Kings of Ash

by Richard Nell

  Hemi knelt beside him. Kikay sat at Farahi’s right, as usual, both siblings in full royal panoply of Enlightened blues and greens and Alaku silver. The surviving wives were nowhere to be seen.

  Many guests sat in the wings beyond on high-backed benches with plush cushions. These would be lesser lords, Farahi’s officials, Orang Kaya and their broods.

  Servants had given Ruka clothes to wear—expensive silks in Alaku colors, stitched with circular patterns marking him as a vassal of the throne. They were huge and fit him correctly.

  His guards had escorted him here from the palace, and before he’d entered he’d been taught how to behave: Bow once to the king, and once to the sister. Wait until called. Keep your eyes on the floor.

  First he’d waited outside the hall by the door for his summons, unsure of what would happen, but expecting a small reward and a new position along with polite imprisonment. As he stood watching from the side entrance, one of Farahi’s messengers had approached and whispered in his ear.

  “The king offers you a place in court,” he said. “You may take land and an estate, Pyu brides and concubines. You would be given a generous income, as well as time and resources to pursue your own projects, and weekly meetings with the king. Do you accept?”

  This had been far more generous than Ruka expected. He’d nearly asked what the terms of refusal were, but of course, he knew very well. A man should always have a choice, he’d thought wryly. Instead he nodded.

  “Thank the king for his offer. Of course I accept.”

  The servant nodded and bowed low, looking very pleased to give his lord good news.

  Then Ruka and other servants or guests were summoned inside, and now he knelt in the courtroom. Other men were being honored, too.

  Red-faced youths accepted praise and kiss-cheeks from Kikay, then promotions and metallic amulets from the king. Grey-haired men with straight backs and perfect bows added more prizes to their thickly covered coats. All were called ‘Pirate-hunters’, but Ruka expected they were really ‘winners of skirmishes against enemy fleets’.

  It all took forever. Ruka worked in his Grove as the islanders displayed their pomp and ceremony, rich food and drink served through the aisles as fire-dancers and musicians entertained.

  “And now, for the great minds of wood and stone.” Farahi raised his voice and smiled. He beckoned Ruka and Hemi closer to the carpet. “Chief Builder Hemi of the Karim, and his foreign protege—welcome, our masters of the Kubi!”

  The crowd clapped politely, staring and whispering as Ruka rose. They would all know of him now, of course, working openly as he had. But he supposed it was something else entirely to see him.

  The few steps from his waiting position to the front felt long, and uncomfortable, and the silk swished around him like a woman’s dress. He bowed as instructed, then dipped to his knees before the king officially. He glanced up enough to see Hemi giving a friendly grin.

  “How to reward such audacious men?” The king looked about the room as if an answer were forthcoming.

  “We are humble servants,” said Hemi, eyes turned down to the tiles, “no reward is necessary.”

  Farahi ignored this and waved a hand at servants waiting by his dais. “For the Master—new trade to hold in trust and tax for the crown.”

  An older butler scooted forth to offer what Ruka assumed were deeds to some kind of shipping route. The audience clapped without enthusiasm, and Hemi bowed and accepted.

  “To the apprentice and foreigner,” here the king paused. Silence dragged until Ruka looked up to meet his eyes, and there was a sly curve on Farahi’s lips. Ruka recognized it, for he had seen it often—the last gesture before a clever Chahen strategy crushed him, and ended their game. “To our friend, and ally—our guest from the sea who loves and misses his people.” The king’s eyes shone and Ruka was surprised to see maybe real emotion. “To you,” said the king, “I give a ship, a crew, and this silver. Go back to your home with my blessing, and my eternal friendship. May you return to us one day soon.”

  Two guards staggered across the dais with a large, wooden chest. One opened the lid, and the crowd gasped. Ruka couldn’t tell if Hemi or Kikay’s eyes were wider. He looked at the unquestionably large sum, and his mind raced.

  Here in the isles, it was most common for a man to be paid in gold, not silver. But Ruka’s people did not. They had no gold in the Ascom, Ruka had told him this. He believed the king was sending a message. He was paying in coin that could be spent in the land of ash. He wanted mercenaries.

  For a moment Ruka still did not understand the deception. Fararhi could have voiced this openly and in private. Why show it in court and make a different offer first before he entered? In fact why not send a delegation to the Ascom himself, an ‘escort’ with Ruka to translate?

  He looked at the king’s sad smile and saw no answers, his mind racing and trying to understand the clever island’s king angled mind. He glanced at the far more open Kikay and saw a swelling rage, and began to understand.

  The unofficial spymaster of Sri Kon had eyes and ears everywhere. In the sibling’s quarrels, no doubt Ruka played a prominent role.

  All at once, the many moons of feeling abandoned began to make sense. Farahi had been ignoring him deliberately to appease her.

  But now—now he honored Ruka publicly to show his true intentions. With the ship and the silver, he was asking for help with his enemies, paying entirely in advance, and letting Ruka sail away. He relied only on their friendship.

  It seemed mad. Foolish, even. But Farahi was not a fool.

  The future twisted and pulled at its chains in Ruka’s mind. The death and blood he thought was required turned to air, and vanished. Farahi would let him return in peace, and with a fortune. He had never lied. His words were not empty.

  Perhaps his offers of help were not empty, either. Perhaps with the great king’s power, new crops from around the world could be shipped and tested in Ascomi soil, growing further South. Perhaps they could even import soil and change or improve the land itself. Ruka saw wells and aqueducts sloshing clean water beneath the earth so they would not freeze; he saw flat-stone roads and thick-walled houses filled with healthy families. He saw children, even boys, learning to read Pyu books without fear. Tears fell from his eyes in his Grove.

  With Farahi’s help, it was possible. Island wealth and builders could ship across the sea to help his people. The island king was a trader in his heart, and the men and women of ash could trade. Ascomi warriors could help secure the Alaku throne. They would sell him iron, salt and lumber in return for food and supplies. It would not be enough—not the ending the Vishan deserved, but it would be a start.

  He’s a good man, brother. A powerful man. If he helps us, if he truly helps, we need not soak his world in blood.

  “Thank you, great king. I…” Ruka fought emotion even in the land of the living. “I promise…my people will not forget your kindness. I will not forget.” At this he held Farahi’s eyes, and found the smile was not forced.

  In his Grove he walked to the now-constructed copy of Master Lo’s training room. He had traced the runes exactly, to interpret and finish the history of his people. He re-read it now—the doomed Vishan, chased and butchered by usurpers.

  Remember us, they said, but only that. They did not say avenge. They did not say destroy the children of our conquerors. Remember us.

  The dead mouthed these words in silence, and Ruka heard the same plea from the frozen face of Beyla’s statue, and perhaps, in the memory of all living things.

  He rose and seized the chest to lift it with one arm as the two guards goggled. He winked at Hemi, and looked to Kikay to see the hate filling her eyes. He thought of Kunla, or the mothers of Hulbron, Lawspeaker Bodil or the family that rejected him. None of that mattered now.

  In the end, words and feelings misted like boiling water, and there was still only deed. Only action.

  He bowed low to Farahi, and turned from the hall without appl
ause. At the exit he found a new servant waiting at the door in plain clothes.

  “A ship is already prepared, Master Ruka. The crew and captain are assembled. You are to go at once.”

  Ruka shook his head as he thought of Farahi and their games. The king acted in haste because he was afraid Kikay would try to kill Ruka before he left. He acted now so it would be too late, a step ahead of Kikay, and a step ahead of Ruka. The clever bastard.

  Together they walked through the palace halls, through the courtyard without stopping even at Ruka’s room, then to a wagon pulled by guards in the king’s colors.

  He glanced at the sky and the swaying palm trees, seeing the winds were up and even mostly in the proper direction. He almost laughed. Does the man outwit the heavens, too?

  The beach crashed with choppy waves, grey sky above it clouding the sun. Many boats were moored along the coast waiting for fairer weather, but the fishermen paid no heed, bouncing along in their tiny vessels.

  Farahi’s servant took them to a mid-sized trading ship with two sails. Ruka knew the islanders called it a ‘junk’, which did not indicate its quality, but rather once meant ‘cat’. He supposed it implied ‘sleek’, and ‘quick’, but in any case the hull was almost u-shaped, the sails rigged for battens that extended the bat-wing-like sails forward beyond the mast. The design was meant for open sea, and heavy winds. It was sturdy and strong. It was perfect.

  A young, muscled sailor stood at attention near the dock.

  “We’re provisioned for a month, sir. We leave on your command.” He unfurled a parchment bound in leather casing, using his body to shield the wind. It listed the ten crew’s ranks and names, ship contents and specifications.

  “Captain Kwal, is it?”

  Ruka inspected the scroll, then the man, and liked what he saw.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Take us South, Captain. One stop will be required. It will not be simple.”

  The man bowed with a practiced ease, but grimaced as he rose. “There is one additional man on board, sir. A Master Eka—sent by the king ‘off the books’.”

  Ruka nodded, sighed. He readied a knife in his Grove. Perhaps Kikay still somehow managed to get one of her own men on board—no doubt to kill Ruka at the earliest opportunity. He would have to be dealt with.

  Ruka dropped the chest, and two sailors sagged as they took it. Then he stepped across the gangplank and onto the deck.

  “He’s in the cabin,” called Kwal, a jerk of his head at the only shelter not inside the hull. Then he barked out orders at the men with a loud, sergeant’s voice to untie and raise the sails.

  Ruka stopped and readied himself for violence with his hand on the door’s latch. In a way, he supposed, it would be almost comical to die now. He would have been so close to freedom, and a new life, and so much knowledge and purpose vanished in an instant.

  Bukayag nearly growled at the thought, and they walked in together.

  “Loa, savage.”

  Ruka stared for a moment and scoffed. ‘Eka’ sat at a small table holding a bottle of rum. He faced the door sitting in one of two chairs, the only things in the room except a cot.

  “Loa, pirate.”

  Ruka took a seat in a chair made with extra legs and a long back, clearly made just for him. His ‘friend’ and maybe enemy now looked exactly like a sailor. His pants and shirt were tied off at the knees and elbows, his feet bare, his lean, hairless, muscle-plated chest uncovered.

  “And whom do you serve today, Master ‘Eka’?”

  Arun swigged the bottle, then offered it. “Myself, as always. And the highest bidder, which currently is you. Or maybe Farahi. Honestly it’s hard to keep track.”

  Ruka met the man’s eyes and probed for weakness or deception and found both, and neither. He grinned, deciding in the end this was the best and most honest answer he could hope for.

  “Good enough.” He threw back the bottle but plugged it with his tongue. Arun laughed.

  “You saw me drink, my friend, it can’t be poisoned.”

  “You might be tolerant,” Ruka watched him, still ready to kill. “Or you might have the antidote, or some other Ching deception. I shouldn’t even have touched the bottle.” He handed it back.

  “More rum for me,” Arun seized and drank deep as he wiggled his brow. “This will be a long trip if you don’t trust me, savage.”

  Ruka nodded. On that they agreed. It might be a long trip regardless.

  “Trust is earned, pirate. It requires deed. We sail to Halin. There you will swim in darkness, find and take a man who once imprisoned me, and return in darkness. He must be alive. I expect he will have guards. Do that, and I will trust you.”

  Arun cleared his throat and took another swallow, then reached into his pants pocket. The motion nearly sent Bukayag crashing over the table to crush his skull, but the pirate removed only paper and tobacco.

  “As you say.” The pirate rolled his cigar and spoke without looking up. “Trust. And one Ascomi bride, when the times comes.” He grinned with one corner of his mouth. “Unless they all look like you, of course.” He finished rolling and grimaced as he seemed to realize he couldn’t light it.

  Ruka blinked at the request, and nearly laughed out loud. He considered explaining that men did not barter for women in his homeland—that only women chose their mates, and even then, it was complex. But he imagined a strong, Southron Matron crushing Arun between her thighs, and smiled.

  “Very well. My trust, and one Ascomi bride. Agreed.”

  He reached out and slowly took Arun’s cigar, then from his Grove drew the blue-steel knife he’d readied.

  Sparks hissed from the air and lit the paper as he put one end to his lips and drew smoke. He put both down on the table and watched the pirate’s widened eyes.

  “In future, ‘Eka’, I would remember who you bargain with. And I would be very careful.”

  With this he rose, noting his ‘friend’ completely stilled, his eyes and face smooth as the Lancona. For just a moment Ruka smiled with his teeth and let the monk see his brother’s eyes—the wild, mad thing who remembered every hit from every palm in a Batonian temple—and wanted only to draw a Grove-sword and scream blood and murder and rip the monk to shreds.

  Then he blinked and re-took control, and became a man again. He opened the door, intending to inspect the ship, and spoke over his shoulder.

  “Keep the blade. It will remind you.”

  Chapter 34

  Two days on the sea

  Ruka stood in the moonlight and a light rain as the deck of his Pyu ship swayed. His former captor shivered on hands and knees before him, panting and soaked.

  “Loa, Nipples.”

  Captain Kwal and his men held fishing spears in a half-ring around them. Arun stripped off his own wet clothes and sagged in exhaustion. All smiled at Ruka’s name choice.

  “What…who…” The fat, squat pirate finally looked up and froze. “I…I…” His skin went as white as Ruka’s as the blood drained.

  “You won’t be harmed,” Ruka told him, and meant it. “But I have questions.”

  “I…I…yes,” Nipples shivered and rose up to hug himself, prompting a few spear-thrusts near his face.

  Ruka was impressed Arun found him at all. He was equally impressed he’d managed to get him out and put him on a stolen fishing boat—as impressed as he’d been when the islanders got them to Halin at all, and in darkness. Both things were tempting to attribute to luck. And perhaps partially that was true. But it was also exceptional men.

  The impressive Captain Kwal had laid out a detailed map of Pyu waters and guessed at Trung patrols. He had kept near rocks and reefs, skirting them even in darkness with men lined up on the edges calling out depths. Kwal himself would tangle up in ropes for safety and hang off the prow, one hand raised to warn the man steering. Ruka had expected to provide assistance with his night-piercing eyes, but they hadn’t needed him.

  “Get us moving,” said the young captain to his m
en. “Trung’s scouts are still on patrol.”

  The sailors raised anchor with blinding speed, sliding to posts across the slick wood, clambering up ropes and masts. The islanders seemed born for a life at sea.

  They moved across the swaying deck and clung to their ropes like monkeys swinging from vines, displaying an almost reckless skill Ruka would not have believed if he had not seen. With a growing pride, he knew they would make the Ascomi worthy allies. Both peoples had their flaws, their room for improvement. But together, perhaps, the sons and great-grandsons of the isles would be braver, stronger— both masters of land and sea.

  Ruka dragged ‘Nipples’ out of the rain and into his cabin. He asked nicely where the pirate’s men found him drifting those many months ago. The answers weren’t helpful.

  “Please, please, why would I lie? They found your raft on the shore. The tide blew you in, please!”

  “He doesn’t know anything.” Bukayag hissed in their own tongue, hands clenching in anticipation.

  Ruka reluctantly agreed, but he’d said he wouldn’t harm the man, so kept his brother restrained. He busied himself over maps in his Grove on a simple rectangular table.

  Kwal had what he called a ‘sea-book’ from Farahi—a careful series of notes on the furthest known voyages to the South of Pyu, filled with landmarks, winds, currents and tides in various seasons and seas. Added to Ruka’s own experience on the journey here, it was perhaps enough. He had come in summer, though, and now returned in spring. That mattered, but the Ascom was large—if he kept straight South, he expected they would strike land. It mattered little where.

  They had oars if the wind failed them, though these weren’t ideal—their ‘junk’ sat high in the water and was made for the wind. The hull’s oar-holes were small and conceived for minor efforts as needed in port.