Of Absence, Darkness, page 19
That idea wrung an involuntary exclamation from Daniel. He'd heard references to this incident before, but Tenai had never mentioned this part. Perhaps she hadn't known.
“Oh, he did not say so, Nola Danyel,” Taranah told him. “But what else would he do? By such an act, he would show Tenai Nolas-Kuomon that she had spared nothing he valued. That was precisely what he meant to do. Sekuse was quite certain when she told me what had happened, and I am certain she was right.”
“But Encormio obviously changed his mind.”
“He did. Sekuse asked him if he would show all the land that Tenai had touched his temper. She said perhaps he might show better indifference if he did not react at all. Then she asked him whether he would not at least wait to get a second son from her before discarding the first. That was Sekuse: brave and quiet-voiced and willing to court what she feared. And, indeed, Encormio liked to please my sister, as a man might cast a tidbit to a favored hound. He was so old, I think he had by then begun to see men and women as ordinary men see dogs or falcons. But something my sister said made him think again, and he relented. He took the knife and said that he would return it to Tenai himself. But she killed him instead. Fortunately Sekuse and Mitereh had returned to Kinabana then, and I to Pitatan. Though my lord husband was in Nerinesir, with Encormio. He died there. But Sekuse and Mitereh were spared.”
“Surely,” Daniel began, and hesitated. Then he went on, with resolution. “Surely Tenai did not kill your sister, later? I always assumed, I guess I always assumed, that Encormio killed Mitereh’s mother. But it sounds like that didn't happen.”
This time, remembered grief shadowed Taranah’s face. “The king did not mean to kill my sister, Nola Danyel, though if Encormio had not worn out her strength she might have lived. She died of the second son he got on her. Sekuse was a small woman, and not strong when she conceived a second son. The birth was difficult for her, and the baby too large for the birth to be easy. So his mother lived to see Encormio torn down and the new age dawn, but died before she could learn to live in it.”
Daniel wasn’t certain whether that was much better than being deliberately murdered by Encormio. He said, “I’m sorry. Did the baby—?”
A slight pause. Then Taranah answered, “The child lived, and thrived. My sister lived long enough to know her second son would not follow her at once into the dark kingdom.”
Daniel said gently, “Then at least she lived to hope that her sons would inherit a quieter age.”
Taranah gave him a thoughtful look. “Yes, Nola Danyel; you are wise to say so. That was a comfort to her, I believe.”
“That’s not wisdom. I’ve got a child of my own, you know.” Daniel glanced ahead, looking for Jenna in Tenai’s train. He found her almost at once: the only flaxen-haired woman in all the city. She had gotten some of the other women near her talking and looked like she was having a great time. As Daniel watched, she tossed her head back and laughed delightedly at something one of the others had said, and after a startled moment the other women laughed too.
“She is a charming child. She has a gift for joy,” Taranah observed, following his gaze. “A wonderful gift. One of my own sons is like that: he wins the hearts of men wherever he goes. Your daughter is a lovely girl. Such unusual coloring, and so lively a manner. And a friend of Chaisa-e. Indeed, now that I have met Nola-e Jenna, I have been greatly reassured of Chaisa-e.”
Daniel hesitated. After a moment he said, “I doubt Jenna remembers a time when Tenai wasn’t an important part of her life. Her mother ... died ... when she was a little girl.”
Taranah made a sound of sympathy.
Daniel cleared his throat. He explained, “For Jenna, for years, Tenai has been sort of like a mother and sort of like a sister, and always somebody to look up to and trust. And if you trust somebody, you know, they tend to become trustworthy, if they’re at all decent.”
“So they may,” she agreed.
“I’ll tell you a story, if you like, about my daughter and Tenai, in return for the one you told me. This was when Jenna was thirteen or fourteen. She and Tenai and some other people had gone to see a performance. When they left the theater, most of the ...” the words parking area did not work in the language he was speaking now, and he said instead, “It was late at night by then, so everyone had to walk some distance. A gang of young, um, brigands, ambushed them. They must have thought they had easy prey.”
Taranah looked amused. “And they faced Nolas-Kuomon.”
“Right.” Daniel’s hands pricked with sweat, though, even remembering the incident. He understood why it seemed funny to Taranah. Even to him it seemed funny, in a kind of horrific way. But it could so easily have turned into every father’s nightmare. Except for Tenai. And she had made it ... a different kind of nightmare. A better kind, absolutely. But still ...
He cleared his throat again and went on. “Everyone with Jenna was a, um, they were all trained to fight. Plus Jenna knew, or thought she knew, a little about what Tenai could do. She told me later, it was so stupid and funny and dangerous that when the leader of the, ah, brigands, said, ‘Do what you’re told and nobody gets hurt,’ she actually wanted to laugh. She said she couldn’t help herself; that it was just like bad dialogue in a, a show. She was scared, but at the same time, she knew—she knew—that Tenai would never let anyone hurt her. She knew Tenai could stop them, and she knew she would stop them.”
“Yes,” murmured Taranah. “And so Nolas-Kuomon killed all those people to protect your daughter?”
“No, actually.” That was the point Daniel wanted to make. “Jenna told me Tenai just radiated danger, it came off her like flames, but the bad guys were too stupid or too blind to feel it. It was the first time Jenna had seen Tenai truly on, probably. She hadn’t been like that for years, but I can imagine exactly what it must have been like. I can’t believe the bad guys didn’t realize they’d grabbed a ...” there was no word for tiger, apparently. “A lioness by the tail,” he said instead. “But it actually wasn’t a good situation at all, because one of the bad guys had a, hmm, a weapon that’s like a bow, but more dangerous. Anyway, Tenai took out three of the bad guys, even though she was shot—the doctors said later the bullet had nicked her femoral artery and her blood pressure had dropped so low it was a miracle she didn’t die. Now I guess I understand that it wasn’t exactly a miracle. Or not the way we thought then.”
“No,” agreed Taranah. “God does not hold His hand above Nolas-Kuomon. She is Lord Death’s lady; it is his hand that ceaselessly guards her and his will that permits her to dismiss every dire injury. Even in your world, this must have been so.”
“Yes, apparently that’s true. But before that, when the danger was over, Tenai started to kill the bad guys. She wouldn’t stop, even when people, friends, yelled at her to stop.”
Taranah said, “Were these not brigands of the road? Why should she not render justice upon them?” Then she added, “No, I see. In your country, where she was not known, Chaisa-e had no standing to do so.”
“That's right.” Daniel went on. “We really don’t like killing people, even people who are attacking you, once they’re down. And you're right, Tenai didn’t have the right to, well, execute people there, as I guess she might in Chaisa.”
“All decent people have the right and, indeed, the duty to put down any brigands who prey on travelers. For a lord or a lady to decline to do so would be a dereliction of responsibility to their people.”
“Well, that may be so, here. Anyway, Jenna was shocked and upset, and she shouted at Tenai to stop. And my point is, Tenai did stop.”
Taranah nodded at this and looked ahead to Jenna, where she rode talking and laughing with the other young women.
“Jenna told me Tenai was like a lion or a wolf: like some dangerous animal that could never be tame. She was so angry it was scary. But even injured and furious, she stopped when Jenna shouted at her. It was all pretty horrendous,” Daniel added. “Jenna felt horrible because, if this makes sense to you, she hadn’t tried to stop Tenai more quickly. Two of the bad guys were dead before she figured out she should even try. But ... you have to understand, there is no one, no one at all, I’d rather have with Jenna in a dangerous spot. Because I trust her to do whatever’s necessary to protect my daughter. And then I trust her to stop.”
Taranah nodded again. “I understand, Nola Danyel. I am happy to hear this, that Nolas-Kuomon has learned to love. This is a great thing that you and your daughter have given her. And given us. A great thing.”
“Well—”
Taranah peered ahead. “Ah! There is the Cathedral. At last. I am not so young as I once was, to enjoy a long progression.”
She was hardly old. Merely ... attractively mature. Daniel didn’t say so, for several reasons. He turned his attention instead to the Cathedral.
Set among the heavy, low buildings of the outer city, the Martyr’s Cathedral seemed doubly splendid: a great gray towering structure that reared up to the sky, powerful rather than graceful. Square towers were set at each corner, with a far greater tower centered in the front and vaulting arches linking all the towers to the sweeping domed roof of the main structure. Immense bells hung in that highest tower. They began ringing now in great glad brazen voices—it might have been the cheering on all sides that made the bells too sound joyous.
Mitereh rode his white horse right up the broad sweeping steps of the Cathedral and reined it about on the wide landing, beside a white-robed man who stood before the great doors at the top—doors so tall his horse might have reared beneath their arch without endangering its rider. These enormous doors were carved with intricate images Daniel could not make out. The king leaned from the saddle and spoke to the man, and then straightened, still without dismounting, and made a speech. Daniel couldn’t catch one word in ten past the ringing of the bells and the constant murmur of the crowds, but he understood the tone of it just fine, and so did the assembly. All the women in litters put back the concealing curtains and knelt at the edges of their litters so they could see, and cheered along with everybody else.
People cheered the king at the beginning of his speech and again at the end, and cheered a third time as he held out his hand to Tenai, who dismounted from her black mare and came up the Cathedral steps on foot to kiss the king’s offered hand. Then she turned and knelt to the white-robed man, kissing his hand as well. Everyone cheered yet again, with still greater enthusiasm. Tenai rose again and moved to stand, dark and dangerous, before the king’s horse. He drew his sword and held it up for everyone to see, then tossed it to Tenai, who caught it and turned to take the reins of her horse when someone led it up the stairs to the landing. She swung up into her saddle and brought the sword the king had given her up and around in a wide circle, ending with it held crosswise before her body, the tip slanting away from the king. There was a breathless pause, and then a final cheer. Horns sounded, not quite like trumpets, not like anything Daniel recognized. Their rich, mellow notes rose above the cheers and rolled out across the city.
All in all, Daniel thought, this was surely a successful day’s work.
“Let the swallows carry word of that south,” Taranah said, with considerable satisfaction. “That will strike terror through the hearts of all those who would challenge Mitereh. A gift for show, has my nephew.”
Her confidence was reassuring, even contagious. Daniel found himself smiling back at her. “So that’s done the job, has it?”
“All the city will rejoice, and very many of the dangerous whispers will be quieted, or so I should expect, Nola Danyel. All have seen Mitereh make Nolas-Kuomon his champion. His enemies, if they are wise, will understand from this hour that they have made a dire mistake in bringing Lord Death’s lady back to Talasayan.”
Jenna swept through the crowds on her pretty black mare and rode up to them. Emelan trailed at her heel, looking professional, like a real guard. Jenna’s eyes were snapping with delight and excitement. “Wasn’t that beautiful, Daddy?” she said to him, and then at once turned and bowed to Taranah. “Nolas-ai Taranah, wasn’t it beautiful? Tenai’s going to ride with Mitereh on the way back; can I ride with you? Emel said it was proper to ask,” she added to her father. From her tone on that last, she had forgotten her earlier doubts about being guarded. He really did need to remind her that bad-boy romances seldom worked out well.
Taranah gave Jenna a warm smile, and nodded to Emelan, who flushed and looked aside. “Of course it is proper, and I should be pleased by your company, Nola Jenna. We need not ride in such strict order now. Let us take a more leisurely route through the city, if that would please you.”
“Oh, yes!” Jenna agreed. “This is such an interesting city! Emel’s been pointing out things to me, but it would be nice to be able to look at everything a little bit instead of just riding past. And it will be nice to ride through it like a normal person and not like, you know, an ornament in somebody’s procession.”
The king’s aunt laughed out loud. “Sunlight child, you would ornament any procession! But yes, we will dismiss most of our entourage, shall we, and ride unencumbered.”
His daughter was right, Daniel found: it was more comfortable to be just people and not part of a parade. He and Jenna attracted curious glances, but the restrained manners of Talasayan—and perhaps the inhibiting effect of Taranah’s guards—served as a welcome buffer against people’s curiosity. No one was so presumptuous as to point or yell. This gave them the freedom to see the sights.
Taranah Berangilan-sa provided not only the names of some of the landmarks of Nerinesir, but also offered little anecdotes that brought the landmarks to life. There was a tall straight-sided tower, a lot like the Washington Monument, but of black stone shot through with white veins; narrow windows spiraled around it from top to bottom, sunlight flashing from them like so many jewels. At the top, barely visible, a slender balcony wrapped around the tower. At the tower’s base stood a doorway, but with no door.
“Encormio made that tower to imprison nobles who had displeased him,” Taranah explained. “He made the windows that his prisoners might look out upon the homes they had lost; he made the balcony that they might stand in the wandering breeze and know they could not follow it. None who entered that tower ever left it, until Chaisa-e broke its lock and shattered its door.”
Jenna shivered. “Aren’t there any happy stories in this city?”
“Ah, well, Nola Jenna, Encormio ruled for a long time. Many stories of distant ages when he did not rule have been lost to the gray past.”
Daniel wondered if the old king had helped them be lost. That seemed like something a tyrant might do: eliminate all signs of former ages and raise up monuments to his own grandeur.
Emelan, riding near Jenna, began to speak, hesitated, changed his mind, and was silent. Intimidated by his company, Daniel assumed. He gave the man a nod. “Yes?”
Emelan hesitated a moment longer, but at Jenna’s expectant glance he said at last, “There is the Martyr’s Cathedral, which you have seen, Nola; and the Martyr’s Wall, which I think you have not examined. And the Badan Kulirang, the House of the Oak. I do not know ... I do not know if the stories they contain are happy, Nola, but they are nothing Encormio made.”
“Nor would have made,” Taranah agreed, with no sign of offense that Emelan had joined the conversation. “Encormio resented the limitations the Martyr imposed on the world, but even he could not tear down the monuments raised to the Martyr’s glory.”
“So what did the Martyr do, exactly?” Jenna asked, and gained a raised-eyebrow look from Taranah and a shocked one from Emelan. “Tenai told me a little, but as important as the Martyr is for everyone here, there’s got to be plenty she didn’t have time for.”
“Indeed, we must assuredly take time to show you some of the panels of the Wall,” the king’s aunt said. “The Triumph and the Reign and the Martyrdom.”
“He sacrificed himself,” Emelan explained. His tone was reverent. “In the name of God, he sacrificed himself to set into the world his great spell of redemption, that limited forever the ill that could be done by magic. The willing death of the Martyr, willing for all three days that he hung on the oak, gave him at the moment of his death the power to bind all magic. Thus he reshaped sorcery so that no unwilling or unknowing sacrifice could yield benefit to the sorcerer.”
“Oh,” Jenna said, in a small voice.
Daniel hoped she was thinking about a world where an unwilling sacrifice could give power to a sorcerer: she was too interested by half in the magic here and he wanted her to understand that it was dangerous stuff. A question struck him, and he nudged his horse to come up with the others. “Was this before Encormio, then?”
Taranah answered, “Oh, no, Nola Danyel. The Martyr died a thousand years before Encormio became king, but Encormio was older than the Martyr. Encormio was already a great sorcerer before the Martyr died on his oak.” Her voice lowered, but she went on, “Encormio was a sorcerer of blood and death, until that great death. It is said that Encormio was so angry at the Martyr’s sacrifice that he made his bargain with Lord Sorrow, to gain the power of unending years and so replace some of the power the Martyr had taken from him.”
“Lord Sorrow?” Jenna asked. “So is that like Lord Death?”
“Very like, Nola,” agreed Taranah. “Lord Death rules the Gate between life and death. Lord Silence is lord of all unspeakable truths; he holds memory and the shadow of time. Lord Sorrow is the lord of all that is departed.”
Emelan added, “That is the darkest of all the Lords under God; the Lord of all that fades and is forgotten.”
Daniel, reminded somehow of a line of poetry he’d once heard somewhere, said, “‘The years like great black oxen tread the world, and God the herdsman goads them on behind, and I am broken by their passing feet.’”
