TANO

Tuyo: Book 6

Rachel Neumeier

© 2023 by Rachel Neumeier

All Rights Reserved

Cover art © 2023 by Trif Book Design

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is strictly your imagination.

Contents

1 –

2 –

3 –

4 –

5 –

6 –

7 –

8 –

9 –

10 –

11 –

12 –

13–

14 –

15 –

16 –

17 –

18 –

19 –

Epilogue –

Endnotes –

Tasmakat excerpt –

Acknowledgments –

Other Works By Rachel Neumeier –

1 –

Ryo came to his father’s tent alone, which for one breath frightened me very much.

Koro inKarano had declared that the gods favored the Lau and he would not put Aras to death, but I thought something else might have happened; I thought perhaps our king had found some reason to change his mind. Indeed, after Aras had set sorcery upon Koro, no matter how briefly, it seemed to me that our king might very well have found any number of reasons to change his mind and put him to death, even though he had said he would not do it.

Or perhaps Aras had done some other thing with sorcery, even a very small thing, and the king had put him to death for that. Koro had sworn to set aside only the forbidden acts Aras had already committed, not anything further he might do, and plainly Aras now found it much more difficult not to commit those acts than had been so before.

All those thoughts went through my mind very fast.

But almost at once I saw nothing like that could have happened. Ryo was not upset. A warrior should have more pride than to carelessly show anger or dismay or grief, but if Aras had been killed, Ryo would not look like this: quietly calm in his mind and his heart. He had not looked as quiet as this for many days. I thought he might not have looked as quiet as this since we had all returned to the land of the living from the land of the shades.

Obviously nothing else terrible had happened. Obviously Ryo had come to a better accord with Aras. That was a good thing that had come from everything that had happened. That was probably the only good thing that had come from all those events.

No. The destruction of the inTasiyo was also a good thing—and the death of my father.

I caught that thought almost at once and made it into a different thought: the destruction of the people who had once called themselves inTasiyo, and the death of their warleader, Yaro inTasiyo, who was not my father. I had made that mistake more than once. No one had corrected me for it yet. But it was very important that I stop making that kind of mistake before someone took offense.

He would not yet be dead. They would not even have cut out his tongue and cut off his hands, not yet. Koro had told Royova inVotaro to take him a whole day’s ride from and do it there. Perhaps that was the custom; I did not know. But I wished Koro had ordered it done at once, here, in front of everyone. Royova was a very great warrior; the inVotaro were all great warriors; but I could not help but fear that the inTasiyo warleader might escape. I was very certain he would try to escape, or fight, or else he would try to bring Royova himself or some others of the inVotaro warriors under his will. Perhaps even now he might have done one or another of those things. Perhaps he had done all those things. The inVotaro might be very great warriors, but they did not know him. They had never faced the burning forcefulness he owned, the forcefulness that made people give way to him and want to do as he commanded.

Even if nothing I feared had happened, even if Royova carried out the king’s commands, my fath—the inTasiyo warleader—would not die quickly. He was too strong to die quickly. He would probably live until he died of the cold. If he found shelter, that might not happen. He might not die for days, until he died of hunger. If he came upon someone willing to help him, if his own people found him, he might not die at all.

He would not be able to speak to anyone. Royova would have cut out his tongue. Unless Yaro had persuaded him not to do it.

I knew that was not at all likely. Yet I could not imagine my—the inTasiyo warleader voiceless. That was impossible to imagine. It was much, much easier to imagine that he might persuade Royova not to do it, not to carry out any of Koro’s commands.

I pressed all these thoughts aside, as I had done again and again since the king had spoken that sentence. I knew these thoughts were very foolish, entirely foolish. Also, I did not want to think of anything having to do with Yaro inTasiyo or with all the people who had been the inTasiyo. I tried instead to think of the people who had left the inTasiyo before the king had spoken his sentence. Especially Vayu.

I was very glad Vayu had left the inTasiyo and gone to the inKera. I was very glad he had taken his little brother Darayo into the inKera with him. Vayu had not been my friend—I had not had friends among the inTasiyo; the very word friend sounded strange when I thought of the word in any way that involved me. But Vayu had been kind to me when I had desperately needed that kindness. Later, he had extended to me an act of generosity more important than simple kindness.

I had sworn to remember nothing of any people before I had come into the inGara, but that kind of oath is kept with the tongue and the teeth, not in the heart. Or for me that was how it was. Perhaps other people might forget when they swore they would forget, perhaps it was a flaw in me that I remembered everything.

I would much rather have forgotten almost everything. Nearly all those memories were bitter; more bitter now that I understood better what Yaro inTasiyo had done to me, to the inTasiyo.

But a few memories were not like that. I was glad Vayu and his brother had not become nameless people. They would do so much better with the inKera. I knew the inKera warleader would treat Vayu justly and kindly. I did not know the lord of the inKera at all, but I trusted Hokino inKera and Soro was Hokino’s brother. Also, Ryo spoke well of him. Besides all this, Soro had shown great generosity when he took in so many of the people who had been inTasiyo. Not only Vayu and his brother, but also others. Lisig and her baby. Lisig had been brave to walk away from the inTasiyo. Her courage had grown from her bitterness, I understood that very well, but it had still been a brave act.

So those were good things that had happened. But it was hard not to think of the many bad things that had happened because of the acts of the inTasiyo warleader.

I had come to Sinowa inGara’s tent partly because I had no real place within the inGara camp and did not know where else to go; and partly because I wanted to know what the lord of the inGara might do and say regarding all that had happened and hoped he might let me remain near him and listen if I stayed very quiet; but mostly because I knew that after everything was finished, Ryo would almost certainly come to his father’s tent.

I had come there with Garoyo, settled to one side of the entry, and waited quietly. Garoyo had gone out again later, but I had stayed where I was. Other people had come to speak to Sinowa and then gone out again. The lord of the inGara paid no attention to me, so everyone else pretended not to notice me either.

When Ryo came in, he did not bother with that kind of pretense. He nodded to me. Then he knelt and waited for his father to acknowledge him. He was not afraid. That still struck me, even after all this time. He knew he had displeased Sinowa; he expected his father to be angry with him; but he was not afraid. I knew it was different between them than it had been between my—between Yaro inTasiyo and me, but every time I saw the difference, it still struck me.

After a little time, not long, Sinowa looked at Ryo. “My son.”

Ryo stood up, came forward the small distance, and knelt again. “Lord,” he said. “I apologize for my disgraceful behavior. I was insolent to you, to your warleader, and to our king. I deserve your punishment for it, lord.”

“You do. I will consider that in a moment,” his father answered. “Tell me how it happened between Aras and Koro.”

“I was not there when they spoke to each other. I do not know how it happened. I know that Aras will take another oath at dawn. He will swear again not to use forbidden arts against any Ugaro. He will swear this beneath the light of the rising Sun. I am certain he will keep this oath.”

He could not possibly be certain. No one could be certain of Aras now. But his father only nodded and waited for him to go on.

Ryo continued. “I know our king commanded him to go back to the summer country and forbade him to return to the winter country unless Koro himself gives him leave to do so.”

Sinowa nodded again. “All this I knew would happen, unless something else happened.”

“Yes,” said Ryo. “Nothing else happened, or nothing else I know. Aras will go back to the summer country soon. I do not know how soon. Perhaps my father discussed this with our king.”

“A handful of days, perhaps two handfuls. Probably not longer, no matter that the cold will linger for many more days than that. He will stay with the inGara until he leaves on this journey. He will stay near my wife for those days. When he departs, you will go with him, my son. You will go with him into the summer country. If he can find a way to do so, he will remove his leash from your mind and free you from every manner of his sorcery.”

Nothing in this surprised Ryo at all. “Yes, lord. I think he will try to do everything you say, though some of that may not be possible. Darra inKarano and Elaro inPorakario will accompany us as far as the river and then return. Perhaps my father knows that as well.”

“Ah.” Sinowa lifted a bowl of warm berry cordial, turned the bowl in his hands, and set it down again without drinking. “I had not heard this, Ryo, but I heard some things that make this news a little less surprising than it might have been. Though nothing could make this decision less than remarkable.”

I did not understand why this was remarkable. I could think of several reasons the daughter of Koro inKarano might wish to make that journey, and other reasons the poet from the east might wish to do so, but none of those reasons seemed remarkable to me. I turned Sinowa’s comment over in my mind, but still I did not understand, so I set the puzzle aside to consider later. Sinowa was going on. “Or have you made a firm decision? Perhaps you intend to consider this decision for all the days you ride south. Perhaps everyone intends to consider this important decision that long.”

“This may be so,” Ryo answered. “But I think I have almost decided, Father. I think we have all almost decided. I hope this does not displease you.”

“I have not discussed the matter with your mother. But I think she will probably not disapprove, as long as your decision in the matter is firm when you make it. If your mother does not disapprove, then I will not disapprove either.”

Ryo bowed his head. “I will discuss this with her before we leave.”

“That might be wise,” Sinowa agreed. He picked up the bowl again. This time he sipped the cordial. For a little while there was quiet, as both of them waited to see if either wished to say something else on that subject.

I certainly wondered very much what problem had arisen that they both thought should be set before Ryo’s mother. I wondered whether they wanted Marag inGara’s opinion as a woman or her opinion as a singer. Of course I could not ask. I breathed evenly and slowly, keeping my eyes lowered, making myself as unobtrusive as possible.

After some time, Sinowa said, “Now, let us consider the other problem. My son, you are old enough to understand you should not give way to temper. You were angry and upset. That does not excuse your behavior, which was indeed disgraceful. I would be ashamed for the inGara even if you had spoken insolently only to me. That you spoke so sharply to our king was worse. That you spoke to defend Aras was well enough. You should have requested Koro’s permission to speak. He would have granted it. But it was not your place to put yourself forward in that way. I am embarrassed that I failed to teach you to do better when you were much younger than this.”

Ryo bowed in acknowledgment. He was genuinely ashamed, I knew, although I did not fully understand why. Except that I knew Ryo always thought he should behave perfectly and was deeply ashamed when he failed in any way. It had taken me a long time to understand that.

I had no idea whether I had ever been ashamed of my behavior that way until Ryo made me understand that some actions were shameful. I had only ever been afraid of punishment if my father decided I had behaved in a way that displeased him. I had never thought of shame. I still had only a very imperfect understanding of what actions were shameful and what actions were honorable. This was something I knew I must learn to understand much, much better. For now, I watched Ryo and his father, trying to guess what each would do and say so that I could test my understanding against their actions and their speech.

“Our king was generous to declare himself unoffended,” Sinowa said. “But your behavior was still disgraceful. What punishment would be just for your insolence today?”

I had not expected that. My father would never have asked a question like that.

Obviously Ryo was not at all surprised. He answered, “I understood I was wrong, yet I still spoke intemperately to you and to my eldest brother and to our king. That is a worse fault than temper alone. Twice twenty.”

His father nodded thoughtfully. “As you say, you understood your temper was too high and too hard for that moment. In some ways, that is indeed a worse fault, but in other ways, it is not as bad. I prefer that my sons understand at once when they fail in some way, without requiring anyone to explain the fault to them.”

That thought seemed important. I knew this was a problem I had, that I did not understand anything until someone explained it to me. I felt a rush of heat to my face and bowed my head so that neither Ryo nor his father would see I had flushed—though of course they were not looking at me.

Ryo’s father continued. “You apologized to Koro and you apologized to your brother. You tried hard to control your temper, and you almost succeeded. Twice twenty is too severe.” He paused. Then he added, “Still, I agree you should have done better, my son. Twenty. Stand up and take off your shirt.”

My fa—Yaro inTasiyo—would never have stated the punishment before picking up the whip. He would never say first what might be enough. He would beat someone until he chose to stop. But I had already guessed Sinowa might handle the matter differently. When Ryo had beaten me, both times he had beaten me, he had given the count first. That had made even the terrible beating he had given me first easier to bear. Several things had made that easier to bear.

Ryo bowed, accepting his father’s decision. He stood up as his father had ordered and took off his shirt. The bandage across his chest showed where the inTasiyo warleader had cut him. The cut had not been bad. It had taken only ten stitches to close the wound. If the knife had struck a handsbreadth lower, the cut might have been much more serious. He had taken a cut across one arm as well, but that was nothing. Older scars showed the many wounds he had taken that had been more serious than these. Those were healed now, but some of those wounds had been so recent that the scars were still obvious. Some of those scars would fade, but some he would surely carry all his life no matter how long he lived. I was pleased, for no clear reason, that the wounds Yaro inTasiyo had dealt were not serious enough to leave scars like that.

Despite the whip that lay near his father’s hand, Ryo showed no sign of fear or dismay or even reluctance. But once he had tossed his shirt aside, he suddenly faced his father again, knelt, and said, “Lord, may I ask someone to help me stand? I would prefer to ask Tano to help me.”

His father looked at him in surprise. Then he looked at me. I was staring, entirely astonished. Many times, Ryo had surprised me very much, but perhaps never more than in that moment. I knew—anyone would know—that he did not need help to stand. Least of all did he need my help. I would have thought I had imagined that request, except that his father had also plainly heard him make it. When Sinowa looked at me, I realized I was staring and lowered my eyes at once.

Sinowa turned his gaze away from me, back toward his son. He said, “I know you find the whip hard to bear. Have I chosen too harsh a punishment, my son?”

That astonished me almost as much as Ryo’s request. I had lived among inGara and inGeiro for many days, but still, I had not realized a man might ask his son a question like that—or for such a reason. Certainly I had not imagined Ryo might be afraid of a beating. He was not afraid of anything, as far as I had ever seen—certainly not of his father, nor his father’s anger, nor his father’s punishment. I was staring once more. I had to learn to do much better, to hide my reactions much better. I dropped my gaze again, but watched Ryo through my lashes, trying to understand this.

“No, lord,” Ryo answered at once. “Your punishment is not as severe as I deserve. But even so, I would prefer to ask Tano to help me, if you will permit this.”

Sinowa inclined his head. “You may ask someone for help if you wish. As Tano is here, if you find it convenient to ask him, that will do, though he is young for it.”

“He knows how it is done.” Rising again, Ryo turned to me, beckoning to me. He saw how surprised I still was—obviously they both knew that—but he did not laugh at me, only held out his hands for me to put my own up against them. Getting to my feet, I did as he wanted, though hesitantly. He set his palms against mine, a light pressure, not gripping my fingers.

He said, in the quiet way he usually spoke to me, “After a man takes a very severe beating, so severe his pride breaks, he will be much more afraid of the whip. That fear will linger for a long time, even if the whip is not held by an enemy. It will remain even if he knows that this time a beating will not be that bad. Perhaps you already understand all this. You may not know that I once took that kind of beating. It happened more than two winters ago. The fear is less than it was. It is an echo of the fear I felt at first. But I think that echo may never pass away completely.”

I had had no idea. This had never occurred to me at all. Of course I had heard tales of the Lau sorcerer who had made trouble for inGara and many other tribes, who had been an enemy of Aras Eren Samaura. I knew this sorcerer was probably the enemy whom Ryo meant. I would have liked to hear that tale. But none of that concerned me as much as other things I suddenly understood. I had never known why Ryo let Rakasa inGeiro help me when he beat me. I had never known why Rakasa had chosen to help me, or why they had both said afterward that I had done well enough when I knew I had not done well at all. I had been surprised and puzzled when Ryo permitted the Lau to give me their salve afterward. Now I thought I might understand all those things.

I also understood why he had asked me to help him. He did not need help. Of course he did not. He wanted to show me that this kind of fear, the cold dread of the whip, was nothing. For him, perhaps it was nothing. He might fear the whip—perhaps that was true—but I doubted very much he feared it as I did. I did not believe he could fear anything that much.

I tried to speak calmly, trying not to show anything I thought or felt. “You should not grip my hands hard. Is that right? I know you should look at me or past me, not down. Looking at Rakasa helped me.”

He met my eyes. He was smiling. Despite his words, he was completely unafraid. “Yes,” he agreed. “All of that is right. Everything is easier to bear when you have put your attention on someone who is trying to help you. It is good to look at anyone who wishes you to do well. Sometimes it helps to look into the sky. It never helps to look down at the ground or at the rugs on the floor.”

Many beautiful rugs and furs covered the floor of Sinowa’s tent. No one was concerned about soiling those coverings with blood. The whip Sinowa had taken up was not the kind that would draw blood, not in only twenty strokes. It was stiff leather, the leather braided rather than flat, but there were no pieces of metal braided into its length.

“It will help me if you keep the count for me,” Ryo went on. “If you feel me tense, press my hands. If you see me close my eyes, if I flinch at all, look past me, at my father, to show him he should wait.” He smiled again at the disbelief he undoubtedly saw in my face. “I think that will not happen, but who can say? I have not been required to stand for the whip since Lorellan beat me.”

I wondered very much how severe a beating that had been. It must have been very, very bad, to break Ryo’s pride. I was certain it must have been even worse than the beating Ryo had given me, and that had been bad. Though not as bad as some of the beatings my—Yaro had given me. I wondered what Ryo would say about fear if he knew how often my pride had been broken—if he knew I had given up pride long ago, and had not tried to recover it until I saw he wished it.

I did not want Ryo to know that. I wanted to ask his opinion, but at the same time, I thought I would rather die than tell him anything of that.

Aras knew everything already. Perhaps I might ask him what Ryo would think of all the things in my mind that I could not bear to speak of. Perhaps he would know. Though he might consider it wrong to tell me. He did not lightly speak of the thoughts he saw in someone’s mind. But he always knew what was right to say and when he should keep silent.

Sinowa had waited while Ryo spoke to me, pretending he did not hear anything. Now he took up the whip, rose to his feet, and stepped to the place behind his son. But he did not bring the whip down without warning. He touched the whip lightly to Ryo’s back. “When you are upset, that is not the time to give way to your temper.” He spoke sternly, but not unkindly. Ryo spoke to me exactly that way when he corrected some fault I had shown him. Now I knew where he had learned that. His father went on. “The moment in which it is most difficult to hold your tongue and your temper is the moment this is most important. Failure to hold both at such moments makes it hard for you to think and easy for a man who disagrees with you to dismiss your opinions. Do you understand this, my son?”

“Yes,” Ryo said. I nodded a little too, though Sinowa had not been speaking to me. I had not thought of it that way, but I saw he was completely right.

Ryo looked past me, at the wall of the tent, which was covered with felt in rich shades of blue and purple and yellow. He said, “I know that, lord, and I knew it then.”

Sinowa nodded. He continued. “For a very young man, I would say ten would do. For another young man your age, some other man’s son, I would perhaps say ten and five would be enough. I know you know better, my son, and so I expect much better behavior. Twenty. Are you ready?”

Ryo shifted his gaze to meet my eyes. He had not tensed at all, as far as I could tell. He smiled at me, meaning to reassure me, I knew. Then he said, “Yes, lord.”

My father—the inTasiyo warleader—would have beaten me in front of everyone. He might have beaten me until his arm was tired, or he might have given me only a few strokes himself and then passed the whip to another man, and another after that, requiring each man to condemn me and beat me in turn. Everyone would have agreed with his opinion of me. No one would have refused to take the whip. They would have expected my pride to break. It would have. Pride had never helped me at all. Giving it up had helped a little, sometimes, even though I would be required to beg the inTasiyo warleader’s pardon afterward for showing cowardice, and he might beat me again for that …

… all of that came back to me when Sinowa inGara lifted the whip, and brought it down. But everything else was different. Sinowa had already said what the punishment would be. He dealt the strokes quickly, not as though he thought the punishment unimportant, but as though he thought it enough and did not wish to break his son’s pride and humiliate him.

Of course he did not want that. He was the lord of the inGara, not the warleader of the inTasiyo. For a heartbeat, two heartbeats, I had almost forgotten that, in the sound of leather against flesh.

Ryo did not grip my hands. He had not looked away from me. His eyes had widened a little, and his breathing had deepened. Those were the only signs I saw that he even noticed the whip. I remembered now that Rakasa had told me to breathe deeply. I had forgotten that until this moment.

Ryo’s shoulders and arms tightened a little. I pressed his hands, and he blinked and focused his gaze on my face and relaxed again, accepting the pain. I had seen other men, warriors, take a beating like this. But not from so close. Not a man who had asked me to help him. I had seen them do it, and I had not understood how they could bear the pain with such indifference. I had thought it my own failing that I could not. Now, with Ryo’s hands against mine, I could feel the effort he made to stand in that way. I had never understood that other men had to make this kind of effort, that standing was not easy for them, that they only made it seem easy.

I had forgotten to keep the count. I ran the blows back through my mind and forward again, and I thought it was perhaps sixteen, perhaps eighteen, but I was not certain and I was afraid of giving the wrong number.

Sinowa stepped back. He drew a breath deep enough that I saw his chest move. Then he tossed the whip aside. He had not liked dealing out that punishment. That was another thing I had not understood until that moment. I was not certain even after that thought came to me. But I thought I was right.

Ryo closed his hands hard on mine, drew a slow breath, let it out, released his grip, turned, and knelt. “I apologize for my disgraceful behavior, lord.” Every movement was steady. His voice was just as always. If I had not seen him take those blows, if I did not see the welts now on his back, I would not have known he had taken a beating. I did not know whether I could ever learn to stand like that. I was afraid I could not. My failure would shame me, and Ryo, and the inGara, and I knew that, but still I did not know whether I could do it. For a moment, I seemed to see many, many days stretch out before me, uncountable days, filled with failure and pain and shame, and I did not know how I could endure living.

I put that thought away as quickly as I could. No man can know what the days will bring, but I was very certain that Ryo would not want me to think that living with his people—my people too now—would be so terrible I could not bear it.

“So you should. I accept your apology,” Sinowa was saying. “I can hardly imagine there will be any repetition. But should that happen, remember this moment and do better. Otherwise, set the failing in the past, my son.”

“Yes,” Ryo said. He stood up again. He showed no sign of pain, but he did not move to pick up his shirt. He left that lying to the side, where he had tossed it.

“Where is Aras?” Lord Sinowa asked him.

Ryo smiled. “He went to speak to Geras.”

“So. That is very appropriate,” Lord Sinowa agreed. “The Lau took no serious injury in that duel, though two or three of his ribs are probably cracked. That is my understanding. A brave and clever man. He brings honor to his lord and his people. He went to my wife’s tent, where it is warmer.” He went to the entry of his tent and put the canvas back, gesturing for us to go out before him.

It would be presumptuous for me to trail after the lord of the inGara and his son. Or I feared it would be taken as presumption. Or that Ryo would think less of me because I followed after him every moment, like a child clinging to his older brother. Ryo might have sworn to deal with me as though I were his younger brother, but that hardly meant he wanted me to trail at his heel.

That thought suggested to me where else I should go. My younger brother was only a boy, and he had only just become inGara. I knew Ensu was safe. Ryo’s brother of the same mother, Raga, had taken Ensu with him, to keep him out of the way until every kind of upset that my father—that the inTasiyo warleader—had caused had eased.

Raga would not let Ensu get into any kind of trouble. But he would have been frightened because everyone had been angry and upset. He might be frightened because he was not certain yet that the inTasiyo warleader was no longer our father, that he was nothing to either of us any longer. Obviously that was hard to understand, hard to believe. Of course Ensu would have difficulty believing that. Even though Raga would surely tell my brother that every kind of danger was past, even so, I should find Ensu and reassure him.

2 –

I had just been thinking that I had never had a friend among the inTasiyo. I was not certain I should say that Raga was my friend, but I hoped it might not be entirely wrong to say so. I thought he might be in his mother’s tent, but at this time of day I thought more likely he would be somewhere else, perhaps with the poet from the east, Elaro inPorakario. But I had seen the poet go out of the inGara camp some time ago.

Perhaps Arayo inKera would know where Raga had gone, as they shared a tent. Arayo had permitted me to share that tent as well. He had been friendly toward me since the day I had come into the inGara—there was that word again. Friendly. Friend. Probably it was not wise for me to think that Arayo was my friend. But his nature was generous, and after all that had happened and all the days we had spent together in the starlit lands, he and Raga and I, perhaps he would not be annoyed if I sought him out to ask whether he knew where Raga might be.

I paused at that thought, irresolute. I did not want to annoy Arayo. That would be almost as bad as annoying Ryo—worse in some ways. If I made a mistake, Ryo would correct me. Arayo would probably only be patient and say nothing to show me I was making a mistake, except later he would tell me there was no room for me in the tent he shared with Raga. That would be … I did not want that to happen.

Before I could think what else I could do, someone behind me called, “Tano!”

My stomach tightened, as always happened when anyone called my name—any man. Even Ryo. Any Ugaro man. Only when one of the Lau called to me, that did not happen. I understood this. I would have had to be completely stupid not to understand it. I knew this was a stupid feeling, I knew no one would call me and then hurt me or punish me. Probably no one would do that, and if someone did, he would explain my mistake, and probably the punishment would not be very severe. There was no reason to be afraid. I hated this cowardice in myself, I loathed it, but still, I always had to take a breath and another breath before I turned, so that I would not show the sharp fear that this kind of summons always caused.

I turned, careful of my expression, and it was Vayu, striding toward me, frowning. Vayu inKera, who had been Vayu inTasiyo until only yesterday. I was surprised to see him here. I did not at all understand why Vayu had come here, to the inGara camp, instead of staying very quietly among his new people, learning the ways in which the inKera did everything and watching to see who was important among them. Vayu was much braver than I was, but he was not often stupidly reckless. I could think of no reason so important that he would have come here like this—come here to find me.

I could not help but glance quickly around to see who was watching, how many people were nearby—to see whether my father was watching.

Among the inTasiyo, if anyone had been watching, especially if my father had been watching, no one would come near me except to hit me. Vayu would also hit me or shove me down if anyone were watching, though he would try not to hurt me much. But he would do it.

Of course this was not the same here. I knew this fear was completely stupid, but I could not help how my stomach tightened and my heartbeat grew faster because I saw one and another inGara person had looked toward us. I did not know those people. Several were warriors, which did not make me feel less nervous. Taking a breath, I faced Vayu, who felt to me less threatening than the inGara warriors, though this was completely stupid.

Then, as Vayu came close to me, I saw he was afraid. Or upset, or angry. Some manner of trouble had come into his heart; I saw that, but I was not certain what else I saw.

“Vayu,” I said, making my face quiet, speaking cautiously because I did not understand this.

He had been walking fast, but now he stopped, facing me, not too close. That was deliberate. He knew I did not like anyone to stand too close to me.

That was not exactly true. He knew I was afraid when anyone came close enough to hit me or grab me. That was the truth.

He knew that, so he stopped farther away, only just close enough to speak easily. He said, “Tano, I am sorry; I do not mean to intrude. I know you are inGara now, the brother of the son of the lord of the inGara. I know you probably have other matters that concern you. But can we go somewhere to speak privately?”

Many things in his words surprised me very much. I tried not to show that. If it had been anyone but Vayu, I would have thought carefully before going aside with him. But he met my eyes, waiting. His expression was cold, ungiving, but his lips were tight, his breathing careful. He was very upset. I did not understand this. For at least three reasons, I wanted to understand, so finally I nodded and led the way toward the edge of the inGara camp, nearer to the lake.

Now that all the tents and wagons had been moved close together, fewer people came and went there. But we had to pass near one of the warriors set to watch the borders of the camp for any kind of trouble. This was a man I did not know, much older than we were. A man who has thirty winters or more will not be interested in young men, but this warrior glanced over at us. His expression showed nothing of his thoughts, but he said in a tone that seemed stern to me, “Do not go far, young warriors.”

My stomach tightened when the warrior spoke to us, but I tried to show nothing of that. I faced him at once because anything else would have been impolite. “We will go only a very short distance, respected warrior,” I answered.

He eyed me. Then he said, “My name is Barano, young warrior. I tell you as you may not know. You may call me by name.” He nodded toward the lake. “Go only as far as the place those three rocks lean together. That is far enough today.”

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you, Barano.” Vayu and I walked on, that far, just to the place the warrior had indicated. Now I had two puzzles to consider, because I did not know why the warrior had made a point of telling me his name and also I did not know why Vayu wanted to speak to me.

When we came to the place the three rocks leaned together, I faced Vayu. He moved back a step and sat down on a stone there, folding his hands across his knee. I sat down too. He nodded, looking relieved, as though he had feared until that moment that I might walk away instead and refuse to hear him.

Then he said, his tone urgent, “Tano, you are the brother of the son of the lord of the inGara. Perhaps you will consider asking your brother whether our king might change his decision regarding the people who used to be inTasiyo. Do not answer me at once. Let me finish. I know you probably consider our king’s decisions good, and I do not set any fault against you for that. I am not thinking of your—of the man who used to be warleader of the inTasiyo. I am not thinking of any of the people who used to be inTasiyo. I am not thinking of any living people. I am thinking of the taiTasiyo, those whose skulls are set in the low tomb, who have a place in the land of the shades because their skulls rest in the tomb of their people. That is the part of the decision that concerns me. My grandmother’s skull rests in that tomb. So does your mother’s skull; and your uncle’s, her brother’s. I do not want to think of those skulls thrown out of the tomb for animals and weather to destroy. I think perhaps you may not want to think of that either.”

I could not imagine why this had not occurred to me. Or, no. My thoughts had all turned around our king’s decision to put my father to death—put Yaro inTasiyo to death. That decision had seemed so important that I had all but ignored every other decision. I should not have needed anyone to speak to me of my mother’s skull. Certainly I should have understood at once why Vayu might be upset. He had more than one reason to be upset; neither his father nor his mother nor his elder sisters had chosen to leave the inTasiyo when the choice had been set before them, so now our king’s decisions would come hard upon them. But they were living people who could decide as they chose to decide. Vayu had been close to his grandmother. Of course he must be much more upset when he thought of her.

Now, for the first time, I thought carefully about our king’s decisions. Not about Yaro. I set that aside. But the command that all the people who had been inTasiyo must go to other tribes and take other names, or else they must leave every land Koro ruled; or if they would do neither, the inVotaro would put them all to death. And the other command, that all the skulls should be taken from the lowest tomb of the taiTasiyo and thrown into the open to be destroyed.

Vayu waited for me to think. He did not watch me, but looked away, out across the long lake. The Sun was still high, though many more clouds had come into the sky. The frozen lake was the color of steel. The open water where people had recently broken the ice was dark as iron.

Perhaps it might snow tonight or tomorrow. By the time snow began to fall, Royova inVotaro would have carried out our king’s orders regarding Yaro inTasiyo: he would have cut out his tongue and cut off his hands and left him to die. Almost certainly it would happen that way. It was stupid to think of events coming about in any other way. Royova would have left Yaro to die, and then he would have led his warriors west, toward inTasiyo lands, to carry out all the rest of our king’s orders.

I said finally, “I could speak to Ryo. If he thought it right, Ryo would speak to his father. But I think you know, as I do, that the lord of the inGara will not suggest to our king that Koro moderate his decision. He might …” I stopped, thinking again, and then shook my head. “I meant to say, he might suggest that Koro command that some of the skulls be moved to higher tombs rather than thrown out for the animals. But our king will not command that. How would he judge among one skull and the next? Everyone would say their own close kin should be excepted from the ruling.”

Vayu had been listening carefully, but now he said, relief clear in his voice, “No, Tano, this is a good idea. Koro could command that those skulls of our ancestors, yours and mine and those of us who came to other tribes yesterday, be brought to the tombs of our new peoples …” his voice trailed off. Then he said, “You think he would not command that.”

I must have shown more than I intended. I had to do better. I knew Vayu was very observant, but I had not meant to show anything. But he was right. I said, “Perhaps, if our king said this would be permitted, the lord of the inKera would say your grandmother could come into an inKera tomb because now you are inKera. Perhaps some people might consider that right. But think of it a different way. She was your father’s mother. Your father did not leave the inTasiyo yesterday. Your grandmother lived among those people before Yaro became warleader and then before he became as powerful as later occurred and then for many years longer. She never walked away and went to another tribe. She never went to a kinswoman in any other tribe to say that she was upset and worried about the way the inTasiyo were behaving—”

Vayu held up his hands. “Enough. I had not thought of it in that way. But, Tano, you know it was difficult to walk away, difficult for a long time, for many different reasons. I think she might have tried to leave the inTasiyo, except she did not do that when it was easier and then it was too hard.”

“This may be so, but you have to think of it as Soro inKera would think of it, and as our king would think of it, not as you would think of it.”

“Yes, Tano, I see that. But then perhaps you can think of something else to say.” He hesitated, taking a breath, and lowered his voice. “You are quick to understand everything people think and do.”

This made me want to think of something. I did think of different things. But I was not certain whether any of those things would be right to do. That was something I could not judge. I was not certain whether Vayu could judge that either.

Ryo would understand at once whether an act someone thought of was honorable or far otherwise. But for two reasons, I did not want to ask Ryo. Although he had been generous to me many times, extraordinarily generous, I was afraid that if I were not very careful, I might give him one cause after another to despise me, until he became so disgusted that he declared I was no longer his brother. I did not want even to think of that. That was one reason.

The other reason was that Ryo would probably speak to his father regarding any such question, and above any other inGara, his father despised the inTasiyo. I thought this was not a question to take to any inGara warrior.

That was the right way to consider this problem. As soon as I realized that this problem was not right for any inGara to consider, I immediately thought of the problem in a different way.

“I know someone we should speak to regarding all this,” I said, and stood up. Vayu rose as well, anxious but willing to follow my suggestion.

Now I had an important reason to find Arayo inKera. I did not know whether he would be in the inGara camp. Though I thought I would look here first, I thought Arayo might have gone to the inKera camp, to see friends there before the Convocation ended and the inKera returned to their own lands. He might have gone to see his mother and his sisters. Or he might have gone somewhere with his father, the warleader of the inKera.

Everything was difficult between Arayo and his father. I did not know exactly the shape of the constraint between them, but I thought I knew the reason for that tension.

Arayo’s father had given him to the inGara. When Arayo had thirteen winters, Hokino inKera had given him to Sinowa inGara as a tuyo, not exactly to end an enmity that was bad for the inKera, but to show everyone a new kind of tuyo custom. Hokino had been almost certain that the lord of the inGara would not put his son to death. I knew that. Even so … to use his son that way, give his son to a different man, the lord of a different tribe, a man who might do anything he wished to that son … I did not know how to think about that. I knew Ryo respected Hokino and thought the inKera warleader always behaved exactly as he should, and if this was Ryo’s opinion, surely this must be the truth. But still, I did not know how to think about what Hokino had done to Arayo.

Arayo had never said anything about that. I was not at all certain what he thought of that, what he felt about it, what he should think or feel about it.

If Yaro inTasiyo had given me to an enemy as a tuyo, I would have been altogether terrified. Although I would also have thought that kind of death, no matter how terrible, would have ended eventually, and that thought might have made such a thing easier to bear. But, when I realized that Sinowa inGara meant to deal with me almost as a son or a grandson, I would have been very, very grateful I had been given to him.

When I had had thirteen winters, I would have given anything, promised anything, done anything, to belong to the lord of the inGara and live among the inGara. I would not have known that then—I had not known that then. But that was certainly the truth. That was how I would have felt.

But if I had been Hokino inKera’s son, I would have been dismayed to be given to the inGara. Entirely dismayed. Also, I would have been furious. I was almost certain that was the way the son of anyone other than Yaro inTasiyo would have felt when that happened. Even when I knew I would not be put to death, even when I realized the lord of the inGara would send me to his own son, to Garoyo inGara, warleader of the inGara. Even when I realized that Garoyo would behave toward me as toward a son, that the lord of the inGara would behave toward me as toward a grandson, I thought the dismay and the anger might have lived in my heart for a long time.

Arayo had never shown any sign at all that he felt out of place among the inGara. He respected Garoyo inGara and Sinowa inGara. He had many friends among the young men and I knew he had come to feel regard for at least one of the young inGara women. If he were freed to go back to the inKera, I did not know what he would do then. But I knew he was not altogether easy with his father. Even after Hokino had come here to inGara lands to see him, even after everything that had happened in the land of the shades and in the starlit lands, still, it seemed to me that a constraint lay between them that had not been settled.

Perhaps once a man did to his son what Hokino had done to Arayo, his son would never forgive him. No matter why he had done it, or what had come of it. Perhaps his son should never forgive that act. Sinowa inGara could have done anything he wished to the boy given to him as a tuyo.

This was difficult to think about.

Even so, no matter what lay between Arayo inKera and his father, I was certain Arayo was the right young man to ask about this other problem. He was not inGara, so the old enmity between inGara and inTasiyo must seem more distant to him, and he stood between two peoples, not in exactly the same way that Vayu stood between two peoples, but in a way that might not be entirely different.

We had come around almost the whole perimeter of the inGara camp. All the tents and wagons had been drawn close together, so it had not taken very much time to walk around the whole camp. I had glanced toward every gathering of young men I saw, but I had begun to think that Arayo must have gone to the inKera camp after all.

Then I saw him. He was with some other young men. He was teaching them the Lau way to throw an opponent during a fight, the trick I had learned from Ryo during the days in the starlit lands. After I had learned that throw, I had taught it to Arayo. But now I realized I had very much preferred that only he and I should know this kind of throw—that I had wanted this to remain a trick only the two of us shared with Ryo.

Almost at once, I realized that probably I should not feel that way. Of course I should not feel that way. Obviously it would be better for inGara if everyone knew tricks of that kind. Especially young warriors, who cannot easily defeat a man who has come to the prime of his life. I tried to make myself approve of Arayo showing everyone else, but I could not do it.

I pretended nothing of this had come into my mind. I also pretended not to notice when some of the young men glanced over at me and at Vayu and then looked at each other. They all knew who I was. Probably most of them also knew who he was, but Vayu was not such a problem because he was inKera, so whether the young men of the inKera accepted him or despised him was their decision. These young inGara men did not care about him very much, but they were not certain how to behave toward me. They were deciding that now.

If I had thought for even a heartbeat, I would have waited to speak to Arayo later, when no one else was close. I had been stupid not to think of what might happen if I found him somewhere like this, surrounded by other young men.

Then I realized they were looking at Arayo to see what he thought.

I had not realized young inGara warriors would look to Arayo inKera to set their opinion. But after the first heartbeat, this did not surprise me. Arayo was the son of Hokino inKera, and Garoyo inGara had taken him into his own tent until Arayo became a man, so for both those reasons other young men might defer to him. Also, Arayo belonged to Sinowa himself, and so this must set him apart in some manner—certainly this would have made everyone notice him and pay attention to him. Also, I had come to know him during those days in the starlit lands. Although he was quiet, he noticed everything. His nature was not cautious, but he was serious. He seldom acted rashly and his judgment was good. These were all reasons that these other young men might listen to him even though he might have a winter, two winters, even three less than they did.

He would have sixteen winters now that we had come almost to spring. I had seventeen. That seemed strange to me. The winter had passed strangely, we had come from the past summer almost to spring in hardly more than a heartbeat because the days had been so strange in the land of the shades. I did not feel that I had become a year older. I wondered if Arayo also felt the strangeness of the past year.

If he did, he did not show that. He looked easy among the other young men. Plainly he was accustomed to the way they looked at him to see what he thought. They looked also to a tall young man, almost as tall as I was and certainly older, whom I did not know. There were others who also seemed important among these young men, but those two more than the rest.

Whatever their reasons, I was glad to see the way they looked to Arayo. I thought he would not set the other young men against me. I was almost certain he would not, even when I had been stupid enough to approach him in front of everyone.

“Tano!” Arayo said, smiling. “Probably you do not want to try this throw today, but perhaps you can explain what I am doing wrong. I know I am making a mistake in the way I demonstrate it.”

I tried to hide my surprise. I had hoped he would not show the other young men they should despise me, but I had not expected him to meet me in so friendly a way. Although I wanted to explain the problem Vayu had brought to me, and although I did not really want to teach this throw to everyone, I answered at once, “I would be pleased to show you now, if you wish. Attack me, but not too fast, so that everyone can see.” My back hurt whenever I moved carelessly or too fast; when I fell backward, that would hurt much more. The whip my father had seized yesterday to punish me had been the kind with wire braided in with the leather, and that kind of whip leaves cuts that do not heal quickly. Arayo knew that. That was probably why he said I would not want to show anyone this throw today. But I tried hard to put the pain aside and pay no attention to it.

I showed Arayo the throw, making certain I did it correctly the first time, which was important. Then Arayo tried it again himself. His opponent—the tall young man whose name I did not know—flew over his head just as he should. The young man rolled and came up, but Arayo was on his feet by then as well, and mimed throwing a knife, and his opponent stopped and held up his hands, conceding the match.

“A good trick if your enemy does not expect it,” the young man said. He looked at me, his manner not very friendly, but not hostile. “I am Nakora. My father is Tyo, who is cousin to Garoyo. I know who you are.” He glanced at Vayu. “You as well … inKera.”

“Yes,” I acknowledged. I was very certain all these young men knew exactly who I was. Vayu echoed me, his voice quiet. He did not drop his gaze, however. He had been accustomed to take the lead among the young inTasiyo warriors our age, and although cautious of causing offense among his new people, he probably did not intend to yield precedence to everyone—and these young men were not inKera, so he would not be as cautious with them anyway.

Nakora began to say something else, perhaps a challenge, but Arayo spoke first. “Raga was looking for you,” he said to me. “He would not explain why, so I am curious. We can go find him now and he can explain.” He glanced at Vayu, permission for him to come with us, nodded to Nakora and the other young men, and led the way away, toward the opposite edge of camp, farthest from the lake, the place where the young men had their tents. As soon as we were a little distance, he asked, “Were you looking for me or for Raga? Or for someone else?”

I should have realized he had guessed this. Of course he had. “For you,” I said. “Do you know Vayu? You might not have had occasion to hear his name, even though he is inKera now.”

Arayo nodded to Vayu. “I had not heard it. I am glad to know it now. Vayu, if you have some problem, you should not ask me. You should ask my father, Hokino inKera. He is strict, but he is also patient with every kind of problem.”

He spoke of his father without any hesitation. Perhaps I had been wrong regarding the constraint I thought lay between them. Perhaps I was wrong about everything I imagined he felt and thought concerning his father’s decision to give him to the inGara. Realizing I might be wrong about everything made my stomach tighten. I had to understand him, understand Hokino inKera, understand everything. If I could not understand people, what they thought and felt, I would make mistakes, maybe important mistakes—I might offend people, and then … I did not know what might happen then. I did not dare make mistakes. I resolved to watch and listen much more carefully.

“Yes,” Vayu was saying softly, glancing down. “Perhaps this is a problem you would listen to first, and then you can advise me.” Vayu was showing a much more deferential manner to Arayo than he had toward the young inGara warriors, far more so than he would ever have showed among the inTasiyo. I was a little surprised, but perhaps that was stupid. I knew Vayu was intelligent. Of course he understood he should watch and listen for some time before he tried to put himself forward among his new people, and of course he knew that Arayo was the son of the inKera warleader.

We had come to the tents. I did not see Raga anywhere, nor my younger brother. I asked Arayo, “Was Raga looking for me?”

“Yes,” he said promptly. “This morning. Probably he became distracted by everything that happened.” He glanced at the sky—much more heavily overcast now, and the wind was beginning to gust, blowing first from one direction and then from another. Certainly snow would fall tonight or tomorrow. Arayo brushed back the entry flap of our tent, stooped, and went in. I followed, and Vayu, and we all sat down facing one another.

3 –

The tent was small compared to any woman’s tent; very small compared to the tent of an important woman, but still much more comfortable than the kind of tents the Lau had brought into the winter country. The floor was covered with furs, including a splendid lion pelt, with the skull and the bones of the feet left intact. Perhaps Arayo had killed the lion. Certainly Raga had not.

The tent was four-sided, and panels of felt had been rolled back on two sides so that daylight could come in through the thinner material beneath. A brazier rested in the middle of the tent, but the coals were dim, covered over with ashes. A basket of dried dung sat to one side. I took a handful and added this to the brazier, blowing on the coals to make them glow more strongly. Then I sat down again. I could not tell what Arayo was thinking. He was not angry or irritated—or not yet—or if he was, I could not tell it. Perhaps I might be wrong to set this problem before him, but if I were wrong, I would rather be wrong with Arayo than with anyone else I could think of.

But I hoped very much I was not wrong.

I said first, to Vayu, “As you may know, this is Arayo inKera, the son of the warleader of the inKera, who was given as tuyo to the lord of the inGara. I trust his opinions regarding everyone important among both the inGara and the inKera.” I did not say that Arayo would probably know whether a suggested act might be right or wrong, though I thought that true as well.

Arayo raised his eyebrows, but he smiled a little too. He said, “I would not say that my judgment is always good, but if a young man who has recently come into the inKera has a question or a problem, I would be willing to listen to that question or that problem.”

“Yes,” said Vayu, but he looked at me.

Bracing myself, I began, “This is a problem that concerns us both. Koro’s decisions regarding the people who used to be inTasiyo may have been good decisions. Probably all those decisions were good. But Vayu’s grandmother’s skull rests in the lowest tomb of the taiTasiyo. So does my mother’s skull, and my uncle’s. These people were not bad people—I mean, it seems to us that they were not. Perhaps Koro might change his decision regarding that tomb if someone asked him to do so, but perhaps the suggestion might displease him. Perhaps you may judge that more clearly.”

Arayo was frowning, but thoughtfully, not as though the question had offended him. He said, “I had not thought of that decision in this way.” After a pause, he added, “Perhaps someone would make a tisane.”

I started to get up, but Vayu touched my arm to stop me and went to bring the bowls and the packets of dried berries from the place at the end of the tent where these things were stored. For a moment I did not understand that because I was not accustomed to taking precedence over anyone. Then I did understand it. Vayu was showing that he thought I had higher precedence than he did because I was Ryo’s brother and he had no relatives among the inKera—none except for his younger brother. Vayu had no standing among his new people at all.

That must be very difficult for him. He had been even braver than I had thought, to go to Soro inKera and ask to come into that people. He was not only brave, but intelligent, to realize so quickly that he should show deference to me, even when someone else was watching—especially when someone else was watching. He was not wrong to do it, however startling the act.

I could hardly imagine how different everything would be if Ryo had not said that I was his brother. Nothing at all would be the same. Again I thought that I should have taken this problem to Ryo, and again flinched from the idea because I did not know whether he would have been disappointed at one—or all—of my suggestions. I did not know what Arayo would think either, but though I was afraid he might say I was wrong to think of different ways to guard those skulls, I was not as afraid of that from him.

Vayu set a bowl of water to heat over the brazier and added a handful of dried berries and rosehips and some dried mint. Then he sat down again, and we all waited for the tisane to be ready. No one said anything while we waited. When the tisane was ready, Vayu poured bowls for everyone, and handed us the bowls.

Arayo drank some of the tisane, set the bowl aside, and said, “The warleader of the inKera does not like those people much. If a young inKera warrior who used to be of those people wanted our king to change his decision and show mercy to some of taiTasiyo, then the warleader of the inKera might wonder whether the young man who made this request remembered too much of those people. Other inKera people might wonder this as well. The lord of the inKera despises those people. He might say that throwing all the skulls out of the lowest tomb is a good thing to do. If someone asked his opinion, he might say that any child’s skull should be taken out of that tomb and set into a higher tomb. He might ask our king to change his ruling in that regard. But Soro might not say the same regarding the skull of anyone’s mother or uncle or grandmother. He might say that all those people should have walked away from the inTasiyo while they lived.”

Arayo did not look at me, but I knew I must have flinched at least a little. I had said my mother and my uncle even though I should remember nothing of any people before I came into the inGara. I had been stupid many times in my life, but everything that had happened today had made me even more stupid than usual.

Vayu said, his tone strained, “I would not argue that those people were right to remain among the inTasiyo, but perhaps walking away might have been more difficult than the lord of the inKera understands. There are many reasons this might have been difficult. The warleader of the inTasiyo might not have permitted some of those people to walk away. Some of his warriors might have brought back a person who walked away. He might treat such a person as an enemy. The fear that this might happen could have prevented some people from walking away. But perhaps the lord of the inKera might say this fear was disgraceful cowardice.”

Vayu had not looked at me when he said this. He did not look at me now. I looked down at my hands, at the bowl I held, and said, very softly, “Perhaps some people might have been too stupid to understand they could even try to walk away. Perhaps some people might have been even more stupid than that and failed to understand that other tribes were not like the inTasiyo.”

“Yes,” Arayo said, meaning he had listened and understood all this. But he went on, speaking slowly. “I think Soro might hear all this and consider that if the inTasiyo had been wise at all, they would have asked different people to lead them, not permitted Yaro to become so important within the tribe that they needed to fear him so much. I think he might say those people chose venomous people to lead them and therefore permitted their tribe to be poisoned. Every older person must have seen that the inTasiyo was becoming poisoned at the heart. They let this happen. For many years, long after they should have stopped it, they continued to let this happen. Also, this year is not the first recent year some inTasiyo have come to a Convocation. I think the lord of the inKera might wonder how someone among those people could have failed to break away from Yaro long ago to lay all this before our king.”

He was right. Someone should have done that. I might have done that. I had not even thought of it. I could think of nothing to say.

“Some older person,” Arayo said, looking at me. “Someone who understood that other tribes were different. I see that a very young man might not have understood he could do that.”

I nodded. He had been kind to say that, but I still could not bring myself to look up.

“All that you say is true,” Vayu said. “But I am thinking of how it will be when the warleader of the inVotaro comes to the territory of the inTasiyo. He will say to whatever people he finds there that they have no name, that they must go into other tribes, or else they may leave all these lands, or if they will take neither of those paths then they must die. Then those people may make any choice they wish. This is a hard choice, but each person may make that choice as he sees fit. The same is true for all the people who return from the Convocation or from any journey, who come into those lands and learn that they have no name. I would not protest anything regarding those living people. But the people whose skulls rest now in the low tomb will not be able to choose. They will only be cast down from their tomb. Some of those people died long enough ago that they did not know what the inTasiyo were becoming. Some of those people may have died because they challenged Yaro in some way. If any skull were set into a higher tomb, then if that person had offended the older taiTasiyo, the long dead could decide what they should do regarding these offenses. Would that not be more just?”

Arayo lifted his bowl again and drank some of the warm tisane while he considered this for some moments. Finally, he said, “That is not a bad argument. If anyone wished to speak of this to the warleader or the lord of the inKera, that person might argue in this way. I think either the warleader or the lord would listen carefully to that argument. But I think they would not agree, not after Koro inKarano made the decision in the way that he made it. They would say that our king had the right to make the decision as he made it. They would not regard any of the taiTasiyo with enough favor to ask Koro to reconsider that decision. Maybe the children,” he added. “But I think they would not regard older people favorably enough to protest our king’s ruling.”

Vayu was looking down at the bowl he held. His hands had tensed and his jaw had tightened. I knew he was probably thinking about making that argument to the warleader or the lord of the inKera, asking them to dispute our king’s ruling. He did not want to do that. In his place, I certainly would not. I thought of going to Sinowa inGara to present this kind of argument. Even the thought made me feel cold and sick. He would probably say that I remembered far too much of those people. He would be right to say it. He might say that if I remembered those people so clearly, then I could not be inGara. I could not decide whether he might say that or whether he would be right to say so.

I said, “So. Then, if not that, then perhaps someone might ride from this place all the way to the inTasiyo lands fast enough that he comes there before Royova inVotaro and all the inVotaro warriors—”

Vayu tried to break in. “Tano—”

I went on without looking at him. “But perhaps this would be a wrong act for any inKera warrior, because the taiTasiyo are nothing to inKera. Perhaps the warleader of the inKera would not approve of a young man who proposed this idea, especially if this young man had recently belonged to a different people. Also, the inTasiyo territory is a long way from this place. Some of the tribes between this place and those lands are allies of the inKera or the inGara, but others were allies of the inTasiyo, so it might be difficult for young men of our tribes to ride all that way. Especially since Convocation law would not apply to young men who were not returning from the Convocation to their own lands. So this idea is perhaps not good.”

“You have some other idea?” Arayo asked, his tone neutral.

I hesitated. But another idea had indeed come to me even as I realized the other was impossible. I said, “A different way to protect some of the skulls in that tomb would be for someone to ride after the people who think they are still inTasiyo, the people who left before Yaro inTasiyo tried to kill Ryo. Some of those people will be traveling quickly, but others will be traveling much more slowly, with wagons and cattle. No one is likely to seek those people to explain what has happened; no one is likely to have that much regard for them. But if someone happens to encounter a group of people like that, he might tell them everything that happened. Perhaps it would be right for those people to know everything soon, so that they do not travel for many days before they discover that they have become nameless people. I do not see how this could be wrong. Then, if some among them wished to ride very fast to the lands that used to be their own and take some action to protect the skulls of the people who used to be their own, they might do so. That would be their decision, and nothing to do with inKera.” I stopped, looking at Arayo, trying to see whether my suggestion had offended him. I could not tell, and added quickly, “Or perhaps everything I have suggested is wrong.”

Arayo was frowning, but thoughtfully. He said, “Certainly someone who encountered people who used to be inTasiyo might choose to tell them of our king’s ruling. Certainly that could not be wrong. Explaining to those people that they have become nameless, that they lack all standing, that they are not protected by Convocation law, that they should think carefully regarding every possible problem that might come upon them because of Koro’s decree … I cannot see how explaining all this could be wrong.” He paused, considering.

I nodded. Vayu glanced at me, then lowered his gaze again and waited when he saw that I thought Arayo had not finished.

After a little time, Arayo went on, speaking slowly. “This is not a good season to hunt game. Even marmots are thin and worthless in this season. But the white foxes are still in good coat, and the white hares. A young man might ride out to hunt those animals before the season turns so far that they lose their white color. Anyone who rides out to hunt to the west might happen to come across people who used to be inTasiyo.”

I realized I was staring at Arayo and dropped my gaze. Even after I thought again about his words, his suggestion surprised me. It was very important that I understand better how to judge what was right, so after a breath and another breath, I looked up again and asked, “Would this be right? For someone to say he is hunting and then ride out to find those people?”

This was not the first time I had asked him whether something would be right. He was not surprised I asked. He thought carefully. Then he answered, “You would be hunting, or you would not have said so. If someone asked whether you meant to ride west, you would say yes. If my father or the lord of the inKera or our king, if anyone at all asked you to explain all the reasons that you wished to ride that way rather than some other direction, then you should explain everything as you explained to me. But if no one asks, a young man need not explain everything.” He paused again to think, frowning a little. I knew he was trying to be certain he had said everything important. I said nothing, waiting for him to think about this.

After a small time, Arayo added, “Perhaps, later, after you return, someone might ask whether you met those people. Then the same again: you would say yes and then explain. If no one asks, then as long as there is no other reason to explain, you need not. But if anything important happened regarding anyone you met, anything that might concern the warleader of your people, you should go to him and explain that.” He hesitated. Then he asked, “Is that what you thought would be right?”

I was not certain. Now that he had explained, I could see everything he said was right. Before he had explained, perhaps I had not thought so. I looked at Vayu, wondering if it was the same for him. He had lowered his gaze. He said softly, “No matter what happened, a young man would never have admitted anything that might be a fault to the warleader of the inTasiyo. Perhaps the inKera have a different idea of how young men should behave. I would be interested to hear something regarding what the inKera might expect of a young man who might have made a mistake.”

This startled Arayo. He began to say something, but caught his words back and said nothing. But I thought he looked at Vayu in a different way. He did not see that Vayu had been brave to ask that, that he was not only trying to find out what the inKera expected, he was also trying to make Arayo understand what the inTasiyo had been like. Vayu was willing to risk Arayo’s bad opinion to try to make him understand that. He did not realize that Arayo could not possibly grasp what the inTasiyo had been like.

I said, as plainly as I could, “The warleader of the inTasiyo would punish a young man he caught in a fault or for confessing to a fault. But a young man who concealed a fault well would be punished much less harshly than one who stupidly failed to conceal his mistake.” I added, “I know this is different among the inGara. The lord of the inGara explained this to me. He commanded me to come to him and explain any fault, or if I am not certain something is a fault, I am to come to him and ask him to judge the matter.”

“Ah,” said Arayo. He drank the rest of the tisane in his bowl, giving himself a moment to consider what I had said. Then he said, “The inTasiyo were certainly poisoned at the heart. But, now that I understand what command the lord of the inGara set upon you, I think this is a little different. If you were to hunt to the west, Tano, and you encountered those people and explained what had happened, then you should certainly go to the lord of the inGara and explain this. Knowing that you should explain your actions to Sinowa, do you still want to do this?” He added, “For a young warrior to set himself between the decree of our king and the skull of his mother or his grandmother, in some ways this might be a wrong thing to do, but it would not be very wrong. The act would also be brave and generous. That is my opinion.”

I flinched from the thought of explaining anything of this matter to Sinowa. But I thought of my mother’s skull, my uncle’s skull. I agreed with Vayu that I did not want to know those skulls had been thrown into the open. And if Arayo thought the act was brave and generous, perhaps everyone else would agree. I felt better because he had stated that opinion.

Surely I could find some way to explain everything that would not seem wrong. Or not very wrong. I could remind Sinowa inGara that my father—that the inTasiyo warleader had hated my mother and my uncle. I could explain how Yaro had killed my uncle. This would all be exactly true. I could point out that Yaro would have been furious if he knew that the skulls of my mother and my uncle and other people had been rescued from the fate decreed for his people. This would be exactly true as well. Sinowa might not be very angry if I explained those things.

I should probably ask Ryo his opinion.

Of course I should ask Ryo.

The thought of laying this problem before Ryo, that thought was actually not so bad. But the thought of explaining that I wanted to do it, that I wanted to safeguard some of the skulls in the low tomb, that was much worse. Maybe he would say, like Arayo, that this thought was brave and generous. But what if he did not say that? What if he thought I was wrong to want this?

Realizing how much I did not want to ask Ryo made me see how much I did want to do this. Rescuing my mother’s skull from Koro’s decree would be almost as good as bringing Ensu into the inGara. I wanted to do that. This was a way of pushing away the poison that had come from Yaro. But besides that, I did not want to think, for the rest of my life, that I had failed to do this for her. Or for my uncle.

I was not at all certain I knew what Ryo’s opinion would be. Maybe he would agree with Arayo, but perhaps his opinion would be different. But I was almost certain that I should ask him, that even if Arayo need not lay everything before his father or Garoyo or someone else, it was important for me to lay everything before Ryo.

I said, “I think I must ask Ryo whether this is right. I think I have to ask him, Arayo.”

Arayo nodded. “That may be so. I see that for you, that is probably right. I do not know what Ryo will say, but he might agree that this is not a wrong idea, or not very wrong. I think he might agree that someone should tell the people who do not know they have become nameless that this has happened.”

Then, setting the bowl aside, he went on, speaking to Vayu. “If you think something you have done might have been a fault, I am certain you would not attempt to conceal that act. Your people would consider that a disgraceful failing, perhaps a failure of courage, perhaps a failure of honor. If a young man makes a mistake or behaves in a shameful way, he should say so to his warleader or to his father or to his older brother and listen to what this older man says regarding the matter. If punishment is due, then he should accept that and try to do better. A young man may go to any older man, an uncle or his grandfather or any respected man. If the problem is complicated or difficult, then a young man should go to his warleader or to the lord of the tribe. That is the same for the inGara and the inKera. I think a young inKera man may often prefer to go to the warleader of the inKera, not the lord of the inKera. My father is strict, but he is not as hard-tempered as Soro.”

“Yes,” Vayu acknowledged. “I thank you for your advice. I know you do not owe me anything.” He lifted his bowl, turned it around in his hands, and set it down again without drinking. He said, “There is a woman among the inKera whose little son has one winter fewer than my brother. These boys became friends immediately. This woman has a generous heart. She has taken my brother into her tent. She says he is her son now, brother to her son. I have said that both these boys are my brothers—which is nothing now, I understand that,” he added, speaking fiercely. “But perhaps someday this woman’s son may be glad to say I am his older brother.”

Arayo poured more tisane for himself, but he did not drink immediately. He held the bowl in both his hands, studying Vayu. After a moment, he asked, “What is this woman’s name?”

“Sura inKera, daughter of Tasarag inKera.”

Arayo nodded. “Sura inKera is a cousin of mine, a respected woman, daughter and niece and cousin of respected women. Her husband, Kasano, is a man of quiet temper, not forceful, but a man of good sense and good judgment, well regarded by everyone. He came into the inKera from the inYoraro two winters ago, after the battle with the evil sorcerer. The inYoraro are easy-tempered people, seldom quarrelsome, often generous. Kasano is like that even though he is inKera now. If a young man were to need good advice regarding anything related to inKera people or customs, that young man might do well to go to Kasano.”

“Thank you,” Vayu said again. “I did not know Sura’s husband was once of a different people.”

Arayo signed acknowledgment. He looked away, pausing long enough to show that he thought that subject was finished. Then he turned back to Vayu. “Hunting small game such as the white foxes is a task well suited to young men. Perhaps you might wish to repay kindness with kindness and so bring Sura furs of that kind. No doubt she would be pleased. I have been thinking that I might ride out on that kind of hunt. There is a young woman—” He stopped, flushing a little, and said instead, “Ordinarily, young men do not need to ask leave of anyone to come or go, but as there has been trouble recently, perhaps it would be better to ask. I think Garoyo would give me leave to ride out to hunt. Perhaps my father would give you leave, Vayu. Perhaps this is more likely if you explain I have suggested we might go hunting together. Tano, if you decide you wish to come, if Ryo gives you leave to come, then your company would be welcome.”

Vayu and I had both looked at Arayo in surprise. Now Vayu looked at me to see what I thought. I flushed. I understood exactly why he doubted Arayo’s offer. I was almost certain no one properly of inGara would have understood why Vayu would be wary.

I said, making my tone as unconcerned as I could, “Among the people who were inTasiyo, if a young man who stood high among the other young men offered kindness to someone very much less regarded, that might mean he intended to demand something in return. Probably something that the other young man would not want to give him.” Then I said to Vayu, “The custom is otherwise among every other tribe. You should accept Arayo’s offer. He means nothing by it but kindness and does not expect anything in return.”

“Yes,” Vayu acknowledged, though a little doubtfully. He met Arayo’s gaze, raising his chin, putting on an indifferent expression, bracing himself for scorn because of his ignorance.

Arayo’s expression had not changed at all. He said merely, “Dusk is not so close that we could not ride some distance today.”

“Yes,” I said. Then a different problem came to me. I should have thought of this much more quickly. I said, “The lord of the inGara commanded me to present myself to him in seven days. Six days from this day.”

“Ah.” Arayo considered this, but he did not seem concerned. “Then five days, no more. Two days and part of another day to ride away from the Convocation grounds, and then the same to return. A large group of inTasiyo left only one day ago, traveling with wagons. They will not be traveling quickly. If we do not come upon those people in two days, two and a half, then I think we may know by that the opinion of the gods. But probably we should not delay. We could meet here in a hand of time, ride out another hand after that.”

“Ride out? Where are we going?” another voice said, and Raga came into the tent, smiling, willing to join us no matter what had been proposed.

Ensu came in with him. He glanced toward me through lowered lashes, looked away again at once, and moved to kneel near Vayu instead. Vayu flicked a look at my brother, then at me, then lowered his eyes and said nothing.

Raga had taken in Vayu’s presence with interest. He said in his friendly way, “Ah! This is your friend, Tano? Very good! I am glad to know him, especially as he is inKera now! My name is Raga inGara,” he added to Vayu. “I am a poet, not a warrior. Tano and I share an older brother.”

Vayu, though plainly nonplussed, bowed acknowledgment. “My name is Vayu … inKera,” he said in a low voice, with a barely noticeable pause before his tribe’s name.

I could not say to Vayu, Do not be afraid of Raga; he will not dislike you; he does not dislike anyone. It was impossible to say anything of the kind to a young warrior regarding a young poet. But I took a quick breath, steeled myself, and said to my brother, “Ensu, come here. Sit beside me.”

My brother looked up in surprise, flinching. I had expected that and pretended not to notice. “Come,” I said again.

Ensu still hesitated. He glanced at Vayu.

“Go,” said Vayu, gently. “Do as your brother says. That is the right thing to do now, or Tano would not tell you to do it.”

Ensu hesitated for one more heartbeat. Then he stood up, came to me, and sat down again. I deliberately put my arm around his shoulders, as I had seen Ryo do with Raga, and pulled him against me. He was shaking, but he made no sound and did not resist anything I did. I pretended not to notice any of that either, but I pushed him a little away from me and said to him, “Have you met Arayo inKera? He is the son of the warleader of the inKera.”

Ensu shifted from sitting to kneeling and bowed.

“Yes,” said Arayo, acknowledging him.

I said, “I told the lord of the inGara that my brother is entirely without worth, but I will say now I overspoke. I spoke in that way to insult the inTasiyo, but I also insulted my brother. My words were unjust. I have reason to be certain my brother is not without courage. I am very certain, entirely certain, he will become a man who is respected by everyone.” I added to Ensu, “I apologize for speaking of you in that way. I told the lord of the inGara that you would do well now that you have come to his people.”

Ensu had been so surprised by my words that he looked at me directly for a heartbeat. Then he dropped his gaze again and bowed.

Arayo said in his calm way, “I think everyone understood that you overspoke, Tano. I have no doubt your brother is brave and intelligent. Certainly any boy fortunate enough to go into the tent of Garoyo inGara will learn everything he should learn. The warleader of the inGara knows exactly how to teach a boy. I am very certain of this truth, as I lived in that tent for two years. There can be no better place for a boy who has no father among the inGara.”

Ensu looked at him, a swift, darting glance, then flinched and lowered his gaze.

Arayo went on, pretending to speak to me but actually speaking to Ensu. “Garoyo took me into his tent in exactly the way a man would take a son into his tent. He taught me as a man will teach his son. I mean, an honorable and generous man who knows how to teach a boy. As Garoyo has now taken your brother into his tent in exactly the same way, Tano, I think this means I stand in the place of Ensu’s older brother, if this does not offend you.”

That, I had not expected at all. Even though Arayo had been kind to me from the first time I had met him, I would never have expected that. I was so astonished that I stared at him openly for more than a breath. He met my eyes, not looking away, not showing any sign of impatience or offense. Finally, collecting my wits, I bowed and answered, “This does not offend me at all. I am very, very pleased you have suggested this idea.”

I felt Arayo had just showed me something very important about the way people should behave. I thought of what Ryo had said to me, of the way he had sworn to behave toward me as toward a younger brother. I had never realized, it had not occurred to me at all, that other people might say things like that, or might do it that quickly, or for a boy they did not even know at all. I knew I would think about this later. I would have to think about this very carefully.

I said to Ensu, “Any boy is fortunate to have Arayo for his older brother. Listen to him carefully and do exactly as he tells you.”

Ensu looked Arayo in the face for a heartbeat before he bowed. He was already learning to be less afraid. I felt a knot of worry that had tightened my stomach began to loosen.

“If we wish to ride some distance today, we should probably leave soon,” Arayo said. “Raga, perhaps you may wish to come, or perhaps otherwise, but will you permit us to ride your ponies? I only have two mares and they are both too heavily in foal.”

“Of course!” Raga agreed readily. “But of course I will wish to come. Where are we going?”

Arayo smiled. “Come with me to find Garoyo and I will explain everything as we walk. Ensu, you may come with us. Vayu, perhaps you may find my father and ask him for leave to join me on this brief hunt, four days, five, not more than five. Tano, I think you are right to feel that you must speak to Ryo. After you do so, if he does not forbid you to ride to the west, if he does not forbid us all to ride in that direction, then perhaps you might bring Raga’s ponies out of the shelter and saddle them and make everything ready. Any of the herdsmen will know which ponies you mean when you ask for four of those that belong to Raga.”

“Yes, and if Ryo forbids whatever you want to do—whatever we want to do—then we can ride out anyway,” declared Raga. “This is a fine afternoon! We can ride among the roots of the mountains and perhaps find white foxes or hares—why are you laughing?”

Arayo shook his head. “We can meet at the western edge of camp in one hand of time,” he told the rest of us. “Or perhaps two hands is more reasonable. As Raga says, we can always ride up into the roots of the mountains. Raga and I will get travel sticks and waterskins and a small tent. If we find nothing but white hares, all those things will still be useful.”

He did not say that Vayu should bring anything. He knew, we all knew, that Vayu had no standing among the inKera at all and could not ask to take a small tent or food or anything else.

Vayu had flushed. He was not accustomed to having nothing, to being able to offer nothing when he came into a hunting party or a raiding party. But he said, “Yes,” and rose to do as Arayo had suggested.

I stood up as well, though my stomach tightened as I thought of explaining all this to Ryo. But I had to do it. Maybe he would agree. And certainly explaining everything now would be much, much better than doing it later.

4 –

I could not find Ryo. I looked for him in his mother’s tent, in his father’s tent, in the wider camp. He was not in any of the places I looked for him. He had gone somewhere else. Finally I determined that both Ryo and his father had gone to the camp of the inKarano. I had not expected that. The possibility that I might decide to lay all this before Ryo but then I would not be able to do it … this had not occurred to me at all. I did not know what to do.

I thought of going to the inKarano camp myself, asking for permission to enter, finding Ryo, then perhaps explaining everything to him and his father and Koro inKarano … very likely I would have no choice if I went there, and when I thought of that, I knew I could not possibly do it. Maybe this was cowardice. Of course it was cowardice. But I could not bring myself even to imagine going to that camp.

Yet Vayu and Arayo and Raga would soon be waiting for me.

I could meet them as we had arranged, but say no, we had better only hunt white foxes and hares. Vayu would be so dismayed. I would not like that very much either.

I sat on the very edge of a large blanket spread outside Sinowa inGara’s tent and tried to think about what else I might do. Perhaps, as I could not speak to Ryo, it would not be so very wrong to ride out in the way I and the other young men had thought of. But I was not certain, and he had warned me to be strict with myself, so I did not know what to do.

Other people came to Sinowa’s tent, discovered that the lord of the tribe was not here, and walked away again. No one else sat down to wait. Maybe they knew Sinowa would be gone a long time. Maybe their problems were not important enough that they thought they had to wait. Maybe my problem was not that important either. It seemed important to me, but maybe I was wrong. Riding one day, two days west, telling people true things that had happened, things that concerned them very closely, surely that could not be very wrong, even if those people had been bitter enemies of inGara.

Marag inGara and two other women strolled through the camp, found that Sinowa was not here, murmured to one another in voices too quiet for me to hear them, and began to go away again. A different thought had struck me as soon as I saw Marag.

Marag inGara had been kind to me from the beginning. I understood she had chosen to be kind to please Ryo, not for my sake. Or I thought I understood that. But she had also suggested to other women of other tribes that they might speak for any inTasiyo women who asked to come to those tribes, that they might suggest to their cousins among the inTasiyo that they would speak for them. I had seen her do it. I knew she had done it. Marag was not only a singer, she was not only Ryo’s mother and the wife of the lord of the inGara, she was also a great and generous woman. I knew that. I knew everyone agreed that this was so. Her opinions were important to everyone. I stood up, but then hesitated, not certain whether it would be right to speak to her.

She paused, glancing my way. Then she murmured to the other two women, came to me, and sat down there on the blanket, gesturing to me to sit as well. I was happy she had noticed me, and embarrassed to trouble her, and not certain I should explain this problem to her. I was not certain of anything. But I sat down.

“Tano,” she said, in her calm way. She was always calm. Nothing frightened or upset her. I felt myself relaxing a little just because she had come here, even though I had no idea what she might say regarding the problem with the taiTasiyo.

She asked me now, “Do you have a problem to set before my husband? He may be absent from our camp for some time. If this is a problem for warriors, perhaps you should speak to my husband’s eldest son, or to some other respected warrior. But if you are not certain this problem is suited for warriors, then you may explain it to me, if you wish.”

I thought again of how she had spoken to other women, suggesting that they declare their willingness to speak for inTasiyo women. My mouth had gone dry. I had to swallow twice, hard. I was not exactly afraid of Marag, but I was afraid she might say everything I had thought of was wrong, and then maybe she would decide that Ryo had been wrong to say I was his brother. Her opinions were so important, if she said her son had been wrong, he would almost certainly agree.

But she was generous. And kind. Surely she would not say that, even if I was wrong in every way.

I said finally, “I hope very much I am not wrong to be concerned regarding some of the taiTasiyo. I hope very much I am not wrong to remember my mother or her brother, my uncle. I do not know whether it might be right to ride west, find some of the people who used to be inTasiyo, and suggest to these people that they may wish to safeguard the skulls in the lowest tomb that used to belong to their people. Perhaps this is a wrong thing to suggest. Perhaps it is not a matter for a woman to judge, but perhaps you might know that better than I, singer.”

Marag regarded me for a long time. Her expression was thoughtful, but I could not tell what she thought at all, whether she regarded this suggestion with favor or perhaps far otherwise. I dropped my gaze, trying to breathe steadily and slowly, pretending I was not nervous that she might declare this was entirely wrong.

She said, as calm and measured as ever, “In one way, every decision regarding the inTasiyo was certainly a matter for warriors and for men. Even so, our king’s ruling regarding the taiTasiyo troubled me when he pronounced that judgment. The ruling seemed harsh to me. I thought then that perhaps Koro inKarano might have done better to ask a singer for her opinion before pronouncing that decree. Yet the gods did not send a sign to show that our king’s ruling displeased them.” She considered for a long moment. It seemed long to me.

Then she went on. “Whether it might be right to speak to nameless people regarding any possible problem, that is a matter for warriors. But it seems to me that, should word of our king’s judgment come in any manner to the ears of people who used to be inTasiyo, then either those people will wish to safeguard those skulls or they will not. Should they demonstrate appropriate concern, then they will succeed in taking those skulls to safety or they will not. Should any of those people come to the tomb before Royova inVotaro, then that shows the will of the gods. If not, then that too reveals the will of the gods. That is my opinion.”

“Yes!” I said at once, bowing to show that I understood this opinion. I had not thought of anything in that way, nothing of the kind would ever have occurred to me, but as soon as she set those words into the air, I thought yes, surely her son and her husband would both agree. Or at least they would not disagree. Or at least they might not disagree so forcefully that they despised me for carrying that warning to the people who had been inTasiyo. “Yes,” I said again. “I thank you very much for your wise advice, singer!”

Marag smiled. “Should you ride to the west, do not ride out alone, young warrior,” she advised me. “Take all reasonable care, and make wise decisions regarding the solidity of the earth before you set your foot down firmly. My sons would not be pleased if some great mischance came to you.”

I bowed again. “I thank you very, very much,” I repeated fervently. “I promise I will take all your wise advice.” Then I jumped to my feet and jogged away toward the shelters to ask the herdsmen to bring out Raga’s ponies. If I hurried, I might meet the others at the edge of the camp almost exactly at the time Arayo had suggested.

A very short time after that, the four of us—Arayo, Raga, Vayu, and I—rode away from the inGara camp and the Convocation, west, toward the lowering Sun.

We rode at first without speaking, at a trot and then a canter and then a trot again and then a canter again, getting well away from the inGara camp and the Convocation grounds. No small game would be found so close to all those tents and people, but of course we would have ridden fast anyway.

We rode between and among the roots of the mountains, the land stretching out into long ridges with narrow hollows and valleys between and among the ridges, exactly as great roots will stretch out around a big tree. Here, the ridges were low, the land level enough to suit people traveling with wagons. Farther toward the mountains, the ridges would be sharp, the valleys deep, many cliffs rising stark where rock had broken and fallen from the heights over the ages of the world.

To our left, the stony earth rolled down and down, the slope almost constant, but almost imperceptible. Here where we rode, there was little snow. Much more snow fell upon the high steppe away to our left, and more again beyond that, in the lower steppe. More snow would probably fall later tonight, but here where we rode, the winds that came from the starlit lands and poured down from the mountains would probably pull most of the snow back into the air before many hands of time had passed.

The people who had been inTasiyo had departed as soon as I had made everyone see them as honorless people—of course they had; that was why they did not yet know they had become nameless people and did not know about Koro’s ruling. Many of them had gone in small groups where everyone was mounted, but some in larger groups with one wagon, or two, or more than two. Each group would now be traveling at whatever pace they preferred, heading due west or south of west as the people thought best.

Small numbers of mounted people would disappear quickly into the measureless lands of the high steppe. Most of the people who had been inTasiyo had departed in small groups of that kind. Some might be riding not toward their own lands, but toward the lands of allied tribes, meaning to ask to come into those tribes. Even if they had not yet decided to do that, perhaps they might make that kind of decision before they returned to the lands that had been their own. People traveling in that manner, quietly and swiftly and in small numbers, might not meet anyone else for a long time, especially not anyone who could tell them of the fate that had come to their people. Word of that would be running in every direction, but it would be a long time before everyone knew of that decision.

But the large group we followed had traveled due west, only turning far enough south to avoid the long ridges and hills and abrupt cliffs that stretch out south of the mountains. As soon as they had come to land easier to manage with wagons and many animals, they had turned directly toward the setting Sun. So many people and wagons left a very clear trail. The earth was frozen too hard to show the marks of hooves and wagon wheels, but the mosses and the sparse grasses showed the traces of people traveling, and their ponies and their cattle had left other signs of their passage. Even if people are using dried dung for fuel, this will always be so when people travel with many animals. That was why we followed that group. Though we would not find them tonight, we might do so tomorrow. Probably not later than the day after that.

Now that we rode away from the Convocation grounds, now that we rode away from the inGara and the inKera and all their allies, now that we rode west along the trail of people who still thought they were inTasiyo, I thought about that in a different way. In all the hurry to gather supplies and ride out, I had not paused to think very much at all. I had thought about what Ryo might say, about what his father might say, about what their opinions might be regarding everything I and the other young men had thought of. But now that we rode without speaking, the cold wind coming against my face with the speed of our going, many other thoughts came to me. I did not say anything of those thoughts, not yet. But soon I would have to say something. Tonight, when we halted. I would say something then. I began to put my thoughts in order.

Or I tried to put my thoughts in order. Other thoughts came into my mind, difficult to set aside.

Royova inVotaro and his warriors had ridden this way, with my father. With the man who had been my father. I could not help but think of that. They would not have ridden fast, but probably to the north of our path now. The rough land to our north would not trouble men who traveled without wagons or cattle. We should not come up to them. That was good. I wanted nothing less than to see Royova and his people ahead of us, see what they had done to my—to Yaro. They might not have done it yet, but if not yet, they would surely do it soon. If Royova’s mood were forgiving, he might cut Yaro’s throat after cutting off his hands and cutting out his tongue. Or he might have ordered him stripped so that he would die of the cold faster. But I doubted very much that his mood would be forgiving.

If Yaro had persuaded Royova not to carry out that sentence, that would be much worse. That thought came back to me, as it came back to me every time I was not thinking about other things, even when I tried to think about other things, even when I needed to think about other things. This was completely stupid, I knew that, but I could not stop those thoughts from coming back to me. I tried not to look ahead, the way we were going—I tried not to search the land, looking for the warleader of the inTasiyo. For his body, or worse, for him, alive, scornful, forceful, not dead.

Even as I thought this, Vayu and Arayo both gestured forward at the same time. I flinched so hard my gelding crow-hopped in startlement, which was humiliating, but then I saw they were indicating riders, three of them, not far ahead of us. These warriors had been riding single-file from north to south, but had turned now to come see who we were.

I checked my pony, immediately wary, but Arayo said, “Even from here, you can see their leader is carrying two swords and a bow. I think they are inVotaro. They cannot be enemies—none of them has reached for a bow.”

This was true. People who thought they were encountering enemies would have their bows to hand, and after what had happened to their people, even if they did not know everything important that had happened, inTasiyo warriors would certainly expect to encounter enemies. Also, inTasiyo warriors would probably ride at night so that they might evade notice, not during the day.

Arayo was right again that these were probably inVotaro warriors. Those are the warriors who most often carry two swords or the heavy swords that are too long to wear at the hip.

These three riders could not possibly be any of the warriors who had gone with Royova to take my—to take the inTasiyo warleader away. By this time, Royova and all the warriors he led would be farther west. They would hardly have turned back, nor would they have scattered to ride in small groups, nor would they show any interest in other travelers. They would all be riding straight west, toward the lands that had belonged to the inTasiyo, and they would not turn aside for anything.

But other inVotaro warriors would be patrolling, taking up this duty in order to free inGara warriors to guard their—our—camp and herds. I had forgotten this, but I remembered it now. I tried not to show how relieved I felt at this realization. My gelding had pinned his ears back, annoyed with me, but now his ears came up again as he felt me relax. His temper was kinder than that of most ponies.

Vayu and Raga also nodded, accepted this assurance. Arayo did not say that we should do anything other than what we were doing, so we continued to ride west, not fast now. In a little time, those warriors came close enough to see who we were, turning their ponies to ride along with us, the way we were going. I did not know them, of course; I could not even be certain whether they were inVotaro or belonged to some other tribe. But Arayo lifted a hand to them in greeting.

The man in the front, riding a pony of an unusual blue roan color, nodded to him and glanced over the rest of us. His glance lingered on Raga for a heartbeat, but he entirely ignored Vayu and me. He said to Arayo, his tone curt, “My name is Matya inVotaro. I hope you do not mean to attempt to raid anyone departing from the Convocation grounds, Arayo inKera. Even a friendly raid, the kind a young poet might join, would not be proper behavior. Riding too far along the trail of people who, though nameless, may not have forgotten a long-held enmity, would be foolish. I am certain you intend nothing of that kind.”

He was older than we were, but not that much older. He was not a man who had yet come to his prime, but arrogant in the way of many inVotaro, who train hard and expect to win most serious fights. All three of these warriors seemed much the same to me: perhaps twenty winters and five, twenty and six, something close to that, but arrogant. Of course, we were much younger than they were.

Arayo acknowledged this statement with a small bow, showing no sign of offense at this man’s manner. “We know it is wrong to raid anyone coming to or going from the Convocation. We agree it would be stupid to attempt any raid against people who used to be bitter enemies and who might still consider the enmity important. We did not ride out to raid anyone.”

Matya inVotaro grunted, skeptical of this assurance. But he only said, “Very well; I am pleased to hear this. You see those ridges there?” He nodded the way we were riding, where indeed some of the long roots of the mountains had stretched this far south. The ridges were not nearly as high as they would become farther north, but certainly visible. “That is far enough to go tonight. Sunset has nearly come, so camp there and hunt south or north tomorrow, young warrior. North may be better, as I think snow may fall tonight.”

“Yes,” Arayo said. “White fox would probably be easier to find closer to the mountains.”

The inVotaro warrior grunted again, less skeptical this time. “There should be little enough danger this near to the Convocation grounds, but if you find yourselves in difficulty, we will be close, and others of our people will not be much farther away. But be aware that we have turned back two warriors of the nameless people today. There cannot have been any good reason for those warriors to have tried to ride quietly back to the east. Any young men with sense will understand they should be cautious.”

Vayu had stiffened slightly, trying not to show his reaction. “Did you speak to them?” he asked. “Did you tell them they were nameless? Respected warrior,” he added quickly, as the man raised his eyebrows in disapproval.

“We did not,” Matya inVotaro said, his manner even less friendly. I could not tell whether he recognized Vayu, but he went on in the same curt tone. “We did not come close enough to speak to them, and I advise that you avoid coming that close should the chance present itself to you, young warrior. Nameless as they have become, who knows whether they will respect Convocation law? I doubt they have the least regard for honorable behavior of any kind. These are angry people who may consider they have little to lose in striking a blow against any honorable people of any tribe, but certainly against anyone of inGara.” Looking us over one more time, he added, “Take care not to kill a vixen.” He did not wait for an answer. He and his warriors rode away, single file, watchful.

Raga said in an undertone, “As though we would be careless enough to shoot a vixen in this season! Those inVotaro always think no one else knows anything!”

“Perhaps he thought a young poet might not know how to tell a vixen from a dog fox,” Arayo suggested. “Can you tell a vixen fox from a dog fox, Raga?”

Raga rolled his eyes. I began to relax. I would not have dared mislead those warriors in that way—I would not have known it might be right to do so. But Arayo had not actually said anything untrue. Perhaps for me, letting those warriors think of things that were not true would have been wrong; I was not certain. Ryo had said that if someone he trusted failed to say something true, that might be right, or not very wrong. He had warned me that I was not trusted in that way. I thought it was very, very good that Arayo had been with us.

We rode on toward the ridge that the inVotaro warrior had indicated. He had been right that dusk had nearly come. Before us, the Sun set his foot upon the western edge of the world, and slowly made his way from the sky above the world to that other sky below the world. I thought of his rising there, his light spilling into the land of the shades, driving away the shadow of the dark tide that had tried to drown that place.

It was not useful for me to think of anything to do with that, not now. I had much more urgent things to think about. Even so, those memories came back to me: the terror of running for the spiraling bridge that Inhejeriel had shaped for all the lost people, the horror of the black tide washing higher and higher up the mountain below me. I had been so afraid that I would not come to the bridge in time. Then I had found that path broken. I had despaired then, certain that the bridge would fail and I would fall. Then the eagle had come down, making that path whole for me. I did not know how to think about that.

There were so many things I did not know how to think about. I tried to put all those thoughts aside.

No eagles were in the sky now. As the Sun sank below the edge of the world, the eagles would have sought their roosts, high in the mountains.

To our right, the Moon lifted up her light above the sharp teeth of the mountains. She seemed far from the world tonight. Clouds streaked the sky there in the north, streaming across the Moon’s face, as clouds had come and gone all day, but thickening now. Her light came diffuse and luminous through the clouds.

“The warrior was not wrong,” Arayo commented as we came close to the ridge. “That is indeed a good place to camp tonight. You see how two ridges run together there. That will block the wind.”

“Excellent!” Raga called back to him. “That is a much better idea than riding all night, as for some time I feared you might declare you wished to do!”

Vayu did not smile, only gestured assent.

I had hoped we might travel farther tonight, but obviously we would be unwise to disobey those inVotaro warriors, who were probably even now close enough to see whether we obeyed their orders or otherwise. Besides, obviously the place Arayo had indicated would be a good place to set our tent.

Also, even if I thought we could come up on the people we followed tonight, I would not have wanted to do so. I had understood by this time that too much haste would be stupid—stupid in at least two different ways—and that I had almost been that stupid.

When we came to the place, Arayo looked at how the land lay and said, “Perhaps Raga and I can set up the tent, there where the rise will send the wind aside, and Vayu and Tano, perhaps you will see to the ponies.”

Everyone agreed with this as well, and so while Arayo and Raga took the sections of our tent and laced the sections together over the birchwood frame, Vayu and I unsaddled the horses and made certain they were comfortable.

Almost as soon as Arayo and Raga were far enough away that they would not overhear him, Vayu asked me, his voice low, “Tano, why is Arayo helping us? Do you know? Do you truly believe he will not demand some return? He is the son of the inKera warleader; he must want to claim precedence. I have no standing here—that will change,” he added fiercely. “But I have no standing now. I can only think of one use he could have for me.”

I made a sign of negation. “He will not demand that.” Vayu looked at me, his eyebrows rising, and I said forcefully, if still quietly, “He will not. They do not. I have watched very carefully and I do not think any of them demand such things of young men—or young women—or anyone. I am very certain Arayo will not demand that.”

“Is he with Raga?”

“Not that way. No. I do not think so. I am almost certain that is not so.”

Vayu was silent. His mouth was tight.

I said, “I know it is hard to understand. Precedence is important among the inGara, I do not say otherwise, and I think probably Arayo is close to first among young men our age among the inGara. His father is important, and the warleader of the inGara treats him as a son, and I think even the lord of the inGara treats him as a grandson. He is not arrogant, perhaps not even forceful, but the other young men respect him anyway. I do not know what he thinks may happen in years to come, whether he expects to stay among the inGara or return to the inKera. But …” I tried to think of how to explain. Finally, I said, “If you listen when people talk about other people, especially when they approve of the other person, you will hear the words honorable and generous much more often than strong or clever. They admire forcefulness, but not all the time, not if someone wants something wrong. I am not completely certain I always know what they will think is wrong, but I am certain about some things, Vayu.”

“Oh.” Vayu turned his attention to the mare, a pale dun with faint stripes on her legs. He was silent for a little time, turning this idea over in his mind.

I finished with my cream-colored gelding and threw a blanket over him, but too carelessly, so that I had to set my teeth against a hiss of pain. Now that we were not riding, I was stiff, the cuts from the beating my father had given me paining me with every incautious movement. I tried not to show that. At least I had much more important thoughts to distract myself from the pain.

As Vayu still had not spoken again, I said, “I do not say strength and forcefulness do not matter. Of course they do. But from everything I have seen, the inGara are not pretending when they say generosity is more important. I am perfectly certain Ryo is not pretending. He is always generous when anyone gives him even a very small reason to be generous. It is impossible that he is pretending. I am almost certain his people are not pretending either. I do not think they can be pretending. I think I would surely have realized.”

“Yes,” Vayu said, a little doubtfully. Then he thought again. “Yes,” he said in a different tone. “I am confident you would have realized.” He looked at me over the back of the mare. “Is that why you decided to help me? Not only because of your mother’s skull and your uncle’s skull, but because the inGara value generosity, so you wished to make a generous gesture to me?”

Now I turned to look at him directly. “You know why I am helping you, Vayu! You know all the reasons!” Then I added, “But your thought is not exactly wrong. The inGara would say, the gods despise ingratitude.”

“They say that?”

“They do. They say things like that all the time. I am thinking of my mother and my uncle, of course I am. But I am also thinking of you—of what you did for me.” I added, “I am also trying to think of what Ryo would do. I am not at all confident I know what he would do, but I am perfectly certain I am right regarding his nature. I am also right regarding the nature of the inGara people, and the inKera are just the same. I am very certain, Vayu. Do you think Sura inKera is pretending when she says your younger brother is now her son’s brother?”

A long silence. Vayu finished currying the dun mare, threw a blanket over her and cinched this in place, and checked her feet. Then, straightening, he said, “I cannot see any benefit that would come to her from such a pretense. Her son is not afraid of her husband. So far as I can tell, her son is not afraid of anything. She seems to treat Darayo almost the same way she treats her son. He was frightened at first—he is very little,” Vayu added defensively.

“Yes,” I said. I was the last person who would speak scornfully of a child because he was afraid among people he did not know, people who might be enemies.

Vayu was frowning, not angry, but uncertain. “He is already less afraid. I think his new people will be kind to him. If I had not thought he would be safe in her tent, I would have put my grandmother out of my mind and stayed there to watch over him. But …” He made a frustrated gesture. “I think he is safe there. I thought so before this. From everything you say now, I am almost certain of it.”

I signed assent. “He is. I am entirely certain. The inKera agree with the inGara that lies are wrong and people should speak the truth. They admire wisdom much more than cleverness. They say that generosity is important and admirable. I am very certain, Vayu, truly. Ryo has great respect for Hokino inKera. Hokino was very, very generous to Ryo and Aras. He caught them trespassing on inKera lands. This was a long time ago, during the trouble with the Lau, but this moment was important to both peoples. Hokino might have chosen far otherwise. He returned generosity that Aras had once extended to him. Now you see how closely allied inGara and inKera have become.”

Vayu said, “Yes.” Then he said, “You want me to remember again that Arayo is Hokino’s son.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

He nodded, curt and decisive. “I accept what you tell me. As long as Arayo does not demand that kind of obedience, I will not protest anything he asks. I am willing to yield every kind of precedence—almost every kind. I am willing to make myself useful to him. But if he lives with the inGara rather than with the inKera, then I cannot see what use I can be.”

I said, “The inGara would say that no man can know what the years would bring. They would say a man should behave properly even if he sees no use that can come to him because of his actions. I think Ryo would say …” I considered this. Finally, I said, “I think he would say you should forget the inTasiyo and earn the good regard of your new people. I think he would remind you that the inKera prize generosity almost as much as courage, and honor more than that.” I added, “Aras would certainly say that all your history walks behind you, but that your past need not define your future. I am certain he would say that because he once said this to me. I think his words were true. Are true. I am very certain this is true.”

I was at least certain I wanted it to be true.

Vayu shook his head, not in disbelief—or not exactly in disbelief. He said again, “I accept what you tell me.”

I could not tell whether he spoke the truth or lied, but I nodded. We had long since finished with the ponies, so now went together to the tent. We had to stoop to enter; this was not a big tent. It was the kind young men carry when they are traveling. But, with blankets spread over the floor, it was comfortable enough. The laces had been drawn tight at the corners to keep out the wind, and Raga tended a brazier in the center of the tent, heating a bowl of tisane over a handful of precious charcoal. Already, even after this little time, the tent was warm. Vayu and I took off our boots and set them aside, then came to sit by the brazier.

I had something to say, but I was not certain how to begin, and Arayo spoke first.

“Garoyo instructed me to say we should set double watches,” he said to all of us. “He said we are not old enough or experienced enough to take single watches when enemies could be moving about the land here. Even though the inVotaro are so close, we will obey Garoyo’s orders and watch two and two again. I suggest Raga should take the watch with Tano and Vayu with me, unless some other arrangement seems better to someone.”

Raga sighed extravagantly, not—I was almost certain—because he preferred to take the watch with Arayo, though that might have been so, but because he did not like to take a watch at all. I was thinking of too many difficult things to be able to smile, but I said, “Yes, Arayo, that seems good to me if it seems good to you. I am certain a chance will eventually come for me to assure Ryo that his younger brother took this responsibility seriously and did not protest this obviously wise precaution.”

“So, so,” said Raga, smiling. “Very well! I will say nothing about it, though with only four people, double watches are a great nuisance! I am certain nothing will happen, especially not with those annoying but skilled inVotaro warriors close about this place.  But, so, I understand that no one can be perfectly certain that enemies will not come upon them. No doubt Garoyo was wise to require this kind of caution.” He had laid journey sticks of pounded meat and fat across the brazier and now began to hand the sizzling sticks around our small circle.

When I took mine, I saw Vayu glance at me, and at Raga, who had given the stick to me. Then he dropped his eyes, looking instead into the glowing embers within the brazier. He said to Arayo, “This precaution seems wise to me. Do you wish to take the first watch or the second? I have no preference.”

“The first,” said Arayo. “If this is acceptable to Tano and Raga.”

“Yes,” I said, and Raga, resigned, signed assent.

Vayu nodded and bit into his journey stick. I ate mine slowly, thinking of many times when I had gone hungry. Many, many times. I made myself reach out to take a second stick for myself. That was more difficult than it had been for a long time, because now Vayu was watching me. But I did it, and hoped I showed nothing of the effort this required. It was hard enough that I could not think very clearly about other things. Giving up subtlety, I instead said, plainly, “I have something to say. I think there could be a problem we should consider. I think we may have made a mistake.” I had made a mistake, a very stupid mistake, but I could not bring myself to admit that out loud, even to Arayo.

Everyone looked at me, Vayu in surprise that I would speak openly, Arayo with attentive concern, Raga with an expression of exaggerated dismay. He exclaimed, “Double watches are trouble enough! I do not want to hear of some other problem!”

He wanted me to smile and say this was not a big problem. I could not do as he wished. I could not even make myself look at him. I looked at Arayo instead. “We have been following that large group of inTasiyo people all afternoon. I mean, the people who used to be inTasiyo. We will probably find those people tomorrow. They left after … after Vayu came to the inKera, but before Koro inKarano decreed that the inTasiyo had ceased to be a people.”

“Yes, of course,” Arayo agreed. “That is why we thought of riding out to find them, so that we could tell them this happened.” He was not frowning, but puzzled, not understanding why I would say something so obvious.

I said, “These people will be angry and shocked and dismayed because of the things they know, but they are not … these are not inKera people, nor inGara people, nor any people like our people. I think, if we find them and explain the things that happened after they left the Convocation, they will not believe us. They will not believe me because … because they will not. They will not believe Vayu because he left them and went to the inKera. They will not believe a young man of the inKera because he is inKera. And …” I took a deep breath and forced myself to look directly at Raga. “If those people realize that a son of Sinowa inGara has unwisely put himself into their hands, they will probably decide to kill him.”

Everyone was staring at me in a different way now. Raga opened his mouth and shut it again. Then he said, “Even if they think we are lying and they have standing to press an enmity, this is still the time of the Convocation, and this is inGara land!” At the same time, Arayo said, “They would have to kill us all.”

“Yes,” I said to them both. “They would not care anything for either of those considerations.” Then I said to Raga, “They will not care for Convocation law. They will not care that this is inGara land. They will think only of whether they could do it and hide their act, or whether it would be impossible to hide it. They might try to take you captive, take you back to their own lands, so they could kill you much more slowly than would be safe here on inGara land. It is very, very important that you understand how dangerous this could be for you. You should ride back east tomorrow, Raga, before we are so far from the inVotaro that traveling alone might be dangerous. I am sorry I did not think of this problem earlier so that you would not have been put to the trouble of riding this far.”

Then, before Raga could answer me, I said to Arayo, “You are right: they would have to kill us all. They would probably try to do so. They would then pretend we had never come upon them and they had no idea what had happened to us.” I thought about what I would say in their place and added, “If someone among them is clever, he might suggest that they leave our boots and our fingerbones in a place where people searching would find them … in our tent. That would be best. Someone would certainly find that tent. That person might believe malicious ghosts had come upon us in the night and we were too foolish to recognize the danger until it was too late. If they thought this had happened, those people might turn back and not even seek the inTasiyo to ask them questions.”

Arayo opened his mouth, shut it again, shook his head, and finally said, “This was a terrible idea. We will all ride east again in the morning. Or north, to hunt for foxes. Let those people discover they have become nameless in whatever way the understanding chances to come to them. They should all be put to death. That is my opinion now. If any of those people came to Soro and asked to come into the inKera, I would say he should refuse that request.” He was not looking at Vayu. He was not looking at him in a very pointed way. Vayu had lowered his eyes, his hands closing hard on his knees.

I said, “Those people are nothing to inGara or inKera or any honorable tribe. They did not have the good sense or good judgment or courage to leave the inTasiyo when they were given the chance to do so.” I paused to let Arayo remember that Vayu had left the inTasiyo, that he had turned his back to those people. Vayu did not look up. Even in the dim light of the brazier, his flush was visible.

I went on, “But we did not think to ride after them for their sake, but because some of the taiTasiyo do not deserve to be treated with disregard and scorn. My mother does not deserve that. My uncle … he tried to stop Yaro. He failed. But he tried, and died for that attempt. His death was hard. I do not want to think that his shade will suffer now because of Koro’s decree.” I added quickly, “I do not say Koro was wrong. But I do say I cannot … I do not … Arayo, I cannot let some of the things happen that are going to happen! Not if I can stop them!” I took a deep breath and finished, “But you should not come, Arayo. You should go back with Raga—”

He held up a hand to check me. “Despite this very big problem, you think you would go on with Vayu?”

“I think there is a different way to do it, a way that is not as dangerous. Those men who walked away—” Now I looked at Vayu. “I mean Kanu and Yosaro and those people.”

Kanu was the man whom Soro inKera had turned away. He had walked away, he and three other men and two women. They had walked away on foot. Perhaps they had slipped back that night and stolen ponies from some tribe whose people lingered at the Convocation grounds, or tried to. But even if they had traveled only at night and slipped every kind of notice, every tribe would have thought of that possibility. All the tribes would have set warriors to guard their herds last night. They would do so for many nights to come. They would do so until they left the Convocation to travel back to their own territories, and once the people had scattered that way, raiding would be much more difficult, especially for people on foot. Kanu would have known all this. He was not a stupid man. I thought I knew what he would do.

Vayu was frowning. “Sokano went with those two. So did Baroyo. Those are not men I would trust.”

I nodded, but I said, “They will probably obey Kanu. Yosaro will certainly obey him, and make the others obey as well, and Kanu will probably listen to us if we approach him carefully. I think we can find those people if we try. I think Kanu might have settled somewhere where he could watch to see who else traveled west. I think if he saw a large group of people such as the group we have been following, he might have decided to follow that group, staying out of sight. This is the largest group of inTasiyo traveling now, and probably the group moving the most slowly. Kanu and his warriors will be seeking a chance to steal ponies from that group. If the people were any tribe other than inTasiyo, Kanu would probably be pleased to raid them—but after walking away from the inTasiyo, he would probably be even more pleased to raid the people he thought were inTasiyo. He would think he was taking only what already belonged to him.”

Vayu frowned at me, not angry, but thinking. “That may be so. He would be right. He does own some ponies. All his people do. Or they did once. He cannot own anything now. None of those people have any standing to say they own anything.” Then Vayu remembered he might be speaking out of turn, and turned quickly to Arayo. “That is my understanding. Perhaps that is not correct.”

“No,” Arayo said quietly. “That is what we say as well. Nameless people have no standing to bring any kind of charge against anyone. Anyone may take anything those people think they possess because they cannot truly own anything.” But he looked troubled. “Tano, do you think it might be better to find this person, Kanu, and those who travel with him? How is that better? Do you think that because they walked away from the inTasiyo, they will be willing to listen to you or to Vayu?”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Also, no. As Vayu says, I would not trust them. But there is no need to trust them. If Kanu and his people are tracking the same group we followed this afternoon, as I think is likely, then they will be somewhere close. We may be able to find them tomorrow, especially if snow falls tonight. If we cross their trail, then if they are on foot and we are mounted, every advantage would lie with us.”

I thought about this a little more. No one interrupted me, and after a moment I went on. “I think we could speak with Kanu almost safely, especially if he and his people are traveling close to the mountains, where the roots of the mountains reach out in all these ridges and humps and broken cliffs. They will want to use the rough ground to come unseen to a camp where they may steal ponies, but we can also use the same ground to take them by surprise. That is what we should try to do.” I looked at Vayu again. “Tatig went with Kanu. So did Gatta. Tatig was training her pony to race. She is a very good rider. Gatta is not as young and light in the saddle as Tatig, but she is not a bad rider and she is good with a light bow—and she was close to her great-grandfather. His skull is in that low tomb too.”

“Yes,” Vayu said. “You think we should ambush those people, kill Baroyo and Sokano and perhaps even Yosaro? That kind of ambush would make Kanu listen to us, and he certainly would not come after us on his own. We might tell him everything and suggest that when they have stolen ponies, Tatig at least should ride very fast to come to inTasiyo lands—to the lands that used to belong to inTasiyo—before Royova inVotaro and his warriors can come there.”

This had been my exact thought. I had regretted the thought of killing Yosaro, who had never been especially cruel to me, though I would not have regretted the deaths of Sokano or Baroyo. But Kanu was the one I thought would be good to speak to, if he could be made to listen. I had thought it best to lie in some concealment and shoot the other warriors quickly, avoiding any risk of a fight, exactly as Vayu had said. But Arayo’s eyes had widened, and Raga had sucked in a breath, openly shocked. My stomach tightened. Obviously I had been wrong to think of that plan. I said, “Perhaps that kind of plan might be dishonorable,” not quite a question.

“Those people came here under Convocation law!” Raga said, so sharply that Vayu drew back in surprise. “And they walked away from the inTasiyo—maybe they are not dishonorable people—at least, not as dishonorable. It would not be right to shoot them without even speaking to them!”

Arayo added, in the tone of someone trying to be fair, “It is true they are nameless people now, so anyone might kill them and no charge could be brought regarding the matter. But Raga is right. They do not know that. They think they are still protected by Convocation law.” He glanced at Raga, and then at Vayu and me. He said, “It would not be right to kill people who think they are not breaking any kind of custom, people who think they have a name. Even if the name they think they own is inTasiyo. If they tried to kill Raga, if they tried any such act, of course that would be different. But Raga is right to point out that they walked away from the inTasiyo. Do you have some other reason to think they are so utterly without honor that it would be right to shoot some of them without even speaking to them?”

Vayu’s mouth had tightened. Plainly he did not know what answer to make. He was embarrassed and angry and trying not to show it. Probably he was saying to himself that he would do better to stay silent from this moment forward. Or perhaps not. I would have been thinking that, but Vayu was not nearly as accustomed to taking a reticent manner as I had been.

I did not want him to feel that his chance to win Arayo’s regard had been ruined. I did not want Arayo to despise him. There were at least three different reasons I did not want that. I said, “The lord of the inGara told me that it is not wrong to think of dishonorable plans. Sinowa inGara himself said this to me.”

Then, as Arayo looked at me in surprise and Vayu breathed deeply, recovering his poise, I went on. “Plainly it is useful to think of dishonorable plans. That is how one may come to see what actions a dishonorable enemy may choose. Those people are dishonorable, so this is certainly useful. But, although it might be dangerous to leave all those warriors alive, this should not be that dangerous if we are careful. If Vayu and I take them by surprise and stop them from fighting in the first moment, then as long as we persuade them we are telling the truth, we should be able to get away from them again and they should not come after us. But I do not know how to persuade them we are telling them the truth. Kanu is too clever. He may think of some other reasons we might have ridden after them to tell them lies. He may think of some reasons he might do so and then he would not believe us.”

There was a small silence. Then Raga said, “I am a poet. If I tell them the tale of how all this happened, surely they will believe me. Surely even people who were inTasiyo would agree a poet would not make up all these things. It would not be dangerous to tell those few people my name, not if we took them in a proper ambush. And if we did not, if something else happened so that it might be dangerous for me to tell them my name, I would not tell them, so that would be well enough. So you see, I should come with you after all!”

I found myself exchanging a look with Vayu. He would not speak, not now, so finally I said, “Raga, they will know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. You have very much the look of your mother—and you never keep to yourself or stay out of the way! In every gathering, you put yourself forward. I do not say anything against that,” I added hastily. “But you should never consider any plan that depends on people failing to know who you are.”

“But—”

“Also,” I said, as firmly as I could, “of course inTasiyo poets will lie. Though I think everyone expects the poets of other peoples to speak the truth, so that is true.”

“The inTasiyo taught their poets to lie?” Raga sat back, not certain he believed this. He did not want to believe it. This was very plain.

Arayo took up the bowl of simmering tisane, sipped, and passed the bowl to Raga—not to Vayu. That might have been chance, but I thought it was not chance at all. He had said he would take the watch with Vayu. I had wondered why he had thought this better. Now I thought perhaps I understood that. I thought he did not like Vayu, or did not trust him—or most particularly did not trust him with Raga.

Thinking of that made me reconsider everything I knew of Vayu myself. I was certain he had not gone to the inKera as part of a ruse. I was almost entirely certain. I could not believe he had come to me and pointed out this problem with the tombs as part of a ruse.

He had not expected Arayo to suggest that we ride out in this way. He could not possibly have expected a son of the lord of the inGara to come with us. Once Raga had said he would come, would that have changed anything? Surely it had not.

I breathed deeply, not permitting myself to look at Vayu. No. Every thought of that kind was entirely impossible. He would not do such a thing. Maybe if he had still been inTasiyo, though I thought not even then. Regardless, he had gone to the inKera. That was something true. He wanted to win honor and good regard among the inKera. That was also true. I was very, very certain this was true. Slowly the tension that for a moment had knotted my stomach with those suspicions began to loosen.

I felt I had far too many things to think of, and my thoughts would not settle on anything, so I could not work out what might be good to do. But obviously one thing would not be good. I said, “Raga, you will ride back to the east tomorrow. You will not go farther west, into lands less closely guarded, lands where there may be some risk of encountering people who are enemies of inGara. If you refuse to turn back to the east, then I will do so myself and I will make you come with me. I will forget my mother’s skull and my uncle’s skull. I would rather hear that all the skulls were thrown out of the tomb, even my mother’s skull, than try to explain to your father or your eldest brother or Ryo how I led you into the hands of the inTasiyo.”

Raga stared at me. I did not look down. This was difficult. But I met his eyes and did not look away nor shift to kneeling. I said, “I hope you do not take my words as an insult. Perhaps you consider that this decision is rightfully yours. Perhaps that is so. But I will not permit you to come with us. If this offends you, then I will apologize. But I will not change my mind.”

Raga began to answer me, but stopped, plainly not knowing what to say.

Arayo said, “I think Tano is right. But we do not need to decide everything this moment. We can consider all this in the morning. This is not a good time to quarrel. Let all hard tempers wait for the morning—or better, let all hard tempers and bad feeling wait until we have returned to the Convocation lands, whether we find the people we seek or fail to find those people. Raga, would you prefer to take the first watch with me? Vayu and Tano could take the second watch, if you think that would be better.”

“No,” Raga said, not looking away from me. “I am not offended. I will take the second watch, with Tano.”

Arayo nodded, stood up, looked for a long, silent moment at Vayu, and then went out of the tent. Vayu glanced at me, took a deep breath, rose, and followed Arayo. He thought Arayo despised him now. He might be right to think so. But I could think of nothing I could do to help him come to a better place with Arayo.

I said to Raga, “The night will be short.”

“Very short!” he agreed, his tone rueful. He moved to lie down on one side of the tent, pulling a blanket over himself.

5 –

I had thought I would let Raga go to sleep and then I would be able to think more clearly and understand better what to do. But Raga was not quiet. Once Arayo and Vayu had gone out of the tent, he came back up to one elbow so that he could look at me.

“I am not at all offended that you said you would make me go east in the morning,” he assured me. “I know you mean this kindly, and I acknowledge that this is probably a decision that is right for warriors to make, so I cannot see any possible way to be offended at that. But I cannot like your idea that you might try this dangerous ambush against older, experienced inTasiyo warriors with only Vayu to help you. That idea is entirely foolish! I mean no offense when I say so.”

“You talk far too much,” I told him. I lay down, carefully, on my stomach, and closed my eyes. The pain from the beating was worse now that I had fewer other things to think of. I told myself the pain was not bad. I had endured much worse. This pain was nothing. I told myself that very firmly because sometimes that helped a little. Even if I had not been in pain, I was too upset and worried to sleep, but I meant to pretend so that Raga would be quiet and I could think.

He was not quiet. He said earnestly, “Yes, Arayo says this too. But, Tano! Your idea that you might forget your mother and let her skull be thrown out into the open is an even worse idea than trying to take older warriors in an ambush! I mean no offense when I say that either. But she is your mother!”

I did not move. I answered, “I said I had forgotten her. I said so when I asked to come into the inGara. I was wrong when I agreed to help Vayu with this problem—”

Raga made a scornful sound. “Tano, no one would truly forget his mother! No one would respect a man who felt no concern regarding this kind of problem. But you cannot try this dangerous ambush against these dishonorable people by yourself. Do not say Vayu would be with you! I do not trust him!”

Now I thought of something I could do that might help Vayu. I could explain some things to Raga. Then, if he wished, Raga could explain those things to Arayo.

I did not want to explain anything. I very much did not want to explain. But I would rather say certain things to Raga than to anyone else I could think of. I pushed myself up again, sitting cross-legged, resting my arms on my knees, looking at Raga.

“I meant no offense when I said so,” he said hastily, lifting a hand in a conciliatory gesture. “If I spoke when I should not, I beg your pardon.”

I was not really listening. I was thinking of the things I might explain. I made a gesture that dismissed any possible offense and said, “Raga, listen. Please do not say anything now. Just listen. When I came into the inGara, I said I had forgotten any other people. But as you say, I remember some things. I will tell you something I remember. When I was inTasiyo, when I was the son of Yaro inTasiyo, I was not permitted to eat anything unless I … unless I earned food in some way. There were some ways I could do it. I could …” This was impossible. I could not explain this.

For a wonder, Raga said nothing. He lay down on his back, his hands beneath his head, gazing up at the slanted wall of the tent. His eyes were open; I could see that. But he did not look at me, and he did not say anything.

Somehow this made it possible for me to speak. I said, “One way to do it … when evening came, I could go to the tent of some respected warrior and obey this warrior’s orders. Then sometimes he might give me something to eat. Or he might not. That would be his decision.” I looked at Raga to see whether he understood. I could not tell, but I could not bring myself to speak more plainly. Instead, I said, “Two winters ago, three now, Vayu told me to come to his tent.”

I had been desperate. A man named Ataro had told me that I should come to his tent. He had ordered everyone else to forbid me to come into their tents. That winter, my father favored him. Everyone was afraid to disobey Ataro in anything. Certainly no one had cared to disobey his orders regarding me. Seeing no choice, I had gone to his tent as he wanted, but after the first time, I had thought I would prefer to starve rather than go there again. But I was not brave enough to hold to that decision. After three days, four days, I had been about to change my mind.

Then Vayu had ordered me to come to his tent.

Vayu’s father was Gataga, an important man and a dangerous warrior, Ataro’s rival and enemy, but I had still been surprised Vayu would defy Ataro. This had been the spring when Vayu had become a man, and I had thought perhaps he had decided he should give me that kind of order to demonstrate his confidence and strength to the other young men and so increase his standing, already high because of his father. This had seemed likely to me. I had not known what Vayu might do to me. But I had been too desperate to care, and he was not Ataro. I had obeyed his command.

I did not say all this. I said only, “Vayu gave me food. Then he told me to lie down by the brazier, where it was warm. He did not …” I stopped again.

Vayu had not explained anything to me, not then. He had thought I was too stupid to bother explaining anything to me. But he had not wanted me to come to his tent for the reasons I had expected. As soon as I realized that, I had paid attention, and, as Vayu discussed his plans with his closest allies among the young men, I had come to understand the truth. Vayu’s father had ordered him to put himself forward and win Yaro’s good regard. Vayu had decided that making Ataro lose precedence would please his father and might impress Yaro. He had wanted to make Ataro so angry he would not think carefully. This was a dangerous idea, everything about this was very dangerous, but Vayu was brave and he thought he could do it.

I did not explain all this to Raga. That was not the part that mattered now. I said, “Vayu said he did not care about me at all. He sent away the other young men who shared his tent, but when they had gone, he gave me food, as much as I could eat, and told me I should go to sleep. I slept there all night. He slept on the other side of the tent. In the morning, he gave me more food. He told me to come to his tent every night.” I stopped. This was all difficult to explain. The next part was even more difficult.

Raga stayed quiet. He did not speak or look at me.

I said finally, “He was not doing this to help me. He had other reasons he did it. He was using me to bring down his father’s rival. But he was much, much kinder to me than he needed to be.”

He had not needed to be kind to me at all. I would have helped him only because he was not Ataro. I had listened while Vayu set his plans with the young men who were going to help him. I had seen that Vayu was making a mistake. He thought Ataro would do one thing or another thing. I was certain Ataro would do a third thing, something Vayu had not thought of. Once the other young men had gone, I told Vayu what Ataro would do. I thought he might be angry because I dared to speak to him, I thought he might beat me or do something else to me. I had been surprised and very much relieved when he listened to me as I told him what he should do instead. Because he listened to me, Vayu baited Ataro into a different kind of mistake: he got him to come to Vayu’s own tent and attack him there. I was present, but very quiet, no one to notice. Ataro did not pay any attention to me. When Vayu drew Ataro’s attention, I brought out a sword I had concealed and cut the tendon at the back of the ankle. I had no skill with a sword, not then, but that kind of attack had not required very much skill.

After that, of course Vayu had had everything as he wished it during that fight. He had not killed Ataro. He had not wanted to kill him. He had wanted to humiliate him and make him lose every kind of precedence. That was exactly what had happened. He had not told anyone that I had helped him win that fight. Neither of us had said anything about that. Vayu had declared confidently that he had struck that blow himself. Everyone had believed this lie. Ataro himself had not understood what had happened. The fight had been too fast for him to understand. People are very slow to change their minds about anything, especially about any other person. They believe whatever they think should have happened must be what really happened.

I did not explain all this. But I explained a little. Then I said, “If Vayu’s father had fought this man himself, he might have won or he might have lost, but either way, Yaro would have been angry. But Vayu had only fifteen winters. When he fought this man and won, that defeat was so humiliating that everyone scorned this man. With the tendon cut, he was worthless as a warrior, and he had no other skills. Everyone scorned him, and he died before the end of that winter. Vayu’s father gained precedence, and so did Vayu himself. He continued to tell me to come to his tent. Not all the time. Yaro would not have permitted that. But sometimes. I think I might have died of hunger if Vayu had not helped me. Sometimes I suggested something Vayu might do regarding some kind of problem. The first time, he did not take my advice. After that he usually listened carefully and did at least part of what I suggested.”

Everyone had soon decided Vayu was clever and dangerous, not a young man to take lightly. The other young men had stepped out of his way. He had told me once—very softly, when no one else was close enough to hear him—that he had thought he would be less afraid if the rest were afraid of him. He had said that instead, he was only afraid in a different way.

He would never have admitted that to anyone else. Only to me, because I could not possibly betray his weakness. But he had not had to say that to me either. I had been astonished he would admit that to me.

That moment had come into my mind when, despite his precedence among the young men, Vayu had walked away from the inTasiyo to beg a place of the inKera.

At some time while I was speaking, Raga had closed his eyes. I knew he was not asleep. He was not even pretending to be asleep. He was only making it as easy as possible for me to speak. Now, when I stopped, he said, not opening his eyes, “You could not hunt for food?”

There was no criticism in his tone, only puzzlement, but I flinched. He said nothing else and still did not open his eyes. After a breath and another breath, I managed to explain. “I was not permitted to hunt. I was not permitted to take up even a small bow, the kind a child uses to hunt small game. My father said I did not have the courage or the good sense to be trusted with a bow.”

That was not exactly what he had said. He had said I did not have the courage or the wit of a porcupine, and as I had no quills either, I had better not venture out of the camp or a fox or weasel might kill me.

I could not bring myself to tell Raga what he had said. I could not bring myself to explain that I had not been permitted to pick up any weapon except when my father said he was teaching me to fight. He had never actually intended to teach me to fight. He had taught me to lose every fight. I had not understood that then. I had understood that only after Ryo had explained it to me. I could feel the heat that had come into my face, and I was glad Raga was not looking at me.

I said, “I was not permitted to hunt or to leave the camp. But last year, at the beginning of the warm season, Vayu ordered me to come with him and some of the other young men. He said I was too stupid and cowardly to hunt, but I could make myself useful by carrying things the young men did not want to carry.”

He and the others had given me so much to carry that I could barely walk and then laughed at me as I struggled to keep the pace they set. Eventually Vayu had said if they wanted to get any distance, they would have to carry their gear themselves. He had made all the young men take back their supplies, all except his own light pack and his bow. He had curled his lip in scorn as he said maybe I could carry that much.

Another of the young men had objected, saying I was not permitted to carry a bow. Vayu had laughed and said perhaps my father would beat me for disobeying that order. Everyone had laughed. They had all walked ahead of me, ignoring me. Vayu had made them all walk fast, pointing out the trail of a lion, saying they might come up on the lion if they hurried and he wanted the skin to give his father. They had all left me to follow on my own.

I said, “The pack Vayu gave me to carry did not weigh very much. It held many journey sticks. Also a blanket, a firestone, and a knife.”

Now Raga opened his eyes. “Everything you needed to escape.”

I signed assent. “I had never thought of just … walking away. That idea had never occurred to me at all. I was very stupid. Entirely stupid. But the things in that pack make Vayu’s opinion clear. His act made me think of everything in a different way. Not exactly in a good way, but a different way. Later, after I met Ryo, I came to think of everything in a different way again. But if Vayu had not made that chance for me to walk away, I would be there now, with the inTasiyo, who would still exist as a people. Or perhaps I would be dead.”

“Yes,” Raga said, very softly, with no trace of his ordinary good humor. “Do you suppose Vayu was punished for his act?”

“I have not asked, but I am very certain he was punished for losing me, probably severely. I was afraid my father—” I stopped, taking a breath, and began again. “I was afraid that Yaro might even have beaten him until he died. I hoped his father might stand high enough among the inTasiyo that Yaro would not do that. But I was not certain until I saw Vayu among the other inTasiyo.”

Raga turned on his side, coming up to one elbow to look at me. “Now I understand why you wanted to help him. And perhaps I understand why he came to you when he thought of his grandmother’s skull. But, forgive me for saying so, but I am still not perfectly certain you should trust him.”

“I take no offense. But I think I have much firmer ground on which to set my opinion than you have for yours.”

He made a sign of concession. “I hope I may ask without giving offense, but I wonder whether your little brother was treated in the same way you were treated. Do not answer if I should not have asked.”

I liked him for asking. I envied his easy confidence, but even when I had first met him, I had not been able to resent him because his nature was so kind and easy-tempered.

I could not believe I had been so stupid as to let him come along on this ride. I had not been thinking of Raga at all. I had been thinking of myself, and my mother, and of Vayu and his grandmother. I had been astoundingly stupid.

I did not say that. I said, “Not exactly in the same way. He was never allowed to disobey any command and he was not allowed to—to show reluctance to obey. That part was the same. But he was permitted to take food.” Other things had also been different. I had hated Ensu sometimes, even though I had not wanted him to suffer the same treatment I suffered.

I said, “After our mother went into the land of the shades, Ensu was not allowed to come near me, speak to me, touch me. He would be punished if he showed that he noticed me at all. Both of us would be punished for that. Yet even then, sometimes he would walk past me in a certain way and I would know that if I looked in a certain place later, I would find food he had left for me.”

I had been furious with him when he took that kind of risk, and with myself for not making him stop. Then he had been caught, and beaten for it. That had been the first time our father had beaten him the way he had so often beaten me. For a long time after that, Ensu had not hidden food for me. That was the time when I thought I might have to go to Ataro and obey his commands. I had been furious with Ensu again for failing me in that way, which had been completely stupid and wrong. I had hated him and despised myself.

After I had gotten away, all those things had seemed different to me. Then I had become afraid that perhaps our father might have begun to treat Ensu exactly as he had treated me, and I had thought perhaps I should try to go back and bring my brother away. But I had nothing to offer him, no people to whom I might bring him—and I was too cowardly to try.

Aras had helped me understand that all this had been reasonable. He had helped me understand everything that had happened in a different way. Not exactly as Ryo had done it. Ryo had made me understand everything by showing me how people ought to behave. I would never have understood anything if he had not showed me. But I would never have understood how I felt about my brother if Aras had not explained that to me.

He had promised me that when the chance came, he would help me bring my brother out of the inTasiyo. He would have found a way to do it. I knew that. But in the end, I had seen a different kind of chance, and so everything had happened in a different way.

I could not explain anything of that. I said instead, very firmly, “My younger brother is brave, and his heart is good. He will learn to behave properly and bring honor to the inGara.”

“Yes,” Raga said at once. “I have no doubt of that.”

I nodded, drawing a breath and letting it out. I said, “The night is not becoming any longer, but I hope you will permit me to ask. Was Ensu upset that he did not come with us? I hope he was not upset that I left him in the—in our camp.” I had almost said in the inGara camp, as though I were not inGara myself, as though Ensu were not inGara. I felt the heat come up in my face, but the light within the tent was so little that probably Raga did not see that.

“I took him to Garoyo,” Raga answered, uncharacteristically serious. “This will be his second night to sleep in my brother’s tent. You need not be concerned, Tano. You know Garoyo is patient with children, you have seen that yourself. Or if not, then I promise you, that is so. My brother’s wife is always glad when her husband brings a boy to her fire. Otherwise she has only girls there, and she says when a tent is filled with daughters, it is good to have a boy come among them who may become their brother. She says it is much better for girls if they have brothers. Arayo behaves toward those girls as though they were his sisters. In some-few days, no doubt Ensu will do the same. He is much too quiet and obedient, which I understand now, but Garoyo knows how to handle a boy and Nisig’s daughters will teach your brother to laugh.”

Despite everything I had said to Vayu regarding generosity, even though I believed everything I had said to him, I had to draw a slow breath and let it out before I could say, “Yes,” in a steady voice. Then I lay down, trying not to flinch as I drew a blanket over my back and shoulders. “Go to sleep,” I told Raga.

Raga lay down again as well. He said, “Perhaps no one else has explained this, so permit me to say it. Among the inGara, if a warrior, no matter how high his standing, thought it right to give certain kinds of orders to a young man—though this would never happen—but if it did, then the young man should go to his mother. If his mother were not forceful, or if a young man had no mother in the camp, then he should go to my mother. She would see to it that this problem ended immediately.”

My whole body had become tight and hot with shame before he finished that advice. That was so even though I knew that the fault for the things that had happened was not mine. Aras had explained that to me, though I had known it already. He had also explained that knowing this would not help very much at first, that even believing it would not help much at first, that this was ordinary and not a failure of good sense. That part, I had not understood until he explained it.

He had been right about everything. Knowing this also did not help very much. I had to take one breath and another and a third. Then I said steadily, “I know that, Raga.”

“Of course you do,” he said. “I always talk too much and say many unnecessary things. There is a story I recently learned that perhaps your brother might like if I tell it properly. Perhaps you will give me your opinion. This is a story about three boys your brother’s age who thought they would go find the place where a rainbow touched the earth. The other end of the rainbow stayed in the sky, it was that kind of rainbow, the kind that is a bridge from earth to sky.

“You probably know that a boy who finds the end of a rainbow of that kind may walk up along that bridge into the sky and speak to the stars. Of course, returning to the earth may be more difficult, but boys who are running toward something exciting sometimes do not think as far ahead of their steps as they should. So these boys thought they would try to find the place where the rainbow touched the earth. They could see the place clearly because this happened out on the steppe, where one can see forever. They ran and ran, and then when they became too tired to run any longer, they walked and walked and walked, for a very long way. They walked a long time, but they did not seem to come any closer to the end of the rainbow …”

I had not thought I would sleep at all. But Raga spoke in a calm, steady voice, explaining how very long the boys had walked across the steppe, and then, after they found the end of the rainbow, how very, very long they had climbed. I did not hear what happened when they finally reached the sky.

6 –

Vayu woke me. He did not touch me to wake me. He knelt a little distance away and said my name until I woke. For the first breath, hearing his voice, I thought I woke in his tent, the one he usually shared with other young men of the inTasiyo, in my father’s camp. I woke with my heartbeat thundering in my ears, thinking I was among the inTasiyo, that everything else was a dream, that I had never come into inGara land at all.

Then I heard him better. He was saying, “Tano, it is time for you and Raga to take the second watch. Are you awake yet?”

Raga. Yes, that was Raga on the other side of the tent. Arayo. I knew, with a blaze of relief that was like the sunrise, that everything I remembered was true. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I am awake.”

“So am I,” complained Rago. “Why did I say I would come with you? I am not a warrior. I should not have to take on a warrior’s duties. Getting up in the middle of the night—”

“Will do you no harm at all,” Arayo said, cuffing him lightly. “Put your boots on and get your coat and go out. And be quiet so that Vayu and I can sleep!”

Raga grinned. “Now that I am awake, perhaps I shall recite a very long poem I have been practicing—” He ducked a second cuff, grabbed his coat, and made his way past me. I glanced from Arayo to Vayu and back again. They did not seem exactly in a bad humor with each other, but Vayu was already settling in the place I had left, turning his back to the rest of the tent. I wondered what exactly Raga might say to Arayo when he had a chance. Probably he would put everything into an orderly tale that made more sense than anything that had really happened. But I hoped that whatever he explained might make Arayo think about Vayu differently. I might explain everything to Arayo as I had explained it to Raga, but … I could not imagine explaining everything to Arayo. I dropped my gaze from his, trying not to flinch visibly from the thought.

Arayo said to me, brief and calm, “The night has been quiet. Wolves sang, two or perhaps three, a long way from here, south and west. The wind has strengthened. It smells of snow.”

“Yes,” I said, recovering myself and acknowledging all this. I put on my coat, trying not to flinch visibly when the weight came across my shoulders, and went out of the tent.

The wind had indeed strengthened. It came from the north, bitingly cold. The Moon held up her lantern and the stars were bright, and so much light poured down around us that enemies should have little chance to come close. But streamers of clouds rushed across the sky, driven before winds that were much stronger than those here, close to the earth. I agreed with Arayo: the air smelled of snow. I thought those clouds would thicken and we would probably have snow before dawn. That should not matter very much. Probably it would not be enough snow to hamper us or our ponies. Still, I was grateful we had found this sheltered place in which to set our tent.

The ponies had gathered between the rising slope of the roots of the mountain and the tent, where the wind was less and the air a little warmer. I heard them shift and saw their dark bulk against the paler stone and earth.

Raga was already sitting in the lee of the tent, on the woolen saddle pad set there to make that place less cold. We had not lit a fire, of course; fuel is too precious in the high north to light unnecessary fires. But if we had lit one, we would have let it go out. Fire is very bad for night vision, and of course a fire may draw enemies. I sat down on another saddle pad, my back turned to Raga so that I could look the other way. I felt the warmth of his body behind me. That was something that should have been comforting. But even after those long days in the starlit country, I still had not learned to feel comfortable with anyone at my back. Even Raga.

When people watch over sleeping companions, obviously they must not speak freely to one another because this is distracting and prevents them from listening to the small sounds of the night, the sounds below the ceaseless wind. I knew that perfectly well. Nevertheless, after I sat down, I said to Raga, my voice quiet, “Thank you for telling me that story. And for …” Listening, and hearing what I wanted to explain, and asking almost nothing regarding the part I did not want to explain.

“Yes,” he said, and for a wonder nothing else.

“Do all young inGara poets learn to listen … like that?”

He glanced over his shoulder at me, the uncertain moonlight coming down to show his face and then failing as clouds came between the Moon and the earth. He said, his tone a little mocking, “No, we are just born knowing how to do that. Yes, Tano, of course we learn it. Sometimes that is difficult, but it is certainly much less strenuous than the skills a young warrior must learn.” He added more seriously, “My great-uncle, my father’s uncle, is a poet. I learned that from him. People sometimes explain very difficult problems to him. He taught me to listen in a way that will help someone explain a problem that is hard to put into words.”

I said nothing. I could not imagine how someone would teach that manner of listening.

Raga said, “He used to tell me things that had happened. Sometimes events of his life—he had lived a long time, and everyone has one and another day that is hard. Sometimes he told me of something that had not happened to him, but to someone else, but he would tell the story as though the problem had been his. Sometimes he made me explain something difficult to him and showed me that way how to make it easier for someone to explain difficult things. I did not enjoy that, but I learned to think about things differently. And I learned how to listen.” He added, “I would rather tell children stories about rainbows. But sometimes a poet does better to listen than to speak.”

He was quiet for a little. I did not speak either.

Finally, he said, “I will not speak of the things you told me if you wish me to hold those things private. But I think you might prefer I explain to Arayo some of what you told me. I think that is why you told me those things now, when you never spoke of any of that before. You do not need to say anything but yes or no.”

“Yes,” I said. Then I said, “I think I should say one more thing. Thank you, Raga.”

“No,” he said. “I mean, you owe me no thanks. I am glad to understand everything better. You do not really intend to make me ride east tomorrow while you go on west? That does not seem at all sensible to me. But—”

“Raga,” I said. “Be quiet. We both should be listening below the wind, and I need to think.”

He chuckled, but he fell silent. I watched the high clouds stream past the face of the Moon and listened below the wind, to the quiet sounds of the ponies. I did not hear wolves sing, but I heard the deep call of a white owl. Owls are lucky, though not as lucky as wolves. This owl was calling to his mate, but I did not hear her answer.

I listened for the very small sounds men would make if someone approached this camp. I did not expect to hear anything; it seemed most unlikely I would hear anything. But I still listened. If a white leopard came, I would not hear that. No one hears the soft approach of a white leopard. But a leopard will seldom try for a pony, especially not when men are nearby; he knows it would be wiser to look for an incautious goat instead. So, although I listened for any kind of trouble that might come, most of my attention was on my own thoughts.

Many of those thoughts were difficult. I would rather have faced down a leopard, but no leopard came. The night stretched out, long and peaceful, as though no enemies set their feet anywhere upon the earth.

When the sky paled in the east, before the Sun rose, Raga stood up, touched my shoulder, and went—quietly—into the tent. He came out again with the bowl, collected snow from where it had drifted below the ridge of the mountain’s roots, and went back into the tent. I waited long enough for him to blow the coals in the brazier alight and a little longer, until there was enough light to see what I was about. Then I took the ponies each a double handful of grain and the leather bucket where we had put snow to melt through the night so they could have water. The ponies were annoyed and impatient, very much aware that they might have spent the night in a comfortable shelter with more water, but they were happy enough with the grain. I stopped the mare from threatening the other ponies so she could have the grain all to herself. By the time I went into the tent, the tisane was ready and everyone was awake.

I sat down in the space left for me, between Raga and Vayu, and said firmly, “Raga, you will ride east.” I was thinking that he would probably protest and I would have to argue. I was certain Arayo would support me, but although he was so easy-natured and did not like to quarrel, Raga could be stubborn, so I was thinking about how to make him do as I wanted. I was thinking about that so hard that I forgot to be careful when I picked up the bowl. Something in that movement pulled against my back in a different way that I had not expected, and my breath hissed out. I set the bowl down again, hard enough that the tisane sloshed and a little spilled. I set my hands in my lap and looked at nothing. In a moment, I would try again. This time, I would expect the pain, so I would not embarrass myself a second time.

Raga poured some of the tisane into a smaller drinking bowl and held the bowl out to me. I glared at him, angry that he had made it so clear that he had noticed my cowardice, that I knew now everyone must have noticed.

He said, his tone mild, “I have never been beaten with that kind of whip, but from what I have seen, the pain is less after two days, three days. But that makes the pain more surprising when an incautious movement suddenly brings it to mind.”

I sighed. When he said this so plainly, not pretending that the pain was nothing the way a young warrior would, it was easier for me to take his gesture as kindness rather than carelessness. Everyone here knew I had been beaten. There was no reason to pretend otherwise. No doubt Raga had said that on purpose to make that clear to everyone—to make it clear to me. He was very annoying, but everything he had said was true. I said, “That beating was nothing. I should not make a display of myself over nothing.” But I accepted the bowl.

“A beating with that kind of whip is not nothing,” Raga argued. “I am certain Arayo will agree with me.”

“I do agree,” Arayo said, frowning. “That kind of whip, with metal braided into it, is not appropriate for punishing any but the most serious faults.”

That was the kind of whip my father had almost always used. Vayu glanced at me and then looked down. This morning, he was trying to be very quiet and not give offense. I thought he had probably been as much troubled by his thoughts as I had been by mine. And he had been faced last night with Arayo’s silent judgment, not Raga’s easy friendliness.

“I am glad I am a poet,” Raga said now, his manner as cheerful as always. “It is most unlikely that a young poet will ever be beaten so severely, no matter how foolish or careless he may be.” He had taken a handful of journey sticks out of their wrapping and now began to lay these carefully across the brazier to heat.

He went on, “My older brothers taught me how to stand, of course. Now and again, I have taken a beating for thoughtlessness or discourtesy. But all my brothers would laugh if I complained of that! Young warriors are handled much more harshly, especially if they strive to take precedence above other young men. If people think a young warrior may someday become important within his tribe, he will always be corrected sharply for any fault, as I suppose is probably wise.”

Vayu glanced at me, but he said nothing. I thought I knew what he wanted to ask, so I said, “Does no one expect a young poet to become important?”

“Certainly, sometimes!” Raga said, plainly amused. “Perhaps you are aware that Koro inKarano was a poet before he became king.”

I had known that, but I had not thought of it until he reminded me. I flushed because I had asked such a stupid question, but Raga was going on, not appearing to notice my embarrassment. “But poets seldom take an important place at as young an age as warriors, unless, well, there are ways it can happen. A poet is not a singer, but sometimes, not often, the gods may bend close to the earth to listen to a poet.”

He took a breath, and I realized suddenly that Raga wanted that, that perhaps he desired it ardently, that he did not know whether a moment like that would ever come to him. I had not understood any of that, but something in his face, his voice, that little catch of breath, made me realize it now.

But he was already going on, his manner as quick and light as ever. “Also, respected poets have other ways of correcting a young man. Less harsh, but much more tedious! My great-uncle once made me count out four twenties of grains of barley, ten times, and then do it over ten more times again, every day for ten days.”

All three of us stared at him, speechless. Arayo asked at last, “What was the fault? If you are willing to say, but I think we are all very curious!”

Raga grinned. He had enjoyed astonishing us. “Impatience and carelessness, and I promise you, I swore many times during those days that I would prefer to be corrected in the manner of a young warrior. At least a beating is over much more quickly!”

Despite his words, he was obviously entirely undismayed by this memory. He went on, “He had set me to memorize a very long account of quarrels and compromises between different tribes a long time ago—problems that had not even involved inGara! I had put this off and put it off again because I was much more interested in tales of much more exciting adventures. Then, when my great-uncle corrected me for that, I was foolish enough to let him see my impatience, so he set me that task. I did not exactly learn patience, but I certainly learned to set aside impatience, which he said was enough for the present. I also learned to count much, much more quickly, which he probably thought useful as well, though most of the time I think patience is a great deal more use than an ability to count.” He tilted his head. “I suppose the people who used to be inTasiyo probably punished even young poets with a whip.”

Vayu and I glanced at each other again. “Yes,” Vayu said, with restraint.

Raga nodded. “Of course, no honorable people would handle any young man as viciously as the inTasiyo handled some of theirs.”

The word he used, vicious, was not the ordinary word that meant only cruel. The word he chose was the one that meant not only cruel, but disgraceful, senseless, perhaps mad. It was not a word anyone would use casually. Raga had not been looking at Vayu; he had not been looking at anyone. But now, as Vayu looked up in surprise, Raga met his eyes and asked, “Were you punished severely after you helped Tano escape from the inTasiyo?”

Vayu stilled in surprise, glancing at me. I tried to keep my expression smooth. I said quietly, “I have wondered that. If that happened, I am sorry for it.”

After a moment, Vayu made the gesture that turns aside a debt. He said, “I knew my father would stop Yaro before he killed me. Probably before he even broke my pride. It was not that bad.”

“Yes,” I said. “Your pride did not break?” But at once I made a gesture of apology. “Of course it did not break. I should not have asked.” Vayu had always had far more pride than I had. He would have tried hard to hold to that pride. I thought of how Ryo had taken that beating from his father, how his eyes had widened and his breathing had changed. I thought of my sudden understanding that any man, even a very brave man, might have to work hard to hold to his pride when the whip came down. But Vayu had too much precedence among the young men to give it up lightly. He would have striven very hard to hold to his pride.

“No,” Vayu agreed. Then he added, not looking at any of us, “Almost.”

“How many?” Raga asked him. “Was it that kind of harsh whip?”

“It was that kind of whip,” Vayu agreed, still looking only at the brazier. “I do not know how many.”

“Yaro would not say how many strokes it would be,” I explained. “That was not the custom.”

Raga and Arayo glanced at each other. Then Raga turned back to the brazier and began to turn the sticks over, careful with the risk of singed fingertips. He commented, “Anyone’s pride can be broken. My brother’s pride was broken once. I know that story. I do not like to think of that part of the tale. His enemy was vicious in the way of sorcerers.” He sat back and added, “That was twenty, twenty times, and then five more times again.”

This time Vayu and I were the ones who exchanged a glance. He looked as taken aback as I felt. After a heartbeat, Vayu said, “So. Certainly it was not that many for me. Perhaps twenty, four times. Something near that.”

“So,” said Raga, grimacing in sympathy. “That is severe enough.”

“With that kind of whip, extraordinarily severe,” Arayo said. “You did well to stand.”

Vayu looked at him and then back down at his bowl. But some of his tension had eased when Arayo stated his opinion.

I breathed out, and said, “I am pleased your pride did not break, Vayu. I will try to do as well when … when the lord of the inGara beats me. In five days, now.” I could not help but look at Raga. “He said it would be severe. I do not know what the lord of the inGara considers severe.”

Raga was frowning at me. “My father said he would beat you severely?”

“For my deceit and slyness when I tried to make Yaro break the ban between the inTasiyo and the inGara.” I could feel my face getting hot. But I wanted to know what Sinowa inGara might say was severe. I wanted to know that very much.

“That was entirely disgraceful,” Arayo said. He did not speak scornfully, but firmly.

“I know,” I agreed, bowing to show that I did know that. “Ryo explained that to me.”

Vayu took a breath, but he did not say anything.

Arayo nodded. He said, “Sinowa inGara is not likely to pick up that kind of whip. I think that is not at all likely.” He considered, and then added, “Twenty, five times, would be extraordinarily severe for a young man, no matter the fault. Four times is more likely. Three times is more likely than that. If he told you it would be severe, I think three times is likely. Raga?”

“That would be severe enough for almost any fault!” Raga agreed. “But you can stand for that many, Tano!”

I nodded. I was not certain I could do it. I was not at all certain. If I failed, everyone would despise me. I could not bear that. Ryo would probably not blame me, but he would be disappointed and think little of me. That would be even worse than everyone else looking at me scornfully. But there was nothing to say, so I nodded.

“You will stand,” Arayo told me, in the same firm way, as though he knew this was true. “You are inGara now. You will certainly stand properly.”

I signed agreement. Somehow that had helped. I thought he might really believe that—he must believe it; he would hardly lie. That almost made me believe it as well.

Arayo said to Vayu, “You helped Tano leave the inTasiyo? I had not realized. I think that was well done.”

Vayu shook his head. “I should have done it much earlier. I should have done it as soon as my father had enough standing to protect me.”

I could feel the heat rising up my throat and face. Everything made me feel stupid and ashamed this morning. But I thought Vayu should not say such things. I thought he was very much mistaken. I said, “You should not have needed to put yourself in the way of my father’s anger. I should have thought of getting away long before you brought me out into the forest and showed me I could go. I do not know why I did not think of that.”

To my surprise, Vayu shook his head again. “Tano, your father would have sent every warrior he had to track you. You would never have gotten away. You must have understood that.” He saw my surprise and made an exasperated gesture. “Of course you understood it, Tano! You could never have gotten beyond your father’s reach unless you had a long start. Even after you had a whole day and night and part of another day before anyone began to look for your trail, I was afraid they would find you. You did well to conceal your trail so carefully. They lost you a little way past the cliffs. They thought you had followed the creek upstream from the cliffs, but they followed that creek a long way looking for the place you might have left the water and never found any signs. I wondered how you did that. I thought perhaps you made it look like you followed the creek, but actually hid somewhere at the cliffs and waited for everyone to stop searching.”

“You thought of that? You did not say so to anyone.” My stomach had tightened with the memory of those days. I had been terrified someone would find the place I had hidden. If they had searched with enough determination, they would almost certainly have found me.

“I had not recovered enough to say anything to anyone until long after they had given up the search.” He added quickly, “Not that I would have said anything! I did not say anything at all, except that you had probably wandered into a bear’s den or some such stupidity.”

I nodded. I thought this might be true. I thought it was probably true. After all, no one had found me. I asked, “Did my father beat Ensu after that? Did he forbid him to take food that was not given to him?” I waited for his answer, dreading what he would say. I had known all the time that my father might have begun to treat Ensu much more cruelly after I got away. I had known I should go back and try to get my brother away. I had been too much a coward even to try. That was why I had thought of other things I might do, things that might win my father’s approval, so that I might dare to go back and then perhaps find a way to get away again, this time with my brother.

Then I had stupidly run straight into Ryo and those Lau and everything had become impossible and complicated in ways I had never guessed might happen. Now I was here, my brother and I were both inGara, and everything was still complicated, but in very different ways. Better ways. Very much better. But I still flinched, waiting for Vayu’s answer.

But he surprised me again. He said, “No, Tano. Your father ignored Ensu, mostly. Your mother had gone into the land of the shades long before that, of course, so Yaro did not have as much reason to punish your younger brother. I did not understand that,” he added. “My father explained it to me. He warned me not to take Ensu into my tent. He said if Yaro remembered him, that might be dangerous for me. But I said I would teach Ensu to obey me in everything. I said that if Yaro thought anything of that, he would be pleased. And I did teach your brother to obey me, but not that way.” His mouth tightened as he looked at me. “I kept him out of your father’s way, and out of my father’s way. I taught him to be quiet and stay near me, especially at night, and I protected him as well as I could. That is the truth, Tano.”

“I think it is,” I said. I thought of how Ensu had gone to Vayu, not to me, when Raga had brought him to that tent while we were talking about what to do. He had looked to Vayu to instruct and protect him. That had been very plain. I sighed, a long breath. Then I said, “I thank you for protecting my brother.”

Vayu made the sign that turns away a debt. “I should have walked away. But I did not know where I might go, and my father would have tried hard to track me—and if I took my younger brother, he would have tried much harder—and if I took Ensu, that would have been worse still—and boys that age do not know how to hide every trace of their passing—and—” He stopped, lowering his gaze.

“You were afraid,” Arayo said.

Vayu tensed, but he did not look up. I looked at him hard, trying to tell him without speaking aloud that he must not lie. Of course he was not a sorcerer, to hear my thoughts. But he understood enough on his own. He said, his voice very low, “Yes.”

Raga said, “Anyone would have been.” He began to pass out the journey sticks. They were hot enough that the dripping fat burned our fingers, and we all juggled them from hand to hand and swore, which was not behavior young men would dare show if respected warriors were watching.

Raga laughed, and even Arayo smiled. His manner was different now. He ate part of his journey stick, but then he said to Vayu, “I was not there, so I have no opinion. But I think perhaps it may have been better to stay and protect those boys rather than try to get away. Was your father among the inTasiyo who did not leave that tribe when other people left them—when you left them?”

Vayu shrugged, still not looking at him. “The man who used to be my father may have been among those people. His fate does not concern me. I am inKera now. I am not interested in what fate may come to people who used to be inTasiyo, who were such bitter enemies of inGara, who are allies of inKera. Those people are nothing to me.”

“So,” said Arayo. Then he said, “Raga, I will go with Tano and Vayu to find the people who used to be inTasiyo. I think Tano is probably wise to suggest that it would be better to find a very small number of those people, preferably people on foot. It does not matter which people we may find, as long as they have enough sense to listen to our warning. If they do not, that is as it is. We will find one person, a few people, and give that warning, and then come away, fast, watchful lest anyone should think to pursue us.”

Raga sighed. “Very well. And what will I be doing while you take on all the important and interesting tasks?”

“You will return to your mother’s camp. We will all ride east with you a small distance, to the lands closely guarded by the inVotaro and by allied tribes. Then, when we are certain you can ride back to the Convocation lands without encountering enemies, the others of us will turn west again. You will go on to the east. You will not stop until you come to the Convocation lands and your own mother’s camp. If we have not returned in four days, you will tell Garoyo everything. My father as well. Agree to all this, or we will all go back to the Convocation today.”

Though he would almost certainly have argued with me, Arayo had spoken so calmly and forcefully that Raga merely heaved a deeper sigh, signed assent, and said, “I will do as you say.”

“Good,” Arayo said, and stood up. “Tano, if you and Vayu will see to the ponies, Raga and I will take down the tent.”

7 –

A little snow had indeed fallen during the night, and that snow had not yet been pulled back into the sky.  The wind had calmed at dawn, as sometimes happens, and had not yet strengthened again. The vault of the sky was hidden by heavy clouds the color of iron, and the snow lay deep enough to cover a pony’s fetlocks, deeper than that where it had drifted. This was a dry, powdery snow, the kind that does not lend itself well to tracking, but certainly it was easy to see that no one, man or beast, had come near our camp after the snow began to fall. Certainly I had not thought anyone could have been so little alert that such a thing might have happened, but the pristine snow still made me feel better. It made me feel that the world was wide and empty and not filled with enemies.

That was a dangerous feeling, as I knew very well. I was very glad Raga had agreed to go back east. I thought perhaps we should all do that. I thought so even though I liked no better the thought of my mother’s skull thrown out of the tomb into the open.

Arayo brought a pony to me and put his reins into my hands. This was the cream-colored gelding with the snow-colored mane and snow-colored feathering on his legs. He was my favorite of the ponies we had brought with us, with easy gaits and a kinder temper than most ponies. Perhaps Arayo knew I preferred this gelding to the harder-tempered animals, but if he did, he said nothing about it. Nor did I.

I took the gelding’s reins and mounted, and we all rode east, without speaking. We went a bowshot and another bowshot and a third bowshot and a little farther than that, silent and watchful.

Finally, seeing Matya inVotaro and the other two inVotaro warriors in the distance, we drew our ponies to a halt and all stayed still for a long, long moment, looking at one another.

I said finally, “I think perhaps we should all go up into the roots of the mountains and look for white foxes.”

Raga answered at once, “No, of course you should go on, Tano! Your concern for your mother’s skull, for all those skulls, is perfectly reasonable! Look, the inVotaro are just there, hardly five bowshots’ distant. Obviously that is Matya; that mare of his is unmistakable. I will be perfectly safe to ride the small distance back to the Convocation grounds. If Matya asks, though I do not see why he should be concerned regarding the matter, I will explain that the three of you may be looking for white fox, but I prefer warmer tents and better food. That will be entirely true! Almost entirely! I am certain you will look carefully for white fox, especially as you return.”

Arayo did not answer at once. He looked at the sky and the mountains, judging the land, considering how far we had come, how far the people we followed might have gone. He said finally, “I agree with Raga that your concern for your mother’s skull is reasonable. In your place, I would be very concerned regarding that problem. I think you are also right that stopping a small number of those people who used to be inTasiyo should not be stupidly dangerous.” He glanced past me, at Raga. “All these lands closely guarded by the inVotaro should be safe enough for a young poet.”

“Of course these lands will be safe,” Raga agreed without the least sign of offense. “When I come back to the inGara camp, I will tell anyone who asks that you will probably return tomorrow, or perhaps the day after that. Surely that will also be true! You will surely find some inTasiyo today—I mean, some nameless people who used to be inTasiyo. We need a better word for them! We can just say those people, and we will all know whom we mean.”

His tone dropped on those people, darkly foreboding, as a poet might say words such as unquiet ghosts when telling a story. I caught myself smiling and immediately stopped.

“I hope we do,” Arayo told him. “But we may not find the right group of those people to approach today, so it may take longer. Wait four days, as I told you, but not longer than four.”

Unlike Raga, he barely inflected the words those people. Even so, Raga laughed, reined his pony back a step, nudged the animal into a turn, and rode away, with a shout, at a canter.

Arayo shook his head. “Never take a poet hunting or raiding,” he said to Vayu.

Vayu had not smiled, but now he almost did. “This is good advice,” he agreed. He checked his dun mare when she wanted to follow Raga’s gelding. I mounted my pony as well, setting aside the pain that movement caused me. That pain, I had expected, so that was not as difficult as when the pain surprised me. Once I was up, I looked at Arayo. He nodded to me and Vayu, his manner serious, and we rode away, west.

Very soon, we found the track of the large group of people we had been following. Even with the snow, that track remained clear. At once we turned to follow, but our own path offset to the north of that one. We did not ride fast, but took a moderate pace, attentive to everything around us. To our right, the mountains reared up to the sky, the ridges and hills of their roots rising up and falling away before us and behind us; to our left, the steppe spread out forever.

I did not want to ask questions; our voices might draw attention if anyone should be unexpectedly close, and also I knew I should not distract Arayo or Vayu, who certainly knew much more than I did about tracking and raiding and everything of that kind. Also, I did not want to ask questions that would show how stupid I was. But even I could see that every slight breeze must blow this light, dry snow over any kind of mark or track so that trails became blurred and difficult to read. I wondered if that was good for us or bad for us. Perhaps both.

We were riding far enough north of the people we followed that we should see them when we came close enough, but they should not see us—not clearly enough to know who we were. They should think we were their own people. That was what we wished; I understood that much. A small group of people on foot, people following the large group because they wanted to raid for ponies, would certainly stay to the north of that group, just as we were, because here the ridges and hollows and hills and cliffs offered plenty of cover for people who wanted to stay out of sight. Kanu and his people, if they were indeed close to this place, would probably have found a place like ours last night, but if they had not already raided that larger group, they would very likely want to slip close to that group today so that they could do so.

“Look there,” Vayu said after some time, nodding before us and to our left. I looked, but I did not understand what I was seeing. He said, not looking at me, “I think this was a small number of people, riding. Two or three people. These tracks are not very recent. More snow fell here after these people passed. But I think they were traveling that way.” He nodded east, back the way we had come, away from the direction of travel of the larger group of inTasiyo people.

I could not see anything that told me so much, but Arayo signed agreement, with no sign of offense that Vayu had given his opinion first. He said, “I think small groups of riders sometimes, often, leave the large group. Some may be people who have decided they want to return to the Convocation grounds to ask for places in other tribes. The inVotaro will probably turn them back, I do not think they will have much sympathy for anyone who used to be inTasiyo, so I think that is why we also see some tracks left by small groups going toward the large group we are following.”

All this seemed reasonable to me.

Arayo went on. “This is a problem for us because we cannot easily tell who any of these people are, but it is an advantage for us as well because anyone who sees our trail will think we are a group like that.”

“Yes,” I said. All this was true. I added, “If we encounter such a small group, they should not know we are not their own people until we are very close. But I still think it might be better for us to approach a small number of people who are on foot, not riding. That would be so whether the people proved to be Kanu and his companions or whether these were other people. But we have not seen the trail of people on foot?”

“Not yet,” Arayo agreed. “I think all the tracks we have seen so far were made by ponies.”

I nodded. I would prefer to find Kanu because he had too much sense to behave stupidly even if he were provoked, and that made him more predictable—and because I thought Tatig and Gatta would be good choices to ride west very fast so that they could come to the tombs of the inTasiyo before the inVotaro warriors riding with Royova could come there. Those warriors probably would not have stopped for the night nearly as soon as we had. They would probably be much farther west by now. But a small number of light-weight, determined riders should be able to pass them and reach the inTasiyo lands long before Royova came there. I thought people who rode as well as Tatig, young women like that, could certainly do it. I also wanted to find Kanu because Tatig would probably still be with his small group. But we could speak more safely to almost anyone on foot than almost anyone mounted.

Vayu signed emphatic assent with Arayo’s assessment. “I am certain everyone so far has been riding,” he said. “We may need to approach people who are riding, not walking. What do you think, Tano? Could we do that safely?”

I had not expected him to ask me in front of Arayo—he had always been very careful not to ask me for advice when anyone else was listening, and that kind of habit can be difficult to set aside. He had done it deliberately. I knew I was probably flushing. I said, “If they were the right people. Young women would be very much better than young men, and young men very much better than older men. Young men would respect your skill and cleverness.” I added to Arayo, “Vayu stood high among the young men our age. This was not only because his father was important. Very few young men would want to fight Vayu in any serious way.”

Arayo glanced at Vayu.

Vayu lifted his chin, a tiny movement, but one that made him look suddenly arrogant and indifferent. He said coldly, “They may despise me now. But they would not be quick to draw a bow against me, especially not if I had my own bow ready. I agree that I would rather approach younger men than older warriors.”

“We will ride a little farther and see what other tracks we cross,” Arayo decided.

We rode on. The wind sharpened. We did not cross any other tracks, not for a long time. The clouds began to break around the sharp peaks of the mountains, becoming ragged, shafts of sunlight coming down past the clouds. An eagle, black with distance, rode the high winds down the slope of one mountain and out toward the steppe. I followed his flight. I always noticed eagles now.

Vayu brought his pony close to mine, lifting a hand to trace the eagle’s flight. “Is it true you went into the land of the shades?” he asked me, his manner a little tentative. “Is it true a white eagle showed you the way to return?”

Arayo, riding to my other side, glanced our way. He did not command silence, and certainly the world about us seemed empty for a long way in every direction. I said finally, “Some things about that are true. It was not … I was not … you should ask Raga to tell you the story. He could tell it much better than I could.”

“The white eagle showed Tano a path by which he could return,” Arayo said, his tone neutral. “That is perfectly true. The eagle did not show anyone else that path.”

I knew I was flushing again. I could feel the heat come into my face. I looked steadily at the ears of my gelding. “No one else was so stupid as to eat a handful of snow in the land of the shades. I was very, very stupid not to understand that I had come into the land of the shades, and very, very lucky that the eagle-warrior put himself to so much trouble to help me come back into the land of the living.”

Arayo said, “If you had not explained what was happening to the eagle-warrior, that whole battle might have ended in a different way.”

I could not say this was not true. But I did not like to think of everything that had happened there. I said finally, “Vayu, if you wish to hear that tale properly, I am certain you will have a chance to ask Raga to tell you the story.”

Vayu nodded. But, after a little while, he said instead, “I suppose it is also true that you traveled all the way from the southern borderlands to these mountains with the Lau lord who is a sorcerer. The Lau who can see all the thoughts in a man’s mind, and who stopped your … who stopped Yaro from killing Ryo inGara.”

I said, “Aras is not as frightening as you are thinking. Or he is, but not in the way you are thinking he might be. He does not explain to anyone the thoughts he sees in your mind. When we return, I will make you known to him, if you wish.”

Vayu glanced at me. “Even though I know the inKera say that this Lau sorcerer is their friend—our friend—and of course I accept that this is so—I do not think I will ask for that introduction.”

Arayo smiled briefly. But he said, changing the subject back to more important matters, “I am beginning to wonder whether we should think again about how we are trying to solve this problem. Even yet, we have not crossed the trail of anyone who is walking rather than riding—Vayu, you agree? Yes. And there is less snow now, which makes it difficult to understand the tracks we may yet find. I think we might try something different. Look there.” He nodded toward the mountains, raking against the sky, then drew a small circle in the air. “You see there, where the roots of the mountains are so high, you see the place I mean? Do you see the waterfalls coming down there?”

I had not noticed those waterfalls until he pointed them out. This was not like the broad cataract that plunged down from the mountains near the pass and fed the long lake. The waterfalls ahead were much smaller than those. But as the clouds broke and shredded and the Sun poured down his light, I saw the rushing water flash and sparkle in a way different from ice.

Even during the long cold, many waterfalls come down from the northern mountains, where the warmer air that comes from the starlit lands melts the snow in the heights. Some of the waterfalls freeze entirely in the depths of winter, but some do not. As spring approaches, more waterfalls begin to flow, water running across layers of ice. All those places, where water flows and no one needs to melt snow or chop through thick ice to get water for themselves and their animals, are much desired by anyone wishing to camp, especially if the stream or lake below the falls is not too large or difficult to cross.

“I think the people we have been following are not very far ahead of us now,” Arayo said. “I think they will camp there. I know this place; people traveling through the high north always camp there. The place is meant for a camp; there is a sluice to bring water from the falls into the camping place. Those people will like that very much, so probably they will stop there.”

“We should not go into that camp,” I said urgently. Even though Raga was no longer with us, I thought that would be a very bad idea.

Arayo answered, probably more patiently than I deserved, “Of course we should not go into that camp. From everything you have said, that would be a very bad idea. That is not what I think we should do. Right now we are north of that group, but I think we might circle wide around. We could ride back a little to the east and cross behind those people to get into the open land well south of their path. Then we could turn west, again, then circle back to the north only once we are west of those waterfalls. Then we can come back toward the waterfalls from the northwest, where the roots of the mountain come down on the other side of the waterfalls, do you see? There is a good meadow among the ridges there, hard to find unless one already knows the way the cliffs stand here, but I know where it is.”

This sounded much better. Vayu was already nodding. I also signed assent.

Arayo continued. “We could leave the ponies there, climb up and around by way of the cliffs, and see exactly who is there among those people. That might be useful. But I am thinking of something else as well. If those people make their camp that early in the day, then young men will probably leave the camp to hunt, or perhaps climb up along the waterfalls just to see what they find. If we chose a good place to wait, we might not have to find a few people to approach—we could stay quiet and let a few people approach us.”

This was a good idea. This was probably a better idea than seeking Kanu and his people. I was embarrassed I had not thought of any of that. Of course, I had not known about the waterfalls or any of the rest of this. I should have asked Arayo to describe the land here; I should have asked that long ago, as soon as I realized the people who had been inTasiyo—those people—intended to stay this close to the mountains as they traveled west.

“Yes,” Vayu said. “We will need to circle very widely to avoid letting those people see our tracks and wonder what we are about.” He said those people with the same light emphasis I had thought of, the same emphasis Arayo had used—the same emphasis we were all using now. That made me think of Raga. By this time, he ought to have come back to the Convocation lands. I was glad to think of that, glad to think he was safe, but I wished he were with us.

Vayu was plainly right as well. I said, though I knew it was stupid because obviously they both already knew this, “Vayu is right to say this, but though we may ride fast, we must ride carefully. They—those people—will probably have scouts riding out in front and to every side.”

Arayo did not say this had been a stupid thing to say. He said, “Yes. Watch in every direction, but Tano, watch mostly to the south, and Vayu, mostly to the north.” Then he turned his dun gelding east and south and sent him ahead at a canter.

We rode much faster after that, exactly as Arayo had suggested, first east and south, then due south, then, once we were far enough south of the people we followed, west again. We ignored one trail and another that we crossed, only making certain we did not come near any other people. I glanced down at the tracks we saw, but I could make very little of them. The snow was less and less, though still enough that anyone who struck our trail would be able to follow it. But they would not guess who we were—I could see no way anyone could guess that—and the snow would be less again by the time we crossed in front of those people, to their west, and finally circled back north and east again. There, where the roots of the mountains humped up into high ridges, the winds that come down from the heights would have pulled some of this dry snow back into the air, melted some of it, swept more of it aside. We would not be able to track anyone else, but so long as we were careful, they would not be able to track us either.

Even as I thought this, Arayo checked his dun gelding and gestured to the side and back, toward the camping place by the waterfalls.

“I think these are the tracks of some people who are on foot,” he said. “I think they came this way only a little time ago. Four people, five, six. I think they might have been going toward the waterfalls too, circling around in the same way we are, though unless they are inGara, they probably do not know about the hidden meadow. Those may be the people you thought to find, Tano, or they may be other people. We could try to find them, or we could try this other idea, going all the way around to the meadow and climbing around to the waterfalls. I am not certain what I think would be best to do. What is your opinion?” He glanced at Vayu to show him he could answer if he wished.

I was surprised Arayo had asked us what we thought. Vayu was surprised as well; that was plain from the way he glanced at me and away again. He said, a little hesitantly, “If we went to find out who those people were, the people walking, we would have to be very careful. If they were going toward the camp, then we would be following them that way, and if we made any kind of clamor, or if they did, people would be very certain to come to see who we were. That would be dangerous. If those tracks were made by Kanu and his companions, then I think … I think that Kanu might listen to us, but perhaps not the others. Sokano is not a man I would trust to stand still and listen, not if he is taken by surprise in any way. And the women might cry out.”

I gestured in agreement. Arayo was nodding as well. As they were not warriors, women might well scream or shout if they were surprised. Especially women who did not hunt and therefore had never learned to be quiet when they were surprised or frightened. Neither of the women with Kanu had learned to hunt. Fewer inTasiyo women learned those skills than among the inGara.

Obviously we were too close to the large camp now to risk letting anyone call out. And I did not trust Sokano either. He might obey Kanu, he should obey Kanu, but what if Kanu did not command him to step back and let us alone? I did not want to fight Sokano. I would much rather shoot him from ambush, except that Arayo thought that would be a dishonorable act.

I said, “I think we might try your plan, Arayo. I think that is a better plan than mine. If no one comes up along the waterfalls this afternoon, someone might do so tomorrow morning. If that does not happen, then when most of those people go on to the west, some will linger. Some people are always slow to break a camp. We might speak to those who linger behind the others.”

Arayo nodded. He gestured forward, the way we had been going. “The hidden place I know is not far now.” He rode on without waiting for us to answer. Vayu glanced at me. I shrugged, meaning that Arayo probably knew what kind of place would be good for us to camp. I hoped the little meadow he knew was very well hidden, so much so that no casual traveler would guess it was there.

When we came there, I saw that indeed, the ridges west of the waterfalls made a place even better than I had hoped. First we crossed a frozen stream, so that showed us we were just south of the waterfalls. The stream was not wide; some crevasse in the earth near the falls probably led some of the water away. Even so, the ponies did not much like to set their feet on smooth ice. All but my gelding jumped the frozen stream instead, though it was almost too far for them. My pony lowered his head to snuffle the ice and then picked his feet up high and set them down gently and crossed without so much fuss.

A little farther along, we came to a sheltered meadow, not large, but protected on three sides and part of another. One could not come to this meadow without turning into a narrow passage between the roots of the mountains and riding some distance up and around the curve of a high, sloping ridge. Then there was this meadow, at the base of a sheer cliff with broken rock tumbled below the cliff. I thought this was the meadow Arayo had mentioned, and it seemed good enough, though not as well hidden as I might have preferred.

Meadows of this kind are everywhere along the feet of the mountains, and of course people like to camp in such places if they are traveling or hunting. If the place had been larger, people would surely have camped here often, but it was so small, and the passage through the ridges too narrow for wagons, and the waterfalls were not here, but back to the east. But it was a good place for us. The grass was good in this place; goats had come down to graze. The goats were the white ones with the short black horns, the kind that usually stay higher up in the mountains. As we rode closer, they fled, leaping up the cliff at the head of that meadow. Even the tawny goats with the curled horns could not manage a cliff as sheer as that, nor a white leopard. An eagle will sometimes strike a goat from that kind of cliff to make her fall, then follow her down to feast at leisure. I looked for eagles, but I did not see any in the sky now.

But, although this was not a bad place to camp, it was not the place Arayo had in his mind. We would never have found the second meadow except that he knew exactly where to go. If one rode along the cliff at the head of the first meadow, then one might find a second gap, much narrower, barely wide enough for a pony. The entrance to this gap was almost entirely disguised by fallen rock, but, once one found the place and passed through that gap, one came to another meadow, a very tiny lea with steep cliffs to all sides.

“Some young inGara men showed me,” Arayo explained, after we had picked our way through the gap into the secret meadow beyond. “This is a good place for young men to camp. Both these meadows are good, far enough away from the waterfalls that young men may make as much noise as they wish without disturbing anyone there. But this one is much better for young men who are practicing raiding skills. Also, you see, there is a seep where water comes down.” He gestured to the cliffs, where, indeed, a trickle of free water ran down the ice and stone and disappeared into a small, icy pool, not entirely frozen over. That was not enough water for a large camp, but for a small camp, it was very good.

Vayu was looking around with clear approval. “A good place,” he said. “Difficult for enemies to find, easy to defend. Someone could climb up there, above the gap, and shoot down at people trying to come into this lea. One or two warriors, standing at the mouth of the gap with spears, could make it even more difficult for enemies to come into this place.”

“Yes,” Arayo agreed. “All this is true. You see there, a gate has been left here so that people may block the gap and leave a small number of ponies loose.”

Vayu nodded. “A gate like that makes this place even easier to defend. This place seems very, very good to me. Can one climb from here back to the waterfalls?”

Arayo signed assent. “The climb is difficult at first, very difficult for an older man, but not as bad for a young man. The climb is easier after the first part. I think we should set up our tent now, here, and leave the ponies, and climb back that way to look down at those people in their camp and see who is there. We can find a place to wait where young men might come if they wish to hunt fox or other small beasts.”

“Yes,” Vayu said, and I nodded.

We pulled the gate across the gap, as Arayo had said, and unsaddled the ponies and left them loose to graze. Then we set up our tent close to the seep, among the rocks, at the base of the cliff. The clouds gathering in the sky had thickened all day; there would be no Moon or stars to light the world tonight, so we would not want to do those necessary tasks later, in the dark.

Then we made our way softly back along the cliffs and high ridges toward the waterfalls where we thought those people would camp. As Arayo had warned us, the first part of this was a difficult climb, but then it became easier, and coming that way, over the cliffs, the distance was not great.

Those people were there, just as we had thought they would be. When we came to a place where we could creep forward and look down at the base of the cliffs, we found them arranging their wagons and tents to make a comfortable camp. They had opened the sluice to water their ponies and their few cattle—no one travels away from the Convocation with many cattle except the tribe that hosts the gathering. There were more people there than I had realized, perhaps as many as twice forty people, and some more than that, even setting aside the young children. I stupidly looked for my father’s tent before I remembered he would not be here—he could not be here—by this time, the sentence must have been carried out.

He might be dead. Probably he was dead. Or if not yet, then soon.

I drew a breath, let it out, and began to try to see who was here. We had crept close enough to recognize the people at this end of the camp, though perhaps not those at the far end.

Beside me, Vayu had become still. I followed his gaze and found, not at all to my surprise, that his father’s tent was there. Gataga, Vayu’s father, stood high among the inTasiyo, so his tent was large and easy to identify by the patterns of quills worked into the hides. But I saw something else that surprised me very much: Duryo’s head, hanging from one corner of that tent, tied up by the hair, the way an enemy’s head might be tied up and displayed.

After the first moment, as the shock of that sight faded, I thought how everything must have happened after so many people had deserted the inTasiyo. I should not have been surprised at all. I should have expected exactly this.

Among the inGara, the inKera, other tribes like that, the lord of the tribe said who would be warleader, not the other way around. Among the inTasiyo, Yaro was the one who had decided Duryo was lord of the tribe. Everyone had accepted this decision, of course they had, but many people had hated Duryo. Gataga had certainly hated him. I was not surprised that Gataga had seized the chance offered by the disaster that had come upon the inTasiyo. He must think that Duryo had lost so much standing he could kill him and Yaro would let that act pass.

Beside me, Vayu murmured, “Your father must have put the blame for everything on Duryo, Tano, and so rid himself of it. He probably killed Duryo himself. My father is probably lord of the inTasiyo now—or he thinks he is.” He winced slightly. “He will be very, very angry when he is told that the inTasiyo no longer exist as a people.”

I blinked. I had not thought of that. I absolutely should have thought of it. The moment Vayu said this, I could see everything had probably happened in exactly that way. When I looked for Gataga, I found him easily among the others. At once I saw that yes, he almost certainly did think he was lord. He was speaking to other people in that way, plainly giving orders that he expected them to obey.

Gataga was easy to recognize, even from a distance. He was not as big a man as Yaro, but almost as tall; not as forceful or as clever, but almost as dangerous. He carried the kind of sword that is too long to be worn at the hip, the kind that must be worn over the back. Most warriors carry lighter swords, not quite so long, because the draw is faster from the hip. But some warriors prefer those greater swords, and certainly with a great sword of that kind, a warrior will be especially dangerous in any fight. Gataga was very, very dangerous in any serious fight. None of the other warriors I saw here stood higher than he did.

I looked for other people who might be even more dangerous than Gataga. Tewaro was more dangerous. Yaro would not have made Tewaro lord. He had other uses for Tewaro, sending him to carry out the kinds of important raids that in other tribes would be carried out by the warleader. Though I looked carefully, Tewaro did not seem to be among these people. This made me very uneasy.

“Arayo,” I said, and hesitated.

“Yes,” he said, his tone not at all impatient, which was kinder than I deserved.

I said, “This is something we should tell the lord of the inGara. He should know that Yaro might have sent a dangerous warrior, a man named Tewaro, to lead a vicious raid against the inGara. I would have expected to see this man among the people here. Since I do not see him here and since he was not with Yaro either, I think probably this is how it happened. If—if the lord of the inGara is too angry to listen to me, perhaps you will explain this.”

“Sinowa inGara will listen to this important concern no matter how angry he may be,” Arayo told me. “I am very, very certain, Tano. Completely certain.”

I glanced at him and away again. Then I signed assent. I was not nearly so certain, but probably Arayo was not wrong.

“Yakaga is not in that camp either,” Vayu said, his tone neutral.

I nodded. Yakaga was certainly not in that camp. He would be hard to miss. He was the kind of man who always involved himself in every important decision and dispute. He was a poet, not a warrior, so most of the time warriors stepped back when Yakaga put himself forward. Not Tewaro, who stepped back only for my father, but almost everyone else. If Yakaga were here, we would certainly see him. He had probably left the Convocation grounds with some other group of inTasiyo. But as he was a poet, I was not as concerned about what he might do.

I agreed with Vayu that his father was probably lord now. He had dismissed the other people to whom he had been speaking and stood by himself. He looked calm, decisive, strong … and, when he turned to gaze away to the east, worried. That was not very obvious. But the way he stood for a long breath, shading his eyes to look away in that direction, the way he turned suddenly and looked around at the camp, the way he had obviously directed some of the other men to set a close guard, all these things made it plain that he was thinking of many problems that concerned him. He did not feel safe.

Gataga might not be as clever a man as my father or Tewaro or Kanu or some others, but he was not a stupid man. He knew how great a disaster had come upon the inTasiyo—or of course Vayu was right: Gataga did not know exactly how great that disaster had been—but he knew how hard the first blow had struck. He knew that very well indeed, as his elder son had taken his younger son and walked away. He would be bitterly furious, but of course he must also be worried. He must be trying hard to think of different ways to keep the tribe from being ruined.

He would not know Yaro was dead. He would not know anything about the sentence Koro had decreed. Gataga might expect Yaro to come here at any moment, riding in triumph into this camp with the tale of victory cleverly won. If Yaro had killed Ryo—or Garoyo—if he had succeeded in making everyone think an inKera warrior had done that—then Yaro might indeed have come into this camp in exactly that way, laughing, pulling all the inTasiyo here together to laugh and agree that the blow struck against them had not been so very hard, that they could recover from that blow and strike against the inGara in some clever way, gather allies to themselves, force weaker tribes to obey them, and recover their standing.

Gataga might well be trying to decide what he should do if that happened, what he might do if that did not happen. He would be thinking of ways to keep at least some of his people together, even if Yaro did not come, ways to stop people from changing their minds and going back to the Convocation grounds to beg for places in other tribes, or from riding away from this large group to go somewhere else rather than back to the lands of the inTasiyo. I wondered how many people had been with this group when they left the Convocation, how many might have gone since that time. Most of all, before everything else, Gataga must be worried that so many of these people would leave that he would himself lose all the standing he held now.

Then a different thought struck me. Surely Vayu could not think of going down to those people, to his father, to try to explain everything that had happened.

No, of course he could not. Even if Vayu wanted to go down and explain everything to his father, he was not nearly stupid enough to think his father would let him walk away again. Vayu would know it was impossible.

As I thought that, Vayu turned his head and met my eyes. He glanced down the slope and shook his head, just enough for me to see it. He had realized what I was thinking. Of course he had. It was an obvious thought.

He might be lying to me.

Probably he was not lying to me. He had been brave enough to take his younger brother and beg a place from the lord of the inKera. Vayu could not possibly try to go down and speak to his father now. No, going down to that camp would most certainly be extraordinarily foolish, for many different reasons. He would not do it. I was almost entirely certain.

Girls and young women were lighting fires, bringing water from the waterfalls. Men had taken one of the cows away from the others to slaughter. Abundant water would make that task easier too. The cow was thin. Better animals would have been left to the care of inTasiyo herdsmen in their own lands. Those few cattle remaining to the inTasiyo here had been brought all the way from their lands and would now be slaughtered along the return journey. Warriors might go up into the mountains here to hunt goats, the kind we had seen or the kind with curled horns, but obviously they would not do so this afternoon or they would not have decided to slaughter a cow. That was very good, but also bad. Of course we did not want to be discovered unless we were ready to be seen, but also we needed to ambush someone so that we could explain everything. The young warriors who would be most likely to hunt would be better targets than older warriors.

Arayo said softly, “One of us could call like a fox. That might bring young men up here.”

That was a good idea. That would very likely work. Dusk would not come for a long time yet. Those people had made their camp so early that young men might very well want something else to do—and if they came up into the mountains after a fox, they might not be ordered to help with the cow that had been slaughtered. Very soon, the foxes would lose their white coats, taking their color instead from the earth and stones. If anyone hoped to take white fox skins before the weather warmed, they would have to do it soon.

I would still rather have approached Kanu and his people—I had more confidence that Kanu would recognize truth when he heard it—but everything about Arayo’s idea was good.

I drew breath to say so, but Vayu touched my arm, nodding to the east.

A handful of warriors were riding toward the camp, fast, not in the manner of men who were concerned that they might be pursued, but making a show, the way men will when they have taken a white tiger or some other impressive trophy and want everyone to look at them and admire their daring. Of course they could not have killed a tiger; the great tigers do not come into the high north. But perhaps a white leopard … they had taken a prisoner, a man. He rode in their midst, but he was not one of them; that was entirely obvious. His pony was on a lead rein, and his arms had obviously been bound behind his back, and he rode in the manner of a captive, his head bowed.

I think I realized who that captive must be the instant I saw they had brought a prisoner with them, not a leopard. I did not believe it—I did not want to believe it—there was nothing I wanted to believe less—but I knew.

Then they came close enough that we could see better. They came into the camp, shouting, everyone turning to look, and their captive straightened his back and lifted his chin proudly, trying not to show that he was afraid, and anyone would have known him.

“Raga,” Arayo breathed.

8 –

Of course it was Raga. I understood instantly: some inTasiyo warriors had gotten past Matya inVotaro, past every inVotaro warrior, and Raga had come across those inTasiyo warriors, and they had recognized him. He had probably ridden right up to those warriors thinking they were also inVotaro—or else thinking he would simply explain everything that had happened and they would believe him and say Oh, yes, the tomb! That is indeed a problem! and ride away, west, leaving him alone. I was so blindingly furious at Raga’s stupidity that I almost did not feel sick.

Not his stupidity. My stupidity. The instant I had realized that small numbers of inTasiyo were riding away from the main group, I should have thought of this possibility. Of course some of the inTasiyo might try to get past the close guard of the inVotaro, hoping to raid the inGara in some clever way—or if they did not dare try that, then the inKera, or the inRasiko, or someone. Of course people who wanted to do that would be especially dangerous, or they would not have thought of trying to raid at all, especially not after they realized the inVotaro had put themselves in the way. Of course the inVotaro, arrogant and too certain of their own reputation, might fail to stop enemies more clever than they expected. Obviously if any of the inTasiyo people came across Raga, they would at once abandon every other plan, take him prisoner and bring him back—especially if someone among them thought he could raise his own standing that way, challenge Gataga, and step up before everyone else.

The moment I had understood that some inTasiyo might be leaving the main group, I should have immediately insisted on turning back, finding Raga, making sure he came safely back to the Convocation grounds. I should never have assumed that the inVotaro would guard those grounds so carefully that enemies could not get past them. I had been unbelievably careless and stupid.

There was no time to think about that. Already the warriors had pulled Raga off his pony. Vayu’s father Gataga was striding that way. The warriors did not wait for him to come to them, but thrust Raga down to the earth, not letting him kneel properly, shoving him down, kicking him so that he sprawled on his face, helpless and humiliated. Of course they did that. That was exactly how they would handle an inGara—especially a son of Sinowa inGara. They would want to humiliate him, break his pride. They would not kill him quickly.

That meant there might be time to do something useful.

Arayo drew breath to speak. I spoke first. I said softly, intensely, “Vayu. Go down to your father. Be proud—be arrogant. You know exactly how you should look, so look like that. Say that you fooled the lord of the inKera completely, say that you fooled everyone. Say that you used your little brother to fool them all, that they believe you are one of them. Tell your father that you persuaded Raga to come away from the Convocation grounds, make up a reason that he was alone when they found him. Say anything that will make your father order everyone to keep their knives sheathed.”

Vayu looked at me. He was pale, but he drew a breath and straightened his shoulders. “Yes,” he said.

I nodded. I believed him. But that was not enough, it could not be enough—not for Arayo. There was no time to be subtle or clever. “You will do this,” I said. “You are inKera now. You will do this. Tell Arayo so.”

Vayu nodded. He met Arayo’s eyes. “I will do exactly as Tano says,” he said. “I will do it. I will protect Raga. That is the truth.” He did not say I swear it before the gods. He probably did not think of saying that. That kind of vow did not mean anything to the inTasiyo—and if I told him to say it, that would be worse.

But Arayo gave Vayu a long look and a curt nod. Then he looked back at me. He did not ask any questions. That surprised me a little, but there was no time for surprise either. “Come with me,” I said to him, and began to creep back the way we had come, except much faster.

The way back to the hidden meadows seemed much farther than before. At least the ponies were just where we had left them. I did not take the time to saddle my gelding; I did not even look at the packs. I threw the pad over his back, cinched it tight, and jumped up to ride that way, snatching up the lead rein for Vayu’s pony as well. Arayo did the same, following my lead, leaving his pony’s saddle. I did not wait, only turned my gelding back toward the narrow gap and then sent him through the first of the small, sheltered meadows and out again, into the wide land beyond.

Arayo brought his pony up beside mine. He said, “We do not have time to ride all the way back to where we passed those inVotaro warriors—and if we did ride that far, we would probably not be able to find them—and certainly we cannot ride all the way back to the Convocation grounds—”

“Of course not,” I said. Then I said, “Before, I thought it might be good to find Kanu and those people. Now I think we have to do that, very fast. Those tracks you saw, where the people were on foot—the snow is so much less—”

“I can find the place,” Arayo said. He took the lead, urging his pony to a canter. Most of the snow was gone, pulled back into the air as the sky cleared and the wind raked down from the mountains. Even when we came to places where snow lingered, even though I recognized the place where we had crossed the frozen stream the first time, our tracks were not very obvious to me. If Arayo had not been with me, I would never have been able to find the tracks of the people we sought. Even Arayo might not be able to find them now.

Even if we did, those tracks might not belong to Kanu and his small group. If we did find Kanu, everything would be difficult in one way; if we found someone else, everything would be difficult in a different way. Almost certainly a worse way. I began to line up arguments behind my teeth. Kanu would not want to listen to me. He would have no regard for me at all. That was a problem. If I shot someone, that would make Kanu think again. If Sokano were there, I would be glad to shoot him, but Arayo might protest. Also, now maybe we needed Sokano—Kanu might need him—Kanu might need every person who would support him. That was a different reason to try something else.

Arayo could speak to Kanu. If he knew the right things to say, then Kanu would listen to him. But I was not certain that Arayo would listen to me when I told him what he should say.

If we could not find those people, if we did not find them soon enough, then I would have to try arguing Vayu’s father into letting Raga go. That would be … I did not want to have to try to do that. Gataga was not my father, no, or everything would be impossible. He might be a little easier to manage than Kanu, or than someone like Tewaro … a very little. Kanu and Tewaro and Yakaga were all more clever than Gataga, and even when I understood how a man thought and what he wanted, it was so much harder when he was intelligent and had his own ideas about what he should do. But even if Gataga was not that clever, going into that camp would be very dangerous. Certainly I did not want to take Arayo into that kind of danger.

Maybe I could make Arayo ride east for help, then go into that camp by myself. Maybe I could fool Gataga. Especially if Vayu helped me. I thought he would help me. I hoped he would help me.

The one thing I could not do, I could not possibly tell Ryo that those people had taken his younger brother as their prisoner and I had not even tried to get Raga away from them. I began to line up arguments that might make Gataga let Raga go.

Arayo began, “Even if we find this Kanu and his people—”

I said, much more impatiently than I had intended, “I am thinking. Find that trail.”

He let out a breath and urged his pony past me, studying the earth to both sides. I glanced up, measuring the distance the Sun stood above the earth. An astoundingly short time had passed, but even so, it was too much time. I could not guess how long Vayu might hold them. If his father refused to listen to him … Gataga might not believe Vayu had gone to the inKera as a ruse … he was not actually stupid. But he would want to believe it. I thought he would probably believe it, at least for a time, at least if Vayu could behave in a way that made it seem true.

Vayu could do that. I was certain he could do it. I was almost certain he would try hard to do it. But that was something I wanted to believe. I could not be certain. I had to plan for the problems that might come if I were wrong about Vayu, wrong about everything, and I felt I had too many problems to think about already.

“Here,” Arayo said suddenly, checking his pony, gesturing to the earth. “There is the trail.” He traced a line in the air, showing me the way he thought these other people had traveled. This was a shallow curve, back west and also north, toward the roots of the mountains. That path would take us around the waterfalls in a way that would bring us among the long ridges that stretched out from the mountains. People on foot could probably stay unseen there for a long time if they were careful. Avoiding notice would be harder for people riding.

Avoiding Kanu’s notice was not important, not now. Indeed, now it would be stupid to try to surprise Kanu. The last thing we wanted now was to make anyone call out or shout. Now it was far more important to avoid the notice of the people from the camp and not at all important to slip the notice of Kanu and his people.

The path Arayo indicated seemed reasonable. That path would not take us too close to the camp, or not too quickly. I nodded that we should go that way, but I said, “Arayo, when we find Kanu, we might say different things. This depends on what he might want to hear. One thing he might like to hear is that this is a good chance for him to take precedence among the inTasiyo. But if he does not want that, another thing he might like is a promise that if he helps us get Raga away from Gataga, then the lord of the inGara will permit Kanu to come into the inGara, or he will give him many ponies, whatever Kanu asks.”

“Tano—”

“It does not matter if it is true!” Probably it mattered very much. But not right now. That was a problem for later. I pushed aside every kind of thought about days to come and went on as forcefully as I could. “I know your people scorn lies, but we are not that far from that camp—if you listen, you may be able to hear Raga screaming. If you cannot hear that yet, you will hear it soon.”

That warning struck Arayo like a blow. I saw it go home. Pressing my advantage, I said, still forcefully, “Listen to me. If we find him, Kanu will probably begin by threatening us—threatening you. If he does, tell him your name. Tell him your father cares for you so little that he gave you to the inGara as a tuyo even though he had no need to do it, the enmity was not that bitter and your people were not even at war with the inGara. Kanu will have heard that tale, he will know it is true, so everything you say after that will seem more likely to be true.”

Arayo said nothing. I could not tell whether he was listening to me or arguing with me in his mind.

I said, “You might tell Kanu that if he kills you, that will be nothing to your father, that will be nothing to anyone. But the lord of the inGara cares very much for his son. Tell him that he can use that. If I say something, anything, you must not contradict me. But you might say that you wanted to impress the lord of the inGara because your standing among the inGara is low and you wanted to gain precedence. You let me come with you because you thought I could help you because I know the inTasiyo people. If Kanu asks why Raga came this far from the Convocation grounds, you might say that you thought Raga could help you, but he does not have the skills of a warrior, he was careless, so you sent him away, meaning for him to return to his mother’s camp. But Gataga’s people took him. Now you want Kanu to help you get him back. Kanu will ask if other people are with you. If he does, say no. Say you have no friends among the inGara because you are not one of their people. That is why you thought you might use me.”

He was trying not to show his dismay, but by this time I could see that something, perhaps everything, in this had dismayed him. He began, “Tano—”

“He may think you are lying, but that does not matter, that may even be useful. If he thinks you have friends out here, not far away, that is not necessarily a bad thing. But if he will not be persuaded, then come back to the idea that the lord of the inGara will be very, very pleased with anyone who brings Raga back to him.”

“Yes,” he said with resolve. “That part is certainly true. What if we cannot find the man you seek, if this is some other man, some other people?”

“Whomever we find, the same, unless I say something else, and then you must agree with me.”

“I will agree with anything you say,” he promised me.

I nodded, breathing deeply. If we could not find anyone at all … or if the people we found were too stupid, or too intelligent, or too vicious … I thought of the word Raga had used. That was the right word for many of the inTasiyo. I had not thought of that before.

I said, “I think people on foot, the right number of people, will probably be Kanu and his people. But if I am wrong, if we find the wrong people, we may have to shoot them all, if we can do that. We would have to make them think we are not dangerous, then shoot them. Will you do that?”

He plainly did not want to say yes. “Tano—”

“Not unless there is no choice,” I promised him. “I promise you, I do not want to do that at all. If we are forced to kill these people, they would be entirely useless.” I took a breath and added, “I have a different idea for what we could try to do should that happen. We could ride back to the big camp at the waterfalls and you could tell Gataga that you would trade me for Raga. That might—”

“Tano!” he said sharply, “I cannot possibly trade you for Raga! He would never forgive me. Ryo would never forgive me!”

I had not thought of that. But it was not true, and it did not matter. I said, “As soon as Raga understands the death they will give him, he will certainly forgive you anything you do to save him from that, and I am very certain Ryo would agree, but this would be a ruse. Everything is a ruse. Arayo, it is very important that you understand you cannot believe anything anyone says. You must be ready to see when a lie might be more useful than the truth. If you need to make that offer, you must certainly do it. I would not be nearly as much at risk as Raga. Gataga will not kill me, not as long as he thinks Yaro is alive! He does not know Yaro is dead, and he will want to throw me at my father’s feet. But he may think he could take me away from you and give you nothing. You could prevent that by threatening to kill me yourself—he will not want that.”

“Tano—”

Ignoring his attempt to break in, I said as forcefully as I could, “You would not tell Gataga that Yaro is dead, you would say nothing of that. If Gataga thinks Yaro might come, he will certainly want me in his hands. But if everything happens in a different way, it might be good to tell Kanu that Yaro is dead. That is something he might want to hear—he would see immediately he might gain more among the inTasiyo if Yaro is dead. But it might be better if he does not know his people have become nameless.”

“I understand what you tell me.”

I could not make Arayo lie. Or forgive me for telling him to lie. I had no choice but to explain what I had to explain, and there was no time to try to find a different way to persuade him. I said, “If either of them threatens you or me, you should warn them that the lord of the inGara will not be offended if they kill either of us, that the lord of the inKera will not care about that, but if anyone kills Raga, that person and all his allies will die hard deaths before they travel another hand of days from that place. That will be true, so you should—”

We had been riding all this time, and now Arayo held up an urgent hand. “There they are. They have already seen us.”

As soon as I looked up, I could see the people ahead of us. They had certainly already seen us. They were standing in a loose group below the ridge that stretched out before us and to the right. They all had their bows in their hands, with arrows to the string. Four men and two women, as I had thought. Not only the warriors held bows; so did one of the women. Gatta. I recognized her first by the way she stood. From that, I knew these people must be the ones I had hoped. Then I recognized Kanu himself.

“That is Kanu,” I murmured, indicating him. My stomach tightened, but I was very much relieved. Kanu was dangerous, but he was not as dangerous as Gataga. Kanu was a clever man, but more cautious than forceful. Almost all the time, Kanu preferred to win his own way through cleverness. But, once he knew Yaro was dead, I thought he might become less cautious and more forceful—he would understand a chance had come for him to improve his position and that this chance would not last.

Also, because Kanu had only thirty winters, he did not care as much about the enmity with the inGara as older people. After everything that had happened, he would be much more concerned with other things, especially improving his own position. And he did not like Gataga. I was almost certain my idea to find Kanu had been good. I certainly hoped this had been a good idea.

I asked Arayo, my voice low, “You remember what you should say?”

Arayo signed assent, his expression set. He said, “If we go closer than this, and they choose to shoot, there will be nothing we can do.”

I nodded, but I said, “They will not shoot. They are not that stupid.” I sent my pony forward again, but I went on. “Sokano might want to shoot us, he is stupid and that makes him dangerous. He is the man there, on the end. Baroyo is next to Sokano. He is not as stupid, but he is more dangerous in other ways—he likes to frighten people, kill people. But he will obey Kanu. Yosaro is the one on the other side. He is probably the least dangerous of these men unless Kanu decides to take us prisoner or kill us. Direct everything you say to Kanu. He will want to know who we are. As soon as they recognize me, they will want to know who you are and why you came here. Ah, there, Kanu has recognized me. Now there is no chance they will shoot carelessly.”

Kanu had certainly recognized me.

He was the kind of man who pretended to see less than he did, but he was not as vicious as some among the inTasiyo. When I had most needed not to be noticed, he had still noticed me. He had not used that against me. Or not exactly. Not very much, nor very often.

He was the kind of man who pretended to be less forceful than suited his true nature. Now, with only these few companions about him, as we came up to them, Kanu was much more willing to show his own force of character. He said curtly to his own people, “Do not look at these young men! They are not the danger. Put your attention to every other direction.”

The other warriors did as they were told. The women stared at us, and Kanu kept his attention on us as well. He gave me a long, assessing look. “Tano,” he said. “Do you bring me these ponies? What else do you bring me? Who is this?”

I looked at Arayo, widening my eyes, pretending I had no idea how to answer anything myself.

Arayo looked steadily at Kanu. He had not reached for his bow. Obviously that would be very stupid, but it can be hard not to reach for a weapon when other people are threatening you. I had forgotten to tell him not to do that. But Arayo sat still, his manner calm, his expression calm, his hands folded on the saddle of his pony. He said, “Your name is Kanu? I have a problem. So do you. I think you should help me with my problem, and then I will help you with your problem.”

“Yes?” Kanu said. He was a little amused. He showed that. He wanted us to see that. He was also alert, and paying careful attention to everything. That, he showed less, but I knew it was true.

Arayo said, “I stupidly took the youngest son of the lord of the inGara away from the Convocation grounds. He wished to come, but obviously this was a very bad mistake, very stupid. Your people took him—the people who used to be yours. Some inTasiyo warriors brought him into that camp there—” Arayo gestured toward the camp. “A hand of time ago, a little more. You want to raid that camp, take ponies, supplies, other things? So, that would probably be useful if you can do it. But raiding in that way carries risk. I think you should help me take this son of Sinowa inGara away from those people. If you help me do that, you will not have to raid to get what you need. The lord of the inGara will give you anything you ask if you help me get his son away from his enemies.”

Everything in this was actually true. That was impressive. Nothing in that would even make Kanu believe anything that was not true. That was even more impressive. Also, I saw now that I should have suggested exactly this strategy to Arayo. Obviously this was easier for him than truly lying would be.

Kanu had raised his eyebrows. “Who are you, young warrior?”

“Arayo inKera. I am the son of Hokino inKera. My father gave me—”

“To the inGara, yes. Everyone knows that story. The inKera follow the inGara now as a fox follows a wolf, hoping for scraps.” Kanu looked Arayo up and down. Then he gestured to me. “That is Tano inTasiyo. Why did you bring him here? Or did he persuade you to come, thinking he might join in a raid against the inTasiyo and so prove his loyalty to the inGara?” He looked at me. “Well, Tano?”

I was cursing inwardly, but I kept my face blank and my eyes wide, pretending to be stupid.

He said, “Do not try that with me, Tano inGara. Getting away from your father last summer was not the act of a stupid young man. Did you fool Vayu to make him help you? Or did you threaten him in some manner to make him do it? I have wondered.”

I had not expected that. I did not know what to say.

Kanu smiled, but his eyes were cold. He said, “I know perfectly well what you did to your father these few days past. You meant to make him break the ban. That was also not the act of a stupid young man. Failing to carry the ruse to its proper conclusion was stupid. That showed a lack of resolution. But now here you are. This is surprising. Did you mean to win your father’s good opinion even after everything you did and everything you tried to do? That would be difficult, but throwing both a son of Sinowa inGara and a nephew of Soro inKera down before him might be enough.”

I almost said yes. I could see two different ways it might be useful if Kanu believed that. I was opening my mouth to say yes, but at the last instant, I realized he did not believe that, that he only wanted to see what I might say. I looked at him in a different way, not pretending to be stupid now, and said instead, “My father is dead.”

I had not intended to say that—I had not realized I intended to say that—but I saw how those words struck Kanu, how shocked he was. So I said it again. “My father is dead.” Then I went on, speaking as coldly as I could. “Tewaro is not there in that camp. Yakaga is not there either. Gataga stands highest among those people. When Yaro does not return, given a little time to arrange everything as he wishes, Gataga will take Yaro’s place—unless someone else forces him to step back. Many of the younger men would follow you, Kanu, if you stepped out in front of them and showed them you know how to lead men. And if you return the son of the lord of the inGara to him, though he might not give you anything you ask, at least he might not destroy any people you lead.”

Kanu was standing very still. All three of the other warriors had forgotten his orders, turning to stare at me. Gatta had lowered her bow. Tatig said, her voice high and thin, “Yaro is dead?”

“He is lying,” Sokano said harshly. “Of course he is lying. Let me have him, Kanu, and I will make him say he is lying.”

I did not look at Sokano, nor at anyone else. Only at Kanu. I said, “Arayo.”

Arayo said, his tone flat, “Yaro inTasiyo tried to kill the second-youngest son of Sinowa inGara. He failed. Now he stands voiceless and handless before the gods, who will surely judge him harshly. All your people are nameless people now. There is no tribe now called inTasiyo. All the skulls from the lowest tombs have become nameless as well. All those skulls will be thrown out into the open, to be destroyed by animals and weather. Tano wanted to warn your people of that, so that you could guard the skulls of your people, though that warning is plainly more generosity than your people are due.”

I was not at all certain he should have said all this, but maybe the moment had been right. And he had been careful not to name Vayu, so that was good.

Arayo went on. “People who walked away from the inTasiyo when the gods put the chance into their hands were wise to do that. Now anyone who used to be inTasiyo would do well to win the tolerance of the lord of the inGara. If anyone stands at a distance, watching while nameless people who used to be inTasiyo tear the youngest son of Sinowa inGara to pieces, then that person will live only long enough to understand how stupid a mistake that was, how unnecessary a mistake. You would do much better to help me take Raga inGara away from these nameless enemies of the inGara before the chance is lost.”

That was a good suggestion, and Arayo had certainly spoken in a very convincing manner. Taking the chance this offered, I said forcefully, “Kanu, you were never very cruel to me—unless my father was watching. He is not watching now, Kanu. He will never be watching again. This is the time to choose for yourself what you should do. Everything Arayo says is true.”

“The part about the skulls?” Tatig asked.

“Everything,” I told her. “Koro inKarano decreed that the inTasiyo have ceased to exist, that no people have that name now.”

A silence lingered after that. Kanu was thinking, trying to decide what was true and what he should do. He might not believe anything I said, but probably he understood he should believe Arayo. That was not why I had wanted Arayo to come with me—I had not thought of that at all—but it would have been a good reason.

Kanu drew breath to speak, but at that moment, in the quiet of the pause that had come to us, the sound of a thin, high scream came clearly. From the sound, the inTasiyo camp was even closer than I had thought.

I said quickly to Arayo, “They are not killing him, not yet—that would be stupid, stupid in at least two different ways, and Gataga is not stupid.”

Arayo’s hands had tightened on his pony’s reins. He said, his tone curt, “I am going there. Kanu, you would do best to help me, but if you will not, then stay out of my way—unless you think you can lie to everyone who comes to ask what happened here.”

“You are not going there,” Kanu told him. “But you may follow.” He gave a little nod. “You should follow. Yes. But quietly, until the right moment comes.” He looked at me. “When that moment comes, ask me where your father is. You understand?” I signed assent and he nodded curtly and said, “Give me that pony.” Slinging his bow, dropping the arrow he had held back into the quiver, Kanu came to take the reins of the third pony. I let him do so, and he met my eyes for a heartbeat.

Then he swung onto the pony’s back and said to Arayo, “Whatever lies you are telling me, whether you are a son of Hokino inKera or otherwise, I do not care. I think that is probably truly a son of Sinowa inGara, and I agree it is not sensible to make him scream like that here on inGara lands. I understand why Gataga thinks that is a good thing to do, but he is a fool. If everything you told me is true, a fool twice over.” He nodded to me. “Give your pony to Yosaro, Tano.” Then he said to Arayo, “Give your pony to Sokano.” He said to Baroyo, “Stay with these women and follow. Be careful when you come to the edge of the camp. Look carefully and understand what you see before you come farther than the edge.”

Then Kanu added to Sokano, “This is not the time to strike a careless blow that cannot be called back. Shoot either of these young men and I will cut off your feet and leave you for the inGara, or for whatever people take an interest. Gatta, take that warning for yourself as well.”

Then Kanu rode away, toward the camp.

Arayo had not expected that. Neither had I, exactly, but I was not exactly surprised either. I was already sliding down from my pony’s back, tossing the reins to Yosaro, who took them without a word. Sokano curled his lip in scorn, but when Arayo leaped down from his pony, he took those reins, mounted, and rode away after the other two.

Arayo and I looked at each other. Then Arayo looked at Baroyo and at the women. Baroyo held up a hand to show he did not intend to fight. He said, “We should follow,” and began to walk that way, long strides, not jogging, but walking fast.

The rest of us followed Baroyo. Gatta had slung her bow. She said, “I would not have shot you,” to Arayo. She looked after Kanu and then back at Arayo, not glancing at me, not at all certain she should speak to me. But Tatig asked me, “Is Yaro … is he truly dead?”

Arayo did not wait for me to answer. He said impatiently, “You need not ask that as though someone told you the Sun has fallen from the sky. Yes, he is dead, though perhaps he may be breathing yet. If your extraordinarily dishonorable and stupid people kill Raga, you will probably all die hard deaths. Sinowa inGara is a patient man in some ways, but in this, no. Gataga does not seem to understand how sharp a knife he holds by the blade. Kanu had better understand that.”

“Kanu will know at least that it might be very sharp,” I said. “And he does not like to take stupid risks—and some of the people here matter to him.”

“I hope you are right, Tano. You had better be right in everything.” Arayo jogged away, following Kanu and the other warriors toward the camp.

9 –

We came to that camp in a little time, not long. It had not been any great distance, only the land was more difficult here where the mountains stretched out their roots. I would much rather have circled around the camp again and looked down from above, where we could see everything and no one could easily see us or come to us. I would especially have preferred to do that as we had lost our ponies and now had no choice but to walk into this camp on foot. But Arayo would not choose any path but the straightest and quickest, and though this worried me, I could not say he was wrong. Sometimes the most direct path is the right path.

We still had bows. And knives. But if we had to fight … obviously we could not fight. If we had to fight, we had already lost.

Kanu should help us. He had at least one good reason not to kill us. Unless I had mistaken everything. I could see no way I could have mistaken everything, but I was not sure and my stomach clenched tight.

When we came there, past the wagons and tents and into the middle of the camp, no one noticed us at first. Baroyo and Tatig and Gatta were with us, and because they were familiar to the people here, that made these people pay less attention to us. Also, almost everyone was paying attention to Kanu and to Gataga.

Everything that had happened was clear by the time we had come far enough into the camp to see. Raga had been beaten; blood coated his back. So far as I could see from here, the beating had been bad, but not that bad. More than forty strokes, but probably not as many as twice forty. I did not doubt that he had stood for some time, but he was on his knees now. To shame him, his hands had been bound together and bound to a tent pole. He gripped the thong now. He might have been trying to get back to his feet, but if that were so, he had stopped. He was still now, except for his quick, sobbing breaths.

Vayu stood a little distance from Raga, slowly coiling a whip in his hands. The whip was bloody. The blood had smeared his hands and dripped onto the earth at his feet. His expression was arrogant. Coldly indifferent.

I knew that expression. I had seen him look like that many times. He was very good at looking like that.

His father stood a short distance from Vayu, his expression much the same. “—will never know,” he was saying. “We will be off their land soon enough, and they will not know we have him. Or if they do, then we will show them a drawn knife held to the young man’s throat, and then they will step back fast enough. Sinowa inGara will agree to anything to—”

“He is not a forgiving man, and you are a fool,” snapped Kanu. “If you were not a fool, you would have walked away two nights ago. You think inTasiyo can recover from what the inGara did to us, what the inKera did? Twice a fool, and too stubborn to admit it!”

“If you were not a coward, you would not have walked away!” Gataga returned, furious and bitter and also—I was very certain—afraid that Kanu might be right.

I touched Arayo on the arm and began to work my way around toward Vayu. He had finished coiling up the whip and now handed it to another young man, who took it in surprise. Vayu ignored him. He had seen me, his glance had crossed mine, though he had not shown even a flicker of awareness. He drew a knife, stepped to Raga, cut the thong, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him up.

“What are you doing?” snapped his father, rounding on him.

Vayu affected surprise. “Taking this young fool out of the way. If you are going to fight Kanu, you will not want him here.”

“I am not going to fight anyone! This coward is not inTasiyo—he walked away. He will not dare fight me. If he tries, no one here will stand at his back. He is not one of us.” Gataga looked around for support. Most of the people here would support him, not Kanu.

I took a deep breath. My stomach had knotted so tightly I thought I might be sick, but I widened my eyes, put a puzzled look on my face, stepped out where people would see me, and declared, “When my father comes, he will deal with Kanu. He will deal with you both! But where is my father?”

Gataga stared at me—everyone was staring at me. They had not realized I was here until I spoke. I wanted to back away out of their sight—I wanted to duck low and scramble out of everyone’s way and hide—that was impossible and also completely, entirely stupid.

Then, before Gataga could speak, Kanu laughed. His laugh was cold, scornful, and very confident. “Your father is dead,” he declared. “Yaro inTasiyo is dead!”

“No!” I shouted. “You are lying, Kanu!”

Kanu laughed again. “I have seen his body myself. Sinowa inGara cut off his hands. The lord of the inGara cut out his tongue. The inGara people took him away from their camp, bound him by one ankle to a stone too heavy for a man to move and left him there, with a fire burning but no fuel for that fire. The snow last night tried to cover his body, but the wind blew the snow away and left him naked beneath the sky. The foxes and the ravens had already found him by the time I came to the place.” Kanu looked around, slowly and contemptuously.

He had spoken with such assurance that I almost believed everything he had said myself. He knew exactly how to lie.

Kanu said to all the gathering, in the same contemptuous tone, “And you chose to take that son of Sinowa inGara and make sport of him. You will all die that kind of death if the inGara find out what you have done.” Then, not giving Gataga time to respond, he said to Vayu, “What are you doing here? You went to the inKera.”

Obviously Kanu had realized that Vayu was with us. I should have told him that, I saw that now, but I had not needed to tell him. He had understood it himself.

Vayu shrugged. “Soro inKera thought so.”

“Does he still think so? That is useful now. Take that young inGara with you. Take him back to his people—”

“No,” Gataga snapped.

Kanu looked at him. “Do you claim you have precedence?”

As the older man, Gataga should have held precedence. He would ordinarily have been able to force Kanu to back up. But Kanu clearly did not intend to do that. He made it look like he thought the warriors who supported him could defeat those who supported Gataga. That was probably not true even now. Gataga knew it, and took a breath, preparing to set himself forward and order his followers to seize Kanu—if not exactly that, something of the kind.

Before Gataga could do anything, say anything, Kanu said coldly, “Do not trouble yourself. I have no need to fight you, and it will do you no good to fight me.” Then he turned his back to Gataga. Everyone stopped because they thought a man who showed such contempt for an opponent must have a very good reason to think he held ascendence. Gataga himself stopped because Kanu made that gesture look so assured.

Kanu spoke again to Vayu. “Take that young one away. Tell the inKera and the inGara and anyone who is interested …” He looked around, marking those who were here and those who were not. Then he said, “Tell them Tewaro did this to the young man.”

A little stir went through the gathering as people understood the ruse Kanu intended. This was the name of a man who was not here, an important man among the inTasiyo, a man who might be his rival. Everyone understood that Kanu intended to set the inGara against Tewaro and thus remove an enemy. Everyone would think this clever. It was clever. By taking Raga away from Gataga and making Gataga look foolish, by setting the inGara against Tewaro, Kanu would very much improve his own position. Many, many people here would be thinking now that Kanu might be a good man to follow—if it was true that Yaro was dead.

Probably they would think no one would dare lie about that.

I was glad we were not actually facing Tewaro. He would have been more difficult to fool and more dangerous than Gataga, and Gataga was clever and dangerous enough.

Kanu went on, speaking briskly, still addressing Vayu. “Describe Tewaro and declare that he and some number of his allies did this. Direct them to look elsewhere for Tewaro and his people. He and his did not come this way with us. Tell the inGara that. Then come back or otherwise, as you find convenient.”

“Yes,” Vayu acknowledged.

“No,” snapped his father. “Vayu, I want you here, not among the—”

Kanu said coldly, “You would do better to want both your sons away and out of all the trouble that may come down upon us. I am entirely tempted to walk away again myself and leave every person here to whatever fate your stupidity brings down upon you. Yosaro, give Vayu that pony. Then take all those young men and establish a better watch.” He gestured around at all the people gathered around, avidly watching the confrontation. “The inGara must know this young man, son of their lord, rode out of their camp for some stupid reason. Probably they are looking for him. Probably they are already saying they should look for inTasiyo people who might know what happened to this young man. Probably they will not believe anything any inTasiyo says to them regarding this or any matter. Had none of you thought of that?”

Gataga began to answer.

Kanu cut him off, speaking in the same contemptuous tone. “If the inGara come in force, hunting inTasiyo, no one will stop them. Koro inKarano will not stop them. The inGara are ascendant now among the tribes. That is the truth, or Yaro would not have died the kind of death I saw. If the inGara decide to harry our people out of their lands, they will do it. They will probably permit the inKera to join them. Who knows what other tribe may choose to do so? Perhaps the inKarano will do so, and that would mean the inVotaro as well. I do not want to fight ten twenties of inVotaro warriors, so let us not permit ourselves to be forced into that kind of battle. Let everyone here remember that Tewaro is the man who used the young inGara that way.”

All around us, people glanced at one another, thinking what that might mean, if all those tribes came after them. They would have thought Yaro would prevent that. But if Yaro were dead … some of them would believe Kanu and some would not, but they would think he might be speaking the truth.

They would be realizing now if they did not obey Kanu, he would probably tell inGara warriors exactly what had happened to the youngest son of the lord of the inGara—that if they did not obey him, he would certainly do that. Unless Gataga killed Kanu. But they would be wondering who would obey Gataga if he gave the order to do that, wondering whether anyone would obey him.

Some of them, the people who were not too stupid, would understand that even if Kanu died here at this moment, anyone who told the inGara lord that Gataga and the people here had used his son in a cruel way could probably escape punishment, but they would not—unless they spoke first. They would be realizing that someone would certainly explain what had happened. Each of them would be thinking that perhaps he should do that, if a moment came when they faced many inGara warriors and the furious lord of the inGara.

Ignoring everyone else, while all those people remained indecisive, Vayu took the pony Yosaro brought him and half threw Raga onto the animal’s back. Raga gasped, caught his breath, and did his best to sit up straight. Arayo moved a step toward him, then realized he had drawn attention to himself and stopped.

“Who is that other young man?” Kanu asked Vayu, jerking his head at Arayo.

Vayu glanced over toward Arayo, his expression indifferent. “That is the worthless son of the inKera warleader, the boy valued so little that his father gave him away and Sinowa inGara did not even trouble to put him to death. He came after the son of the lord of the inGara, I suppose.”

Kanu made a dismissive gesture. “Take him with you,” he told Vayu. Nodding toward me, he added, “Take Yaro’s son with you as well. He is equally worthless. Now that his father is dead, no one here wants him. Sokano, give them your pony.” He turned his back and walked away, giving orders to other people as he went. His own people moved quickly to obey him. Gataga did not countermand his orders. If he spoke and was not obeyed, he would lose everything, so he could not risk speaking. For at least one more moment, that would be true. Then different people might begin to think and everything might become much more difficult. I looked urgently at Arayo.

Without a word, Arayo mounted the pony and held a hand down to me. I swung up behind him, as Vayu mounted in front of Raga. We rode out of that place slowly, at a walk, because that was safer than riding fast. The ponies, annoyed to carry double and especially displeased to do so this late in the afternoon, when they could see many other ponies set loose to graze in this place, laid their ears back and took small, mincing steps. None of us spoke, and as soon as we were out of that camp, we put both ponies to a fast gait so they would have other things to think about and stop protesting.

Vayu did not look over at Arayo or at me, but as soon as we had come far enough, he put his pony into a wide circle, south and west. He was right to do so. We could ride east as fast as we could, but we would not be able to keep a fast pace, not riding double—and if any of those people hunted us, they would find us. We needed to stay out of their sight, and Raga needed warmth and time to recover from what had been done to him.

We came back to the first hidden meadow and the second secret meadow almost at dusk. We were fortunate we came there no later than that, as the clouds had indeed thickened. The ponies remembered the way and found their way between the ridges and into the first of the small meadows without difficulty. After we had come that far, they knew where to go to find the second gap, or we would have had difficulty finding the place even though some daylight lingered when we came there.

The ponies were tired and irritated, barely willing to stand to be rubbed down, nipping at each other over the grain Vayu and I put out for them. We worked silently, and when we were finished, went equally silently to the tent and stooped to go in.

Arayo had lit a fire in the brazier and set water to heat for a tisane and brought snow to melt for more water. He had unwrapped the journey sticks and laid some of them out to be set over the brazier later, after the tisane was ready. He glanced up when we came there. The only light came from the brazier, so I could not make out his expression, only the direction of his gaze. He did not say anything.

Raga lay on his face, on a blanket spread out at the far end of the tent. His face was turned toward us and his eyes were open. Despite the dim light, I could see that Arayo had cleaned most of the blood off his back. I could see narrow lines across his skin, which would be new blood welling up and clotting.

“Vayu,” Raga said, not quite a whisper.

Vayu had moved aside to sit as far from Arayo and Raga as he could within the narrow confines of the tent. That was not very far. He had seated himself with his hands folded in his lap and his eyes lowered, very quiet. But when Raga spoke, he looked up, his expression cold and forbidding.

“You were right,” Raga said. “I thank you for—for your good advice, and—”

“Yes,” Vayu said, his manner curt. But a little of the coldness eased.

“I will sit up in another breath,” Raga said, speaking more firmly now. “Two breaths.”

“Stay where you are,” Vayu told him, still curt. “No one here thinks you are a coward, Raga.”

Raga made a small sound, almost amused. “Ryo would sit up. He would not show any pain at all. He would not have let them break his pride, certainly not that easily or quickly. I am not Ryo. Did I hold my pride to forty?”

“Almost. Thirty and seven. That was long enough.” Vayu did not sound amused at all.

“He told me to hold to forty and then cry out,” Raga explained to us—to Arayo. It was Arayo’s opinion that worried him.

I said immediately, “That was good advice.” I wanted to look at Arayo, but I could not make myself do it. His opinion concerned me too. I went on. “A beating may not be as bad if a young man’s pride breaks quickly. If a young man cries out aloud, that may even end the beating. Not always, but sometimes. Forty is enough to show that one is not a coward.” I had never held my pride that long. Not until Ryo had beaten me, and Rakasa had helped me, and I had realized they did not want me to fail.

I could not bring myself to say that, not even if it might help Raga to know it. I asked Vayu, “How many?”

“Forty and twenty. As Raga had let his pride break, I thought that might be enough that I could try to stop.” His voice was still cold, but he could not prevent himself from glancing at Arayo. He lowered his gaze at once.

“Yes,” I said. Obviously Vayu had feared he might have to do more than that. He had thought perhaps the people there—his father—would not be satisfied, that someone might pick up a knife. If that had happened, Vayu would almost certainly have drawn his own knife. He would not have fought them. Nothing could have been gained by fighting. He would have tried to use his knife in a way that would content these bitter enemies, but without doing anything too terrible.

I did not say that. I finally looked at Arayo. “If someone picks up a whip, people with knives may step back. They might have done much worse to Raga if Vayu had not stopped them in that way.”

“They would certainly have done very much worse,” Raga said fervently. “They told me exactly what they would do. I will be grateful to Vayu forever.” He began to push himself up, then stopped, gasping. “But perhaps I may not be grateful tonight.”

“Yes,” Arayo said quietly. “I understood what happened. I understood as soon as we came there. No one needs to explain this to me. Lie down, Raga, and be quiet. Vayu is right. No one thinks you are a coward.”

“I am certainly glad to lie down,” Raga said, still in that light, faintly amused tone. He did, slowly, this time controlling a gasp of pain. But he asked, “Are you certain they will not find us here?” His voice shivered on the last word and he stopped.

“They will not,” Arayo promised him, but he glanced toward the entry of the tent, plainly worried.

“They will not find us,” I said firmly. “Certainly not tonight. This is a good place, hard to find. The snow is much less now, and where snow still lingers, tracks cross and re-cross in confusing ways. They would have to search for a long time, and soon it will be dark. While some of those people might try to find us tomorrow, they will first look to the east, and that means every trail will be even more confused before anyone comes across any signs we left. Also, Kanu will try to make as many people as he can follow him west, and he will try to make them think Gataga was foolish to press the enmity.”

“He was foolish to do it,” Vayu said coldly. “He wanted to recover some of the standing lost when I turned my back to him. He might have succeeded, but only until the inGara came down upon him. He thought he could lie to them and Convocation law would prevent the inGara from pressing questions too forcefully. He did not understand he had become nameless, so the inGara could do anything they pleased and he would have no standing to protest.”

I nodded. “Most of those people probably agree with Kanu that it might be better to let Vayu take Raga a long way away and set the blame for everything that happened on a man who is not here. They will not trust Vayu, not now, but they will consider him unlikely to put the blame on his—on Gataga.”

Vayu did not flinch, but his expression became even colder.

Others among those people would almost certainly think it much better to kill Raga, kill us all, and hide our bodies. I did not say that. I was trying to think of what might be best to do next, but I wanted to think carefully before I suggested anything. I had to consider what everyone might decide to do and what might happen.

I had better not be wrong.

Vayu said softly, “In a day, two days, Raga will be able to ride much more easily. But with only two ponies, we cannot outride anyone. We may not want to leave this place until more days than that have passed. We may want to stay here until we are certain all those people have gone. But if they search with enough determination, then staying here would be a mistake.” He looked at me. “Tano, what do you think would be best to do?”

I made myself breathe deeply again, trying to think clearly and not make mistakes. I said, “I think we should stay here tonight. Perhaps in the morning, someone should climb up to the cliffs to watch those people and see what they do. Then we can decide what might be best.”

If our enemies left soon enough, then maybe we could still come back to the inGara camp before the seven days had passed.

I was stupid enough to think of that. That I could still come to Sinowa inGara before seven days had passed. As soon as that thought came to me, I realized it was entirely stupid. Even if we got away from the inTasiyo, even if we had no more difficulties of any kind, the lord of the inGara would have other reasons to be angry now. Much more important reasons.

Also, Raga would never lie to his father; Arayo would never lie to anyone … I was not supposed to lie either. That thought was not strange so much as terrifying. I tried to think how I, how we, could explain everything in a way that would prevent Sinowa inGara’s anger from coming on us. I could not think of any way to do it. Maybe I could think of a way to tell the truth that would not sound as bad.

Perhaps I might be able to do that later. At this moment, I did not seem able to think about that problem at all.

Arayo moved quietly, pouring tisane into drinking bowls and laying journey sticks across the brazier. He handed a bowl to me. I took it without thinking very much. Then Arayo handed a bowl to Vayu.

Vayu took it, set it down on the floor of the tent, and said suddenly and sharply, “Arayo, I am sorry I spoke of you so slightingly to Kanu and those people. That was offensive, and I know that, and I apologize and beg your pardon. If you strike me, I will not seek vengeance for the blow. If I should say something else, I do not know what that should be.”

Everyone looked at him in surprise. Raga tried to push himself up again, then caught that movement with a sharp breath. Arayo glanced at Raga, distracted, and I wondered immediately whether Raga had done that deliberately. Then I thought, no, that was surely unlikely, as he was inGara. But I knew Raga was clever. And he was far less concerned to hold to his pride than a young warrior. I was not certain.

Arayo helped Raga sit up and gave him a bowl of tisane, watching to be certain he could hold it. Only then did he answer Vayu. “I knew why you said it. You owe me no apology.” But then he asked, his voice steady, “Is that what the inTasiyo—what those people truly think of me?”

Vayu shifted from sitting to kneeling and bowed. He said nothing.

Arayo’s mouth tightened. He picked up his own bowl and sipped the steaming tisane.

I said, “Stupid people think that. People who do not know the inGara or the inKera. People who did not hear what Hokino inKera said to Sinowa inGara when he came here last summer to see what kind of man his son had become.”

Arayo looked away. He drank some more of the tisane. Finally, setting his bowl aside, he said to Vayu, “Nothing you said offended me. I do not intend to be offended by anything tonight.” Then he said, “The man Kanu challenged and forced to step back, Gataga, this man was your father?”

Vayu had moved to sit again, but now he stilled. Of course Arayo knew this was so, and Vayu did not know why he had asked. I did not know that either. I hoped very much that Arayo had not taken offense, but I could not tell.

Vayu answered, his manner and tone cold, “Yes, that may be so, though I have forgotten him.”

“You have,” Arayo acknowledged. “You turned your back to him.”

“Yes,” Vayu said again, even more coldly.

Arayo said softly, “My father turned his back to me.”

Raga sat up straighter, winced, caught himself, and pretended he was not in pain. But, though his face had tightened and he had to pause and steady himself before he spoke, even then he protested, “Arayo, your father would never have permitted my father to put you to death! I heard exactly how it happened. Everyone told me. That was never a possibility!”

“No,” Arayo said in the same steady way. “He would have killed himself to assuage your father’s anger. He told me that. Do you think that made the moment better?”

“But—” Raga began, but stopped.

“My father told me he considered it unlikely that the lord of the inGara would put me to death. He said the enmity between our tribes was not that bitter and Sinowa inGara would not consider my death a just return for so small an enmity.” Arayo spoke no more loudly, but his words came now with sharp intensity. “He told me that Sinowa inGara’s own son lived because he had been shown unexpected mercy, that Sinowa would understand that the inKera offered him an opportunity to demonstrate that kind of mercy. He said that if he were mistaken in everything, then Soro would humble himself in whatever way Sinowa demanded to persuade him to handle me more gently. He told me that if nothing else could assuage Sinowa’s anger, then he would beg the lord of the inGara to accept his death instead. He told me he was very certain that would be enough. I was terrified he might be right.”

This had not occurred to me at all. I had thought Arayo might be angry with his father, but I had not understood this reason at all. I could think of nothing to say. I found myself looking across the tent at Raga. Even in the dim light, I could see he was equally dismayed. Even Vayu had flinched back, though he was practiced at showing only what he wished to show. Arayo’s sudden outburst had surprised us all.

Then Raga swallowed, braced himself visibly, straightened more firmly, and spoke in a different tone, much more calmly. “You were frightened and angry. Anyone would have been. How many winters did you have then? Thirteen?”

Arayo sat back, breathing more deeply. After a moment, he said, “Yes.”

Raga nodded slightly. Obviously he had known that. He asked, “If you had had fifteen winters then, sixteen winters, would you have been that frightened?”

A pause. Then Arayo opened a hand in a gesture that meant he did not know.

“You had only thirteen winters,” Raga repeated. “You did not understand anything. Even if your father explained everything, you did not understand him.” He asked again, more firmly, “If you had had fifteen winters then, Arayo, or sixteen winters, if all those things happened today, would you have been so frightened for yourself or for your father?”

This time the pause was much longer. At last, Arayo spoke slowly, as though this understanding came to him as he spoke. “I think … I think, if all those things happened now, as you say, I would have understood better what my father meant to do—and if I had not understood, I think I would have trusted him more—and if I had not trusted him that much, I would have trusted Sinowa inGara much more. But I could not have known that then!”

“Your father judged my father very carefully. A boy of thirteen winters could never have judged the lord of the inGara so carefully. Nor could a boy have judged the lord of the inKera. Nor, maybe, the warleader of the inKera.” He added in a sharper tone, “Perhaps the lord of the inKera and the warleader of the inKera should have found someone else to sacrifice, someone older who would better understand everything.”

Arayo looked away. After a little time, he said, “My uncle’s sons were married, with wives and children. If he had expected a tuyo to be put to death, he would have offered one of those sons. But how could he offer a man like that when he thought probably the tuyo would live, but among the people of a different tribe? My father’s elder son had died in the fighting, but if my brother had lived, even then, my father would not have offered him because my brother was also married. His wife had recently had a child. She was one of those released before the fighting began, when Ryo persuaded the sorcerer who was our enemy to let some of the women go. No one else was a better choice to offer at that moment. You are right that I did not understand everything, but even at the time, I understood that.”

Everyone was silent, considering this. Finally, Raga said, “You were grieving for your brother. You were very angry that your father would sacrifice you in that way. Anyone would have been, but especially a boy who did not understand all the reasons his father might make that choice. You were afraid the lord of the inGara might choose to put you to death. No matter what your father promised, you were afraid my father might put you to death. He might have done so. Every decision then was his to make. Even when he chose to spare your life, you were afraid in a different way. You had come into a new people as a tuyo. Who could say what that might mean? You did not know. Everyone understands now what they should do when that kind of tuyo is offered and the offer is accepted. But no one knew then.”

Arayo said, curt and angry, “When your father told me to go to Garoyo and obey him as though he were my father, I knew then that nothing terrible would happen.”

“You did not know,” Raga answered. “You hoped that might be so, but you did not know. And you were still alone among the people of a tribe that had been an enemy of the inKera.”

Arayo looked at him. He said finally, “You understood all this. This is why you were kind to me and made a place for me among the boys.”

Raga smiled, relaxing a little, so that suddenly anyone could see how tensely he had been holding himself. He said, in much more his ordinary manner, light and easy and friendly, “No, not then. Only a little. I knew you had no place within inGara and of course this must worry and upset you. Anyone could understand that. I did not understand anything else. I am sorry all those things were so hard for you, even though obviously everything is much better now. Even though you now understand the decisions he made, you are still angry with your father.”

“No. How can I be? Obviously inKera has prospered because of their—our—alliance with inGara. After everything the sorcerer did, after we had lost so many warriors and some women, we would almost certainly have lost standing among the tribes. That was the time to ask for the enmity to be settled, and ask in a way that would make the lord of the inGara think of us in a different way. Instead of losing precedence among the tribes, inKera has gained standing. Obviously my father and uncle were right to offer me as that kind of tuyo. I understand that perfectly now, even if I did not understand it then.”

“Yes, of course,” Raga said. “That does not mean you are not angry. Did he ever apologize to you? Your father?” he added when Arayo stared at him.

Rather than answering, Arayo picked up his bowl and sipped the cooling tisane.

“Perhaps someday he may, and then perhaps you might forgive him.” Raga lifted his bowl, hardly flinching at all, and drank all the tisane, then eased himself slowly down, not bothering to pretend the movement did not hurt him.

I realized I was staring at him, that I had been staring from him to Arayo and back again, surprised and upset, not daring to say anything or interrupt. The surprise made sense. I had guessed some of that, but certainly not everything important. I had never guessed Raga might see so much, and so fast. I had not guessed he might speak so plainly. Of course I was surprised, but I did not understand why I felt upset. All those hard things had happened a long time ago, and nothing that had happened to Arayo had been that bad.

Vayu said abruptly, “Arayo.” Then, when Arayo swung around to face him, he said, “The first night among the inKera, my younger brother was so afraid that he slipped away and hid from everyone—from me, from Sura, from everyone. Half the inKera in that part of the camp searched for him. When Sura’s husband Kasano finally found him, Darayo bit him to get away, then ran to me. By that moment, your father had come there. I begged him to punish me, not Darayo. I said the fault was mine, that I had failed to teach my brother how to behave. I promised him that I would beat Darayo myself, but I asked that the warleader’s punishment fall only on me.” He stopped.

“He did not punish you,” Arayo said after a moment. “What did he do?”

“He said that sometimes a man must step between the unrelenting anger of an enemy and his brother or his son or someone else. He said that the courage to do that is important, that it may be important for different reasons depending on the kind of enemy a man faces. He said that when an enemy is both honorable and generous, it is best to give him reason and opportunity to demonstrate those qualities. He said judging an enemy correctly can be even more important than judging a friend correctly, because the right kind of enemy should be made into a friend.” He paused.

Arayo said nothing. He had lowered his gaze. But he was certainly listening.

Vayu went on, speaking quietly. “Then he told me that among the inKera, the warleader is not an enemy. He told me that a young man of the inKera need not step between his warleader and his very young brother. He said that I would do better once I understood that my new people do not need to be persuaded to demonstrate honor or generosity.” Vayu paused. Then he added, “I did not understand him at all, although I thought I did.”

“He probably forbade you to beat your brother,” Arayo said, not looking up.

“He did. He said that my brother would learn to be brave soon, that he had no doubt of that because I was brave enough, that we both lacked sense, but not courage. He said that in twenty days or forty days or a season of days, my brother and I would probably both have learned better sense, and he saw no reason to be impatient in the matter. When I came to him to ask leave to go away from the Convocation grounds with you, he said this would be a good thing to do because his son would show me exactly how an inKera warrior should behave.”

Arayo said, his voice level, “I understand what you are telling me.”

“Yes,” Vayu said. He looked away. For a long moment, no one said anything. Certainly I did not say anything. It seemed very reasonable that everyone would want the subject to turn.

Finally, Arayo said, “Tano, I would be very interested to hear your opinion regarding what our enemies may do tomorrow. Your opinion as well, Vayu. What will they do tomorrow and the day after that? Will they search for us, or will they ride away fast to the west, trying to get away from inGara lands before word of all this trouble comes to the lord of the inGara? Or something else, different from either of those things?”

Vayu and I looked at each other. He conceded precedence with a gesture. Even after everything that had happened, that left me feeling off balance, as though the earth had shifted beneath me. But I faced Arayo and answered, “Someone might think it best to make it look as though we had quarreled and killed each other.” I meant Gataga might think of that, I thought it was the kind of thing he might think of, but I did not say that.

I did not have to say it. Vayu said in a cold tone, “I know what you are thinking, Tano. You are thinking my father might attempt that ruse. You are right. He will think of that. He will want to force me to come back to his people. He might try to make it seem that you killed Arayo and Raga, perhaps in their sleep, and then fled. He would consider that the inGara would go after you, ignoring him, forgetting me.”

Arayo was staring at him. Raising his chin, Vayu said, even more coldly, “This would be a stupid thing to try. Sinowa inGara would never believe any of that, not after what Yaro tried to do when he attacked Ryo, putting the blame on an inKera warrior. No one would believe anything of the kind. But my father does not know any of that happened, so that is the kind of ruse that might occur to him.”

I signed agreement. “Or he might think of scattering our fingerbones around our tent and leaving that for the inGara to find. He could leave enough fingerbones to make it seem we had all died that way.”

Kanu might think of this kind of stratagem as well. Of course he would. But nothing that had happened was his fault. If Raga’s father demanded answers of him, he would tell the lord of the inGara the truth. He would very much want us to have already told that same truth. He had already decided we would probably do so. He thought that if the lord of the inGara demanded vengeance against the people who had handled his son in a cruel way, so, Sinowa would pursue Gataga, and that would satisfy the inGara and also clear a rival out of his, Kanu’s, way. Even if his people had no name any longer, he would want to keep some of them together, perhaps take a different name, make a different tribe somewhere else.

Koro had ordered the inVotaro to disperse the people who had once been inTasiyo, but I did not think Kanu knew that part.

I rubbed my face, breathing deeply. I could not remember who knew what part of the truth and who might believe what kind of falsehood. This was a very dangerous problem. I had not realized I was so tired I had become this stupid.

Then I remembered I probably did not need to keep everything of the kind clear in my mind, because I did not need to lie to anyone here. That was a strange thought, unbalancing in a different way. I did not know how many days might pass before that thought ceased to seem strange.

I said, “I do not think anyone will try to find us tonight, and if they do, they should not be able to find this place. I think we should rest tonight and think about all these things tomorrow.”

Arayo nodded. “That is probably a wise suggestion. Very well. Yet even though I think you are surely correct, I also think we should watch tonight, in case we are mistaken and someone finds our trail or saw where we went. My father says—” He stopped. Then he began again. “Everyone agrees that one should never assume that enemies know little. One should always plan as though enemies know much more than one would wish. I agree that no one will come upon us tonight. But as we may be wrong regarding that matter, we will keep a careful watch.” He looked at me. “Should enemies come, I will look to you and to Vayu to say what we should do.”

“Obviously I cannot take a watch,” Raga said, smiling. “A warrior could no doubt take a watch even after a very severe beating, but as I am not—”

“Pain keeps a man awake,” Vayu told him. He had relaxed a little now, after all the things that had been said. “You can watch all night while we—”

“Awake, but not alert!” argued Raga. “Anyway, I think I have amply demonstrated that I am much too stupid to take the sensible precautions any warrior—”

Arayo said firmly, “Everyone should be quiet, lest our hard tempers draw malicious ghosts that leave nothing but our fingerbones. We cannot take double watches tonight, so everyone must remain alert and watch and listen carefully. I will take the first watch, then Tano, then Vayu.” He began to hand around the sizzling journey sticks, showing by his manner that he thought the matter settled.

Everyone took a stick, no one speaking now. It seemed to me that Arayo’s attention had turned inward now. Probably he wanted to think about everything everyone had said—everything he had said himself. I wanted to think too. I felt everything I had known of him had changed in some way I could not entirely understand; everything I had thought about the inGara and the inKera had changed.

Raga had made that happen. Then Vayu. But mostly Raga. Everything I had known of him had also shifted. I did not entirely understand that either. But I knew it was true.

10 –

All that night, nothing happened. No enemies came. Of course that had been unlikely, unlikely for several reasons, but even though I had known that, I had still been worried this might happen. I had not slept much before my watch because I was worried something might happen, someone might find us, and I did not sleep much after my watch because even though I was less worried, all my thoughts went around and around and I could not rest.

But the night was quiet. In the shelter of the secret lea, even the wind could not easily find us. Only the Moon and the stars had looked down upon us, and only for some of the night because by the time I had taken my watch, clouds had once more thickened and small snowflakes drifted on the slight breeze.

In the morning, Raga declared he was perfectly well. He pointedly stood up and went out of the tent, showing no sign of pain, then came back in and sat down again—all this to prove to Arayo that he spoke the truth. Vayu and I knew exactly how much pain he was hiding. Vayu was not certain he should say anything about this.

I had known both Raga and Arayo longer, so I said, “Raga, if you needed to ride, you could do it. No one doubts this. But I think, I suggest, that we should stay here at least for today, perhaps longer. I think someone should climb again to some hidden place above the camp and see what those people are doing, whether they have all gone or whether some of them are still there. Then we can decide what is best to do.”

Arayo signed agreement with this. “I will do that.” He glanced at Vayu. “I think Vayu and I should take it in turns to watch that camp.”

“Yes,” Vayu agreed, trying not to show that he was pleased to be asked.

Arayo nodded and said sternly to Raga, “Therefore, as we will stay here today, you should drink something hot and eat a journey stick and then lie down.”

Raga, unoffended, said, “Yes, very well, no doubt you are correct about everything.” He spoke with deliberate good humor, but though he managed to drink some tisane without showing very much pain, he refused to eat anything and accepted Arayo’s help to lie down. He could not bear the touch of a blanket across his back, but he was shivering with cold.

The tent was not that cold. In the strengthening light of the morning, I could see that some of the cuts across his back looked right, but some showed signs of fever. Arayo saw that too. He looked at me to see what I thought. He was worried. I was also worried, but I said, “A little fever is not unusual after that kind of beating. That will pass soon.”

It would be better if we could warm the tent. But we did not have enough fuel to spend it carelessly. We had only one brazier, very little fuel, and the blankets. If Raga could not endure the touch of the blankets, that was not good.

Vayu said suddenly, “Tano, you should lie down with Raga. I mean, beside him. We could prop the saddles and packs together and arrange the blankets across both of you, not touching you, but like a small tent within this tent. Then he would be much warmer.”

Opening his eyes, Raga began, “I am not so delicate that any of you—”

“Be quiet,” Arayo ordered him. “Tano—”

“Yes,” I said. I did not want to do as Vayu suggested. For two different reasons, I did not like that idea. But he was right. He and Arayo were much more skilled than I in every way. Plainly they should take on the risks required to see what our enemies might be doing. If anyone should stay with Raga, obviously I should do it.

I did not mind staying with him. That was not the difficulty. I did not like anyone that close to me, but I could hardly set any fault for that against Raga. Finally, I said, “Yes,” again. Crossing the tent, I moved the brazier close to Raga. Then I took off my shirt and lay down beside him, almost touching. I tried to make myself relax as Arayo and Vayu arranged everything else as Vayu had suggested. I immediately became uncomfortably warm, but Raga’s shivering began to ease.

“Better. Good. You should sleep as well, Tano,” Arayo told me. “You did not sleep very much last night. I will go see what those people are doing. Vayu will watch. You should rest.” He nodded to Vayu and they both left the tent.

Raga lay with his face turned away from me. He did not move, but after a little time, he said softly, “I have made myself a great nuisance. I am very sorry I was so stupid. I thought they were those inVotaro warriors we met the first evening, Matya inVotaro and the others. No other possibility occurred to me. I thought so until I had come much too close to get away from them.”

“Yes,” I said. I had guessed this. I had been thinking of how all this might have happened. Now I said, “Perhaps some inTasiyo warriors, nameless warriors, had crept up on those inVotaro warriors at night and killed them, then taken their weapons and their ponies and pretended to be those same warriors. From a distance, who would know they were not the same men?”

He shifted in surprise, caught his breath, and stilled again. But then he steadied himself and turned his head to look at me, pretending the movement did not hurt him. “Yes, Tano, you are exactly right! How did you know that?”

I was not certain how to answer. After a little time, I said, “My—the inTasiyo warleader was a very great warrior and he knew how to train warriors. He taught his warriors to think first of trickery and only later of demonstrating their courage. I thought probably those inVotaro seriously underestimated the warriors who had been inTasiyo and died of that mistake.”

“Well, you are right,” Raga agreed. “The inTasiyo boasted of that stratagem. The one who had taken Matya inVotaro’s roan pony boasted that those were not the first inVotaro he had helped kill. He said inVotaro warriors are always arrogant and overconfident. He said any inVotaro warrior who is taken captive will hold his pride hard, for a while. He said he enjoyed helping break that kind of pride.” He was silent for a moment. Then he added, his tone bleak. “I believed him.”

That was most certainly not the only thing they had told him that he had believed. I said as firmly as I could, “They will not find us. You will be better tomorrow. In two days, three days, you will be much better.”

“Yes,” he murmured. He was quiet for long enough that I thought he slept. I lay still, my cheek resting on my hands, my face turned toward Raga. I was too tense to sleep, but I tried to relax. After some time, Raga murmured, “You do not need to stay so close. I am perfectly well.”

“Yes, you are very brave, everyone knows this,” I said, a little more sharply than I had intended. “Go to sleep, Raga.”

“Everything that has happened was my fault. I will tell my father so.”

“Raga—”

“That is the truth. I should have stayed well away from everyone I saw, no matter who I thought they were. Everything would have been much simpler if I had not been so stupid. No one would have needed to think of lies to tell anyone. No one would have had to ask a dishonorable enemy for help.” He was not looking at me. He had closed his eyes. He went on. “Once I realized that they were not inVotaro, that they were enemies, I could have tried to fight them. I had a bow, but I did not even—”

“You would be dead, Raga.”

“So, perhaps, that might be true. But then the rest of you would not have had to put yourselves in danger to get me away from these dangerous, dishonorable enemies—”

“Perhaps your father would not have approved of any such outcome.”

“I suppose he probably would not,” Raga conceded. He was silent for a little time. Then he said, “I cannot think you were wrong to lie to those people. I cannot think either you or Vayu was wrong to do it. It was impossible to deal honestly with those people, who were so dishonest they could not believe anyone would say anything true.”

“You told them the truth.” I knew he had. Of course he had.

“I tried. They did not let me speak. Even after everything you said, I still thought …” A finger of time passed. Two fingers.

Finally, he said, “The inTasiyo used to have allies among the tribes, especially in the west. I will suggest to my mother that perhaps someone should ask the people of those tribes some questions regarding their dealings with the inTasiyo. Probably she has thought of that—I am certain she must have thought of that—but I will ask her.”

I had not thought of this. Even after many days living among the inGara, I had not realized that Raga’s mother, not his father, would be the one to consider that kind of problem. There was still so much I did not understand. I could hardly imagine that I might live long enough to understand everything. Perhaps not long enough to understand anything.

Raga did not speak again. His breathing eased and became even, and I knew he slept. I might have slept as well, for some time, until a draft of cold air woke me. Arayo had come into the tent. I turned my head, but he did not speak to me, only gave me a brief nod. He had brought water, and, to my surprise, fresh meat, already skewered and ready to set over the brazier. He laid these skewers over the coals, then added a piece of sugar and dried willowbark to a small bowl with some of the water and shifted the skewers aside to set this bowl over the heat as well. Then he sat down and glanced questioningly from me to Raga.

“The fever is not worse,” I said in a low voice. “But the willowbark is good.”

“We do not have very much.” Arayo frowned, studying Raga, who still slept. “One small packet. I did not see scrub willow anywhere near this place.”

Even the smallest scrub willow was rare this far north. I said, “This kind of fever rarely becomes serious.” Easing away from Raga, I arranged the blankets as well as I could, holding them so that the cloth did not come against his back.

“Good.” Arayo flicked a hand at the skewers. “I happened across a white hare. That was useful in two different ways. We do not have very many journey sticks left.”

I nodded, not saying that we did not have many arrows either and might need those more than food.

“I threw a stone,” he told me.

Apparently I had not needed to say anything about arrows. I nodded again.

“Some of those people have gone. Most went west, some few east. I did not see Kanu or his people, but some of the others are still in that camp. I think they may be searching for us. Vayu’s father has not gone. He and some others have lingered.”

I sighed. Then I said, “He would have done better to run. But I think he probably wants very much to find Vayu if he can. He will know we cannot have traveled far last night, and he will understand that his best chance of finding Vayu will be now, today. He will think that if his people watch carefully, it will be difficult for us to leave a place of concealment and ride east—or ride in any direction—without being seen. Probably he will try to stop us if he can. If he finds us … Arayo, he would probably prefer to kill Raga—and you—rather than permitting any word of anything that happened to come to the ears of the lord of the inGara. He would almost certainly prefer that.”

Arayo signed agreement. Nothing I said had surprised him. “What would this man do with you?”

I thought about this. Finally, I said, “He would not be very interested in me. He would probably kill me, unless he understands that Vayu helped me get away last summer. If he realized that, he might want me in his hands, thinking that perhaps, by threatening me, he could make Vayu obey him at least in small things.”

“Those people are—” Arayo began, with some force. But he cut that off and said instead, “Vayu and I agree that we cannot safely leave this place while those people are searching for us. We only have two ponies now, so we cannot travel quickly for any distance—and if we had to try, I would be concerned for Raga. I can think of other problems. If it snows again, as I think it will, then we will not be able to avoid leaving an obvious trail until the snow goes back into the air. But we also do not like to wait and wait as the days pass.” He made a small gesture toward Raga. “I hope this fever is small and unimportant, but I would rather he had more warmth, better food, better care altogether. We—I think that perhaps one person might ride east, alone, while the others of us stay here.”

I nodded. “You think I should be the one to ride away.”

“Tano—”

I interrupted him. “You are right to suggest this. That is a good idea for two reasons. At least two. I am not as skilled with weapons as you and Vayu; and also if Gataga’s people take me, they might not kill me.”

“Three reasons, Tano. If enemies of any kind do come upon you, if they take you and question you, then you are more likely to be able to make them believe things we would want them to believe.”

I said nothing. This was true—probably it was true—but I was almost certain the inGara would despise this skill. I was afraid Arayo despised me now. If he did, he did not show it. But perhaps he would not show that. I could not bring myself to ask. If he did, I did not want to know it.

“We will discuss this tonight and decide,” Arayo said. He took the skewers of meat off the brazier and handed them to me, then set water to heat and took his skewer back. “Should I wake Raga so that he can eat something?”

I shook my head. “He will probably want water soon, and that will wake him. But sleep is better than food for this kind of fever. We should not wait long to discuss this. I think your idea is a good one, but if it is good, then there is no reason to delay. If it is not snowing yet—not snowing much—then I should leave tonight, before snow begins to fall more heavily. I should ride fast, east and south, as fast as I can to get well away from this place before dawn. I could circle around far to the south, then come back and ride among and around the roots of the mountains, where it is easier to avoid notice. This should be … I think I should not come upon any kind of difficulty, but you and Vayu should decide how long you will wait before one or the other of you rides out in the same way.”

“Six days,” Arayo said promptly. “That should be enough for you to come back to the Convocation grounds and explain everything, then for—”

“No,” Raga protested. “This is a terrible plan.” He was awake. I could not tell when he had woken, how much he had heard, but he pushed himself up, moving slowly, but making little of the pain this caused him. I moved the blankets out of his way, which he pretended not to notice, easing himself into a sitting position, deliberately straightening his shoulders. Many of the marks across his back were closed, healing, but the fevered cuts looked no better now than they had earlier.

Raga said, his tone earnest, “Tano, if you ride back alone and come there long before the others of us, that would mean you have to explain everything that happened yourself. I am sure you could do that, but it would not be very pleasant, so I think I should take the other pony and ride with you. I promise I would stay with you. I would not complain or ask to take a slower pace.”

Arayo began to speak.

Raga held up both his hands to show he was not finished. He said to Arayo, “I know this would leave you and Vayu on foot, but in some ways that might be better. You could climb up into the mountains, make your way slowly east by ways no one with a pony could possibly manage. That way we can all get clear of every enemy and every kind of pursuit.”

We were both looking at him in surprise. I was certainly very surprised. I had not expected him to suggest anything of the kind.

The entry of the tent moved, and Vayu came in. He nodded to Arayo. “Gataga must have decided we are probably hiding somewhere close. He has sent warriors up along the waterfalls. I had to retreat, lest someone come near enough to see me move.” Then he said to Raga, “I heard what you said. In some ways, your idea was not a bad one. But climbing through the mountains will now be difficult, especially for young men who want to go east. There may be one or another place where agile young men can cross those waterfalls, but those places will be watched for at least some days now. Gataga does not mean to retreat today or tomorrow or for some days to come, or he would not have sent men up into the mountains here.”

Raga frowned. “Oh. Well, that is certainly inconvenient, but—”

“Also, you cannot ride fast,” Vayu told him, not waiting for him to finish whatever he had intended to say. “Do not declare that you would not slow Tano. Of course you would slow him. The fever would come more strongly if you tried to do as you say, and then you might become unable to ride at all. If that were so and my—Gataga’s people came upon you, then what would happen? This is not a mistake any of us can risk.”

I had been trying to tell myself that Raga’s idea was good, that he could do as he said, that this was at least likely, if not certain. But when Vayu spoke, I knew he was right. I did not want to acknowledge this to myself. But I had no choice. Obviously he was right. Anyone could see it.

I very much did not want to try to explain anything to the lord of the inGara. I could not imagine any possible way to explain everything that would not bring his fury down upon me. Probably Vayu as well. Maybe not Arayo, maybe not Raga, but I was very certain nothing would prevent his anger from coming upon Vayu and me. Especially me. Vayu was inKera. Hokino might be angry with him, the lord of the inKera might be angry with him, but I could do nothing about that. And they would probably not be as angry with Vayu as Sinowa inGara would be with me.

I could think of no possible way to protest his anger. When Raga had said he would face his father and declare everything had been his fault, for the first time, I had felt that perhaps I might slip past the first rush of Sinowa’s fury. My heart had leaped up when Raga said that. But now that hope died.

I said, very reluctantly, “Vayu is perfectly correct, Raga. I thank you for your thought. But that is impossible.”

Raga began a protest, but I did not listen. My thoughts had run far ahead, to the moment I came to Sinowa inGara to explain to him everything that had happened.

I would almost rather be taken by Gataga’s people. Not quite. But almost.

Sinowa might not put me to death. Probably Ryo would not want that, even though I had led his younger brother into so much trouble. If Ryo did not want that, then probably his father would not do it. For the same reason, Sinowa might not declare that I was no longer inGara.

I could think of other things he could do that would be almost as bad. He might beat me so severely that he broke my pride completely in front of everyone. That would be simple for him. No one could possibly protest a very severe beating, and if Sinowa wanted to break my pride, then I had no doubt at all he could do it.

I could not imagine staying among the inGara if Sinowa did that. Ryo would despise me because I failed to stand even after he had taken so much trouble to show me how to do it. Everyone would understand I was a coward and despise me. I did not know what I would do. I would want to kill myself. That would probably be the best thing to do. But I knew, I was bitterly certain, that I would not have the courage to do it.

I might beg Lord Aras to take me with him into the summer country. I could promise to make myself useful to him in any way he wished. Except that I could not bear to stay near Ryo, not if he despised me.

I might walk away, west, and try to find Kanu. He was not that bad. Or he was, but not as much as many of the others. Kanu would not be as cruel as Gataga, not nearly as cruel as Tewaro. If I could not stay among the inGara, maybe I would go after Kanu. Probably that was exactly what I deserved.

All these thoughts were difficult, and most of them were stupid. First I had to come to Sinowa inGara. Then I could worry about everything else. Taking a deep breath, I looked at Arayo. Vayu was saying to him, “I did not mean to put myself forward. The decision is yours. But I think I may know more about this kind of fever. If a young man with such a fever forces himself beyond his strength, he may very well find this was a mistake. I think our other idea was better, if you agree.”

Raga protested, plainly frustrated, “You do not need to take so much care of me! I am not so delicate as you all believe!”

Arayo held up a hand to check him. “You are not delicate, Raga. No one thinks so. But if you wish everyone to fail to notice when you are sick or when you are in pain, you will have to declare that you are a warrior, not a poet. As you will not do that, you will have to accept that warriors will decide whether you are fit to ride or whether you must rest. Cease arguing. Vayu knows much more about this kind of fever than either you or I.”

Raga began a protest.

“No one cares what arguments you make,” Arayo told him. “Drink this. There is a little willowbark in it. We do not have much willowbark, so drink it all and then I will make a different tisane for the rest of us. Do you want any meat?”

Closing his mouth, Raga looked at Arayo. Then he sighed, shook his head to the offer of food, accepted the bowl, and drank some of the tisane. Eventually, he asked, “What if we stay here, but Gataga’s people find this place?”

Arayo and Vayu exchanged a glance. Then Arayo said, “We have found a place, a ledge, high up, not as comfortable as this lea, but even easier to defend. The climb is difficult. For some distance below the ledge, the stone is smooth and steep. This means that no one can come against that place without leaving himself completely exposed to arrows from above. Once we came to that place, enemies would have much more difficulty shooting at us because the stones around that ledge provide good cover. We left a rope there so that we could go up quickly, then pull up the rope so enemies would have much more difficulty.”

Raga subsided, but this made me think of other problems. I said, “That sounds good. But could you defend that place for one day and another day, more days than that? Even if I leave tonight and no trouble comes upon me, it will be some days before inGara warriors can come here. If determined enemies come upon you, even if I give you all my arrows, you will not have enough.”

Arayo had plainly been thinking about the problems they might face, because he answered promptly. “You will not need to give us your arrows. The gate that closes this lea away from the outer meadow can be taken down and cut up; that is enough wood to make more arrows as well as provide fuel for some days if we are careful. We cannot make good arrows, we do not have feathers or steel arrowheads, nor even the right kind of stone to make arrowheads that way, but we do not need good arrows, only arrows good enough to shoot a very small distance.”

Nodding, Vayu added, “That kind of arrow would not go through a man’s coat, but if a man is hit in the hand or the head, he will probably change his mind about climbing, and if not, he will be much less dangerous by the time he gains the ledge. We do not have enough journey sticks, but if Raga will permit us to do so, we could kill the other pony, take as much of the meat as we can carry.” He added apologetically to Raga, “I know this cannot be a good thought, but if we must stay in that place for some days and cannot hunt, we will not have enough to eat unless we kill a pony.”

Raga began to shrug, flinched, steadied himself, and said, “I am sorry this is necessary, but obviously there is no help for it, so of course I will not protest.”

Vayu nodded and went on. “We could not set up the tent, the ledge is too small, but we could lay the sections of the tent down over the stone and then blankets would be enough protection against the cold, especially if we stay close together.”

I signed acknowledgment to all this. But I said, “Everything you say is good. But still, this would be dangerous. Even if you make arrows as you say, what if your enemies come against you in the dark so that you cannot shoot accurately? You do not have spears. You do not even have swords.”

Arayo and Vayu had thought of this too. They exchanged a look, and then Arayo said, “No one will try that climb in the dark, Tano. No one will try it at night unless the moonlight is enough for us to shoot. Also, the first warriors to try to approach us would have swords. Or if they have spears, better still. We have enough good arrows that we could let them get onto the ledge before we shot them. Then we would have those weapons.”

That was not a bad plan. That might work exactly as he said. Unless too many warriors came against them and overwhelmed them. I could not see any way to prevent that.

Then I did. I said, “You say the climb is difficult. So, that is good, but perhaps you should make it much more difficult. Once you are up in the place you have found, you could melt the fat of the rest of your journey sticks and fat from the pony, all the fat you can find, and pour that down the stone below the ledge.”

“Yes!” Vayu said at once. Then he made a gesture of apology, looking at Arayo. “I did not mean to put myself forward.”

Arayo answered impatiently, “You need not be so circumspect. Obviously this is a good idea.” He nodded to me. “That is a very, very good idea, Tano. We can melt the fat before we make that climb and pour it into a waterbag, then melt it again as soon as we come to that ledge and pour it over all the part where the cliff face is most difficult.”

“Maybe, if they cannot find us, or if we make it extraordinarily difficult for them to come against us, those people will understand they have been defeated,” Raga said hopefully. “Then they will give up and go away. They would be very much wiser to do so.”

I looked at Vayu and found him looking at me. He looked away again, deliberately. I thought he would not speak—in his place, I probably would not have said anything—but, surprising me, he said, “My father does not want to let me go.” Then he said, his voice cold, his face set and hard, “If I went to him, he would probably let the rest of you go.”

Arayo snapped, “Cease suggesting such a plan. You are inKera. We do not lightly give our people into the hands of enemies! If this were a different kind of enmity, perhaps one of us might offer himself as a tuyo for the others. But we are not that desperate, and these enemies do not merit that kind of offer, and if neither of those things were true, it would still not be your place to offer.”

Vayu began, “If we—”

“No,” Arayo said, even more forcefully. “Cease.”

Plainly this was an argument that had been continuing for some time. Equally plainly, Arayo thought this argument should have come to a conclusion. Vayu was glaring at him, not willing to concede.

I said, “Gataga would probably promise to let the others go, then break his word if he could and kill them anyway.”

Vayu transferred his glare to me. I met his eyes, not looking away, and saw his surprise. I would never have dared argue with him a year ago. I would not have dared argue with anyone. Now I held his gaze and said, “You want your father to make better choices. But you cannot make him do that, Vayu. He has decided he has to kill Raga and Arayo in order to hide everything else he did. If he had not decided in that way, he would have fled west already. He will not change his mind now, certainly not because you tell him he is mistaken. He cannot agree that he has made a mistake, not now. If he does, someone will certainly challenge him. If enough people supported his challenger, as would almost certainly happen, he would lose precedence in that challenge. Then he would have nothing.”

Vayu dropped his gaze. He knew I was right. As soon as I explained this, he knew it was true.

“At least your grandmother’s skull may be protected now,” Raga suggested, his tone tentative. “You told Kanu that all his people no longer have any name, is that not so? You did tell him that. And you told him about the tomb? Surely some of those people will ride fast enough to come to that tomb before Royova inVotaro comes there. Surely someone will care enough for those skulls to do that.”

Vayu looked at him. Then he drew a breath, let it out, and said, “Someone, yes.”

He did not say that he wondered whether anyone would care to move his grandmother’s skull to a higher tomb. I could not guess whether anyone would move my mother’s skull, my uncle’s. They would move the skulls of people important to them, but perhaps not the skulls of people important to us.

Perhaps everything we had done had been for nothing. Perhaps we would never know exactly what we had done here.

“Tano, I agree that Gataga is probably making every kind of mistake, but what of Kanu?” Arayo asked me. “He did not stay here—plainly he thought it better to withdraw from inGara lands as quickly as he can. But if he and his people evade every kind of notice, what do you think he will do? Or others of those people. I would like to understand this—and I think you should consider this question because other people will probably ask you.”

I glanced at Vayu and saw that he was looking at me again. We looked away from each other, deliberately breaking that moment. I thought I knew what we were both thinking. He said nothing. I added a little dried dung to the brazier. Then I said, “Gataga is important among the older warriors. Kanu is important among the younger warriors. I think those people probably divided in much that way.”

I thought Kanu’s people might be loyal to him in a way that Gataga’s people would not. Gataga had never known how to make people be loyal to him. I glanced at Vayu again, but he was not looking at me now. His gaze was on the brazier.

I went on, speaking quietly. “Gataga has decided that the best way to avoid the anger of the inGara is to kill us and hide our bodies. Not Vayu, but the rest of us. He understands how stupid he was to let us get away. He will probably think Vayu would lie for him, but he will have realized that this is not enough, that the rest of us would agree that Gataga was at fault for the things that happened.”

Vayu still said nothing.

I made myself look at Arayo. “Kanu will not be as concerned. He will want us to explain everything exactly as it happened. He believes, or at least he hopes, that this means inGara warriors will be unlikely to pursue him and his people. They would direct their anger against Gataga.”

“Kanu tried to leave the inTasiyo,” Raga said softly. “Was that not how it happened? He was the man whom Soro inKera turned away.”

I made a gesture of assent. “Kanu tried to leave the inTasiyo when Yaro still lived. But now he thinks we probably told him the truth and that Yaro is dead, and this will have made him think of everything in a different way. Now he will probably try to hold some of those people together—especially younger people. He may try to make them follow him. Outwitting Gataga will help him do that. If the inGara or inVotaro or anyone else come upon him, if they tell him that his people have ceased to exist and that they have no land, he will agree. He will take a humble manner and say anything that he needs to say. Certainly he will renounce the name of the inTasiyo. The people with him will do the same. He will lead those people, those who follow him, much farther west, so far that they come among people who do not know what happened here.”

“A long way,” Arayo observed.

“Yes, but I doubt that Kanu would want to come into any tribe where people despise anyone who used to be called inTasiyo. He will lead anyone who follows him west until they leave all the lands inKarano rules. Koro said he would permit them to do that.” I had thought about this, so I went on. “I think Kanu will probably find some unimportant tribe, perhaps a small tribe with few allies. He might claim that some great disaster came to his people and ask to come into that tribe. If the lord of that other tribe accepts Kanu and his people, then Kanu will probably rule there in one winter, or two winters, or three. Or if the lord of some small tribe refuses him, he may try to take that tribe’s land by force, kill those who oppose him, and then rule.”

Everyone was silent for a moment, considering this. Raga glanced at Vayu and away again. We all knew that probably his father and everyone with him would die. That even if they agreed to renounce their name, though the inVotaro might spare them, the inGara would probably hunt them across as many territories as necessary and kill them all.

Vayu said harshly, “Gataga is a proud man. He will not humble himself enough to go after Kanu, but he will probably lose so many people that he lacks every kind of standing. He may kill himself, if the inGara do not kill him. Or if he does not fight the inVotaro until he is killed. But he is almost certain to die. He brought his fate on himself. All those people brought their fate on themselves.”

That left a silence within the tent, uncomfortable, but difficult to break.

Of course Raga was the one to break that silence. He said, “Tano will not leave until dusk, is that not so? Very well, then he should rest while he can. Arayo, if you are determined to climb up into the mountains and camp somewhere that will no doubt prove far less comfortable than this, probably you should butcher the pony now. Vayu will help you, I am sure. Tano may be willing to stay with me, though this is very boring. Tano, I am warm enough now—”

“Lie down,” I told him, and came back to lie next to him once more, pretending I did not mind that, that I thought nothing of it, though I could not make myself relax. But I said to Arayo, trying to keep every kind of tension and worry out of my tone, “You should pull down rocks over the bones and offal if you can, or birds may come and so draw the eyes of enemies.” Then I said to Raga, “Those ponies are yours and so the decision of which to kill is yours, but I like the gelding I have been riding.”

Raga smiled, pretending he did not mind losing yet another pony after already losing two to the inTasiyo. He said to Arayo, “As Tano prefers the cream-colored gelding and he is the one who will ride away, kill the other one.”

Arayo made a sign of assent, glanced at Vayu, and they both went out into the afternoon light.

Raga pillowed his cheek on his hands, his face turned toward me. After a moment, he began to tell me a story about a time when he and some other boys had tried to steal fledgling eagles from a nest high up in a great fir tree so that they could raise and train the young birds.

Sometimes, not often, men will do this. Eagle fledglings are difficult to take and difficult to raise, and though everyone admires a man who carries an eagle on his arm, he must work hard to win and keep the bird’s loyalty. This attempt had not worked exactly as the boys had wished. Despite every worry and fear that came into my mind, Raga made me laugh, not only at the story itself, but at his perfectly serious manner as he told it.

After a time, when he finally finished the story and fell silent, I was able to ask, almost without tensing against his possible reaction, “Raga, how should I explain all this to your father? Can you … I know I must not lie to him, but can you think of any way to tell the truth that might be better than a different way?”

He did not answer me at once, and my stomach tightened because I thought I might have offended him or disgusted him. I had been telling myself that of everyone I knew, Raga was not likely to scorn me if I made a mistake, even a serious mistake. I told myself that again, as firmly as I could, but it was hard to believe it.

But at last he said, very seriously, but not with any sign of scorn, “As you say, you should always tell my father all the truth. This time, one truth you should tell him is that those people did not intend to kill me. They meant to take me to their own territory and keep me alive for a long time, using me in any way they wished. Of course, the inVotaro would probably have come upon them and found me, or if not, then our own people, but who knows how long that might have taken? You should tell my father that Vayu stopped them from beginning with knives and you found a way to get me, get us all, away from them. You should say … you should ask him to speak with me before he decides what is right to do about anything that happened.”

I was silent. I was almost certain I would not be able to say anything of the kind.

“I mean,” Raga said, “I mean, you should tell him I said that you should say that. Tano, promise me you will tell him I said that.”

I turned my head to look at him. That was clever. I had not thought of that at all, but it was very clever, as well as kind. And brave. Even for Raga, that was probably brave. I was certain that was brave. “Yes,” I said. “I promise that.”

“Good,” he said. “Rest.” He shut his eyes.

Four hands of time later, as an early dusk came to the overcast sky and the earth beneath, I saddled the cream-colored gelding and rode through the narrow, twisting gap, through the larger meadow, between the ridges where the roots of the mountains humped up the land, and out into the high steppe.

11 –

I rode through the overcast night, through the dark, alone.

The light of the Moon came through the clouds, soft and diffuse, not enough to see more than a very small distance, not enough to see anything or anyone more than a spearthrow distant. That meant no one farther from me than that would be able to see me either. But it also meant I could not ride fast. After so long pent in the secret lea, my gelding was willing to run, but no pony is so unwise as to gallop when he cannot see, and a pony’s vision on an overcast night is only a little better than a man’s. He thought a fast trot was bold enough in this darkness, and I thought it best to let him make that decision. Even a trot would take us a long way before dawn came.

I had turned the gelding almost due south, following my sense of how the land lay. I would ride south and southeast all night, then turn due east at dawn. I would not be able to ride out from under the shadows of the mountains, not in one night, but I should be able to get out away from the roots of the mountains into the steppe, descending far enough that the earth would run out almost level in every direction. Then I would be able to see other riders when they were still a long way away, so far that I could easily ride away from them. This gelding was a good animal, fast, not weary. I was not as heavy as an older man. I should be able to keep away from other riders as long as I paid attention and did not permit myself to be taken unaware.

The wind came from the mountains, cold, but not bitterly cold, holding the memory of the starlit lands. I was glad for the wind because it covered the sound of my pony’s hooves. Anyone who knew how to listen below the wind might hear us, but not from any distance. I tried to listen that way myself. Ryo had taught me to do it. He could do it all the time without paying very much attention. If anything made a sound in the dark, he would hear that sound. I was not Ryo. I had to concentrate and not allow myself to become distracted by all my thoughts.

I had no need to think about anything. Everything was very simple now. Until I came to the inGara camp, everything would remain simple.

Even after I came there, everything would be simple. I had no need to think of many complicated lies. I told myself that, as I had told myself that over and over during the past day and night. I pushed away every kind of fear and worry, every kind of plan, and tried hard to put my attention on the sounds that came to me, anything out of place below the constant sound of the wind.

Far away, I thought I heard a leopard scream. They call out in their piercing voices in the early spring, calling to other leopards. But the white leopards stay to the heights, hunting the goats and marmots that come to the high meadows. When the great herds of the steppe deer come into the shadow of the mountains, then sometimes the white leopards will come down from the mountains. But that would not happen for a long time, not until the winds blew warm and the grass grew thick. The shaggy muskoxen would not have ventured this close to the Convocation grounds. Muskoxen are cautious animals, not much concerned regarding wolves or leopards, but wary of men. If I heard the sound of any hoof coming down upon the earth, that would almost certainly be a pony. If I came near any other rider, I had better hear that before he heard me.

I did not hear anything but the wind. Even the leopard did not scream a second time. I hoped I might hear wolves—Ryo thought that was lucky—but I did not hear any wolves either. Only the soft thudding of my pony’s hooves and the wind.

After some time, the wind dropped and snowflakes began to swirl down, lightly and then more heavily. Then I heard only the soft whisper of falling snow. I worried less about someone else hearing me, but more about someone crossing my trail in the morning. I was very glad I had ridden a long way before the snow had begun to fall. Anyone who found my tracks would be able to follow me, but they would not be able to follow my trail back to that hidden meadow.

The closer to the mountains, the less snow. I turned my pony east of south, and then almost due east. I did not want to ride back toward the mountains yet. If Gataga had sent warriors to search for us, as I was certain he had, I must still be within the distance they would patrol most closely. If anyone found my trail, better they do that when I was farther east, as far east as possible, to persuade them to search east of the waterfalls, not west.

The nights in the high north come early and lie across the world for a long time. Certainly this night seemed to stretch out and out. Snow continued to fall, not heavily, but steadily. My pony walked and trotted and walked again. I carried a waterbag beneath my coat, and at times paused long enough to give the pony a little water, refill the waterbag with snow and put it back beneath my coat for the snow to melt. Except for those moments, we did not stop all that night.

Dawn came at last, steel-colored, the earth white and the sky almost that white, and snow still falling, but lightly now. The wind had not yet picked up. The world lay still and quiet below. Above, the sky seemed just as still and silent. The mountains rose up to my left, seeming very close and very high, their peaks hidden by the clouds. On a morning like this, I could believe that the peaks of the mountains brushed the vault of the heavens, though I knew these mountains were not as high as Talal Sabero, where the highest peak does indeed rise all the way to the sky.

I stopped again, giving my pony more water and drinking a little more myself. I had two journey sticks, and bit off the end of one, then tucked the rest away and gave the pony a double-handful of grain, then a handful again. He shoved his head into my chest, wanting more grain. When I did not give him more, he scraped at the snow, looking for grass. He would find little grass here, and he knew that. Though he blew out an irritated breath when I pulled myself back into the saddle, he did not protest.

I was tired and stiff, and my pony must be the same, but obviously there was nothing where we stood, no shelter. He knew perfectly well that shelter and better grass lay east. He started that way willingly, at a trot, his head up and his ears forward, hoping we might soon come to the shelter he remembered. I was not certain how far we had already come, but I thought if we traveled all day and hardly stopped at all, perhaps we might come to the Convocation grounds by dusk. Probably not. Probably we would have a cold, uncomfortable night before us, but come there sometime during the day tomorrow.

The snow was less now, and I studied the land. White and silent, stark, pristine. Nothing moved in all the world. I turned in the saddle, looking south, then north, then twisting farther around and looking back west, the way we had come.

And stopped breathing. My pony jigged sideways, feeling my sudden tension, turning, wanting to know what I had seen, why I was alarmed. Ponies see movement better than men, but they do not see as far, so he probably did not see the riders behind us, following our trail. I saw them clearly. In all that white, beneath that steel-colored sky, they were very easy to see. Three men … at least three. Maybe more. Black and small with distance, unidentifiable. But behind us, following my pony’s trail. Although I would not have trusted anyone I saw, I trusted people coming from that direction least of all.

Turning my pony to the north, I told him that now was the time for speed.

Ponies are always ready to believe that danger may be following. My gelding was tired, but not that tired; we had traveled a long time, but not at a fast pace. He surged into a canter with little urging, his ears swiveling back to listen to me, to listen to any danger that might be coming behind us, then forward again because he was too wise a beast to run into danger because he was worried about something behind him. He was a very good pony, very sensible. I could not help but wish he had the speed of a tall Lau horse, but of course a Lau horse would not have liked traveling through the cold night of the high north at all.

I said out loud, “You are a very, very fine pony,” and the gelding swiveled his ears back again, listening to me. He also settled into a steady, fast canter, waiting for me to tell him if that was enough. I told him with my hands and legs and body that he was a very good pony, that this much speed was good. I let him take his direction, trusting that he would not shy at a swirl of snow while I turned to look behind us.

I could see nothing. I had surprised the men and gotten farther ahead of them. Or their ponies were not as fast as mine. Or they had decided that they could follow my trail and need not exert themselves.

That last possibility seemed very likely.

I faced back around and put my attention to the land before me, trying to think. If I could stay far enough ahead of them, then my pursuers might not have everything as they wished it. Snow should lie less deeply once I come back among the roots of the mountains, so it would be much easier to get away from pursuers. But if any snow at all lay across the land there, I would not be able to disguise my direction and then the rougher ground would be less good. But equally bad for anyone following me.

Perhaps I might abandon my pony and climb up into the heights by a way that older, heavier warriors might find too difficult. I did not want to do that, I could hardly imagine how long it would take me to reach the Convocation grounds if I had to do that, but certainly that would be much better than letting inTasiyo warriors catch me.

I wished I knew the land here the way a young man of the inGara would know it. I wished I had all the skills a young man of the inGara ought to have.

My gelding was tiring. He was not too tired to go on, he could canter for a long distance yet, but not all day. The land here was rougher. If I rode any farther north, the land would become difficult for a pony, with many ridges humping upward, tiring to climb and dangerous to descend at any speed. I turned my pony east again, trying to think. If the men behind me were much older than I was, they would weigh more and their ponies would tire sooner. But mine had been walking and trotting all night and perhaps theirs had not.

I did not dare fight three warriors … even two. I did not even want to fight one man. Almost any older warrior could certainly defeat me. Most warriors my age could probably do it.

I counted forty breaths, then turned to look behind me and to the south. Then the same again. Then once more. To my left, the long ridges of the roots of the mountains stretched toward me. Broken gray stone lay here and there, fallen from the great heights. The snow here was a little less, but my trail was still far too clear.

Once more I turned to look, as I had done all those times before, and my stomach clenched tight because this time they were there. Two riders. Much closer than I had hoped, close enough for me to see them clearly—and for them to see me.

I realized immediately what had happened: I had been wrong about how many men followed my trail. There had been at least four, maybe more than that, enough that they had divided their numbers. Some had followed my trail, but these two had cut away east of north, riding along a diagonal that had sliced away a great deal of the distance that separated us.

I had been very stupid not to think of that possibility. Turning first due north and then due east had been a very bad mistake. That decision had been almost the worst of any possible decision I might have made, I saw that now, but there was no way to catch back that mistake.

Feeling my sudden fear, my gelding had jolted forward and then leaped into a gallop. He was not panicking, but almost. That was my fault. I made myself steady so that he would keep his wits, while I also looked ahead and to the north, searching for some way to evade those warriors.

These were older men, warriors who had come to their prime. I knew them, I knew their names, I knew that they had been loyal to my father, that they feared Gataga and courted his favor, that they hated Kanu. I could not let them catch me. I had gained some distance in the first moments of my flight, but I doubted I would be able to stay in front of them. Yet I could not possibly fight them. Not even Vayu or Arayo could have fought those warriors. Not even one of them, far less both.

But maybe I could outwit them. As I had recognized them, they must have recognized me. They would not think that I might lay a trap for them—they would not have that much respect for me. And the others on my trail would be too far behind to come up to us for some time. That was not as bad. My pony settled as I realized that. I glanced back. My pursuers were riding hard, so close they thought they might be able to overtake me, but they were heavier men than I, and my pony was probably better than theirs. I could outride them—for a while. Maybe for long enough.

Above me, the sharp, piercing cry of an eagle. I looked up. He flew through the lowest clouds, steel-colored mist wreathing his dark wings. His flight curved from the open steppe straight north, up into the teeth of the mountains. I turned my pony hard north to follow, riding between two long ridges, toward the high cliffs that reared up and up before me. I had been thinking of different things I might try, but the moment I turned straight toward the mountains, all the things I had thought of fell away to just one possible ruse. But I had to stay out of the sight of my pursuers long enough, and they would come into this narrow gap soon—and if I could not find the right kind of place, probably I would not be able to get away. The cliffs at the head of this long, narrow valley would probably prove impassable. If I could not find the right kind of place for a trap, I would have to try to find a way up those cliffs. Very likely there was no good way up. I would very much prefer not to have to try to elude pursuit that way.

Far less snow had fallen here between and among the roots of the mountains, as I had hoped. My pony left tracks, but not nearly as clear a trail as out on open ground. That had not been crucial, but it was good. I knew exactly the kind of place I wanted. I rode fast, curving one way and the other as I followed the narrow valley, looking for a place with broken rocks scattered up and down the steep slopes, a place with broken rock both to one side and the other side ... places like that could be found everywhere along the roots of the mountains, but if—there. There was the kind of place I wanted. Ahead, the broad cliff, bounded by these high ridges to both east and west. But much closer, only a little way ahead, a long streak of broken rock stretched up to the top of the eastern ridge almost directly across from a handful of cracked, loose boulders tumbled at the base of the other ridge to my left. This place was perfect.

I drew my gelding up there, close to the eastern ridge, and swung down, twisting the reins around the hook at the front of the saddle, slapping his shoulder to send him away. He pinned his ears back briefly, swinging around, fretting, alert. He knew very well that we had been pursued. He did not like that I had stopped him here. After a heartbeat, he went on, cantering toward the face of the cliff and then along the cliff, leaving me.

I had not waited. I had scrambled up the eastern ridge, along the place where the rock was broken and made the climb easy. I was careless of the snow at first, careless of the signs I might leave in my haste. Finding the kind of place I wanted, I shrugged out of my coat and arranged it there, behind a great boulder, mostly hidden. There was no time to judge exactly how it might look to people standing below, but I tried to make it look like a person showing just a little of his arm and side. Pulling an arrow from the quiver, I set this carefully where the metal of the arrowhead should catch the daylight. Then I made my way back down the eastern ridge, much more carefully this time, and ran across to the western ridge, trying to avoid leaving any tracks, and ducked down there among the boulders.

Even before I found that shelter, I heard hoofbeats. A heartbeat after I hid, my pursuers came into this place. They were not riding very fast. They had recognized me, as I had recognized them. They did not think I could get away from them, not now. They did not think they would have any great trouble when they found me. They saw no reason to be anything but scornful of their quarry. When they saw all the signs I had left at the base of the other ridge and up along the broken rocks there, they thought they knew what I had done.

The two warriors pulled up their ponies at the base of the eastern ridge, pointing up the trail of broken stone. Perhaps they thought they saw me—certainly they thought I had gone up the ridge there. They were so certain they knew everything and so scornful of me that they did not think at all about what other things might be true. They did not stop to ask themselves whether they might be wrong. They both dismounted, throwing the reins of their ponies over rocks there, calling to each other, their backs to me.

I was not very skilled with a bow. I had only begun learning to shoot this past summer. I had taught myself a little before I met Ryo. He had taught me much more, he and Rakasa and Bara, while we traveled all the long way north. But even so, I was not very skilled, not nearly as skilled as a warrior my age should be. And my bow was light, meant for small game, not for war.

I did not need a larger, heavier bow. I did not need great skill. The distance was so small, and my enemies had made themselves such good targets, that even I could not possibly miss. I had laid all my arrows ready to my hand, not trusting myself to draw each arrow from the quiver fast enough. My first arrow took one of my enemies in the back, almost in the center of his body. He cried out, going to his knees, and the other man whirled around, looking for me, struggling to ready an arrow of his own, but so surprised that he did not leap for cover. That was a mistake. That was his last mistake. My second arrow took him in the face, and my third struck him in the body, and then the first man struggled up to his hands and knees and I shot him again, in the chest, and that finished the fight.

That had not really been a fight. That had been like shooting deer from a hidden place, except easier because a second deer would have leaped away much faster when his companion was struck down. I wondered what the inGara would think of shooting enemies like that, in the back, without calling a warning or offering to fight properly. Probably this had been dishonorable. Perhaps deceitful. Perhaps sly.

Ryo would have fought them both, killed them both without difficulty, faced however many more enemies came against him and killed them all. But Ryo was a great warrior. I had never in my whole life fought anyone properly. The nearest I had ever come was that fight against the Saa’arii shadow warriors in the land of the shades. That had been very different. I had not fought properly then either. But at least I had tried.

If I had tried to fight these men, they would have defeated me immediately and taken me prisoner. They might have tried to make me tell them where to find Raga and the others. If not that, then they would have taken me to Gataga, and he would have tried to make me tell him everything. I did not regret killing them, but I could hardly bring myself to look at them as I took their ponies. Neither was carrying much, but the saddlebags of one held two journey sticks and a few dried plums and a pouch with a little grain, not much. I took all this. Blankets had been rolled up and laid across each pony’s rump behind the saddles. I took those too. One man had a sword slung from the saddle. He had not expected to need a sword to subdue me. Had I tried to fight him, probably he would not have needed a sword. I took that. It was the kind of sword one wears at the hip, not as long or heavy as the kind one wears over the back.

I hoped very much I would not need to fight anyone. I was trying very hard to avoid that kind of fight.

Taking one pony’s reins, I mounted the other and rode back to the mouth of this narrow valley between the ridges. I tied the ponies together and turned them loose, sending them on with arrows tied into their tails so they would be startled every time they swished their tails. I hoped that might keep them moving for some time.

Seeing the trail those ponies would leave, the warriors who would come along my trail might think the two men pursing me had ridden away from this place, onward. Or if they found the bodies, they might think I had ridden one pony away from this place, leading another. Or they might think something else, but I could think of no better trick.

Nothing is more stupid than to decide enemies will do what one wishes them to do.

I ran back down the long valley, careful to leave as little sign as I could.

When I came to the place where I had ambushed the warriors, I scrambled up the ridge to get my coat and the arrow I had left there. Then I slid back down as carefully as I could—if I twisted an ankle now, that would be very bad. I took both warriors’ bows and all their arrows, then ran on, toward the cliffs at the head of this little valley. Now I was even more careful of my tracks, of every kind of sign. But probably skilled warriors could track me. I would be very foolish to think they would not look for signs, and if they looked, they would probably find those signs.

My pony came to meet me when he realized I had grain for him. I was relieved to find that he seemed well enough. He had run a long way, but now he had walked long enough to settle from that effort. He snuffled at my pockets, looking for the dried plums. I gave him two, and then led him along the face of the cliff, careful to avoid places where snow might show a hoofprint, trying to keep to the naked stone and avoid the dead grasses that might show the signs of someone, man or pony, passing along this cliff. But obviously if any skilled warrior looked carefully, he would certainly find some signs that a pony had come this way.

I found a cleft in the stone where the western ridge met the cliffs. This was a narrow place, with stone for a long way around so that I need not worry about tracks. The inside of the cleft was hidden from easy view, and outside the cleft, the ridge, very steep, cast dark shadows over many shallow cracks and crevices.

The cleft itself was big enough for a man and a pony. Two ponies would have been too many in that place. The cleft was that small. But for one pony, it would do.

From the far end of this cleft, where the break in the stone became a narrow crevice, a young man would be able climb up some distance. I did not know how far I would be able to climb if I tried that. I would rather not try to escape from enemies that way, especially as I would have to abandon my pony to do that. I touched the hilt of the sword I wore now. It was not much comfort.

Maybe I should have taken all the ponies and ridden away as fast as I could. Maybe that would have been much more clever than finding this place to hide. But I could not have hidden my trail, not out there where the snow lay more deeply and evenly. But maybe I should have tried that anyway.

After one chooses a plan, when it is too late to change that plan, it always seems stupid and reckless. That does not mean the choice was wrong. It only means that waiting is hard. I pushed away all the fears and doubts that beset me and moved about the necessary tasks, with an eye to my pony because he would hear anyone approaching long before I could. The place was cold. The stone pressing close on all sides made the place colder than open air, though at least we were out of the wind. I had no brazier, nothing to burn. I regretted that very much, but there was nothing to be done.

I gave the gelding a little water and some grain, then tethered him at the rear of the cleft. All the time, I watched him. I was not certain how far behind other enemies might have been. That other enemies had followed my trail I was very certain, but I did not know what they would think or do. I did not know how many more warriors might be following me. I suspected at least two more, but perhaps three, perhaps even more than that.

After a little time, my pony lay down, grunting, irritated because he wanted to roll, or look for grass, or find better shelter, and as he was tethered he could not do any of those things. But once he was down, when I moved to sit against his side, he did not object. We were both warm. Nothing else here was warm. And he was very easy-tempered, for a pony. I was glad I had asked Raga to let me take him.

Weariness crept up my limbs, making me heavy and stupid. I found my eyes closing, my head nodding, and the jolt of fear that I might fall asleep jerked me back to alert wakefulness. But then I found my head nodding again. I did not dare sleep. I made myself stand up, stretch, pace back and forth. I checked the heavy bows, testing the draw. I was not as strong as a warrior in the prime of his life. I had known that, but I knew it better when I tried those bows. One was so difficult to draw that I set it aside. The other was better. I should have tested my strength against those bows before this. What if I had been so stupid I had seized the wrong bow when I needed to shoot? I tried not to think of what might have happened if I had been that stupid.

Then the pony lifted his head, alert, telling me that something was happening, that someone had come.

12 –

From the way my pony acted, enemies had not yet come close. But he wanted to get up. I let him. His hooves scraped and clattered against the stone, sounds that would carry. I moved quickly, snatching up arrows and taking those and the better bow with me, slipping out of the cleft of stone. Hurrying across the narrow place where the ridge joined the cliff, I backed into the shadows across from the cleft, choosing a place where fallen stones would protect me a little. I set two arrows where I could get them quickly and then lifted the bow. Setting an arrow to the string, I aimed at where a man would come. I did not draw the bow all the way, not yet. I would not be able to hold the bow at full draw very long. Maybe I should have left both heavy bows aside, used my light bow instead. Probably I had been stupid not to do that. But now there was no time to change my mind.

This was so much the same as the first ambush, exactly the same. Probably this had been a stupid plan, very stupid, impossibly stupid. Anyone coming would surely be suspicious. They would surely guess what I was trying to do. Why had I not thought of a better plan when I had had time to think? I was disgusted by my stupidity, terrified at what might happen because of my poor planning, but now it was too late to try to think of a different plan.

I breathed deeply, trying to let go of the fear that tightened my muscles. Fear will make it hard to shoot, hard to fight, impossible to think, but it was difficult to push the fear aside.

I heard the faint sound of someone moving quietly across the stone. My stomach clenched tight. No sound of hooves. Whoever was coming had left his pony at a distance so he could move this quietly. Perhaps more than one man was coming; I could not tell how many.

One man came into view, moving quickly and quietly, his attention on the cleft, a bow in his hand, an arrow to the string. He slid around the lip of the stone, his attention focused forward. My pony squealed, hooves clattering. From the sound, I guessed he was probably trying to rear or lunge, very much aware this was an enemy. The tether held him—but he might well break free if he struggled hard. That possibility certainly drew the first man’s attention.

A second warrior had followed closely behind the first, wary, his gaze darting in every direction. He saw me. His eyes widened. He began to bring up his bow, but I shot him in the face, a very good shot, and his head snapped back as he crumpled. I was very much relieved at that even as I snatched up a second arrow and drew again as fast as I could.

The first man swung around, looking for me, trying to flinch to the side, but there was nowhere for him to go—he stood in the mouth of the cleft, stone blocking every kind of movement, my pony preventing him from backing up. I had not exactly planned to put him at that kind of disadvantage, but if I had planned everything, it could hardly have happened in a better way. I loosed my arrow long before he could aim, but he dropped to one knee just as I released the bowstring. I should have expected that, obviously that was the only way he could evade my arrow, but I had not, and almost missed entirely. My arrow sliced into his coat, cutting across his shoulder, but probably barely wounding him. At least his own aim had been spoiled—his arrow went past me, clattering against the stone—the cut made him slow to grab another arrow from the quiver he wore—I snatched up my third arrow, drew, and stopped.

He had dropped his bow. He was holding up his hands, palm out, the way a man will when he wants to stop a fight.

First I thought that was a ruse, and nearly loosed the arrow. But he turned his face to the side, closing his eyes, bracing himself for the arrow that might cut into his chest, and I hesitated. Blood streaked his shoulder, staining his coat. Maybe this was not a ruse. He had been too slow to get another arrow. He could not have stopped me from shooting him. Maybe he had realized that—realized it so fast he had dropped his bow instead.

I could not see how this could be a ruse. Or I could see many ways he might try to fool me, but no way he could stop me from shooting him now.

I knew him. I had known them all, and I knew this man. His name was Rokavo. He was not a man I hated very much. Maybe I hesitated for that reason as well.

Realizing that I had not yet shot him, Rokavo drew a breath and opened his eyes, facing me. He did not try to get to his feet. He turned his hands palm up, asking for mercy. I could hardly believe he would set his pride so much aside as to make that gesture to me. But he did it, and waited for my decision.

I did not trust him. Obviously I could not possibly trust him. But I did not want to shoot him. This was very, very stupid. Extraordinarily stupid. But I still did not want to do it.

Finally, I said, “Unstring your bow.”

He obeyed me without a word. He set the unstrung bow aside, took his sheathed sword from his belt and set that beside the bow, added his knife, also sheathed. He shoved all these weapons aside, carefully, using only one hand, and then looked at me, holding up both hands again. He said, his voice quiet, “When we found our companions dead, we thought someone else must be with you. We had seen the tracks of only one pony, but we thought you might be riding double with someone else. We thought that was why you had not been able to outride us. But you did all this by yourself. Is that so?”

I answered immediately. “How could that be so? I stayed here to delay you while my companion rode on. You are much, much too late now to stop him from reaching the Convocation grounds. You cannot possibly do it. Even if you had succeeded in killing me, even if you do it now, he will tell the lord of the inGara everything.”

If Rokavo did not believe me, he did not say so. For a long moment, he did not say anything at all. Then, finally, he said, “I should have stopped Gataga. My brothers and I should have stopped him.”

I had not expected him to say that. Everything he had done and said surprised me. I tried not to show that. I said, “That would certainly have been much better than continuing to take his orders.” These other warriors who had come with him were not his brothers. One was a cousin, but they had not been so close that I thought I had to shoot Rokavo to stop him from trying to kill me in revenge for the man’s death. Maybe I did not have to do it.

“Yes,” he said. “I think that may be so. Are you going to kill me?”

“Obviously I would be stupid to let you go.” But still, I did not shoot him. Even though my words were true. Any choice other than killing him would be stupid.

Would Ryo agree that it was stupid not to kill this man? Surely he would agree. Rokavo was an enemy of the inGara, a bitter enemy. Or he had been. Since he had become nameless, maybe no one needed to consider that enmity important now. But, for the same reason, there was no reason not to kill him. No one would say I was wrong to do it.

He was older than I was and far, far better trained. Obviously I should kill him.

What if I confessed I did not want to do it, would Ryo say this was cowardice? Was it cowardice? I could not decide.

I could not hold this bow at full draw for much longer; I already felt the strain in my wrists and shoulders. I shifted my aim. I could shoot Rokavo in the leg. He would not die of that unless he was unlucky. He would not be able to fight nearly as well if I did that. Certainly once I got away from him, he would not be able come after me.

His eyes had widened. He said, “Please do not shoot me, Tano. Tie me up. I promise I will not attempt to attack you.”

I made a scornful sound. But he knew I did not want to kill him. If I had wanted to do it, I would have done it already. That was a weakness, and one he would probably try to use. He might see I could barely hold the bow drawn. Soon my hands would probably begin to shake. He would certainly see that.

“Take off your coat,” I ordered him. “Lie down with your hands out as far as you can reach.”

He hesitated.

“Do it now or I will kill you,” I said, as sharply as I could because I certainly would not be able to hold the bow steady for more than another breath.

He believed me. He did exactly as I had ordered.

I eased the bow, trying not to gasp with the relief, and drew the sword instead. Moving forward, I set the tip of the sword on his back, between and below his shoulder blades. He had known I would do that, or something like that. He did not move. I leaned on the sword a little, just enough to make a shallow cut. The blood welled through the shirt. Not much blood. More had come from the cut across the top of his shoulder. I doubted that was a serious cut either, but it might hamper him a little.

It would be very easy to kill him now. If he moved at all, I would certainly kill him—if he moved fast, it might even be impossible to avoid killing him. Holding the sword as steady as I could, I drew my knife as well and crouched to set that against the back of his neck, tossing the sword away so he could not possibly twist around and try to snatch it from me. He did not try that.

Keeping the knife where it was, I slid my other hand around his neck and gripped his throat, finding the pulse beneath my fingers and thumb. Then I tightened my grip. He knew what I was doing. He knew now I would not kill him if I could avoid doing it. He stayed still. He did not protest or struggle. I held the pressure on his throat, stopping the flow of blood there until he went limp, and for three breaths longer. Then I used his bowstring to tie his hands behind his back, as quickly as I could. Then I dragged him out of the way. He woke before I finished, I felt the tension come into his body, but he did not try to fight me, though when I let him go, he rolled over and sat up.

“Stay there,” I told him. I took his bow, threw his sword away among the rocks, thrust his knife through my belt, sheathed my sword, and then finally brought my pony out of the cleft. He was fretful, worried, ready to be upset. I patted him and murmured to him, settling him, keeping a careful eye on Rokavo all the time. He sat where I had put him, watching me, not trying to get free. It would not take him very long once I left.

I mounted my pony, but I did not ride away at once. I told him, “You and your brothers are nameless people. Your wives are nameless people. Your children are nameless people. Koro inKarano said so. He commanded the inVotaro to go to your territory and tell everyone they found that they have become nameless, order them to leave that territory. No one is permitted to go into that territory now. You may ask other tribes to permit you to come into their people, but if you had wanted to do that, you should have done it before the inTasiyo ceased to exist. Everyone despises you now, or if some tribes do not despise you, they will not want to offend the inGara.”

He listened to all this. Then he asked, speaking slowly, “Is that the truth?”

“Did you think the youngest son of the lord of the inGara lied to you? He must have said all this. He does not know how to lie. You should have understood that, Rokavo.”

He said, “Tosaru did not let that young man speak more than two words.”

I rolled my eyes. “That was stupid. How could you not have realized that was stupid? You would have done far better to make Tosaru let Raga speak. Since you did not let Raga tell you the truth, maybe you will have enough sense to understand I am telling you this same truth. The people who used to be inTasiyo are commanded to beg for places in other tribes. If no one will accept you, then you must leave all the lands ruled by inKarano or you must kill yourselves. I am certain the inVotaro would be pleased to kill you all if you do not accept this decree. That is the truth. All the skulls will be taken out of the low tomb and thrown into the open. Your grandmother’s skull is in that tomb, is that not so, Rokavo? The skull of your oldest son is in that tomb. If you do not want those skulls to be thrown away, then you would do well to ride back to the lands that used to belong to your people, as fast as you can ride, and move those skulls to a higher tomb. Are you glad I have not killed you?”

He looked at me for a long moment. I waited. Finally, he said, “You have changed very much since you left us.”

“I hope I have,” I said shortly. “Are you glad I have not killed you, Rokavo?”

He said, “Yes.”

“Then move my mother’s skull, and my uncle’s. And Vayu’s grandmother’s skull. That is what I want in exchange for your life. The inGara would probably say I am stupid to ask you to do that for me, Rokavo. They would say you have thrown away your honor and do not know how to return good for good. They would say you do not know anything about the way people should behave. They are right. I will not ask you for any kind of promise because you will lie if you wish.”

His expression had not changed. He said, “So will you. You have not changed that much, Tano.”

I wanted to deny this. Obviously I could not deny it. I shrugged. “If I am lying, what should you do? You should take your wife and your children, all your brothers should take their wives and their children, and you should all ride away from inGara lands as quickly as you can, evade the notice of every tribe that is an ally of inGara, go back to your own land to give this warning to your close kin and your friends, then go from there somewhere else, to any tribe that will take you. If I am telling you the truth, what should you do? The same, and also move the skulls of any people who matter to you and prepare to obey the king’s decree. How would it be bad for you to act as though I am telling you the truth?”

He nodded slow acknowledgment.

“So,” I said. “If you come there in time to move the skulls that matter to you, I ask you to move the skulls that matter to me as well. Do not tell me you will do it. I know I cannot believe you. I do not care what you say. But I ask you to do it.”

Then I threw his knife down where he could reach it, turned my pony, and sent him away from that place.

I rode out of the narrow valley between the ridges. I rode fast, letting my pony choose his own path because I had a bow in my hands and an arrow to the string. If any other warriors had come here, I would try to shoot them before they shot me. I hoped very much no other warriors had come here. Four seemed enough. More than enough.

I passed the two ponies Rokavo and the other man had ridden. Only two, so that was good. That meant probably no other enemies were close. The two ponies picked up their heads as my gelding and I passed them, but they were not very concerned. Almost as soon as they saw me, they dropped their heads to tear at the sparse yellow grasses. This was not a good meadow, the soil was poor here, thin and rocky, but the grasses here were better than out beyond the roots of the mountains, and the animals wanted to graze while they could. I was glad to see that. It meant they were not thinking about anyone hiding near them, so I knew by that no one was there.

The saddles and saddlebags had been set aside, and I took time to look at everything there and take the grain and a handful of journey sticks and a waterskin that was almost full.

My pony thought he should be permitted to join those two. He did not much like any other idea. I tightened my legs around his barrel, tapping him with my heels, sending him forward. He laid his ears back, protesting, but did not crow-hop or buck. Soon, as we approached the two men I had shot first, the smell of blood and death became so clear even I could smell it. Then my gelding stopped protesting and took a faster pace of his own accord. Everything here had made him uneasy, so he was much more willing to do as I asked.

The ridges grew lower and less steep as we came to the mouth of that little valley. I tried to watch to both sides at once. I tried to pay attention to my pony so that he might tell me if anyone waited ahead of us. Nothing happened. Nothing happened yet. I rode on, and out into the steppe, letting my pony turn east. That was certainly the direction he wanted to go, and it was also the direction I wanted to go. He took a faster pace again, and I did not object to that either.

Then we crossed the tracks made by the two ponies I had sent away, and I frowned, turning my gelding to follow those tracks. I knew nothing about tracking, I had no skill at all, but even a child could see that more than two ponies had gone this way. At least three. Perhaps four.

Definitely four.

I had no idea whether Rokavo and the other man had ridden this way first, following this trail, but then turned and come back, or whether I was now following two other warriors. Could six men have followed me? That seemed altogether too many. But perhaps Gataga had wanted that much to capture me. Perhaps he had that many warriors willing to listen to him and obey his orders.

The thought came to me that if my father had appeared anywhere among the inTasiyo people, everyone would have obeyed him. He would most certainly have wanted to capture me. He would have wanted that almost more than anything else.

This was impossible. I knew it was impossible. Obviously it was impossible. But I could not push that thought out of my mind.

If anything of the kind had been true, Rokavo would have said so. Surely he would have said so. Besides, if my father had told those men to capture me, they certainly would not have wanted to kill me. Not if doing so would have earned my father’s anger. They had been very willing to kill me.

Or perhaps not? Maybe that was why I had managed to kill three warriors, all older than I was. Maybe that was why Rokavo had dropped his bow rather than shoot me.

This was all impossible. I was being completely stupid. If I let myself be distracted from all the dangers that surrounded me and I stupidly rode up behind two more inTasiyo warriors without noticing them and they killed me, I would deserve that death.

If two more inTasiyo warriors were in front of me, I had certainly been stupid not to kill Rokavo. That would mean three men might soon be searching for me, all of them far more experienced and skilled warriors than I was. After Rokavo told the others of the traps I had laid for the others, they would never let me ambush them that way a third time.

I tried to breathe deeply and steadily, looking as carefully as I could at the tracks I followed and the land that surrounded me. The only good thing was that my gelding’s tracks would be hard to pick out among the rest, especially if no one looked closely.

To my left, many more ridges, some high and steep, some lower and more rolling. In many places, ice streaked the stone. I would have liked very much to see the living flash of running water, the dark smoothness of a pool or pond. I was very thirsty. I had not realized that until I had that thought about water. The waterskin was good, but my pony would need most of that water. But I drank a little, and ate some snow, and paused long enough to gather some snow, packing this into the empty waterskin and putting that under my coat to melt.

To my right, the rolling steppe, uneven here rather than level like the lower steppe farther south. Nothing broke the line of the earth in any direction. I looked again and again, scanning for the dark shapes of riders, but so far I saw nothing, only the rocky, frozen soil and last summer’s dead grasses and snow.

I must be close to the Convocation grounds. I had gone far out of the direct way, but even so, I could not be very distant from that place now. But the Sun stood low in the west. I was still following the tracks of four ponies. Surely no one had come this far before turning back. By this time, I was almost certain this must be two more warriors. Almost as I thought that, I also thought, peering ahead, that maybe I could see someone there. Riders, maybe, a long distance ahead, but not so far I could not see them. I did not think longer, but immediately turned my gelding to the north without even deciding to do it. We had come to another ridge, longer but not as high as most, the rocky soil in the lee of the ridge not holding as much snow as in some other places. I urged my pony to canter, weaving between patches of snow, keeping to places where his tracks would not show as much, following the ridge, getting out of sight as quickly as possible, looking for a place so rocky that tracks would not show at all, where cracked and tumbled rock would make a place to hide.

For a long time, I thought this ridge might be the only one among all the roots of the mountains where there were no good places like that. When I finally found the kind of tumbled boulders that might be good, I went on because that was the very first good hiding place and anyone searching would surely look there.

At last, I found a different place, where great slabs of stone had broken from the cliffs and fallen in a jumble. From the outside, nothing there seemed to offer shelter for a man and a pony. But if I dismounted and led my gelding close to the ridge—high here, and very steep—then upon one enormous slab of gray stone, and below another, and behind yet another, a small space offered shelter that was almost impossible to see from outside. I tethered my pony there and went and walked around to be certain that the place was good. Even knowing he was there, I could not see him. I heard his hooves as he moved, restless and unhappy, feeling he should have much more comfort than I had given him. But I could not see him even when he moved.

Going back into the space, I gave my pony almost all the water and some of the grain. I would need to collect much more snow to melt for water. I would need to do that very carefully, not leaving signs that anyone had done it. But there was enough water for tonight. I spread most of the blankets over the stone, set my new heavy bow close at hand, laid out two arrows and made certain the others were loose in the quiver, then sat down there, cutting another blanket into pieces, poking holes along the edges of the pieces and threading thongs through the holes while I tried to decide how long to hide here. All night, yes, but then tomorrow should I go on or stay here?

I wanted very much to go on. But I also thought that it would be stupid to try to ride out into the open land too soon and let myself be found. That would be very, very stupid. I thought that perhaps I should stay here all through tomorrow, then slip away in the dark.

Perhaps my first thoughts had been wrong and I should do that now, tonight. The lavender shadows of dusk were already creeping across the land. Soon it would be dark enough that no one would see me if I rode even so little as a bowshot away from them. But I was very tired. My pony was tired. Was it cowardice to think I should rest tonight? Those warriors had been close. They would probably camp near this place. I thought it would truly be better to wait long enough for them to go away. But perhaps I thought that because I was cowardly.

While I thought, I finished with the blanket pieces. Standing, I went to my gelding and picked up his feet one at a time, setting each down in the center of a piece of the blanket, using the thongs to tie the pieces onto his legs above the feathering. He turned his head, nudging me, pushing at my chest, not trying to bite, but thinking I might have more grain for him, perhaps a piece of dried fruit. I gave him the last of the dried plums and rubbed his head between his ears, grateful he did not object to having his hooves muffled. Certainly this must be strange, but he did not seem to mind it, only lifting his feet high and setting them down again, dropping his head to nose at the pieces of blanket muffling his front hooves. But when I gave him another handful of grain, he forgot to worry. Certainly his steps now were much quieter. He should have grass, but I could not let him graze—that would leave marks no one could miss.

I held his reins and sat down near him. The blankets made the place a little warmer for both of us. After a little time, I found a journey stick and leaned against a slab of rock close to the bow I had left ready. My back hardly hurt at all any longer. I had almost forgotten those welts until I leaned back. I ignored the twinges of pain, relaxing a little and then a little more as the pony settled.

If anyone searched for me that night, I could not tell. I slept, and woke, and slept again, all that night. My gelding shifted now and then, waking me, but he did not seem troubled by anything he heard.

Dawn came, and I made sure my pony was tethered securely, went out of my hiding place, and looked for places I could gather snow without leaving obvious signs. I had a little more grain, not much, but soon, very soon, we would come back to the inGara camp. Whatever happened after that, at least this pony could be cared for properly.

Maybe I should take him and ride out now. Maybe it was cowardice even to think of hiding here all through this day. I thought of the riders I had glimpsed ahead of me and did not know what I should do. Maybe they had not been inTasiyo warriors. Maybe they had been inVotaro or belonged to some other people.

They had been following my tracks and then the tracks of those two ponies. Probably they had been inTasiyo.

Rokavo would know I had to be close. When there were no tracks that showed I had ridden on to the east, he would know that. Maybe he would believe my lies, but maybe he would not. Maybe he would believe the true things I had told him, but maybe he would not. Maybe he would decide he should try to please Gataga, or maybe he would decide other things were important. Those other warriors I had glimpsed might agree with Rokavo or they might not. I could not decide what any of those people would think or do. I could not decide what I should do. Everything I thought of seemed wrong to me, foolish and dangerous.

I lingered in the hiding place I had found, watching the angle of the light and thinking about Raga and Arayo and Vayu. I wondered whether Gataga’s people had found the secret little lea, whether Arayo and the others had gotten away from that place to the ledge they had found, whether Gataga’s people had found that place. Arayo and Vayu might be fighting now to keep enemies from coming up to that ledge. They might be saying to each other, Tano will tell the inGara we are in this trouble, our people will soon come to find us. I thought of that and decided that I could not hide here all day, that even waiting another hand of time would be wrong. I began to get to my feet.

My pony lifted his head. He was not looking at me. He looked away, his ears pricking forward, listening to something I could not hear. He moved a step, plainly uneasy, but his muffled hooves made almost no sound.

Stepping close to him, I took the reins close under his jaw and set my other hand over his muzzle to keep him quiet. He knew that signal and stood still, his ears rotating forward and back and then forward again, his muscles tight with readiness to run or fight. I wished very much that I could ask him what he heard. I waited, listening hard myself, but I heard nothing. Perhaps voices, very distant, but perhaps I imagined that. I stayed where I was, ready to snatch up my bow if I heard anything, if my pony told me he heard someone moving close to our hiding place. But nothing happened. Finally, the pony relaxed, shifting his weight, dropping his head, nudging at me impatiently.

I let him go, slowly, and gave him a little grain to keep him where he was. I did not sit down again, but took up my bow, set an arrow to the string, and waited. I glanced over my shoulder at the pony, who was watching me, but showed no concern. I stood there for some time before I sat down again. I heard nothing. I was almost certain someone, enemies, had come near. But if they had, they had not realized I was hidden here, or they had withdrawn to wait for me to come out, or perhaps something else had happened that I did not think of.

After that, I did not dare ride out during daylight. I did not even dare gather more snow. I thought of the others, who indeed might be waiting for help to come to them. I thought of them, but I stayed where I was. I thought this might be cowardice, I thought probably it was cowardice, but I still stayed in that place. I told myself that days in the high north are short, and I waited.

That day did not seem short at all. It seemed very long. Every hand and finger of time seemed longer than the one before. But finally dusk came and daylight faded, and faded further. Clouds still hid the sky. The night would be dark. That was both a good thing and a bad thing.

The fallen stones around this hiding place would be difficult to manage in the dark. Before the daylight entirely faded, I saddled my pony, gathered up all my supplies, and, with his reins in one hand and my bow in the other, led him out through the maze of jumbled slabs of rock into a dusk that was almost too dark for me to see anything. The clouds remained between the earth and the sky, so if the Moon had stepped into the sky, I could not see her.

Even without moonlight, my pony would be able to see well enough for another finger of time, two fingers, three. If any enemies were near this place, I hoped he would hear them, smell other ponies, something that would tell me of the danger in time for us to get away.

Slinging my bow over my back, I mounted and rode slowly along the ridge. The pony’s muffled hooves made low, thudding sounds, not loud. He lifted his legs high, not liking the pieces of blanket over his hooves. I nudged him to take a faster pace. He wanted to go out into the open land beyond the ridges, and he probably thought of the shelter waiting for him when we finally came to the Convocation grounds. He did not object to taking a trot and then a faster trot. I kept my feet light in the stirrups so I could jump clear if he put a foot wrong or if someone shot him or if anything else made him fall.

Nothing happened.

The ridge became lower, and then lower again. If anyone waited, they did not see us or hear my pony’s muffled footfalls—or if anyone did, I could not tell it. We came out of the valley into the open country, and without waiting for any signal from me, my pony turned straight east and lifted into a canter.

I rode all night, not fast, but steadily, at the best pace the gelding thought wise, staying among the roots of the mountains rather than turning farther south toward more open country. All the time, I feared I might hear someone shout. Probably I would not be able to hide from anyone who found me, but even so, I stayed in this rougher country where hiding might at least be possible. Sometimes I came to a place where the roots of the mountains humped too steeply upward for a pony to manage and then I rode south a little, turning east again as soon as I could, turning back to the north when I could do that. All this must be adding some hands of time to my journey, but even so, it seemed better to me to take this convoluted path rather than a straight path.

I took the pieces of blanket off the pony’s hooves as soon as we had gone far enough that I thought it safe to pause and do that. I gathered snow to melt for him and ate some snow myself. That was not enough for either of us, but it helped.

If enemies waited for me, I did not encounter them. This moonless night made any kind of hunt difficult. This was the kind of night where only an owl can strike accurately, and the foxes, whose hearing is so sharp they hear the little footfalls of the mice.

Despite the heavy overcast, no more snow came down. Near the middle of the long night, the clouds began to break and thin and the stars began to look down. The light of the Moon, for a long time hidden completely from the world, showed first as a misty light behind the clouds, and then as a nimbus around her lantern, and then the clouds parted and she looked down, round and full. Now this was a hunter’s night, luminous with moonlight. But now I thought I had probably come past anyone hunting me.

To my left hand, the mountains towered to the sky. To my right hand, the wide steppe ran away forever. My pony and I wove among the roots of the mountains, sometimes turning a little south and sometimes a little north, but always mostly east. The gelding wanted to stop and graze whenever we came to a sheltered place where he might find last year’s grasses. I knew he needed decent fodder, and more water than I could give him, and rest. But we were so close now, and all those things waited before us. I ate my last journey stick and drank a palmful of water without stopping. Then I halted long enough to give my pony all the rest of the grain and almost all the rest of the water. Then we went on. Once, I heard a fox call. Other than that, the night seemed utterly empty, I and my pony entirely alone in the wide sweep of the world.

After a very long time—it seemed a very long time to me—the sky began to lighten before me, at first silver, and then dove gray, and then delicate blue and pale salmon-color, and finally the Sun set his hand on the edge of the world, so bright a gold that I had to drop my gaze to my pony’s withers, and daylight spilled out across the world.

Surely I would come to the Convocation grounds before dusk. My heart lifted at that thought, but my stomach tightened painfully. I wanted very, very much to come there. I wanted to see many men, inGara warriors, ride west to find Raga and Arayo and Vayu. But I could hardly imagine explaining everything to Sinowa inGara. I did not want to do that at all. Now that I had come this close, every fear I had tried so hard to push away came back into my mind and my stomach.

Maybe I could explain everything to Ryo instead. Except his disappointment would be even harder to face than his father’s anger.

I pressed my pony to take a brief, swift canter. For at least a little time, that helped me think of other things.

But I could not ask him to keep that fast pace for a long time. When he wanted to drop back to a walk, I let him slow. This was not a good place to canter anyway. We had come to a place where many broken, tumbled boulders lay scattered along the path of an old avalanche where once half a steep slope had cracked free and slid down from the heights. The footing was bad here, stones hidden by winter grasses that no beasts had grazed short.

I let the gelding pick his path, permitting him to slow so that he might take the chance to snatch at winter-yellowed grasses as he walked, and we went on.

Then we came around an enormous, broken boulder, and there, sitting a little way up the slope, his blood a bright, vivid crimson splashed across the stony earth all around him, sat my father, upright, his eyes open, looking at me.

13–

He sat cross-legged, upright, his back straight. He had frozen that way, with his back straight and his head up and his eyes open. The foxes and ravens had not found him. That was why I had thought at first that he might still live, even after so many days, even despite the blood, even though I knew it was impossible. But though the ravens had not come, though he looked almost like a living man, he was dead. Of course he was dead.

Perhaps even ravens and foxes did not want to come near him. Perhaps even the winds did not, and that was why the air had become so still. The sunlight fell upon him so that the frozen blood glittered. But I could believe that nothing else in the world wanted to come this close to my father, even now that he was dead.

My pony leaned against the bit when I did not let him turn. Feeling the horror that had run down my spine and locked my body into stillness, he tried to back, tried to sidle away sideways, fretting, more and more upset the longer I held him here. In only a breath, I would let him turn. I told myself I would do it. But I checked him again and stayed where I was, unable to look away from my father.

The inVotaro had found a place, a gap in the stones, and driven a spear into that gap, and bound my father to that spear with a thong around his throat to keep him there, upright. They had cut his hair. The short, ragged fingerwidth that remained was dusted white with frost. His arms rested on his thighs, his hands missing. Blood had dripped and puddled, but it had not poured out. Blood from the cut tongue had run down his chin and chest, frozen, glittering. But he had not died because of blood loss. The inVotaro had left a bowl of water a spearlength from one knee, out of his reach; and a brazier a spearlength from the other knee, also out of his reach, to show that he was denied water and warmth, that he had been an enemy to the people of this territory. Then they had left him to die of the cold.

That would not have taken very long. They had not stripped him, but he had not been wearing a coat, and they had taken his boots. That had almost been a kindness; the only manner of kindness they had shown.

Probably my father had died of the cold that first night. Of the cold, and the shock of his injuries, and the black bitterness spilling out of his heart. Perhaps at the same moment that Vayu and Arayo and Raga and I had set up our tent, he had been sitting here like this, dying of cold and blood loss, and of his anger, turned inward and poisoning his heart. I seemed to feel that poison now. I imagined him turning his head, ice cracking and shattering as he opened his tongueless mouth. That was entirely foolish, and I knew it, but I could not push the image out of my mind.

He was dead. Here he was. I should believe this. It was true. At some time during that first night, or the next day, or the next night again, my father had died because he could not seek any kind of shelter, and because none of his people had come here to help him.

None of them had known what was happening. None of them had known he had been left out under the sky to die like this. None of them knew it now. Kanu had lied and lied again, and the words he had spoken had almost made me see the death he had described, but this death was different. It seemed remarkable to me, astounding, that my father could have died days ago and most of his people would not even know yet that this had happened. It felt strange, extraordinary, that everyone in the world had not felt the moment of his death.

No matter how many other concerns had distracted me, I could hardly believe that I had not felt that. I had been thinking of everything else. I could not believe I had been thinking of so many other things I had forgotten he might be here somewhere close to this place. But I had forgotten. Now I looked at him and could not think of anything else except this.

I had known what the inVotaro would do to him. Of course I had known that. Except I had felt that it could not happen, that they could not really do this. I had thought … I could not tell now what I had thought. That he would make them not do it, somehow. That Royova inVotaro himself would flinch at the thought of carrying out that sentence, that he would not be able to face my father and do it. That my father would bring Royova and all the inVotaro under his will. Or that he would seize a sword and fight them all; that he would spit on Royova’s spilled blood and stride away to gather his scattered people, recover his strength, and pursue his enmity.

Perhaps I had feared that the inVotaro would fall dead when they tried to do it, that the force of my father’s fury and hatred would strike them all to the heart and they would die where they stood.

Perhaps I had thought that all the inTasiyo warriors—Tewaro, Yakaga, all of them, those who had followed my father most closely—would rise out of the earth and fool the inVotaro somehow, carry out some clever ruse, rescue my father, slip away out of sight, and plot vengeance against everyone who had offended them. Against Sinowa inGara. Against Ryo. Against me.

That had perhaps been a more sensible fear. A little more sensible. But still stupid.

All those fears had been stupid. I had known that. But all those things had come into my mind. All those things had been easy to imagine. Even though I had heard Koro inKarano pronounce this sentence, somehow even then I had not been able to imagine anything remotely like this ending.

Now I sat here on my fretting, angry pony, making him stand, refusing to let him turn, unable to look away from my father’s body, and I did not have to imagine anything.

I did not know what I felt. It seemed to me that I felt nothing. Not glad that he was dead. Not safe because he was dead. Not fury because he was dead and finally I could feel fury and bitterness. If bitterness had come into my heart, I could not tell that. I felt that the whole world had changed in some important way, but I did not feel anything. Then I realized tears were hot in my eyes and cold on my face. I had not even known I wept until I felt that. I could not understand why I wept. That made no sense to me. I scrubbed a hand across my face, blinking hard.

A shadow passed over me, and over him. I glanced up. I thought I would see a raven, several ravens, finally coming to this place. But the bird that drifted overhead, turning in a wide spiral in the high and empty sky, was an eagle, gold and bronze in the brilliant light of this clear morning.  I looked up at him for a long time, until the curve of his flight took him behind the mountains, out of my view.

As though that sight had freed me, I finally let my pony turn and rode away from that place. I held him to a walk, though he fretted and pulled hard against the bit, angry, wanting to run. I held him hard even though I did not know why. I did not want to look back, I told myself not to look back, I knew it was entirely foolish and stupid to look back, but my strength was not enough to resist. I looked over my shoulder, once, and then, unable to prevent myself from doing it, a second time. My father did not stand up, stretching out the stumps where his hands had been, opening his tongueless mouth to call after me. Of course nothing like that happened. Each time I looked, he still sat exactly as I had left him, his blood as bright as though it had just run from his veins.

The second time, I had come far enough that I could not see that his sightless eyes were open.

After that, I did not look back again, but turned my face forward and finally let my pony gallop as he wished, wanting the speed and the streaming wind and the cold; wanting all the distance in the world between that place and any place where I might ever set my foot. He leaped ahead, glad to go, afraid of the blood and bitterness behind us.

That reckless speed was a mistake. Before we had gone five bowshots, my pony put his foot wrong, perhaps on a stone thrown this far by the avalanche, perhaps into a hollow neither of us had realized was there, a dip in the earth hidden by the ragged winter grasses. Whatever happened, however he set his foot, though he did not fall, the jolt as he stumbled, staggered, and recovered nearly threw me out of the saddle.

Much worse, even after my gelding had recovered from the shock of that near-fall, he was very lame. He took several awkward, clumsy steps and then halted, the white part of his eyes showing, frightened and upset because he knew he could not run.

The pony was too lame to ride.

The bone had not broken. I was certain of that. He could walk almost the way he should. But he could not trot, far less canter or gallop.

I did not know as much as a man should about caring for ponies. That was one of the many, many things about which I knew much less than I should. I had rarely been allowed to care for any important animals, rarely been allowed to ride, until I had come to Ryo and traveled all that long way with him and with the others. But even I knew that one should not ride a pony as lame as this, that making him carry weight might make the lameness worse, that he might heal if he could be handled gently, but if he had to run or work hard, then the lameness would probably become worse and worse, until his only use was as meat and bone and hide.

I thought of that while I looked at his foot and leg, felt the swelling and heat below the feathering, led him a little distance to see if he could walk and a little distance more to see if he could trot. He was a good pony. He was young, strong, fit except for this injury. Even though he was a gelding rather than a mare or a stallion, the inGara herdsmen surely could not be pleased if he were irreparably lamed, and certainly Raga would be sorry he had trusted him to me.

Also, though this was less important, I liked this pony. His good sense and good temper had been important many times during these past days. I did not want to think of the herdsmen deciding he was no use except for slaughter.

But Raga and Arayo and Vayu might be in trouble. They were much more important than one gelding, however good and useful the animal might be. I had already been delayed once on this ride. Maybe I should mount and make him trot, make him canter, until he had carried me as close to the Convocation grounds as he could. He could probably carry me a long way, even lame, if I made him try.

But I did not want to do that.

Looking up at the sky, I tried to think what would be best to do.

All around, the stony ground of the high north stretched out to the east and the south and the west. To the north, the long ridges and broken hills rose up, and then the high, gray heights of the mountains, streaks of ice glittering in the sunlight. The wind had come up, blowing from the south rather than coming from the mountains, smelling of spring and warmer weather soon to come. The Sun stood high in the vault of the cloudless sky. Nowhere could I see any other living man or beast. When I turned and looked back to the north and west, I could not see any sign of my father. I was glad of that, very glad, but the vast quiet of the land and the sky made me feel strange. I almost felt that the pony and I might be utterly alone, that we might have entered a place where no one else had ever set his foot, that the whole world around us might be silent and empty.

The pony curved his neck around and shoved his head against my chest, hard, so that I had to brace myself to avoid staggering. I had been standing beside him, holding his reins, looking at the land. He had become impatient, and he was worried because he knew he could not run. In the way of beasts, he had forgotten his fright and bad temper. Now he wanted comfort, and to go to a place where he could be safe among many other ponies and people.

I had no more grain for him.

Enemies had either found Raga and the others, or otherwise. The ledge they had intended to defend had sounded good. Everything we had discussed made me believe they should be able to hold that place for some time, maybe for a long time. Every warrior wants to show his bravery, but no one could possibly want to try a sheer climb to a high ledge when he knew he would certainly be shot. Also, Gataga might want very much to kill Raga and Arayo, but he would not want to see Vayu die.

Or would he want that? He must be very angry with Vayu.

I could not decide. I was not certain. I was too tired to think, and everything confused me.

I could not be that far from the Convocation grounds. The inVotaro had intended to take my father only one day’s ride away before they put him to death. They would not have ridden fast—they had had no reason to ride fast. I had ridden very fast from that place, until my pony had put his foot wrong. If I walked now, if I did not stop to rest, then I would come to the Convocation grounds almost as fast as if I rode at a trot and walk.

Finally, I began to walk, leading the pony. He was almost not lame when he walked. I hoped he might do well enough if we walked the rest of the way and did not have to run.

The gelding did do well enough. He came up to walk beside me, not following, but walking at my shoulder. He wanted to stay close to me because I was the only companion he had and, like any pony, he hated to be alone. He walked with his head up, his ears slanting one way and another way, alert, watchful for enemies or friends. I thought he would probably see anything important long before I did. I thought again of mounting, making him trot, even canter, ignoring the risk that he might be ruined by such use. But I did not think about that very much. I did not really think of doing that. The thought came to me because I was afraid I might be making a mistake. But anything might be a mistake.

I tried to decide whether Ryo would do it, whether he would say it was more important to ride fast even if that crippled his brother’s gelding, or whether he might agree it was better to be careful of the pony, but I could not decide. I had to make my own decision. I had to make that same decision again and again all that day as the Sun walked along his slow path from east to west and I walked the other way.

Once an eagle floated overhead and then drifted out of sight. That made me feel a little better. I thought of the land of the shades, of that stark beauty, of the way the land had shifted and shifted again. I wondered whether I should be afraid to go into that land a second time. As I had walked there once, it seemed strange that this idea should frighten me, yet the thought did frighten me. Perhaps if I were certain I would have a place there. I was not at all certain this would be so.

My father’s shade would not have any place. Not unless someone came and took his head and put his skull into their tomb. I wondered if perhaps someone who had been inTasiyo might possibly do that. I wondered whether the taiTasiyo would accept his shade if he came among them. Perhaps he might force or persuade the people in the land of the shades to yield to his will, as he had in the land of the living.

These were all difficult thoughts. I tried to put my attention on the land and the sky, and on the gelding, who seemed perhaps a little more lame now than he had in the beginning. Eventually, I became too tired to think and walked with my mind empty of everything. That was probably better. Although I was also too tired to watch for enemies. I kept finding my mind drifting, empty, and glancing at my pony to be sure he had not noticed anything that alarmed or interested him. He walked with his head down now. He was almost as tired as I was. He might not notice anything.

If enemies came now, I doubted very much that my pony would be able to outrun them or that I would be able to outwit them.

Probably we were too close to the Convocation ground now for that to be a concern. Probably none of Gataga’s people would dare come this close, at least not openly, and if anyone tried to slip notice, they would move at night, not during the day. We might meet anyone of any tribe now, young men hunting, girls racing their ponies … warriors patrolling because everything that had happened with the inTasiyo made people uneasy. That might be most likely now.

I did not meet anyone.

Eventually, the Sun stepped low and our shadows stretched out long before us. The gelding became restless, lifting his head, scenting the air, looking east and east again. I thought the Convocation grounds must be so close that he smelled the smoke of cooking fires, the gathered people, the other ponies that would be there. The place was obviously close enough that he wanted to go there, not rest here in the cold.

But we walked on, the Sun standing low behind us, following our shadows into the east, and I could see nothing before us but the long sweep of the high steppe.

We came to the Convocation grounds some hands of time before the turn of the night.

The Moon had lifted up her lantern almost before the Sun had carried his great light below the world. She stood far from the world tonight, but bright; her face round and full, only a little turned toward the north and the starlit country. She held her light high, unveiled by clouds or mist, so that it was easily bright enough to walk as far as anyone could wish. The wind had lessened as well, so the cold was bright and brittle, but not dangerous as long as a man walked steadily. The gelding had continued to press forward, making no effort to stop. I understood his impatience very well. I wanted to jog, but after walking all this way, I did not want to let the pony trot, so I held the rein close to his jaw, preventing him from trying to press his strength too far.

Finally, I as well as the pony began to smell the lingering smoke of cooking fires, and soon after that I heard the bark of a dog, and then another dog, telling people that someone was coming close to whatever camp this was, here at the western edge of the Convocation.

I did not care what camp it might be, as long as the people were not inTasiyo. Had never been inTasiyo. After they had become nameless, all those people had gone away, either seeking places with other tribes or turning away to go elsewhere, anywhere they thought of that they might go. This camp must belong to some other people. The pony tugged at the rein, and though I still did not let him trot, I walked faster.

Then we were there, the bulk of tents looming against the sky, and the rounder shapes of wagons, and the murmur of one voice and another voice, and a dog barked again, sharp and alert, and someone, a man, a warrior, spoke curtly. “Hold, there. Who are you?” and suddenly I was so tired I could barely keep my feet, yet at the same time so afraid that only my weariness stopped me from turning and running into the dark.

The pony pulled impatiently, hard enough that I had to take a step and brace myself. That brought me back to better sense. I did not know exactly how someone, a warrior, a young man, was supposed to behave when he came into a camp that was not his own in the middle of the night, disturbing people and making every kind of bother. Other people were certainly coming. No one brought out a lantern. These were probably warriors and would not want to ruin their night vision by bringing out a light.

I tried to pretend I was any other young man and knew exactly how to behave. I tried to pretend I was Arayo—I pretended that very hard—I hoped that might help me answer this warrior properly. It did help me. I said, my voice steady, “I am Tano inGara. I beg your pardon for intruding in this camp. I apologize for disturbing you, respected warrior. I apologize for disturbing you all. I am very sorry to trouble you and your people. I do not know exactly where I have come and ask that you tell me what camp this is and where the inGara camp lies from this place.”

“Tano inGara,” one of the men repeated. There was a small silence in which no one spoke. Then the same man said, “We are inRasiko here. The inGara camp lies beyond this camp, farther east, past the inSurako camp and some other camps.” He paused, studying me by the light of the Moon and the stars. “Are you alone, young warrior? Is there trouble following you, that you come here in this way?”

I felt the heat come up into my face. For two different reasons. At least two. No doubt every other young man would have understood he should answer those questions without needing to be asked; that was one reason. Also, I could not help but remember that when I had first met Ryo, I had claimed to be an inRasiko boy—and that I had confessed that attempted ruse, out loud, to everyone who might hear me, when I had tried to bring down the inTasiyo by telling my father true things in a way that would make him believe lies.

This man would know that. All these warriors would know that. It was impossible that they did not know.

I tried to sound calm and not afraid, not upset, not worried. “Some other young men were with me, respected warrior. We encountered some trouble. We felt it would be best if I came the last distance alone to explain this trouble to the lord of the inGara or the warleader of the inGara. This morning, my pony set a foot wrong. I have been walking since that time. I am very sorry to trouble you. If I have offended you by my stupid intrusion into your camp, I beg your pardon. I ask, I most humbly ask, that you permit me to pass around your camp and go to the inGara camp.”

Another silence, a little longer than the first. Finally, the man who had spoken before said to me, his tone unreadable, “I am Taraka inRasiko. Walk with me, young warrior.” He raised his voice just a little. “Keseta, please explain to our warleader that I have decided to escort this young man to his people. Everyone else may go about his ordinary duties or go back to sleep.”

In one way, I was glad for this warrior’s escort. But in every other way, I was dismayed. I felt hot and sick, but I tried very hard not to show that. I said, “Thank you, respected warrior.”

He nodded and turned, beckoning for me to walk beside him. “Your pony can walk a little farther distance? If he is too much hurt, one of our people could tend him here.”

“Thank you,” I said again. “I think he can walk that far. He is not very lame as long as he only walks.”

He gestured acknowledgment. “What other young men were with you? Is this some trouble that might concern the inRasiko?”

Arayo would speak steadily and calmly to anyone. I tried to speak like that. “Arayo inKera,” I said. “And Raga inGara, and … and Vayu inKera.” I had stumbled over Vayu’s name. I took a quick breath and tried to do better. “I think there is no need for any people besides inGara and inKera to concern themselves with … with …” I was not certain how to finish that sentence.

“The small and unimportant trouble that came upon you and your companions in some entirely unanticipated manner?” he said drily. “Is anyone hurt?” He used a word that meant stupidly hurt through some foolishness.

I bowed my head. “Raga inGara may have been a little hurt, respected warrior.” I used a different word, one that meant hurt in some way that did not reflect badly on him.

“Raga,” the man repeated. “Indeed. A little hurt?” He had not set a fast pace. Now he lengthened his stride. We had come out of the inRasiko camp now, and walked north of east to avoid disturbing another camp. After the trouble with the inTasiyo, every camp had set a much tighter guard. I should have realized I would walk directly into warriors set to that kind of watchfulness.

“A little,” I repeated. “That is not the trouble, although … although it came from the broader problem. I do not know if it would be right for me to explain everything … I would prefer not to delay long enough to explain everything …”

“If this is a problem that most nearly concerns the inGara, then if there is no urgent reason to do otherwise, you should probably explain the problem to the warleader or the lord of the inGara first,” the man told me, his tone level.

I understood, after a breath, that this was a correction. He was telling me what I should do, what was considered right to do. He had realized I did not know. “Yes,” I said, trying to speak clearly rather than whisper. I knew, I was almost certain, that it was always right to pretend to be brave and speak clearly.

“Some people who used to belong to the inTasiyo came to the inRasiko,” the man said. “That happened because of your actions, Tano inGara.”

“Yes,” I said again. I remembered that. I had noticed some of those people. Varag had gone to those people, with her children. That had not surprised me at all. I knew she had hated her husband and feared for her daughters. Karra had also gone to the inRasiko, and her brother Sakano. That had surprised me. I had not guessed they would be brave enough to defy Yaro or their father. But I should not have been surprised. Karra had come to the age at which a girl would be told whom she should marry. Their father had not been important enough to protect her, not important enough to protect Sakano. They had done well to gather their courage and ask to come into the inRasiko.

“Your behavior was disgraceful, young warrior,” said the man. “From everything we understand, you have behaved disgracefully more than once.”

“Yes,” I said again. He had told me his name, but I had forgotten it and I was too tired to remember it now.

He went on. “Indeed, yes. But the people who came to us have explained some things about the inTasiyo that, while difficult to credit, we think are probably true. Some of us consider now that your behavior may not have been as unforgiveable as it seemed at first. Yaro was your father.”

The sight of him sitting high amid the stones, his eyes open, his hands missing, his tongue cut out, all this came back to me. This time I could not manage more than a whisper. “I have forgotten him.”

“He is probably best forgotten by everyone. When you first met the son of the lord of the inGara, you claimed our name, though you had no right to do so.”

This time, I had to try twice before I could manage to speak. “Yes. I am very sorry I claimed your name when I had no right to do it. I apologize very humbly. If you say … if you say I should be beaten for that insult, I would not protest.”

“I hardly think you could have grounds to protest, young warrior. However, we understand that you were beaten very severely for trespassing upon inGara lands. We consider that this beating was enough to punish your presumption in claiming our name.”

I did not know what to say. Finally, I managed, “Thank you, respected warrior. I am very grateful for your generosity and the generosity of the inRasiko people.”

“So you should be. Do you know who I am?”

I still could not remember this man’s name. But that was not what he asked. I was almost certain he meant more than that. I said, “I am very sorry, respected warrior, but I do not.”

He nodded, unsurprised, showing no sign of offense. “I am the second-oldest son of the lord of the inRasiko. The people who came into the inRasiko from the inTasiyo were my cousins. If you had not acted as you did, those people would be nameless now, lost to us. We would not even know we should have taken them into our people. We are glad to reclaim our cousins from that nameless tribe. As your actions brought our cousins back to us, I say that if you come to the inRasiko, Tano inGara, we will receive you also as a cousin.”

I was too surprised to answer this. I had absolutely no idea how to answer this. I tried to think how Arayo might have answered this man. Finally, I said, “I will remember what you say. This is very, very generous. I thank you for your kindness, which is much more than I deserve.”

The second-oldest son of the lord of the inRasiko nodded. He had led me in a curving path around one camp and another camp and a third camp. My pony began to shoulder against me and then pull away, feeling he should be allowed to go to a warm place where he could rest and eat and not walk on and on in the cold. I could not set any fault against him for that, but I also felt I would much rather have continued to walk all night and all the next day and for every day to come, alone beneath the sky, rather than actually come into the inGara camp and present myself to the lord of the inGara.

Then we were there. I knew the warrior who stood up to face us. He was Barano inGara, the warrior who had made a point of telling me his name all those days ago. Before I and the others had ridden out to find some people who had been inTasiyo.

That had not actually been that many days ago. It seemed like very many more days than it had been.

“I am Taraka inRasiko,” said the man who had escorted me.

Taraka. That was his name. This time, I made very careful note of that name.

He was going on. “This young inGara warrior came into our camp in the dark, mistaking his way and not understanding how the camps are set here. He caused no offense. I make no complaint against him. I do not ask to come into the inGara camp, but if the lord of the inGara does not consider the request impolite, then perhaps when he finds no other matters require his attention, he may send word to my father to explain what manner of trouble brought his young warrior into our camp in that way.”

Barano inGara had given me a curious glance, but now he bowed to acknowledge all this. “Thank you for your kindness, Taraka inRasiko. If the lord of the inGara has something to say to the lord of the inRasiko, I will bring that message myself.”

Taraka inRasiko nodded to him, then nodded again to me. Then he turned away, vanishing into the darkness between the camps.

“Is there trouble?” Barano asked me. “The kind of trouble that should rouse the camp?”

I bowed, gripping the gelding’s bridle to keep my balance. I felt I needed that support. I felt dizzy with tiredness and confusion. But I managed to straighten and speak almost steadily. “I think … that could be so. This pony is lame—I do not know whom to ask—but I should go to—to—” Now that I had come this far, I could not bring myself to say that I should go to the lord of the inGara. Perhaps I should ask to go to Garoyo instead. Perhaps that was cowardice. I would very much prefer to go to Garoyo.

I would very much rather go to Ryo. Except I had been so stupid that I had put his younger brother in terrible danger—I was at fault for everything that had happened to Raga. I did not want to face Ryo now and explain everything.

Also, the inRasiko man had told me that I should go first to the warleader or the lord of the inGara. And I knew, I did know, that this was right.

I said, “Raga was hurt a little. He and Arayo inKera and—and another young man of the inKera—are some distance from the Convocation grounds. I think I should go to Garoyo to explain everything that happened.”

“Ah. A little?”

“I think only a little, respected warrior. But he took a fever and we thought it best that he not travel in the cold to come here. Also, perhaps enemies may have come against them—I do not know, but this may have happened—”

Barano’s eyebrows had gone up. He said in a different tone, “I think you should most certainly tell this story to Sinowa. I will suggest to Garoyo that he may wish to go to his father’s tent immediately so that he may also hear this story. Do you know where that tent lies from this place?”

I looked around. Nothing seemed familiar to me. Perhaps I was too tired to understand anything, or perhaps coming into the camp from a different direction had confused me, but in the dark, I was not certain where that tent might stand.

“I will take you there,” Barano said. But he called out first, in a low voice, and another warrior came from a place farther along the perimeter of the camp.

This man listened to Barano’s low-voiced explanation and took the pony’s reins, running a hand down his leg, clicking his tongue when he came to the warm place. “You did not make him run?” the man asked me.

“No,” I answered, trying to speak steadily. “But he walked a long way. He did not seem to do badly as long as he only walked.”

“So,” said the man. “Good. I think this is not too bad. But I will take him to the herdsmen and let them see what they think.” He led the gelding away, and I had no more excuse to delay. When Barano nodded to me, I went with him. He led the way between and among the tents at a quick pace, much too fast for me to have time to think of what I would say. If I had thought of anything during the long day just past, I could not remember that now. Every kind of thought had poured out of my mind. I could not think of anything at all.

I asked suddenly, not realizing first what I meant to ask, “Is Ryo here? Has he gone south yet, or is he still here?”

Barano glanced over at me. “He is here. His Lau have not yet gone south.” He added, his tone still neutral, “The Lau may wish to wait for the season to turn a little farther toward spring, but they will not wish to wait until the land becomes boggy and difficult. I am certain they will go soon. But Ryo may have wished to wait for your return.”

I could not frame any kind of answer. My mouth was too dry and my mind too empty. I said, “Yes,” just above a whisper.

“Everything is difficult for a young man who comes into a new people,” Barano said, his tone now kind. “The difficulty becomes less as the days pass. Here, this is the place.” We had come all the way to the center of the camp. I recognized Sinowa’s tent now. His wife’s tent, much larger, stood some distance from his, but Barano seemed certain Sinowa slept in his own tent tonight. He did not clap or call out, but said, “Wait,” and ducked through the entry.

I stood where I was. Light bloomed within the tent as someone lit a lantern. I heard the murmur of voices, but I could not tell what they said.

I had stood like this sometimes outside my father’s tent, waiting for him to call for me. No wonder I could not think. Sinowa inGara was nothing like Yaro inTasiyo. Nothing. But this felt so much the same that when Barano came out again and nodded to me, I almost could not move.

I had never had any choice but to go into my father’s tent.

I went into the tent of the lord of the inGara, dropped to my knees, bowed to the floor, and stayed there.

14 –

I had not looked at Sinowa when I came into the tent. I did not look up now. I stayed where I was, my face to the rugs.

“Well?” demanded Sinowa, above me.

His voice was deep and rough. He was already angry. He would soon be much, much angrier. My stomach was tight—all my muscles had tightened with fear, with the expectation of a blow, of a beating, of scorn, of rage. My heart pounded, but I felt cold, stiff, frozen with fear.

I had felt like this so many times. I had never found any way to turn aside my father’s anger. Silence would make him angrier. Any answer would make him angrier. Nothing I did had ever made him less angry. The world seemed to swing around me, the whole past year seemed to swing back and forth. I thought for a heartbeat that I knelt in my father’s tent waiting for a blow, for punishment—then I thought of finding him, dead and frozen, beneath the light of the Sun. I understood that this was Sinowa inGara’s tent, but then I thought again that this was my father’s tent. The fear was the same, it was all exactly the same.

He did not hit me. No sudden blow sent me sprawling. That was not the same at all. He snapped, “Tell me everything that has happened. Begin with anything that is important, or if nothing requires urgent action, begin at the beginning.” But even then, he did not hit me, and after a breath, he added, his tone perhaps not quite as harsh, “You may sit. Tano, sit and face me.”

I had not been able to move until he commanded me to face him. I did not dare sit, but I straightened to kneeling. Sinowa stood, expressionless, regarding me, his arms folded across his chest.

He was not my father. But I could not make myself speak. I had to explain everything. But my mind had become a perfect blank, every thought falling away. When I took a breath, I could not make myself begin. I had no idea what to say.

Then, from blind emptiness, my mind filled suddenly with many, many ideas about what to say, what lies might blunt Sinowa’s anger, what lies might fit together with the story as Arayo and Raga would tell it so that no one would realize I lied—uncountable ideas, most stupid, many impossibly stupid. All disgraceful. I knew that. Even if no one knew I lied, even if no one ever discovered this, those lies would still be disgraceful. I did know that. Ryo had explained that very clearly.

If I lied cleverly enough, he might never know. His father might never know.

Aras would know. He was still here in this camp. But he would not say anything. Except he might find a moment to say to me that I knew, and to tell me that a lie that stayed hidden in my heart would poison everything between me and Ryo. Or he might not say that to me. He did not have to say that. He had already said it once, and he would know I remembered his words. But he would not say anything. And I was so afraid, I was too cowardly to explain everything that was true—I could not do it—

Sinowa sat down, cross-legged, resting his hands on his knees, not very close to me.

I was so surprised that every thought fell out of my mind again.

He said, not harshly, but firmly, “Tano. Tell me everything I should know. Begin with anything I should most urgently know.”

It was so much easier now that he no longer stood over me. I breathed in, breathed out, collected myself, and spoke as steadily as I could manage. “I hope the danger is not great, lord, but perhaps you may consider that there is some urgency—”

Garoyo came in, paused, then moved quietly to one side to sit down. I looked at him, but Sinowa had not. The lord of the inGara looked only at me.

Turning back to face him, I said, as quickly and clearly as I could, “Some days ago, Raga came into the hands of some of the people who used to be inTasiyo—he is well enough, lord,” I added hastily. “He was not much harmed. We got him away, some others among those people helped us do it. But he—he took a beating, lord, that I think you might consider severe. He said—lord, he asked me to promise him to tell you, he said you should speak with him before you decide what would be right to do regarding everything that happened.”

Garoyo’s mouth had tightened, but he said nothing. Sinowa drew a slow breath, but he did not shout or stand or even lean forward. He said, his tone measured, “Of course he did. That, at least, was probably well done. You say those people beat him. Though my younger son may sometimes show himself to be rash or over-eager, I do not imagine this was for any fault of his. The whip was the kind with metal braided into the end?”

I tried to speak steadily, but I had to try twice before I could speak aloud. “Yes, lord. I mean, no, they did it for the pleasure of it, but yes, that was the kind of whip. Twice thirty.”

“I think anyone would call that severe.” His tone was neutral. He went on in the same way. “But that kind of beating will do a young man no lasting harm. Was anything else done to him?”

“No, lord. We took him away before any other harm could come to him. But although those people should have had the wisdom to flee your anger, some of them stayed to search for us—for him, for all of us. We had only two ponies, and Raga had taken a fever—not a serious fever, lord, but we agreed he might not be able to ride fast. We thought it best to separate. Arayo and—”

The name seemed like a lie, or at least like something that was not exactly the truth, but I took another breath. “Arayo and Vayu inKera stayed with Raga. I came here to explain. I apologize for taking so long to come here, but I think, I hope, no great danger came upon them in the place they hid, lord. The place was good, hard to find, but if enemies should find them, they had established a line of retreat to a different place where it would be even more difficult for enemies to come against them. Lord, Arayo and Vayu would not have behaved stupidly. I think they must be well enough.”

“Yes,” said Sinowa. “Go on.”

I looked at Garoyo. His face was still, his expression forbidding. I dropped my gaze. “For people who ride fast, maybe two days west, there is a place where waterfalls come down from the heights to make a pond and a stream. Some people put a sluice there in the past so that travelers can bring water from those waterfalls into their camp—”

“We know the place,” Garoyo said quietly.

I bowed. “Yes. If someone rides farther west, less than a hand, maybe two fingers of time, there is a place where the cliffs look sheer, but there is a gap that leads to a hidden meadow, and beyond that, even more difficult to find, a second meadow, very small—”

“We know that place also.”

I bowed a second time. “That is the place where Arayo and Vayu and Raga hid themselves. They also found a different place, farther up the cliffs, not as comfortable, but easy to defend. They were certain they could defend that place.”

“Arayo inKera has been well taught,” Sinowa said calmly. Not to me. He was speaking to Garoyo now. “If enemies found them there, they may have been able to defend themselves for some time. Still. Perhaps four days, five, from the time the trouble began until you may come there, warleader. Anything that will have happened will have happened.”

“Lord,” Garoyo acknowledged. “Even so, I would prefer to go to that place as quickly as I may.” He rose.

Before he could go out, I said urgently, “Warleader, lord, some of the people who had been inTasiyo helped us get away from the others of those people.”

“I understood that,” Garoyo said, his tone flat. “You said that.”

“Yes,” I said. “But please, warleader, I mean no disrespect, but please permit me to finish. The man who helped us get Raga away from his—our enemies, that man is called Kanu. Arayo promised him that the lord of the inGara would give him anything he wanted if he would help us get Raga away from the enemies who had taken him. He did help us, warleader. We could not have done it without his help—at least not so quickly. I do not know how we would have done it at all if Kanu had not helped us.”

Garoyo looked at me. “Arayo promised this man anything he asked?”

My mouth had gone dry. I should say that I had told Arayo to make that kind of promise. I knew I should say that. But I could not make myself answer.

“Warleader,” Sinowa said, and when Garoyo faced him, went on. “Should you not come upon this man, you need not seek him. But if you do come upon this person, spare him and those with him. Should he ask to come before me, bring him here.”

“Lord,” Garoyo acknowledged. He asked me, “What is the name of the man at fault for all these things?”

I bowed swiftly, swallowed, and managed to speak. “The man at fault was Gataga. He was the one searching for us. But, warleader, if Gataga discovered that place, then probably Vayu will have warned him that I got away unseen. Gataga might believe Vayu. If he does, he might ride away, fast, abandoning the people who cannot ride that fast. The people you are most likely to find in your way will be those who cannot travel fast, older people, women with children, not warriors. They are nameless people, worthless, with no standing among any people. But they are probably not much at fault for anything that happened.”

“They were inTasiyo. They did not walk away from that people.”

“No, warleader. I mean, yes, that is so, but it could be—perhaps it might have been more difficult to walk away than—than—” I could not say than you understand. I said, “If someone had a young child, a young brother, it might have been hard to do that. For many reasons, that might have been difficult.”

Garoyo looked at me for a long moment. Then he nodded, a curt gesture, and went out.

That part was finished. That had been the most urgent part. Facing Sinowa, I bowed and stayed still, not certain if he wanted me to go on or if wanted me to begin again, this time at the beginning, or if he might strike me or beat me without hearing the rest. I had showed him very clearly that I remembered something of the people who had been inTasiyo. That was yet another reason he might despise me. And he had already had many very good reasons for that.

“You may sit,” he said, his voice exactly as measured and calm as before. “You may tell me exactly how everything happened.”

I should have realized that was the most likely order he would give me. I kept my gaze lowered as I straightened. “Yes, lord,” I said. Then I threw away every kind of story and prevarication and lie and told him everything, exactly as it had happened, from the time Vayu had come to me and asked me to think of something we might do to protect the skulls of his grandmother and my mother.

I had not exactly realized I meant to do that. I listened to myself explain everything, all our decisions and mistakes, all my decisions and mistakes, and felt distantly astonished. I certainly did not explain everything we had talked about, but I did explain our reasons for riding away from the Convocation grounds, our reasons for every choice we had made. I explained everything that had happened. I explained why I had guessed Gataga might care nothing for the anger of the lord of the inGara, why I had thought Kanu might help us, what I had suggested Arayo tell Kanu, what I had actually told him, what had happened to Raga, why Vayu was not at fault for picking up the whip, why he was in no way at fault. There, I finally stumbled to a halt, not knowing what else I should say.

“I understand what you tell me,” Sinowa told me, his voice quiet. “I understand the subterfuge this young man intended and the subterfuge you intended. If Vayu inKera prevented great harm from coming to my youngest son, that was well done. I am unlikely to say otherwise, whatever the means by which he prevented that. You told Arayo that he should promise this warrior, Kanu of the nameless people, that I would regard him with favor if he helped you bring my son away from our enemies. This was your suggestion.”

I had to try twice before I could say, “Yes, lord.” Even then, I could not speak above a whisper. I could not bring myself to look at Sinowa. I had lowered my gaze to the floor, trying to brace myself to endure his anger.

“Did you mean that as a subterfuge? Or did you believe I would make that promise true, should a moment come when this man made that request of me?”

He did not sound angry. Probably he was furious. Of course he was furious. I still could not force myself to look up. I could not remember what I had intended. I took a breath and another breath. I thought of Ryo telling me to be strict in telling the truth, and I knew I should be strict, but I was not certain I knew what the truth of that moment had been.

Sinowa did not speak again. He did not repeat his question or ask a different question. He only waited. I had to answer him. Finally, I said, “I think I believed you would probably do it, lord, but I—I would probably have said it either way.”

“Yes,” he said, acknowledging this. Then he said, “I would not have wanted to bring this man into the inGara, but if he took my son from the hands of enemies and returned him to me, then asked for that in return, I might have granted that request. If a warrior of mine promised that, I would certainly have made his promise true.”

I was so surprised I looked up. His expression was hard to read. I did not know what he thought, what he felt, what he would do. I could not guess at all. I lowered my gaze again.

He asked quietly, “Then what happened?”

I took a breath and another breath, and finally began to explain the rest of the story.

Then Ryo put back the entry and came into the tent, and I stumbled to a halt.

He had not asked leave to enter, but his father only glanced at him, opening a hand in acknowledgment, gesturing to tell his son he need not greet him formally. Ryo moved to the side and sat down, not speaking.

“Explain the rest,” Sinowa ordered me.

I nodded, but I said, “There is not very much more to explain, lord. Once we realized that some people, Gataga’s people, did not want to let us go, that some of those people looked for us, riding back and forth, riding east and west, that is when we decided to stay concealed and wait. Then Raga took this fever, a small fever, but enough we thought he should not try to ride hard or take unnecessary risks. That place could be defended if enemies came there, and there was this good place to which the others might retreat. We would not have been able to defend ourselves if we were caught in the open. We decided the others should stay there and I should ride back alone. I encountered one difficulty and another during my return. I—some inTasiyo warriors found my trail and pursued me, I could not get away from them, so I—I deceived them.”

I told them how this had happened, admitting that I had set up one ambush and then another, that I had shot my enemies from hiding, that I had stupidly made the second ambush so similar to the first that only luck and the carelessness of my enemies had made it work.

I did not know how to explain that I had let Rokavo go. I did not want to explain that at all, but finally I said, “He was not the worst of those people. Probably I should have killed him, but I—” I stopped again, searching for words. Finally I said, “I did not do it. That may have been a mistake. Later, I thought people searched for me, perhaps that man, perhaps others. I hid for a whole night and day. I do not know whether that was the right decision. I hope that was not completely wrong and stupid.” I could not bring myself to look at Ryo. If that delay had brought harm to his brother, I did not see how I would ever be able to look at him again.

“We understand what you say,” Sinowa said, his tone unreadable. “When a warrior finds himself in that kind of difficulty, he may never know whether any decision was right. No man can know what might have happened had he chosen to act in a different way. You made all those decisions as you made them. Go on.”

I bowed my head. I could not bring myself to explain that I had come upon my father’s body, or the terror and horror that had seemed to crouch in that place. I did not know how to explain that. I only said, “When I thought it should be safe to do so, I rode back toward this camp. But I stupidly rode too fast. My pony put a foot wrong and then he was lame, and I decided it might be best to walk the rest of the way. I think, I hope, this slowed me only a little more. But because of all these problems, I came here later than I intended. I know it will be two days to ride from here to that place—”

“For Garoyo, that will be less than two days’ ride,” Sinowa said, still in that very calm way. Standing, he said to Ryo, “My son, come with me.” Then he said to me, “Stay here.” He walked out.

Ryo rose as well, looked at me for a heartbeat, his expression unreadable. He said, “From what I have heard so far, I think you did not do badly. I would like to hear all this again later.”

I bowed, and he went out. Despite his words, I felt shaky and uncertain, hollow and afraid. I stayed where I was, looking into the brazier, and tried hard not to think of anything. Especially not of Raga’s brothers coming to that place and finding that they had come there too late.

After a time, I could not tell how long, Sinowa inGara came back into his tent. He entered abruptly, with a swirl of cold air, with Hokino inKera and four other men—the warleader of the inGeiro, whom I recognized, and two other warriors I did not know, but also Taraka inRasiko. I looked at him, startled, before I caught myself and lowered my gaze again.

Ryo had not come with them. I thought he had probably ridden after Garoyo. He would be very worried for his younger brother.

I shifted from sitting to kneeling and bowed low, but Sinowa said, his tone curt, “You may sit.” He gestured to the other men to sit as well, then moved to set a bowl of water to heat over the brazier.

Then he said to me, “I realize you declared that you do not remember any people before you came into inGara lands. That was appropriate then. Now this is a time to remember all the things you had forgotten. Tell us everything you know regarding the people who used to be inTasiyo. Begin with the man who commanded that a very young inGara poet should be handled in the manner of an enemy warrior.”

“Yes,” I said, and began to pull my thoughts into reasonable order. No one looked impatient. They all looked into the fire. Sinowa added dried berries and mint to the simmering water, not looking at me.

I was not certain exactly what to say. But he had said he wanted to know about the people, so I thought perhaps I should name people who had been important among the inTasiyo, explain what they had been to Yaro, how they had held themselves in relation to him, how they had sought to please him and gain power over one another, where each man’s skill lay and where his skill failed.

I began with Gataga, as Sinowa had commanded. I explained that he was a strong warrior and that people would not want to challenge him unless they had many supporters and thought they could avoid a fight. I said, speaking as carefully as I could, “Gataga is not stupid. Some of his recent actions may seem stupid, but he will have had reasons for those actions. He had two sons once, a young warrior of seventeen winters and a boy of five winters. He does not have any sons now.” I paused, looking at Hokino inKera.

“Yes,” Hokino said.

I thought he probably understood what I had explained. To be certain, I went on, still carefully. “As his sons turned their backs to him, Gataga will have lost standing among those people. He almost certainly thought that taking a son of the lord of the inGara, holding this young man as his captive, permitting his people to use this young man in a hard way, would bring his people together and make them want to follow his orders. I do not know this was his thought, but I think this is likely. Raga told me Gataga meant to take him back to their own territory and let those people use him as they pleased. Gataga would not have known yet that all the inTasiyo have become nameless people. Even now, he may not know this, or he may not believe it. I do not know whether anyone who has been told this believes it, or whether anyone will have told Gataga.”

There was a short silence. Taraka inRasiko said, “Those people were still crossing inGara territory when they took this young poet in this manner.”

“Indeed,” said Sinowa. He said to me, “Go on.”

I bowed. Then I told them about Kanu. I explained that once Kanu knew that Yaro was dead and that his people had become nameless, he would consider this a chance to pull people to himself and make himself important.

“I told Kanu his people had become nameless. I told him everything. Once he knew how difficult a place all his people have come to, he probably thought at once of his own advantage, which does not lie in offending the inGara or any other powerful tribe,” I explained. “He would not have challenged Yaro, but now he does not need to challenge Yaro. He wanted to make Gataga look foolish and he wanted to make him afraid. Gataga would not be afraid of Kanu, but Kanu saw that he could make Gataga afraid of you, that he could make many of those people afraid of you and afraid to stay with Gataga. Many people will have deserted Gataga because they fear you may discover all the things that happened. They will look to Kanu now. He will have led those people away in a different direction, different enough that you might choose to pursue one group or the other, but perhaps not both. He knows we will explain all that happened and tell you that Gataga is the one you should pursue.”

“This man aided you for this reason.”

“Yes, lord. If inGara people come upon him now, he will say that he helped us get Raga away from Gataga and that all the inGara owe him a debt for that.”

“Indeed,” Sinowa said, his tone still utterly neutral. “He would not be wrong to say it. Tano, you knew what this man would do. You knew the things he would think of. You were very confident you understood all this.”

I drew a breath. Another breath. I managed to look up again, but I did not know what to say. Finally, I said, “Kanu is predictable. He will always seek his best advantage. I could have been wrong, but he did make some of the decisions I thought he would. Even so, I am not perfectly certain what he might do next.”

“Yes,” Sinowa said. After a short pause, he added, “Go on. What other names should we know?”

I thought for a moment. Then I told them about some of the people I had not seen with Gataga or Kanu. I told them about Tewaro, who was clever, ruthless, cruel, and very skilled at deception.

“He is a dangerous man,” I explained. “I do not know what he might know regarding all the things that have happened. I do not know what he might do. He is difficult to predict, but he has some people who will follow him and take his orders. I saw Tewaro in the inTasiyo camp here. I did not see him over these past days, but that does not mean he has gone away or decided he should not be an enemy of inGara. He may know some of what happened or he may know everything that happened, but either way, Tewaro may be so angry and bitter that he will try to hurt your people as much as he can. He may want to try to take power among the people who used to be inTasiyo, or he may try to come into a different tribe and take power there, but he may want to hurt your people more than he wants to take power for himself.”

“Our people,” Sinowa told me.

For a long moment, I did not understand his meaning. Then I felt a hot flush rise into my face. I bowed low. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, lord. I mean, our people.”

“Go on.”

I had to take a breath and another breath before I could obey him. I had been so startled that he had said that to me that all my thoughts had scattered. Now I knew one thing I feared would not happen. Perhaps he might put me to death, but all the reasons I had decided this was unlikely still seemed good to me. Maybe—this was difficult to believe, but it might be so—maybe I had not thrown away every chance to stay among the inGara.

“There are other names we should know?” he asked me.

Even then, I had to think for another moment. Finally I collected myself and went on. “One more name, lord. There is a man named Yakaga. He is a poet, not a warrior, and I think he might make different decisions than a warrior. I think Yakaga would probably try to go to a different people. He would not want to belong to a weak people, but he would not ask to come into a tribe that was allied to inGara. He would run, probably not west, probably east, because if your people hunt the people who used to be inTasiyo, you will think first to look for those people in the west. He will—I am not certain, but I think he might try to come into a tribe that is an enemy of inGara, gain standing there, and then set himself against you as much as he can.”

“That seems to me as though it may be a concern for a later time.”

I bowed. “Yes, lord.”

“Are there any other names we should know? You have not mentioned Duryo. Is the man who was lord of the inTasiyo so unimportant?”

I had forgotten Duryo. I hesitated, trying to think of a way to explain. Finally, I said, “Among the people who used to be inTasiyo, the lord of the tribe desired … he preferred … he decided whom any young woman should marry. He liked to take a young woman as his third wife, then later tell her whom else she should marry. Some warriors favored Duryo because they wanted one or another young woman as a first wife, or a second wife, or a third. Other warriors obeyed Duryo because they wanted to decide to which man a daughter should go, they did not want him to decide that. Duryo was feared because of the decisions he might make in that regard. But he was not respected. I know this is very, very different from other tribes.” I hesitated. Then I added, “Gataga hung Duryo’s head from his tent. I think my—Yaro put the fault for everything that had happened on Duryo, and then I think Gataga killed him because he knew many warriors would like that, and he hoped to gain enough support among those warriors that Yaro would say he was lord. I think this is probably how that happened.”

There was a long silence. Then one of the men present, a man I did not know, said, “Among those people, the women did not make decisions regarding whom a young woman should marry? They did not express opinions? If a young woman did not wish to marry a certain man, if she did not wish to marry at all, could she not say this to her mother, so that the marriage did not take place? Can this be so?”

Taraka inRasiko said, his voice level, “The people who came to us from that tribe agree that this was so. A female cousin of mine among the inSurako said to me that she heard the same from a woman who came into the inSurako.”

Hokino inKera added, “The young woman who came to the inKera, the woman who had been the wife of the son of the lord of the inTasiyo, said the same. She was told she would marry that young man. She did not wish that. Her opinion was not considered important.”

“How can this possibly have happened?” demanded another man, Naroya inGeiro. “How can no one have come away from those nameless people to explain all these things to some other people?”

I tried to speak steadily. “Warleader of the inGeiro, I do not know how everything happened before Yaro became warleader, or after that, before I was born or while I was a child. But it was hard for people to disobey Yaro, and people …” Despite every effort, I faltered, took a breath, and said, “People, most men, many women, almost everyone thought Yaro right in everything. But if someone, a woman, tried to walk away, then Duryo would send warriors to bring her back. If a young man tried, then the same, except Yaro would probably choose whom to send. That person would be punished very harshly for disloyalty. Most people would say this was right and would agree with this punishment. They would take part in it.”

Another silence, even longer. “Those people lived a long way to the west,” Hokino inKera said finally. “The inKera are not allies of any people near that territory. I wonder whether the tribes farther west, the tribes that were allies of the inTasiyo, noticed nothing unusual. I do not see how that can be so. If the women of an allied people did not write to my wife, if they did not trade with our people, if they did not visit our people, my wife would notice that. If, during the Convocation, the women of an allied tribe did not visit the fires of the inKera, if they did not welcome inKera women to their fires, my wife would notice this unfriendly manner. She would speak to my brother’s wife and to the other women, and to me.”

“Wondering about the unfriendly manner of another people is not the same as understanding that something is very wrong with that people,” answered Taraka inRasiko. “Some women of those people might have written lies to their cousins, or smiled across a fire pretending all was as it should be. They might have done so for fear, or, as this young man says, because they thought Yaro right in everything.”

“So,” Sinowa said, noncommittal. He made a sign to indicate he wanted to turn the subject, waited long enough to be certain no one objected, and then asked me, “You thought of four names. Are there other people who might now be of particular concern to inGara and the allies of inGara?”

I thought for a breath and another breath. Then I said, “Gataga, Kanu, Tewaro, Yakaga. I think those are the important names, lord. I think almost everyone else would go with one of those four.”

Sinowa signed acknowledgment. Then he said to the other men, “Have you anything else to ask this young man?”

Hokino said, “With your permission, lord, I would like to hear the entire tale from the beginning.” Both Taraka inRasiko and one of the other men, a man whose name I still did not know, signed agreement with that request.

“Explain everything again,” Sinowa told me.

I obeyed him. Very soon, one of the men I did not know signed to me that I should stop. He demanded, “These nameless people killed three inVotaro warriors, and took their place? Which inVotaro warriors were these? Do you know?”

Now I thought I knew at least this man’s tribe. I bowed. “I think Matya inVotaro, respected warrior, but I do not know the names of the others—”

The man cut me off, his tone harsh. “Soroka and Gyo. They did not stand highest among the inVotaro, but these were skilled, experienced warriors. How could these worthless people, these nameless people, have killed them?”

I bowed again, trying to think of a way to explain without saying that Matya and the other inVotaro warriors had probably been seriously overconfident. Finally, I said, “These people, though nameless, may not have been completely lacking in skill or guile. Many are skilled warriors, even if they lack honor. They might have pretended to belong to a different tribe, or they might have pretended one of their number was hurt. Or both things. One man, or even a woman, might have pretended to be hurt, distracting the inVotaro warriors so that others could come against them unseen. Or perhaps they did it in some other way, respected warrior.”

The man grunted, very much displeased. He said, his manner curt, “The disgraceful carelessness of these inVotaro warriors put everyone at hazard. The only reason for those nameless people to make use of this manner of stratagem, replacing our warriors with their own and making this show so that people would think our warriors still patrolled the land there, is to make a way for their own people to come and go from the Convocation grounds. They were certainly planning a serious raid, though taking the son of the lord of the inGara obviously turned their intentions in a different direction.”

“Some of the tribes here might have decided they have no need to guard their camps as carefully now that Yaro is dead,” Sinowa said, his tone neutral. “Any such decision might not be wise.”

The man grunted again. “There we certainly agree.” He said to me, “Very well, young warrior, go on.”

I went on. Because Hokino was here, I tried hard to explain in a way that might show Arayo’s good sense and Vayu’s courage. There was no way to explain that concealed Vayu’s part in the ruse that had protected Raga. I could not tell whether Hokino thought this ruse honorable or perhaps otherwise. But Arayo would almost certainly explain everything exactly as it had happened, so I had no choice but to do the same.

I should not have thought of that. I tried to put the thought aside and explained as clearly as I could.

Hokino listened to everything I said without comment. Then he nodded, not to me, but to Sinowa. He said, “All these events are certainly interesting. I think perhaps soon, in a few days, I may take some of my warriors and ride some distance to the west. I am curious to know what may have happened and what may yet be happening. Some of the people who used to be inTasiyo will soon leave inGara land. They will enter the territory of the inSurako and then, if any live long enough, the territories of other tribes farther west.” He glanced at Taraka inRasiko. “Perhaps some inRasiko warriors might like to ride west as well. Perhaps they might permit some inKera warriors to ride through their lands.”

“Perhaps that may be so,” agreed Taraka. “I think the inRasiko would not object to that.”

Sinowa inclined his head. “All this, we should discuss.” Then he said to me, “Go to my wife’s tent. Stay there until I call for you.”

I stared at him for a heartbeat, blinked, rose to my feet—staggering, which was embarrassing, but I had been kneeling there a long time and I was more tired than I had realized. None of the men appeared to notice. Sinowa inGara was already gesturing to another of these men to pour the simmering tisane into drinking bowls. I backed up a step. He did not call me back. None of them called me back. I went out of the tent into the cold night and stopped, looking up at the black sky and the stars, breathing deeply, trying to put everything that had happened, everything that might still happen, at a distance.

Even though I seemed to have come to this tent a long time ago, dawn would not come for some hands of time. The stars were not as close to the world here as they were in the starlit lands. There, I had sometimes believed I might hear their voices. Here, I heard the wind, and the low voices of people. I wondered how far Garoyo and those warriors might now be from this camp. I wondered where Ryo had gone, whether after his older brother or to his mother’s tent. And whether, if he had gone to his mother’s tent, I could bear to face him and explain how stupid all my decisions had been.

15 –

Marag inGara’s tent had been set a small distance from her husband’s tent. I walked slowly through the dark camp toward that tent. Lanterns had been lit here and there; some of the tents I passed glowed with that light. I heard other people, the murmur of voices, mostly indistinct, but I clearly heard someone say inTasiyo. I saw two men, three, come together a small distance from me. They spoke, low and urgent, and all moved away, going to different places. Word of what had happened, what was happening now, was spreading through the camp. I very much wished I knew what was happening, what would happen next.

I came to Marag’s tent, and stopped.

Among the inGara, among people who behave properly, the largest tents belong to important women, older women who hold great precedence or who have many children or both. I had learned that. The women arranged their tents according to customs I did not understand, but men asked permission to enter. That much, I had come to understand.

In some ways, I would have preferred to creep aside in Sinowa’s tent and listen to the decisions that would be made there, but I was so tired that I might not have been able to listen attentively for very long. If I had to sleep, then I would much rather sleep in Marag’s tent, where warriors might show much less temper than they might elsewhere. Even Sinowa would probably take a quieter manner in his wife’s tent than in his own.

But Ryo might be here, within his mother’s tent. I did not know what to say to him. I did not want to think about what he might say to me. He had been so patient with me so many times. But this time Raga had been hurt. Anyone would understand that Ryo would not be patient with anyone whose stupidity had let that happen. Certainly I understood that.

Marag herself might be angry and upset. She never showed any kind of violent emotion, she was much too important and proud to show anything but a calm manner, but of course she must be angry and upset. I had asked her about going to find the nameless people, about warning them of the king’s decree, but I had not said that Raga would go with me. I had not thought of that until now, when I saw very plainly that this had been a very important mistake.

Sinowa had ordered me to come here. I had to go into Marag’s tent.

Aras would be there. He would see everything in my mind. I could try to make myself more afraid so that he would see less. But that might be very much too easy. If I let myself become too frightened, I would not be able to think properly about anything.

Perhaps I should stop trying to think. All my thoughts had only led to all this trouble.

All the entrances were closed, but not laced tightly shut—people were probably coming and going here as well. Lanterns had been lit within. Taking a breath, I pushed the entry open and went into the tent, stepping to the side and dropping to my knees to show respect while I waited for permission to come in and looked to see whether Ryo was here.

He was not. The confusion of relief and disappointment I felt surprised me, even though I understood at once that I had actually braced myself against both reactions.

Aras was here. He had been speaking quietly to Marag, though now he had turned to look at me, smiling in a kind way. Aras was always kind and never spoke of the private things he saw in anyone’s mind. After traveling with him, with all the Lau, for many days, I was very certain.

Lalani had gone somewhere else, but Suyet and Geras were here, and some other people, mostly women. Siwa inKera, Arayo’s mother. I did not know the other women.

“Tano, excellent, come in! Maybe you can tell us what’s happened!” Suyet called to me, waving for me to come to the brazier in the center of the tent. “Ryo hardly said a word before he disappeared somewhere, so we barely have the first idea. Something about the inTasiyo and Raga?”

He should have waited for Marag to give me leave to come into her tent before speaking to me; even I knew that, and I knew almost nothing about how people should behave. But everyone liked Suyet. He was that kind of man, easy-tempered and friendly. Also, because he was a Lau, no one set serious fault against him when he made mistakes or did not know how to behave, especially because he was always willing to accept correction and apologize for any kind of offense.

Suyet was hardly ever afraid of anything or troubled by anything. He was not afraid of making mistakes, not afraid of making someone angry. I wished very, very much I could be more like Suyet. I had wished that almost from the first moment I had met him.

Geras sat beside Aras, alert, plainly ready to rise quickly should any danger come to this place. His manner when he glanced toward me was watchful rather than friendly. He did not dislike me—I was almost certain he did not dislike or scorn me. He had helped me many times. He had taught me how to fight properly. He had taught me very many things. But Geras always stayed close to Lord Aras, to whom he had taken a very important Lau oath. He had put his own life at hazard many times to protect Lord Aras. That was why he looked like that now. He knew some manner of trouble had come to the inGara camp, he did not know what kind of trouble or how broadly it might spread, and so he took this cautious and watchful manner.

“Tano inGara,” Marag said to me in her calm way, pretending not to notice that Suyet had spoken to me out of turn. “You may sit here, by the brazier. I think we understand some of the things that have happened, but perhaps not everything important. If you understand what has happened and what is happening now, you may explain these things to us.” She poured tisane into a bowl and held this out to me.

Heat prickled at the backs of my eyes. I must be very, very tired. I took a slow, deep breath, trying not to let my hands shake as I came to the brazier, took that bowl from her hands, and sat down.

Everything had gone wrong. Raga had been hurt, and he had been in danger, and anything might have happened to him since I had left the others. Pleasing Marag inGara was very, very important. Nothing I could tell her now would please her at all.

“I doubt the situation is as dire as that,” Aras said to me in darau. Then he shifted to taksu, “Perhaps you may be weary. Perhaps you may prefer to take forty breaths to compose yourself and set your thoughts in order. Twice forty. I will count.”

He knew everything. But he was always kind. He was trying to help me. The pause did help me. It helped me in two different ways. Twice forty breaths was enough for me to settle my thoughts and my heart, that was one way. Suggesting a pause also made it perfectly clear to everyone present that he thought they might not like some of what they heard, but that he thought they should stay calm and not leap to judgment.

Twice forty breaths was long enough to drink all the tisane, which helped me in a different way. By the time I set the bowl aside, I felt steadier. I waited for Aras to nod to me. Everyone waited. Not even Suyet interrupted the pause.

Siwa inKera had sat quietly to one side while her husband and her husband’s brother presented her son to Sinowa inGara as a tuyo. I knew that. I did not know whether she had protested, whether she had argued, whether she had wept, whether she had been angry or grieved. Perhaps she had agreed with this decision; I did not know. Arayo had never said anything of his mother to me or in my hearing. Ryo, not Arayo, had told me he had admired Siwa’s pride and composure during everything that happened during the battle with the sorcerer and during everything that had happened afterward.

My mother had never argued when her husband beat me, or forbade me to pick up a bow because I was too stupid to hunt, or forbade me to take food for myself, then forbade anyone to give me anything to eat unless I earned what they gave me. So far as I knew, she had never once protested. It was not a woman’s place to protest if her husband thought it right to punish his son.

I had not understood then that my father punished me because he wanted to hurt my mother, that if she protested, that would make everything worse. I had not understood that he had wanted to break her pride. I had not understood that sometimes, often, she had let her pride break, she had wept or asked him to come to her tent, because that might please him enough that he stopped some punishment. I had been too young to understand anything. I had only understood those things much later, after she had gone into the land of the shades and could no longer step between my father and me.

I wondered whether her skull might be protected from the fate Koro inKarano had decreed, whether Rokavo or someone else would move her skull to a higher tomb. I wondered whether I would ever know that.

Siwa’s manner was calm now. I could not tell what fears or concerns she might conceal behind that calm manner. I could not prevent myself from glancing at Aras. He met my eyes, his bland expression impenetrable, and signed to me that the pause had ended.

I dropped my gaze, I drew one more long, slow breath, looked up again, faced Marag, and said, “I will tell you how everything happened. Vayu inKera came to me with a concern he held in his heart, a concern regarding his grandmother’s skull, which was set in the lowest tomb of the inTasiyo. This concern made me remember my mother’s skull, my uncle’s skull, both in that same tomb. We did not know what would be right to do regarding the fate decreed for those skulls, all those in that tomb.” I paused to let everyone consider this problem.

Suyet was nodding. “Right, yes, I hadn’t thought of that. That does sound like a tough situation.”

Marag nodded also, thoughtfully. She said, “You very correctly brought this concern to me. I agreed then this concern was reasonable.”

I bowed. I was very glad she said that. I hoped very much she would say so to her husband as well.

She added, “I did not realize then that my youngest son had become involved in this concern. I believe Arayo inKera also became involved, and Vayu inKera.”

Yes, and I had let Raga fall into the hands of enemies and then left them all in danger. This was much more difficult to explain.

Siwa inKera tilted her head questioningly, probably wondering how her son had been drawn into this problem. I looked at her when I said, “Arayo inKera always knows what is right to do. Also, the inKera stand outside the long enmity between the inGara and the inTasiyo, so again, we thought it might be good to ask his opinion.”

Now she inclined her head.

I explained everything once more. This was the third time. In some ways, this was easier. In at least one way, it was more difficult. In two ways, it was more difficult. Three ways. I could not forget that Aras saw everything in my mind and my heart; that was one way. I could not tell what Siwa inKera thought of anything, that was another way. Also, I did not like telling Marag inGara what had happened to her son. I tried not to say anything that would suggest Raga had behaved stupidly and so put himself into the hands of enemies. I tried not to say anything that would suggest Arayo had acceded to every kind of ruse to get Raga away from those enemies. But probably they both understood all these things.

Certainly they both understood that Vayu and I had designed and made use of every possible subterfuge, without concern for whether any act had been honorable or far otherwise. Everyone surely understood that. But Sinowa inGara and every other warrior already understood all this.

Our people, Sinowa had said to me. I held those words in my mind. That helped.

I confessed that I had let one of the inTasiyo warriors, one of the nameless warriors, go when I might have killed him. Somehow, this was easier to admit to Marag than to her husband, to any man. I could not understand why this was easier. Then she said, “That was a decision for a warrior to make. A woman has little reason to express any opinion regarding that kind of decision.” After that, I knew this was one reason that had been easier.

But Marag went on, speaking in her calm way. “Perhaps this man may consider his choices more carefully now. That might be as well. Perhaps this man’s wife will be pleased that you chose to be merciful. That is unimportant, as this woman has no standing among any people, but even so, this thought does not displease me. What happened after that?”

I went on. When I came to that part of the story, I said, my voice low, “I came upon my father’s body. I mean, upon the body of Yaro inTasiyo.” I was embarrassed by misspeaking in this way, but not as embarrassed as I had been at first. I was thinking too much of how that had been to care much that I had misspoken, and I was not as afraid of the judgment of women as that of men. I said, “The ravens had not found him yet. He looked … the way they left him … he looked almost like a living man. Except there was all the blood. But bright, because it was frozen, not dull the way blood becomes later.”

“Ouch. That must’ve been a nasty shock,” Suyet said, his tone sympathetic.

“Indeed, one is certain this was disturbing,” Marag murmured. “Especially if the ravens and foxes had not come to the place. That would certainly be disturbing.”

I could not possibly describe how disturbing this had been.

Marag was going on, her tone thoughtful. “When ravens do not come to a place of death, that is almost always a bad sign. In the depths of winter, they usually come quickly, before the cold can make their work impossible. That they did not come to that place suggests that ill luck clings to the place. That is not good. We do not want to create a place of ill omen anywhere within our territory, but least of all so close to our tombs. I should have suggested that Royova take that man much, much farther away before putting him to death. I will suggest someone, a singer or a poet, go there to look and be certain nothing remains amiss. Perhaps I may do so myself.”

Now I understood why I had finally explained what I had seen. I could feel a little of my tension easing. I had wanted her to say there might be ill luck there, that she would make certain that this ill luck was broken or turned aside. I had not realized I wanted that, but now I saw this was so. I said, “Nothing else happened. Except I let my pony gallop when we left that place, and he put a foot wrong and lamed himself. That was a foolish mistake.”

Marag nodded, but her manner was only thoughtful, not reproving. “Very likely your pony felt the ill luck there, and that made him afraid and careless. If a young man should come to that kind of place, he should listen to any pony or dog who may be with him, because beasts see ill luck differently than people see it, and often more quickly. But though a man should respect his pony’s wisdom, he should take care not to permit the animal’s fear to become his own. When that happens, both man and beast may become careless.”

I looked at her, much struck. I had not thought of anything that had happened in that way. I bowed to show that I understood this important advice.

“Very well,” she said. “I think we understand all the things that happened better now. This is certainly a matter for warriors. Almost all of these matters are properly the concern of warriors. I think we all agree there as well.” She was gazing at Siwa.

“Indeed,” Siwa said. Only that one word. Her tone was level, giving no hint of what she might hold in her heart or her mind.

“A difficult problem,” one of the other women murmured. “Many things here are difficult. I am ashamed to admit that I had not thought of the skulls in that tomb. Or I had not thought of those skulls as presenting a problem. To me, it seems that this problem is properly a concern for women.”

Several of the other women gestured assent. Marag said, “I had considered this problem, and it seemed to me that once warning had been given to the nameless people who used to be inTasiyo, either those people would wish to safeguard those skulls or they would not. Either they would succeed in doing so or they would not. Should one of those people come to the tomb before the inVotaro, then that shows the will of the gods. If not, then that too reveals the will of the gods. This was the advice I gave to this young man.”

Again, several of the women, not all the same ones, gestured agreement.

Marag continued. “The nameless people themselves are a different problem. That problem will be simpler in some ways when all those people understand they have become people without a name or a tribe. In other ways, that problem may then become more difficult.”

Again, various women gestured agreement.

“I think—” Marag began, but then she broke off and said to me, “Tano, perhaps you are tired. No important decisions are likely to be made tonight, and I think you have explained all these events clearly enough. We all understand how these things happened. I will speak to my husband so that we each understand these things in the same way. Other women will speak to their husbands regarding all these things.”

I was very, very glad she said that.

She went on in the same calm manner. “You may sleep here in my tent. If you would like something to eat … no? Indeed, you are certainly weary. Go aside and sleep.” She turned her hand, indicating a place all the way across the tent from the entry. Furs and blankets already lay there, cushions and every kind of comfort.

This time I managed not to stagger when I rose. In this tent, warm and filled with the quiet murmur of women’s voices, every kind of fear and worry seemed at last to slide away from me. Aras glanced at Suyet and nodded toward me, and Suyet jumped up and came with me to that side of the tent, catching up an armful of blankets. Shaking one out, he said cheerfully, “Here you go, I guess this pattern’s supposed to be soothing.” He tossed me a blanket woven with the patterns of clouds and moonlight. He was right; those were good designs for blankets. I sat down, trying not to look as though every movement was an effort.

Lowering his voice, Suyet asked me, earnest and concerned, “You’re all right, Tano? Sounds like you got into a pretty tough spot, and you must be worried for all kinds of reasons, but maybe I should just mention that before he left, Ryo asked me to make sure you’re all right.”

For a breath, I could only stare at him. “He asked that?”

“Sure. Well, me and Geras. Not that he needed to ask.”

“Sounds a proper hair-raising adventure,” Geras added, behind me. I had not known he had come to join us and turned quickly, trying not to flinch. I knew perfectly well I did not need to be afraid of Geras, only I did not like people coming up behind me when I did not know they were there.

If either of them noticed anything offensive or stupid in my manner, they said nothing about it. Geras handed me a round of flatbread wrapped around pieces of meat. I took this food, unable to find anything to say.

“Go on, get that on the inside where it’ll do you some good,” Geras ordered me, his tone kind. “Youngster like you, I’m betting you’ll feel better for something to eat, even if you don’t think you’re hungry. Then get some sleep. By the time you wake up, maybe there’ll be news one way or another, or if there’s not, you’ll still feel better. Everything’s brighter by daylight.”

I still could not speak, but Geras gripped my shoulder for a moment before he moved away to re-join Aras. Suyet had dropped to one knee so that he did not tower above me as much. He said in his friendly way, “Sounds like that bunch of inTasiyo’ve decided to turn outright bandit, or whatever the Ugaro version is. Tricky, getting Raga out of that mess he’d gotten himself into. I wouldn’t have wanted to try it, that’s for sure. Then kiting back all the way by yourself, playing tag with enemies the whole way! I wouldn’t’ve wanted to try that either, I can tell you that. Good job.” He did not wait for an answer, but stood up, patted my shoulder, and also moved away.

Maybe if I could not stay among the inGara, I could go with the Lau after all.

Ryo had asked them to take care for me. He had asked that. Even after everything. I could not help but hope he did not think my carelessness and deceitfulness completely irredeemable.

No one was looking at me. So far as I could tell, everyone was talking quietly, ignoring me. I ate the bread and meat, slowly. I had been hungry. I had not realized. Of course Geras had been right. He was always right about everything of that kind. I lay down, my back to the side of the tent, my eyes open, watching Marag, Siwa, the other women … the Lau. No one was looking at me. Then Suyet glanced my way, smiling, gave me a little nod, and looked away again. I felt … not exactly safe. But better.

I remembered the first night I had spent in a Lau tent. I had been so afraid then, so bewildered by everything that had happened. Ryo had asked me to take oath to obey him, but then he had taken a different oath, to behave toward me as though I were his younger brother. I had not known what he meant, but I had thought of my younger brother, of how I would have wanted to protect him if I could, and I knew, I felt, I believed, that this was a good thing.

I had been terrified that if I said or did anything wrong, he might beat me again, or do something worse than that, perhaps much worse than that, perhaps change his mind after all and cut off my hands and feet. I did not think he would do that. I thought I would be safer staying close to Ryo than I had been on my own, very much safer than I had been among my own people. But I had not been certain. For a long time, I had not been certain, but especially not then, that night.

He had ordered me to go to the tent with the Lau. I had been so afraid of them, of what they might do to me. I had still been in so much pain from the beating, and that had made me even more afraid. I had not known them at all. That seemed a very long time ago. I could hardly believe now how afraid I had been.

I remembered their kindness very, very clearly. I remembered the salve. I remembered the kind way Suyet had spoken to me, in taksu because I did not yet understand any darau, telling me I was brave, promising me I was safe, saying I should sleep if I could and everything would be better in the morning. He had said the same thing then that Geras had said now: that everything would be brighter by daylight. I had thought that a very strange thing to say, too obvious for anyone to need to say it.

Now I understood Lau a little better, and darau much better, and I understood at least some of the different meanings of brighter by daylight.

I hoped that would be true. I hoped that very, very much. That was the hope that followed me into sleep.

16 –

Ravens were calling, harsh and insistent. Sunlight gleamed on their glossy wings as they came down out of the sky. My father sat upright, the stumps of his arms resting on his knees, the sunlight sparkling on the frozen blood … the ravens fluttered and hopped and flew away, aware in the way of the beasts and birds of the ill luck in that place. But I could not move. The cold had come into my flesh, into my bones. I was frozen where I stood, unable to move, unable to back away.

My father turned his head, ice shattering with the moment. He looked at me, frost gleaming in his eyelashes, and smiled, and opened his mouth, and blood poured out, so much blood—

Someone gripped my shoulder and laid a firm hand against my cheek, speaking to me, his tone calm. I jolted upright, jerking away, but even as I moved, I had already realized it was not my father’s voice, and half a heartbeat after that, that the words had been in darau, and almost as quickly, that the one who spoke to me was Aras.

Who was an important lord among his people, and a sorcerer. I straightened, feeling the heat come into my face.

“Please don’t be concerned,” he said, his tone kind. “I seldom have the opportunity to intervene, but as I was here, I thought you might prefer to be woken. That dream didn’t seem likely to become less disturbing.”

I nodded. I could tell from the light that the Sun stood in the west. I had slept a long time. I could hear ravens. That part was real. Probably someone was butchering a cow and the ravens had come to the camp because of that. This was perfectly ordinary. But I shuddered with the memory of horror.

Aras had moved away. He poured simmering tisane into a bowl for me. Obviously he meant to bring me the bowl. That would be even more embarrassing than putting him to the trouble of waking me out of a night terror. Jumping to my feet, I went to sit by the brazier, accepting the bowl he gave me, bowing my head in respect as I took it.

No one else was in this tent. Or, no. Geras was here—I could not see him, only a curve of his cheek, he was bundled beneath furs and blankets, but of course that long shape a small distance away must be Geras. Of course it was. He would never have left Aras. Probably he did not like to sleep either. I understood that. But no one else was here. Not even Suyet. I wondered very much where everyone had gone and why Aras was here and what might have happened, what might be happening now. I did not ask anything.

He said, “Nothing particularly upsetting has happened, so far as I know. Rather the reverse. Ryo’s about two hours’ ride that way, traveling toward us.” He nodded toward the west. “He’s coming fairly fast, but not at such a pace that there’s any reason to suspect anything else dramatic has happened.” After a pause, he added, “He’s still too far away for me to see much detail, but he’s not upset. Or not in an upsetting way. Though that’s a bit redundant, I suppose.” He was smiling, a wry expression.

A tightness I had hardly realized I carried eased. Raga could not have been hurt. Not more hurt. Nor Arayo. I hoped very much Vayu had not been hurt either. I had not meant to say anything, I did not want to put myself forward in any way, but I could not help but ask, “How can they be that close?” Then I realized how stupid that question had been. “They must have started back toward the Convocation grounds before I arrived. But why? Lord,” I added, flushing again. Ryo might call him by name, but no one else did. Perhaps Sinowa or Marag or someone else important. I certainly did not.

Aras did not appear offended. He very seldom took offense at anything. He merely answered, “I have no idea. I imagine they’ll explain that when they arrive. Meanwhile, a good many people have gone to meet them—I sent Suyet along; he’d become a bit fretful. Everyone else is pretending they’re unconcerned. I believe Marag might have gone to discuss various problems with other important women.”

For an instant, I could not understand why Marag inGara would have gone anywhere else, why every other important woman had not come here, to her tent. Then I understood. I looked down at my bowl, trying to think of other things.

“Yes,” he said mildly. “I hate to think I’ve put Marag to any inconvenience, but on the other hand, I’m extremely grateful she’s permitted me to impose on her patience.”

I had learned how to prevent him from seeing everything. I had learned more than one way to do it. But all those ways had deserted me now. I felt badly off balance. Defenseless. Vulnerable.

He pretended not to notice anything. That was a kindness as well, one he had shown me many times.

I said suddenly, “I am very glad you and your people and Ryo have not yet gone south.”

He nodded, as easy-tempered as always. “We think it’s probably better to give the Convocation a bit more time to break up, for more people to leave before us. No one ought to head due south from here except possibly some inGara people, and we’d really rather not meet anyone if we can avoid it. We’ll ride my horses, take a fast pace, see just how quickly we can get down out of the high north. We don’t want to come to the lower steppe until the season’s turned a little farther, of course. Far better to find new grasses than lingering snow.” Then he added, “Ryo wouldn’t have left without seeing you again, Tano.”

I looked up in surprise.

“He wants to be sure you’re set solidly among these—his—your people. He certainly wouldn’t have left without seeing you through this somewhat tangled problem, whatever it comprises.” He paused. Then he added, his tone matter-of-fact, “I don’t imagine Sinowa is likely to bring down an excessively hard hand, given that you apparently pulled Raga out of a fairly serious fire he’d fallen into. But I’m entirely certain Ryo will want to be sure of that before he leaves you here.” He paused. Then he added, “So will my people. So will I.”

I could not meet his eyes now. I was afraid to speak, afraid I would not be able to keep my voice steady. I nodded.

“You’ll be all right, Tano. In time. Don’t feel you should be able to forget or set aside everything that happened. That’s impossible. Willpower alone is hopelessly inadequate in this sort of situation. It takes time.”

He had said this before. No doubt he was right. I nodded again, but I still could not speak.

“You may want to ask permission to go back to the place you saw your father. Replacing that disturbing image with images of more ordinary death might settle your heart a little.”

I would never have the courage to return to that place.

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Tano. I think you could probably do it if you decided you needed to, but I’m not suggesting you go alone. Marag is fairly likely to go up there herself. Everything about the inTasiyo, what happened to them, what they permitted to happen, horrifies her. She’s likely to want to make absolutely certain nothing lingers there but ordinary death. If you went with her, I think that might very well settle your heart a good deal.”

I had to agree that I would be much, much less frightened of going to that place if Marag inGara also went there. That would not be nearly as bad. Many things were not as bad as I had feared. I was glad Ryo would soon come back to this camp, glad that Raga must be all right, Arayo must be all right. I tried to think of these good things, but I was worried about Vayu, and very worried about what might happen when everyone returned. I thought of Sinowa, of how angry he would be, must be, at everything that had already happened. He would be so angry with every stupid mistake I had made.

I knew Aras probably saw most of this.

“I’d give you more space, leave you alone for a while, if that were practicable,” he said. “Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to leave this tent without taking reasonable precautions, not to mention that Geras wouldn’t approve.”

That almost made me smile. Geras would be very, very angry if Aras left this tent without him. He might not shout, but he would make his displeasure clear.

“Yes, you’ve no idea. Even before he became aware that I’m a sorcerer, he could occasionally manage to be quite scathing without raising his voice; sometimes without saying even a single word. Now, of course, the possibilities in that direction are endless.” Aras glanced toward the entry of the tent and rose. “Marag has kindly loaned me a selection of books she’s accumulated. You may have to call me several times if you want my attention; I tend to become somewhat absorbed when I’m reading.”

I did not believe this at all, but I nodded. Aras moved away, opening an ornate chest to take out an equally ornate book, but then I forgot to think of him, of sorcery, of anything of the kind, because someone put back the entry of the tent and came in, pausing to look around and then becoming still as he met my startled gaze.

Ensu.

My younger brother had stopped directly inside the entry, his eyes wide, his manner hesitant. I could not help but glance around to see if anyone was watching, even though I knew no one was here except Aras, even though I knew that no one would be angry if Ensu approached me openly. But I still looked quickly before I caught myself. I had to take a deep breath, another. Then I held out my hands, inviting Ensu to come to me.

He had looked around with the same covert, flickering glance. Now he looked at me, at first very serious, but then with a quick, faint smile that recognized our common habit, our common struggle. I saw him take the same kind of deep breath. Then he came to me, deliberately, letting me take his hands and draw him close. His attention was not on me, but on Aras, to make sure Aras did not disapprove. I felt the tension in his muscles, easing as Aras glanced up, smiled absently, and went back to his book. Ensu sighed, soundlessly, and finally looked at me.

“I thought of you,” I told him softly. “I am sorry I could not come find you. Sinowa told me to stay here, but I am sorry I did not find you first. But I came here late in the night last night. I knew you would be well enough with Garoyo and Nisig. Were you?”

He nodded silently, then glanced around again, braced himself, and whispered, “I thought of you. I did not know if you would come back.”

“I am sorry you wondered that.” I drew him down to sit with me. I wanted very much to slip carefully out of sight behind a screen or chest before I spoke to him. This was a stupid fear. I made myself sit down where I was, near the brazier, in the center of the tent. I felt Ensu flinch away, I saw how he looked around for somewhere safer, somewhere out of easy sight. But he let me pull him down to sit with me.

I said, “You probably thought Raga would come back.”

He nodded.

“So perhaps that made you think I would come back too.”

Another nod. He was looking me in the face, his gaze searching.

“I would not want to leave you among people you do not know, even if I knew you would be safe. I thought I would come back sooner than I did, and with much less trouble. Everything became more complicated than I expected.”

A fleeting smile, instantly hidden.

“You may laugh. No one will be angry if you laugh. Have you learned that?”

A slight nod. He had begun to think that might be so, but he was not certain, not yet.

I said, with as much conviction as I could, “Ensu, I would have tried to bring you out of the inTasiyo even if … if our father had not brought you here. I had a different idea about how to do it.” I flicked a glance toward Aras. “Someone would have helped me do it.” I looked my brother in the face again. “This was much faster. I thought it would also be easier, but it became more complicated than I thought.”

Another nod. Perhaps he believed me. I could not tell. I asked, “Have you heard Raga was hurt?”

One more nod, very sober.

“So,” I said. “Probably everyone knows that much now. It was only a beating, not that bad. Aras says they are coming back now. He thinks nothing bad happened. Ryo is there with them, and Aras says Ryo is not worried, not upset, so probably everyone is well enough.”

Ensu had stopped himself from glancing at Aras, who was pretending very firmly that he was not paying any attention and heard nothing either of us said or thought or felt.

I said, “Ensu.” I waited for him to look at me, waited for him to show me he was listening. Then I said, “This is something that perhaps fewer people know. Maybe you have not heard this. But I saw our father’s body. He is dead. Someone will probably go soon to look at the place and break any bad luck that lingers there, but he is dead. That is the truth, Ensu. I would not lie about that, not to you. We are both inGara now, and inGara people do not lie to each other. But when someone goes there, perhaps Marag herself, perhaps I should ask if I may come with her. Perhaps I should suggest that you come as well. Should I suggest that?”

Ensu’s eyes had widened. He jerked his head to the side, then froze.

“That is well enough,” I promised him. “You may say no. That is acceptable now. You need not if you prefer otherwise. That is a decision you may make for yourself.” Then I went on, turning the subject. “Garoyo has daughters, but not sons. Have you gone to Nisig’s tent to eat with her and with her daughters?” I knew he had, and waited for his nod, a little hesitant, but not as much. “Good,” I said. “I have never met them. How old are those girls?”

My brother began to tell me, relaxing a little because this was easier and safer, and because he had seen that Garoyo’s wife and daughters were not afraid of Garoyo, and my questions made him remember that and understand that this was another truth, another difference. His answers made me believe that too. This was something that helped us both.

After some time, Geras woke, yawning and irritable. As no one else had come here, I made tisane for him and for everyone, and heated food, meat left from the previous night or perhaps from this morning. Even after so long, I felt nervous and sick when I brought out the food, but because Ensu was here, I pretended I did not feel that way. Geras muttered thanks and then went out of the tent to the trench, and then came back and sat down again, grumbling about the cold, though from the bright air that had come with him into the tent, it was not that cold.

Aras glanced up from the book, pretending to pay attention to the rest of us for the first time since he had brought it out. He nodded to my brother, moving a hand to tell him that he need not kneel to greet him, but he said to me, “I believe everyone’s about to arrive. What with one thing and another, I can’t see all that clearly, but I can tell you that Raga’s definitely with them. All your friends are with them. Vayu as well; I’m certain of that. Do you want to go meet them?”

I shook my head. “Sinowa told me to stay here.”

“Ah, yes, then that’s probably best. I expect—ah, here we are.”

Someone I did not know tossed back the entry of the tent, stepped in, nodded to Aras with scant courtesy, and said to me, his tone curt, “Tano! The lord of the inGara sends for you. The western edge of the camp.” Then he was gone. He had not waited.

My stomach had tightened again, but I jumped to my feet. At least Aras had already told me everyone had come. From the way he had said that, I knew no one could have been badly hurt. That was much better than it might have been. I had to go at once, I began to move toward the entry, but then I hesitated. Ensu had grown very still. He was afraid. Of course he was afraid. I was also afraid, but probably in a different way and for different reasons.

Aras was looking at him, his mouth tightening. Then he glanced at me. He said mildly, “I think it’s probably best if I stay here, but I don’t believe there’s any reason Ensu shouldn’t go with you.”

I drew a breath. Then I held out my hand. “I think you should come,” I told my brother. “I think you should see how everything happens. I think, if you see Nisig, you should go stand with her and with her daughters and make yourself helpful to her. Do you think that might be good?”

A very small nod, and he stepped toward me. That was brave. I touched his shoulder. I could do that. I was so glad I was permitted to do that now. He flinched, but steadied. He also thought probably I was allowed to touch him, that he was probably allowed to permit it.

Even so, when we went out, I pushed him a little away from me before I jogged toward the western edge of the camp where everyone had gathered. Ensu understood exactly what I meant. He did not follow me directly, but took a different path, circumspect, avoiding the appearance that he was with me, probably avoiding even any appearance of curiosity or interest. I did not need to look over my shoulder. I knew exactly how he would look and what he would do. Believing he might be safe to come near me was not the same thing as feeling that this was safe—and I did not want Sinowa to be angry with Ensu or think he must be stupid because he was my brother. I was very glad he had come to find me, but I did not want him near me now.

As I came to the western edge of the camp, I saw that indeed, everyone had come there. Certainly this seemed a very large number of people. Many warriors had ridden in and were now giving their ponies to children to take away and care for—I wondered about the gelding, whether he was better now—but then I saw Ryo, and beyond him Raga, and Arayo and Vayu. And Sinowa inGara, waiting for his youngest son to come to him. No doubt for us all to come to him. He had sent for me. Bracing myself, I walked forward.

17 –

The four of us knelt together, in a row, on one side of Sinowa’s tent. That was better, much better, than kneeling alone in front of everyone. But many people were here. Important people. I did not know everyone—I hardly knew any of them—but anyone could see these were all important people. Soro inKera had come, not only Hokino. Taraka inRasiko, and some other inRasiko people. Naroya, warleader of the inGeiro, and some of his people. The inVotaro warrior who had been so angry that Matya inVotaro and the others had let themselves be killed. I did not know anyone else and obviously could not ask.

Ryo had not come into this tent. No young men except us had come into this tent. I had not yet had a chance to speak to him, I was afraid of what he might think regarding everything that had happened, but I wished he were here.

At least I did not have to explain anything over again. This time, Raga was explaining everything. He knew how to tell a story, how to put everything in order. Even this story did not sound as bad the way he told it. Or not as bad for Vayu or for me. Raga was not lying, he was not saying anything untrue, he was even explaining all the truth. But he was also doing his best to take as much of the fault as possible on himself. That was brave. I had not realized he was that brave.

“I thought they were the inVotaro warriors we had met the previous evening, from a distance they looked the same, but even so, I should not have gone to meet them,” Raga said, his tone earnest. “If I had not made this mistake, probably nothing bad would have happened.”

“My son, you have never in your life ridden past anyone at a distance,” Sinowa said, his tone dry. “You always wish to speak to anyone you encounter.”

Raga bowed. “No, lord. I mean yes, that is probably so. I knew enemies might be about, but I thought they were all to the west and concerned with other matters. I did not imagine enemies might have killed inVotaro warriors and made themselves seem to be those warriors. I do not see how I could have guessed that, but I should have understood it long before I did. I had met Matya inVotaro, I had met the others, I should have realized that these were different men before I came so close it was impossible even to attempt to escape them, but I was so stupid I did not understand that. I promise that I will be much more careful another time.”

“I hope no such occasion will arise in days to come, but perhaps greater caution might be wise at any time when you know enemies may be moving anywhere close,” Sinowa agreed. “Go on, my son.”

Raga bowed and continued the story. He explained exactly what the inTasiyo had intended to do to him. This had not been very creative, but certainly cruel. Raga remembered every word everyone had said, but more than that, he took on the manner of the warriors who had made him their captive, showing their scorn and hatred.

The men here glanced at one another as Raga explained all this. I could not tell what they thought, but obviously Sinowa inGara could not like to hear any of this. Surely he would not be entirely furious or disgusted with any young men who had saved his son from that. But nothing showed on his face.

Then Raga went on, his manner now his own, earnest and emphatic. “Vayu was very brave. He came down into that camp to protect me. He could not do it by fighting or by protesting, so he did it a different way, by pretending to be one of them.” Raga looked up, meeting his father’s gaze. “I hope no one will say that Vayu was wrong to act as he did. I hope very much no one will say that. I hope no one will set any fault against Vayu or against Tano or against anyone but me. I thought … even after they took me as their captive, I thought I could talk to them, explain they were making a mistake, but those people would not permit me to speak at all. I thought I understood what they were like, what kind of people they were, but I was very seriously mistaken. I had not understood them at all. I had not realized people could behave like that. I was too stupid to understand this, and then it was too late. No one could deal honestly with those people. I hope very much I am not wrong to say this, but this is my opinion.”

“We will consider that at a later time,” Sinowa answered. “Go on, my son.”

Raga bowed, straightened, and continued. He did not say that Vayu had advised him to throw away his pride, or that he had done that. He hesitated just a little when he came to that part, but he passed over those things. Plainly that was too difficult even for Raga to admit. But he explained almost everything else. Obviously Arayo had told him our part in everything that had happened, because he explained about Kanu, how Kanu had challenged Gataga and confused everyone so much they had let us go. He explained how we had hidden, and how we had come to the decision that I should leave the others.

Finally, he said, “After Gataga came to understand how serious his mistakes had been, he wanted very, very much to kill us all so that he could conceal all his acts. Or he did not want to kill Vayu, but the others of us, very much. Once his people found the ledge to which we had withdrawn, he stood beneath that ledge and tried very hard to persuade Vayu to turn against me and against Arayo. Vayu would not listen to him. He entirely refused to listen to any words Gataga or any of those people said to him.” Raga put a closed, haughty look on his face, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin, taking an arrogant, dismissive manner, showing everyone how Vayu had behaved. Then he relaxed and was himself again.

He went on. “Vayu and Arayo took watch and watch, defending that ledge all day and all night. The grease Tano suggested we pour down the stone beneath that ledge was very useful! The place was good, but the grease made it even better, or two young warriors might not have been able to defend us.”

I had forgotten I had suggested the grease. I was glad they had done it, and that this stratagem had helped them hold a long time.

Raga continued, “I helped as much I could, but I could not do very much. I promise that after this, as the gods were kind and spared my life, I will learn to shoot better. I will certainly learn that! I will try much harder to learn every way to defend myself, so that another time, my companions do not need to work so hard to defend me.”

“Yes,” Sinowa said, his tone level. “It is a warrior’s duty to protect a poet, as a warrior protects everyone vulnerable within the tribe. But even so, a poet would perhaps be wise to learn enough to protect himself at need. Go on.”

Raga bowed quickly. “A day and a night and another day and another night, and then someone came to the place, a man who had crossed Tano’s trail and tried to catch him. He said Tano had killed three men and gotten away. Gataga said that was impossible. This man said he agreed, that he had spoken to Tano and learned that another young man had been with him, that this other young man had gotten away with far too great a lead for anyone to come up on him before he came to the inGara and explained everything that had happened.”

I was trying not to stare too obviously. I had not thought Rokavo had believed me. I had thought that unlikely. Perhaps he had not believed me, but decided to lie to Gataga. I had no idea.

“This was what that man said,” Raga said, still very earnest. “Because the man said this, Gataga decided he should not stay there any longer, that it was too late to hide anything he had done or anything he had wanted to do. He and all his people left, scattering to ride in different directions, those who could ride fast leaving those who could not travel so quickly. Not everyone. Some warriors kept the pace set by their wives and mothers.”

“At least some of those people may not have been entirely lost to proper behavior,” someone muttered, his voice so low that I was not certain who had spoken.

“Not entirely,” Sinowa agreed, his tone dry and contemptuous. “Tano, did you think that perhaps the man whose life you spared might go to Gataga and tell him that he had failed to conceal anything? That he should flee our anger?”

I had not expected him to ask me that. I had to take a moment to steady myself. Finally, I said, “I hoped that man might believe some of the things I told him, but I thought probably this warrior would not believe me. I did not expect all the things Raga explained. I did not expect this man to persuade Gataga to leave.”

Sinowa nodded, his expression unchanged. He said to Raga, “Go on, my son.”

“Yes, lord. There is almost nothing else to explain. Gataga and many of the others rode away without waiting, and all those people left most of their wagons and also fled as best they could. We could see that from our ledge, which offered poor shelter, but a very good view! When we were certain they had gone, we came down. We did not have ponies. Arayo said it would be foolish to try to follow those people and steal ponies, and Vayu agreed, so we started back on foot. I am very, very sorry we lost three of our ponies, lord.”

Sinowa grunted, flicking a dismissive hand. “Those were your ponies, my son. If your actions cost you only three ponies, that is less than you deserve.”

“Yes,” Raga agreed earnestly, bowing. “Much less, lord. I beg your pardon for my stupidity and carelessness, which made it necessary for my companions to put themselves at hazard and made so much trouble for everyone.”

Sinowa grunted again. He asked us all, his tone severe, “Have any of you other young men anything else to say?”

I froze, everything falling out of my mind. I could not think of anything.

Arayo bowed low, setting his palms on the rugs. “I also apologize,” he said. This was the first time he had spoken, but now he went on steadily. “I am very sorry I did not make better decisions. After the first night, when Tano explained more about those nameless people and how they might behave, I said then that we should cease every attempt to speak with those people and return to the Convocation grounds. I should have pressed for that decision far more forcefully.”

“That is certainly so,” Sinowa said, his tone perfectly level. “You have something more to say? Go on.”

Arayo bowed a little lower. “I am even more sorry that when our enemies took your son, lord, I could not think of any better strategy so that Tano and Vayu were both forced to make use of tactics that may have gone beyond trickery to the edge of dishonorable deception. That is my failing, lord. I think they both acted bravely and … and as honorably as they could. I think lies and deceit cannot be wrong when enemies are dishonest and deceitful. Tano especially made every kind of plan to get Raga away from our enemies. If he had not made those plans very fast, then probably we could not have saved Raga. If Vayu had not stepped into that camp and pretended to be Raga’s enemy, then Raga might have been hurt much worse. Vayu put himself in great danger to do that.” Arayo took a breath.

Then he steadied himself, and went on. “I also set your honor at hazard, lord, because I told a nameless man, a man with no regard for honor, that you would give him anything he asked if he helped us take your son from the hands of our enemies. I apologize for making this promise, which I had no right to offer. I beg your pardon. I think we should all be punished for our stupidity and for making so much trouble, but I think Tano and Vayu should be punished less harshly than Raga, and certainly less harshly than I.”

I blinked, trying not to stare at Arayo. I thought Vayu, on my other side, was making a similar effort.

Sinowa said, his tone dry, “All these failings are indeed serious. And the thought that our king’s decree regarding the tomb should be circumvented, was that also your thought, Arayo inKera?”

Straightening, Arayo met his eyes, not glancing aside toward his father or toward Soro inKera. “I did not disagree with that thought, lord. I thought that if the skull of anyone important to me had been set in that tomb, I would want that skull carried to a higher tomb, not thrown into the open. I thought that if a young man took this concern to the lord of the inKera, probably he would be told that the skulls of children might be moved, but that no such mercy was due the skulls of older people. That was the opinion the lord of the inKera expressed regarding the inTasiyo, so I thought it would be his opinion regarding the taiTasiyo.” He stopped, swallowing, still not looking toward his uncle or his father.

Soro inKera said, his voice quiet, “If a young man had brought me that concern, this would indeed have been my opinion. You disagreed with that opinion.”

Now Arayo faced him. He did not say yes or no, but he said, his voice steady, “Some of the skulls in that tomb belonged to people who challenged Yaro, who were his enemies and died for that reason. Some of those skulls are important to inKera people, or to inGara people who are allies of inKera. I do not think it would be right to say those skulls should not be important. I did not think it would be wrong for a small number of young men to ride some distance west and perhaps speak to anyone we encountered, so that the people who used to be inTasiyo might do as they chose regarding the skulls in that tomb. That was my advice when Tano and Vayu asked my opinion. If my judgment was wrong, then I am much more at fault for our actions than they are.”

I said, not realizing I meant to do it, startled by my words and by the sharp, harsh tone of my voice, “That is not right. That was my idea, not Arayo’s. I am at fault for all this trouble.”

Almost before I had finished, Vayu, raising his chin, looking exactly as Raga had shown him, said in a cold, indifferent tone, “The entire problem came about because I told Tano I wanted to protect my grandmother’s skull and asked him to think of a way this could be done. I am to blame for everything that happened.”

Sinowa raised his eyebrows. One man and another among those here raised his eyebrows or exchanged a glance with another man. The corner of Soro’s mouth had tucked in a little.

Sinowa began to speak, and I could not breathe, I was so frightened. But Arayo said, as sharply as I had, speaking over the lord of the inGara, “Tano, if I had told you it would be wrong, you would have accepted that. You and Vayu would both have accepted that.” He faced Sinowa. “Lord, I apologize for speaking over your words. I beg your pardon. I should certainly be beaten for my discourtesy. But I think I am most at fault for everything that happened. I am very certain Raga and I are at least as much at fault as Vayu or Tano. I do not believe either of them is at fault for thinking of ways to get your son away from our enemies, even if their tactics made use of every kind of trickery.” He took a breath and then added, “If I am wrong, please correct me.”

Raga began to say something, but his father lifted a hand and he stopped, bowing, and waited in silence. We all waited for Sinowa to consider everything that had happened, everything we had explained. For all these men to consider all these things. I fixed my gaze on the rugs, not daring to look at the lord of the inGara, at any of these men.

After a long pause, Sinowa said, “Arayo inKera, I hope I need never see this nameless person throw your promise to him into my face. But in so difficult a place, I might have made the same promise. I do not fault that decision.”

Arayo bowed. Sinowa nodded. Then he went on in the same calm way, now speaking to the other men, not to us. “The concern regarding the taiTasiyo was not wrong. That is my opinion. My wife has explained to me that Tano inGara brought this concern to her. That was not badly done.”

I was very glad, extraordinarily glad, to hear him say that.

Sinowa continued. “My wife agreed that the concern regarding the skulls was not wrong. The young men were right to listen carefully to my wife’s opinion. However, they should most certainly have brought any problem concerning the nameless people to a respected warrior before taking action on their own. This problem should have been brought to me, or to you, Soro, or to the warleader of the inGara or the warleader of the inKera. Everything that happened came about because of the deplorable stupidity and carelessness of these young men in failing to set this problem before one of us. I think we all agree on this point.”

Soro inKera, said, his tone very dry, “While this is certainly true, one expects young men to behave foolishly. I cannot think of any man who did not behave stupidly when he was young. Often much more stupidly than this. Perhaps some others of us here may be able to think of times when that happened.”

Sinowa barely smiled. “Perhaps that may be so.”

Takara inRasiko spoke calmly. “Lying to avoid just punishment is disgraceful. Lying to set fault against someone who has done nothing wrong is exceedingly disgraceful. But trickery and misdirection during a raid are not wrong. Some of the actions of these young men may have gone beyond trickery and misdirection; I would not say otherwise. But I think lying to a dishonorable enemy is not wrong, or not very wrong. Doing so to protect a companion is even less wrong. Those people who used to be inTasiyo have no standing to protest anything. I do not think lying to them was wrong at all. Certainly lying to them to get a companion away from them was not wrong. That is my opinion.”

Hokino inKera said, “Though their actions may have been questionable, when these young men found themselves in danger, they acted quickly and bravely. If they had hesitated or drawn back, much worse things might have come of that. When battle comes, acting with decision is almost always better than hesitation. The warriors who fight a battle are often better able to judge the necessary strategy of that battle than warriors who were not present. That is my opinion.”

“I think we all agree with that opinion,” Sinowa agreed. “Does anyone else wish to speak?” Another pause stretched out.

Finally a different man, a man I did not know, said, “Every one of these young men has set himself forward to take the greatest fault. That was well done.”

Sinowa made a gesture of assent. “It is the least one expects of young men who have been properly taught.” It seemed to me that he might have glanced my way, but I might have been mistaken. I was almost certain that some of the men here glanced at Vayu and then away again.

Naroya inGeiro added, “They all acknowledge their fault. None of them argues that their behavior was good. None of them protests punishment.” He glanced over at us. “That is correct, is it not?”

Arayo bowed immediately. Vayu and I followed his example, a heartbeat behind him. But when I straightened, I gripped my hands together hard, trying not to let them shake visibly, and said, “Raga has been punished already.”

“So has Tano!” Raga put in, leaning forward urgently. “And there was the other beating, lord, the one you said you would deal out after seven days, which is tomorrow! Two severe beatings is too harsh, especially because—”

Sinowa raised a hand, silencing us both. He said, “I will judge this matter now. I will judge this matter for all four of these young men, if the lord of the inKera will permit me the privilege of judging his young warrior.”

Soro made a gesture of agreement.

Sinowa nodded. He said, “The concern regarding the taiTasiyo was not wrong, or not very wrong. Any young man who was once inTasiyo might reasonably be concerned regarding the taiTasiyo important to him. The thought that came to these young men, that they might circumvent our king’s ruling by seeking out some of the nameless people, and the decision that they should do so without speaking to any respected warrior, this was a more important fault than the concern. I think we all agree this was a wrong decision. The fault for this mistake is laid against all four of these young men, but especially against Arayo inKera. He is the youngest, but he has been properly taught and therefore should have known better. He tried too hard to help these other young men with the problem they brought him, and this effort led to this mistake. This is my opinion regarding all these things.” He paused. Soro made a gesture of agreement. Arayo bowed deeply and then straightened. No one spoke.

Sinowa went on. “Warriors should never permit a poet to leave their company when enemies might be close. But though disgracefully careless, this mistake is understandable. The young men reasonably believed that the close guard of the inVotaro should prevent enemies from coming into the lands through which my son would travel on his return to the Convocation grounds. My son made a worse mistake when he put himself into the hands of enemies and thus brought himself and his companions into peril. But there was this ruse by which our nameless enemies made themselves seem to be inVotaro warriors. Even an experienced warrior might have made the same mistake. Also, as Tano says, this mistake has been punished already.” He paused again as Raga bowed.

Then Sinowa continued. “I do not agree that dishonorable actions are acceptable even when practiced against people who lack every kind of standing. I say that dishonorable actions are always wrong. But I agree with Taraka inRasiko that trickery is not wrong when raiding or planning a battle. I also agree that every kind of deception practiced by Vayu inKera and Tano inGara was close to that kind of trickery. These young men took every kind of risk and made every kind of difficult decision in order to recover a companion from the hands of enemies. I think their actions were not wrong, or not very wrong. If anyone here disagrees, I will hear that person now.”

A pause drew out. Finally, Soro said, “I think everyone here agrees, Sinowa.”

Sinowa nodded. He said, “Every action that followed seems right to me, or not very wrong. A young warrior pursued by a handful of older warriors, warriors who are bitter enemies, is right to use every kind of trickery and trap against those enemies. Tano inGara’s actions were not wrong. Lying to one warrior and sparing his life so that he might carry that lie to his people … this tactic was perhaps wrong, but not very wrong. That is my opinion. Does anyone here disagree?”

Another pause, this one not as long. No one said he disagreed. Arayo, next to me, nudged me with an elbow, and I bowed low, then straightened.

Sinowa nodded again. “For these mistakes, for all this trouble and bother, punishment is due. Arayo, Vayu, twice twenty. You will each take your beating tomorrow. Raga, your mistake was the most serious, but as you lost three ponies and a fourth is lame, as you took this severe beating from our enemies, you have already been punished twice over for this stupidity. The cuts from the other beating have not healed completely. You will take ten, and that will do.”

Raga bowed low. They all bowed. I waited, trying to breathe steadily and not show how tightly my stomach had clenched within me.

Sinowa said to me, “Tano, twice thirty for your disgraceful behavior some days ago, and twice twenty for your part in all this trouble. But my decision is that the first beating encompasses the second. Twice thirty, and that will do.”

I stared at him, astonished. I had not expected that at all. Then, collecting myself, I bowed, touching my face to the rugs. Twice thirty—I could stand for that many. I thought I could do it. I hoped I could do it. This was much less severe than I had expected. Sinowa certainly did not want to break my pride. This would not be as bad as any time my father had beaten me. Surely I could do it.

“You may sit,” he told me. “We will consider the difference between trickery and dishonesty at some other time. That is a discussion that will no doubt take place over many days.” He glanced along our row. “Have any of you anything further to say?”

One by one, each of us bowed and apologized once more. I was glad I was not at the end of the line, because I would not have known what was expected. But Raga knew, and Arayo knew, so when my turn came, I could behave as I should. Then Vayu after me.

Then, at last, Sinowa nodded to us all. “You may go,” he said. “You may all go. I will see you here tomorrow. At dawn. Go.”

I almost thought I could not stand. But Arayo closed his hand on my wrist and pulled me up, and Raga nudged me, and after that I felt steadier. We all went out together. People turned and looked. Not Ryo—I had thought he might be there, but I did not see him. Then Arayo, who still gripped my arm, pulled at me, and I went with him.

18 –

We all walked away together, faster and faster, until we had gone almost to the lake, far enough away that we could speak without being heard by everyone. Then we all sat down on the pebbles there, as if by common agreement, and looked at each other.

Arayo spoke first, looking at me, his gaze searching. “This is not bad. This is not very severe. Tano, I hope you agree.”

Of course I agreed. I made a gesture of assent.

Raga said in a tone of exaggerated relief, “That is certainly not bad, especially not for me! Even I can stand for ten.” He looked at Vayu. “This is not the same. It will not be that kind of whip, and you will know how many. Forgive me if my advice is stupid and unnecessary, but you should not let your pride break. That is never right for an inGara young man, and I am very certain it cannot be right for an inKera young man either—”

Vayu, raising his chin, snapped, “Yes, I understand that.” Then he took a breath and added, his tone now firm rather than sharp, “I am not concerned regarding this beating.”

Anyone would be concerned. Twenty twice was not nearly as severe as I had feared, as we had surely all feared, but it was severe enough. But I knew Vayu would not shame himself or his new people by failing to stand properly. He glanced at me and then away. He was not certain I would be able to stand. I could not be offended. I was not certain either.

Vayu did not say that. He asked Arayo, “Is anyone angrier than he seemed? Is Soro very angry, or Hokino?”

Arayo shook his head. “Not with you. They may say something to you. My father is very likely to say something to you. He will not be angry, because the beating will end that kind of anger. But he may ask you to explain everything again, leaving out nothing. You should do that. He will tell you exactly what your mistakes were and exactly what you should have done instead. He will be right. You may argue or protest. That will not make him angry. But probably you will come to see that he is right about everything.” He hesitated. Then he added, “That was how it was for me, though that might have been different. I was a boy then, not a young man.”

“You were an inKera boy,” Vayu said, his tone curt. He looked away for a breath, taking that time to correct his own temper. Then he looked back, bowing slightly in apology. “I will remember your advice.”

Arayo nodded.

“Will your father be angry with you, Arayo?” Vayu asked him.

Arayo dropped his gaze. He said, very quietly, “He will probably think I showed bad judgment and do not deserve to be given any important responsibility. I think they may all hold that opinion now.”

“They think every young man has bad judgment!” Raga declared. “There is nothing remarkable about that opinion. In a season, in a year, everyone will have forgotten everything that happened this year. But, Arayo! I have an idea. I think we should go to Talal Sabero, climb to the highest peak of the sacred mountain, and make an offering there. That will make everyone forget all this. Is this not a very good idea? We could do that before everyone leaves the high north. Of course everyone would have gone long before we return, but that would not matter! We would find them eventually. Tano, Vayu, do you not agree this is a good idea?”

Arayo was laughing, though quietly. Vayu and I looked at each other. Vayu said, “Surely nothing of the kind would be permitted?”

“I think it would be!” Raga declared. “There can be nothing wrong in that kind of endeavor. Anyway, that kind of decision rightfully belongs to any man who wants to do it, unless he has been set to some other important task. What other important task could there be? That older men would consider appropriate for us, I mean. Although,” he added regretfully, “I do not own four more ponies, so that will make traveling any distance more difficult. I only have two now. I am sorry to hear that the gelding has been lamed. Is he much hurt, Tano?”

I had still been thinking about this idea of going to the sacred mountain, of leaving behind every kind of disapproval in those heights. I was thinking of the very difficult journey to the heights of that mountain in the land of the shades, of how in some ways that journey might be even more difficult in the land of the living. Certainly it would be much longer. But at this question, I looked up. “I think he is not too much hurt. I think he will recover. But if he is lame, if he cannot be made sound, then … Raga, I know this is very much to ask, but if he is lame, if he is not worth anything, will you give him to me? I cannot give you anything in return, not now, but someday—”

Raga held up his hands, smiling, but quizzical. “You want him even if he is lame?”

I felt the heat coming up in my face. I said, hearing the stiffness in my tone, “Perhaps that is foolish. But I like that pony, and I do not want anyone deciding his best use is as meat and hide.”

“He has a good temper,” Raga said, showing no sign of surprise or disapproval. “He always tries hard to understand what his rider wishes of him. I like him too. He is yours, Tano, whether he is lame or sound. There, now you own a pony! If he recovers, as I hope he may, you will certainly not be the least among the young men, not any longer! If he cannot be made sound soon enough for a long journey, maybe Ryo will let us borrow some number of his ponies so that we need not go on foot the whole distance. I will ask him. I will promise him that we will take great care of them.” He turned earnestly to the others. “Arayo, you agree with me that this is a good idea, do you not? We did not go exactly all the way in the land of the shades; would it not be good to do it in the land of the living? Vayu, I am sure Hokino will not be too upset with you, but this would give him a different opinion again, so would that not be good?” He paused, then added. “Though there is your younger brother, and Tano’s younger brother, so that is a difficulty, I admit.”

I had not been listening to Raga with any great attention. I had been thinking about his easy generosity. About his unfailing good temper. About the way he had protested to his father that I should not be punished severely.

About the way I had protested first that he should not be punished severely. I had not realized I would do that, nor that he would do it. But afterward, I been surprised only that I had done it, not that he had. I had known he was brave. Not exactly in the way a warrior should be brave. But in a different way, an important way.

I had been thinking that I would be glad to agree with him regarding this journey he had suggested. This was a good idea, I did think that was so, but I had also been thinking I would probably be glad to agree to anything he wanted to do simply because he asked me. I had been thinking that he had wanted to come with us to find the inTasiyo people for something like the same reason. This realization was very, very remarkable. I had never realized that I might feel that way. Certainly not that he might.

But when he mentioned my brother and Vayu’s brother, that pulled me away from all those thoughts and I looked up again. I said, “I should find Ensu. He will be worried. Vayu—”

“Yes,” he said, with resolution. He stood up.

Arayo rose as well. “I will go with you,” he told Vayu. They nodded to Raga and to me and walked away together toward the inKera camp.

I stood up and, after a heartbeat, offered Raga a hand. “You will not yet have recovered entirely,” I said, not quite a question.

He laughed, accepting my hand, letting me pull him up. “The fever is much less, but the cuts itch! That is very annoying, almost worse than the pain. Though not quite! I am a little stiff, but this is not bad now. By tomorrow, that will be even less bad. Ten is a great kindness, much better than I deserve.” Then he added, his tone much more serious, “Tano, I thank you for asking for my father to be less severe with me.”

Heat came up into my face. I knew I was flushing, but I tried not to flinch. “You did the same for me.”

“You did it first!” We had been walking back toward the camp, not fast, but now Raga put out a hand and touched my arm, stopping me. Meeting my eyes, he said, “You will stand properly, Tano. Twice thirty is severe, that is very severe, but you are brave enough to stand without flinching at all. I am very certain.”

I was not at all certain. I said nothing.

“When they took me, those people, I was so frightened,” Raga said, still in that serious way. “I have never been so frightened. Even in the land of the shades, with enemies everywhere, I was not as afraid. Even when—” He stopped, looking away, drawing a breath. I knew he was thinking of the Saa’arii, of the death he had died there.

But he took another breath, and a third, and then faced me again. “That was different. It was fast, and our enemies there did not care about me at all. Those people, Gataga’s people, they cared very, very much.”

I did not know what to say. Finally, I said, “Yes.”

Evidently this was enough for Raga, who nodded. “I did not think carefully about whether I should let my pride break. I did not think at all about anything. I was too frightened to think. But even then, I was so grateful Vayu was the one holding the whip. I knew he did not want to beat me, that he did not want to hurt me, that he would try to do as little as he could. It helped me to know that. I hope it may help you to know the same thing. Tomorrow, when my father picks up the whip, it will not be as bad for you as—as other times. My father will want you to stand properly. He will expect you to stand properly. So you will.”

I hoped he was right. I hoped that awareness might help a little. Surely it would help a little. I said, “I am sure you are right about everything.” I began walking again, toward Marag’s tent, because I thought Ensu might be there, or might find me there.

Also because I thought Ryo might be there, or might find me there. I dreaded speaking to him, I dreaded hearing his opinion regarding everything that had happened, but I also felt I had to face him, that I had to face him today. I had already faced Sinowa and many important warriors and warleaders. I had already faced Marag and many important women. I had already faced Aras, who saw so many things, from whom nothing could be kept private. Yet none of this seemed as important to me as facing Ryo. I had not even understood that until now.

Or I had, but I had not realized it myself. Now I realized it.

Raga walked beside me. That helped a little. More than a little. I was not even certain why his company helped me be less afraid. Although if Ryo was very angry with me, Raga would try to tell him, show him, that he should not be that angry. That was very easy to understand.

We came to the tent. Raga went in front of me, ducking through the entry with a casual manner that somehow struck me. Of course that was his customary manner, but this evening I saw that in a different way. His manner made me realize that he had probably never in his life worried that he might not be welcomed wherever he chose to go. I had not realized that before. Now I could not be surprised he had not understood he should be much more cautious when he encountered people he might not know. Even if he had not thought those people were inVotaro, probably he would have ridden on to speak to them. He simply did not expect anyone he met to be an enemy, even when he knew enemies might be close.

How very different his life had been from mine. From that of any young man of the inTasiyo. But especially mine. Yet I did not, could not, resent that. I was even glad his easy manner had not been broken by the things that had happened. I followed him into the tent much more slowly, thinking about the inGara and the inTasiyo in a different way again. Even after all this time, every kind of difference still sometimes astonished me.

Now Marag was here, and other women. Raga had already gone to greet his mother. My brother was not present, but Aras was here, of course, and his people, including Lalani now. She turned, smiling, happy to see me. That was not any kind of pretense. She was happy to see everyone, not only me, but she was happy to see me. I felt myself relax a little.

But Ryo was also here. He had been speaking with Aras, but now he stood up, looking at me. He was not smiling. I tensed again, the dread coming upon me, locking all my muscles so that I could not back away or kneel or make any movement at all. Raga turned, his gaze going from me to Ryo. He began to get to his feet. But Ryo did not wait. He strode to me, reaching out to grip my arms. I felt hot, then cold and sick.

Ryo looked at me from that small distance, frowning. “Tano,” he said. “Are you well?”

This was so far from anything I had expected him to say that I could not answer.

His frown deepened. He said, “Twice thirty is severe. This is not as severe as I thought it might be, but still severe for a young man, especially a young man who is afraid of the whip. No one will be able to help you, not this time. I meant to teach you to stand. I meant to teach you very carefully, so that we would both be certain you could do it. Now there is no time for that. I am very sorry this should be so. Do you think you will be able to stand?”

I had not expected him to say anything like that either. I felt hot again, but not as sick. He was not angry. Or not very angry. He had heard the whole story from someone—probably from everyone. Everyone except me. He had not decided I was so stupid and sly that I was worthless. He had not said he no longer regarded me as a younger brother. I was almost certain he had not decided that. If I could make myself stand properly, maybe he would not decide that.

I took a breath, making certain I could speak steadily. Then I said, “Twice thirty is not that severe. I will not bring shame on myself or you.” Was that a lie? Perhaps it was. I amended this promise to something I knew was true. “I will try very, very hard not to do so.”

His grip tightened. “You are not a coward,” he told me emphatically. “Your father was wrong in that, as in everything else. His opinions about everything were wrong.”

I nodded. I thought that was true. I wanted to think so. I said, “I saw him. Up among the rocks, below the cliffs, where the inVotaro left him.” I had not meant to say that. I had not realized I meant to say that.

Ryo looked into my face, a searching look. I could not tell whether he had heard this from his mother. He said, “Tell me.” He nodded to me to sit down, and sat down with me, and listened as I told him. I did not know how to explain what that moment had been like. I could not begin to express that. But I tried.

Ryo listened carefully, without interrupting. After I had stumbled to a halt, he said, “My mother thinks bad luck may have come to that place. I think this must be so. Otherwise, ravens and foxes, other birds and other beasts, would have found him long before you did.”

“There was an eagle,” I said. I had forgotten that until this moment.

“So,” he said. “Perhaps the eagle guided you there so you could tell my mother what you found. Certainly it is important for someone to go there and break any bad luck that may have come to that place.”

I nodded. I looked at him, uncertain, the feeling of sickness coming back to me.

“There is something else you should tell me?” he asked.

I dropped my gaze. But then I made myself look up again. I made myself speak steadily. “Before that, something else happened.”

He nodded, very serious. “Tell me.”

I told him about the three warriors I had killed, about how I had stupidly used exactly the same kind of ambush twice, so that if my enemies had not been even more stupid than I, they would probably have killed me or taken me prisoner. Then, trying to speak firmly, I admitted to him that I had not exactly spared Rokavo’s life as a ruse, that maybe that had been part of it, but I had not exactly thought of that. I had not thought that he might carry my words to Gataga and thus make everyone leave that place, leaving Raga and Arayo and even Vayu.

“I do not think that was in my mind. I think mostly I wanted to tell him about the skulls,” I confessed. “Even then, I had not entirely forgotten that problem, though I know this was stupid of me. I told him of the ruling, and I—I asked that if he came to a moment when he took up any skull important to him, that he should take up my mother’s skull as well, and my uncle’s skull, and Vayu’s grandmother’s skull. When I spared his life, that is what I told him I wanted. Perhaps this was a wrong concern.” I took a quick breath and added, “If I was wrong, please correct me.”

Ryo nodded, his expression still serious. He said, “This was not a wrong concern, Tano. Your uncle was Yaro’s enemy and died for it. Your mother as well, is that not so?”

I nodded.

“Then I do not see how this could be a wrong concern. My mother agrees. Perhaps you know already that she and the other women consider that it may be as well that you and the other young men told those people of that ruling. Perhaps because of all these warnings, someone among those people will make the effort to come to the low tomb and shift some or all of those skulls before the inVotaro come there. If that should happen, my mother says this will show that the gods considered Koro’s judgment too harsh. She said this to Koro, who came eventually to agree with her opinion. Koro said that the skulls no one cares to protect are due no protection and no mercy, but if, when the inVotaro come to the place, they find that the tomb holds only a few skulls, or none, he will say nothing about that. He will regard this as a sign that the gods wish mercy to be granted to the taiTasiyo.”

I nodded again, but in truth I was trying to understand the things he had explained. This was difficult. I had not expected anything of the kind. I had not expected Koro to amend his ruling regarding those skulls.

I said slowly, “There was another reason I spared that warrior. I just … I did not want to kill him. I do not know why. Do you think … could that have been …” I could not bring myself to say the will of the gods. Those words sounded altogether ridiculous when I thought of saying them.

Raga had brought Ryo a bowl of tisane, and a bowl for me, and then settled near me to listen. I had not been certain I wanted him to hear all this, but I had not been certain I did not want that. Now he said, astonishing me with his understanding, “You think perhaps a god set his hand on your shoulder at that moment? Perhaps that might be so! After all, Tano, we have every good reason to believe the gods know your name.”

That was something I did not know how to think about. I did not look at Raga. I did not look at Ryo either. I looked at the bowl I held.

Ryo said, “You had defeated this man, so you had the right to choose to show him mercy. This man did not seize any kind of chance to attack you?”

I shook my head.

“So,” said Ryo. “And then this man carried a warning to our enemies, causing them to give up all their schemes and flee. This was certainly a good thing, whether you intended it or otherwise. Perhaps the gods indeed guided you to make the choice you made.”

I shook my head. “I took unnecessary risks, stupid risks, to spare that warrior. Probably I was wrong to take those risks. If he had attacked me, I do not know that I could have killed him before he defeated me. Perhaps I could have done it, but perhaps otherwise, and then I do not know what might have happened, but probably nothing good.” Now I looked at Ryo. I did not want to. But I could not help it. I said, “I do not think I could have made that decision for any good reason. This was a stupid risk! Nothing bad came of it, good things came of it, but it was stupid! I deserve to be beaten for that alone.”

Ryo lifted one shoulder to show that he thought this matter difficult to judge. “You were there, Tano, so you were the warrior who had to make those decisions. You do well to think of your actions, to consider whether you chose well or badly. You should do so. That will help you choose carefully in days to come. But you did not choose badly on that day. That is my opinion.”

I breathed, in and out and in again. Maybe that was true. I wanted to think that was true. I bowed, belatedly, to show I accepted this opinion. Then, finally, I began to sip the tisane. It was still hot, the steam fragrant with mint. I said finally, “I should find Ensu. He may have heard some things that frightened him.”

“Raga,” said Ryo.

Raga jumped to his feet and went out.

As soon as he was gone, Ryo said to me, “You acted quickly and bravely to save Raga from great danger. My father would forgive many wrong actions for that. So would I. But I do not think any of your actions were very wrong. Nor does he, or he would not have made the ruling he made. Given the enemies you faced and the kind of problems you faced, you did well, Tano.”

I took a deep breath. Then I bowed.

“You have not tried to conceal anything or lie to anyone here. Have you?”

I could feel my face getting hot again. “I think I have not. I have tried hard to be very strict with myself and explain everything true. I think I have.”

He nodded. “That is very important. You have done well in this as well.”

I hoped I had. I thought I had. I felt better because he had said this, but I was not certain I deserved his good opinion. I thought probably I did not deserve it. I began to speak, I did not know what I meant to say, but then Raga came in with Ensu, and I forgot to speak at all.

Ensu hesitated, but Raga guided him to me, pretending not to notice his caution. My brother’s glance flicked from me to Ryo and back again. When I nodded, he acknowledged this with a quick glance, but only when Ryo nodded did Ensu settle quietly. He did not sit, but knelt, saying nothing.

“Ensu,” I said, and held out my hand. This time, he hesitated only a heartbeat before scooting over to sit directly beside me. For a heartbeat, I could not bring myself to touch him. Then I forced myself to set aside every concern about what Ryo might think, every concern about what Raga might think, and took my brother’s hands in mine, looking at him openly, ignoring his flinch. I said, “Ensu, I should tell you something. Have you understood that the lord of the inGara will punish me for some things I did? He will do it tomorrow. Has anyone explained that to you?”

He had grown still. He did not try to pull away from me—he had been taught always to obey, never to try to get away from anyone—but his breaths came short and quick. He did not say yes or no. Whatever anyone had explained to him, he did not know what to think.

“This is not the same,” I told him, speaking firmly, as though I had no doubt regarding the matter. “It may seem a little the same, but it will be very different. You do not need to be frightened. Not for me, not for yourself. This is the truth, Ensu. You have seen the difference between the inGara and the inTasiyo already, you cannot have failed to see it, but you may not feel certain yet. You have seen that the lord of the inGara is not the same as Duryo inTasiyo, that the warleader of the inGara is nothing like Yaro inTasiyo, but perhaps you may not feel perfectly certain. You should be certain. Tomorrow, be quiet and brave and watch how everything happens. You will see how different everything is among our people.”

I tried to sound very, very certain. I felt a little braver myself because of how certain I sounded. Ensu nodded, pretending he believed me. Maybe he did believe me, but probably he was not sure.

I had to stand perfectly, to show Ensu everything was different. That was another reason I had to stand perfectly. I had not thought of that until this moment. Twice thirty was not that bad. I could stand for that many. I had to do it.

I said, “Raga gave me a pony.”

Ensu looked at me and then at Raga, surprised enough to forget caution. Raga grinned, pleased and amused. Ryo raised his eyebrows. I pretended not to notice this. I said, “The pony is a little lame, but I think soon he may be well enough. He is a very good pony. I like him very much. Perhaps Raga might take you to see him and then you can tell me what the herdsmen say of him, whether they agree he will soon be sound. Perhaps they will explain what should be done to help him. This is a useful thing for a boy to learn, so attend carefully to what they say and you may explain these things to me later.”

“Yes,” Raga said immediately, smiling. “I will be pleased to show you this pony, Ensu. I would like to know what the herdsmen say, though I think he will probably recover, since you say he can walk almost as he should, Tano.” He stood up, holding a hand down to Ensu. “Come, and we will see what kind of care this pony may need, and perhaps you may assist your brother by taking on that kind of care.”

Ensu realized he was smiling, made himself stop, then looked at Raga and let himself smile again. “Yes,” he said, softly, but clearly he was happy with that idea. He let Raga take his hand and lift him to his feet. He did not even flinch.

“This is the cream-colored gelding?” Ryo asked.

“Yes!” Raga agreed. “I am glad we did not lose him, though certainly I am sorry we lost the other geldings and very sorry we lost the mare. I suppose I will earn more ponies someday, but as I was so careless with these, perhaps not soon.”

“Perhaps, at some time in the coming year, someone may raid for ponies and give you some of those taken in this raid,” Ryo suggested.

I had not thought of that. That was a very good idea. Perhaps Arayo would like that idea.

“Perhaps that might be so,” Raga agreed, plainly unconcerned. “But, Ryo, I have something else I would like to ask you. I would like to ask if we might borrow some of your ponies, but I do not know yet how many, because we do not yet know how soon Tano’s pony may be sound.”

“You wish to borrow some of my ponies? Do I want to know what is in your mind, Raga?” But Ryo was smiling. “We can discuss this. Which of my ponies do you want to borrow?”

Aras had risen to his feet. Now he came over to us and said to Ryo, “Perhaps you may also want to take a look at this pony, Ryo. You can talk to your brother about this idea of his at the same time and sort out which ponies, if any, you might like to loan him.”

Ryo glanced from Aras to me. Then, rising, he said to Raga, “Yes, we can look at this gelding you gave to Tano. You may also explain to me what you intend to do with my ponies, and we will consider your request.”

They went out together, Ensu as well. My brother walked between them. I was very pleased that Ensu did not flinch from Ryo. Over the past days, he had perhaps learned to trust Ryo a little, trust everyone a little. This was very good.

I was not surprised Aras had come to join me. I looked up at him. Then I lowered my eyes and shifted to kneeling.

He sat down, a little awkwardly, sighing. “Cushions are all very well,” he commented in darau. “But I do miss chairs. I don’t think I can agree to your request, Tano, but you had better make it and then we’ll see if I’ve got the right idea.”

I knew he understood my thought. I was certain he understood it. If he did not think he could agree, perhaps I might persuade him. I glanced around, making certain no one else was close enough to overhear as long as we spoke quietly.

Then I said in darau, “When Sinowa beats me, it is very, very important that I stand perfectly. That is not only important to me. I am not only asking for myself. If I cannot do it, that will shame Ryo. That would not be right when he has tried so hard to teach me to behave properly. It would also make Ensu afraid, when he is just learning now that he does not need to be afraid of everything. You may know that our—that Yaro inTasiyo beat him once. I mean the way he beat me, not the way the inGara beat their young men. Ensu only had seven winters. He is much, much more afraid of the whip than the inGara think right. He will be even more afraid if I fail to stand properly. Please, would you help me stand? Would you make me stand? Surely this is not wrong if I ask you to do it.”

Aras was looking at me, his expression unreadable. “Yes, that’s what I thought you meant to ask.”

I said quickly, “I hope very much I have not offended you by this request. If I have offended you, please forgive me.” Then I said, “But I would be very grateful if you would do this for me. I promise I would not change my mind later, or be angry, or—or wish I had not asked you.”

His expression had eased. “I’m not offended.” He did not smile, but he sighed, and raised a hand to touch his face, rub his forehead, touch his lips. Finally, dropping his hand back to his knee, he said, “I’m glad you trust me enough to ask, but I’m afraid it would be wrong for me to help you that way, Tano.”

I had not realized that, but as soon as he said that, I saw that of course it would be wrong. It would be deceitful and sly. It would be a lie about courage. I should have seen that before I asked. I had not thought of that. I had been too stupid to think of that. Worse, now I would have to tell Sinowa I had asked Aras to help me lie. That realization made me feel sick again, when at first this idea had almost made me feel better.

Aras said gently, “I actually meant, it would be wrong for me to do it, not wrong for you to ask. No doubt you should indeed confess making that request to Sinowa, but I suggest you also explain that you realized it would be deceitful almost as soon as you asked. Tano, you don’t need me to set my will on you and force you to stand. You’ll succeed without that kind of help.”

I was not at all certain I could do it.

“Fear is normal. You’re not a coward. Far from it. It will be difficult, of course. But you’ll manage.”

He sounded very certain. Everyone seemed much more certain of this than I felt myself. I nodded. I tried to breathe slowly and deeply. Sometimes that could help. I could think of nothing to say. Everything was so hard.

“Not everything.” His tone was still kind. “You’ll do well, Tano, and once you know you can hold to your pride, you’ll never have so much trouble again. You may believe that you’ll always fear pain more than other Ugaro. You may set that fear aside. You’re afraid of pain; of course you are. But you didn’t ask me to help you feel less pain, did you? That’s not your greatest concern. No, you’re afraid of malice, hatred, derision, shame, rejection. That’s perfectly reasonable. But you’ll do well tomorrow, and that will help in every possible way. How do you suppose Sinowa feels about your, ah, escapade?”

I was surprised he would ask me that, and also trying to think about what he had said. I could not answer for a breath. He only waited, and finally I said, “He is angry.”

“That seems probable. And?”

“He is disappointed.”

“Possibly. And?”

I looked at him. Then I said, “He is very, very relieved that his son was not badly hurt. He is very, very glad nothing worse happened to Raga.” I added, because I knew it was true, “He is also relieved and glad that Arayo was not hurt.”

Aras did not say yes or no. He did not even smile, though I knew he had wanted me to put this obvious truth into words. Instead, he said, “You’re afraid of malice. Is that what Sinowa feels toward you?”

“He has never felt malice toward anyone.” I spoke slowly. This was not a thought that had come to me until Aras asked me that. But I was almost certain it was true. I added, “He hated my father, and he is angry with me. But neither hatred nor anger is the same as malice.”

Aras smiled. “You could be right. He’s going to beat all of you. Do you think he’ll be harder on you than on Raga? Setting aside the different penalty, of course. Perhaps that’s the wrong comparison. Do you think he’ll be harder on Vayu than on Arayo?”

I shook my head.

“No, I don’t think so either. That would be unjust, and I really can’t see Sinowa permitting himself to be unjust.” Aras paused, looking at me with that attentive manner that meant he was looking into my mind. “Does any of that help?”

He knew it did. I hoped it would be enough. Maybe it would be.

“Good,” he said. He touched my arm and got to his feet, sighing. “Chairs would be difficult to transport, I suppose, when people travel so frequently. Never mind. I’ll see you tomorrow, Tano. But my prediction is: you’ll be fine.” He walked away, going back to sit with his own people.

I stayed where I was. I felt I had very much to think about. I was not certain how to think about anything. But I hoped, I very much hoped, that perhaps Aras might be right about everything.

19 –

The night was very, very long.

To have it over, I had gone at once to Sinowa to explain the wrong request I had made of Aras. “Deceitful,” Sinowa had said first, as I had feared he would. Then he had added, “But brave.” Then he had considered this act for some time while I waited, my eyes on the rugs, too ashamed and afraid to look at him. Finally, he asked me, “What is more important, Tano: honor or courage?”

“Honor,” I said at once. I was certain that was the right answer—almost certain.

“Yes. But both are important. Cowardice leads to dishonorable actions. That was so here. Your fear made you think of this kind of deceit. Yielding to that fear made you think it right to ask for this wrong thing. Aras told you that you fear failure and shame more than pain. This is plainly so. Do not fail, and you will find bravery comes to you more easily so that you have less inclination toward deceit.”

“Yes,” I said. This came out as a whisper. I tried again. “Yes, lord.”

“Should you make this mistake again, I may punish you for that. But you will not fail tomorrow. Therefore this problem will be less in days to come.” Sinowa made a small gesture. “Go.”

I bowed, rose, and fled, acutely aware that I had uncountable reasons I must stand, even more aware of how many people I would disappoint if I failed.

I slept only a little. Most of the night, I lay silent and wakeful in the tent I shared with Arayo and Raga. Perhaps they slept; they did not speak; none of us spoke. But I suspected none of us slept well that night. I thought of Vayu, and wondered how he fared this night, whether any of the inKera young men had invited him to come to their tent. If not, perhaps Hokino had told him to come to his tent.

I hoped his night was no more uncomfortable than mine. Mine was certainly uncomfortable enough.

Ensu had liked my pony very much. He had told me everything the herdsmen had told him, everything about how lameness should be treated, and that they said I had done well not to ride the gelding, that he should soon be sound. My brother had forgotten caution and fear in his pleasure with the pony and with the friendliness of the herdsmen. I tried to think of that, and of the idea Raga had proposed, that we should all make the long climb to the heights of Talal Sabero. Ryo had agreed to loan us ponies for that journey, so obviously he did not disapprove.

Of course ponies could not go all the way, but we could ride below the mountains for a long distance and leave them in a high meadow while we made the climb. Four ponies together should be safe from the white leopards, and anyone who came there would know their riders were attempting to climb the sacred mountain, so it would be bad luck to steal them. The ponies could wait safely in a meadow. Then we would have them when we came down again and wanted to ride south to find the inKera and then, most of us, the inGara.

These were all good thoughts. I tried hard to push away other thoughts and fears.

I tried hardest of all not to wonder whether Raga and the others would let me come with them on that journey even if I failed to stand, even if I proved before everyone that I was a coward and would never have the courage appropriate for a warrior.

I would not fail. I could not possibly let myself fail. But what if I did? As dawn approached, the fear grew worse.

Raga got up first, long before dawn. He lit a small lamp and made tisane. I sat up, trying to look calm and attentive and not afraid. Arayo lay on his back, his hands beneath his head, his eyes open, gazing at the side of the tent, not speaking. None of us spoke.

When the tisane was ready, Raga poured it into three bowls and we all sat around the brazier to drink it. Even then we did not speak. He had made the tisane almost too sweet. That was probably all the rest of the crystallized honey we had had. Neither Arayo nor I commented about this profligacy. We finished the tisane and then made ourselves ready to go out of the tent. The cuts on Raga’s back were almost entirely healed. Those cuts would scar. Vayu had certainly tried to keep his hand light, but that kind of whip cannot be made anything but severe. The scars would fade, but not for some time. In a season, the marks would probably be almost invisible, though one would be able to feel them, a little smoother than ordinary skin. In a year, two years, they would have faded entirely. Geras had told me once that scars like that would not fade from the skin of a Lau, that a Lau would carry scars of that kind all his life. I was glad that Ugaro skin was more resilient, that Raga would not forever carry the memory of that cruelty on his skin.

That I would not.

I tried to be glad the whip Sinowa used would not cut at all. The welts would not scar, there would be no risk of fever. I knew these things. But the pain would be almost as much. I knew that too. I tried not to think of that, of the shame if I failed to stand.

Raga said, “Tano, when my father picks up the whip, go to him before he calls anyone’s name. Go first. That will be easier for you.”

I looked at him in surprise.

He said earnestly, “I am very certain, Tano. You should go first. You will have it over and then everything will be better.”

Arayo was nodding. He said, “I agree with that. Raga is right about this, Tano.”

Perhaps they were right. Probably they were right. I could not speak. Despite the tisane, my mouth was too dry for me to speak. But I nodded. When Raga took my arm and pushed me toward the entry of the tent, I took that as good advice as well. I went out into the cold morning. The sky was clear, cloudless, and very high above the earth, just beginning to pale in the east. The Moon stood high, the three Dawn Sisters just over the peaks of the mountains. Here and there a quiet voice murmured. Farther away, not in the inGara camp, a woman raised her voice in the song to the Dawn Sisters.

Ryo loved that song. Somehow thinking of that made me feel a little better. Looking at the Dawn Sisters, at all the uncountable stars that spangled the sky, made me feel a little better. The wind that came against my face was cold, but that made me feel a little better too. It was a southern wind, hinting at warmth and spring despite the chill it carried.

We walked through the sleepy camp toward Sinowa’s tent. Other people stirred, coming out of their warm tents into the cold, stretching and looking at the sky, smiling or serious according to their nature. A few people glanced our way. No one seemed much interested. That was yet another difference between the inGara and the inTasiyo. Yaro inTasiyo would have wanted everyone to watch while he beat me—while he beat anyone, but especially me. When Yaro picked up a whip, everyone paid attention.

When we came to Sinowa’s tent, other people were there. Not great numbers of people, but some of those who had been present when he made the ruling, and some other people. Some young men, but mostly older men. Taraka inRasiko was already here. Hokino inKera.

Ryo. He had brought my brother to this place: Ensu stood beside him, obviously trying not to show he was afraid and unhappy. Ryo’s hand rested on my brother’s shoulder. That would surely help Ensu. I looked at him for a heartbeat and then made myself look away. Rakasa inGeiro had come here. He had helped me once. That had been even worse than this, except he had been there to help me. He could not help me now, not that way, but I was glad he had come because perhaps the memory of his kindness to me might help.

Vayu was here, of course, and some people who must be inKera. Vayu came to join us. He had put on his coldest expression, but when Arayo touched his arm, he paused and looked him in the face and then nodded. Then Vayu nodded to me as well, breathed out, breathed in, and murmured, too low for anyone but us to hear, “You will do well, Tano. I am very certain. You are not a coward; your father was wrong to say so. This will not be as bad, but I think it might be best if you go first, if everyone agrees. I know you may not want to, but—”

“I will,” I said. My voice sounded almost normal to me. I wondered what it sounded like to him, to the others.

Sinowa had not yet come out of his tent. He might not come out for a little time. I both wished that he would come now and that he would delay. Someone had driven an icebreaker, the kind used to chop through thick ice to the water below, straight down into the earth a small distance from his tent. The thick haft of the icebreaker rose up about half the length of a spear. I knew why that was there.

“Breathe slowly,” Arayo murmured.

I glanced at him, but he was not looking at me. He had spoken to Raga, who managed a smile that almost looked like his usual cheerful smile and began to take longer, deeper breaths. I tried to do that as well. I saw that Vayu and Arayo were also making an effort to do the same, and the realization of those days past came back to me with sudden force, the realization that had come to me when Ryo asked me to help him stand: that no one found this easy, that everyone had to work hard to stand as he should.

The silver edge of dawn curved across the eastern sky; high in the vaults of the heavens, the sky had shifted from black to indigo. The mist that veiled some of the lower mountain peaks took on a salmon tint, and then, as the Sun set his hand on the edge of the world and came into the sky, the streaks of ice that poured across the stone glittered suddenly gold and rose and the sky turned blue. The Moon lowered her light, her face becoming translucent.

The lord of the inGara came out of the tent. He was carrying the whip. It was the kind made of stiff leather, but with braided leather at the end. He glanced at us, and then around at those who had come to witness our punishment. I dropped my gaze to the earth, trying to keep my expression calm. Arayo nudged my arm and knelt, so I did the same, feeling the cold of the frozen soil even through my clothing.

“Very well,” said Sinowa, and began to say which of us should come to him first. Raga nudged me hard, and Arayo and Vayu both looked at me, and I stood up and walked forward without waiting for Sinowa to speak my name or some other name. He did not say I should not have done so, he did not show any offense, he did not even look surprised. He said, “Tano. Very well. Take off your coat and your shirt, turn, and set your hands there.” He indicated the icebreaker that had been driven into the earth near his tent.

I obeyed, concentrating hard on making every movement steady, on showing no hesitation or reluctance. Tossing my coat and shirt aside, I turned my back to Sinowa, resting my hands lightly on the smooth wood of the icebreaker’s haft, not gripping hard. It was wrong to grip hard, wrong to flinch, wrong to gasp. If I cried out or went to my knees, no one would ever forget this failure. Before me, Raga stood between Arayo and Vayu. His eyes were wide, his mouth tight. Maybe he thought I would fail. If Raga thought that, maybe he was right. I was so afraid he was right.

Sinowa touched the whip to my back. I had forgotten he would do that. I was not certain whether I had flinched. Maybe I had flinched. Maybe enough for him to see it—maybe enough for everyone to see it. I had no idea.

He said, “Tano inGara, you tried to make the warleader of the inTasiyo break the ban that used to be set between that tribe and inGara, without realizing he did so. This was entirely disgraceful. Trickery in battle is well enough, but this was not the same. This was a sly deceit entirely unbefitting any inGara. Do you understand this?”

“Yes,” I said. “I understand this, lord.” I had remembered he would say something, explain my fault. I had remembered that in time to speak firmly.

“If our king had declared that you were the one who broke the ban, if he had declared inGara at fault, he would have been right to do so. I would not have been able to protest. Do you understand this?”

“Yes,” I said again. “I am very sorry I did not understand that, lord. I apologize for my stupidity. I understand it now.”

“So. For this disgraceful behavior, twice thirty. Then, hardly a day after these serious mistakes, you chose to attempt to find some of the nameless people who used to be inTasiyo so that you could explain our king’s decree regarding all their people, encouraging them to turn aside his decree regarding the taiTasiyo. That was also wrong. Do you understand what you should have done instead?”

“I should have brought the problem to you, lord, or to someone else, a respected warrior who would know better than I what would be right to do.”

“So. You spoke to my wife. That was not as bad. You thought to safeguard the skull of your mother and your uncle. That was a reasonable concern. However firmly he sets aside his past, a young man should not entirely forget his mother or his uncle. When trouble came of your stupidity, you tried hard to safeguard all your companions. That was not as bad. Your swift thought and quick actions prevented great harm from coming to a young inGara poet. That was well done. That was right for a young warrior. Because those actions were much better, I will punish you for your mistakes, but not as severely as you deserve. Twice twenty, but I will let those strokes fall with the other beating.”

“Yes,” I said. “I thank you for your generosity, lord.”

“Twice thirty,” he said. “Are you ready?”

I looked up at the sky. Even the brightest stars had lowered their lights, but the Moon still stood high above, transparent and delicate as a skim of ice over still water. The Sun had come fully into the sky; his light poured down, not very warm yet, but promising warmth to come. Eagles would be leaving their mountain nests, soaring from the heights out across the steppe. I had hoped to see an eagle, but the sky was empty.

Looking into the heights of the endless sky, I said, “Yes, lord.”

The whip came down.

Every time I had been beaten, every time in my whole life, the pain had come as a shock. Every time. The blaze of pain was impossible to remember. That it was bad, yes. But the pain itself, no. Always, every time, it came as a shock, astonishing and terrible. I did not think I had cried out—surely I had not cried out—I relaxed the muscles of my face, of my hands, of my shoulders and back and stomach.

The whip came down. The pain was worse, but the shock less. This time I knew, I was certain, I had not cried out. But the pain would soon be much, much worse—that seemed impossible, but I knew, with an awful, cold despair, that it would be worse, and that I would not be able to endure it.

The whip came down.

Raga wanted me to stand. He was certain I could do it, he thought I was brave, he was certain I could do it. I knew this, I knew it with sudden, vivid conviction unlike anything I had ever experienced—I knew it as though I felt that certainty myself, except it was not mine, I did not feel that way. Raga felt that way.

Arayo wanted me to stand, Vayu wanted that, Ryo wanted me to succeed, he wanted that very, very much, I had not realized how much he wanted that, but I knew it now, a blazing awareness.

Rakasa inGeiro—Hokino inKera—Garoyo inGara—Taraka inRasiko—even Sinowa inGara himself wanted me to succeed. He did not want my pride to break, he was afraid my pride might break, he did not want that. I had guessed that, I had hoped for that, I had told myself that might be so, but now I knew it with absolute conviction.

I knew all this with impossible clarity.

The whip came down. I had lost the count. The pain was not less, it was bad, but the extraordinary awareness, the assurance, the certainty that everyone wanted me to succeed, that no one wanted me to fail, made an enormous and astounding difference. I had never imagined how great a difference that might make—I had not been able to imagine that because I had not been able to imagine all these people would feel that way—that was so immense an understanding, the pain did not become nothing, it was very bad and then worse and worse again, but it was endurable.

Then it was over. I had lost the count, I was not certain, but Aras murmured, very clearly, “Take a moment to collect yourself, Tano. Breathe. That’s the way. You did very well. Are you steady enough? Turn, kneel, and bow.”

I knew he had not really spoken to me. I knew that was sorcery. Through the pain, behind the pain, I knew what he had done. He had not done what I asked. He had done something else, something much, much better. He had not had to tell me I had done well. I knew that. I knew it because everyone thought so. I did not have to fear they might say so while privately thinking I was nothing, stupid, weak, cowardly. They did not think that, they thought I had done well, they were happy and relieved I had done well, and I knew it, and everything was different.

I breathed deeply, straightened, turned, knelt, and bowed. The pain was bad, moving smoothly was hard, but the awareness that had come to me, that Aras had put into my mind, was so overwhelming that the pain almost became nothing.

“So,” Sinowa said, running the whip through his hands. His tone was stern, his expression hard, but he approved of me and I knew it, I could not doubt it, there was no possible way to doubt it. He said in the same stern way, “Very well, young warrior. Set these mistakes in the past, and in days to come, do better.”

“Yes, lord,” I said, and my voice was steady, just as it should be. Raga, smiling, stood beside me. He offered me a hand, and I took it, and he helped me get to my feet, and that was acceptable, no one thought otherwise. The pain was still bad, it would be bad for a long time, all day and all night and all tomorrow, but the worst was over and I had done well and everyone thought so.

“Go stand where I can see you,” Raga murmured to me, too low for anyone else to hear. “If I even think of flinching, I’ll look at you and know how stupid and weak that would be!”

I could not answer him, but I could straighten my shoulders, and meet his eyes, and, despite the pain, return his smile. When I moved aside, I held myself stiffly, but that was all right, no one thought that showed cowardice or weakness, and I knew that. I was extraordinarily grateful I knew that.

“Yes, I thought that might help,” Aras told me. He was smiling. I could not see him, he was not really here, but his tone was like a smile even though I could not really hear him either. He went on. “In a moment, I’m going to stop showing you all these emotions, Tano. But everything I showed you was real. You did do well—you have done well, every time it mattered most. Look at the earth and the mountains and the sky. Look at the people here. The past is past. This is the place you stand now. You’ll do well among the inGara. Believe that. It’s the truth.”

Then he was gone. The crystalline awareness was gone. But everything he had shown me stayed in my mind. Everything.

The pain was bad. But now I understood how people could say that the pain was not important. I did not look around as Aras had said. I already had the earth and the mountains and the sky in my mind. I already had the people in my mind. I would never forget what I had seen in their hearts. I would never forget what Aras had shown me. But I looked only across the small distance to meet Raga’s eyes.

He was standing perfectly, his mouth tightening as the blows came, but his eyes steady on my face, drawing on my certainty that he would do well. He could see that in me—I hoped he could. I thought he could. Not by sorcerous means, or probably not by sorcerous means. But because I put that certainty in my gaze. I tried to do that.

Then it was over, and Raga turned and knelt and promised to do better, and it was Vayu’s turn to go out and offer him a hand to rise. Raga accepted his help, rose a little stiffly, and came to join me. He was smiling, relieved, happy, his cheerful nature not dimmed in any way by the pain I knew he suffered. I put out a hand to him without thinking, and he clasped my wrist and moved to stand beside me so we could both watch Vayu and want him to do well, show his courage and his pride, show his new people he was worth something.

I met Vayu’s eyes, willing him to know I wanted him to show his courage and stand perfectly, willing him to know that everyone wanted that, that his new people wanted him to behave well and win regard and bring honor to their tribe. I had no idea whether Aras might show him that, but as I had done with Raga, I tried to put my certainty into my gaze.

Vayu stood perfectly. I had known he would, and he did. Then it was Arayo’s term, and certainly no one could doubt his courage, even though he was the youngest of all of us. He might never have taken a severe beating before, I did not know, but no one could doubt his courage or pride. But perhaps—probably—he doubted that himself. I hoped he knew no one else doubted it. I hoped he knew that. Perhaps I would never ask any of the others whether Aras had helped them as he had helped me. Probably I would never ask them. But I hoped he had.

Then it was over, and as no one else waited, I went out to offer Arayo my hand and help him up. I did not even realize I had not worried that perhaps this might not be right until he took my hand, smiling and grimacing at the same time, letting me lift him to his feet. Then I thought that perhaps I should not have come forward in this way, but then I realized that Raga had come with me, and Vayu came to stand on my other side, and we stood together as most of the people here began to go away. Sinowa tossed the whip into his tent and walked away with Taraka inRasiko. Rakasa inGeiro moved to speak to Ryo, grinning down at Ensu and saying something that made my brother almost smile.

Ryo looked across the distance between us and met my eyes, and for a breath and another breath, I almost felt no one else was here, that we stood alone together despite the wide camp that surrounded us. He was not smiling. His expression was not like a smile. It was something else. At first I did not know what I saw in his face, in his expression.

Then, still holding my gaze, he gave me a small nod, and I knew. It was pride. He thought I had done well—he judged that I had done well, and he was proud of me. Even without Aras to help me, I understood that. I was almost certain this was my own understanding, and entirely certain it was true, and I almost thought I could not breathe.

Then Raga nudged me, and the moment broke as I flinched and glared at him. He was trying not to laugh, and suddenly, despite the pain, I was trying not to laugh. Arayo grinned and then grimaced again, and looked at Vayu, who began to shrug, caught himself, and rolled his eyes. Whatever Aras had shown them, whether or not he had shown them anything, I knew we had all come to a place where we could stand, that we would all do well. I glanced back toward Ryo. He was still watching me, smiling faintly himself, and I did laugh.

High above, an eagle screamed, sharp and clear, riding the strengthening winds down from the mountains and out into the infinite sky. I looked up, glad of the eagle, glad of the bright clarity of the morning, and the pain was nothing compared to the certainty that I was inGara; that the earth was solid beneath me and the sky infinite above.

Epilogue –

The place was not as far as I had remembered. Riding at a brisk pace rather than leading my pony on foot, surrounded by other people rather than alone, without fear that enemies might come upon me … everything seemed different, everything was different, and the place not very far. This was one reason to come here, because this place was so close to the inGara winter camps and the pass, the waterfalls and tombs, all those important places.

The broken and scattered stones, thrown out a long way by the past avalanche, were the same. This time, those stones were not dangerous to our ponies. We rode mostly at a trot and a brief, easy canter and a trot again, not at a dead gallop, not pursued by memory and terror, ill luck and—perhaps—the malicious spirit of Yaro inTasiyo.

Nothing that waited before us could be that bad. Not with Marag inGara, daughter of Marag inKarano, foremost singer of all the tribes, riding with us.

Another singer, a younger woman, rode with us as well, and a handful of warriors—almost two handfuls, eight experienced men, including Sinowa inGara himself. And me. And Raga. We could hardly encounter any great danger, not with so many of us.

My cream-colored gelding tossed his head, swiveling his ears back toward me as I told myself that. I was not certain I believed it. Probably he felt that. Maybe he felt ill luck and malice in the air or scented it in the breeze. Either way, he fretted, worried that we might be moving toward danger. The other ponies did not seem to feel any disquiet, but these other ponies had not happened across this place ten days ago, nor fled from what they found here.

“Tano!” Raga called, bringing his lion-colored mare up beside my gelding. “How much farther is it? Surely the place cannot be much farther! We have been riding all day!”

We had not been riding all day.

We had left the inGara camp well after dawn and now the Sun still stood some hands above the western edge of the world. The mountains cast long shadows to the east, valleys filling with darkness while the heights still glittered with sunlit ice and snow, but we certainly did not race the dusk. Raga was impatient. He wanted to come to the place. He had never seen a place where bad luck crouched waiting for an unwary traveler. Of course he wanted to see that kind of place. Nothing could make Raga cautious. Also, someday he might need to take on himself the task of breaking very serious bad luck, so of course he wanted to see how his mother did it. But mostly he was just impatient because riding bored him. He had been telling me stories of Ryo’s youth, which were interesting and good to hear. Those stories taught me many things about how young men were expected to behave, but now that we had come this far and had only a little way to go, he was bored with that as well.

Also, he wanted to begin our journey, with Arayo and Vayu, east toward Talal Sabero. I wanted that too. I looked forward to that very much, for very many reasons. Soon we would go. Perhaps not tomorrow, but perhaps the day after that, and probably no later than another day again.

Many, many people had gone one way or another. Soon the rest of the people of the gathered tribes would go, leaving the land here to recover from the hard use the Convocation had brought to this place. Everyone would go back to the lands proper for their own tribes and go about their lives. When Raga thought of that, he became impatient. So did I.

Four days ago, Raga’s sister Etta had gone with most of the inGeiro, riding east and south toward the inGeiro lands. Raga missed her—everyone missed her. Even I missed her. She was like Raga, easy-tempered and friendly, always ready to pretend she did not notice the mistakes I sometimes made because I still did not know as much as I should about how to behave.

Ryo and the Lau and some others had also departed on their own journey three days ago, riding south along the edge of the long lake. Then they would ride south and south and south, all the way to the distant river I had never quite glimpsed and the summer country beyond. Someday, perhaps I might see that country for myself. That was even likely, especially because the inGara had become friendlier with some of the Lau across the river and most especially because I spoke darau and therefore would probably be asked to accompany women who crossed the river.

The idea that I might go that far and take on those important duties was remarkable, not only because the summer lands were so far and so different, but because the idea that I might look forward to days and years to come with pleasure rather than despair still struck me, even now, as entirely astonishing.

I missed Ryo very much. I missed Suyet and Lalani and Geras. I missed Aras, although anyone could see he would do better to go back to his own country—that all the Lau would be happy to go back to their own country. Obviously that was only right. But I missed them, and that also made me, like Raga, want to begin our own journey.

We would not go until the inGara broke their long-held camp at the foot of the pass and began to move south and west, the people dispersing, some taking the herds down to the lower steppe where the grasses would soon grow thick, some putting themselves in the way of the great herds of steppe deer that would soon pass across this land, some taking a leisurely pace toward the great forest and the different kind of hunting there … all that would happen soon. But not until Marag looked at the place my father had died and broke any bad luck that had come there.

“You see where that old avalanche began and how it ran down the side of the mountains, just there?” I said to Raga, pointing out the long sweep of broken, tumbled stone. “There, near the base, where the rocks are most tumbled about. Somewhere near there.”

“A long way still!” Raga complained.

It was not at all a long way. Probably less than a hand of time until we came there. But I did not protest. I said, “I wish Vayu and Arayo could have come with us.”

“Yes!” he agreed, but smiling. “But it is perfectly reasonable for them to prefer to try their skill in the last contests, before most of the inKarano ride west with most of the inVotaro. They will not have another chance to compete against the young inVotaro warriors until next year, so that is very reasonable! Perhaps they will each win a prize, and think how happy that would make them.”

I signed assent. I especially hoped Vayu might win a prize. That would be very good for him. Maybe he would. Maybe he and Arayo both would do that. They were much more skilled than I was.

Maybe next year, I might have skill enough to try those contests against the newest, youngest inVotaro warriors.

“Tano!” called Marag.

I glanced at Raga, and we both urged our ponies to a canter, though careful of hidden stones. I certainly did not want my gelding to be lamed a second time; I was very glad he had recovered so quickly.

Everyone had been riding spread out, Marag and the other singer riding near the middle with Sinowa near his wife, the other warriors riding to the front and the sides. Raga and I had been riding toward the rear, staying out of the way of the older people, especially out of Sinowa’s way because he was irritated and hard-tempered. He did not like to see his wife come near any kind of danger, but he had not been able to argue that she should not come to look at this place and see whether bad luck clung there. Obviously she was right to do it. But Sinowa did not like that at all, so this was not a good time for young men to make themselves a bother. Raga had told me that, but he had not needed to tell me. This was very obvious.

But as Marag had called us, we brought our ponies close to hers, and Sinowa did not even glance our way.

“Do you see anything in the air, feel anything in the earth?” Raga asked his mother eagerly, the instant we came up to her and drew our ponies in near hers. “I am thinking of the story where the singer sets her foot on the earth and at once—”

“Yes, my son, I am thinking of that tale as well,” Marag said, smiling. “Let us all be as watchful and cautious as that singer. Tano, do you know the way from here? I would prefer not to look and look at every tumble of boulders. I would like to come to the place while the Sun stands well above the world, and perhaps before the Moon passes behind the mountains, as I think she soon may.”

I bowed in acknowledgment. Certainly that seemed better to me. But first I thought I did not know. Then I looked at the mountains, and turned and looked back the way we had come, and thought perhaps I might know after all. My pony was looking north and a little to the west. I agreed with him. I thought that was the right direction. I asked him to go that way. He did not like to, so then I was more certain. I did not say anything because maybe I was wrong, but I rode that way, not fast. Marag stayed close to me, which made me feel better. Everyone stayed close together now, which made me feel better again. Raga rode directly to my left, and though I did not want to bring him into any trouble, I was more glad of that than of anything else.

We rode closer to the mountains, weaving among the jumbled rock left by the avalanche, turning first one way and then another as the stones permitted, passing into and out of shadows as we came into the area where the avalanche had left the greatest part of the fallen rock.

Then my gelding set his feet, halting so suddenly I had to grab his mane to steady myself. That was embarrassing, but I did not care very much because I so much did not want to ride any farther.

Marag nodded to me and took the lead, until Sinowa and two other warriors sent their ponies after hers, fast, and went around the tumbled boulders and up the slope first. Then Marag, perfectly calm, and the other singer, and the rest of the warriors.

Raga had checked his pony to stay beside me. He looked at me, his manner for once serious. He did not say a word. Nor did he send his pony before mine. He only waited. I did not say anything either, though for me that was much less unusual. After a moment, I asked my gelding to go forward. He did not want to, he pinned back his ears and tossed his head, resisting bit and rein and every kind of signal. I rubbed his neck and tried to tell him with my body that this was not the same, that nothing bad would happen, and after a little time he tucked his nose down and took small mincing steps, and went around and up, into the shadow of the mountains.

Everything was the same. Everything. My father still sat upright, his head up, his eyes open, frost in his cropped hair and clouding his eyes. Blood, still bright red, glittered where it coated his chest and had run down the stone, exactly as before. Nothing had disturbed the bowl of water, still frozen, or the brazier, coals cold and black. Nothing had disturbed my father’s body.

Ravens usually come to a dead animal or person soon, before the body has had time to freeze hard. Eagles will come. Foxes, leopards, even in the high north, many birds and beasts come to death. Nothing had come here.

Now the other ponies agreed with my gelding: none of them wanted to stay in this place. They very much did not want to stay here. None of us did. Sinowa had laid a hand to his sword, his expression hard. Every warrior had set a hand to his spear or sword or bow, even though no one was here for them to fight. The younger singer had bowed her head and closed her eyes, taking short, shallow breaths. Raga stared at the body of my father, his eyes wide.

This time, I did not look at my father’s body. I looked at Raga instead. I wondered what he saw, what he thought. Poets are not exactly like singers, but sometimes they may be something like. I thought he might see something I did not. I was almost certain.

“Calm, calm,” murmured Marag, speaking to everyone, to us all. “Deep breaths. The air is not good here, but that will pass. My husband, perhaps the ponies may be taken to a small distance.” She was so calm that her pony was much less upset than the others, but she dismounted and gave her reins to a man who, at Sinowa’s gesture, took them, took the other reins people gave him, and rode back the way we had come. Two other men did the same, taking all the ponies away. I patted my pony’s neck in apology for making him come here and gave his reins to the warrior who held out his hand for them.

Once the ponies had been taken away, Marag asked the other singer, “Varra, what do you see?”

This was the younger singer. She lowered her gaze to the earth, then looked around at the place, then looked up at the sky. Then she said, her tone not quite as calm as Marag’s, “Shadows. This whole place is shadowed. Ill luck lies here, and I think this ill luck is spilling outward.” She glanced to the south. “That way.”

I looked around in surprise. Certainly some shadows lay here; the Sun stood far enough to the west to cast long shadows from every cliff and stone and person. But I could see nothing that looked unusual in those shadows.

Marag was saying, “Yes, this is a good observation. This kind of ill luck spills downhill, flowing like water, though more slowly. The bad luck here will not climb into the heights. It will flow south, then spread east and west. How long until it comes to the pass and the long lake?”

Varra frowned, turning to study the earth and the sky. “Two years,” she said. “Three years?”

“Less than that,” Marag said, still with her customary calm. “This kind of ill luck grows stronger as it spreads. You are right that it is flowing slowly now, but it will come across the land more quickly later. This is something important to understand. I think, unchecked, the bad luck of this place would spill into the long lake before the next cold season freezes that water.”

The younger singer signed assent, accepting this instruction. Raga whispered to me, “I did not know this! This is very interesting!”

“Can you see the bad luck?” I whispered back.

He shook his head. “I am trying, but I cannot see it, not yet! Maybe I can learn how to do it.”

No one paid any attention to us. Everyone was looking uneasily at my father’s body and at the earth here. Sinowa said, his tone harsh, “The inVotaro should have known this might happen. Certainly Royova should have understood that this might happen.” Then he made a sharp gesture that turned aside those words and said, even more grimly, “This happened on inGara land. I should not have set the fault against Royova. I am the man at fault for this.”

“Usually it does not happen,” Marag said, smiling at her husband. “Few people who are put to death throw so powerful a curse across the earth. I did not think of this when Koro gave the order to do it. I am much more at fault than you or Royova. I should have sent a singer with the inVotaro when Koro gave all those orders.” She gazed thoughtfully at the earth and around and looked up at the sky, just as Varra had done.

Then she said, “The ill luck here has not yet spread a long way nor settled deeply into the earth. Let us see whether we may break it before dusk comes. Varra, please walk to the south, find clean earth, and bring a handful of that earth here. My husband, please cut the thong that holds the body there, pull the spear from among the rocks, and break it. Throw the body down on the earth. Take that brazier and light a fire within it. Melt the water and pour it out. Then break both the bowl and the brazier. Tano.”

I flinched with surprise, caught myself, and said, “Singer?”

“Who is this man, Tano inGara? What is he to you?”

I stared at her. Then I looked, involuntarily, at my father’s body. His dead eyes stared back at me, empty and yet filled with malice. That was the feeling that came to me. I shuddered, unable to think or speak, unable to look away from my father’s frost-dimmed eyes. My heart pounded—my head pounded—

Raga gripped my arm, hard. I caught a sharp breath, realizing only then that for a long moment just past, I had not been breathing. I was looking at Raga now, not at my father. His hold on my arm had eased, but he whispered, intent and urgent, “You are inGara now!”

I took another breath, deeper this time. He was right. Of course he was right. I touched his hand, and he let me go. Turning to Marag, I said as firmly as I could, “That man is nothing to me. I do not remember his name.”

She smiled warmly. “Good. Again. Who is this man?”

“I do not remember him,” I said, even more firmly. “I do not remember anything of him. He is nothing to me.”

“His shadow does not lie over you,” Marag said, her manner perfectly calm and serene. “His shadow does not lie upon the earth. The Sun does not see him; he casts no shadow. What is this man’s name, Tano?”

“I do not remember his name,” I said once more.

“He has no name,” Marag said in the same calm, serene tone.

By saying it, she made it true; I understood that suddenly. This was not something I had known could be done. Koro inKarano had ended the name inTasiyo. He had declared that no people in the world could call themselves by that name. By saying that, he had made it true. This was a little the same, but also very different. Marag inGara had made Yaro inTasiyo into no one. The man who had been called by that name now had no name, neither among the living nor among the dead. She had made him nothing. The back of my neck prickled with cold shock, with the awareness that she had done this, that this was a thing that could be done.

A small distance away, Sinowa inGara smashed the empty bowl that had held water, turned, and brought his heel down on the brazier, breaking that as well, scattering glowing coals. He crushed those coals underfoot, grinding out their light and heat.

The other singer, Varra, had come back. She poured a double handful of gritty soil and gravel into Marag inGara’s hands, and Marag turned and threw that handful out across this place, scattering the clean soil in a wide arc. She also raised her voice, singing a long, clear phrase, and another, and a third, her voice pure and high. She did not sing He is nothing. She did not sing He is forgotten. I had thought she might sing words like that, but this was not so.

She sang, The earth is unsoiled, the air is pristine, the world is beautiful, let the ravens come. She sang that three times, and the mountains took up her song and returned it, echoing and reechoing each phrase so that the earth sang with her, the phrases threading through one another. She sang with a rhythm that made every word she sang and every word that the mountains returned come together in perfect order, so that the third time she sang world, the mountains returned beauty beauty beauty while she sang let the ravens come, and when she sang ravens for the last time and fell silent, the mountains echoed come come come for a long time.

I stood utterly still, listening to the mountains sing with Marag. We all stood like that. As the last echoes faded, I drew a breath—the air seemed warmer to me now, but not only warmer; also cleaner in some way—and looked at Raga. He was standing rapt, gazing into the sky. Tears stood in his eyes. I touched his hand and then wondered if I should have done that, but he blinked and came back to himself and smiled at me, came a step closer and gripped my wrists. “Look,” he said softly. “There was a shadow here. I did not see that until it lifted.”

I turned and looked, and he was right. I had not seen that shadow either. I could not exactly see anything different now. But something was different, something in the way the sunlight lay across the earth. Perhaps I might not have said a shadow had lifted. But it was like that. I was almost certain the sunlight was warmer now, even though the Sun had stepped farther down in the sky.

The man who had been my father was dead.

He looked dead now. Nothing had changed. His body was still frozen too hard to lie in any natural way. The blood was still bright, captured by the cold in the moments after it had spilled from his veins. His eyes were still open, still dimmed by frost. Yet everything was different. He was dead in a different way than he had been. He was gone in a different way.

“So,” Sinowa said, his tone much less grim. He touched his wife’s hand, smiling. “Even I can feel that this is better. I will come here in ten days, twenty days, long enough that the ravens and the other birds and the beasts have had time to do their work. I will take the skull. I will crush it and throw the grit into the nearest waterfall, to be carried into the earth. Can you hear me, my wife?”

Marag blinked, breathed deeply, blinked again, and turned her head to smile at Sinowa. “I hear you,” she said softly. “Yes, that would be as well, my husband. That spirit has no great power now, but yes, it would be as well to be certain a spirit like that one cannot come to rest anywhere and has no way to look into the world. Let the gods take up that spirit and render judgment as they see fit.”

“Indeed,” Sinowa said, grimly satisfied. He looked around at all of us, everyone here. “We will not rest here,” he said. “We will ride some distance and camp somewhere the earth has not been disturbed by this trouble.” He made a small gesture, Go, and everyone blinked and looked at one another, and we began to make our way away from that place.

Raga and I should have waited for everyone older to go in front of us, but I did not want to linger here and seized Raga’s arm, pulling him with me, down the slope and around the boulders, out and away. He scrambled to keep up, very willing to stay with me, unconcerned regarding any kind of reprimand. If anyone had called after us, I would have been embarrassed, but he would not have minded that. But no one called.

The men were waiting with the ponies at some small distance. The beasts too knew that the ill luck here been broken. My gelding pushed his head against my chest, heaving a great sigh, and I rubbed his head between his ears and then mounted. Raga swung up into his mare’s saddle, threw me a look brimming with laughter, with the memory of that song, with sunlight, and urged his mare to spring directly into a canter, not waiting for the others.

I followed at once, my heart lifting with a stunning sense of freedom that stole my breath, a surety that my father was gone, that every past day lay behind me, that I rode now into days that held a different future. My gelding came up beside Raga’s mare in three strides, and we rode away from that place, side by side.

I looked back only once, past those who rode after us, toward the place we had left behind, the place I had left behind. The ravens had finally come. I saw them sliding down the wind, two ravens, four, five, their wings shining black, glossy and bright with the light of the late Sun.

Turning my face forward, I rode on, with Raga beside me, and did not look back again.

Endnotes

Thank you for reading Tano’s story! I hope you enjoyed it., and I’d appreciate it if you’d leave a brief review at Amazon or Goodreads. Reviews are important, and most readers don’t leave one, so if you have a moment, please do.

This story is probably (almost certainly!) not going to be the last from Tano’s point of view. As the eagle-warrior suggested in Tarashana, the gods may have plans for Tano.

I certainly do.

This novel opened, as you probably noticed, about twenty minutes after Tarashana closed.

Tasmakat, the final main-series story from Ryo’s point of view, opens just after Tano closes. The beginning of Tasmakat is concurrent with the epilogue here.

Tasmakat will be released July 2023. To read a snippet from the opening, turn the page.

Tasmakat

Chapter 1

If not for the eagle, we might all have died there, hardly more than a day’s ride from my mother’s camp, in a place where the wide steppe stretched out before us and, behind us, the peaks of the great mountains raked toward the vault of the heavens.

We were riding almost due south along the shore of the lake. To the west, the land folded into long ridges where the roots of the mountains sank into the depths of the earth and, below the earth, into the land of the shades. To the east, the dried stalks of last summer’s reeds rattled in the frozen marshlands that ran out beyond the long lake.

I would not have said we were riding carelessly, but I did not expect trouble, and everyone else took their cue from me. Geras, though always mindful, was not Ugaro and so did not know how to look at the land. Like Geras, Lalani and Suyet were Lau. Also, they were also much concerned with each other, with little thought for possible danger.

Of those of our party who were Ugaro, Darra inKarano was a woman, not a warrior, and she had never cared to hunt small game as some women do, so she knew hardly more of how to look for danger than a Lau. Elaro, though a man who had traveled a long way and undoubtedly faced many dangers, was a poet, so he did not think to look for enemies who might lie hidden near us.

Aras, who might have understood the peril we approached by means of his sorcery, was attending to Elaro, who was telling him a tale of the people who live far to the east, beyond the deep canyon that runs through almost the whole width of the winter country and marks the end of the lands ruled by the inKarano. Darra rode beside Elaro as well, on his other side, also listening to the tale he was telling. Elaro understood every way a story may be told so as to hold the attention of those listening.

I was the only Ugaro warrior in our party, and I was distracted by the effort I was making to put aside annoyance with Elaro. This was not truly annoyance. It was jealousy. I knew that. I was trying to set this feeling aside because nothing he had said or done gave me just cause for that kind of bad feeling. Nevertheless, I was finding the problem difficult and distracting. This distraction led me into inexcusable carelessness. If we had all died in that place, the fault would have been mine.

The season had turned. Though the earth was still frozen hard beneath the hooves of our horses, one could feel the change in the air. The winds of the high north had become less sharply cold. Soon birds would come in clamorous numbers to nest around the many shallow lakes that would form as the snows melted and the earth thawed. A few had come already, though the marsh was still mostly frozen even during the warmest part of the day. When the dead stalks of the reeds stirred and rattled, I thought nothing of that. I thought of birds, and I was too distracted and stupid to realize the movement and the sound was not exactly like the movement and sound that would be made by birds.

Then the eagle, drifting in a slow circle far above, suddenly folded his wings and plunged toward the marsh. I had been watching him. Eagles are important birds; they belong to the gods. After everything that had happened in the land of the shades, of course I made even more careful note of every eagle than I had previously. Whether this one was moved by the gods I did not know, but though he had plainly meant to stoop upon a bird or a small animal, he changed his mind as he came near the earth, spreading his wings with a harsh cry and wheeling away. Something there had surprised or alarmed him. Many things came together suddenly in my mind—the rattle of the reeds, and the way the land lay here, and the problems I had thought ended when Yaro inTasiyo tried to kill me and Aras stopped him.

I wheeled my horse, shouting a warning.

Even before I called out, Aras dropped out of his saddle, putting his horse between himself and any arrows that might come from the direction of the marsh. Geras moved almost as fast, and Suyet half leaped from his horse, grabbing Lalani and pulling her down with him. As soon as they hit the earth, he pushed her down and covered her with his own body.

I made my horse shoulder against Darra’s, then lunged from my saddle to knock her from her horse. Elaro was not slow, but he was the last man out of his saddle, and the first arrow cut the air directly above him as he flung himself down.

Two other arrows struck the mare I had been riding. She screamed and leaped forward, then fell, tumbling. If our horses were killed, that would be unfortunate in several different ways, but the other horses were scattering, frightened, much harder targets now. Also, our enemies did not want to kill the horses. They wanted to kill us. The arrows that had struck my mare had been meant for me, only I had made myself an impossible target, so at the last instant our enemies had aimed at her instead.

Now that we were all lying on the ground, we were difficult targets for bowmen. But our position was not good. The frozen marsh provided much, much better cover than the empty land where we lay. I could not see anyone there, certainly not without getting to my feet, which would be very unwise, but I was almost certain we were seriously outnumbered—especially as three of our number were neither warriors nor soldiers. Unless they were completely stupid, some of our enemies would stay where they were to keep us pinned, unable either to retreat or attack, while others would circle around and then run forward to attack us from the other side. If we stood up to fight, those in the marsh would shoot us, and if we did not, those running forward now—I could hear them clearly, circling as I had expected—would kill us where we lay.

I was blazingly furious at the thought that any of us might be killed in this way; and far, far more furious at the thought that Aras might die here, like this, after every other terrible thing that had happened. “Aras!” I said, not loudly, thinking his name as much as speaking it aloud.

“Yes,” he answered. He spoke out loud, clearly, in darau, which everyone with us spoke well enough. “In about thirty seconds, our attackers are all going to think they’ve gone blind.”

I understood at once. This was something Lorellan had done to me, this kind of blindness that was not real blindness. I had thought of some things Aras might do, but I had not thought of that. I did not like this idea, I hated every kind of sorcery, but in another way, at this moment, I did not mind it at all.

Then Aras went on urgently, now in taksu. “Darra, this decision must be made quickly, but I hope very much you agree.”

Darra lay still beneath me, permitting me to protect her, but she was tense with anger as much as fear. This request for her opinion made her become still in a different way.

I said, as calmly as I could, “I do not see anything better to do than this. Our position here is not good.”

“Decide at once,” Aras ordered, his tone crisp and decisive—the tone of a warleader. “We have very little time.”

I was certain he would do it no matter what Darra said.

Darra began, “You swore you would not use forbidden acts against any Ugaro—”

“Out of time!” Aras snapped. “It’s done!” Even as he spoke, startled, alarmed cries came from many different places around us, some very close. He ignored that, only said much more calmly, “Nothing is as urgent now. Suyet and I will handle the ones coming in now; Ryo, Geras, take the ones in the marsh. Remember they won’t actually be blind, so be careful.”

I said sharply, “All you Lau, take those coming here. Elaro and I will take those in the marsh. Elaro?”

“Yes,” he said at once.

“Tell me if I ask you to do something you cannot do,” I warned him.

“Yes,” he said again. “I think I can manage blinded enemies, Ryo.” His tone was completely neutral. He did not like anything about this—but I was almost sure that, like me, he would have liked dying here much less.

We all rose to our feet. Darra, a knife in her hand, moved to stand beside Lalani, ready to defend her if any enemy got past us. I had not had to order her to do that—even in the rush of events, I had known I did not need to tell her to protect Lalani, that she would do so without any command from me. Nor did she protest the blindness Aras had set upon our enemies. Later she might protest that; probably she would; but she would not so while danger still surrounded us.

Six men had come out of the marsh to attack us. These warriors were staggering, astonished and frightened and angry. Two of them had dropped their weapons; of those, one had lost his balance and fallen to his knees. Out in the marsh, two other men had come to their feet. Of those, one had cast aside his bow and drawn his sword. He was standing still, perhaps listening—that would be a good thing for a man to do if he suddenly thought he could not see. The other still held his bow, an arrow to the string. He turned one way and then another, bewildered, but not harmless.

“Remember, they are not truly blind,” I warned Elaro. “They think they cannot see, but that man with the bow may still aim true if he trusts his hands and his body and his bow. A swordsman confused by this sorcerous blindness may still block your blow and then answer it with a blow of his own, and if he trusts himself to move as he should move, he may strike shrewdly, not as though he cannot see.”

This must seem very strange to Elaro—it was strange enough to me. Even so, he acknowledged my words with a terse, “Yes,” as a warrior would. He had traveled for years through many unfamiliar lands and the territories of many tribes where he was a stranger. I decided I need not be concerned regarding his understanding.

We entered the marsh. There was no way to walk silently; the dry stalks of the reeds rattled and cracked when we pushed through them and the layers of ice clinging to the reeds snapped under our feet. The two men heard us, turning toward the sounds we made.

“Are we going to kill them?” Elaro asked me. “Even while they are blind? Or think they are blind?” His tone made it clear that he did not like this idea.

I did not like that thought either. “If they throw down their weapons, we can discuss what to do with them,” I answered. “If they will not, then yes, we will kill them. Or I will. I know that is properly a warrior’s task. If these enemies acknowledge defeat, then we can deal with them in a civilized manner, without this kind of sorcery tainting our choices and our actions.”

“So,” Elaro said, acknowledging my statement. His tone was still deliberately neutral. “Will Aras remove his sorcery from their eyes if you ask?”

I answered, “I will not need to request this. He would never set this blindness on someone longer than necessary. No one will have to suggest that he cease doing this wrong thing, which he understands very well is wrong.” I gestured to Elaro to move a little distance from me. We were both approaching the man with the bow. If he realized he could still shoot, he would be dangerous. He had not realized that yet—probably it was a difficult thing to understand—but he heard us and turned toward us, bringing up his bow.

I had intended to call out to him, ordering him to cast down his weapon and kneel, but whatever he understood or did not understand, his aim steadied. I saw he would shoot blind, even if he thought he could not see. He drew his bow, and I threw my knife. He flinched, but did not know why or trust his body to know what to do, so he did not dodge or attack or do anything else useful. My knife took him in the belly, and he staggered and fell, gasping, scrabbling at the knife. He might have lived despite that wound, at least for a time, but he jerked out my knife, and then his blood ran across the fractured ice of the marsh and he sagged to his knees, not dead, but dying.

I turned toward the other one, the man with the sword.

Aras was suddenly walking beside me. I shied back, startled, but he only said, “Watch out, Ryo; a man is hiding right there.” He pointed to a place not far ahead, a little to the side. I could not see anyone even when I looked, but he would hardly be wrong. I said, “Yes,” and he vanished.

Because Elaro did not look toward the place, I understood that Aras had not spoken to him in that way. I called out and pointed, warning him, and he checked, watching the place I indicated.

I called out, “Throw down your weapons and ask for mercy, and perhaps someone will find a reason mercy might be due. You, hiding there, kneel and ask for mercy. Do that now, or stand up and fight.”

The man with the sword cursed me in offensive and disgraceful terms, slashing with his sword through the air, back and forth. This was the kind of heavier, two-handed sword that is too long to be worn at the hip. Many skilled, aggressive warriors prefer that kind of sword even though the draw is slower when the sword must be worn over the back. Even blind, this warrior was obviously skilled and aggressive.

The man who had been hidden in the place Aras had indicated got to his feet. His eyes were wide, but he turned his head to one side and then the other, in the way of a man who cannot see—or believes he cannot see. He said, “Keno, be quiet! Do as the inGara says.” Then he knelt, holding up his empty hands as I had commanded.

“Tewaro—” the other man began, but broke off. But he did not throw down his sword.

I walked toward these warriors, but not directly toward them. I circled to the west, stepping heavily, making plenty of noise. I gestured to Elaro and he did the same, circling to the east. Cursing again, knowing now he faced at least two enemies, the man with the sword threw down his weapon and knelt, holding up his hands like the other man. At this, I turned and walked directly toward him, making each step loud. I guarded myself carefully. I did not trust these men at all.

I was right not to trust them. The angry one drew a knife as I came close and lunged back to his feet and toward me. This was disgraceful, but I was not surprised a man who had been an inTasiyo might try something of the kind. Though he thought he could not see me, he met my attack, but stumbled on the uneven ground and staggered, his balance lost.

Disgraceful as his behavior had been, I could not kill him. He was too helpless. I set the tip of my sword at the hollow of his throat. “Be quiet,” I ordered. “Have you no pride?”

He cursed me in the most vile manner, then grabbed the blade of my sword with his hand, meaning to follow the line of my sword so that he might find me and attack me. He was not without courage. When I jerked my sword back hard, the blade severed part of his hand. He did not stop. I had not expected him to; he had known what he did when he seized my sword. He was not slow, but he was clumsy, still thinking he was blind. I stepped back and cut sideways, across his throat, then turned to see how Elaro fared with the other man.

That one had not moved. He faced straight forward, his sightless eyes wide, his hands still held palm up. He might be so dishonorable that, like the other man, he would pretend to yield and ask for mercy, then attack anyway. I did not trust his surrender. I did not trust anything he did. Elaro had not come close to him, but held back, far out of reach of any attack. That caution had probably been wise.

I said, “Elaro, this man may have a knife, or even a sword, hidden in the reeds near at hand.”

“Yes, Ryo, this had occurred to me,” Elaro agreed. “Perhaps you might command this person to lie down and put his hands behind his back.” He sheathed his sword and brought out a bowstring. It was very clear what he thought we should do.

I was annoyed, but he was perfectly right. Perhaps I was annoyed because Elaro was right. Ordinarily one does not bind a man who has surrendered. Ordinarily, a man will have too much pride to try some treachery after that. If he shows that he is proud and honorable, then if the decision goes against him, he may be permitted to take up a knife and die that way, by his own hand if no one will consent to fight him. I doubted both the pride and the honor of this man.

“Do as Elaro told you,” I ordered the man. “Protest or fight, and you will die exactly where you kneel now.”

The man obeyed my order, allowing Elaro to bind his hands behind his back and then pull him to his feet. He did have a sword lying on the ground close to where he had knelt, but he did not try to reach it. Even when he suddenly blinked and drew a breath and looked at us, his sight plainly restored, he did not try to fight.

“Walk,” I ordered him, indicating the direction, and, as steel was far too valuable to abandon, added to Elaro, “Collect the swords and knives of the dead men.”

“Yes,” he agreed. He went to do that while I took the living man back to the others.

Only after Elaro had moved to obey me did I realize I should have said, Perhaps you will collect the weapons rather than giving him a direct order. That had not occurred to me. If I did not take more care, I would offend him—unnecessarily and stupidly. This awareness brought my earlier annoyance back to my mind. Even though I knew an apology was due, I could not bring myself to apologize to Elaro when he came to walk beside me, burdened with the weapons of our enemies. I was ashamed of this, but still I did not apologize.

Then we came back to the others, and I set other thoughts aside. Everything there was finished as well. Four of the men who had circled around to attack us were dead. The other two knelt. Geras had bound their hands with thongs. As with those Elaro and I had faced, one man had pretended to surrender and tried to attack Geras. The Lau often behave far more deceptively than any Ugaro would consider honorable, so there is perhaps no Lau soldier in all the world who would be fooled by such a ruse. Certainly Geras had not been surprised. That man was one of those who had died.

Suyet and Lalani had gone to gather those of the horses who had run the least distance. Then they would no doubt ride out to bring back the other horses, if the beasts did not come back on their own. All of the animals had galloped away from the marsh, out into the more level country to the south. None of them had run very far. A Lau horse whose rider falls or leaps from his back will usually circle and come back. Only the scream of my mare had driven the others away as far as they had run.

If we had other enemies hidden somewhere near this place, then someone else, not Suyet, certainly not Lalani, should go to collect our horses. I looked at Aras.

He was standing with his back to the rest of us, gazing up into the vault of the heavens.  At first I thought he was looking at the eagle, who had resumed drifting in a broad circle, perhaps curious to see what might be happening here upon the earth far below. Then I realized he was looking beyond the eagle, at the Sun. An Ugaro cannot look directly at the Sun, but Lau eyes are different. Aras was certainly gazing directly at the brilliant, white-gold face of the Sun. The strong light revealed the new lines at the corners of his eyes and his mouth and threw his shadow out stark and black behind him.

TASMAKAT is available for preorder now.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to everyone who helped me polish up TANO in a whirlwind of editorial feedback and proofing: Craig Neumeier, as always my very first reader; Kim Aippersbach, Alison Alpart, Deb Boykin, Kate Derosier, and Sarah Zatko all provided helpful comments complete with little maps covered with question marks; Sharon Shinn sent me delightful OMG comments when she hit various exciting moments; and Cathie Harrison, Hanneke Nieuwenhuijzen, and my mother Dolores Neumeier all helped with proofreading. Thank you all!

OTHER WORKS BY RACHEL NEUMEIER

Urban Fantasy

Black Dog Series:

BLACK DOG

BLACK DOG SHORT STORIES

PURE MAGIC

BLACK DOG SHORT STORIES II

SHADOW TWIN

BLACK DOG SHORT STORIES III

COPPER MOUNTAIN

BLACK DOG SHORT STORIES IV

SILVER CIRCLE, forthcoming

High Fantasy

THE CITY IN THE LAKE

The Floating Islands duology:

THE FLOATING ISLANDS

THE SPHERE OF THE WINDS

THE KEEPER OF THE MIST

THE WHITE ROAD OF THE MOON

The Griffin Mage trilogy:

LORD OF THE CHANGING WINDS

LAND OF THE BURNING SANDS

LAW OF THE BROKEN EARTH

The House of Shadows duology

HOUSE OF SHADOWS

DOOR INTO LIGHT

THE MOUNTAIN OF KEPT MEMORY

WINTER OF ICE AND IRON

The Tuyo series:

TUYO

NIKOLES

TARASHANA

KERAUNANI

SUELEN

TANO

TASMAKAT, forthcoming Summer 2023

The Death’s Lady series

THE YEAR’S MIDNIGHT

OF ABSENCE, DARKNESS

AS SHADOW, A LIGHT

SHINES NOW, AND HERETOFORE

Science Fiction

NO FOREIGN SKY

The Invictus Duology

INVICTUS: CAPTIVE (forthcoming fall 2023)

INVICTUS: CRISIS (forthcoming fall 2023)

Collections

BEYOND THE DREAMS WE KNOW

Table of Contents

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8 –

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10 –

11 –

12 –

13–

14 –

15 –

16 –

17 –

18 –

19 –

Epilogue –

Endnotes –

Tasmakat excerpt –

Acknowledgments –

Other Works By Rachel Neumeier –