The Braided World (21 page)

Nidhe stomped ahead of Anton toward the river, his ho-das bearing a standard, also blue and gray.

The king was already boarding a canoe, and the other viven boisterously followed.

It did not seem a good day for an excursion. The palace was preparing for the storm, bringing in skiffs and loading them inside the pavilion and battening down some of the larger screened porches. But the dark clouds were still distant, towering far away up the Sodesh, against the hills. Lightning flickered there, little worms of fire.

“Anton,” Maypong said, “this is a great honor from the king, for you to join in the hunt.” Her eyes were bright and hard. “You must smile very much around the viven.” She glanced at him. “Even when we catch her. Do you understand?”

She herded him down the steps, commandeering a canoe in which three viven were already ensconced, by their faces hoping for more conducive company. As Maypong clambered into the canoe, Anton noted that she wore leggings and a simple tunic, along with businesslike boots. She helped him in as the craft rocked, and they were off. Anton turned around just enough to snap at Maypong, “Tell me what the hell is going on, Chancellor.”

Maypong's smile was as phony as his own. “Oh yes, Anton. This is to bring down the hoda who is … Do you know the word?” Indeed, she had used a word that he did not know. Then she said, “This hoda is bearing young inside her body by your pardon.”

The hoda rowers guided them out into the center of the

Puldar, where the king's lead canoe had already set out. They jockeyed the craft carefully to avoid the general crush as viven waited their turn to enter single file. Anton's boat was just one boat back from Vidori's.

Anton was absorbing this news of a pregnant hoda. “She has run away?”

“Of course. She will flee west, to the Voi, but we will overtake her, thankfully”

One of the viven in the back of the canoe said, ‘And we shall paddle her, Captain.”

Laughter greeted this remark, but Anton was filled with foreboding, made worse by the atmosphere of merriment.

A canoe sped past him, propelled by slaves with a cargo of several cages. As it passed, he caught sight of a large bird with a hooked beak. The canoe raced to catch up to the lead canoe.

The river ran gray and flat, like an ironed sheet, and few boats plied its waters. With the approaching storm, a hush had fallen on the Olagong. The only sound was the slap, slap of the paddles and the occasional shout of a viven. Common folk stood watching on the banks and on docks, some shouting encouragements, as children ran alongside the river, trying to keep up with the canoes. In the distance, thunder rumbled in muted quakes.

“Maypong,” Anton said, “how does it happen that a hoda taking contraceptive drinks becomes… bears young?”

As he turned to ask his question, she made a face at him, reminding him to smile.

“She will have shaved her head to escape notice, having taken a lover who …” She hesitated. “Who penetrated her. Because the hoda only pretended to take her cleansing broth. Her mistress will undergo reprimand.”

“What will happen to this hoda?”

Maypong crept close to him, saying in an undertone, “Now, Anton, you will for one time listen to your chancellor. I am going to tell you what will happen to her, and you
will smile and act as the viven are acting. Do not shame the king.”

She plopped herself back into position in her seat, and said, rather more loudly than necessary, “What will happen to her, Anton, is that she will be pierced with a sharp sword. That sword will have honor. May it be your sword, Captain.”

“And so goes the braid,” one of the viven said, behind her.

Slap, slap went the paddles. The hoda drove the canoe forward, heedless of the discussion of the killing of their fellow slave.

In front, he saw the king in the lead boat. On his wrist sat a falcon, feathers rippling in the wind. The king's arm came up, and the bird launched. It flapped hard, keeping abreast of the canoe, then climbed, gaining altitude over the Puldar, and banking north to a distant copse.

The hunt was on.

The air was sour with ozone, and Anton's stomach clenched. The line of canoes in front and behind carried the colorful privileged, out for some fun. Even the commoners gathered for the spectacle, cheering on the viven and their outing. Another bird launched off the king's wrist, hailed by cheers and the slapping of paddles. The clouds rolled down the sky, following the river, straight into Lolo, where the war party slopped happily along, where a pregnant woman fled through the copses.

Anton stood up in the canoe, no small feat. Behind, he heard Maypong call to him to sit down, and in front he drew the attention of Vidori, who waved. Anton didn't know what he would do, perhaps jump into the water… Maypong was standing then, just behind him. “You disturb the paddlers, Anton. Is it a human custom to stand in boats?”

He was aware that he looked ridiculous and that he had no plan. “It isn't a human custom to hunt people.”

“You cannot prevent this hunt. So then, please sit, since if you fall, you will embarrass the king.”

He was beyond concern about embarrassing the king. How could he have thought that Vidori was in any way admirable, that he would support Anton's mission?

“Sit, Anton. I beg you.” Maypong's voice was as shaky as he'd ever heard it.

Everyone was now looking at them, and the hoda in his boat were paddling ever so gently, keeping the canoe stable, as other canoes came abreast, their occupants staring.

“Why did he invite me?” Anton asked, still looking up-river at the towering black clouds, wishing they would hurry their pace and create havoc in the river.

“He needs you to prove yourself to the palace-raised, so that his reign is secure, and not toppled by having you as a guest.”

She stood behind him, still trying to civilize him. Of all that she said, what got through was
so that his reign is secure.
Anton had no business shoring up the king's reign, not by any means, especially not by hunting down a pregnant woman. Vidori had just crossed the line.

The king was watching him, looking troubled. But Anton was thinking about the Dassa woman they pursued and how she should be surrounded by loving family and friends and thinking of a proper name for her child. Instead, this nightmare. He wondered what desperation could have driven her to break the ultimate taboo.

“Please, Anton,” came Maypong's voice. “Sit.”

He did so. There was nothing else to do. The viven murmured remarks about standing up in canoes. Maypong laughed and said that it was a human joke, to stand in boats.

A few drops of rain plopped into the canoe. A purple drape was moving across the sky, carrying its saturated load. The line of canoes turned into the Sodesh, the hoda paddling furiously in the ragged confluence. Out in the main river the wind came upon them in cold wads, forcing the hoda to contend with both current and wind. The viven
shouted for more speed as the slaves dug their paddles in— uselessly, for a time. They treaded water, as in a dream, working hard, getting nowhere. Then they began to move, to the cheers of the viven.

In the distance, the falcon circled. Someone pointed, and the canoes turned toward the northern shore, Vidori's in the lead.

As they approached the river's edge, Anton saw that it wasn't land, but marsh grass growing out of the water. They plunged directly into the waving grasses, following a channel barely one canoe wide. Now Anton could see nothing but the canoe directly ahead of him, and a saffron world of tassel-topped grasses. He heard a flap of wings, and then the king's bird flew low over his boat, nearly swiping Anton's head before veering away.

The canoes peeled off at a junction of canals, slicing into an even narrower passage, where the grasses bent toward the boats, whipping them in the wind.

Then lightning spun out of the sky, almost searing the eyes, turning the marsh to a land of golden spikes. The viven fell flat into the canoes, leaving the hoda upright to take any hits. Up ahead, Anton saw Vidori standing, peering over the marshlands, heedless of the crackling of lightning and, now, of the bone-splitting roar of thunder.

Maypong commanded the hoda to pull to shore, and the slaves shoved the canoe into a tuft of grasses, driving the canoe onto a sandbar. The other canoes were following suit. Exiting the canoe, Anton could see that Vidori was rushing ahead, in the company of several viven.

Nobles pressed around Anton. One of the women pointed with her sword toward the treetops, where a raptor was spiraling in place. As though her blade had cut a hole in the sky, the rains came all at once, deafeningly

As the hunting party plunged forward, Anton stayed behind. His sword was missing from his belt. He looked about in the grasses, but it was hard to see in the downpour. Only in the intermittent lightning could Anton discern the
general direction of the stampede of nobles. Maypong was gone. He was alone on an islet, as the waters of the canals rose.

He had no wish to join the frenzy. He'd let them rush onward to their kill. The rain fell like stones, washing away sight, filling his ears. For the first time since he'd come to this world, he was cold.

Now and then he thought he might have heard a shout. But then the lightning came again, and the thunder, so close it numbed his ears. He kicked at the grasses, looking for Nidhe's sword. He walked back to the canoe, but it was floating down the blackened surface of the canal, like a horse let loose and grazing.

He walked into the tall grasses, kicking them aside. No sword. But here—a shadow, a movement. He thought it was a large beast, there and then not there.

In a lightning flash, before him stood a woman. No noble costume, and no hair. She looked at him, her eyes filled with electricity, then turned and fled, almost galloping away, splashing across a canal. For some reason, he shouted, “Wait!” But of course, she would not wait. He was of the palace, and she was fleeing for her life, and the life of the life within her. Anton staggered forward. “Wait!” he yelled again, but thunder swallowed his cry.

Then he was running after her, scanning the marsh, looking for her, a single figure scampering and crouching. If he could find her first, before the king, before Nidhe, before …

He plowed through a canal, coming up to his thighs in water, feet sticking in mud, pulling them out furiously, clambering up onto the next hump of land. He saw her again, far off. She was fast, a strong runner. She had to be. He plunged after, but he seemed to drive her before him, instead of coaxing her to remain. It was wrong, all wrong, but he ran.

The rain eased, and into the void poured a low cloud,
grabbing sight, sucking up sound. Anton stopped, closed his eyes, listening.

A shout in the distance, then another from the opposite direction. He was gaining on the hunting party. He had got turned around, but thought he knew the direction the hoda had gone. He raced that way. There were crashings at his side. It was Nidhe. Now Anton played dumb, turning in another direction so that Nidhe would go awry, but the man did not, instead pointing true, urging Anton on. Anton went with him.

Together, they pummeled the grasses down, rushing headlong as though they knew where they were going. Anton worried that perhaps Nidhe
did
know. They approached a stand of trees, almost slamming into a trunk in the thick fog.

Maypong was there. ‘Anton,” she gasped, as though desperately relieved to see him.

“This way,” she said, and both he and Nidhe followed her. They batted their way through vines and aerial roots, plowing their way into a clearing surrounded by squat, frondy trees.

She was there: their prey.

Already down, the sword still in her, she lay dead. Viven in a circle around her, not looking triumphant, but only confused. A girl, barely a woman.

Anton thought of his father. The old man, so like these viven—the privileged, the brutal.
This is how the world is, boy. Better get used to it.

The king stepped forward. “Who takes the honor?” No one answered.

The girl still bled, but her blood was all watery on the ground.

“Whose honor?” the king repeated. The viven stood with drooping standards, the hoda behind them looking at the fallen girl, their normal silence deeper yet.

Nidhe stepped forward, frowning, and crouched beside the slain hoda. “This is my sword, rahi.”

The king nodded. “Then you have the honors today.”

Nidhe stood. “But I did not catch her.” He rounded on Anton, lifting his chin to summon Anton's explanation.

“Nor did I,” Anton said.

The noble party looked uneasy and then grew sullen. Who would they celebrate? Who was spoiling their game?

As they argued among themselves, Maypong grabbed hold of Anton's hand. The gesture was startling, and he bent toward her, toward her urgent pull. ‘Anton, the law says that the person whose sword takes the hoda may have a fine gift of the king. Even a piece of land.” She turned fiercely to look into his eyes. “Away from the palace, if you wish.”

The king was happier than his courtiers. He turned to Anton. “My guest, we will present a fine gift, even if you do not admit your accomplishment.”

Nidhe stepped forward again and retrieved his sword, wiping it on the moss of the nearest tree, amid a renewed downpour.

In that interval, Anton knew that he had waited long enough. “Vidori-rah, may I choose a gift?” At the king's nod, Anton said, “A piece of land.”

As Anton spoke, Vidori's face slowly subsided from pleasure to neutrality.

“Big enough to accommodate my crew. All four of us. With a hut.” He felt his words parcel out until there were no more of them. He'd played his hand, a short one.

Now the clot of viven stood unmoving and silent in the relentless rain.

Anton didn't wait for Vidori to speak. He was looking at the girl, curled up, arms locked around her belly. When he looked back at the king, he saw him as a stranger.

His voice cold, Anton asked, “Will you grant the gift?”

There was a mutter of astonishment from the nobles. One of the Dassa women hissed, “A degenerate. With land.”