52 - The vine of tomorrow's circumstance

I wouldn’t even be able to choose, I realized. If I saw them coming, anywhere—I knew Sharaina’s face well from Assembly, and the youths from the dream—my body would move of its own will before they were even near bow-range.

But it shouldn’t even get to that, I saw, when Surya made me haul myself up, sit and think. Reluctantly, sluggishly, my mind followed forward the implications.

I had two names. If Sharaina had only considered it herself, she had committed no crime; a warning that her secret intention had been foreseen would be all that was possible and, probably, all that was necessary. Thus it could be kept quiet, and Yeola-e spared the knowledge that it had been considered.

But if she had spoken to Bartelao or the others, agreed upon or planned anything, then it was conspiracy, and they must be charged, and tried, and it would all come out. It was about now I’d been meaning to do the Kiss of the Lake, until I’d decided to wait until I was done in Arko; she’d probably been planning it for this one. What were the chances that she had spoken to no one?

Then I thought, I am going to send out the Demarchic Guard on the basis of a dream? I could imagine the look Krero would give me. I remembered how it had been one of my orders from Surya to have Jinai look for my death, when the time was right. Terrify me though it did, that was now. I’d trusted his work for decisions far larger than a Demarchic Guard assignment. I found a bit of time to go to his office that morning.

As well as being on retainer to me, Jinai had built up a thriving private augury practice in Arko. We’d found him a manager, since running a business requires a memory. His reputation was unmatched, of course, and she, unlike him, was willing to up the rates to what the traffic would bear. Thus he had become fairly wealthy.

He still usually wore a loin-cloth only, though, as he did now, taking me into the room with the blank white wall. Augurs are allowed.

I stood before him as always, facing the empty wall, pen and noteboard in hand. “So!” he said jovially as usual, “what am I looking—” That was the moment his hands touched on my upper arms; now he whipped them away. “Semanakraseye! You are scared, so scared, it’s like the first time.”

Sometimes he did remember something; it was always startling.

“It’s all right, Jinai, look anyway. You are looking for...” I took a deep breath. “My death.”

“Oooh, no wonder you’re scared.” His hands settled on my arms again, tightened, shifted me. At least he wasn’t scared. “As things are?”

“No, wait...” I wasn’t sure how things were. What was the alternative: to tell Krero or not? It came to me then, and fear and habit made it easy to say to myself. I will not, I cannot, lay down the sword. I of all people, must not go asa kraiya. “Look now.”

“From the seed of today’s choice grows the vine of tomorrow’s circumstance. All-Spirit, show me, for Fourth Chevenga, show me which way the vine of his life will grow... show me how the vine of Fourth Chevenga’s life will... be cut. I see... I see... you are climbing up a mountain, Haranin. You are in an exalted state, wearing a robe, it is white. You are sitting on the flat place... meditating, yes, that’s how it feels.”

I could have left then, my question answered. I listened in a daze, taking no notes. It was all the same, the place of meditation, four people, three with bows. His voice cut off, his hands jerked on me as if he’d taken an impact. He stood frozen, blue eyes staring huge and glassy at the wall. “They... shot... you.” I willed to him what calm I could, hard when I felt sick to my toes. “Go on,” I whispered.

“Yeolis. Yeolis. My own people have killed me. Why? Why? You are on the ground, you don’t feel pain but you feel death, you are asking them why...” His voice broke with sobs. “She is yelling at you, something about power, about how this is the only way... oh, semanakraseye, semanakraseye, please...” He flung his arms around my neck, pressed a cheek wet with tears to mine. “Decide something different! Please choose something different, you who are so good at saving yourself by choosing something different, please, please, semanakraseye...”

I will lay down the sword. I heard it in me more than chose it, like the toll of a huge gong in my soul. I will go asa kraiya.

He was instantly calm, apparently not even noticing the wetness on his face, leaving me alone in distress. “I see... what am I looking for?”

“My death.”

“The vine of your life cut… I see... I see…” I will lay down the sword. I will go asa kraiya. “Oh, weird things. Always so weird, with you, better get the noteboard...” It was in my shield-hand, the pen in my sword-hand, I remembered. “A building I don’t know,” he said and I scrawled. “You are there, with people of all nations. I see... Fifth Chevenga, his wedding. He is going to marry this red-haired girl, lovely, the sweetest face. I see... strange people, tall people, not Srians, they are only a little dark. You are flying, but it is in a machine, I can hear the noise. You are so high the sunset on the curve of the Earthsphere looks like the jewel on a huge ring.”

Don’t question, I told myself, just write. No matter how strange, I had learned, most of what he saw played out essentially, if not literally, true.

“I see... you, but you made of light with no skin, parts of your insides flashing. A box floating in air. A war... you are there but not fighting, of course, because you are asa kraiya.”

Just write.

“I see... a girl calling you ‘Great-grandpa.’ But you don’t... feel old. Creaky, stiff, tired, you aren’t. Your death... I can’t find your death. I am so far ahead and I can’t find it. I’m so tired. I can’t go on.”

He sat down hard on the floor in his way, panting. “In my professional opinion,” he breathed, the formal wording obviously trained into him by his manager, “I strongly recommend... you take... the second choice.”

†

“Cheng, you’re white,” Krero said, once we were private in his office. “I think maybe we should get you to Kaninjer. Right now. Or Surya... is it your mind or body this time?”

“It’s my security, which is why I have got myself to you.”

He stared at me baffled. The worst possibility he could think of, obviously, was that I had somehow caught wind of an assassination plan, and those didn’t usually faze me. “Whatever this is,” he said finally, “tell me in my arms.”

I clung to him, thinking of the last embrace of his I remembered, him clinging to me, crying no, no, no. That dream, I realized, I would always remember as clearly as waking life, as long as I lived.

Just like in the dream, it was all I could do to form the words, to tell him who. We wept together, and he agreed readily not to tell anyone yet, in case Sharaina had spoken to no one, in which case we could keep it between her, him, Surya and me forever. He went to Aratai, where Sharaina lived, on his own authority as kengakraseye darya semanakraseyeni, taking four of his best and most discrete people.

The next days I waited for his pigeon in dread, a shadow of myself except when I was working and so could keep my mind off it. Please, All-Spirit, Gods, Universe, Chance, whatever rules – let this come to nothing. The Imperial election was barely a half-moon away. The pigeon message came on the fifth day, and read, Che: Two arrests, Ar knows, go to Vae-A. now. KreSa.