Chapter 22
The start of the Laentana was greeted by shouts and screams of joy. As soon as the parents began arriving in Sekkun patch, children from this entire side of the city ran pell-mell into their waiting arms. It was like being in the path of a joyful tidal wave.
Jaas tried not to get in the way of the kids as she held onto Nemith’s hand. He too, was smiling from the wave of emotion. For a single day every three months, patch designations didn’t matter. Scars on shoulders meant nothing. Children who had been taken away could see their parents again, and spend the day with them.
Jaas could tell it was a bittersweet moment for many people, though. Children only a few years past their testing were already more attached to their adoptive parents than their birth parents. Some of the greetings were more cordial and polite than they were warm and loving. And in many cases, parents were looking for children and not finding them at all.
Something strange occurred to her, and she turned to Nemith. “Why aren’t more of these parents taking the opportunity to reclaim their kids? I mean, everyone seems to accept this Rejoining rule, but I would have expected more resistance.”
Nemith grimaced. “There was resistance, a long time ago. The Sustained fabricated all their records about it, but the dwarves kept their own histories of what happened back then,” he said in a soft voice, looking around. “According to the Enclave archives, in the first few years after the Rejoining was made into law, every New Day celebration had parents doing exactly what you expected. Violence broke out time and again, and even the Ascendants couldn’t keep the peace. Eventually the Council threatened to ban any parents who’d recently given a child up to the Rejoining. For at least the next four New Days.”
He sighed. “It turns out that threat was particularly effective. Faced with the choice between seeing their kids for only a few hours but having to let them go again, and not seeing them at all, the parents almost universally agreed to behave.” Nemith shook his head. “I’m fortunate I never had to go through any of that. If someone tried to take Tarith from me…” he trailed off at that.
Jaas felt a chill run down her spine. Letting go of a child because they’d grown up was one thing, but being forced to let go because of a societal rule? That was an entirely different animal. And then there were the parents who couldn’t find their children and vice versa. Each patch would soon have about thirty thousand people in it, and the parents weren’t told where their kids had been sent. No doubt many of them never saw their children, despite looking for them all day long.
She didn’t have much time to reflect on family reunions, though. The activities had already begun, and she resolved to keep track of as much as possible. Bringing her ink and parchment here would be impossible—none of the stra’tchi could read or write, and she was pretending to be one of them—but at least she could take mental notes.
With a start, Jaas realized she didn’t even miss her collar-recorder anymore. It would make things easier certainly, but after all this time it was becoming increasingly clear that Jaas had been very spoiled by having such easy access to magic. Lem would no doubt get a kick out of that when he read her next letter.
Like the patch with the altar, Sekkun patch had apparently been extensively modified for the purposes of these celebrations. Based on the size of the foundations she could see, this had once been a warehouse area, but all the warehouses had since been torn down to make room. Large areas of paving stones had been ripped up as well, replaced with grass and dirt trails.
From their arrival position right next to the threads, Jaas could see an enormous dirt track running roughly parallel to the threads in both directions. It seemed to run along the edges of the entire patch.
On the other side of the track were dozens of smaller attractions, from a market filled with sweets and intoxicants for the revelers, to a petting zoo for the children. She could see temporary stages set up here and there, similar to the one she’d seen in Tellek, with actors already portraying figures in stories both historical and fanciful. A group of musicians had set up shop next to one of the track corners, attracting quite a crowd themselves, just across from the rather large archery range and its contestants.
However the real attention grabber was in the middle of the patch. A series of six rectangular fields had been arranged, each one marked with colored flags on the perimeter. In each field, two teams of seven vied for supremacy in a kind of sport she’d never seen before. It was the same game Balter had told her about: Ona’hatash. Or just Ona, to the people who lived here. A massive scoreboard had been set up on the far end of these fields and people clustered around it as the matches continued.
The board didn’t make much sense to her at first. If the people couldn’t read, what use could it be to them? Apparently they’d found a way, though. There was a ranking of teams each represented by an individual patch symbol, followed by the score for each game. It was easy enough to follow, even for people who’d been denied the schooling to read and write. An announcer made things easier for the crowds, but without magic the poor man was no doubt going hoarse with shouting.
She asked Nemith for more details, but he only shrugged. “Sorry. I never really got into the game myself, and the dwarves certainly don’t play it. Their games are usually a lot more, uh, militaristic.” He looked around for anyone who might be close enough to hear them. “Remember, the Ascendants might still be looking for you. Keep a close eye out, all right?”
Jaas nodded, suddenly much more aware of the people around her. About one in twenty of them had skin as dark as hers, and most of them had similar hairstyles. “I’ll keep it in mind. And if I see Endu or the boys-”
“You won’t,” he cut her off. “They’re still back at the Fishbowl. I know Balter especially wanted to be here, but after Arico’s speech it’s not safe anymore. Anyone from Tellek patch has already been rounded up for questioning. There are probably Sustained here in the crowd, as well.”
That was a sobering thought, cutting through the festive atmosphere around them. Now that she knew what to look for though, she thought she could make out a few of the Sustained in the crowd. They were wearing simple clothes just like everyone else, but they stood differently, and moved differently. Just as a man with a lot on his mind had a different walk, these people didn’t quite share the celebratory attitude.
Jaas was tempted to go up to one and ask him to join in one of the nearby dances. It would be funny, if possibly disastrous. She’d probably been spending too much time with Sabra. Shaking her head, she tried to listen in on some of the nearby crowds. It was still early in the day, and Arico’s explosive speech was still the prime topic of conversation.
She only listened for a little while, trying to glean a better idea what he’d meant back there. From what she could tell there was some kind of prophecy that had been around for at least a hundred years. It mentioned several people: a Harbinger who had come from the Outside (that part caught her attention especially), and several other people called the Unborn and the Shorn, whatever that meant. No one seemed to know exactly who these people were, though.
Someone from the Outside. Was she the Harbinger? What did that mean for her if these people found out? Not for the first time, Jaas wished that Arico was here so she could get some answers. If she’d known about any of this, she would have pressed him for details—which meant he’d hidden it from her on purpose. But why would he do that?
It seemed there had been several prophecies uncovered over the centuries, and every one of them had come true. Or at least could be interpreted as having come true, from a certain perspective. The most recent prophecy had only come to light about five years ago. No one seemed to know exactly what it said anymore, but everyone agreed it was very important. Quite a few of them even thought the prophecy about the Harbinger foretold the end of the city itself. For a group of people who had been stuck in one place for centuries, anything that promised change, even if that change took the shape of a disaster, might be something to look forward to.
As the sun climbed into the sky, talk of the prophecies and Arico’s speech slowly died out. People went back to the standard entertainment they’d been expecting to see today. Jaas joined them, observing what she could. Nemith was nearby as well, watching the matches with some interest.
Arico was taking a risk, letting her come here and see all this. A bodyguard like Nemith was a reasonable precaution under the circumstances. Still, Jaas found it a little insulting. She could speak the language like one of them by now, and knew how to stay out of trouble. Her accent wouldn’t be a problem either, based on the sheer number of dialects she was hearing right now. As she’d expected, the threads separating the patches had also divided the language itself.
A group of young people had climbed up on the scaffolding underneath the Ona scoreboard. They probably had a good view of the matches, so Jaas decided to climb one side of the scaffolding herself. She was barely two spans up when her foot slipped and she almost lost her grip. She gasped, hanging on with just her hands for a second or two before she could re-establish her grip. Just as she was finding her footing again, a hand reached out to her from above.
It was a sandy-haired man with a friendly smile looking down at her. He was wedged into one of the y-shaped struts, apparently quite firmly. Grimacing, she grabbed his hand and let him help her up to his position. He let go as soon as she was situated. “Careful, ami’ha. Those stones down there don’t look very forgiving to me.”
“Thank you,” she said a little shortly. Partly from being out of breath, and partly from annoyance at needing the help. The word he’d said—ami’ha—was unknown to her. It sounded friendly enough, though.
His gaze swept over her painted brand briefly. “Don’t mention it.” A cheer rose up through the crowd on the scoreboard, startling her. Her new friend joined in as well, his eyes shining with excitement. “Oh, good shot!”
She nodded, trying to make sense of the sport while getting better footing in the scaffold. The teams were now facing each other with seven people on each side. Each contestant was also carrying a kind of wooden staff with a hooked end. Strangely, there were two balls on the field, one painted green with a patch symbol burned into it, and the other brown with its own symbol. The referee blew on a small wooden whistle, and both teams sprang into action again, whacking at both balls with their wooden sticks.
“Are you an Ona player?” She asked the man next to her, as he clapped.
“On my good days,” he said easily. “You?”
Jaas shook her head slightly. “Never even seen a match before.”
He looked at her in surprise. “How could that be? I hear even the Sustained have their own tournaments and players.”
“I’m from Telledin patch,” she said hastily. “I was cloistered there since I was little.”
He nodded. “That makes sense. Never met a cloistered woman before, though.” He extended his hand. “I’m Marek, from Uttos patch.”
“Yaalo.” She shook his hand.
As part of her cover, Nemith had told her a few things about Telledin patch. It was known as a recruiting ground for the Aquunites, so a great many of its youngsters were put into monasteries of a sort. They were kept away from all distractions, to make sure they were both dedicated and pure for their later work. It was a useful alibi, since most stra’tchi seemed to know about this practice. Marek certainly believed her. He obligingly explained the game to her as they watched.
The goal was pretty simple: in order to score a point, a team had to get its own ball to come to a complete stop inside a small target area on the far end of the field. They could only move the ball by hitting it with one of their sticks, and there were a number of other restrictions as well. Kicking or grabbing the ball was against the rules, as was intentionally touching the opposing team’s ball if it was on the opposite half of the field. The referee’s whistle cut through the air quite often as a result. Each match only lasted half an hour, as judged by a partially emptied hourglass, at which point the team with the most points won.
Penalties imposed by the referee could be as mild as returning one team’s ball to the far end of the field, or as harsh as expelling a player from the game (usually for one player hitting another with his stick).
Ona’hatash was obviously a variation of Ataska, a game played in the old Vasiri empire. She only knew a little bit about the original version of the game, but it seemed there were still a lot of similarities even after all this time.
The game made for a very interesting visual experience from her viewpoint up on the scaffold. Since both teams had restrictions on where they could go, or at what points they could move either ball, it was like watching schools of fish move underwater. Or rather, how they would move if there were invisible glass walls in certain places. Jaas shook her head. Invisible barriers, just like the threads. Of course the sport would have evolved in that particular way.
Marek introduced her to a group of his friends, all from Uttos patch as well. They were pretty raucous, having drunk a lot even before climbing up there, but Marek didn’t drink anything himself. Apparently he was skilled enough to play officially for his patch, and he wanted to keep a clear head. Before long he ran off to join the next game, but his team ended up losing pretty badly anyway.
He took it well enough. Out of nearly four hundred stra’tchi teams, there could only be one winner each New Day. Strangely, after several rounds of game elimination, the colored flags on the edges of the fields were moved to make the field larger. Marek explained that the more important matches always took place on larger fields. The final match of the day would take place on a field six times as large as the original ones. The size of the teams would be increased as well, to allow them to cover the extra ground.
With a sinking feeling in her gut, Jaas thought of Balter. He was annoyingly interested in her—an infatuation to be sure. But he was also deeply invested in this game, and Jaas knew it was her fault he was missing this tournament. If she hadn’t shown up in the city, Arico would have never had to rescue her from that Miller gaol. The Hauld’s plans wouldn’t have been accelerated, and Balter might be down there right now winning game after game for his home patch.
Marek offered to show Jaas around after the next game, and she accepted after only a moment of hesitation. He certainly didn’t act like he was one of the Sustained agents, and Nemith had encouraged her to blend in.
Ona wasn’t the only sport being played as part of the celebrations. Sprinting and jumping contests dominated this side of the large track, and wrestling matches could be seen near the far corner of the patch. Marek pointed out one strange game, where two blindfolded men each had to keep a hand on a wooden chest between them, as they tried to hit each other with sand-filled socks. The first one to land a hit on the other would be declared the winner.
Jaas had seen similar large-scale tournaments back in her hometown, but those also included swimming and boating competitions. Of course the Sustained couldn’t allow that here. They couldn’t risk letting the stra’tchi know what they were missing, she reflected grimly.
Then they came to the archery range she’d seen earlier. At least twenty people were there, practicing with bows and arrows in preparation for the accuracy contest to come. There were no matchlocks here, though. Apparently the stra’tchi knew exactly what sparkpowder was and how it was made, but they didn’t have any. When she asked, Marek told her that the Lord Ascendant had decreed that only the Ascendant Guard were allowed to use guns.
That made sense. From what Endu had told her, sulfur was rare enough inside the city. Still, it was strange to be in a place where the ammunition was actually more scarce than the weapons that used it.
Just after the archery contest concluded, a low gong was sounded from near the middle of the patch. It must have been a pretty big gong, to be heard all the way out here. People began talking excitedly again, and slowly converged by the track near the threads. Curious, Jaas took a place next to Marek on the edge of the track.
“It’s race time,” Marek said, looking north along the track. Off in the distance, riders and horses had assembled along the track.
The gong rang out three more times, and on the third they all sprang into motion. Six riders in all, they raced past her and the roaring crowd. Jaas could barely see the patch symbols just below each saddle. The riders each made an expert turn at the corner where the threads met, spreading out a little as they did so, and galloped out of sight.
Jaas winced as they did so. They were all stra’tchi racers, which meant that none of them was a navigator. If any of them hesitated, or turned even a split second too late… they could be thrown into the threads and die. But it seemed they knew that, and despite the invisible and lethal nature of the threads, they each continued with both skill and determination to win.
“There are hundreds of patches represented here,” she said curiously. “How come there are only six racers?”
Marek grunted. “They’re the only patches in this half of the city that have their own racetracks, and enough horses to spare that they can race them. Another race is probably happening right now in the other Laentana patch, but they only have five riders. I heard a few years ago Tammas patch tried to compete with their own riders, but they weren’t fast enough to deserve a place here. Besides, expanding the racetrack would cut down on space for everything else.” Marek’s friends joined them, cheering madly for one of the teams, but it wasn’t their own. Uttos patch apparently had no horses, or at least not ones bred for speed.
The day wore on into the evening, as the various competitions continued. Until the gong rang out again, anyway. It signaled the evening meal, and the central Ona fields were cleared of all flags and markers.
In their place, hundreds of Laentana organizers set up tables and loaded them up with food. Then the lead organizer (a stra’tchi from a patch she didn’t recognize), stood up on one of the chairs. Almost simultaneously, the entire crowd quieted. The elderly man gave a short prayer of thanks to Aquun, which the crowd chanted as well, before stepping down again. Then people began to converge on the tables.
It was a remarkable sight. People from all over Patchwork suddenly had access to dishes they had never seen in their own patches. Something that was exotic to one man was an everyday meal to another, and vice versa. The children especially seemed to revel in the wide selection. Nemith stepped up next to her with a sideways smile, and piled up his own plate with roast fowl and mashed potatoes, before heading to the far end to fill a mug of mead.
Of course a bunch of the Ona competitors refused to eat. The tournament was getting important now, with only a few games left before the final match, and the players probably wanted to be at their best despite the nearby feast. Pretty soon now there would be just one Ona team left undefeated. When that happened, the winners from the other New Day patch would come here for a final showdown. From what Marek told her, they alternated where the final match took place, every New Day.
Jaas had expected the crowds to get right back to the tournament as soon as the meal was over, but she was wrong. They cleared away the tables and chairs, but then all gathered at the tracks on the edges of the threads again. Marek beckoned her over and pointed up. “If this is really your first New Day celebration, then you’re in for a treat.” She followed his gaze up to the corner where two threads met, wondering what he meant, when suddenly figures started appearing in the sky!
