“May Muth la bless you, Muth-mah.”
Muth-mah inclined her head instead of bowing. “Shashav, Muth Mauk.”
“You’re first matriarch to arrive.”
“Way is short, and I was curious.”
“About me?”
“Of course. Everyone has heard of reborn mother who is now queen.” The matriarch regarded Dar with frank appraisal. “You’re even uglier than I expected.”
“My appearance is not urkzimmuthi, but my spirit is. It was even before I received Fathma.”
“Hai, I’ve heard that tale. It’s said you were only mother near dying queen.”
“She was dying because she sacrificed her life,” said Dar. “She did so only after deciding I was worthy.”
“She wanted someone to return Fathma to urkzimmuthi, and you have. You couldn’t have done that without becoming queen. Whether you’re fit to remain one is different matter.”
“You seem to speak as though you think I’m not.”
Muth-mah gave the equivalent of a shrug. “I’m only one voice among seven.”
“There are nine clan matriarchs,” said Dar.
“Pah clan is lost, and Muth-goth has stopped coming to councils. She’s very old, and way’s too long and difficult for her, even in summer.”
“I’ll miss seeing Muth-goth,” said Dar. “I met her when I traveled from west.” She watched Muth-mah’s face for a reaction, but detected none.
“I saw Togu-mah when I arrived, but not Kovok-mah,” said Muth-mah. “Where is he?”
“I sent him to Taiben. Why do you take interest in my mintaris?” “I don’t. Only Kovok-mah interests me. His muthuri is concerned.”
“Why?”
“You and her son were velazuls until she forbade it.”
“Thus we are velazuls no longer.”
“Though you’re reborn, and I’m told you remain handicapped. It’s said you see poorly in dark and have little sense of smell. You can’t tell if someone’s angry, fearful, or in love.”
“There are other ways to know these things besides smell.”
“Hai. Just as blind ones see with their hands and ears. Still, are you aware that you smell of atur?”
“That question is impolite.”
“This matter is too important for politeness.”
“I don’t control how I smell, only how I act. I’m aware of our laws. How could I be otherwise?”
“Wise deeds should match wisdom.” Muth-mah gave an abbreviated bow. “It’s tradition for matriarchs and new queen to stay apart until council. We’ll speak again at that time.”
Dar declined to say, “You have pleased me.” Instead, she nodded to Muth-mah. “I’ll see you then.”
Dar remained on her throne long after the matriarch had departed. She was shaken by Muth-mah’s apparent hostility, for the upcoming council was a crucial one. The lorekeeper had told her so. It would be when the matriarchs affirmed her fitness to rule. Usually that affirmation was a formality, but not always. There had been three instances when a new queen had been required to drink Muth la’s Draught to prove her fitness. On every occasion, the queen had died.
It wasn’t hard to imagine how Fathma could go to an unworthy recipient, and Dar realized how some might see her crowning as an aberration. If a majority of the council felt that way, she was doomed. Dar was already calculating the votes. Four can kill m^. So far, she feared two would go against her.
Twenty-two
The route Kovok-mah took to Taiben was called the New Road, though it had been constructed generations ago as a quicker way to reach the washavoki capital. The road achieved this by ascending the mountains and cutting through a high ridge. Its elevation meant it was snow-choked in winter. After Kovok-mah left the Yat clan’s valley, he encountered drifts upon the road. As he climbed higher, they became deeper until every step took effort. A man would have been forced back, but Kovok-mah persevered. He kept walking until he reached the pass. It was night by then, and he decided to camp.
The pass was the highest point on the road. Cut by hand through sheer rock, the passage provided protection from the wind and the drifts it created. Travelers often sheltered there, and the pass’ vertical walls had been blackened by countless campfires. Kovok-mah entered the cut, walked to its center,
where the snow was less deep, and set up his camp. He had carried wood for a fire, and soon he had one going. He cleared a spot for his sleeping skin, melted some snow to make herb water, and roasted some pashi roots to accompany the hard milk he had brought for dinner. He ate his simple meal wrapped in his traveling cloak and thought about the day ahead.
Kovok-mah was not looking forward to being in Taiben, though it would be good to see Zna-yat again. He’ll be overjoyed to learn Dargu lives. Kovok-mah still thought of Dar as “Dargu,” and he longed for the time when their love was uncomplicated. Before Muthuri intervened. Before Dargu became Muth Mauk. Holding her the previous night had stirred those feelings. His passion was so powerful that he was relieved when Dar had sent him away. He knew she was wise to do so. Yet Kovok-mah’s relief was balanced by despair. How can I live like this? He had no answer other than he must.
Kovok-mah tried to ease his torment by concentrating on the task ahead. Dar had asked him to observe the conditions in Taiben and send a report. That seemed easy enough. But she also wanted him to find out what the washavokis were thinking, and Kovok-mah felt unequal to that challenge. His relationship with Dar gave him little insight into ordinary washavokis, who he thought behaved in inexplicable ways. Wbrds are only sounds to them. Much that they say is meaningless. Kovok-mah felt he could learn more by smelling washavokis than conversing with them. Yet Dargu wanted him to speak. So he would say the words she had given him and hope that would suffice.
Kovok-mah arrived at Taiben’s gates at noon the following day. Although he wore no armor, he smelled the guards’ fear as they barred his way. Kovok-mah kept his hand far from his sword hilt and recited Dar’s message. “I come in peace with message from our queen to your queen. Will you tell her I am here?”
The guards seemed surprised that Kovok-mah had spoken to them, and they answered in the slow, simplistic speech used for half-wits and small children. “You stay here. We tell queen.”
Kovok-mah waited patiently while one of the guards hurried to the palace. It was a while before he returned accompanied by armed washavokis in blue and scarlet. They escorted him through the city streets to the palace. Once inside it, they led him to the doorway of a large smoky room and halted. “Wait here,” said one of the washavokis. “Queen will send for you. Understand?”
“I do,” replied Kovok-mah, stepping inside. There were windows glazed with sand ice, but they had been so darkened by soot that the light was dim. That presented no problem to Kovok-mah’s keen eyes, although they were beginning to smart. He saw that the smoke rose from a makeshift hearth in the room’s center. He also noted that Muth la’s Embrace had been carved into the wooden floor. Sons sat within it, and one rose when he spotted Kovok-mah. “Cousin Kovok?”
Before, Kovok-mah could respond, Zna-yat was bounding toward him. “My chest is filled by seeing you! Tell me your news, though I dread to hear it.”
“My news is good. Dargu lives.”
Zna-yat beamed. “Praise Muth la! Is she well?”
“Hai. She’s recovered. She sent me here to learn how affairs are going.”
“Then why did you call her Dargu?”
“I still think of her as Dargu.”