Speaking Bones, page 19
After all, this time he wouldn’t be fighting to support someone else, but to carve his own legacy.
The young pékyu vowed not only to complete the quest left unfinished by his father and sister, but also to seize the secret of those Dara ships that had brought Théra to Ukyu, ships that could cross the Wall at will. He would then return to Ukyu triumphant, bringing undreamed-of treasures and docile slaves from that distant, indolent land.
There was no pékyu grander than Cudyu in all the voice paintings and spirit portraits of the Lyucu, declared the shamans, not Toluroru, not Tenryo, not even Kikisavo himself.
* * *
“Votan! Votan!” Two naros rushed into the Great Tent and fell to one knee before Pékyu Cudyu.
“What is it?”
“A sign! A sign in the gulf!”
In their eyes the pékyu saw both wonder and terror.
He got up and gestured for the naros to lead the way.
* * *
Saof was tired. Piloting garinafin patrols for seven days in a row was a lot, even for an eighteen-year-old who felt as strong as Kikisavo when he had first set out to demand answers from the gods. Even his mount, a seven-year-old male who had just been added to the regular garinafin pool, showed the effects of the nonstop flights. The leathery lids of his eyes drooped, and every flap of the wing seemed a struggle.
But the pékyu’s orders had been clear. The launch of the fleet to Dara was the most important occasion in decades; every effort had to be made to prevent acts of sabotage from the subjugated and the enslaved.
Wait, who are they?
In the distance, a group of people and animals were heading for Taten from the north, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Saof guided his mount toward them. As the garinafin made a low, wide circle over the caravan, he took stock of the strangers. A single rider sat on top of a long-haired bull, followed by a line of cows. A string of captives, about twenty in number, their necks connected by sinew ropes, marched alongside the cattle. Some of them were dressed like Agon slaves, while others wore sleek furs from animals he didn’t recognize. On each side of the marching group, running up and down to keep the cows and captives in line, were several large white-haired dogs who could almost be mistaken for horrid wolves.
Saof landed in front of the convoy.
The wing gusts ruffled the long hair of the bull rider, who pulled back on the reins connected to a ring in the nose of her mount. A horrid-wolf skull helmet covered her visage, but her eyes, star-bright, shone through the sockets in the skull.
“Show your face, stranger!” demanded Saof. “How dare you remain in battle dress when you approach Taten, the seat of the Lone Voice of Ukyu and Gondé?”
“I was scarred as a child by the claw of a garinafin calf,” said the woman in a haughty tone. “I don’t reveal my face except to my enemies, so that I can see them shrink back in terror.”
She was young, Saof realized, probably no older than himself. In her lilting accent he heard the rustling of the grass seas around Aluro’s Basin, the rich ancestral grazing grounds of the Roatan clan, unifier of the scrublands. It was an accent that many of the thanes of Cudyu’s Great Tent struggled to imitate, but this woman spoke it with the natural assurance of one born to it.
“Will you give me your name and lineage at least?” said Saof, his tone now much more polite. He felt both envious and a bit intimidated. “Uh… pékyu’s orders.”
“I am Rita, daughter of Kyogo, son of Lu. I serve the pékyu as Wolf-Thane of Nalyufin’s Hounds.”
Saof had never heard of the Tribe of Nalyufin’s Hounds. He dismounted from his garinafin and approached Rita. “Forgive my ignorance—” He bit back the urge to address her as “votan”; after all, though he was only a naro, he served the pékyu directly, a source of considerable pride. “I know not of your tribe.”
“It is new,” said Rita. “My clan was allowed to establish the tribe for meritorious service.”
It wasn’t uncommon for feuding clans to split into new tribes when there was new land and spoils from war to be divided among them. “Then where does your tribe roam?”
“By the shores of Nalyufin’s Pasture,” came the reply. “Garinafin-Thane Tovo sent me to wipe up the remnants of the ice fleas who dared to join the Agon rebels, and I’ve brought fresh captives and cattle to honor the pékyu.”
To Saof, Rita appeared as a bundle of contradictions. Covered from neck to toe in layers of fur, the diminutive woman looked frail, as though unable to endure even the chill of the early spring breeze. But if she held the rank of wolf-thane at such a young age, she must be a warrior of considerable skill.
Wait, how and why would a wolf-thane travel across the scrublands without a retinue of warriors or even a garinafin?
Saof’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Something about this situation didn’t seem right. Keeping Rita in view, he slowly backed toward his garinafin.
Rita’s pose remained relaxed, unaware of his intention.
Behind Rita, however, the ice flea captives seemed to notice his hesitation. The one in the lead, an old man with a hoary beard, glanced at the others. All of a sudden, it was as if an unspoken command had been issued, and all the captives tensed their bodies, their eyes directed at the young woman sitting on the bull.
Saof could sense the incipient rebellion in their poses. Perhaps the ice fleas saw this confrontation between Saof and Rita as an opportunity to rise up against their captor. For a brief moment, he wondered if he should warn her, but then decided against it. Even if the captives overcame Rita, he would have plenty of time to get on his mount and take care of them. The assault would provide him an opportunity to better evaluate this mysterious “wolf-thane.”
The old man grunted, and a wild look came into the eyes of the captives as they rushed at the young woman riding on the bull.
Still holding Saof’s gaze, Rita swept her right arm behind her, pointing at the old captive in the lead. Though she held no club or axe, it was as though some invisible force shot out of her fingertips, and the old man collapsed to the ground with a surprised howl, dragging the other captives connected to his neck to the ground in a confused heap.
Rita finally turned around and glanced at the captives contemptuously. “Again?” She spoke in that accent Saof had heard so often from the pékyu himself and Thane Tovo, the accent of power and prestige. “You haven’t had enough after all these miles?”
She stabbed her finger through the air at the old man and the other captives, and the ice fleas hollered and shrieked, as though lashed by an invisible whip.
“Nalyufin loves the cries of captives in pain,” said Rita calmly. Saof imagined that the hate-hearted goddess probably sounded exactly like this woman. “Maybe I’ll make you sing for her all night. What do you think of that?”
Tears and mucus covered the faces of the ice fleas as they writhed on the ground, babbling piteous pleas for mercy in their uncouth topolect in between screams of pain. The gigantic dogs surrounded the captives and snarled, howling like horrid wolves.
Doubt evaporated from Saof’s heart. It was obvious why this young woman had been promoted to wolf-thane at such a tender age, and why she was confident enough to journey across the scrublands, guarding the captives all by herself.
He dropped to one knee before Rita. “Votan! I had heard stories that shamans favored by the Pillar of Ice can defeat their foes from a distance. But I never thought I would witness such a demonstration of power with my own eyes!”
Rita glanced back at the naro and smiled. “Oh, this is nothing. You should have seen how I overcame the wily Dara barbarians on Spotted Heifer.”
Saof had indeed heard some of the exploits of Tovo’s expedition to the far north. The naros and culeks spoke in hushed tones of facing thousands of dastardly Agon and Dara rebels allied with the contemptible ice fleas. The evil rebels deployed terrifying and unnatural weapons: calling upon ice giants, burning monsters, and even abominations made of excrement. Outnumbered, Tovo’s brave warriors had beaten back the rebel assault for days, sustained by nothing except the indomitable Lyucu spirit. In the end, Thane Tovo had to summon the aid of Nalyufin herself to defeat the rebels, and that was why so many of the naros and culeks came back missing toes, fingers, and even limbs, like Tovo himself, who showed off his sole remaining arm as a sign of proven courage and favor of the grim goddess.
Saof had thought these stories exaggerations, but having witnessed Rita’s power, he was now convinced of their truth. If Tovo had to call on powerful shamans like Rita to deal pain and death to the rebels from a distance, then he could readily imagine how incredibly stirring and tragic that final battle on Spotted Heifer must have been.
“All the Lyucu will remember your courage in song and story,” said Saof to Rita, awed by the great thane. “Do you wish to be shown the slaughter grounds for the tribute cattle?”
“I want to go to the garinafin pens first,” said the woman imperiously.
“But, votan…” Saof was confused. “You don’t have a garinafin.”
“Thank you for that astute observation,” said Rita sarcastically. Saof’s face reddened. “Nalyufin’s Pasture is much too cold for garinafins and long-haired cattle. My tribe must rely on ice flea slaves and their herds of moss-antlered deer, as well as what they can haul out of the sea in summer. Since the pékyu is asking for contributions for the expedition to chastise Dara, I brought these slaves and dogs as my offering. On the way here, I also raided an Agon settlement to swell my tribute with some cattle.”
“The pékyu will surely appreciate all you’ve brought,” said Saof, looking at her with admiration.
“But I’m not walking all the way home after the launch of the fleet! I shall borrow a garinafin from the pékyu to ride to visit my aunt, who’s roaming next to Aluro’s Basin. She can then escort me back to my grazing grounds and return the garinafin later. I must go to the pens now to pick out a good mount before the celebrations begin, when it will be too chaotic.”
Saof nodded. “You’ll want to head that way then, beyond the tents flying the tusked tiger tail banners.” He pointed to make sure the thane understood. Then he got off his knee, grabbed one of the signaling spears strapped to his back—a foxtail tied to a whale-rib shaft—and presented it to her with both hands. “This will let the other patrols know that you’ve already been checked, so you won’t lose any more time.”
“Thank you,” said the wolf-thane. She slapped the neck of her mount, and the long-haired bull shook his head from side to side impatiently as he began to stride forward. The dogs growled and urged the cows and captives, stumbling quickly to their feet, to keep up.
Saof stood next to his garinafin and bowed his head respectfully as the procession passed.
* * *
Cudyu stared at the mountain of ice floating a few miles out from the shore. Contrasted against its bulk, even the silhouettes of the city-ships anchored nearby seemed puny.
“Praise be to Nalyufin,” intoned Cudyu piously. He held out his right hand, the thumb and index finger extended so that they resembled the crescent moon.
Using his hand as a gauge, he squinted to measure the iceberg. It wasn’t quite as large as the one that had arrived at Taten near the beginning of his reign, but it was certainly large enough to be considered an auspicious gift from the goddess of the north.
The two naros imitated their pékyu and made the same gesture in honor of the goddess. Their expressions, however, revealed more trepidation than gratitude.
Cudyu noticed and frowned. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Err…” “Um…” The naros looked at each other, neither willing to speak.
“The gift isn’t merely a good sign for our expedition; it’s practical!” said Cudyu, thinking that perhaps the naros needed more convincing. “We can break off pieces from this mountain of ice and load the chunks onto the city-ships to preserve fresh provisions. Our warriors will now have more than just smoked meat and pemmican on their long journey to Dara!”
The two naros bobbed their heads to show agreement and gritted their teeth, rather unconvincing caricatures of joy.
“Out with it!” demanded an impatient Tovo, who had joined the pékyu. “You!” He pointed to one of the naros. “Speak up! What’s bothering you?”
The naro ducked his head timidly. “Votan, I think it’s best that we show you.”
Uncertain just what had so spooked his warriors, Cudyu nodded.
The two naros led Cudyu and Tovo to one of the round coracles. They boarded, and the naros began to row.
Cudyu admired the iceberg as they approached. In the bright spring sun it seemed to glow blue, like a piece of the sky that had fallen into the sea. He imagined himself ensconced within one of the city-ships as the fleet sailed toward Dara. He was determined to enjoy not only fresh meat but also ice-chilled kyoffir infused with tolyusa essence. He saw no need to skimp on luxuries. After all, wasn’t he the greatest pékyu who had ever ruled the scrublands? Wasn’t he the equal of all the heroes of old? Hadn’t the gods delivered him this gift to show that he would rule over two lands, Ukyu and Dara, much as this iceberg bridged the sky and the sea?
The naros oared the coracle to one side of the iceberg, where the ice sloped down into the sea like a long, white tongue. The tip of the tongue served as a natural berth. The naros docked carefully, tying the coracle to a bone stake driven into the ice.
“Votan, we need to climb to the top.”
“Why?” asked Cudyu. Even though the ice slope was gentle, he could tell a hike up this slippery mountain was going to be arduous.
“There is a… wonder atop that we wish to show you. The crews loading the city-ships discovered it this morning, and none of us know what to do.”
Cudyu looked to Tovo, but the garinafin-thane shook his head in incomprehension. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
No matter how Cudyu yelled and threatened, the naros refused to describe this “wonder,” insisting that the pékyu had to see for himself.
“All right,” said Cudyu, resigned. “Let’s go.”
An hour later, they reached the top of the iceberg, a flat, circular expanse about two hundred paces across. Winded from the long climb, Cudyu walked slowly along the lip of the platform to catch his breath. The height gave him a pleasant view of the city-ship fleet, like a pod of sleeping whales. Behind the city-ships, massive bone-and-skin coracle-rafts bobbed on the gentle waves like small islands. These rafts, towed by the city-ships, added greatly to the carrying capacity of the fleet and were the means by which Cudyu would bring many more warriors and garinafins on this expedition than his father and sister. He could already imagine the garinafins taking off from these floating islands to deal death and terror to the natives of Dara—and perhaps even other garinafin riders….
As though reading his mind, Tovo spoke. “Once in Dara, votan, you’ll have a far stronger garinafin force than your sister.”
Cudyu smiled. The Dara captives had given him detailed accounts of the exploits of Tenryo and Tanvanaki in Dara. Publicly, he had mourned his father and rallied the thanes with vows of vengeance for the beloved pékyu-votan, but privately, he had celebrated his good fortune. Tanvanaki, by the captives’ accounts, had assumed the title of Pékyu of the Lyucu in Dara after Tenryo’s death, but considering how few garinafins and warriors were under her command, she wasn’t going to put up much of a fight when he demanded her surrender.
“Strength isn’t measured only by the number of garinafins under one’s command,” he chided. “Real strength comes from warriors’ hearts.”
“Wherever you toss your signaling spear, there goes my axe,” said Tovo. “My heart beats in sync with yours. In the hearts of all your warriors, there is only room for you.”
Cudyu nodded. Tovo had echoed Tenryo’s old rule that wherever he threw his war axe, Langiaboto, his warriors were to attack without question. This was how he had murdered his father, Toluroru, and become the pékyu of the scrublands. He imagined himself tossing his garinafin-antler signaling spear at Tanvanaki, and a grim look of triumph came onto his face.
“Votan, please come and see!”
Annoyed by the interruption, he turned around. The two naros were some distance away, at the center of the flat top of the iceberg. They were looking down at their feet, their poses and expressions anxious. Both were muttering as they moved their hands through the air, fingers trembling as though trying to ward off evil spirits.
Cudyu and Tovo strode over and looked down, and instantly Cudyu felt his blood turn to ice.
Through the crystalline surface of the floe, he could see six long and narrow rectangular black boxes. He knew what they were: Dara burial boxes for the dead.
* * *
Passing by other garinafin sentries unchallenged, Wolf-Thane Rita and her captives approached the massive garinafin pens of Taten. The stench of garinafin dung and the noise of too many animals packed into too tight a space was overwhelming.
Rita patted the head of the bull, causing it to stop.
“Is everything all right?” asked the old captive.
“I just need a moment…,” said Rita. “What happened back there…”
“It was just an act,” said the old captive, grinning. “You weren’t hurting us.”
“I know.” Rita’s voice was low. “Still, it seemed like you were in pain, and it was all I could do not to cry myself. It’s a clever plan.”
The old man beamed with pride. “I’m impressed at how well you imitate the speech of Tovo’s people. We got by largely on your accent.”
