The Pattern Scars (34 page)

“He is in his rooms. It was he who sent me to you with the news—and soon he will be joining the king. There will be many preparations to make.”

“Yes,” I said, with pretend eagerness. “I will go to him—see if I can be of help.”

One more smile, and a pat. “Nola,” Mistress Ket said, “you’re a good girl.”

His rooms were in the keep. I knew precisely where—we all did—though I had never been there; never in six years, for he had always come to me. I wondered, as Borl and I walked through the trees, whether anyone other than the king had seen Teldaru’s rooms. Even Selera had not; I had asked her about this once and she had spluttered something about the sensual possibilities of the outdoors, and the ecstasy of waking in her own bed to his hands on her.

I had listened to the younger students whispering about what Master Teldaru’s rooms might look like. Statues of marble and gold (for he was known to enjoy sculpture). Strange musical instruments from far-off lands (for he had an ear for music). Golden cushions, golden washbasin and ewer, and an enormous golden mirror.
No
, I thought when I heard this,
you will find that last item in a house in the city—that, and a bird whose colours would amaze you.

When we turned the corner that would bring us to his door, Borl began to whine. “Yes,” I said, “I know—you used to live here with him—it must be terrible to remember that.” He sat down in the middle of the corridor and turned his blind white eyes up to me. I scratched his ears and bent to run my hand under his muzzle. “I wish you would come with me—but very well. Wait here.” He lay down with his flank pressed against the wall. I stepped past him and rapped on the door.

As it turned out, there was no gold in the rooms through which Teldaru led me. Three rooms: one with a plain wooden table and two chairs, another with a narrow bed and washstand, and a third (which I glimpsed through a half-open door) with a floor tiled in brown and white, and a low, square tub built into the floor. A private bathing room—and I imagined him there, washing blood from his body as candlelight flickered over his hair, his skin, his midnight eyes.

“Teldaru.” I spoke suddenly, to force the image away. He motioned me to one of the chairs. I sat, wishing that Borl were at my feet. I glanced out the window and saw the courtyard trees and the ribbon of path and, quite clearly, the window and door of my own small room.

“Do you have some sort of magnifying lens?” I asked lightly. “So that you can see straight in to my bed?”

“A fine idea,” Teldaru said. I had not expected him to reply; I shifted on my chair and hoped he would not notice my flush.

“Oh, Nola.” His eyes on me; just the hint of a smile. “What I could show you, in that narrow bed of yours.”

“So why don’t you?” I said, too quickly to stop myself. “Why haven’t you, when you claim to have wanted me for so long? Or do you only want young girls? Though,” I finished in a sickening rush, “that would not explain Selera.”

His chair creaked as he leaned back. I stared out the window, seeing nothing.

“Really remarkable things,” he said at last, slowly, “take time.”

“Ah”—looking back at him—“so you may yet honour me with your attentions. How reassuring.”
Enough,
I thought.
Nola—enough.

“What did you really come here to ask me, Mistress?”

I laughed breathlessly. “It doesn’t matter. All I can do is talk around what I want to say.”

“As you tried to do in Haldrin’s study, in front of all those people. Tell me,” he said, leaning forward now, “how did it feel to make a fool of yourself in front of all those people? In front of the King of Sarsenay?”

I leaned forward too. “Belakao,” I said. The curse stirred in my belly with just this one word. “
Moabu
Bantayo. Zemiya. Tell me exactly what you mean to do.”

He chuckled. “Do you truly believe you deserve this information, after all the betrayals you’ve attempted? Truly, Nola? It is as if you do not
want
me to lift the curse.”

I flinched, and spoke again before he could. “It wouldn’t make any difference, telling me. I can’t tell anyone else, and I won’t try, because no, I did not enjoy humiliating myself in front of the king, and yes, I do want you to help me, someday. And surely,” I added in a low voice, “surely you long to tell
someone
of your plans.”

He was no longer smiling. “My plans,” he said at last, “continue to grow and change. There are so many Paths, and the Pattern is vaster than I have ever seen it, and all I know for certain is that we must draw the Belakaoans close, as I said to you before. We must draw them close before we break them.”

I squirmed in my chair, because I knew that every word I intended to speak would feel like a stone in my throat. “You hate Zemiya and Neluja,” I said. “But why do you hate Haldrin too?”

Teldaru snorted. “I do not hate him. I feel nothing for him—I never did, even when we were boys. ‘How handsome the prince is—and he’ll be even handsomer when he’s king.’ People feared me and fawned over him—but even then I thought of him as little as a horse does the fly that sits on its flank.”

I wanted to say,
Indeed? So why do you seek to usurp him and lay waste to his land?
“If that is so,” I said instead, “why do you make these plans?”

I thought he might smile, but he did not—he rose and gazed out the window. I watched his jaw work, as if he were tasting his words before speaking them. “Hal is a small man—a king only by accident of birth. He does not deserve Sarsenay.”

“And you, who were born in a tavern, do?”

He turned his head slowly. I straightened, beneath his gaze. “It is a tale often told, in the lower city,” I said quietly. “The little boy, son of no one, who became the Great Master Teldaru.”

“I know the tale,” he said, also quietly. “I know, too, that little boys who are sons of no one never become kings. Our world would have to change, for this to be the case. And that is what I, the great Master Teldaru of lowtown tales, will do—what
we
will do, my Nola. Together we will change the world.”

“It will be difficult,” I said, “if you won’t tell me how.”

Teldaru threw his head back into the sunlight and laughed.

Bantayo,
moabu
of Belakao, arrived at midday. The moment the cry sounded, atop the highest tower, the walls of city and castle filled with people. I stood beside Teldaru on that highest tower. The king and his cousin were with us. I saw Selera and Grasni on the wall below; Selera scowled at me and Grasni gave me a quick wave and an almost-smile.

There were no clouds at all, and, even so high up, no wind. I wiped sweat from my eyes and squinted at the road, which rippled with heat and distance. I saw glints on the furthest part of the road; flashes of light that, after hours had passed (and I had ducked inside for shade and water), became spear tips and polished drumskins and the jewelled clothing of many people.
Zemiya already
, I thought, remembering Teldaru’s tale of the
moabe
’s years-ago arrival here, but it was soon obvious that there were no women at all, this time. Only men—thirty or so of them, wearing flowing garments that were every bright colour imaginable. Their drumbeats shuddered through the air.

“How did they manage to get the drums here?” Haldrin said. “First on the boats and then overland?”

Teldaru said, “You asked the same question nearly thirty years ago,” and the king said, “Did I?” and smiled. His curls were dark with sweat, flattened against his neck and forehead, but he looked quite calm, as the sun beat down and the Belakaoans drew nearer. It was Teldaru who paced restlessly to the battlements and back to the others again, humming urgently and tunelessly under his breath.

“Daru, stop,” Haldrin said. “I’m afraid you’ll fall over.”

Teldaru glared at him and continued pacing.

“Master Teldaru,” said Lord Derris in his odd, half-voice. “Please.” Teldaru stopped.

Moabu
Bantayo was a small man. I looked down at the broad-shouldered drummers and the tall, gleaming spear-carriers, and then I looked at the man who walked among them all, and I could not believe that this was he—the new
moabu
who had already been so harsh and demanding. A few hours later, in the Great Hall, I saw that, although he was short and slight, he was also sleek. The muscles in his arms stood out as he gestured, and he moved with the grace of a hunting cat. His beard was short and pointed at the tip. The cloth of his robe was covered in tiny gems and shells that flashed every time he moved. And he moved a great deal. He stood before the dais where King Haldrin was sitting and he turned and turned again, looking at the room while everyone else looked at him.

“Welcome,
Moabu
Bantayo,” the king said in a loud, firm voice that made me blink. I was sitting at the long table that had been placed closest to the dais. I could see all their eyes, from here: Haldrin’s, Teldaru’s and Bantayo’s. Blue, black and brown. I was not sure whose I should watch most closely.

“King Haldrin,” said Bantayo.

I remembered how Teldaru had described this
moabu
’s father’s voice—“poured honey”—and thought that this was not true of Bantayo’s. Just two words, but I heard metal in them, and my heart began to pound.

“I trust you have had a pleasant journey,” said King Haldrin. He was not smiling. His hands lay loosely on the arms of his throne.

“Pleasant enough,”
Moabu
Bantayo said. “Lorselland was a most delightful place. Their roads are better than yours.”

The king’s brows rose, just a little. “Indeed?” he said, and then he did smile. “But their wine, I happen to know, is worse.” He gestured and a serving boy scuttled forward, clutching a pitcher. “
Moabu
, we have much to discuss—but first you and your men must sit and rest and drink
our
wine.”

More servers arrived, bearing another long table that they placed on the dais in front of the throne. They brought other chairs, too, and Teldaru sat, as did Lord Derris. Bantayo watched this activity, his men standing in a circle behind him (their drums and spears had been left elsewhere). They did not look hot—maybe because this Sarsenayan heat was nothing to them, after their black rock and sand and their own ocean sun. I thought of Yigranzi; I wished, with pain that felt new, that I could run to her room and sit down and say, “Tell me about drums and
moabus
and polished shells, because now I’ve seen all of these things.”

The music began as Bantayo took his seat between the king and Lord Derris. The harp and flute sounded too sweet to fill the quiet—but soon there was murmuring as well, at the high table and at the ones around mine. The Belakaoans were led to places among the Sarsenayans. One of the island men sat next to me, and I watched his dark fingers plucking at chicken and bread. I wondered what I would say to him, if he spoke to me, but he only ate and sipped from his goblet and stared at the high table.

Bantayo, seated, was a full head shorter than both Haldrin and Teldaru. He should have looked like a mere youth, between them, but he did not. Because of the beard, yes—but also because of the smooth, purposeful movements of his hands as he ate and the tilt of his head as he listened to the other men, or spoke himself. I had never seen such power contained, controlled—and it frightened me, excited me, especially when I looked at Teldaru.

This will be harder than he imagines
, I thought.
This man will not be led.
I also thought,
Whatever happens, it must be soon; no one will be able to bear waiting.

But everyone did wait, for days and days. King Haldrin and
Moabu
Bantayo met in the study. They ate together (privately, and at yet more feasts, which Selera attended adorned in Belakaoan jewels) and walked together and rode around the city in a closed carriage. The Belakaoan soldiers showed Sarsenayan soldiers how to throw spears into straw-stuffed targets in the main courtyard, amid wagers and much laughter and shouting. Sarsenayan soldiers showed the Belakaoan soldiers how to hold swords—more laughter but no wagers, since the Belakaoans refused to do any actual fighting. I walked about, alone or with some younger students, and I watched, listened and counted the hours until sundown, when Teldaru would come to tell me what had happened that day.

“Bantayo has now taken issue with our ale, our vegetables, our women and our sunsets. The Lorsellanders have offered Belakao three times more lumber than we currently give them. He is unimpressed with each of our offers; he is losing patience.”

“And what of
the
offer?” I asked on one of these nights.

Teldaru shrugged and said nothing.

He came to me on the morning of the sixth day. It was early, but already the heat was settling onto skin and cloth and the bowed tops of the trees. I was splashing tepid water on my face; he touched my back and I whirled.

“Nola.” He seemed very still. “It is happening. Now. I was with them all night and past dawn, and Haldrin asked about Zemiya—about all Bantayo’s family, and her too. He has tried to ask before, but Bantayo did not answer. Until today.”