Petrodor atobas-2

by Joel Shepherd

  “Symon,” said Marya, her tone softening. “You claim to know something about my sister. Our son's name is Krystoff. If you know anything about her, you'll know why she of all people could never harm a hair on his head.” Her husband just looked at her, for a long, calculating moment. Marya had seen him give that look before, making deals with powerful men. Wondering if all was, in fact, as it appeared. “You Torovans,” she said with exasperation. “Truly, one might believe you thought you were the only people to whom family mattered. You have so many family here, Symon. I see so few of my old family. Please.”

  “Go,” he said. “I'll be right here.”

  Marya kissed him on the cheek gratefully. She clutched Krystoff's hand all the more tightly and walked toward the wooden hut.

  Krystoff took the door's latch, well trained in the ways of gentlemanly conduct. The rusty iron squealed and Marya stepped in behind him, eyeing the gloom with trepidation, a hand on her son's shoulder.

  “Hello?” she called. Her heart was beating very fast. Surely Symon could not be right? Much of his information came indirectly from Alythia, she knew, and Alythia…well, she was prone to making up all sorts of accusations about people she didn't like. Alythia and Sasha…Sofy had said, in her occasional letters, how truly alike they were in their high-strung tempers, and how ironic it was that neither could recognise the fact. Surely Alythia had not been more than just tale telling?

  Krystoff closed the door behind them, and the wind ceased. Marya's eyes adjusted, and she saw that there were headstones and pavings stacked in stone piles, with shovels and spades to maintain the small flower gardens that grew between the stones. Wind shook the walls and lifted the roof planks against their nails. The panes in two small windows rattled.

  “Hello,” said a voice to her right, and Marya spun. There was a dark figure there. “Is that your husband? He's a bit small, isn't he?”

  “Dear gods,” Marya exclaimed, with a hand to her chest. “You startled me.”

  “Sorry,” said the figure. “It happens.”

  A female voice. But the gloom was too deep for visible detail, and Marya's eyes had not adjusted. “Sashandra?” Marya ventured, a little breathlessly.

  A small laugh in the darkness. “You never used to call me Sashandra,” said the voice. The Torovan was excellent, yet the accent very broad.

  “Gods, come out of that dark corner!” Marya exclaimed, backing toward the windows, her hand still on Krystoff's shoulder. “I want to look at you!”

  The dark figure followed, a lithe, soundless movement. Then she emerged into the silver light coming through the glass panes. Not a big girl, especially not for the reputation she had attained, victorious rebellion against the Hadryn and all. The clothes were scandalously unfeminine, yet really quite well made. A jacket of soft leather, neatly fitting pants and snug boots. And a bandoleer, of course, worn over the jacket, the hilt of a sword protruding above her left shoulder. Her short hair had been mussed by the wind, her tri-braid dangling free down the left side of her jaw.

  And her face…Marya put a hand to her mouth. Big dark eyes, formerly full of mischief. Now watching her, curiously. The same, slightly wicked slant to the eyebrows. The same impudent nose. All grown up, and oh-so different…and yet, to a degree she'd not dared hope possible, clearly the same girl from her memories, all those years ago.

  “Sasha?” she said softly. “Is that really you?”

  Tears came to Sasha's eyes, unexpectedly. Marya's eyes also filled. The sisters embraced as the little wooden hut above the roaring surf shuddered in the howling wind. How silly to have worried, Marya managed to think past the happiness and relief. How silly to have worried about my little sister. Good lords, she felt absolutely solid beneath her leathers! A little less than average size, perhaps, but made of rock!

  “Oh here, Sasha, look!” Marya disentangled herself, wiping her eyes. “Here's someone I'd like you to meet! Sasha, this is my eldest boy. Krystoff.”

  Krystoff bowed. Sasha gazed, her eyes still wet. Such a pretty girl in her own curious way. But then, it had never been looks her family lacked. “I am honoured to meet you, Aunt Sashandra.”

  Sasha grinned. She changed expressions fast, Marya observed with fascinated remembrance. The same little Sashandra. Temperamental, even now. “And I am likewise honoured to meet my nephew,” she said, returning the bow. “Do you speak any Lenay, Krystoff?”

  “A little.” Krystoff gave his mother a cautious glance. “Mother teaches me. And she says bad words in Lenay when she's angry.”

  “Oh I do not!” Marya exclaimed, but smiling.

  “That's good,” said Sasha. “It's good to know where your parents come from. Both of your parents.” With a knowing glance at Marya.

  “Papa says the Lenays are fierce warriors,” Krystoff agreed. “Grandpa says all of Lenayin shall some day make fine Verenthane allies. I think it's a good language for me to learn.”

  Sasha's face fell. Not angry, but the smile disappeared as fast as it had come. “Well, your grandpa's not perfect, I suppose.” There was an edge to her tone. Krystoff frowned, not understanding.

  “Krys,” Marya said, “you go and wait outside with your father. Sasha and I need some time alone to catch up. We haven't seen each other in a long time.”

  “A long time,” Sasha repeated with a laugh. “Fourteen years! I was a little brat up to your knee!”

  “It was very nice to meet you, Aunt Sashandra,” said Krystoff. “Perhaps we can meet again another time.”

  “I'd like that,” said Sasha. Marya thought she meant it. “Oh, and Krystoff?” she added as the boy opened the hut door, letting in a swirl of wind. “Best tell your father that I'm not alone here. Tell him we're being watched by people with excellent aim. He'll understand.”

  Krystoff nodded, warily. He understood, too. One was not born the heir to the Steiner Empire, of any generation, to not understand such things. The door closed.

  “He seems a nice boy,” said Sasha.

  “He's very sweet,” Marya agreed. “He'll make a fine patachi one day.”

  “Hmm,” said Sasha.

  “And really, Sasha,” Marya scolded gently, “you needn't worry about Symon. He's just worried about me, that's all. There's no need to threaten him.”

  “I'll never threaten anyone who doesn't threaten me first,” Sasha said coolly.

  There was a look in her eye as she said it that gave Marya a chill. That hadn't been there, in the eyes of the little girl she'd known. The little girl was now a young woman, and this young woman had killed people. Quite a few people, if the tales were true.

  “He doesn't look very much like Krystoff,” Sasha added, thoughtfully watching the door where the boy had stood.

  “Well he doesn't really have to, does he?” Marya countered. “It's the thought that counts.”

  “I suppose,” said Sasha. Marya did not tell her that Patachi Steiner had encouraged her to use the name of Lenayin's deceased heir and Sasha's most beloved brother. The patachi encouraged strong relations with Lenayin wherever possible. Marya did not think Sasha would be pleased to hear it.

  “But look at you!” Marya exclaimed, changing the subject. “You look just amazing! Like a hero from some story that has yet to be told!”

  Sasha actually appeared to blush, just a little. “Serrin think I'm pretty,” she admitted, with just a hint of shyness. “It'd be nice to find a human who thought so.”

  “You look wonderful.”

  “You don't seem very surprised. When I first returned to Baen-Tar after I'd left to live with Kessligh, people stared like they were seeing a ghost. They only remembered a little girl with long hair in dresses, I guess…”

  “I think it suits you,” said Marya. “Anyone who'd seen you sliding down staircase railings, and chasing terrified little boys with a stick and yelling, would recognise you now.” Sasha laughed self-consciously. “This is the inner you, perhaps. Not many people grow up to become the thing they've always desired. You shoul
d be proud.”

  From the way Sasha smiled, Marya could tell that she'd pleased her. “And look at you!” she said. “You're looking very…well, motherly.”

  “I know,” Marya sighed, placing hands on her hips. “But they feed me so well, and the food's so excellent…”

  “Oh, no, no,” Sasha protested. “You look wonderful! Motherliness suits you. I always…I mean, all my memories of you are of you being kind to me. I remember whenever I'd hurt myself, you were always there to clean my scrapes. You were like the mother I never…or rather, almost never had.”

  You really never did know mother like I did, Marya thought sadly. You don't know what she suffered. You were too young.

  “Oh, Sasha,” Marya said kindly, “I always wanted to tell you-I'm so sorry that I was not around when Krystoff died. It must have been so terrible for you. How lonely you must have felt.”

  Sasha gave a small shrug. “It's the fate of Lenay princesses that they be married when their father deems it convenient. How could that be your fault?”

  “Even so, when I received the news, I felt so terrible. I cried for days. But mostly, I was thinking of you. I did not know that you would survive.”

  The kinship between the heir of Lenayin and his little sister had been cute and lovable in many ways. And yet, Marya recalled an edge to the friendship that others did not. Krystoff had been driven, largely by forces known only to him. He had not understood how others did not share his passions and impulses. Only little Sashandra had understood.

  “Did you enjoy growing up with Kessligh in Baerlyn?” Marya ventured.

  The younger woman's smile flashed. “I loved it. I finally got to run wild.” She laughed. “But with some discipline too.”

  “You did not miss your family at all?”

  “Did you?” Sasha countered.

  “Oh, of course! But…well, I had a new family. And the Steiners treated me wonderfully from the beginning. Symon is a perfect husband, and I have children of my own now. I was homesick for a while, it's true, and I missed you and Krystoff and the others terribly. But I don't know that I can say I was lonely. I always had company and things to do. I always felt included. This is my home now.”

  Sasha sighed. She walked two steps to the small window and gazed through the cracked, clouded glass. “My home is in Baerlyn,” she said. “The townsfolk are my family. And Kessligh. He was the father I never had. He taught me so many things, things I failed to appreciate until recently.”

  “And so…” Marya paused, wondering how to put it. “You feel the…the Nasi-Keth are your family now?”

  Sasha bit the inside of her lip, thinking as she gazed down on the windswept docks below. “I get tired of all these divisions,” she said finally, and decisively. She met Marya's gaze. “People are always telling me that I have to pick one side or the other. I have loyalties to many sides. I won't pretend that I love all my family, but I certainly love Sofy…and Damon too, I think. I love Kessligh. I love Baerlyn and the ancient ways of Lenayin. And I love the serrin too. The serrin believe that this human instinct to pick one side and fight all the others is the cause of all humanity's troubles. I think I agree with them.”

  “Have you spoken to Alythia since she's arrived?” Marya ventured, knowing the answer in advance, but…

  Sasha gave a short laugh. “I'd get a more friendly response from one of the sea lions on Alaster Promontory, I'm quite sure.”

  “Have you tried?”

  “I ruined her wedding, Marya. Surely you heard?”

  “Well yes, but…” Marya wrung her hands in exasperation. “Oh, it's so frustrating, Sasha! I mean look at us! Three sisters, all together in the one city. Surely this is fate, to bring us all together so!”

  “Tempting fate, maybe,” Sasha said, warily eyeing the Verenthane medallion about Marya's neck.

  “You don't believe in fate?” Marya asked sadly.

  “There's many old notions I no longer believe in,” Sasha replied. “And many others I'm starting to. Fate's not high amongst them.”

  “Wouldn't it be nice if we could all be a family again?” Marya persisted. “I'm not entirely naive, I do know that Petrodor can be a…a cold and cruel place at times. But Sasha, it's exactly in such places that the bonds of family matter so much! And I'd so love for you to meet your other nephews and nieces…”

  Sasha looked at the ground. “I'd like that too,” she said quietly. “But with things as they are, I don't know how welcome I'd be.”

  “Sasha.” Marya placed a gentle hand on her sister's shoulder. “Family is important to everyone in Petrodor. If you came to House Steiner with an open heart, you would be entirely safe there. Whoever your friends, and whoever your uman.”

  “Safe like Randel Ragini was safe?” said Sasha sombrely.

  Marya blinked at her. “Randel? Sasha, Randel was killed in an accident…they happen all the time during the Endurance, I've been warning people about it for years, but do they listen to a woman? Of course not.”

  “Your father-in-law ordered Randel Ragini killed,” said Sasha. Marya blinked again. Sasha's gaze was direct, searching, as if studying her response.

  “And who told you that?” said Marya, unperturbed.

  “People who know.”

  “Look, Sasha.” Marya put her other hand on Sasha's shoulders too. “Petrodor is full of rumours. People say nasty things, about Patachi Steiner most of all. I know him quite well. I won't pretend that he's the gentlest, kindest man in Petrodor, but believe me when I tell you this one thing-he's not half of what his enemies say he is. Not a quarter, even.”

  “He killed Randel because he suspected Randel, and possibly Patachi Ragini, were dealing with the serrin,” Sasha continued, equally unperturbed. “My sources say the priesthood were possibly involved, they're the ones most upset by senior Petrodor families dealing with the pagan serrin. Randel collected serrin artworks, including some the holy fathers found blasphemous…”

  “Sasha,” Marya said sternly, “you've been listening to men with evil tongues, the holy fathers do not go around ordering people killed!”

  “Seriously, Marya,” Sasha said tiredly, with the air of a woman suddenly twice her age. “Your father-in-law is building an army to go and fight a war entirely on the behest of the priesthood. It will assuredly kill many, many thousands of people. The priesthood don't order people killed? Do you honestly believe that?”

  Marya stared at her for a moment. Gods, how she hated politics. She half spun, a hand to her forehead. Then spun back. “And is that truly why you smuggled a message to meet me here today?” she asked, woundedly. “I mean…seriously, Sasha, what do you want from me?”

  “And do you think Symon Steiner would risk his wife and his heir to meet with his sworn enemy in a darkened hut if he didn't see some kind of advantage in it?” Sasha replied. “Or if Patachi Steiner didn't? Marya, we're both being used. People on both sides are looking for some advantage, and perhaps some information.” She stepped forward and took Marya's hands gently. Her eyes were earnest. “I came because I desperately wanted an excuse to see my sister again. This was the first and best excuse I've had. But also, I wanted to tell you what I know. You don't have to believe me…it's hard, I know. But I wanted you to think about what I've told you. That's all. What you choose to do about it…well, that's none of my business.”

  “Sasha,” Marya said quietly, “don't pick a fight with Patachi Steiner. Please.”

  Sasha's eyes narrowed, head cocked to one side. Fearless, Marya saw despairingly. Of physical danger, at least. This, too, confirmed the memories of the little girl she'd known. “I thought you said he was a good man?”

  “Amongst a good man's many duties are the elimination of his enemies,” said Marya, sombrely.

  Sasha's gaze was long and level. Studying her.

  “Patachi Steiner wants this war,” she replied, finally. “If it concerns you, tell him to stop.”

  “Sasha, I'm his daughter-in-law,” said Marya, reproachfull
y. “I can do no such thing.”

  Sasha shrugged. “Then there's not much I can do.”

  “You would truly fight?” Marya pressed, with desperation. “Against your own flesh and blood?”

  “He's not my flesh and blood,” Sasha said coolly. “You are.”

  Dear lords, Marya thought helplessly. She doesn't understand a thing. “Krystoff is too,” she tried. “He's old enough to wield a proper blade in training. He's very good.”

  “Marya, what the Larosa want to do in the Bacosh is evil, do you understand me?” Sasha's tone betrayed the first sign of impatience. “Not merely misguided or unfortunate, but evil. The serrin have done nothing but good for the Saalshen Bacosh, and the Larosa would kill them all if they could, right through all of Saalshen. If your father-in-law brings a huge Torovan army to Regent Arrosh's side, along with the army our true father intends to bring him, they might just finish the serrin off once and for all. The serrin are a bright light in this dark world, Marya. I'll not allow that light to die if I can do anything to help it.”

  “There are those who say that evil is the human who would fight for the strange folk against her own kind.” Marya refrained from making the holy sign as she spoke. The tri-braid in her sister's hair was not just an innocent decoration back in Lenayin. It was pagan. “It would be a sin, they say.”

  “My own kind?” Sasha's stare was incredulous. “What in the world does that mean? I fight for what is right against what is wrong…how do evil slugs like the Regent Arrosh suddenly become imbued with holy virtue simply because they're of ‘my own kind’? As if humans have never fought humans before and called each other evil?”

  “Family is always right, Sasha,” said Marya, with a shake of the head. “Family is always good. The betrayal of family is the greatest evil known.”

  “Tell that to Patachi Ragini,” Sasha said firmly, a hard light in her dark eyes. “Your father-in-law murdered his son!”

  “Oh, Sasha,” Marya sighed, gazing sadly at her little sister. “That's what I'm afraid of.”

  Riverside stank. The Nasi-Keth moved quietly along the narrow streets and alleys, trying not to tread on anything foul in the dark. There were no sewers here on the bank of the River Sarna, on the opposite side of the Petrodor Incline. Only streets with small, open channels of running filth on either side. A few streets were cobbled and firm beneath Sasha's boots, but most were just hard earth that would turn to mud in the winter rains.