Court of Fives

by Kate Elliott

  “I won’t let you go, Jessamy,” Mother cries, clinging to me.

  “You must let her go,” says Father in a brutal voice. “She is mine, Kiya. I allowed her to live, so I hold the power of life and death over her. Let it be that if the girl was willing to defy me by running the Fives without my permission then she can live with the choice she made.”

  I see Lord Gargaron fingering his whip. He’ll whip her, I know he will. I tug on her arm frantically. “Mother, I’ll be all right. You have to go.”

  Polodos peels her away from me. The young steward’s expression is closed and disapproving. He obeys without a questioning word and leads her out of the room. I hear her sob with wrenching despair before the door closes.

  I stumble, overcome by fear and grief, and barely catch myself against the door that has locked me away from my mother and sisters. The whole world has broken apart around me.

  “Very good, Captain,” says Gargaron in the pleasant tone of a man who approves of the bread and wine set before him. “You will not regret this. Together we will do very well.”

  “Yes, my lord.” So easily he acquiesces! The thought of Mother’s grief-stricken face keeps me silent. I will not cause more trouble for her. “But if I may, my lord. It would be dishonorable of me to leave before Lord Ottonor’s mourning procession and his journey to the City of the Dead. As one of his sponsored men, I am required to attend with my household.”

  Lord Gargaron waves a hand as if brushing away a fly. “But you are no longer Lord Ottonor’s man. You are mine now, so you are not required to observe this obligation. Besides, I stand among Ottonor’s creditors. Clan Tonor owes my clan a great deal of money. By taking on your sponsorship I do his memory and his household a service by erasing part of his debt.”

  “My lord, I obey. But…” His hesitation lasts only a moment before he forges on. “Legally I have no further obligation. But Lord Ottonor supported me in my early years when I came to Efea with nothing but the clothes on my back and a hope to make my fortune here. Honor declares that I must show my gratitude properly. Had Lord Ottonor not given me the chance to take up a military career I could never have gained the honors I did and thus come to your attention.”

  “Your honor does you credit, Captain. I will make sure that members of your household are granted the honor of sitting the overnight vigil with Ottonor on his first night in the City of the Dead. However, I need you to depart right away. I received word yesterday that there has been an attack on the outpost of Seperens, beyond the Green River. I need a reliable and intelligent commander there as soon as practicable, so today you will be escorted by an honor guard of Garon soldiers to my villa at Falcon Hill. My niece will meet you there. You will sign the marriage contract. After Ottonor’s funeral we will celebrate the wedding feast and you will sail east to the war.”

  Father’s eyes have darkened with a surging storm-sea of emotion but he collects himself. He is like a man who has been commanded to throw overboard his most cherished treasure and yet will steel himself to do so in order to keep the ship afloat in wave-tossed seas.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “You must make a start on getting a son before you depart for the frontier. Let me assure you there is nothing wrong with the girl, no unsightly blemish or defect of character. You will find her appearance pleasing, her manners polished at the queen’s court, and her acumen for matters of business quite up to the mark.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Father curls his hands into fists, opens them, and at last fixes them together behind his back in a soldier’s waiting stance. “My lord, the woman… my daughters… it would be dishonorable to just abandon them.”

  “It’s not as if you have tossed them into the Fire Sea without a raft! You are a more tenderhearted man than your valor and hard-mindedness on the battlefield have led me to believe. Still, every man has his little flaws and quirks. I will have my stewards make provision for the women so you can travel to the frontier with peace of heart and a calm spirit ready to do battle.”

  Father glances at me.

  “I will never forgive you for this,” I mouth, and though my words are silent, he understands them and looks away. I pray he is ashamed of the work he has done this cruel morning!

  Gargaron smiles. “Gather your arms and armor, Captain, and your military aides and senior staff.” He glances down at the butterfly mask with its bright blue wings and cheerful strong color like a glimpse of the embracing sky. “I have taken a fancy to this mask, Esladas. I will just take it when I go.”

  Father swallows, choking down the final shard of refusal. “Of course, my lord. If I may ask…” His gaze darts to me in my shroud. “What of Jessamy?”

  “She will come with me now. All the gear and clothing she will need will be supplied at Garon Stable.”

  A sob catches in my chest like a knot of whirling winds. “Can I not even say good-bye to them?” I whisper.

  “No time for that.” Lord Gargaron claps his hands three times.

  I take a step toward the door, thinking to dash to the back of the house just to kiss them for the last time.

  Father taps his hand twice against his chest, and I freeze and tap mine in reply, as I have been taught. Obedience traps me. The door opens and three resplendently garbed Garon Palace stewards appear like the dread guardians who defend the gates at the entrance to the afterlife.

  My path is blocked.

  I take the only road open to me, the one that leads me out of the household where I grew up and into the household of the lord who has just ripped apart my family.

  15

  I feel dead in my shroud as I walk out of the house. In ancient days in the empire of Saro, a dead emperor was accompanied to his tomb by living servants who were buried with him.

  As I step out onto the street my vision blurs and a wave of dizziness causes me to trip over my own feet. I steady myself with the breathing I was taught at Anise’s stable to prolong my stamina. Because I do not know where else to stand, I halt behind the back wheels of Lord Gargaron’s carriage in the same place Coriander would walk behind ours.

  Servants hauling carts and leading donkeys trudge along the sun side of the street on errands for other households while the carriage waits on the shade side. A lord has the right to the shade, and now I have stolen a tiny bit of it for myself, as the old saying goes: “The lord’s shade also shelters the lord’s servant.”

  Creditors have gathered beside the gate, clutching silver-banded ledgers. They crowd forward when Lord Gargaron emerges with Father beside him.

  “Have the shrouds taken down,” he says to Father. “Now that you belong to Garon Palace you are no longer in mourning.”

  One of his stewards dismisses the creditors as Lord Gargaron mounts into the open carriage. It needs no concealing curtains like the ones Patron women hide behind when they go out.

  Harness bells ring to announce his departure. The carriage rolls forward. My feet scrape on the ground as I follow. At the gate Father stands at attention. Of my mother and sisters I naturally see no sign.

  Father glances toward me as I pass. Is that a tear glinting on his face? Hope batters at my chest. He will shout that it was all a mistake. He will run after me and bring me home.

  But he lets me go without a word of farewell.

  We leave the house behind. It’s like I’m trudging to my tomb.

  The worst thing of all is that I understand why he did it. When you run the Fives you make choices in order to win. He will soon have achieved the highest honor a man of his birth could ever dream of. And he has thrown us away to get it.

  Our procession heads uphill. We live on the rumpled skirts of the Queen’s Hill, too high to be Common and too low to have any pretension toward highborn status. After we cross the saddle between the two hills, we climb higher on the King’s Hill than I have ever been in my life. Modest compounds like ours give way to lush gardens and spacious courtyards. How beautiful the sea looks from up here and how lovely the harbor with its m
asts and colorfully painted ships. Out on the water, sails flash like wings atop the waves. Their easy grace makes me think of my mother and sisters. Tears seep down my cheeks.

  Where will they go? What will they do?

  The brass-striped gates of Garon Palace loom in front of me as the carriage halts. My lips are dusty and my eyes sting. Lord Gargaron steps down and to my horror he walks right up to me. The scent of cardamom and myrrh wafts off him, the perfume of rich men who wear fragrant oils to cover the smell of sweat and dust. I hold my ground like a soldier.

  “Let me be clear, Jessamy. Do not for an instant believe you are here as a hostage for your father’s good behavior. A man like him cannot help but reach for the victory tower. He fights to win regardless of your fate. You are worth nothing to me except as an adversary. I have taken on considerable debts in order to bring your father into my household. If you do not pass muster at the stable, I will have you sold into servitude to make up some of what I have paid out. A tall, strong girl like you would be welcome in the gold mines. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, my lord.” My voice is little more than a scrape.

  He beckons over a stout woman dressed in the leggings and tunic worn by adversaries. She cannot possibly run competitively because she is missing one hand. The stump is shiny. She is the only Commoner I have seen among the Garon Palace servants. “Tana, if she does not pass muster, return her to my stewards and they will dispose of her.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He climbs back into the carriage. The grand front gate opens and the carriage, servants, and guards proceed in to the palace. Beyond the open gate I see pavilions, gardens, and courtyards stairstepped up the hillside, as beautiful as a painting.

  “Girl! Stop daydreaming and come with me!”

  The woman leads me down the lane to a smaller gate, also painted with the horned and winged fire dog mascot of Garon Palace. The gate stands open, flanked by a pair of guards who give me a bored look like they’ve seen a hundred fledglings walk in hopeful and walk out rejected.

  Inside, a Fives court takes up most of a huge central courtyard. An elderly Patron man is running youths and men through the traditional form known as “menageries,” a formal pattern dance meant to imbue adversaries with the mental discipline necessary to succeed on the court. Four women are warming up on a set of posts set to different heights, a standard beginner’s configuration of Trees. To my surprise, one is a young Patron woman with her hair clubbed up in the style of the old country. I have never seen a Patron woman running the Fives.

  Tana leads me past a kitchen with an open dining shelter where the midday meal is cooking. My mouth waters. She ushers me into the dim confines of a bathhouse built into the wall that separates the stable from the palace. The front space has benches for changing.

  She gestures at my shroud. “I didn’t know people still wore those. While you wash I’ll get you clothes for today. If you pass muster, you’ll be measured for an off-duty tunic and sandals, two sets of Fives gear, and palace livery for formal occasions. You aren’t in your bleeding, are you?”

  “No.”

  “They’ll explain about that, if you stay,” she says as I tug off the shroud. “Don’t go in the hot room or pool; just use the washroom. Take a towel from the shelf.” She gives my naked body a stare from top to toe. “You look strong. Where did Lord Gargaron get you?”

  “He picked me out of some rubbish that was thrown away.”

  Mother always says that bitterness is poison but I am swimming in it.

  She gives me a long look, measuring the secrets behind my eyes, then shrugs and leaves. The entry curtain slaps down behind her.

  The floor of the changing room has not a speck of dirt except from my grimy feet. I venture into the washroom, which is magnificently set up with a trough in which to stand, sieved basins hung from the ceiling, and pitchers, cups, and sponges lined up on shelves. Pipes bring water, with levers to start and stop the flow. Because there is no one around I creep into the hot room just to see what it looks like. Steam hisses over stones. In the room beyond lies a tiled rectangular pool. Voices echo through the chamber, people on the other side of the wall using a palace bathhouse that shares the same plumbing system. I scramble back to the washroom.

  As I begin to wash myself I think about Gargaron’s threat to sell me to the mines. Father once told us that prisoners and indentured servants sent to the mines are forced to work the most grueling and dangerous jobs.

  But I don’t want to think about Father or anything he ever told me, so as I scrub myself down I pretend I am scouring all traces of him out of my flesh and my heart. After I’ve washed I rinse down my hair and blot out as much water as I can. The towel is a square of linen the length of my arm. It isn’t big enough to wrap around me so I sit and drape it across my lap.

  Then I wait.

  My thoughts scurry home. Has Lord Gargaron evicted Mother and my sisters? With their clothes burned, what will they wear? Can I run away and find them?

  So abruptly I am not prepared for it, the curtain sweeps aside and three men enter. Two are Commoners and one is a Patron. Their skin is sheeny with sweat and gritty with sand and scrapes. They don’t see me in the corner as they begin stripping out of their Fives gear. The Patron is talking all the while.

  “And then he said, ‘I’ll wager ten bars that the brown girl beats him,’ and Nar said, ‘Ten bars? I wouldn’t take that bet if it was for a sip of beer because it’s obvious she’s going to beat him.…’”

  I cough.

  Startled, they peer into the shadowed corner where I huddle.

  The Patron waves as at a fly. “Girl! You can’t be in here. It’s men’s bath time now. Get out.”

  “I have no clothes.”

  As the words slide out of my mouth, I realize nothing but this scrap of cloth conceals my genitals. I grab a second towel and hold it over my breasts.

  “Good Goat,” says the elder Commoner, a man with a shaved head who appears a bit older than my father. “You must be a fledgling.”

  The Patron has an oddly familiar face but I don’t know him. He laughs. “How like Tana to forget about her. Is the old mare sucking shadow-smoke again?”

  They yank their clothes back on and tromp out.

  Sooner than I expect Tana reappears, muttering about goat-footed smoke-heads and their disrespect. She tosses a bundle of clothes at me, underthings, leggings, a Fives tunic, and a belt; she has a good eye for size. Last, she offers me several pairs of five-toed leather slippers, and I find the best fit.

  “We eat at midday at the bell. I’ll show you where to get water.”

  Beside the kitchen a pipe empties in a trickle into a brass basin surrounded by a decorative brass tree from which brass cups dangle.

  I reach for a cup but she slaps my hand away. “You’ll get your own cup if you pass muster.”

  She deserts me again. Each cup is etched with a different mark: a flower, a spiral, a hand. I’m so thirsty. I glance around to make sure no one is in sight, then cup my hands and drink in gulps until my thirst eases.

  Looking around I spot a spectators’ terrace, a raised set of stepped benches under an awning. Tana climbs to the highest benches and joins the three men now sitting there. They are the ones who interrupted me in the baths. I sit below them at the edge of the shade so it doesn’t seem like I’m encroaching. Yet they pay no attention to me. Evidently I will remain invisible unless I pass muster. It’s better that way.

  Everything seems distant and unreal, like my shadow has come half unmoored from my body. I can’t even recall when I was last happy until I remember how I felt while I was waiting to climb the ladder for my one chance at running a trial. The memory of the crowd singing drifts through my head as I look over the practice court. I’m so dazed that patterns seem to unfold across the course to the rhythm of the well-known song.

  Canvas walls block out a maze in Pillars, throwing shadows along the ground as if they are pinned there waiting to lea
p out and swallow unsuspecting adversaries, as it says in the song: Shadows fall where pillars stand.

  Traps is a series of balance and maneuvering exercises, beams and ropes and a bridge with basic traps, but when I blink, motes of light spin in my vision, sparks like grains of sand swirling along the dark lines of rope and beam the way blood rushes in veins through the body. Posts of various heights and with a mix of handholds and angles crowd Trees; standing at the pinnacle is like displaying your reputation of honor and glory to all people, your name so bright that everyone knows you.

  I rub my eyes, trying to focus, and when I open them the world looks ordinary again.

  Rivers is a shallow pool measuring twenty by twenty strides; painted wooden roundels just big enough to stand on are being drawn back and forth by ropes as a pair of lads no older than me try to jump from one to the next without getting their feet wet. The boys are fledglings. Once I might have scoffed at their clumsiness, but Anise taught us that scoffing at people who aren’t as skilled or as established is a sign of weakness. As the shorter boy splashes into ankle-deep water, the spectators laugh. I cautiously look more closely at Tana and the men.

  By the evidence of his clubbed hair the Patron man comes from the old country, yet his lack of beard means he now considers Efea his home. “Where did those two boys come from? Why are they even here?” Like my father he has the choppy accent of a man who learned to speak Saroese in the old country. The Saroese spoken here sounds different, influenced by the lilt of Efean speech. “They are just as bad as Kalliarkos when he started.”

  “Hard to believe anyone could be that bad,” says Tana with a relaxed chuckle. “They are here as a favor for one of Princess Berenise’s merchant partners. But I believe it is Lord Kalliarkos who convinced his grandmother to insist the boys be given a chance to train.”