The other lands a-2 Read online

  With a great effort to keep his face placid, Barad drew himself up. He raised his chin, flaring his nostrils as he took the calming breath he needed to stand at his full height. Perhaps because it was such an effort, the effect of his doing so was considerable. He was a tall man, with long legs and arms, big handed with knuckles that any street brawler would have envied. He felt the people's eyes upon him, impressed, perhaps wary. He had always had this effect on people. That was why he did not rush to begin speaking. Let them see him for a moment. Let them note the strained purpose on his rough-cut features, the way his heavy eyes suggested a tranquil, melancholy strength within. He was never sure that he truly felt this in himself, but he knew others saw it there and it suited him that they did.

  After a few words of introduction from Elaz, he began. "If you will listen," he said, "I will tell you a story."

  A few voices responded, saying they would listen. Some others clapped their hands against their chests, a sign of affirmation. Barad could pick out individual faces now. Tired faces. Overworked faces with the characteristics that marked the relatively isolated coastal people of Talay. In many ways their flushed faces, wide cheekbones, and short noses distinguished them among the Known World's races. But the curiosity, the faint hunger in their eyes was no different from what he had seen in others' eyes across the empire. That was what he was here to speak to.

  "I will tell you my story, hoping that in it you will hear your story as well. Hoping you will understand that we many share the same story, and a tragic one it is."

  He explained that he had been born in the camps outside the mines of Kidnaban. He had been raised in the knowledge that his life was committed to pulling precious metals from the earth. That was all there was ever to be of it: labor. Whatever living he was to do would be done in the pauses between labor. Loving, raising children, learning of the world: all of these things happened only in stolen moments. He was a water bearer at five years of age, a rubble sifter at seven, a wagon helper at eight. By ten he was tall and strong enough to haul small sacks. At twelve he was a digger, taking out any anger he had on the tunnels in the earth. And he did so for more years than he liked to count. He knew nothing about the outside world but lived day and night under the supervision of guards in great towers; whipped by drivers; scowled at; chained often. He did not know why he worked this way. Did not understand the economics of the world and how the nuggets of metal that he dug up would enrich men a world away.

  How was such a life livable? Two things made it so. One, the drug called mist. "You've heard of that, I'm sure. I think you know it well." Each night-or each day, depending on the shift he worked-he could inhale the green smoke into his lungs and dream of a world of real life. The other thing that made his labor livable was that he somehow did find the moments to be a man. He loved a woman and put a child inside her. He saw that child born and live a few precious years, stealing moments to feel himself a father.

  "I lost this child, though," Barad said. "Lost him and his mother." He cleared his throat and held to silence for a moment. He always thought beforehand that the next time he spoke he would explain just how he lost them, but-as had happened a hundred times before-his throat clenched tight on the words. It did not open again until he resolved to move on, leaving this one thing unsaid.

  In the months leading up to the second war between the Akarans and the Mein he began to hear a voice in his dreams. He would not have known the war was coming, except that word of it came to him like a whisper carried far by a breeze. It drifted into his mist-sodden mind. Right there within his own head, drugged on the floor of the mines, he heard the returning prince's words. He was miles and miles away, yes, but Aliver had found a way to speak to him. What did he say?

  "He said the world was set for change. He said he was returning from his long exile and that with the power of the empire's people behind him and with help from the ancients he was going to not only overthrow Hanish Mein but also overturn the entire order of the world. He would blow away mist like the wind disperses morning fog. He would put fire to league ships and drive out the Numrek, and, most important, he would never again sell our children into whatever slavery awaits them across the Gray Slopes. I was not the only one who heard such things. Many came off mist at that time, but"-he smiled, tapping his temple-"this head of mine is bigger than the norm. It is like a bell that rings louder than others, and so I heard clearly things that others only had inklings of."

  And he had swallowed it all, he admitted. He was starved for such possibilities. He hungered to believe it. Why shouldn't he? He remembered everything he heard, and he took to shouting it to the workers around him. At feeding times he spoke to gathered groups as they ate, heads down, trying to ignore him. He bellowed inside tunnels and railed from ladders as he climbed. At first nobody paid attention to him. Guards sometimes punished him, but they thought him harmlessly mad. Slowly, though, slowly, more and more found their mist dreams turning into nightmares. Eyes began to follow him. Grimy faces lifted from their food when he spoke. Eventually, the masses came to him, hungry for Aliver's message. He gave it to them, and felt the hope grow in them. Thousands and thousands of them, opening their eyes with new clarity, eager for the future.

  "My first mistake was in shouting too loud. The people heard me, yes, but so did the ears of Hanish Mein. The minute we rose in anger, he clapped his hand down on us with a rain of arrows and fire, with steel blades and unbending anger. What were we-who had only hope as a weapon-to do against the might of an empire? That was my first mistake. It would have been my last, as well, if Aliver hadn't launched his war."

  When the prince did, Hanish had to turn his attention to that greater horde of humanity marching toward him through Talay. Barad escaped the mines during the chaos but was too far away to join Aliver before he died. He never saw his prince, but he did know the moment his voice was silenced.

  "That was a tragic day, friends," Barad said, exhaling as he did so. He let the pain tug at his features. He knew this was an orator's trick, but in this case it was an honest action. It did pain him to recall the moment those whispers died in his ears. He had never felt a greater loss since. Ofttimes he was still reminded of it, enough so that he sometimes froze in place with his head cocked, listening.

  He moved on with his speech, talking through the aftermath of the war. Communication was irregular for the common people then, and Barad was a-wandering, staying far from the mines, finding some joy in the freedom to travel but unsure of his purpose anymore. Like everyone else, he took a while to know what to make of this new queen. Such a beauty, people said. So clever to outwit Hanish Mein, to use the Numrek against the Mein, and to somehow convince the league to withdraw their support of him. She was, in the first half year of her reign, adored by the entire populace. Aliver became an instant legend; she became his heir, a living, female embodiment of the ideals of her martyred brother. He had not lived, but she had, which meant there was yet hope.

  "But that wasn't so, was it?"

  A chorus of voices agreed.

  "The queen ain't her brother," one man said, "not in any way except in sharing a name, and that's nothing."

  A woman added, "She is a viper, that one. Sold us body and soul, the worst of her kind."

  Barad let these comments sit, and waited through a few more. These people were finding their confidence enough to add their voices, to grunt affirmation and nod their heads. This was usually the way it went. It never took them long to learn to trust him. Why should it? Everything he said was true. He let them speak among themselves for a few minutes. When they stopped, Barad said, "Now that tale is no tale, is it? It is not make-believe, not a storyteller's fancy. Every word of it is the truth, and I believe you all know that."

  Chest claps and shouts indicated that they did.

  "And it's no different for you either. The details, yes, but the substance is the same. You coastal folk, you were proud once. You worked the ocean despite its danger. You know this better than I. B
ut with Corinn as queen you've been changed from fishermen of the Gray Slopes to farmers of grain in a single generation. That, truly, is sorcery. Do not mistake me. We must plant and tend and harvest grain as well. It is not that I say the work is beneath you. It's just that each people are born knowing how they are, knowing what they do best, knowing the work of their mothers and fathers, knowing the work that will be their sons' and daughters'. That was what it was like here in Nesreh for generations. But it is not that way anymore. Instead, you pack grain in warehouses and ship it to Islands of the Lost, to that place where they breed our children into slaves to exchange for great wealth in the league's pockets, in the Akaran coffers. In exchange for the drug that they believe makes us ignorant of our own enslavement. Am I correct?"

  A few in the audience affirmed that he was, but they were not all sure. How could they know what went on out there?

  "I understand that it is hard to be certain of all this. So much is withheld from me as well as from you. But I think we can all agree that Queen Corinn may one day be considered a greater evil than Hanish Mein. Many think her so already. But now I see fear on some of your faces. How can I say such a thing? you wonder. It is a crime, and your hearing it makes you a part of my crime. I say that is not true. If you do not agree, you have done no crime. If you do agree, you have done nothing but acknowledge the truth. And there is no crime in that either."

  Barad had stepped from the raised platform on which he had been standing and now moved through the crowd. He was slow, gentle as he pushed between them, a head taller than anyone there. He liked to see their faces at this point and liked them to see his. He dropped his voice slightly as well. The warehouse went silent, heads craning to follow him as he moved.

  "I want you to work with me to make the world as Aliver Akaran dreamed it for us. This is treason, I know, but I invite each and every one of you to be traitors with me. How can I trust you? I will be honest with you-I ask that question myself each day. This goal I have-we have, if you are with me-is fraught with peril. Any one of you could be the spy who betrays our cause. One of you… it would only take one of you. So how can I trust you?"

  He stopped before a middle-aged woman. He took her hand between his massive palms. He could smell the toil on her, the sweat and grime from her labors before coming to this meeting, the almost sour scent of grain dust woven in every thread of her simple garments. He spoke as if to her alone.

  "I trust you because I must. Only together can we do this. Only together. If I don't have you with me, I have nothing. I may as well drag myself to Kidnaban and offer my back so that it can be broken once and for all. But if there is no hope for me, there is none for you either. I pray to the Giver that is not the future before us." Still looking at the woman, he said the part of this that was the hardest for him. The only part that felt both true and feigned at the same time. He believed it, yes, but he was never sure whether his belief was founded on its truth, or whether the truth had grown out of his belief. "But I know that is not the future before us. The Giver has chosen us for greater things. We are the Chosen Ones. Aliver whispers that to me nightly. Still, he whispers it. We are the Giver's people, he says. We have only to awaken to it and act."

  "What would you have us do, then?" Elaz asked, casting his question from where he stood on the platform.

  Barad released the woman's hand and turned back. "Speak the truth each and every day. Speak it to your wives, your husbands. Speak it to your children. Speak it to each other so that you hear it again and again and know it by heart. And to those you doubt, speak only parts of it, test them. If the entire tree is too much for them to gaze on at once, plant seeds of truth in them first. Till the soil of your neighbors with love and with hope for them as well as yourselves. And then be patient. Seeds do not grow until the soil is ready and rains come and the sun promises them life."

  "And when will that time come?"

  Turning back again, Barad realized it was the middle-aged woman who had asked the question. He smiled, a wide, toothy grin with which he always answered that question. Indeed, he had answered it hundreds of times at meetings like this. He had answered it in the hovels in Candovia and mountain villages in Senival, in Aushenia and among the black-skinned people of Talay. He had even traded messages with the dejected remnants of Hanish Mein's people. Everywhere he found ears hungry to hear him and minds eager to be awakened, hearts ready to be stirred to action. At these moments, he could believe that Aliver had spoken to him for a reason. He could still help see the prince's dreams come true. At these moments, he forgot the pains of his body and again felt as strong as ever.

  He answered as he always did, with what he hoped to be the truth. "Soon," he said. "There will come a day when I will shout for all of the Known World to rise up. We are all the Kindred. I will shout, but the sound you hear will be that of your own voice, and it will sweep away the old world and we will make it anew. The queen has no idea what's coming. But we do. Soon, my friends. Soon."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Rialus Neptos knew he should consider it an honor to be included in the envoy, but he was not very skilled at feeling honored. Actually, he could think of few things more unpleasant than the prospect of weeks aboard a league vessel heading off to the far side of the world. Rialus was a curious man, certainly, but his curiosity had strict boundaries, and he had plenty to occupy him within the confines of the Known World. For that matter, he had a good deal to occupy him within the confines of his own bedchamber.

  He suspected Corinn had yet to forgive him for his impromptu wedding to Gurta. Why she should care he could not fathom, but she seemed annoyed by it. Surely, he was not the only man to ever wed a servant! By his accounting it was rather a respectable-honorable, actually-thing to do, especially as he had planted a child within her. An heir to the Neptos fortune. That was something he could not pass up. He had long ago resigned himself to the fact that the Neptos line would end with him. Indeed, in the frozen exile that had been his life in the Mein it seemed a good idea to end the Neptos misery.

  But that was then. Now he was Queen Corinn Akaran's councillor, famed for having dispatched Hanish Mein. No other act in his life had changed his fortunes more than the few moments it took to make his hand thrust the knife blade into Hanish's pale flesh. Nobody would ever know how long he hesitated, or that he needed to grasp the knife in both hands to control his trembling. But he had done it. He really had! Hanish was just flesh and blood, like other men. Because of it, Rialus lived at the center of the world. Now he had a position of prominence. Now-thanks to Gurta being made a lady overnight-he would have heirs to pass on his good fortune to. The Giver did reward his worthies! Sometimes it just took a while for him to get around to it.

  That was what Rialus kept reminding himself as he nodded to the guards who stood at the gates of the league compound. They were Ishtat Inspectorate, a force that held no real allegiance to the queen. They gave Rialus the shivers, cloaked as they were. That and the halberds they held at the ready. He had heard they could use the weapons for slashing motions that could disembowel or behead a person from eight feet away, or they could break the weapon into two parts-sword and staff both-and thereby crack your skull with one before slicing you open with the other. He could not help feeling they itched to do both, which is why their statuelike stillness caused him to quicken his steps.

  Once in the outer chambers of Sire Dagon's offices, Rialus was told to wait. He sat on an iron chair that had a delicate beauty but was amazingly uncomfortable. That was how it always seemed when he was with the league. Their offices were sumptuous, pleasing to the eye, and promising of comfort. But he had never sat on a league couch without finding a ridge that poked him in the back, or fabric that irritated his skin. On the walls hung paintings of their massive ships astride even more massive waves. The angles they tilted at, the dark shapes beneath the water, the way the white fingers of the wave crests reached out for the tiny human figures on deck made Rialus queasy. He hoped that the images were
exaggerations meant to impress or tumultuous aberrations that he was unlikely to witness firsthand.

  He moved his eyes away. It would be a brief voyage. What was it? Four weeks across? A few weeks there, and then four weeks back. No more than two and a bit months of his life. He could spare that, considering that Gurta, plump with his heir, would be waiting for him. He did, of course, have Corinn's charges to worry about. She had laid them out for him just the day before.

  "I have three charges for you, Rialus," she had said. "First, keep an eye on my brother. I want him safe, and nobody has a better nose than you for sniffing out danger. Whether they come from the league, the Lothan Aklun, the Auldek, or the ocean depths you must spot dangers before they touch him. Second, I want you in the room when the league meets with the Lothan Aklun and the Auldek. You speak the Numrek tongue better than anyone else I know. It just may be you will understand the Auldek language as well. Judge them for yourself and keep your judgment to yourself, understand? Try to find ways to speak with them alone. We may one day deal with them without the league between us, so we might as well know something about them. Third, of course, is that you return to me with a detailed report of everything you witness. My brother will do the same, but I want to hear separately from you. Never in our history of trading with the Lothan Aklun have we had a better opportunity to learn about them. Use it, Rialus. Use it so fully that when you return I don't regret not having gone myself."

  She made each assignment sound both simple and laced with threat. She was good at that. He would have to keep his wits about him, make journal notes regularly, and find a way to quell the nausea that roiled in him each time he thought of those ocean waves. And the Auldek… Please let them be more refined than the Numrek! Two months, though. Only two months and he would be home again. He could handle that.