Chapter 17.4
Author: theredsheep

Chapter 17.4 – Pyrebound

Kiziun mai-Rammash was born in the small hours of the morning, three tetrads before the bloom. Weight, a bit shy of seven pounds. Height, about eighteen inches. A full head of black hair, all limbs sound and in the proper proportion. But what mattered most to Ram—and he had worried up to the very minute she came out, after four hours of labor—was that she was not indwelt.

He’d been nervous for some time that the birth would be delayed past the bloom; that would have been, if not totally catastrophic, at least a dire setback to his hopes, a distraction he could not afford. They hadn’t even been sure when Darun was due. There were several false starts, contractions which went away after an hour or two. Completely normal, the midwives said. Completely normal, Mother agreed.

After the last set, Ram went down to Kuara’s shrine and offered the Goddess every last fragment of a tanbir in his pockets. Then he knelt and prayed until well past sunset, when the shrine’s human minders gently asked the lord of their pyre to get the hell out so they could sleep. Darun’s true labor began shortly after Ram went to bed that night, whereupon the midwives kicked Ram out of his own room and did not permit him inside until Darun was sleeping comfortably with the baby at her breast.

He held his daughter up to the rising sun (carefully, so as not to wake her) and nothing kindled inside her. He showed her to his pyre, and nothing changed. She remained, incredibly, simply a baby girl, no doubt one of several who would be born in and around Dul Karagi that day, and she slept peacefully in his arms while he wept silently and swore to the God that he would never have her. Kiziun was born free.

They only got a couple of hours alone. Soon enough, Mother heard, and Mana, and various women and girls whom Darun had befriended or simply made the acquaintance of over the past several months, and by noon it seemed the entire female population of Dul Karagi was trying to enter their apartments, usually bearing some handmade article of tiny and impractical clothing. Every fresh arrival had to coo, and make some inane remarks about Kiziun’s little toes, nose, or other body part—with which the others would agree—and ask to see whatever textiles the newest woman had brought, prompting a wave of applause and commentary.

Darun looked totally exhausted and utterly happy, so Ram threw up his hands and left to have a beer with Father. Or several beers, as it turned out. And lunch, and a walk along the waterfront … and several more beers. Ram paid for admission to a surprisingly funny play starring a nearly life-size puppet on strings—apparently it was a new style of comedy out of Dul Natati—and they both laughed a little too loud at the puppet’s bawdy jokes and misbehavior, so that the other patrons stared.

Then dinner at the Red Flute, where Father, inspired by the play and too many drinks to count, told the dining room a version of “Rasha and the three hunters” Ram was sure he’d never heard as a child. The blackbands loved it, and sent them home with an armload of gifts for Kiziun and Darun, most of them even less practical than the tiny clothes, but all of them more interesting. Ram supposed his daughter might have some use for a foot-long cane-cutter’s blade some day—the woman who gave it to them insisted it was “a girl’s best friend”—but he didn’t like to think how.

Most of the visitors were gone when they returned home. Darun was curled up on one end of their long couch, sleeping under a patterned red and gold blanket. On the other end, Mother, baby Zemni, and Shennai picked through a huge variety box of durdi rolls someone had brought. Mana and her friend Rinti reclined against the low table in front of them, looking drowsy; Mana had a good-sized splotch of syrup around her mouth from the rolls. Baby dresses and used plates littered the floor, somehow putting Ram in mind of bodies around a battlefield.

The only person he didn’t see was his newborn daughter. “Hey, where’s the—“

Mother snapped a finger up to her lips, gesturing with the other toward Ram’s bedroom. Obediently, he cracked the door open, and heard two voices softly crooning in Moonchild. Slowly, cautiously, he opened the door farther, letting a long line of lamplight from the sitting room spill in. It caught two people leaning over the bed, the larger with ghostly pale hair, the smaller with a bulky cloth wrapped around her face.

Ram raised an eyebrow at Mother, who merely smiled and offered him one of the last durdis. Dumping his heap of presents amid the general mess, he took it, and sat down beside her on the few inches of space their couch had to spare. Zemni promptly crawled over his mother’s lap to sit in Ram’s. Father looked for another spot, shrugged, and sat down on the floor, where he scratched Mana’s head like a cat’s.

“How does it feel now,” Mother asked, “to be a father? Now that you have had ample time to reflect.” She looked at her husband as she said it; he wasn’t sitting quite straight.

Ram took his time chewing and swallowing the roll. “About the same as I felt yesterday, really. Maybe it still hasn’t sunk in yet. We both know I’m not going to see much of her.”

Mother nodded somberly. “Your life has changed enough over the last bloom that I would hardly expect even this to be much of a shock.”

He looked over at Darun, still sleeping soundly. “Is she going to be ready to travel in a few days?”

“As long as it is by water, or air, certainly. But I believe we can afford more than a few days for you to spend with your daughter before she leaves.”

Ram shook his head. “I want the lot of you safe in Dul Atellu before the bloom. We’re cutting it close as it is.”

Mother sighed. “Yes, the bloom. I don’t suppose you’d care to divulge any more of your intentions to the woman who gave birth to you, now that you are more familiar with what birthing entails?”

“Nope. You’d try to talk me out of it. It’s appallingly rash. Even Darun was shocked a little, when I told her. But she approved in the end.” It was just her style, after all.

“That is hardly reassuring.” She looked down at the box of sweets, now empty, and pushed it away. “I suppose I should be more careful what I wish for.”

“Meaning?”

“There was a time, not so very long ago, when I wanted to see you more independent. I even dreamed, though I never said it, that you might find a place in the pyre. Urapu was so very small, and my father would have cheerfully crushed your every ambition.”

“You wanted me to leave the hearth? But you were so surprised when I—“

She laughed. “Of course. That was supposed to be in the future, when you were so much taller, and stronger, and more prepared. The future was not so considerate as to work around my plans for it.”

“It never does,” Ram agreed. “I’m going to try and force it, though. Which is why I want everyone I care about secure and out of the way.”

Father frowned. “You reckon Atellu’s going to be safer, though?”

“I’ve been talking with the ladies there. They’ll be happy to have you, and especially to have Bal. You’ll be solving a problem for them, as surely as they’ll be solving mine.”

“Yeah, Bal.” Father frowned. “I ain’t convinced that’s going to work out so well neither. They just got rid of one crazy son of a bitch, and you think they’ll welcome him?”

“They’ve already met him, a couple of times. They’ve tested his abilities—more than once. They know I’m telling the truth.”

“Lord Rammash is quite right,” Shennai said. “As handmaidens, they are accustomed to dealing with, shall we say, eccentric men. Balnibduka has made quite an impression on them, a very favorable one.”

Father shook his head. “It’s one hell of a gamble.”

“It really isn’t,” Ram said. “Even Bal isn’t much of a threat to a handmaiden who can set him on fire with a look. Imbri’s pretty sure the resh in him won’t ever let him indwell with a haranu, which actually makes him less dangerous than most men. Zemni here’s a bigger risk, from their perspective.”

“And the potential reward is considerable,” Shennai added. “Many of them have told me as much. A man with the infallible ability to sense malicious or violent intent? I would have paid a great deal for such a gift, in my days in the Painted Room.”

“I’m sorry to see him leave here, if it comes to that,” Ram said. “I’m paying a steep price for your safety. So yes, I want you out of here. Really. I’ll be fine.”

Mother still looked worried. Ram didn’t blame her. “I can see how it would be attractive,” she said slowly. “The Atellui will have no need to threaten or control their ensis now, will they?”

“That’s the plan. And if all goes well, they might find another Jackal priest, to take over when Bal gets old; probably there’s more than a few who’d take them up on it, for a comfortable life like Bal has. They could guarantee security for generations.”

“And you are freely giving this precious power away, instead of keeping it at Dul Karagi.”

“Yes. We’ll manage without. No, I’m not telling you how.”

The door to their bedroom creaked open, and Imbri shuffled out. “I have some idea what Ram has in mind. At least, he’s told me some of it. More than he’s told you, I’m sure.”

“You have the whole thing,” Ram assured her. “I don’t think I’ll be making any further changes.”

“It sounds feasible enough. Drastic, but feasible. And it will work much better with all of you out of the way.”

Mother scowled. “I suppose that’s some consolation. But I notice you are not leaving.”

“Of course not. I’ve got lessons set for the next three months, and they’re finally letting me set up an herb garden on the roof. Besides, what would I do with Nerre? Ram isn’t going to uproot me yet again, thank you.”

Mother looked mulish. “The boy ain’t done that bad so far,” Father put in. “You want him to run all his orders past you before he gives them to the pyre? I don’t recall no stories about the Ensi’s mother in the chain of command.” Any further argument was cut short by a loud knock at the door. Father turned to glower at it. “The hell? Ain’t the sun set ages ago? Or did I imagine that?”

“Well, we’re all still awake, so no harm done,” Ram said. “Almost all, anyway.” Another knock. He hurried to get it, before whoever it was could rouse Darun or the baby. He opened it, and had a shiny, jangling copper ball thrust into his hands.

“Congratulations, Lord Rammash,” said Etana with a smile.

“Thank you,” Ram replied automatically, then looked down at the ball. It seemed to be hollow, and filled with little bells. The Lugal was the absolute last person he would have expected to visit, and he had no idea how to deal with him.

Fortunately, Mother would forget her own name before she forgot proper social protocol. “Lord Etana. Thank you for honoring us with a visit. Would you care to come in?”

“You’re very kind, but I’m sure you’re all tired. I only came by to offer my best wishes for the family—and, if possible, to borrow your son for a moment. Would you care for a walk, Lord Rammash?”

“Sure,” he said at once. He had no idea what this was about, but he wanted Etana away from his family before anything else. He set the little ball on top of the gift-heap from the Red Flute. “Let’s go.”

Their present house, along the northern stretch of the river, was the former lodging of a bachelor flamekeeper who’d died at Barenmul. Ram had moved in a few tetrads after the battle, when he grew sick of the wary and grudging hospitality of the Palace, and silently dared anyone to evict him. The question of rent had never come up, and until now, he’d been unmolested, effectively invisible in his home. “Where to?”

“Take your pick,” Etana replied. “I’ve seen it all.”

Ram headed north, setting a brisk pace. It was a quiet, residential neighborhood on the night of peak day, and they didn’t have much company. “Is there some emergency you couldn’t mention in front of my parents?”

“No. Everything is fine. I came to make peace, Ram.”

“I didn’t know we were fighting.”

“Openly, no. You’ve been a model of public cooperation and good manners, and I thank you for it. But of course I am aware of your recent activities.”

“Such as?”

“Your repeated patronage of my militia, for one. Regular visits to the Moon-and-Stars. Quiet meetings with virtually all of the leadership. The business with the new crowhammers. I can’t help feeling that you’re trying to woo them away from me.”

“I’m not plotting a coup, Etana. I’m done with war.”

“I said nothing about a coup. I credit you with more subtlety than that. But you still cling to your hopes of changing this pyre’s government, don’t you?”

“I do. I’ve never denied it.”

“You are one man, doomed to die, and your memories alone cannot rule whoever comes after you. All you can do is add confusion, and undermine my authority for a bit. I will win, either way. Or, if not me, whoever comes after me, or the man after him. The only question is how much time, how much money, and possibly how many lives are lost before nature has its way.”

“That’s what you think.”

“Don’t your memories tell you as much? Sort through all the long kindlings in your head, and fetch up an example of the Ensis remaining in power for more than a few blooms.”

“I can’t. But nobody’s tried my idea yet. It’s worth a shot.”

“And you keep your secrets. But you have made inquiries—inquiries you believed were discreet, I’m sure—about hiring a private boat to Dul Atellu. The timing suggests you are planning to get your family out soon. The bloom is soon. It should be obvious why I am concerned.”

“It is,” Ram agreed, and left it at that. He turned right at the next crossing, so they could see how the reconstruction of the north end was getting on.

“I came to make peace. But if you intend to overthrow me at the next bloom, I am prepared for war. We all are.”

“’We’ being—“

“The flamekeepers, the handmaidens, even the acolytes if they must. You are not the only one who has been asking around. We are united in our purpose.”

“Oh, I bet. All you puppets for the big families stick together, because you’ve got the same hand up your collective asses. Are the big boys ready to fight too, or are they going to stay in their little holes while you sort it out for them?” They weren’t far from Lashantu’s old mansion, currently half-rebuilt by his surviving family; Ram nodded in its direction.

Etana put out an arm to stop Ram. “Are you planning assassinations?”

He threw the arm off, and kept walking. “I wouldn’t mention them if I were, but no, I’m not. Of course not. I’m not Mannagiri.”

“No, but you are the same type of … being. Do you deny that your spirit has compelled you to act rashly, even stupidly, in the past? Are you too proud to consider that it is doing the same now?”

“I’ve considered it plenty. And I’ve considered some other things, too. Why do you think the ensi has to die every kindling?”

“To rekindle the fire. Why else?”

“But why does the ensi have to be the one to do it? Why should the boss be the one who dies? Or, to put it another way, why give all this power to somebody if you’re just going to kill him off?”

“I have no way of answering that question, and I don’t think you do either. Your memories can’t possibly go back to the beginning of the first pyre.”

“Not clearly, no. Just muddled impressions. But if somebody’s going to be in charge, you’d think it would be better to leave him there, so he can get experience. Or, if you’re selfish, to foist off the death on somebody who doesn’t matter, so you can enjoy the top seat. It makes no sense.”

“And you have no reason to believe it could have been done any other way. Is any of this relevant?”

“What I’m saying is, whoever started this obviously had some strong ideas about the way things ought to be, and I disagree with most of them. I don’t want a hundred wives, and I don’t want a war. But there is one thing the God and I definitely agree on: nobody deserves to have power over anyone else unless he’s willing to die for them.”

“Really? I have been to every war since I was your age, or possibly younger. I have foiled more plots than I can count against the security of this pyre, and been injured—“

“I’m not saying you’re a coward! Neither is Piridur, or his father. But you didn’t do that for Dul Karagi. You did that to keep your position.”

“What do you know? You are barely more than a child, a child who spent most of his life in a hearth. Your experience of a soldier’s life has been limited to a few months in the militia. You can’t know how we love Dul Karagi, every brick and stone of it, after spending our whole lives here. My fathers fought, and bled, and died to keep this community safe.”

“Mine were shoved in a little room, told they were worthless, and burned alive, and none of them even had a choice about it. I’m not trying to make a contest of it,” he added, as Etana bristled, “but that just screws up the whole thing from the beginning, don’t you see? They never had a chance to love Dul Karagi. They never even really knew what it was. And you’re surprised that they turned out bad? Mannagiri only thought of himself because he had nobody else to care for.”

“You expect me to pin my hopes for a hundred thousand people on the sentiments of a single man?”

“I expect the God to have his price. Look at that,” he said, pointing up at the Temple.

“I literally can’t,” Etana shot back. “Try not to hold it against me, Heir of Karagi.”

“All it is, is a single man. I’m sure you’ve heard about my talk with the bazuu. All that, all the power, it comes from a single human soul, deflected. Where do we come from? Somewhere they can’t explain. Where do we go? They don’t know or care. But just turning one of us from the road he’s on, temporarily, is enough to make something so strong you can’t even bear to look at it. And you take it for granted.”

Etana shook his head. “All this is miles from the point. Again: I still want peace. I have allowed you a good deal of leeway. I’ve stood by while you spent a tremendous amount of money that could have been spent better elsewhere, I’ve looked the other way while you have colluded with my subordinates, I won’t even stop you from removing your family from my reach.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am prepared to make concessions, for the time being, to you, Rammash, as an individual. If it will prevent further bloodshed, I will consult with you on all major decisions, including treaties with other pyres, and other matters you are unprepared and unqualified to even offer an opinion on. I will continue the largely hopeless search for the remnants of your hearth, I will honor you in public as my Ensi, I will repudiate the Painted Room and pledge that your heirs—whom you may choose, not that I can stop you—will be free as long as I live. I will sign a binding contract to that end, if you like.

“And yes, I will leave up that ridiculous block of rock you’ve defaced my roof with. In half a kindling it will be covered with dust, and nobody will bother to look at it, but it will stay up until I am gone and my successor repurposes it as road gravel, which will be out of my hands. All this I will freely grant you. But I will not entrust my pyre, which yes, I truly love, to the unlimited authority of whatever tormented lunatic replaces you in the future, and the one after him, and so on forever.

“It wouldn’t matter if I did. Whatever I promise now, the future will be the same, only poorer for the blood and money you have wasted trying to make water flow uphill. So I ask you, kindly—on my knees, if it will please the thing inside you—to put off whatever insane scheme you have planned for the bloom. What are you going to do? Indwell the crowhammers and usurp my militia?”

“I considered it,” Ram said. “Then decided against it. A little too provocative. I ordered the nicer crowhammers because I figured I owed it to them. There won’t be any blood shed at the bloom. Not by me, at least, or anyone acting on my orders. I promise you that.”

“But something will happen. Won’t it? Something I do not expect.”

“I’m going to see to it that the God is paid, Etana. Whether you like it or not. You can’t stop me without killing me, and if you do you know something worse will happen. I’m not just one man, I’m the living power of Haranduluz. If you want to work against that, you’re welcome to try, but you won’t like the consequences. You won’t usurp the priesthood any longer. You won’t get the power without the price.”

They’d stopped walking again. Etana stared at him, plainly wondering how much of what he’d just heard was the young man talking, how much the spirit. “I’ll take my chances, thank you,” he said at last. “Every flamekeeper will be on hand at the bloom, armed with bronze. My militia will have clear instructions as well. We will see how well you love the peace and prosperity of Dul Karagi, and what you are willing to pay to protect it.”

“I’ll pay a lot.”

“But you will not give up your pride?”

“Sorry. I’m not allowed to give up that. I’ve had clear orders. Anyway, if that’s settled, my family is waiting. Good night.” And he walked home by himself.