toward the door and then caught herself, annoyed at her own timidity. She stiffened her back and pushed herself forward, squirming through the mass of rigid bodies, clenched fists and jutting elbows. At last she arrived at the edge of the circle surrounding Varitsema, sweat dampening her ribs, her breath rasping in her throat.
The mayor’s thin face was pale but set. With every sally from the crowd, he reiterated reassuring words of loyalty, peace and prosperity. They had little effect. The people behind Reisil surged forward like stormdriven waves, their angry words tangling into nonsense as they berated him. Sodur and Upsakes had been drawn into little pockets of their own and each spoke fervently to those who surrounded them.
Reisil didn’t know what to do. If anything, her voice would only add more sound to the fury. Nor could she just stand there. She turned. She almost didn’t recognize the snarling, red faces, mouths sharpedged and glistening like snapping wolves. For a moment Reisil wavered, stunned by the ferocity of the townspeople. Then she caught herself and began to scan the faces before her. She knew these people. Some she had known her entire life.
“Paber!” she called to a florid butcher on her left. On arriving back in Kallas, she had removed porcupine quills from his son’s leg. He started at the sound of his name and swung his head from side to side like a bull stung by gnats. “Paber,” Reisil said more gently. “Is this such a bad thing? To have peace at last? Think of your sons. Soon they will be of an age to fight. Do you want to see them march off, maybe never to come back?”
Her words struck home and he swallowed. Beside him, Torm, a maker of glass beads, overheard and his own lips clenched together. Reisil felt a thrill of pride and hope as the two men looked at each other and then away.
She turned quickly to the next man, a grandfather. She remembered him from her childhood. He used to run logs down the Sadelema until he’d caught his foot in between two spinning trunks. He’d lost the leg, but not his sense of humor. Reisil remembered sitting on his lap on the bank of the river, listening to his outrageous tales of adventure. That was years ago. Before the war.
She reached out and put a hand on his tanned forearm.
“Habelik—do you really want the war to go on? You’ve already lost your brother and two nephews. Do you want to lose your grandsons too?”
His head snapped around, eyes bulging.
“That’s why, Reisiltark. A treaty means they’ve won, all those deaths for nothing. Nothing! And what about Mysane Kosk? Do we just let them get away with slaughter?”
Reisil was aware that a dozen pairs of eyes rested on her in a pocket of silence. She licked her lips. Then she gave a little shrug, spreading her hands.
“You are right, Habelik. What was done at Mysane Kosk cannot be undone and they will get away with it. They already have.” She paused, letting that sink in.
“Even if we keep fighting, what happened at Mysane Kosk doesn’t change. All the dead stay dead and Kodu Riik will bury many more. So I ask you again, is that what you want? Is it worth it?” She shook her head. “It’s no easy decision and yet you must decide, you who lost family and friends. But I wonder, will you choose for the rest of Kodu Riik? For the towns and villages that have been burned to the ground, for the men and women and children who fight over moldy crusts like mongrel dogs? You have seen the squatters. Do you think that they would rather eat and heal than die for what cannot be changed? Does not that decision rightfully belong in the hands of Iisand Samir?”
Her voice cut with a flinty edge and she paused, her green eyes raking over the rigid faces before her. A circle of quiet rippled out from her words as if they were stones splashing into a still pool. She let her voice soften. “I do not disparage your losses. You have a right to your hurt and anger. But I marvel that you
The mayor’s thin face was pale but set. With every sally from the crowd, he reiterated reassuring words of loyalty, peace and prosperity. They had little effect. The people behind Reisil surged forward like stormdriven waves, their angry words tangling into nonsense as they berated him. Sodur and Upsakes had been drawn into little pockets of their own and each spoke fervently to those who surrounded them.
Reisil didn’t know what to do. If anything, her voice would only add more sound to the fury. Nor could she just stand there. She turned. She almost didn’t recognize the snarling, red faces, mouths sharpedged and glistening like snapping wolves. For a moment Reisil wavered, stunned by the ferocity of the townspeople. Then she caught herself and began to scan the faces before her. She knew these people. Some she had known her entire life.
“Paber!” she called to a florid butcher on her left. On arriving back in Kallas, she had removed porcupine quills from his son’s leg. He started at the sound of his name and swung his head from side to side like a bull stung by gnats. “Paber,” Reisil said more gently. “Is this such a bad thing? To have peace at last? Think of your sons. Soon they will be of an age to fight. Do you want to see them march off, maybe never to come back?”
Her words struck home and he swallowed. Beside him, Torm, a maker of glass beads, overheard and his own lips clenched together. Reisil felt a thrill of pride and hope as the two men looked at each other and then away.
She turned quickly to the next man, a grandfather. She remembered him from her childhood. He used to run logs down the Sadelema until he’d caught his foot in between two spinning trunks. He’d lost the leg, but not his sense of humor. Reisil remembered sitting on his lap on the bank of the river, listening to his outrageous tales of adventure. That was years ago. Before the war.
She reached out and put a hand on his tanned forearm.
“Habelik—do you really want the war to go on? You’ve already lost your brother and two nephews. Do you want to lose your grandsons too?”
His head snapped around, eyes bulging.
“That’s why, Reisiltark. A treaty means they’ve won, all those deaths for nothing. Nothing! And what about Mysane Kosk? Do we just let them get away with slaughter?”
Reisil was aware that a dozen pairs of eyes rested on her in a pocket of silence. She licked her lips. Then she gave a little shrug, spreading her hands.
“You are right, Habelik. What was done at Mysane Kosk cannot be undone and they will get away with it. They already have.” She paused, letting that sink in.
“Even if we keep fighting, what happened at Mysane Kosk doesn’t change. All the dead stay dead and Kodu Riik will bury many more. So I ask you again, is that what you want? Is it worth it?” She shook her head. “It’s no easy decision and yet you must decide, you who lost family and friends. But I wonder, will you choose for the rest of Kodu Riik? For the towns and villages that have been burned to the ground, for the men and women and children who fight over moldy crusts like mongrel dogs? You have seen the squatters. Do you think that they would rather eat and heal than die for what cannot be changed? Does not that decision rightfully belong in the hands of Iisand Samir?”
Her voice cut with a flinty edge and she paused, her green eyes raking over the rigid faces before her. A circle of quiet rippled out from her words as if they were stones splashing into a still pool. She let her voice soften. “I do not disparage your losses. You have a right to your hurt and anger. But I marvel that you
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