Tarashana Rachel Neumeier (top 10 motivational books TXT) 📖

I asked him, “Have any Lau returned to say anything? What do your people say regarding the land of the shades?”

He did not answer at once. Finally he said, “We consider too much speculation presumptuous. Still, I can say a little. I think I should say a little.” He glanced at Geras, who dropped his gaze but did not protest, and then looked around at all of us.

Finally he went on. “We believe that it is the proper task of any shade to find his—or her—way to a ... a place of judgment. If a person refuses that task and turns back toward the land of the living, he will be trapped in the place where his bones lie. That is why the land near an ossuary is never farmed and why no one builds too near one: the fear and resentment of trapped shades is bad for the living.”

This sounded like the problems that may be caused by unsettled shades, in a way. Except those shades have no place and wander, while, from what Aras said, the shades of Lau people too cowardly to go where they should were unable to leave the place near the ossuary. Now I understood much better why the Lau did not like to go near those places. I had thought a Lau ossuary to be a place much like an Ugaro tomb, but they were not the same at all.

Aras went on. “A shade should not linger near the land of the living. It is better if that person submits to judgment as he should, though the way to the place of judgment may be long and difficult and the judgment itself is .... not without risk. When the shade comes to that place, every act of his life is weighed and measured. If the gods judge him kindly, he may pass beyond the land of the shades to a different place, a place where the light of the Sun is eternal. If otherwise, he may be cast away from the light into the dark and be lost forever.” He stopped.

Geras was looking at him. He said after a moment, in darau, his tone uneasy, “No matter what that Tarashana girl said, they couldn’t do anything like that, those Saa- whatever. Throw people into the dark like that, I mean, my lord. That’d be dead against the will of the gods.” He rubbed his face and said in his halting taksu, “The gods would despise people who ... who made this happen.”

Aras nodded, but he said, “The people of the sunless sea may not even recognize the gods; their sky is utterly dark, apparently. Still, I could hope that isn't actually what's been happening.” He shifted back to taksu, “Is one time better than another, to take the paths of the dead?”

“The worst time is any time when you are tired and hungry,” my mother said calmly. She began to fill bowls and hand them to Etta to pass to everyone else.

The food was good, but my stomach was tight and I had little appetite. I ate anyway. Everyone ate well because everyone thought of a time soon to come when we might have nothing to eat. Then everyone lay down in the common tent, the Lau in the middle where it was warmest. I do not know if anyone slept. I did not, except a very little, near dawn.

The path to the highest tombs of Talal Soka was too steep for ponies. We would have to carry all our water and food. Weapons. Coils of thin rope. Steel spikes and a hammer—very heavy, but if we had to climb any steep cliff, we would need those tools. Dried dung for fuel, wrapped in its woven mat. Blankets. We Ugaro would do without, to make room in our packs for more important things, but the Lau would need blankets, and no doubt Inhejeriel as well.

I made two of the packs much heavier than the others. I gave one of those to Iro and took the other myself. He shouldered his without comment, nodding as he judged the weight. Geras picked up the pack I meant for him, pursed his lips, then added two more waterskins. I said nothing. He was too experienced a man to mistake his own strength.

When we were ready, everyone but my mother walked up the path to the place where Inhejeriel waited. My mother had already taken up her own burden: to wait, and watch the mountains and the northern pass. She would write to Lutra inGeiro and Darra inKarano and to the wife of Hokino inKera and to many other important women of other tribes, explaining what had happened. She would write to the Soretes Aman Shavet, king of the summer country. She would tell him everything. I could hardly imagine how he would receive that letter.

Then we came to the little camp where Inhejeriel waited, and I set these broader thoughts aside.

The Tarashana sorcerer stood waiting for us with her head raised, gazing up at the sky, her expression calm and resolute. Her back was straight, her hands taut. The spirals and circles and all the delicate tracery of lines on her face and her left hand gleamed every shade of blue and silver.

I looked past her, up the long slope of Talal Soka, toward the high tombs, set into stone barely below the sky. But then I could not help but turn one more time to look at my father.

“Listen to your sister, my son,” he said to me. And then to Etta, “My daughter, listen to your brother and regard his advice. A warrior should not give orders to a singer, but a very young singer should remember her brother is six winters her elder and might have decided to be a poet.”

“Yes, Father,” Etta said at once. “I know! I will obey Ryo