we're well matched in that way. I talk, and you — heya! — maybe you listen and maybe you're hearing some other voice entirely, one I can never hear. Maybe you're tired of voices.'
The wind has a voice, light and airy, full of promise, but sometimes cruel and rough. So does the rain have a voice, arid the waters of the sea lapping the shore with their constant motion, never entirely quiet, able to choke and drown those the sea swallows. Fire has a voice, first crackling and impatient and later fading into a soft burn that may spark again when least expected. The earth's voice seems to slumber, but she, too, speaks in her slow, measured way and she may crack when none expect her temper.
Even demons and ghosts can speak, if one has the ears to hear.
She raised her head.
He smiled gently, to encourage her.
She was looking beyond him. He turned. The two horses had wandered back into view. They differed from ordinary horses in several ways, two of which were obvious now: they possessed uncanny night vision, and they had wings, at this moment folded tightly over their backs and flanks. She rose, walked past him, and went to the horses.
She didn't approach too quickly but held back, waiting for them to invite her. They let her know they'd allow her to approach. She stroked their ears and noses. She had a treat for each, shriveled pieces of fruit he'd not seen her hide in her sleeves.
He must coax her as one would a skittish, abused, anxious horse. Her scars ran deep, certainly, but she hadn't run away from him. Or maybe it was just that she hadn't run away from the horses. He must be patient. He had time in plenty, after all, as long as their enemies did not catch up to them before he had won her trust and taught her the terrible truth about what she had become.
13
The surviving militiamen from various villages and towns in the eastern Olo Plain had been hastily organized to patrol the roads and tracks and to guard safe havens. In these havens, folk who had fled their villages or lost their homes could gather, catch their breath, reassess their situation, and decide what to do next. That was the idea, anyway. In practice, it wasn't so easy.
After a day searching the Soha Hills, Joss and his eagle returned to the staging camp at the southwestern edge of the hills. In ancient days, a refuge had been constructed on a pair of hills joined by a narrow ridgeway path. Farmers still worked the terraced fields, but the walled fortifications had been uninhabited for as long as anyone could remember. Both hilltops had been stripped of trees and substantially leveled, although the taller hill retained a rocky protuberance on the northern edge of the steepest slope, a perfect landing and perch for the big eagles. Leaving Scar up in these rocks, he scrambled down to the open ground and walked straight into an assault of petitioners.
'Reeve! I have a complaint! This man's cart blocked the trail… When will there be an assizes? Two men got in a fight. How are we to make provision for-? What's this I hear about people burying the dead-?'
He raised both hands to show he'd not be answering questions yet. Much of the crowd moved away, but perhaps a dozen followed him across the summit. They just would not stop talking. He walked past women cooking over fires and men hoisting canvas awnings to make shelters against what remained of the old walls. Bedraggled hierophants paced out the proper dimensions for a temporary foundation temple to Sapanasu, the Lantern, while in the distance a cadre of young ordinands cleared stray rocks from a section of ruined wall so they could patrol on top of it.
He turned on the petitioners. 'Enough! Give me time to take a drink and eat something. I'll hear your petitions at the assizes.'
They backed off. He cut over to the ordinands, climbed onto the old wall, and shaded his eyes as he surveyed the countryside. The landscape rolled away westward into the Olo Plain. On the road, a dozen wagons and many people moved toward the haven. From up here, they looked so small, but you could never know how big their problems were.
The sergeant of the little group approached him diffidently. The hells! The lad was so young he had scarcely any beard along his jaw. 'Reeve. If I might-?'
'Yes, what is it? I'm Joss.'
'I'm called Gani. Out of Sund.'
'You're a long way from home.'
'I am. I was sent to the temple in Westcott to do my year's service with Kotaru. I made a pledge for the full eight years of obligation. They sent me on to the temple in Candra Crossing. We had to flee for our lives.'
He was a quiet lad, not at all belligerent, with a humble manner that Joss liked.
'How can I help you?'
Gani scratched his forehead, rubbed his chin, and looked back at his cadre, who were all watching him intently.
'Go on. I won't tear your head off, whatever you might be thinking.'
'Is it true you're the marshal at Argent Hall?'
Joss sighed, feeling the weight of responsibility settle back on his shoulders. 'I'm Marshal Alyon's successor.'
'There was another man serving as marshal before you.'
'He wasn't a real reeve. He had no eagle that anyone ever saw. Anyway, he's dead.'
'Ah. Eh. That's it, you see. There came a pair of Devouring priests, a kalos and a hierodule, with a message from the Hieros of the temple in Olossi. It's said there was a conclave of all those holy ones in charge of the temples in Olo'osson. They agreed that any of the men from the army that attacked Olossi and who are dead now are to be…' He stiffened.
'You haven't been sergeant long, have you?'
T am most senior of those left,' he admitted, but the comment gave him courage — or made him ashamed of his hesitation. 'It's like this. We've been told to dig ditches out of sight in the forest and to — to bury those dead men and cover them with dirt.' Having started, the rest poured out in a rising voice. 'But if we do that, then they can't rest. They can't pass the Spirit Gate. What if they turn into demons? Or haunt us? Their ghosts will be angry, and trapped! I know it's meant as a punishment for them, but what will happen to us who are assigned to complete such a task?'
'That's not reeve territory, lad. I can't help you.' Thank the gods! Still, it was shocking. A brutal, calculated impiety. 'Yet the army that invaded lis has done terrible things, rape and murder, desecrating temples, defiling corpses.'
The lad looked at his companions. They were silent and uncomfortable. They didn't want to talk about it in front of him.
Such talk made Joss uncomfortable, too, and he let his gaze wander. Six children worked the slope leading down to the terraces, picking petals of the baby's-delight that flowered with the first rains. The pale flowers brightened the slopes, which evidently had been recently cropped short by industrious sheep. He met the lad's gaze with a stern one of his own.
'It's an ugly thing to contemplate. But I saw the army marching Olossiward on West Track. I saw what they left behind. Maybe it's best if their spirits are crushed beneath earth. They're already corrupted. This is a pollution that must be buried before it consumes us. But that doesn't mean you have to like it. That it bothers you means your heart and spirit are clean.'
'Very well, Marshal.' The lad nodded, so tense it made Joss sad to think of what he must have seen in the last two weeks to cause him to look angry and worn down. 'We'll do as we've been bid. Perhaps you'd come at dawn, to where we've been assigned to dig the ditches. By that stand of ironwood.' He pointed toward a dozen mature ironwood trees towering above the edge of dense scrub forest that flowed away over the nearby hills. 'Just in case any folk see what we're doing and make trouble. You could let them know the temples gave the order.'
'That's fine. I'll be there at dawn.'
Below, a crowd had gathered, waiting on Joss. He assured himself that Scar was at rest, preening as dusk
