Suitably Bloodied #2
“Quite right,” said Tirtu. “I am still shocked to think of his death. I thought that he had no enemies in Torakand. But yes, my lord, it is very right for you to take the boy that he sent you for your bride. And then may the Blue Heaven grant you the opportunity for revenge!”
“We’ll see,” said Vanu, and Mikhi, who was worth her weight in gold as an interpreter, gave the words just the right note of weariness.
“But in the meantime, the wedding! We’ll begin preparations immediately. We’ll have to … er. What will we have to do?”
“Ask him what they do for a wedding in the lowlands, and we’ll do that. It should be the way he’s used to.”
Mikhi dutifully translated that, but she signed back to Vanu, “What if it’s stupid? What they do in the lowlands.”
Vanu gave her a look. “I will not have a stupid wedding.”
He’d never imagined himself having any kind of wedding.
Not having a family to demand it of him, and never having wanted a woman, there had seemed no reason why he should.
And his lineage was bad—not just a bastard but an offspring of adultery—so he’d thought no family would have wanted their daughter tied to him.
That was what he’d thought, but then he’d become the defender of Hawakhurta, the Lion of the Summer Pass, and there had been so many offers.
He had been grateful not to be tempted to accept, to be able to tell each hopeful father-in-law regretfully, “I can’t take a dozen wives like a lowlander, so how can I possibly choose?
But you are all as family to me already. ”
He remembered Darma saying the words aloud for him, the ringing tone he’d used. It felt so far away now, those nights in the Summer Pass with Darma at his side and all the heads of the families in the Western Mountains coming to show their loyalty to him.
Of course there was talk about why he didn’t seem to want a wife, and he never tried hard to quell it.
A few families even sent their handsome sons to ingratiate themselves.
That was enjoyable, especially when the sons were willing, which some had been.
But nobody had expected him to keep any of those young men permanently as his consort.
That wasn’t a thing that the Hawakhaba of the mountain passes did.
“I’ll go speak to him now,” said Tirtu happily. “Tell him the good news and, er, ask if there’s any custom in particular he wants us to observe.”
Vanu nodded. He would not send Tirtu to ask whether the boy would rather be sent home. That was a question for later, and not for the ears of the man who thought he had successfully arranged the match.
“We’ll go tell Faru,” he said, and gestured for Mikhi to translate.
They walked together to the great house with its half-collapsed roof.
The front door stood open, so Vanu walked in, but there was no sign of anyone in the hall.
It was an old building, draughty and spare in its furnishings; Vanu thought it must have been uncomfortable to live in even before half of it had been knocked down.
He had grown up in a house quite like this.
He and Mikhi walked through the hall and out at the back.
Here, in the space between the house and the granaries at the back of the stronghold, Gurti had planted a large garden and set up an outdoor kitchen. She was on her knees pulling weeds when they came through the back door, and she looked up in surprise.
“My lord. Are you looking for Faru? He has carried out your orders.” There was a faint edge of challenge to her voice.
“My orders?” he repeated.
“To send that young man over the wall.” The note of challenge was more pronounced.
“I did not order that.”
“He didn’t order that,” Mikhi said aloud, though she didn’t need to translate for Gurti these days.
Gurti’s eyes widened. “He said that you did.” Now she sounded uncertain.
“Where is he?”
She didn’t answer immediately. She’d realized that her husband had provoked Vanu’s wrath, and she was prepared to shield him from it as long as she could.
“You didn’t order it, but you did want him sent over the wall, my lord. Did you not?”
Vanu frowned. So that was Faru’s game. He’d heard Vanu say, “I’ll send him away,” and was going to pretend that he’d thought that was an order to send the boy away himself. And how had he sent him? If he’d killed the boy by throwing him over the wall …
“He changed his mind,” said Mikhi.
“That’s unfortunate,” said Gurti tightly. “But not my husband’s fault.”
Vanu didn’t think that was very much to the point. “Where is Faru?” he asked.
“I don’t know where Faru is.”
As she said it, the door of one of the granaries behind her swung open, and Faru emerged. Gurti started and looked back over her shoulder.
“Ah. There he is.”
Vanu was left with the clear impression that she had known all along.
“My lord,” said Faru, “your orders regarding the lowland boy have been carried out.”
“I did not give any orders,” said Vanu. “What did you do?”
Faru looked unconcerned, and Vanu considered how it would feel to grab him by the throat and choke him. Gurti ducked her head and retreated into the house.
“I have had him ejected from my stronghold.”
“How?”
Faru met Vanu’s gaze nonchalantly for a moment, then glanced away. “I had him thrown over the wall. Suitably bloodied beforehand so that the cursed lowlanders will know what we do when they insult us.”
“You did what?” Mikhi asked, sounding confused. Faru tended to speak quietly and inexpressively, and she probably had not been able to catch all of what he said.
Of course Faru did not repeat himself for her. And Vanu had heard him well enough.
Either it was a declaration of war, or the man was simply gloating over a victory he thought he had won long ago.
Probably it ought to have mattered to Vanu which it was, but he couldn’t bring himself to care even a little.
All he could think of was that the lowland boy was dead.
Pointlessly killed just because he’d had the misfortune to be chosen as a partner for a man whose short thread of luck had run out three years ago.
Davanu was dead, and Davanu’s last, thoughtful gift had been callously thrown away.
“He killed him,” Vanu signed to Mikhi, because she deserved to know. And because she would show some emotion about it, which he found himself unable to do.
“But you can’t!” Mikhi cried. “Da’s going to—Da wanted to marry him!”
“Keep that girl in line, Vanu,” said Faru coldly, “or I will.”
There was a smugness in his demeanour; he thought he had won here, a clear victory.
Maybe he had. Vanu felt rooted to the spot as if turned to stone.
If only he could turn to stone—but then there would be no one to look after the girls.
If he climbed up to the top of the fortress wall and stepped off into empty air …
How long had it been since he’d last thought about doing that?
Maybe Tirtu was right. He had let his fire go out, and maybe that meant something.
“When did you do it?” he asked. He hadn’t heard much noise—screams, anything like that.
“It is unseemly,” Faru cut Mikhi off as she began to translate. “Having her present at conversations between men. My own wife has gone inside the house, as you can see. I have long thought it unseemly—and unnecessary. You could simply—”
He was interrupted by someone lurching around the corner of the ruined end of the house at a staggering run.
“My lord! I have—I bring—” Padunu, dishevelled and without his cloak, gasped as he flailed to a halt.
“Your sons have—Oh. Lord Vanu. I see that you have already apprised Lord Faru of the situation. Let me assure you that I was not party to the decision taken by Khatu and Barda, and indeed remonstrated with them in the strongest terms. Lord Faru, I must beg your forgiveness—I would prostrate myself, if my status as a conduit for the spirits would allow it—I have failed the trust which you placed in me. I assure you I would have come sooner, but your sons saw fit to confine me in one of the disused houses, and regrettably it took me some time to free myself.”
Faru’s frown was deepening throughout this speech. “What are you taking about?” he asked finally.
Padunu glanced between Vanu and Faru in confusion. “But I thought Lord Vanu would surely have told you … ”
“What’s going on?” Mikhi signed. “I can’t hear half of what they’re saying.”
“I’ll tell you when I know,” Vanu replied.
“My lord,” Padunu addressed Vanu with a faintly reproving tone, “were you not aware that the lowland boy was, er, inserted in your window?”