The Veiled Throne, page 63
But the idea of trusting Tanto and Rokiri to Toof while she rode with Takval felt unacceptable. The horrors of the evening made her crave to cling to her children, to keep them right next to her. Something about the way the two former Lyucu kept on looking at each other bothered her too.
No matter how Takval reasoned and begged, Théra shook her head.
“I will pilot Ratopé with the children,” said Vara Ronalek, looking at Théra. “Don’t worry, Princess. I may be old, but I fly with a steady hand. Ratopé is young, but she’s strong and fearless. We’ll keep the children safe.”
Radia and Toof looked at each other but made no objection.
Vara’s intervention finally reassured Théra. Considering how much of a debt Radia and Toof owed her for adopting them into her clan, Vara was the only pilot she could entrust Tanto and Rokiri to if the Lyucu refugees would be riding with them. She nodded reluctantly.
The plan was settled on. Vara would pilot Ratopé as the evader, with Radia and Toof as slingshot scouts and lookouts. All the children, about forty in total, as well as some of the adults deemed to be liabilities rather than assets in a fight—Sataari and Razutana, for instance—would be strapped securely to the webbing on the garinafin for safety.
Takval would pilot Alkir as the fighter. Théra and the Agon and Dara warriors would act as Takval’s crew. To not overburden Ratopé, the weapons and goods rescued from the valley, including a supply of firework powder and a few precious Dara instruments, would also be added to Alkir.
Çami Phithadapu, as the only Dara individual comfortable on the back of a garinafin, was handed a slingshot and asked to be a scout for Takval. Radia and Toof made another halfhearted bid to have Tipo Tho join them on Ratopé, which was summarily rebuffed. Adyulek, though not much of a fighter, insisted that her place was by the pékyu on Alkir. And Thoryo would not be parted from Théra, as she was almost catatonic from the shock of witnessing so many deaths in a single night. After some hesitation, Takval agreed to add her to his crew as well.
As the Agon warriors and Çami climbed into their harnesses and the rest of the crew were strapped to the webbing, Théra looked up at the moon, staring down at the carnage in the valley like the uncaring face of Nalyufin, and offered a silent prayer to the gods of Ukyu-Gondé.
Keep the people I love safe, I beg of you. Thousands have already died, a fact that I cannot even comprehend. I was arrogant and didn’t take to heart the most important lesson this land has to teach: Even a single moment of carelessness can be fatal.
I was greedy. I took unnecessary risks. I pushed people to gamble with the lives of their loved ones. I wanted to, in a single, decisive stroke, eliminate all possibility that the Lyucu would launch an invasion fleet in time for the yearlong sail to the opening of the Wall of Storms in Dara. Seized by the thirst for a quick and easy victory, I disregarded the need for caution, for circumspection, for counsel.
I was wrong, so reserve your punishments for me.
Everyone was in their place. With a final sad look over at the fires still raging in the valley, Takval whistled, and Alkir took off. A few moments later, Vara’s Ratopé also took off, following closely behind. The two garinafins, so heavily laden, flew clumsily and with difficulty, their breaths coming in strenuous pants.
Takval guided Alkir to the northeast, following the line of the Antler Range. Théra sat in the saddle right behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist. As they climbed higher, her face, unprotected by the thick furs she wore around her body, was whipped by cold winds. She leaned forward and pressed her face against Takval’s back, and her husband’s body heat seemed to warm more than just her cheeks as she cried silently.
A rising breeze caught them from behind. They flew fast and silent through the night air, and soon the valley was left far behind. She thought she should feel better with every additional flap of the wings, which took them farther away from the threat of Lyucu discovery. But somehow, the sense of unease grew.
She was missing something.
Théra turned around to look for Ratopé in the moonlight, to be sure that her children were all right.
“Takval!” she screamed.
On Ratopé, a fight had broken out. It was difficult to discern details in the dim glow of the moon, but she could see that Radia and Toof had climbed out of their harnesses and were struggling with Vara, the pilot. While Radia wrapped her arms about the upper body of the pilot, pulling her back and restraining her arms, Toof appeared to be shouting at Vara and trying to clamber over the two struggling women to get into the saddle. The children and the other adults, all tied securely against the webbing, could only watch helplessly.
The young garinafin was already tiring from the unusually heavy load and irritable. Without the guidance of a pilot and distracted by the fight on her back, she began to waver in her course erratically and fell farther behind Alkir with every passing moment.
“Go back! Go back!” Théra yelled at Takval.
Takval took one glance back and responded by squeezing the base of Alkir’s neck with his knees. His face had turned ashen white.
Alkir’s momentum—increased by the weight of all the passengers he was being asked to carry—made the turn excruciatingly slow, and as Théra strained her neck and watched, Toof and Radia wrestled Vara away from the saddle. As soon as Toof was in the saddle, he placed a bone trumpet against the base of Ratopé’s neck and spoke to her reassuringly. The younger garinafin made a sharp turn back in the direction of Kiri Valley, speeding up as she did so. The promise of returning home, of rest, seemed to jolt her into a fresh burst of effort.
Meanwhile, Vara was still fighting Radia. Without the protection of safety harnesses, the two fought on top of the soaring garinafin like two sailors on the deck of a tempest-tossed ship. An agonizing eternity of a few seconds later, Vara succeeded in pushing Radia away, and the Lyucu woman fell, only managing to catch the netting dangling from the beast’s shoulders at the last minute.
Théra’s heart was in her throat, but she could do nothing except pray for Alkir to fly faster. In the distance, she could already see the burning valley coming into view again. Desperately, she hoped for Vara to take back the command of her garinafin before they drew the attention of the Lyucu garinafin riders circling over the valley.
As Radia hung on for dear life, Vara lunged at Toof, who seemed oblivious to the threat behind him. But at the very last possible moment, Toof ducked down, flattening his body against the garinafin’s neck, and Vara plunged right past him, tumbling over the shoulder of the garinafin.
As Takval and Théra cried out in alarm, Toof reached out and grabbed the back of Vara’s vest. He seemed to shout something at the thane, and Vara, dangling from Toof’s arm, shook her head.
“Faster! Faster!” Théra screamed into Takval’s ear.
Takval slapped his hand against Alkir’s neck repeatedly, and Alkir strained to catch up to the younger garinafin. Now the two mounts were only about the lengths of three garinafins apart, and Théra could see everything happening on Ratopé, below and ahead of her, clearly in the pale glow of the moon.
Again, Toof seemed to ask something of Vara, who shook her head once more. Then, as her feet wheeled in the air for purchase against the slick hide of the garinafin’s shoulder, she turned herself around and punched at Toof’s face.
Toof let go.
With a scream that was instantly lost in the rushing wind, Vara plunged to her death hundreds of feet below.
Théra gasped in horror. But before she could even process the death, Ratopé had flown over the last ridge shielding Kiri Valley, with Alkir close behind. The burning remains of the settlement were in full view below them, with the shadows of Lyucu garinafins sweeping over it.
Ratopé flapped her wings and dove down, heading straight for the Lyucu riders.
Takval pressed his bone trumpet against the base of Alkir’s neck and shouted into it. Théra held on tighter, preparing for the dive that was to come as they pursued the perfidious Lyucu who had stolen her children.
The view of the valley in Théra’s eyes tilted, jerked, shifted, and swung away.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked in Takval’s ear. “Why are we turning away?”
Takval turned around and looked into her eyes. She saw stars reflected in his glistening eyes. “It’s too late, my breath. We can’t be seen.”
Then he turned his face away to look ahead as the garinafin flapped his wings hard, panting like the bellows of a blast furnace. With a sudden lurch, they were over the ridge, leaving the valley that had been their home for seven years forever behind.
Théra pounded Takval’s back, demanding that he turn around. Tears poured down her face as she howled with rage and anguish. “Kunilu-tika! Jian-tika!”
Takval bore her abuse silently like a reef absorbing the rage of the pounding surf. Alkir kept to his course. The rest of the crew watched this tragic scene in complete silence, unable to do or say anything to help them. A few, like Gozofin, whose children were also on the other garinafin, either cried silently or gritted their teeth in despair.
When the pounding finally ceased, Takval reached back with one hand, grabbed Théra’s hand, and squeezed it gently. She let her hand rest in his grip, feeling his anguish merge with hers. It was a long time before she squeezed him back.
In complete silence, the garinafin glided toward the sun, carrying them away from the bloodstained and charred valley that had once been full of hope.
* * *
As the sun rose, Cudyu Roatan, son of Tenryo Roatan, son of Toluroru Roatan, Pékyu of the Lyucu and the Voice of the Gods, surveyed the smoldering remains of the Agon camp in Kiri Valley as well as the bound captives kneeling before him, feeling very pleased.
He had achieved so much already, and there was no telling how much greater the victory would become yet.
It had not been easy for Tenryo, his father, to hold together the loose coalition of tribes that he had gathered under one banner. Every chief wanted to be given the rank of garinafin-thane, and every culek wanted to become a naro. The tribes squabbled incessantly over everything from the distribution of grazing rights to allotments of Agon and Dara slaves. Everyone wanted the pékyu to recognize and reward their contribution to the victory over the hated Agon and exaggerated their deeds during the war with the invaders from Dara.
“The child of an Agon slave belongs to the tribe that owns the mother, not the father!”
“She killed my favorite Dara boy! I demand six heads of cattle in compensation!”
“Their herds consumed all the grazing that was reserved to the Tribe of the Finger Streams!”
“Why are both my neighbors wolf-thanes while I’m a mere ordinary thane? I saved the life of the mother of the second husband of the fifth daughter of your favorite nephew!”
Sometimes Cudyu wondered if his father had not launched his mad scheme to sail over the endless ocean to conquer a new land as a way to escape the tedium of being pékyu. Preparing for and fighting wars were fun for the old man—not what came after the bodies of dead warriors strewn on the scrublands had been consumed by vultures and wolves. Even when Tenryo lived in Ukyu, he had often pleaded headaches and told Cudyu and Vadyu, mere children then, to face the long line of petitioners outside the Great Tent in his stead.
And then, Tenryo had taken Vadyu, not him, to go conquer Dara. It was Cudyu’s duty to be the caretaker, to deal with the tedious squabbling chiefs by himself, to prepare additional ships to support his father. All the glories of war would belong to his father and sister, and all the drudgery of supporting that war fell to him.
It was all so unfair.
Had he not contributed just as much as “Tanvanaki” (oh, how he resented that nickname of hers—why couldn’t he get a splashy moniker like that? Just because she was such a show-off?) to the scheme to trick Luan Zya into revealing the location of the Dara homeland? Had he not been just as skilled at chipping away the independence of the petty chiefs to build up the prestige and power of the Roatan clan? Had he not demonstrated just as much devotion to his father? He had. He had. He had!
Yet, when the moment came, his father had shown who was truly his favorite child.
Once the city-ships had disappeared beneath the horizon, however, he started to see things a different way.
It was foolish to pine after the love of a parent who didn’t love you back. A wise wolf did not put all his hope into catching a single sheep—it was better to have the whole flock.
His father’s departure had in fact been a blessing, he realized. Had Tenryo stayed in Ukyu, he would have ruled for many more years as pékyu, and when the time came to pick his successor, Cudyu would be past his prime, just one of many pékyus-taasa in contention.
But now, with his father gone, things were very different. Tenryo had taken with him his most loyal and powerful thanes—leaving behind some of the best grazing rights, the most prized slaves, the most coveted titles. There was a power vacuum that demanded to be filled. Most important of all, Tenryo had taken away Tanvanaki, the rival Cudyu had feared the most.
Yes, yes, his father had declared the arrangement to be temporary. Tenryo remained the pékyu, and would eventually either return in triumph or bring all the Lyucu to live with him in paradise. But the failed expeditions earlier had shown how dangerous the way to Dara was, and how remote the chance that they would succeed. It was very likely that Tenryo would never return.
And even if he did, why should Cudyu simply step aside? After all, Tenryo had not been the favored son of his father. He had cemented his position only by tossing Langiaboto, his battle axe, at Toluroru, Cudyu’s grandfather.
Power was born from charred bone and spilled blood, not a parent’s love.
Cudyu chuckled to himself. You see, Father, I really should be your favorite child. I’m just like you.
He set about his task with gusto. One by one, his remaining siblings died in mysterious circumstances, and his father’s wives were sent back to their home tribes (“So that you may mourn the death of your child in peace,” he told them). He picked out his most loyal followers—childhood playmates, men and women who had hunted with him in youth, seasoned warriors who nodded without question when he asked them to “take care” of his siblings—and made them into garinafin-thanes. He took notice of ambitious young naros-votan from lesser tribes and promoted them to tiger-thanes and wolf-thanes, bypassing those who had curried too much favor with his sister or father. He handed out lavish gifts to shamans who demonstrated a particular talent for retelling the old tales with an eye toward pleasing a new master. He assigned the best grazing rights and slaves to tribes whose elders demonstrated a keen sensitivity to the political winds, who understood that a fresh storm was about to tear through the scrublands.
One year after his father’s departure, as directed by the plan based on Luan Zya’s calculations, he prepared a fleet of reinforcements. He did this with much fanfare and piety, slaughtering many slaves in solemn sacrifice. But he was careful to staff the fleet with tribes who had been especially loyal to his father, with thanes and naros-votan that he knew he could never win over, with particularly recalcitrant Agon slaves—Cudyu wasn’t going to worry overmuch if they should decide to stage an uprising on the high seas. He even came up with the idea of sending the second expedition with a bigger supply of garinafin eggs and fewer adult garinafins so that there would be more room to ship away the people he didn’t want around.
Let the old man have his fantasy of perpetual war. But I’ll become the greatest pékyu the scrublands have ever known or will ever know. I’ll crush the Agon until the very thought of rebellion has been erased from their minds; I’ll bind the tribes to me until they stop thinking of themselves as anything but Lyucu; my name will live on in song and story like Kikisavo and Afir.
* * *
In the spring of the fourth year after Pékyu Tenryo left for Dara, two things happened that would change the fate of the people of the scrublands forever.
The first was the discovery of wreckage along the coast of Ukyu, apparently from city-ships. Assuming that the broken spars and decking had come from the expeditions to conquer Dara, many began to mourn the deaths of their friends and beloved Pékyu Tenryo. Others, however, cautioned that it was error to underestimate the wily Tenryo, who had managed to overcome the jealousy of the gods and powerful mortal enemies many times.
One could be forgiven for thinking that news of the death of his father would be pleasing to Cudyu, but the fact was, the wreckage filled Cudyu with anxiety.
Always meticulous, Cudyu had ordered all the discovered pieces brought to Taten, where he studied them in secret. Because he had studied the language and culture of Dara from a young age, he could read the Ano logograms appearing in the debris, which appeared to most Lyucu as mere decoration.
What he found was that all the identifiable wreckage had come from the reinforcement expedition he had sent, not the original one carrying Tenryo.
Did the absence of wreckage from the first fleet mean that Tenryo, against all odds, had subdued Dara? Did the presence of wreckage from the second fleet mean that the Wall of Storms had defied Luan Zya’s prediction and sealed off all routes to and from Dara?
Without more messages from beyond the sea, it was impossible to tell. And as long as the fate of Tenryo, beloved pékyu of the Lyucu people, was uncertain, he was stuck in his role as the caretaking pékyu-taasa.
While he was trying to decide what to do, a second event occurred: a wonder.
A large iceberg had drifted into Péa’s Sea, the semi-enclosed body of water between the Upper and Lower Peninsulas on the western coast. This was where Admiral Krita had landed with the city-ships decades ago, and where Tenryo had established his site for Taten, the roaming tent-city of the Lyucu pékyu.
