Tariro: A Tortallan Fanfiction

By Vivien LS (Sivvus)

Introduction

Everyone had encountered bandits at some point in their life. If they hadn't been attacked, or robbed by them, then a friend would have been. Every country was united in a sense of fear that ran among the people- the same fear whether they were thinking of the pony-trekking bandits who lived in the mountains of Galla, or the sailors who flitted among the coasts of Tortall and the Yamini islands. But it wasn't until the new land was discovered, soon after the horrors of the Immortals War ,that this fear crystallised into something real. As the kings and queens of each country turned a blind eye, focused on rebuilding their countries, the outcasts of their world began to unite. A chance sighting of an unchartered island was all it took, and suddenly the bandits, with their complex systems of communication, were building a country of their own. And the new fear had a name- the name the bandits had given the island: Tariro.

Tariro was discovered almost by accident, and like most accidents it was largely ignored. The island was nearly unreachable, its shores were inhospitable, and its cliffs were forbidding. The island was small- tinier even than the smallest of the Yamani islands- but without the lush vibrancy of its neighbours. Barren rock and slate rose into the centre of the island and didn't descend, dropping down into sharp cliffs exactly where the island met the sea. The bandits began their plans to start a colony there, and the other countries let them; the dangers of its terrain and new inhabitants, and the worthlessness of the island for anything other than space, were enough for them to steer clear. Within the bounds of their indifference, the bandits began to leave. Ships began to head across the sea. It wasn't until these same ships returned with the rumours that the fear began.

888

Tariro

Chapter 1: Two Factions

888

Daine leaned against the side of the ship, staring at the vanishing shoreline and feeling utterly, utterly alone. She raised her hand absently to her necklace, and then remembered that even that wasn't there anymore. Behind her, the bandits were singing and toasting each other with smuggled flasks of ale, celebrating their freedom from Tortall. The sailors let them- lean, hard-faced men and women who spent their lives on the ships, and didn't spare a second glance for these land-locked peasants. They lounged in the early morning sunlight, already half-drunk, and yelled jokes to their friends across the crowded deck. After a while the smell of fresh bread joined the saltiness of the air, and there was quiet as the bandits began to eat. Daine picked at a splinter on the rail, hating these people, hating the ones who had sent her away, and hating the sea.

"Are you eating?"

Daine shook herself out of her reverie, looking around for the source of the warbling voice. A woman was holding out a piece of bread to her, smiling kindly. She was swathed in shawls and cloths in the way of the roaming bandits, but the layers of cloth could not conceal her hunched body or arthritic hands. The girl found it hard to hate her, she looked so kind. She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. The woman looked back at her evenly, then smiled at her through a sea of wrinkles, her eyes bright in the dawn sunlight.

"Do you know what Tariro means?"

"No, I..." the girl swallowed, and then tried again. "I thought it was just a name."

The woman's smile widened, and she reached out and patted her hand. "It means hope, my dear. Such a small word, but it means so much. We're all running away from something, or someone- that's why we're leaving. And it might be sad to leave, but that's because you're thinking of what lies behind you."

She tugged at her hand weakly, but deliberately, and Daine realised she wanted her to turn around. She sighed inwardly and looked away from the vanishing shore, now a thin line among the waves. The old woman pointed at the open sea. "Now you must look ahead, and hope for better things. The new land lets us hope. That is why it is called Tariro. So no more tears, hmm? And you should eat, child!"

She let go of her hand, and pressed the bread into it. Without another word, she walked below decks, surprisingly well balanced on her stick-thin legs. Daine didn't look back at the shore- she knew that by now it would be gone completely- but stared forward towards woman's "hope". It looked like the sea. Grey, forbidding, cold and lonely.

"And that's what Tariro really means." She murmured to herself. "Being alone."

She began to pull the bread apart and throw it into the sea, hearing the gulls cry out to each other as they swooped down for it. She didn't call back- she didn't feel like speaking to anyone, even one of the People. It was all too sudden. This time yesterday, she'd been happy and completely unaware of anyone's idea of Tariro- not her own, not an old woman's, and certainly not king Jonathan's. Called in from the fields where they were working to an audience at noon, neither she, nor Numair, had expected their lives to change so suddenly. And their response had been one single cry:

"You want us to do what?"

King Jonathan shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying to avoid the force of both angry glares. It wasn't working. This whole conversation had sounded better in his head in the many times that he'd rehearsed it. Not that it had sounded particularly good, even then. The summer sun beat through the open window mercilessly and made his head ache, and it was clearly that which was making the two irate mages irritable as well. It couldn't be his well considered, rational plan.

"It's really the only option," He said quietly. "It's not like I'm sending you into a war zone, after all."

"It's as near to a war zone as it's possible to get, Jon!" Numair leaned forward, his eyes dangerous. "You know as well as I do that there's a civil war brewing over there."

Jon stood up, his voice louder. "And you're scared of fighting, is that it?"

"You know that's unfair." Daine's voice was quieter than Numair's, but just as stubborn. Both men stopped glaring at each other and looked over at her. "You know we'll always fight if we need to. But think what you're asking us to do, Jon! We don't know anything about these people- just that they're goddess-cursed bandits." Her voice shook slightly on the last word, and her eyes dropped to the floor. "What if they decide to attack Tortall, or kill innocent people, like they've done here? What can we do to stop them when we'd be stuck in the middle of nowhere?"

Jon sighed and sat down, gesturing for them to do likewise- a sign they both studiously ignored. "That's one of the reasons I need you to go. Will you listen to the plan, at least? We won't get anywhere by arguing with each other." He glanced up at Numair, whose expression clearly said he was happy to argue for centuries if needed. The king forced his voice to become calmer. "Please."

They glanced at each other and sat down, looking frankly mutinous. The expression irked Jon. It wasn't like it was even his fault that he had to do this.

"I am the king." He stated flatly, "I can order you both to do this, without any explanation, if I choose to. I respect you enough to explain the situation, and let you think about it first, but don't think for a second that you have a choice." He rubbed his eyes, looking faintly guilty. "Believe me, if there was an alternative, I would have found it. But there isn't."

"I bet there is." Daine muttered almost inaudibly. Jon shot her a glare.

"Well, when you find it, you let me know." He snapped, and then relented. "Look, even when you're being stubborn as Mithros' armour, your still two of the most loyal people I know. And that's what's important about this. I know you can do this, and I know that you can do it well. I have other people I can trust to fight a war, or draw a map, or spy, but no-one but you who could do this well, and know when to fly away when it gets dangerous."

"Spying?" Numair asked, surprised. "We haven't spied since... well, people recognise us now."

"You can change your appearance." Jon waved a hand dismissively, "And yes, spying is part of it, but that's not why I want you to go to Tariro. There have been reports of strange ruins in the island- things we've never seen before. They need to be verified, examined. And you would both find it so much easier to blend in to the bandit groups than anyone else- you have no military training to betray, and you've both done things like this before."

"With nobles, not bandits."

Again, that wave of the hand. Sunlight glanced off one of Jon's rings for a split second. "The concept is the same. And I imagine that the leaders of the factions are styling themselves as nobles by now. There are two factions- and like you said, with this civil war brewing, their leaders are getting a lot of support. You can work your way through the ranks quite easily, I imagine."

Daine saw through this feigned indifference in a second. "Two factions."

Jon stared at the desk, wishing he had an escape route. "It's not like you haven't been separated before."

"But this will take months- years, even. You're sending us into the unknown, and you want us to do it alone?" Daine's voice rose, and cut off abruptly. Without another word, she stood up and stormed out of the room. The door slammed shut behind her, leaving the audience chamber almost silent. Jon finally looked up from the sunspots on the floor to the impassive mage.

"Why don't you leave, too?" He asked, genuinely curious. Numair shrugged.

"You said you didn't have a choice, either. I'd like to hear why. I'm sure that if that's truly the case then, as you said, we'll have to leave. I'd like to know as much as possible about what we're getting in to." He smiled slightly, "Then I might storm out."

888

The ponies gathered around her, lazy in the summer sun, whisking flies away with their tails as they searched among the grass for the occasional treat. Their riders were away- most of them returned home in the summer to help with the harvest- and in the absence of their usually training the bored ponies were growing fat. Daine had been coming dwn to the paddock each day and taking them out around the forest trails, knowing that if they became too idle then their bored jibes at one another would turn into serious fights. The immortals had learned to stay away from the towns and cities of Tortall, knowing that they were defended by magical barriers and strong warriors, and the summer days had stretched out in peaceful inaction. Daine had taken to only carrying a knife with her on the trails, not needing her bow when surrounded by the war-trained mounts. Today, however, she was in no mood to be nice. She strung her bow across her back and called the ponies to the gate sharply.

What's wrong, Daine? A cream coloured cob asked as he passed, looking ruefully for the absent bag of treats the human usually carried. Daine didn't answer, opening the gate and counting them out in single file. She ignored the ones still lazing under the trees- usually she would goad them into coming, but she was in no mood to talk to them today. It wasn't their fault she was upset, after all.

The walk was uneventful and almost serene. The green and gold leaves of the trees cast multicoloured shadows onto the track, making the route cool and quiet. The occasional chirps of sleepy birds broke through her anger, and soon Daine found herself relaxing enough to enjoy the shade. The ponies noticed when she relaxed, and began to break their nervous silence. She explained to them that she might be sent away. The cob pulled up a nettle and chewed it thoughtfully.

Will you get to see new things?

"I suppose so," she said out loud. "But they're not things I really want to see."

Then why go?

"I guess I have to. I wouldn't be sent unless it was important, and there are things that only we can do."

Is the stork man going with you? Another pony butted in, using Cloud's nickname out of habit. Daine pulled a dandelion up and started picking the seeds off.

"No. He'll be there, but I won't be able to talk to him. He's going to another faction."

What does that mean? The second pony flicked her ears, scaring off a bee. Daine dropped the dandelion stalk and stared at it, feeling numb.

"It means... it means that even if we find each other, we'll have to pretend to hate each other, or even fight each other, and not talk or be together, all to convince bandits... murderers... that we're one of them."

I've seen you fight each other before. The cob said. The second pony agreed, looking confused. Daine shook her head, suddenly unable to stop herself crying.

It's different! It's wrong, and lying, and I hate it! She cried silently, making the ponies jump with the strength of her thoughts. Concerned, they stopped and turned around, nuzzling in concern at the girl who was kneeling at the side of the trail, sobbing, for no reason they could understand. The two ponies nearest to her tried to explain, but couldn't: they simply didn't understand why she couldn't just refuse to go. Daine cried out all her anger and helplessness, completely oblivious to the sea of ponies who were guarding her with loving devotion. She didn't look up until a pair of arms slid around her shoulders and hugged her closely.

"Ssh sweetling, it's okay." Numair stroked her hair gently, then wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. He smiled crookedly, "If you start getting homesick now, then what will you do when you're on the boat?"

Daine hiccoughed and leant up against him, telling the ponies to start heading back to the paddock without them. Numair didn't say anything else, giving her time to calm down and keeping his arms around her as her sobs faded. When she thought she could speak out loud again, she asked a single question. "When?"

His arms tightened slightly. "Tomorrow. I'm sorry, I couldn't talk him out of it. There are good reasons for him sending us."

"I know." Daine said simply, staring at nothing. "I just hoped that maybe, this once, he was wrong. Or he might realise how painful it's going to be to leave, and take some pity on us." Her voice became bitter.

"He's a king before he's a friend, Daine. Even if he does empathise, he can't be weak like that. It's no different from him sending out Alanna to war, knowing that she might die."

"But she's never been exiled like this." The girl's voice turned from bitter to mulish. "He wouldn't do it to her."

"He would, if it was necessary." Numair's patient voice gained an edge. "Are we going to argue for the rest of the day? There's nothing we can do to change it, and Jon did the only thing he could."

"Fine." Daine stood up abruptly, brushed dirt from her knees impatiently, and started following the ponies back to the castle. Numair waited a few minutes before trying to catch up with her, knowing that she was trying not to get angry again. When he caught up with her, she smiled at him apologetically and caught hold of his hand, slowing down enough to talk without feeling breathless.

"We have to think of a plan to get banished from court." Numair said, his eyes suddenly mischievous. Daine glanced at him, confused, until he explained, "Well, we can't just disappear- people will wonder where we've gone. So we have to pretend to leave for a real reason."

"We could set Jonathan on fire," was the helpful reply. The mage sighed dramatically.

"You will note the word "pretend" in my sentence, Miss Sarrasri."

"It would only have to be a small fire." She muttered under her breath, and then realised how absurd she sounded and smiled. "I'm guessing you already have a plan; you get that expression on your face when you're up to something."

Numair looked mock-wounded. "Up to something? Me?" He made an elaborate player's gesture with his free hand, conveying the absurdity of the very idea, and grinned back when Daine laughed. "As it happens, I do have an idea."

"Only one? I'm disappointed." The girl said flippantly, copying his gesture.

"Ahh, but it is a very good idea. I think you'll like it." Numair stopped, something shining underneath the playfulness in his eyes. Daine stopped with him, confused but curious.

"How would you like to elope?" He asked.