Portrait of a Wide Seas Islander Page 5

  And still he travelled.

  He was not unfamiliar with long, long voyages, solitary or with a crew. Once he had not thought much of crossing to the Isolates or Turtle Island or one of the nearer archipelagos when the mood took him, and those would take six months or a year for the round trip. He had grown soft over the years, he decided, let his horizon shrink to the compass of the Ring.

  It was a goodly size, the Ring of the Vangavaye-ve, but the world was much wider than that. It was good to be reminded.

  Everywhere he went, no matter how wide the world was, he heard rumours of Kip. Even without whatever else he had done, that money-store of his had changed a lot of people’s lives.

  At nearly the very end of the fourth month of his journey, Tovo reached Port Ithazhi and was directed to another river-boat. His store of money had had to be replenished once already, in Csiven before he had embarked on the barge-canal, and he did so again in the port. The wide world was much more expensive than it had been in his youth.

  Of course, he had not had to try all the different foods of all the different vendors crowding onto the train or the river-barges at each stop, either. And the barges and trains were not free for his own limbs’ labour and knowledge, as his vaha was.

  Tovo folded his bright poncho and set it into the bilum he’d brought from home, along with the tapa-cloth pouch in which he kept his money. He had a few new kinds of fruit to try on this barge, and some unfamiliarly-spiced fish jerky, and that would suit him well enough, he reckoned.

  Upriver against the current they went, the boat’s broad triangular sails catching the wind. There were reed-plains on the northern side of the river, with a weight to them. Tovo found himself wondering what Tanaea would have thought of them, with her sense for the deeper magic of things.

  They passed through a gap between two ridges that stood out of the plains like walls, and there in front of him Tovo finally saw the city of Solaara, with its white Palace high on its hill gleaming in the sunlight like a viau come to rest.

  3

  It was late afternoon when he arrived, and the city was large. Tovo was unaccustomed to such places, and although he knew he should aim uphill he found the streets slanting off in all sorts of directions.

  He ended up in a green area of some form. Maybe a place like the one at the top of Mama Ituri’s Son back home—a refuge for people who wanted green space but didn’t want to leave the city, an absurdity in his mind but what did he know, anyway. This one made a bit more sense. Big city, made sense people needed the green. There was a market going on, with musicians and people selling all sorts of strange foods.

  Tovo wandered along, listening to the music—he liked the people drumming with tuned steel drums, the notes sounding forth sweet and clear—and tried a few different foods. Fried things, sweet things, something crunchy and salty, something soft that made his teeth stick together.

  By the time he had unstuck his teeth it was dark, and the market lights had come on bright. These were magic, soft and pleasant on the eyes. They made the place seem even more vibrant, as people appeared out of the darkness and the conversations and music both got louder. He found himself a tree and squatted down under it, enjoying the festive atmosphere.

  Eventually the crowds dispersed, but there didn’t seem to be any particular reason to go anywhere else—and it was probably rude to call on Kip so late—so Tovo tucked himself behind the tree, where a thicket made a cozy, protected space, and slept well with his head pillowed on his bag.

  In the morning he found a public fountain and an early-rising coffee stall, and having washed his face and hands and drunk down a cup of strong, foreign coffee—good, mind you, for all that it was clearly a different kind than he was used to—even after the sea train’s many varieties—and with a helpful set of directions from the coffee vendor, ambled up to the Palace.

  He didn’t like the look of the front doors. Too big, too grand, too much for show. Doors for Big Men, or those who wanted to be noticed by Big Men.

  Still, the big open area in front of the front doors was a fine dancing-ground, or would be if the sun wasn’t so hot here, and after tapping the stones with his feet, nimbly performing a handful of steps, Tovo felt he had greeted the building well enough to be acquainted.

  Vangavayen Islanders only made a few longhouses, but all houses were said to have guardian spirits, ancestors perhaps who sat watch over their descendants. It was only polite to greet them, even if one of the other doors would be the one for him.

  Tovo went off to the left, following one of the long arms of stone that reached out from the central building. There were gardens clustered close, expanding all over the crest of the steep hill they had built on. He recognized a few of the plants, and noted with approval that there were plenty of food plants here as well as ones just for decoration. Not that there was anything wrong with liking pretty things around you, that was half the point of life, after all—making your surroundings a little prettier for yourself and your kin and community—but it was good not to forget about the practical things.

  And good, too, to look on so useful a plant as a banana tree and see beauty as well use. Tovo was quietly pleased.

  The palace seemed to be built like a sea star, which seemed a bit strange—but who was he to judge the ways of velioi? He walked through the gardens, peering up at the even ranks of windows, noticing the many doors, looking out as the path brought him to the edge of the hill out over the city and river-valley down below. He guessed he could see all the way back down the river to the sea, if he found the right spot, so before he went inside he went looking for a path that would lead to the eastern edge.

  He found a well-made path, gravelled and lined with stones the size of his fist. He followed the path under a magnificent bearded fig and came to a bench set under a tui tree.

  He looked out at the horizon, squinting against the sun, and traced out the line of the river. There was that wall, some strange natural rampart it looked here, where the stone of the escarpment came curving across the landscape. There was the oddly heavy stretch of grassland, with glints of water through it so it looked more like a kind of reef-maze than a plain. There was the port where he had got off the sea train.

  He couldn’t see too far south, but he thought there might be a shadow on the horizon where those high islands had stood.

  Then he looked up at the tui tree.

  He had not seen one since he had left the Wide Seas; or more precisely, since he had passed that rough line beyond which the Islanders had never settled. There had been people living on Jilkano already when the ancestors sailed there, and on the coast along from Csiven. The ancestors had sailed there, traded a few items with the coastal peoples—most notably plants of sugar cane and bamboo for coffee and sweet potato—and turned back west.

  East first, then west and home. That was the pattern in the Lays.

  Islanders took tui trees with them, cuttings of the plants as they never set fruit, and planted them wherever they had settled. The only reason there would be a tui tree here was because Kip had brought it.

  Tovo touched the bark, feeling the life of the tree, the sound of the breeze through its multitudes of fine leaflets familiar, friendly, after so many months hearing velioi sounds.

  He turned back to look at the palace, which was visible rising up behind the bearded fig. If this was Kip’s tree, as it must be, then somewhere on this side of the big stone building would be where he found Kip.

  He followed the path back to a door, where a young man had just come out.

  Tovo had never seen him before, but the young man stopped and stared at him in an astonishment that didn’t seem the same as the stares Tovo had received for his clothing and accent his whole trip.

  “I’m looking for Kip Mdang,” he announced.

  “I bet you are,” the man muttered. He had a nice accent, not the mushy one Tovo had been hearing—which sounded as if everyone had a mouth full of that sticky sweet food that had stuck his teeth together—but with a sort of roundness to the vowels and sharpness to the consonants that had a nice effect. “Er—sir—are you—one of his relatives?”

  Tovo appreciated a smart young man, especially one with such a nice body as this young man’s was. Oh, it had been a long time since he’d last been tempted by a stranger, but he could still admire, couldn’t he? He wasn’t so old or blind that he couldn’t see good muscles.

  “His great-uncle,” he declared. “Come to see what he’s up to. Lots of people talking about him.”

  “I’m sure there are,” the young man replied, his voice warming with amusement.

  “You know him, eh?”

  “I’m one of his Radiancy’s guards—Pikabe is my name, sir,” Pikabe said. “I went with them when they went to the Vangavaye-ve on holiday. I don’t think I met you then, but you … have the look.”

  Tovo nodded, unsurprised. Tui trees were always good luck. For Islanders, anyway. “Did you go to Lesuia?”

  “I did,” Pikabe replied, and Tovo was interested to hear that wonder entered his voice. “The Moon came down.”

  Tovo shrugged away the Moon; from what Aya had told him that was all to do with the velioi poet-emperor or whatever he was. “There was a market, I heard,” he said. “Anything happen there? With Kip?”

  “At the market?” Pikabe hesitated, and then he said, “I was talking with some of the young women when they all stopped—everyone stopped—because Sayo, er, Lord Mdang—er, your Kip, that is, sir—was talking to an old man selling shells. One of the girls said, ‘That’s out of the Lays, that is,’ the history-tales, and they made me listen.”

  “What did you see? What did you hear?”

  Pikabe hesitated again. “I saw him hold up a length of shells, very beautiful shells, they looked like the sort of jewels his Radiancy wears, all gold and amber. I saw the old man look hard at him. I saw him, Lord Mdang, your Kip, stand as if he were—as if he were in a story.”

  “Mm,” Tovo said, nodding.

  “He said something about fire, I didn’t understand but I could hear how his words rang in the air. Like a spear against a shield before a battle. It was a challenge. I think he was challenging the gods … I told our shamans, in my village, when we got home. The Moon, she is not one of our gods, nor is whoever he was talking to, but if those gods are walking, then …” Pikabe laughed a little nervously. “Then I thought maybe we shouldn’t forget our own.”

  He was a guard, a warrior. Not an Islander thing, but still, a skill, learned and earned. Even though Kip had been speaking Islander, Pikabe had heard the challenge loud and clear: Tovo could trust that intuition, the same way he’d trust himself to know the winds had changed long before the storm came into sight.

  “Do you need me to guide you?” Pikabe asked, looking down the path and then back at Tovo, his indecision clear.

  “You’ve got a place to be, eh? Do I need you?”

  “Seeing as you found your way here, I don’t think you do! And yes, I do—look, sir, go down this hall to the end. There’s an arched entry there, with a staircase—go up that, all the way up—five flights. You’ll find Lord Mdang up there, or if not, people who will know where he is.” Pikabe stepped back and opened the door for him.

  “Thank you,” Tovo said politely on entering, and stepped aside so the young man could head off in whatever tearing hurry he was in—young ones, always frantic, always rushing. Tovo wasn’t rushing, no he wasn’t.

  Then again—he might have been going a little too slow, been a little too content to let himself keep his thoughts to himself unless someone came to ask him for them. That was not the only way to be tanà, that was for certain!

  The hall was wide and cool, all pale stone and magic lights like glowing pearls. Tovo walked down, his feet pattering pleasantly on the cool floor. Fancy, fancy. There was art on the walls, sculptures on little stands here and there, pretty as could be.

  Most of the hall was empty, but when he passed through the archway at the end there was a young woman in a pale brown dress. She was dark-skinned and elegant, holding her head up. Tovo nodded at her; she stared.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m looking for Kip Mdang,” he said, and went past her up the stairs.

  “You—you can’t go up there!”

  “Was told to,” he said imperturbably, to which she had no answer besides to follow along behind. She had a nice voice, all twittery like birds in a tree chattering about the morning. Tovo didn’t understand a word she said once she got going, but it was no skin off his nose if she wanted to follow him.

  Her noise attracted attention, of course, and as he rested on the first landing—he was ninety, he didn’t climb stairs very often, he could stop to look at the large painting of a very fancy woman all dressed in shimmery ahalo cloth and heavy jewelry, black-skinned like he was told the emperors were.

  There had been lots of stories about Kip’s emperor, after that visit. The poet, Aya had said, describing a man Tovo could accept that his great-nephew could well want to follow.

  Everyone did want to be Elonoa’a, that was the problem. Someone always went, across the horizon, one way or another. Some looked for new islands, some went to find old ones, some went to trade, and someone always went to see if this emperor was worth it.

  Tovo started up again, ignoring the handful of new people in fancy clothes who had joined the first woman. None of their clothes were as fancy as the one in the painting, so he thought they probably weren’t that important. Not if they were in a back stairway. This was not the way you went if you entered by the big fancy front doors, that was for sure.

  Up, and up. And up. This was a great lot of stairs. Tovo couldn’t imagine having to go down those every time you wanted to go outside. Yet Kip did, he must, to that tui tree he’d planted at the edge of the cliff, looking off to the east. East was not the right way—that was the long way home—but no doubt it was the sea that had called him. He might have to live away from the coast, away from the sound of the waves in his ears, the scent of the salt, but he could at least look on it every time he pleased.

  Tovo had lost count of how many stairs he had climbed, but the staircase stopped so he decided that was probably the level he was supposed to reach. There was only one way to turn, so he turned that way, the whole jabbering mass of people who felt the need to follow him flooding out into the upper hall.

  This was even fancier, or so he thought from fleeting glimpses between the velioi. There was a surge of voices rising in excitement, everyone talking over each other like a whole flock of seagulls fighting over fish guts, and then the space in front of him opened up.

  There was a very fancy man in front of him. Tovo surveyed him swiftly, taking in the puffy bronze mushroom of a hat, the brilliant white tunic, the great sweep of ahalo cloth in a rich blue just the colour of the barnacle-beads on his own efela ko, the sandals all covered with jewels that glinted in the light.

  Very fancy. He folded his arms, reminding himself that this was a velioi place, and Kip would have to follow velioi customs. He’d not come all this way not to listen to what Kip had to say as well as see what he could see.

  His great-nephew stared at him in shock. “But you’re dead!”

  Tovo frowned sharply. Had no one heard he’d taken the sea train to go visit Kip?

  Kip stared some more, his expression, if Tovo squinted, moving towards wonder. His voice was incredulous but increasingly full of joy. “Buru Tovo! You’re alive!”

  Was he just going to say stupid obvious things? And in that accent—following velioi customs or not was no excuse to mangle his name!

  Tovo tutted to himself, cupped one hand around his ear—how often had he done that for the young Kip, who would talk and talk and talk and talk and forget to listen to any of the answers to his endless questions. “Eh what? Who’s that? I’m looking for Kip Mdang!”

  Kip smiled and walked forward. His silks and ahalo cloth rustled, like the wind in pandanus leaves, always a lovely sound. Tovo waited, easy as if he stood in front of his great-nephew’s house, curious what greeting Kip would choose.

  Kip placed his hands gently on Tovo’s upper arms, the only part of the old imperial greeting anyone had ever liked—it was pretty much what the traditional greeting had involved, anyway—and looked deep in his face. This close Tovo could see Kip was obviously drinking in the sight of him, his eyes wide and full of emotion though his face was merely smiling slightly.

  “Buru Tovo,” Kip said, his accent already sharpening, so when he repeated Tovo’s name the vowels sounded out properly. “Buru Tovo. It’s Kip. I’m here.”

  Tovo peered at him, looking at the way Kip was looking at him. His great-nephew was ignoring all the twittering birdies. He grunted, and Kip smiled more genuinely, closing his eyes and then leaning forward to rest his forehead on Tovo’s.

  “There you are,” Tovo said, leaning back and seeing with satisfaction that Kip’s eyes and smile had sharpened, letting that fire catch. “Why were you wearing that? I didn’t recognize you.”

  Kip’s hands tightened on Tovo’s arms, not unpleasantly but as if that had hit him a little too hard.

  Well, he had to expect that, going away for so long and so far and dressing like a velioi lord. Tovo jerked his head at the birdies. “Tell these people to go away. I need to talk to you.”

  The people left when Kip told them to, all of them bar two men with spears whom he thought had come with Kip from the other direction.

  Tovo nodded to himself as Kip told one of them to take a message somewhere, no doubt wherever he’d been going. He made no comment to Tovo about that, though, turning around instead and guiding Tovo down the grand hallway and through some very fancy doors.

  A Big Man’s doorway, that was. Tovo hummed, looking at the men on either side of it, who were wearing matched clothing the same colours as Kip wore. That meant something, it did, and if Kip wore the colours too … he nodded to himself, putting that in his mind to chew over as well. At home there were the Mdang patterns Kip might wear, or the tanà’s if he claimed it in full, on a festival day.