The Fire Seer (18 page)

His family had schooled him in cruelty, and he’d learned the lesson well. So when Taya isu Ikkarum, frightened and friendless, had looked on him with admiration, he hadn’t seen then what was so obvious to him in hindsight: that he was attracted to her, and she to him. They could have been friends and allies. Later they could have been lovers.

But at the time, he’d seen only weakness to exploit.

Flood and fire, how it stung him now, thinking of the possibilities, the doors once opened to him that were now shut. The adoration in her eyes had turned first to fear, then to revulsion, and finally to hatred. He wanted to change what he saw in those eyes, but for all the gifts his magic gave him, he could not undo the wrongs of the past.

He had but one consolation: he hadn’t broken her. She was like one of those outlaw horses that would not be dominated. She’d emerged from his cruelty intact. At the time, it had driven him wild that he could not break her. He’d escalated his attacks, figuring that eventually he
had
to win, until that fateful day with the fire maze when he’d nearly killed her and the Coalition authorities had intervened. In hindsight, he was glad they’d done it. Their intervention had saved him from a sad fate. What would he be today had he not departed Mohenjo for his Year of Penance?

It was during his Year of Penance that he’d begun to understand that there was another way to relate to people, one that was more satisfying, and also more difficult, at least for him. The unfortunate truth was that the methods of domination and intimidation he’d used at Mohenjo
worked
. He had been at the top of the social ladder. And yet for all his success, he had not been happy. His heart had never been quiet, and he’d lived in constant fear of losing his status to a backstabbing rival.

During his Year of Penance, he’d come to learn why he was so unhappy. It was not enough to be feared by those around him. He wanted to connect with someone on a deeper level. He wanted to be loved. And to win love, he had to treat people with kindness and respect. He understood that now.

Still, these were new concepts which lay on him like ill-fitting clothes. His intentions might be good, but he lacked the skills. He was a schoolboy again with Taya, awkward and fumbling. During times of frustration, he lapsed into his old ways, but at least Taya challenged him on those occasions, so that he knew when he was being a zebu’s ass. In that sense, he desperately needed her.

They’d arrived at the guesthouses.

“I’ll take the horses,” said Mandir as Taya slid off her mount. “You go inside and rest.”

She gave him a wary look as if he were setting a trap for her, but he only waited patiently for her to hand him the mare’s reins. Then she slipped inside the guesthouse, and he rode toward the stable to hand the animals off to the grooms. Someday, perhaps, she would realize that he’d changed since Mohenjo.

Chapter 24: Hrappa

Taya would never admit it, but Mandir had been right to make her rest through the heat of the afternoon. He’d escorted her to her guesthouse and then, instead of harassing her as she’d expected, left her entirely alone. She ate lunch and slept for three full hours, an appalling amount when they had so much work to do, and yet she felt much better when she awoke. Maybe that harrowing trip through the river had taken more out of her than she’d realized.

In the evening, Mandir came by with the horses, and they rode out to the farmers’ district a second time. This time the farmers were home. Mandir hung back and allowed her to do the talking, since she knew farmers and he didn’t. She cast her eye at him a number of times during these meetings, curious what he was thinking. From some of the comments he’d made at Mohenjo, she knew he thought of peasant farmers as nasty, unwashed creatures who wallowed in dirt. But the reality was that most farmers’ homes, though small, were clean and sweet-smelling, and the farmers themselves always visited the baths after coming in from the fields. Peasant farmers might not be wealthy, but they were as civilized as anyone else in the valley.

The first two families dodged their questions about Bodhan. Though Mandir’s eyes darkened at their evasions, Taya was inclined to leave them be rather than threaten them or otherwise try to force the information out of them. Eventually, she hoped, she would find someone willing to talk.

Now, in the third house on their list, she spoke to the matriarch, who sullenly presented her four children to Taya and Mandir. None were over the age of ten. “Is this your entire family?” asked Taya.

“And Daradi,” she said. “He’s at the market.”

“Daradi is your husband?”

The woman nodded.

The jackal wasn’t here, then, and neither was the witness. Not that Taya expected to simply stumble upon either of them, but she’d hoped. “I understand you lost control of your land in a court case to Bodhan isu Kasirum. Is that correct?”

“What business is it of yours?”

Taya swallowed. She hadn’t expected resistance to her questions. “We think the facts of those cases might be related to the recent murders.”

“We have nothing to do with any jackal,” said the farmer woman. “Go back to your temple, Coalition dog.”

Mandir leapt forward and grabbed the woman by the arm. “Apologize,” he demanded.

“Mandir—” began Taya.

He raised a hand to silence her and spoke again to the farmer woman. “Apologize to my partner.”

“I am sorry,” choked out the frightened woman.

Mandir released her. “Tell us about Bodhan and the loans.”

“It was a bad year, when the Lioness did not flood. We had no crop. We had to borrow money.”

“Did you not have food in storage?” asked Taya.

“Not enough,” said the farmer woman. “And our bananas no longer produce well.”

Probably because they were blighted. She’d look at them later. “So you borrowed money from Bodhan.”

The farmer woman aimed a frightened glance at Mandir and nodded. “We tried to pay him back but we couldn’t manage it. Now he controls our land and makes us grow cotton every year.”

It was as she’d guessed—Bodhan wanted farmers to grow the raw materials for his cloth business. “Do you get a good price for it?”

The farmer woman snorted.

Taya took that to mean
no
. “May I see your banana plants?”

She led them out back to the garden, a small square patch sporting a few melon vines, a date tree, and two banana plants. The banana plants were indeed blighted. Taya didn’t have to look closely; even from a distance she could see the black spots under the leaves and the plants’ thin, undernourished appearance. No fruit grew on either of them. “How long have they been blighted?”

“Five years,” said the farmer woman. “We would have replaced them, but all our neighbors’ trees are blighted too. Only Zashkalim isu Ikkarum has healthy trees left, and he has so few he cannot spare them. When someone does replace a tree, it blights within the year. You could fix it with your magic. But you won’t.” She spat on the ground.

In the pregnant pause that followed, Taya waited anxiously for Mandir’s aggressive response. But it did not come. Instead, he said, “She would heal them if she could. But she must obey the law, as must we all.”

“Yes, we know well this law,” said the farmer woman. “It is the law that says the Coalition gets rich while farmers starve.” She eyed their green and silver clothes. “You help the rich merchants like Bodhan take food from the mouths of the hungry. And when the knives sprout from your backs, nobody will weep for you.”

“We’re not
helping
Bodhan,” began Taya angrily.

“Wait,” said Mandir. “What do you mean?
How
are we helping him?”

“You know what you were hired to do,” said the farmer woman.

As they rode away from the farmers’ district back toward the guesthouses, Taya said, “You shouldn’t have frightened her. We won’t make friends that way.”

Mandir shrugged. “She wouldn’t have been a friend to us no matter what I did. But there’s something going on here and it has to do with Bodhan. Those farmers looked thin.
Too
thin.”

“I noticed,” said Taya.

“The Valley of the Lioness produces more than enough food for everyone,” he said. “The Mothers never intended that their children should go hungry in a land of plenty.”

“It’s because of those nasty loans. Farmers don’t like growing cotton.”

“Why not?”

“You can’t eat it.”

Mandir rolled his eyes. “But you can sell it. Farmers aren’t stupid. They understand the concept of trade.”

“Of course,” said Taya. “But food prices oscillate wildly depending on the river’s antics. Many of these families have a tradition of self-sufficiency going back generations, and they’re loath to give it up. I suspect that Bodhan is the only cotton buyer in town. By forcing so many farmers to grow cotton, he’s flooding the market and acquiring his raw materials at an artificially low price while simultaneously making food scarce. So of course the farmers are going hungry.”

Mandir frowned. “What did she mean when she said we were helping Bodhan to starve them?”

“I’ve no idea,” said Taya. “She hates the Coalition, so I guess she thinks we’re conspiring against her.”

“Did you see the jackal anywhere? Or the witness?”

“No. We’ll have to try again tomorrow evening. We can visit some more families.” She wasn’t wild about the idea, given the hostility she’d already seen toward the Coalition, but she would do it.

“Not tomorrow,” said Mandir. “We have the party at the magistrate’s.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t sure how she felt about that party. As a girl in her farm village, she’d loved parties. Food and wine flowed copiously, people told jokes and stories, and there was often a bonfire. But this was a ruling-class party. She didn’t know the customs. Mandir might feel at home, but she was likely to flounder.

“We have to attend, you know,” said Mandir.

“Yes.”

“It would look bad if we weren’t there,” said Mandir. “And there will be many potential suspects together in one room.”

Taya sighed. “Maybe if we’re lucky, the jackal will show up.”

Chapter 25: Hrappa

The morning dawned clear and bright, promising a hot afternoon. Three days and one night after a storm severe enough to flood the Lioness, Taya could see no sign that the dry, dusty streets of Hrappa had ever been graced by rain. Tonight was the party at the magistrate’s house, but they still had the morning available to them. Since Mandir wouldn’t let her go back to the river to scry, she’d decided to investigate Narat’s death another way: by visiting the family of the lover who was supposedly going to meet her at the river the day she died, but who had never showed up.

The flat brick building in the artisan district looked much like its fellows, but a heady aroma set it apart. The delectable scent of baking bread poured out of its windows. Taya, ravenous despite a substantial breakfast, was drawn to it like a honeybee to a flower.

They knocked on the wooden door, and a woman in a full-bodied white cotton apron appeared. Her welcoming smile faded as her eyes took in the Coalition green and silver. “Have you come to buy bread?”

“Yes,” said Taya. “We also need to ask you some questions.”

The woman looked unhappy but invited them inside. While the house was superficially similar to the others on the street, its construction was different in the rear, where it opened out onto the courtyard. Two large ovens, both actively fired, sat at the back of the house, ventilated by enormous windows. Flatbread loaves lay cooling on racks, some plain, others sprinkled with sesame seeds, and still others filled with raisins, nuts, and chopped dates. A smattering of flour covered a kneading table made of well-seasoned wood.

Taya’s mouth watered at the sight of the cooling loaves.

“Which kind would you like?” asked the baker.

Taya bought one of the nut- and date-filled ones, and Mandir asked for the same. She broke her loaf in half immediately, and delicious smells wafted out. She closed her eyes and inhaled. “What’s your name?”

“Vella,” said the baker.

“Do you live here alone?”

Vella hesitated before replying. “For the time being.”

“Did your son Kamber used to live with you?”

She nodded.

“And where is he now?” asked Taya.

Something flashed in Vella’s eyes—a look of pain, or perhaps anger. “Kamber was rebellious. I do not know where he has gone.”

“He disappeared the same day that Bodhan’s daughter Narat was killed,” said Taya.

Vella gave a tight, unwilling nod.

Taya watched her closely, looking for signs that she might be lying or evading the truth. “He was supposed to meet her at the river. But he never showed up.”

“I told him not to go,” said Vella. “That girl was above his station. He had no hope of marrying her, but he refused to listen.”

Mandir broke in. “How was she above his station? They’re both artisan caste.”

“The family is wealthy,” said Vella. “Bodhan hopes to marry his children into the ruling caste.”

“Do you think Kamber could have been at the river along with Narat and been killed by the jackal’s flood?” asked Taya.

Vella looked away. “It is possible, but I think unlikely. No body was found.”

“Or maybe there was no flood,” said Taya. “Maybe he killed her and then fled Hrappa.”

“He certainly did not,” said Vella, her brow wrinkling in offense.

Mandir said, “You must have some idea of where he is. You are his mother, after all. What if he gets into trouble? What if he needs you?”

Vella shook her head. “What is the use of disobedient children? I may be his mother, but Kamber and I were not in harmony.”

“What was the reason for your disharmony?” asked Taya.

“His desire to wed Narat.” Vella waved a hand toward the kneading table. “And he was clumsy with the bread.”

“You do a fine job with it,” Mandir said, gesturing with the heel of his loaf.

“Thank you,” said Vella. “But I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

“Why?” asked Mandir casually. “Has someone forbidden you to help?”

Vella shook her head, her eyes widening just enough to betray a hint of fear. But her voice was calm and controlled when she answered. “I do not know anything.”