Pyrebound - 16.1

Sixteen: A Champion in Battle – Pyrebound
While the Dominion exists in a constant state of war with the bazuu, and any number of other threats come from the desert, the common man of Ki spends very little time concerned with actual warfare. The annual campaign is typically limited to a single battle, fought by a minuscule fraction of the populace, Even the flamekeepers are styled as a military elite for propaganda purposes; their resplendent bronze armor is designed to imitate the scales of the murrush. Far more protective gear could easily be devised with existing metallurgic knowledge, but there is no need. A flamekeeper’s worst fear is an assassin, a class of foe he is more likely to meet out of his armor than in it.

The gien of Dul Karagi stood outside its eastern wall, exactly equidistant from the north and south gates. It would be hard to find a more lonesome and secluded location without trudging out into the fields; it wasn’t on the way to or from anywhere anyone would want to go. This, of course, was deliberate. Only disinterested bondservants would be around to watch the women en route to the little shrine, and those women would have the maximum possible time to think twice about what they were doing. Even so, few would turn back.

Its walls were thick, to muffle the sound of crying. Within, it was almost completely bare, only a round stone floor thirty paces across, guarded by the grotesque image of the dwarf god Tugul Nar on a plinth in the center. Once per tetrad, a handmaiden would come by and burn the bodies with full rites. She would ignore any infants still living.

A fire could only illumine so many acres, which could produce only so much food, which could feed only so many people. When the acolytes added it all up, and divided as they saw fit, there was always a remainder, a portion which could not quite sustain a family. The recipients of that portion made their way here, bearing their newborn children. This was the chosen sanctum of the desperate, the miserable, and the broken-hearted, of every hurt and haunted soul who had no better place to go, and the rightful resting place of reshmarked children like Mana. Though his table was meager, the stunted god would never refuse his hospitality to anyone. Not even a spy, murderess, and saboteur.

“All right, set her down there,” Ram directed, and Bal obediently deposited the white-shrouded bundle he bore at the foot of the idol. There were other, smaller parcels lying about; mercifully, they were still and silent, and Ram did not look more closely.

He didn’t remember the words to the rite, but Mana did, having attended so many that she could sing even the words she did not understand without stumbling. If her enunciation was less than perfect, Ram couldn’t help that. Imbri and Bal had no cause to care, and there was nobody else to hear. When she was done, she sent out her fire, and they all stepped back, turning their faces from the ghastly smell. As always, Mana’s fire was strong, and soon enough there was nothing left of Ninshuma of Dul Atellu but a small pile of ash, to be swept up and cast onto the fields by and by.

But Ram did not leave, and the others were content to stand with him. He turned to look out at the fields, visible through the door. There were no great forests on the eastern flank, away from the river; it was mostly wheat, barley, and beans. Miles and miles of it, all worked by bondsmen whose dinner bowls, Ram didn’t doubt, would be light for the next several months, to compensate for what Ninshuma had just burnt. And those bowls were none too heavy already. A few more dead, here and there, from injury or illness, who might have recovered. And a lot more children here, in this gien, paying Tugul Nar’s share.

Mana crept up to his side and put an arm around his waist; absently he put his around her shoulder, wondering vainly if he might sneak away and live in a hearth for the next two blooms. At length he sighed, and said, “Well, we’d better get moving, then. Thank you all for coming with me.”

They were halfway back to the gate when they heard singing. Mana was the first to pick out the tune: the Threshers’ Dirge, an old field-hand’s lament for times of famine, calling on the God to make good what he had taken. Ram wasn’t surprised to hear it now, though he’d heard it only a few times before in his life, and never at Dul Karagi. What surprised him was the sheer volume—it sounded like a substantial crowd. Mana took up the song as they walked; when it was done, after a brief pause, another started up. Another sad one. Ram didn’t know it, but Mana did.

The vagabond-salesmen of the South Gate had already been driven out for the day. Nearly everyone else, it seemed, was winding down for the night of dark dreams. After the morning’s events, nobody would feel much like carrying on with ordinary business, so Ram’s group had a clear route through the streets until they got close to the plaza—at which point they found their way completely blocked by the mass of humanity spilling out of it, every face turned to the Temple fire and lifted up so every voice could sing and be heard.

The plaza saw plenty of religious gatherings. There was a brief convocation a little after dawn each day, and another at dusk. Special occasions would see processions between the Temple and the Palace, perhaps ending with a special offering of food or other gifts to Haranduluz. In between the space was free for all comers, including preachers of any minor deity or spiritual movement who cared to set up shop; all would be tolerated so long as they made no trouble and paid the odd honorarium.

The current throng was something entirely different. From what little Ram could see, there was no order to it at all; servants from the factories rubbed elbows with their masters, who stood next to acolytes, who stood behind a pair of donkey-drivers and didn’t even ask them to move their beasts. A passing porter set down his water-jar to join in, and a handmaiden made space for him without looking to see who he was. All singing to honor the God together.

There were worse ways to occupy one’s time and, at the moment, probably few better. When they left the pyre, Etana had been busy brainstorming ways to stem a mass panic. Perhaps he was behind this, but Ram suspected not. Either way, unless he had suddenly gone stupid he would be standing conspicuously on the roof of his Palace, flanked by as many flamekeepers as he could rustle up on short notice, all singing along.

And Etana, as it happened, was just the man he needed to see, with little hope of parting the crowd. Ram led them around to the south entrance, at the end of the deserted street which had once housed his militia-mates. The door was locked, but Bal made short work of it with a set of picks. Ram wondered in passing if it was the same door he’d hacked down a month ago.

By the time they emerged onto the roof, the current song had ended, and the line of flamekeepers along the roof’s edge, where Ram had stood for his indwelling, were making known their vote for the next song with rhythmic stamping. He paused to scan the line as they started up: O you demons of corruption, why do you struggle in vain? The golden sun shall rise again regardless …

Etana had a sizable honor guard around him at the center, as expected; Ram considered hanging back and waiting, then thought better of it. He was still wearing his gaudy robes, and it wouldn’t hurt for him to be seen standing side-by-side with his lugal, united in prayer. He pushed his way through, and found another surprise: Piridur had been given pride of place, at Etana’s right. The plaza beneath them, as expected, was packed, while all the residents of the Temple stood along the opposite rooftops as they had for the bloom.

Ram joined in as best he could—it was a flamekeepers’ song, and he’d never learned it. Mana sang every refrain, short and simple, with her sisters: Now let the golden sun arise! When they were finished, Piridur took Ram aside by the arm.

“Thanks for the assist today,” Ram told him, as soon as they were far enough back to hear each other.

“We’d had the spikes ready since yesterday’s incident,” Piridur said. “It was the only sensible thing to do.”

“I could have stopped her earlier, you know. I’m not saying it to be obnoxious, but I could have. I thought about it for a moment, early this morning. I could have sent a handmaiden in with Beshi and ended it right there, before all this happened.”

“But you didn’t,” Piridur finished for him, “because it would have brought the whole pyre down on your head for usurping the Lugal’s authority. I understand, and if you’re saying that we need to adjust our respective spheres of authority for the current conflict, I agree. More importantly, so does Lord Etana. You’ll have more freedom of action in the event of future attacks.”

“Freedom to do what, though?” Ram asked. “I don’t like how we’re stuck reacting to all this.”

“I don’t either. The more so given the pattern of escalation we’ve already seen. First the ‘Council,’ the covert support of assassins. Only a bit more vicious than the usual inter-pyre friction. Yesterday was more serious; I assume he was waiting for you to arrive before engaging in earnest. And today left yesterday far behind. What comes next? How much farther can he take this?”

“Pretty far; I’m sure he’s enjoying this. Tomorrow is white day, at least. Even a handmaiden would be sickly this far from Atellu. Not harmless, but easier to counter. And there aren’t any foreign haranuu running loose—I just checked.”

“What if he doesn’t use a handmaiden?” Imbri asked.

“Who else would he use?” said Piridur. “Moonchildren are just as weak to the white sun as we are, unless I’m very mistaken.”

“No, we can’t take it either. But you haven’t been able to destroy the local rookery this bloom, have you? There was no campaign. Mannagiri has humans and money to spare, and plenty of my people to carry messages for him. Is there any reason he can’t offload some of his surplus on the bazuu in exchange for flooding this pyre with shabti tomorrow?”

Neither of them had any answer; Piridur didn’t look capable of speech at all. Imbri took advantage of the silence to add, “Or maybe not. He seems to enjoy toying with you, ramping things up for effect, so he might start by unleashing them on the hearths, and only attack the pyre itself after it’s packed with refugees and everyone’s in a panic. Either way, the bazuu wouldn’t need much encouragement.”

With visible effort, Piridur found his voice. “Well. That certainly is … disturbingly plausible. Would you be willing to act as our emissary to the bazuu?”

“Before tomorrow? I suppose you could fly me out, but I wouldn’t bet on my odds.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Piridur said. “All this is speculative. Which is not to say that we can assume you’re wrong, Miss Imbri. I think it would be reasonable to finance an embassy, to encourage them to remain neutral. However, there’s another, more direct solution.

“Up to this point, we’ve been treating Mannagiri as a noxious element who could be contained until we were free to eliminate him. After today, and in light of what you’ve just suggested, that’s no longer the case. He can’t be contained, we can’t sustain the kind of losses he’s willing to inflict, and we’re no closer to eliminating him than ever. The war is effectively lost. It’s time we talked peace, on whatever terms we can get.”

“Peace?” Ram laughed. “Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with? He loves nothing better than hurting and humiliating people. You couldn’t trust him to keep any terms you made.”

“So you say. I’m less certain. Dul Shebnai has already swallowed its pride and offered him tribute for safe passage down the river. He appears to be honoring his end of the deal.”

“Because that’s humiliating for Shebnai! It makes him feel like a big man to have lugals bow and scrape. There’s no way he’ll be happy to sit there and take payment like a landlord for two and a half blooms. He’ll get bored, and look for another way to hurt you instead.”

“I’m not concerned about two and a half blooms, Rammash. I’m concerned about the next tetrad. Listen to that,” he said, waving a hand at the crowd in the plaza. “It’s totally improvised, starting with a handful of people gathering around the pool an hour ago. Now we estimate that there are at least three thousand people down there, getting together to sing whatever hymns come to mind, purely because they were frightened and had no other way to control their fear. They aren’t singing an established, recognized service of supplication because it doesn’t exist! There’s no precedent for this situation.”

“He’s not invincible,” Ram insisted. “He’s been showing us, this whole time, how you can use a little ingenuity to do things that look impossible. First the stuff he packed the building with yesterday, and today—the way he stole a sword to suck the heat out, then using the heat from that to blow a granary, and then —“

“I’m aware of what he did, thank you. I heard your report, it was very informative. Do you have any concrete idea how to dispose of him, preferably in the next few hours? Because if not, I’m going to recommend to the Lugal that we start negotiations for our surrender.”

“Surrender. I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

“It’s a word. I don’t like the sound of it either, believe me, but it’s our duty to protect this pyre, and I see no better way. Whatever tribute he expects in return, it can’t be more costly than the damage he’s doing directly. If we can restore trade on the river, it might even work out to a net benefit.” He glanced down at Ram’s left hip. “Also, I’d appreciate it if you put that away.”

Ram followed his gaze, saw that he’d pulled Beshi half a foot out of his sheath without realizing. He stepped back, pulled the blade the rest of the way out and chucked it into a decorative planter. “Sorry.” Deep breaths. “This is a mistake. It’s going to end with him as … tyrant of the Teshalun.”

“If at any point you come up with a better plan, we’ll be glad to hear it, and give you our full support. This is only a truce to buy us time.”

“That’s what you tell yourself now. And all because she spun you this story about a shab invasion? Imbri! Tell him about the men, what he’s got planned with the men! We can’t let that happen!”

“I told him last night,” Imbri said. “The short version, that is. It took some work to convince him—but that was at least as speculative as this. I think you need to consider why it is you feel so strongly about this, Ram. What you want and what it wants are two different things. Are you sure you’re the one in charge here?”

He counted to ten before answering; that was an old trick of Mother’s. “No. I’m not sure. You’re right. The haranu is angry, very angry, and that is … affecting me, yes. But I don’t think it’s all wrong. This sounds too easy. I know, because I have the same thing inside me that he does, what it’s doing to him. He’s giving it exactly what it wants, only twisted and distorted by his own diseased mind. Domination and control. It won’t settle. It won’t ever be content.

“But you will, once you’ve had a chance to get used to it. People, plain old mortal people, can get used to a lot of things, can’t they? You can screw up little boys’ heads and take pride in a job well done, cut a baby’s nuts off to help his career, sell half a hearth’s worth of people to the rich guy down the street so he can torture them in his basement for a hobby. And then there’s the gien I just left.

“I’m not saying I’m any better. I’m not. You can’t last in the militia without learning to overlook some things. A lot of things, really. I was in it for my family, and the rest of the world could go to Kur for all I cared. Not because I was really bad, just because when the world is a nonstop torrent of liquid shit you don’t even recognize the smell anymore, and you don’t know where to even begin to fix it. So you don’t try.

“I’m worried that’s what’s going to happen here. You’re going to have peace, for a little while, and you’ll be happy, and he’ll be happy, while you send barges full of your best stuff up the Teshalun to show him how well he’s screwed you over. After a while, he’ll get bored, and he’ll ask for something else, then something else after that, and every time you’ll give in, because you’ll remember the alternative.

“Eventually, maybe, I might find a way to break him, and I’ll tell you, and you won’t want to hear it anymore, because you’ll have made yourself comfortable, and it’ll be risky. You’re not going to want to throw away what you’ve got for something that might not work. So you’ll keep going, taking the easy way, until he’s finished with you, and the whole Dominion is torn to bits.”

He was breathing heavily by the time he was finished. Piridur had taken a few steps back. But he answered quickly enough: “That was quite a speech, Ram. I only wish it had included a workable alternative proposal. At this rate, Dul Karagi will be a wasteland within a month, without borrowing worries from a hypothetical future.”

Ram could only throw up his hands and walk away, before he succumbed to the urge to pick Beshi back up, or else take Piridur down barehanded. That would end with Bal knocking him out anyway, because Imbri wasn’t really on his side here, was she? She just did whatever she could to get along, the way they all did, and if it was stupid and people had to die for it, oh well, that was just the price of life in the real world, wasn’t it?

Is this what you want, Yellow God? Are you even there to want it? Mannagiri triumphant, burning it all down. Our punishment for dishonoring the covenant, feeding you our trash and lying about it to the whole world. I can see it. But will anybody even remember the lesson you’re trying to teach us?

There was a lull in the singing, and he heard a familiar tapping noise. He didn’t turn around, and let Imbri speak first. “Ram. I’m not going to tell you what to do, but whatever we say to Mannagiri, we’re going to need you to say it, through Pimna or Shennai. You know that, don’t you?”

He grunted, a sound she could take for assent if she liked.

“For what it’s worth, I think Piridur has a point. I’ve never met this Mannagiri, but I can tell your judgment is at least a little compromised. I’d suggest you take a little walk, or a ride, way out into the fields. Maybe ten miles from the Temple fire. That might clear your head, and give you a new perspective.”

“I’m your advisor, Ram. That’s why you brought me along. My area of expertise is magic and spirits, and it’s my professional opinion that you’re not in full control of yourself, and it’s keeping you from doing what needs to be done. That’s my advice. You can take it, or not.”

And he did. Not because he thought the advice good, not really, but because he suddenly couldn’t stand to be there any longer, listening to the people bleat in the plaza to a god who seemed determined to destroy them. He only stopped long enough to retrieve his sword.

The sun was inching toward the horizon now, and the breeze of the evening picking up. He elected to use the north gate for a change; it was longer, but he had a ways to walk anyway, and he didn’t particularly want to get to the nowhere he was going. The road took him right past the ruins of the north end, still in the process of being cleared. Some of the gardens were still being tended; he caught the bushes rustling as he passed by. It might have been the wind, but he liked to think it was some of the poorer citizens filching fruit, now that the walls and gates had come crashing down.

The men on duty at the gate didn’t question Ram, or even address him, only stood back and watched him pass. At least the damned robes were good for that much. He was halfway through the forest before he stopped. Something about the wind … yes. There were grey clouds overhead. They were due for a rare spell of rain, it seemed. It figured.

He kept going anyway, still angry. The rain fell, and it fell hard. In another few steps he was wet enough to consider intruding on the nearest dormitory, so he could grace his poorest subjects with his presence till the weather passed. But he couldn’t possibly get cold, no matter how it stormed, and he didn’t feel like talking to anyone. So he kept going, until it was pouring so hard he could scarcely see ten feet in front of him.

Then he stopped, and looked back at the pyre. He hadn’t come very far at all. After months spent soaring through the air, riding on beasts, or floating easily down the river, he’d lost all sense of how large the world was for a single man on foot. It didn’t seem worth it to keep trudging out in the mud. He hadn’t stopped being angry, but he was tired, and the mortal part of him still set a limit on how stupid he could allow himself to be.

A cloud of hot mist billowed up around his fire where the raindrops struck, scattering its light into a shapeless haze. For a moment he simply stood there, watching. Not praying, not thinking, not even feeling angry. Only observing, caught in a moment that wouldn’t come again. At last he saw what the world was trying to show him, and he threw back his head, and laughed his thanks to the God. When he was done, he turned his face to the north, ignoring the wind and the rain. He was ready to make peace now. For the moment.