Chapter 80
“This isn’t going to work,” Vas said. His face went from white to red, again and again, and his jowls shook with each breath.
“It will work,” Mece said. “Trust me; this kind of thing is in my blood.”
Siniq-elb brushed ash from a patch of grass and sat down. The Garden and the courtyard had been spared from the fire, but the walls had not kept the ash from the rest of the compound from choking the short-growing grass and the flower beds. Still, the confrontation with Natam needed to be public, in front of his soldiers, in front of the eses. Meeting inside the temple would not work. And besides, what better place to set them ill at ease than in the Garden itself?
It had been a long day and a longer night, sending messages into the city; for all his other faults, Natam was not a monster, and he had allowed them to communicate with their families. It was strange to sit there in the Garden and look around, to realize that the people Siniq-elb had once thought were traitors and heretics were ordinary people, caught in a terrible game. One of the hog women—her name was Ula, Siniq-elb had learned—sat with her parents. She was old enough that her long hair was almost gone to gray, and her parents looked like a pair of dried sticks, but the laughter, the hugs, were as full of life as anything Siniq-elb had ever seen.
Across the yard, Ishgh, the blind man who had taken to singing, danced on the short-growing grass with a woman half his age, who one of the other hog women had scandalously declared to be his wife. Agahm sat with a stout, grim-face woman while a half-dozen children, the oldest almost a man himself, played and wrestled among the trees at the edge of the woods. And it was like this everywhere. Only Siniq-elb and Mece and Vas sat alone, at the center of the yard.
“Your families aren’t coming?” Siniq-elb said.
Vas did not answer; his gaze was fixed on the gate.
“And yours?” Mece said.
Siniq-elb shrugged. He had thought they would come; there was no longer any threat of blackmail. But they had sent no letter in response, and it was almost time for Natam and Dakel to arrive. In this, as in the rest of his experience in the Garden, it seemed that Siniq-elb was alone.
Mece slid her mangled hand into his, and he tightened his fingers around hers. Perhaps not completely alone.
The gate opened, and a dark haired couple entered the Garden. Both were built wide, the woman’s shoulders almost as broad as the man’s, and heavy. Over one arm the large woman carried a basket, but it hung, unnoticed at her side, as she scoured the Garden with her eyes.
Vas let out a grunt of surprise and got to his feet. He wobbled for a moment, injured arm flapping in its sling, and then he was off, racing toward the gate. The dark haired woman let out a nasal shriek, and the other man raised both arms in triumph.
“Parents?” Mece said.
“Have to be. I wonder if she brought some of Vas’s favorite foods.”
“If she did, we’ll hear all about it.”
Siniq-elb smiled and tightened his fingers around hers again. Then he sat up straight.
“They’re here.”
Across the yard, entering through the Garden’s gate, Natam and a dozen soldiers came toward them. They passed Vas and his family silently, crossed the short-growing grass without a word, without fanfare. The only sound was the gate closing behind them, the click of the metal latch audible in the suddenly still air. Everyone had stopped their reunions to watch the soldiers cross the yard; it was too soon, too easy to remember when soldiers and eses had come the first time, to take them to the Garden. Would these reunions be short-lived?
“We need to talk about what’s going to happen with the Garden,” Natam said as greeting when he arrived at where Siniq-elb sat. The blond man flashed Siniq-elb one of his wide smiles, but fractured now by an invisible strain. To one of the soldiers near him—Siniq-elb recognized him as Bahr, the soldier who had stopped them the day before—Natam added, “Get chairs.”
“We need to wait for Dakel,” Siniq-elb said.
“The eses no longer have a voice here,” Natam said. He stood stiff, hands clasped, staring down at Siniq-elb; for the first time, Siniq-elb felt the vast distance that separated them physically. Natam was a big man, and looming over Siniq-elb only made him look bigger. “They threw away any right to rule when they blindly served the tair. They can no longer be trusted.”
The ripple of leaves and a sudden breath of air was the only sign of their arrival. In the space of a heartbeat, eight su-eses stood opposite Natam and his soldiers, with Siniq-elb and Mece in the middle. Dakel had removed the leather armor. All of the su-eses wore their chain, one sleeve of both robe and mail cut away to reveal the ivory-colored brachal on their upper arm. Each carried a massive sword, almost as long as a man, over their shoulders. Siniq-elb felt Mece tense beside him. She knew as well as he that her plan could go terribly wrong; if the su-eses decided to act, it would be hard to stop them.
“You mistake yourself,” Dakel said. “The eses still have an important part to play in this; the tair has not yet been found, and until then, the god-made-flesh must be considered to rule in absentia. Until such time as formal charges may be brought against him, the eses will protect Khi’ilan.”
“Of course he cannot be found,” Natam said, “when the eses do not want to find him. My soldiers will continue their search; the tair will be found. Until then, it is sufficient to know that the tun-esis and the lap-eses are either dead or missing; we have only found the body of Ayde, dead as Siniq-elb claimed, but if the others live, then they are in hiding. The eses have no leader; the army will rule.”
“A moment,” Siniq-elb said. “There are other things to consider here.”
Dakel talked over him, both literally and figuratively; the su-esis had not even bothered to look down at Siniq-elb since arriving, as though, now that Siniq-elb were no longer helpful, the su-esis wanted nothing to do with him. “My fellow su-eses have chosen me to lead the temple during this time.”
“How convenient,” Natam said, showing a wide, hard smile.
“Dakel is the only one who knew of the seiri threat,” a red-headed su-esis said, his hand going to the enormous sword on his back. “He is the only one who acted to stop it.”
“Lies,” Natam said. “Lies. I knew. I acted. Qilic would not believe me, not until Dakel came.”
“You told him?” Siniq-elb said. “I thought—”
Two of the soldiers returned with chairs, but Natam waved them away. “Not until Il found me,” Natam said. “I wasn’t going to. After I saw Il, though, I had to do something. I know I should have done it earlier, but it made no difference in the end. Qilic would not listen to me.”
“Where is Il?”
Natam shook his head, his lips compressed. When he spoke, his gaze returned to Dakel. “As leader of the eses, the best thing you can do is submit now, pledge yourself to the service of the city and the army, and foreswear the tair. You will be taken into our custody and surrender the brachals.”
“The tair will be judged,” Dakel said. “There is no avoiding that. But things will go best if you return to your place and allow the temple to continue its rule.”
“A temple without a god,” Natam said.
“The gods-made-flesh live on,” Dakel said. “The tair will return, when the time is right. Or we will find another to bless our city.”
“And the harvests will continue,” Mece said. “And the Garden.”
“Not the Garden,” Dakel said. “But the harvests, yes. They are part of our worship; they are a privilege and an honor. A blessing to the one sacrificed.”
“Bahr, place these men under arrest,” Natam commanded.
“It was just as I suspected,” Dakel said. “As soon as the seiri threat was removed, the army has acted to destroy the very institution that has kept Khi’ilan safe for so long. We will not stand by and watch the temple stripped of its rightful role. I had hoped it would not come to this, but you will know the power of a god, so that the people of Khi
’ilan may remember who truly rules them.”
“Stop,” Siniq-elb shouted. “Both of you stop.” In a firm voice, Siniq-elb turned to the soldiers who had dropped the chairs in their haste to draw their swords and said, “Set those over here, please.”
After a glance at Natam, who gave a short, frustrated nod, the soldiers obeyed. Four chairs, not nearly enough for the number there.
“Natam, will you help Mece to a seat?” Siniq-elb said. “And Dakel, will you help me?” Every word even, the unruffled leaves of an oak after a storm. Nothing to indicate that one man had betrayed him twice, that the other had left him a cripple. Nothing of the pain that still coiled inside him, its roots plunging deep into his heart. Words that Vas, standing with his family, smiled and nodded when he heard. Yes, of course Vas would approve; Siniq-elb hoped Vas would approve of the rest.
Dakel stood still for a moment. Then he stomped to Siniq-elb’s side, jostling Natam as they crossed paths. For a moment both men froze, and Siniq-elb felt the tension blossom. A moment later, they continued forward, though Natam had a sour look on his face. Siniq-elb stretched out a hand as Dakel reached him, and the su-esis reached down and helped him up and into the chair. Siniq-elb did not let go of his hand.
“Thank you,” he said, looking into Dakel’s eyes. For a moment, Dakel stared back, chocolate eyes hard. Then he glanced away and stepped back, but Siniq-elb did not release him. “I forgive you.” Then he glanced at Natam. “And you, Natam. Thank you for helping Mece. I forgive you.”
“That’s all it took, huh?” Natam said, his cheeks red.
“I’m not forgiving you because of anything you have done to make things right,” Siniq-elb said. “I’m forgiving you because I can, and because I choose to. Please be seated both of you.”
Both men sat, their faces revealing their confusion, and for a heartbeat they glanced at each other. Good. Vas’s smile was broad enough to split his face, even as he crammed something into his mouth—a pastry of some sort. Vas would think this was simply the right thing to do, and it was. Siniq-elb had decided the night before that he would need to forgive both men, sincerely forgive them, if his plan had any hope of working in the long run. For the moment, though, he just needed them off their guard, and the sudden shift in tone had done that perfectly. That was a rule of battle—take your enemy by surprise.
“Thank you both for coming to this meeting,” Siniq-elb said. “I am glad we have a chance to sit down and talk and begin to establish the foundations of a new life in Khi’ilan.”
If the men had looked confused before, they were speechless now. Natam’s jaw moved soundlessly twice, and Dakel stared.
“Siniq-elb, you have done Khi’ilan a great service,” Dakel said, “but you have no place in this discussion. The people of the Garden are free to go now.”
Natam gave a nod, but he grimaced; clearly he had wanted to be the one to release the people of the Garden. With so many valuable hostages, granting freedom would give either party an incredible amount of good will from the people. “You’re free,” Natam said. “Now that the eses’ power is broken.”
Dakel stiffened, but Siniq-elb spoke before the su-esis could react. In the same even tone, Siniq-elb said, “Actually, we’ve decided to remain.”
Both men stared at him again. Perfect.
“Isn’t that right?” Siniq-elb asked, pitching his voice to the crowd.
“Aye,” shouted Agahm.
“Yes,” chirped the hog-women, still sitting together.
A chorus of assent rolled over the yard. Siniq-elb glanced at Mece.
She smiled, her hair brighter than autumn sunlight, and said, “I told you before, and I’ll tell you again. I’ll go where you go, and stay where you stay.”
Siniq-elb leaned over and kissed her, in part because he loved her, in part because—like a good soldier—he knew it would set both Dakel and Natam ill at ease. Let them see him comfortable, confident, a cripple in love. And let them wonder.
“Stay, then,” Dakel said. “We’re done here.” He stood.
“Not quite,” Siniq-elb said. “There’s the matter of how you’ll be paying for everything.”
“Paying for what?” Dakel said. “Do I look like a coin-pusher?”
Siniq-elb gestured, and Vas scurried over to pass him a stack of documents. One of the men in the Garden had been trained as an accountant, and he had worked all night to prepare the stack of documents. “Here are statements of account,” Siniq-elb said, passing half the pile to Dakel, who accepted it with a baffled look. “Money lost for every day that we have been held hostage here. Also, money for compensation for suffering. Plus a little something to help us start new lives.” He passed the other half to Natam. “Of course, if the army is going to assume governing, then the army can address these expenses.”
Natam let out a hollow laugh as he rifled through the papers. “You’re serious? Tair help me, Siniq-elb, you’ve lost your mind in here.” He tossed the papers on the ground. “Bahr, we’re going. Order the arrest of all eses.”
Siniq-elb glanced over at one of the hog-woman and nodded. She tugged at the robe of the man standing next to her—middle-aged, perhaps her husband before the Garden. The man flushed, but at an insistent poke from the hog-woman, he took a step forward and blurted out, “And what will you feed your army with?”
Natam froze and turned to stare at the man. He swallowed and stepped back.
“What?” Natam said.
The man shook his head.
The hog-woman leaned forward and said, “He said, ‘What will you feed your army with?’ You see, we’re not trading until we’re paid everything we’re owed.”
“Then we’ll buy from others,” Natam said.
“No,” shouted another man, from the back of the crowd. “None of us will trade with you.”
“Then we’ll take what we need,” Natam growled. He drew his sword and lifted it to the light of the ever-summer sun. “You fools, we’re the ones who saved you, protected you. If we need food we’ll take it.”
“We’d rather burn it,” cried Ishgh’s too-young wife. “Your soldiers show up, and my boy has instructions to set fire to the granaries.”
“You see,” Siniq-elb, “the same goes for the eses, of course.”
“Of course for the eses,” Natam said. “Those bastards did this to you. But we’ve been protecting the people of Khi’ilan, trying to help them . . .” He trailed off, turning red. “Tair help me, I did wrong by you, Siniq-elb, but you know what the army stands for.”
“No one ever tried to help the people of the Garden,” Siniq-elb said, his voice low and deadly earnest. “No one ever protected us. Not the eses. Not the army. So we’ve decided to protect ourselves. See, the tair had the right idea. Gather enough influential people in one place, and you really can control the city. It just took us a while to figure that out ourselves.”
Dakel slumped back into his seat, his face pale beneath his dark hair. Natam after a moment, grimaced and sheathed his sword. Neither man spoke. Siniq-elb could feel the tension rising, but he sat back. At the edge of the crowd, he could see fear on Vas’s face; the stout man had worried this would dissolve into violence, he had thought they should talk everything out. Siniq-elb gave an internal sigh; Vas’s world was beautiful and kind, and people would do what was right if it was explained to them. In the real world, though, one could choose to be good, but to survive, one had to be clever as well. Natam and Dakel had taught Siniq-elb as much.
When the strain in the air reached the breaking point, as Dakel shifted, his eyes angry, and Natam leaned forward, Siniq-elb spoke. “There’s another option, of course.” A long pause as both sat back, struggling to keep up with the shifts that had taken place. “The Garden will constitute a temporary ruling body. One year of rule, with authority over the army and the temple both, although you will both have a vote and a voice in our proceedings.”
“You offer us a slice of the pie that we made,” Natam said.
?
??A slice or nothing,” Siniq-elb said. “We have had everything taken from us before; there is nothing more that can be done to us this side of death, and we do not fear that. We will not be helpless again.” Both men glared at him, but they remained silent. “There are many of us,” Siniq-elb added. “We will be focused on trade and rebuilding. You will both have a say. It is more than you would give each other.”
The moment stretched out until Dakel gave an abrupt nod and stood. “Agreed.”
Trying to mask his surprise, Siniq-elb nodded in return.
For a moment, emotions warred on Natam’s face. Slowly, though, he relaxed, and gave a wide smile. In that instant, he looked like the old Natam—the man Siniq-elb had trusted, the man who had been his friend. “Agreed. Tair help me, Siniq-elb, you always were wilier than people thought. I should have remembered that.”
Siniq-elb let out a smile as he took Mece’s hand again. “This time, it wasn’t my idea. I’d like you both to meet Mece, daughter of Sikkim of Evirin.”
It took a moment for comprehension to sink in. Natam’s smile widened when he realized.
“Daughter of the bandit-king, huh? And all this time I thought they’d killed Sikkim’s daughter,” Natam said.
“For a time,” Mece said, her voice soft, her lavender eyes turning to Siniq-elb, “they had.”
“At least now I know we never had a chance,” Dakel said. “Between the two of you, tair help poor Khylar—he had no idea what he was up against.”
“The Garden will hold its first meeting tomorrow morning,” Siniq-elb said, raising his voice again to be sure that everyone could hear him. “Members of the Garden, please wear your tunic. All others are invited to attend, but remember that only the members of the Garden have a vote, along with the Sword-bearer and the tun-esis. You are all free to leave now, but please be here tomorrow morning for the meeting. We have a lot of work to do.”
Dakel raised an eyebrow. “Tun-esis?”
“That’s what the leader of the eses is called, isn’t it?”
“I think the other su-eses will have something to say about that.”
“You’ll be able to handle it,” Siniq-elb said.
“Until tomorrow,” Dakel said. He stood and, a moment later disappeared. The other su-eses followed, blurring and vanishing among the trees.
“Until tomorrow,” Natam said. The blond man stood, and his smile faded. He looked at Siniq-elb and said, “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. For what I did. Inara’s still torn up about you too.”
A part of Siniq-elb wanted to revel in that knowledge, to wield it as he might have once wielded a sword. Then he remembered Vas, and the world that Vas had imagined, and he let that part of him go. It tumbled away, a dry leaf on an autumn breeze.
“Tell her I want her to be happy,” Siniq-elb. “I want both of you to be happy.” He glanced at Mece and tightened his grip. “I am.”
Natam smiled again, that familiar smile, and motioned for Bahr and the other soldiers to follow him from the yard. It took a while for the rest of the Garden to leave; all wanted to come and congratulate him, thank him. Then it was just Siniq-elb, Mece, and Vas, with Vas’s parents waiting for him near the gate.
“They came,” Siniq-elb said.
“They came,” Vas said, a smile still covering his face. “You did the right thing, Siniq-elb. The healing has to start with the people in the Garden.”
“We heal better than anyone else,” Siniq-elb said with a wry smile. “That’s the curse of the Garden.”
“What will you do now?” Vas said. After a brief pause, he added, “You can come home with me. I . . . I saw that your parents didn’t come.”
Siniq-elb tamped down the flicker of disappointment; he had not seen his parents, had not heard from them, but he had hoped they would come. “I’ll find them tomorrow,” he said. “We have a lot to discuss, and I’m sure they’ll need time to adjust to me as I am now.”
“Then you’ll come with me?”
Siniq-elb glanced at Mece. “No, I think I’ll stay here tonight.”
Vas flushed, his smile widening, and trotted away without another word.
“Not quite as subtle as your earlier work today,” Mece said, leaning closer to him. Siniq-elb’s heart started to beat faster.
“I didn’t tell him where you were staying,” Siniq-elb pointed out.
“Don’t make me repeat myself again,” Mece said. “I told everyone where I would be staying earlier.”
To his own surprise, Siniq-elb found himself blushing like a boy. He leaned in and kissed her, his breath catching fire at her touch.
“Where do we go now?” Mece asked, her lavender eyes dancing.
“I have a bed I haven’t used in a long time,” Siniq-elb said. “If you don’t mind helping me into it.”
“That has to be the first time I’ve had a man ask me to get him into bed,” Mece said. And then she laughed.
Siniq-elb leaned in and kissed her again, her skin moonlight soft under his hand, his heartbeat like a long-forgotten song.
“Let me be very, very clear about this promise,” Siniq-elb whispered as he pulled back. “It may be the first time, but it will not be the last.”
Her laugh was answer enough, the sound soft and sweet, like sunlight in winter dark. Like hope where there should be none. Like life, blooming against all odds. Like choosing love over fear.
Perhaps the world Vas imagined was not quite so distant. Siniq-elb kissed Mece and knew that for him, at least in part, that world had arrived.