The Other Lands (25 page)

“The harbor of Bocoum on a summer’s day,” a man’s voice said, startling Kelis. He turned and saw a man of about his age, richly dressed in an ankle-length blue robe, approaching him. “It is magnificent, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Kelis said. It was not exactly a lie but close.

“Good.” The man smiled. His face was handsome and broad featured in the way of northern Talayans. He was as tall as Kelis, lean as well, although somewhat more bulkily muscled around the chest and shoulders. He was not a runner. He was fit in a different way and carried himself with confident grace. Seeming to remember formality all at once, he bowed his clean-shaven head. He said, “New friend, the sun shines on you, but the water is sweet.”

“The water is cool, new friend, and clear to look upon,” Kelis answered. The words came to his lips automatically.

“It would be nice if these words were true, wouldn’t it? Sometimes I fear our greetings have mostly to do with what we wish the world was and little to do with how it actually is.” Considering the luxury of the building they were in, Kelis wondered what this man had to complain about. “I am Ioma. Sinper Ou is my father. In his name I welcome you, Kelis of Umae. My father and Sangae will be here shortly, along with the one we would have you meet.” He gestured toward the tray a servant had just laid on a small table. “Please, drink.”

The clear glass pitcher contained a chilled juice, frozen enough that it clunked as the servant poured some into a glass. Kelis held the tumbler in his hand, watching the vapor rise off it. He had no idea how they managed to cool it so. Nor did he wish to ask. He touched it to his lips and sipped. It was too cold, unnaturally so.

“It is a wonderful view, isn’t it?” Ioma asked. “Our ancestors looked out upon this harbor for generations before the Acacians planted their first fort on Acacia. Whether or not Acacia chooses to remember this fully is another matter, but we should not forget. That’s even more important now. See over there?” The merchant extended his robed arm and pointed.

It only took Kelis a moment to pick out the structures he was indicating. Lower down the cliffs, near the eastern rim of the bay, was a conglomeration of large, richly painted buildings with garish spires like plump, sparkling red bulbs of garlic.

“The King’s Academy.” Ioma said the official name with disgust. “Should be called the queen’s institute for the forgetting.”

“You don’t care for it, then?”

Ioma nudged him in the shoulder. It was an act of familiarity that would have seemed rude had his host not made it so casually. “Do not joke with me, friend. You know the purpose of that place? It’s not education at all. It’s limitation. They say they pick the brightest students from each of the provinces. So why is it that those ‘brightest’ students always happen to be children of prominent families? Why do the children get selected even when the parents have not offered them for consideration? I know you serve the Akarans; I don’t wish to make an enemy of you.” He paused as if considering how at risk of that he was, and then shrugged and went on. “But you’re Talayan as well. That place is a hostage camp. First and foremost, those children are hostages. Second, their minds are scrubbed clean of the truth and filled with the history of the world as Corinn wishes them to know it. Two of my nephews and a niece attend, a cousin also. They tell me all about it. At least it’s here in Bocoum. That’s something. My family members are hostages only during the day. At night we are free to uneducate them.”

Kelis did not say anything, a fact Ioma acknowledged by pursing his lips. “Perhaps I speak too freely. You see, Kelis, I feel already I know you. But I see that I am not as well known to—Oh, here they are now! Prepare yourself for a surprise, my friend.”

Three figures approached them through the maze of furniture that cluttered the room. Sangae had been an old man for most of Kelis’s life, but he wore his age like an unchanging garment. He was still a slim man—a great runner in his time. His simple garment wrapped his torso and was slung over one of his shoulders.

Sangae embraced him. “It has been too long, my son.”

“Yes, Father, but the Giver is kind,” Kelis responded. Sangae was not actually his father, but in the village of Umae the terms
son
and
father
had always been used liberally. The other man was clearly Ioma’s father, Sinper; they had the same facial structure and physique. The older man wore his hair cropped short around the ears, but it bloomed fuller on top, dusted with gray. Sinper was cordial in greeting him, though he did so with his chin raised and eyes heavy lidded in a manner that made it clear he expected Kelis to offer him the deference usually reserved for chieftains.

Looking over his shoulder as the old man gripped him, Kelis saw that a woman had followed the two men. Seeing her stirred something in him. There were things in her face that he remembered. The wide, smooth forehead; the large eyes separated by the gentle bridge of her nose; her lips full and shapely, held in the pucker that was traditional for Talayan women in formal situations. Part of it, as well, was that her beauty reminded him of an emotion: envy. It was that emotion that marked his realization of who she was: Benabe, one of the many young women who had pursued Aliver as he grew into a man.

“Benabe,” Kelis said, “the moon hides in your eyes.”

“No,” she said, “that is the sun in yours, which simply reflects in mine.”

The greeting completed, Ioma took Kelis by the arm and led him to a couch. They all sat, sipping the chilled drink as servants set a table with small bowls of pickled cabbage and tiny squids, fish eggs on triangles of hard bread. For a while they chatted with no particular direction to the conversation. This was normal enough, really, but Kelis could barely contain his curiosity. He half wondered if he would have to wait until he was alone to find out, and he more than half wondered if the young woman, so quiet as the men spoke, had some role in whatever had brought him here.

Sinper asked Kelis about his battles with the foulthings. He seemed honestly interested in the beasts but also in Mena Akaran. Was she really as fierce in battle as they say? Was it true that she had killed a many-eyed lion beast with her own sword? Could she truly keep pace with Talayan runners when on the hunt? Kelis answered with plainspoken honesty each time.

“So you admire her?” Sinper asked.

“There is much to admire.”

“And what of her sister?” Ioma asked.

“Queen Corinn,” Kelis said, “I do not know that well.”

Ioma grinned. “She doesn’t run barefoot beside our men, does she?”

“No,” Kelis acknowledged.

Ioma sat back. “That would be something to see. I would pay silver to watch our queen run a footrace. She would have to leave her fine dresses at home, but I wouldn’t mind that either.”

The comment was made lightly, but for a moment afterward nobody spoke. Sinper looked sourly at his son, but then seemed to accept that a topic of some import had been reached, even if awkwardly so. He cleared his throat. “We are not here for idle chatter. You know that. Nor will we lower ourselves with base jokes about the queen.” He slanted his eyes at Ioma, who looked away, contrite as a boy, for a few seconds at least. “No, I will not trivialize her with such things. In truth she is not trivial, is she? In truth she is a woman of power.”

Kelis nodded. That fact hardly needed his confirmation.

“Sangae has told me that you have no fondness for her policies. You see her as clearly as we do, and you know—as we do—that she has betrayed Talay. She has betrayed all the people who followed Aliver and defeated Hanish Mein. You agree with all this, don’t you?”

This time Kelis did not nod, but neither did he disagree. The old man took this as affirmation. “Why, then, do you serve her?”

“I am at peace with my heart. I don’t determine what the queen does. I can only act—or not—as Kelis. That is what—”

“So you claim that you will only ever do noble work for her?” Sinper asked, the slow cadence of his voice becoming faster, sharper. “What of when she asks something else of you? How do you refuse? How do you say no, when you have so long been saying yes, yes, yes?”

“What would you have me do?” Kelis snapped, suddenly angry at the old man. Who was he to lecture, and why did Sangae allow it? “This is a world ruled by lions. To the greatest lion goes the spoils, goes everything that it demands. Right now, Corinn Akaran is that lion.”

“Lioness,” Sinper corrected.

“Do you never doubt her?” Ioma asked.

“I live with doubt every day.”

“I as well,” Sangae said softly, drawing Kelis’s eyes up to his. “Do not think me a traitor to Aliver because I doubt his sister. The prince was a son to me. You know that. I raised him at his father’s request and I loved him as if his blood were mine.”

Sinper cut in. “But we do not speak of Aliver. Not yet. Corinn is the one who concerns me. She has broken our noble families and tries to poison the minds of our children against their parents. She didn’t stop the league from taking more of our children away. Her crimes or oversights are too numerous to name. She gave us water, yes, but that is not enough, and it was late in coming. My worries about her have become as a tumor lodged in my breast. Any day it might grow to kill me. I would cut it out, but I don’t have a knife sharp enough. At least, I did not have such a knife …” He dropped his voice at the end of the sentence, leaving it frayed and incomplete.

Ioma, who had stood silent, whispered into the pause. “It may be that we have found that knife.”

Kelis stared from him to Sangae, disbelieving his ears. It was not that he disputed that Corinn’s rule was flawed. She had inherited a foul system from Hanish Mein, who had taken it from her father, who had perpetuated the crimes of the generations before him. None of them seemed willing to break the old order of the world. Corinn, perhaps, was more like Tinhadin’s daughter than Leodan’s. She might yet do great harm. But … “Why does this burn like treason in my ears?” he asked.

“Treason is a betrayal of one’s accepted ruler,” Ioma said, “but it is not treason to reject an usurper. In truth, it is a treason to accept a false rule once you know it is false.”

Sinper inched forward on his seat, like an anxious youth. He pointed at Benabe. “Kelis, can you confirm that Aliver was intimate with this woman? You were his closest companion. If they were intimate, you surely—”

“Nobody can confirm what another man does in his tent,” Kelis said.

“Oh, speak truth!” Benabe said. “I remember quite a bit about what you did—and with whom you did it. We weren’t shy back then, were we? You know I lay with Aliver many times.”

Benabe had always had a quick tongue. She was as easy with anger as she was with laughter. That ease was part of what had bothered him about her—that and the fact that Aliver had found the same traits so alluring. He heard himself say, “You weren’t the only one.”

“No, but I did not keep track like you did. If you can name another who was with him, you can likewise name that I was with him.”

Kelis wiped at the heat that suddenly flushed through his face. They would think him bitter, jealous. Perhaps they would be right to think so. He controlled his voice as he added, “I cannot know what happened between these two, but if you ask me what I believe, then, yes, they were lovers.”

This seemed to satisfy Sinper, though he demonstrated that with an expression more like a grimace than a smile. “So we have a witness.”

“Not that we needed one,” Ioma said. “Benabe’s testimony should not be questioned.”

“It will be, though,” Sangae said. “It will be.”

Benabe stared at Kelis so intently that he had to meet her gaze. “Thank you, Kelis. I know you loved him, too. Aliver knew it as well.”

Another flash of heat surged across Kelis’s face. Fortunately, his dark skin did not betray it. Yes, Aliver knew it, but he didn’t return it—not, at least, in the physical manner Kelis would have welcomed. He had always been careful not to betray the true nature of his feelings for Aliver, and he did not want to now. He spoke as if he had not heard her. “A witness to what? I still don’t understand what this is about.”

The others exchanged glances.

“Bring the child, then,” Sangae eventually said. “Let him see her.”

“The child?”

Sangae nodded. “She is a beautiful child, Kelis. She is hope for us all. Call her, Benabe, and let her come on her two feet.”

Hope for all of us? Kelis felt his fingertips begin to tingle. Hope for all of us?

Benabe rose and walked to the door at the other side of the room. The four men sat in silence as she spoke to somebody in the hallway. A few moments later she returned, leading a girl of perhaps nine years of age. The tingling in Kelis’s fingers became a throb, a heartbeat that moved to the center of his palms.

Benabe said, “This is my daughter. She named herself. She likes us to call her Shen.”

The girl walked with her eyes downcast, but as soon as she stopped before them, she raised her head and looked candidly at the four men. Her face was round and gentle, her mouth small, with thinner lips than her mother’s. Her skin was a rich brown, but it had been stirred with a cream that lightened it. She looked out at them with remarkably large eyes. Though she said not a word, Kelis could not help but think her quite intelligent. Her features were familiar. They were Benabe’s, yes, but that was only one way in which he knew them, had known them since before he ever saw her, before she was ever born. There was no denying it. The girl, Larashen—Shen—was Aliver Akaran’s daughter. How could he have lived those years and not known—felt—her living?

“She named herself?” Kelis asked.

Benabe nodded but did not explain.

“Kelis Umae,” the girl said. Her voice was clear and high, and the two words on her tongue were neither a greeting nor a question. Just a statement.

“You—you know me?”

“Yes. They’ve told me about you. You went as far as the river of the southern basin. There you waited, as good as your word.”

“These people told you that? Your mother? Sangae?”

“The stones told me.” She smiled, and then lowered her gaze, at moments looking no different than a shy girl.