The Plains of Kallanash (4 page)

“But where will you go? I don’t see you at the Ring, somehow.”

“No, not there. We will never have to go there again, I hope. But there are some of your brothers we could go and annoy, and two of them are far enough north to be warm.”

“I wish you could come here,” she said. But the remnants of broken marriages never went to daughters, only to sons or to the Ring, living out a twilight life with no proper role, dwindling towards death.

They had little to say about Tella.

“I remember her, of course,” Kendron said. “An active child, always flitting here and there, never still, and such a beauty as she grew up. But there were so many children, over the years, and she was never close to either of us. Who was her mother, do you remember, my dear?”

Bellissa shrugged. “I’m not sure. She might have been the third wife’s, the one who died. She was a good looking woman, too. Or one of the Companions.”

Kendron turned to Mia with a smile. “We remember our own much better.” He put an arm round her, and she snuggled contentedly against him.

“Now,” he went on, “you must understand, child, that you are in a very dangerous situation with Tella gone. With four, a marriage falls naturally into two couples, or else there is just one couple and the others help out, as you have done. Or… well, there are other arrangements, of course. But three
– that is more problematic. If a husband dies, the Voices have to replace him for the skirmishes. But a wife… It is not so easy.”

Mia said nothing, puzzled. She already knew that Tella would not be replaced, so she would be lead wife. What would happen after that… well, they would settle it after the month of mourning. She would be upstairs and sleeping with one or other of her husbands, that was certain. Or perhaps they would share her. That wasn’t uncommon. She would accept whatever the men decided. But what could be dangerous about it?

“What will most likely happen, you see,” Bellissa said, leaning forwards, “is that you and Jonnor will become a couple and Hurst…” She glanced at her husband.

“If Hurst feels excluded, he may take it badly,” Kendron said.

“Hurst…? I don’t think you know him very well,” Mia said, floundering a little, not sure where this train of thought was leading.

“I know his
reputation
,” he said. “I know he’s clever and ambitious. It’s been a concern to us right from the start. Jonnor should watch out for him, that’s all I say. He should watch out for blue arrows.”

Mia shivered, her stomach churning. “No,” she whispered. “He wouldn’t. Would he?”

“Maybe not, but he has the right. If he feels slighted, he might ask for the blue arrows, and then you’ll lose one of your husbands to the funeral flames as well.”

Whenever Hurst wanted to hide away from the world, he retreated to his senior Companion’s small library. Gantor was the son of scholars, and a great reader. He had books hanging on his wall that had nothing to do with skirmishes or battles or strategy or swordwork, and didn’t even have pictures in them. The room was also provided with maps and models for skirmish strategy planning, and was kept well stocked with cakes and wine.

Hurst usually hid to avoid the Slaves trying to drag him to the temple for some ceremony or other, but this time the cause was his own father. Tanist was the last of the official mourners to arrive, after a long and arduous journey from the far western border, beyond the reach of the sky ship way. He was something of a hero nowadays, having scored a famous victory over the Vahsi barbarians only two years earlier.

“I love my father dearly,” Hurst said to Gantor. “He taught me everything I know about skirmishing, and the barbarians too, but I wish he’d remember that I’m not a child any more. Improve your skirmish results, Hurst. Stand up to Jonnor, Hurst. Look at your younger brothers, Hurst, already promoted to the fourth line. Trouble is, ever since he got rid of the Vahsi in his patch, he’s had too much time on his hands. He has nothing to do now except hand out unwanted advice.”

Gantor snorted. “And what part of that advice would you argue with? You’re only cross because he’s right.”

“Of course he’s right. We
should
be further than the third line by now, maybe even at the border. I know that as well as anyone. After all,
you’ve
been saying it for years.”

“You’re not jealous of Klemmast and Jallinast? Making the fourth line before you?”

“Gods, no! They deserve it. I’m really pleased for them.”

“It will be interesting to see how things work out, with a third couple in the marriage,” Gantor said, his face thoughtful. “They’re so close, those two, they’ll find it unsettling.”

“It’ll be fine,” Hurst said breezily. “You always anticipate the worst, my friend. Mind you, I didn’t expect Roonast to be the new husband. Fifteen! That makes me feel so old. I remember him being born. But he’s easy going, he’ll fit right in.”

“Do you ever think about it? Moving to the fourth line? Getting a third couple?”

Hurst shrugged uneasily. Of course he’d thought about it, about the way it would change things, how could he not? But he’d grown up in a border Karning, the eighth line to start with and later the ninth, with the full complement of six couples in the marriage, and everything relatively stable. Early marriages, with only two or three couples, were much more fluid. Less predictable. He’d worry about it when it happened.

“Or you could get another couple now,” Gantor went on. “If you ask for the blue arrows.”

“Oh, don’t
you
start! You’re as bad as Tanist. Take the blue arrows, Hurst. Get rid of Jonnor, then you’ll be lead, Hurst.”

“Mia was asking, you know,” Gantor said, staring into the distance. “About the blue arrows.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That you had not divulged your thoughts on the subject to me. Which is the truth.”

“You’ll be the first to know, I assure you.”

Gantor folded his arms, and scowled at Hurst. “We do have an interest in the matter. If we’re to be incinerated in the near future, we’d like a chance to get our affairs in order.”

Hurst laughed and shook his head. “If it comes to that, I don’t think
we
are at any risk.”

“Don’t make assumptions,” Gantor said seriously. “Once the arrows start flying, who knows how things might turn out. And even if
you
don’t ask for the blue arrows, Jonnor might. Or the Voices might send an agent to sort things out.”

“An agent? Not likely,” Hurst said at once. “Jonnor or I can ask at any time, but the Voices try not to interfere.”

“Ah. You’ve been looking up the rules about all this. That’s interesting.”

“Yes, I have, of course I have. But there are very few absolutes about it - it’s all ‘may’ and ‘could’ and such like. As for Jonnor
– why would
he
want
me
out of the way? He’s the lead – he does what he wants, and I tidy up after him.” He couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“Tanist’s right, you know,” Gantor said, watching him. “This is an opportunity to take charge. I don’t want to influence you either way, but it would solve all the problems. Take the blue arrows, remove Jonnor
– you would have everything you want.”

“It’s not about what I want! Well… not just that, it’s about the family, about stability. We’ve gone on fine for ten years, because nobody got confrontational.
I have nothing against Jonnor, you know that. I’d like a more equal part in this marriage, but I don’t want him
dead
. I’ll kill barbarians if need be, but not my own kin. And another death so soon after Tella…”

“It doesn’t have to be soon. You have three years to ask for the blue arrows, don’t you? Well, then. You could wait. But if Mia and Jonnor…”

Hurst stood. He was weary, he realised, weary of these same arguments revolving without resolution in his own head. Of course he wanted Jonnor out of the way, then he could make his own decisions on the skirmishes, he could play his own strategies. He could mark up some successes, as he had for the first three or four years of the marriage, when Jonnor lacked confidence and took his advice. Those had been good years. And Mia… Mia would be his. And yet... Always he hesitated, knowing how it would affect Mia. Or rather, not knowing at all.

Gantor grunted and tilted his head to the side, looking up at him. “You know what the men say of you? That you’re a lion on the line, but you’re a mouse in your own home. It may be time to roar, Hurst.”

~~~

The month of mourning had its trials, but to Hurst it was a time of unexpected solace. The days were full of dull ritual, but they were shared with Mia, which made them bearable, and the tedium was broken by the afternoon stillness. The custom was a throwback to a hotter climate when everyone rested from the sun, but now it was an hour of freedom from duty, an hour with Mia. Often they sat companionably opposite each other with their books spread out. He liked skirmish strategies or battle histories, while she would read some romantic tale or a melodramatic adventure from the Petty Kingdoms.

Then each evening he, Jonnor and Mia retired to the high tower for their meat, just the three of them. Jonnor was no company. He toyed with his food for a while, saying almost nothing, and then took a full decanter of wine upstairs to drink himself to sleep. After that, Hurst sat with Mia, and they talked, or read, or played crowns, as they felt inclined, and these quiet hours brought him an indescribable deep pleasure.

Sometimes they would talk over the day’s events, or perhaps it would be the children and how they were coping with the changes, and then the conversation would get round to Tella and her Companions. Tessa, Tenya and Tersia. Such stupid names, he thought them. He had never liked the women’s habit of renaming their Companions to match their own name.

One evening Mia said to him, “You must miss Tersia, Hurst. You and she were… close, weren’t you?”

“Close? Well, she was an affectionate woman,” he said, uncomfortably. “She was… very obliging. But there was nothing more to it than that.”

All Tella’s Companions had been very obliging, and had entered enthusiastically into certain aspects of their duties. All six of the male Companions, and Hurst too, had cause to mourn their loss. Walst and Tenya had been lovers almost from the start of the marriage, and Tersia had been particularly accommodating to Hurst himself. In fact, he had good reason to wonder whether her first two children looked anything like him.

Mia was a romantic soul, though. She probably imagined that his willingness to sleep with Tersia implied some great passion, rather than a simple need for sex. He would miss Tersia, naturally, and all of the Companions. But his heart had always been elsewhere, even if Mia herself was quite unaware of it. Perhaps it was better that way. Her pity would be unbearable.

One evening, as soon as Jonnor had gone up to his room, she came and sat next to Hurst, her face anxious.

“May I ask your advice about something?”

“Well, of course,” he said, folding his book away.

“I found something. In Tella’s room.” Her hands moved restlessly. “I was going through her things, her clothes and so on, sorting everything out. Deciding what to keep and what to take to the Ring to be passed on.” She stopped, pressing a hand against her mouth.

“And you found something?”

She nodded, raising big eyes to his face. “A letter. Will you… will you read it? Tell me what you think?” She pulled a folded paper from her sleeve, smoothing it before handing it to him.

He frowned. “If it’s something private…” A love letter, perhaps? Tella had always had admirers, before and after she married. He wasn’t sure he wanted to read such a thing.

“No, nothing like that.” She twisted her hands again. “It’s to me, from Tella. But… I don’t know what to make of it.”

He looked down at the crumpled papers, two folded sheets, with the broken seal still visible. On the outside, in Tella’s sprawling hand was written
‘Mia’.

“Why would Tella write to you?”

“That’s what’s so odd. She could have talked to me any time she wanted. And I don’t understand what she’s trying to say. Please. Will you read it?”

Without a word he unfolded the papers, and began to read.

“My dear sister,”
he read,
“I suppose you will be surprised to find this. I hope you
will
find it, and not toss everything straight out for burning! That would be just my luck! Little Mia, are you wondering what this is about? Don’t worry, I’m not about to confess to some dreadful crime. Whatever I may have done is finished with now, gone beyond repairing and cannot be changed so there’s not much point in regret, is there? Sweet sister, you think me a terrible mother, I know, but be assured that I
do
love my children, all of them. But I know my limitations, too, and I know that sitting around day after day with a drooling infant in my lap, changing soiled cloths and mopping up vomit are not my strengths. Being at home at all, being faithful and sensible and domesticated, all those things you do so effortlessly, little sister, these I cannot do. So I want”

The first sheet ended, and Hurst tossed it aside impatiently. The next sheet was less neatly written, and blotched, as if… but surely Tella could not have been crying as she wrote? Hurst had never seen her cry, except once when a favourite horse fell and broke its neck.

“you to know that I am very happy for you to … charge of the domestic sphere. You are … better than me in every way, my dearest, so much more fitted to this life of ours, that it is … proper for you to have all the rights and privileges that are your due. You are so patient, so good, you deserve everything. I know you will always … care of everyone in the family, won’t you? You will continue to look after Jonnor and Hurst, … nurture Tellon and Jaslia and poor little Jinnia – especially Jinnia – just as you have for years, without complaint. It is … one comfort. Your loving sister, Tella.”

Hurst frowned, and read both pages again. “What do you make of this?” he asked her.

“Nothing! I can’t understand it at all! What does it mean? What does
‘especially Jinnia’
mean? Have you any idea?”

“Did you notice the date?” He showed her the symbols scrawled in one corner, half overwritten by a line of writing. “It looks to me like the day before she died.”

“But – that’s such a coincidence. Isn’t it?” She got up, paced about the room a few times, then sat again, her eyes on his face.

He shook his head a little, lost in thought. He folded the pages up, and set them down on the table. Then he got up and poured himself some wine, and stood beside the window, looking out absently.

“Have you ever read about the battles at the border?” he asked at last, turning to her. She shook her head. “There’s nothing for weeks or months, just the empty plains and the wind and sometimes a group of kishorn lumbering by. But then you see the dust, away in the distance, and you start to hear a deep rumbling which gradually gets louder, and there’s singing and pipes playing, and there they are, streaming out of the crevices they hide in. Suddenly there’s a whole sea of them. The Vahsi. As dark falls there are campfires and torches and voices… you can hear snatches of talk or laughter or music. You know, then, there’ll be battle the next day. That’s when men suddenly decide to write messages to wives or lovers or parents. Sometimes it’s practical… tell my brother he can have my clothes, that sort of thing. But often it’s just… those things he always meant to say but never quite managed to find the words for. That’s what this reminds me of.”

“But Tella wasn’t going into battle!”

“No. But she was going to die. And I think she knew that.”

Mia raised her hands helplessly. “How is that possible? She
couldn’t
have known!”

“She’d just had that interview. Maybe the Voices told her something.”