Pyrebound - 14.3

Chapter 14.3 – Pyrebound
“Three blooms? I doubt the little punk will last one,” said Ninbi, at their left. “One man can’t run a pyre by himself, and I don’t expect any of us will be selling him food.”

“He doesn’t have a whole pyre to feed, though,” Ram said. “He’s sold off or killed most of High Atellu at this point, and he’s not bothering with the lower island or anything else. And this happened right after harvest. How long can full granaries feed a twentieth of a pyre?”

“That would be an excellent and useful observation if we had any reason to trust you,” Etana rejoined.

“I’m the only living man outside Atellu who’s met this guy in person, and two of my handmaidens are still held in his temple, talking to his women. If you’re not willing to at least listen to me, whatever happens is on you.”

“He might be lying,” said the Shebnaya leader, “but I don’t see what he’d stand to gain, and it’s more information than we’ve got from anyone else. So tell us a tale, son. The worst we can do is not believe you. What’s this bull up to?”

“Right now, not a lot. When we first met him, he talked about changing the Dominion, but my women say he’s idle for the moment. I think he might just want to spend the next three blooms being horrible to his handmaidens and the surviving Atellui. He’s more than a little crazy.”

“Most of them are. What else?”

“He can’t move his own body, or even talk. He’s totally crippled, and controls his handmaidens to do everything. He was born healthy, but got weaker as he grew up, until he could barely even lift his head. His parents gave him to the temple to save his life—he got indwelt early, when he was about twelve. He isn’t interested in anything outside his temple, unless he can use it to hurt or humiliate somebody.” All gleaned from whispered conversations between Pimna, Shennai, and whoever was bringing them their food on any given day.

“Anything we can use?” the Shebanaya said, turning to the acolyte beside him.

Ram could see the indignation on the acolyte’s face from the far side of the pool. “They should never have indwelt that child, if he wasn’t raised in their temple. The formative years are essential for acclimation and compliance. He’d have had a totally unsuitable mindset even if he weren’t immobile. But reduced physical capacity is always dangerous if it can’t be largely cured by indwelling. At best the en is morbidly introspective; at worst he channels his frustration and impotence outwards. Mutes are the worst of all.”

“I’ve already told you he’s crazy,” Ram said. It was hard not to bristle at the eunuch’s bloodless consideration for the correct way to ruin a boy’s life. Especially given how poorly that kind of wisdom had worked out with Shimrun.

“’Crazy’ is too broad a term,” the acolyte reproved him. “We cannot win an assault on an entrenched renegade. Isolation is impractical when he straddles a major trade junction and is, as you say, adequately supplied for the remainder of his kindling. That leaves diplomacy. And effective diplomacy requires a clear and precise understanding of who this man is and how he thinks.”

“Diplomacy?” the Natatian master barked. “You don’t negotiate with a resh.”

“Reshki are easily killed,” said the acolyte. “How do you propose to overcome an ensi?”

Nobody had a ready answer for that. There wasn’t any; Atellu’s temple fire would vaporize any attack force in moments, which was likely why pyres never warred amongst themselves directly. They used subtler weapons against each other, like—

“Blackbands?” someone suggested.

“Assassination’s no good,” Ram said. “He spends most of the day in one or two places, either enthroned or in bed, and he’s always got handmaidens with him to take care of him. If he wants to look at something far away, he sends one of the girls. You couldn’t even get past the murrush.”

“Blackbands aren’t limited to assassination,” Etana said. “Suppose we burned down his granaries, for example?”

Ram laughed. “Hell, you could get his girls to do that. They all hate him. Just give me the word and I’ll ask.”

“Unless you’re his spy,” Etana said, “and reporting everything we say through your master.”

“Seriously? If that was my game, why would I even admit to knowing him?”

Now Piridur spoke up again. “Excuse me. I’ve spent some time with Ram, and while he can be temperamental, I don’t believe he would willingly side with a man who had purely selfish and destructive goals.”

“If you recall, we have reason to doubt your judgment where Ram is concerned,” Etana snapped, and Piridur bowed his head.

“Piridur’s caught me twice, which is more than anybody else could manage.”

“If we could please return to the rogue bull?” said a man at the Shasipiri table, to their immediate right. “And let Karagi solve its problems on its own time?”

“It looks like it’s all one big ball of problems to me,” said Ninbi, who was slouched in his chair looking unconcerned. His Dul Tendum, from what Ram gathered, was relatively self-sufficient. “It’s no good fixing one pyre if another goes the same way a few miles down the river. Can’t untangle one bit of the ball from another.”

“Then let me untangle my bit first,” Ram said. He’d been waiting for his moment, and this seemed as good a time as he was likely to get. “I’ll come back to Dul Karagi, if you’re willing. I won’t cause any problems before my time’s up, as long as you leave me and my family alone.”

“I don’t think so,” Etana said.

“Why? I’m not Shimrun. I’m not crippled by doubt and fear. If I want to hurt you, I don’t have to be physically at the pyre to do it. If you’ll forgive my saying so, Lugal, I could burn the whole pyre down from here. In fact, it’d be easier to not come back; if I’m at the pyre, you’ll be on hand with spikes.”

“And you’ll refrain from any more political agitation?”

“Depends what you mean by that. I’m not going to stay penned up in the temple. I’ll walk around the pyre as I like, and live a nice normal life.”

“Spreading dissent and propaganda, I’m sure.”

The stubborn idiocy of it all suddenly made Ram feel tired. “Etana—Lugal—it has to be obvious that you can’t just put things back the way they were, after this. It’s just not happening. But I’m also not going to snap my fingers and make the whole Dominion run the way I want it to. Even if I could, that would just set the stage for things to go wrong a different way as soon as I was gone. So I suggest a compromise.”

Etana folded his arms. “Go on.”

“I’ll make you a guarantee that I won’t overthrow everything you’ve built up—the lugals will stay—but it’ll come with a condition. At the next bloom, I’ll indwell one of your flamekeepers. For the next ten blooms after I’m gone, one of yours will have the priesthood, and the power. And I have one particular flamekeeper in mind.” He stood up again, and looked at Piridur. “I’ve asked you once before, Piridur, but now I’m asking for real: are you ready to die for Dul Karagi?”

Piridur startled, then froze, but only for a moment. “Ram. I hoped you’d be taking this situation more seriously. This isn’t about your need for revenge.”

“It’s not. You’re the best man for the job. You want Dul Karagi to be prosperous and strong, and I’ve never seen you take advantage of your privileges for your own benefit. You know everybody in charge already. If anyone can get things back to normal after all this, it’s you.” And you probably wouldn’t mind getting the disgrace of it off your family’s name, either.

Piridur sat rooted to his chair, moving his mouth but making no noise. Etana spoke up for him: “What you are proposing seems very far from ‘normal’. I take it you’d like to set a precedent with this? With each successive ensi coming from the Palace?”

“That wouldn’t be bad. But I have no way of forcing it. When I’m gone, I’m gone, and you’ll have nothing left of me but memories. Really, it’s more of a good example for other pyres. Because I think my way will work better.”

“Flamekeepers aren’t bulls,” the Natatian master said sharply.

“Those boys aren’t bulls either,” Ram shot back. “They’re sick, weak, or stupid little kids. Two legs, no horns. Hasn’t it occurred to you that this whole mess happened for a reason?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that every pyre works this way for reason?” the Shebnaya echoed. “This system has kept us prosperous and strong for kindlings past count.”

“They’re only ‘past count’ because shit like this keeps happening! Records get lost when buildings explode! Or when you destroy the records yourselves! Sooner or later, you lose control—just like this—and somebody breaks loose and burns it all down. Eventually that falls apart, and your side gets the power again, and you decide to repress the ens extra-hard. But you don’t remember more than a couple of generations, and the system only works if you keep the kids shut up out of sight, so only a few people are watching. So somebody gets sloppy and the whole cycle starts over. It’s moronic.”

He looked around the pool, and saw that every single face had an identically mulish expression. It didn’t matter if his idea was good. They would no sooner accept it than Mother would have agreed to strip-dance for money after Father lost his arm. Men of their class didn’t do such things, and that was the final argument.

“That’s all in the future, anyway,” he went on. “I’m betting my way will win out.” For some places, for some time. Shimrun had spoken the truth; the old way would win back sooner or later, because it would always be easier to enjoy a meal somebody else paid for. “Whether it does or not, I’m with you against Mannagiri.”

“This is ridiculous,” Piridur said, finding his voice. “You can’t expect us to change our whole way of living to suit your wishes.” Heads nodded agreement all around the pool.

“Somebody has to die, Piridur. I won’t indwell you without your consent, but I’m not coming back to that pyre until somebody agrees—willingly, without compulsion—to take the penalty. Who else would you pick? I can’t die twice. All the kids you were counting on using are dead already.“

“Pick an old man, close to death already.”

“Your father Jushur is getting old. Would you rather I chose him? Or does it have to be an unimportant old man?”

“You can be as snide as you like, but my father still does critical work for the pyre. It doesn’t make sense to sacrifice him.”

“You want to take someone with no experience with power, and give him the ability to command the temple fire and all the handmaidens? You might as well take your chances with whoever the pyre picks on its own.”

“If it’s a choice between that or submitting to your blackmail, we might,” said Etana.

“You don’t need to submit to anything at all, Lugal. I am the rightful master of the Dul Karagi, and you can’t fight me. I don’t care if you want to save your pride; I can play along. You can have all the pretty swords the murrush can make for you, and wear fancy clothes. You can rebuild the houses I wrecked. I’m willing to be flexible on a lot of things.

“But, with apologies for being blunt, you can’t keep your positions against my will. I didn’t grow up in the Painted Room. I have my pride, too, and I’m past the point where you can threaten my life. If I choose to, I can reach out from here, and have a handmaiden announce my plan at the common hall during lunch. I can tell the story any time I want, as many times as I want, to whoever I want.”

“I’m not done, Lugal! I might be a hearthless mason’s son, but I am still your ensi and you will respect that. I can make your indwelt daughters and sisters kill you. I can ground your skybarques, keep you from sailing the river, stop the dropmills, freeze the kilns. I can make the bloom fail, if I need to. I don’t want to, but I will do what it takes to leave the Painted Room empty. And your swords won’t save you if the little people rise up against you. Not with me on their side.”

“And what’s to keep you from making more demands?”

“Nothing at all. But when you get back home, you will find I haven’t done any of these things I’ve said. That should be worth something. Oh, I can see you all trying to kill me with your eyes. Before you think of doing something stupid, you might ask your acolytes what will happen if one of you kills me now. Ask him, I’m sure he knows.” And he pointed to the Shebnaya who’d spoken earlier.

“That is well known. You’ve alluded to it yourself. The pyre will select another candidate on its own at the next bloom.”

“And what’s the first thing that will happen to that man when he’s indwelt?” The acolyte didn’t answer. “C’mon, we’re waiting. What’s the very first thing that happens when someone inherits the full priesthood?”

“The new ensi acquires the memories of his predecessors.”

“Which means the next ensi of Dul Karagi will know exactly, in vivid detail, what I did and why I did it. He’ll know how you dealt with me. And he’ll certainly remember me standing here today, making you a reasonable offer. One way or another, the way of the Painted Room is finished at Dul Karagi. It’ll take you generations of gradual pressure to force the ens back into the dark. Our memory is longer than yours.

“You’ll manage it eventually, I’m sure. The Dominion has been around for a long, long time, and as our friend from Shebnai tells us, every pyre works this way for a reason. I can’t help that. But please understand me when I tell you that this is not a threat. I’m only telling you how it’s going to be. So we might as well move on to the problem at hand.”