The Fire Seer and Her Quradum Page 3
“‘My life is forfeit either way,’ said Telal. ‘If I kill you, I die. If I don’t kill you, I die. Now that you know who I am, if I release you, you would surely put me to death.’
“‘Not so,’ said Twisting Arrow. ‘For if you grant me my life, I will grant you yours. I swear by the Great Monolith that if you free me now, you will always be safe and under my protection.’
“Telal had served Twisting Arrow long enough to know that when she swore an oath, she kept her word. But he had devoted his life to avenging his family. He did not want to yield now, when he had Twisting Arrow at his mercy.
“‘If you take your vengeance on me, my lieutenants will take their vengeance on you,’ said Twisting Arrow. ‘Then your supporters in the villages will avenge you by attacking my people, and my people will avenge those deaths by killing yours. It will never end, Telal, this cycle of revenge and death.’
“Telal saw the truth of her words, and his heart softened. He pulled his blade from Twisting Arrow’s neck and helped her to rise. They touched fingers, spoke words of forgiveness, and swore never to harm one another again. Telal became one of Twisting Arrow’s lieutenants. He married and had children. Long after his death and hers, the mountain tribes began to quarrel amongst themselves, and their alliance fell apart. Rebelling villagers drove the mountain people out of the river country forever, and Telal’s grandson took the throne—a grandson who would never have been born if Telal had not forgiven a terrible crime. And that, Mandir, is the power of forgiveness.”
Mandir smiled. “Or the power of rebelling villagers. Neshi, I see what you’re trying to say with this story, but I’m not sure I agree with the message. You’re saying I have to forgive my father—”
Neshi shook his head. “I’m not saying that.”
“But your story implies it. Telal forgave Twisting Arrow, who committed a terrible crime against him, and you hold this up as a righteous act. Therefore I should forgive my father for his crimes against me.”
“Forgiveness is no simple matter,” said Neshi. “You may wrestle with the idea of forgiveness all your life. I know I do.”
Mandir smiled. “You don’t wrestle with anything.”
“How wrong you are, rintu,” said Neshi. “Sometimes forgiveness is the right choice. Sometimes it is not. In this case, Telal forgave Twisting Arrow because in doing so, he saved lives. Killing her would not have restored his family, nor would it have ousted the mountain people from the river country. His vengeance would have accomplished nothing. He saved lives, Mandir. That was the point of the story.”
Mandir furrowed his brow. “If not my father, who are you telling me to forgive?”
“You must make that judgment yourself,” said Neshi. “I remind you of the power of forgiveness because anger and resentment twist your heart into knots. You would rather let this boy Setsi rot at your father’s house than go there and help him. But if you go, and if you let go of some of this resentment and hatred you carry, the knots in your heart will begin to unravel. I think you will feel a vast relief and see things a lot more clearly.”
That was encouraging. “I’ll think it over.”
“And perhaps when you’ve learned how to forgive others, you will be ready to forgive yourself.”
“Perhaps,” said Mandir.
“You realize that as a grandson of the king, you are descended from Telal,” said Neshi.
“Yes,” said Mandir. “I’m also descended from Tufan.”
“As you journey to your father’s household, I’d like you to think about which of those two ancestors you want to emulate.”
“Maybe I don’t want to emulate either of them,” said Mandir.
“We shall see.” Neshi beamed at him. He reached out and touched fingers. “You have come far, rintu. And your journey is just beginning.”
Chapter 3
Taya vaulted up on the pretty bay mare.
“Try out her gaits,” urged the horse seller. “She’s got a lovely, smooth trot.”
The mare hunched her back, threatening to buck. Taya had a feeling she wasn’t going to get a trot out of her, and if she tried, she might end up face down in the dirt. Not especially eager to visit Rakigari’s infirmary, she slid off the mare. “This one’s not what I’m looking for.”
She was beginning to lose heart that she would find a suitable horse. At first she’d been impressed by how many animals the seller had on the premises, but each horse seemed to have a problem that rendered it unfit. She’d ruled out several that were too young, and the first horse she’d tried under saddle had gone lame after one circle about the grounds.
Then she’d tried a gelding that had skittered away when she tried to mount, and a stallion that had snapped at her. She’d tried a chestnut mare who was tractable and kind, but each stride of the mare’s canter ended in a twist, wrenching Taya’s back. She couldn’t travel any distance on such a horse, though she felt sorry for the mare, who couldn’t help it that she had poor gaits.
She handed the bay’s reins back to the seller. “Got anything else?”
“There’s the black gelding,” offered the seller.
“He’s two years old.”
“Nice thing about young horses—they haven’t had time to learn any bad habits.”
“He’s a baby,” argued Taya. “He needs more time to grow.”
“I’ll have a new shipment in five days. You could come back then.”
Taya frowned. A new shipment of scrubs and rejects, by the look of this place. Perhaps she could borrow a Coalition horse and travel to another city, where she might find a seller with animals of quality. But she was on a tight schedule. Mandir was supposed to ride out today on a mission that was time-sensitive, and she had every intention of going with him.
Her eye went to a skinny gray horse in a distant corral. “What about that one?”
“The black or the roan?” asked the seller.
“The gray.”
“Oh.” He lifted his head. “You can look at him.” They headed to the corral. “He’s a gelding, friendly and about six years old. The marks on him won’t affect his utility for work. They’re cosmetic only, and if you give him good feeding...”
Taya, who was now close enough to get a better look at the horse, stopped listening. She was shocked at the horse’s condition. A scraggly mane hung limp along the gelding’s narrow neck, and his body was worse: so thin she could see his ribs and hipbones. Black scars crisscrossed his left flank. But for all his apparent weakness, the horse caught her eye, walked to the fence, and extended his head over the railing.
Taya hesitated. She ought to have nothing to do with this creature. No wonder the seller had overlooked him: clearly he was in the slaughter pen, slated to be killed for meat. And yet he reached his head over the fence as if appealing to her for help.
Unable to resist his charm, she stroked his bony face and then opened his mouth to check his teeth. She half hoped he’d protest or show some temper, which would give her an excuse to reject him, but he stood quietly, tolerating the scrutiny. The cups were gone from his lower teeth, which meant the seller was lying about his age. He was closer to nine or ten years old.
And yet that didn’t rule him out as a prospect. She circled the fence to the corral gate, and he followed her on his side of the fence, meeting her there. She let herself into the corral and shut the gate. Then she ran her hands all over the gray’s body, lifting his feet and checking for sore spots along his back and legs. No obvious lameness. His problem seemed to be underfeeding and whatever had caused those scars. “Where’s he from?”
“The mountains,” said the horse seller. “Came down with a bit still in his mouth, in just the condition you see. No sign of his rider; I suspect the fellow came to an unfortunate end. They’re savages up there.”
“Have you tried to put some weight on him?”
“Haven’t had time,” said the seller. “But I’m sure he’d perk right up for you.”
She ran her hand across
the scars, black and ugly against the dappled skin of his flank. “How do you suppose he got these?”
“In battle, I think,” said the seller. “See this one? That could be a cut from a battle-axe. And up here, looks like an arrow wound, though it’s older than the other.”
Taya didn’t trust the seller, but she had a feeling he was right about the wounds. This horse had seen battle.
She had a good feeling about the gelding. He stood quietly, and despite his thinness, he seemed to have a wiry strength underneath. She believed he could be ridden. Trusting to fate and the Mothers, she grabbed a hank of his scraggy mane and vaulted up onto his back.
The horse raised his head as if surprised by this. It was as if he’d never been mounted before—and yet he was quiet enough about her presence on his back. Both of them went still, taking stock of one another. The horse wore no bridle or saddle. She had no idea what he might do with a rider on his back, or even if he’d been ridden before.
He turned his head briefly to look at her, and then faced forward as if waiting for direction. She squeezed lightly with her legs and he moved into a lanky walk. She shifted her weight to see if she could direct him in a wide circle, and he turned so sharply she almost slipped off his other side.
“Careful,” called the seller.
The horse’s sudden movement had startled her, but as she experimented, she realized the horse was not out of control; rather, he was exquisitely responsive to her body position. She needed only look left to turn him left, or look right to turn him right. Larger shifts in her weight gave her sharper turns or sent him sideways. She guided him around the corral in figure-eights and then clucked, asking him for a trot. He launched into one, making a feeble attempt to arch his neck. On request, he even gave her a smooth, ground-eating canter. She brought him back to a walk just by stilling the movement of her seat.
“Flood and fire, Taya, what are you doing?”
The familiar but unexpected voice brought her up short. She looked outside the corral and saw that Mandir had arrived and was sitting there on his blood bay.
“I’m trying out horses,” she said.
“Why waste your time on an old nag?” said Mandir. “I can see from here he isn’t worth a copper stick.”
Taya was beginning to think the horse was worth more than he seemed. He wasn’t young, and he was scarred, and he was weak from underfeeding. But he was well trained, and he had a lot of heart, and wasn’t that what mattered most?
She’d best make a deal quickly, before the seller caught on that she liked the horse. She slipped off his back and left the corral so as not to look attached. The horse followed her as far as he could, up to the gate. “I’ll give you a silver stick for him.”
“A silver, for a warhorse who only wants a bit of good feed to be back in his prime?” The seller snorted. “He’s worth a gold stick, at least.”
Taya shook her head. “Not at his age, or in his condition. It’s going to take months of rehabilitation before this horse will be ready to do a day’s work.”
Mandir dismounted from his blood bay and went to the gate, where he checked the gray horse’s mouth. “Taya, this horse is ten years old if he’s a day.”
“He is but six,” said the seller.
“How do you know?” said Taya. “You said he came down from the mountains without a rider.”
“Grasses are tougher in the mountains,” said the seller. “The teeth show more wear than they do here.”
“What nonsense,” said Mandir. “Taya, this horse is worthless. Anyone can see he’s used up.”
Taya found herself in the awkward position of wanting to persuade Mandir that the horse wasn’t worthless, while simultaneously not wanting to appear to the seller to be too interested. She opted for middle ground. “One silver and two coppers,” she offered. “But only because I feel sorry for the animal.”
“Eight silver sticks,” countered the seller. “He’d be a bargain at that price. You could feed him up, get him looking his best, and resell him for twice as much.”
Mandir shook his head. “He’s not even worth one silver. Look at those scars on his side. Good feeding will never erase those. We don’t even know if he’ll put on weight.”
“He will,” said the seller. “I have it in mind to return him to condition myself and sell him to a prince.”
Mandir barked a laugh. “And that’s why you put him in the slaughter pen where there’s no grass for him to eat?”
Taya hadn’t noticed, but Mandir was right—there was no grass in the old gray’s corral, nor any sign of barley or cut straw. “You haven’t been feeding him,” she accused.
“Of course I have!”
Mandir took her by the elbow and led her away from the corral. “That horse is good for nothing but the dogs. There are other horse sellers not far from here. I’d be happy to take you to one of them before I ride out.”
“Mandir—”
“One silver and two coppers!” cried the horse seller. “I’ll sell him to you as a personal favor. Since he seems to like you.”
Taya started to turn, but Mandir squeezed her arm, and she understood. He wasn’t trying to stop her from buying the horse. He was helping her to negotiate a fair price.
“Not interested,” called Mandir.
“One silver!” cried the horse seller. “One silver, and I’ll throw in a bridle and saddle.”
“Now we’re talking,” Mandir growled under his breath.
“I accept,” said Taya quickly. “One silver for the horse and his tack.”
∞
Mandir wasn’t sure if he’d done Taya any favors in helping her get the old horse for a fair price. She seemed inordinately pleased with an ugly animal of questionable utility, and he feared she might come to grief over the affair. The horse could sicken and die. He might go lame and have to be slaughtered.
On the plus side, she was out only one silver stick.
He’d seen the way her eyes lit up when she rode the old nag, and he’d known then he had to help her buy it. At least she wasn’t being sent anywhere right away. She could stay here at Rakigari and take care of him until the Coalition demanded her skills elsewhere.
“I don’t know if you got a bargain,” he cautioned her. “His condition may never improve.”
“I think it will,” said Taya. “I have a good feeling about him. Look how he leads: so quiet and respectful!”
“Because he has no energy to fight you,” said Mandir.
“And he’s really not that old,” added Taya. “Even if he’s ten, we had a mare at my parents’ farm who lived to be almost thirty.”
“Horses can live that long if they’re gently used,” said Mandir. “This fellow hasn’t been.”
“I wish we weren’t leaving right away,” she said wistfully. “I’d love to give him a week of good feeding first. But if I ride him gently, and we stop frequently to let him rest—”
He turned to her. “What are you talking about?”
“I meant to tell you,” said Taya. “I talked to the elders this morning, and I’m going with you to Tufan’s.”
Mandir was so shocked he could only gape at her.
“I couldn’t let you go alone,” she added.
“I told you already it was a bad idea for you to go. What about the fellow who was already scheduled to go with me?”
“I talked to him, and he was happy to let me go in his stead.”
“Of course. He’s seen the place already; he knows what it’s like.”
“I can’t say I want to go,” said Taya. “But you’re going to need someone at your side that you can trust.”
The old gray horse stopped suddenly, bringing Taya up short. They’d come to a patch of thick grass, and he sank his face in it to the eyeballs, ripping up large mouthfuls and eating them right past the bit he was wearing. The horse ate like he thought he’d never see grass again.
“You’re going to have a clean-up job later on that bridle,” said Mandir.
Watching her, Mandir felt a strange sensation in his chest—pleasurable and yet painful. Taya had such a good heart. She cared about everyone and everything. He loved her so much it hurt.
She turned to him with an achingly vulnerable look. “Do you really not want me along?”
The old Mandir wanted to get angry, to tell her that of course he didn’t want her along; she’d be useless on a mission such as this. She was stubborn enough that hurting her feelings might be the only way he could persuade her not to go. And an even older part of him wanted to cling to her skirts like a boy. Please go with me. I’m afraid of Tufan and afraid of myself.
Taya deserved better than either of those responses. “I do want you along—badly. I love you, and I don’t want to be separated from you. But it’s not safe for you at Tufan’s. Tufan is terrible to women, and—well, he’s terrible to everybody, and I don’t think you should be exposed to that.” Having finished his awkward speech, he could almost hear Neshi’s voice in his head: was it so hard, telling her the truth about how you feel?
“I understand your concern,” said Taya. “And I think I need to be there.”
“I suppose it’s your decision.”
“Then I’m going,” said Taya.
Chapter 4
For two days they followed the Lioness downstream. When they reached a tributary known as the Taksha River, they changed direction and followed the Taksha into the interior of the valley.
Taya named her gray horse Soldier, figuring that since he had battle scars, he had probably been used in combat. Out of respect for his weakened state, she and Mandir took the journey at a leisurely pace, asking the horses for only brief trots. They allowed the animals frequent rest breaks during the day, and at night they chose campsites rich in grass.
Soldier thrived under this regimen; he was growing stronger every day. What luck she’d found him when she did! If she had not, the horse seller might have slaughtered a perfectly good animal.
They followed the tributary for three days. On the fourth morning, as they saddled up for the day’s riding, Mandir said, “We’re getting close to Tufan’s. Should reach it by evening.”