Speaking Bones, page 13
* * *
Araten was right that Takval’s first instinct had been to engage the Lyucu with Alkir, affording Théra and the others a chance to escape on Ga-al. But Théra had convinced him of an alternate plan.
The plot to use decoy riders to distract the Lyucu pursuit was inspired by the Hegemon, who had once used a similar trick to capture Zudi back in Dara. While Alkir and Ga-al fled west, leading the Lyucu on a fruitless chase, Théra and Takval led their band east on foot, hiking into the spine of the World’s Edge Mountains.
“They’d never believe we would voluntarily breach the realm of the gods,” said Théra, “just as they’d never expect us to abandon our garinafins. When everything you’ve tried has failed, the only path left is to do something impossible, something new.”
Takval expected Adyulek to object to this plan, which seemed to him a sacrilege. One did not go over the World’s Edge unless one did so on the back of a cloud-garinafin. But surprisingly, the old shaman supported the princess.
“The Every-Mother speaks in interesting ways and through unusual messengers,” she said. “Didn’t Afir once attempt to cross into the realm of the gods in order to save her people? The princess’s thinking-breath recalls our origins.”
Takval shook his head. Would wonders never cease?
Wrapping their bodies in thick furs and their hearts in renewed resolve, they set off toward the east, toward the towering mountains that seemed to reach into the sky, toward hope that glinted as faintly as starglow.
CHAPTER NINE SECRET
KRIPHI: THE NINTH MONTH IN THE NINTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF SEASON OF STORMS AND THE REIGN OF AUDACIOUS FREEDOM (TWENTY MONTHS UNTIL THE REOPENING OF THE WALL OF STORMS).
After finally ridding herself of Cutanrovo for the night, Tanvanaki seethed alone in the Great Tent.
Every conversation with the single-minded thane ended the same way. Cutanrovo would dream up some outrageous project to further “purify” Ukyu-taasa of native influence—impose strict limits on the number of children natives might have, to be enforced by infanticide; reclaim all agricultural fields for pasturing, with the farmers pressed into labor gangs; abolish the system of native officials and reduce the status of all natives to livestock—and Tanvanaki would have to point out that these projects ran contrary to the goal of turning the natives into obedient fighters for Ukyu-taasa.
“They’ll obey only if they still believe submission will allow them to preserve what little they have left,” said Tanvanaki. “If they should conclude that they have nothing to lose, then we will lose everything.”
But Cutanrovo kept on pushing and pushing, and it was getting harder and harder for Tanvanaki to hold her line.
She got up, strode to the middle of the empty Great Tent, and began to punch and kick at the air, imagining her fists and feet landing against Cutanrovo’s face. There was nothing more frustrating than debating a sincere zealot.
She didn’t want to go back to her bed, where Timu lay still, as welcoming as a block of ice. He had withdrawn into himself, spending his days muttering Classical Ano poetry, reading histories, and teaching Dyana only gods knew what. He rarely spoke to her except to argue.
Time and again, she had explained to him that she had no choice but to allow Cutanrovo and the hard-liners to carry out their rampage against the natives if she wanted to remain the pékyu. The warriors loved Cutanrovo; the hard-liner thane made them feel like masters of Ukyu-taasa, blessed kin of the gods, omnipotent, invincible. If she moved against Cutanrovo now, who would fight for her when Cudyu arrived to challenge her?
“Do you think your people will fare better under my brother?” she demanded. “With me in charge, we can still realize the dream of a kinder fate for the people of Dara once the crisis posed by the arrival of my brother’s fleet is resolved.”
He simply looked at her, as though no longer believing anything she said.
“I need Cutanrovo’s support,” she said, a note of pleading in her voice, willing him to understand. “She is the only hope I have of holding on to Ukyu-taasa.”
“Be careful that your guard dog doesn’t turn into a wolf that rips out your throat,” he said. Then he turned away, burying himself in his old books, which Tanvanaki had saved from Cutanrovo’s burning campaigns for his benefit—not that he appreciated her efforts. Dyana, sitting by her father, looked at her with accusing eyes, as though blaming her for the state of strife in the household.
Neither could she seek comfort from her son, who was now always found in the company of the hard-liner thanes, gleeful to be paraded about as the symbol of the future of Ukyu-taasa: a young man who, despite the admixture of native blood, acted even more Lyucu than the pure-blooded and was as eager to attack native scholars and tear down native structures as Cutanrovo herself. Tanvanaki sometimes wondered if Todyu now thought of Cutanrovo as a greater hero than his own mother.
I can control Cutanrovo, she thought, panting as she continued to fight shadows in the air. I’m just using her. She repeated the thought with each punch and kick, as though trying to convince herself.
“Votan.”
She whirled around, her fist stopping barely inches from the face of the spy, who had silently materialized inside the Great Tent.
“What is it?” She relaxed into a resting pose. The exercise had done her good, clearing her head of the feeling of powerlessness.
“A purification pack composed of two culeks and some native soldiers descended on Phada three days ago.”
Tanvanaki held her breath. The hamlet of Phada was the site of the entrance to the underwater tunnel that led to Dasu, now sealed up as the Lyucu preferred to travel between the two islands of Ukyu-taasa by ship or garinafin. It was also where Tanvanaki kept her secret.
In an emotionless voice, the spy went on. “After harassing the villagers and confiscating a few books and some idols of native gods, they built a bonfire to eliminate the contraband. To celebrate the victory, they danced around the bonfire late into the night, drinking kyoffir and smoking tolyusa leaves. They fell asleep a few hours before dawn.”
Tanvanaki pictured the scene. Phada was an isolated village with little to offer. The land around it was infertile, and though it was close to the coast, it was blocked from the sea by a range of low but steep hills. Its remoteness had preserved it from the roaming purification packs earlier, and that was also why Tanvanaki, Goztan, and Vocu had chosen it for their covert project.
“But just before dawn, one of the culeks awakened to relieve himself. Stumbling in the darkness, he failed to return to his companions but wandered far afield, eventually ending up near the crater east of the village. There, he noticed light coming from behind the stones piled at the entrance at the bottom—”
“I’ve heard enough,” said Tanvanaki. “Have you taken care of it?”
The spy nodded.
“You got everyone in the pack?”
Another nod.
Tanvanaki sighed. She hated the very idea of killing any Lyucu, but there was no choice—these days, so many things she did or condoned felt that way. The operation inside the sealed-off tunnel between Dasu and Rui had to be concealed from Cutanrovo at all costs. She had learned her lesson after Cutanrovo’s destruction of the camp among the Roro Hills, where Tanvanaki had attempted to force scholars abducted from the core islands to work for the benefit of the Lyucu.
“What did you do with the bodies?”
“I’ve come for your instructions.”
Tanvanaki contemplated the situation. Cutanrovo wasn’t particularly detail-oriented, which was how Tanvanaki had been able to divert some of the tribute goods intended for the native auxiliary troops to her secret project. But news of a missing purification pack would eventually make its way to the thane’s ears, and that would mean trouble.
“Dispose of them near another native village, one at some distance from Phada.”
The spy nodded and turned go.
“Wait,” Tanvanaki said. After the briefest of hesitations, she added, “Kill everyone in Phada as well.”
The spy waited.
“They can’t be left alive if they’ve seen the purification pack,” Tanvanaki said, though she knew no explanation was needed. He always did as she commanded. “Besides, Goztan will need a clear area to practice.”
The spy disappeared as silently as he had appeared.
Once the bodies of the purification pack were discovered, that unfortunate other village would be blamed, and there would be a new round of reprisals and killings from Cutanrovo. That was the cost of keeping the secret in the tunnel.
She hated herself. The tactic was so cowardly, so deceptive, unworthy of a true pékyu of the Lyucu.
She resumed kicking and punching at wavering shadows in the dimly lit Great Tent, swirling with smoke from the tallow torches, her only companion the voice in her head.
I can control Cutanrovo. I’m just using her.
CHAPTER TEN ICE BLOSSOMS
ON THE PLAINS WEST OF THE TAIL RANGE: THE ELEVENTH MONTH IN THE NINTH YEAR AFTER THE DEPARTURE OF PRINCESS THÉRA FROM DARA FOR UKYU-GONDÉ (SIX MONTHS UNTIL THE LYUCU MUST LAUNCH THEIR NEW INVASION FLEET TO DARA).
With frigid winter winds slicing across their faces, the band of rebels finally emerged from the mountains known as the Tail to the Agon and the Antler to the Lyucu. Before them lay the great plains in the north of Ukyu-Gondé, a snowscape dotted here and there with a few stunted coniferous copses.
After what they had gone through, this might as well be the blessed realm of the gods.
* * *
Théra’s initial plan to climb over the World’s Edge Mountains had been defeated by the most unlikely of causes: air.
At first, the ascent into the towering mountains was physically demanding but manageable. Takval and Théra instructed the band to take plenty of breaks, minimize heat loss, and eat frequently. But after a few days, everyone began to feel light-headed and exhausted no matter how much they slept. Breathing became difficult. The air felt thin, hollow, unsatisfying. No matter how deeply or quickly they tried to draw air, they couldn’t get enough of it.
Things got worse.
The higher they climbed up the snowbound peaks, the more rarefied grew the air.
Tipo Tho’s baby cried so much from the effort to breathe that he fainted. Tipo had to breathe into his mouth to revive him. Everyone began to see sights and hear sounds that weren’t real.
“We’re drowning,” panted Takval. “We’ll never make it.”
Théra was plagued by doubt again. Had she made another error that would doom everyone?
Adyulek, too exhausted to even stand up, beckoned for Théra. The princess leaned in, placing her ear against the old shaman’s lips.
“We haven’t been caught by Cudyu,” the shaman whispered. “So you’ve already led us into a better place. If the gods won’t let us go join them, maybe it’s because they think we still have more to do on this side of the world. I fear the gods, but I trust you.”
Théra cried. Trust was a heavy burden, one that had to be earned.
She went to Takval, and the two huddled in council. Was there any untapped reservoir of strength, any potential source of aid, any unlikely refuge that they could aim for?
In the morning, they began to descend from the spine of the garinafin guarding the realm of the gods. They had a new goal.
To the north.
* * *
Far in the north of Ukyu-Gondé, where the scrublands gradually gave way to swampy taiga and then tundra, where the only vegetation consisted of lichen and moss and stunted trees that found little nourishment in the permafrost, people nonetheless eked out a living.
The tribes that lived this far north were few in number, and they did not consider themselves Lyucu or Agon. They had their own sacred stories, as different from the tales of Afir and Kikisavo as snow differed from sand. They lived in shelters constructed with ice and frozen mud, dressed in thick hooded seadog fur coats, and carried their children around on whalebone cradleboards. They burned peat and dung for heat and light. They herded moss-antlered deer and hunted for fish, whales, and seacows on canoes fashioned from bones and animal hide. They crossed the broad, snowy plains and the icebound waterways with sleds pulled by teams of oversized dogs, the domesticated descendants of horrid wolves.
Though their languages were mutually intelligible, the tribes of the scrublands, proud of their larger populations and wealth of livestock, had long disdained to acknowledge the far weaker ice tribes as equals. Though Toluroru Roatan of the Lyucu and Nobo Aragoz of the Agon both, in their times of ambition, had launched raids against the far north to decorate their skull helmets with more victory marks, the people of the scrublands generally left the ice tribes alone, as there was little reason for them to covet the harsh land these poor cousins called home. Compared to the frozen northern plains, the heart of the scrublands was a mild paradise.
But things had changed with the rise of Tenryo. His policy of driving the defeated Agon tribes into the periphery of Ukyu-Gondé had cascading repercussions. In the south, some of the displaced Agon tribes settled in oases in Lurodia Tanta, and in the north, the exiles came into conflict with the ice tribes.
Unable to thrive in the unfamiliar landscape by relying on their ancestral wisdom, the Agon refugees became robbers, raiding and pillaging and looting and causing mayhem. The small ice tribes, plagued by repeated incursions, gradually gathered under the command of esteemed war chiefs to fight back. Though they were not numerous, their knowledge of the unforgiving patterns of their desolate homeland gave them an advantage. They won against the Agon invaders more than they lost.
Some of the defeated Agon then fled back into Ukyu proper, preferring enslavement to starvation. Others, however, abandoned their tribal identities in defeat and joined the ice tribes, adopting their ways.
* * *
“They’ll help us. They are our votan-sa-taasa in suffering.”
This was Takval’s rallying cry, and the mantra of the lonely band of rebels.
Just as Kuni Garu once built his army from the weedlike common people disdained by the grand Lords of Dara, Takval and Théra hoped that the despised ice tribes, provoked into restlessness by the pressures emanating from Lyucu expansionism, would give the refugees succor and infuse their rebellion with fresh blood.
But could the ice tribes be persuaded to see that the Agon marauders were only a symptom, not the root cause? Could an Agon pékyu and a princess from a faraway land convince the natives of this icebound land to trust them and go to war against the Lyucu as allies of Dara and the Agon?
To the north. To the north.
Hiking any length along the World’s Edge Mountains without the aid of garinafins was incredibly arduous. Two peaks separated by a single day’s flight could be connected only by a treacherous, winding path that took weeks to traverse on foot: steep slopes covered in jagged rocks; bottomless canyons requiring long detours; thick, pathless jungles in perpetual twilight; high passes blocked by ice and snow; slimy swamps enveloped in miasma; rushing mountain streams swelling with white water….
Death was a merciless traveling companion. A few members of the band would never leave the mountains except as memories and stories recounted by loved ones.
But the gods were not without mercy. Tipo Tho and her baby, who were always given the best of the band’s meager supplies, survived. Once she realized that the baby would not die in infancy despite the hard trials, Tipo Tho named him Crucru, the Dara onomatopoeia for the sound a cruben or whale made when diving, to commemorate her husband’s life as a submariner.
Through the long fall, as they fought against mudslides, predators, disease, frost, starvation, poison… and slogged on, the goal of getting to Taten, of wreaking havoc on Cudyu’s plan to launch a fresh invasion and freeing the Agon captives held there, was the lone beacon of hope that kept the band going.
But Taten was thousands of miles away, literally on the other side of the world. Abandoning the garinafins had saved them from being caught, but garinafin-less, how would they cross the endless expanse of Ukyu-Gondé to get to where they needed to be in time?
They’ll help us. To the north.
* * *
Three days after emerging from the Tail onto the frozen tundra, the band arrived at the mud-and-ice settlement of a large ice tribe.
More than a few of the carved whalebone ancestor poles in front of the shelters showed distinctive Agon designs. This ice tribe must have adopted many exiled Agon.
By the side of a deer-dung flame, Takval negotiated with the tribe’s chief.
“In the time of my grandfather Nobo Aragoz, we Agon were not kind to the people of the north,” said Takval. “I apologize now for those ancient insults.”
The chief, Kitos, was not only the leader of his tribe, but also a voice held in high esteem by many of the smaller ice tribes in the region. He looked at Takval suspiciously, saying nothing.
“Ancient enmities may yet give birth to fresh friendships,” said Takval. “Know that the Agon raiders who fled into your land came not by choice, but were driven by the greed of the Lyucu. So long as the Lyucu dominate the scrublands, both the Agon and the ice tribes will suffer.”
Kitos was noncommittal. True, the people of the north had seen and heard enough of Lyucu atrocities to know that what Takval said was sensible, but Cudyu was a mighty warlord, and so far he had not directly encroached upon the tundra. There was no reason to awaken a sleeping tusked tiger by tweaking its whiskers.
The ice tribes would not go to war over a possibility, a hypothetical, a mere dream. Theirs was not a land forgiving of flights of fancy.
“We ask for no warriors, no weapons, no commitment to stand by us,” pleaded Takval. “We ask only that you help us get to where we could fight. In return, I promise that should we defeat Cudyu in Taten, the Agon shall honor the people of the north as votan-sa-taasa, even unto the tenth generation.”
