Wing & Nien Page 14

  So why, with all his experience, intimate knowledge, and influence did he feel so helpless in the face of the prophecy? The thing that was tearing his valley apart, his friends apart, and now, was ripping at his own family, his own son.

  Joash drew a breath — unsteady on the inhale, smooth on the exhale.

  “I,” he said, “was once humbled by the honorary membership offered me by this Council. So, it is with sadness that I now abdicate that honour, and distinguish myself from this Council.”

  Around the Council table, a mouth or two gaped.

  “In parting, I would ask only one thing of you: leave my sons alone. Wing and Nien have their own paths, it is not up to us to determine what they may be.”

  To his surprise no one spoke, though he could see a few wanted to. He met Grek Occoju’s eyes last, and then turned, and with a rather profound silence at his back, left the Council chamber for what he hoped would be the last time.

  Back at the Cawutt family camp, Reean felt an unnatural severity rolling off her husband even before she could clearly see his face.

  “We’re leaving,” Joash said, entering the camp and grabbing up the saddlebags from beneath the booth.

  “What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way. Where’s Nien and Jake?”

  “Jake’s with Fey over at the Yiete’s booth picking out whistles. I think Nien’s with a few of the other Cant members.”

  “I’ll go get Jake and Fey.”

  Worried, Reean watched Joash drop the saddlebags again and walk away just as Nien came back into camp from the other direction looking a little rough. He glanced at her and said, “Drinking contest last night with Bredo’s cheap wine.” He belched and put a hand on his belly, grimacing. Still, it didn’t take his beleaguered senses long to notice the look in Reean’s eyes.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Something,” Reean replied. “Your father wouldn’t say.” Nien looked at her and Reean saw that he understood as well as she did. It probably had something to do with Wing and the Council. What else?

  Without another word, Nien began to help her break camp. He was retrieving their horses by the time Joash returned with Jake and Fey. Quickly disassembling the last of the booth, they secured the packhorses and the five of them mounted up and rode out.

  A few of the families watched them go, wondering at their hasty exit.

  “So?” Reean ventured to say after a bit of space had been put between them and the grounds of the festival.

  Joash replied through a tight jaw, “I spoke my mind to the Council.”

  “Did what?” Nien said.

  “I told them to leave you and Wing alone.”

  “Me, too?” Nien said, and then — “Oh. The school. Way to go! It’s about time someone stood up to them.”

  Reean glanced at her husband. She could think of no more than one or two villagers who would have done what her husband had just done.

  “I’m not condoning it, son.”

  “Of course not,” Nien replied, and Reean shook her head at him as he smiled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling.

  “And don’t tell Wing,” Joash said. He turned his gaze on Jake. “You either.”

  Jake quickly shook his head. “No way.”

  “Well, what did they say?” Nien asked.

  “Not much.” Joash hesitated. “They were pretty quiet after I surrendered my membership.”

  Reean was not the only one to stare openly at Joash.

  “Really?” Jake said.

  Reean was quiet, noticing how Nien’s triumphant mood had fled. If Joash would make such a decision — and worse — if the Council would accept it...

  Reean took in her husband and her adopted son. Their lives were being drawn in, drawn down into some mirky depth through which she could neither see nor fathom.

  Chapter 13

  Choice

  A n obscure section of field outside of the Village was chosen as the school ground. Nien watched anxiously as, in a short trail leading between the log homes and cottages of the Village, thirty children appeared.

  Nien forced a smile, surprised at his own nervousness. At their first session there had been only eight. All were from Cant Member families, but this was only their fifth meeting and Nien was shocked at how fast it had grown in the eight turns since Kive fest.

  “Jhock, how are you?” Nien asked the young man in the lead.

  “Good, thanks.” Jhock was the oldest of those in attendance. He had tender eyes, dark hair, and a curiosity akin to Nien’s own.

  “Where’s your friend?”

  “E’nt?”

  Nien nodded.

  “His fa won’t let him come. His little brother or sisters either.”

  En’t was Jhock’s best friend. He was also Council Spokesman Grek Occoju’s oldest son.

  “We’ll work on it,” Nien said with a glint in his eye, but behind the glint there was a coiling weight hovering.

  Jhock took a seat in the grass. The other students came and sat by him. The time went well, but as he headed home that evening Nien could not shake the looming weight he knew he’d have to deal with if he wanted the school to be viable — the Council.

  After Cant practice the following day, Nien packed his gear with tremulous hands. He’d lain awake most the night working up the courage and counterargument to approach Councilman Grek Occoju.

  Council Spokesman Grek Occoju and his wife had four children. Their family was one of less than a hundred families in Rieeve who would not allow any of their children to join the Cant, or as it followed, attend Nien’s school. En’t, Grek’s oldest son, had wanted to do both and had been denied them by his father. Therefore, Grek and his family were first on a long list of Village families Nien intended to visit. If he could get Grek to allow his children to attend the school, the rest would follow.

  Slinging his gear over his shoulder, Nien left the near-empty Cantfield and headed into the Village. The Occoju family lived on the other side of the Village from the Cantfields, near the festival grounds in the second to the valley-side row of homes.

  Approaching the large metal-framed door, Nien released a deep breath to steady his nerves, rapped, and waited.

  From the other side of the door, Nien heard heavy footfalls — not Grek’s wife or one of his children. Suddenly remembering that he still had his gear over his shoulder, Nien quickly sloughed it to the ground as Grek appeared on the other side of the opening door.

  “Father-Occoju, it’s good to see you,” Nien said quickly.

  “Son-Cawutt. What a surprise. How is the season with you?”

  “Well. Excellent, actually.”

  “Your parents?”

  “Also well...and busy.”

  “I’m sure of it. With so much land, it is a wonder there is still time for construction.”

  Nien nodded uncomfortably.

  “And you,” Grek asked. “You have time for the Cant with all the work?”

  Grek had spoken intentionally — Nien felt the guilt swell in his chest.

  “E’te, it keeps me busy,” he replied. “But father’s almost done with the Vanc home and Wing’s in the fields all day and most nights, so...” The last was an exaggeration he’d hoped the Council Spokesman would enjoy, but such a reaction was not apparent on the aging man’s face. Nien’s smile faded.

  “He’s a good boy,” Grek replied, speaking of Wing.

  Naturally, Nien thought, pasting an agreeable look on his face.

  “Well, you came here for something?” Grek said.

  “I did — if you have a moment.”

  Grek stepped outside, shutting the door behind him. Nien noted the affront but said nothing. Grek kept his children very sheltered and perhaps did not want them hearing what it was this lead member of the Cant wished to speak to their father about.

  “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I have begun a school.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  “We meet in a field for now,
outside of town. I’m attempting to procure a smaller edifice within the Village for the same purpose.”

  “What do you teach?”

  “We’ll be studying a variety of subjects,” Nien said, continuing probably too quickly, “I came here to ask if you would consider allowing your children to join the others that are already attending.”

  But Grek wasn’t about to be redirected. “What do you teach?” he repeated.

  “We…well, mostly we start by asking questions and go from there.”

  “And what source material do you use for answering their questions? Are you so old, so versed, that you feel you may give them adequate answers? Answers that we as their parents cannot provide?”

  Nien had to dig deep to answer the Councilman honestly, knowing it would do nothing to help his cause. And even though he’d be willing to say only whatever part of the truth would most please Grek, or lie outright, he knew none of it would help. It didn’t have nearly as much with what Nien was teaching than with the fact that he was teaching at all. Even saying they often used and referred to the Ancient Writings in their classes would not gain any ground with Grek — For how, he could hear Grek saying, do you think you could teach them better of the Writings than their own parents?

  Knowing there was nothing for it, Nien said, “I think truth may be found in many places. I think living a tradition simply because it’s a tradition should be...questioned.”

  “And you know the difference, Son-Cawutt? Do you trust in the validity of your distinction? Do you trust it surely enough that you may, without reservation, accept that in your words impressionable minds might believe?”

  “I...” Nien stammered. He’d been prepared for Grek’s first question. This one, however…

  Even though the Councilman had led him like a colt, still Grek was right.

  Am I sure? Nien wondered. Am I prepared for such a thing?

  The children may take what he taught them as axiom, in fact, as children, they probably already were.

  Nien saw again, starkly, how differently he interacted with the world. His instinct was as a seeker of knowledge — always digging, forever questioning. But children of Rieeve did not function like that, they had been taught that life was made of fast, immovable truths. That was how they understood their world and that was how they would interpret what he taught them. Could curiosity be taught? Could grey be a valid colour when the parents of Rieeve painted the world in black and white?

  “I’m sorry,” Nien muttered. He was beyond trying to make an impression on the Council Spokesman. He was reeling inside with his own realization.

  “Thank you for your time,” Nien said perfunctorily.

  “Son-Cawutt, wait.”

  It took a couple steps to stop and turn back. Relieved of any nerves he’d had upon first knocking on the door, Nien waited, feeling a vague hollow in his mind, a bland numbness in his limbs.

  Grek rubbed his jaw. “Here’s the thing, Son-Cawutt. Without the support of the Council, your school will not, continue, anyway.”

  Nien raised his eyes to Grek’s face, trying to decipher why it was not enough for the Council Spokesman to have humiliated him.

  “You will never have the Council’s official permission, but it is possible for us to...” Nien could tell Grek was choosing his words carefully, “look the other way. Perhaps, even, allow those of our children who’d like, to attend.”

  Nien felt an uncomfortable knot beginning to form in his belly.

  Look the other way?

  The sudden turn in the conversation was so abrupt, Nien felt his mind scrambling to comprehend —

  Obviously there was something Grek wanted. But what would cause him to look the other way about the school?

  No sooner had the question formed in Nien’s mind then he understood. There was only one thing the Council wanted more than anything else…

  “Wing,” Nien said.

  “If you could help us by talking with your brother.”

  There it was, the price. The irresistible bait.

  “He listens to you as he does no one else,” Grek continued. “We are running out of ways to reach him.”

  At least in that, Nien saw Grek’s honesty, his...desperation?

  Nien’s guts turned into twists of metal — it was the school or Wing. If he didn’t try to convince Wing, the Council would close his school. If he did, the Councilman said that even those children of Council Members themselves could come should they want to.

  Embarrassed that his internal struggle must have been so evident in the length of his pause, Nien said, “There’s no point. Wing, he doesn’t talk to me, either. Not like he used to.” The truth of it chafed Nien’s heart.

  But Grek shook his head as if that were either untrue or a mere triviality.

  “Only you can do it, Son-Cawutt. It’s that, or your school does not outlast the season.”

  The school did not outlast its next session.

  Across the fields, Nien saw Jhock making his way out to him. Nien’s ‘talk’ with Grek Occoju had been just before the turn-long season break. Today was to be the school’s first time back after the break — their first class in the season of Kojko. Nien noted that Jhock’s hands were stuffed in his pockets and that his eyes did not leave the path immediately in front of his boots.

  Before Jhock said anything, before he’d even approached, Nien knew.

  “Jhock,” Nien said as the young man stopped in front of him. Reaching out, Nien placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right.”

  Jhock raised his hazel-green eyes. “I’m sorry, we tried. We all told our parents we still wanted to come, but they wouldn’t hear it. Council members even stopped by each of our houses.” Jhock’s face twisted a little. “They wouldn’t let me in the room when they came, but I overheard my fa talking with my mother last night. He said it wasn’t worth losing his best employee over my attending.”

  Part of Nien couldn’t quite believe the Council would go so far. Another part, however, believed it perfectly. The Council, the villagers, were frightened. And frightened people could do anything. They could do much worse, he felt, than threaten schools and jobs.

  “Really, it’s all right, Jhock. Thank you for coming to tell me, and for your courage in attending in the first place.” Nien glanced up to see a couple villagers reclining not-so-idly on the outer row of cottages and homes.

  “You’d better go,” Nien said.

  Jhock nodded. “Pretty soon I’ll be old enough to join the Cant as something other than a scrivener. Once I get my sword, you’ll be my teacher again and none of them will have any control over whether my questions are about swordplay or books.”

  Nien forced a smile and urged him to go.

  Jhock did so and Nien stood for a time, alone, in the middle of the empty field.

  Turning away at last for home, Nien’s mind spun as a feral band of emotions set upon him. He was angry with himself for not having been able to say something to the Council Spokesman — even if it had been to tell him to go away and die. Rage swallowed him in a gulp and every venomous thought he’d ever had about his people, about Rieeve, about his life swarmed to the surface. His fists clenched. He wished he had his sword with him — he would have used it to pummel every blade of grass in the entire valley to mulch.

  As he walked, the heat of his anger burning round the edges of his mind, doubt began to move, shattering him in a way rage never could have.

  Am I really that arrogant, that mistaken? he asked himself. Because I long for knowledge doesn’t mean others do. Who am I to change anything in this place — or think I can?

  Part of him rebelled at the idea, and doubt and desire went to battle inside him like two ravenous insects, munching his hopes into dust, crushing him between their incorrigible wills.

  Feeling distinctly as if he might drown with the crush of emotion, a single thought presented itself into his mind that silenced all the others: “Wing.”

  Nien came to a slow stop.
>
  Grek actually thought he could test my loyalties, he thought quietly to himself.

  Slowly, Nien found he could breathe again.

  Raising his head, Nien closed his eyes and pressed his face into the dripping rays of afternoon sunlight.

  “Show me a way,” he said to the radiant orb. “Show me a way through this before I tear everyone and everything I love apart.”

  Nien entered the house to the usual busy sounds and wonderful smells that accompanied nearly every evening in the Cawutt household. Wing was in the kitchen with Reean and Nien could hear Jake pestering Fey in the back room.

  Reean and Wing looked up when he came in. Wing was about to say something but stopped, saying instead, “What happened?”

  “They closed the school,” Nien said.

  “Closed the school?” Reean said. “Why?”

  “Because it’s going so well.”

  Wing and Reean were quiet. Jake stepped out from the back room with Fey dragging along the floor behind him, latched onto one of his ankles.

  Nien splashed his face and moved over to the table where he leaned upon the back of one of the dining room chairs.

  “Did they tell you why?” Reean asked.

  “It was exactly what I knew it’d be — ‘children are meant to be taught from the Ancient Writings under the guidance of their parents’.” He jerked his head toward the door. “There’s more depth in the puddle outside that door than in the entire Council membership. If the next generation of Rieevans turns out as infantile as this one it won’t be my fault.”