The Fire Sword

by Colin Glassey

  He knew how to charm attractive women in Erimasran. The pretty ones did not scare him, and Kagne, like his father before him, teased them and talked about prophesies of the stars, which was always a good excuse to get a woman out in the night. He was not above reading the signs to make the future, their future, seem exciting. In many of the villages of Tokivanu, he had lovers who were happy to put him up for the night or a week when he was visiting. Likely they were all married now, he thought ruefully.

  Kagne had tried striking up conversations with young women that he met on the streets of Tokolas but, thus far, his efforts to charm Serice women were unsuccessful. They laughed behind their hands at his foreign accent or scampered away into the crowd. Some hid behind their little paper parasols and ignored him.

  The day after Sandun’s and Sir Ako’s announcements, he sought out Renieth in his office. Renieth was in a new room, thanks to his recent promotion to junior minister. He was busy working on a document, but he graciously made time for Kagne.

  Renieth greeted the news of Ako’s marriage to Russu and Sandun’s marriage to Miri of Shila with a happy smile and some appreciative words. Then he wrote a quick note, stamped it with his seal, and had his assistant deliver the note to someone else in the ministry.

  “I suspect my involvement will be required in one or perhaps both weddings,” Renieth said. “Although I have so many other pressing matters to deal with; this month is busy.” Tea was brought in by another assistant, and the two men sat in chairs overlooking the ministry’s little garden.

  “Just to ask, how does one meet women in Serica?” said Kagne.

  “I think I understand the import of your question, and so I would respond this way: one does not meet women in Serica. Women that will entertain a man for money are easily found in teahouses and other establishments. But women from good families with proper upbringing? Those you don’t meet.”

  “Then how do respectable women get married?”

  “It’s all done by arrangement,” Renieth replied. “Either families know each other and agree their children shall marry, or a registered matchmaker is hired to seek out suitable marriage candidates. In either case, such marriages are called ‘fated,’ though fate would seem to play little role.” He smiled and held his hands up in the air. “There are, of course, stories of chance glances that lead to sudden love. Such stories are often set to music and sung by bards, but in the world you and I live in…no, that does not happen.”

  “Sir Ako met the Princess Tuomi by a chance meeting.”

  Renieth chuckled and placed his empty teacup down on the small table between them. “That was remarkably unusual, the sort of chance that seems to follow you Keltens. Though perhaps it is less chance and more a matter of putting yourself in the right place? If you are interested in marriage, I can recommend a matchmaker to you. I believe a suitable woman from a military family could be found expeditiously.”

  “Why from a military family?”

  “Well, women from military families have rather different expectations about their husbands than other decent women,” Renieth replied. “Daughters from such families are raised with the knowledge that they will not see their husbands for months or years at a time. Also, they understand that their husbands may be killed in battle as fate decrees. Lastly, marrying a foreign warrior, such as yourself, is not so unusual. It has happened many times in the past.”

  Kagne thanked Renieth for his time and walked down the stairs and out of the building.

  This notion of professional matchmakers and arranged marriages did not fit in Kagne’s world. That was not how couples formed in his experience. No doubt arrangements played some role in the marriages of the lords of Kelten but not for ordinary people like himself. Where was the fun in an arranged marriage? No flirtation, no chase, no conversations, smiles, gifts of flowers, or singing to a pretty girl by the campfire under the stars. Where was the seduction? The thrill of the hunt, the push and pull of desire and reticence? The more he thought about it, as he walked back to the embassy, the more ridiculous it seemed. It was as though the Serice here in Kunhalvar had taken an important element of human life and locked it away. He wondered if the couples who married through arrangement ever had anything to say to each other.

  That afternoon he settled on a new plan. He would look for women who weren’t following the conventions. If the refined women were all waiting for a husband to be delivered like a piece of smoked ham, he would seek out the rebels.

  One morning soon after, Kagne ventured into the southern part of Tokolas, with its narrow streets and its tiny houses made from wattle and daub with river-reed roofs. He didn’t know if it was safe, but he guessed that whatever criminal gangs operated in the shadows would prey on the people they knew rather than take their chances on an unknown man like himself. He took some precautions, carrying several knives hidden about his person and wearing bland, travel-worn clothing. If he were in one of Kelten’s cities, he did not think he would be regarded as an easy mark.

  After the noon hour, he was drawn by the smell of food to a small plaza. A well in the center was the excuse for an unofficial market: merchants with their goods laid out on small handcarts or the Serice version of the wheelbarrow. Staples of life and cheap food for sale, and many people jostling their way past the stalls, and the small clay ovens radiating heat and giving out free smoke to all and sundry.

  He heard the singing and drums first, and then he saw the crowd. Curious, he peered over heads and saw a group of eight young men and women at the center. The men were singing and beating on drums and on small bronze bells. The women were dancing around in a tight circle. They all had red ribbons wrapped around their heads and more red ribbons around their arms. The ribbons trailed behind the girls as they circled and spun.

  One of the girls caught Kagne’s eye. She was quite skinny, with high cheekbones and pointed ears. He liked the way she looked; she reminded him of the girls from of Nukivanu: no fat and not scrubbed clean like a prize sow going to the fair. She had what he considered a healthy layer of dust on her body. When the music stopped, the girls stood with their hands on their hips, smiling at the crowd. Moving closer and studying the girl more carefully, he saw a haunted look in her eyes. He had seen that before; it was the look of a survivor.

  The girl noticed him and moved closer as the crowd began to dissipate.

  “Are you going to give something to the Mavana?” She held out a small sack that was half-full of copper coins. With practiced ease, Kagne produced a thin piece of silver, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. He had the girl’s attention. Coming close, he put the silver piece into her left hand and closed his hand around hers.

  “Who is the Mavana?” he asked very quietly. She leaned in to catch his words.

  “The Mavana is the heavenly goddess who is coming shortly to bring peace and happiness to the world.”

  “Do you believe that, or are you just trying to get my money?” Kagne replied with a smile. Kagne found that teasing girls and making them smile and laugh was the best way to carry on a conversation with girls he did not know.

  “Of course I believe,” she replied. “We all do. We are collecting money and converts to help the Mavana’s herald.”

  “Does the Mavana need my money? Or is the money really for you? You look half-starved.”

  The girl glanced down at her body and then back at Kagne. “Yes, I mean, no. The money isn’t for the Mavana so much as it is to help her followers carry her message to the world.”

  “So the money is for you, since you are a follower. Would you like another?” Kagne held out another small piece of silver. “You can buy a big stuffed bun over at the stall.”

  The girl reached for the silver, but Kagne raised it out of her reach. “I should buy it for you myself; it’s as plain as day that your friends aren’t feeding you with what they collect.” The girl looked back at her companions; on
e man, about Kagne’s age, nodded at her. She followed Kagne over to the steamed bun stall. Kagne bought two buns and gave one to the girl.

  “Who are you?” she asked him. “You don’t look like a man from around here. What’s your name?” She looked straight at Kagne, her eyes wide, her little pointed ear tips quivering. In his mind, Kagne named her Thrush.

  Kagne deliberately fed her a story. “I am a Junithoy from the hidden city, way past Hotan. I’m in disguise, pretending to be a human. Dance for me again, girl. I liked it.”

  “That’s not true,” she said indignantly. “You’re one of those Keltens from the other side of the Tiralas.”

  “No, it is you who are in error. All of us are Junithoy pretending to be Keltens.” Kagne played this straight, though he laughed in his heart. “We are actually quite short.”

  “You aren’t short!” Thrush pretended exasperation, but she was smiling. “You are taller than most men.”

  “I am not. But you are very short for a human. Do you mind if I tie your hair in knots? We Junithoy like to tie hair in knots.”

  “Stop that!” Thrush brushed his hand away, but Kagne caught it and held on. He looked at her hand: no calluses, not the hand of a farmer or a working girl.

  “We Junithoy carve stones most days, when we aren’t waging war on our neighbors. You haven’t carved a stone in your life, I can tell. You are not Junithoy.”

  “Of course I’m not a Junithoy.” She tossed her hair. “I can’t decide if you don’t understand me or if you are just being deliberately annoying.”

  “The Keltens came to our city in the Tiralas.” Kagne looked at her intently. “We imprisoned them and took their clothes—then followed their map to Serica! I’m one of the most dangerous Junithoy you will ever meet.”

  Thrush glanced nervously around to see if any of her companions were close. None were, but she stayed with Kagne and said, “All our stories about the Junithoy say they short and secretive. And when we talk about Keltens, they are always tall and warlike. You are not anything like the Junithoy, but you look and act as a Kelten should.”

  Kagne shrugged and admitted, “Your reasoning is sound. I must be a Kelten.”

  Thrush cheered up immediately and asked him, “Did you meet the Junithoy? Is that where your leader, the Fire Sword, found his weapon?”

  “We met the people you call Junithoy on our journey,” Kagne told her conspiratorially. “They were very short. Like you. Perhaps you are a Junithoy in disguise, spying on me. What’s your real name?”

  “My name is Reija.” She nodded as if confirming her name. “What’s yours?”

  “Kagne Areka,” he replied. “Don’t you have a family name? Everyone else seems to have one.”

  “I used to have one.” A shadow of dismay flickered across her face. “Now I’m a follower of the Mavana. The goddess dissolves all barriers of family and background. We are one family under her protection.” Reija returned to the earlier topic. “You actually met some Junithoy?” She brushed her hair with one hand; a few strands had escaped from the confinement of her red silk headband. “People say they are real, but I’ve never met anyone who has seen one. In my village, it was said they used to live in the high east hills, long ago.”

  They talked for several hours as Kagne regaled her with some of his adventures, including meeting the Piksies in the Valley of the Giants. He liked Reija; she was different from other Serice women, freer, more natural. He played with her, and she played back. They were still drinking tea in a rundown shop near the well when the fourth bell after noon sounded out.

  “Four bells. I should go back.” Reija bounded from her chair, but one of her silk ribbons was tangled on the chair’s back, and it dragged behind her on the wooden floor, making a racket. Kagne laughed at her but did help extricate the ribbon from the wicker. “You should come with me; our meeting hall is not very far from here. I know the others would like to meet you. You have such interesting tales.”

  Kagne was not about to let Reija vanish into the city. If he had to go with her to a meeting hall where other followers of the Mavana met and venerated their goddess, this was a small price to pay. He followed her as she threaded her way through narrow streets, across the main road that ran from the south gate to the bell tower, dodging carts and masses of people who were heading out of the gate before the sunset. The west side of the city had newer houses, many with tile roofs. Kagne had been to this part of the city before as he had visited two notable temples of Eston in the district.

  The meeting hall Reija led Kagne to looked imposing from the outside, the walls painted with figures of saber tigers and other strange beasts. The double-height doors were open, and twenty or thirty people carried bags and boxes in and out of the building. Three Serice-style wheelbarrows stood loaded down with goods as two skinny men tied ropes around the cargo to keep it in place. People did their jobs rapidly and diligently. To Kagne it looked like a bustling shipping business in full swing. He had seen warehouses near the docks of Seopolis that were not as busy as this place.

  An older man standing beside the door broke off his conversation with two other men, thrusting their papers aside, and came down to greet Kagne and Reija.

  “This is Tolis, assistant to the high priest,” whispered Reija to Kagne.

  “The man from Kelten, you honor us by coming to see our temple.” Tolis spoke easily and with an air of authority. Like all the others Kagne could see, he wore a headband of red silk; it trailed behind his back and hung down to his belt. Kagne observed, as Tolis drew closer, that his red silk headband was embroidered with yellow thread.

  “The afternoon service is soon, but there is much that requires my attention before it starts. Please, come inside.” Tolis held out his arm, pointing at the door. “We have cool water and fresh fruits, enough for all.”

  “Where are all these goods going?” asked Kagne.

  “Why, north, to Kemeklos!” Tolis said this with a degree of pride. “Every day we send at least one boatload of supplies north to help our brethren fight against the forces of darkness.”

  Kagne suddenly guessed who these people were. “You are with the Red Swords?” He was honestly surprised. “I thought you were followers of the Mavana?”

  Tolis sighed. “Saying ‘Red Swords’ is like calling a stack of gold bars ‘money.’ We are followers of the great goddess Mavana, and the Radiant Prince is her herald. But, yes, we are sometimes called the Red Swords.”

  This news distracted Kagne from Reija, for the moment. He looked at everything around him as pieces of a puzzle began to fit together. These were the people who had started the revolt against the Kitran Empire ten years ago. They had conquered nearly all of western Serica and had even launched an attack on the Kitran capital of Daka. It was not surprising that they ran things like an efficient business. He was looking at the logistical arm of a major military organization.

  Reija ran up the steps, greeting some of the people as she passed by. Kagne followed her, looking in all directions. Just inside the door she emptied her small bag full of coins and pieces of silver into a leaden metal chest that was partially filled with other cash donations. Two armed men with red silk cords hanging from their sword belts stood guard next to it. Under their watchful gaze, Kagne took out three pieces of silver from his money bag and dropped them into the box. When she heard the noise, Reija turned back and smiled at him.

  Inside, the temple it was cooler and much quieter than outside. As his eyes grew accustomed to the low light, he saw the building looked a good deal like other temples of Eston that he had visited. One immediate difference was that the ever-present statutes of Eston were gone. Instead, there were many candles, oil lamps, and sticks of incense burning.

  As he turned a corner, the main room opened before him. Dominating the space was a single statue, seated on an outsized table, altogether at least fifteen feet tall. The figure was of a wo
man, one leg off the table, her toes not quite touching the floor, the other leg crossed in front of her. In her right hand she held a rose, in her left, a shortsword. The goddess was looking down at her sword with a faint smile carved on her face. Behind her head a disc—at least five feet across and covered in gold leaf—shimmered in the beams of light coming from openings in the high roof overhead. The goddess was barely clothed, as though she was going to swim in the river, and her skin had the distinctive reddish color of pure copper. Kagne drew in his breath with a faint noise; for beauty and workmanship, the statue of the Mavana could hold its place beside the statue of Sho’Ash in the Grand Temple of Seopolis.

  Piled on the large table were offerings of flowers and food. In front of the goddess there was a second, normal-sized table covered with cups and pitchers of water as well as pears and apples heaped on platters. Reija went to her knees and then returned quickly to her feet; she walked up to the fruit and water table. Taking a glass, she filled it with water and saluted the goddess with both hands holding the cup high. She drank the water and took an apple. Kagne copied her, feeling somehow the gaze of the goddess had shifted from contemplation of her sword to noticing him. There was something odd about the statue; perhaps it was the shimmering light from the golden disk, but there seemed to be something moving in and around the statue, like waves of heat coming off an oven.

  A hush filled the room even as more people came in and copied Reija’s salutation of the statue. After half an hour, several hundred people were standing, facing the statue, all with cups in their hands. The table of fruit and water was carried away, while some of the fruits were placed on the sacred table that the goddess sat on. Then a young man with long dark hair made his way swiftly up and stood on the smaller table. He stood there, smiling at everyone; he was handsome and full of confidence.