The Braided World (20 page)

The king was dressed in a gold and brown robe with black trim at the hem and cuffs, a more relaxed attire than Anton had ever seen him in. Vidori flicked his hand at the hoda attendants and guards, and Shim ushered them out, closing the hall screen with a soft swoosh.

“Sit, Anton,” Vidori said. “This will be my last pleasant moment of the day.” His ear ornaments flashed with an obsidian glint. For the first time, Anton saw that they were etched with a miniature scene, of braided streams and a boat.

Anton relaxed a little, hearing the king's mood. Perhaps his mission was not going to be blamed for the massacre.

Vidori stared out at the Puldar, a broad path of gray under the clouds. “The rivers have receded, Anton.”

The floods were past. It was a dangerous time, Vidori had said before.

He turned somewhat, to catch Anton's eye. “There are two edges to my battles now. One is on the eastern border, far up the Sodesh where the Voi test our strength.”

He left unsaid,
The other is up the Amalang.

Vidori had just returned from the Voi engagement. Perhaps he'd already seen what Oleel had hung in the trees to welcome him. But other deaths were foremost in his mind.

“There was a battle yesterday, Anton. We died, some of us.”

Anton hadn't heard of this; but skirmishes with the Voi were not uncommon now. “Was it a hard loss?”

“No. But they were stronger than I thought.” His eyes met Anton's. “Hoda. Hoda were among them, fighting us. That is a hard thing, to be slain by a hoda.”

Or to be killed for singing
, Anton thought, but didn't say.

Even with the veranda screens open wide, there was not the slightest breeze. The day hung heavy over them, squeezing flat all movement and sound. Even the forest birds and insects seemed to have suspended activities, waiting for the storm.

The king motioned for him to come onto the veranda. There was no relief from the heat, but it felt better than sticking to the chair.

The Puldar was full of boats—thousands of skiffs, with people returning from the variums, their daily obligation of procreation at the temple of the uldia. Below them, a great barge bore judipon down the Puldar, along with crates of goods.

The king looked tired. His profile, as he gazed out, was chiseled and fine, but his complexion was grayed a little. Anton guessed he had not slept last night.

“My people are obedient,” Vidori said as he watched the river traffic. “They have their duty of the variums, and their duty of tithing and rearing strong children.”

He turned to face Anton. “Even so, times are fragile. My duty is to keep the ways of the braid, to assure that the hoda bend to their tasks so that the Olagong may thrive. Bailey should not embolden the hoda by approving their habit of song, when we deem it vulgar, and when some songs are judged impudent by the Second Dassa. Emboldened, the hoda run to swell the ranks of the Voi, and then my soldiers are killed at the hands of slaves.” Vidori fixed a studiously netural gaze on him. “It will not suit, Anton. It will not.”

If Anton was going to incur the king's displeasure, it wouldn't be over singing. “Perhaps it's time for Bailey to leave,” he told Vidori.

“No, Captain. I hope that is not your decision.”

“What, then?”

Vidori moved to the edge of the veranda. As usual in the pavilions, there was no railing, making such movements seem reckless. The king squinted into the distance, watching the Puldar, perhaps seeing things that Anton could not yet see, or never would.

“My wish,” Vidori said, “is for Bailey to remain among us. The people see that she does no harm, and that humans are good on the river. She is an acceptable ambassador for you. Wearing a hat. The people like this Bailey, and that is helpful to me. As long as she is respectful.”

Vidori stood with his hands behind his back, watching the boats keeping the ways of the braid. Out of nowhere he said, “You think I am harsh, Captain.”

“Regarding the hoda?” Anton hesitated, then said, “It is true that Dassa ways are hard for us to approve.”

Vidori turned toward Anton, locking gazes with him. “But do you think me harsh?”

“I had not thought so, Vidori-rah. But we hold human life higher. All human life. It's our way, but not yours.”

“So Joon has told me.”

“Joon?” He had hoped her name would not come up. He was not a rival with Vidori for Joon's affection. Or was he? The event might well mean nothing to Vidori. It might well mean nothing to Joon. He wished it had not happened, and planned that it would not again, even as extraordinary as it was…

The king continued, “Yes, she has told me that you think it is time for the hoda to be brought higher.”

Anton felt the ground becoming unsteady. Was Joon purposely undermining him? “I believe that is what Joon herself said. I haven't expressed an opinion.”

Vidori frowned. “You do not believe such?”

“I don't say everything I think. Not here.” And what did that make him, then?

“That would be helpful. For you not to say so.”

Anton murmured, “You walk a fine line, and so must I.”

“Line?”

“A
saying among us. That you must not swerve to one side or the other. To satisfy many points of view.” Politics. Anton decided he hated politics.

Vidori regarded him. “You do understand me, I sometimes think. But you do not approve of me.”

“Rahi, I—”

He held up a hand. “Not a fair question. You are my guest.” He nodded at the river. “Do you see how many boats there are, Captain? Do you think I steer them from my veranda with my hand?” He glanced at Anton. “Or with my devotion?”

Anton saw how the boats made their way, thousands of them, in chaotic harmony, threading their way here to there. He thought that he knew what the king was saying, that he could not, by himself alone, alter the braided lands.

The king went on, “But if I thought no change could come, I would not sit the throne, just to observe the River Days, the ceremonies. I would leave that to Joon. But my sight goes farther than the Sodesh. Beyond the Vol. I have Romang to command the army, and none better for the fight. But for other things I need time, Anton. I know that you would leave the palace, and make your searches freely. But I have said, I need time.”

“Rahi, I have no time. My people are dying.”

“Just a little time.”

He said this so casually, with a king's assumption of privilege. Anton looked at Vidori, wondering if anyone at any time had ever said
no
to the man. If it was time for him to say no.

Anton said, “I must search further, rahi, beyond what you have shown me. There is something buried in this land, I am convinced of it.”

“Buried?”

“Stored. Both obvious and hidden.” Something that a newcomer might see immediately.

Vidori sighed. “So then, you would set out, offending Oleel, and she will say that I have given you leave. You can see, from the heavy fruit of the trees along the Sodesh, that no good can come of it.”

Now the man had assembled an argument that suggested Anton would be responsible for any retaliations that Oleel might devise. The tone was condescending, and it grated. He had to break free of the man.

“Do you think, Vidori-rah, that I am less devoted to my people than you to yours?”

The king's face became stony “You are a long way away from the people you claim to cherish.”

It stung. Whether he meant Earth, or the ship.

Then their attention was drawn by a commotion on the river, and Anton saw the thing that Vidori had been watching: a barge lined with soldiers.

“The barge of the dead,” Vidori murmured. “From the fighting up the Sodesh. Here are those soldiers fallen at the hands of the hoda who call themselves Vol.”

He continued, “On their way to the burial lands down the Puldar. Other of my fallen soldiers will not lie on the same barge.”

Even in death, the distinctions remained. “I think, rahi, that the Olagong will never accept me and my mission. Since we are born to bear. It will not change.” That being the case, there was no longer a reason to remain chained to the palace, however silken the cords.

“I am sorry that you think so, Captain. It is not my vision.”

But as had been made abundantly clear, they saw things with very different eyes.

Every screen in Zhen's hut was thrown wide open, sup
plicating the air for a breeze. Bailey sat nearby, watching Zhen, feeling as listless as Anton in the oppressive air.

Anton leaned against a corner post, observing Zhen's methodical movements with her botany samples. Her fingers were short, but incredibly flexible, as she maneuvered her slices and powders onto slides, peering at them. Her attentions had turned from the Dassa genome to analysis of the local food staple, a reddish brown tuber called the
langya.
It was Nick's suggestion, since he felt that the regional myths of the plants might hide deeper significance.

“Zhen, you can take a break,” Anton said. Her hair stuck to her skull, as though her work—as sedentary as it was— made her hotter.

Without looking up from the ocular of the scope, she said, “Is that an order?”

“No.”

Her face looked stuck to her microscope.

“Finding anything interesting?” he asked her.

“Yes. It's all interesting. There are interesting proteins,
for one thing. These langva have at least one hundred kinds of endotoxin receptors. It's like they have a hundred different ways to detect flagellin from bacteria.”

“Meaning?”

Zhen looked up, frowning. “Meaning it's interesting.”

Bailey said, “Well, I haven't seen a sick Dassa on this planet yet. Make us a tonic, Zhen,” she said.

Zhen closed her eyes, not getting the humor. “This is enough work for a whole gaggle of researchers. That's why I don't take breaks.”

Noise in the corridor outside. Hurrying feet. Someone running. Nick poked his head into Zhen's sanctum. “Captain.”

Following Nick into the central crew hut, Anton found the main hall screen thrown wide, revealing a mass of people rushing in one direction: toward the river.

Nick reported, “Something about the king leaving.”

Anton got Bailey's attention. “Stay with Zhen,” he ordered. Then he and Nick melted into the general rush, a controlled stampede, here where running was so rare.

As they approached the king's river room, they saw that a throng had already gathered, some hugging the perimeter and others milling in the center with equipment and loud voices.

Viven were shouting for hoda to fetch equipment, amid a general push for the river stairs. Men and women were armed with short swords, and though it all looked very martial, the expressions on their faces were too eager and cheerful for a battle. Banners came out, hoisted and unfurled by assistants, revealing colors and symbols Anton hadn't seen before. Nick had turned to one of the viven to make inquiries.

But then all heads turned, noting Vidori's entrance into the hall. He received the bows and greetings of his nobles, then spied Anton. He hailed him.

A path cleared between the two men, and Anton walked
down it. Vidori turned to Shim. “My guest will come with us, Shim-rah. Make him ready.”

Nick murmured to Anton, “It's something about a hunt. A celebration of sorts.”

The king turned to Anton, saying merrily, “You consent to come in my war canoes?”

Someone murmured, “An-ton will paddle that hoda,” and nearby viven broke into titters.

“Will you come?” Vidori repeated.

“Of course, Vidori-rah. But where are we going?”

At the king's side, one of the viven said, “We don't know. That's the game.”

Turning away, the king strode to the steps, commanding, “Someone give the captain a short sword, or how can he play?”

That left Anton in a knot of viven, all of whom—or none of whom—were tasked with giving the human something of theirs. They eyed him with distress. Finally, Nidhe— one of the king's brothers—drew his sword from his belt and pointed it at Anton, business end forward. “Captain, I present a sword.”

He presented a difficulty. Anton could not grasp the handle without inadvertently touching Nidhe. The blade looked sharp. Now several of the palace-born turned to watch, a sly humor coming into their faces, some more delighted than others.

Maypong was at his side, coming out of nowhere. “Oh, Nidhe-rah, thankfully you are so generous.”

Flicking open the wide sash around her waist, she used it to take the blade end of the sword in her hands. She turned the hilt to Anton, smiling brightly, a line of moisture on her upper lip. She must have run to get next to him during this exchange.

Anton took the sword, noting that its wooden hilt was carved and bore short tassels of blue and gray, as though the weapon was decked out for ceremony

“Maypong to the rescue,” Nick remarked. “Have a nice hunt, Captain.”

“What kind of hunt?” Anton wanted to know.

Nick shrugged. “Don't know, Captain, but you're about to find out.”

Maypong pushed Anton forward with the slightest pressure on his elbow, a maneuver she had perfected so as to avoid touching him anywhere more personal.