The Destroyer Goddess (16 page)

"Well, I suppose I wouldn't go so far as to say they don't matter," she admitted. "But they are part of Sileria, whereas the Valdani are foreign invaders who must be forced to leave. No matter what the cost. No matter whom we must ally ourselves with to accomplish that."

"But enemies? How can you say that? The Society—"

"—are certainly enemies of the
toreni
," she said. "The abductions, the ransom demands, the murders."

Tansen was confused again. Something sly and traitorous inside him welcomed the implication in her words, but he protested, "The Society are not
our
enemies. The
shallaheen
, I mean. They give us justice and exact vengeance for us wh—"

"Oh, for the love of Dar," she said. "You can't really be that stupid, Tansen. At least, I didn't think so. If you really believe that Armian's brawl in that village today was about justice, then why did you refuse to participate? Why did you—if the assassins' gossip is accurate—even try to convince him to turn back?"

"It was... If the villagers couldn't..." Feelings welled up inside him for which he had no words. He was too inarticulate to organize and explain his feelings the way she and Armian did with such evident ease. And he felt too guilty about his most secret thoughts—vague ideas that no one should have—even to search hard for the right words for them. "There was... I'm not a good... I don't know," he finished lamely, his face burning and his stomach churning.

Elelar's expression was serious and intense as she leaned forward and said, "It's because you know—you must surely know—that the Society, in their way, are as bad as the Valdani. The assassins are as bad as the Outlookers."

"No!" He rose to leave, sure he shouldn't listen to this.

"Who starves the cities of water when tribute doesn't arrive on time or isn't deemed generous enough? Who rules the mountains through terror and violence? Who controls the
toreni
with abduction and robbery?"

"No, these are... You're..." Tansen should walk away. He was sure he should. But he was listening. And Elelar knew it.

"Who destroyed Sileria's last Yahrdan and subjected us to centuries of slavery?"

"The last..." He looked at the ground, searching for a response, almost deafened by the roaring of his blood. He couldn't read the histories of his people, but he knew songs and stories of his nation's past. Everyone did. Marjan, the first waterlord and founder of the Honored Society, had quarreled with Daurion, the last Yahrdan, and destroyed him. "It happened because the Society was stronger and... and should rule... They have always been stronger."

"It happened because a water wizard murdered the rightful ruler of this land, started a chaotic civil war, and made us vulnerable to the Conquest a thousand years ago." She studied his confused expression. "Does
any
of this sound familiar?"

Tansen scowled silently and endured the insult about his ignorance. He wouldn't walk away now. He knew it, and so did she. Elelar was making him hungry in a new way now. His hopeless longing for her touch, her regard, was almost smothered by his sudden craving to understand what she was talking about. To know the things she knew.

"Tansen." She shook her head, and her expression was a mixture of pity and exasperation. "Who has already killed more
shallaheen
than the Valdani ever will?"

"You're wrong," he said. "You must be wrong. If you're not wrong..." If she wasn't wrong, if he believed her... then his most secret thoughts might break free and consume him.

"They're not warrior kings or outlaw heroes, Tansen, and you seem smart enough to understand that. Isn't that why you stood up to Armian today?"

He looked away. "I don't know why I did that."

"They're thieves and killers. Opportunists. They prey on the rest of us. Make us victims. Slaves." The
torena
sighed. "Has any waterlord ever once used his power to help Sileria instead of hurt it? To shield us rather than brutalize us? Has there been even one waterlord in all of history who has given rather than taken, and made us stronger rather than weaker?"

"I don't know," he admitted. He knew nothing.

"Not one, Tansen," she said. "Not even one."

"Yet here you are, for the Alliance," he challenged her. "In Kiloran's camp. Plotting with the Society."

"Can you think of any way to defeat the Valdani without them?"

"The Firebringer," he said hopefully.

Elelar rolled her eyes. "
Shallaheen
." She shook her head. 

"Where are you going?" he asked as she rose to her feet. He suddenly had so many questions he wanted to ask her. 

"Here comes your demi-god."

"What?" He saw her looking past him. Realizing what she meant, he whirled to face his father, who was leaving Kiloran's tent and coming toward him. 

"You did the right thing today, Tansen," Elelar said quickly. "Don't back down now." With that unsettling comment, she retreated.

A chaotic tumble of guilt, shame, defiance, and distracted curiosity filled Tansen as he met his father's gaze and stood waiting for the harsh reprimand he knew he had earned today.

It was only when Armian got close that Tansen realized his father no longer looked angry. He just looked tired. And perhaps even a bit wary.

They stared at each other for a long, awkward moment.

Then Armian said, much more calmly than Tansen expected, "You were thinking like them today. You must learn not to do that."

Tansen found himself nodding to please Armian. Silent protests rose in his mind, but he chose not to voice them. Not now. Another time, perhaps, when his thoughts were clearer. For now, he let Armian see the contrite son he wanted to see.

"If you want to be one of us," Armian said, "then you cannot be one of them."

Rather than agreeing, Tansen said politely, "Yes, you've told me that before."

"You and I have given a lot of attention to your physical training, and you've done very well. Not one in a thousand young men would progress as fast as you've been progressing." 

"I have a great warrior for a teacher," Tansen said.

Armian smiled briefly. "But now I realize that I have not given enough thought to training your mind, too."

"So that I will stop thinking like them," Tansen said, beginning to understand what Armian intended. What Armian wanted. 

"Yes." Armian shrugged. "I hadn't realized it would be necessary. But now I see that it is."

Tansen kept his glance from flickering to Kiloran's tent, but he could guess who had suggested this idea to his father. He began to realize that Kiloran's attention could be a dangerous thing, so he silently vowed that he would not give the old waterlord any more reasons to think about him after today. 

Aware that a response was needed, he said what Armian wanted to hear. "I'm sorry, father."

"I'm sure it's just your youth." Armian paused before continuing, "It's rare that someone who isn't raised to be an assassin comes to this life when he's as young as you are, Tansen. And you've come here so unexpectedly. You didn't set out to make a first kill and seek a waterlord's attention. You've simply... wound up here. With me."

Now Tansen saw Armian's hesitation, his uncertainty. So he said, "This is my life now, father."

Evidently relieved by this answer, Armian said, "Yes. And you must embrace it. I'm here to help you. I will always be here for you. But you must leave your old ways of thinking behind. You're not some peasant boy, anymore, Tansen. Now your destiny is a great one, and you must prepare for it."

Tansen didn't want anyone else to suffer for his mistakes again. So he made sure he said the right thing, despite the burgeoning truth in his heart which increasingly demanded he listen to its dictates.  "I'll try harder, father."

Now Armian smiled. All worries put to rest, all wrongs forgiven. "I know you will, son. And I know you'll do well."

As they waited for the dry season to end, for the rains to come, for the moment to arrive when Armian could make contact with the Moorlanders, Tansen continued his training, tried to be a dutiful son, and did his best to evade Kiloran's shrewd scrutiny.

His primary interest, though, became learning things which
Torena
Elelar seemed only too willing to teach him. There was a strange, awkward pleasure in the time he spent with her, since his hopeless passion for her remained undiminished. Guilt, however, was probably his most overwhelming emotion during these unchaperoned discussions, as he listened to her castigate the assassins, condemn the practices of the waterlords, and blame the Society for many of Sileria's woes. 

Yes, he felt guilty that he listened. He felt even more guilty because he agreed. Soon, new beliefs sprouted and took root in his heart as a result of the silent questioning and reasoning he continued in his head after these conversations were over.

"Kiloran has decided he likes Armian's plan," Elelar informed him one day as he walked beside her horse, still traveling as part of Kiloran's entourage through the mountains which the old waterlord, even more than the Valdani, ruled with such ruthless strength.

"I thought he liked the plan all along," Tansen replied.

"He's a cautious man. Shrewd. Suspicious. He had many questions, many concerns. But finally... Finally he has become enthusiastic."

"So... We will rebel. With the help of the Moorlanders."

"We'll fight the Valdani." Though she spoke softly, her voice was exultant. "At last, we will fight them."

"And the Society?" Tansen asked.

She frowned at him from atop her horse. "They'll fight, too, obviously."

"I mean..." Actually, he wasn't sure what he meant. So he looked away and said nothing.

The young
torena
scarcely seemed to notice. She was wrapped up in dreams of glory. Dreams of killing Valdani. 

How she hated them, Tansen thought. He sometimes wondered how she restrained herself from spitting on them in the streets, so much did hate anyone with even a drop of Valdani blood.

Tansen was picking at his food one evening in Kiloran's tent, his stomach roiling as he listened to the old wizard's conversation with Armian. According to Armian, Kiloran meant to honor Tansen by including him in this private meal. Kiloran was treating him as an adult, as a loyal servant.

Armian had not taken Tansen on any more disciplinary excursions into
shallah
villages, and Tansen didn't suppose for a moment that either of the men had forgotten about his behavior that day. But he had been obedient, hard-working, and respectful ever since then, and he knew they were pleased with him. He just hoped they weren't pleased enough to suggest it was finally time for him to go murder some helpless peasant.

"Aren't you hungry?" Kiloran asked him.

"I'm sorry to waste such fine food,
siran
. I think the almond milk I drank this morning was starting to spoil," Tansen  lied, forcing warmth into his voice lest either man guess how much he disliked even being in the old wizard's presence. "My stomach doesn't feel right."

"You're just like Srijan." Kiloran smiled indulgently. "Ah, boys. Always so greedy!" He shook a forefinger at Tansen. "You should have stopped drinking if you thought it tasted a little off."

Tansen sincerely hoped he wasn't at all like Kiloran's revolting son. Srijan was spoiled, rude, stupid, and obnoxious. Now Armian, who had privately agreed with Tansen about Srijan, flashed Tansen a brief, amused glance, no doubt guessing what it cost him not to blurt out a protest at being compared to Kiloran's son.

Tansen accepted Kiloran's friendly rebuke and pushed his plate away, relieved he didn't have keep pretending to eat. Food lodged in his throat tonight as he listened to his father make plans with Kiloran. 

"The Moorlanders' support must be for us," Kiloran advised Armian. "Not the Alliance. Not the
toreni
."

"And certainly," Armian added with a knowing grin, "not the Guardians."

"The Guardians are our problem, as they have always been, and we will deal with them," Kiloran replied. "After we deal with the Valdani."