Pyrebound - 7.1
Author: theredsheep

Seven: A Beggar at the Door – Pyrebound

The Dominion is believed to be very old, its exact age unclear and seldom questioned, because its inhabitants generally lack a linear or progressive view of history. All things, to them, are as they have always been, since the mythical past before the white sun first blighted the sky. The average pyre is probably somewhat less than thousand blooms old, and the very oldest barely thrice that; in spite of their formidable defenses, disasters and the relentless hostility of the world will destroy one from time to time, or else local resources will be exhausted. New pyres are prodigiously expensive to establish, while growth and development are slow in the face of continual turmoil and endless war. In a sense, the popular view is largely correct.

At dusk, Dul Misishi didn’t look like much; its fire was only a hint of gold atop the darkness of bare and rough-cut rock that now surrounded them. They were far from the center of the Dominion of Man, far from the familiar pattern of riverside life. Ram had always been told that mountains were dangerous, the domain of bazuu. Looking up at them, he felt a twinge of fear—who were these lunatics, who lived so close to the enemy? But he could ignore that, if it meant this damned trip was over.

Five tetrads and three days. Most of a month on the move, with Darun, Mother, and a baby. Starting with another froghitch out of Urapu, buying their passage with a load of bronze Darun had effectively extorted from the Council as the price for their leaving. Father’s own sword was now among a great hoard of hearth heirlooms in webbed hands, all so they could sneak back upriver, right underneath the frowning Dul Karagi waterfront. Of course, little Zemni had decided to start crying at exactly the moment they passed by. It had been that kind of trip.

From there it had been a seemingly endless chain of cluttered barges, rickety carts, and white days squatting together in flophouses, or bondservants’ tenements. All the while, the spirit inside Ram had cried out louder and louder, as the trip took them farther away from the pyre where it belonged. He slept poorly, and felt compelled to look back time and again, as if he had forgotten something important. The white sun began to bother him more and more—the haranu couldn’t protect him so far from its source. He’d called himself ni-Karagi all his life; only now did he appreciate what it meant to be truly pyrebound.

Darun’s money had mysteriously failed to run out the whole time, though she did haggle for everything, and scrimped where she could. It took Ram an embarrassingly long time to notice the way she kept bumping into strangers in the street. They were always male strangers, and forgave her readily, though Ram suspected they might have felt differently an hour or so later. He avoided mentioning it to Mother, but he was certain she’d caught it before he did anyway.

There had been a few bright spots along the way. Father and Bal, for example, had gotten along beautifully, though their relationship consisted mainly of Father muttering colorful jokes from his hearthless days to Bal whenever Mother couldn’t hear. Ram had never heard Bal laugh before. It wasn’t a pleasant laugh, exactly, but it sounded better than Zemni’s colic.

Darun had also, at first, been much more tolerable, and even friendly, chattering amiably with Ram to pass the time. Ram had been mystified, but not displeased, until she started getting still friendlier—spontaneously giving him neck rubs, or falling asleep with her head on his shoulder as they sat by the side of the boat one evening. Pleasant as those moments were, he wasn’t stupid enough to think there was anything sincere about them, or that they were for his benefit. He could practically hear Mother’s teeth grinding over at the far gunwale. When he told Darun to knock it off, she affected hurt innocence, an act she did so well that Ram felt guilty in spite of himself.

By the time they left the Teshalun river for the Puruar that poured down from Dul Misishi, Darun had shifted to copying Mother’s mannerisms, Mother openly criticized everything Darun said or did, and they averaged six open spats a day. It wasn’t easy to keep a spat going when you were riding mules in a line with three other people between you, but they managed it all the same. They were both experts.

Now, at the very last stage, they all rode in exhausted silence along a poorly-kept trail that wound back and forth through the great gorge of the Puruar, crossing over the rushing stream on a rickety bridge wherever one side or the other was too eroded to support even a mule’s path. Few travelers came to Dul Misishi by land—but there had been no boats headed upstream for at least a tetrad, possibly more. It was better to get it over with, even if that meant climbing two miles up and at least four times that overland.

Their path, and the gorge, finally ended in a solid wall of rock, carved with a great mural they couldn’t make out for the darkness. The stream of the Puruar came out through a broad cleft at its base, where the pyre hid its harbor; foot traffic had to pass through a narrower tunnel above, presently guarded by a single bored flamekeeper. He livened up noticeably when he saw Darun, at the front of the line, then frowned at Bal and the others behind her.

“Purpose and point of origin?” he said, in a voice that suggested a groan.

“Hi!” Darun chirped. “I’m here to see my sister. Her name’s Tirnun. These are my friends. Their origin’s none of your business.” He looked them over again, his gaze particularly lingering on Father and Ram, and Darun elaborated, “Tirnun hun-Zasha. Maybe you’ve heard of her?” The man promptly stepped aside and waved them by. “Thank you!”

Ram stole a glance at the man as they passed; he could tell that his sword was indwelt, but didn’t feel the same sense of kinship with it as he did with Beshi. The design was different as well, a shorter blade with no crossguard. War took a different form up in the mountains; they needed weapons you could swing and stab with in a narrow tunnel. Ram’s fight with the shabti would have been pleasant by comparison.

The entry tunnel was several hundred feet long, and emerged onto a considerably wider valley than the tortuous crack in the rock they had been ascending for the past two days. The path out of the gate led to a promenade along the bottom edge of the valley’s left side, with a matching road on the right; below them lay a deep reservoir that spilled out to begin the Puruar. Above were terraced fields pockmarked with doorways into the mountainsides, then sloping, rocky pastures for the pyre’s flocks, all topped by a pair of hearth-fires on the heights.

At the moment, Ram was more concerned with the length of the rift than what was in or beside it. It went on for several miles—and their road with it—before branching into three. The great light of the pyre proper was visible in the far distance, its temple hidden behind a curve in the central fork, and the mountains rose sharply just beyond that, marking the very end of the Dominion and the beginning of bazu territory. “Darun, how much farther are we going to have to go tonight?”

“All of the way to the pyre-light. Only poor people live out here by the gate. But at least it’s level, right? And we can keep riding.”

Ram wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have preferred to walk, after so many days in the saddle. “Where are all the people, anyway?” The road was nearly deserted, aside from them. “Don’t tell me everyone’s in bed already.”

“Nah. This road doesn’t see much use. Most of the people here work in the mines, and their houses are built into the rock too. No need to go outside at all.”

He looked up at the nearest of the countless pores in the mountainside. At least the bondservants in Urapu got fresh air and sunlight. “Hell of a way to live,” Father said, and there didn’t seem to be much else to add.

Where the three branches of the rift combined, the Misishin had suspended an enormous stone platform over the river, like twenty bridges laid side by side, with a short hearth-tower in its center. In such a rugged area, they had no cause to spread out their light to make waypoints for travelers, as the river-pyres did; except for the landing and trading-post where they’d rented the mules, Misishi’s hearths were all close by.

On the platform’s far side, nearer the main fire, the houses were better—which was to say, they had the facades of fine homes built onto the holes in the rock, and proper windows. The deeper they went, the larger and higher the frontages, until at last they rounded the bend in the channel and saw the great pillar of light itself, rising from the top of a temple partially buried in the stone on the right side. An equally large and recessed dome of stone faced it on the left, with another plaza suspended over the water between them.

“That their palace?” Father asked, pointing at the dome.

“Tegnembassaga,” Darun corrected. “Here’s our stop.” She hopped lightly down from her mule in front of an imposing colonnaded space. Ram hurried to help Mother; she’d hardly had time to recover from her pregnancy before this trip, and she was at the end of her strength. To his surprise, Bal got there before him, holding out his arms to take Zemni from her. Naturally, she was reluctant, and Ram took his baby brother so she could use Bal’s hands to get herself down instead. If the big man was offended, he didn’t show it. Meanwhile Darun sauntered up to an eight-foot-tall door nestled among the columns, and hammered on it with a knife handle.

“What do you want to do with these critters?” Father asked, huffing as he dismounted awkwardly from his mule. He hadn’t ridden an animal in nearly two kindlings, and he’d had two arms then.

“Leave them,” she said over her shoulder. “Nobody’s going to steal them here.” She turned back just as the door opened, revealing a tall, impressively dressed bondswoman a bit older than Mother. “Jezrimin! Babe! Is my sister home?” The woman frowned slightly, but only for a moment. She bowed her head respectfully, and went back into the house without a word, leaving the door open.

Darun gestured for the rest of them to come too, remarking loudly, “We’ll be wanting some food, too. And you might want to get somebody to take care of the jackasses before they crap all over the walk. The two on the end have our stuff on them.”

Jezrimin said nothing, didn’t even break stride as she led them through a foyer that would have fit in at Lashantu’s, then up a stairwell at the far side. She held out a hand to stay them at the landing before stepping through a curtained doorway. Ram heard a few murmured words and then, much louder, “Darun?”

The curtain was pulled aside so quickly it nearly ripped, and he caught a moment’s glance of a somewhat thickset female figure silhouetted against the temple-light shining through a window. It swept Darun up into an embrace so ferocious that Ram thought he could hear ribs crack, and held her there for a long time.

“Hey, sis,” Darun said, raising her voice over the woman’s ragged breaths. Darun shook in her grip, but her voice was steady. “We were in the area, thought we’d pop in, you know?”

The lady said something indistinct into Darun’s shoulder, then disengaged, holding her sister out at arm’s length to look into her face. Tirnun hun-Zasha was about a kindling older than her sister, Ram guessed, with wavy black hair, a beaky nose, and the form of a woman who spent a lot of time in bed, or at the table. She still managed to be pretty enough, and Ram could see the resemblance.

After a long while, she turned her gaze from her sister’s face, and noticed the rest of them. She startled, but like her bondswoman she quickly recovered her composure. “Oh? I see you’ve brought friends, Darun dear. Come on in, all of you.” And she stepped back, sweeping her arm out to invite them in.

It wasn’t a particularly large parlor, but its window gave an excellent view of the fire across the water. A long, low couch extended across the back wall and wrapped halfway around the sides. Jezrimin had already set a tray of bread, cheese, and yogurt dip on the table, and was now returning with another filled with wine cups. The lady of the house bustled them over, and spent several minutes fussing over who sat where, and whether everything was to everyone’s liking. Darun introduced all of them with false names.

When all was finally in order, and the two sisters sat in the middle of the couch, an awkward silence settled on the room. Tirnun didn’t seem quite sure who or what to look at. Her sister paid her no mind, but ate at a leisurely pace, dipping her bread with gusto.

“So,” she said at last, “hubby’s out for the night?”

“Zasha had a meeting,” Tirnun answered primly. “If you don’t mind my asking, what does bring you here, Darun? It’s been so long!”

“Three and a half blooms,” Darun agreed. “You’re always looking for good craftspeople, right? Well, Salumma there sews beautifully, and her man can still carve statues pretty well with the one arm. They don’t have anywhere to stay right now, so I figured you might find a place for them.”

“Really,” Tirnun said, taking a sip from her beaker. “What happened, dear? Why don’t they have a home?”

“Kerunki lost his arm in a resh attack last bloom, so he can’t do real masonry anymore. The family can’t make ends meet. You know how it is.”

“How sad,” Tirnun said, reaching out to pat Mother on the hand. “And these are friends of yours, so you decided to help them?”

“Well, I hadn’t seen you in a while, you know, so I figured why not swing by? Then I could see you and help them out, all at once.”

“I see.” She smiled, set down her cup, and took Darun’s hand in both of hers. “Darun, dearest. You are my sister, my only surviving blood relation. You were the only reason I had to live for a full kindling of my life. I love you like a daughter, and always have. So I will choose to forgive you, this time, for assuming that your big sister has gone completely stupid.”

“That’s very nice of you,” Darun said, stretching her legs out under the table.

“Did you really not know that all four of your friends here have a substantial warrant on their heads, or did you simply hope that I would not draw the connection between that and a large one-armed man and his family?”

Father and Mother exchanged glances. “They put a warrant on the baby?” Darun shook her head. “That’s just harsh.”

“Yes, sister dear, they did. We only got the news last tetrad, though it was dated much earlier. I don’t imagine there’s a pyre in the Dominion that hasn’t received a copy by now. And now you show up in black, cool as can be, with four outlaws and … whatever that is for company?” She flailed her hand at Bal, who had just cleaned up the last of the cheese and now looked to Jezrimin for more. “What were you thinking?”

“See why I left?” Darun said to Ram.

Tirnun put her head in her hand. “Is this what you’ve done with your life, Darun? Three blooms of our lives gone, and you come back as a blackband with a pack of fugitives?”

“Just what do you reckon my baby’s done, woman?” Father demanded. “He shit on something priceless? Ain’t a whole lot else he can do right now.” Beside him, Mother slumped down in the cushions, and gave all her attention to the child her lap. She didn’t look like she had the energy to do much else. Certainly not to contemplate a long ride back down the Puruar, if they got turned out of this pyre. Tomorrow would be white day.

Their hostess tch’ed at Father, then glanced at Mother, and frowned. “Jezrimin!” She clapped her hands. “The lady and her husband are tired. Could you arrange them rooms for the night, please?” The bondswoman bowed, and motioned for Father and Mother to precede her down a hallway.

Tirnun turned back to her sister before they were out of the room. “You and the brute there are listed as accomplices, I hope you know. They had a good description of both of you—I never dreamed you’d be stupid enough to get mixed up in all this!”

“All what? What did Ram do?”

“The warrant said he’d murdered Dul Karagi’s ensi.”

“Is that so? Ram, why don’t you go get your buddy Beshi, and introduce him?”

He didn’t need to be asked twice to leave that room. He’d never been in the house before, but Beshi never stopped calling for him, especially if they were separated. After a few false turns, he made his way into a small stable, where a pair of bonded grooms were unpacking the mules. Ram hurried to relieve one of them of his “bedroll,” then returned to the others, taking a bit longer to find his way back. He had to follow the sound of conversation much of the way.

“You missed the birth of your niece, Darun,” the lady’s voice echoed through the dark corridor. “A bloom and five months ago.”

“Got two of them now, huh?”

“Yes. This pyre has been very good to us. Was it so bad to you?”

“If you’re trying to make me jealous, you could do better, sis. Squeezing out two of them? Ugh. No thanks.”

“I’ll have you know that I love my children. And you’re not getting any younger. What will you do, when you aren’t pretty anymore?”

“Dunno. Probably enjoy all the memories you missed out on getting, when you were stuck here.”

He’d reached the parlor door now. But he hesitated; there was a lot he still didn’t know about Darun, a lot she hadn’t told him, and he hadn’t enjoyed traveling with a stranger.

“Don’t be so flippant! Think it over. My Zasha is an important man at this pyre. There are any number of fine young men who’d still be delighted to be his brother-in-law. You could have your pick, at this point.”

“You told me that just before I left, you know. Not interested. A housewife’s just a working girl who turns the same trick every night.”

There was a long pause before Tirnun answered, in a lower voice, “I never asked you to do anything I didn’t do myself, Darun. Whatever price we paid, I always took on the larger share.”

Darun laughed. “Yeah, most of us like ‘em larger. Not that I envied you, back then. Shit, I’d still be walking funny.”

“Now you’re being vulgar—“

“No, honest. So we didn’t starve. Thank you very much, Tir. And I mean that. We did what we had to, and that’s fine. But now, you think I want to be you? Look at me? Look at yourself. If it’s such a heavy ‘price to pay,’ why are you still paying? Paying, and playing the same old losing game. At least I had the sense to walk away.”

“So you say. But where has it gotten you? Why are you here, asking for my help, and not the other way around, clever girl?”

Ram knew a cue when he heard it. He swept the curtain aside, took three steps into the room, and snapped the bedroll flat. Beshi clattered onto the floor; Ram bent over, picked him up, and drew him, right before the eyes of a speechless Tirnun.