Sunmaster, p.16
Sunmaster, page 16
"They took me away from the camp every day," Milu reported. "I showed Telun what I'd learned when I came home, and you when you got here, but they did take me somewhere else."
Rasim nodded. "If that's how it's usually done, I think she followed someone to a training place, a long time ago, and learned from in hiding. I think…you travel a lot, all of you, don't you? All Shenryalans. I think she must have gone far to the east, maybe even out of Shenryal, and found Northern sorcerers to teach her more, or to teach others like her, who wanted witchery but weren't chosen to learn it."
"Yes." A small voice broke in, and with obvious reluctance, the girl who had saved Bayar got to her feet and bowed unhappily toward Irlin and Bikat. "I am Jerial, daughter of Qyacha, granddaughter to Nirjeran."
Irlin smiled briefly. "You are known to us, Jerial. Speak."
Jerial whispered, "Thank you, Great Mare," but hesitated before going on. Everyone's attention was on her, and although Rasim had seen her in the great tent and helping with clear-headed efficiency during the poisoning, he didn't think she was accustomed to using her voice. He thought her actions were usually enough. She was still dirty from having been buried, and now brushed at a little of the mess, like she'd only just noticed it. Then she made herself stop, lifted her chin, and spoke with a clarity bordering on defiance. "Alsari is my aunt, and Darracha my cousin. They haven't ridden with us for a long, long time. I thought they had fought. Mother is the oldest, and Alsari's absence hinted of banishment. But that's not what happened, is it?"
The formality she'd been trying to hide behind melted away as she looked from Irlin to Rasim and, miserably, back to Irlin. "Mother is ambitious. I know that. And Bayar is your only son, Great Mare. If he could be removed, then the mantle of Great Mare must be worn by another clan mother."
"Yes." Irlin's voice was gentle. "What do you know, little mare?"
"Nothing that meant anything to me at the time," Jerial whispered. "Please believe me, Great Mare. I didn't know, and I hadn't thought about it for a long time. But when I was a child, Aunt Alsari came with the skins and teeth of a hundred vipers. Together she and Mother milked their teeth into a bowl and boiled the milk over a fire until the poison smoke made the cattle that breathed it in sway and sicken. They—"
"Stop," Oyun said, so sharply that for a moment no one even breathed. Then her voice gentled, almost as much as Irlin's had. "Stop, little mare. I know what they did next, and no one else needs to. You and I will talk, horse-daughter. You and I will see what is to be made of you, now."
CHAPTER 19
Bayar, with an undercurrent of threat, said, "Jerial will not pay for her mother's crimes," and drew everyone's attention. His jaw set more belligerently than Rasim had ever seen, and he spoke as if he was aware of defying rules that he would crush under his feet, if need be. "No one who sided with the earth witch would have saved me that way." Slightly less ferociously, he added, "That was the most foolishly courageous thing I've ever seen anyone do," to Jerial, who smiled at him with wet eyes, then laughed hoarsely when he added, "And you wouldn't believe some of the foolishly courageous things I've watched Rasim do."
Rasim said, "Hey," feebly, but Kisia said, "You jumped on a sea serpent, Rasim."
"Yeah, but Bayar didn't see that!"
"I did see you jump on a dragon."
That was hard to argue with. Before Rasim could come up with a response, Jerial squared her shoulders and faced Irlin. "Your heir is right, Great Mare. I would never harm Bayar, or agree to lift my mothers by hurting someone else. I can't make you believe me, but—"
"We all know you're telling the truth," Kisia interrupted softly. Jerial's eyes jerked to her and Kisia shrugged, as helpless as Rasim had ever seen her. "You didn't have to help me when we were poisoned. I bet your mother was furious with you. I bet you knew she'd be furious, too. But you helped me anyway."
The Shenryalan girl blushed again, and beyond her, Rasim saw Irlin smile. Jerial, though, said, "Yes, but…I heard the sorcerer-child speak of a healer."
Resigned offense flashed through Rasim. It was one thing for the adults to call him a sorcerer-child, but Jerial wasn't that much older than him. Oyun gave him a sharp grin, and Nasira, like she was aware of both his objection and Oyun's amusement, shot a warning look in his direction. Rasim wanted to protest he hadn't done anything, but then he would have done something, so he bit his tongue as Jerial finished her confession. "I thought if the outsiders had a healer who could save one of their own, if I helped Kisia, they might be willing to help me. To help Bayar," she corrected herself.
Oyun said, "Hnf," in mock indignation. "You don't trust your shaman, filly?"
"It was hinzjha," Jerial said, bold with sudden anger. "How many hinzjha deaths have you prevented, old mare?"
A hiss went around the tent, shock and dismay and, Rasim thought, something else. Awe, maybe. He suspected people didn't often challenge the old shaman. Oyun's grey eyebrows flickered upward, and although clearly there were a lot of Shenryalans outraged on Oyun's behalf, Rasim didn't think Oyun herself was. Neither was Irlin, although Bayar's eyes had widened at Jerial's defiance.
"One," Oyun said. "Bayar's. His is the fifth life I've tried to save from hinzjha, and each time before, it has been quicker than I. So perhaps you were very wise, little mare." She was quiet a long time, studying Jerial, who stood with her hands fisted and her jaw lifted like she was daring the old shaman to do her worst. After a long, thoughtful pause, Oyun, with great deliberation, said, "Your mother is not worthy of her daughter."
Silence rang out from that statement, silence so loud it might have been a gong struck in the middle of the tent. It was followed by another hiss that ran around the tent, the gathered Shenryalan councilors all coming to attention, their gazes sharp and bright on Oyun and Jerial. Even Irlin looked astonished, but Oyun's eyes glittered with certainty. Rasim shot a glance toward Nasira, Karluk, all the adults in the Ilyaran-heavy contingent, but they clearly had no more idea what was going on than he did. Not even Kisia, who had learned more about Shenryalan custom than any of them, looked like she knew what was happening.
Jerial, though, obviously did. She stood so still she swayed, and her eyes were huge as she whispered, "Wise mare…" to Oyun in a half-protesting whisper.
"How many aunts have you, little mare?" Oyun asked the question like she knew the answer, and like it didn't matter. Rasim felt suddenly as if he and the other outsiders were watching something they had no business witnessing, but Oyun evidently didn't care, and it appeared no one else in the tent was going to gainsay the old shaman.
Jerial whispered, "Three, wise mare, and their daughters number seven among them."
"And who is oldest, among you?"
"Qyacha is first of her mother's daughters, and I am first of hers, and first before all her sisters' daughters." Jerial's hands were a nervous knot in front of her stomach, but her voice had steadied as the Shenryalans gathered close, surrounding her with men on one side and women on the other, all but blocking Rasim's view. The outsiders were neither necessary nor invited to what was going on.
"We know Alsari's heart already," Oyun said with cold dismissal. "I will look into the hearts of your aunts, and their daughters, and decide their fates when the time comes. But your heart is known. Three times and more you have chosen, and each time you have chosen the most courageous path through the Great Spiral. Today, you have no mother save the clan." The old shaman closed her hands on Jerial's shoulders, lifting her voice until Rasim was sure it carried outside the tent, too. "Speak your name, Jerial."
"Jerial." Jerial's voice shook, and beyond her, Rasim caught a glimpse of Bayar's eyes, bright with tears as she whispered, "I am Jerial, daughter of Shenryal, granddaughter of Nirjeran. I have no mother save the clan."
A song sprang up around them, deep and sad and celebratory all at once. Beneath, and then over it, Oyun spoke, her voice first soft, then thundering as sky witchery carried it far beyond the tent. "Hear this! The spiral carries on! A new clan is born today! All mark Jerial, daughter of Shenryal, leader of her family's herd, however large or small it may prove to be!"
Her proclamation was carried beyond the tent not just by her own words, but by other voices rising in astonishment as they shared what was obviously stunning news. Rasim edged his way closer to Kif, hoping the old Northern adoptee into the Shenryalan tribes could tell him what was going on. The old man glanced down at him, eyebrows furled, and Rasim whispered, "Did Oyun just exile Jerial's mother?"
"No. This is worse than exile." Kif's face was lined in scowls. "She unmade her. No one will ever claim her name again as part of their ancestry. She doesn't exist anymore."
"Holy seas. What will happen to her?"
Kif shrugged. "She'll live out her days alone and die forgotten. The King Horse won't welcome her back to the Great Spiral as she is, although he might accept her as a worm or a bug or something useful to the spiral. Her journey toward a human spirit will begin all over again, and she may never be worthy of it."
"Kif…" Rasim touched the old man's arm uncertainly. "Is that what happened to you?"
The faintest smile creased the corner of Kif's mouth. "No. I was only sent away. My name remained on my daughters' lips, and my language lived with them even here. If I'd been unmade, I could never have become Grandfather Winter."
A sour knot untwisted in Rasim's belly. "I'm glad."
"Me too." The old man examined him briefly. "I've heard them tell you how much trouble you make, Ilyaran. Remember that you've brought a family back together, too. More than one. That wouldn't have happened, without you and your trouble-making."
A new knot formed, this time in Rasim's throat, and it squeezed tears into his eyes. "Thank you."
Kif nodded, then moved closer to the Shenryalan elders and the complex congratulations they offered Jerial. Rasim, chewing his lower lip, squirmed back to his friends, and then, not quite letting himself admit he had a plan, started working his way toward the door. Jerial's mother had to know something about how the Northerners had gotten delzjha. If he was right, if Lorens had had some with him, if he'd given it to the stone witch Cindu as they were fleeing Moran, then maybe Jerial's mother could make the link for him. Maybe she could verify, if not quite prove, what Rasim feared. He just needed to talk to her.
He crept outside, and got about five steps toward Oyun's tent before a hand landed on his shoulder, and Captain Nasira's cool voice said, "And where do you think you're going, Journeyman?"
For a heartbeat, Rasim hoped if he sagged enough maybe he would just turn into mud and slide right out of Nasira's grip. It didn't happen. Disappointed and guilty at getting caught, he straightened and turned a bright hopeful smile on his captain. "To the toilet?"
"You're going to sneak into their spiritmaster's tent to talk to that girl's mother," Nasira said in a tone that dared him to defy her.
"Someone has to," Rasim said desperately. "She could have all the answers, Captain. Answers we need!"
"And you don't trust Bayar's people to get those answers?"
"Not fast! We need to know who we can trust, Captain, and we need to get home soon, too. The more we can tell King Taishm about what's been going on all over the continent, the better prepared Ilyara will be for whatever's coming. And if I'm right about the renegades here working with Northern witches, then we need to know who's coordinating that! We need to know if it's one of our allies!"
"You mean, whether it's Lorens." Nasira walked Rasim away from both the great tent and Oyun's, taking him toward as much privacy as could be had in the busy camp, even if they were speaking Ilyaran.
"What if he gave Cindu delzjha instead of heartbreak, Captain?" Rasim blurted the question and Nasira stopped cold, staring the little distance down at him.
"What?"
A shiver ran over Rasim's skin as the chill in her voice, although he thought he knew her well enough now to trust she wasn't mad at him, but rather at the idea he'd presented. "We thought he gave Cindu heartbreak, but after that, Cindu wrecked so much more of Moran. What if he slipped him delzjha instead? We know someone in the North had it, and the Shenryalans make it, and Missio died in Lorens's arms before she could tell me anything about who'd given her the drug. Captain, I might be wrong, but what if I'm right?"
A muscle ticked in Nasira's jaw. "I want to say we could just ask Lorens. I want to believe the answer he'd give us would be the truth."
"Well, I want to captain the Waifia, but we don't always get what we want, do we?" Rasim retorted, then bit his tongue so hard his eyes bulged.
Nasira's face contorted like she was genuinely shocked but also struggling not to laugh. It took a few seconds before she gained enough control of her voice to say, "No. No, we do not, Journeyman. Very well. But I will not countenance sneaking into Oyun's tent. You go in with her permission or not at all."
Rasim whispered, "Yes, Captain," and slunk back to the great tent with Nasira in his wake, making sure he went where he said he'd go.
CHAPTER 20
They returned to an appalled silence that seemed to be centered on Bayar, although they hadn't been gone for more than a few minutes. Rasim sidled up to Kisia, who whispered, "Bayar just asked to come with us when we leave. Where were you?"
Rasim started to answer, but Irlin, in granite tones, said, "My son, you can't possibly expect—"
"Me to stay where someone is actively trying to kill me, when I might be of use as an ambassador to the Ilyaran king?" Bayar asked smoothly.
Bikat's mouth actually twitched as if he was impressed with Bayar's audacity and logic, but Irlin's expression darkened. "You've been away from the plains for most of a year already, Bayar. If you leave again you may return no longer one of the people."
"The King Horse's spirit is strong in him," Oyun said with great serenity. "Bayar has stood trials unlike most of us ever imagine and has returned unbroken, his heart unscathed. His place among the people is forever secured. I have no fear for him."
"If this is to happen, we will send an escort," Bikat said.
Nasira's head jerked up and her voice rose and broke on two words: "With horses?"
Bikat regarded her blandly. "We are riders."
"The Waifia is not well suited to carrying livestock! And I'd bet your horses aren't used to sailing!"
Bayar, as blandly as his father, said, "Shenryalans are not accustomed to sailing," and managed to remind everyone who'd been there how difficult finding sea legs had been for him. Nasira rubbed her hands over her face, then lifted a grim look on all of them, clearly prepared to take a stand.
Bikat, however, spoke before she did, with the air of a man who had solved everything. "Our Great Mare is not wrong. Bayar has been long, long away from us, and while I would never doubt Oyun, I propose we find a middle road. Bayar will ride with us."
Bayar took one short breath, considered his mother's dire expression, and silenced himself as Irlin said, "Us?"
Bikat turned his mild gaze on her. "I cannot ask the gathered clans to send emissaries to distant Ilyara without leading them myself, my love."
"How long does it take to ride a horse from Shenryal to Ilyara?" Rasim asked, drawing attention again.
Bikat gave him a rather sharkish grin. "That depends greatly on how much of a hurry we are in, sorcerer-child. Two months. Perhaps three, but the weather will be in our favor."
"And how long does it take to march an army from Moran to Ilyara?" Rasim asked Nasira.
She glared at him. "How would I know? I'm a seamaster. We sail."
"You're the one who said we didn't have time to sail home before the Moranese army got there!"
"Well, I assume we don't!"
Karluk, the formerly enslaved Ilyaran sky witch, said, "Some three months," and drew attention much more sharply than Rasim had. He shrugged, his jaw set hard. "It will take some three months for them to make the march. The man who enslaved me enjoyed travel, and usually did so with enough protection to be considered a small army, so I know something of the speed that can be made on those roads. And there will be more of them than he had, and there are mountains to cross, which will slow them further, even in summer."
"Thank you. So we can be home in a month, Bikat can be there in two, and the Moranese, who have a head start, can be there in three." Rasim inhaled deeply, turning to Nasira. "Captain, we might all get there at the same time. The Moranese will have a cavalry and I'm not trying to get you involved in what might be our war, King Horse—"
"I believe we're already well embroiled, sorcerer-child. Go on."
"—but Shenryalans are known all over the continent for their riding skills. The Moranese cavalry may back off from conflict if there's even a chance they have to fight you. If we're trying to avoid a fight, having them on our side would probably be really helpful."
Endat shook his head. "But I can't condone asking the Shenryalan people to join us on this journey. It may end very badly."
"Luckily, you didn't ask," Bikat said.
Jerial, almost at the same time and in a very soft voice, said, "I would like to join Bayar on the long journey."
"No." Irlin's tone brooked no argument this time, although Rasim hadn't thought there was much to argue about before, and yet it appeared Bayar and Bikat were both getting something resembling their own way. "You're newly made the head of your family, Jerial, and have older aunts who won't like that, even if their hearts are true. You can't afford to leave now, and even if you could, I have other reasons to keep you here." Her gaze flickered to her son.
So did Kisia's. Rasim's stomach twisted again and he scowled at the carpets on the big tent's earthy floor. A few of them were half stuck in the dirt. He wondered if someone would dig them up when the camp moved on, or if they'd be left there as a reminder of a very strange day.
Without warning, Nikki, the Moranese beggar woman, said, "I will stay," in Shenryalan. Nearly everyone in the tent turned her way, with Oyun and Irlin's gazes both interested and compassionate. Nikki repeated, "I will stay," then lapsed into Moranese, which Captain Nasira began to translate when it became clear the Shenryalan translator couldn't. "I'm old," Nikki said, with Nasira echoing her. "No one ever wanted me in Moran, and it was a hard enough place for the unwanted before the sea walls came down, so I left Moran with these magic-laden heathens and they brought me here. Not to Golden Ilyara, but to a place where old women have power."
