by Robin Hobb
“So you have come!” she declared as if mildly surprised. “Welcome to Kinrove’s kin-clan and our Trading Place encampment. I will have someone guide your bearers to a place where your goods can be stored while you visit us. Kinrove bids me invite you to enter his pavilion and find refreshment there.”
With this, she swept her hand toward the opened flap of the tent. Soldier’s Boy nodded curtly to her and stepped up onto the wooden platform that floored the pavilion. He had to stoop to enter it. Olikea and Likari followed him. As soon as the heavy leather flap dropped down behind us, the sounds of the music and dancers outside were muted. I had not realized how much of an irritant it was until I was relieved of it.
The leather walls enclosed a substantial chamber. It was warm, almost too warm, and stuffy from the number of people it held. In a strange way, it reminded me of Colonel Haren’s rooms at Gettys. It gave me the same strange sensation of having been transported to another place and time far from the forests and meadows and beach.
The floors were covered with reed carpets woven with designs that echoed the painting on the outside of the pavilion. Strips of bark fabric decorated with feathers and multicolored glass teardrops hung down from the shadowed ceiling. Suspended glass lanterns lit the room and drove the shadows back into the tapestry-draped corners. A long table burdened with food ran the full length of one side wall. There were several thronelike chairs in the room, all well cushioned and obviously designed to accommodate the weight and girth of a Great One. I was surprised to see that Jodoli occupied one of them, and a young but very heavy woman sat in another, smoking an elaborately carved ivory pipe. When she noticed me looking at her, she parted her lips and expelled a disdainful stream of smoke at me.
On the side of the tent opposite the food table, servants were pouring large jugs of steaming hot water into an immense copper bathtub. The water was scented and the rising steam perfumed the air. Other serving folk were coming and going, bringing in smoking platters of freshly cooked food and removing empty tureens or replenishing wineglasses.
But all of this coming and going of people bringing hot water and fresh food or removing dishes or refilling wineglasses was only the busy framework around the central spectacle. On a raised dais in the very center of the tent, Kinrove reclined in a cushioned hammock. The man was immense. Flesh was heaped upon flesh in rolls until the skeletal structure that had once defined him as a man was buried and muted. His body literally overspilled him; his belly sat in his lap and his head and chin were sunken in the roundness of his shoulders. A loose green robe covered him but did nothing to disguise his bulk; rather, it emphasized it. Broad stripes of gold outlined the contours of his body and repeated them. Among Gernian folk, such a man would have been an object of both ridicule and fascination. I had seen a man half his size displayed as a “fat man” in a Gernian carnival tent. He had been mocked and stared at. Here, Kinrove was an object of awe bordering on worship.
The man ruled the room. The gaze he turned on us was piercing, and there was power rather than indolence in the hand that lifted and beckoned us closer. His gesture was oddly graceful. He wore his flesh as another man might have worn a wealth of jewelry or the badges of his military rank. He used his size to command. The whole purpose of the pavilion was to center our focus on the sheer body size he had attained and it worked very well indeed. I was stunned by him. Feeders came and went around him, bringing food and drink, carrying off dishes, wiping his hands with moist cloths, massaging his feet and legs. A special stand at his elbow held several elaborate pipes and heavy glass canisters of tobacco. All the faces of those serving him showed deference, even affection. I saw no sign of resentment or anything less than devotion.
With a small jolt, I recognized the attitude that was displayed. When I was a small boy, my family had gone to visit the estate of another new noble family. They had lived up the river from us, a two-day journey, and I recalled how sternly my father had admonished me that Lord Skert was to be treated with great respect, for he had made many sacrifices for his king. I had expected to see some mighty muscled giant of a man, with a big beard and a booming voice. Instead, we were introduced to a man whose legs no longer worked. He was pushed from room to room in a wheeled chair, and burn scars had smoothed and twisted the side of his face and neck. Despite his scars and his disability, he had the bearing of a soldier. In the few days of our visit, I had come to see that he wore those scars as if they were medals he had earned. He was not shamed or humiliated by them; they were a part of his service record and he displayed them as such.
So did Kinrove. The size of his body obviously hampered him. Despite the scented oils being rubbed into his feet and calves, his legs looked painful, dusky, and swollen.
When he saw us, he moved his hand slightly, opening his palm to bid us enter. He inclined his head very slightly to the left. Again, I was struck by the grace of these small movements. There was an economy of motion to them that seemed full of beauty. “So. Here you are! I have heard of your coming among us, Soldier’s Boy, trained by Lisana.” He paused, cocked his head slightly, and said slyly, “And I give welcome also to Nevare of the Plain-skins.”
Before I could respond to that strange greeting, he turned his attention back to the larger gathering and spoke loudly for their benefit. He had to pause between phrases. Even the effort of speaking taxed his wind. “You are not unknown to us. Jodoli has told us of how Olikea found you and rescued you. He has also”—and here his smile grew very wide—“told us of your first contest of might with him! It was a good tale.” He chuckled, and all around the room, his merriment was echoed in rippling laughter.
He took another breath. “So I am pleased that you accepted my invitation.” A breath. “It pleases me to confer with the Great Ones of the People from time to time, to hear from them how our war goes, to accept their thanks and to direct them as to how their efforts might best aid me.” A breath. “Jodoli had told me that you were a very substantial man, before you burned much magic in a…shall we say ‘inexperienced’ rather than ‘vain’ attempt to stop the Jhernians?”
I felt the flush of hot blood that darkened Soldier’s Boy’s face. You did this; you brought this shame on me! He thrust the fierce thought at me, but to Kinrove he smiled and said, “I do not think my effort vain if it protected our ancestor trees for another season. I will do whatever I must to keep them safe until a final solution can be found.”
“So you would do what you must to drive the invaders from our land. Good. The magic asks much of us, and much especially of your kin-clan this year. I summoned Jodoli here, as the Great Man of your kin-clan, to speak to him of the magic’s need for more dancers. Imagine my surprise when he told me that his kin-clan had not one, but two Great Men now. Of course as soon as I heard that, I knew I must send for you. Such a strange thing to my eyes you are, a Great Man who grew up among the intruders. Jodoli thinks you are the key to the final solution. So the magic told him, in a dream, he says. And so the magic has whispered to me also. What do you say to that, Nevare of the Plain-skins? Do you know a way that we have not yet tried, Soldier’s Boy? Do you know a way to drive the Jhernians from our borders and restore peace and prosperity to our folk? Perhaps with a new dance that has not yet been danced?”
He had paused often to breathe as he spoke to me. His frequent pauses made it hard for me to decide if he had finished speaking. His question sounded dangerous to me. Twice he had referred to me by both names. Inside Soldier’s Boy, I huddled small. I did not like this Speck Great One addressing me directly. He saw too clearly.
Kinrove smiled. He did not move, but I felt that he leaned closer, and that he could see, not just Soldier’s Boy, but me, Nevare, hidden inside him. He held out two fingers toward us, like open scissors, and then closed them together. The gesture seemed fraught with magic. “A joining makes a path,” he said, and I felt threatened. His eyes peered more sharply. “A man cannot dance if his left foot tries to go one way and his right another. The dance hap
pens when a man is in harmony with himself.”
“I know a way to drive the Jhernians away!”
Her voice cracked on the words, but it was emotion that made it do so. The young female Great One ensconced in a chair across from Jodoli spoke. She stood, spreading her arms wide. When she did so, the bright yellow and black robe that she wore billowed out around her, amplifying her considerable girth. I was sure it was a contrived gesture to make her seem larger than she was. I was grateful that she had attracted attention away from me, even though I felt Soldier’s Boy’s annoyance that she had interrupted the challenge between Kinrove and himself. Beside me, Olikea released a pent breath. I wondered if she was relieved or annoyed.
The female Great One drew a deep breath. She folded her arms at her elbows, bringing her hands in to touch her ample bosom. The bright fabric billowed again as she bade him, “Speak to me, Kinrove! Or rather, listen! I know a way, and I have come here to speak to you of it! You were reluctant to allow me to come in, and since I have arrived, you have given me no chance to be heard. You fritter away our time with food and pleasures and trivial gossip. You make me wait as if I am of no consequence at all, even though I have told you I bring the words of not just my kin-clan, but the dissatisfied of many kin-clans. Then he appears”—and she waved a disdainful hand at me—“and you forget entirely that I am here. Why do you trouble with him when I am here? He is of the Plain-skins. He is the enemy. Someone has marked him as if he were of the People, but how can he be? Vermin beget vermin, not stags. If you wish to show us something of your power tonight, do so by killing him. Be rid of him, Kinrove. He but does what Jhernians have always done; they come, they take what is ours and use it to evil ends. He has usurped our magic and done us no good with it. Begin to find your ultimate solution by killing him and then finish it by listening to me!”
She looked directly at me then, and I felt, as Soldier’s Boy did, the buffet of her power. He’d had sufficient warning to set my muscles and not stagger back from the blow, but her intent was clear. She’d meant to at least knock him down and humiliate him in front of the others if not do physical damage. I think it was the first time I’d met the eyes of another human being and actually felt the hate emanate from them.
“Stop!” When Kinrove spoke that word, I felt what the soldiers in Gettys had felt the night I had stopped them before they killed me. It was a word of command backed by more magic than Soldier’s Boy could resist. I hadn’t realized that Soldier’s Boy had mustered his magic to use against the girl. Perhaps he had done it more intuitively or instinctively than as a planned reaction. But in that moment, he dropped his guard just as a numbed hand releases a weapon. Across from me, the girl spasmed as if doused with cold water. I saw her take a deep, quivering breath. Then she retreated a step, with her two feeders coming swiftly to help her take her seat again. I could see that she was shivering and angry. Her teeth were bared in her fury, or perhaps clenched to keep them from chattering. I looked at her and thought that I would not have chosen to make an enemy of her.
Soldier’s Boy found his voice and spoke more boldly than I would have under the circumstances. “I did not come here to be insulted and attacked.” He gestured to Likari and Olikea to follow him and turned toward the door.
Behind us, I heard a flurry of steps and then frantic whispering. We were nearly at the tent flap when Kinrove spoke behind me. “This is not the meeting I intended, Nevare of the Plain-skins. Turn back, Soldier’s Boy. Let us welcome you, and let us speak together.”
Soldier’s Boy turned very slowly. It did not escape him that a feeder, older and more gloriously robed than the others, stood at Kinrove’s side. Galea, without a doubt. She clasped her hands before her, looking both anxious and hopeful. Soldier’s Boy spoke.
“I am not ‘Nevare of the Plain-skins.’ I am not completely Nevare, though I will answer to that name. Soldier’s Boy is an awkward name, for it names me as belonging to the Gernians. But I am of the People. I bear the marks of one of the People. I was accepted by the elders and instructed by Lisana. I have left the folk that I was born to, left the lands where I grew, and traveled far to come to you. If you do not wish to accept me, then speak to the magic that summoned me. Say to the magic that made me a Great One that you are wiser than it is, and would have me leave.” Slowly he crossed his arms over his chest and then stood silently confronting Kinrove as if daring him to commit that blasphemy.
Kinrove’s face flushed, and next to me, I heard Likari give a small whimper of fear. Soldier’s Boy stood firm and Olikea stood tall beside him. Whatever their earlier quarrel had been, they now stood united. The movement in the room had stilled. Outside the tent, the music thumped and squawked and the endless line of dancers shuffled on. It was a sound as eternal as the waves rushing against the beaches. I recognized it for magic and felt the drag of it against my senses. I wished it would stop so I could think more clearly.
I think Kinrove must have given her some sign, for Galea suddenly left his side and came bustling toward us. “Come, this is a poor way for us to begin. See, Nevare of the People, the bath that Kinrove ordered prepared for you awaits you now. And there is food and drink, freshly made, with which all of you can be refreshed. After you have relaxed a while we will all think more clearly and can begin to know one another. Come. Come.”
These last words she spoke not to us, but to a gaggle of young assistants that she beckoned forward. They moved cautiously as if they feared they were throwing themselves into a fray, but Galea’s face grew stern at their hesitation, and they suddenly came forward in a rush of brightly colored robes and reaching hands.
For the next few moments, I was almost glad it was Soldier’s Boy who was wearing my body rather than me. At first he stood stern, arms crossed still. Then, as if he were offering them an honor, he slowly opened his arms and held them out from his side. Olikea did the same and Likari copied her. Kinrove’s servants disrobed them, removing their garments respectfully. Two scuttled up behind me with a throne, so that Soldier’s Boy might be seated while they drew off my boots and socks. Off to one side, the slighted and insulted young woman sulked, her angry magic virtually glowering around her. Her feeders, two men, whispered and patted at her, trying to soothe her. No one else seemed to pay attention to her at all. All around us, the previous bustle and noise of the pavilion had suddenly resumed, as if some dangerous crisis had passed, as perhaps it had. The three of us were escorted to our bath.
There was a feel of ritual to it that perhaps put the others at ease, but to me it was a bizarre experience. I’d never shared a bath with anyone, let alone a woman and small boy, nor been attended throughout it by people who thought it their duty to scrub and rinse my back, to be sure that my feet were clean even between my toes, let alone support me while I lay back so that yet another attendant could massage a fragrant soap through my hair and then rinse it out. Olikea supervised all these attentions in a very possessive way, and Likari soon joined in, warning them sternly not to get soap into my eyes and to be very gentle where my feet and legs were scratched from my barefoot days in the forest. After Soldier’s Boy had clambered from the tub and was being toweled dry, Olikea and Likari received similar attention. Olikea maintained a dignity that said such was only her rightful due, but Likari wriggled like a happy puppy and exclaimed over the wonderful smells of the soaps and oils.
Galea’s assistants quickly surrounded me. It alarmed me and I tried to warn Soldier’s Boy to be on his guard against treachery. He either ignored or did not heed me as he relaxed in their hands. Three women were drying him carefully, lifting the folds of flesh to be sure that no moisture was trapped anywhere, while others were combing out my hair and dressing it with a fragrant oil. My feet were massaged and anointed, the many small scratches and abrasions on my calves were tended, and then two young women smoothed a buttery unguent onto them. My nails were carefully and gently trimmed and cleaned. Soft slippers were brought for my feet, and my own robe restored to me. A smoking table
was set up near my chair, and an array of tobacco of various shades of brown displayed for my choice. Olikea shook her head firmly and motioned them all away, much to the amusement of Kinrove’s feeders. “I do not allow him to have that,” she said firmly, and while some of Kinrove’s assistants nodded their approval, others rolled their eyes at Soldier’s Boy in mock sympathy. Clearly my feeder managed my health with a strict hand.
Throughout all these attentions, the business of the pavilion had gone on about us. A number of emissaries had come and gone, and strain as he might, Soldier’s Boy had been unable to hear much of what had transpired. Some seemed intent only on buying the goodwill of the Great Man; these ones brought tribute in the form of all sorts of food and rich goods. One, an older woman, had come seeking some sort of a boon from him. It was solemnly refused her, and she left weeping and angry, escorted from the pavilion by several of Kinrove’s feeders. At this turn of affairs, the young female Great One looked more displeased and sullen than ever. She watched with great disapproval as Soldier’s Boy was dried and tended. Her scowl was dark and threatening. And always, always, the endless drumming and thumping of the music and dancers went on like the beating of a giant heart. I longed for it to cease, for quiet to flood in and soothe me.
But that was not to be. No one else at the gathering seemed to pay the constant noise any mind. Once Soldier’s Boy was dressed and ensconced on a throne again, Kinrove deigned to notice him once more. He made a signal to his feeders, and Soldier’s Boy was lifted, throne and all, and carried within a comfortable speaking distance. Jodoli and the young Great One were also lifted and brought forward, but I noticed that our chairs were arranged so that Jodoli was between her and me, and she was at a slightly greater distance from Kinrove’s elevated dais than either of us. Cushions were placed at my feet and Olikea and Likari made themselves comfortable there. Other people carried in tables already laden with food, plates, wine, and glasses, and these were placed in easy proximity to our chairs. It was all done swiftly and graciously, yet his hospitality did not extend to permitting his guests onto his dais. He kept his vantage: to look at him Soldier’s Boy had to tilt my head. The message was not subtle at all: he regarded himself as Greatest of the Great Ones and asserted his right to lord it over other Great Ones.
