by J. C. Hendee
Karras’s scowl flattened as his eyes widened a little.
Fiáh’our exerted great effort not to smile and remained outwardly serious in his interest.
Warriors learned quickly to read one another, even at a battle they did not fight themselves. If not, then they did not live long enough to become warriors, let alone victorious. Fiáh’our read this young one clearly.
Karras had given up, surrendering the field without even knowing so. More wars were lost this way than by those who misunderstood the cost of victory in fighting another battle. The trouble was, that telling this to the young after too many defeats without learning on their own, rarely led to anything useful. Yes, one had to be a bit more subtle and cunning.
To be a warrior meant to suffer, to serve, and to sacrifice. Karras was no warrior, so his defeat was of another kind. Yes, this too was obvious to Fiáh’our, but for some, the necessities of love were the same as those of battle.
“Tell me of this ‘matter,’ as you call it,” he encouraged.
It took more prodding than that to get to the heart of the matter. Amid Karras’s reluctant ramblings, Fiáh’our kept to himself what he knew or had already guessed.
Who would not have noticed even infrequent appearances by one such as Karras in the depths of Chemarré’s underside? On Fiáh’our’s occasional returns, he too had heard of the young one passing by, though he did not hold with gossip. At least this time, Karras was not so dressed up as to cause such notice, though he still looked preened like a cat that had spent all day licking itself.
And why in earth and stone did he shave his face? Did his beard not grow properly? Too many young males took up such human habits, may the Bäynæ be forgiving! But as Karras haltingly grumbled on, what slipped out regarding his visits to Chemarré’s underside held something new for Fiáh’our.
“What I offered was more than a fair,” Karras half-whispered. “There is much that I could give her… if she would only see…”
It took effort for Fiáh’our not to be openly appalled.
Skirra of the family Yêarclág—Iron-Braid—was a hard one with whom to barter. Likely more so for marriage, and yet more because Karras did not see that it was a barter, at least not the kind that it truly was. Worse, the young one had ignorantly tried to put Skirra and her ailing mother in debt.
Oh, yes he had, though he did not see it.
“It makes no sense,” Karras said with an exhausted sigh. “Why does she not see how much better off she would be?”
Fiáh’our smacked his lips and then quickly stopped tapping his thick fingers irritably on the tabletop.
Skirra was the last of her generation among the Yêarclág, with a father passed over long ago, two elder brothers gone to who knew where, and an ailing mother too frail to help out in family smithy. Few knew why the Yêarclág had come to such a low place, some generations ago. And pity the dolt who asked that of Skirra, if she knew the whole truth herself.
Even Fiáh’our knew next to nothing of this, though he had heard it concerned an atrocity committed by some forgotten ancestor. Among the handful he encountered who might know more, only two seemed to know who that ancestor might have been. Neither would speak this name, both warned him never to ask again, and they were none too polite about it, even with him.
All of this unknown, unspoken dishonor held Skirra and what remained of her family in a fallen state. Among those who might dismiss vague rumors or ignorant speculations, many still would not risk a connection to such a family. And most especially those highest among the twenty-seven clans and five tribes with the most honor to lose, should any truth be uncovered.
Cowards, all of them, with less honor than they boasted!
Typically, marriages between family lines remained within the same clan. If not, it rarely occurred outside of the same tribe. Karras shared neither clan nor tribe with Skirra, yet in spite of the whispered onus upon the Yêarclág, he had sought her for marriage.
It was most strange and even a little suspicious.
Karras’s family was well known and honored in its way, though why any rughìr made a living as traders with a ship of their own was baffling. Very few of their people, let alone whole families, made a life out of bobbing about on an overgrown boat. Rughìr belonged upon earth and stone, if for no other reason than they could neither swim nor float; they simply sank.
“It is not as if she would lose anything in marrying me,” Karras added.
And by now, Fiáh’our had to do little prodding at all.
So, what was Karras’s ultimate failure? For some reason he looked upon Skirra as desirable, and she was so by Fiáh’our’s reckoning. But perhaps Karras had too long dealt with humans, forgetting too much of his people’s ways. He had offered Skirra marriage and for her to take his family name. In some such arrangements it was the male who took the female’s family name, depending on which line had the greatest honor, but more to the point…
The unspoken part was that she could escape the onus put upon her and hers, and supposedly let her dark family name vanish forever. But Karras had not stated what he wanted in return. The marrying part was not the barter; that simply sealed this special agreement in a heartfelt way. And the dolt did not see his mistake!
Debt was a vice to all rughìr, which stained debtor and indebted alike. Barter, the trade of goods, services, and worth in the moment was their way, rather than coin or token spent like a human. In barter, something of true value was exchanged, one for the other.
So what had Karras asked from Skirra in the barter? Nothing.
What was Skirra to do, for such a lifelong debt? Spend the rest of her days being grateful?
Karras had shown no awareness of Skirra’s value in who she was, not to mention overestimating himself. But by his own account, he had pursued her for years, though in the moment he could not, or would not, clearly say why.
“And nothing… nothing I say… matters to her,” Karras muttered.
It was obvious to Fiáh’our that the young one was in love, as well as being a lead-skulled, muck-brained, backside of a donkey! Karras was lucky that Skirra had not taken a forge hammer to his forehead for such an insult. And a repeated insult, at that!
That was odd as well, and it gave Fiáh’our pause.
He scratched his thick moustache in hiding a cunning half-smile, though he frowned with a sigh as Karras kept on. It was like listening to a puppy—no, a kitten—feebly growl and hiss because it did not get what that it wanted and just because it wanted.
On the other side, if Fiáh’our had heard rightly, Skirra herself had offered up nothing in the barter. Certainly she knew it was a barter. Instead, she had simply driven Karras off, time and again. Nothing puzzling about that, except she had taken no steps to be rid of him, once and for all.
Now that was telling, and Fiáh’our smiled again in secret.
Skirra could have gone before Karras’—and Fiáh’our’s—clan council to formally declare no interest in him. Karras would not have dared pursue her further, and that would have been that.
Fiáh’our had heard of no such declaration at his clan’s gatherings, so was it possible that Skirra actually favored Karras?
Blessed Bäynæ, why?!
Perhaps she saw something in the young one that as yet Fiáh’our did not. Unlikely, but, as the Karras was still going on… and on…
“I knew your paternal great-grandfather a little,” Fiáh’our declared.
Karras blinked at the interruption. “What?”
“He had his way in the name I bear.”
Flustered and confused, Karras shook his head slightly. “One’s parents or family name their children, not some other.”
“Ah, but what if they asked the guidance of an honored clan-kin?”
Karras stared in a long silence. “I have never heard of this.”
Fiáh’our silently begged the Bäynæ for patience. Indeed what he suggested was rare, but the young one had again missed another point. An hono
red one, a thänæ unknown to Karras, had been part of his family line. As to why he did not know, that was an unknown telling. That he missed the hint gave Fiáh’our greater frustration.
Oh, bothersome Bäynæ, he thought. You have tossed a mewling half-wit into my path… and it is not a fair prank!
Fiáh’our rose from the bench and commanded, “Come with me.” As his deep voice reverberated off the high stone walls, Karras looked about. Fiáh’our did not need to do so.
Amid the young one’s tiresome growling and hissing, the cheag’anâkst had emptied. All tables had long been cleared and not a single server was still about. In the quiet of that late night, no one had dared disturb a thänæ and his one companion.
“To where?” Karras asked suspiciously.
“To pay an old debt!” Fiáh’our barked, and Karras flinched back wide-eyed. “You will help me in this… and by that barter, I will help you.”
“Help me with…? Wait… I did not offer you a bar—”
“Get up!”
3. Invoke with Care
Karras carefully watched Fiáh’our out of the corner of his eye, having to look up to do so as they trudged the spiraling tunnel up through Chemarré’s underlevels. Along the way, their pounding boots gave a beat to the thänæ’s rumbling hum of some old song. Karras flinched again and again at the echoing thrum and pound in his ears.
Back in the cheag’anâkst, at the blusterer’s final shout, he had nearly fallen off his bench in a panicked scramble for the archway. He had rushed out into the empty mainway as the thänæ stalked out on his heels. And when Fiáh’our jabbed a stubby finger toward the mainway’s end and the way up, Karras had been too flustered to think of more than hurrying on. They passed four great archways into other levels before he dared speak again.
“Where are we going?”
Much to his relief, the big thänæ’s wordless song broke.
“Home,” Fiáh’our answered. “To yours, that is. I would speak with your father or mother.”
Relief vanished, and another five echoing footfalls passed before Karras choked out another question.
“In the middle of the night?”
“After so long, what is to be done is best done now.”
“What is there to do? What does this have to do with… a debt?”
“Not your concern,” Fiáh’our answered, but instead of returning to his hum, he grew quiet and then let out a moaning sigh. “A’ye! To speak my shame aloud… that would make it all the more.”
“More what?” Karras dared.
“Enough!” Fiáh’our whispered sharply, lifting his chin high and averting his face. “It is too much to bear.”
Karras rolled his eyes and then flinched in worry that Fiáh’our might have noticed. At least, if the grizzled old boar was the one to wake the household, his parents’ ire might be diverted from him. But as they reached the top level and exited into Chamid Bâyir—“Oblique Mainway”—Karras’s mouth went dry.
Mother and Father would not be the only ones roused.
Likely his younger brother and sister would be present, along with their conniving spouses. Tomorrow, the family ship headed off around the peninsula with a full cargo for Calm Seatt, the capital of the neighboring kingdom of Malourné. All of the immediate family would be in house, rising before first light and preparing the ship to depart at dawn.
Karras shriveled inside as he strode the immense tunnel leading out through Chemarré’s first interior level. Every column here, greater than those below, had the largest steaming crystals mounted high above. There were no shadows in which to hide. And once they reached the mountain’s sheer slope, they would climb the steep switchback streets to where Fiáh’our would bellow out in the main hall of Karras’s home.
His breath quickened. If only he had simply snuck home on his own, perhaps the family would have been too busy to turn much attention his way. The pressure for him to marry, as the eldest of his siblings, might have been held off yet again.
Holding his parents at bay had become harder over the passing seasons and years. Dismissing their proposals of whom to marry was becoming evermore difficult. If he told them that he had already selected a mate, they would not understand let alone approve his choice. He could not give them a chance to argue until too late.
If only Skirra had agreed to marry him, no one could have breached such an agreement without an avalanche of dishonor before the clan. That was how it had to be, if he was to escape becoming like his brother and sister in their twisted marriages. But after mounting years of failure, he had now told a loudmouthed clan-kin too much.
His secret, his plan, even in failure, might be revealed this night, and that bellowing bulk was humming again!
Karras peered down every side tunnel they passed, even the one to the immense market cavern he had visited that day. Could he simply run and leave the old thänæ with no guide? No, too many up here knew his family. By dawn, someone would tell Fiáh’our where to go.
Karras had to somehow turn the thänæ aside, but nothing cunning enough came to mind. And now the exit to the mountainside was no more than two stones’ throws ahead.
He did not particularly believe in the Bäynæ as anything more than fanciful legend. The names of those long dead somebodies might not even be their real ones, if they had ever lived as who they were claimed to be. He did not believe they had anything to do with the fate of the people, let alone him, and yet…
“Oh please,” he whispered, “do something… anything.”
“Hmm? What was that?”
Karras swallowed hard at Fiáh’our’s query. “Nothing, only… nothing,” he quickly mumbled.
The tall thänæ scowled down at him, cocking a bushy eyebrow, and his big mouth opened amid his beard.
Just short of the mainway’s end, someone shot out of the side archway from the tram station, and the thänæ’s attention shifted.
The stocky figure of a male rughìr charged for the exit to the mountainside as the rumble of a tram started up somewhere out of sight. Likely it turned along the stone ruts that would guide it on the long journey back to some other settlement.
Fiáh’our surged ahead, calling out, “Gän’gehtin!”
Without thinking, Karras hurried after. The newcomer stopped short, and a final tromp of boots echoed in the vacant mainway. As he turned, Karras saw him more clearly.
This rughìr was simply attired in a collared white vestment of thick quilted felt. Suitable for padding under other armor, it looked fashioned more like daily attire. He was young looking, though not as young as Karras, with auburn hair cut austerely short above somewhat splayed ears. A narrow, crisp line of bristling beard ran along his jawline and chin but not his upper lip.
Karras noted the white vestment most of all.
This was a shirvêsh, what humans haphazardly called a priest or a monk, from one of the temples. His vestment marked him in service to one of the three warriors among the Bäynæ: Mukvadân the Warrior, Skâpagi the Guardian, or Stálghlên the Champion. Such a sudden and timely diversion was a bit too close for comfort to Karras’s desperately whispered plea.
“What is the hurry?” Fiáh’our called.
The shirvêsh did not answer, and a dark panic clouded his blockish features. An arm’s length, iron-shod cudgel was slipped into his broad belt. That likely marked him in service to Skâpagi—“Shielder”—the Guardian among the Bäynæ.
The shirvêsh barely glanced at the thänæ before turning his eyes on Karras. In place of panic, wariness rose in his broad face.
At Fiáh’our’s approach, the one called Gän’gehtin grabbed the thänæ by the arm and hurried out the tunnel’s end. On the expansive landing outside, an erratic wind ripped at the shirvêsh’s vestment and the thänæ’s grayed hair. The former leaned close to the latter to speak in hushed tones.
Curiosity dragged Karras forward. When the shirvêsh turned eyes on him, Fiáh’our quickly looked back and thrust out a palm.
�
��Wait there!”
Karras froze inside the archway and then noticed how light it was outside. There was a full moon this night, and with it, one of the highest tides of the year.
The shirvêsh uttered another few phrases. Just before he finished, he gestured toward the landing’s far edge or perhaps to the lift down the mountainside.
“Who?” Fiáh’our barked.
Gän’gehtin’s eyes widened, and he grated through clenched teeth, “Keep quiet!”
The thänæ raised his hands apologetically as the shirvêsh went on, though not for long.
Fiáh’our suddenly straightened.
With the thänæ’s back turned, Karras could not see the old man’s face, but the blusterer pushed past the shirvêsh towards the broad landing’s edge or the lift. He stopped short in only three steps, lingering long before glancing back.
Fiáh’our’s eyes were opened in astonishment, and then his brow wrinkled in disturbed fury.
“What idiot told them who they had?” he growled.
“That does not matter,” Gän’gehtin countered. “They have been down there half the night in waiting. I came with word that the… his family is out looking for him, but there is no safe way to warn them. This has to end, so are you helping or not?”
“Of course!” Fiáh’our declared. “If only because you do not know what you are dealing with.”
The thänæ slowly turned his eyes on Karras. For an instant, it was as if some malicious humor raised a brief smile under his grisly beard.
Karras shrank away, looking about in hope that Fiáh’our had fixed on someone else. There was only him and, before he could think of some excuse, the thänæ charged back past the shirvêsh.
“What are you doing?” Gän’gehtin challenged. “Fiáh’our… Fiáh’our, no!”
Karras backpedalled in rambling, “There is no way… I cannot… I have much to… and it appears you—”
Fiáh’our snatched Karras by the arm and jerked. Only a rughìr could have budged another this way, and the thänæ was bigger at that. Karras stumbled forward and almost lost his footing as the shore wind up the mountain hit him in the face.
