Chains of Mist (17 page)

“How efficient.”
Now I’m
really
glad I didn’t try to attack Darayan. His partner would’ve skewered me before I even knew he was there.
“So are we going to see your daddy?”

“Yes.” Katrina made the same bizarre clicking sound as before, and this time Austin had enough context to determine that it was the equivalent of a nod. “And then he’ll take you to see the
kat’ara
. They’ll get you to Kil’la’ril to fight that bad man, I promise.”

Austin was less sure. Between his own assignments from the Guild and those of his fellow Ambassadors, he knew that it was rarely so easy.
If these Traika are as dangerous as Katrina and Darayan said, the
kat’ara
won’t do anything to rouse their anger.
He had the feeling that, whatever Katrina thought, a
fai’la’if
’s quest was secondary to the safety of the village
.

Darayan led them to a small, rectangular wooden building. “Wait inside,” he commanded Austin. “Katrina, come with me.”

“Yes, Darayan,” replied the little girl, acquiescent now that it appeared that things were going her way, and she followed the tall scout.

Austin watched them go for a moment, then pushed aside the weave of bo’al
that hung in front of the building’s entrance and stepped inside before a crowd inevitably gathered to gawk at the strangely clothed visitor. The
a’kali’a
was small and unfurnished, so Austin took a seat on the ground. His sore muscles thanked him for the respite. He wondered where Makree and the Admiral were, and if they had discovered some way to pass through the land of the Traika.
The Admiral’s probably got a dozen plans, each better than the last—I’ve read about his campaigns, and he’s handled situations much bleaker than this. And Makree’s no fresh-faced recruit himself; he’s the man who’s never lost a soldier under his command. They’ll be fine—let’s see, it’s been several hours since we arrived, so odds are they’re already at Nembane Mountain and waiting for me.

An excited, high-pitched voice interrupted Austin’s thoughts. “We’re back!” cried Katrina, scampering nimbly into the
a’kali’a
. “
Told
you we could help!”

“Now, now, Katrina—calm down,” said another, older voice, and a man entered the building after the girl, ducking his head beneath the doorway. He was tall and thin like the other villagers, garbed in a tunic and pants of tanned animal hide, and a necklace of curved yellow feathers adorned his neck. His hair was brown flecked with streaks of silver, and hung long and straight across his back. Eyes of emerald gazed coolly at Austin, a look of keen intelligence and well-earned wisdom. “I have agreed only to listen to what he has to say. The rest is beyond my power.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Katrina subsided somewhat, but her eyes still glinted with excitement.

“My name is Taralen,” the man continued. “My daughter tells me that you are a
fai’la’if
and you must be helped, and Darayan tells me that you are a spy and you should be killed. I have not yet made up my mind. It is possible that they are both correct, or neither. I will hear what you have to say before I pass any judgment on you.”

“Thank you, sir.” Austin proceeded to tell him everything beginning with the moment when they had discovered that Rokan Sellas was still alive. Taralen listened silently as Austin related the failed missions on Leva and Hilthak and the subsequent meeting with the Vizier that had eventually led the three of them to Espir. The man’s face was an impassive mask, and even Austin, who was trained to read the subtlest of reactions, could tell nothing of what the man was thinking.

After Austin had finished, Taralen took a moment to think, still studying Austin intently. “I see,” he said finally. “Quite an impressive story, stranger. Surely worthy of inclusion into our tales of mythic heroes, if nothing else.” He paused and raised his hands, placing the first two fingers against his cheekbones—a gesture of deep concentration, Austin suspected. “I do not think that you are a spy,” he continued after several moments. “From your dress, your appearance, your mannerisms, and your equipment it is clear that you are not from here—I have traveled the length and breadth of this land, from sea to sea and up to the mountains of the north, and I have seen none who look and speak as you do. I am not sure if I believe that you come from the stars, however—it is more likely that you are simply from beyond the sea. Regardless, I do not think our people have anything to fear from you. If you are telling the truth, then wherever you come from, it is clearly a society far more advanced than we are; if your people wished to conquer us, they could easily do so without need of subterfuge. But—” and he raised his hand warningly “—that does not mean that I believe your claimed purpose here. Many parts of your tale seem incomplete, and there are times where you seem to doubt your own words. And yet you expect
me
to believe you?” He paused, glancing briefly down at his daughter before looking back at Austin. “It seems that much of what you do is dependent on this
Vijjeer
. You say that you came all the way to our land based on a vision he had, even though he declined to elaborate on exactly how to defeat this man
Ro’kan Sellas.
Is this behavior customary in your society?”

“Not exactly.” Austin wondered just how much Taralen had understood of his description of the Vizier, and decided that it was more than the man was letting on. “But it was not so much that we
decided
to come here based on the vision as he
ordered
us to go. He wields a lot of power, and he’s the kind of man who doesn’t
suggest
—when he feels that something has to be done, he expects it to be done. And he seemed very sure that Rokan Sellas was here.”

“I see. And you said that one of your companions was the leader of your entire fighting force, a man who would seem to be too indispensable to send on such a mission—yet this
Vijjeer
allowed him to go? And your
Keeng
did not intervene? It seems to me as though the
Vijjeer
is the one who is truly in charge.”

“Yes, it does,” Austin admitted.
The Admiral said as much while we were on our way to Leva
, he remembered
.
“I have not had many dealings with the Vizier, but he does seem to be the leader, and the King his follower.”

“Indeed.” Taralen’s expression turned musing. “From the way you have described him, he does not seem the kind of man I would wish to lead my people. He sounds like one who has partaken of too much bo’al, and has lost part of his grip on reality. Yet we must assume that he is not, in fact, like the
bo’al’kana
, or else he would have been removed from power long ago. Therefore, by allowing this
Admeeral Ortega
to come to our land, he must have decided that the gains outweigh the risk. Since the
Vijjeer
also claims that you will not be able to kill
Ro’kan Sellas
, there must be another reason that you are here. Perhaps that reason stems from information that he has and you do not—for he is clearly holding back, by his own admission—but for the time being let us assume that this is not the case. The only remaining variable is your friend. You are here to rescue him out of loyalty, which is admirable, but the
Vijjeer
does not care about your friendship. There must be more. Your friend is vitally important in some way. Does that sound like a fair assessment to you?”

The speed of the other man’s speech left Austin completely bewildered for several moments.
He thinks so fast! And so
clearly
—remarkable! To be able to so quickly deconstruct such a story—regarding people and planets he has never seen, and technology thousands of years ahead of his own.
“I—I guess so,” he managed finally, regaining his composure. “When you say it like that, it makes sense—I just never had a chance to think about it. You have me at a disadvantage. I lived the story, but it seems like
you
were the one who was actually there.”

“
Told
you he’s the smartest man in the world,” interrupted Katrina gleefully, but her father quickly raised a hand to forestall any further exclamations from the girl.

“It is a talent I have.” Taralen spoke without any hint of boasting. “I have always been able to see what others could not, to connect information and intuit what was left unsaid. It is why I was named
Sho’nal
—a title which I believe is a close equivalent to your
Vijjeer.
I like to think that this talent is at least partly why the Belayas have not been destroyed.” He sighed, and in that moment he looked suddenly a full decade older, weary beyond his years. “I believe that you are not a spy, Austin Forgera. I believe that, whatever the hidden motive of your
Vijjeer
, you are here for noble reasons, to save a friend from an unknown fate. I believe that this man
Ro’kan Sellas
has committed terrible crimes, for which he should be brought to justice.” He flicked a glance at his daughter, standing beside him as the physical embodiment of triumphant joy, then looked back at Austin. “I believe all of these things. But I am afraid that I cannot help you.”

As soon as Taralen’s demeanor had shifted, Austin had known what the man was about to say. Actually, he had known it practically from the start, from his conversations with Darayan and Katrina and from the militant state of the village—the
Sho’nal
was merely confirming what had been obvious to Austin almost from the beginning.
There is nothing to gain from helping me, and a lot to lose. No responsible leader could help me, unless he was a fool who did not love his people, and this man is clearly neither of those. Deep down, he might wish he could help me—but the reality of the situation is that he cannot. A difficult decision…but one that good leaders have the strength to make.
Nodding respectfully, Austin said, “I understa—”

“No!” Katrina’s voice sang out, keen and clear like a sunbeam. “No! You don’t
mean
that, Daddy—tell him you don’t mean it! You
can’t
mean it! You’ll help him, I
know
you will! You
have
to!”

“Katrina—” her father began.

But the girl wasn’t finished. “No! You
can’t
do this! You’re the one who told me that
nothing
is more important than a
fai’la’if
, remember? That evil
has
to be stopped, and only a
fai’la’if
can do it? And now you
can
help him, but you
won’t
! It’s not
fair—
”

“Katrina,” said the
Sho’nal
, placing a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Katrina, go and play with your friends and let me talk to Austin for a little while.”

“But—”

“
Go
.” Taralen’s voice brooked no argument. “This is important.”

Katrina’s eyes still shone with outrage, but she bowed her head meekly. “Yes, Daddy.” With a final glance at Austin, she scampered outside and was gone.

“I apologize for my daughter.” Taralen lowered himself into a crouch, a position that looked comfortable yet would allow him to spring to his feet in an instant in case of emergency. “When she thinks that something is morally obligatory, she can be very difficult to dissuade. Ever since I first told her of the
fai’la’ifa
of legend, she has been enamored with the concept. I am afraid that I did not explain it as clearly as I should have, but she was so excited with the idea of a righteous warrior that I did not have the heart to correct her. To dispel the innocence of a child is a difficult thing for a man to do…do you have any children, Austin Forgera?”

Austin’s thoughts flew to Jordin, and memories began to cascade over him. One in particular stood out, of the time when his son had found a wounded luak behind the house and had determined to nurse the small rodent back to health. That determination had been matched only by his nearly inconsolable grief when the creature had died two days later despite his best efforts. “One,” he said. “A son, about the same age as Katrina, I believe.”

“I thought as much.” Taralen made the same clicking with his tongue that Katrina had made earlier. “You have the look of a father—it is difficult to describe exactly what that is, but you know it when you see it. So you understand my dilemma.” He sighed, his eyes wistful. “Perhaps the time has come for me to talk with her about it. It would seem…appropriate…given the circumstances. You try to let them be young, as long as you can, to let them savor every moment of innocence—but easier to stop the rivers from flowing, and Kat’aia from rising and setting.”

“Or the grass from growing.” Austin allowed his thoughts to linger fondly on his son for a little while longer, then brought himself back to the present. “The device that allows us to communicate is imperfect. There are some words you use that don’t translate into my language. I know a little, from talking with your daughter, but it would help if you could explain to me exactly what a
fai’la’if
is.”