Page 20 of The Second Marriage
Sejun had traveled this road many times, most recently on the morning of his first marriage, and found little of interest in the tame valley bottom, dotted with farmsteads and stands of trees. Even when the road turned north and climbed into the mountains, there was little to see at first as the road switchbacked through the mixed evergreen and broadleaf forest that blanketed the lower slopes. But the tree cover became increasingly patchy as they rode higher, and soon Sejun could see all of Tadasho, the river shining in the sunlight and the white fortress perched on its ridge, and the farmsteads they had passed little more than white specks far below.
The road doubled back on itself again. There to the south lay the high peaks of the great barrier mountains, snow-covered and jagged. Sejun gawked in astonishment. He rarely ventured this high above the valley floor, and every time he was amazed by the mountains’ height and glory.
Taral was watching him. “Do you not come this way often?”
“I don’t,” Sejun admitted. “I like to stay at home most of the time. Itislovely, though, I have to admit. But sitting on a horse makes me so sore.”
Taral raised his eyebrows. “That passes, you know. The more you ride, the less uncomfortable it is.”
“I’ve heard that said about other things, too,” Sejun said, unable to resist, and laughed as Taral gave him a look of mock affront and pulled his horse ahead.
The air grew chilly as the road climbed to the pass, the wind whipping briskly along the ridge, and Sejun was grateful for the bright summer sun that warmed him. Taral stopped his horse at the top of the pass and dismounted, so Sejun did as well. From here they could see the entire valley, and to the southeast the smaller valley of Merek, its river a tiny ribbon wending through even tinier farmsteads; and past that the high white mountains, which seemed to Sejun to form the southern border of the world, although he knew that wasn’t so. To the north lay Barun, wide and green. Beyond that was Ripuk, and then Chedi, too distant to see even from this elevation; and north of Chedi lay the Middle Sea.
“There’s Barun Fortress,” Taral said, pointing to a building somewhat to the northwest, near the river. “And there—” He turned to point to his right. “Well, you can’t see it from here. It’s around the bend in the valley. But that’s where Gurratan’s stead is.”
Sejun eyed the position of the sun and the length of the road ahead of them. “Will we arrive before nightfall?”
“It’s faster going down. Don’t worry.” Taral’s mouth twitched. “I’ll protect you from the deadly wildlife of the settled farmland of Barun.”
“There are mountain cats in the hills!” Sejun protested. “They eat people!”
“No one has been eaten by a mountain cat in Tadasho in at least two generations. You have more to worry about from a disgruntled yak.” Taral turned back to his horse. “Let’s be on our way, then, so we don’t become some overgrown tabby’s dinner.”
He wasn’t wrong about the speed of the descent. Sejun jolted along, his thighs aching with the effort of keeping his seat at such a steep downward angle. He would be worse than sore tomorrow, and he hoped this Gurratan was worth so much trouble. Then he immediately regretted the uncharitable thought. Taral was happy about the visit, happy to go see his friend; he had hummed to himself as he packed his saddlebags that morning, a few tuneless notes over and over, and Sejun had never heard him hum. That was a new thing about Taral that he had learned.
In late afternoon they came at last into the valley. The road split to follow the length of the valley, and they turned east and rode with the sun at their backs. Barun was no different from Tadasho, at least that Sejun could see. The farmsteads were the same whitewashed brick, and the people they passed on the road were dressed the same. If he went into their houses, they would eat the same foods and sing the same songs to their children. Well, Tadasho was far superior in every way, but aside from that they weren’t so different.
Gurratan’s farmstead lay on the far side of the river. There was no bridge, so they crossed at a ford and rode up the bank to a broad meadow where cattle grazed in the golden light of early evening. The steading sat nestled in a hollow in the hills, a sizable white house flanked by outbuildings. Taral rode without hesitation not to that house but to a smaller two-story outbuilding, and stopped where a tamped-down patch of bare earth served as an impromptu courtyard. He slid gracefully from his horse and greeted a servant who had come over to speak with him.
As Sejun dismounted far less gracefully, the front door of the house opened and a man came out, a tall man with his hair pulled back into a knot and his belt tied above the high, round swell of his belly. His silver earrings gleamed against his dark skin.
“Gurratan!” Taral exclaimed, and went forward to embrace him. “You look well, my friend.”
Gurratan laughed. “I look huge, but thank you. How was your ride?”
“Easy. A good day for it. Where’s Ram?”
“Out somewhere, who knows.” Gurratan waved a careless hand. “Fishing, he said. I imagine he’ll be driven inside soon by sunset.” He turned to Sejun and bowed, a movement curtailed by the largeness of his stomach. “Be welcome, Taral’s husband whose name I don’t know. Taral, he’s very handsome and you didn’t warn me.”
Sejun had expected any friend of Taral’s to be similarly grave and sober. He hastily revised his assumption. “Likewise, he didn’t tellmethat his friend is the most beautiful man in Barun. Taral, what else have you kept a secret?” He turned to Taral, gleefully anticipating Taral’s reaction, then faltered at Taral’s unsmiling face.
“Oh, Taral,” Gurratan said softly, also watching Taral, then tucked his hand in the crook of Taral’s elbow. “Come, I’ll take you to your room for you to relax for a few minutes. Ram will be back soon and we can all eat together. How is your sister?”
“The same as ever,” Taral said. Sejun trailed behind them as they went into the house.
* * *
Gurratan hauledhimself up the stairs to show Sejun and Taral to their guest room, then tactfully left them there to, as he said, unpack their bags. The room was comfortably appointed with a bed layered in quilts and a vase filled with cut poppies sitting on a chest. A balcony adjoined the room on one side. Sejun sat on the bed to peer through the window, which faced east with a view of the river.
“I can ask for water,” Taral said. “If you’d like to bathe.”
Sejun turned to look at him, his down-turned face as he opened his saddlebag. “I feel fresh enough. But thank you.” He watched Taral lift a robe from his bag and unroll it. Taral was displeased, but in a muddled way with no clear source. “Should I not have spoken to Gurratan as I did?”
Taral’s hands stilled for one brief moment. “Gurratan is a flirt. He would flirt with a fencepost. He would flirt with a block of stone.” He turned his head and fixed Sejun with a look. “And you’re a flirt, too. And that’s fine. There’s no harm in it. That’s what people do.”
“But you don’t like it.”
Taral shrugged. “I’m no good at it. I never know what to say. But no, there’s no need for you to censor yourself on my behalf. Gurratan will be glad to have you tease and flatter him, and Ram will find it amusing.”