The Veiled Throne, page 53
“Since the emperor brings up the education of the youth, let me start with that. Our young people now spend more time learning the arts of the natives than practicing their own war-making skills. Some thanes-taasa can recite a hundred Ano poems but quake at the idea of climbing onto the back of a garinafin.
“And the adults are no better. Some warriors eat native food at every meal and dress in native fashion, neglecting their duties to the pékyu to be ready for war.
“How do you think you’ll appear in the eyes of our votan-ru-taasa and votan-sa-taasa from the homeland? How will you hold up your heads when they see you looking like a native?”
Her gaze deliberately lingered on the faces of the thanes dressed partially in native garb, and they looked away, ashamed to meet her gaze.
Tanvanaki knew this was the most powerful argument on Cutanrovo’s side. When the possibility of reinforcements from the homeland had been remote, accommodation with the natives seemed reasonable, even inevitable. But now everyone had to think about the power reconfiguration that would occur after the arrival of more thanes from Ukyu. The judgment of one’s peers always weighed so much more than the opinions of one’s enemies.
Vocu Firna, perhaps the thane most steeped in native culture, made as if to speak, but Goztan Ryoto caught his eyes and shook her head.
Cutanrovo’s voice grew more passionate as she continued. She was finally getting a chance to speak her heart, to shame these corrupt, cowardly thanes. “Many warriors take on multiple native lovers and treat them as though they were spouses, giving them property and leaving the education of their togaten to these concubines—”
Tanvanaki’s face darkened at this—it was known throughout court that Timu, not her, spent much more time with Todyu and Dyana, the pékyus-taasa, and she hated to hear her children referred to by that slur—but Cutanrovo seemed not to notice.
“Open your eyes and ears, votan-ru-taasa and votan-sa-taasa, and let illusions fall away.” Cutanrovo’s voice cracked, and tears welled up in her eyes. “How many of you still go home to a tent? How many of you still speak to your children exclusively in Lyucu? It should shame each and every one of you that we’re now more used to conversation in the language of the slaves.
“And for all that accommodation, what have you accomplished? Did you hear the words of the native emperor, our pékyu’s consort? His heart is filled with hate; he prays for our destruction!
“We are the conquerors, but we act like the conquered. We’ve allowed our true nature to be corrupted by this land’s loathsome nurture. We are wolves, but we act like we’ve put on sheep’s clothing. We are Lyucu warriors who eat the flesh and drink the blood of what we kill, not Dara-raaki who subsist on what can be dug out of the soil and grown on piss and shit!
“Now do you see why what Goztan has done with her son is so dangerous and terrible? Now do you see how the accommodationists serve the sly agenda of the native emperor, who praises his mother’s prowess while denigrating our courage? To the natives, a teacher is the equivalent of a parent—‘parent of the mind,’ they say, and expect the student to pay the teacher the same respect due the mother or father. What greater insult can there be for our children to treat the conquered slaves the same as their parents? How will our people judge us when they finally arrive from beyond the Wall of Storms and see our children paying obeisance to barbarians and calling them masters?”
Finally, there was no choice but for Goztan to speak.
Goztan was thinking of that day, long ago in Ukyu, when Oga Kidosu had spoken to her of teaching and being taught. Teaching and learning seem to always haunt her life. How the gods love to play jokes.
She stepped forward and spoke for the first time, also in Lyucu. “Cutanrovo, my sa-taasa, learning from the natives is a policy that dates back to the time of the pékyu-votan. It was he who encouraged all of us to learn from the people of Dara while not forcing them to speak our language—”
“How conveniently you re-remember the past!” said Cutanrovo. “You even sound like a native with the way you twist the truth. Pékyu Tenryo forbade the slaves from learning our language in order to preserve our element of surprise, and he told us to learn from the natives only to vanquish them. We have done so. It’s time to act like conquerors and to force them to learn our ways or die.”
“We’ve come to live in a new land, where our ways aren’t suitable,” said Goztan. “These islands are not like the scrublands of Ukyu. Unless we’re willing to kill most of the natives, we can’t support a population this size on pasturing alone, and who will fight for us then when Jia and Phyro invade at the end of the ten-year treaty?”
“Reinforcements are coming!”
“Even if Pékyu-taasa Cudyu sent all the city-ships at his disposal, how many more thousands of Lyucu warriors can be brought? We can’t remain the same and not adapt.”
“Your mind has been poisoned by defeatism,” said Cutanrovo. “That is the problem with you accommodationists. Don’t forget that with just a few thousand warriors, we’ve been able to conquer two islands of Dara and fought the greatest fleet they could put together to a standstill. Even their young empress, the handpicked successor of wily Kuni Garu, was killed by the Wall of Storms when she rode out to fight against our last fleet of reinforcements—”
“You can’t win if you don’t respect your enemies. The people of Dara had never fought against garinafins before, and yet, they managed to bring the lightning down to halt our advance at Zathin Gulf—”
“It doesn’t matter if they have a thousand times our population or a hundred hundred varieties of intricate weapons. Victory is not determined by these superficial things, but the strength of the fire in the hearts of those at war. Sa-votan, you’ve forgotten the Lyucu spirit, the only thing that matters.”
As the thanes debated, Tanvanaki’s mind was all in turmoil.
Is Cutanrovo right? Have I indeed lost too much of the spiritual fire that allowed us to overcome the forces of Mapidéré, to cross a storm-ridden ocean, to conquer these islands and shake the very throne of Dara to its foundation?
“I have sacrificed as much as anyone here for the future of our people.” For the first time, Goztan’s voice lost its calmness. “I’ve devoted my life to the service of the pékyu, and to the pékyu-votan before her. I lost all five of my husbands in war. I’ll not allow anyone to claim a monopoly on the Lyucu spirit—”
“Then act like it! Tell your son to stand up and fight with the club and axe, not soften his hands with wax blocks and coloring brushes….”
Tanvanaki continued to vacillate.
The policies advocated by the hard-liners will plunge this land back into horror and bloodshed. I may lose Timu forever if I go down that path.
But how will my brother and his thanes react when they find us living indistinguishably from their hated enemies? How can I retain their respect and remain the pékyu if Cudyu challenges my claim?
Cutanrovo had worked herself into a frenzy. “Dara-raaki must be destroyed! Before the arrival of our reinforcements, we must purge ourselves of all native taint. Dara-raaki must be destroyed! We must speak Lyucu, wear Lyucu, eat Lyucu, act Lyucu. Dara-raaki must be destroyed! We must remake Ukyu-taasa into a true copy of Ukyu, and ensure that the togaten are as close to true Lyucu as possible. Dara-raaki must be destroyed! We will purify this land of false gods and false beliefs: The only truth is that the Lyucu are supreme and must rule.”
Vocu Firna joined Goztan Ryoto to plead for reason, but their speeches were drowned out by a growing chorus of thanes shouting in time with Cutanrovo.
“Dara-raaki must be destroyed! Dara-raaki must be destroyed!”
All the hard-liner thanes had joined the chant, and even a few known accommodationists were with them. Many of the thanes took their war clubs and axes off their backs and slammed them against the ground in time to the chant. The noise was deafening. The Great Hall now had the wild air of a war council on the scrublands of Ukyu.
Wira Pin and Noda Mi, along with the other native deputies and generals, cowered in the back, shaking like newborn lambs, utterly terrified by the raw hatred and fury that had been unleashed.
Even if ultimate victory depends on adopting the native expertise with engines of war, the immediate task must be to retain the loyalty of the hard-liners. There can be no other choice.
Tanvanaki held up a hand, but it was some time before the shouting subsided enough for her to be heard.
“I’ve come to a decision,” said Tanvanaki.
Goztan looked at her with despair, while Cutanrovo’s face flushed with excitement.
“Thane Cutanrovo must be commended for her vigilance in discovering the traitors. She is hereby promoted to the rank of garinafin-thane. In preparation for the arrival of our compatriots from Ukyu, she is tasked with rooting out traitors among our ranks and restoring the ancient virtues—”
“Votan, no!” Goztan tried to stave off the inevitable.
“Silence!” said Tanvanaki. “The traitorous scholar Nazu Tei and the treasonous thane-taasa Savo Ryoto are hereby sentenced to death by exposure to Cudyufin’s gift. Their executions shall be part of the celebration of the Winter Festival.”
“Votan!” Goztan’s voice was piteous. “I know that what my son has done is unforgivable. But I beg you to spare him on account of my years of service.”
Tanvanaki shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, old friend. Your son was doomed the day you made the decision to have him bow to a native scholar. You must also pay for this grave error. One-half of your flocks and herds are to be stripped from you and awarded to Thane Cutanrovo to fund her campaigns.”
She expected Goztan to continue to plead and fight for her son’s life, and she expected that she would have to order her restrained and dragged away. But after a moment of standing still, Goztan saluted her by lifting both arms and crossing them at the wrists.
“As you will, votan. I’m sorry that my son didn’t serve you well in Ukyu-taasa.”
She stepped back into her position at the head of the column of warlords and did not speak again.
Tanvanaki let out a sigh. Her mind lingered on Goztan’s last words. They seemed so peculiar. But there was no time to focus on them now.
“Take him to the cliff cells outside Kriphi. May the music of the sea soothe his troubled conscience. Formal court is now adjourned.”
Cutanrovo remained standing in the middle of the Great Hall, basking in loud cheers and congratulations. The political reconfiguration of Ukyu-taasa was complete.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX THE WINTER FESTIVAL
SECRET AGON BASE IN KIRI VALLEY, IN THE FOOTHILLS OF THE WORLD’S EDGE MOUNTAINS: THE TWELFTH MONTH IN THE EIGHTH YEAR AFTER THE DEPARTURE OF PRINCESS THÉRA FROM DARA FOR UKYU-GONDÉ.
Even in winter, Kiri Valley, sheltered from the harsh winds that raged across the scrublands, enjoyed a relatively mild climate. The Agon used the downtime to enjoy stories and songs in their tents, while the Dara tried to catch up on the schooling and instruction that had to be put on hold during the harvest season. The small herds that could be sustained in the valley meant that kyoffir, yogurt, cheese, and milk were relative luxuries, but with all the sorghum, rice, wheat, and vegetables that had been stored up, there was plenty to eat.
A relatively mild climate didn’t mean a perpetual spring. The first storm of winter had arrived in the valley the day before, burying the whole valley, including the sheep and cattle pens, the empty and fallow fields, and even the huts and tents of the settlement in a thick layer of fluffy, pristine snow. From inside the dwellings of the Agon and Dara, sheep-tallow candles and lamps burned against the dimming twilight, making the Agon tents glow like jellyfish resting against a white coral reef and the calfskin windows of Dara huts flicker like the eyes of strange, deep-sea creatures about to go to sleep.
But sleep was far from the minds of the residents of Kiri Valley. For tonight was the Winter Festival, a traditional celebration of the tribe’s successful preparations against the threats of starvation. This year, the celebration promised to be even wilder. With luck, this would be the last winter they had to spend in hiding. The coming attack against Taten was all every thane and naro and soldier and scholar could think about.
* * *
Snow had been cleared from the open ground in the middle of the settlement, and a giant bonfire—built from wood rather than the traditional dung and animal bones—flared at the center. Around it, Agon and Dara families arranged fur rugs and sitting cushions, and the feast was in full swing.
Tolyusa-leaf smoke wafted from almost every sitting rug, as naros and culeks puffed on bone pipes, comical imitations of their fire-breathing garinafin mounts. Contented naros-votan and thanes, on the other hand, held chopped tolyusa berries between their lips and gums, letting the hallucinogenic juice work its magic slowly. While the berries had the stronger effect, the leaves, being more abundant, could be distributed to more celebrants. It had been some time since the shamans had authorized the distribution of tolyusa, as normally the precious substance was reserved for birthing garinafins and religious rituals. But this grand Winter Festival, a feast before an all-out assault on the hated Lyucu, warranted it.
Théra and Takval sat on a large garinafin leather rug at one end of the oval, the seat of honor. Placed in front of them were dozens of bone dishes constructed from garinafin scapula, each holding roasted strips of meat. Small bowls made from deer skulls held a variety of seasoning—tolyusa sauce, rock salt, flakes and scrapings from smoked fish and meats, mashed mixed herbs gathered from the valley, and a few Dara-inspired dipping sauces made from pickled gash cactus grubs, salted and fermented vegetables, berry compote sharpened with chopped nuts. Alongside these staples of Agon feasting sat dishes cooked in the Dara style with local ingredients: rice balls stuffed with juicy bone marrow and thrice-cooked beef, roasted venison and wild vegetable medley wrapped in flatbread, preserved prairie partridge eggs dipped in tangy red salt, cold dumplings with kyoffir sauce, snake-and-tusked-tiger soup served in garinafin skull bowls….
One by one, Agon warriors came to the rug, sat down across from them, and toasted the pékyu and the princess.
A few, like Thane Araten, who had never accepted Théra’s authority, deliberately kept their eyes on Takval and never addressed Théra.
Takval was about to reprimand Araten, but Théra put a hand against his back, reminding him to remain calm. After Araten left, she said, “Don’t mar the occasion with anger. Save your rage for the Lyucu.”
“If only everyone had your grandness of spirit.”
Before Théra could answer, more celebrants arrived.
“Votan,” said Gozofin, the father of Nalu, one of the pékyus-taasa’s playmates, as he raised a skull bowl full of kyoffir. “May you and the princess continue to warm the hearts of all Agon like this feast in the heart of winter.”
Takval raised his own skull bowl with both hands and drank first as a sign of respect. Though Gozofin was not a thane, he enjoyed high status among the Agon in the valley for being one of the band of warriors who had fought by the side of Takval’s grandfather until the bitter end. Knocked unconscious when he fell from his garinafin, he survived the subsequent massacre because the Lyucu thought him one of the corpses. The incident gave him a reputation for being favored by the gods. His support for the young pékyu early on in the history of the Kiri Valley settlement had been crucial.
Next to Takval, Théra raised a porcelain cup to the wizened Agon warrior and sipped the warm rice beer in it. “An excellent feast, Gozofin. I’ve never even tasted half the meats on offer tonight.”
Gozofin laughed and drained his skull bowl in one gulp, not offended by Théra’s refusal to share kyoffir with him. The fact that she, like most visitors from Dara, could not digest kyoffir or garinafin milk was well-known by the Agon now, and the Agon often teased their Dara friends about it. “Which of the ten meats is your favorite, Princess?”
“This one,” said Théra, pointing to a roasted creature vaguely recognizable as a bird. It had been cooked with garinafin fire breath—an impressive sight for the Dara members of the settlement.
“I’m glad you like the salt flat redwing. The hunting party responsible for that one had to go to the Sea of Tears to get them.”
“That far?” Théra frowned. “That’s a lot farther than I thought—”
“Don’t worry,” said Takval. “The salt flats around the Sea of Tears are uninhabited, and few hunting parties would go out there in the middle of winter. The risk of discovery is nonexistent.”
Théra swallowed her objections. In preparation for the assault on Taten, the Agon had convinced Takval and Théra to suspend the general prohibition against raiding and hunting outside the valley. Since fall, multiple hunting parties had left each day to gather supplies (“You can’t expect Agon warriors to have the strength to fight the Lyucu scum without plenty of meat!”) and to hone their fighting skills. Théra also suspected that some of the hunting parties used the excursions as an opportunity to raid small Lyucu tribes or isolated caravans. Since stopping such practices altogether was impossible, she could only hope that their plans wouldn’t be revealed to the Lyucu out of carelessness.
She was somewhat comforted by the thought that the hunting parties were at least able to avoid Cudyu’s senior thanes. Once the plan for the assault on Taten had been set, Volyu had gone on a tour to visit Cudyu and his senior thanes, ostensibly to show how obedient the Agon were to their Lyucu masters. He had used the opportunity to extract intelligence about the plans and movements of the Lyucu tribes prior to the gathering at Aluro’s Basin and sent the information to Kiri Valley, which allowed the Agon hunting parties to plan their routes.
