Tarashana by Rachel Neumeier (little red riding hood ebook TXT) 📕

his tone wry. He had come to stand beside me. Everyone was coming to the edge of the cliff, jostling to look down at all the tents and wagons.

Where the Lau would set banners to show which lord held which place within a great gathering, we Ugaro spread out colorful awnings before the tents of poets and the wagons or tents of singers. The colors told a little about the tribe, but in a great gathering like this, not very much. Patterns woven into the awnings showed more, but those patterns were not clear from this height. The sides of tents were decorated with porcupine quills to show which tribe and which family claimed each tent, but nothing of that could be seen from the place where we stood.

The tribes whose territories lay to the west would have set their camps on this side of the lake. Those whose territories lay to the east would have set theirs to the east. In the deep cold, the lake freezes hard enough that people may set tents out upon the ice, so all the Convocation was one gathering, not two, but probably both inGara and inGeiro would be said to jointly host the Convocation this year.

“My mother would have written to everyone,” Etta agreed. “Of course the inKarano decided this would be the right place to hold the Convocation! That is not at all surprising. The inKarano probably came here long before the Convocation began. Perhaps the inVotaro as well. They probably meant to stay until the pass opened here.”

All this seemed very likely. My attention was on something else. I was watching Tano, who was looking along the edge of the lake, his gaze snagging first on one group of wagons and then another. Feeling my attention, he turned his head.

“The inTasiyo have nothing to do with an inGara warrior,” I reminded him, speaking softly. “Should you meet an inTasiyo warrior, tell him your name and remind him that Convocation law forbids quarreling. Then look away from him. Should anyone of the inTasiyo wish to bring a complaint against you or against inGara, let that person take the complaint to Koro, who may call the lord of the inGara to answer.”

Tano opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally said only, “Yes, Ryo.”

I was not certain the matter was entirely settled—I had every suspicion it would prove a more difficult matter than I might hope—but I let it rest. I thought I had located the colors that might belong to the inKarano. The big tent draped with red felt probably belonged to the winter king. Those wagons that stood in a half-circle beyond that tent probably belonged to important women of the inKarano. I thought I might guess which of those wagons might belong to Darra, though I could not tell the patterns from this distance.

“There, I think, Ryo,” my sister said, pointing. “I think those wagons belong to the inKarano—I think that wagon there in the middle of that line is probably Darra inKarano’s wagon.”

“This could be so,” I said. My sister did not laugh at me, though I think she wanted to. I did not feel like laughing. I did not know whether I thought of Darra in the same way now—I did not know whether I expected her to think of me in the same way, after everything that happened. Then I remembered the poet from the east. Elaro inPorakario. Perhaps nothing else that had happened would matter to Darra inKarano as much as the poet who had come to her people as a guest from far away. Perhaps I did not care.

Aras came up beside me, his hands tucked into his sleeves to keep warm. Geras shadowed him, watchful. He was always watchful now, with a new tightness at the corners of his eyes. He was not a man to carry a grudge, but he was cautious with Ugaro—even with me. Perhaps especially with me.

Aras asked Garoyo—not me—in a low voice, “Have you decided yet how you will lay out the tale for Koro?”

“We will explain how it happened,” I said sharply. Then I added, reluctantly, “But perhaps not every detail is important.” I looked at Garoyo. Both Aras and I looked at him. During the long days we had spent traveling through the pass, we had gradually become a little easier with each other. But he seldom came this close to me, and we seldom spoke to each other.

Garoyo glanced from Aras to me. He said in a dry tone, “Those among us who were present for any given part of these events will no doubt be asked to explain everything in whatever amount of detail seems appropriate. My younger brother may wish to remember that those who were not present for a battle have less right to judge events than those who fought.” He held his hand up to the sky, measuring the time remaining before sunset. “If we go down now, we may come there before dusk.”

The people camped below realized we were coming only a little after that. Someone saw us, and word ran from one end of the Convocation to the other in half a heartbeat, as exciting news is always swift to travel even the longest distance. Many people flung themselves onto ponies and raced along the edge of the valley to the foot of the trail that descends from the pass.

Suyet came up beside me. Sweeping his hand out to indicate the view, he asked, “How many people are here, Ryo? I know this can’t be all the Ugaro in the world, but it looks like it from here!”

“Don’t ask Ryo!” Lalani said wickedly. “Don’t you know better than to ask an Ugaro warrior anything to do with figures?”

I could not help but laugh. Of us all, Suyet had perhaps showed the least trouble. This was both because of his own easy temper