Finding the Way and Other Tales of Valdemar (13 page)

Her Companion’s words scandalized Evita.
:No one deserves oppression, Camayo. No one.:

Camayo did not argue the point, though he did not concede it, either.

Evita turned her attention to the stranger. “What’s your name?”

“Ahjaman,” the young man said, huddling deeper into his cloak.

“I’ll look away,” Evita said. “While you change into something warm and dry. When the rain stops, we’ll ride for . . . for . . . ” Evita realized she had no idea where they were going. In fact, for all she knew, Camayo might have carried her to the moon. She recognized only that they had ridden far from her home and probably much nearer to Valdemar than she had ever been.

“It’s called Firisain, ma’am.”

“Firisain,” Evita repeated. Only then, she wondered what one lone woman could do to help an entire village of the oppressed.

 

Ahjaman explained the situation as they rode. According to him, the citizens of Firisain had been at odds with their savage neighbors from Arran for as long as anyone could remember. Three decades earlier, the Arranis captured Firisain in a bloody war that saw many Firisainians killed. Since that time, the Arranis had oppressed the Firisainians by occupying their land, utterly disarming them, and greatly limiting their freedom. Unable to ply their trades, the Firisainians had descended into squalor. “If someone does not help us soon,” Ahjaman told her, “our people will die.”

Evita’s heart went out to Ahjaman, but this seemed far beyond anything she could handle. She told him as they rode together on Camayo’s back. “I feel for you and your people, I truly do. But I’m just one person. How can I possibly help?”

Ahjaman grabbed Evita’s arm, pleading, his dark eyes brimming with pain. “The Arranis respect the Heralds of Valdemar. If you tell them to leave our land, they might. If you tell them not to oppress us, they will listen.”

Evita could only nod her head and hope he spoke the truth.

Muddy and overcrowded, Firisain was a tent city filled with the stench of urine, vomit, and feces. Women carried enormous burdens, their backs bent, their limbs marked with burns and bruises, their faces filled with anguish. Children walked around the puddles; they did not run and squeal like those of Bonarme or her own hometown. The men huddled in a group around a roaring fire, caught up in discussion. Ahjaman dismounted and pointed westward. “You see, Evita? You see the Arrani pigs.” He spat into the mud. “They treat us like animals. They stand there in their fancy uniforms with their weapons and keep us from crossing the border.”

Evita looked in the indicated direction. A row of young men and women stood attentively at a border that could not have been more striking. Grass grew lush beneath their feet, and beyond them stood neat rows of cottages that might have looked welcoming if not for the grim stone walls around them.

Camayo picked his way carefully through the mud, but his white legs still bore a series of brown stripes and his silver hooves turned black with grime. Cautiously, they approached one of the Arrani guards who met them with a friendly smile. “Are you a Herald, ma’am? It’s the first I’ve seen one dressed in normal garb.”

“I’m Chosen but not yet a Herald,” Evita explained for what seemed like the twentieth time. “My name’s Evita. May I speak with someone in charge?”

The woman gave Evita a formal nod. “Wait right here, and I’ll fetch Captain Fasson.” She hurried off, leaving Evita to marvel over the drastic differences between the villages. She had never seen such a stark and sudden contrast. Even riverbanks did not form such an intense and severe division between land and water. An infant could not miss the boundary between Firisain and Arran: on one side, a thriving paradise; on the other nothing more substantial than rubbish. The obvious disparity upset Evita, so obviously and blatantly unfair.

The female soldier returned with a middle-aged man astride a chestnut mare. As she stepped back into her position, the captain took over her duties as host. “I’m Captain Fasson, and I understand you’re a Herald-in-training called Evita.”

:In training to be in-training,:
, Camayo grumbled, but Evita saw no reason to relay that information. She had made the significant point that she had not yet earned the Herald title. “Yes, sir,” Evita said simply. “I was asked to talk to you about Firisain.”

“Welcome to Arran.” Captain Fasson gestured past the border. “Would you like to come see it?”

Evita considered. Her stomach clamored for another village-cooked meal, and the layout of Arran did look inviting. She glanced over her shoulder. The abject ugliness of Firisain filled her vision and reminded her of her objective. Worried that the Arranis might sway her mind with comforts, she shook her head. “I’d like to speak here.”

Captain Fasson merely shrugged. “Very well, my lady.” He took Evita and Camayo to a small building just over the boundary. Dismounting, he opened the door and gestured Evita inside.

:I’m fine,:
Camayo assured her.
:It’s you I’m worried about.:

The words squeezed Evita’s chest like a fist.
:Do you think he might hurt me?:

The words made no sense, but Evita had little time to ponder them as her hesitation left the captain standing awkwardly with the door in hand. Swiftly, she climbed off of Camayo and headed through the opening.

The building consisted of a single room. Barrels of provisions lay stacked around a single long table stained with bowl-rings and splotches of soaked-in drinks. Fasson took a seat at the table and gestured for Evita to do the same. She accepted the one directly across from him and studied his features. Lines scored his brow and the area around his mouth. Dark bags settled beneath hard, hazel eyes that seemed to hold a wisdom she could not yet fathom. He gave her a promising smile. “What can we do for you, Evita?”

Evita cleared her throat, uncertain where to start. “It has come to my attention that Arran oppresses the citizens of Firisain.”

Fasson sat back wordlessly. He rolled his tongue around his mouth, as if to taste as well as reconcile Evita’s accusation. “Many Firisainians live and work in Arran, as appreciated and productive citizens with the full rights of any Arrani. Only those who incite violence, those who demand that we must die, those who drag weapons into our village and use them against us are barred.”

“They say you do not allow them to leave their village.”

“We prevent them only from entering Arran. And only those who wish us harm.”

“They say you took their village in war.”

Captain Fasson nodded. “That’s true, but they initiated the war by attacking Arran with the intention of wiping us out and taking our village.” He smiled. “We won that war and took their village instead.”

That news surprised Evita, but she still saw a great disparity that needed fixing. “Captain, you’ve taken everything from them. Of course they hate you. How do you expect them to live on what remains?”

The captain’s expression turned cold. “They hated us long before we took their village in a war they started. Had they won, they would not have allowed us to live in any fashion whatsoever. They boldly state that they would have slaughtered even our infants and children. They would do so now if they could.”

Evita found it difficult to reconcile the two sides. “It’s thirty years since the war, Captain. Why must you punish the children of the combatants? Why do you make them live like this?”

“Make them?” Fasson rose. “Make them! They choose to live as they do. They treat their women like slaves and make no attempt to better themselves. They live like animals because they fester in their own hatred, blaming us for all their weaknesses. They raise their children in foolish ignorance, teaching them only that we must all die. They wallow in their own filth. Any money that comes into their hands, they spend on weapons to raise against us. When we disarm them, they rage against our theft and cruelty. They do nothing to make their own lives better, only disparage ours.”

Evita pointed out the obvious. “You are occupying their country.”

Captain Fasson could not deny it. “For the sole purpose of keeping our people safe. We don’t want their country; it is a burden to us. We ask nothing from them but to leave us in peace.”

Evita sighed. At least now, she could see both sides. “You have everything; they have nothing. It’s up to you to fix this problem.”

“Fix it.” Captain Fasson heaved a bitter laugh. “How would you have us fix it?”

Evita believed she had the answers. “First, you give them back their village and all title to it.”

The captain cocked his head.

Encouraged that he seemed willing to listen, Evita continued. “You allow them to come and go as they please, treating them as equal humans.”

Fasson remained in position, listening so intently he even seemed to have stopped breathing.

“You give them the money it takes to rebuild their village and teach them how to live as civilized people. Once you start treating them as decent beings, they will behave like decent beings.”

Needing some feedback, Evita paused. The captain seemed to be waiting for her to finish. As such, a long silence ensued, which Fasson finally broke.

“And in return? What do we get for giving up our land, our security, our money, and our resources?”

Evita had not thought of the situation in that light. “You get the satisfaction of knowing you helped out a hapless group of people.”

The captain made a wordless noise. “Satisfaction doesn’t keep our families safe. Do you think we like babysitting a vile village of barbarians? Don’t you think we would rather keep our young men and women at home learning trades rather than serving time on the border? Surely, you realize that we wish we had kind, civilized neighbors with whom we could trade recipes and goods rather than swords and spears.” He shook his head broadly. “To go along with this, we would need a guarantee of peace.”

“That . . . ” Evita started even as she considered her response. “ . . . seems infinitely reasonable.” Her heart pounded with excitement. She could truly make a difference, could actually show Camayo what could happen when two sworn enemies actually did give peace a chance.

“Bring me a leader of the Firisainians,” Captain Fasson said. “We will make the concessions you ask for nothing more than a signed and sworn statement of peace. That’s all we’ve ever wanted.”

Evita rose, fairly tripping over herself to get to the door. “I’ll bring one here at once, Captain.” She opened the door herself and headed out into the field.

Captain Fasson’s words chased her, “With the power of Valdemar behind us, we know we’re safe. And if the peace is breached, you will stand behind us.”

Buoyed by excitement, Evita ran toward Ahjaman.

For six days, Evita rode the joy of her accomplishment. The sky seemed bluer, the clouds puffier, the foliage more brilliant than an entire pile of jade. Perfumed with flowers, the air tickled her nostrils, making every breath a pleasure. She had worked past all the soreness, and riding Camayo became comfortable as well.

On the seventh day, Evita realized that she had become so engrossed in her successes that she had barely noticed Camayo’s lengthening silences. Only then, she thought to ask,
:Are you angry with me?:

Camayo shook his horsy head
. :Not angry, Dear One. Just disappointed.:

:Disappointed?:
Evita could scarcely believe it. She had worked the negotiations like a professional, getting two warring nations not only to speak, but to normalize their relationships.
:Those two have hated one another for thirty years. Thirty years. And, now, they will coexist peacefully, side by side.:

Evita could make no sense of the words.
:What do you mean, Camayo? What’s backwards?:

Evita did not see the significance of that information.
:But this time the Firisainians agreed to peace. They signed a paper—:

:
A technicality, Dear One. To get the Arranis off their land. For money, and for power, they signed a nebulous pledge for peace. So they will not lead a village-wide offensive sanctioned by its leaders. People killed by socalled spontaneous acts of violence are just as dead.:

Evita still did not follow the logic.
:Camayo, the Arranis signed as well. If they didn’t think the leaders of Firisain could control their people, why did they agree?:

Camayo had an answer for that as well.
:Because the Arranis are so desperate for peace, they would do anything for it. And they convinced themselves that you had the power of Valdemar behind you.: