The Black Wolves

  Lifka shrugged. “He only ever talks about reeve business or his wife. He was born in the Year of the Brown Rat. Sentimental, hardworking, and dull.”

  Fohiono stroked an arm through the water like the pull of a thought. “I’m a Crane, and Treya of course is a flighty Ibex. What are you, Lifka?”

  In Lifka’s experience people asked that question to get her to admit she wasn’t born in the Hundred, but Fohiono had a curious gleam in her eye, Cranes being the sort of people who were always trying to understand things. After the utter confusion of the last few days, the girls reminded her comfortably of her cousins.

  “Mum says I must be an Ox because I’m dauntless and stubborn. Aunt Ediko was certain I am a Snake, and of course a Red Snake at that. Passionate. Self-reliant. Ready to strike my enemies a deadly blow.”

  Fo giggled charmingly.

  Over behind the curtained entrance, the Runt barked once to remind her that she had tied him up outside. She’d have left him in the company of the household’s three watchdogs but he’d already almost gotten into a fight with them.

  “We should take you down to the harbor,” said Treya. “There are sailors there from all over, some as black as you. They might know something about where you really come from.”

  Fo kicked her under the water. “Can you never think before you let words fly off your tongue? Lifka’s already told us she’s a daughter of Five Roads Clan near River’s Bend.”

  Somehow in this soaking bath in a well-to-do household half the Hundred away from the humble compound where she had grown up, with two young women she did not know, she could say words she had never shared with anyone else.

  “I once saw a man who looked something like me. He had a slave inking on his cheek. He was a guard for a merchant caravan that came through River’s Bend on its way north to Herelia. When he saw me his whole expression changed. He said something to me in words I couldn’t understand. I ran away because it scared me.”

  “It scared you to see him?” asked Fo gently.

  “Because to my eyes he looked like an outlander. That was the first time I truly realized people thought of me as an outlander.” She wasn’t shy about being naked but she drew her knees up to her chest now as if they could hide her from the memory. “It was the first time I wondered if someone had made a mistake and was going to come back and take me away from my family.”

  “You aren’t even a little curious?” asked Treya.

  “I don’t know.” She could not say the words aloud: I’m afraid if I’m too curious the gods will tear me away from my family. I couldn’t bear that to happen twice.

  Fo studied her warily but Treya prattled blithely on.

  “Because I’m curious! There’s probably a Tandi ship in port. They go everywhere and see everything, and I bet they would know. Maybe you’re one of them. They’re very good-looking, and I can’t say that for all outlanders. I slept with one of the men once. He was so sweet. I’d’ve sailed off with him in a heartbeat but they don’t marry like we do.”

  “Could you just shut up, Trey!” Fo slapped a hand over her eyes.

  “Who are Tandi?” Lifka asked, caught by the name as if it had plucked a string knotted deep in her bones.

  Fo scratched her left cheek in the same way her grandfather did, obviously copied from his behavior. “The Tandi are a consortium of merchant houses out of the east, from over the ocean. We’ve been trading with Tandi ships for about ten years. They sell cunning little lockboxes, fine metal tools for goldsmiths—”

  “The most beautiful glass and porcelain you’ve ever seen,” broke in Treya. “But the one thing they never bring is slaves. The Tandi consortium does not traffic in people. The men have wings inked on their faces to mark their lineage affiliation, and the women wear the ink of their lineage on their back. Something like that scar you have.”

  Suddenly uneasy, Lifka brushed a hand over the raised scar on the back of her neck, crude lines that had been carved up each shoulder and partway down her spine. “It’s just a scar.”

  “That’s not just a scar, like you would get from a knife fight or an accident—”

  “Aui! Trey, you’re such an ass. My sister doesn’t mean anything by it, Lifka. My apologies.”

  “Why should it be wrong to mention it?” said Treya with an impatient wave of her hand. “I thought you might be interested in the Tandi, Lifka. If we hurry we can go down to the harbor and get back before supper.”

  “It’s raining too hard to go down to the harbor,” said Fo, elbowing her cousin.

  They soaked for a bit in awkward silence as rain fell with a soothingly relentless patter. The wind was picking up, making branches sway. On the other side of the curtain the Runt snuffled at the canvas, then grunted in that way he had when he lay down full of grinding disappointment that he wasn’t getting what he wanted. Lifka asked about the plants, and Fo named them: Muzz. Proudhorn. Musk vine. Stardrops.

  “That’s a Devourer’s garden,” said Lifka, for she had spent many a lazy hour in the temple of Ushara the Merciless One, Goddess of Love, Death, and Desire, whose garden was a meeting place for lovers.

  “It’s a Devouring garden because our grandmother has the most amazing love story ever told in all the tales of the Hundred,” said Treya eagerly. “She was forbidden by the jealous king from ever taking a man as her lover. Yet she found a way for years and years while the king was still alive to secretly meet her true love! Because she was more clever than the king ever could be, and her lover was the boldest man in the Hundred, and the king had no cause or right to stop her anyway!”

  “Hush!” Fo snapped. “Can you never think?”

  The girl’s lips whitened. “I’m sorry.”

  Splashing up, she dripped away to a bench, grabbed a faded cotton taloos, and wrapped it around her without even drying herself off. Then she pushed past the curtain, briefly revealing a startled Runt. Her footsteps slapped away.

  The Runt barked twice.

  Lifka hesitated, embarrassed but so curious she thought her head would burst.

  Fo pulled her wet hair back and wrung water out of it. “Just say it. Whatever it is.”

  “I couldn’t help but notice that your father, Hari, looks a bit like Marshal Dannarah. There’s only one king you could be talking about by reason of their age, and that would be King Anjihosh the Glorious Unifier. He was the outlander who saved us from a terrible darkness that almost swallowed the Hundred into its monstrous belly. He was rewarded with the love of a woman as beautiful as plum blossoms shimmering dew-laden at dawn. But then she was stolen from him by a jealous lilu and he could never give his heart to another woman afterward. So the tale goes.”

  Fo watched her in silence.

  “I heard a different version from a troupe of Hasibal’s players who came through town a few years ago. A king captures a beautiful woman and locks her in a cage so only he can admire her, and she escapes using her wits and intelligence and by praying to Hasibal the Merciful One. Your house is called Plum Blossom Clan. The plum blossom is your badge.”

  Fohiono sighed. “You will make a good reeve, for reeves must be observant above all else.”

  “Is your father, Hari, the son of King Anjihosh by the plum blossom lover?”

  “No, he isn’t. My dad doesn’t belong to the palace.” Fo twisted her wet hair up on top of her head and fixed it there with a pair of lacquered hairsticks. The hairsticks were lovely work far too expensive for the likes of Lifka’s family. Everything she had seen since she had been ushered inside the compound of Plum Blossom House revealed a clan as prosperous as hers was poor.

  Lifka hugged her knees. “I shouldn’t have asked. You’ve been so hospitable.”

  “You have a duty to ask because you’re a reeve. But honestly, Lifka, you are so naive. You can’t just trust people because they are hospitable.”

  Lifka stared at her. “Like you?”

  “Like me. I know it’s your duty to tell the marshal what you’ve learned, but it would be
a kindness if you would never tell anyone else except her. Now we better go before they eat all the food without us.”

  Lifka thought it best to wear Mum’s wedding taloos. Fo complimented her on its yellowish-orange color but Lifka was horribly aware of how casually the other women of the household wore shimmering silk of finest quality while hers had the coarse weave of least-quality cloth. The marshal and Tarnit had washed before her; they wore their reeve leathers.

  The opulence of the compound made her afraid to touch anything. The audience hall was floored with best-quality reed mats. The chamber was decorated with a beautiful heron painting and an alcove altar drenched with flowers in offering to Hasibal the Merciful One, here depicted with a lovely painting of Hasibal’s Tears: a branch of a plum tree laden with seven blossoms, one for each of the gods. Lifka felt comforted that the old religion was followed here, that it hadn’t been crowded out by the outlanders’ god.

  Captain Kellas was an upright and vigorous old man with a face that had pleasant lineaments, but he did not smile once during the meal. His granddaughters served the guests. She had never been served in her life. When her grandmother had been alive it had been her and Ailia’s duty as the youngest girls to make sure Grandmother had everything she needed before they ate.

  Since it was terribly rude to discuss business while eating, the older people traded poetic lines from the old tales although Lifka could not help but notice that Marshal Dannarah’s choices were always the most obvious ones from the most well-known tales, as if she hadn’t learned a hundred tales by heart as everyone else had. Maybe she hadn’t, growing up in the palace above the city where people spoke an outlander language. The thought of always being accounted an outsider made her think longingly of River’s Bend and home.

  When they had finished the marshal told Lifka to take a covered basket of food out to Reyad before it got too dark to see. It was an obvious ploy to get her out of the chamber while the elders conferred. Lifka changed back into her kilt and vest, and Fo offered to go with her.

  “Treya’s still sulking in the back but don’t feel sorry for her. She loves the attention. Are you going to bring your dog?”

  “He hates the rain so much. But I’m afraid to leave him here alone.”

  Ears pinned back and looking morose, the Runt followed them into the weather.

  “What a big baby!” said Fo, watching him.

  They laughed together as they splashed through water pouring along the street. On the hillward side of the street beyond Plum Blossom Clan, two large compounds kept closed gates and darkened verandas, as if their inhabitants were already asleep although it wasn’t late. At the end of the street, stairs led up through bushes into a grassy clearing where a loft had been built. The eagles were hooded. Reyad sat cross-legged beneath a hanging lamp, whittling on a piece of wood. His eyes got very wide as they trotted up, and Lifka glanced down to realize that both she and Fo were halfway to being naked, wet cloth adhering to their bodies. Fo knew it, too, and they both laughed unrestrainedly as he blushed. The Runt shook himself, spraying water all over.

  “You’re a horrid dog,” said Reyad.

  “What a thing to say!” cried Fo.

  He showed Fo the scabbed puncture at his knuckle where the Runt had snapped. The Runt shivered, looking miserable, caught between the rain and the hooded eagles. To make up for it, he showed his teeth to Reyad.

  “Do you want company tonight?” Lifka asked even though she wanted to go back to the house with Fo.

  His mouth tightened. “No. I’m content to be alone. I’m not looking for—”

  “I didn’t mean that kind of company. I have brothers and cousins, you know. That’s all I meant. I was just being polite!”

  Fo snorted, trying not to laugh. “Come back with me, Lifka. Mama has promised to sing from the Tale of Beginning, the episode of how the Four Mothers gave birth to the land. That’s if we’re very good and all the children have eaten their rice.”

  “Bring the lamp closer,” said Reyad abruptly. He had the lid off the rice basket and was prodding at the rice with an eating stick.

  Fo stiffened. “It’s properly washed and cooked. I hope you don’t think there are bugs in it!”

  Reyad plucked a single grain out of the bowl and held it close to the flame. It was a reddish color, flecked with darker spots. “Where does this rice come from?”

  “It’s grown all around here. It’s what everyone eats in Salya. You sound Mar-bred. Haven’t you had red-nut before? It’s the best flavor.”

  “I’m from the Suvash Hills but I’ve never seen this variety before.” He glanced at Fohiono as if expecting her to sprout a lilu’s writhing hair. “Lifka, let Marshal Dannarah know I have something to tell her.”

  Fo grabbed Lifka’s hand. “The rain is slackening. Leave him the lamp and let’s get back before it starts up again.”

  Lifka followed without protest. The rain had indeed slackened to spatters, although the wind still moaned.

  “He’s so full of himself,” said Fo when they were out of earshot. “He just assumed you were propositioning him!”

  Lifka snickered. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but the marshal adores him. I think he’s tiresome.”

  “They show a different face to their elders, don’t they?” agreed Fo.

  “Yes. There was a funny thing about my eagle’s harness…” She hesitated. Reyad hadn’t known how well she knew harnesses and tack, and she had not enlightened him when he went over the eagle’s harness with her that first night at the marshal’s order. The broken jess that had allowed Slip to pull free and kill his reeve at River’s Bend had a funny look, as if it had been sliced partway through and then ripped the rest of the way. Reyad had confiscated the ruined jess, and she’d never seen it again.

  But this wasn’t home, where she could tell anything to anyone in her family. As much as Lifka liked Fo, reeve business had to stay reeve business.

  “Are you all right?” Fo asked. “What about your eagle’s harness?”

  “Just that he was assigned to teach me about it and he never bothered to ask if I might know anything before he explained it all to me. It was funny when the Runt bit him. He was so indignant!”

  “The dog, or Reyad?”

  Lifka laughed again. “The Runt is very fearful. We’ve been training him not to snap at anything that gets in his face…” She faltered. The clouds had torn apart, turning the heavens into an ocean of stars streaked with scraps of mist. Descending out of the night toward the roof of Plum Blossom House rode a woman on a winged horse.

  Lifka blinked, sure she was seeing an illusion brought on by mist and moonlight.

  But there she was: a woman on a winged horse. A cloak like lamplight flowed off her shoulders, lifted by the wind.

  A demon! Just like in the tales!

  Fo whistled so sharply that Lifka winced, and the Runt barked in surprise, and Fo reached right into his face and of course he snapped. Lifka grabbed him, and by the time she had apologized to Fo and calmed the dog, the sky was just the sky.

  “He didn’t break the skin,” said Fo. “Here comes the rain, up from the bay! We’d better hurry in.”

  “Did you see …?”

  “I did!” Fo exclaimed, still rubbing her hand. “The moon dazzled me. The way the light chases through the mist almost makes it seem like tales are being woven in the sky. But then the clouds came back in.”

  Lifka rubbed her eyes, overwhelmed by the turn her life had taken. “It’s funny what you see when you’re tired.”

  “It is,” agreed Fo.

  Rain swept up the hill, chasing them inside.

  21

  Dannarah had forgotten that Captain Kellas was a man so reserved you might as well pound on a stone wall as try to figure out what he was really thinking. She watched him pour tea: Although his white hair and lined face marked him as an old man, his hands had strength and steadiness.

  Everyone else had gone to bed. She and the captain sat alone on the
veranda by the light of a small oil lamp. Night settled a damp hush over the town now that the worst of the storm had blown through. Water dripped off eaves at random intervals. Now and again she heard the clacking sticks of the fire watch walking through town, although the chance of a conflagration catching in air as sodden as this struck Dannarah as unlikely.

  He pushed a cup across the tray to her. Steam rose from the cup.

  “Does Jehosh know about Hari?” She watched him closely, hoping to identify the words that could pierce his armor.

  His gaze met hers, clear and strong. “Is that meant as a threat?”

  “Do you fear I will tell him?”

  The captain said nothing and by doing so gave up nothing.

  “Jehosh stripped me of the chief marshalate twenty years ago. I was fortunate to be given Horn Hall to command as a sop to my pride and a nod to my exalted birth. But there is one thing I haven’t told you yet.”

  “There always is.” His smile flared and vanished. She missed it when it was gone. “Treya spoke rashly about Hari before your young reeve, and Lifka surely told you what she learned.”

  “Your granddaughter didn’t reveal anything I couldn’t have figured out for myself by looking at Hari. After almost sixty years thinking Atani is my only brother, it is odd to discover that my father sired a son by another woman. What else are you hiding, Captain?”

  “If I’m hiding it, then I’m unlikely to tell you.”

  “We found rice in the outlaws’ encampment in the Westhal Hills just like the red-nut we ate here for our supper.”

  He waited.

  “This is how you got people to betray themselves, isn’t it? By letting them talk. Very well. I am going to be brutally honest.”

  This time when he smiled, the expression held longer and she felt herself smile in return. “I would expect nothing less, Lady Dannarah.”

  “Chief Marshal Auri was killed by his eagle a few days ago.”

  He blinked. “That is unexpected.”

  “I’m relieved you don’t magically know all about it already. More unexpected was that instead of flying away to the mountains and then returning a year or five years later to leash a new reeve, the eagle jessed Lifka right there on the spot.”