bloodlines apart and incorruptible,” she said, and this calmed the men more than her placating gesture.
Cephas asked, “So, these languages are not related to the one spoken by humans from Calimport?”
“Oh,” said Ariella, “they certainly are. But try convincing one of these fools of that and you’ve set yourself an impossible task.”
The firesouled spit with outrage. Tobin, who had watched the entire exchange silently until then, spoke. “If it is a clowning tradition, I am sorry to say it is one I do not know. I do not think it a very popular one.”
Ariella frowned. “More popular than one would hope, unfortunately.”
When Lavacre responded, he spoke the supposedly holy language. Cephas understood what he said because the shorter firesouled, Flamburnt, began speaking in the Common trade tongue, and finally took care to project. The man’s voice was unexpectedly high.
“The Firestorm Cabal, windsouled, owes its popularity to the justness of our cause.” The short man paused, then spoke on after exchanging a glance with Lavacre. Some shift in their responsibilities had occurred, because now it was the taller man who muttered translations a half syllable behind Flamburnt’s pronouncements.
“The Firestorm Cabal stands the long watches, the Firestorm Cabal keeps the history of the genasi as writ and rule, the Cabal assumes the risks in ensuring our future.”
The last part of the little man’s speech had the sound of a story, and it was clearly something familiar to Lavacre, since the taller man finished his translation before Flamburnt stopped speaking. “We are heroes to the common people, and examples to our youth,” the short man finished.
“By which he means,” said Ariella, “that these two are even worse troublemakers than most Firestormers, and when our government heard they were claiming their exile was instead some sort of diplomatic mission, my guild was charged with sending someone to balance their lies.”
Cephas asked, “So
Ariella grinned. “Not a bit. Just a courier and sworn witness who drew the short straw back in the guildhall of the Airsteppers. To be honest, this part of the world is considered a barbaric wasteland by most in my homeland.”
To Cephas’s surprise, the two firesouled nodded in agreement with Ariella, though they also took her explanation as their cue to switch off speaking roles again.
“The stewards of Akanul consider us troublemakers because our activities expose their incompetence. Their spies decided our arguments were convincing too many among the young!”
“These two worked the street corner outside the Cabal’s Motherhouse in the capital, Airspur,” Ariella explained. “People had started avoiding the area. Local merchants complained, mothers worried about their children passing by, that sort of thing.”
“So, to the people in power,” Cephas said, “you were … annoyances?”
“Not simply annoyances,” Lavacre said. “Threats! To their criminal regime!”
“His Grace the WeavePasha seems to think their presence here is of greater importance than you do, Ariella,” Tobin observed.
The way the courier cocked her head to one side reminded Cephas of Corvus. “He does. Finding out why that is the case,” she said, “has been the most interesting challenge of this assignment.”
She looked at Cephas. “Until recently, anyway.”
As soon as it became apparent that Ariella’s firesouled countrymen had come to the palace simply to chide her for taking on a mission for the human WeavePasha, she enacted the strategy she assured Cephas was the most effective when faced with Firestormers-she walked away.
“You two should come along,” she told Tobin and Cephas. “You two,” she said to Flamburnt and Lavacre, “should go … cabal.”
As she spoke, Tobin muttered something deep in the back of his throat. Then he joined them in wandering away from the tents and table. His pursed lips soon began to betray him, and not long after, his enormous, infectious grin split his face.
“What is it, Tobin?” Cephas asked, glad to see the goliath smiling.
“I spoke my clan’s language back there, when Ariella sent those two men away. It is much like Dwarvish, Corvus says.”
Cephas smiled. “What did you say to them?”
Ariella answered, “Come, Cephas, you know what he said. ‘You two should go cabal.’ ”
“Yes!” said Tobin. “Like them with their language for posturing under the language for talking! Although,” he continued, growing serious, “I did not match you exactly, Ariella, because if we have a word for ‘cabal,’ it was never taught to me. I told them they should go enrich the soil of the mushroom beds with bat guano. The word for that sounds very much like cabal.”
Ariella made a choking sound, and Cephas said, “Perhaps they mean much the same thing.”
Tobin shook his head. “It would be a happy coincidence, Cephas, but I am afraid that it is not so. It is a very important task, the fertilizing, for the whole community. What those men do may be very important, but I believe it is important only to them.”
“And to others who share their impoverished notion of what community means,” said Ariella. She peered up at the big man. “You are very wise, Tobin.”
“It is a requirement for clowning.” He nodded, a hint of sadness coloring the words. “Now I must leave you. Mattias asked Cynda and me to meet the people bringing food to Trill. Cynda is to check that they don’t bring too much, and I am to carry the rest.”
“You are kind as well as wise, then,” said Ariella. “Though I suspect Trill would believe you kinder if you let the WeavePasha present her with his whole goat herd. But I’m curious, why doesn’t Mattias go himself?”
Tobin paused. “I think he does not want to risk encountering the WeavePasha again,” he said. “There is old trouble there, I think.”
Ariella nodded in sympathy. “That’s the worst kind. Go in peace, Tobin. Maybe you can properly introduce me to Trill once she’s satisfied her appetite.”
“From what I have seen in my time with the circus,” Cephas said, waving good-bye to Tobin, “that’s the same as saying you don’t want to meet her at all.”
The pair of them followed a graveled path along a brook of deep green water. The current of the stream was curious. It rushed or lingered according to a force unrelated to the gentle slope it ran down.
Ariella watched him study the water. “I believe it’s a sort of instrument-the sound of the water on the rocks makes a song.”
Cephas shook his head in wonder. “I suppose nothing should surprise me in this place,” he said. “The world really is like a storybook.”
“I don’t know, Cephas. Much of the world is not as magical as these gardens. All of this”-she waved at the profusion of plants, all bearing fruits and flowers in a riot of colors-“the pasha weaves it with his spells. There are too many places where the only things that grow are misery and hopelessness.”
Cephas agreed. “Like Jazeerijah,” he said.
The silver-skinned woman closed her eyes. “I am sorry, Cephas. I am a fool. Of course, you know there are terrible places in the world. You know it better than me.”
Cephas held up his hand, indicating that she should not worry. “No, no, you’re not a fool. It seems a long time ago, now. And misery and … hopelessness?” He looked at her for confirmation that this was the word she had used, and she nodded. “Those are in stories, too, though I’m learning that Azad read only the stories that left no doubts. Or perhaps he changed them in a way that fixed the odds, as on the canvas.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Ariella.
“The canvas,” he said. “You know the arenas? The fights and other games? That’s the kind of slave Azad and the freedmen believed they had made of me. A gladiator.”
“They believed it,” said Ariella. “But you didn’t?”
“I didn’t then,” he said. He felt his broad face wrinkle as the idea troubled him. “But the fix, I was saying. The crowds that come to the Games, they come to see the fighting, but also to lay wagers. Which gladiator will be the first to draw blood? Will a beast in the bait-frenzy fight or flee? Who will live and who will die? Those sorts of things.”
They came to a bench and sat. Ariella took his hand, and Cephas reminded himself that the WeavePasha had done the same thing, a companionable gesture during conversation.
