Well, there was an understatement for the ages. Día dipped her head, struggling to shift back in to her role as a representative for the Azahi, and to offer assurances without endorsing the incident in question. “No, don’t worry. I’m...” ... sorry you had to resort to ritual murder? Sure you had a good reason for executing an innocent man? Día longed to ask what had happened to Vuchak, prevented less by politeness than by her certainty that no answer would satisfy her.“... I’m aware that we were all working under exceptional circumstances.” By heaven, it was too early for this.
But if her host was feeling at all guilty, Día would not let it go to waste. “I’m glad you mentioned it, though, because I did want to ask: how is Weisei? Will he receive visitors?”
Penten’s discomfited expression said it all. “He is... he is resting. And your concern speaks highly of you – really, we are gratified by your compassion – but I’m afraid I can’t arrange a meeting.”
Día wasn’t all that surprised – and yet I can’t arrange a meeting was leagues distant from he doesn’t want to see anyone. “I understand, and won’t press you further,” she said, preparing to do exactly that. “It’s just that he was – he was tremendously kind to me when I was in dire need. It pains me to leave him in grief.”
Penten stopped, and Día feared she had said too much.
But as Marhuk’s broad-shouldered daughter looked around, to the small lights dotting the still-living parts of the city, and the distant chat and clamor of people at work, Día realized that she wasn’t vexed: she was looking for privacy.
So she followed her off the road, walking aside to stand under the nearest terrace wall: Día with hands clasped, Penten with arms folded. “Let me tell you something, ambassador. I know what you must be thinking. I’m sure our ways must look strange, even cruel. But I’m not going to try to explain them, because... well, because some things aren’t made to be shared. Our business is ours, and our friends respect that.”
In other words, don’t put your nose where it isn’t wanted. Día glanced down, duly chastised. “Of course. I’m –”
“Well, but wait. Let me tell you something else now – something not for ambassadors to know. Something made to be shared between Penten and Día.” The other woman’s gaze was roving, hunting for eavesdroppers in the dark. It returned to her with a calm, unblinking gravity. “Vuchak was not murdered. He was not executed. He stepped forward of his own will, in order to... to save Weisei’s life, let’s call it. That was a hard thing for both of them. Vuchak is safe now – his place is assured – but Weisei is in a dangerous position. He is angry and questioning and vulnerable. His wounded heart is beating on a knife’s edge, and we don’t know yet which way it might fall.”
Which is exactly why I want to visit him, Día thought.
“Which is precisely why we can’t let you visit him,” Penten continued. “See yourself as we see you, Día. It’s clear you have a noble soul and only the most selfless motives. But you don’t know him, or us, or the ways given to us by our holy parent. And if you with your great and loving nature were to inadvertently sow a foreign seed in his mind, accidentally imprint one of your own god’s truths onto him – if you were to cause Weisei to see what happened yesterday through YOUR eyes...” She shook her head. “We can’t risk contaminating his thoughts, or spoiling Vuchak’s gift – and we would hate to let that noble soul of yours suffer a wound inflicted by your own good intentions.”
Too late. Those last words were kindly meant, yet only galvanized Día’s need to do something, anything to avoid just – just stepping over Weisei on her way out the door.
Anything to avoid being like Halfwick.
But Día understood, or at least better comprehended the scope of her ignorance. So she surrendered with a grateful bow of her head – and one last effort at securing a concession. “That’s very kind of you. I understand. And if it wouldn’t upset anything... could I perhaps leave a letter for him? For you to read and give to him later, if it seems prudent?”
Día hung everything on the if – the one that would ease her conscience, and hold Penten to no obligation. She didn’t ask whether Weisei could read Marín.
Marhuk’s daughter smiled in the lantern’s warm glow – a nice gesture, albeit one that didn’t reach her eyes. “That we can do. But please, try not to worry. He and I...” She frowned. “It’s a hard path, but not one he has to walk alone. I promise I’ll look after him.”
Día would have expected a we just there – but the I was infinitely more reassuring.
“And speaking of the path – let’s get back to it. There’s a good place up ahead for seeing the sun rise.”
Día followed her host’s gesture back to the road, surprised at how the blue-violet glow in the east had already crept up on them. “Thank you,” she said as they resumed their stroll. “I truly appreciate it. And if it’s appropriate, please tell Winshin that I’m sorry too. About her son.” About her everything, really.
Penten swallowed a grimace. “Try not to think too badly of her. Dulei was all she had left of her husband, and he in turn was all she had left after her sister was... well, there’s no point in rehashing ancient history. Let it be enough to say that her service for the a’Krah has cost her dearly, and her life isn’t what it should have been.”
Not for the first time, Día wished there were a graceful second-tier version of I understand for moments like these – for the times when she wanted to convey the depth of her fellow-feeling, even though she would never, ever understand.
Not for the first time, it seemed a strange, cruel omission, that Ardish and Marín used widow to name a husbandless wife, and orphan to describe a parentless child, and yet had no word for a childless parent. How could anyone survive such an intolerable deprivation when there wasn’t even a name for it? How could anyone else even try to grasp it?
Día wanted to ask if ei’Krah had a suitable word.
She wanted to ask whether Winshin had had any say in Dulei’s going to Island Town.
She wanted someone to tell her that this was all for a reason, or at least not a waste.
Instead, she admired the scenery. “It’s beautiful,” she said, as by that time they had climbed to the top-level terrace, and it was light enough that she could look back behind them and see all of Atali’Krah.
And it was beautiful, even with all its fresh, traumatic irregularities. She could see now that there was a plan to the city, its terraces laid out like rich, living tiers of a wedding cake baked over a thousand generations. Yesterday, the collection of little wooden towers scattered amidst the ordinary buildings had seemed odd and pointless – poorly placed for defense, and too small for even a single watchman. Some were lit up now, and as Día noticed the arrangement of the lights, she realized that she recognized that pattern: that was the constellation Passer Austrinus – the Southern Sparrow, which was even now crowning the sky overhead.
Penten must have caught Día glancing from the earthly lights to the heavenly ones. She smiled. “It is. I was sad when I first came here, you know. Atali’Krah can feel small and stuffy sometimes, so dense and cluttered with history. But now it’s hard to imagine living anywhere else.”
Well, it had certainly been relieved of some of its history. Día couldn’t begin to guess at the significance of the great stone disk, or the distinctions between the five burial towers, or the purpose of those great stone hands rising in supplication out of the earth... but all of them had been severely compromised, if not outright destroyed. “Were there very many people killed?” Día asked, regretting it as soon as she’d opened her mouth.
“Oh, no,” Penten said, with a kind of ageless sigh. “Not many at all, in the greater order of things. Actually, though, that was what I was hoping to speak with you about.”
Día stopped gawking at the city-lights, and hurried to remember her duty. “What’s that?”
Penten paused to help her up a steep step – the first of many that seemed to wind around and
behind the mountain’s peak. “Well, ordinarily we would never ask an honored visitor to do our message-toting for us, but...” She smiled with some rueful humor. “Do you know, of the five a’Krah we have here from Island Town, two are dead, one has run away, another is comatose, and the last is... well, is Weisei. So if it wouldn’t disagree with you, we were hoping to send you home with a message for the First Man of Island Town.”
Oh, thank goodness. This was going to be so much simpler than she’d expected. “I’d be glad to,” Día said, preparing herself to commit the next words to memory. This would probably be some intricate business about trade, or improving the roads, or –
“Ask him to be on the lookout for a woman of the Maia – one of childbearing age. We’ll pay top price.”
Día stumbled on the next step.
She hadn’t heard that correctly. She hadn’t.
“I’m sorry?” she said. “I don’t – could you say that again?”
The Azahi would never deal in human beings. That had been his very first edict: from the day he’d taken office, there were to be no slaves in Island Town.
But Penten continued on ahead with a blithe wave of her hand. “Yes, I know it’s an odd request – I’m not quite sure what the urgency is myself. But it’s very important to Grandfather that we find one, and they’re terribly scarce these days. Anything the First Man could do to secure one for us would be most appreciated.”
Día had to answer. She had to open her mouth and make words come out, and save her private horror for later. “Yes,” she said, though it sounded distant in her own ears. “I’ll be sure to ask him about that.”
Oh, would she ever.
But Día was a rotten liar, even when she was technically telling the truth, and whatever expression she wore was enough to stop Penten at her first backward glance.
“You didn’t know,” the bigger woman said. It was not a question.
Well, there was no use denying it. “No,” Día said. “I don’t – I can’t believe he would do that.”
Penten clasped her hands with a pained look. “Would it help if I told you that he doesn’t personally oversee the business? We have our own people for that.”
“No,” Día said again, as pleasantly as if she’d been asked whether the seat next to her was taken. “Not even a little bit.”
Penten pursed her lips, her handsome figure silhouetted against the graying northern sky. “You must think we’re terrible barbarians.”
No, of course not. That was the polite, correct thing to say. That was what the Azahi would say. You’ve been wonderful hosts and valuable friends, and even though we do things differently, we have the utmost respect for your traditions. That was what Día would have said last week, yesterday, even an hour ago.
But that was then, and this was now, and now found her standing on a frigid mountain path on the wrong side of dawn, having just been casually informed that the great golden moral compass of Island Town, the earthly authority in which Día had placed her absolute trust, was nothing more than a fence for human flesh.
And now there was no measure to use in deciding what the Azahi would do or say, no pretending that she was equipped to act on his behalf – no-one left to represent but herself.
“Well – well, yes, a bit!” Día said, throwing out her hands in a rude, spontaneous confession. “I – you know, I watched that woman open up Vuchak like a steer for slaughter, and I watched Winshin just – just brutalize Halfwick with that knife, and I watched YOU stand back and let it all happen, not lifting a finger except to be sure that Weisei couldn’t reach his friend in time to help him, and now we’re strolling along like the best of friends, even while half your city’s wrecked and scores of your own people have been killed, and, and, and you’re just standing here picking out a mail-order slave!”
Día stopped herself there, hearing the cracks in her voice and the thickness in her throat – but her eyes went on without her, lingering on those bone-laden wooden platforms. A blanket of crows had already descended in anticipation of the feast.
Penten said nothing, her face an indecipherable mask. She followed Día’s attention to the sky-towers below, and then glanced over to the east.
There was a long, heavy silence, one that Día refused to break. She’d said her piece.
“You know,” Penten said at last, “I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of sunrises before. Perhaps we should stop here.” And she sat down on the spot.
Día had no idea how to interpret that – but it didn’t take long to come to her senses. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling properly foolish as she stood there with steaming breath and burning ears. “That was coarse and uncalled-for. I shouldn’t have said anything of the sort.”
Penten didn’t look at her. She just tipped her head, left and right – an a’Krah shrug – and kept her attention on the tiny lights down in the great valley below.
So they weren’t speaking, then... and yet the interview wasn’t over.
When Día could think of no graceful alternative, she sat down too.
It was miserably cold, and seemed appallingly pointless. She’d gotten the message from the a’Krah – the bizarre, sordid, vile message – and now there was nothing left to do but take the filthy thing back to Island Town and drop it at the Azahi’s feet. Everything else was just posturing and formality, a thin, smiling pretense at papering over the moral abyss between them. Día should never have let herself be left behind yesterday. She should have admitted the truth straightaway – the Azahi had not sent her here, and she had no right to conduct any business on his behalf – and headed off with Elim and Halfwick.
God, there was a thought: even Halfwick looked nobler by comparison, now. He had never traded human beings under the table, at least not that Día knew of. More to the point, he had never presented himself as anything but what he was: a smarmy, boorish lout whose empathy didn’t extend past his own nose. What did it say about the state of the world when a man like that could hold the moral high ground?
But the world, notoriously indifferent to human critique, kept right on turning. As it did, the sky lightened from black to violet to gray to blue, shrinking the darkness to just those long shadows that reached westward from the mountains – and then revealing the splendors within.
Día had never seen such a lush, green landscape. She had never imagined that such a color could still exist. And yet there it was, laid out in endless rolling riches beyond and below her: pine-furred mountains and neatly-cultivated fields, lapis-like river tributaries winding all around and through the hills and valleys and ageless rumpled peaks, their slopes all but glowing with orange-pink mineral luster. And strewn all through it, like delicate flecks of light-scattering quartz in raw green copper, were the marks of human beings: tiny lights along the riverbanks and between the fields, birthing delicate wisps of smoke into the cold, sweet mountain air.
It was a world apart – a vision of paradise opening up before a woman just then discovering that she had lived her entire life in a rain shadow.
And while Día marveled at the dawn spreading out over the horizon, Penten had apparently been watching the one lighting up her guest’s face. By the time Día noticed and looked over, Marhuk’s daughter was smiling. “You had me worried. I was beginning to think you’d never see it.”
Well, Día would try to make up for lost time. Her night-blind eyes drank in the great vista all over again, helpless to comprehend the scope of it all. “How?” she said. “The drought, it’s – how can anything live here?”
Penten shifted closer to her. “The Lightning Brothers brought the rain. They’ve scorned the earth ever since the Corn Woman died, their beds neglected by her grieving sisters. But the North Wind brings snow, and the Ripening Woman coaxes it to melt, and we build the dams and channels that carry it out for the earth to drink. You’ve endured so much of the deathly side of our domain. I thought you should also have a chance to see some of the life.”
It was a thoughtful gesture
, and salve for a dry soul.
Yet even here, amidst the wonder of a lush, pristine world, Día couldn’t help but look down at the place where one of the burial platforms had crashed into its neighbor, its yellow-gray bones now spilled down the slope like a rancid raw egg dribbled down the front of an exquisite emerald dress. And even now, she could find nothing in those pretty trees and valleys that would explain or erase the carnage of the temple.
“I appreciate that,” she said at last. “It’s just... hard to see the connection between them. Hard to see how the one is anything but a detriment to the other.”
Penten must have noticed the object of Día’s attention. She nodded down to the bones below, and then to the crows gathering on the still-standing towers. “I know it must seem terribly uncivilized, to think of children of Marhuk eating each other. But the other way to see it is that we feed each other. We sustain the crows with what we leave behind. And they do likewise, as we take their shells and feathers and droppings yes, their dead, and use them to enrich the land that sustains us in turn.”
That was a nice sentiment, but Día had never accused the a’Krah of practicing unsound ecology. She nodded.
“And it’s true that – you know, I wonder sometimes about what we miss up here, with our bird’s-eye view of the world.” The a’Krah woman tipped her head again, watching the lights in the valley below disappear one by one. “We tend to take the long view, and when you’re used to seeing things from high and far away... it’s easy to miss the details. To not notice the people who fall through the cracks, or not miss them when they do.”
Día looked over at Penten Marhuk, and wondered how much of her was Penten, and how much was Marhuk.
“But I hope – we try to make sure that everyone knows themselves to be a part of something bigger and greater, even though none of us can see the whole design. To be honest, I don’t know why Grandfather allowed our calendar to fall and so many of our people to die, but I believe he made that choice deliberately, and in our own best interests. I don’t know why he wants a woman of the Maia, either, but I trust that it’s for a good purpose. Maybe I’ll understand the grand design someday... but regardless, I plan on doing my best with my part of it.” Penten glanced over at Día, unsmiling but earnest. “I’m glad it afforded me the chance to meet you.”
Dreams of the Eaten Page 39
