The Veiled Throne, page 25
“And I certainly remember building grand houses out of mud and sand on the beach as a boy,” said Captain Gon. “I draped them with seaweed shingles and erected fences around them with scallop and clam shells. The snails were my peasants, tilling the land in long, meandering plow trails, while the crabs who skittered through were the landlords, rushing hither and yon to make their tenants work faster.”
The others in the group joined in reminiscence, each describing their own childhood exploits. Even studious Razutana had apparently once made towns out of scrap paper for the mice in his teacher’s house.
“But are these castles of sand on the beach and mansions of twig and grass in the garden so wonderful as all that?” asked Thoryo. “Do the creatures who live in them find them as delightful as the builders?”
The group fell silent.
“Ah, you ask another question that I’ve not thought about,” said Théra. “I’m… not sure. I suppose the baby birds were more frightened than delighted, and the caterpillars and ants were eager to escape.”
The others assented. Children were not always inclined to take into account the feelings of the creatures serving as props in the stories they wished to tell.
“If the world doesn’t in fact suit its inhabitants, it is a shame that the gods no longer intervene in it,” said Thoryo. “You all have told me many tales of strife and woe in this world, and there appears to be so much unhappiness.”
“It is hard to tear down something you’ve built, even if it isn’t perfect,” said Takval.
“I’ve never thought of us as the crabs and birds and voles forced to live in the imagination of the gods,” said Théra. “Perhaps we should emulate the animal denizens of our childhood constructions, who escaped to build homes more suited to their own dreams. Maybe that was why the Ano left their ancient homeland, seeking new shores to start anew as the ill-fitting past sank into the ocean.”
“Maybe it isn’t only the gods who construct such houses,” said Thoryo. “In your stories, you speak of the great lords and ladies of the world as colossi who stride across the earth, viewed from the perspective of the low and base. And perhaps the great lords and ladies are so fascinated by their own creation that they hear only the story they want to tell.”
The ships sailed on in the darkness, carrying as many different lives woven from thinking-breath as there were stars in the heavens above.
CHAPTER TWELVE LURODIA TANTA
SOMEWHERE IN LURODIA TANTA, THE ENDLESS DESERT OF UKYU-GONDÉ: THE FIFTH MONTH IN THE SECOND YEAR AFTER PRINCESS THÉRA DEPARTED DARA (KNOWN IN DARA AS THE SECOND YEAR OF THE REIGN OF SEASON OF STORMS).
The world had shrunk down to the patch of tan earth that could be seen at her feet, framed by the black cowl of her robe.
One step. Another.
Théra had lost count. Though the sun had barely risen, they had already been walking for hours, it seemed. The heat was making it hard to think of anything beyond putting one foot in front of the other.
She had to start counting again. Every one thousand steps, she would allow herself one drink of water. That was the rule. The waterskins on her back, so full when they had set out, lay flat and empty. She hoped that she wouldn’t have to change the rule to two thousand steps for each drink, though it might come to that if they didn’t get to the Agon camp soon.
* * *
The strong current and winds had brought Dissolver of Sorrows and the rest of the fleet to the shores of Ukyu-Gondé two months ago. But instead of making landfall in Péa’s Sea, where Admiral Krita had taken his city-ships, or the Lower Peninsula, where Luan Zyaji had beached his raft, the fleet had stayed in the ocean just beyond the horizon, creeping south. They could not risk discovery by landing near green pastures and well-stocked fishing grounds, all occupied by the Lyucu. Instead, they sailed south until the shore turned into the lifeless wastelands of Lurodia Tanta, into which the Lyucu had driven many of the Agon tribes.
* * *
The few horses that they had brought had died many days ago, as was expected. Théra had not liked the idea of bringing pack animals along when they were certain to die, but Takval had pointed out that it was impossible for them to carry all the water they would need on their backs, and they didn’t have any garinafins or short-haired cattle, better suited to desert crossings.
“We have to drive them as far as they last and then finish the rest of the crossing on foot,” said Takval. “Even with a small expedition of just ten people, this is the only way.”
Théra reluctantly agreed to the plan, but she insisted on coming on the expedition with Takval. If she was going to send these horses, who had crossed thousands of miles of water, to die in a foreign desert, then she wanted to be there to look them in the eye and feel the full weight of her decision to doom them so that she might live.
Takval strenuously objected, even claiming that now that they were in his land, she had to obey him.
“How can we risk your life on this trip when keeping you safe is the foundation for the alliance?”
“You are at least as important to this marriage as I am,” she said, deliberately switching away from the political. A year spent living, fighting, eating, talking together, and eventually, sharing the same bed, had brought them close. She was not yet certain that she would ever love him the same way she loved Zomi, but she was not sorry that he was her partner.
“But there is only one of you—” Takval stopped. Théra thought it was because he realized how silly he sounded, but there was a strange look in his eyes that she could not interpret. He looked away.
“There is also only one of you,” she said, pointing out the obvious.
“I have to go because my people trust me. And I can bring back garinafins to help secure the rest of the fleet.”
“I have to go because they won’t respect their future queen if she waits by the sea to be rescued,” countered Théra. “Can you imagine? A princess of Dara sitting in her comfortable ship, ordering the Agon pékyu-taasa to risk his life for her. That will confirm every terrible prejudice they already harbor about Dara after the stories about Admiral Krita.”
“But I don’t even know if I’ll find my tribe. I last saw my mother and uncle at the oasis of Sliyusa Ki when I was a boy. I can only hope that I’ll find them there still.”
“There is no certainty to any of this! But it is certain that you can’t tell me not to do what I’ve made up my mind to do.”
“Why must you be so stubborn?” said Takval, grabbing his hair in frustration.
“I won’t be a hypocrite,” she said slowly. “If there’s going to be death because of me, whether it’s the horses or you or anyone else, the least I can do is not look away. That would be barbaric.”
Takval locked eyes with her, and a complicated series of emotions flashed through his gaze. Then he knelt on one knee and placed both hands atop the other knee, a gesture reserved for intimates who also commanded high respect. “Princess of Dara, you are as precious to me as Afir was to Kikisavo.”
* * *
Takval declared it was too hot to keep moving; they made camp in the shade of a dry gully. About three hundred paces from the camp was a patch of clenched-fist cactus, and Takval took two of the marines to collect some.
“Are you all right?” asked Théra as she spread a blanket on the ground. The blanket kept them off the scorching sand during the day and helped them stay warm at night.
Thoryo nodded as she sat down on the blanket. She had begged to come along as Théra’s maid, though Théra was taking care of her more than the other way around.
“I don’t want to be away from either of you,” Thoryo had said, clutching Théra’s hand desperately, her voice verging on panic. Théra and Takval were the first two people to treat her with kindness after she was discovered in the hold of Dissolver of Sorrows, and there was a bond between her and them that felt like how she thought a bond of blood must feel.
Despite Captain Gon’s objection that Thoryo didn’t possess any useful skills and Commander Tho’s protest that she was too physically frail to survive such a journey, both Takval and Théra had agreed to have her come. They could not explain it in rational terms, but the mysterious girl felt like a talisman of good luck.
Théra noticed Thoryo’s dry lips. “Have you been drinking the way I taught you?”
The girl nodded, paused, and shook her head.
Théra took the flat waterskin off the girl’s back, uncapped it, and held it to the girl’s lips. Nothing came out. She took her own waterskin, almost as flat, and squeezed every last drop into the girl’s mouth. She drank greedily and gratefully.
“I drank too fast early on,” said Thoryo softly, “so I had to take sips later.”
“If you have trouble keeping count,” said Théra, “drink whenever I take a drink. Remember, you have to take a deep drink each time, not sip. You’ll get sick from that.”
The girl nodded, and Théra stroked her finger lightly across the childish cheek. Thoryo’s dependence on her brought to mind her little sister, Fara. Théra was sure that her younger brother, Hudo-tika, would find his own path, but how would Ada-tika, who liked telling stories and painting pictures more than politics, thrive or even survive in her mother’s court? And there was Toto-tika, who had trouble distinguishing books from real life….
Takval and the marines returned with grass-woven sacks filled with the cut lobes of the clenched-fist cactus. They hacked off the spines, chopped the tough lobes into chunks, and placed them back in the sacks. The sacks were then pressed between stones to squeeze out as much of the juice as possible. In the endless desert of Lurodia Tanta, this was the closest thing to a well for miles.
The juice was collected into a skull bowl. There wasn’t much. All those bulging sacks of cactus lobes yielded barely enough to fill one bowl. Takval sprinkled into it a powder made from crushed blood coral. The shamans believed that the powder could remove poison, and the people of the scrublands used it to make the water obtained from cacti potable.
After the water was allowed to sit for a while, it was strained again, and the bowl passed around the camp.
Seeing Thoryo lick her lips, Théra handed her the bowl of strained cactus juice first.
“Drink slowly,” she admonished, “and not too much.”
The skull bowl, made from the delicate head of a seadog pup the fleet had caught for food during the voyage, still made Théra’s stomach turn, but she had to agree with Takval that bone implements were lighter and more practical than irreplaceable Dara artifacts here in the scrublands.
Obediently, Thoryo drank slowly. While she refused to hunt or fish, and she wept over the slaughtering of animals, once the animals were dead, she did not resist the process of butchering and cleaning, or making use of their parts afterward.
Théra had once asked the girl if she was bothered by being surrounded by so many artifacts fashioned from animal remains when she seemed so terrified of death itself. Thoryo’s answer had surprised her. “Holding on to the bones helps me keep them alive in my head.”
In Dara, butchering, tanning, and all the mortuary arts were seen as necessary, but unclean and unlucky. While Thoryo spoke Dara like a native, she had none of the taboos and prejudices of Dara.
You’re lucky, thought Théra. You are so open to everything.
She had wanted Thoryo to come not only because taking care of her made her feel like she was also taking care of Fara, but also because she thought the girl served as a useful reminder that there was more than one way of looking at any aspect of the world.
* * *
They rested through the heat of the day and decamped as the sun began to set. The evening march was easier than the morning one because the sun was behind them. And even after dark, starlight kept the dunes lit like a silvery sea.
The temperature dropped quickly after sunset, however, and soon it was time to rest again.
As Théra was about to drift off to sleep, bundled up in a sleeping bag with Takval, he woke her with a jab in the ribs.
“Shhh.” He held a finger to his lips as her eyes snapped open and stared into his. He crawled out of the lean-to and gestured for her to follow.
When they were about a hundred paces away from the camp and their voices unlikely to be heard, Takval finally stopped.
“We’re moving too slowly,” he said.
Théra’s heart sank. She had suspected that something was wrong from the way Takval’s face had grown grimmer over the last few days. But she had tried to avoid confronting him, as if voicing a fear made it real.
“I didn’t make enough adjustment for everyone’s lack of experience in desert crossings,” said Takval. “Even Toof… he hasn’t had to do this.”
Théra nodded in understanding. Though Toof had also been born and bred on the scrublands, he hadn’t had to live in the wastelands of Lurodia Tanta. That was a fate reserved for the defeated Agon.
They had taken Toof on the expedition while leaving Radia behind with the fleet. Ostensibly, this was because Takval said he wanted another garinafin pilot with him once they had secured his tribe’s aid. This wasn’t entirely a lie, but Takval had also wanted to separate the two Lyucu naros so that each could act as a hostage to ensure that the other didn’t cause trouble. Although the two had lived with them as fellow crew members for almost a whole year, Takval still didn’t fully trust them. Théra, who had gotten to know the Lyucu captives through language lessons and had come to like them, didn’t fully agree with the logic—Takval’s thinking resembled the sort of paranoia that her mother was prone to—but she was glad to have Toof along.
“Even if we’re moving slower than you planned, we must be close?” asked Théra.
Takval shook his head. “I’m not sure. Lurodia Tanta is as difficult to navigate as the trackless ocean. We’re also running out of water.”
“We can replenish the water,” said Théra. “We are collecting dew every morning, and we can find more clenched-fist cacti.”
“There isn’t enough dew to even fill half of one waterskin,” said Takval. “And we’re already drinking more cactus juice than I’m comfortable with. We can’t survive on it. Even with the blood coral to make the juice less poisonous, it’s going to kill us if we don’t get a lot more clean water.”
The despair in Takval’s voice frightened Théra. “Whatever it is you’re about to propose, I won’t have it.”
Takval looked at her, his expression unreadable. “What do you think I’m about to propose?”
Théra took a deep breath. “You’re going to suggest that Thoryo and I take all the remaining water and head east, leaving the rest of you behind to fend for yourselves. Since there’s not enough water to get everyone to the camp, you’re going to propose a sacrifice.”
“Why Thoryo?” asked Takval, his voice preternaturally calm.
“If you’re proposing a sacrifice, you always make yourself part of it,” said Théra, her voice shaky. “And you wanted Thoryo to come along because you were prepared for exactly this scenario, where you couldn’t make it to your home. Although Thoryo is no help in finding water or food, and she can’t carry much of a load, she speaks Agon now like a native. Even with all my practice, I can’t express myself perfectly in your tongue. She can act as my interpreter.”
Takval chuckled softly.
“What’s amusing about any of this?” demanded Théra, on the verge of tears.
“To know that you can think as I do makes me glad. I see in you… a reflection of my soul.”
“Well, you can stop laughing, because I won’t follow the plan.”
“I know,” said Takval. “That’s why I’m not proposing it at all.”
“You’re not?”
“Do you think after all this time together, if you’ve learned how I think, I haven’t learned how you think? There must be another way.”
Théra didn’t know what to say.
“I am capable of learning, you know?” said Takval. “I wanted to tell you how bad the situation is so that we can come up with a solution together.”
They leaned against each other in the frigid night as the stars glared at them from the velvety black dome. They whispered and debated every possible solution they could think of, huddling against each other for warmth. Two minds, from opposite ends of the world, strove together as one.
But they found no way out of their predicament.
* * *
Before the sun had risen the next morn, Takval took two of the marines to the clenched-fist cacti again to scrape off as much of the morning dew as possible. It didn’t amount to more than a few mouthfuls, but he was unwilling to let any potable water go to waste.
“Sleepyhead,” said Théra as she gently rocked Thoryo’s bundled-up figure. “It’s time to get up. We have to try to make good time before it gets too hot again.”
Reluctantly, Thoryo poked her head out of the sleeping bag. “I wish I could stay here forever.”
“Silly girl,” said Théra, “don’t you have to pee? Come on, get up.”
“If I never make water, maybe I won’t need to drink it either.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” said Théra. “Takval and the others will bring back some cactus chunks. Even if you can’t get much drinkable water out of them, chewing the pieces and spitting will make your mouth feel better.”
“We really can’t drink our pee?” asked Thoryo.
Théra made a face. “What gave you such a disgusting idea?”
“Is it really disgusting?”
Théra was again reminded that the girl just didn’t share her ideas about what was proper and what was not. “It’s—”
“It’s not just disgusting,” answered Takval, back from the dew-collection trip. “It also doesn’t work. If you try to survive by drinking your own urine, you won’t last more than a couple of days. You get sick and die. There’s something toxic in urine.”
