535 - Our religious bull*shen*

“You are in kyashin love with that kevyalin straw-hair,” said Krero, catching me in the meeting room as my sib-squires and I were cleaning the dirt back into the wheel-barrow.

“No,” I said. “We just hit it off. And I have gained a lot of excellent information from him.”

“I sort of see what you see in Kalicha, with how good a fighter he is,” he said. “And that over-painted boy never wanted to destroy you, washes your kilts and would suck kyash out of your ass if he could, so naturally you want to keep him around. But this one? I can’t think of one single redeeming quality. All-Spirit… next thing you’re going to turn him and he’ll swear and then offer himself that Arkan way and…” He looked as if he was near to throwing up.

“My friendships,” I said, “are not subject to Assembly approval, or yours. Dismissed.”

His eyes flashed with anger, that I thought was unwarranted by my saying my friendships were not subject to his approval, but then went grimly thoughtful. “A-e kras,” he gritted, and was gone.

It all felt familiar, and with a little thought I realized why; it was the same as back in Yeola-e, when I’d fallen in love with Kallijas, the sense I was skirting the edge. He had lain alone while I played. Though the child in me stamped his little feet saying “I’m Imperator! I can do what I want!”, I gave Toras more paper and a request to write out as many of the rest of his ideas as he could before sundown, and worked in the bedchamber with Kall.

He, of course, understood how it was once I explained the assignment and how Toras had fulfilled it. “You’ve found another strategist,” he said. He was strong enough now to be off the pure air and using a bed-pan. Kaninjer was having him get onto his feet a little, twice a day, and he was no longer leaning on my arm. That night I partied with the warriors instead of gaming with Toras.

A letter came from the mayor of Karoseth, offering their surrender and allegiance. The news had clearly got there. With any luck it would be Marsae next. I had to visit these places, though, let them see me, speak to the people. In the spring, once travel was good enough, I’d tour the whole Empire, I decided, and slip in a visit home.

The day before we marched I had Toras in again, and we went through the next batch of his scrawlings. They were more summary now, almost notes. “That is pretty much it,” he said. “I decided to mention everything I could think of, even if it’s not sufficiently explained—I can fill it in by telling you—because I know my time is short.”

“Not if you swear to me.” (Had there ever been a time in my life that such words would have seemed strange and presumptuous to me?) “We’re going to march back to the City starting tomorrow, so you have all that time at least, four days. Do it in more detail.” Maybe if I began commanding him instead of asking, he’d get used to it, and be more inclined to swear to me?

“I’ll think about it,” he sniffed. “I think you’ve gotten more used to giving orders to everyone than a semanakraseye is supposed to.” How did he learn to pronounce it so well? Him, and Assembly… “Shefen-kas,” he said, after a moment’s thought, “my officers… don’t blame them. It was me. I talked them all into it.”

“Each one made his choice and will have to answer for it alone,” I said. “Unless you had a sword to their throats, they chose.” He heaved a sigh, and looked away. “If you swear, are they more likely to?”

“Forzak you,” he said. “It’s like on the fikken sand-table; I show one trace of an inclination, you make it into a weakness. Though, to be honest, there is no guarantee. Some might not.”

“But some might, therefore, so there’s a responsibility there.”

“Fik you,” he said, as I clipped the pen to his collar.

Once Kaninjer had confirmed Kall was well enough, the next morning, we marched. I had Toras put in a prison-cart instead of bound on a horse, so he could keep working, and we played more games. He got quieter, as we got closer. On the night before we would arrive, he said, “Shefen-kas, I would like you to have my effects.”

“I would like you to swear to me,” I said. “I don’t want your fikken effects.”

“It’s mostly strategy books.”

“I’ve read them all.”

“As I said before, Shefen-kas”—he had, more than once—“I’m a stubborn man.”

“I noticed. So am I.”

“I’ve noticed that too. There are some things in it that are contraband.”

“Really? You?”

He did not laugh as I’d meant him to. “So you’ll confiscate them anyway, of course, but I’d like to leave them to you with my blessing. As a friend, unless I am imagining it.”

“You are not,” I said. “But friends don’t bereave friends by not swearing.”

He snorted derisively. “I suppose you could deprive me of these memories so I have nothing to take with me to Hayel; that might begin to persuade me. But you wouldn’t do such a thing.”

The amnesiac, he meant. “No, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t rob you of your choice.”

“The other problem...” Our eyes met. The half-sneering hardness was gone from his; they were openly sad. “If I ever swore to you I’d have to give up this... comfort.”

“Comfort? What do you mean?”

“Friendship.”

“You would? Why?”

“Sworn solas don’t call their Imperator a hopeless dupe of the thankless Gods to his face.

“Oh, bosh; with me you could. You think I’d be any more offended if you were sworn?”

“No. But I would.”

“Fikken Arkans,” I spat. “It was just the same with Kallijas. Defer, defer, defer, you are my superior, I must shrivel and grovel, blah blah blah. Mind you, he got over it. You could, too.”

“I don’t know that I am a hopeless dupe, but normal people are counters on the board of the Gods’ paper game.”

“Too true.”

“I said normal people, meaning like me. I didn’t mean you.” I made a fart noise, even as I almost heard Kall’s words again. You are a force of history. “It is probably childish to say, but: I don’t want to die.”

“But you think you should.”

“ ‘Should’ is such a fussy word. Say, perhaps, it is expedient.”

“Something about me being unworthy to swear to, I guess.”

“No!” He jolted hard against his bonds, making the chains clink, and glaring at me. “Don’t you fikken say that! The Gods declared you worthy.”

“But you won’t swear; so you’re a wiser judge than They are?”

“No! You don’t understand.”

“You certainly have that right.”

“To raise one thing, another is cast down… it is not you that is unworthy. I thought so; I was wrong.”

“You lost me,” I said. “What do you mean, to raise one thing, another is cast down? That sounds like such Arkan bullshen.”

“Yes. But it’s our religious bullshen. You’d have to ask the Fenjitzas. You are raised as I am cast down.”

“How?”

“I chose to oppose you.”

“You aren’t opposing me any more. So how am I raised if you are cast down? What do you think it’s going to do, cheer me up?” It was like Kallijas all over again.

“I’m sorry. It will probably hurt you.”

“Probably? Asshole.”

“Butt-rod.”

“No, I really meant it.”

“What, that I’m an asshole? I already know that, Shefenkas. I hear you and I accept it.”

“For saying it will probably hurt me, when you know forzak well it definitely will.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. By his eyes, he meant it. “No half-truths between us… it feels good. I won’t say one again.”

“I think you are piling the shen deeper and deeper on yourself the closer we get to the city,” I said. “I bare my heart to you too much, but you know anyway. It hurts me as it hurts you.”

He looked at me for a bit, his eyes a little hooded. “I’m clinging to what I have now,” he said. “I don’t want to lose this camaraderie with you. As long as I have.”

It was as if I heard Niku, right beside me. Always and forever, as long as we have.