his feet again, the old man said, “My boy, she is eight years older than you are, and she has a temper as bad as yours. Living with her would’ve led to one fight after another.”
“I liked her temper. I liked everything about her. More than that Full Blossom Clan chief’s son could.”
He waited for the old chief’s rebuke, but whether because Psal was a king’s son or because Psal was a particular favorite, Tsbosso ignored the outburst. Instead, the old man pointed. “Your friend has always liked old women.”
Psal turned. Ephan stood beside a tree shyly watching Tzaddi, Tsbosso’s oldest daughter. A beautiful woman, but ill-treated by her father for some past trespass, she stood next to Poh, Tsbosso’s oldest son and Psal’s childhood friend. Psal frowned. Cassia probably had such a husband, tall, with a body strong as a tree, nature-blessed and healthy.
“Brother Psallo,” Poh called as he walked past. “My other self, my twin.”
Psal tried to smile.
Tsbosso slapped Psal on the shoulder. “What do you think of marrying my youngest girl, the one we call ‘Moonlight’?”
Psal’s mouth fell open. “Moonlight?” he echoed. “She’s a jewel.”
“A jewel indeed!” Tsbosso said. “As out of reach as the elusive moonlight. But not out of reach for you, Wheel Clan Firstborn.”
Lovely, good, and wise was Moonlight. But his heart did not sing for her. “I don’t want her. Why do you offer her?”
“These skirmishes must stop, my boy. Or our clans will destroy each other.”
“Let the matter rest,” Psal said. “Make me less important in your eyes. Betroth Moonlight to Netophah if you wish to prevent skirmishes between our people. They’re of the same age.”
“I know that Nahas disdains the thought of letting his studiers marry outside his clan. But peace must be attained. Tell me, if Netophah were to marry my daughter, what part of your tower science is Nahas willing to share? Would the king teach us how to keen towers from afar?”
Psal shook his head. “Great Chief, Father will not give you tower science. No, not even if Netophah becomes your son. And as for far-off keening, if you knew that skill you would vie with us for uninhabited and abandoned towers. Ask for some of our oil regions. We have much oil. A small price to pay for an alliance.”
“Would he show us how to use false notes to disguise our tower songs?” the Chief asked.
Psal chuckled. “I do not wish to rebuke the chief of a great clan, but why persist in asking for tower science? Great Chief, speaking to Nahas of towers will come to no good.”
“But, my boy, consider,” Tsbosso pressed. “Today, my youngest son and several warriors must remain with our women in their longhouse as they journey to feast with your women. All across Odunao, as your women and our women meet to feast, my poor warriors are bound to stay with our women. Why? Because someone has to keen our women home. It is a great bother. But if we knew how to keen from afar.…”
“If you taught your women how to keen towers, as we teach ours, you wouldn’t have this great bother. Great Chief, your ability to charm fierce beasts interests Nahas. Offer him that. But no talk of towers, please! Yesterday, we found a new region. Fertile, with lakes and meadows. We burned the forest, but did little more. Wild animals still roam free. Since we haven’t labored on it, Father may give it to you. Yes, I think he would. He, too, is tired of these skirmishes.”
“Well then, I will not ask of tower science. But you send me such sad tower songs, about how lonely you are among your own people. Tell me, if you married one of my daughters, would Nahas allow you to live primarily in our longhouse? If you were Tsbosso’s son-in-law, none would dare mock you, even if you lived among your own people.”
“Even after marriage I will continue to live with my clan. Father thinks I’m weak, you see, and ready to betray him.”
Tsbosso looked appropriately shocked. “Oh, how unfairly that man treats you! You are not weak.” He glanced at a table where Cyrt, Gaal, and Nahas feasted. “Think of it, Psallo. A marriage into a clan that respects you! Unimpeded explorations! The respect of being the Father of a peace child. Perhaps chief of your own longhouse. I must help your father see clearly.”
“Forget me and my sorrows, Great Chief. For our people’s sake, make Netophah your son-in-law. My heart is still with Cassia.” Psal bowed then walked over to Ephan.
“Ask the woman to lie with you,” he told Ephan, “or stop staring at her.”
“I’ll have better luck exploring the abandoned tower than exploring that beauty.” Ephan gave a wistful sigh. “So will Cassia allow you to lie with her again? I haven’t seen her as yet.”
“Cassia’s been given away.”
“Bad luck. I know you loved her.”
“I did, yes. I will always love her.” Psal pointed at the remains of the ancient aqueduct rising high above the dusty road leading to the Great Mesa. “The abandoned tower first. Then the Ruined City, then the Mesa.…”
Ephan was still looking at Tzaddi. Psal hoped Tsbosso’s daughter would favor his friend.
“She is a lovely one, isn’t she?” Psal said. “She seems to like you as well.”
Ephan blushed, turned toward the ancient gate. He had prepared a small, wheeled cart with supplies, and they set off on their journey.
They had not gone far from the feast grounds when Psal turned to see Netophah following them.
“Return home!” Psal yelled back at him. They pelted him with stones and twigs but he continued following them.
Thus, the three sons of King Nahas walked toward the abandoned tower—the tall, puny, and peevish Firstborn, the too-pretty albino foundling, and the well-favored, nature-blessed heir of all Wheel Clan lands.
CHAPTER 4
THE VOCA
Persistent sand fleas and the sun’s heat assaulted the boys as they journeyed past ancient stone archways depicting male athletes engaging in sexual acts, past the ruins of brothels where the tiny bones of aborted children littered the long-dried up sewers, past the faded chipped wreckages of fertility temples. In their younger days, the studiers had wondered at the stability and constancy of those ancient edifices. Older now, they understood no more than they did when they traveled with the Wintersea Master. They now contented themselves with the words he always used when faced with some incomprehensible planetary cipher: There are more things in the universe that can be understood with even my great mind, boys.
They traveled until the stone road lost itself to the desert. All the while they collected such things that interested only studiers. About halfway in their journey, they saw vultures circling over sparse bush. There, amid scavenging ravens, a woman’s rotting body lay clothed in a blue tunic—the common dress of Falconer women. The woman had the features of different clans. Maggots swarmed in her ripped-open womb. Psal looked about. There was no boy corpse anywhere nearby, but that meant little. A living newborn boy would’ve been borne away by the night. A girl would be nursed in the arms of the Voca chief.
