Chapter Fourteen
Concerning the Social Undercurrents of the Lanreas River Guild
“You look miserable,” said Kalyna.
I nodded intensely. Vociferously.
Aloe Pricks a Mare upon the Mountain Bluff and I had walked back to the Meal Hall together, where Kalyna was loitering with others who were done for the night but couldn’t quite bring themselves to leave one another and go to bed. She had smiled warmly, waved me over, and even made small talk with Aloe (in Skydašiavos) before taking me away. It was all a blur to me.
Kalyna had, of course, learned where people in the Lanreas River Guild actually went to imbibe mind-altering substances and spend time together late into the night, and that’s where she took me. It wasn’t exactly a tavern or public house, and it had no signs out front to advertise itself. The building had originally been intended as a second meal hall, constructed early on, when it was assumed that everyone in the Guild would want to eat communally. When it became clear that many would still rather eat in their own homes—homes that were communal in their own way, usually housing multiple families or groups of friends—this second hall instead became the Games Hall. In here, people took part in pursuits that Adomas found ignoble, but would not outlaw: games of cards, marbles, matching, and strategy were played here. Never for money, of course, but Adomas supposedly preferred pastimes that were “edifying” in some way.
Soon enough, it had also become where those who wanted to enjoy wine, poppy milk, khat, or bhang around others spent their evenings, and where coffee could be enjoyed during the day. The Guild did produce wine from its vineyards, but this was mostly for selling to nearby towns and cities, so that the community could buy what they couldn’t grow. Some of the wine, however, did make its way to the Games Hall. I wondered whether its consumption there had begun as a furtive secret, before Adomas realized he couldn’t just change peoples’ habits overnight.
Vidmantas had, apparently, wanted to go to bed more than anything in the world, but Ifeanyas had insisted on seeing that I was all right. He was waiting in the comfortably populated Games Hall when Kalyna brought me there. She then sat me down in a corner, and as Ifeanyas went to get us drinks (I requested wine with bhang mixed in, because it had become that sort of night), she told me I looked miserable.
“Hardly my fault, given the circumstances,” I replied.
“It wasn’t a criticism, Radiant,” admonished Kalyna. “I’m worried about you. What happened?”
“Well, I hate him, but I think I convinced him that I’m his friend.”
Kalyna put a hand on my shoulder and favored me with one of her brilliant smiles. “I am so proud of you, Radiant!” She laughed. “I’m sorry, that makes me sound like I’m your father.”
“My father never said anything like that to me.”
She sat back. “That’s sad.”
“Yes.”
“He hit you, didn’t he? A lot?” She shook her head quickly. “Just a guess. You don’t have to answer.”
She was trying to distract me from my current troubles by evoking old ones, which were long past, and I allowed her to.
“He did, yes,” I said.
“And your mother allowed it?”
“At best.”
She nodded. “But it sounds like you removed yourself entirely from them when you could.”
“I didn’t see a choice,” I said.
Ifeanyas returned with our drinks in rough earthenware mugs. They clacked pleasingly against the stone gameboard that made up the center of the otherwise wooden tabletop.
“I, on the other hand,” said Kalyna, “continued taking care of Grandmother until the end, even though she was never loving toward me for even a moment of my life.” She looked thoughtful. “Well, except one moment, when she was very confused.” Kalyna chuckled. “I fantasized about abandoning her, but I never could have done so.”
“‘Abandon’ isn’t quite the word, in my case,” I said. “Until I went to Quruscan, I still lived a few streets over from my parents. But I didn’t visit them, and would spare them only the quickest greeting when our paths crossed.”
“That . . . must have been tough?” said Ifeanyas. He looked a little bewildered by the conversation he’d entered.
I smiled at him sadly. “It was surprisingly easy. But then, I had a community and a reliable vocation that gave me the freedom to do so.”
“Freedom,” grunted Kalyna. “I could never even really consider leaving Grandmother behind.”
“But you’ve left your father in Quruscan, haven’t you?” I asked.
“That’s different. Just for a month or two, with people I trust. And, well”—she shrugged slightly—“I suppose I’ve got more ‘freedom’ now. Money will do that.”
The three of us sat in silence for a moment as I took a long draught of my wine mixed with bhang.
Then I gave them both the most general outlines of what Aloe had told me.
“So then,” said Kalyna, looking at me intently as she leaned forward, elbow on her knee, “will you go back to Loasht?”
Ifeanyas looked incredulous. “At the cost of his—?”
“Stop,” snapped Kalyna, cutting across the air with her hand. “He can make his own decision.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m Zobiski and I’m Loashti. I can’t imagine leaving either of those behind.” I took another long drink: I was going to make sure I slept hard that night (sleeping soundly was unimportant). “And my family is still there.”
“Well,” said Kalyna, “I’ve been trying to get you into Loasht, so if that’s changing, you’ll need to let me know.”
I looked back down at my drink, holding the mug in both hands. My eyes wandered to the mysterious gameboard on which my drink sat: almost a normal board of uniform squares, but with opalescent veins threaded all through it, glinting and almost undulating in the candlelight. I took this for a feature of the stone until I realized there was something too even about those shimmering lines. I began to wonder if the lines were part of the game, in order to quiet one half of my mind, leaving the other free to grapple with the enormity of the situation my insignificant life had been thrown into.
“I just don’t know,” I finally said, still staring down. “I hate Aloe and what he’s asking of me, but I love my home and my family.” I looked up at Kalyna and Ifeanyas. “And if I decide not to go back, what do I do then? Stay here? Go somewhere else? What about Silver?”
“Sleep on it, Radiant,” said Kalyna. “You only just got here.”
Elsewhere in the Games Hall, someone was getting loud in, I think, a friendly way. Others were beginning to leave, even though it couldn’t be that late yet; I suppose so they could rise early to their farm work.
“No one is stopping me from returning to Loasht anymore,” I said. “So whether I do that or stay here, Kalyna, your work is done. You can go back to Quruscan and your father.”
“Sleep on it,” she repeated. “You may still need me, my father is fine, and”—she laughed, raising her mug—“everything here is free!”
I could think of no answer. I just continued to stare at the table.
“Ifeanyas,” said Kalyna, “would you mind allowing me to talk to Radiant alone?”
“Oh! Now? I rather thought we were . . . ah . . .”
Poor Ifeanyas seemed flustered, as though he’d forgotten he couldn’t always melt into the background. I’d always been most attracted to people larger than myself, but I suddenly found short Ifeanyas very handsome as he stammered and looked away. I wondered if it was just because he clearly cared for my well-being, and my upbringing had never taught me how to respond to that in a normal way.
“Ifeanyas,” Kalyna said with a simile, “you now see that Radiant is shaken up, but safe, with a large decision ahead of him. If you please.”
Ifeanyas apologized quietly and got up to wander through the Games Hall, drink in hand. I felt bad for him.
“You could have been kinder,” I said quietly. “He just wants company and doesn’t know anyone else here. I don’t mind if he hears us discuss what to do next—you said we could trust him.”
“I said ‘for now.’ And kindness is not my specialty, unless I want something from someone.” She took a sip and tilted her head thoughtfully. “He wouldn’t know it, but it shows I respect him, a little, that I don’t fawn all over him.”
At the other end of the Games Hall, it seemed Ifeanyas had already joined a group of people and was nodding along to a lively conversation. I hoped this meant there was a future for him here. He was now more adrift than I, wasn’t he?
“I’ve learned a bit more about this place, if that will help you make your decision,” said Kalyna with a twinkle in her eye as she sat back in her chair.
“That’s wonderful,” I sighed, drinking more of my own drug-laced wine. “I’m sure I’ll remember it all perfectly tomorrow.”
“I’m sure,” she deadpanned. “So, decades ago, Adomas the noble steals specimens, hunts on royal grounds, carries out forbidden research, and generally flits around the Tetrarchia to stay ahead of the law, because he is extremely outlawed. He writes a number of books and pamphlets, mostly covering what he’s discovered and making excuses for his crimes—insists that the people he steals from are dabblers, hoarders, or fools who don’t know the importance of what they have.” She laughed. “I first learned of him from a Masovskani book called Bohdan’s Botanicals. Poor Bohdan was no fool or dabbler, and he absolutely hated Adomas. But I think Adomas has outlived him now.”
I realized I had forgotten about Aloe for a moment, and also that the wine, or the bhang, or the exhaustion, was hitting my brain. I set my mug down on the table to stop myself from flying too high.
“What I’ve learned today,” Kalyna continued, “is that all was forgiven around ten years ago, when Adomas used a tincture he’d devised to save the life of an ailing King Piliranas, father of Skydašiai’s current King Alinafe.” She grinned. “What a coup for a disgraced naturalist! I wonder if he poisoned the King in the first place.”
“Is that what you would’ve done?”
“Probably! But I don’t hold the lives of royalty particularly dear. I hope that doesn’t offend your Loashti sensibilities.”
“Not at the moment, no.”
“So,” she continued, after another sip, “while he couldn’t be returned to his former titles, Adomas was fully pardoned and given back just this land, which his family didn’t want anyway, due to it being bad for farming and next door to Loasht. The Estate was already crumbling by then.”
“But the land seems quite agreeable for farming.”
“Yes. I haven’t figured out yet what changed that. Point is, with the land being ‘distasteful,’ and with the King feeling extremely generous, Adomas was able to negotiate a sort of charter that said the Yams could never set foot in his domain. He also willed the whole plot to the Guild members, collectively.”
“Can he do that?”
“I don’t know, he hasn’t died yet. It sounds quite inviolate on the surface, but all things are tenuous. Old King Piliranas died some five years ago now, and I’ve picked up on at least a few worries that his son will back out of the agreement.” She shrugged. “So you may be as safe here as anywhere, or you may not. Very hard to say.”
I sighed and picked my mug back up, draining it. Let my head fly into the stars; I certainly didn’t want to be here anymore. I knew that, sometimes, bhang could strengthen feelings of paranoia in me, but I hoped I’d fall asleep first.
Unfortunately, that was when some sort of conflict broke out. I heard yelling, some of it outside, and saw quick movement by the door of the Games Hall. I felt that fear, that paranoia, spike into me, impale me. My hands began to shake, and my mug slipped from my hands.
Kalyna caught it, spilling a bit from her own in the process. “Stay here,” she sighed, putting both mugs on the table and standing up.
What was I even scared of? Skydašiai rounding up Loashti aliens now seemed unlikely. Perhaps I simply wanted the Lanreas River Guild to remain as friendly as it had appeared so far. I worried that I’d found a lovely little place, which had now been destabilized and ruined by Aloe’s arrival there, even though that made no sense.
Then I suddenly felt, in my befogged mind, that I had to know what was going on. So I got up and, shakily, followed Kalyna.
A group of people crowded around the entryway to the Games Hall, murmuring angrily as Žydrė stood in the doorway, arguing with somebody who was outside. I thought I had seen Žydrė argue—thought I had seen her angry—in her many exchanges with Vidmantas, but this was different. She was at the door, pushing her head out through it, and yelling, her voice cracking.
Kalyna was moving through the crowd toward her, while I circled its outer edges and found Ifeanyas, who was staring at the commotion. Now I, too, could see over Žydrė’s shoulder to the lane outside. She was yelling at Yalwas, the large man who had greeted us when we arrived earlier that afternoon (by the Eighty-Three, what a long day!), and had shown us around the Estate. He looked entirely calm: opening his mouth to speak, then stopping and looking irritated but patient as he waited for Žydrė to finish. I couldn’t make out what she was saying as I was still pulling myself down from the stars.
“It is none of my business,” Yalwas finally said, with a stern sort of look on his face, “how you all choose to poison your bodies and minds, but—”
Someone nearer to me groaned and threw up their hands. Žydrė nodded.
“But,” Yalwas continued, “it is my business when it involves my son. Bring him out. He’s only sixteen, and he’s going home.”
I saw a tall figure, head down, start to move toward the door. Žydrė threw out an arm in front of that figure.
“He’s old enough to work in the fields,” she growled, “so I think he’s old enough to have a small drink at the end of a hard day. None of us will let him overindulge.”
“Why would I trust that?”
“It’s funny,” said Žydrė in a quieter, icier, tone, “how you can be so sanctimonious about some of Adomas’ teachings, but not others.”
Yalwas growled and put a large hand on his hip, staring daggers at her and at anyone else he could see. Indiscriminate eye daggers everywhere. (I suppose my thoughts were still flying, just a little.)
“What teachings, pray tell, am I ignoring?” he huffed. “Adomas does not, for some reason, outlaw this behavior, although he does strongly discourage it. I am not here to stop your good time.”
Someone in the back began to yell, and Žydrė waved an arm at them, willing them to be quiet.
“Adomas also does not, ‘for some reason,’” she added, mockingly, “outlaw adults from feeling that they have complete dominion over their . . . their offspring. But he does strongly discourage it, doesn’t he? Says that we should all raise our children together. Many people in here have cared for Kyautas for most of his life, haven’t we?”
Voices rose in agreement, and she shushed them again.
“And we,” she continued, “would rather he have a drink or two in safety, with us, than sneak too much out in the fields alone, or only with other children.”
“That is not your decision,” Yalwas seethed. He took a step forward, and I could really see how much larger than her he was. “A father still has some rights.”
“Does he?” asked Žydrė. “More than the many other mothers and fathers in here? Does he have ‘rights’ purely because he squirted the boy out?”
Žydrė, I was realizing, had been quite restrained and friendly in her arguments with Vidmantas.
Yalwas opened his mouth, but Žydrė interrupted him: “We have separated parents and children before, when those parents proved to be tyrants.”
“Tyrant?!” cried Yalwas. “I have never beaten my Kyautas, never forbidden him from—”
“It’s only an example,” interrupted Žydrė. “No one is looking to separate you from him.”
“Then send him out to me!”
“What if he doesn’t wish to go?”
“Well, then—” Yalwas’ eyes suddenly widened, and he pointed inside, past Žydrė. “Wait, you! Foreigner! What did you just give my son?!”
He was pointing at Kalyna, who was seated on a bench close to the tall figure that must have been the boy, Kyautas, but far back enough that Yalwas could also see her. She was leaning forward, one hand out toward the boy. Kyautas’ head had been bowed the whole time, but he somehow lowered it even more. In his hand was a mug, which he began to lower.
Kalyna sat back up straight, slowly, and turned her head to face Yalwas.
“Water,” she said, calmly, but loud enough for all to hear. “With a drop of something I keep on me to aid with hangovers.”
“A drop of what?” snapped the large man.
Kalyna sighed. “Terrifying and foreign ginger.”
Some of the others began to murmur and giggle. I suppose, in that crowd, picking on Yalwas was an easy way to become popular.
“It can help,” she shrugged. “Although, more than anything, it’s an enticement to drink the water. Shall I take it back from him?”
There was silence for a moment. I only saw Žydrė’s back, but her body language suggested smugness. Kalyna’s showed none, only weariness.
“Drink that down, Kyautas,” said Yalwas, finally.
“Why don’t you apologize for insulting our guest, Yalwas?” asked Žydrė.
Yalwas grumbled somewhere in his throat.
“Well?” prodded Žydrė. “Go on! You called her a foreigner and accused her, after all.”
Kalyna sighed. “Well, now he won’t, will he?” She slapped her knees and stood creakily. “If you actually wanted him to apologize, you wouldn’t have goaded him like that.” Kalyna shrugged, glanced at Yalwas, then back at Žydrė. “But you preferred to use me as a bludgeon.”
Žydrė stared at Kalyna, unsure of what to say. She seemed as though someone had thrown cold water on her.
“Well,” Kalyna continued, “better me than Kyautas. He’s had enough of that for one night, hasn’t he?”
Kyautas, in a sort of reply, finished his water and handed Kalyna back the empty mug.
“Thank you, ah . . .” The boy’s voice was deeper than his father’s.
“My name’s Kalyna,” she replied, looking back at the boy and smiling broadly. “Just a few letters different from yours.”
Kyautas nodded. Then he walked past her out toward his father. The two left without a word.
Everyone began to murmur and either spread back out through the Games Hall, or leave for the night. Kalyna smiled at Žydrė with utter friendliness and said goodnight, which Žydrė quietly grunted in return. I was more effusive to Žydrė, before trotting off after Kalyna.
“Obviously you wanted him to see you handing the boy the mug,” I said as we walked toward our dormitory. “I’ve seen enough of your work to know that.”
“I’m honored you’ve noticed.”
“I assume you wanted to defuse things, give the poor, embarrassed boy a way out, and an easier morning.”
She nodded.
“Knowing you, this was not out of care for the boy, so much as it was to make the locals think you’re the type of person to care about the boy.”
“Now hold on,” she laughed. “I would say it was about half and half.”
“But why did you decide to make both Yalwas and Žydrė look bad in front of everyone? Just for fun?”
“If it was for fun, I’d be bothering much more powerful people than those two, Radiant.” She yawned. “They already made themselves look bad in front of everyone, but ‘everyone’ was too scared to say anything. I stepped in and became the blunt outsider who isn’t caught up in the daft politics of this squalid fools’ paradise. I assure you that many of the people who saw that exchange, and many who will hear about it tomorrow, will admire me for helping the boy, and for cutting those two bores to the quick.”
“But after what Žydrė did for us . . .”
“If she believes half of what Adomas spews, she will forgive me.”
“But what’s the point? Why do you need these people to admire you?”
She stopped. We were right outside our dormitory building, and though we were speaking in Loashti Bureaucratic, she still lowered her voice. Perhaps it was so she wouldn’t wake anyone inside.
“Because you haven’t decided exactly what you—and, therefore, we—are going to do next, have you? Always good to build up a little social capital, just in case.”
Sure enough, the next morning I awoke to Žydrė apologizing to Kalyna.
“You were absolutely right,” Žydrė was saying as I blinked and remembered where I was, “I was using you as a . . . bludgeon to bother Yalwas. It was unfair of me, and I’m sorry.”
Nicely folded bundles of undyed linen clothes had been left for each of us newcomers in what were, at least vaguely, our sizes. Kalyna was already fully dressed in one such pair of billowing trousers, but had paired it with a fading purple blouse that must have come from her bag, and the same pair of boots that she’d worn every day I’d known her. She was standing, leaning back against her bed, with her arms crossed and her face noncommittal, listening to Žydrė.
Vidmantas and Ifeanyas seemed to have only been awake a minute or two longer than me, and were both still in their beds. Each one was sitting up and watching what was happening, blinking the sleep from their eyes. Ifeanyas had on a sort of long linen shirt he was using as a nightgown. Vidmantas’ hair was a mess, with his beautiful ringlets crushed in every direction. But stripped to the waist, I must say he was well shaped: almost delicate, as I used to be.
“Why, Žydrė,” laughed Vidmantas, “I’ve never heard you apologize before!”
“Because when I’m talking to you, I’m always right,” she snapped.
Vidmantas smiled and raised his eyebrows at Ifeanyas and me.
“What did you all get up to last night?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you later,” said Ifeanyas.
Kalyna, meanwhile, had reacted to none of this and, indeed, said nothing. She continued to look at Žydrė with an expression of appraisal.
“And,” Žydrė continued, “I’m sorry that—” She stopped, seemed thoughtful for a moment, and then shook her head. “No. No, I shouldn’t apologize for what Yalwas said to you. I am not him, and that would mean nothing.”
Kalyna didn’t change her expression but nodded slightly. She let the silence draw out until Žydrė felt the need to speak again.
“I hope you understand,” Žydrė dutifully continued, “that yes, I’d had a few drinks—”
Kalyna made the slightest shrug and nod.
“—but that wasn’t really why I acted that way. Not completely.”
Kalyna cocked her head to the side, smiled very slightly, and finally spoke: “Of course, Žydrė. After all, I am not Yalwas.”
Žydrė smiled widely in response. “Of course. Of course. But you weren’t here for the larger context. That man has been making my life difficult for so long. It wasn’t entirely about Kyautas either, although I did not say anything I didn’t mean.”
“I assumed as much,” replied Kalyna. “But what is that context?”
Still on my back, with the covers pulled up to my neck, I looked around and began to wonder where I was supposed to change. The Tetrarchia was, in my experience, prudish about a lot of things. But then, I’d spent most of my time in Quruscan and knew little of Skydašian mores. Not to mention, of course, that the Lanreas River Guild strove to be culturally separate from Skydašiai, to some extent.
Žydrė took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. “Yalwas and I have, really, never gotten along. But in the past few months, I’ve felt as though he is always picking at me. So perhaps I chose that opportunity to, you know, pick back.”
“Never, you say?” Kalyna finally uncrossed her arms and now seemed more interested in what Žydrė was saying. “Different interpretations of Adomas’ teachings, perhaps?”
“Oh yes, from the start.” Žydrė waved her hand as though she were saying something blitheringly obvious. “And you must understand, Yalwas and I have both been with Adomas from the start.” Feeling more comfortable now, Žydrė began to walk idly around the large, mostly empty dormitory as she spoke. “You see, we were both working here when Adomas had his epiphany about humanity’s natural state, and when he turned his old family home into what it has become. Yalwas”—she rolled her eyes—“was one of Adomas’ assistants in his studies. I worked the fields.”
“You worked the fields for Adomas before he stopped acting like a lord?”
Žydrė nodded. “I was young, with no trade, and had to leave Žalikwen in a hurry. I ended up here, and I’m glad I did.”
“Didn’t that ever make you, I don’t know, resent Adomas?” Kalyna now seemed to be fully engaged in the conversation, leaning forward and following Žydrė with her eyes, as the other woman walked about the room. If I didn’t know better, I would have seen Kalyna as supplicant—almost desperate.
Žydrė stopped pacing for a moment and looked up at the ceiling. “You know,” she said, “yes. At first. When he began talking to us about all of his big ideas, I found it annoying and presumptuous.”
“He must have gone from ordering you about one day, to suddenly being your ‘friend’ the next.”
“Well, that was back when he wanted us all to be ‘brothers and sisters.’” She laughed at the memory of it. “But, over time, I came to realize he meant what he said.”
“And Yalwas?” asked Kalyna.
“Yalwas was right behind Adomas from the beginning. He had been hired from some nearby town while Adomas was on his way here. He was formally educated and has less experience of the world. I think sometimes he still doesn’t understand why Adomas doesn’t force us all to live ‘perfectly.’”
“I see.” Kalyna plopped down loudly onto her bed, scratching her chin. “So, he may think he has more right to Adomas’ ideas than you do.”
“Well, that’s stupid,” Žydrė sneered. “Adomas’ ideas weren’t meant for people like Yalwas. They were meant for those like me, who’ve toiled in the fields.”
“You don’t exactly come from a line of farmers, Žydrė,” Vidmantas chimed in.
“Vidmantas, the adults are speaking,” snapped Žydrė.
“She’s only five years older than me,” Vidmantas mumbled to the rest of us.
“But,” said Kalyna, almost to herself, “I can see why Yalwas might think he has . . . primacy.” Then she looked up at Žydrė. “Has Adomas been sickly lately?”
“Sickly? No, not at all. He’s old of course, but . . .” Žydrė stopped and then sat down on the bed opposite Kalyna’s, leaning forward. “Do you mean to suggest Yalwas is looking ahead to when Adomas is . . . ?”
“Dead, yes.” Kalyna crossed one leg over the other. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to take Adomas’ place when the old man finally . . . you know. So he may see you as his competition.”
Žydrė laughed. “Me?”
“Well, of course! Who else would be a challenge to him?” Kalyna grinned. “Has taking over leadership after Adomas really not occurred to you?”
“I must say, it hasn’t,” Žydrė replied, wide-eyed.
At about this time, I decided I needed to get out of bed, no matter the taboos of this place and whatever conversations were happening around me. I had undergarments on, at least (in fact, they were the only piece of Loashti clothing I still possessed), so I simply stood up.
Vidmantas made a whistling, impressed noise, and at first, I must say, I felt quite complimented, until I realized what he was reacting to.
“By the gods, Radiant, I didn’t know your tattoos were so intricate!” he cried. “Incredible.”
“Oh. Well. Yes,” I mumbled. (Although I did flex, just a little. The long road with Kalyna and Dagmar had filled me out pleasingly.) “I mean, thank you! Not that I drew them, of course.”
“But I assume you picked them,” said Ifeanyas. “Are those men with crocodile heads?”
“I . . . no. Where I’m from, we have a variety of crocodile that walks, you know, upright. Mostly upright, sort of stooped. I’m sure Adomas can tell you more than I can.”
“Terrifying,” Vidmantas laughed. “Why did you want those on your arms?”
“That’s . . . both very complicated and very simple.”
I got dressed, and no one seemed scandalized. I put on billowy trousers and a blouse of undyed, but soft and comfortable, linen. Vidmantas did the same. He tore off a large strip of silk from the tattered remains of his old robe and wrapped it around his disordered hair until it was mostly covered. Ifeanyas got up as well and began to do some stretches.
“Well,” said Kalyna, “I suppose Radiant had better see his Loashti friend off, yes?”
Žydrė nodded. I realized what Kalyna meant and suddenly wanted to get back into bed.
Žydrė exchanged some parting words with Kalyna—as well as a strong pat on the shoulder—and left. Kalyna immediately turned to me.
“No,” she said.
“No, what?”
“You are going to go out there and say goodbye to Aloe,” she ordered.
I slumped back onto my bed. “Haven’t I done enough?”
Kalyna walked over and stood above me, glaring down. She seemed to take up the whole room.
“No, you haven’t,” she replied. “You don’t even understand the beginning of doing enough.”
I must have looked mystified.
“What’s going on?” asked Vidmantas.
Kalyna turned to him. Ifeanyas immediately jumped in before she said anything.
“Later,” said Ifeanyas. “Later. Later.”
Kalyna looked back at me, hands on her hips. “Radiant,” she said, “I swear by every god—by your Eighty-Three, and the thousand more we have here in the Tetrarchia—that no matter what you choose to do next, it will be made easier by ensuring Aloe thinks of you as a friend. Whether you decide to go back, stay here, or do something else entirely, taking a few scant uncomfortable minutes out of your life to smile at Aloe and wish him well will help you immeasurably someday. It may save your life. And that of your family.”
I shook my head. I looked down. “I just can’t.”
Kalyna Aljosanovna slapped me. Hard.
There was silence for a moment.
“Now hold on,” said Vidmantas, stepping toward Kalyna. “I don’t know what’s going on here but—”
“You certainly don’t,” said Kalyna.
I looked up at her, and I think I was crying—willing her to see how much anguish I was feeling.
She saw it. And she slapped me again. I cried out that time.
“Stop that!” shouted Vidmantas.
Ifeanyas grabbed Kalyna’s wrist, although he looked unsure of whether he’d be strong enough to stop her.
“I may barely understand what’s happening here,” he said. “But don’t hit him again.”
“Not even to save his life?” she spat.
“Does it look like it’s helping?” cried Vidmantas.
I was sitting quietly, staring at the floor, quivering.
Kalyna was silent for a moment. Then I heard her breathe out slowly, and when she next spoke, her voice was lower, calmer.
“No, it isn’t helping,” she said. “Look, Radiant, I know it hurts. I know it’s hard. Believe me, I do.” Looking up at her, I saw what seemed to be real pain, frustration, and worry come into her face. “But you, and likely your family, will be so much better off this way. Do you understand me?”
I nodded.
She turned to Ifeanyas and patted his hand lightly. “I won’t hit him again.”
Ifeanyas narrowed his eyes and nodded once, sharply. Before he could let go, she slid her hand easily out of his, perhaps to let him know she could have done so at any time. Ifeanyas continued to look hard at her as he began wiggling into trousers under his nightshirt.
Kalyna stepped back, looked at me, smiled, and pointed to the door.
“Now go make that worthless sack of shit love you.”
It was midmorning, and Aloe was making his goodbyes in Skydašiavos to a small throng of people. His escorting soldiers were still waiting politely outside of the Lanreas River Guild, and so he made a good show of being trusting and trustworthy, a man of the people. Except, of course, for the glittering cape he still wore, which was brilliant in the sunlight.
Before he saw me, I murmured a little Zobiski incantation to myself: “May he amount to no more than this.” Then I spat on the ground.
You see, this is often how sorcery works, or doesn’t work. Did I actually place a light curse on him and slightly diminish his confidence and standing in the world, allowing me to have some advantage in our upcoming interaction? Or had I simply convinced myself that I was above him, for a moment? Did it matter?
Aloe’s face lit up as I walked closer. Even with his cape, he did not seem quite as imposing in the daylight as he had the night before. Like myself, he was shorter than most of the people around us.
“Ah, Radiant!” he called to me in Loashti Bureaucratic. “So good to see you before I leave. Of course, you’ll be back home soon enough. I’m on my way to see that it’s done.”
I forced myself, for a moment, to believe that this was true: to believe I would be able to go home easily very soon. Specifically, to a home that I recognized and which would be safe for me. This got me to smile. Then I gave Aloe Pricks a Mare upon the Mountain Bluff a big, tight hug.
“Safe travels,” I said as I hoped he would be eaten by wolves.
He patted my back heartily before breaking the hug. “And to you as well, soon enough!”
Then he stepped back and looked at the other people around him and spoke loudly in Skydašiavos: “Lanreas! Thank you for watching over my friend, while so many in the Tetrarchia have been cruel to him. It warms my heart.”
He turned in a circle slowly, making sure that all present heard his voice, and that almost everyone had him look them right in the eye for at least a moment.
“What a wonderful place you’ve built here, and on such strong ideals. Your Guild, like my own movement back home, is looking ahead to a better future, free of the constraints of backward, ingrained thinking. Know that I appreciate our similarities, and that I will be back on my return trip to Loasht.”
There was a general murmuring of approval.
“As soon as I can, Radiant!” he said in Loashti Bureaucratic.
I wiped a tear of despair but smiled as though it was one of happiness.
Aloe waved goodbye and began to walk way. Then I had a thought, and I called out to him.
“Aloe!”
He turned back. “Yes?”
“I’d be delighted to join you at the Ministry!”
He grinned broadly and left with an actual spring in his step.
I didn’t yet know where I was going to go, or what I would do, but I knew one thing for certain: that outburst had been a lie. I would never join the Ministry. But I’d done what Kalyna told me to do: I’d made him love me.