he was absent. Sometimes Etta was present; sometimes she was absent. Always, when I looked for him, Aras was sitting across from me, watching me steadily.

  Then a time came when I looked down and Etta was curled against me, fast asleep. I did not know how I had come to this peaceful tent with my sister tucked against me, but the lack of memory did not trouble me. I put my hand on her hair, and she stirred in her sleep, but she did not wake.

  “Your memory is still settling,” Aras told me, his voice quiet. I looked up. He was there, as he had always been there. His voice was worn; he seemed unutterably weary. But when I met his eyes, he smiled. “Your memory is ... stretched out of shape. I couldn’t take any of the false memories out completely; you need to weave them into your true understanding of what happened to you. But you’ll be able to do that, now. Give your mind time to rest.”

  “Is this real?” I asked him.

  “Go to sleep, Ryo.”

  “You go to sleep too,” I told him. “You are very tired.”

  He laughed at that. I did not mind. Lying down where I sat, I put my arm over my sister and let the warmth pull me into sleep.

  I woke slowly, feeling warm and contented. I knew where I was. I knew how I had come to this place. I had many questions, but the truth of my own mind was not among them.

  My sister slept near me, mostly hidden beneath blankets and furs. Garoyo was sitting by the brazier, looking into the coals, lost in thought. He glanced up to show he had noticed me, but he did not speak.

  Aras was also awake. He was sipping an infusion of rosehips and plums and honey. The sweet scent of it had woken me. He did not speak, but he smiled at me and poured a bowl and held it out.

  I nodded, but first I stood up—stiffly, as though I had not moved much for a long time—and went out of the tent to find the trench.

  The morning was clear and bright, the sky high and cold, the forest immense and silent. Two or three bowshots away, I could see the inGeiro camp. Except it was no longer only a woman’s camp, and no longer only the inGeiro. There were many great tents now, with many different patterns worked into them, and many more smaller, plainer tents, and some of the wagons we usually use on the steppe rather than in the forest. Ponies were picketed along a windbreak that had been made for them, and dogs lounged about the camp.

  When I went back in, my sister was yawning and sipping the sweet tisane from my bowl. I poured another and sat down cross-legged beside her. “That is all the inGeiro,” I said to her. “It is more than the inGeiro.”

  My sister gave me a sidelong look, as she had done as a child when she was going to tell me something she knew I would not like. “Lutra sent word in every direction. I do not know who has come, except many-many inGeiro. Yavorda is here, and Naroya.” The lord of the inGeiro, and the warleader. She added, “Royova inVotaro has come.”

  I nodded. Of course Royova had come, once he heard what was happening here. He would come for himself, and he would come for our king, to see how it happened. Or to make it happen as he wished.

  Another thought struck me. Garoyo must have seen it in my face, because he told me, “Our father has not yet come, Ryo. Lutra sent for him. But he had gone west, into inSorako territory, to help there because it would have been wrong for inGara to face the soldiers of you
r warleader. That is a wide territory. He may not have heard yet that anything is happening.”

  I bowed my head to show I had heard him. I thought of facing my father after everything that had happened, and my stomach tightened. Then I thought of dying without ever seeing him again, and that was worse.

  I looked around at the tent, glowing with warmth; at the braziers and the furs and the blankets and the bowls. Aras was wearing Ugaro clothing—Etta must have made it for him during the past days, as it fit him. The tawny color of the clothing and the red of the blankets gave a rich color to his brown skin. To my eyes, he seemed at once familiar and very strange. I thought of my father standing in judgment of him, and of me. I both wanted and did not want that. My father was not a forgiving man. But I trusted his judgment. I did not trust Yavorda inGeiro as much. I did not trust Royova inVotaro at all.

  I studied Aras, wondering how he might seem to Ugaro eyes. But I could not decide. I remembered my first sight of him. I remembered everything, from that moment to this. All my memory ran smoothly back and forward. I remembered all the lies as well, but Aras had made them transparent, and he had made me see clearly how and when they had been made. I remembered now, as I had not before, Lorellan putting those memories into my mind, one and then another and then another, until falsehood lay over all the truth.

  I remembered the sick agony of grief and rage he had put into my mind. No wonder it had hurt me. I remembered the pain vividly. A bright, hot anger rose in my heart.

  Aras bowed his head, his long hands tightening on the bowl he held.

  I had not even known I was watching him until I saw him react to my anger. I said immediately, “I am sorry,” and began to breathe deeply, trying to put down the intense fury that still filled me.

  Setting down the bowl, Aras held up his hands. “No. You should be angry at what was done to you. This is a clean anger. It doesn’t hurt me, Ryo. Even if your anger did hurt me, you are most certainly entitled to it. Only—” he paused, his mouth crooking. “I am still extremely sensitive to your anger, Ryo. I imagine that will wear off. Eventually.”

  I had hurt him very badly.

  “Let’s not argue over that again, Ryo. If I hadn’t brought you into the summer country, Lorellan could not have taken you for his use. I am more at fault than you.”

  He was not at fault for anything Lorellan had done.

  “If you don’t set the fault against me, you should hardly take it yourself,” he pointed out.

  I could not help but be amused. “Very well!” I said. I looked at Garoyo. “Do they know I am better now?”

  “Everyone will soon know it,” he answered. “Etta has been speaking to Lutra every day.” He raised his eyebrows at her, and she jumped to her feet and went out of the tent.

  Aras watched her go. Then he asked Garoyo, “What will happen next?” He spoke in taksu much more easily now, and with almost no accent.

  Garoyo shrugged. “I think the inGeiro would rather wait for my father to come. Except Royova inVotaro will probably want the inGeiro to make use of your oath and put you to death immediately. He might think that best. In his place, I might think so,” he added.

  “I see.”

  My brother tossed a small handful of charcoal into the brazier. He said, “Everything depends on whether Royova inVotaro understands my father. I will tell you how it might happen if Royova makes this demand and forces Yavorda to yield to him. I would step in front of you. Royova is . . .” Garoyo paused. Then he shrugged and said, “Royova would almost certainly kill me. Then Ryo would step in front of the knife.”

  “No,” Aras said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Ryo would step in front of the knife,” Garoyo repeated. “Royova would fight him. Even after fighting me, even if he were injured or tired, Royova would certainly kill my brother.” He glanced at me. I shrugged. This was true. It did not slight my pride to say so.

  “Then you would die,” Garoyo told Aras. “Unless you are actually so very dangerous a sorcerer that you could make everyone into your slaves very quickly, and so dishonorable you would do so despite your oath to the inGeiro. In that case, I would be sorry not to have killed you myself while you slept.”

  Aras nodded. “If you must kill a sorcerer, that is always the best way,” he agreed. “Very well. So you and Ryo and I would all be dead. Then what? Everyone would go south again to fight my people? Because in that case—”

  “No,” Garoyo said.

  Aras raised his eyebrows. “No?”

  “No. Our father would come soon after that. He would find out what had happened. He would not forgive anything. He would not accept any apology. He would not even accept Royova as a tuyo if that were offered. He would demand that Royova offer him a son. Two sons. Royova would never agree. My father would declare bitter war on the inVotaro.”

  “Not yet,” I said. “We are all already at war—”

  “Yes,” my brother told me. “He would be very, very angry. He would not wait. He would do as I have said.” He continued, speaking again to Aras. “Obviously our king could not permit inGara and inVotaro to turn against each other, not when all Ugaro should be facing south. These are powerful, important tribes, especially inVotaro. You know this?”

  “Yes,” agreed Aras. “So what would Koro inKarano do?”

  “He would probably demand that Sinowa inGara and Royova inVotaro fight until one was dead,” said Garoyo. “Then he would probably put to death whichever man won, to appease the anger of the other tribe. That might not prevent disaster, but I see nothing else he could do that would offer a better chance.” He paused. Then he said, “Royova would not want any of this to happen, but if he does not understand my father, he might not believe how sharp a knife he holds by the blade until it cuts off all his fingers.” He studied Aras for a moment. “I will say you should be given a chance to speak, as you requested. I think the inGeiro will agree that this request should be granted, even if Royova protests. I think you should consider now what you might say. If you speak for long enough, many things might happen. One is that you might persuade Royova not to kill you. Another is that my father might come.”

  Aras tilted his head. “Yes, I see. But there is a problem with that?”

  “If Royova decides that waiting would give you a chance to enslave all our people, then he would not wait even if he understands the risk, because that would be even worse than what I have described. If he thinks you might do such a thing, then it will all happen as I said.”

  Aras sighed. He said, “I can promise not to use sorcery against your people. I can take oath not to do it. But I can’t make Royova inVotaro, or anyone, believe me.” He hesitated. Then he added, “Garoyo ... if this begins to happen, all you described ... I do not want you to step in front of me.”

  “That is not your choice to make,” Garoyo told him, not unkindly.

  Aras sighed. “It’s going to be a long day,” he said in darau, not to me so much as to himself.

  Etta returned soon, but she did not know when the inGeiro might send for us. She brought sugar dumplings as well as meat, and avila wine saved from years past. These were feast day foods. While we ate the dumplings, Garoyo told me small tales of my family, things he knew I would like to hear. His wife, Nisig, had had her baby, a girl, born while the Dawn Sisters were in the sky. The baby was small, but she seemed now to be thriving. Our mother had drawn the signs for the Dawn Sisters on the baby’s face and said she would live if no mischance took her. This was my brother’s third daughter. His face softened when he spoke of the baby, even though he did not yet have any sons.

  He told me other things of that kind. If friends fell out and fought, if any man was unkind to his wife or any wife disrespectful to her husband, if any warrior was less than generous to his brother, he did not tell me of that. It was a long day, but I would have enjoyed it, if everything had been different.

  The next day was longer still.

  The one after that was excruciating.

>   The morning of the fourth day crept past, until I could have shouted for boredom as well as fear. I could not stop myself from looking at Aras, but he shook his head and said everyone was too far away, and there were too many people and too many he did not know, and emotions ran too hot and high. The glimpses that came to him told him nothing important.

  At midday on the fourth day, a girl-child came and told us we were all to come to the main part of the camp. The relief was immense, even though I was afraid of what might happen. When the child had gone, I looked at Garoyo. He sighed. Then he said, “I cannot think there has been enough time for our father to come.”

  Aras got to his feet. But he said urgently, “Garoyo inGara, warleader of the inGara, no matter what anyone decides, you must not fight Royova inVotaro, nor allow Ryo to fight him.”

  My brother answered before I could. “If events come in such a way that a man decides he must fight, it is not your place to protest the decision. I will remember your request, but I will not permit anyone to believe I think you guilty of crimes you have not committed.”

  Aras nodded, but he knelt, holding out his hands in the gesture one uses to ask for mercy. “It is not a request. It is a plea. Only try to make Royova permit me to speak. I will give your people the best advice I can, no matter what they decide.”

  “So,” said Garoyo, acknowledging this without agreeing.

  The day was crisp and clear. It was not too cold. The main camp had been shifted farther away; so far it was not visible from where we stood. I looked at Aras, but he shook his head, his mouth tight with strain. Etta stepped close to me. She put her arm around my waist and I put mine around her shoulders. We walked like that, close together. I wanted to tell her not to be afraid, but I could not slight her pride that way. I said instead, “The morning is beautiful. I am glad to have seen it.”