Looking at Tasaio’s former Force Commander, and moved by the iron courage that masked a turmoil of confusion, Mara said kindly, irrilandi, I will not kill good men because they faithfully discharged their duties. You are called to serve the Acoma. Are you willing?’
The old officer searched the Lady’s eyes for a long moment, speechless. Then restraint, suspicion, and disbelief gave way to boyish abandon. Swept by irrepressible elation, he said, ‘With all my heart, my most generous mistress, with all my heart.’
Mara gave him her first command. ‘Marshal all of your soldiers and compare bloodlines with those in my retinue. Most will have ties to soldiers serving the Acoma, or at least they will have, by the time the last of you have sworn service. All here are worthy; therefore, let the forms be observed that all may be lawfully committed to duty. If there are any among you, officers or common warriors, who feel they could not give loyalty to my house, you have my leave to permit them to fall upon their swords or depart in peace, as they choose.’ A handful of soldiers stepped from the ranks, and departed, but fully nine men in ten remained. Mara said, ‘Now, Irrilandi, will you come before the Acoma natami and vow your obedience, that the task ahead may begin?’
The old officer bowed deeply in gratitude, and as he rose with a shining smile, the ranks of leaderless soldiers erupted into uncontrollable cheers and shouts. The name ‘Acoma! Acoma!’ rang in the morning air, until Mara was nearly deafened by the clamour. The cheering continued unabated for long minutes while the rising smoke from the Minwanabi pyre rose on the clear air, forgotten.
Over the waves of noise, Mara told Saric and Incomo, ‘Sort this out and ready these men to swear before the glade. I am going now to place the natami in its new home.’
A priest of Chochocan, the Good God, and Keyoke accompanied Mara to the contemplation glade. Waiting outside with a shovel in hand was the gardener who was the traditional keeper of the grounds. He expected the Minwanabi natami to be buried face down forever, in the timeworn custom of a house fallen to conquerors. The moment came at last, and Keyoke surrendered the burden of the Acoma natami to Mara. Her escort halted outside the entrance, while the priest and gardener accompanied her inside.
The glade was much larger than the one upon the Acoma estates and was tended in impeccable fashion, with fragrant flowers and fruit trees, and a series of pools interconnected by the trilling splash of waterfalls. Mara gazed in wonder upon a beauty that stopped her breath. Half-dazed, she said to the gardener, ‘What is your name?’
All but trembling in apprehension, the dutiful servant replied, ‘Nira, great mistress.’
Softly she said, ‘You do honour to your office, gardener. Great honour.’
The sun-browned man brightened at the compliment. He bowed and set his forehead to the earth he had tended so lovingly. ‘I thank the great Lady.’
Mara bade him rise. She walked on down shaded paths to the place where the ancient rocks bearing the Minwanabi crest rested. For a long moment she regarded the talisman, so much like her own; except for the weatherworn sigil, it might have been the twin to the one she carried. Poignantly reminded that all great houses of the Empire shared a common beginning, she renewed her dedication to make that a common future as well. At last she said, ‘With reverence, remove the natami.’
Nira knelt to do her bidding as she turned and faced the priest. ‘I will not bury the Minwanabi natami.’ She needed no symbolic act to rejoice in the recognition that the struggle she had fought most of her life had at last come to an end. She had risked much, and lost a great deal that was dear to her, and the thought of even ritual obliteration of a family’s memory made her feel sour inside. Too easily, all too easily, the defeated house might have been her own.
In deep recognition of her own strengths and failures, and the legacy they might leave to her son and future children, she nodded to the Minwanabi family talisman. ‘Once heroic men bore that name. It is not fitting they should be forgotten because their offspring fell from greatness. The Acoma natami shall rest here, where I and my children may sit in peace with the shades of our ancestors. But another place on a hilltop overlooking the estate will be set aside for the Minwanabi stone. I would have the spirits of those great men see their ancestral lands are well cared for and nurtured. Then they, too, will rest easy.’