The Constant Tower. Carole McDonnell
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was the last word from Renan?” Lebo asked.
“That the battle was hard-won, that Chief Qerys was slain, and Qerys’ son Antun was now chief.”
A smile flickered on the king’s face. “Qerys is dead, you say?”
Psal ignored his father’s apparent pleasure that the attempted usurper was dead. “Perhaps that’s why the tower has grown faint. Because it grieves for the old chief or the studier or both.”
“Tonight keen the Qerys tower to join us here,” the king said.
“But Lan and Ephan could bring them pharma,” Psal said, “Even now, they—”
The king interrupted him. “The women of the Qerys understand how to bind up their wounded. Ephan and Lan need not ride to them.”
Seagen whispered in the king’s ear. Nahas nodded then continued. “We heard another tower somewhere in the forest. Seagen says it sounds like a Peacock tower.”
Ephan handed the king a parchment. “Yes,” he said, “we were about to mention that.”
Nahas studied the charts then gestured to Netophah to approach. Psal hoped his brother would ally himself with him. Ruddy, well-liked, tall, the heir of all the Wheel Clans was hard for Psal to decipher at times.
“They’re harmless, Father,” Psal said. “A night-tossed mixed clan.”
“As you can see,” Lan pointed at the parchment. “In the past they made controlled journeys to the thirty Peacock homelands. Then some ten to fifteen years ago, they apparently lost their knowledge of keening. For some reason, their tower—perhaps because it fears arguments—has kept itself reclusive, purposely avoiding encounters with other towers.”
“Probably wounded by some disagreement within the longhouse,” Ephan said.
“As happens with these Peacock Clans,” Lebo said.
“I doubt they’re entirely Peacock Clan now,” Ephan said. “It’s probable that other clans and foundlings have joined themselves to them.” He looked at Psal, and raised his left eyebrow.
“They seem to be allied to a Macaw clan,” Psal added quickly.
“Are they markings of a Macaw longhouse allied to us?” Gaal asked.
“Not any Macaw clan we know,” Psal admitted, “but the longhouse itself seems unimportant. Too small for—”
“You show your weakness, Firstborn,” Cyrt said. “The Peacock Clans have murdered our innocents. Seagen and I have lost a son and you demand they be spared?”
“Demand?” I have not demanded at all.
Orian, who had been in the royal longhouse for only two days but who already had begun to try Psal’s patience, now spoke. “I also have lost a son, my Rask. Killed by the Sky Peacock warriors. His body burned in the Eagle’s Nest pyres! Moreover, two days ago, I engaged the Bright Sun Peacock sub-clan in battle. Who has not seen the corpses of his own kinsmen? You have not asked my opinion, Nahas. Nevertheless, I will give it. And I will speak in words plain enough for all to hear. Kill them. All the Wheel Clan will hear of your weakness if you spare these people.”
“All the neutral clans will hear of his cruelty if he murders them,” Ephan countered. “It will be rumored among their towers. Already the great clans have rebuked both the Peacock Clans and the Wheel Clan for this war. Why add further—”
Netophah raised his hand: a gracious hand, a fair hand, yet marked and bruised by war. “Father, if the Firstborn is right and these strangers are unallied to the warring Peacock Clans, they should be spared. If they’re a small clan, what can they do?”
“Much!” Gaal said. “Have you not seen how the Peacock Clans have rallied other unallied tribes? These outcasts may have been set to ensnare us.”
“If they’re night-tossed, they should not die,” Netophah said. “We will do what we do with all night-tossed towers who cross our path. We will ally ourselves to them and repair their damaged tower. But we will not teach this unallied people any tower science. No, not so much as how to keen.” He turned to his brother and winked. “What say you to that compromise, Firstborn?”
“I like it very much,” Psal said. “An alliance with them could not harm us.”
“A marriage alliance, perhaps.” Ephan approached the king. “Especially since the neutral clans have forbidden their women from marrying into our clans. Some of these Peacock women are undoubtedly unmarried and will be pleased to marry into our clan. And to meet so many men from one longhouse at once would be agreeable to them. They would consider it fortunate that many of their sisters could marry into the same longhouse. In addition, fourteen is a Peacock girl’s marriageable age. Younger than our tradition, but Nahas would be ready to overlook that. Do you not think so, Adopted Father?”
The king laughed. “Ephan, you were born to persuade.”
“Inter-marriage with our enemies?” Cyrt shook his head. “Nahas, your dead father would laugh to hear this.”
“I’ll make my decision after we’ve spoken with this lost clan.” Nahas gestured toward the longhouse entrance. “War whistles will signal my decision. I and our warriors will journey toward this tower. Have our women prepare a feast.”
“Father,” Psal began, but Nahas raised his hand.
For a moment, Nahas seemed to study him like an alchemist examining an unknown ore, searching out its value. When Psal was younger he had believed the searching out would one day end, but he knew better now: Nahas was permanently ill at ease with his damaged son.
The faint rhythmic drumming of Cassia’s tower continued, but Psal pushed its song from his mind. He could not think of Cassia now, he had to save the Peacock Clan innocents.
CHAPTER 8
MAHARAI
See now: Maharai, fifteen years old but short for her age, with tiny black braids around a thin, plain, dark brown face, scrawny legs, tiny breasts, and round buttocks. She was not beautiful like Tolika, Gidea’s daughter, the slender beauty whom Lan and Deyn loved, and about whom many great songs were sung. Neither was she voluptuous like her mother, the round-faced, large-hipped Ktwala. If Maharai had been a beauty, Psal would not have fallen in love with her. She was plain, but plainness isn’t unattractiveness. She had an attraction that stemmed from greatness of spirit.
From inside the Iden Peacock longhouse, she heard her mother Ktwala calling the clan to gather. Out she ran into the morning and waited as Ktwala descended the rickety external stairs of their wandering tower.
When the clan assembled, Ktwala spoke in this manner: “In all the directions, all I see are fenced fields and animals kept and guarded. In the distance are two longhouses. My brothers, some great clan owns these lands. Whether they are fierce or friendly, I do not know. But as I looked, I saw pyres and corpses.”
Iden, Maharai’s grandfather, pulled his grandson Ouis near. “Corpses? Such wanderings we’ve endured! Such trials! And now, fenced lands and pyres! What will become of us?” He grasped Ktwala’s hand. “Daughter, did you see any markings?”
“A large circle with lines.” Ktwala squatted and made a mark like the spokes of a wheel as Maharai looked on. Her face shone as if she and the sun were one. “Father! Can it be?”
Chief Iden put his hand to his mouth. “It is the Wheel Clan,” he said, and looked about the meadow shaking his head. “A noble clan! And yet…corpses?”
Nunu, fat, bent and graying, clasped her hands before her wrinkled face. “It’s two years since we’ve encountered them. In the past we met them often, do you remember?”
The lovely Gidea nodded. “Always those meetings were joyful. Often they helped us, but of late our tower has avoided them, their longhouses, and their fields.”
“Perhaps…”