“Yet have we kept faith with the past. Still we tell the tale of ourselves, and tell it again, precisely as it was told to us generation after generation, so that we will forget nothing, fail nothing, and our great purpose will never waver.”
The Cords bowed their heads as the older man spoke. But his fellow Manethralls stood tall in the clearing, and reflections of firelight glistened in their eyes.
“We are the Ramen, bereft and redeemed by service, and we will see our home again. This time we have not been promised an end to exile, as we were when High Lord Kevin Landwaster warned us from the Land. Yet we keep faith. Though the Earth may crack, and the Heavens fall, and all the peoples of the world be betrayed, we will hold fast to the tale of who we are. In the end, when our exile has run its course, we will return to the Plains of Ra.
“So our tale was told to our sires and dams, and to theirs, and to theirs again, for a hundred generations and more to the Ramen who first began our wandering. So it will be told to our children, and to theirs, and to theirs again, until the Ramen have been restored to the Land which is theirs.”
Then the gathered Manethralls sang together, raising their voices as one against the dark.
“We roam the world, lost, and learn
We have no place but home.
While time wears out its ceaseless grind
We wander still, the rind
And pulp and juice of our return
Forever unconsumed.
“For hope we have not rock but loam
Eroded by our sons
And daughters. Generations pass
And leave us as the grass,
Or as the froth on waves, the foam,
The rede of years unlearned.
“To eastward we have sought the sun’s
Acceptance. But the seas
We find too restive to give rest.
To Southward lie the best
Of lands and hills. Yet endless runs
Still leave us unfulfilled.
“And in the west lie bitter leas
And forage that will burn
The throat of each last roaming heart.
Their folk despise our part
In wandering. Nor can we seize
A dwelling undenied.
“Thus we return, and still return
While years and ages end.
We cannot let our yearning sleep,
And so we roam, and keep
Our hearts alive, for we must earn
Our dream of home fulfilled.”
In response, the Cords raised their palms before their faces, still holding their heads bowed.
When they looked up again, the Manethralls had seated themselves once more. Then some of the younger Cords hurried forward with their trenchers, carrying food and drink to the circles, while others brought waterskins so that the sitting Ramen and their guests could wash their hands.
Linden rubbed the grime of hard travelling from her hands gratefully, and splashed a bit of water on her face to cool her burned skin; but she did not drop her guard.
She did not doubt that she was in serious trouble, in spite of the sincerity of her hosts.
A boy younger than Jeremiah knelt beside her to place a trencher on the ground in front of her. “I am Sahah’s brother,” he murmured softly so that only she would hear. “My name is Char.” Then he was gone before Linden could look at his face
Frowning uncertainly, disturbed without knowing why, she considered her platter.
It held stew, steaming and savoury, cupped in a bowl of glutinous white mush had a might have been cereal or potatoes, but which smelled like neither. Instead it had a loamy scent that suggested it had been made by boiling and pounding some form of tuber. Glancing at the nearby Cords, she saw that they ate by taking a bit of the mush, shaping it with their fingers, and then using it to scoop stew into their mouths.
She may have been hungrier than she realised.
When she leaned toward one of her neighbours, thinking to ask him what the mush was called, what the stew was made of, she found another Ramen kneeling beside her: the young woman who had guided her to Anele.
The woman’s black hair hung past the edges of her face, hiding her features. Apparently she still felt shy in Linden’s presence. As Linden looked at her, she whispered, “My sire is brother to Sahah’s dam. My name is Pahni.”
Surprised, Linden glared at her involuntarily.
Hurrying in apparent embarrassment, Pahni breathed, “The stew is hare and wild eland and shallots spiced with rosemary and the leaves of
As soon as she finished speaking, she withdrew.
First Sahah’s brother: then her cousin. What was going on?
Linden turned her head and found three Cords standing directly behind her: Pahni, Char, and a man who looked old enough to be a Manethrall. When Linden met his gaze, he also knelt to introduce himself.
“Like Char,” he said, smiling awkwardly, “I am Sahah’s brother. We are children of the same dam, though we do not share sires. My name is Bhapa.”
Linden stared at them dumbly. She could not think of any polite way to ask, What the hell is going on? What are the three of you doing?
Did they consider themselves responsible for her because she had tried to help Sahah? Or was it the other way around? Had she somehow become responsible for them?
However, they seemed to expect nothing from her. When he had given her his name, Bhapa rose to his feet. With Char and Pahni, he simply stood behind Linden as though the three of them had been asked to guard her back, and had no other interest in her.
Troubled for reasons which she could not name, Linden turned back to her food.
As an experiment, she tasted a bit of the rhee by itself. In spite of its smell, it had virtually no flavour. But when she combined it with the stew, she found that it added a taste like spelt bread to the spiced meat and shallots.
She was definitely hungrier than she had realised.
At intervals while she ate, Char or Bhapa or Pahni offered her a drink from a waterskin. She thanked them impersonally, trying not to think about the possible implications of their service. Whatever else may have been true
