Into This Wild Abyss, page 6
part #1 of Vermilion Archives Series
“Eh?” Anjan said, nudging Po. “If General Jano is so bad, why did they make him a general?”
“He was a rebel leader in the Peasant Rebellion. At the Peace of Tabo he brought the rebels over to the Emperor’s side. Listen, and they’ll tell you.”
“Yeah,” Anjan said. “But that was like twenty years ago. That’s plenty of time to get rid of him if this is all true.” Po shrugged.
“I guess so. But people change.”
“I think they’re afraid.”
“Who?” Po asked.
“The government,” Anjan explained quietly. “They’re afraid people really like Jano.” Po looked around to see if anyone was listening.
“We can’t talk like this,” he hissed. “You’ll get us in trouble.”
“I’m just stating the obvious. Besides, this play is boring. I think they wrote it in an awful hurry.” Po had to concede Anjan had a point.
“Fine,” Po said, giving up. “What should we do now then?”
“Let’s go exploring,” he said.
The pair were shortly lost in the side streets leading off the great avenue. They found rows of tightly packed eateries and alehouses with lanterns hanging outside and tables scattered over the cobbles. The influx of soldiers and laborers into the city kept business brisk. Po carefully picked his way through the crowd.
“House Ale! House Ale!” one man yelled from a doorway. “One ku’net a pint!”
“Dancing beauties,” hollered another. “Beauties from far Pa’gan! One jet entry and first drink on the house!” Po and Anjan gave the second place a wide berth.
“Not sure we’ll find much down here,” Po said, looking back over his shoulder.
“Roast pork and potatoes,” a young lady called, a chalkboard with prices propped up in her arms. “Five ku’net a plate. Seasoned with our special blend.”
“Argh,” Anjan groaned, rubbing his belly. “What I would give right now for a meal.” As if on cue, a woman rose from a stool at the open front of a restaurant and moved to intercept Po and Anjan.
“Holy ones,” she said breathlessly in an Astirti accent. “Please, come with me.”
“We’re fine, thank you,” Po said.
“No, no. Come, sit,” she persisted. “Free — a gift. You are Disciples of Dasanika, no?”
“We are Ba’re novices,” Po corrected. He realized her confusion. The Astirti recognized Dasanika as a god-like figure, while the Ba’re considered him human.
“The difference is not so great,” the woman insisted. “You bring good luck to my business, yes? Maybe Dasanika will protect my sons.”
“That isn’t how it works,” Po said, but Anjan cut him off.
“We would love to sit and talk,” Anjan said. “But you don’t have to give us food.”
“No, no,” the Astirti said, shaking her head. “You sit, you eat.” Po was about to protest when Anjan winked at him and guided his friend inside. The mother led the way to the back of the restaurant where there was a raised stage.
“For a worried mother, yes?” she kept saying. When they were seated, and the woman had disappeared to the kitchen, Po leaned over and whispered in Anjan’s ear.
“What are you doing? You know Ba’re don’t believe in the concept luck. It’s superstition. You give false hope.”
“You tell her that,” Anjan said. “I believe in making mothers happy.” Po sighed.
The woman returned and pushed two large mutton platters in front of the novices. The mutton swam in a heavy butter sauce laced with pepper, in the style of the Astirti’s homeland. The woman plonked herself down opposite the pair.
“You eat,” she commanded. Po and Anjan exchanged glances and began to eat.
“Now,” she said, fetching a small wooden box. “These are my two dear sons, Taljat and Serik.” The woman flicked a latch, and the box sprung open to reveal two panels with bronze frames. On each panel was a portrait of a young man. “They are with the Sixth Army, Fourth Banner,” the woman explained, a twinkle of pride in her eyes. “They serve under General Nulu. Brave boys. And strong. You would not believe how strong.”
“You must be proud,” Anjan said between mouthfuls, butter running down his chin.
“Oh yes,” the woman said. “They make their mother proud. But I also worry. I understand there is a war. I hear General Jano wants to attack Pao’an.”
“We have heard,” Po said before Anjan could say anything.
“So I worry for my sons,” the mother explained. “War is a terrible, terrible thing. My boys will come shortly to reinforce Pao’an, I’m sure of it.”
“I know there is nothing you can do,” the woman continued. “You are not military leaders or politicians. But promise me you will keep my sons in your prayers. May Dasanika keep them safe from harm.”
“We…” Po began, but Anjan kicked him under the table.
“It would be an honor,” Anjan said. The mother dabbed an eye with the corner of her apron.
“You are good boys. May Dasanika bless you for the kindness you show me.”
Po and Anjan left the restaurant with an invitation to come next time they were “in the city.” Realizing that curfew was quickly approaching, the two novices hurried in the direction of the monastery.
“Well, that was awkward,” Po said.
“You need to enjoy yourself,” Anjan said. “Relax. The woman wanted hope.”
“Yeah and you encouraged her in her superstition. What would Dugen say?”
“Dugen can keep his opinions. Po, you’re smart but when it comes to people, you’re as thick as a dreadbeast’s arse. You —”
A man collided with them and dropped a pile of papers.
“Sorry,” Po blurted. “Here, we'll help —”
“Never mind,” said the man in a fluster. “You two look educated, here — take two of them.” He offered up two folded fliers and stuffed the rest into his coat. Po and Anjan accepted and the man disappeared among the crowds.
“That was weird,” Anjan said. They looked down at the leaflets in their hands.
General Jano comes to save you.
Tomi is the Great Traitor.
Small block print filled the rest of the paper in essay format. Anjan exchanged glances with Po and without a word they tucked the leaflets into their robes. Some things were best read in the safety of their cots.
⁂
Eastbank lay under a lazy afternoon sun. Natan and Sado played a game of sa’na in an upstairs room of the No-Meidu residence, taking turns rolling four-sided dice and moving their counters around an elegantly carved board.
“Two,” Natan said, glancing at the white dots on the pyramid-like dice. “Damn.” He chewed his thumbnail and added a new counter to the board. Sado laughed and took the cup with the dice in it. He rolled.
“Wrath of Heaven,” he said, returning Natan’s token to the side. “Not your day is it? Your turn.” Natan retrieved the dice and paused in thought.
“So you really don’t know where Niko’s gone?” He rolled and moved a counter the required distance.
“Nope,” Sado said. “No one knows.” Sado took his turn.
“Three,” Natan said. “Goddess of Mercy. I’m safe.” Sado slapped his thighs in mock outrage, picked up a porcelain cup and sculled the contents. His face flushed red and he shuddered. Natan took the bottle and went to pour another cup.
“We’re out,” he said.
“There’s another one in the cupboard.”
Natan crossed Sado’s room to the cabinet.
“Which one do you want to open?”
“You choose,” Sado said. Natan returned to the table with a suitable bottle. Sado nodded in approval.
“You don’t think he’s run off to join the army, do you?” Natan asked, seated once again.
“I doubt it,” Sado said. “He would’ve said something. And you know what he thinks of this lot — the Reformists in the Imperial Palace. No, if my brother joined anyone it would be General Jano and the Vu’tai — but Jano is far away, and Niko disappeared before we all heard.”
“A mystery alright,” Natan said. “How’re your parents?”
“You saw,” Sado said. “Trying to be strong. They’ve got their business to run.”
A door banged downstairs, and Sado’s mother called up.
“Sado! Can you come down please?”
“Soon!” Sado called back, rolling his eyes.
“Quickly!” his mother shouted and slammed the door.
“I can’t get a break anymore,” Sado said, lowering his voice. “Now I have twice the work.” Natan put the dice aside and swept crumbs from the table.
“You go, I can wait,” he said. Then he cocked his head. “Lot of noise outside.”
“Some customer will be disputing the bill,” Sado said. “They agree to everything and then think the total is up for discussion.”
“Yeah, we get that. They only do it once.”
A scream carried from the yard, followed by a string of shouts. Natan looked to the window and Sado jumped from his seat.
“Soldiers!” Sado said. “Outside.”
“They're what?” Natan scrambled from his seat stood at the sill. “Not soldiers. Those are guards. And look - virtuemen.”
“What’s that?” Sado asked, pointing to a wooden frame being erected beyond the gate. “Is that a gallows?”
“We need to get out. Quick.”
“Wait, that's my mother!” Sado screamed, grabbing for the window latch. He threw it open and pulled himself through onto the roof. Natan tried to follow but boots stamped on the stairs and guards burst into the room. He wheeled on them and raised clenched fists.”
“Stop!” yelled a captain in a crested helmet. “Hands on your head where we can see them.”
“No,” Natan said, hoping to buy his friend time. “First, what's this about?”
“This house harbored a traitor,” said the captain as his men spread through the room. One lunged at Natan, but Natan sidestepped and drove his knuckles into the man’s jaw. In a spray of blood and teeth, the guard went down on all fours. The others raised their batons and charged. Natan fell into a fighting stance and shouldered the first one into the wall, kneeing him as he went down, and snatched the baton.
Just like our games, he told himself. Think of it like that. You can beat the neighborhood, you can beat these men. Two more came at him. Natan slipped to the side, giving himself room. In a blur of batons, wood crashed on wood and one man swore. Another threw a chair which broke over Natan’s back. He fell to one knee and struck his attacker's kneecap. The man howled and fell onto Natan. The two grappled on the floorboards and more piled on. The air drove from Natan’s lungs and someone pinned his hands.
“Bastard. You'll hang for this.” They dragged him to his feet and led him downstairs. In the doorway, Natan lurched, smashing a guard into the post. For an instant he was free, then a baton drove into his stomach. Natan wretched.
“Listen, you mutt!” Blood dribbled between the man’s bronze teeth. “You’re dead.” Yanked to his feet, they led him to the scaffold. Violent hands tugged a noose over his head and pulled the knot tight against the nape of his neck. Natan cleared his mind just long enough to see Sado standing next to him, vainly trying to ward off the hands dragging the rope around his throat.
“Stop!” Natan heard. He did not know from which direction it came. Blood surged to his head and a growing pressure felt like his head would explode. “Stop!” The pressure relaxed and his legs went out from under him. Hands forced Natan to his feet. An officer stood before him in full dress uniform.
“These two young men, they can be sold to the penal battalions,” the officer ordered.
“But sir.”
“Don’t you ‘but sir’ me,” the officer spat. “You heard me. Penal battalions. They need the hands; we can do with the commission.” Slower fingers this time loosened the knot around Natan’s neck and hauled it over his head. They prodded him in the direction of a cart. Sado stumbled along behind him. The cart already had the majority of the household workers in it and there was little room for Natan and Sado, but they managed to slip awkwardly into the back, where they collapsed.
Natan gasped for breath. It felt like the rope was still around him. He scratched at his throat and for the first time tasted blood in his mouth. With his tongue, he noticed a tooth was missing.
“Fuck,” he croaked. He looked at Sado. His friend nursed a swollen eye.
“Quiet,” the officer roared above the din. To Natan’s horror, five people still stood beneath the scaffold, Sado’s mother and father among them. “Listen,” the officer continued. “This family — the No-Meidu family — has been found guilty of treason in collaboration with the Brotherhood of Kive. Their son — Niko No-Meidu — was arrested on an active mission with the terrorist Brotherhood. By the law and the instructions of the High Court, Niko’s parents are to hang by their necks until they are dead. Others found at this address are to be sold into the penal battalions so they can work off their associated guilt in the service of the Empire.” The officer gestured toward the soldiers holding the ropes. “You may begin.”
The victims left the ground. Their faces flashed red. Their bodies convulsed. Their feet clicked together. Natan turned away.
“What is going on here?” Father.
The officer wheeled on the newcomer. They exchanged curt words, with Avi gesturing toward the cart. Natan could not hear what was said, but the meaning was clear enough. Avi wanted Natan back. The officer stubbornly refused. Shortly, someone came and grabbed Natan’s wrist, revealing the tattooed identification number. There was more discussion and Avi went back to the house to fetch the family papers.
“Natan,” Oni screamed, entering the yard. Natan’s mother tried to approach the cart but virtuemen cut her off. A young woman Natan did not recognize pulled Oni back.
“Let my son go,” Oni shreaked. “Let him go.”
Avi returned to the yard with papers. The officer took his time looking over them, then passed them to a clerk. The clerk scratched his chin and returned them to Avi.
“Pay him,” Oni screamed, louder than was wise. “Damn it, Avi. Pay him.”
“Get that woman out of here,” the officer ordered. Oni resisted, but the young woman at her side held her tight and took her away. Avi resumed his discussion with the officer, wildly gesticulating and habitually running a hand through his unruly black hair.
“Ten coppers,” Natan heard. The officer laughed and pushed Avi away.
“Is that a joke?” the officer barked. “Twenty silver li.” Avi threw his hands up.
“He’s not worth that much to you,” Avi shouted, spit flying from his mouth.
“He is now,” the officer said, a smirk on his face.
“One silver li,” Avi said.
“No deal.” The officer motioned for his men to get the cart moving. “I see no agreement can be reached.”
“Two,” Avi said. He grabbed the officer’s arm but the officer yanked it away.
“Don’t touch me,” he hissed. “Or you’re in the cart too.”
The cart moved. Natan dug his nails into the side and screamed inside wild curses at his father.
“Pay him,” Natan said, though no one heard. The cart rattled down the street. The guards fell in behind it. “Pay him.”
The young woman from earlier returned. She crossed over to the clerk and whispered something in his ear. From her clothes, she took a bag and placed it in the clerk’s hand. He opened it and peered inside. He fished about with a finger.
“Captain Davodi,” the clerk called from the back of the column. “Captain Davodi!” The officer halted the cart and picked through the bag. Avi stood dumbfounded.
“Release him,” the officer shouted. “Release this man’s son.”
Natan climbed down from the cart. Some of the guards, still showing their injuries, leered at him. Natan avoided eye contact.
“Natan!” Oni threw her arms around her son. “Never do that again.”
“Sado,” Natan croaked.
“Get back home,” Oni said. “There is nothing we can do for Sado.”
“Please!” Tears fell shamelessly down his face.
“Home,” Oni said. The Luka-Tudo family returned to their house. Avi walked sullenly behind the rest, muttering to himself.
“How much did you pay them?” he demanded as they entered the home.
“None of your business,” Oni said, her face red. “It was from my own savings.”
“We could have negotiated him down,” Avi sneered. “Silly woman.”
“I got our son back,” Oni snapped. “I think that is what matters.”
⁂
The monastery dining room vibrated with the dull hum of subdued chatter. Anjan pinched a pea between thumb and forefinger
“A bit undercooked, don’t you think?”
“Dovo will hear you,” Po said. “You’ll add to his worry lines.”
Anjan flicked the offending pea to the floor and returned to his meal. Po finished his mouthful and prepared to speak, but a hand clamped on his shoulder.
“Po and Anjan,” Biet said. “Could you come with me please?”
“Our meals —” Anjan began.
“Brother Dovo can look after them. At the rate you were eating, they were going to be cold anyway.”
The pair returned their trays to the kitchen and followed Venerable Biet through the Great Hall, past children memorizing the Sudo Ba’re Datai, and into one of the reflection rooms hidden behind a waxed paper screen. Biet sat on a plump cushion and waited for the two novices to do the same.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Biet asked.
“No,” the two said together. Biet waited but neither changed their response.
“Perhaps you should think about it,” the abbot suggested.
Po considered the room, thinking perhaps the abbot had left a clue. The walls were familiar enough; painted with scenes of high Jan’a, the greatest monastery in all the Ba’re faith, perched like a mountain fortress on the far frontiers of the empire. He contemplated the wyvern, weaving through the rolling gray clouds, and the sabertooth perched on a rock watching a flock of goats. Sabertooth. Something clicked.
