I tried to understand this, gave up, and silently handed the Chara his dagger.
"Thank you," he said as he sheathed it. "And now . . . I have, by some miracle, faced death all this day without sliding to my knees and begging the Jackal for my life, but I swear, Andrew, you will find me kneeling at your feet in the next moment if you don't tell me whether I may marry your sister."
A smile slid easily onto my face, as though it were returning home. "Of course. You are lucky to find each other. But what will the council lords say?"
"The council lords," said Peter dryly, "are apt to be busy picking me apart over my decision to free Koretia. But in any case, they know that I wouldn't enter into any marriage that went against my duties as the Chara. It may take them time to understand how Emor could be benefitted by a common half-Koretian girl, but they will see in the end."
Noise attracted my attention. As I looked out the window, I saw the thieves pouring out of the gods' house, smiling and chatting in voices no longer kept low in fear. Brendon hushed them with his hand, as though to indicate that their work was not yet done. Glancing back, he caught sight of me and waved a farewell at me with his blade. It was an Emorian soldier's sword, John had told me that afternoon – a relic from Brendon's years in the governor's army, which he had joined during the years when he was still seeking his true master.
"Will you take her with you to live in Emor?" I asked.
"She wants to live there – which is fortunate, as I have no choice but to return there. She says that she would like to stay in the palace where you lived for so many years." He paused, and then added, "She knows what your friendship means to me, and so she assumes you'll be returning with us. But I won't ask you to do so, because I know what your answer must be."
I kept my eyes focussed on the dark land beyond the window. "I didn't know what my answer would be until you spoke just now. When did you guess?"
"Twelve years ago, when I first saw you staring at those mountains. I knew then that you would one day return to your homeland. I was grateful to you for staying with me as long as you did."
I turned back to Peter. He was looking at me with the same somber eyes and slight smile he had shown on that day when he learned that I wished to be his friend, when he learned that I was willing to stay with him for a little while more. He said, "There is a Koretian custom – I seem to have heard of it somewhere – that when two friends must be parted, they mix their blood, so that if ever they meet again, they will know each other. Is this a custom that an Emorian may practice?" He unsheathed his dagger and held it out to me.
I shook my head. "We have shared wine already. You have been as close to me as a blood brother for many years. As for our blood, it is neither Emorian nor Koretian, but simply the blood of friends. And soon my sister will be your wife, and I think that we can expect that some day nobody will be asking each other which land they are loyal to, but simply what they are loyal to."
He nodded, letting his dagger-hand drop. His gaze drifted to the door, as though my mention of Ursula had been her voice calling him. "Go to her," I said. "When you're ready, she and I will escort you back to the governor's palace."
Peter shook his head. "I still have work to do before it will be safe to take Ursula there. The governor won't give up his power easily; I may need Carle's help in seeing to Lord Alan's arrest." He began to turn, but paused when he saw me looking at the brooch near his throat, the one I had always thought his father had given him. I felt pressing in the back of my mind a memory I could not identify.
Peter followed the direction of my gaze. "Carle gave it to me the night you and I first talked – one of the few times he has been able to unbend far enough to treat me as something other than his master. I had actually sneaked out of my chamber to go see him, something I'd never done before. Well, I was disappointed in what he had to say, as you know. But I wasn't disappointed in what he was, not since that first evening when he had the courage to defend me to my father."
"You never told me."
"I never told you because I didn't want you to be as envious of him as he is of you."
It was a shock as great as any I had received that night, yet it came, like the others, with a sense of recognition, as though I had always known. I stood there motionless, remembering my talk with Lord Carle that day, and how, even at the moment that I confirmed his dark suspicions by betraying the Chara, he still spoke to me in the words of a defeated soldier. "Why does he envy me?" I asked.
"Because you can treat me as your equal, and he cannot." Peter touched the brooch lightly. "Do you remember how, on that first night, we talked of slave-masks? I fear that Carle will never be able to remove the mask of obedience he has forced himself to wear."
I felt a breeze brush my face as though my own slave-mask had been, if not removed, turned into something I could bear wearing. "Perhaps," I said. "But perhaps Lord Carle can transform his slave-mask into a god-mask. I'll do my part by apologizing to him for my behavior toward him."
"He doesn't deserve an apology," said Peter. "Not after the way he treated you."
"I still feel it's something I should do. Didn't your father say once that you must use the Heart of Mercy on those you hate?"
Peter raised his eyebrows. "And the Jackal demands sacrifices from his servants. Well, as you have said, the ways of the gods are mysterious. Besides" – he gave a quick grin – "to see you apologize to Carle would almost be worth all I have suffered this past night." And the Chara raised his dagger to me in a salute before leaving the room.
But I remained where I was for some time, thinking of the Unknowable God and of his fire that brings both pain and mercy.
o—o—o
When I returned to the sanctuary, I found John sitting where I had seen him fifteen years before, on the day that we were parted. The mask dangled from his fingers. As I sat down opposite him, he said quietly, "I'm glad you're here – I was about to leave. The Jackal must make his final night-prowl to bring the good news to his thieves . . . and to help the Chara bring the governor to justice."
"I was with Peter," I said. "He has forgiven me, and he wishes to marry Ursula."
"I saw Ursula, and she told me both pieces of news. Did you give your consent?"
"Naturally. Though he ought to have asked you. You were the one who raised her."
John smiled and leaned back easily against the window jamb. "I hope their marriage will be good for them. I know that it will be good for our lands." He continued to smile, but something in his eyes made me listen to his words carefully. He said, "Ursula told me that she and the Chara and you are going home soon. If the peace holds, I know that the Chara will be unable to visit here again. Do you think that you ever will?"
I looked toward the city, still peaceful, which would now remain peaceful under the Jackal's rule. Further down the mountainside was the priests' house, where my sister was born and John had sought his god. Below that was the cave where I had first seen Peter, where John and I had become blood brothers, and where, unperceived to me, the Unknowable God had placed me under his care.
"John," I said, "do you think that, amidst your duties as the Jackal, you might have time to help me change the gods' house into a house for us?"
John stayed wordless for a while. Then he said, "I doubt I will be able to spare the time." I looked back at him, and he added, "But the god will no doubt understand if I neglect somewhat my duties toward the land for love of my blood brother. I made a blood vow once for peace, and you have shown me the way to that peace."
I said nothing more; the peace in my heart could find no words.
o—o—o
o—o—o
o—o—o
===
Re-creation
===
RE-CREATION
"Well," said Peter uncertainly, "it looks a
bit
like a Balance of Judgment."
He glanced over at his new slave-servant to see whether he agreed. Andrew was kneeling on the floor, carefully rolling bits of clay and attaching clay crossbars to them so that they held a vague resemblance to the Sword of Vengeance.
For a moment, Peter thought Andrew would not reply. It was becoming increasingly hard to tell which comments the other boy would reply to. If asked a direct question, Andrew would of course respond; that was part of his training. But slaves were also trained not to speak to free-men unless spoken to, and Peter had not yet figured out a way to convey that he wanted to hold ordinary conversations with his slave.
Could any conversation be ordinary, when the other person had no choice but to speak if bidden to?
Andrew said, without looking up, "I suppose that we'd need an Arpeshian to tell us."
Peter laughed. "And I don't know any Arpeshians. Do you?"
"A couple. They were young children when your grandfather, the Chara Anthony, suppressed the first rebellion in the dominion of Arpesh."
Peter started to make some light-hearted remark about Andrew being well-versed in Emorian history; then he bit his lip. No doubt all of the inhabitants of the palace slave-quarters were well-versed in the parts of Emorian history that related to wars in which the Emorians had taken slaves. Andrew could almost certainly give a detailed account of the Border Wars between Emor and Koretia.
To cover his chagrin, Peter said, "The Balance is hard enough to make." He gave another doubtful look at the object in his hand, made up of scrap bits of metal joined together by sticky sap. "I don't know how we'll manage to make the Book."
"You needn't worry about that." Andrew reached over to gather a bit of clay, and as he did so, his back came into sight. He was wearing a slave's tunic, of course, which meant his back was bare . . . except for the bandages there. "I know how to make books."
"You do?" Peter asked, surprised. He had turned his eyes away; he still could not stand to look at Andrew's back, even though the bandages hid what Lord Carle had done to him, barely a week before.
If Peter had been beaten nearly to death, he thought he would have spent the next six months moaning in his bed. Instead, Andrew seemed determined to rise from his sickbed. Peter wondered whether Andrew believed that he would be sold back to Lord Carle if he did not immediately show his worth to his new master.
Peter would have as soon impaled himself on the Sword of Judgment as give Andrew back to the master who had ordered an eleven-year-old boy to be beaten so harshly. Lord Carle had meant well, no doubt, but Peter still could not imagine why the council lord had found it necessary to go to such measures. As far as Peter could tell, Andrew was an extremely obedient servant.
Perhaps too much so. Peter looked down once more at the pathetic little object in his hand that purported to be the Balance of Judgment. Judgment weighing vengeance and mercy.
"We've forgotten about the Heart of Mercy," he said suddenly.
"I know how to make that too," Andrew replied, inspecting the tip of the clay sword in his hand.
"You're a wonder," Peter said, setting the lopsided Balance aside and rolling over onto his stomach. They were in his chamber, of course, which meant that the only places to sit were some stiff-backed chairs, the bed, and the floor. Andrew seemed to prefer the floor, though Peter had invited him onto the bed each day since the younger boy became his slave. Peter supposed this was due to some Koretian custom; he resolved inwardly to ask Andrew about that. After all, Peter's ostensible reason for having Andrew as his slave was to familiarize himself with his empire's southern dominion of Koretia. Peter's father – who was legally Andrew's owner – had said that mastering Andrew would help Peter learn how to rule his subjects.
"How did you learn to make crafts?" he asked Andrew.
"From a friend."
Peter waited, but no further details emerged. Finally Peter said, "Was he a craftsman?"
"He was a boy. But he lived with the priests, and they trained him at artisan work, in case he should need such work when he grew up and—" Andrew shut his lips tightly. He bowed his head, as though concentrating all his thoughts on the clay he was flattening with his fingers.
Peter felt then that he deserved the beating Andrew had received. A friend. A boy whom Andrew had known in the Koretian capital. Probably the boy had been enslaved during the final battle there, if not killed outright. And Andrew had been forced to speak of him.
To Peter, Chara To Be, son of the ruler who had conquered Andrew's native land.
Peter said the first thing he could think of. "Did you make New Year ornaments in Koretia?"
"No." Andrew looked aside to the blades he had created. "In Koretia, we don't celebrate the giving of the Chara's law."
Peter stopped himself just in time from saying that they did
now
, in the three years since Koretia became a dominion of the Empire of Emor. Instead he replied, "But you have the same calendar as we do. Your New Year begins when ours does, just after midwinter. Don't you celebrate the New Year in any way?"
"Of course." Andrew carefully ordered the blades on the floor. "We celebrate the creation of the gods' law."
"Oh?" Peter wriggled forward on his belly in order to see Andrew better. The window shutters were closed, since the first snow of the season had arrived overnight. A hearth-fire burned cheerfully in the corner of the room, sending off the spicy smell of sap. Candles, scented with wall-vine juice, burned on the mantelpiece and on the small tables scattered throughout the chamber. Peter had placed a lantern close to the bed where he worked, and another lantern next to Andrew. He supposed that he really should have ordered Andrew to move the lanterns, but Andrew's hands had been full at the time with the materials they needed in order to make their New Year crafts, and it had seemed easier to Peter to move the lanterns himself.
Peter sometimes wondered whether he would ever be a proper noble-boy. It was not that he minded having servants. Different people had to be trained to do different types of work; he accepted that. But at age fourteen, he was just as likely as he had been as a small boy to jump up and help an overburdened servant who was carrying too many objects. His father's patience was close to reaching its limits, he knew. Peter just did not seem to be able to manage the trick of acting in the formal manner of the Chara's heir.
He emitted a little sigh, which Andrew seemed not to notice, for the slave spoke suddenly. He had been staring, all this while, at the shuttered windows, and his eye remained on them as he said, "We bring the outdoors indoors."