Tarashana Page 22

  “Yes, my lord,” Suyet repeated.

  Lalani glanced from one of them to the other. Then she said, her manner diffident, “Would it not be better for a woman to stay here also? Any woman would be frightened to stay alone with only men who distrust her—”

  “You can’t be fool enough to trust her,” Suyet said in darau.

  “That’s true, you’re right,” agreed Lalani in the same language. This was the kind of phrase any young Lau woman would say when a man disagreed with her. But she went on, her mouth quirking up in a way that was not diffident at all. “But that isn’t important, you know! A woman won’t be as afraid of another woman, even if they aren’t friends and don’t trust each other. Doesn’t everyone agree Inhejeriel isn’t dangerous? Doesn’t Lord Gaur say so? It’s fine everyone’s being careful, but probably she’s not a bit dangerous.” She faced Aras. “I think a woman should stay with this poor girl. I’ve had enough riding, and I might learn something useful. I’m not afraid of her sorcery, not if you say I don’t need to fear her. She might speak to me more freely than she’d speak to a man.” She switched back to taksu and added, smiling warmly at the Tarashana woman, “Maybe Inhejeriel can teach me a little of her language. I would like to learn it.”

  The woman glanced up at her. She might have relaxed a little—I was not sure. But her eyes seemed to have become a slightly darker color, so I thought she might be a little less afraid. Lalani was friendly by nature, and obviously not as concerned about the possibility of sorcery as an Ugaro.

  Aras had tilted his head to the side. He was studying Lalani in the way that meant he was probably looking at her thoughts. He said in taksu, “Very well, I agree. You may stay as well. While I appreciate your kindness and good sense, I expect you to exercise a certain degree of prudence.” He glanced at Suyet. “Both of you.”

  They both said, “Yes, my lord,” and Suyet saluted once more.

  All this time, Tano had been waiting, properly silent as older people decided what would happen. He was trying to pretend he was not nervous, but as my father began to discuss with Garoyo the precautions my brother would observe, I took Tano aside. I spoke to him firmly. “The warleader of the inTasiyo grievously offended Garoyo’s mother, but that has nothing to do with you. You are inGara now. Remember that. Garoyo will not be unjust. Trust him for that. Trust Hokino as well. These are both honorable and generous men. They will behave exactly as they should. You must behave properly as well. Be completely honest. Utterly honest. Tell me you will obey this order.”

  “I will,” he said, his voice low.

  “If anyone asks you a question that you cannot bear to answer, say so and be silent. If you have questions of your own, ask Raga. He knows how a young warrior should behave, even though he does not behave that way himself. Or ask Arayo. I am certain he knows how to behave.”

  Tano nodded.

  I went on. “Advise Suyet if there is any kind of problem between him and our people. Advise Lalani as well if you see a need. They will do well, there is no reason they should do otherwise, but even so.”

  “I will obey you, Ryo. I will do exactly as you say.”

  “Good,” I said, and gripped his shoulder for a moment. “You will behave perfectly. You will not disgrace yourself or me. Eat enough. I know you find that hard, but obey me in this as well. In three days, four days, we will come back to this place. I will expect a good report of you.”

  Aras looked over toward us. I could think of nothing else to say to Tano that would be useful, so I turned away from the others and walked over to join Aras and my father.

  -13-

  When a camp must move quickly, as may happen during a war or any sudden catastrophe, people will leave anything that is too difficult to pack or carry. But no one likes to abandon their possessions if there seems no dire emergency. Only my father and my mother and some small number of our people rode south at once. Most of our people would follow later, at a more comfortable pace.

  The Lau rode Ugaro ponies now, harder-tempered and less mannerly than Lau horses. Aras had been given a sand-colored mare with a quick wit and a sharp humor. She pretended to shy at the wind stirring the grasses and then pressed against the rein to turn toward the green grass near the edge of the lake, laying back her ears when he checked her. Geras rode a gelding who was not as high-humored as the mare, more willing to accommodate his rider.

  I meant to ride beside Aras. But after a short time my father looked around and caught my eye, so I nudged my pony to catch up to his. He rode a neat-footed mare the color of red clay, with a wicked eye and a savage temper. My own pony, a lion-colored gelding, was not as difficult as the mare. He came up beside my father’s pony without minding her flattened ears or the little threatening moves she made, snaking out her head as though she might nip him.

  My father settled his mare with a firm hand on the rein and led me ahead at a little faster pace for some moments, until we were far enough to prevent anyone from overhearing. Then he asked me, “Ryo, do you see anything in your Lau sorcerer that makes you suspect his judgment has been compromised by that avila sorcerer?”

  “No, Father,” I answered. “If I had seen something like that, I would have said so—or I would have killed her. I think nothing of the kind has happened.” Then I added, “We are not far enough to prevent Aras from hearing your question or my answer. Probably he heard both. He will not be offended. I tell you only so that you will know. He can hear my thoughts at a greater distance than he could hear yours, or those of anyone less familiar to him. Twice this far would probably be enough that he could not hear your thoughts. Four times would certainly be enough. Twenty times this far might not be enough to prevent him from hearing mine.”

  My father regarded me thoughtfully. “Does that not trouble you, Ryo?”

  “Seldom. I have become accustomed. Also, I have learned how to conceal a thought I do not wish to share. Sometimes I do this because a man does not want to share every thought that comes to him. Sometimes I do it merely to practice the skill.”

  My father smiled slightly. “He knows that.”

  “He knows it.”

  “Good.”

  I was still thinking about his original question and about the concern that had prompted that question. I said, “I do not see anything in Aras or in you or in my mother that makes me believe that the avila sorcerer has done anything to any of you, to any of us, by means of forbidden arts. But I do not trust sorcerers, and I want to go much farther and wait through at least a day. Then I will think through everything about that meeting and see whether I still think my memory is true and correct. But more than that, I want Aras to be confident in his memories and opinions.”

  “I understood this.”

  “Yes,” I said. Then I added, “I suggest that you and my mother should make a small camp at some distance from Aras. Twenty bowshots distant. Forty. Farther than that, if you wish. Far enough that you can be certain your thoughts and opinions are your own.”

  “Ah. Yes. My son’s suggestion seems wise to me. This will not offend my guest?”

  “It will not offend him at all, lord. Now that everyone knows he is a sorcerer, he has often urged someone to go to a distance and consider again something that has happened or an agreement that has been reached. He prefers everyone to be confident that he has not influenced their actions or decisions by means of forbidden acts.”

  “I see.”

  “Yes, lord. He does not always suggest this, because he does not have to suggest it. The Lau all know how to guard against that kind of influence. I have learned some of the ways they do this. A Lau will say to a friend, ‘This decision does not seem to me like a decision you would make.’ A man will say to another man, ‘I cannot see what you see in this woman.’ A woman will say to another woman, ‘This man’s offer does not seem as good to me as it seems to you.’ All this advice is the same advice any Ugaro might offer another.”

  “But the Lau actually listen to this advice,” my father said
. It was not quite a question, but he raised his eyebrows.

  “They do. Far more often than our people. We teach our children to speak the truth and to expect other people to speak the truth. The Lau teach their children to suspect deceit and look for signs of forbidden influence. Often, a Lau will visit a kinsman in another town for some days before he will ...” sign a contract, but that was not a phrase that carried meaning in taksu. “Before he will come to a firm decision on some matter of importance,” I said instead. “This kind of caution is not considered an offense or an accusation. It is expected.”

  My father nodded thoughtfully.

  “Such caution may not be enough when a sorcerer is powerful. But few sorcerers are powerful. When the curse is weak, sorcery is not that dangerous—especially not to people who are prudent in their decisions and listen to advice.”

  “This weaker curse does not drive men mad?” My father’s tone was skeptical.

  “I know such people, and they show no more malice than anyone else. I think this may be because those with the weaker forms of the curse are not able to make people into their slaves or their dogs or their fools, and as they cannot do such evil, they have far less desire to try. Perhaps there are other reasons. Lau law forbids sorcery, but the matter is complicated. If someone is known to be a sorcerer, but does not commit forbidden acts, then the crime may be set aside. I do not understand everything about how the Lau manage such things, but some things I have come to understand. Someone with a weak curse might choose to be prudent so that his neighbors will not speak against him.”

  My father nodded again. “If people do begin to speak against someone, then what happens?”

  “Someone will bring a charge of sorcery before a ...” magistrate, but that was not a taksu word. I said instead, “A man with the authority to judge in such matters. Sometimes that man is known to be a weak sorcerer himself, and so expected to be unmoved by the sorcery of the one accused. Now that Aras is known to be a powerful sorcerer, those charges are often brought to him to judge.”

  “So. His people trust his judgment.”

  “They do. When he decides any matter, everyone can see he is just, and generous when generosity is due. They can see this at the time he gives his judgment and they can see it later, long after he has gone to some other town.”

  I told my father about some of the situations I had witnessed. He listened carefully. Finally he said, “I am glad to know his own people consider that he is an honorable and just man.” He paused long enough to show that he considered that subject closed. After some time, he asked me, “Has anyone told you of the poet from the east?”

  “Elaro inPorakario,” I said. “I have thought I should write to Darra inKarano. Or perhaps, after this other matter has been settled, visit her camp.”

  “Perhaps you might do so,” my father agreed. “Will your lord give you leave?”

  “I have not asked. But I think he may.”

  My father nodded. After that we rode in silence. I gazed out at the lake, putting my attention on the way the sunlight glinted across the water and looking for the little movements in the sedges that showed where birds or small animals might be hiding. I saw a bittern, stretching her neck up alongside tall reeds, as bitterns do to conceal themselves from foxes and hawks. Farther from shore, a loon ignored us completely. But when an eagle drifted overhead, she saw that. Loons see everything that moves. This one sank gently below the placid surface of the lake and disappeared, first her barred back and then her black head and then gone.

  But now I had too many things I wanted to think about besides birds and the lake. Finally, I said to my father, “We will want fresh meat later. I will hunt.” When he gestured permission for me to go, I turned my pony away from the path that led along the lakeshore and rode away from everyone else. Once I was far enough, I could think more clearly. I strung my bow and watched the land, but most of my attention was on my own thoughts. Too many of those thoughts were not pleasant ones.

  Anyone could see, certainly I could see, that it was completely unreasonable to ask Darra to wait for me when neither of us had any way to guess how long that wait might be. I had known that all the time, but now that I knew of this poet from the far east, it was different.

  A singer may marry later than most young women, especially a singer who is also the daughter of a king. But Darra now had nineteen winters. Probably she wished to marry soon. Perhaps this poet from the east had all her favor now. From what my mother had said, this seemed very likely.

  Only the gods know what the coming days and years will bring. No mortal person can measure his own fate. But I thought, when the chance came, I would certainly ask Aras for permission to go to inKarano lands. I would ask Darra what she wanted. Then, even if I was uncertain of my future and uneasy in my heart, at least I would know that much.

  Only as dusk neared did I turn back toward the lake. I found the company easily by the light of their fires. I rode up and slid off my pony, giving his reins to a boy and collecting the two marmots I had shot during the long afternoon’s ride. I brought these to the fires to give to the women, but then one of the women jumped up and said, “Ryo! There you are!” and I forgot every other concern.

  “Etta!” I exclaimed. “How did you come here so fast?” But I added at once, before she could laugh at me for asking something so foolish, “You were coming around the lake already.”

  My sister laughed at me anyway, as she took my hand and pulled me toward her fire. “So, yes. I knew you would come eventually, Ryo! Or I thought you would! Who could resist the puzzle the avila woman brought us? But even though everyone was puzzled, no one guessed she might be a sorcerer! How fortunate we have a sorcerer of our own as a friend!” She threw a swift, brilliant smile toward Aras, who was sitting beside another fire a little distance from this one. He was watching us and smiling. Sometimes, not often enough, his curse showed him something easy and pleasant. I did not begrudge him that, especially since my pleasure at meeting Etta would mask other things I was not so comfortable sharing.

  My sister was going on cheerfully. “I have gone back and forth all this season! You have been slow, but of course it is a long way, so I suppose I am not angry you have only come now.”

  By this time we were at the fire. Etta deftly slipped the cord holding the marmots from my hand and gave them to another woman, an inGeiro cousin of ours, who took them with a murmur of pleasure. Birds and fish from the lake are both good, but the marmots were young animals, fat with summer, a welcome addition to our meal.

  “Come sit with us,” Etta ordered me. “Your Lau are comfortable at our mother’s fire. I like your Geras. He will be glad you came back. I think he worries about you, Ryo.”

  “Geras worries about everyone,” I told her. “He is responsible for many men when he is in the summer country, so he has the habit of worrying for everyone.”

  “Yes, I could see he is that kind of man. Here, sit. You know Iro.”

  I did, of course, though not well. We had met now and again. I would hardly have said I knew Iro inGeiro. I knew a good deal about him, however. I knew he was Rakasa’s brother, the son of a singer and the inGeiro warleader. I knew he had nineteen winters and I knew he wanted to marry my sister. I could hardly fail to understand many things about a young man like that. When last I had seen him, he had worn silver armbands, showing off prizes he had won so that my sister would see he was strong and skilled. Now he wore one armband, and my sister wore three. That told me something as well.

  Iro was a tall young man—tall for an Ugaro, a little taller than I was—sturdily built, with strong bones. He had shifted from sitting to kneeling as we approached, and when I looked at him, he lowered his gaze and bowed. A man has every reason to be very polite to the older brothers of a young woman whom he hopes will look upon him with favor. If I disliked Iro, his courtship would be difficult, even if Etta favored him—and if I truly set myself against him, she might decide she did not favor him after all. In his place, I
would certainly have been polite.

  Darra inKarano had no living brothers. But even if she had many brothers, her father was the male relative whom a young man would have to impress.

  I set all those thoughts aside. “Iro inGeiro,” I said. “I hope your mother is well and your people prosper.” I sat down, accepting a skewer of fish someone handed me. Etta sat down beside me and stole the skewer from my hand. The woman who had given it to me laughed and gave me another, and a bowl of the salt we make from wood ash when other kinds of salt are less easy to come by.

  Iro answered, “My mother is well, and our people strong because of our alliance with the inGara,” which was the most polite answer he could give. He said nothing else, waiting to see what topic I might wish to offer.

  Obviously there was only one topic that interested anyone. I said, “You have probably met this avila woman. I hope that when you consider that meeting now, you find nothing in your heart or mind that concerns you.”

  “I have met her,” Iro said seriously. “And I have thought carefully of that meeting. I find nothing that concerns me, but it is hard to decide how much confidence to set in that feeling now that we know she is a sorcerer. But your Lau says he sees nothing in anyone’s mind that concerns him, so that may be reason for better confidence.”

  That was a careful answer. Careful in at least two ways. I took the pieces of fish from the skewer and ate them slowly, pretending to think of nothing but that. Etta got up and brought me another skewer, this one with slivers of meat from one of the marmots. Then she sat down next to Iro, so close there was no space between them, and waved her own skewer at me. “You should trust Aras,” she told me. “He is not a cautious man by nature, I would never say so, but I do say he is taking great care now. He says this avila woman is not dangerous. He says he thinks the curse is different for her people.”

  Etta was probably right. We had already come nearly a full day from the Tarashana woman’s small camp, and still nothing in my memory seemed wrong to me. I said, “In two more days, if Aras says the same thing, I will be more certain he has been cautious enough.” I paused. Then I asked, “Has anyone told you about the young man who used to be inTasiyo?”