Klewos

Laden down with gear, I followed Keitan and his sons back to Verdwer. We arrived in time for the afternoon fish market to open for business. The boys stood watch over the boats and smoked meats. Keitan and I entered the city.

At the stablemaster, we clasped arms and parted ways. He went off to hire a wagon. I sought out an inn.

The Tenklew House sat near the South Gate, ready to receive outland visitors. Once it was a ghortos, little different from its neighbors. As new customs spread across Verdan, Tenklew outfitted his longhouse to meet the changing times. In the entry hall, I found the familiar figure of his daughter Medwa.

“Taran,” she said. “It’s been a while.”

Her dark, limpid eyes had turned dull. Her hair fanned carelessly down her back. Around her body she drew a dark, woolen cloak. The cloak of wayfarers and mourners.

The same kind of cloak I now wore.

“You have heard about Orinos,” I replied.

She nodded. “The koryonos told me himself.”

“I am sorry for your loss.”

“You carried his klewos onwards. It is as good an ending as any warrior can hope for.”

“Has the koryos returned your bracelet?”

“No. Why?”

“If you want it, the koryos might still have it.”

“They said that Orinos’ gear and body were lost.”

I gaped.

“What? I brought back the name-stones and his betrothal bracelet!”

“They did not mention the bracelet.”

My fists clenched. My eyes and lips clamped shut.

I was a fool. After returning from the Sky-Pillar, I should have come here first to break the news to the family. I should have given the bracelet back.

Instead, I hastened to a god who would cast me out.

“Ask them again,” I said. “They took my pouch. The bracelet was inside my pouch.”

“I will,” she promised, “but…”

“But?”

“Surely they would have burned it by now. I burned mine.”

I sighed. She was a free woman again. Why wouldn’t she burn it? Many women did these days if a marriage or a betrothal fell through.

Selya the priestess was from another age. And, I supposed, so was I.

“Still,” Medwa said, “you tried to bring it back. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I did not feel worthy of speaking the words, but they had to be said.

“I appreciate you coming here to see me,” Medwa said. “If there is nothing else…?”

“There is,” I said. “I wish to stay the night.”

Her rosebud lips twisted back and forth.

“I heard that you had Fallen,” she said. “Is that true?”

“Perkaus cast me out,” I admitted. “I seek to regain His favor.”

“That has never happened before.”

“I must try.”

She closed her eyes. She breathed. She nodded.

“You did what you could for Orinos. Now I will do what I can for you.”

She showed me into the main hall. Around the longfire was a roar of noise. Traders exchanged news and prices. Men bet on dice in a corner, cheering and cursing with every round. Veiled women held children close and haggled with others over wares and services. Rush-lights chased the shadows from the corners. The smell of wood smoke, stale ale and rich stew hung everywhere.

Medwa showed me to an empty seat by the longfire. Her mother was there, pouring water and vegetables into the kettle. On the other side of the hearth, tall and lean, was Tenklew.

“Taran,” he said. “You’ve come back.”

“Yes,” I said.

“I heard about you from the priests.”

“I’m sure they said that I remain a man.”

A half-smile split Tenklew’s face.

“Reduced to a man, more like.”

“Have I not always been one?”

“Father,” Medwa interrupted. “He tried to bring back Orinos’ bracelet.”

The half-smile flattened.

“Where is it?” he asked.

“With the koryos, if it had not yet been burned.”

He looked away for a moment.

“Why have you come here?” he asked.

“I leave the city in the morning. Tonight I only seek shelter.” I dug out a coin from my purse. “Here. For food and fire.”

“Orinos was like a son to me,” he said, “and you were like a brother to him. Keep your silver.”

“We have a business to run,” his wife remarked.

“Bah! He can pay next time.”

“Then let me pay you in song,” I said.

I hung up my stake on the wall and sat down. Medwa passed me a beaker of ale. The thick, tart liquid went down easily, and left behind a herbal aftertaste. I cleared my throat, and sang.

Long into the evening, I sang a series of six-count sekwesa, telling the stories of Orinos and the koryos. I sang of how Orinos had lived and loved and laughed, how he had fought beside far-famed fighters, and how he had died.

At the end, I discovered that the hall had fallen silent.

Medwa’s face cracked. “Thank you.”

She and her mother served the evening meal. The stew was thick with vegetables, carrots, onions and fish. Orinos boasted once that his stew had been cooking for eleven winters without cease. A single spoonful flooded my mouth with a tide of strong and savory flavors. Bread and ale cleansed what tastes remained on the tongue.

We spoke much after the meal about little that mattered. Tenklew and his family gave me tales from the city, and I spoke of life in Omosghortos.

Soon enough, it was time to turn in. Tenklew led his wife and daughter upstairs. The rest of his guests lay down or sat as they pleased. I remained upright, rested myself against the wall, lowered my hat over my face, and closed my eyes.

I stirred awake at the sound of footsteps. Tenklew and his family were returning to the hall, getting ready for another day. I stayed long enough to accept a bowl of stew and a piece of bread. Then I headed out.

The sun was breaking over the horizon. Verdwer was rising with her. In the half-dark, stake at my shoulder, I fast-marched down the High Road. I paused only long enough to fill my waterskin from a nearby well. Then it was a straight shot down to the Northern Gate.

It was still early, but already a line snaked down from the gate towards the market. I found a place and waited.

With the banging of a drum, the gate rolled open. A sliver of sunlight shafted into the city. Verdwer was awake at last.

The line going out was much shorter than the line going in. Still the wait was long. As I shuffled towards the gate, I called up the Tree and Web.

No change.

Not quite. The Face-stones of the Weaver and the Binder were half-filled with light. I suppose my night training had brought me closer to these Faces. Still I had no idea how to open them fully.

[Become more like them,] Arta whispered in my head.

[How?]

She did not explain.

By the time I reached the gate, the streets were awash with light and color. The guards looked up and up at me, then glanced at posters pasted to the walls. Satisfied that I was not a wanted criminal, they waved me through.

A stone’s throw from the gate, the men of the Labos House were waiting.

Six horseless wagons were parked along the road. They were painted in the livery of the Labos House, white and red and gold. Their Breath-driven engines rumbled softly. Mounted on the roofs of the second and fifth wagons were ward-stones, large and strong enough to ward the entire convoy.

Twenty men with halberds and half-plate ringed the wagons. Two more had Storm-roarers. I stared at the long, bulky tubes. This was the first time I had seen such weapons in the hands of warriors that were not sworn to a lord or god.

A group of people mingled in the meadow near the wagons. The merchants and their orbha I identified immediately. Their clothes were dyed in costly hues, or shimmered softly in the sun. The rest carried mismatched gear. Some had spears, others bows or crossbows. Many had shields, some had padded coats, a few had helmets and mail shirts. These had to be the auxiliaries.

As I drew close, I realized that my clothes and gear were the roughest and poorest among them.

It meant naught. I was here, I was committed, and my training and experience was no less than any man in the meadow. I strode towards the growing crowd.

A guard in half-plate stepped up and held out a hand.

“You’re here to join the auxiliaries?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Name?”

“Taran Barak-sonu. Eilan sent me.”

My name yielded no reaction. The merchant’s name kindled his eyes. He looked up at me, at my belt and bags, at my stake, and fought down a frown.

“Wait with the others. We’ll be leaving soon.”

I counted forty people in the crowd. Fully half belonged to the Labos House. There were four women among them, but only one did not wear a collar. She stood apart from the crowd, cloaked in green, smiling at some private joke.

The other half were all men, adventurers and mercenaries one and all. Those with helmets and mail shirts could probably handle themselves. Everyone else, with gleaming gear and little steel, seemed nearly new to the calling of arms.

Then again, who was I to talk?

Still it was strange that the Labos House would allow such men into their ranks. With a klewos as bright as theirs, they ought to be able to afford freelancers or organized mercenaries. They wouldn’t need to scrape the bottom of the barrel.

Omos’ warning resounded in my head once more.

“Ala!” a man in half-plate shouted. “Men who wish to join the Labos House, gather round!”

He spoke with a peculiar cadence, rising as he spoke important phrases, falling during the words in between. This was the voice of a man used to command, on the parade square and on the battlefield.

The would-be auxiliaries gathered in a ragged knot around him. The armsman stood near the middle wagon. Beside him were three people, including the woman in green.

“Form ranks, three deep! Come on! We don’t have all day!”

Other armsmen joined him, shouting and gesturing. I found my place readily enough. So did the mailed and helmeted men. The others needed more encouragement. Eventually the armsmen prodded the auxiliaries into something resembling three orderly lines.

“Listen closely! The potis speaks!”

The armsman pivoted smoothly to his left and snapped his halberd in salute. The potis nodded absently at him and stepped forward.

His hair was gold, his skin like porcelain. His overtunic was stitched from white linen and embroidered in intricate gold chasing. The sleeves of his red undertunic peeked out from under his outer garment, shimmering as only silk could shimmer. His breeches were the color of the forest, and his lower legs were wrapped in an outland style. Draped around his narrow shoulders was a cloak the color of the sea. His belt was wide and firm, and around his arms and neck were rings of gold.

He wore no weapons.

“Good day,” he said, in a voice high and soft. “My name is Megiklews Klewspater-sonu Labos-domu. I am head of this caravan.”

Everyone braced at attention. This man had a surname, the heaviest surname in all of Verdwer.

Megiklews gestured at the people around him.

“This is Arsek Rasnos-sonu, duks of my armsmen. To my side are Hiner Albred-sonu, my chief craftsman, and Ewa Hilek-doguter, our sekwon. They speak with my voice.”

Hiner was a barrel of a man, short and broad. His brown hair thinned into a bald spot. Thick eyeglasses rested on his nose. His arms bulged, but his belly bulged even more under his leather apron. His belt struggled to hold up the weight of his huge tool pouches.

Ewa was the woman in green. Her smile broadened when Megiklews spoke her name. She extended a pale, slender arm from under her cloak and waved.

Voices murmured all around. Rare enough to see a sekwon outside a settlement. Rarer still to have one accompany a convoy to the frontier. The Labos House must be paying her in gold, or else she was weaving her own klewos. Perhaps both.

The Law was clear. Megiklews was below Hiner, who was below Arsek, who was below Ewa. Yet Megiklews had the money and the name, and Hiner the knowledge. The law of the times decreed that their positions were exactly reversed.

“Our faring will take us from Verdwer to the settlements at the base of the Sky-Pillar, and back,” Megiklews continued. “You may have heard of beasts and bandits roaming the frontier. Yet as you can see, we have ward-stones with us. We do not expect Kwei-beasts to trouble us. Nonetheless, should we encounter… trouble… I expect you to deal with it.

“You will receive your payment when we return to Verdwer. If we seize any… treasure… during the run, you will receive an equal share of the prize, alongside the Labos House koryos. And, of course, you need never want for food and fire.

“Our terms are the fairest among the great Houses. If you agree to them, we will swear you in. If you do not, you are free to go. No action will be taken against you if you do.”

No man quit. Megiklews raised his arm.

“Very well. Repeat after—”

“Hold it!”

An armsman broke away from his place near the wagon.

“What is it,” Megiklews said warily.

“That man is not ready to join us.”

The armsman pointed an accusing finger at me.

I pointed at myself.

“Me?”

“Yes, you!” the armsman said. “We’re not going on a walk in the woods! Where’s your gear?”

I glared at him.

“Right here! I have clothes, a fire kit, camping gear—”

“Where’s your weapon?”

I patted my stake. “Here.”

“That?” He barked a laugh. “That’s an oversized toothpick!”

Other armsmen laughed with him.

Fire blossomed in my chest. I broke ranks and strode to the front of the formation.

“‘Toothpick’, you say? I slew a mother khonkonghos with this ‘toothpick’!”

“Nonsense!”

I pointed at the sharp end, stained in black. “See the dried ichor? That came from a khonkonghos large as a wagon.”

“Bah! A small khonkonghos, I can almost buy. But a mother khonkonghos? Impossible!”

“Dhelklew Blacksmith and Einos Leatherworker saw what remained of the khonkonghos. Omosghortos witnessed the battle. You name them liars?”

“I name you a liar! You have no armor, you have no helmet, you don’t even have steel!”

Red rage roared within me. Though every eye fell on me, my lips stretched into a mad grin.

Here was a dance I knew well. In the Perkausyo koryos I had to prove myself. Here, I would need to prove myself again.

[Don’t,] Arta whispered.

I ignored her.

“Would you care to find out exactly how I felled a mother khonkonghos?” I asked.

“I already know! You hid behind braver men with better weapons! You let them do the men’s work. Then when the beast could fight no more, you claimed the kill.”

“You confess only to your own cowardice!”

[Stop it!]

“That’s enough, both of you!” Arsek shouted.

“Duks, this man will get us killed!” the armsman replied. “He has no arms or armor! He will weaken the wall! We cannot let him stand with us!”

[Hold your tongue!]

It lashed of its own accord.

“An empty shell weakens the wall more than a stake of honest wood!”

The armsman slammed his halberd into the earth. Teeth bared, he sang.

Wooden man barks

Hands buffing wood

Wet not with blood

Stiff not with steel

Ewa gasped. Armsmen and auxiliaries chuckled.

Arta sighed.

A newborn sun exploded in my heart. My hand tightened around my stake. Trembling, I smothered the urge to run him through.

“Take. That. Back.”

He lifted his chin and looked down his nose.

“Walk away, man of wood. This is work only for men of steel.”

I lifted the stake high and stabbed into the sky.

[STOP!]

I spun the stake and slammed it into the earth.

“Sky and Earth, I call You to witness! This man has spoken false! Here and now I plant my weapon! You who insulted me, take up your own, or take back your words and be named less than a man!”

The armsman grinned. He raised his halberd, then struck the earth.

“I take up my weapon! I will prove you false! Under Sky and Earth, I will reveal your heart for all the world to see!”

Megiklews sighed and shook his head. Arsek rolled his eyes. Ewa’s face went grim.

“Let us go to the lists, and prove ourselves to Sky and Earth,” I said.

“Can you not?” Megiklews interrupted. “We have a schedule to keep.”

“No,” the armsman and I said as one.

“I am the head of the convoy, and I say you need to put your petty nonsense aside.”

“They can’t,” Ewa said.

He whirled around to face her. “Why not?”

“Regneus sang a sekwa. It cannot be unspoken, save with blood.”

Megiklews buried his face in his hands.

“Make it quick,” he muttered.

“Let’s go,” Regneus the armsman said.

As he spun around, I turned my eye on his back and read his Breath.

Body 6

Mind 4

Spirit 5

[I told you to stop,] Arta said.

[I could not.]

She sighed. And so did I.