Spring had come to High Atellu, but there were few living trees left to bloom. The standing water had long since been boiled away, leaving only bare dry ruin under the accusing sun. Their barque made for what had formerly been a public square, perhaps equivalent to the Plaza at Dul Karagi. It had been enlarged for its new use as an airfield; he could see the traces of old foundations. It seemed they’d made little progress after months of work.
Etana’s assessment was still more blunt. “It’s a midden,” he declared from two hundred feet. “I wouldn’t receive even hostage youth to such a mess, let alone the lord of another pyre.”
“It may be their need to talk is urgent enough to override such considerations,” Shennai said.
“What is there to speak of? There’s nothing left. If they wanted to beg aid, we could have sent delegates. Unless this is a trap, and we’ll be held captive on arrival.”
Ram doubted they would take such an insane risk in their current condition, but Piridur spoke before he could: “Low Atellu is still the east end of the Jatu trade route, Lord. And we’ve already seen the damage this pyre can do when it’s isolated.”
“Perhaps it’s extortion, then,” Etana decided. “They will resume their piracy unless they are aided.” Ram would have argued that point, but was again thwarted; their barque was already descending.
The lone handmaiden who received them was about fifty, Ram guessed, and distinctly plump, with silver streaks in her black hair. She greeted Shennai and Pimna first, lifting her veil to exchange kisses and trivial pleasantries. Only when both of her former prisoners had assured her that they were well did she turn and say, “Lord Etana. Lord Rammash. Thank you for coming. And you are?”
“Piridur,” he said, coming forward with a slight bow. “I have no formal title anymore, but you might call me a liaison between the Ensi and the Lugal.”
“Very well, Master Piridur. I am Jennun, Eldest Sister.”
“Eldest?” Ram repeated. She didn’t seem that old. Had Mannagiri killed off his most experienced women?
“A title, nothing more, and newly invented. It may change. Before the late crisis, I supervised the largest kiln. I was elected last month by a general assembly of all the sisters over fifteen.”
“And now you are in authority?” Etana said. He did a reasonable, but not perfect, job of keeping the skepticism from his voice. He had known of Atellu’s new arrangements for some time, of course, but it was a difficult concept for a man in his position to accept.
“There is very little authority to have,” she pointed out. “One of my sisters supervises our industrial work, another deals with Low Atellu and the field workers, a third tends to the children, a fourth clears the wreckage. It falls to me to coordinate between them, and from time to time welcome visiting dignitaries.” She did an ironic courtesy.
“Who maintains order, then?” Etana challenged. “Who will command in war?”
Jennun chuckled under her veil. “There is no need to maintain order, my lord. We handmaidens are the only remaining inhabitants of High Atellu, and we do not fight among ourselves. No men are allowed up the cliffs except on business, business they rarely have. When they do come, they behave themselves unprompted, because they are not fireproof. Yes, Lord Etana, women are capable of tending their own affairs.”
“It might be better to continue this discussion in a more shaded, private venue,” Shennai suggested, before Etana could come up with a retort. “Not all of us are indwelt, and the sun is high.”
The Eldest Sister put a hand to her heart and tipped her head. “Very true. Come along, then.”
There was a small pavilion set up a short distance away, with ten chairs set up around a low table. Bread and dry winter fruits were loaded on a platter in the center, along with stacks of cups and small plates. “There’s beer and water in the jars in the corner, if you’d like,” she said as she plunked herself down in one of the chairs, seemingly at random. No women appeared to serve; the intended message was clear enough.
Etana blithely picked up a tumbler and filled it himself, though when it was filled he did allow himself the petty satisfaction of tasting the beer, smacking his lips, and giving his head a slight dismissive shake. Through the veil, it was impossible to tell if Jennun even noticed.
Ram sat down directly opposite the handmaiden without bothering over a drink; he didn’t sweat, after all. The others settled in one after another, Etana picking the farthest corner from Jennun. When all the rattling and scraping of chairs was done, Ram cleared his throat. “All the men are gone, you said?”
“To other pyres, one way or another. They had nothing left here but bad memories, and were not bound to stay as we are. Most of the well-heeled survivors had distant relations willing to take them in, and they took the poorer captives with them, down to the lowest street-cleaner. They have pledged to find positions for all of them.”
“Very kind,” Piridur said.
“Kind, but not remarkable,” answered Jennun. “Common suffering tends to draw people together, you’ll find. And, after all, it’s not as though they had any rank or wealth left to stand on. The Moonchildren picked our bones clean, and took a few choice bits to suck the marrow on their way out.”
“A pyre without men,” Etana said slowly, seemingly to nobody.
“Except for Lord Chashran, and counting only High Atellu, yes. That may change in time, if we need help to work the heavier industries. Personally, I’d prefer to admit only women and girls as helpers, possibly from the bondservants, but many of my sisters disagree. We shall see.”
“Those women and girls might want husbands,” Shennai said.
“Who can live at the base of the cliff,” Jennun replied, prompt but pleasant.
Ram held up a hand. “You mentioned Lord Chashran. Your ensi, right? How is he?” Ram had last seen the man bare minutes after he inherited, when he had been trying to gnaw his own arm off.
“As well as he ever was. He has a dark room, and a few of his favorite toys. We bring him food, and keep him clean. Certainly we won’t mistreat him; he’s the most innocent man who ever lived, and none of us fear him.”
“Oh, I didn’t think you’d hurt him.”
“But now you are wondering what we will do when he is gone, aren’t you? We intend to spend the next three blooms asking for old men in poor health, who would like to live out a happy, safe, comfortable kindling. Any who please us will be allowed to witness the first bloom after the kindling, and perhaps be indwelt. I don’t anticipate a shortage of candidates.”
“You seem to have thought this all through,” Piridur said. “But as Lord Etana asked: what about the next war? Will you go out unprotected?”
“We already know what it feels like to be unprotected,” she coldly replied. “We will not count on the assurances of men again. But as for war, it has been proposed that we send out word to the hearthless, offering settlement on High Atellu’s former parklands in exchange for military service. We still have crowhammers.”
“And swords?” Etana prompted.
“We have no need for flamekeepers.”
Ram opted to get a drink after all, purely to escape the harsh silence that followed. He took his time drawing up water, tossing it back, then getting some beer. He only turned back when Etana said, “Trade, then. Will you be restoring previous trade arrangements?”
“On a case-by-case basis. We might amend a few. A council of the eldest sisters will decide, when we find the time.”
Etana thumped his fist on the table. “What in the hell were we invited here for, then?”
“Partly because I wanted to see Shennai and Pimna again. If you need to send further embassies, I would be delighted to see either of them. You specifically, and Lord Piridur, and Lord Rammash, are here to take our message to the rest of the Dominion, because no female messenger would be believed.”
“And that message is?” Etana growled, leaning forward on the table with his crossed arms.
“You have already heard it. The handmaidens of Dul Atellu stand alone and free. We have no ill will towards any other pyre, but we will have no more acolytes, or flamekeepers, and most importantly no more ruling priests.”
Etana smirked. “Someone will have to burn, and he will expect compensation. On his own terms, not what you see fit to give him. If you think you can control a man with priestly authority over your very bodies, you are idiots, to a woman. A hobbled horse would be in more of a position to bargain.”
“Maybe, but you menfolk weren’t doing a very good job controlling him before, either. We could hardly do worse than Mannagiri.”
Piridur held up a hand to stay further argument. “Lord Rammash. What do you think of all this?”
Ram hesitated; he hadn’t expected to be asked. “Obviously, I agree with her that the system has to change,” he said slowly. “I can think of reasons why their approach might not work in the long term, but if they want to try, it’s really none of my business. As long as it doesn’t hurt anybody outside their own pyre, I’m fine with it. I’m thankful that anyone else is around to remind people that things can be different.”
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“Well said.” Ram heard a smile in Jennun’s voice. “But what are your expectations of Dul Atellu, Lord Rammash?”
“I don’t think I have any, really.” At present. He was getting some ideas, but it seemed better to keep them to himself while Etana was listening. “Mannagiri was at least partly my fault, but I got rid of him, too. We’re square. Neither of us owes the other.”
Jennun nodded. “That was more or less our opinion, as well.”
“Good,” said Ram. “So, if that’s decided, I’d like to stretch my legs a bit, and see what you’re doing here. The ride wasn’t the most comfortable.”
“There isn’t much to see, but suit yourself, Lord Rammash. Lord Etana looks like he has many more concerns to discuss with me.” Her tone was dry, and Ram was more inclined than ever to like her. He bowed before he left.
Some distance away, an army of several dozen women was at work on a complicated project. About half of them were spread out in a broad circle, sifting through the ubiquitous architectural carnage for intact bricks and ferrying them back to the center of the group by whatever means presented itself; Ram saw aprons, hand-carts, and a few beasts of burden. None of them bothered with a veil, or showed any reticence for the undignified manual labor. One or two noticed Ram watching, but paid him no mind.
Once the bricks arrived, they were laid down in untidy stacks at any spot that presented itself, so that the other half of the group could lay them. Their work wasn’t the neatest Ram had seen, by a fair margin, but then he was a mason’s child. He could see several furnaces taking shape, and a number of interior and exterior walls. Several of the younger women sang as they worked, slapping down cement with their trowels.
“A pottery shop?” murmured Piridur’s voice in his ear.
Ram shook his head. “More likely a smithy, judging by the layout. What was that about, asking my opinion? You already knew it.”
“I had a fair guess. But Jennun is more likely to approve of you than of Lord Etana, and I’d rather our Lugal didn’t fill her with complete and overwhelming contempt for our pyre. You needed to speak up.”
“Still trying to manage things, are you? Then what’s your take on all this? I honestly don’t know.”
“I can understand why these women are reacting this way,” Piridur began cautiously.
“But?”
“But all this is too radical. Other pyres won’t tolerate this kind of provocation; they’ll shut Atellu out of their markets.”
“To keep their handmaidens from getting dangerous ideas?”
“Not at all. The handmaidens are the last group we need to worry about, with the possible exception of the acolytes. Ours aren’t abused, and they take pride in their work for the pyre and their families.”
Pyre or family, which comes first? “So it’s the little people you’d be worried about.”
“Not exactly. It’s more the general insolence of it. This world runs on respect. These women are disrespecting the most powerful men in the Dominion, implying that they’re worthless, unnecessary. Whether it causes some kind of unrest or not, that can’t be tolerated.”
“Maybe, but I think you’ll budge before they do,” Ram said, watching a little girl mix up a tub of cement.
“This still won’t last,” Piridur insisted. “They’ll need a non-indwelt population to draw new women from.”
“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself? That’s a feeble argument, and you know it. Or didn’t you ever hear about the bud-graft, back at Dul Karagi?”
Piridur frowned. “Not by that name.”
“It’s the name I heard. Say a woman from a rich house can’t conceive, or only has boys, or doesn’t want to give up her own child, or just doesn’t feel like going through the trouble of pregnancy. But somebody under her husband or master’s countenance—somebody way down the line, a porter’s wife or something—just had a healthy baby girl.”
“Oh, that,” Piridur interrupted. “Yes, I’ve heard the stories, but I don’t think I believe them. It’s just the kind of ugly gossip the powerful like to spread about their rivals.”
“It’s not just the powerful telling those stories, Piridur. To hear the poor of our pyre tell it, half the women in the Temple don’t know their true parents, who tell the neighbors they died in their crib. Maybe it’s not really half, but why wouldn’t it happen? And why couldn’t something like it happen here?”
“You think these women will coerce the people who depend on them into giving up their daughters en masse.”
“No, I’m saying that they’ll work it out their own way somehow. They’re not stupid, they’ll find a way. You just don’t want to believe this can work.”
Piridur hesitated before replying. “No. I really don’t. I want peace, order, and stability. And time for Dul Karagi to recover its equilibrium undisturbed. But I can accept that the world won’t go back to the way it was before. I’ve told you as much.”
Ram finally turned away from the toiling women to look at Piridur directly. “You can accept it, you say. But what are you going to do about it? What’s your place in all this?”
Piridur shuddered, very slightly, but kept his expression calm. “Yes. That is the real question, isn’t it? I can tell you for certain that I don’t believe in your project. I’m not the kind of man who wants to change the world.”
“That’s not an answer,” Ram reminded him.
“It’s a hard answer to give. I have my own life. My sons aren’t half grown yet, and I’d thought to have more.”
“I’ll never see my own child grow up, so that’s a poor argument to use on me. Whoever I picked as my successor, they would leave something behind, something undone. That’s just part of being human. I’ll give you more time to think if you need it, but the choice won’t get any easier.”
“I see what you’re doing, Ram. It’s a challenge. How far am I willing to go for my principles? Do I take the power you offer me, and use it to fix the harm you’ve done, even if it kills me? Or do I refuse, and risk seeing the pyre ruined in another’s hands? You’re a cruel man, tem-Karagi.”
Ram gave him a big, sunny smile. “No crueler than you. At least I’m not offering you a nice, peaceful, lazy few years before you die.”
Piridur glared back. “No flamekeeper would accept such an offer. And I am a flamekeeper. If I have to die to save the pyre from your recklessness—to preserve it for my sons—I will. That’s a yes, and damn you for asking.”
“That’s all I needed to know. Thank you, Piridur.” But the former Second Sword was already walking away. Ram watched him for a moment, striding off with his shoulders set. It had been Piridur’s pride that answered, not Piridur himself. He might regret it later, but never enough to take it back. Did that make Ram cruel? Perhaps.
It didn’t matter, of course, what Piridur chose to do with his ten blooms in command. Or what he said he would do now, which mattered still less. He would have the power, he would not consent to let it lie unused, and his sons would grow up knowing their father as the man who had accepted the challenge. The next ensi of Dul Karagi would be a hero to all, and that was enough for Ram.
All that was several blooms in the future, anyway. There was an older woman nearby who wasn’t laying her bricks level, and nobody else noticed; Ram would have to see if she was amenable to friendly advice from a man with some experience. He’d need to be delicate. But first, he glanced over his shoulder at Etana, who was now pacing back and forth outside the little pavilion, enumerating his objections on his fingers as he made them. Not shouting—the Lugal wasn’t the sort to shout—only making himself clear in the most acerbic fashion possible.
Ram couldn’t see Jennun, but her haranu was sitting still in the shade, beside Shennai’s and Pimna’s. He could picture her sitting back in her chair, not quite laughing, just raising the edge of her veil every now and then to sip at her drink. Waving her hand in a “go on” gesture, perhaps, and putting in the odd word that wasn’t quite sarcastic enough to count as an insult.
Piridur was walking rather quicker than usual to rejoin them. On second thought, it might be better to give him more time to think his choice over. It wouldn’t hurt to let him reflect; he was a reasonable man at heart. Etana was the real problem here. And the more Ram thought it over—the more he saw him snarling and jabbing an accusing finger at a woman who had lost everything in the past six months, and was now striving to make a new life while he told her it could not be done—the more certain he was that drastic measures were called for.