will suffer, but not as they would have suffered had that army not been driven away. What will come, will come, despite our wishes and dreams. All we can do is see our way clearly. Pay attention.'
A fat drop of rain shattered on Mai's arm. Raindrops splattered across the garden.
'We are saved.' Miravia sank to her knees and sobbed, hands veiling her face.
A cool wind drove up out of the east as the clouds surged in. From this height, Mai watched the rain front approach from the southeast, dark and grim. Horns blew, in celebration. The wind rose in intensity, pulling at her hair, and at last the storm gusted over them and the pounding rain smothered what so many anxious hands could not, after all, put out on their own.
At nightfall, the troop rode up through the half-ruined lower town and in through the inner gates. Mai met them in Assizes Square. She, and everyone in town, stank of ash and burning, but also of the wet. Here, at twilight, the first downpour had slackened to a drizzle. Hooves sloshed in puddles. Feet splashed, or slipped where fallen ash had churned into slick gray mud. The crowd was, for the most part, silent as they waited in the square. Despite their victory, the mood remained subdued. Every adult appeared to be smeared with dirt and ash, or with blood, from the struggle; even many Ri Amarah men, Eliar among them, had taken up axes and staves and fought to save the warehouses. Their turbans were singed, and their linen tunics torn and dirty.
The Qin soldiers split into ranks and, at a hand signal from Chief Tuvi, halted. Anji dismounted and limped to the veranda, where the remaining council members waited. Master Feden was not among them, but Mai was. They had made room for her when she arrived with her escort of elderly male Ri Amarah 'cousins.'
Anji nodded at her as he climbed the three steps up to the porch. His expression was calm; what manner of injury he had taken did not seem to concern him over-much. The blood staining his clothing might well belong to those he had killed.
'Where is Captain Waras?' he asked.
'Badly injured,' said Master Calon. 'He's not likely to survive the night. He led the first wave out of the gates.'
Anji nodded. 'I bring a message from Argent Hall. It now lies under the temporary control of Reeve Joss and eagles out of Clan Hall. They have returned there to number their dead and wounded, and to await word from their Commander. A new marshal will be chosen.'
These words were met with a silence, broken when Master Calon stepped forward.
'The council of Olossi-both Greater and Lesser-has conferred, and has voted. Captain Anji, it is our wish that you accept the post of commander of the militia of Olossi.'
The rain had faded to spits and kisses. Under the veranda, Mai remained dry, but the weary folk crowded into the square were soaking and shivering as a night wind rose out of the southeast. Only the Qin soldiers remained unmoved. No doubt they had survived much more extreme temperatures in their distant home in the grasslands. Then she saw Shai; he, at least, rubbed his arms as if he were cold. He raised a hand to mark that he had seen her, and she touched a finger to her lips in reply. She wept, just a little, to see him whole and safe.
Anji wiped his forehead with the back of a hand, smearing grime. He had a splash of blood on his right cheek. These ornaments gave him a dangerous look as he surveyed the council members, each in turn, and the sweep of rooftops where Olossi climbed the hill beyond. Lamps were lit along the length of the porch. On the streets above, within closed compounds, lamplight glimmered. At length, he looked at Mai, but she shook her head, and he smiled faintly and turned back to the council.
'I am not moved to alter the bargain already sealed. My men and I will take lands west and north of the Olo'o Sea, in those regions of the Barrens where there is decent pasturage.'
Which lands happened to lie near the seeps and fissures where the fire lanterns burn.
'Is there anything else that cannot wait until tomorrow?' he asked the council. 'I will arrange for guards to be posted, some from my troop and others from the militia. I believe the threat is over, but we must remain cautious.'
'No one could have survived that fire,' said Calon. 'Their leaders surely are dead. Together with Master Feden.'
'He gave his life to save his honor,' said Anji. 'It was a worthy death.'
He stepped forward and took Mai's hand. 'Now, if you will, I desire to rest.'
The council members, too, were stunned by the day's events.
Eliar moved forward before any other could speak. 'If you will, Captain Anji, we offer you guest rights in our house. I'll go ahead to make sure all is ready for you.'
'I accept with gratitude,' said Anji, but he turned his gaze back to examine Mai, searchingly. He bent close, so others could not hear him. 'What is different?' he whispered.
'You are alive.' She made sure her voice did not tremble. She was strong enough to do what must be done, but she was so very very very glad she need not do it alone.
'So I am,' he agreed, 'although twice dead, once to my father's people and once to my mother's people.' Then he smiled, closely, warmly. 'You have a secret.'
Remembering what it was, she smiled in answer. She could not help sounding as if she were boasting. 'We will have a child.'
He was not a man prone to display, but he grasped her other hand and held it tightly. Anyone might guess what they spoke of, merely by looking at his face. 'It seems we have passed through Spirit Gate into a new life.'
And of course, so they had. A parting, a journey, a battle, a new life. A fine tale, truly. There is never any reason for happiness. Yet it exists.
PART SEVEN: RAINS
On the Eve of the Festival
At the Advent of the Year of the Red Goat
53
Hands cupped around a shallow drinking bowl, Joss brooded. He sipped until the bowl was drained dry, then set it down. After pouring a fourth helping of rice wine from the carafe, he placed it back in its basin of hot water and with a sleeve wiped from the table's top the droplets of water left behind by the pouring. But none of it helped, not the ritual of pouring, not the punch of the wine rising to his eyes, not the peace or the quiet. He sat by lamplight in the master's cote of Argent Hall, alone except for the whisper of rains on the roof. The doors to the porch were all slid back so he could see outside, but the garden lay in darkness. At the beginning of the wet season, it was always difficult to adjust to a night sky covered in cloud, with no stars or moon to be seen, or to see by.
So it seemed to him. He was waiting in the dark. He was blind, with nothing to guide him. They had won a victory, but only by going against the code of the halls.
Reeves were meant to enforce the law, not to wage war. He could win the argument within his head, claiming they had been given no choice, and know it was true. He could rejoice in his heart that Olossi had been saved, and feel it as worthwhile, a bold triumph. But in his gut, he knew any more steps taken down this road would lead to a terrible place where he did not want to go. No matter the reason, they had betrayed the reeves of Argent Hall. They had passed through that gate, and they could never go back and pretend it had not happened.
The rains lulled him. The cool air washed over him, dragging him into sleep.
The dream always unveils itself in an unwinding of mist, but this time there is no journey in the wilderness, no distant figure that vanishes as soon as he glimpses it. She walks right out of the darkness and up onto the porch, and she examines him with an expression of regret mingled with amusement. It hurts to look at her, because in his dream she seems so very ordinary and alive.
'You're drunk,' she says.
