Tuyo

by Neumeier, Rachel

  Aras said quietly, “Five hundred. That is twenty strokes, given twenty and five times.”

  Appalled, I turned to stare at him. “So many? How did I not die of it?”

  “Our whip is not as brutal as yours. But it is brutal enough. A Lau might have died. He did not want that. He was actually watching you very closely.” Aras met my eyes. “It was not precisely meant to punish me. He did it because he was certain I was lying to him. He wanted to force me to open my mind to him. Above all, I could not do that.” His voice thinned, though he did not look away. “I stood there for an entire hour and watched that done to you, and I could not stop it.”

  “No,” I said. “Of course not. I lay the act against him, not against you.” I was silent for a time, remembering that terrible beating. My pride had broken completely. I did not want to admit such a thing before Garoyo, far less our father—far less all these other warriors. But it was important that they understand Lorellan’s nature. That was more important than my shame. It was why I had begun to tell them this at all. Only it was harder to say than I had believed it would be. Looking only at Aras because I could not bear to look at anyone else, I admitted in a low voice, “I screamed aloud. I cried like a child. I could not walk for three days. And he did not even take the act on himself. He made me believe you had ordered that done to me. That is the nature of your enemy.”

  “Our enemy,” Aras said softly.

  There was a long silence. Finally, my father asked me, “How long did you stand before your pride broke?”

  I had no idea. Even if I had known that, I could not bring myself to face him or answer. But Aras answered for me. “Your son stood for twice forty strokes and eight more before he flinched enough for me to see it. He stood for forty and one more after that before he cried out aloud. Is there any man here who would say he could do better? I would call the claim false until that man showed me his courage.”

  There was absolute silence. Among all the gathered warriors, no one moved or spoke. I could feel the heat in my face. I was very glad Aras had said that, but I still could not look at my father or my brother.

  Then Royova inVotaro ordered curtly, “Take off your shirt, young warrior. We wish to see your back.”

  Now I had to face him. I made myself do it. “It was many days ago,” I protested. “And the Lau whip does not leave scars.”

  “That kind of beating leaves scars,” Royova corrected me. “I have seen it before.”

  Aras nodded. “Royova inVotaro is right. There are scars.”

  My father said to me, “Take off your shirt, my son.”

  I knew I had flushed even more hotly. But I took my shirt off and bowed low so my father could look at me as he wished. Everyone moved to look, not only Royova inVotaro but also Yavorda and Naroya inGeiro. Some of the other warriors nearby stood up and looked as well. I was embarrassed, but I did not move.

  “You can indeed still see the marks,” Yavorda observed, his tone neutral. He asked me, “How many days since this happened?”

  I did not know exactly.

  “Twenty and fourteen,” Aras said quietly. “If that had been done to a Lau, the man would have been unable to stand for at least seven days.”

  “You were on your feet in three days?” my father asked me.

  “Yes, lord. It was longer before my strength returned.”

  He grunted. “You may put on your shirt,” he told me. “I am not ashamed of you, my son. For a young man, you did very well. Even older men would be unlikely to do better. No one would say otherwise.”

  I had not expected that. I bowed to the ground.

  To Aras, my father said, “I wish to see this beating. Show me that memory. Show me how it happened.”

  “No,” I protested, jerking upright.

  “No,” said Aras, not looking at me.

  My father’s eyebrows rose. He said sharply, “I wish to see it.”

  “You most certainly do not,” Aras answered, equally sharp. Their eyes met, and held. Aras said, each word hard and precise, “I am entirely aware you could force me to show it to you. If you wish to see it so badly, you will have to force me. I will not show it to you willingly.”

  My father half lifted his hand.

  “I will take your blow for my words, but I will not apologize,” Aras told him. “You are wrong to ask me and wrong to insist, and you know it, Sinowa inGara.”

  My father made an exasperated sound. But to my astonishment, he lowered his hand. Instead, he demanded, “How can any man judge you correctly, when you can see into his mind and his heart?”

  Now Aras bowed his head, breathing out slowly. He answered at last, much more softly, “You should judge me as you would judge any man, lord: by my actions and not by your fears.” He added at once, as my father’s head went back a little in surprised offense, “For that, I will apologize. That time I did not mean to be insolent.”

  “You were insolent. But I will not strike you for it, because your words were also true.” My father looked at him for a moment longer. Then he said to Garoyo, “Warleader. You say this is an honorable man. How do you arrive at that judgment?”

  Garoyo thought for a moment. Finally he said, “He put a good memory of your son into your mind. He refused to put a bad memory into your mind. That shows his nature. He is honorable and generous; or if that is all lies, then I confess he is too subtle for me and I admit defeat.” He paused. Then he said, “I judge this Lau sorcerer as I would judge any man: by what he does and what he refuses to do, and not by my fears.”

  Our father smiled a little. He said to Aras, “If you would correct an Ugaro lord without insolence, that is how it is done.” Then he said, “I will hear your opinion, warleader. What should I decide?”

  My brother said immediately, “You should return this man’s life to him, and ask him what he wishes to do in his war against his enemy, and consider whether it might be good to assist him to do it."

  My father nodded. He asked, “Warleader of the inGeiro? Lord of the inGeiro?”

  With a little gesture, Yavorda gave his warleader permission to answer. Naroya inGeiro sighed. “You should probably return his life to him,” he said. “I think if there are two strong Lau sorcerers in the world, and they are enemies, this is the one I would not wish to see die before the other. I think he should fight the other, if he will. If both die, that is one solution, and if the other dies and this man does not, perhaps that may do. If this man dies and the other sorcerer lives ... I would not choose that. But even then, the remaining sorcerer is Lau. The battle should make his people know what he is. Let his own people deal with him.”

  My father nodded thoughtfully. “The warleader of the inGeiro seems wise to me.” He looked at Yavorda. “Does the lord of the inGeiro have anything to add?”

  Yavorda barely smiled. “I have nothing to say. I am glad it is not my decision.”

  “So am I,” my father said. “Hard though it may be, I am glad to take this decision on myself. I am very grateful you sent young men of the inGeiro to find me and tell me why I must come here, and that those young men made such strenuous efforts to carry out your command. Today or tomorrow or in years to come, I will listen with favor to any request from the inGeiro.”

  Yavorda inclined his head. “My wife arranged that before I even knew myself what had happened.”

  “My wife arranged it,” Naroya corrected him. “Your wife permitted it.”

  “My warleader is probably correct,” conceded Yavorda.

  “So,” said my father, smiling now. “If the women of the inGeiro ask my wife for anything, I think she will listen to their request. But if she will not, or if it is a request more suitable for a man to hear, then I will listen to them, or to you.” He paused to show he was finished with that matter. Then he said, “Warleader of inVotaro, arm of the king, if you wish to speak, I will hear your opinion.”

  Royova said in a level voice, “Sinowa inGara lacks information he might wish to have. This is what he should know: t
he war is going both too well and too badly for Ugaro east of this land. I think now that the confusion there may be laid against the other sorcerer. As your son’s sorcerer seems possibly to be a man of adequate character, I say you should spare his life in order to confound this enemy. All these things, we should discuss.” He paused. Then he added, “I will not challenge any decision the lord of the inGara makes, so long as the sorcerer swears he will stand for my knife at a later time if I demand it.”

  Aras began to answer him. I knew he meant to say he would stand, and drew breath to protest, but before I could speak, my father said curtly, “I will not permit the sorcerer to make that oath, nor will I permit you to require such a thing, Royova inVotaro. We stand upon inGeiro land. I do not agree you have precedence when the inGeiro have given their rightful decision to me. If you attempt to step in front of me in this matter, I will fight you in earnest.”

  I held my breath. I think everyone held his breath as the two men looked at one another.

  “I would not wish to fight you, Sinowa inGara,” Royova said at last. “If it should come to that, I hope you will not wish to fight me.”

  “Do not challenge me, and we need not discover whether our tempers are so hard,” my father said, still curt. “Do you say you have precedence?”

  “There will be an accounting for this,” Royova warned him.

  “And I will make that accounting. But it will not be today, nor here, nor to you. Do you say you have precedence?”

  “No,” said Royova. He stepped back.

  My father immediately turned to face Aras. He lifted his hands to show he was prepared to make an important decision, and said in a clear, hard voice, “This man’s life is in my hands. My decision is to return his life to him. It is his. Let no inGara raise hand or blade against him. As the inGeiro gave this decision to me, let it bind them as well. Let those of other tribes recognize that should any blow be struck against this man, I will take that as though it were a blow struck against me.” Then he lowered his hands to show he was finished.

  -25-

  I stood up. This took an effort, but I think I managed to conceal the embarrassing weakness of my legs. All around us, men were getting to their feet and walking away, silent until they were a little distance apart and could argue without offending my father or Royova or Yavorda or anyone else important in the tribes. I offered Aras my hand, and he took it and pulled himself up too, a little stiffly. He was visibly trembling with cold, or perhaps with reaction. No one looked at him, which is the kindness my people grant when we live too closely with one another to have privacy as the Lau understand it.

  My father said to Royova, his tone curt, “We shall talk.”

  “Is that what you wish?” Royova asked drily. “To talk?” But he glanced at Yavorda, who nodded permission. Then my father led the way through and among the many tents until we came to one of the largest. My brother and I followed, and Royova. Yavorda and his warleader and some of the others went elsewhere, probably to tell their wives everything that had happened.

  The tent to which my father led us was not the largest nor the closest, but one set on a slight rise, near the middle of the encampment. The tent was decorated with porcupine quills and lined with blue and purple felt, and its floor was covered with rugs of purple and gold and a few blue. I knew those designs and colors. I paused. Then I went in.

  My mother sat in the center of the tent, beside the brazier, where the warmth was greatest. That was her place because it was her tent. Etta sat behind her, and to my astonishment Darra inKarano sat at her right hand. I looked at Darra with pleasure and concern, but most of my attention went to my mother.

  My mother was perfectly well. No one had ever cut her belly and thrown her into the fire. That memory had been almost as bad as the one of Etta. I had known it to be false; it seemed false to me now; it had no power to harm me any longer. But I remembered believing it.

  My mother had also believed me dead in a terrible way. Her face was as round and calm as the face of the Moon, but I saw the echo of that belief in the way she paused and studied me for a long, careful moment, to be sure it was true that I had not died. Then she held out her hand to me. I went and sat down in front of her. She touched my face and looked at me for a long time. At length she patted my cheek and I stood up and went to the place that was rightfully the place for young men, nearer the entrance.

  Then my mother studied Aras, who stood with his hands tucked beneath the furs he wore. His dark, fine-boned face looked strange to me again in this familiar tent, with my mother gazing up at him. If she thought him strange, that did not show at all. She said in darau, in the tranquil way she said everything important, “You are the Lau warleader who took my son as tuyo, but did not put him to death.”

  “Yes,” Aras said cautiously in the same language. “I do not wish to offend. I do not know how to address you. Should I speak darau or taksu?”

  “My name is Marag inGara, daughter of Marag inKarano. I am the foremost singer of the inGara,” my mother told him, in taksu. “If you can speak taksu, you should, but because I spoke darau to you first, if you speak to me in that language, no one will be offended.” She held out her hand to him as she had to me and added, “You are my guest in this tent. You may sit here by me, where it is warm.” She also beckoned to my father and brother, and nodded gravely to Royova, granting him permission to enter her tent. My sister stood up and began to pour tisane into bowls for everyone, but my mother continued to speak to Aras, now in darau again. “You are a sorcerer. My daughter tells me you see all the thoughts in our minds.”

  He took the place she had offered as the other men settled quietly on the other side of the tent. Even Royova inVotaro would not lightly interrupt my mother in her own tent, though from his thoughtful expression, he did not mind keeping silent. He watched Aras carefully and my mother hardly less carefully. It occurred to me that he might speak at least a little darau.

  Aras sipped from the bowl my mother put into his hands. His shivering eased, either because of the warmth or because her calm nature calmed him in turn. The hard set of his mouth relaxed a little. He answered her carefully, in taksu, “Not all the thoughts. Some, yes. I cannot do otherwise, singer. It is as though people were speaking aloud near you: you must hear them, even if you do not listen deliberately. If you think of a song or a story with the front part of your mind, that can prevent me from hearing more important things you may be thinking. Or strong emotions make it hard for me to hear your thoughts clearly.”

  My mother nodded gravely. “You are an uncommon sorcerer, to explain such matters ... if that is true.”

  “It is true,” I told her. “It is one way I hid my thoughts from Lorellan. I was so angry. I let myself be that angry, and turned my thoughts away from doubts I did not want him to see.”

  My sister had finished serving the men. She had served Garoyo first and then Royova inVotaro, and our father last, to show he had precedence over even the warleader of the inVotaro because it was the tent of his wife. Now she came and sat next to me and leaned against my shoulder, and I put my arm around her.

  Aras was saying to our mother, “My enemy made Ryo believe I had killed all his people. Those false memories gave birth to great anger and grief and hatred, which my enemy then built into powerful compulsions. That was too clever, because Ryo used those compulsions to conceal his real thoughts. I had taught him to recognize false memories, but when he began to doubt Lorellan or question the lies that had been put into his mind, he poured his attention into those emotions instead. This prevented either Lorellan or me from seeing the thoughts Ryo wished to conceal.”

  “Yes,” said my mother. “My daughter told me your enemy made my son believe terrible things, even when he knew those things were not true.”

  Aras set down his bowl and leaned forward. He spoke in taksu, quickly and intently. “Given a false memory, you will always try to explain to yourself why it must be true even if there are things in the memory that do
not make sense. If you find yourself puzzled by something you think you remember, look for edges to that memory. Look for a strange clarity to it. Ask yourself whether you have been acting as though you believe that memory is true. When Ryo believed Lorellan was his benefactor, he still killed a man of his. For no cause. He made up a reason he did it. But the real reason was that beneath the lies, he still knew Lorellan and all his people were enemies. His body moved according to the truth he knew.”

  “The sorcerer wishes to teach everyone this,” my father said, his tone dry.

  My mother nodded thoughtfully. “Everyone should wish to learn it. Our tales agree that even when a sorcerer holds a person’s mind in his fist, still the body may move as that person should wish to move.”

  Aras bowed in acknowledgment. “This is exactly true, and I am glad your tales explain this. Ryo’s advantage was that I had taught him some of these things before we met Lorellan. His other advantage . . .” he stopped. Then he said, still in taksu but now speaking only to me, as though we were alone. “Your other advantage was that, despite everything Lorellan did to you, even though I had failed you completely, you still trusted me to help you. That was why you came to me that night. I failed you again. I could do nothing.”

  I bowed my head. It seemed too private a thing to speak of. But I was not surprised he spoke of it. I already knew he was ruthless. He had spared himself no more than me in that admission.

  “So you had won my son’s trust,” observed my mother. “How long did that take you?”

  This was the kind of question she always asked. Aras did not seem surprised. He merely considered and then answered, “Not long. I could not help but trust him because I saw his heart, and it is your son’s nature to give trust where he receives it.”