The Braided World (49 page)

Anton felt the words hit him, and then press down, seeking some kind of perverse entry. “I…” He couldn't finish. Vidori was saying it was Anton who had impregnated her. Joon was born to bear? Joon?

Vidori looked at him with what might have been compassion. Or compassion for himself. He said: “I knew what she was. I couldn't give her up. I begged her to dissemble.

Oleel agreed to help, and hid her nature. We both loved her, perhaps Oleel even more than I. Sometimes, I have come to believe, the reason Oleel hated all other hoda so was her rage that Joon was thus defiled.”

The image of Joon's death came to Anton's mind, when she took his hand and brought it down to her chest. But she had meant for him to touch her belly What this child meant to her, he would never know. But he did know that she was trying to tell him. Perhaps she'd hoped to tell him several other times when she'd tried to see him. Even as he avoided her. His eyes grew hot.

Vidori was saying, ‘After a time it became impossible for us to think of Joon as hoda. She was beloved of us, nothing more. So you see, her interest in the hoda was not a trap for you. She might have been a good queen. But she thought that I had no vision for the slaves, and so betrayed me. I kept her out of my true plans. I was foolish.”

“I
was foolish, Vidori-rah. Very foolish.”

If he had observed Dassa customs in this Dassa world, Joon would not have been pregnant. All that had been required of him was that he observe sarif, in their way, a way that worked here. If he had observed Dassa custom, Joon would never have had reason to hope that a pregnancy would bring her power, align her with Anton against her father … if that was her plan. He felt it was. And she was not wrong—it would have put her in a different light for him. He thought of that unborn child, and the emotional cost in Joon's decision to show herself as a hoda. Or had she been a visionary, one who would have reveled in being a hoda queen?

When he put his attention on Vidori once more, Anton saw the man's resolve returning to his face, that calm facade that was his refuge. “But Anton-rah,” Vidori said. “I will not speak of her again. I will not speak of my foolishness, or hers. Or yours, ever again.”

Anton knew that he never would. So he was left with the king's words coiling around his heart, leaving him with a
terrible ambiguity. Here in the Olagong, the braid chose Joon for him, instead of Maypong. And then took both of them.

Giving Anton this moment alone, Vidori walked down the pier toward camp, where he was immediately importuned by his lieutenants. When he finished with them, he waited for Anton to join him.

It was a long wait, but Vidori stood quietly, staring at the river, and no one dared interrupt him again.

At length, Anton did, glad for the cover of the acrid smoke, which left everyone's eyes raw. Vidori led him through the encampment. Anton followed, wanting to say things to Vidori, wanting to talk about what would never be discussed again: Joon, her hopes, her child. It saddened him beyond measure that at the last, she might have wanted to die, as Vidori said. Because she had lost Anton's support. And it was too late to not be pregnant.

Finally, he forced himself to set it aside for later. There were other things he'd come to say to Vidori that needed saying.

Vidori was winding his way through what he called a
staging ground
for the wounded. The Dassa had no word for
hospital
or
infirmary.
Many fighters, both male and female, were lying on pallets, their wounds bound. Helpers applied ointments; but for surgery, they would have to rely on the uldia.

And, surprisingly, there were a few uldia present here. And more arriving every hour, having heard of Oleel's death. Vidori's strategy, he said, was amnesty for any uldia who came freely to him. By what Anton was observing, it was the right decision, for these Dassa soldiers were deferring to the uldia, grateful for their medicinals and ministrations.

The king stopped to talk with the soldiers and conferred with the uldia who tended the most critically wounded. He had all their names, and used them. But soon Vidori was
leading Anton away from the tents, along a path by the river, toward somewhat higher ground.

As they walked, Vidori told him that the judipon under Nirimol had fled up the Sodesh, perhaps to take refuge with the Vol. The fighting, he believed, was over, at least for now. He had set his army to putting out fires, and thousands of Dassa—whichever side they had been fighting on—had put down their arms and begun to attack the fires instead.

Anton knew that Oleel's death was not the end of the conflict. All the problems were still before them, and even worse than before. The hoda had risen up; Dassa had killed each other in civil war. These were scarring wounds. And, as well, there were the alien cultures supposedly hidden in the forest, in the langva, and they—or the rumor of them— would need to be quelled.

It was all far from over.

Emerging from the forest at a bend in the Sodesh, they came to the king's command tent, with views of the river to both the west and east. A unit of guards made way, and the two of them entered the open-sided pavilion. Shim, conferring with several viven, dismissed them as the king entered.

“Anton-rah, thank you,” Shim said, beaming.

Anton returned her greeting, just as happy to see her.

A tray of food and drink appeared. They took the meal in silence, and while they did, the sun set and servants lit oil lamps.

As Anton prepared to speak, he met Vidori's eyes. There he saw all the unspoken things that formed the powerful undercurrent to their relationship. He hoped it was a current of trust and shared grief, and not one of resentment. Perhaps even Vidori wasn't sure.

“Rahi,” he began. “You asked me a few days ago to stay on your world. To stand in protection of the Olagong against what the stars might bring.” He paused, then added, “I'm not sure the stars will bring any further trouble than a new batch of humans. And I'm not sure more humans
will
come. And if they do, you must know, we aren't a warship.”

“But you have weapons.” Vidori sipped a drink, falling back into his easy manner of playing the game of words.

“Some. But we aren't much of a force if conflict comes.” He sat back from the table, preparing to be as tough as the king. “But there is the appearance of protection. A political statement. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“If that's the goal, then we can discuss what's best for your people, and best for mine. They're mixed together, though, rahi. I have to tell you that they are mixed together. Because of Gilar.”

The king tossed back,
“Mixed?”

Anton shifted in his chair, saying, “The hoda are human.” Joon was human. The king's elaborate plan to soften hoda conditions was not, as Anton had once thought, solely to prevent them from defecting to the Vol. It went much deeper than that—to the heart of things, to his beloved daughter.

The king took a piece of fruit and chewed thoughtfully. He gave no sign that the subject disturbed him, but his control was too perfect. Anton had learned from Maypong to interpret stillness and calm.

“I have said I will free the hoda,” Vidori said.

Shim looked at the river, saying, “It would appear they are already free. Some of them.”

The king flicked an amused expression at her. She had told the truth, but it was surprising, coming from the quiet Shim. Well, she had been out in the field during conflict. It did change people, as Anton well knew.

“And
free
is only a word,” Anton said.

Vidori's words came quietly. “What words do you like better?”

Anton had the words straight from Gilar. “Land. Respect.”

“Every islet belongs to a lineage. This is a thing, Anton Prados, that cannot change in the Olagong.”

Anton said, “Outside of Lolo, far up the Sodesh, there is
unclaimed land. Land not well suited for variums. It would serve well for the hoda.”
Who have no need of variums
, he left off saying, it veering too close to the topic that would never be discussed again.

Shim glanced at the king, to see if he was angry

He was. Vidori stood, staring down at Anton, his eyes taking a glint from the oil lamps. Then he turned away and went to the corner of his tent where a radio receiver sat on a low table. He turned a knob. Through a hiss of static came garbled words. He tuned the radio. Gilar's voice was clear: still transmitting from Oleel's pavilion, still calling in song to her sisters in the households along the rivers.

“Is this growing army of hoda my next battle? Is this whose side you've come to defend?”

Shim was staring intently at her hands, folded in her lap.

Anton rose. “No, rahi. The hoda have already fought for you. They took Oleel's compound in your name. It's yours.” He looked at the king. “I won't fight here again. I won't kill Dassa again. Whatever happens among the Powers—and the Voi—it will happen without me. So it's not a matter of arms, but of—politics. And yes, in that I side with the hoda. Because they're my people more directly than any highborn Dassa. They're my only future if I stay. My crew and I will live among the hoda, where our welcome is clear. By your pardon, Vidori-rah, if we stay, we must go with the hoda.”

In the glaring silence that followed this pronouncement, Shim rose and directed servants to clear the food and bring wine. Then she poured the wine, clearly with high hopes that it would help. She held out a glass to Anton, who drank, because it was custom that the guest drank first. Vidori ignored his glass and strode from the tent. Shim's look warned Anton to go slowly, but that was just what he couldn't do. Now was the moment in which the right thing could be done, and the future imagined anew.

Handing the cup of wine back to Shim, he followed Vidori outside, where torches were dug in along the bank and around the tent.

Sensing his presence, but not turning around from his stance facing the river, Vidori said, “So now we will have the bearing of children in outlandish ways.”

Anton replied, “Unless you pronounce it normal.”

The king threw him an annoyed glance. “And the households that rely on the hoda for care of children? Who supplants the hodas’ place in our households? Do you have a word for that?”

Anton did. “Uldia.”

The corner of Vidori's mouth turned up. “Well, they do need something productive to do, it would seem.”

“And some hoda will prefer their familiar households. The uldia will have help.”

“Oh yes, the uldia will be happy to clean soiled babes and cook meals.”

Anton ventured—and this was Gilar's idea too: “You might consider reducing the uldias’ receipts from the tithe, and increasing the householders'. The mistresses of the compounds could then pay the uldia for their services, bringing all into balance again.”

After a very long silence, the king's voice finally came to him. “You have become a harder man to deal with, Anton-rah.”

“Yes, rahi.”

Several minutes passed. The river flowed on, changing, and staying. Shouts came from those Dassa still moving upon it in skiffs and canoes.

Vidori turned to him. “Here is what I say: The hoda will be an extension of the king's power. They will be on the Sodesh, but that cannot be solely
their
river. It belongs to all.”

“But, rahi,” Anton said, “they must have their own chief.”

“Yes, granted. But there will be only three Powers.”

“Yet four chiefs?”

Vidori waved this away. “I will set the judipon to numerations. They are good at it.” He started to pace along the
riverbank, thinking out loud. “If the hoda occupy lands up-river, so close to the Voi lands, then they will maintain a fortress there. They will defend the Olagong from Voi intrusion, as a first line of defense. They are aligned with me, or they cannot stay.”

Anton thought that might suit Gilar. It wasn't as though she believed she could avoid compromises. “I'll ask her, rahi. It's a good plan.”

Vidori raised an eyebrow. “You say so? Thankfully I have not lost my powers of strategy, then.”

Anton didn't rise to the bait. “I would never think that, rahi.”

“Do you not, Anton? Did you not return and conclave first with the hoda before turning to me?”

Anton gazed back at this man he might call
friend.
“You've given me your courtesy and your protection, and I owe you much for that. But the hoda are my people, just as the Dassa are yours. Nothing alters that. I think we're both anchored, Vidori-rah, by our devotion.”

“Oh yes,” came the voice. This time it was Shim who answered. She stood beside them holding two cups of wine. “By devotion,” she said, turning to the king and holding out a cup of blue wine.

Vidori looked at her, and at last accepted the cup. Anton took the other one.

Without coming to a conclusion about everything, they drank. It was a beginning. And they hadn't killed each other. Shim fetched her own cup, and drank deeply, her hands shaking a little.

It had grown very dark. Shim had left the two of them with a fresh jar of wine.

They were seated on the bank of the Sodesh, watching the river bearing yet a few more boats on its broad back. Many of the fires were abating, and the forest had resumed
some of its healthy chatter. The sound was comforting, after so much silence from the creatures of the Olagong.

Vidori had been talking about the codas. He'd been thinking about them, although when he'd had time to think in the last four days, Anton didn't know. But Vidori was a thinking king, above all else. He was a man who had just learned that his world was the center of things. Then again, in some ways this squared with what he had always thought.

The idea of sharing this world was where he surprised Anton. Because Vidori was not troubled by the possible visits of other beings. Perhaps he took comfort in Anton's opinion that it would not happen in his lifetime. It hadn't happened in ten thousand years, Anton had pointed out. But with the passing of time, he'd pointed out as well, such visits became more likely, as messages had time to reach home worlds, and ships had time to come looking. And though Anton had said the
Restoration
was no warship, Vidori also had faith that the ship would be a protection should the aliens, if they came, be more Vol-like than Dassa-like. But some things did give him pause.