by Braden, Jill
“Then he asked me to pass his message to the Devil.”
“What does he profit by warning me?”
LiHoun stared at her as if incredulous. Several times, he seemed on the verge of saying something, but he held himself back. Finally, he spoke. “The Zul clan is devious.”
“So I’ve heard.” There was nothing she could do except keep a few steps ahead of him. “I guess I should count myself lucky that I only have to worry about Kyam. I’m not sure I’d fare as well against Grandfather Zul.”
LiHoun gasped.
Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him. “Are you ill, uncle?”
“Gas.” LiHoun beat his fist against his chest until he belched. “His exact words: ‘I’d prefer you tell his concubine what I have to say. Someone paid Petrof the werewolf to kill her. I don’t think he’s succeeded – yet. He must be stopped.’”
Had he just changed the subject? She hated that flicker of doubt, but she would remember it. “Anything else?”
“He said, ‘Tell the Devil that if she dies, I will hold him personally responsible for failing to protect her. If she dies, I will come after him.’ Then he left. He has not sought me out since.”
QuiTai groaned. The Oracle should have warned her that Kyam Zul was a romantic; but then, she was her own Oracle. She should have put the pieces together because the clues had always been there.
“Just like old times at PhaJut’s.” LiHoun laughed so hard that he fell into a prolonged, phlegmy coughing spell. That explained why LiHoun teased her about Kyam. He wanted to know if she had feelings for the Thampurian. Such nerve!
“Every time I decide he’s a thoroughly jaded debauch, he manages to lose my esteem.” She tsk-tasked. “He’s a foolish little brother.” That, she thought, should be enough to stop LiHoun’s ill-advised inquires about her affections.
LiHoun laughed and coughed until his face was flushed with the effort to draw a breath.
“Do you need tea, uncle?”
He waved his hand. “No. I’m fine.”
“Okay. Then may we talk business now? Thank you. Please bring me the purple and black box from my safe house near PhaJut’s place.” She rose. “I’ve worn out my welcome with the Rhi, and I can’t conduct business from here. I need to talk to my lieutenants directly. I need information. I need to look at something other than the inside of this damned apartment or I will go insane.” She flicked her braid over her shoulder. “But most of all, I need to walk through the streets of Levapur and observe for myself.”
“The soldiers will probably arrest you the moment you’re seen.”
“That’s why I need my purple and black box. And darkness. The moment the sun sets, my convalescence ends.”
~ ~ ~
After the first day of the Ponongese market, RhiLan thought perhaps QuiTai had wasted her money. Few merchants turned around and spent the money she gave them. Although she’d protested, QuiTai gave her more to spend this morning. Still, merchants had been cautious. But after the sky cleared, more people came to shop, and many were buying. It was almost like a festival. Basket women called out their wares as they moved through the crowd. Even the people of Old Levapur came out of their shacks to enjoy the afternoon.
Without Thampurians around, everyone could speak Ponongese without fear of being beaten. Her children sat enraptured by a story teller who related the traditional tale of the fisherman and the moon goddess. She realized they’d never heard it before. All they learned in school were the colorless Thampurian stories about their gods and heroes.
She needed to tell those stories to her children. Like most Ponongese adults, she had memorized them the first time she heard them, but her children were so used to reading from a book that they didn’t bother to keep the stories in their hearts. Ma’am Thun didn’t encourage them to memorize anything. Before long, there wouldn’t be a Ponongese left who could remember news and relate it faithfully word for word. Why the Thampurians didn’t teach that skill she’d never understand. They were a mysterious, and often foolish, people.
The storyteller came to the end of one story and began another.
“I haven’t heard that one in ages,” RhiLan said wistfully.
Her man laughed. “Your favorite.” He took her basket of sarongs and gestured for her to join to audience. “Have fun.”
She flashed a wide smile at him before picking her way through the crowd to squat next to her children.
~ ~ ~
Ma’am Thun glanced over her shoulder as she traveled through back alleyways near the town square. She suspected many Thampurians would shop at the new Ponongese marketplace, but like them, she didn’t want to be seen. As a precaution, she’d worn her mourning veil.
She’d eaten eggs and rice for dinner the night before, and for breakfast. She didn’t mind it in the morning, but it disturbed her sense of correctness to eat such an informal dish after sundown. It simply wasn’t done.
Unhappily, she sensed that the longer she stayed in Levapur, the more she lost of her Thampurianness. In the heat and humidity, it bubbled and flaked away like paint on the buildings. In its place, strange allowances took hold, and you could only try to hold onto who you used to be before you started letting things slip.
By now, I probably can’t go back to Thampur, ever. I’ve been corrupted in so many little ways that I won’t even realize how wrong I’ve become until I see that horrified expression on the faces of old friends. And of course they’ll be sympathetic, and pretend not to see, but the whispers will start, and I’ll never be accepted even if I never make another error.
Ma’am Thun was actually quite pleased by that thought. It relieved her of the duty of wanting to return to Thampur. Every other Thampurian in Levapur spoke wistfully of their return from disgrace. It drove them to excess drink, suicide, or black lotus as they obsessed on senseless schemes to win forgiveness. How freeing it was to say, “I can’t go back, so I might as well stop making myself miserable.”
Why would she ever want to go back? Her husband, a man of vicious temper, had had the nerve to die under questionable circumstances. It had looked like an accident. It had been an accident, if falling into a canal while drunk and drowning rather than shifting into his sea dragon form could be called an accident rather than abysmal stupidity. But upon his death, his family had cut a funeral shroud for him of such fine character that the word murder was whispered, and gazes had shifted in her direction. What could her family do then but put her on a ship headed for Levapur? They’d salvaged their name at her expense. She suspected that many other Thampurians in Levapur could tell similar tales of abandonment for the sake of honor if they ever broke the taboo of discussing their exile.
That prohibition against mentioning their pasts worked in her favor. In Levapur, she was the gracious lady who tried to help the unfortunate Ponongese by educating their children, not a suspected murderess. Certainly she would never be invited to dine with the governor or have lunch with the wives of the rigid upper cast of society, but that discrimination was exactly the same as she would have faced in Thampur. There was comfort in the pretense of normality. What wasn’t normal, for Thampurians, was the awe and respect afforded to her by the Ponongese. She quite liked that. It was much easier to accept her position in society as long as it was clear that there were people below her, people who could never rise.
It wasn’t that she hated the Ponongese. She never called them snakes, not out loud. She had a fondness for their simplicity, their innocence, their desire to please her. They asked for her advice, although she knew they rarely took it. They made sure their children behaved properly and apologized profusely if they didn’t. That was more respect than her husband or family had ever shown her.
She peered around the wall of the bank that sat on the edge of the town square. The white sliding doors to the balcony on the third floor of the government building looked like scowling eyes under the heavy brows of the roofline. If she’d been the fanciful sort, she would have stretched the likenes
s of an angry father to the entrance portico’s columns and thought of them as bared red teeth. She wasn’t that fanciful, although she couldn’t shake the feeling that the government watched the virtually empty town square and all who might pass through it. If only the marketplace had been its usual chaotic mash of noise and smells and people, one could cross it to the road to Old Levapur without being seen; but then if the marketplace had been there, no one would have reason to go to Old Levapur to shop.
That, she decided, summed up life in Levapur perfectly.
Ma’am Thun squared her shoulders before marching forth on the town square. There were more monkeys than people to be seen. It seemed as if Thampurians had decided to buy their rice, pork, and jellylanterns in the shops rather than marketplace stalls.
How very Thampurian of us to shun what others are shunning simply because others seem to be shunning it and never, ever pause to wonder what started it.
Still, she held onto the bottom hem of her mourning veil so it wouldn’t fly up as she quickly passed by the few stalls that were left. The merchants didn’t even bother to call out to her. Everyone had given up.
She felt much less exposed when she reached the road to Old Levapur. On one side, a steeply ascending orange, black, and white streaked sandstone cliff. Odd formations in the sandstone that looked like wax spires that had melted and dripped were occasionally traversed by a thick vine, and tenacious air-rooted flowers clung where they could. The other side of the road dropped off so sharply that she could have leaned over and touched the tops of trees. The funicular tracks to the harbor were somewhere below.
Almost around the turn of the dirt road, she saw men in uniform. They strolled rather than marched, so she slowed her steps, even though they were probably headed to the same place she was. It had been a bit of a shock to realize how much people in Levapur relied on the Ponongese for their food; worrisome, maybe, if one believed that the Thampurians were somehow self-sufficient on this island. She knew many Thampurians who spouted such nonsense. Ponongese cooked their meals and cleaned their houses. Ponongese carried and fetched and bowed and served here because no Thampurian would be caught dead doing such things in Levapur, even though almost all servants in Thampur were Thampurian. Besides, where was the loss of face in having Ponongese servants? It just proved that everyone was in their proper social order.
She hoped they had fish at their market. She’d heard that the Ponongese fishermen weren’t allowed down to the harbor, but she believed that somehow they would find a way to take out their rickety little fleet. Ponongese always had some way around Thampurian rules. She also needed fruit and vegetables.
Ma’am Thun wasn’t a woman given to cursing – out loud – so her nose pinched as she realized she’d have to carry her purchases back to town. Carry packages! She’d heard rumors there was a Ponongese trail along the rim of the Jupoli Gorge, but wasn’t it bad enough that she had to venture into Old Levapur? Did she really have to follow some native game trail back home if she hired a boy to tote her shopping?
Her growing scowl was for Governor Turyat. He was to blame for this mess. While they’d never spoken, she would certainly make sure to have a word with him now. She’d march up the steps to the government building, sweep past his secretary, and politely yet firmly tell him to kindly desist in his actions. There were only so many indignities she was willing to suffer.
She froze as she heard a scream. In the jungle, it was hard to tell which direction sounds came from, but she was certain it had come from ahead. There were more screams, as if a great many people had suddenly been surprised by pain. She spun on her heel and quickly walked toward the town square, never once glancing behind her, because whatever was going on was really none of her business.
With a little huff of disgust, she decided she’d just have to eat pork for dinner.
~ ~ ~
In the years he’d lived on Ponong, Voorus could count the number of times he’d been in Old Levapur on one hand. He didn’t even have to use his thumb. The slum made him uneasy. All those snake eyes watching him, as people leaned silently in the doorways of their shacks or squatted in groups put a knot in his gut. He didn’t want to go there now that there was so much tension between the Ponongese and Thampurians, but the goods in the Thampurian shops were so ridiculously expensive compared to what the Ponongese charged, and many of the shops had bare shelves. Thankfully, several other members of the colonial militia also had shopping to do. Hopefully, the sight of their uniforms would be enough to keep the Ponongese in line. He wasn’t sure how long that would last.
He and his men strolled toward Old Levapur. It was one of those bright, hot afternoons where the humid air seemed to push against every step like a strong wind. The jungle lurked on the edge of the road. He felt sometimes that if he looked away for a second, it crept closer. They passed a tree covered with iridescent blue butterflies.
“There’d better be a market when we get there,” a lieutenant said as he swatted away a vortex of gnats that swirled past his face. “I’d hate to think we walked all this way for no reason.
“The Ponongese all said there would be one,” another soldier said.
“Have you ever noticed how they say the exact same thing when they tell you news? It’s like they memorize it.”
Voorus nodded. For a brief moment, his suspicions flared. The Ponongese could be luring his men into a trap. Just as quickly, he dismissed the thought. As long as he’d been in Levapur, he’d heard the Ponongese parrot each other’s news word for word, without deviation. At first he’d thought it funny, but by now he was used to it. It was just their way. Besides, it wasn’t as if anyone had invited the Thampurians to shop at the new Ponongese market.
“Has anyone asked the governor why he closed the regular marketplace to the Ponongese?” the lieutenant asked.
“I’ve tried,” Voorus said. “He hasn’t been in his office all day, and he’s refusing callers at home.”
“Go to the Dragon Pearl. He’s there at least three nights a week.”
One of the soldiers snickered. “If you were married to his wife –”
A sharp scream jolted them. Voorus looked to his men and nodded sharply. They came together in formation and drew their batons. By the time they heard the following screams, they were already running toward Old Levapur.
~ ~ ~
The story teller was at RhiLan’s favorite part of the tale when a man shouted in Thampurian, “You are ordered to disperse! This assembly is illegal. Anyone who doesn’t leave immediately will be arrested!”
Confused, RhiLan rose. Thampurian soldiers surrounded the little marketplace. Without another word, they stepped forward and started swinging long, black batons. A fishmonger fell as blood spurted from his temple. People screamed and ran, but the soldiers blocked the road.
RhiLan picked up RhiTeek. Her frightened daughter wrapped her skinny legs around RhiLan’s waist and buried her face into her shoulder. RhiLan gripped RhiLiet’s hand. Her middle son fell as people shoved past them. She called out for her man but couldn’t see him in the crowd. The soldiers beat people who curled up on the ground, their hands over their heads.
She screamed his name. Her voice mingled with the other screams of terror.
RhiLiet tripped as he helped his brother up.
“Run! Upslope!” RhiLan yelled.
The panicked mob shoved and pushed her as she fought her way upslope. She yanked RhiLiet along and hoped he had a good grip on his brother. At times she was crushed so tightly between people that her feet didn’t touch the ground, although the mob carried her forward. The breath was crushed from her lungs. She fought her rising panic. Her sweaty hand gripped her son’s hand tightly. If she let go, he would be lost, and they’d be trampled.
The stampede carried her to the ridge above the Jupoli Gorge. They followed the running crowd along the narrow footpath. She heard the Pha River rushing below. If one of them fell through the thick plants growing along the ridge, they’d never survive.
Why? she wondered. Why would anyone do such a horrible thing?
Behind her, she still heard the screams and wails of the people being beaten. Tears ran down her cheeks.
I’ve abandoned my man. I got away with my children and left the others behind. She felt a sudden burst of sympathy for QuiTai and her cousin. This is how it must have felt to run from Cay Rhi. How do they live with their guilt?
She wondered how she would live with hers.
~ ~ ~
Where the road widened, Voorus first saw the bright yellow of a stall’s awning. Then he saw one of the new soldiers, his arm rising high and coming down again and again while something brown and orange writhed at his feet. The screams were horrible, like the anguished cries of prisoners taken to the private cells in the fortress.
“Stop! Halt this moment!” Voorus yelled.
The soldier straightened and looked directly at him. Though blood splattered his face, he showed no emotion.
As the soldiers stopped beating the people, Ponongese fled. The sharp screams had turned to moans and pleading. The orange soil was dark with blood and the air was already ripe with the stink of it. Voorus could barely focus long enough to count the wounded or dead. There were at least four Ponongese who had seen their last sunset.
Voorus pointed to the nearest soldier. “By what right do you attack these people? What have they done?”
The other soldiers drew together. There were thirty of them and only six colonial militia men. Voorus was too angry to care about the overwhelming odds. He wanted to spew his breakfast across the road, but he had to take charge of the situation. “Tell me!” he shouted. “Who ordered you to do this?”
The new soldiers formed a block and sauntered down the road toward the town square.
Voorus knew tears of rage flowed freely from his eyes. He’d never wanted to kill another man before.
