Deliberations
Date: 2012-12-05T05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: bren; Cherryh; short story; Foreigner; Science Fiction; SF
Description: A short story set on a certain night in the court at Shejidan, on the eve of a birthday...somewhat before Bren Cameron's arrival.

Deliberations:

A Foreigner Short Story

by

C. J. Cherryh

Closed Circle Publications

Box 18656

Spokane WA 99228

Deliberations
copyright © 2012 by C.J. Cherryh

All rights reserved

Closed Circle Publications

Box 18656

Spokane WA, 99228

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Cover design: Jane Fancher

Dedication

for Jo Ann,
who asked the question

About the Author

C.J. Cherryh, two-time winner of the Hugo Award for Best Novel and once for Best Short Story, is the author of more than 60 novels. These include numerous independent novels in the Alliance-Union universe, as well as the Chanur books, the Foreigner series, and others, and fantasy books such as Faery Moon and the Fortress in the Eye of Time books.

C.J. Cherryh is one third of Closed Circle Publications.

Deliberations:

A Foreigner Short Story

by

C.J. Cherryh

The tiled rooftops of Shejidan glistened a dull pale red in the twilight, twisting rows of many-storied dwellings clustered in their ancient associations, the old heart of the oldest, greatest city on the continent. There were, one well knew, human cities on the Isle of Mospheira that never seemed to sleep— cities in square grids, blazing with lights once the sun went down; but Shejidan’s maze of streets went more softly into the night, content with the starlight and the moon.

One might take the view below for peaceful...looking down on those roofs from a balcony high up in the hilltop fortress— the Bujavid, that both protected and ruled the massive continent.

One might think, so quiet the city was, that the whole world was in good order, and that nothing disturbed the peace.

But people had been quietly hoarding food for days, and the trains had seen an uncommon traffic of people outbound, leaving the capital and seeking the safer quiet of their clans elsewhere.

Fear ran those twisted walkways.

Tabini was infelicitous twenty-two— a number partly redeemed because it was only divisible by two moderately felicitous elevens. Tomorrow he would turn felicitous twenty-three, a number that struck fear into the world not for its sums and divisions, but because at twenty-three, Tabini, son of Valasi-aiji, grandson of the aiji-regent, would be legally of age to rule...and to claim his rights to the succession.

Infelicitous eight was the number of years since Valasi-aiji had died— under circumstances some called suspicious. Valasi had died, and Valasi’s mother Ilisidi, the aiji-dowager, had become regent for his minor son— not to universal rejoicing.

Tabini remembered vividly the moment he had heard the news of his father’s death— he remembered the sun on the wall opposite the old arrow-slit, in his retreat at Malguri. His grandmother’s bodyguard had come up to the ancient tower to tell him. He recalled the yellow stone, the crack in the ruined floor. Every detail came back to him. The precise words he would never forget: “Your father, young gentleman, has died. The causes are not clear.”

Are Grandmother and I next? he had wondered. Fourteen was young to be assassinated, but it was not unheard of, in the world’s history.

His grandmother had snatched him up in that hour, whisked him down from ancient Malguri and they had gone back to Shejidan, clear across the continent, by a mode of travel no aiji of the atevi had ever used before: they had flown, in a small, very cold plane— slow, by the standards of today’s fleet of jets, but faster than anyone in Shejidan had remotely expected them.

His grandmother had rallied her allies by the sheer unexpectedness of her arrival— and by the fact his grandmother had her own Guild already in place in the western Guildhall, and allies she could call on. His grandmother had cleared his father’s mistresses and the current wife out of the Bujavid with a suddenness that had stunned and deeply offended several clans. The legislature had gone into emergency session to prevent her— and could not achieve a quorum— since some maintained the session was not legal.

In that confusion, Ilisidi had proclaimed herself, for the second time, aiji-regent of the aishidi’tat, ruler of the world, in the name of a minor son. She effectively controlled, for one major asset, the leadership of the Assassins’ Guild— and the size of her personal bodyguard, threaded through the west as well as the East, was, for a lord of the aishidi’tat, unprecedented.

In two days, the mistresses’ relatives had found retreat the best defense. Her enemies had had a falling-out, and attempted to use the issue of the plane flight to draw her own conservative base into the argument. A few ‘counters had attempted to find adverse numbers in the event, but her supporters had their own ‘counters, and they found predictions of disaster in the other party. In two days, Ilisidi had presided over Valasi’s funeral, and on the third, the felicitous third, she had taken up residence in Valasi’s apartment, replacing all Valasi’s staff with her own.

She had been, from the hour of her landing in Shejidan, in charge of the government.

Down in the starlit town tonight people were preparing buckets of water in case the water failed, weapons in case of civil disorder, food in case of disorder and siege, and those districts that had electricity were bringing oil lamps out of storage, in case of power failure. Tabini knew these things. His bodyguards had told him it was going on.

Would he launch a claim immediately as tomorrow dawned? He might have no choice. There were those who would launch it for him if he delayed— and his inaction would signal badly for the future of his rule.

He drew in a deep breath of chill air, then quietly withdrew from the balcony and shut the doors. There was no danger from rifles at this height above the city— it would be a remarkable eye that could even note his presence on the balcony. But he shut the doors all the same, and walked from that little breakfast room into the sitting-room of his Bujavid apartment. Supper was past. He often took a small brandy at this hour, and his servants waited to provide it, but he did not feel in the least celebratory this evening, and one brandy might lead to unwise two.

His bodyguard was there— they always shadowed him, at least two of the four— Nochidi and Keigan were with him now. The other pair were likely doing what wise bodyguards would do at such a time— gathering information, keeping an ear to Bujavid security, which he did not command, and which might not give his bodyguard the exact truth when consulted.

Nochidi and Keigan were, like everyone around him, originally his grandmother’s men, trained in the Eastern Guild, and tonight— he wondered just ever so slightly whether the loyalty they gave him had ever overcome the loyalty they owed the aiji-dowager.

“Tea,” he said, and servants moved to make it for him, and for his bodyguard if he sat down with them.

He did that.

They were older men. He could not remember a time they had not been part of his life. They were— all atevi were— darkskinned, golden-eyed, eyes shimmering a little in indirect light as they sat opposite him. These two wore the black leather of the Assassins’ Guild, the guild among other guilds that maintained the law of the aishidi’tat, the Western Association. Their predecessors had stood off the humans, and confined the invaders all to their island enclave. They were, always, protectors of lords and officers, preserving order, balancing powers, conducting negotiations— preventing the aishidi’tat from sliding back into chaos.

And if his grandmother, as aiji-regent, had decided that her grandson should not see tomorrow, if she had given the order— they had all come from her service, and might go back to it tomorrow.

He sat with them and drank the tea, as he always had— he trusted Eidi, his major domo, as he always had. Though he could not to this hour say definitively where his staff’s loyalty rested, still, he had trusted them for all these years, and found doubting them more uncomfortable than trusting them tonight.

Would they take his orders in the other direction, and assassinate his grandmother? They might. He had been in the servants’ care almost from the day of his birth— from the day his grandmother had dismissed the Taibeni clansmen his Taibeni mother had tried to attach to him as bodyguards. She had set her own Guildsmen to guard her grandson day and night. These two had been with him literally from his infancy, setting their lives between him and harm. The four had ridden with him, hunted with him, laughed with him— warned him of dangers. Their Guild could order them independently. There was that, too. But ultimately— their man’chi, their sense of loyalty, their sense of center and balance in the universe, took precedence.

So he drank the tea his servants made, and wondered what his bodyguards were thinking tonight. Perhaps they asked themselves if he would make a move against his grandmother, and if they would be put to that painful choice.

“Have we heard from the aiji-regent this evening, nadiin-ji?”

“From her aishid, nandi,” Nochidi said quietly...they knew what was on his mind, every bit of it. And he would not ask them even yet where their man’chi lay. It could shift in an instant. And when man’chi shifted, at such a time— the whole world tilted. Aijiin rose and fell. People’s lives changed. People died.

“Was there anything remarkable?” he asked, and Keigan said,

“Only the advisement of factional meetings, nandi. There will be such, in coming days.”

“Beyond any doubt.”

“Your grandmother,” Nochidi said, “thought you would prefer dinner with your own staff this evening, so Cenedi says.”

He had not been surprised that no invitation had come. He nodded. “Absent her move against me,” he said, which he had not said, yet, this year, “I shall not move against her. Be assured.”

“You may not have a choice, nandi,” Keigan said.

“The factions will move without us, you mean.”

“Order,” Keigan said, “may suffer. They have waited for this day, both for and against.”

“Neither side,” Nochidi said, “is more reasonable than the other. Either may take independent action.”

“Not sanctioned by the Guild.”

“No,” Nochidi assured him. “There is no legal motion afoot.”

It was good to hear. But the question hung in the air, what he would do, whether he would start proceedings to claim the aijinate, whether he would decide to rule now— or to take his father’s course, and wait, while factions plotted, plots crossed plots, and some died.

He had given no public clue, made no public statements at all. It was, he thought, wise to plan his moves— and make them decisively; unwise, too, to tell even his supporters what sort of ruler he would be. Everyone had an opinion— most saying that he would be more liberal than his Grandmother. Some were quite wrong in their assumptions. Some thought he would be easy— but he did not decline their support...for now.

Mospheira had its opinion of him, certainly. And he had one regarding their representative. The paidhi, the translator for the humans— was weak. His father had gotten concessions from Wilson-paidhi that had changed— everything— and offended the traditionalists.

The traditionalists had willingly backed his grandmother’s assumption of power when Valasi died. A sea trade had long existed between the atevi mainland and the human enclave— and it had increased markedly in Valasi’s time. There had arisen new markets. New imports. Now there had come to be a great appetite for such things— to the distress of the kabiuteri, the kabiu masters, who arranged what was proper, down to the flowers in an entryway, or the seasonality of fruits and fish on the table.

There was now a concrete airport at Shejidan. Jets plied the transcontinental routes, and the corridor between Shejidan and Port Jackson. Television images crossed clan borders— receivers sat in public halls, so that everyone could see how someone said a thing as well as hear it. There was a proposal under consideration to broadcast a series of the classic machimi plays, so that great performances of the masters could be preserved, and so that one excellent performance could be shown across the nation. The machimi unified the clans. They transmitted the old stories. Even his grandmother had to admit that was a benefit.

But what unified, also divided. Television conveyed other things, too, and sometimes news got out that was not well-considered. Sometimes it started rumors, and let controversies erupt that needed not have happened. The traditionalists wanted no more of Wilson-paidhi’s world-shaking gifts— or they wanted weapons of the sort prior generations had cast into the sea. The liberals wanted as much technology as they could possibly get— whatever goods Wilson had available to trade, they wanted in general distribution, and many of the loudest proponents evinced no fear of social consequences.

As for the aiji-regent, she regarded Wilson-paidhi as far more than the coward most people believed he was— not a timid man who had caved in to Valasi-aiji’s threats and demands— but a devious and clever foreigner who, far from being terrified of Valasi-aiji, had retaliated to the aiji’s threats by giving atevi the very gifts that would destroy the traditions, corrupt what was kabiu, and put more and more profit into the hands of politicians on the other side of the dividing straits.

Which view of Wilson-paidhi was true? His grandmother would not deal with Wilson-paidhi at all, would scarcely even look at him on ceremonial occasions, when their paths did cross.

Tabini personally distrusted Wilson-paidhi. Deeply.

But give up what Wilson had given them? Give up flight, and television? No. They were useful. Even his grandmother had not pushed those gifts into the sea. Flight had gotten them back to Shejidan in time to stop certain clans from seizing power. Flight let atevi reconnoiter the Isle of Mospheira from above, and see what humans were up to, in their isolation. They could see the cities lit up like festivals, all night long, and they had a good view of the broad streets with the railless vehicles Mospheirans had once advised atevi would ruin the world.

Flight and television had exposed Mospheira’s duplicity and shown it to the whole continent.

But perhaps, too, there had been some sense in the humans’ advice. Humans were clanless. They loved squares and grids and had no apparent concept of associations. Roads with people free to stop where they liked would have brought clans into disputes, with intrusions and disturbance and some clans wanting to bar passage to others, whereas trains running on fixed schedules to a regulated set of depots kept the peace among neighbors.

Ilisidi, as aiji-regent, had not complained about the issue of the vehicles and the roads. She had not wanted to hear more technology proposed. She wanted nothing more from Wilson-paidhi, and she would not bring up the issue of what they had seen from the air, even in reproach.

And what would he do with Wilson-paidhi, in his day?

He had a great deal yet to learn about the world, and particularly about Wilson, who had been silent the last eight years.

And when would he do it?

He sat and sipped tea, thinking that his aishid most of all deserved a warning of his intentions, and he had to give it, if not tonight, tomorrow.

As well it be sooner. He was confident he had enough backing. The Taibeni, his mother’s clan, were particularly upset at his grandmother’s long intrigue with their neighbor, Lord Tatiseigi, of Atageini clan— the Taibeni more than mistrusted Lord Tatiseigi’s ambitions. Taiben and the Atageini had been technically at war for nearly two hundred years...ever since the War of the Landing, when atevi had pushed humans to the sea.

He had the liberals, all of them, in his hand. They had chafed under his grandmother’s rule.

He had the backing of the Northern Association, which also distrusted Lord Tatiseigi and his influence— that association had a very lively feud with Lord Tatiseigi, which his father had patched up in recent months, but it took very little nudging to have it break loose again.

His grandmother had all the East, which was half the continent, but it was a mountainous, empty half: there was little population, except in three broad valleys, and on the coast.

She had a massive Guild presence— few other lords of the East had allowed the guilds within their territories, when they had applied to come in, but his grandmother had more than allowed them. She had declared her large bodyguard was for regional stability, in a land still clinging to feudal ways. And the East, for years, had trained its own.

She had gained the good opinion of the traditionalists...but she had alienated the south, the Marid, itself intensely traditional. The Marid was upset over her campaign to settle old political debts on the west coast, which the Marid had had ambitions to own from before humans ever landed.

It was a delicate balance the aiji-regent had maintained all along: allies deeply uneasy with each other, upset at the contradictions they saw in her actions. There were rumors— matters more of man’chi and passion and fears of what she might do next, than of any substantive action that she had actually taken. Her own allies feared her, making a wispy set of connections that amounted to nothing anyone could name— except she was Eastern, not western, and she had a massive personal guard.

Ilisidi had been aiji-consort before her two administrations as aiji-regent. The aishidi’tat had been under her governance longer than any single aiji had ever served. She was showing her age, and even some of the conservatives began to talk of what came next.

Ilisidi swore her health was fragile. She still rode, she still hunted, she was a dead shot, but now and again she walked with a cane. She suffered from myalgia and she had palpitations.

Of course she had palpitations and myalgias— every time a minister had a presentation she disapproved. She had headaches. She had indispositions. When she did listen— she listened to what already pleased her, and those who confronted her often found their prepared speeches dwinding away in confusion in the face of her interruptions and her questions. Anyone who brought a proposal with which Ilisidi did not already agree had better have his facts and arguments in good order.

She was the canniest, the most dangerous politician ever to hold the aijinate, and a gambler would not lay odds even her grandson knew every stew she had had a finger in, or what she had promised this and that supporter under what conditions.

Popular? Still wildly so in some quarters. And the traditionalist number-counters who tracked horoscopes and the numerology of the world maintained that she would have a long, long rule.

He had added his own numbers, in his own way, putting no more real credence in the ‘counters than Ilisidi did. His personal numbers now completely excluded Wilson-paidhi, who had refused to meet with him. He would remember that. The moment he took the aishidi’tat, Wilson would be on his way back to Mospheira— if Wilson was lucky. Let the Mospheirans worry how they were to talk to the aiji in Shejidan, since their last man had become offensive and untrustworthy.

He saw before him an opportunity resting primarily on the promises of allies who thought they could control him— old lords and ministers who might suspect he meant to wield the power they would pretend to give him— but confident he was too young to get the better of them.

He meant to show them differently: to wield power firmly, and wield it with exactly what his grandmother had— an understanding of the real numbers of the world, unobfuscated by the self-important ‘counters and the kabiuteri— numbers about trade, and industry, numbers about the clans, and finance, numbers about clan lords who had always known they would someday have to decide in his favor or his grandmother’s—

But over time, youth won. Youth ultimately won.

What he had not made entirely evident to the world was his attention to his grandmother’s lessons. He was, in every minute detail, his grandmother’s student, and he did not forget. Believe the ‘counters prophecies and plan things by their numbers? He was no more superstitious than she was.

Believe the promises of political allies? She had taught him history she had witnessed.

Make black be white and day be night in the same speech, dependant on the hearer? She had taught him that art, too.

“I shall make my claim tomorrow,” he said at last, “nadiin-ji. Tell my grandmother’s aishid so.”

#

“He says, aiji-ma,” Cenedi reported, “that he will announce for the aijinate tomorrow.”

Interesting, Ilisidi thought. As early as tomorrow.

And she smiled.

Cenedi stood waiting, hands folded behind him, black-clad, all impassivity. Cenedi would do whatever she ordered. Cenedi would bend the Guild itself, if he had to. He waited, in formal stance, not looking at her. She said, still in her formal dress at this hour, sitting in the upright square lines of a chair that predated the War of the Landing— “We are not surprised.”

He waited, still. And she said, “Taiben will support him.”

“So will the north,” Cenedi said. “And the Marid, and the lesser lords of the coast.”

It was a strange alliance that backed her grandson, an alliance of lords who would not occupy the same room in peace. It was the old issue, the tribal peoples, displaced from the island of Mospheira when the aishidi’tat had had to find somewhere to settle the humans. It was a two-hundred-year legacy of trouble, having moved two culturally distinct populations onto the mainland, settling them in areas where they could make a living from the sea and preserve their ancient ways. It had sounded wise. The aishidi’tat had found a solution to humans having dropped from the heavens— and it had only cost backward tribesmen a relocation to very rich fishing grounds. Tribal peoples could practice whatever they pleased in their new home. They were not part of the aishidi’tat. They would be represented by lords who were.

She had insisted that the settlement had been a bad idea, and that the arrangement should be altered. She insisted on assimilation— a vain insistence, since it had never happened; but her insistence had stirred up the tribal peoples, the Edi and the Gan, who had no vote in the aijinate— and their vexation, carried to the extreme, had managed to vex the coastal lords, who had never wanted the tribal peoples settled next to them. And the fact that the Edi people had taken to wrecking shipping had simultaneously vexed not just the west coast, but the central south, the Marid, who had always wanted to slaughter the coastal lords and take the whole territory. Now Marid ships, too, were being wrecked by people deliberately tampering with warning buoys.

Alienating all three of those districts at once was a rare accomplishment. Unifying them on a single point was unprecedented. It was a question whether she had done it— or her grandson had— but unified, yes, they were, and entirely upset with her.

And the Northern Association had now apparently defected to her grandson on the very eve of his majority— because they hated Tatiseigi. Personally. Ajuri clan was central to the Northern Association, and an Atageini-Ajuri marriage had gone very bad indeed.

Valasi had patched up that feud a few years ago. Shejidan’s Winter Festival had offered him a chance, when an angry young daughter of the Northern Association had stormed off from their tents, lost herself in the crowds, and a banner had caught her eye— the white lilies of Atageini clan, her deceased mother’s relatives, powerful in the Padi Valley Association.

That had been a moment. A minor child had planted herself in Lord Tatiseigi’s camp, taking refuge under the lily banner. Ajuri clan had called a meeting of the Northern Association right in mid-festival— and things could have gone very bad indeed, if Valasi had not sent the Guild in to negotiate on both sides. Valasi had gotten the two sides calmed down, and the unhappy daughter had amicably settled in Lord Tatiseigi’s house for a few seasons.

But one heard she had now gone back to her father’s clan, being equally upset with Tatiseigi.

Well, it had been an agreement just waiting an excuse to unravel. And the Ajuri now thought they would fare better with her grandson. That was amusing.

“My grandson gains the north,” she said. “There is an uneasy bargain for him. Reasonable, given he is half Taibeni— but that association will undoubtedly rise up to trouble him. Will he make a try at us tonight, do you think, ‘Nedi-ji?”

Cenedi turned his head, looked down at her, asked, with deadly implications: “What do you wish done, aiji-ma?”

What did she wish done?

What was more important— the aishidi’tat, or her grandson?

She could, without Tabini’s flirtations with the liberals, settle the fractious lords. If her grandson died tonight, there would be a few weeks of upset and shouting, and then, lacking any other credible claimant to the aijinate, the liberal and the conservative lords would come to the sane realization that nothing done in haste would last. Choosing one of them to rule the others would dissolve the aishidi’tat in civil war, which could even bring in the humans on Mospheira. Disorder gathered more disorder, from snowball to snowslide to avalanche.

And no one wanted that. The Guild would stop it their own way, start eliminating key lords, defusing any action— unless some lord was so intemperate as to assassinate her.

Then—

Then she had to fear for the aishidi’tat. For all civilization. The Ragi atevi, that little center of the west, including her husband’s clan, and Valasi’s, and Tabini’s, had become necessary to the peace. They had always ruled, since there had been an aishidi’tat. If they ceased to rule...and power were left to the strongest...

Chaos followed.

She had kept the East separate from the west, behind its mountain walls. Malguri was a plain, stone-walled fortress, looking much as it had looked when humans had first descended to the world. Electricity was an afterthought, a convenience for the Guild.

And should she and her grandson go down, the Eastern Guild would hold together whatever of civilization could be held...the traditions, the history.

But recover it? Bring back what they had, in the aishidit’at?

Without the Ragi atevi, the aishidi’tat would come apart. And the East did not hold the knowledge of, say, a Tatiseigi— the connections, the influence— the industry, or the wealth.

The East did not have the rail system, did not have the phone system— much as she detested the thought, the East did not have the history with humans. Or the knowledge how to deal with the paidhi-aiji, offensive creature that he was— but— he was a pressure gauge, in a way of speaking, that would warn an aiji of trouble.

None of these assets existed on the other side of the continental divide.

No, the East would not rule the aishidi’tat. It would pull away. The world she had united, by marrying her husband, would fall apart again.

And if only humans were united, then who knew what could result?

Humans needed resources Mospheira lacked. That had kept them in check. The aishidi’tat limited what it sold them, but sold them enough to keep them complacent and content. That was another thing in which the East had no experience. If humans one day decided they had to have those resources— and there were no aishidi’tat to stop them— it would be a dark, dark day indeed.

“Tell my grandson,” she said to Cenedi, “that we need not take the world apart. Tell his aishid---we shall defend, but not attack.”

“Aiji-ma.” Cenedi nodded without further comment, and left her, to convey that message.

It offered nothing to reduce the tension. It said nothing to reassure anyone who might have spies in her household— except that she would not precipitate a crisis tonight.

She— and this chair— were the center of the civilized world at the moment. A little piece of Malguri. Like her. Like her bodyguard. All of them. Standing fast.

The East had not accepted the western guilds. But Malguri had.

Her predecessor in Malguri, her grandfather, had received the emissary from the aiji in Shejidan, asking him to use his influence to install the guilds in the provinces of the East. He had not been the only Eastern lord thus approached, in what was surely a ploy to bring the East under western influence, and governance. Her grandfather had been the only one to agree to receive the Guild emissaries— the Assassins, the Treasurers, the Craftsmen, Trade, Commerce, the Kabiuteri, the Engineers...

He had refused some Guilds, seeing no use for them. But the Assassins, the Craftsmen, and the Engineers and others— he had installed, to learn from them, he had said— it had been a trial.

And in her day— she had found the guilds in Malguri Township a very useful asset. The clans of the East were of a different sort than the clans of the west. They hunted, fished, and worked crafts. Some guilds to this day seemed too western to gain any footing there.

But the Assassins had brought skills— important skills.

The Assassins that served her grandfather had made Malguri powerful over its neighbors. But she had given them the benefit of a guildhall, a training facility she had established, and they had found no dearth of recruits. The guildhall had organized their own training, and subsequently allowed certain of their members to be assigned to the Guild in Shejidan— but the East had allowed no outsiders to come into their guildhall. The west found in them a source of Guild Assassins with no western clan affilitations, no man’chi scattered into places near them, and the Eastern Assassins’ Guild came into high repute as reliable and skilled.

She had, of course, her own bodyguard. And more Guild that had spread out into various lesser halls, in strategic places. Malguri had not attacked its neighbors in her time. It had not needed to be heavy-handed. Malguri’s interests were all it served. But Malguri occasionally stepped in to settle disputes. It was very different from the western guild, that had its guildhall in Shejidan.

She had grown powerful. She had been aiji of the East, with no legislature, no other government to consult.

Then the new aiji in Shejidan, never having met her, had sent her a proposal of marriage— to bring the two halves of the continent into agreement, he had said, to share the benefits of trade, and— which he mentioned in a minor way— to unite the west and the east by rail.

The proposal was one of marriage, not merely of contract marriage. It offered a lifelong union, exclusivity, and a rail link would breach the continental divide, a permanent route for western ideas to enter the East.

She understood what her proposed husband did not: that while her power was extensive, she could not guarantee the other lords’ acceptance of a railroad...and access to mines in the East.

But— from Shejidan, with her extended bodyguard guaranteeing, if not peace, at least everyone keeping their borders in the East, she might find leverage on those lords, who were also amenable to rewards for their agreement. And her prospective husband need not know that.

She would produce an heir— or not— at her pleasure. That was another sort of leverage— over the west. Was the prospective father intelligent? He was reputed to be. And had he not had the vision to see her situation in the East, and to know more than the Eastern mines were an asset?

Was he apt to produce a handsome child?

He had sent a picture, a painting. There was a little softness about the eyes. That did not appeal. But perhaps the painter had hoped to make him more personable. The face was handsome enough.

Had he a good reputation among his servants? She had her sources, in the Assassins’ Guild in Shejidan. He was reputed to have a temper, but he had been proper with his servants.

Did he hunt? He did. Often. So he could ride. He was, then of a healthy consitution, and not a sitabout.

She agreed. She set her affairs in order, set her household in order, and set about what was then, by mechieta, an entire summer’s journey from Malguri to the nearest railhead. She had had ample time, she and Cenedi and her hand-picked bodyguard of handsome young men, to reason through their plans, their precautions, and their intentions— if she had needed to return to Malguri, in some dispute with her intended, she had arranged her resources in the Guild, and there was every possibility, if challenged, that her defenses could deal with his.

In fact— twenty years later— with Valasi a boy of five— they had done exactly that.

She had put up with a great deal from that husband. She had brought a great deal to the marriage, and she had had opinions. When her opinions diverged from his, the arguments had sent the servants into the deeper halls. When he grew intransigent, and attempted to order her regarding Malguri, and her son— her husband had fallen ill, and died, thereafter, not quickly. He had been insensible most of the last season of his life. Lords came seeking this and that---and she had been knowledgeable of their problems. She had offered solutions, she had invited them to dine, and proposed alliances. She had helped certain lords, and now that the rail link had penetrated the East, she had been able to shift assets to bolster certain allies— assets and wealth the depth of which somewhat dismayed the Guild in Shejidan. There was a little fuss about her holding audience, and conducting the court sessions, which brought her into the public eye. But Cenedi had dealt with that.

Her husband died, four months after the onset of his illness, and Valasi’s maternal grandfather had meanwhile conceived ambitions to be aiji and made certain arrangements. So had three of her husband’s cousins.

But by then certain lords of the west knew that she was their ally. They knew that little Valasi would grow into a western aiji, and were assured he would have western tutors. The claimants were persuaded, all but one, to retire. It went to the legislature, and there— certain lords strongly argued there was no need to see the aiji-consort return to the East.

Most especially there was no need to have her, offended, pull the entire eastern half of the continent out of the aishidi’tat.

The legislature would not name her aiji, but they named her aiji-regent, proxy for her son Valasi, inventing the office on the spot. She had ruled the aishiditat for twenty-two years afterward. She had held off the human presence. She had strictly controlled human access to critical materials. She had dealt sharply with their industrialization, that had sent smoke across the straits in the north. She had attempted to resolve the west coastal situation...she had warned the western lords they would have the Marid to deal with if they did not resolve it. Unhappily the last had not been a success.

She ruled with a coalition of conservatives and traditionalists, with certain regional interests. Cenedi returned to Malguri from time to time, but she rarely did: to have removed Valasi to Malguri even for a season would have stirred up a firestorm, oh, indeed it would have.

Valasi grew from rowdy, willful youngster to a handsome young man with far too keen an interest in willing ladies. There had been a scandal with a maidservant, another with a minor lord’s daughter...

Valasi became a difficult young man, and managed, with his ungovernable temper, to offend Lord Tatiseigi, which stirred up an entire nest of difficulty. The liberals had seen their chance in his pursuit of curiosities, ladies, festivity, and human technology, and began to court the lad. So did the Taibeni, who were his grandmother’s clan. The north and the mountains joined in the courtship of Valasi...at a time when bad harvests, bad fishery reports, and a dispute between southern clans had made a difficult year—

And at twenty-seven, Valasi had finally gathered support in the legislature to declare himself aiji...peacefully, without threat to her, but strongly suggesting she might find a few years in Malguri overdue.

Valasi had managed his own life thereafter. In the first year of his administration, he created a crisis with the Mospheirans, which upset the liberals, and simultaneously, with three mistresses in Shejidan, he had contracted a marriage with a Taibeni, which greatly offended the conservatives and especially the conservative Padi Valley clans, neighbors to Taiben.

She had had a crisis in Malguri which prevented her coming back to unwind that tangle. But then it was reported the Taibeni consort was pregnant with an heir...and that altered the situation immensely.

Tabini was the result. And if the aishidi’tat had been unsettled with that situation, there quickly followed the departure of Tabini’s mother to her clan in high offense, since there were now no less than five mistresses in residence in Shejidan, one of them of the ancient Kadagidi clan, besides a Maschi daughter who was so young as to create an independent scandal. He placated the conservatives by taking a hard line with Wilson-paidhi, and virtually stopping ore shipments.

Then Wilson-paidhi— after a series of closed-door meetings with Valasi— countered and advanced him human plans for improved rail, for airplanes, and television, a sudden flood of information from Mospheira, if his stranglehold on resources could be relaxed.

Relaxed? Valasi had opened the floodgates. He had given Wilson-paidhi everything Wilson-paidhi asked.

Did one want to return to Shejidan and deal with the politics of that situation? She had been little inclined. She could not mend Valasi’s faults. She could not muster votes enough in the legislature to unseat him. Assassinating him—

She had thought about that.

She had not been the only one. There were three assassination attempts, one involving a servant-mistress. The mistresses were scheming to take the wife’s place, and to bring the infant heir under their influence, and at this certain lords had protested. The furor had produced only one result: a promise not to allow any of the mistresses access to his son...with the hope, perhaps, that this would curtail the access of the mistresses to Valasi.

It in no wise reformed Valasi. Valasi had sent his infant son to Malguri, with a letter suggesting Ilisidi was the proper tutor for a future ruler, and that she could keep the child safe.

While he pursued his pleasures with a vengeance, and made Wilson’s tenure not a happy one.

She had had Tabini in her hands. Sending the heir to Malguri had not made all Valasi’s critics happy— but within the year, two lords of the aishidi’tat had made the difficult journey by rail to Malguri, to see the countryside, they said.

One was Tatiseigi. The other was his neighbor, the lord of the Kadagidi.

They indicated that things could only go so far before something had to be done...that the coalition that had supported Valasi’s claim was showing cracks. And that they could do nothing immediate, but that something ultimately had to be done.

But— Valasi stayed in power. She had her reports, from visitors, and from within the guilds in Shejidan. His bullying of Wilson, his threats of embargos, brought a flood of minor technological conveniences that turned out to be far, far more than expected— and required more exotic materials. Frozen food, which the kabiuteri abhorred. The building of airfields at key points across the aishidi’tat. She had one built, herself. The Eastern guildhall acquired electricity, and installed the most modern equipment.

Valasi’s reputation improved with prosperity. He had become unassailable despite his indiscretions.

He died unexpectedly, however, after only fifteen years of rule, still a relatively young man, in a world changed by his rule.

Tabini had been a bright, good lad, who rode, hunted, and took readily to books and ciphering.

And she had brought him up with strictures she had never been able to apply to Valasi. Her grandson had grown up a stranger to electric light, to western conveniences, to airplanes andto television. She had taught him the history and heraldry of every clan in the aishidi’tat. She had spent evenings by the fireside, telling him, after dinner, the stories of the War of the Landing, and the changes it had brought, good and bad. She had taught him poetry, and the nature, use, and location, of the mineral resources Valasi traded.

She had read him the machimi, and questioned him on his understanding, assuring he understood the finer points in those lessons.

She had shaped him as she would have sharpened a weapon— a ruler-to-be, an asset his father had carelessly discarded. She had known wherein the tutors’ permissiveness with Valasi had encouraged bad tendencies. She was dealing with that heritage, and with a half-Taibeni, a reclusive, suspicious clan that had been too stubborn to settle a peace— no, they had rather carry on a state of war with their neighbor for two hundred years. That was the disposition she was dealing with, not to mention her own heritage— ice cold resolution combined with the unbridled temper of his western heritage.

That could be good. Or that could be bad.

It could be particularly bad on the day she would have to pass the aishidi’tat into hishands.

She had brought him back to Shejidan when Valasi died. She had gathered her supporters and again applied, with little hope, to be elected aiji in her own right, naming Tabini as her heir.

The legislature would have none of it. They had appointed her, for the second time, only aiji-regent.

Well, she had had eight years’ more rule, until this night. She had dealt with the imports and exports issue, with Mospheira. She had set Wilson-paidhi on notice about environmental concerns— either shut down the smoke affecting the northwest coast across the Strait, or find needed materials in short supply.

Wilson-paidhi had not been pleased.

That was well enough. She had not been pleased.

And seeing her grandson’s twenty-third year looming, she had made one more try at settling the west coast situation, the tribal peoples issue— this time with the help of certain of her grandson’s supporters, and of certain of the conservatives, notably Lord Tatiseigi, using his influence to draw the Kadagidi into the support column. The Taibeni, surprisingly, also favored the notion...on what they called moral grounds. The coastal clan of Dur joined the movement.

But the legislature’s lower house balked, on all points. Regional interests did not want pieces of the settlement Treaty reopened, for fear of having their own pieces of it reopened. The Marid did not want Shejidan to settle what they called regional problems, and nobody but Dur cared about smoke that was mostly landing on the Gan peoples, about whom no one but Dur cared, since they had never signed on to the aishidi’tat.

Well, it had been a bitter fight.

Looking back on a long career, thirty years alone at the head of the aishidi’tat— and having guided three of its aijiin in one way or another— the lasting mess around the Treaty of the Landing had been her greatest frustration.

Now—

Apparently her grandson was going to make his move, with an unlikely—and, she was sure, temporary coalition of the Taibeni, the Kadagidi, the Marid, the mountain clans, and, just lately, the Northern Association, largely because Lord Tatiseigi was so firmly on her side.

Tatiseigi had asked to call on her this evening. But she had refused, wishing not to place him in danger of assassination. She had thought perhaps her grandson might wait— a season or two.

But Cenedi had said he would not.

Good, she thought, on that score. The boy was using his head. He was drawing the right conclusions.

She had written a letter to Tatiseigi. She rang a little bell on the side table, and a servant entered. “My best message cylinder,” she said, “is on the table beside you,” she said. “The message is to Lord Tatiseigi. Tell his major domo to regard it as urgent.”

“Aiji-ma,” the servant said. Handsome lad. They all were, even the old ones, who had weathered well, over the decades.

The servant took the letter and the cylinder and quietly closed the door in leaving.

She had written, in that letter, Tati-ji, we have done our utmost with the boy. I am not afraid, neither of the end of my life, nor of the future of the aishidi’tat. My grandson has a temper, but he does not act in it. He does not squander his opportunities, and I did not believe he would squander this one. Now we are informed he will call on the legislature tomorrow.

This is wise. This coalition of his will not improve with time. If he acts resolutely, he will astonish his allies, who are still laying their plans— we both know them. He will take them quite by surprise, and they will discover what we know: that he is not timid, nor hesitant once a decision is necessary.

We ask you, our intimate, our staunchest ally, our closest associate, to bear him no ill will whatever the outcome. You may differ in opinion regarding the best course, but he knows how to govern from the middle. Let him move as he sees fit. He is as like me as you could wish. You will come to know that. He will respect my closest allies as a resource he will hope to deserve. I do not know whether this may be the last word I shall send to you. But it was never our desire to keep the world from changing. Change it will. Humans are, as the ‘counters would say, part of the numbers, now, and there is no going back from that. We cannot say what we would have been, but we can still say what we will be. We are making up that sentence as we go, and we shall never be through with that statement.

Support him. Lead him to deserve you. Learn from him. We have left matters for him to settle and he will need advisors who have the interests of the aishidi’tat before their own...

There were a few lines more, a request for Tatiseigi to shelter her household staff, should it be needful. She hoped that Cenedi and his closest companions would go to his service, if it came to that. Cenedi would not serve her grandson, if she were to die.

The whole city was on edge tonight. Some feared she would call on her guard— that there would be conflict with the Shejidani Guild.

Some even feared there would be riots, outbreaks of associational violence in the borderlands— a breakup of the aishidi’tat itself.

If that should happen— if that should happen, if there was violence, and clans began settling old grudges, then there was the fear that the humans on Mospheira might take advantage of the situation and attack the mainland...

Silly notion, that. The humans were too few. The continent was too wide, its recesses too extreme and its people too different. Humans had had a taste of closeness with atevi. They would not cross the straits. If there was anyone with something that extreme to fear— humans should be afraid, because there were very many atevi who thought the numbers could be changed.

Even she would not go that far. And she did not favor humans.

Still— people were down at the foot of the hill, storing food in their houses, storing water, buying candles, cleaning old hunting pieces. The number of requests to the Assassins’ Guild for hired protection of buildings, businesses, and even private homes was reportedly unprecedented.

Nonsense, all of it. She had built the aishidi’tat. The legislature might not admit it. The histories later written might not say so. But it was her handiwork, in all ways that mattered. And she would not destroy it.

She heard the door of the apartment open, not the quiet passage of a servant bearing a message, but a more disturbing presence. She heard quick footsteps pass her door, and heard the rattle of weapons.

Something had arrived.

More footsteps, softer, but quick. A quick knock and the door opened to let in one of the youngest servants. “Aiji-ma. Your grandson—”

One could think of calamity after calamity while the lad drew a whole breath.

“Is here, aiji-ma. With his aishid.”

“Indeed?” She rose from her chair. There was a sound of voices in the outer hall. “Tell Cenedi-nadi I shall see my grandson. With his aishid, if he insists.”

“Aiji-ma.” The boy ducked out, softly closing the door.

Well, she thought, and straightened the lace at her cuffs. She had dressed for the occasion. She wore a formal coat, black, black lace at her throat with a scatter of small rubies. Two rings she prized. She looked as she chose to look, aiji-regent, and nothing less.

Steps approached the door, booted steps, in number. Her grandson— his aishid, and since she had not heard any altercation in the hall, Cenedi and her bodyguard.

The door opened. Her grandson came in. Alone. The bodyguards stayed in the hall, facing each other, ready to blow each other to oblivion.

“Grandmother.” Not her title. Certainly not the deferential aiji-ma.

“Grandson.”

“Tomorrow,” he said, “I become of age.”

“One has not forgotten. One understands you will claim the aijinate. Have you come to ask our opinion? Or have you other notions?”

Tabini made a gesture toward the open door. “There is no provision for this moment. The legislature created the regency. They set the age at which an aiji can be elected. They made no provision for how a regent ends a regency. The last time— did my father even ask?”

“Not for three years.”

“I ask.”

She lifted a dismissive hand. “Ask away, but we cannot end it. Only the legislature can. At least let us not put the burden on our bodyguards.”

“One agrees to that. One wonders— whether we should remove the decision from the legislature.” A shrug. “The streets are empty, down there. People expect war. One hopes not. I recall Malguri is very fine this time of year.”

“It has bitter winters.”

“Endure a few.”

She had to smile. She nodded. “At your request, Grandson. But accept one piece of advice. Do not trust Wilson-paidhi.”

“Is that all your advice?”

“That will suffice. The rest you can discover for yourself. Shall I tell you where I put the keys? Or where my files are? If you ask nicely, I might.”

“Grandmother.” It was a warning tone.

“Be a good lad, and I shall be a helpful grandmother.”

“You will be in Malguri!”

“That might be well,” she said. “I should be hard-pressed to spare my advice when you make mistakes. And you will make mistakes.”

“Grandmother.”

“Ah, well, well.” She waved a hand. “Take your aishid and go. Or express your gratitude that I did not move against you.”

He stared at her. He had a very effective stare...with other opponents. She had withstood it for twenty-two years.

She smiled. “There are phones, now. Call me if you cannot find a file.”

“Maddening woman!”

“So your grandfather used to say. Shall we relieve everyone and announce an agreement?”

He nodded. “One would be glad of that...if you mean it.”

“This modern world! In the old days, understand, it needed nearly half a year for your grandfather’s proposal to reach me. But things change. We surprised the world— when we two turned up in Shejidan overnight. No one expected us. Let us end this the same way. Let us go down to the audience hall. Let us have these television cameras. Wake them up. Let us have us on television, side by side, in every township gathering-place, all day tomorrow. Let us surprise them again, shall we?”

He took a moment to think about it. “Television.”

“It lacks elegance,” she agreed. “But it is efficient. It is very useful— in preventing rumors.”

“Or creating them,” he said.

“Let us make a few.” She advanced a step, caught her tall, handsome grandson by the elbow, knowing the bodyguards would see it, knowing they would all twitch, though never show it. She steered him toward the door, and their waiting guards. “Let us do something different than our predecessors have done. Let us confound our enemies, and our allies— who are, between the two of us, one and the same. Let them wonder what to do next. Let Mospheira wonder about Wilson’s reports. They will regret I still exist. —And our enemies so richly deserve it.”