Tarashana Rachel Neumeier (top 10 motivational books TXT) 📖

turned his gaze forward again. “Everyone was at fault. Yaro inTasiyo was most at fault, but the problem only became so serious because no one behaved as they should.”

“No one?” I said. “Was Tasig at fault?”

“Your father’s wife should have killed Yaro herself—but if she could not, then she should have laid the charge before Doroya inKarano at once, before Sinowa inGara could go after the man who had offended her. If the king had ruled on the matter quickly and firmly, that would have ended the problem before it could become so serious. I mean no offense when I set some of the blame against your father’s wife.”

“I take no offense. But perhaps she knew Doroya would not rule against the inTasiyo. They are a strong tribe now, but they were even stronger then.”

This time, Iro’s tone was a little impatient. “If the king would not find out the truth and rule properly, that would have showed everyone he did not have the strength of will to be king. Then someone else would have taken his place and ruled properly.”

I nodded. He was right. I asked, “And my father? Was he at fault?”

“So seriously at fault, he is fortunate that the lord of the inGara did not put him to death for his actions.” Now Iro looked at me directly. “I mean no offense, Ryo. I think you ask me these questions because you want to see whether I will answer honestly even though my answers might offend you and because you want to see whether my judgment agrees with your own. If I have misunderstood you completely, then I ask your pardon.”

“I take no offense,” I told him. He was right about everything. I could not say so, as that might be taken as disrespectful of my father. But, as I had pushed him hard, I said, “You may ask me something if you wish. I will set offense aside.”

That was an invitation I knew he would not decline. Nor did he. He took his time to consider what he might ask. Finally he said, “You spared the life of an inTasiyo, a young warrior who was the son of a man who had bitterly offended your father and his first wife and all the inGara people. You did more than that: you took this young man into your honor. Was that decision just, or was it too generous to be just?”

I was amused despite myself. It was the sort of question my younger brother might have asked me—or my younger sister. “My decision was generous, but whether it was too generous, I do not yet know. In days and years to come, I may know that. If I had chosen otherwise, neither I nor anyone else would ever know. If my decision was not too generous, then it was just.”

Iro glanced at me sidelong. “You answer like a poet.”

“You disagree?”

“In days and years to come, I may find I have an opinion.”

That answer was not calculated to please me. Nothing Iro had said in this conversation had been calculated to please anyone. I was coming to understand why my sister favored this young man. We rode side by side for a little while, not speaking, but not in hard temper with each other. Before either of us spoke again on an easier subject, my father turned in his saddle and called my name.

I nudged my pony, and everyone came together in a tight group so we could all speak easily. My father said, “We have passed no one coming south for more than four hands of time.”

For a long moment, everyone stared at him, except Aras, who had known what observation my father meant to make.

I had noticed nothing, but this was true. For some time we had passed people often, and then a little less often, but for at least four hands of time, we had seen no one at all.

My father said, “By this time, Gekora and his wife and the slowest wagons of our people should have passed us.” He named other people we should have seen, but had not. My mother explained to Aras, who would not understand everything that my father meant. “The number of people we should have met and have not is something close to forty and forty and forty. Perhaps soon we will see them. But a broken wheel or something of that kind would not delay so many wagons.”

“I understand,” Aras said quietly. “I hope I do not offend when I say that I can find no one on this path before us. Although I would not be able to see their thoughts clearly over a long distance, if I am looking hard, I should be able to tell someone is there from at least ten bowshots away—twice that, sometimes.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then my father looked up at the distance the Sun stood above the western edge of the world, looked around at the land to judge our exact location, and said, “We will go on more quickly.”

We had meant to ride just fast enough to come to the site of the deserted camp by evening. We could speak to Garoyo and the others, rest through the night, and go up again to see the avila woman at dawn. Now we pressed our ponies harder, cantering where the path was good and trotting where the ground became rougher. Aras caught my look during one of the times we drew the ponies down to a trot. He shook his head, meaning he still saw no one before us. I called to him, “How near would we have to come to him before you could see Suyet?”

He shook his head again. “You’re right, Ryo,” he answered. “I should probably be able to find Suyet’s mind by this time, even if I couldn’t find anyone else. But