The Continent (The Continent #1)(50)
It’s in my hair. It’s in my ears. Its scent is so far up my nose, it will probably stay there forever. I am a disgusting wreck, covered in feces, having been glared at and insulted by Shoshi Kaken all day, and am now trudging back to the village in a cloud of filth.
“Dig in with that shovel—put your back into it, you lazy girl!”
“Oh, for pity’s sake—it’s like you’ve never seen a wheelbarrow before.”
“GET OUT OF THE MUCK. GET UP. GET UP! Gods, she’s an idiot.”
I think perhaps I was wrong in my initial assessment of Shoshi Kaken’s dislike for me. Possibly, I underestimated the sheer fervor of his dislike, the roiling alacrity of it. I honestly think he enjoys hating me. I have never before felt so inept. By the end of the day, this man has me half-believing that I am some sort of idiot.
All I can think about is the tub in my washroom at home, and how long it will take to fill with hot water, and how much water it will actually take to clean my body, and the fact that I have to do this again every day for the rest of the week. The saving grace in all of this is that the Aven’ei work in alternate weeks, so fourteen days of every month will not be spent in the presence of manure. I can do this. I can.
It’s early afternoon, and the sun dances in pinpricks on the path, dappled beneath the leaves of the trees overhead. I look around me, at the new flowers poking through the earth, leaves and petals stretching hungrily toward the sunlight. Spring on the Continent is a beautiful thing—at least, here in the south, it is. Everything is green and fresh, and seems to smell of honeysuckle. Well. It smelled of honeysuckle this morning, before the manure.
As humbled as I am by the disgusting beginning of my new career, I do feel somewhat satisfied. I took every one of Shoshi’s insults without a word, and shoveled pile after pile of feces—some of it still warm, as I was to discover when I slipped and fell. I wonder what my mother and father would say, if only I could tell them that I’d spent the day moving excrement from one place to another. I can only imagine my mother’s astonished expression, her dark eyebrows arching in bewilderment. And my father—would he laugh? Would he congratulate me on a job well done? I can never know. But still…I hope to make them proud. I want to bring honor to the name of Sun. I’m just not entirely sure I can accomplish this by mucking about with cow patties—and so I have another idea, a grander one, a plan that will at least allow me to make use of the skills I possess: I am going to create a map for the Aven’ei. Not a topographic map, but a tactical one.
The inspiration came to me this afternoon as I sat in the grass beneath an enormous oak tree, enjoying an apple and trying to claim a few precious minutes of rest. I was thinking about the Divide—the natural barrier formed by the Rukka and Kinsho mountain ranges that effectively partitions the Continent into two separate territories. The Rukka rise up along the south, blending into the Kinsho in the east; these mountains keep the Topi and the Aven’ei apart, for the terrain is so treacherous that the natives must move around the peaks rather than cross them to reach one another. This leaves two paths without obstruction: the Narrow Corner high in the northeast—the very place where I saw my first battle from the heli-plane—and the reaches of the south, which comprise miles of rocky cliffs and culminate in the great Southern Vale, very near to where Noro found me.
The Topi, as a rule, do not trespass into Aven’ei territory by way of the south, and rarely cross the mountains; most contact with the Aven’ei takes place in or around the Narrow Corner. And so it occurred to me that I might create a map and mark certain places where man-made structures might complement the natural terrain and provide improved defense against Topi attacks. I am certain the Aven’ei know their own territory well—but perhaps something comprehensive might prove useful. After all, I do have the unique position of having studied the Continent in great detail, along with the advantage of seeing it firsthand from above.
The more I think about this, the more excited I become. If I must wait until autumn for the kazuri ko to pass in order to make passage to Ivanel by ship, then surely I can fill my free hours with purpose, and perhaps even provide the Aven’ei with a resource that could turn the tide of the war. I make a mental note to ask Noro for parchment and quills when next I see him—though I shall keep the map a secret until it is ready for submission to the council. I marvel at how excited I was, a thousand years ago, to map the Riverbed, of all things—a place of great topographical interest for a cartographer, but of zero significance in terms of the tactical goings-on of the Continent. How strange it is that my skills as a mapmaker have shifted from the scientific to the strategic. And yet…if I can help, it seems a perfectly sensible transition.
The path home winds around an apricot tree, and the village comes into view beyond the gently sloping hillside. A burst of renewed energy floods through me—washtub, washtub, washtub—and I walk faster; I’m nearly jogging by the time I reach the village gates. As I make my way through the quiet residential streets leading to my own, I think again of Noro, gone as of this morning, sent out on some assignment or other. He will kill again, and soon.
He’s a murderer. The thought comes unbidden, and a chill runs down my spine. No. He’s an assassin—a soldier. Isn’t there a difference? He does what he must for the survival of the Aven’ei. And he saved my life. Is there no merit in that?