The Plains of Kallanash Page 5

  He frowned. “If it’s something private…” A love letter, perhaps? Tella had always had admirers, before and after she married. He wasn’t sure he wanted to read such a thing.

  “No, nothing like that.” She twisted her hands again. “It’s to me, from Tella. But… I don’t know what to make of it.”

  He looked down at the crumpled papers, two folded sheets, with the broken seal still visible. On the outside, in Tella’s sprawling hand was written ‘Mia’.

  “Why would Tella write to you?”

  “That’s what’s so odd. She could have talked to me any time she wanted. And I don’t understand what she’s trying to say. Please. Will you read it?”

  Without a word he unfolded the papers, and began to read.

  “My dear sister,” he read, “I suppose you will be surprised to find this. I hope you will find it, and not toss everything straight out for burning! That would be just my luck! Little Mia, are you wondering what this is about? Don’t worry, I’m not about to confess to some dreadful crime. Whatever I may have done is finished with now, gone beyond repairing and cannot be changed so there’s not much point in regret, is there? Sweet sister, you think me a terrible mother, I know, but be assured that I do love my children, all of them. But I know my limitations, too, and I know that sitting around day after day with a drooling infant in my lap, changing soiled cloths and mopping up vomit are not my strengths. Being at home at all, being faithful and sensible and domesticated, all those things you do so effortlessly, little sister, these I cannot do. So I want”

  The first sheet ended, and Hurst tossed it aside impatiently. The next sheet was less neatly written, and blotched, as if… but surely Tella could not have been crying as she wrote? Hurst had never seen her cry, except once when a favourite horse fell and broke its neck.

  “you to know that I am very happy for you to … charge of the domestic sphere. You are … better than me in every way, my dearest, so much more fitted to this life of ours, that it is … proper for you to have all the rights and privileges that are your due. You are so patient, so good, you deserve everything. I know you will always … care of everyone in the family, won’t you? You will continue to look after Jonnor and Hurst, … nurture Tellon and Jaslia and poor little Jinnia – especially Jinnia – just as you have for years, without complaint. It is … one comfort. Your loving sister, Tella.”

  Hurst frowned, and read both pages again. “What do you make of this?” he asked her.

  “Nothing! I can’t understand it at all! What does it mean? What does ‘especially Jinnia’ mean? Have you any idea?”

  “Did you notice the date?” He showed her the symbols scrawled in one corner, half overwritten by a line of writing. “It looks to me like the day before she died.”

  “But – that’s such a coincidence. Isn’t it?” She got up, paced about the room a few times, then sat again, her eyes on his face.

  He shook his head a little, lost in thought. He folded the pages up, and set them down on the table. Then he got up and poured himself some wine, and stood beside the window, looking out absently.

  “Have you ever read about the battles at the border?” he asked at last, turning to her. She shook her head. “There’s nothing for weeks or months, just the empty plains and the wind and sometimes a group of kishorn lumbering by. But then you see the dust, away in the distance, and you start to hear a deep rumbling which gradually gets louder, and there’s singing and pipes playing, and there they are, streaming out of the crevices they hide in. Suddenly there’s a whole sea of them. The Vahsi. As dark falls there are campfires and torches and voices… you can hear snatches of talk or laughter or music. You know, then, there’ll be battle the next day. That’s when men suddenly decide to write messages to wives or lovers or parents. Sometimes it’s practical… tell my brother he can have my clothes, that sort of thing. But often it’s just… those things he always meant to say but never quite managed to find the words for. That’s what this reminds me of.”

  “But Tella wasn’t going into battle!”

  “No. But she was going to die. And I think she knew that.”

  Mia raised her hands helplessly. “How is that possible? She couldn’t have known!”

  “She’d just had that interview. Maybe the Voices told her something.”

  “Impossible,” Mia said, with a vehement shake of the head. “The Gods never tell anyone when they’re going to die. It’s one of the Fundamental Tenets. No one may know the moment of their own death. Even you must remember being taught that, Hurst.”

  “I never listened to all that temple stuff. Well. It can’t be that, then.” Even as he spoke, Hurst realised there were other ways Tella could have known she was about to die. Could she have taken her own life? Or did she know of someone determined to kill her? But he said nothing to Mia. “Put the letter away somewhere safe,” he said. “Don’t let Jonnor see it, it would only upset him.”

  ~~~

  As soon as the month of mourning was over, there was a ceremony to raise both Mia and Hurst to active status, and thus make Mia the lead wife. The Karninghold Slave and his most senior acolyte brought their incense and chanting first to the living floor of the high tower, and then to the bedroom floor, after which they bowed low and left in as much haste as was decent. Even Slaves disliked such business, for what went on in a marriage was usually a private matter.

  Jonnor immediately withdrew to his own bedroom, whisking behind the privacy screen. Had there been any door fitted, perhaps he would have slammed it. After a moment’s hesitation, Mia, head down, went into her own room. Hurst watched her go, wondering if she’d thought to change the furnishings, or whether everything was exactly as Tella left it.

  He went into his own new room, and walked across to the window, gazing down to the training grounds below. How pleasant to have a decent view at last, instead of the narrow windows and drainage spouts at the rear of the family wing. And space, that was a novelty, too, after the tiny room he’d enjoyed downstairs. He looked around at the blank walls, working out where to arrange his pictures. There were already hooks in neat rows waiting for his books. Not that his were works of great learning, like Gantor’s, or sweeping sagas from plains history, like Mia’s, but his collection of illustrated erotica was extensive and much in demand amongst the guards and Skirmishers.

  The room might be different, but his situation was just the same. He was still the third person in this marriage. Even if he and Mia had moved upstairs years ago, would it really have been any different? And what if they’d kept to the original arrangement, and he’d been paired with Tella? Could he have kept her happy? She was such a vibrant woman, so full of life, but perhaps he could have loved her, if things had been different. For a while, he had thought himself quite close to her. But she wasn’t made for the domestic life, not like Mia, so perhaps she would always have been restless in time. Perhaps it was just in her nature to wander, to be dissatisfied with life. But Jonnor and Mia… that would have been a good pairing, the right pairing.

  No point in thinking about what might have been. Jonnor had got Tella, and although he was overawed by her at first, after Tellon was born he’d grown in confidence and started to assert himself both at home and on the lines. And he had wanted to keep Mia and Hurst downstairs, and they had tamely gone along with his wishes.

  But now they were left with this peculiar situation, three of them upstairs and no clear arrangement. Given Jonnor’s grief over Tella, it was logical that Mia should end up with Hurst, but would Jonnor accept it? All was uncertainty, but it had to be settled, and soon.

  After a while, Hurst heard Mia’s light feet cross the atrium and patter down the stairs. He walked over to Jonnor’s rooms and knocked on the wooden privacy screen, walking in without waiting for a response. Jonnor was huddled on the window seat, knees pulled up to his chest, head drooping.

  “Brother, we have to talk about Mia,” Hurst said briskly. “We have to decide what approach to take.”

&
nbsp; Jonnor looked at him bleakly. “Which of us will fuck her, you mean?”

  Hurst raised an eyebrow. “Well… if you want to put it that way. Or we could share her. If she is happy with that.”

  “Not her decision, cousin,” Jonnor said, turning to gaze out of the window.

  Hurst suppressed his irritation. He’d grown used to Jonnor’s refusal to acknowledge him as a brother in marriage, and he was determined not to let it rile him now. “Have you talked to her about it? Asked her what she wants?”

  “She’ll do what she’s told.”

  Hurst took a deep breath. Getting angry wouldn’t help, and deep down he knew it was true – Mia would accept whatever Jonnor decided. She would never say openly what she wanted. He knew her feelings, though, and he’d already decided he wouldn’t try to come between the two of them. And yet… if Jonnor was reluctant, perhaps Hurst had a chance, after all? His heart turned over in sudden hope.

  “Look, I know how you feel about Tella, I understand. I can deal with Mia for you, if you like, it doesn’t have to be you, I can take that responsibility off your hands.” Was that too pleading, too desperate?

  Jonnor turned to face him again, and now his expression was icy cold. “You have no idea how I feel, cousin, none at all. And don’t lecture me about responsibility. I’m lead husband, I will deal with Mia tonight, and after that… Well, we’ll see.”

  Hurst’s stomach clenched violently, but he tried his best to keep his face under control. Not his voice, however; he didn’t trust himself to speak, so without a word he turned on his heel and stumbled out.

  As he left, Jonnor called after him, “You can tell her.”

  5: Village (Mia)

  Mia had prepared a haunch of venison and a pair of ducks for meat. They were laid out on the pan for roasting, waiting for the oven to heat up. Most of the dishes came from the main kitchens below, but she liked to cook for the men. She was stuffing the ducks with herbs when Hurst came down the stairs. He looked very pale, and for a moment she thought perhaps he was ill. But then she remembered that he was grieving for Tersia just as Jonnor was grieving for Tella, and the change in situation must be just as difficult for him. She decided not to mention it.

  “The rooms are nice, aren’t they?” she ventured. “What will we do with so much space?”

  He gave her a wan smile. Scraping a chair across the bare marble floor, he sat down at the table, but he said nothing, so she chattered on as she worked.

  She’d thought it would upset her, seeing Tella’s room again. The perfumes and brushes and pots of this and that were gone, but Tella’s furniture and cupboards still stood exactly where she had placed them – the bed near the fire for warmth, several wardrobes for all her clothes, the large mirrors angled so she could check her rear view when she dressed.

  Yet somehow it was comforting to be there, to touch the velvet curtains brought from the Ring, or the little writing table of exotic carved wood Tella had imported so expensively from the northern coast. In the cupboards and drawers, all her clothes, the silks and fine linens she liked to wear, soft rustling trousers and floating tunics, still exuding a drift of her perfume. Mia liked plainer, more practical, clothes but there were a few that might suit her, if she altered them to fit, and perhaps she would wear some of the delicate undergarments.

  At length she ran out of tasks to occupy her hands. Hurst still sat, drooped over one end of the table.

  “Can I fetch you some wine?” she asked.

  He agreed to it, which she recognised as a sign that he was nervous. But when she had placed the goblet before him, he twirled it with unseeing eyes. She sat down opposite him and waited.

  “Mia…” he began, and then stopped.

  “Yes?”

  “Jonnor and I have been talking…”

  Again he stopped, but at least now she understood his discomfiture. A ripple of anxiety clutched at her. Perhaps Jonnor was not going to… Perhaps it would be Hurst. Part of her had always been prepared for that eventuality, but it was one thing to know it might happen and quite another to face up to the inevitability of it. She tried not to let her disappointment show.

  He began once more. “Jonnor…”

  “Yes?” she said again, willing him to get it over with, just wanting to know.

  “Jonnor will come to your room tonight.”

  The relief! It would be Jonnor after all! She could feel her face lighting up with pleasure, and tried as best she could not to insult him by showing it. But he was watching her, his face unreadable. He must see her excitement.

  “And what about you?” she murmured, dropping her eyes.

  “Jonnor hasn’t decided,” he said. Then he made an excuse and left.

  ~~~

  The men were both silent over meat. Jonnor drank more than usual, Hurst nothing at all. Mia drank a whole glass of wine and felt wonderful – vivacious, witty, charming. She knew it wasn’t true, she knew she was babbling inanely, but she couldn’t suppress her emotions. She was the most even-tempered of people as a rule, yet here she was, with everything she had ever wanted finally coming to her. Despite her grief at Tella’s death, she couldn’t hide her joy.

  They all lingered at the table, even Mia’s chatter fading to silence, but the time came when the moment could not be put off any longer.

  “I’ll tidy up down here,” Hurst said, avoiding their eyes. “There’s some reading I want to do. You two go on up.”

  Even in her happiness, she thought it odd that he should be so embarrassed. Surely he could not dislike the change in their relationship? He was her friend. Wasn’t he pleased for her? But she was too excited to dwell on it.

  She skipped up the stairs, and into her room. She wasn’t sure how much light there should be, so she lit all the lamps, just in case. Her nightgown was already set out on the bed. She’d chosen one of Tella’s, much finer than anything she owned, to pay the occasion the proper respect. She shrugged out of her tunic and trousers, tossing them over a chair, and pulled the silk gown over her head. It was such a delicate fabric, she almost felt naked. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and waited. She heard Jonnor’s heavy tread on the stairs, crossing the atrium, entering his own room. There was silence for a long time.

  After a while, she got up and hung her discarded clothes in one of the wardrobes. She waited again. Eventually, she realised she was shivering so she got into bed.

  It must have been the best part of an hour before he came, although the bells had stopped so it was hard to tell. He had a wine goblet in one hand and a half-full decanter in the other. He stopped dead as he came into the room and gazed about, a bewildered expression on his face.

  ~~~

  As soon as she went downstairs the next morning, she found Hurst waiting, sitting at the table pretending to read. He realised at once that something was wrong.

  “Whatever happened?” he said, leaping up and putting gentle arms about her. To her shame, she wept, pressing her face into his broad shoulder. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No, oh no. But… nothing happened. He sat on the window seat for an age, just crying. Then he left.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s too soon. Too soon after Tella’s death. It’s the room – it’s more or less exactly as she left it, and… and it distresses him, naturally.”

  Hurst made soothing noises and stroked her hair, and she was comforted, a little.

  “You could use the other bedroom, I suppose,” he said.

  “Oh no, that wouldn’t do!” Mia said. “The rooms are marked for the lead and second, it’s tradition. It wouldn’t be right to do things differently.” She sighed. “I can move the furniture round a bit, perhaps.”

  Not long afterwards, Jonnor came down, stony-faced. They went downstairs for the communion ceremony, and nothing more was said.

  Mia’s distress evaporated sooner than she had expected. Jonnor’s grief gave her an easy explanation for his reluctance. She had bided her time for ten years, and could wait a little l
onger. She was not lively or beautiful like Tella, so Jonnor was bound to find her less desirable. Each night she hoped he would come to her, and each night she was a little less surprised when he didn't. Then she had the normal routine of the household to steady her, and wrap her in its familiarity.

  With the month of mourning over, the skirmishes resumed, and Hurst and three Hundreds of Skirmishers took off for the northern boundary line. Mia and Jonnor were left to deal with the daily affairs of the Karninghold.

  “There’s another message from village Twelve Fifty-Six Eighteen,” she said, as they sat in the watch tower meeting room one morning. “Their swamp problem is getting worse, and they ask if one of us could visit to authorise drainage work.” She tried to keep her tone business-like, and not remind him that this was the village Tella had set out to visit the day she died.

  Jonnor gave no sign that he remembered. “I suppose it can’t wait, with winter not far away.” A heavy sigh. “I’m not sure I feel up to it. Besides, we have our own swamp problem here, with those blocked overflow pipes above the family hall. I’ve been keeping an eye on the builders’ work. You won’t mind dealing with the village, will you?”

  “Not at all. I’ve been there many times before. It’s a recurring problem.”

  “You’re so good with the villagers, too,” he said, with such a charming smile that Mia couldn’t stop herself from blushing.

  “I can’t ride as fast as… I mean, I’ll have to stay overnight,” she said, cursing herself for almost mentioning Tella. “Do you mind?”

  “No, not at all.” He looked down, straightening the papers on the table. “Just don’t go alone.” A quick glance up at her. “Don’t ever ride alone.”

  Her heart fluttered. He was concerned for her safety! That was a good sign, surely?

  “Oh no, I always take guards with me, I’ll have a couple of engineers, too, and one of my Companions. I’ll take Marna this time, I think. Ever since… I mean, she spends so much time with the children, it will do her good to get away.”