Hawkspar

by Holly Lisle

  Then I told how the Tonk in Hyre had foiled the Feegash plot to disarm them, because by the requirements of their Saint Ethebet, the Tonk maintained weapons stores the Feegash did not know about. I told how they fought back. How they had been enslaved by magic, and how in the end, one Eastil man and one Tonk woman had found a way to break the Feegash hold on their people. How, had they failed to do this, the magic the Feegash had used to coerce, and in many cases destroy, the people of the two conquered nations would have spread and consumed the rest of the peoples of the world.

  I then told about how the Feegash, failing at their Three-Hundred-Year Plan, rewrote it to strengthen ties to its allies, to engender in them deep obligations, and then to call for the payment of those obligations by commanding a war against the Tonk wherever they might be found.

  “You have heard the past as it was, you have heard the future as it would have been. Now hear the present as it is from the same Tonk whose strength has kept you strong, and whose courage has done you one final kindness in spite of how you have treated them.”

  I stepped back. It was Aaran’s turn to take the dais.

  50

  Aaran

  Aaran had been watching the murderous mood building while Hawkspar spoke. He’d felt the power in what she said. He’d felt the truth of it all the way to his bones, and had seen that recognition of truth reflected in the eyes of the men who watched her, so still while they listened to her that save for their expressions they might have been carved.

  When she raised her staff with the knotted silk record she’d been reading waving like a banner, and stepped down from the dais, he stared at her, dumbfounded. No one in the audience moved either, or looked anywhere but at her.

  She stepped into the center of the ranks of Ossalenes, and lowered her staff, and the spell she’d woven over them all seemed to break.

  He realized that it was his turn to take the stage.

  Aaran took the scroll from Sakjin, walked to the dais, and stepped atop it.

  “I am Aaran Donin av Savissha dryn Tragyn, Clan Viikuu of the Tonk people, and captain of the Taag av Sookyn. I also speak as leader of the Battle of Ba’afeegash, and conqueror of the Feegash people.” From his throat, he pulled out the medallion that Aashka had worn—the sigil of the first diplomat and premier of Ba’afeegash—and pulled it over his head. He held it up high, for everyone to see.

  In the front row, Afirt the fallen head diplomat of the Feegash delegation, recognized the medallion for what it was, and screamed.

  Aaran dropped it to the dais, and, with a bit of flourish, stood on it.

  Speaking in careful High Diplomatic Sinali, he read, “Having read or entered into the record kept by this assembled body of representatives the history and cases pertinent to this treaty, as is both customary and mandatory, I now state the terms of the treaty, wherein shall be declared the complete capitulation of the nation of Ba’afeegash to its Tonk conquerors, and the dissolution of the Feegash people as a sovereign entity.”

  A rumble of applause started somewhere near the back of the chamber, and spread, rippling and growing louder, until it was like a storm surf crashing over Aaran’s ears.

  He raised a hand for silence, but it wasn’t quickly granted.

  When finally the room stilled, he began reading again.

  “Under the terms of the treaty, the city-state of Ba’afeegash has been razed to the ground within the walls, its wells poisoned, and its soil sowed with salt so that no one will inhabit those grounds again in the lifetime of anyone living, or the lifetimes of their children or grandchildren. The Feegash power brokers within the city itself—the diplomats, the military leaders, and the chief merchants have been executed. The Ba’afeegash women and children, as well as all slaves and citizen-servants, have been given generous portions of the wealth of the nation and set free to return to the homes and families from which they were taken, or to find new lives for themselves in better lands.”

  The applause started again as representatives realized that some of their own people, stolen by their neighboring nations but given to the Feegash, might be coming home.

  Aaran waved the applause to silence again.

  “The Tonk people, as conquerors of the Feegash people, recognize their right under the laws of this court to benefit from the treaties held by the people it has conquered, to collect the debts owed to the Feegash as its own, and to claim all the advantages rightfully given a successful conqueror under the law of the conqueror, which has been held as valid within these chambers for more than one thousand years.”

  The audience found its silence at that declaration quickly enough. The translators murmured to the delegates where necessary, but High Diplomatic Sinali was the official language within the walls of the Grand Hall, and few translators were doing more at that moment than leaning forward holding their breath, just as the delegates were doing.

  Aaran cleared his throat. “I hereby give the terms under which the Tonk people exercises its right of conquest.”

  “All Tonk captives, servants, slaves, or prisoners within each nation or territory represented here are to be returned to their own people safely and with such monies and possessions as will permit them to begin new lives.

  “All trading in Tonk captives and Tonk slaves by all peoples represented here will cease immediately.

  “All raids, attacks, or wars on Tonk peoples or Tonk territories or possessions, whether at land or at sea, will cease immediately.

  “Tonk lands will be held as sovereign, with borders respected by all peoples represented here.

  “Finally, the Tonk people will acquire permanent seats equal to one full voting seat and one debating seat in this chamber for each of the twenty-one known clans, with one voting seat and one debating seat held in reserve for the two remaining Drifted Clans, the Kyruu and the Jiree, should surviving members of those clans ever be located.

  “For each nation or people represented here who abides fully and freely with the conditions we, the Tonk people, have set forth, we will declare all treaties, debts, obligations, or alliances, whether secretly or publicly recognized, to be dissolved without cost or penalty.”

  This time, there was no stopping the applause. Or the cheering. Or the standing and dancing on seats and desks. The yoke in which the Feegash had held the assembled peoples had been heavy, the debts it collected had been steep, and the costs of those debts had just been presented to everyone in horrifying detail.

  When Aaran and the other captains and the Feegash secretaries first went over all the rights the Tonk had as conquerors of the Feegash, it had been hard not to look at those treaties and debts as something to be used for every drop of gold and blood they might be worth.

  But the first flush of vengeful glee had passed, and the words of Saint Ethebet had come back to all of them: He who holds the chain is as much bound by it as he who is held.

  By her edicts, the Tonk did not keep slaves or permit slavery by any peoples living within their borders or under their law. And by her edicts they were guided once more. Those Feegash treaties were as much chains as any slavery. The debts would require debt collectors, and would collect hatred along with gold.

  So the Tonk captains, and through communications with the clans across Korre, the taaklords and clanlords, had agreed to offer freedom to all who would have it.

  From the still surging roars of applause, the assembly had found the plan to its liking.

  Except the Feegash, of course, who were being manacled and marched quietly out of the chambers by armed Sinali guards and accompanied by Sinali shamans to make sure they didn’t try any of their Hagedwar magic.

  Aaran read the rest of the treaty—the details of when conditions would have to be met for the respective peoples assembled to be considered in compliance, as well as information about the Feegash who had presented the first part of the treaty, and who were released from any ties to the Feegash in power—to relative silence.

  But when he read the last lin
e, and rolled it up, and presented it to the Sinali master of chambers to be entered into the record along with the copies of everything else that the Tonk had brought with them, another wave of applause started, and thundered down like a summer storm.

  Hawkspar

  We were back in the ship, and the Tonk fleet no longer carried the truce and treaty flags. The captains had chosen temporary delegates to take the newly created seats in the Grand Hall of Nations, along with those communicators who would stay behind. Marine volunteers had gathered up their shares from their various adventures, and were offloading their belongings. They would form the first Tonk diplomatic escort, and would be responsible for the safety of our delegates.

  We were not so naïve that we believed all the nations’ representatives would be friendly to us, no matter how generous our gesture in offering to forgive debts. There would be those who were benefiting from the wars against our people who would want to continue reaping their profits. They would no doubt try to harm our delegates, or turn them; the diplomatic escort would do everything in their power to make sure our people survived in good health and safety.

  Our communicators spent a busy few days presenting the news of our triumph in Sinali to all the clans scattered across the world. The wars continued for a while, because emissaries had to be sent to the fronts to inform the officers of the various armies to sound retreat.

  For a time, the Tonk fought hard defensive actions, took and kept prisoners, and held the line, waiting. Waiting. Some of our people died fighting, knowing the peace had already been won, but holding the line to protect those who could not fight.

  The news passed, though. The orders came down to officers, and ceasefires were called, and the tides that had assailed the Tonk began to retreat.

  When we received word through our communicators that the last attacks on the Tand Asvikuu had stopped, we said good-bye to the people we would leave behind, and set sail as a fleet.

  We parted company, though, with individual ships splitting off as tide and wind took them toward their own homes.

  The Taag was heading for Hyre, with a cargo of freed Tonks slaves who had come from there before ending up in Ba’afeegash, and with holds full of riches. And with a freedom and a power that our people had never before enjoyed. The Tonk had, if only for the moment, no declared enemies. We were not at war with anyone.

  We had won, and I had done my part to help us win.

  I could not share the happiness of those around me, though.

  There had been that one moment when, stepping on the ship after the Feegash were formally dissolved, Aaran and I had fallen into each other’s arms and danced around the deck like fools and cheered.

  But the Eyes had me, and realization dawned on both of us, and we pulled away.

  I was already not the woman he loved. I was the creature who was devouring her.

  I could no longer shield myself from the raw magic of the Hawkspar Eyes, heightened by the power fed them by every other set of Eyes in the world. To be the goddess in truth as well as in name; to lend my force to the Tonk cause, I had connected paths that became greater than me—that brought to full expression a magic that had been so powerful it had destroyed even its own creator.

  I no longer needed that power, but power exists for its own sake, and the Eyes, fully opened, would not close. I did not have the strength to save myself. The Hawkspar Eyes dragged in images and voices from all of time and all the world—the past, the present, and the future—and those phantoms shouted or whispered or screamed in languages lost, and known, and not even yet in existence. And I could not look away. I ate alone, I slept alone, and as much as I could, I stayed alone—and I was never alone.

  The presence of anyone real near me made things worse; even Aaran and Redbird, who were my family, stirred up the eddies of time around me. Simply by being near me, the currents of their lives flowed into mine, and made the river I fought swell as if in a flood.

  I kept them away because having them near hurt me. But more than that, I kept them away because I could not bear to have them see me the way I had become. I mistook the unreal for the real, the past and the future for the present. I cried out at terrifying specters I realized a moment later were not there; I babbled at people who rose from the waves and spoke to me or through me to someone else who had once been or who might someday be—or who, a thousand long leagues away, was.

  The madness had not yet devoured me wholly. Sometimes I knew where I was. Less often, when I was. I still knew who I was and what I wanted. But that, too, I could feel slipping away.

  I didn’t give up. I fought. I pushed my way out of the voices, out of the seduction of all the times that might be, that were right then, that had been before, and I dragged myself far enough into the now that I could feel sunlight on my skin and breathe the air of the moment. I fought because some part of me remained human, and humans keep fighting. Drowning, we struggle toward the surface for one last breath, even if no one will ever come along to pull us out, because so long as we hope and fight—so long as we hang on—we do not die.

  I fought. But death sat close to me, and every day closer.

  Aaran sent his healer to me each morning, hoping that Alwyn would find a way to break the Eyes’ hold without killing me. The Moonstones hovered over me as long as I could tolerate their presence, trying to undo what Ossal’s magic had wrought.

  But here is the truth of power; the lesser magic cannot undo the greater magic. In all the world, I doubted there lived a wizard great enough to undo the magic Ossal had wrought with the final pair of Eyes he made—the Hawkspar Eyes.

  My death would break the lines that coursed through me. The Eyes would become weak again.

  But I did not want to die.

  51

  Aaran

  “How is she?”

  Aaran turned toward Tuua. “Demon beset. Half starved. Lost in visions that make me think the Eastil hells might all be real. I sit outside her door, and listen to her talk to no one, and scream, and sob, and laugh. And then will come a silence, and I wonder if she has come back to herself. Or if she has fallen asleep. Or if she is dead.”

  “Alwyn cannot do anything?”

  “No.” Aaran turned his face back to the sea, and watched the approaching ship. It was small and fast, and after a moment he realized it had, in miniature, the same elegant lines as the Ker Nagile. “No one can do anything. She’s going to die. She gave everything she had to save the Tonk, and instead of triumph and joy, she gets madness and death. And I, who love her, watch her crumble before my eyes, almost as if she were Aashka all over again.” He clenched his hands on the rail, and said, “If you speak to Jostfar, ask him if I am poison, that my mere presence destroys the people I love.” He turned, the bitterness consuming him, and said, “But you have found happiness. Jarynan, is it?”

  “We’re going to the temple in Port Midrid and make our vows,” Tuua said.

  “Yes. And on the ship, a dozen other men have found their futures with women they dared to love and get to keep. They will take their shares and go on to happiness.”

  The shares had already been divided. Aaran had first set aside what he would have to pay to those who had invested in his voyage, and then paid out shares. His men had done well; they could thank the Ossalenes for that.

  Tuua said, “Good Jostfar. That’s Makkor.”

  And Aaran’s heart sank. “Oh, Ethebet hammer me once between the eyes.”

  Tuua said, “I rather like the old man.”

  “As do I. But I owe him a wife, or the full price of the ship.”

  Tuua said, “I’d forgotten all about that.”

  “As had I. It wasn’t written in the log with our contracts. It was simply an agreement between the two of us.”

  “How much is the full price of the ship?”

  “Enough that no one will get shares for the voyage,” Aaran said. It seemed obvious to him that this would be the next thing to come crashing around his ears. He’d been on his
maiden voyage as captain of a ship; he’d rescued a shipload of Tonk slaves; he’d found his missing sister and discovered a plot against his people—and aside from what he and everyone else had managed for the Tonk, it had gone to ashes. All of it. His sister was dead; the woman he loved, dying; and now he would not even be able to pay his crew, and so would guarantee that he could not hire another, and that his name would be a mockery, a synonym for failure as a captain, ever after.

  The fine small ship came alongside, and Tuua muttered, “I don’t suppose we could accidentally sink him.”

  “I think not.” Aaran watched his men grabbing the tossed ropes and helping the ship come alongside.

  Makkor Gurak-Golak-Dok-Hkukguh came up the side of the ship and dropped to the deck like a man a third his age. He spotted Aaran, grinned broadly, and came bounding over, embracing him with an enormous hug and a laugh. “Are you not the hero, lad, saved all the Tonk and most of the rest of us into the bargain?” And then he pulled back and studied Aaran. “And don’t you look the hell and hard times? You should be dancing, lad. Treasure from the Fallen Suns, from what I’ve heard, and from the Feegash storerooms as well.”

  “It’s not been a good voyage for me,” Aaran said.

  Makkor studied him through narrowed eyes. “I’m believing you,” he said at last. “Did you have hardships on the way back?”