No Return (23 page)

They pressed on through the hard, folded land. The farther they traveled from the Steps, the harsher the territory became. Winds blew westward through the valleys constantly, striking the hardscrabble earth and whistling through Berun as though he were a dried sponge. The components of his body rasped together shrilly. When he examined his innermost spheres and found them to be caked with layers of dirt, he began cycling them through his body constantly in order to keep clean. When they found water, he washed too.

Anything unrooted to the ground was carried into the dust-streaked sky. It became quite cold, far colder than Casta. Churls suffered the worst. She took a woolen jacket from her pack, removed her skirt, and pulled on tight brown leathers that hugged her hips and buttocks. Vedas took to falling behind so that he could watch her walk. The man fought to hide his attraction, but his eyes gave him away.

For her part, Churls showed no sign of noticing the attention. Doubtlessly, she did. She was, Berun knew, the subtler of the two by far.

The minor drama amused Berun.

He needed amusing. They all did. The Apusht was taking its toll, physically and emotionally.

By the third night, the wind had become more than a nuisance—it had become a frightening adversary. It hid their enemies behind sheets of dust. At times it seemed capable of carrying them into the sky. Around small, smokeless campfires, Vedas and Churls rarely spoke of their goal. They talked as if it had been abandoned. Berun marveled at the human propensity for gloom, which he suspected had infected him as well.

Increasingly, he sensed the presence of his father. Ortur Omali’s spirit stalked him across the land, spying, influencing him in ways he could not yet comprehend. The memory of standing over Vedas’s sleeping form with Churls’s blade in his fist haunted him, causing him to wonder if he would be able to resist Omali’s direct command. Though he longed to convince his father of the Black Suit’s goodness, he did not desire another confrontation, another demonstration.

Best to avoid it for as long as possible, he reasoned, and muster what strength he could. Every day while his companions slept, he strived to keep his mind from drifting and becoming vulnerable to his father’s will. It grew noticeably easier to focus the longer he maintained his manlike form. The more he reigned in his urge to transform, the more rooted he was to the world. As a result, he no longer built structures with his body or split himself in two.

Like a flesh and blood man, he longed for release. The temptation to give in was strong, but he resisted, found ways to distract himself.

The most effective distraction had long since become an obsession. While tracking the travelers’ progress across the highest Step on the map he kept superimposed over his vision, he had made a discovery. By concentrating upon a region it would expand and focus, lending him a bird’s eye view of the landscape.

During the daylit hours, he found his attention drawn away from the local surroundings to the limits of the known world—to the ocean and its myriad islands. The continent of Knoori held many interesting sights, surely, but he longed to see places unknown to man. In an effort to comprehend the true scope of the world he had only dimly beheld in vision, he pushed at the boundaries of his map. The progress here proved slow, but the effort satisfied him, like a fight well fought but ultimately called a tie.

Beyond the satisfaction exploring the map provided him, four times now he had been able to spot groups of men whose path they would soon cross. It was difficult to locate such individuals under the cover of night, but his skills improved day by day.

Though he could not fathom why, he endeavored to keep his newfound ability a secret. He lied to his companions.
I saw a scout. I heard them approaching.

Churls was not fooled. For four days she had listened to his explanations without comment, and then: “Tell me what you’re seeing right now, Berun.”

Caught off guard, he shrugged as though her question confused him.

She smirked. “I’m not an idiot, and you’re an awful liar. You couldn’t have seen the Tomen raiders yesterday from our position, and this wind makes hearing anything softer than an earthquake impossible. Out with it.”

He glowered, searching the darkness at her back. Vedas would return from relieving himself at any moment.

“Berun,” she said. “Why keep it a secret?”

“I don’t know. What was I supposed to do, allow us to stumble into them?”

“It wasn’t just that. I can tell when you’re distracted.”

His gaze shifted to her face. He examined her features, which had long since ceased to appear typical to him. No, he could not tell if they were beautiful, but such distinctions hardly concerned a constructed man. Of their own accord, the corners of his mouth turned upwards, and a new feeling arose within him, deeper than affection. He had been called out on a lie, and not because the thing had been ripped from his mind, but because another being knew him intimately enough to recognize it.

‡

He did not think overlong about why the thought of telling Vedas filled him with apprehension, for the truth spoke plainly: his father would not have the information in the Black Suit’s hands.

Admitting this fact consciously only increased the agitation within Berun. For two days, he waged a silent war of wills against an invisible opponent—a master mage who contorted Berun’s mind so thoroughly that it seemed he fought himself. Churls said nothing, but her concern for him was obvious. She kept close by, as though protective of a child.

They set up camp a mere fifteen miles from Bitsan, a small city on the southeastern shore of Lake Ten. He dug a shallow pit for the fire, feeling as though his entire body were close to shuddering apart. As strong as the urge was to remain silent, an equal force compelled him to assert himself. The balance could not last. The slightest tug in either direction would send him careening headlong down a new path.

Ever closer to enslavement, or toward self-determination.

“Vedas...” he said, and the scales tipped. The words flowed from him, accompanied by a sense of release he had not experienced since the night he had held Churls’s sword above Vedas’s sleeping form. He sat straighter as the great burden of secrecy lifted from his shoulders.

There,
he thought when he had finished.
I’ve told him, Father, and the world hasn’t collapsed.

A deep frown cut furrows alongside Vedas’s mouth. He kneaded the flesh of his inner thighs. “How far ahead can you see?” he asked. “Can you see Danoor?”

Aglow with his victory, Berun did not fight the temptation to brag. “I can see the Eleven Sentinels crumbling into the sea north of Grass Min. I have spent hours watching the cloth markets at Levaés. As we speak, sunlight is crossing the first of the Aroonan Mesas. I see all of Knos Min, Vedas. Of course I can see Danoor.”

Churls kicked the fire’s last glowing coal into sparks, and reclined under the lean-to Berun had constructed. “What does it matter?” she asked. “We won’t be there for at least three weeks.”

Vedas stared down at his clenched fists, and slowly opened them. “I’m expected in the first week of Royalty.” He held a hand up, forestalling her response. “I’m not opening up that old argument or complaining. Still, I won’t pretend I like the situation, not knowing what I’ll be waking into. If there’s a way to be more prepared, I want to take it.”

Berun shrugged. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to observe the city. At the end of this month, people will start to arrive. Religiously neutral gamblers and fighters from Casta. Adrashi of every denomination and occupation from Stol and Nos Ulom. Fewer are coming from Dareth Hlum, as the trip requires travel through Nos Ulom or Toma. Because it falls on the eve of the half-millennium, Toma has prepared for this tournament for years, and will send thousands of its people northward. The largest group by far will be Knosi, and though they have pledged to keep the celebration peaceful, they will fail.”

“How do you know this?” Berun asked.

Vedas sighed. “The tournament has always been followed by small-scale riots. I persisted in believing that this year would be different. I thought the celebration would overwhelm the instinct for violence, even among the Tomen. In other words, I fooled myself. I didn’t want to believe the actions of my brothers and sisters could have such consequences.” He nodded to Churls. “My eyes have been opened.”

Churls met Berun’s gaze. “Trust him,” she said.

“Hopefully,” Vedas continued, “the violence will be restricted to fractious Ulomi and Tomen on the outskirts of the city. If it spreads to the general populace, the whole of Danoor could be in danger. It would be very helpful to know the situation before stepping into the city. In fact, it would be good to know how things progress from the very beginning.”

“Why?” Churls asked. “I don’t see how that will make a difference.”

Berun had been about to say something similar. He stared at Vedas, noting the way the man massaged his hands, how he avoided direct eye contact. Clearly, he would rather not divulge whatever information he possessed. For all the grace and skill Vedas displayed at fighting and hunting, he knew nothing of masking his thoughts. It was odd, Berun thought, that the man’s most obvious weakness was also his most endearing quality. Few men made it so far in life without learning to lie.

“I’ll win the tournament, or I’ll die,” Vedas said. “I expect to win. As we’ve traveled, I’ve become more confident in my skills.” He caught Churls’s eye briefly before looking into his lap again. “Our practices have been very helpful. And while it pleases me to think of victory, I now understand its magnitude. Winning the tournament will result in greater changes than I suspected when I left Golna. It’s not a mere contest of faith. I thought it was, but it isn’t.”

Churls cleared her throat, but held her peace. Vedas stiffened, and then relaxed.

Berun considered his companions, the shaky ground between them, and spoke. “If Churls won’t say it, then I will. There’s no such thing as a mere contest of faith in this world, Vedas. You above all others should know this. To think, even for a moment, that it’s possible to wage war against other men without consequence beyond the battlefield is pure idiocy. You’re not a fool—don’t speak as if you are.”

Grimacing, Vedas ran a hand over his face. “Two months ago, I would have taken issue with those words, but you’re right: I’ve been a willfully ignorant fool. Slowly, I’m coming to understand that men of the same order—brothers and sisters who profess the same convictions, curse the same god—can work toward opposing ends. The stated goal of the tournament is to win converts to our faith, to convince people of the power and truth of our vision. Despite my doubts, despite...”

He closed his eyes and exhaled. “Despite Julit Umeda, I still believe in this goal. The world is not Adrash’s plaything. Men are not pawns. What I no longer believe in is my right to send an entire city into upheaval.”

“How would you accomplish that?” Churls asked.

“Whoever wins the tournament will have enormous influence. Many who hear him speak will act as he commands without thinking.” As if he were doing so with great reluctance, Vedas pulled a slim tube from his pack. Its wax seal had clearly been broken. “I opened this just after our encounter with the Baleshuuk. I don’t know why I did. I was told not to. It contains a speech written by the master of my order. He has commanded me to read it during the New Year’s celebration in the Aresaa Coliseum, which holds one hundred and fifty thousand men. Afterwards, I’m to have the text copied and distributed.”

He met Churls’s gaze. “I don’t think I can do that. Reading it alone may cause a riot. Still, I must read something. They’re expecting a speech from the winner.” He looked to Berun. “Will you help me? Help me monitor developments in Danoor. Read the speech and tell me I’m crazy, or tell me I’m right to worry. Please.”

He held the tube out, offering it to either of his companions.

Churls took it without hesitation.

‡

They arrived in Bitsan an hour before sunrise on the twenty-first day of the month: Qon’as Du’ses, First Day of Learning.

An unexpected blessing for the travelers, it began the Month of Learning for the D’Ari A’draasis, the major Adrashi denomination of Stol’s southern lakeside communities. The D’Ari measured the year with a twelve-month calendar, and ended it with thirty-six days of fasting and study. Commerce all but stopped while the sun was in the sky, and tribal hostilities ground to a halt. During the Month of Learning, violence to man or creature was forbidden, a fact all the more remarkable for the legendarily hot-blooded D’Ari.

“I’ve heard of this kind of luck, but never experienced it,” Churls said as she and Berun walked along the city’s deserted main thoroughfare. While she had established the city’s peaceable nature during her dawn reconnaissance, she had nonetheless advised Vedas to stay at the campsite. “We’d better not push our luck by bringing you into town,” she had told him. “It’s enough of a risk bringing Berun in.”

Berun did not need to ask why she wanted him along. Her look of disgust communicated more than enough. No, she did not like asking for protection, but she was not stupid. Besides warfare, the D’Ari were known for their love of foreign women. Pale-skinned wives commanded a high price from tribal leaders. Even the Month of Learning might not prevent them from laying hands on a freckled Castan.

They found an inn close to the docks. Berun and Churls stepped through the door into humid, candle-lit gloom.

“Try not to attract attention to yourself,” Churls said, the hint of a smile on her lips.

For all the alarmed stares their arrival caused, Berun knew few if any of the customers recognized him. The D’Ari had fought for millennia with Nos Ulom over Lake Ten’s trade routes, and by every account disdained all things Ulomi. When a tribal leader took an Ulomi woman as his wife, he removed her tongue so that she could not talk of her homeland. Conceivably, if the men in the inn knew that Berun had killed Patr Macassel, they would welcome him as a hero.