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life then.
Lately, travel in Shaftal has also gotten hazardous, for there are bandits
and
hostile farmholds where before they were unheard of. Still, it is difficult
for
a Shaftal-born person to imagine what my fatherÆs homeland was like: I have
caught glimpses of it in my dreams, an easy, sunny place of gentle winds and
fertile soil, crisscrossed by guarded boundaries and walls to keep one lord
from
encroaching on anotherÆs territory. The soil is rich because of all the blood
thatÆs been spilled in defense or attack, and some of the slights over which
these lords still battle are centuries old. I asked my father once to explain
it
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tome, why the people all are willing to die over some high lordÆs whim, and
my
father was angry with me that I did not instinctively understand the
requirements of a soldierÆs honor.
To understand the Carolinsùthe Sainnites, as they are called hereùit is
necessary to understand what they mean by honor. To discipline oneself to
accept
and fulfill oneÆs station and to do it with pride, that is honor. To do as
commanded without question or hesitation, that is honor. To want with all
your
heart and soul for your people, whoever they are, to gain ascendancy at any
cost, that is honor. To dishonor oneself, then, is to question tradition, to
think for oneself, to desire differently from oneÆs father or mother. These
are
the things a Carolin soldier will never do, or at hast will not admit to.
I am, by Carolin standards, a dishonorable man. I suppose I should disclose
this
fact early, so that you might slam this book shut in disgust if that is your
bent, and not waste further time on it. I am writing this book that you might
understand the tragedy of my fatherÆs people, how their honor has brought
them
to the point of extinction in this land they once thought their refuge. And
yet
I am writing in my motherÆs tongue, Shaftalese, because it is the Shaftali
people who most need to learn from this history. The worst thing they have
done
to you, who are my motherÆs people, was not to destroy your government, take
your food and children, deny your traditions, or outlaw your greatest powers.
The worst thing they have done is to replace your version of honor with
theirs.
They are making you, the Shaftal people, into Carolins. So when you read this
book, read it not as a history of the enemy, but as a history of your own
future: what will happen to Shaftal when the Carolins are extinct, but live
on
in you and your children. Rather than defeat the enemies, you must change
themùor else, someday, their story will be your story.
The text continued, but Garland fell asleep. When he awoke to rising
daylight,
Emil and Medric were still huddled together in the bed with him, with pages
of
the manuscript scattered about. They seemed to be arguing their way through
it,
word by word, and inexplicably enjoying themselves so much that it had not
occurred to them to go to sleep. Garland stumbled downstairs to light the
ovens
and knead the bread dough. His hands knew their work, and he shaped his
loaves
in a daze of sleepy satisfaction.
Karis appeared and went outside with the scrap bucket, and soon Garland could
hear the ringing of her ax. Then Medric poked his head in the kitchen door
and
asked, ôDid you tell her?ö
ôTell who what?ö
ôVery good.ö Medric disappeared, and Garland heard him go out the front door.
ôKaris!ö he called. ôKaris, Karis, Karis!ö
The ax fell silent. Garland left his loaves to rise and his ovens to heat,
put
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on his coat, and took another coat from the hook for Medric. Outside, the
ravens
fought over the scraps that Karis had spilled across the snow. The ax, driven
into the stump, quivered in the cold glare of the sun. Karis and Medric sat
together at the top of the porch steps. Her hair stuck out stiffly below her
cap; her eyes were as blue and crisp as the sky. Garland put MedricÆs coat on
him.
ôI did wonder what we were hauling a printing press around for,ö Karis said
to
Medric. ôBut does anyone know how to use it? I doubt it.ö
ôOh, youÆre as bad as Emil,ö Medric said. ôIt doesnÆt matter, Karis. ItÆs just
a
machine. YouÆll figure it out.ö
ôNot necessarily. I never learned to cook or sew.ö
ôYour hands are too big, and you just didnÆt like the idea. But you like the
idea of printing a book, donÆt you?ö
She looked at him askance. ôI think youÆd better get JÆhan to mix you a
potion.ö
Leaning on the wall nearby, Garland began to laugh helplessly. He muffled his
face in his collar.
ôYou think,ö Karis added, ôthat we can typeset, print, and bind five hundred
books.ö
ôEmil knows book-binding.ö
ôBut the typesetting, Medric! It takes years of training!ö
ôIt only has to be readable, though. And we have to do it.ö
ôOh, well, if we have to ... ,ö she said sarcastically.
ôGood!ö Apparently having become aware of the cold, Medric huddled, grinning,
in
his coat. ôEmil and JÆhan between them must know practically everyone worth
knowing in Shaftal. WeÆll get the books to their friends, and theyÆll give
them
to their friends . . .ö
ôWe?ö said Karis. ôHow, exactly? In dead of winter? You are mad.ö
He nodded so enthusiastically that his neck appeared pliable as a noodle.
Karis
gazed at him with fond exasperation. ôTell me, master seer,ö she said, ôWe
need
sledges to move the books, but how can I build sledges without any wood?ö
He gestured expansively at the nearby trees.
ôGreen wood will be too heavy.ö
ôWell, youÆll think of something.ö He yawned so abruptly and prodigiously
that
Garland yawned with him in sympathy.
ôAnd what of Long Night?ö she asked.
Medric looked for a moment like he didnÆt know what she was talking about. ôI
canÆt see that far,ö he finally confessed. ôToo many possibilities, too much
unknown. If I knew that Zanja knows she is alive ... or if I knew what the
creature in her skin is doing ... or if I knew anything about her, really . .
.ö
He seemed, then, suddenly human: crestfallen, his fierce enthusiasm burnt to
ashes, his wild certainties revealed as mere guesswork.
ôIs it time to send a raven to Watfield?ö
ôNo, no, I think not. Not yet. Restrain yourself.ö
ôYouÆre hardly the one to lecture me about restraint!ö
ôHardly,ö he said agreeably. ôBy the lands, I am exhausted. I donÆt even know
why. IÆm going to bed now.ö
When he was gone, Karis glanced at Garland. ôHe doesnÆt know why heÆs tired?
One
conversation with him and IÆm exhausted.ö
ôYou just need some breakfast.ö GarlandÆs face, stiff with cold, felt as if
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it
would crack.
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