Pyrebound - 2.3

Chapter 2.3 – Pyrebound
She was delighted with the mantle, though it was much the same as her old one. He’d expected as much; the last time she’d come to visit, delight had been her default response to everything she encountered. Now she spun in circles, giggling and setting a light-ball twirling the other direction to catch all the silvery threads. Ram had to look away before he got queasy.

“So, she’s just as good as the others, huh?”

Gelibara blinked. “Who, her? Goodness, yes. Better, even. Oh, there’s some with a touch more control, but not a girl in this temple can do things more, ah, more forcefully than our Mana. Can they?”

“Nope!” chirped Mana, still pirouetting. It was amazing how somebody so bowlegged could keep going on like that.

They’d retreated to Gelibara’s quarters, to have a quiet brother-sister talk somewhere they wouldn’t be pelted with fireballs. He had hardwood furniture every bit as fine as Mother’s prize chair, including a bed, a table, and a cabinet that looked like they’d killed a whole tree just to make it. Whatever this eunuch did, it was important.

“Would you like some tea, dearest?”

“Some what?” He still felt more than a little woozy, and it was sometimes hard to follow whom the eunuch was calling ‘dearest’ at any given moment.

“Tea. It’ll only take a minute, now.” There followed a bizarre ritual, wherein Mana heated up a little pot of water and Gelibara dumped it over three little cups filled with dried leaves and flowers. Ram took his cautiously, wondering if it were all a deranged practical joke and Kamenrag was about to pop out of Gelibara’s extravagant cabinet to paddle him. But it was only water that tasted like somebody’d been soaking weeds in it. They weren’t even hemp-leaves; that at least would have explained some things.

They passed a pleasant few minutes, with multiple cups of hot weed-water, a plate full of honey-biscuits from Gelibara’s monstrous cabinet, and a lot of potentially fascinating conversation from Mana. He couldn’t quite follow his little sister; her tongue was slightly too big for her mouth, and interpreting her speech was a special skill he’d never had a chance to master. Gelibara, on the other hand, seemed to understand her perfectly, and nodded and agreed with all of it. Eventually she got fidgety, gave Ram another agonizing hug, and stormed off to rejoin her friends.

“What a love,” said Gelibara fondly, as her thumping footsteps receded down the hall. Maybe he was where Mana got her attitude from. With her light gone, he plucked a little glass ball out of his gown and plunked it on the table instead, where it produced the same glorious light that shone from the Temple’s peak. A dulsphere, indwelt with the same kind of spirit that lived in Mana. It had to be worth a full gold at least.

“What do you do here?” Ram asked. He acted like a nursemaid, but lived like the Lugal. “Do you teach the girls?”

“Me? Oh, no, the grown handmaidens do most of that, you know. I wouldn’t know where to start, I’m not indwelt!” He chuckled. “I only give them a little looking after, so the ladies don’t have to. They’re so very busy, and all.” He reached into the cabinet once more, and pulled out paper, pen, and ink. “Now, let’s get you a writ of countenance, shall we, lamb? In case you meet your rough friend from earlier.”

He hadn’t even had to ask. “Thank you,” was all he could say. Whatever Gelibara did, his personal favor had to at least discourage casual bullying.

“Of course, of course. I wouldn’t go counting on this completely if I were you, my pet. They don’t all stop to check, when their tempers are up, so let’s do keep our heads down, yes? But I’ll try and put word out as well. How long will you be here?”

“As long as I can stay, really.”

Gelibara pursed his lips, and put the pen down. “Would you like to explain that, dear?”

The honest answer was not really, but clearly that wouldn’t do. So Ram drained his last dregs of tea, and told his whole story, starting with the resh attack. Gelibara listened patiently—Ram wondered if he didn’t have work to do—then asked a series of surprisingly deep and perceptive questions, then more questions about the answers he got, and Ram wound up telling a near-stranger virtually all the details of his life, and his parents’. The acolyte seemed to understand hearth life quite well, for a man who’d probably never set foot outside the pyre.

Half an hour later, Gelibara leaned back in his chair. “I see. Dear me, you have had quite a time of it, haven’t you? But getting work here might be ticklish.”

“No, Rammash, I’m afraid you don’t,” he corrected, smiling sadly. “We’ve no shortage of stoneworkers here, you see. Coming from a little hearth like you do, I’m sure you wouldn’t know, but all our heavy work is done by bondservants. Even the skilled kind. Our masons only supervise them, like your, ah—“

“Ganteg,” Ram supplied, looking at his shoes.

“Yes, that fellow you told me about. And the masons train their children in the craft, of course. I suppose you might try a contract bond, love, but frankly I wouldn’t favor your chances.”

“No,” Ram agreed. Contract bond—temporary service for pay or training—was what you did when your only other choice was to default and be bought outright. Most of the time, whoever you contracted with would game it, and it would end up permanent anyway. “Is the militia hiring, then?”

Gelibara made a prissy face. “Oh, no, I certainly wouldn’t do that. It’s—“

“Damn it, I have to do something!” he snapped. “My other options are to go for bond, run for the desert, or beg a ride back home and go for bond there. Or starve. And either way, my parents are … are … ugh.” He stopped and tucked his head between his knees, trying to slow his breathing. Damp blotches spattered Gelibara’s beautifully tiled floor. A month ago, his biggest concern had been finding somewhere to sit at dinner where he could see Ninnara’s face without being obvious.

A plump hand patted his shoulder. “I know, child. I know.”

“I’m not a child,” Ram growled, because being angry was easier than being scared. Drip, drip, went the tears on the floor.

“No, you’re not. But you should be. Try to stay calm, Rammash. We’ll get it all sorted.”

“How?” He was breathing slower now. Good.

“Ooooh, let me think. Let’s take this one step at a time, shall we? You’ll be wanting somewhere to sleep tonight, of course. Here.” He grabbed Ram’s hand, dropped four copper rings in it, and closed the fingers around them.

“What? I can’t take these!”

“You just did. You needn’t worry about paying them back, either, sweet. You’ll find we have enough to spare four coppers for a handmaiden’s brother every now and then.”

Reluctantly, he pocketed the money. Something still felt off about this, but if he didn’t find indoor lodging tonight he’d wind up in bondage for sure, if not beaten to death; the consequences of accepting a little money from an acolyte couldn’t possibly be worse than that. But he did ask, as he rubbed his eyes dry, “Why are you doing all this for me?”

“I look after any problems the girls have, you know. That goes for their families, too.” Ram just looked at him. It couldn’t be that simple, or the pyre would be drowning in parasites with sad stories. After a moment Gelibara fidgeted, and added, “And I do have a special soft spot for your sister, she’s such a love.”

“What, because she’s the stupid ugly one?”

He couldn’t tell why, but sheer black rage brought him back to his feet. “Don’t give me that shit! We’ve been trying to live her down for eight blooms now, and you’ve got a soft spot?”

“No way,” he said, ignoring the acolyte’s weak protests. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but after everything this kurtushi pyre’s thrown at me, you can damn well tell me straight. I don’t deserve this!”

“I don’t suppose you do,” Gelibara said soberly. “But do sit down, and lower your voice, there’s a dove. Our Nusun takes his job very seriously.”

“Right. Sorry.” Ram sank back into his chair, shamefaced. He didn’t need to alarm a murrush, on top of his other problems. “You were saying?” he asked, as pointedly as he dared.

The acolyte smiled thinly. “You were so very little when Mana was first offered! No, I don’t remember you personally, dear, I see so many, but you’ve no more beard than I do, do you? You wouldn’t recall what an awful fuss they made, when they saw she was reshmarked. There was a terrible fight with your father.”

Ram shrugged, and tried not to be irked about the beard remark. “They don’t talk about it much.”

“I don’t think he ever knew that the Ensi had to intervene personally to get her accepted as a candidate. Even then, nobody believed she’d actually be chosen! A reshmarked handmaiden!” He laughed. “The scandal of it was dreadful.”

“I bet. But the Ensi asked for her? Why’d he do that?”

“I wouldn’t know, dear. This was before the last kindling, so we can’t ask him now. He’s gone. And I was too junior to deal with him directly, back then. He was a peculiar fellow, or so I hear.”

“Okay. So, what? You’re helping me because the last Ensi chose Mana special?”

“I’d like to help you because your sister has done remarkable things, precious. Starting with being chosen at all. She’s been a big help here, and she’s going to do wonderful things, I just know it.”

Ram doubted it—not that Mana wasn’t a sweet child, but she was eight, and she’d only stopped soiling her clothes in the last bloom. Even so, if Gelibara didn’t want to tell him the real reason, there was nothing Ram could do to force him, and there might be a limit to his genial patience. So he only nodded. “Now, uh … where do I go from here?”

Gelibara smiled again, the same enormous grin he’d been wearing when they met in the corridor. “Oh, Rammash. Are you expecting me to solve all your problems for you, sweet?”

“I just got here, and you and Mana are the only people I know!”

“Teasing, teasing. We’ll get to that. First we’d better work out just what you’re going to do with yourself, hmm? It won’t do any good, you know, to hang about with nothing to do. They wouldn’t approve of that.”

“I know. But is there anything I can do, besides militia work?”

Gelibara considered. “No, I’m afraid there really isn’t. Not if you expect to have enough money to send home. But you’d best be careful, Rammash. It’s hard duty, and dangerous. The winter campaign will be starting soon after harvest, and that eats up men. Are you really ready to die for Dul Karagi?”

Ram stared at the floor some more. One of the bricks wasn’t laid quite flat, and it irked him. “It wasn’t that long ago that I was ready to die for Urapu hearth, so why not? But I’m not doing anything for your pyre. If I pick up a sword, it’s going to be for Mother and Father.”

“You know, don’t you, that if the pyre dies, so will they? And Erimana as well?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Urapu’s fire was an offshoot of this temple’s, after all. And Mana had part of that fire living inside her. “Sure. I’ll go die for this place, if I have to. What the hell am I living for, anyway?”

“To serve Haranduluz, and the Dominion of Man. The same as everyone else, sweetie. Now, if you’re quite sure of yourself there, let’s talk about the pyre. There are places where a young man can get lodging quite cheaply, if he knows how to watch out for himself … “

Ram stepped out of the Temple some time later, his head stuffed with useful tips. It was past noon now, and he still felt a touch bewildered. But his head didn’t hurt quite so much, his shoulder worked again, and he had half as much money as he’d had when the sun rose this morning instead of none at all. Things were looking up. He bowed to the armored murrush on his way down the stairs. How boring it must be, to spend your whole life sitting in one place!