Shadow Gate (84 page)

The girl, on the other hand, had youth's lightning ways. “That is a good arrow,” she said to Radas. “What wood makes it? I would see it.” She extended an arm.

“Don't touch!” He stepped back, rigid with anger.

“You have a bow, and arrows,” said the woman in her pleasant voice. “And what a fine mirror that is hanging from your belt. May I see it?”

Those demon eyes really had a creepy shine, although Marit had to admire the girl's lack of fear. “No. It is mine. He—gave—” She faltered, and for an instant looked as young as she likely was, an inexperienced child confronting the old and treacherous.

“He?”
The woman leaned forward. “Who is he?”

The girl hesitated.

“Hari gave her trouble about it,” said Marit. “Sheh! I never saw a person spit fire like she did! Him just asking to use it one morning. Hari is a bit vain, wanting to look into the mirror, eh?” She finished more loudly than needed. The girl's look of confusion faded.

“A mirror is a woman's strength. I do not give away my strength.” Kirit glanced first at Marit and then at the other woman. “You two do not display your woman's mirrors.”

Something mattered here, something that eluded Marit.

The woman brushed a hand over the writing box. “Not all need mirrors.”

“In the mirror, I see truth. Why do so many bad people walk in the land? You march with an army. Cannot you stop the bad people from what they do to hurt people?”

“It is our goal to restore order.” The woman's voice sharpened. “It is our intent to be sure that none need ever fear for the safety of her own existence.”

“We are already dead,” said the girl.

“No, we are not dead!” The woman rose, paced to a canvas wall, and back to the desk, crouching to pick up the writing box. “We are Guardians, bringing justice to the land.”

“I kill them,” said the girl. “The ones who are bad. You also? You kill the bad ones?”

A gaze flashed between Lord Radas and the woman. He pulled the arrow to his chest. She stood with the writing box tucked under a sleeve, and then, as an afterthought but very smoothly, she picked up the dagger and the stick and after that she took one step backward so she was standing in her soft leather slippers across the haft of the spear that lay on the carpet.

“Perhaps you would like to rest, young one. What is your name?”

“I am Kirit,” she said proudly. “A Water-born Red Crane. I am orderly in nature. I am ruthless in the quest for justice because I cannot rest where injustice is done.”

“What is your companion's name?” asked the woman, indicating Marit with an elbow.

The girl looked at Marit, pale eyes cold.

The hells,
thought Marit.
I've been careless.
She'd told the envoy her real name, within the hearing of this demon child. She shifted the sword on her thighs. Maybe she couldn't kill them, but she could hurt them badly enough that she could run.

“Maybe she doesn't have a name,” Kirit said to the woman. “Do you have a name?”

The woman said nothing, and Kirit went on. “For a long time, I had no name. But this white-cloaked one has a cloak, a bowl, a light, and a horse. Only she has no staff. Why not?”

Why the hells not?

It got so quiet that Marit noticed distant sounds: the neighing of a horse, the rumble of cart wheels, the rhythmic clash of sticks as men trained. A faint gasp as lungs caught air, and feebly sucked it in. Was that Hari, breath returning to his body?

“Most of the staffs were lost,” said the woman.

Marit knew she was lying because as a reeve Marit had learned to suss out liars, the way their jaw twitched up in defiance or their eyes did not blink as the weight of the lie held them open.

“Where is
my
staff?” Marit asked.

Lord Radas exhaled.

The woman shook her head. “Lost, with the others. We would dearly wish to find it.”

“I don't even know what it is, or why it matters,” added Marit, hoping to sound disingenuous. “ ‘The staff of judgment.' So the tales say.”

“The symbol of our authority,” said the woman. “So it is doubly a cause for celebration that you, Kirit, possess yours.”

The girl's stare was so flat that Marit did wonder if a demon had crept into that cloak. “We pass judgment, then? We kill the many bad people?”

“Yes, Kirit. We will kill the many bad people.”

On Wakening Rat, the last day of the Month of the Ox, Avisha woke trembling and wiped her face with dry hands as she rose. Sheyshi was still snoring. Outside, the Barrens still lay in shadow. Avisha lit a lamp and washed herself with water from a basin. She dressed in a taloos she had never worn, winding the cloth tight. After combing out her hair, she pinned it up in coils as for a festival day. Slipping on sandals, she padded to the kitchen gardens with the basin clasped against a hip and poured the water over flourishing rows of immortal sun, whose petals were edible and whose roots could be ground up into a soothing medicinal good for pregnant women taken by nausea. The sun broached the horizon, painting the sea with light.

One of the kitchen women looked up, smiling. “That's cloth I've not seen before. Good quality, too! You going to sit on the bench today?”

Avisha blushed.

“You know, that girl from Dekos village, she is already pregnant! So they are saying.”

“Is that the girl who got a belly full in Olossi?” Avisha asked. “That one who had to come out here before all of us? The chief wanted the soldier whipped.”

“Aui! That one! Neh, those two made the offerings in Olossi and came here already married, but without a feast. That Dekos girl, first day the altars were up, she and her lover they sat on the bench. Don't you remember? It was only a week ago.”

Twelve days ago Avisha had been in the middle of a roaring conflict with Jerad about his fights with other boys, which had ended with him storming off to sleep in the stables. Chief Tuvi had assured her he was being looked after by the Qin soldiers, and anyway he was always following Jagi around.

“I was too busy to go down into town. Let me get Zi.”

The little girl was snuggled in with other small children belonging to the kitchen workers.

The kitchen woman touched her on the shoulder. “Let her sleep, Avisha. You don't want her fussing to distract you, eh?”

“Maybe it would be better to wait until the next auspicious day. I'm not a Rat, to find good fortune on Wakening Rat, but I am an Ox, and I don't want to sit on the bench next month, Snake Month. Snakes are good people, of course, serene and wise, but that doesn't mean I want to make such a big decision in a month dedicated to an animal known to be strict and secretive, liable to hide its hostility in a crack in the ground and then strike when least expected.”

The other woman kissed her on the cheek as a cousin might. “If you aren't sure, don't go. The mistress would never turn us out.”

“I'm eighteen.” She patted her hair again to make sure nothing had slipped out of place. “What use is there to remain an unmarried girl? You're already a married woman, with two children of your own.”

“A widow, without kinfolk. Still, now that I've work, I'm in no hurry to marry again. I'm not sure I fancy any of the outlanders. There's a laborer come out of the village that was neighbor to mine before they got burned down. But he'll have to buy himself out of his debt before I'm likely to look in that direction!” She laughed, pleased at her independence, a capable woman who knew where her next meal was coming from.

“I'm going down,” said Avisha in a rush.

“Eihi! As pretty as you are, and beloved by the mistress, I am sure you won't be sitting there long, not like that one poor woman last week. Here.” She scooped rice into a humble bowl and handed it to her.

The simple gesture brought tears. Avisha thanked her tremulously, and walked away before she could lose her courage. She knew what her father would want her to do,
what her mother would counsel. Even Nallo would tell her that being married was better than living on the sufferance of others, no matter how well they treated you.

The settlement did not yet have a council house, but brick benches had been placed to form a large square and canvas raised on rope to offer shade. In her village, the council house benches had been carved from wood, enclosed by a courtyard ringed with trellises heavy with falling-water and murmuring heart and decorated with festival cords braided by her father. Her village hadn't the coin to build a roofed council hall, but the courtyard was a particularly pretty one, especially when the vines were in bloom. Travelers said so. Once a poet had come just to sit there for three days and contemplate its beauty while the villagers fed him, but he hadn't composed any chants so afterward her father said, in private, that perhaps the man had been a fraud. Although why in that case he hadn't just come around as a beggar, Avisha could not imagine. The temples gave alms without question. She felt herself a beggar, living off another's handouts for one too many days.

Every day, now, you were likely to see one or two women sitting on the benches. Today two young women had already each taken a place, seated far enough apart that, if a suitor did arrive, there could be no confusion about who he meant to offer for. Because the council benches were sited at the upward edge of the growing settlement, only a few people passed on their way to and from their labors at the captain's hall above. But folk did come just to stare.

She sat, clutching the bowl of rice. A pair of young Qin soldiers had walked up from the barracks. One nudged his comrade, and that man ventured forward hesitantly and sat down by one of the young women, who smiled shyly as she handed him a bowl of rice.

Avisha looked at her hands. After a while, she heard a new rustle of arrivals. Over by the other corner, an older Qin soldier strolled up to the noodle-seller, Darda. He
was received with a pretty greeting and an offered bowl of rice.

Her mouth was so dry. Again, she looked away. She had to be brave and determined. She had to take care of the children. Her life in the village was lost; she must build a life here.

The settlement lay in four pieces: the reservoir, irrigated fields, and parade ground beyond the embankment; the settlement growing out from the gate; the altars and council square sited on the upper hill; the captain's house on the farthest spur of ground with cliff-side for its skirts. There was plenty of room for the settlement to grow, both expanding across the low hill and out into the surrounding land.

From this corner she could see three of the altars. A simple wooden gate with three lintels, facing east, marked the Herald domain of Ilu. Adjacent to the council square, stone walls delineated enclosure of Kotaru, the Thunderer. A flat boulder, brushed clean and sprinkled with water every morning, offered a resting place for Hasibal, the Formless One.

The Lantern's accounting house, so far just a one-room hut, had been raised beside the market square, the With-erer's roof thatched by the fields, and the Lady's shelter planted farther out yet where a footpath ran south along the shore toward distant villages. As for the Devourer—

“Avisha!” Mai came lumbering down the path, dust kicked up by her sandals. Priya and Sheyshi walked close on either side, and Chief Tuvi and a pair of guards paced behind her. “I was looking for you everywhere!”

Mai assessed the situation with a sweeping glance. As she turned to speak to Priya, Chief Tuvi strode forward into the shadow of the canvas awning and right across the dirt square to Avisha. Up from town a Qin soldier came running, riding whip in hand as though he had been interrupted at drill.

Chief Tuvi glanced that way, and stopped, dust settling around his boots. Seeing him, Jagi slowed, then halted,
hand tight around the whip. The chief made a gesture with his right hand, visible to Avisha from this angle only because she saw the chief's arm move. For an instant, Jagi remained poised; then he took two steps back like a horse under tight rein. Obedient to his superiors.

Not even willing to fight for her!

The chief sat down on the bench beside her. He had a pleasing smile; all of the Qin did, able to find humor in most everything. He was old, but the second most important man among the Qin.

Hands shaking, she handed him the bowl of rice, cold by this time. He took it, as they had all been instructed to do, carefully ate half of the rice, then returned the bowl. Its curve rested in her cupped hands, the weight of her future not so very heavy when measured in rice.

The other women had eaten and gotten up to laugh and talk with friends. Here no clans showered them with flower petals or set out a betrothal feast for the village. The Qin had no such customs, and the women had no family nearby to carry out the proper rites.

She could be the wife of an important man. She could expect to live in a substantial house, exert considerable influence over the settlement as it grew, and raise her children to positions of prominence.

Beyond the council benches, Mai smiled sadly. A few more soldiers had come, curious to see their chief catch himself a wife, but Jagi turned to walk away. A boy dashed up from the settlement, carrying an eating bowl covered with a warming lid. He said something to Jagi, then looked beyond the young soldier to see Avisha and Chief Tuvi sitting together. It was Jerad, of course, staring at her with a look of such
accusation
as he tugged on Jagi's sleeve to move him to Avisha. Jagi refused to budge.

Chief Tuvi followed her gaze with his own. “He's a good lad, is Jagi. If he can work his way up through the ranks, then he has a hope of getting what he wants.”

But not before. Not if a man wielding more influence wanted it instead.

She thought of her father, braiding cord and rope day after day, year after year, investing the humble labor with something akin to prayer because he cared that his work itself be an offering.