Kaavl Conspiracy, page 16
Petr’s words reminded Methusal of Kitran’s new kaavl training precepts. His next words seemed to confirm it.
“If it wasn’t for kaavl training, I would be just like you, Liem. I’d let my emotions cloud my judgment. I would be a poor leader. But just like the successful leaders of Dehre and Tarst, I am one of the top kaavl contenders in our community. I continue to grow in kaavl wisdom and discipline.” Petr clearly addressed the crowd now, and it sounded suspiciously like a rehearsed campaign speech—albeit one she had never heard before. “A man who possesses these qualities will make the best leader for Rolban.”
Liem’s face darkened. “Kaavl is not a part of leadership here, Petr. Anyone can become Chief.”
Methusal knew that the position of Chief in both Dehre and Tarst could only be won by the very best kaavl contenders in their communities. On the other hand, the Rolbani elders had always upheld that kaavl could not be a deciding factor in any election. All men should be allowed a chance to become Chief.
Petr nodded. “As it should be, Liem. But I submit to all Rolbanis now: Consider, for the first time, the qualities required of Bi-level and Primary kaavl contenders. To reach those levels, one must prove that one is focused, disciplined, hardworking, highly observant, and smart. These are also the qualities required of the finest leaders.
“I have trained for years in each of these kaavl leadership qualities. Liem has not. I understand that you are grieving, Liem. But rash fits of anger and gathering a lynch mob is not the way to run a great community like Rolban. Consider my words. Besides Kitran, I am the highest level kaavl player in this community. And I will continue to grow in both kaavl and my responsibilities as Chief when I am reelected in three weeks.”
The crowd was silent. And then Methusal heard the soft sounds of moccasins slipping down the hall. The spectacle was over.
Methusal was thankful for Petr’s support. Amazed, too, at how he’d turned the entire incident around to extol his own superior qualities as Chief. And he’d entered kaavl into the election debate—unheard of in Rolban. Also a gutsy move for her uncle to make.
“This isn’t over,” Liem snapped. “I’ll prove Methusal is guilty. And when I do, you’ll go down, right along with her.” With a hard twist of his stocky shoulders, he disappeared down the hall.
Methusal felt relieved, but a bit shaky, as if she’d been punched by invisible fists. She turned to her uncle. “Thank you.”
Petr frowned. “Don’t make me regret it.” He lumbered into the hall.
“Are you okay?” Erl wrapped a tight, comforting arm around her shoulders.
“I’m fine, Papa.” Tears stung her eyes at his uncharacteristic gesture. “Thanks to you. And Sims, too.” She offered a wobbly smile to the supply room manager.
“Off with you, my girl. Time to practice your kaavl,” Sims said bracingly.
Erl tightened his arm. “I’ll be rooting for you. Remember, you’re never alone.”
“Thank you.” She hugged him. But she couldn’t deny it—she was scared. “Papa, what if Liem finds more evidence? Someone is trying hard to frame me. What if he plants so much evidence that I’m convicted of something I didn’t do?”
“Shh,” Erl said. “I won’t let that happen.”
“How? If Liem is elected Chief, he can do whatever he wants. He could order me executed!”
“The Council must agree.”
“Papa. With evidence…”
“You will be fine, Methusal, I promise you.”
“I would be fine if you were Chief.” And that was the perfect solution to her problem. “It’s not too late. You could put in a bid to become Chief again. You’re more popular than both Petr and Liem put together. And Verdnt doesn’t have much of a chance. What do you think?”
“Thusa, it’s late in the game. And it’s not fair. I was Chief for eight years…”
“And Petr has been Chief for four. He’s had his turn.”
Erl shook his head, but she could tell he was thinking about it. Her spirits rose. “You’ll do it?”
“No.” Her spirits dropped again. “But,” he amended, “I will put my name in as an alternate, in the unlikely event two candidates drop out of the race.”
That would never happen, of course, but Methusal kissed her father’s cheek. “Thank you, Papa. I appreciate it.”
Chapter Fourteen
DEHRE
THE NEWLY ORPHANED BOY ate little of Hendra’s food. After nibbling a few bites, he retreated to a far corner of the orphan’s tent. He did not want to be touched. In fact, he whimpered if anyone came near him. Hendra understood the feeling, so she left him alone.
The woman in charge of the orphanage had approved the idea of a long day walk, and had organized the older children to go with Hendra. The younger ones would stay behind. Hendra felt certain the walk would not be dangerous—not in the daytime. She didn’t think anyone would be there during the day. And even if there were men working at their secret tasks, they probably wouldn’t feel threatened by Hendra or the children. Still, she’d scout ahead to ensure the children’s safety. And she’d make her own secret observations, too, before the men could hide their activities.
Hendra gathered her six charges, along with dried meat for a snack and several water skins and buckets for the return trip, and they started out. She and several of the older boys also carried kaavl sticks in case they encountered a whip beast. It was early morning now, and still cool. She estimated they would reach the hills before it became uncomfortably warm.
“Where are we going?” asked an older girl named Srata. Her stringy hair fell in clumps around her thin, dirty face. With the scarcity of water, full baths were impossible in Dehre. Hendra used a cloth and a bucket of water to keep herself clean, but it wasn’t enough. Today, she’d brought several bars of soap from the orphanage in case they found a private place to bathe.
“There.” Hendra pointed in the direction in which she believed the fires burned at night.
The children did not question her decision. They walked silently beside her. Several found a few tagma berries along the way. Gobbling them up lifted their spirits. Soon they sang old battle chants, and Hendra joined in. It took several long hours to travel the long distance. As they drew closer to the hills, though, she fell silent. Sensing her mood, the children did too.
“What’s wrong?” Srata asked.
“Let me look ahead. I think I saw something.” In truth, Hendra had seen something—smoke—several nights ago. “Stay here until I call for you,” she instructed.
“Why?” a boy objected. “We’re not scared.”
“Stay,” Hendra repeated. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
The boy grumbled, but obeyed. Hendra sprinted up into the low hills. A few sparse, bent and withered trees grew there, anchored deep in the dry, pebbled earth. It had been a long time since she’d seen a live tree. She pressed on, moving quickly. She didn’t want to leave her charges alone for long.
She crested the hill and a faint, acrid scent drifted to her nose. Her gaze swept the small valley. The new stream, recently diverted from the mighty Tarst River, flowed through a shallow gorge in the center. Grassy banks edged it, although only a few scraggly, dead looking plants dotted the upper reaches of the valley.
The rushing stream was about two lengths wide, and the shallow ravine it flowed through looked like it had been cut through the earth long ago. Perhaps the stream had naturally run through here long ago, even before the dam up north had diverted the water here. Hendra hadn’t seen so much water in years, and she itched to run and soak her feet in it. But first she needed to make sure it was safe for the children.
Again, she scanned the area. Empty. No one was there, so it was safe. Plenty of fire pits edged the stream, but she saw nothing else. No tools. No ore. No weapons.
Whatever Mentàll’s men had been doing, they had apparently completed their project and packed everything out.
Time to get the children. She quickly brought her charges up the hill.
“Look!” a girl cried out. “Water!”
“Be careful,” Hendra called. Most of the children ran down to the stream to fill their buckets, but Srata dogged Hendra’s steps. The girl seemed to need a friend. Hendra longed for a friend, too, and was happy to be Srata’s. But she wished she had one her own age, too.
“What is this?” Strata wanted to know, kicking the blackened debris with her moccasin.
“I don’t know.” Hendra scanned the ground, searching for clues. It felt strange to walk through trampled green grass. She’d felt nothing but hard dirt beneath her feet for so long. Tiny green bushes sprouted along the water’s edge. The valley would be the perfect place to plant crops. If they had seeds. …Or maybe not. During a rainy year the stream might widen and flood this valley. That would destroy the crops planted on the riverbanks.
“Look!” Srata cried. She tugged an enormous metal hammer from the ground. She didn’t lift it very far, however. “It’s heavy.”
The large, thick tool was fashioned of ore. When Hendra took it, it felt heavier than a four-year-old child. Only a strong man could wield a tool this monstrous.
“In the old days they used hammers like these to pound ore into shapes,” Srata supplied helpfully. “My teacher showed me one, once. He said now metalworkers use them to fix hunting knives, or old pots.”
“You’re right.” So what metal shapes were Mentàll’s men fashioning with this huge hammer? Large pots?
Hendra snorted. Of course not. They were making the objects in secret for a reason. They probably needed high tensile strength. And the fruit of their labor was likely prohibited by the Great War Peace Plan 200 years ago. Otherwise, why work here in secret, in the dark?
Swords?
Was Mentàll breaking the Peace Plan? She didn’t want to believe it, but…
The unease in her gut grew. What was Mentàll planning? The Alliance might be signed even now by Rolban, and Tarst was a given. What more could her cousin want?
The next few hours passed quickly, and Hendra found no other clues. She and the children bathed in the river, taking turns to ensure privacy, and then filled their water skins and buckets and headed home. Hendra didn’t know what to do with the information she had discovered. Little enough as it was. Certainly no proof of illegal activity.
Should she confront Mentàll with it? Her cousin was smart…in fact, she suspected he was brilliant. He would quickly deduce that she’d gone spying on purpose. Would he be angry with her?
What would he do to her?
Fear squeezed her insides, but the logic of their long history together argued against it.
Mentàll would never hurt her. Hadn’t he taken her into his tents four years ago? More than that, he’d protected her, whenever he could, for her entire life.
No, she was safe with him. He would certainly never raise a hand to her. In fact, she’d only seen him raise his hand to two people in her life. Both men. And both had bitterly deserved it. But she’d heard tales of others Mentàll had ruthlessly cut down to size in other ways. Had they all deserved it? Or had he done it to keep his grip on power?
Why was she so afraid? Hendra bit her lip until tears formed. He was her cousin. And she loved him, even if she may not fully understand the man he had become. She couldn’t let him speed to his destruction. The Prophet had warned that those who wielded the sword would die by the sword.
Die.
She couldn’t let him die. She wouldn’t let him die.
Mentàll deserved her loyalty. She would speak to him when he returned. She had to stop him before he made a fatal mistake.
Chapter Fifteen
ROLBAN
METHUSAL SLIPPED down the Grand Staircase, through the Great Hall, and into the bright sunshine. She’d managed to clear her mind, and was now ready for the Tri-Level Game. No morning haze lingered outside; just a crystal clear day with a brilliant blue sky. The black bluffs cut a crisp line across the distant eastern horizon.
The opening ceremonies were about to begin. She climbed Rolban’s mountainous hillside and sat next to Behran and the other kaavl contenders. He grinned at her, and both turned to pay attention as Petr strode to the forefront, flanked by Kitran and a few elders. Time for the opening speeches. This was the boring part. She craned her neck, looking for her parents and friends. She saw them far above her, and Deccia sat below her, near the Dehrien Chief.
So, Mentàll Solboshn hadn’t gone home yet. Her eyes narrowed. Was he sizing up the competition for the Inter-Community Kaavl Games? Probably. Since he was Dehre’s Chief—and also because he’d been able to approach her, unheard, on the plateau yesterday—she knew he was a top kaavl contender. Probably at the Primary level.
The speeches took forever. Afterward, Kitran tied colorful Rolbani flags to poles, and with great ceremony inserted them into special holders at the four corners of the plateau.
Would the games never begin? Methusal shifted her position, waiting for the events to start. The Quint-levelers did not get to participate, as none had achieved any extraordinary kaavl abilities yet. As a result, the Quatr-Level Game was first, and then the Tri-level. Only one game was played for each level. This rule was patterned after an actual battle in a war. A warrior had only one chance to attack and victoriously retreat from the enemy. All the practicing Methusal had done this year came down to just one chance to beat Behran. Nerves made her feel on edge. She couldn’t make any mistakes. She had to make the most of this opportunity. And she’d enjoy her freedom, too, while she still had it.
The four Kaavl Games events would last all afternoon, and would end with more speeches and a winner’s march. Methusal longed to be a part of the winner’s march. But first she had to win. And before that, the Quatr-levelers must play.
Currently, the Quatr-level contenders stood in a line at the top of the lonely plateau. Kaavl flags fluttered from their waists, and the players looked tense. A kaavl stick hung from each of their belts, although the weapon was not allowed to be used in the game. It was only carried in order that the participants could defend themselves against a real attack from a whip beast. Leather kaavl strips were the only capturing tool allowed in the games.
The kaavl disks clashed, signaling the start of the contest, and the players sprinted down the hill.
Soon she would run that course, too. Perspiration slicked her palms and she shifted restlessly. Soon she and Behran…
A collective gasp from the audience jolted her from the daydream. A wave of brown clad Quatr contenders scrambled down the cliff. But wait! Another figure had sprung up from behind a bush on the plain. A slight figure with long, pale gold hair darted into the competition.
“Who’s that?” Behran said.
Pride and consternation made Methusal gasp. “Aali!”
“Aali? When did she learn kaavl?”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen her listening in on the Quatr-level instruction, but…”
Fingers clenched, she rooted for her gutsy young cousin. Clearly, she had learned the rudiments of kaavl on her own, and now braved her father’s wrath to compete in the Quatr-Level Game.
Petr. With apprehension, she glanced downhill to Petr and Deccia. The two could not look more different. Deccia leaned forward, her hands clasped, visibly rooting for her little sister, but Petr sat like a stone. A hard mask tightened his features. Aali would soon pay for her disobedience. But for now, she was in her glory.
The seven contenders ran for the distant bluff. Soon it was impossible to tell them apart. By the time the contenders reached the halfway mark at the bluff, four had been eliminated from play. Only three remained now, and they ran back for the plateau. Had Aali managed to escape capture?
Breath bated, Methusal watched the three figures become more distinct, and then a surge of relief and pride straightened her spine. Aali’s long blond hair was unmistakable. Retra and Lina flanked her—two fifteen-year-olds that Methusal had competed against in the past.
The three now scrabbled up the cliff. Lina fell a little behind, but Aali and Retra still ran neck and neck. Methusal bit her tongue, wanting to scream, “Go, Aali! Go!” But cheering was strictly prohibited in the Kaavl Games.
In the end, it was Retra, a little older and with more reserves of strength, who surged ahead, toppling first over the edge of the plateau which served as the finishing line. Gamely, Aalicaa finished next, and then Lina.
Methusal leaped to her feet with the rest of the crowd, screaming and clapping as loud as she could. Aalicaa definitely had kaavl talent—that would show Petr! But she didn’t look at him again, because she was afraid of what she’d see.
“Retra’s scores,” Kitran trumpeted through the shell. “Capturing, ten! Evading, ten!”
A perfect ten was the highest score a player could earn in a game. Retra had done well. He draped pendants about the necks of all three girls, and the cheering went on for a good while longer. Then the trio descended from the plateau and sprinted to join their families on the hillside. But Aali did not climb up. Instead, Petr stalked down, fury evident in every line of his stocky body. Deccia rushed after him and placed a pleading hand on his sleeve. Angrily, he brushed it off. Both disappeared from view.
At least Deccia would be there to help protect Aali from Petr’s wrath. But the Tri-Level Game was next, and Methusal could only focus on that now.
* * * * *
Methusal stood at the top of the plateau. A brisk, warm wind blew her dark hair away from her face. Clad in the traditional earth brown leather tunic and breeches, and with a tan kaavl flag and kaavl stick tucked into her waistband, she felt completely relaxed, and kaavl. She’d slipped so easily into a kaavl state of mind after reaching the plateau—as if it was becoming a natural part of her. She’d never felt so confident before. Surely, this was a good sign. Her fingers tightened around the long, narrow kaavl strip looped across her palm. Two more strips waited in her pocket, just in case she needed them.
