by Devin Madson
Minister Manshin had been watching us impatiently, and broke in with “Why would Levanti fight and kill other Levanti?”
“Because we aren’t and never have been a unified people,” I said, leaving Tor a moment to translate. “We are separate herds not used to taking orders from someone who isn’t a member of our herd, and this is not how we live. I am happy to give you a history lesson another time, but if we don’t move now there will be a lot of dead Levanti on the other side of that hill and still enough left to make you wish you hadn’t stopped here.”
I looked from Tor to Amun. “I have an idea.”
“Oh, here we go.” Tor rolled his eyes. “Who are we saving now?”
“As many as we can.”
“We can fight any who are left,” Minister Manshin said, and glared at Amun when he laughed.
“But you don’t want to have to,” I said, more statement than question. “Perhaps you’re hoping they’ll make an end of each other, but it won’t happen. Gideon has more Swords than the deserters. They are more prepared to kill. We need to splinter them.”
The minister looked unconvinced.
“You think they don’t know you’re here,” I said. “You think you can just lie low and wait for this to pass? It’s too late. They are Levanti. We hunt and we track. They might not know how many of you there are, but you can be sure they know you’re here, and once they deal with Ezma and her deserters they will deal with you. So you can fight them, run, or lend me a few of your archers and let me talk to my people.”
Before Tor finished translating, Minister Manshin had turned to his men, their discussion a low rumble the saddleboy made no attempt to translate. Standing beside our horse, Amun shifted his weight—a man wishing he was anywhere but here. Perhaps wishing now he hadn’t come back for me at all.
“What are you going to do?” he said, leaning close. “They’ve all just tried to kill you. You think they’ll listen now?”
“Guilt is a funny thing. And only Ezma tried to kill me. You can’t have been the only one who thought the kutum was wrong.”
“No, but she didn’t announce it widely, just informed anyone who suggested helping you. The story will get around fast though. If you stand up to her it’ll be divisive.”
Tor wasn’t looking at us, but I was sure he was listening, caught between the two conversations as he was caught between two worlds.
I shook my head. “We are too divided already. Until I know what her intentions are, it would be wrong for me to step in and try to destroy the respect due a whisperer.”
“She wanted you to die.”
I thought of Sett, never far from my mind. “She’s not the only one to want that.”
A grimace was all Amun managed before Minister Manshin turned from his discussion, a sharp nod accompanying his decree.
“I will lend you my archers,” he said. “But if this does not work, Rah e’Torin, should they all turn on us, I will give you to them, debt or no, rather than risk the lives of my soldiers.”
By the time Tor finished his translation, Manshin was already striding around giving out orders, and I could make no objection. It was a wise call given the circumstances, but a buzz of nerves jangled up and down my arms.
“Rah?”
I turned and the dull tension in my ear became a sharp stab of pain. I hissed, and had to ask Tor to repeat his question. “He wants to know how you plan to get up the slope.”
How bad must I look for Minister Manshin to doubt my ability to walk? Was it just the muddy bandages on my legs? Or did my face still look as much a mess as it felt? Sett had beaten his fists into my cheek and my nose and my jaw, rage stealing his ability to aim for the same place enough to do greater damage.
Doubt seeped its lead fingers into my heart. If I could not walk, could not even stand, what Levanti would look at me and see someone worth listening to? But the Levanti at the deserter camp had brought me offerings of food, saluting their respect as I lay by the fire. Perhaps it would be all right. After all it was Ezma they really had to listen to.
I assessed the hill, dotted with its broken statues. We had gone around it with the empress, joining the road because the slope down into the shrine was too steep. Now it was crawling with more well-concealed Kisians, some in trees, others lying flat, watching the direction of the shrine.
“It’s too steep for the horse,” Tor said, his tone possessing a note of resignation.
“I’m going to need help.” I hated to say it, but there was some relief in the admission, in not having to keep pretending.
“Lucky us.”
Amun shot him a reproachful look, but the saddleboy ignored it. He watched the Kisians bustle around us, Minister Manshin striding about giving orders like we were the eye of a storm.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Tor said, not turning to look up at me. “Gideon’s Swords no doubt have orders to capture or kill you.”
“I noticed. Hopefully we have retained enough of ourselves that this will work.”
“How so?”
“Assuming it works, you’ll soon see.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“I won’t have embarrassed myself by explaining it to you only to be wrong.”
He looked up, a quizzical smile twitching his lips. “Priorities.”
“Always. Here, help me down.”
“But surely it’s too embarrassing to need help getting down from the saddle.”
“Ah, but you see, I am a warrior injured by the feuds of my people, and that, I think, could work very well.”
Amun laughed, but there was nothing amusing about the pains that assailed my body as they helped me down, my every limb having stiffened into place during the night. To make them move again was like tearing open old wounds.
It took the combined assistance of both Tor and Amun to help me walk, although to call it walking was generous. Each with an arm across my back and a hand beneath my shoulders, they took most of my weight, all but carrying me up the ever-steepening slope. There were a number of good vantage points along the top, the minister had said, spots where we could be as high as the shrine roof and see what was happening below. I would have to shout, he said, but, seeming to understand some of my intent, added that the sight of me up there with Kisian archers along the ridge would be impressive.
Tor and Amun spoke in strained whispers as we made our way up the hill, swatting branches out of the way and staring at the ground in the hope of avoiding hidden rocks and divots. Kisians climbed all around us, as silently as so many men couldn’t, their movement a continuous rustle like an endless gust of wind. My ear continued to sting its sharp pain, and though I was taking little of my own weight, the mere using of my legs had me gritting my teeth. Which hurt the bruises along my jaw.
This had better work was all I could think, because if it didn’t, I was done. I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t run. I could not even think about what I would do or say to protect my life if Minister Manshin sacrificed me to protect his soldiers. I was just a haze of pain and exhaustion being half carried, half dragged through the undergrowth toward a moment that would decide too much.
Otobaru Shrine sat in a hollow. High ground on one side protected it from the west while the river protected it to the south. Only one road connected it to the rest of the empire, an overgrown thoroughfare as abandoned as the shrine itself.
The peak of the ridge was a narrow strip, crumbling away beneath our feet, but Minister Manshin had been right—it was the perfect vantage point from which to witness what was happening below, and an even better place to be seen from. Not so high I would be just an ant against the sun, but high enough everyone could see me.
The shrine stood below, the main building standing at the edge of a courtyard full of smaller outbuildings. We had built a fire in that courtyard and shared food with some Kisian travellers, but now the courtyard was full of Levanti—horses had been gathered in groups and fires built. They had planned to spend the night, confiden
t Gideon’s Swords had not followed. Until they had. They filled the road, as many of them as there were deserters.
It was a terrible place for a battle, yet Ezma had no choice but to rally the deserters to protect themselves. Had there been more time, archers could have climbed the slope and the shrine, could already have been picking off riders, but the enemy was coming too fast.
Enemy. It never ought to have been this way.
Minister Manshin halted beside us, a little out of breath but nothing compared to the huffing of the two men who had helped me get there. “Anytime you’re ready, Rah,” Tor said. “We can’t keep holding you up forever.”
I had thought to stand on my own once we got to the top, maybe a hand on Amun’s shoulder all I would need to keep me steady, but my shaking legs made a mockery of all such plans.
Down below, Levanti were beginning to point up at us. More and more looked up, and Minister Manshin hissed words I didn’t need translated. If I was going to speak, I had to do it now.
I swallowed hard, spikes seeming to have formed in my throat at so many watching eyes. I could not recall ever feeling so nervous, not even the night I had challenged Gideon for leadership. I had been carried by anger then, now I was empty.
“Levanti!” I called before I lost the moment. “For those who do not know me, I am Rah e’Torin, once captain of the Second Swords of Torin.”
Down in the courtyard and out along the road faces turned up, weapons stilled, but there was a restlessness, a muttering, a few pointing up at the great number of Kisians ranged around me along the ridge.
“I am no one,” I went on, glad the Kisians couldn’t understand what I was saying. “No leader. Nothing in the eyes of the gods. And yet my soul will be lighter than yours, for I have not so forgotten our ways.” More muttering. I shouted over it. “When we have such divisions, we do not resort to violence. That is not our way. Levanti life is the only thing more precious than food and water. Each of us takes many barrels of water and baskets of food and years of training to create, but only one stray thought to destroy. Put down your weapons and perform a Fracturing, or the gods themselves will see you are no longer Levanti but merely murderers.”
I hoped it would work, hoped the threat of Kisian archers would speak for itself, but most of all I hoped we were not so lost.
Most of them were faceless figures from this distance, but I stared at Ezma, her jawbone headpiece standing above the heads of the others. Come on, I urged. Be a horse whisperer.
At the head of Gideon’s Swords, their leader walked their horse forward. It was Yiss en’Oht who shouted back, her voice carrying well, a damning snap of words upon the air. “I have given orders and they will be obeyed, because that, Rah e’Torin, is truly the central tenet around which our society is built.”
“On the plains, yes, but not here,” I called back. “Obeying orders without question can only exist when one has confidence in the morality and wisdom of the Levanti giving the orders. We obey orders because our challenge system ensures the best person for the job is the one doing it. Only your own Swords can have that confidence in you, but since the orders come from Gideon, only his Swords can have confidence in them. Everyone else standing with you has no reason to obey and ought, by our tenets, make up their own minds. But really, it’s not even Gideon giving the orders, is it? Who are you really obeying? Is it Dom Villius who wants you to slaughter your own people? Or is it Grace Bahain?”
So many swords had been drawn and arrows had been nocked, a poor choice of words all it would take to turn a tense scene into a bloody one. I had said all I could. It was up to them now.
I stared at Ezma, willing her to move, to do the right thing, while beside me Amun hissed a string of swear words like they were prayers. Until at last she stepped forward and laid one of her swords upon the ground before Yiss. The captain looked at it. Behind her, restless horses with restless riders made an undulating sea upon the road.
I was too far away to catch Ezma’s words, but it didn’t matter. As long as the Swords behind Yiss could hear, could see a horse whisperer standing before them. In this moment it didn’t matter why she had been exiled or even that she wanted me dead. I just needed them to listen to her. Needed them to choose their own paths.
A blade clanged onto the road. Another followed. A horse near the front of Yiss’s army walked forward, passing her to join Ezma. Yiss shouted, a shrill rage drowned beneath the movement of more Levanti crossing the narrow space between armies. I had wondered if a proper Fracturing would work, whether people would cross both ways believing themselves safe whatever their choice, but there was too much fear for that. Why join a shrinking army even if you believed in their ideology? You were just going to lose.
Manshin rumbled something beside us.
“He wants to know who is still a threat,” Tor said. “What should I tell him?”
“Tell him none of them.”
“But Yiss might—”
“She might, but she has to be allowed to walk away. Those are the laws of a Fracturing. He won’t understand, so tell him none are.”
Tor relayed my words while below on the road Gideon’s Swords were breaking up from behind now too, some of the Levanti turning at the back to ride away. Where they were going and who they believed in I couldn’t know, capable only of relief there had been no bloodshed. At least not today.
“And what will those Levanti do?” Tor translated for the minister.
“Ezma’s? That will depend.”
“On?”
I turned my gaze on Tor, Manshin watching from behind him, his jaw clenched and tense. “On what the minister intends.”
13. DISHIVA
The rain held off as we rode north, a small cavalcade. Sichi accompanied us, carried in her silk box while Gideon rode ahead, Leo at his side. Keka and my—his Swords rode behind Gideon and Sichi, and no longer having a place within even this patchwork herd, I kept Nuru company beside Sichi’s box.
“You’re going to have to explain it like I’m a child,” I said, interrupting Nuru’s explanation of the Chiltaen political system. “As soon as you start using words like… secretary and oligarchy… I’m lost.”
The young woman sighed. “All right,” she said, staring at the road stretching endlessly before us. “Imagine the whole of Chiltae is one herd. They have a central leadership. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, of course I understand that.”
“Good. Now, they don’t have one herd master or emperor, they have nine. They all have equal power, and decisions are made by majority.”
“Like at conclaves.”
“Exactly. I’ll just call them leaders for now since the names confuse you. Nine leaders. They aren’t chosen by the people though, as we do; they are decided by wealth. The nine families with the most money have a representative leader.”
I stared at empty space beside her head while I considered this. “You see, that’s what I thought you said before, but it made no sense. How would giving leadership to rich people make sure everyone else is all right?”
“I asked that. Sichi says it doesn’t, but then neither does giving all the power to an emperor ensure common folk are looked after.”
“Better to not have such a distinction between rich and poor.”
“I said that too. I got a funny look.”
“Empress Sichi doesn’t agree?”
“Not really. I think they’re all so entrenched in their ways they think that it’s normal for there to be rich people and poor people, lords and servants, and so struggle to consider a more equitable way to live.”
I looked at the silk box and tried for a moment to imagine Sichi living a herd life. It was a strange image. I couldn’t but wonder what skills she had been taught, or if her childhood had been devoid of all such lessons beyond stitchery.
“Anyway,” Nuru went on. “Nine rich men, and yes, they are all men. And the next nine most wealthy men account for the… second tier of leadership. Like our matriar
chs and patriarchs, I guess, except it’s also based on money, not wisdom.”
“Can they challenge?”
“In a sense. Because it’s always the nine richest; if you lose your fortune you lose your place, and it’s given to the next person. Or if you get lots of money you can take someone else’s place.”
“Is money all they think about?”
“I think they’re big traders. Lots of ships. Access to both the Eye Sea and the… other sea along the Ribbon. I think they make people pay money to use the Ribbon too, because the other way through the Jaws is really dangerous.” She must have caught my confused look, for she sighed and added, “I don’t really understand it all myself,” giving lie to the confidence with which she’d explained it. “But that’s what I got from Si. I asked a lot of questions and she was very patient, but I’m still trying to make sense of it.”
Not for the first time, the incompatibility of our cultures seemed insurmountable.
Ahead, Gideon rode, tall and confident, toward our destination. I hadn’t been able to talk to him alone since he’d named me ambassador, barely been able to catch his eye, Leo ever-present. Had I outsmarted him? Or was he letting us meet the envoy for his own reasons? With his faint smile and his mind reading, he was a fabled monster used to scare children, leaving me unsure if my fear of him was proportionate to his abilities or not.
Dom Villius looked around and seemed for a moment to stare at me, though with his mask on it was impossible to be sure.
“Do we know who Gideon is meeting?” I said, unable to sit with my thoughts of Leo for long before a deep sense of despair began to rear. “This envoy?”
“Excuse the words you don’t understand, but his name is Secretary Aurus. As in, secretary is his title and Aurus is his name. He’s one of the lesser nine.”
“So he’s rich, but not the nine-richest-level rich.”
“Yes.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Nuru shrugged. “Sichi doesn’t know enough about the olig—the leaders to be sure. She thinks as an initial meeting it’s good, but the Nine and the lesser nine are divided. Some of them follow Leo’s church, some don’t think the hieromonk should have any say in the movements of the army. Since Leo didn’t want us to come, this Secretary Aurus may be one of the latter.”
