Storm's Clouds, page 17
part #2 of Stormfall Chronicles Series
Garth sat down on a rocky outcropping, studying the boy’s reactions. “You still haven’t answered my question,” he said. “Why were you riding with tribesmen from the northern reaches?”
Waya tried to choke down the mouthful he was chewing. “I told you, to prove I am worthy as any man.”
“Since when did the people of Tsien become mercenaries to the tribesmen of the north? This is not the way of your people.”
“I had my reasons.”
“Running away will not change whatever it is you are running from.”
“I’m not running away. I left to change myself.”
The boy was struggling to maintain an even tone, trying to lower his voice and sound more mature, more confident. “Change yourself? Into a killer? A ruthless sword-for-hire, like the tribesmen you rode with?”
“You are no different. I saw how you killed their leader. You’re a monster. Just like all the rest of them.”
The words stung more than Garth had expected. “A monster? Perhaps I am.” He bit down on a piece of travel rations, chewing as he thought. Had he become, after all, no different than the killers he hunted? No. Monster or not, he was different. He swallowed the bread, his thought haunted by so many memories. “I do not run-down old women with a spear. And I do not kill, save when it is necessary to protect life. Remember that. That mercy is the one reason why you are alive now. I ask you again, what are you running from?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Garth sighed. He was getting nowhere with the boy. Maybe after a day or two away from the village he’d be willing to open-up. Garth just didn’t know if he could wait that long. He needed to decide on a course – what to do with the boy. “You’d be surprised at how much I understand. I have seen more of good and bad in this world than most will see in several lifetimes.” Garth arose and brushed the crumbs from his clothing. “Are you feeling well enough to ride?”
“Where are we going?”
“East. In the direction of Tsien.”
“I’m not going back. Not until I’ve proven myself.”
“Whether you go back or not will be your decision, but we need to put some distance between ourselves and the farmers you raided. It will not go well if they catch you again.”
* * *
Adsila set the kettle on the stove, absently going through the motions like she had so many times before. She had long, shiny black hair which draped about her shoulders, and eyes which were dark as a mystery – like midnight without a moon. She was dressed in a pale purple dress, the shade of flowering nettles. Its snug fit emphasized how small and slight she was. Her mother used to tell her that she was so short, because her spirit was too big – and had absorbed the larger part of her being. But Adsila hadn’t felt that way in many days. Not since Waya had left.
Her thoughts had been wandering back to Waya all day, as she went about her chores: absently bundling up the herbs she and her mother had collected the day before, preparing them to be dried for the upcoming winter months. Her mind was constantly wandering. She didn’t hear the water as it began to boil in the kettle, or her mother’s footsteps as she entered the kitchen.
“Adsila, the water’s boiling,” her mother said, taking the kettle off the stove to add the tea leaves. Yona’s voice was soft, but steady. To Adsila, her mother had always been that kind, understanding voice. The one who had understood and accepted the special friendship which she and Waya had shared.
Her mother’s hair was grey, tied back into two long braids, each secured with a length of twine at the end. She wore a white blouse and a simple brown skirt, with a string of red and yellow beads around her neck. A quiet, unassuming woman. But to Adsila’s eyes, full of wisdom and patience.
“I’m sorry mother, I wasn’t . . .”
“I know. You were thinking about Waya. I could tell. You’ll just have to trust things will work out. Believe that fate will intervene. It’s all you can do.”
“But what if they don’t work out. What if Waya . . .”
“I don’t want to hear that name again,” she heard her father, Gawonii growl harshly.
Among the men of the village, her father was neither particularly tall, nor notably muscular. But he nonetheless demanded respect as the most accomplished trader in their otherwise remote, inconsequential village. He was not as slim as he had been a dozen years before, and his brown leather jacket was hard pressed to disguise the progression of age. He wore a white shirt beneath, and brown leather pants. His jacket was decorated with a row of red beads, and around his neck was a gold chain with a charm shaped like the palm of a hand – a foreign symbol which he had acquired from the traders whom he negotiated with.
Adsila bit back her response, taking the tea kettle from her mother and bringing it to the table, as was expected of her. She knelt at the low table, where her father had already taken his seat, and poured the tea into a white, porcelain cup. The cup had been purchased from a trader from the south and was decorated with a red and blue flower pattern. She handed the cup to her father, holding it by its edges, making sure the small, stylized handle was facing him.
Her father took up the teacup, blowing on it. “Woya is gone and won’t be coming back.”
“It’s Waya, father – wolf, not dove.” Adsila kept her voice even, ensuring she did not raise it. Her father could be so disagreeable.
“Waya or Woya, no one who left with those accursed northerners is likely ever to return.”
“But you said if Waya could prove himself . . .”
“Do you think I wanted you with someone like that? I said what I had to.”
Adsila felt the pent-up anxiety boiling up inside, her face flushing red. She knew she shouldn’t reply, should just go on being bottled up, but she couldn’t contain herself. “You said if he proved himself against the western savages, against invaders from Lotaria, and returned with a blade he had stabbed into the heart of an enemy . . .”
“There won’t be any soldiers or invaders from Lotaria. Everyone among the traders knows it. If the northerners don’t kill Woya, the settlers they raid will.”
“What settlers?” Adsila’s mother rarely contradicted her father, and almost never spoke-up when he was in such a mood.
“The rumors have been making their way up and down the trade routes. The northerners are raiding whatever defenseless settlements are within their reach. Demanding tribute or burning them to the ground. There’s no difference between the northern tribesmen and the Lotarian savages as far as we’re concerned.”
“You knew?” Yona replied.
“You practically dared Waya to join,” Adsila said. “You said he had to prove his courage against a real enemy before you’d let us marry.”
“I said as much as you needed to hear. A good negotiator doesn’t tell more than he needs to. Woya won’t be coming back. I don’t want to hear that name again. Now go tell your bother dinner’s ready.”
* * *
The sun had set, and the moon had risen bright in the twilit sky, when Garth and Waya halted for the night. Garth had guided them well east, before turning northeast and eventually reconnecting with the rugged trade route which wound eastwards through the forest. The trail had been worn by passing wagon wheels but was nonetheless narrow, with thick brush pressing in from either side. They set up camp in a clearing just beyond the edge of the road. Garth tended to the horses, ensuring each had room to graze, before starting a little fire and placing a small kettle onto it.
“You miss your friends from home?” Garth asked, passing a wafer of dried travel rations to the boy.
“I have friends.” Waya volunteered. He had been wondering when the best time might be to escape. Garth had allowed him to ride his own horse, although he had kept it tethered to his own saddle by a long lead rope. It should nonetheless have been simple enough for Waya to slip away. He only had to wait for his captor to be distracted. Waya had prided himself on his horse-handling skills. Even without reins, he should have been able to direct the horse with pressure from his legs and heels alone.
But when he had tried to experiment earlier in the day, adjusting his horse’s pace to see if he could gradually slow his mount and put some distance between himself and his captor, the horse had only neighed and refused his subtle prodding.
“She says to stop poking her,” Garth had called back. “She’s not going to change her pace.”
At first Waya had entertained the thought his strange captor really could speak to the animals. But he had soon come to his senses and realized his horse likely didn’t want to be separated from its companion. A herd sort of thing. Maybe he would have better luck stealing a horse at night.
“Don’t you want to see your friends again?” Garth asked.
“I can’t go back until I’ve proven myself,” Waya replied.
Garth sighed. He needed answers. He needed to know who and what he was dealing with. However much he hated having to resort to such measures, he needed those answers now. He would need to be careful, to keep the charm’s effects subtle. But he couldn’t wait days to decide what course of action to take. He set the tea leaves into the boiling pot.
“You’re hardly the first one to run away, you know. Running from a bad situation, or a bad place, or bad people. But when you run, you need a plan for what you are running to.” Garth sloshed the water around, then poured the tea into a cup, offering it to Waya. The boy took the offering, however grudgingly.
Garth sat back, swirling the fragments of tea leaves in the bottom of his own cup, considering what to ask. “Was it concerning a girl?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You’re not going to win a girl over by joining a band of savages.”
“I told you. I left to prove I was as worthy as any man.”
“The people of Tsien, at least from my dealings many years ago, value honor and respect. Even when dealing with an adversary. That includes respect for the elderly. Running down an old woman with a spear is hardly something which would have been considered praiseworthy. What sort of man did you hope to become, riding with the raiders of Batukhan?”
“I told you. I don’t want to talk about it.”
The barest hint of moisture appeared at the edge of Waya’s eyes. It was working. Garth pressed him again. “What kind of man did you hope to be?”
“I thought it would change me! Okay?! I thought it would make me . . .”
“Make you what?”
“Like everyone else. Not soft, too weak to do what I had to. I only wanted to be accepted like everyone else.”
Garth regarded his young charge carefully. The lad was tormented, on the verge of tears – trying to hold back. Hold it all inside. The truth charm had been subtle. But now that it had worked its effect, Garth was not certain if this was necessarily the outcome he had intended.
Garth swirled the tea in his cup, choosing his words carefully. “You are already more of a man than those raiders. Batukhan sent them to spread fear and terror. You did not need their help to prove yourself. You do, however, need to decide what kind of a person you intend to be. Whether you can face your demons or will forever run from them.”
Garth took Waya’s empty teacup and glanced across the tea leaves. The pattern confirmed what he had suspected. He set the cup aside. “In the years I had dealings with them, the people of Tsien were welcoming of differences. Accepting their sons and daughters as they were. Accepting the path they chose for themselves. It was an admirable trait. What has changed to make you accept someone else’s labels for who you are?”
Waya choked back his emotions. This stranger couldn’t possibly know or understand. “I left to prove myself,” he repeated, as if the repetition would help him to believe it himself.
“Why did you think you needed to leave to do this?”
“Foreign traders have been coming to our village,” Waya felt the emotions overwhelming him. “Our fathers, and others, wanted us to be more like the foreigners. Like the merchants with their steel weapons, their silk fabrics, their bodyguards, their different ways. Our parents wanted us to . . . wanted me to . . .” Waya felt the hot tear rolling down his cheek.
“What happened? What changed that you couldn’t bear it anymore?”
“There was a raid. Goblins. Filthy beasts. They were trying to steal our animals. My father drove most of them off. They never stay long, not if we’re armed. Cowards. I went to check on the animals – and one was cornered. One of the goblins. Still in the shed. I had my brother’s spear in my hand and I . . . I couldn’t. It looked afraid. I couldn’t kill it. I just let it go. My father saw it run away. He was so angry.” Waya brushed the tear from his face. “My brother told them. Everyone knew. They knew I was weak.”
“Tell me about this girl of yours,” Garth said softly. “What’s her name?”
“Adsila.” The sense of loneliness and vulnerability washed over Waya. So far away from home. So far away from everything he knew. Exposed. Helpless. “Her father had been negotiating with foreign traders, looking for suitors for Adsila. Someone who might take her away. Her father said her marriage would help cement his trade arrangements. Said she needed to marry a real man. Someone who could protect her. Someone of means. Someone who wasn’t afraid to kill a cornered goblin. And it’s been growing worse. The goblin raids. Further south they say they’ve seen oni – ogres. And other things no one has a name for. The raids have become more frequent. And Adsila needed someone to take care of her.”
“What did Adsila say?”
“We’ve known each other for years. Insisted we belonged together, both of us. But they wouldn’t listen. I felt like I was ready to die. Like my life was over. But I thought, if I could only prove I could protect her, prove I wouldn’t hesitate – we could change their minds. That’s when her father suggested I join the horsemen from Ikzhan. Prove myself against the savages from Lotaria. He said if I could face the enemy, a real enemy, and not back down. If I could plunge my blade into the heart of a real opponent, then Adsila and I could marry. But nothing turned out the way they said it would. None of it. And now I’ve failed.”
Garth leaned back against the outcrop, feeling the coolness of the rock face on his back, trying to summon the wisdom to console the tortured soul sitting before him. Wishing he could draw wisdom from the earth and sky as easily as he could summon fire or lightning to his command. “I know you don’t believe anyone else could understand. But showing mercy is not a weakness and killing is not strength. There are more people around you than you realize who are uncomfortable with their lot in life. Some things life hands to you. Others you must make for yourself. All you can do, is decide how you live that life. Tell me more about the girl you left behind. What do you think Adsila is experiencing right now?”
“What do you mean?” Waya attempted to bring his emotions in check, wiping his eyes, embarrassed at how vulnerable he had become.
“What do you think she is experiencing right now, while you are here? What do you think she is feeling?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think she’s feeling alone?”
“Maybe.”
“And frightened?”
“I guess.”
“However bad you might feel it is for you right now, it’s probably worse for her.”
“How would you know?” Waya was struggling to regain his composure, still fighting back the emotions. “How could you know anything?”
“I have lived many years, young Waya. Have lost people I cared for deeply. Witnessed things I wished I could forget. Sometimes, you do have to go out into the world, to face demons far from the people you love. Face them, so that those demons will never reach those safe places where innocence is sheltered. But there will be other times when the demons you must face are closer to home. And you will be stronger if you can face those demons together.”
Garth poked at the logs of the fire, using the end of a stick. The logs burst into brighter flames as they rolled over. Waya jerked his head back, startled by the flaring flames. Was it the fire, or the stranger’s words which had startled him?
“Tell me more about Adsila. What is she like? What does she and her family do in your community?”
“We are part of the northernmost tribe, two days journey by horseback from the great hall and temple of Tsien. Her father is the trade negotiator for our people. Her mother provides remedies for the sick.”
“Her mother is a medicine woman?”
Waya was grateful to have changed the focus of the conversation – even if he was giving out more information than he would otherwise have surrendered. “Yes. But not like the priests at the temple, at the heart of Tsien. She is not revered like them. Her mom provides simple remedies, and advice to those who seek it. She accepted the two of us, accepted how we belonged together. But with her father it’s different. He wants to be more like the foreign traders he owes his living to. Doesn’t want them to talk or think badly of him.”
Garth considered what he could remember of Tsien. It had been a long time since he had traveled in these lands. That Adsila’s father had suggested this misadventure disturbed him. He would need some sort of leverage if he was ever going to set things right. “Is the high priest of Tsien still held in high esteem by your community?”
Waya shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Is he respected? Even by Adsila’s father?”
“He probably doesn’t have a choice. Everyone in the community reveres Onacona, the high priest. He has served our peoples for decades. Even if her father does prefer shiny coins and foreign traders with their pendants shaped like hands.”
“Pendants?”
“Adsila’s father has an agreement with the trade guild from Trevio. They wear these pendants shaped like hands sometimes.”
“Shaped like an outstretched hand? Palm facing out?”
“Yes. They speak badly about our traditions. They think their ways are so superior.”
“I hadn’t realized their influence had spread so far.”
