Tuyo Page 2

  I folded my hands at the small of my back because that made it easier to stand straight, and looked him in the face. “My elder sister taught me, lord. It is useful for a woman to learn darau because women trade and keep the counts of our tribes and all such things. A boy who puts his attention to that kind of learning will usually become a poet, not a warrior. The man you met was probably a poet. I will try to improve my accent.”

  “My lord. I have taken you under my personal authority. Shorten all your vowels; that will be right much more often than wrong. He might have been; I don’t know. But you’re a warrior, not a poet, isn’t that so? Why did your sister teach you?”

  I tried to shorten my vowels as he had instructed. “My sister had a book of tales about important Lau and the things they had done. I liked the stories, so she taught me the tongue in which they were written.”

  “Really. What book?”

  “It was called A History of the Sun.”

  He smiled. “By Tavat Arasosa Somaras? Yes. That one offers a reasonably accurate account of our history. I’m not even surprised. I hear an echo of that style in your syntax. I wonder how astonished Somaras would be if he knew his history had wound up in the hands of an Ugaro girl and her brother? You obviously kept up the language.”

  “Later, my older sister traded for other books of that kind, to please me. Later again, I told my younger sister the tales and so learned to speak darau better myself.”

  “I see. Do any of the other men with your brother speak darau? Does your brother?”

  I was surprised, but I said, “No, my lord.”

  “Was that a reason your brother left you for me? You in particular?”

  Now I understood his thought. “No,” I told him. “My brother would not have expected you to speak to me at any length.”

  “I see. Well, I think you can be far more useful to me alive than dead, Ryo.” Lord Aras looked at me for a little while, thinking his own thoughts.

  My attention was also on my own thoughts. I had been so afraid when Garoyo had said I must be tuyo that I had spoken bitterly to him for not taking that place. I had spoken in that way even though I knew the Lau pressed us too hard for him to make the sacrifice. Our warriors would never have followed me. I was too young, and I was not him. He had been right, and I had been shamefully wrong. My shame was all the greater as I realized the scepter-holder had spared me because I spoke darau. Garoyo did not speak it. If my brother had taken the tuyo’s place, probably he would be dying now—if the Lau had accepted the sacrifice at all.

  The last words between brothers should not be bitter ones, and the bitterness of our parting had been entirely my fault, for Garoyo had not answered me as I deserved. He had only bowed his head and taken my words in silence. I wished very much I could go to him now and beg his pardon for my disgraceful behavior. But it was too late.

  The warleader interrupted my thoughts, saying, “My outriders report that your warriors have continued to move away from this place. Plainly they relied on me to accept the tuyo custom; they’re making no effort at all to conceal their trail. They would have difficulty doing so, as they’re dragging travois. We could probably come up on them even now. If I did go after them and killed them all, what would that mean for your tribe?”

  That drove everything else out of my mind. The shock was greater because I had just been thinking my brother and our people were safe. For a moment I could not answer. Then I found my voice. I said sharply, “I cannot protest anything you do to me, but if you intend to kill my brother and our warriors, I do protest that. It would be wrong for you to pursue further vengeance against my brother, against my people, after you said you accepted me as tuyo. Even if you are a Lau, even if our peoples are at war, the gods would despise such a disgraceful act!” I had tried to speak in measured tones, but my voice rose at the end. I caught myself and closed my teeth hard together, trying to look stern rather than upset.

  His head had gone back a little, in shock or offense. When he recovered from his surprise, he would certainly punish me in some way. I did not care. If he thought of doing such an outrageous thing, then he should hear from someone the truth that it would be wrong.

  Lord Aras picked up his scepter, and I braced myself, but he did not strike me with it. He met my eyes and spoke gently. “The question was hypothetical. I apologize for not making that clear. Your initial understanding was correct. I am going to let your brother go.” He paused and then said it again, more emphatically. “I promise you, Ryo, I do not intend to take any further action against the inGara at this time. I hope taking you into my hand may offer me better options in dealing not only with your tribe, but all the tribes.”

  I drew a long breath. The Lau are a deceitful and fickle people, but this warleader had no reason to lie to me about anything; I was completely at his mercy. His words had been very plain. I could find no possible deception in them. Probably it was true.

  I was shaking. That will happen sometimes; great relief can be more of a shock than terror, and that had been both, one after the other. I said, “Thank you, my lord.” Then I knelt and bowed low. “I know it was extraordinarily insolent for me to correct you in a matter of honor. I apologize for speaking in that way, my lord.” Any punishment would be better than the terrible uncertainty he had put to rest, so I was not sorry I had spoken as I had. But I did not know what that punishment might be, so it was hard to set myself to endure it.

  But Lord Aras answered, “The misunderstanding was my fault. I should have made sure you understood I was speaking hypothetically. Please stand. I would like an answer to my question, which is solely a matter of theoretical interest to me. What would happen to your tribe if so many warriors were lost?”

  I could hardly believe he was not angry. But he only waited patiently. Finally I got to my feet. Then I tried to think about the question. It was plain to me what would happen if he sent his soldiers after my brother. Garoyo would have people watching the trail behind our people. If the Lau pursued, he would cut the throats of the men injured most severely. He and the other warriors would slip away into the forest and prepare to harass the Lau and delay them, with the fastest of the young men running ahead to warn our families.

  But there were so many Lau. Most likely Garoyo would not have been able to prevent some of them from riding past his warriors and finding our camp. The thought horrified me, but I did not explain all this. Instead, I said, “If we were weakened by the loss of many warriors, we would probably lose our place among the tribes. The inGeiro are our closest allies. Our remaining warriors would join theirs and take up weapons under the command of their warleader.” My father, if he lived, would probably be forced to yield precedence to the lord of the inGeiro. My own people would become less important among the tribes; inGara might even become a client of inGeiro. But I did not explain that.

  “Thank you,” said Lord Aras. “That’s the beginning of what I wanted to know. Tribes that are weakened aren’t likely to give up and retreat into the high north; they’ll more likely join stronger tribes and continue fighting. I’m not surprised; your people are known for their stubbornness and courage.” He thought for a little while. Then he said, “Ryo, your people began raiding across the river four years ago, and then the trouble became worse every year, until my king had to send me to deal with the problem. We didn’t have this trouble between our peoples before that time. What changed?”

  This was complicated. I had to think about how to answer him, and I felt I had too many things to think about already. But Lord Aras waited patiently, turning the scepter over in his hands, tracing the inlaid gold.

  At last I said, “You know the people who live to the north of the winter country, beyond the mountains, in the gentle land that runs down to the sunless sea, where the uncounted stars rule? We call them avila, dirt people, because they are all farmers and have no cattle . . .”

  “They call themselves Tarashana.”

  I gestured assent. “Tarashana. Yes. Ugaro tribes h
ave always traded with those people. We give them amber. They give us grain in return. The kernels are red and black, filled with the warmth of that country. This grain gives strength to our cattle when the long cold might otherwise outlast their vigor. We combine it with other grain to make it last. But three years ago, something happened to the Tarashana. We went there and they were gone.”

  Talon Commander Samaura said, his tone dry, “Perhaps they wearied of Ugaro raids and moved away to lands farther from the winter country.”

  I corrected him, though as politely as I could. “We traded justly with those people, Talon Commander. Long ago, foolish young warriors used to harass them and raid them, but our kings forbade that because their grain is important to us. Yet the people of the starlit lands have gone, as far east and west as word has run. Their fields lie abandoned, and our people who went there felt ill luck lying all across the places they had lived. Whatever happened there, I think it was nothing they chose. But we thought we could recover by trading more with your people. Only then we found many of the towns that had once traded with us now refused.”

  Now he frowned. “The Lau of the borderlands refused to trade?”

  “Yes. Or, no. I overspoke. They did not say they were not willing to trade, Talon Commander. But they would not trade on the accustomed terms. We used to trade furs and blankets for grain and wine, timber for steel, amber for silver. But where before the people of the borderlands would give thirty sledgeloads of grain for the pelt of one white tiger, now they would give only three. All the trade was like that, and our women could not make your people change the terms they offered. The fields of the borderlands were golden with wheat and barley. The grain we needed lay across the river. So we took it.”

  “I see,” said the talon commander, and raised his eyebrows at Lord Aras.

  “Yes, it’s a puzzle,” the warleader answered him, but they did not say enough for me to understand what puzzled them. He said to me, “Well, whatever its cause, this problem has to be resolved. Tell me, Ryo inGara, what would your people have to gain in order to agree to peace? Or what would your people have to lose, in order to be forced to accept defeat?”

  I hesitated. Those were very big questions. I wished my brother were here to help me answer them. Or a poet. Or, better, a singer—my mother, or perhaps Darra inKarano, the daughter of our king. Darra was young, but she knew her father’s mind and had learned much of the wisdom of women. She would have known how to answer this scepter-holder.

  But no one else was here. I had to answer as best I could. I thought for a little while. Lord Aras waited patiently. Finally I said, “As we cannot trade, our tribes have two choices: they can take what they need from your people, or they can destroy weaker tribes so that they can take what they need that way. Our king decided that war with your people was better than war among the tribes. He will not change his mind. To end the war, I think you should command your people to trade properly. That would be better for everyone. Even if you defeated many of the tribes whose lands lie here in the south, other tribes would only come from the far north to claim these lands and fight you. That would not help you at all.”

  Lord Aras nodded thoughtfully. “Well. Interesting. There are tribes in the north whom we don’t know?”

  I could think of no reason he should not be made aware of this and some reasons he should. I told him, “Many, lord. We inGara live both on the steppe and in the forest. That is how it is for most of the tribes your people know. But there are other tribes where all the people live in the high north. Those are tribes you do not know at all. They are fierce, and they despise people who farm. You would do better to make peace with those tribes whose names you know.”

  He looked at me for a little while. Finally he said, “Thank you for explaining that, Ryo. Your king is still Koro inKarano, is he not?”

  I bowed my head to show this was true. “Yes, lord. Koro will not permit this trouble to turn inward when it has come because of your people. The fault lies with the Lau of the borderlands, and so our king will not relent until the summer country acknowledges the fault and yields to us the things your people chose not to trade.”

  Talon Commander Samaura asked, “Do you really think your people could force ours to pay tribute?” He smiled a little, tilting his head. “You don’t respect our soldiers much, do you?”

  Our women have always been glad to trade with the Lau, for they make many fine things. But he was right: we Ugaro do not respect Lau soldiers, who always fight in formations and never stand out to show their courage. We do not call the Lau avila. We call them pidila—rabbit people.

  I did not say that. I said, “My brother did not realize we had reason to fear your anger. This was a small mistake, one that has been bad for the inGara.” Then I looked him in the face and added, “But you would be wrong now to take us lightly. That would be a very big mistake, for all Lau. Ugaro warriors cannot break your formations, but you must have understood long before this that you cannot begin to defend the whole long sweep of the border.”

  Lord Aras held up his hand to check the talon commander when he began to answer. He said, “I think we could probably do that if we had to, but I admit I wouldn’t want to try. It would be very expensive to open an actual war on this border. Far better to resolve the problem in some less costly manner.” He considered me. “Ryo, how long have you—”

  But men came in then, carrying a longer table, and others brought in more chairs, interrupting his question. Lord Aras sat back as the men quickly arranged the long table on the other side of the tent. They laid out eating picks and wide-bowled spoons and goblets. There were places for four men, and the other two came in soon after the table was ready. They ignored me completely.

  Other men brought food, more of the round loaves of bread, and smaller rounds of white cheese, and bowls of thick soup. Lord Aras rose, gestured to me that I should take his chair at the small table, and went to join his people. I did not find the chair at all comfortable. The seat was too narrow to allow a man to sit cross-legged, and the chair’s back was straight and hard. I was not surprised: of course a Lau chair would have a back of that kind, so that they must sit up straight.

  One of the men brought me some bread and a bowl of the stew. I was glad of that because I had not known whether I would be given anything to eat and I was hungry. I ate the food slowly, trying to listen to the talk. But I was tired, and the men spoke quietly so that I could not hear them well.

  The stew was spicy, sharp-flavored, with more barley in it than beef. I thought of the very different food my mother and sisters would be preparing tonight. When my brother brought word of what had happened, my mother would not think of me sitting in an uncomfortable Lau chair in a too-warm Lau tent, eating too-spicy barley stew. She would think of me dying every death. The food began to taste like nothing, and though I had been hungry at first, I could not finish it.

  At last Lord Aras and the others finished eating and stood up, still talking while men came and carried away the table and the other things. Another brought a long cushion and set this against the wall of the tent near where the table had stood. I stood up, thinking perhaps I might step out of the way and sit down on the floor where I could be more comfortable. But all the Lau looked at me when I got to my feet. That close attention drove weariness away. I dropped my gaze. Then I remembered and made myself raise my chin.

  One of the men looked at me and then at the cushion and then, in obvious horror, at Lord Aras. He said, “You can’t mean him to sleep here in your tent!”

  Talon Commander Samaura said, “Certainly not.” Then he turned urgently to Lord Aras and said, “Surely not! You can’t possibly have him sleep here!”

  The idea took me almost as much aback as it clearly took the Lau. I looked a second time at the long cushion, and saw that it might perhaps unfold into a pallet. It astonished me that I might be expected to sleep in the warleader’s tent rather than somewhere under close guard. I turned to Lord Aras and found him smiling
his thin smile at me.

  “Why not?” he said to the talon commander, but he continued to look at me. “Do you plan to strangle me in my sleep, Ryo inGara?”

  “Of course not!” I said, so surprised I was not even offended, though the suggestion was very offensive.

  “A most forceful response. Why not?”

  I had caught myself now, so I did not say, Because it would be completely stupid. I said carefully, “I could perhaps do that, if you do not guard yourself or me, though I am certain you would never be so careless. But then what would happen? I would try to escape, but I would not be able to slip away unnoticed. But even if I escaped, then what would happen? Your people would be furious. They would go after my brother and then go on to seek the rest of my people.”

  If the Lau became careless in their anger, our allies might come up and destroy them while they hunted for inGara to kill, but that would not make the disaster that fell on my own tribe less terrible. I said, “It would be exactly what my brother wished to prevent by leaving me as tuyo. If I strangled you while you slept—a disgraceful thing for a warrior to do—I would die for it, and my brother would probably die for it, and my own tribe would suffer for it, and nothing good would come of it for my people. If I came to my father after that, he would put me to death himself for bringing your anger down on my brother and our people. He would be right to do it.”

  Lord Aras smiled. He said to the other men, “You see.” Then he said to me, “You’re very tired, I know. Don’t fear to sleep here in my tent. No one will come near you.”