Chapter 53
It seemed like a shameful indulgence compared with what he'd been accustomed to over the last six years.
The water tanks had to be filled and the water had to be heated and conveyed through a system of pipes into the shower tent. A bucket and a sponge would have been much simpler and just as serviceable. But Scar truly enjoyed standing under the rain of warm water that flowed from the shower head. He particularly enjoyed it when no one else was occupying any of the other three canvas partitions that were grouped together in the middle of the shower tent. They always felt obliged to chatter.
He let the water run through his hair and over his shoulders while he stood in contemplation. His life was about to change forever. A dream that had once been so utterly beyond his grasp was about to become real. He once thought that he had lost everything except his hatred; now he was receiving blessings in abundance. He felt elated. He felt humbled. He felt that anything was possible. Debate over the election, Naisha weeping over losing her sister, Shua baiting General Armstrong, General Armstrong's retaliation, none of that would bother him today.
Well, he thought wryly as he finally turned off the valve, perhaps there were some things that were too much to hope for.
"Are you sure you don't want to lop that off, son?" Shua asked. He lay stretched out on his cot in the tent he was sharing with Dejan, his hands behind his head, watching his son get dressed for the wedding. "It looks like a hell of a lot of trouble."
Dejan shook his head as he nimbly braided his hair, starting with his hands behind him at the back of his neck and then pulling the remainder in front to finish it off. He tied the end securely with a strip of cloth, then flipped the braid back over his shoulder. "It's so people remember me. I intend to make a name for myself in this world. Besides," he said with a grin. "Naisha likes it."
"Oh, well, that settles it, then!" Shua replied with a touch of sarcasm. "She can wrap it around your throat if you piss her off enough."
"Real funny, Dad," Dejan replied drily as he shrugged into his coat. "Katri might have done something like that, but not my Naisha."
"No, that's true enough," Shua admitted. He sat up and flashed a proud smile. "You did well, son. You always said you would."
His pants were pressed with a razor-sharp crease, he could practically see himself in the shine on his shoes, and his dress uniform jacket was as immaculate as the day he received it. But there was a certain calming effect to applying the clothing brush to it. For a man who could observe the approach of a massive invasion force without batting an eye, Miles felt remarkably nervous as he anticipated the step he was about to take. Had he made the right decision? Had they jumped into this too soon? Did she really love him that much? Did he really love her? Would they be happy together?
Hell, yes.
Maybe, but who cares.
God, he hoped so.
Hell, yes!
Oh, holy God, he hoped so!
"Damyan! Are you ready yet?" Dejan demanded, poking his head through the tent flaps. "You're holding up the show! Don't tell me you're nervous."
"Me? No." Damyan pushed his arms through the sleeves of his dark grey coat and straightened up. "How do I look?"
"Like a prince!" Dejan replied with a grin. "I'd marry you myself! Now get a move on, both of you!" He gave a friendly nod to Stoyan, who sat cross-legged on his cot, improvising a tune on his flute. "Are you sure you'll be all right bunking with my dad, Stoyan?"
The sleeping arrangements had gone through some necessary reorganization to accommodate the married couples. A few more tents had been sent for, but they were still in somewhat short supply. Stoyan gave an easy shrug. "I'm fine with Shua," he said.
"And he thinks pretty highly of you," Dejan replied. "He says you're a better flute player than I ever was, and I'd take offense at that except it's true. Anyway, we'll get started on our house in earnest once the party's over." With a pointed look at Damyan, he added, "If we ever get started!"
Danika sat as still as she possibly could, which was no small feat for a little girl who was anticipating such an exciting and desperately longed-for event. Earlier, her mother had sat her down in a galvanized metal tub full of warm water and had scrubbed her within an inch of her life. She then sat wrapped up in a sheet while her hair dried, and then Rada had brushed it until it was as glossy as the wing of a raven. She was finally dressed in her new blue dress and she had been presented with a real treat—a blue satin ribbon that her mother slipped under her hair and tied into a bow on top of her head. She was then parked off to one side of the camp on an upended crate in the shade of one of the meskaa trees and was adjured to not move for fear that she would get her dress dirty before the ceremony began.
It wasn't so hard at first. She certainly wanted to keep her new dress in pristine condition. But as time wore on, she got bored, and she was also getting hungry. The cooking area had been moved to just beyond the tents to make room, and delicious smells were filling the air. The entire camp had been rearranged, tidied, and decorated, and everyone else was rushing about getting everything ready, and she wished she could at least get down and lend a hand. Then she reminded herself of the magnitude of the occasion, and she was able to more easily resign herself to perform her task of simply waiting.
Guests had begun to arrive, which was exciting to watch. She grinned as Zhaarad Havoc came, carrying a large crate that tinkled with the sound of glass bottles. He sent her a friendly wink and she waved back. Then Baata Zulema arrived, supported by Rick, who managed to look only slightly beleaguered by his task. Others filtered in, Ishvalan and Amestrian, and they began to fill up the space surrounding the spot where the ceremony would take place. A simple pedestal made up of stone blocks stood in the middle of the appointed area, and on top of it sat an ancient brass bowl, one of the few items of value that the priests had managed to rescue from the war. Aromatic resins from the Xingese caravan lay in the bowl ready to be lit. Miles had purchased them for the wedding, not knowing at the time that it would be burned for him as well.
General Armstrong strode into the camp, and Danika gave a little frown. She wasn't sure she liked the general. She had given Shua a cut on his ear, and Danika didn't buy that "we're still friends" story for a minute. Well, she would be gone in a couple more days, so it didn't matter. Then Brigadier General Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye arrived, and Danika perked up. She liked them rather a lot, especially Zhaarana Riza. She watched them as they paused to talk to Zhaarad Havoc, and then the lieutenant looked around and caught sight of the little girl. She said something to the brigadier and walked over to where Danika sat.
"You look very pretty, Danika," Riza said.
Danika dimpled and gave her feet a little kick. "Thank you!"
Riza was dressed in a somewhat different uniform than the one she had been wearing. Instead of pants tucked into boots, she wore a skirt and low-heeled shoes, and her legs were encased in silky-looking stockings. "You look very nice, too," Danika observed.
"Why, thank you, Miss Danika!" Riza replied with a smile.
Roy had explained Danika's circumstances to her, and Riza marveled at how fate had twisted together the lives of so many people and how some tragedies had been turned into triumphs. She sat down on a stool next to Danika's crate. "You're going to have a very remarkable man as a father," she said.
Danika regarded the lieutenant with curiosity. "Are you and my papa—I mean, Zhaarad Andakar—" she corrected herself. That particular arrangement was still an intimate one, not yet to be shared. "Are you and him friends?"
Riza gave a little shrug. "We didn't exactly start out that way, but then we started working together to fix something that was wrong. I have a lot of respect for him. I've met a lot of courageous men in my life, and he's one of them."
Danika nodded in agreement. "He's really, really brave. And strong, too! And really, really smart!" She giggled. "And he loves me and my mama a whole, whole lot, and we love him back!"
Riza smile at her. "I'm very happy for you. That's the way things should be." She paused for a moment. She honestly enjoyed talking to this little girl, and she found herself envying her. Her own father had also been a powerful alchemist with an intimidating personality, but because of his devotion to his studies, he'd had little use or room in his life for affection. Scar had managed to find a better balance.
They both spotted him at the same time. He tended to stand out in a crowd. Danika drew in a soft breath of admiration, and even Riza was impressed. Scar, as well as the other grooms, were dressed in the height of formal male Ishvalan attire. Even with their somewhat straightened circumstances, their womenfolk had managed, under Rada's supervision and with help from the Havoc family inventory, to make them look quite regal. They all had black, loose fitting trousers below linen tunics with elaborate embroidery of geometric designs, as well as their traditional striped sash. The slashed-sleeved wool coats, ranging from black to charcoal grey, topped off the ensemble. Miles, of course, looked dashing in his long-coated dress uniform.
The men stood to one side of the camp with their escorts, and the brides were gathering on the other side with theirs. Rada waved to her daughter, and Riza helped her down from the crate to join her mother. From what Riza was able to learn, both the bride and the groom were walked to the altar by their parents, but since everyone in the wedding party was parentless, with the exception of Dejan, substitutes had been arranged. Naisha, Vesya, Damyan, and his bride, Yasna, had plenty of volunteers from the ranks of their musical ensemble who were as good as family. Danika would be leading in her mother. This was a little irregular, but since she was Rada's only surviving relative, it was deemed appropriate.
Scar had found himself in something of a dilemma. All three of his cousins, as well as Dejan and Miles, being in the wedding party, were unavailable. His spiritual father, Saahad Bozidar, was occupied as the celebrant. He had spent several days trying to decide who to ask to walk him to the altar. After much consideration, he finally decided upon a somewhat surprising choice, and Dr. Marcoh stood at his side, wearing a carefully cleaned and pressed suit and looking proud and somewhat emotional. The two men had formed a close, if somewhat unlikely bond, and Marcoh's untiring devotion to the Ishvalan people had not gone unnoticed by Scar.
Finally, the old priest approached the pedestal and lit the incense in the bowl. He intoned an opening invocation, then turned and nodded to the participants. They had only briefly rehearsed the simple choreography, made slightly more complicated by the number of couples involved. Starting with Scar, the oldest of the bridegrooms, they processed in a slow circle around the altar, the men walking around the front and the women heading around behind. They closed the circle and made three rotations, then they formed two lines on either side of the altar with each groom facing his respective bride.
Bozidar nodded to the escorts, and Marcoh and Danika led their charges before the old priest, then stepped aside. Scar and Rada stood next to each other, their hands at their sides, their gaze intent on Bozidar and the aromatic smoke drifting up from the brass bowl. As he did at the betrothal ceremony, Bozidar kept to the ancient ceremonial Ishvalan, but the Amestrians were able to figure out what was going on from the context. Intentions were questioned and proven, counsel was given, and love and honor were enjoined. The bride and groom gave their replies and made their vows before God and before those gathered. Bozidar beckoned for their hands and he laid them, hers over his, within the rising smoke of the incense, that their intention would rise to heaven as a pleasing scent.
Bozidar then bade them welcome each other as husband and wife, and Scar drew Rada into his arms and kissed her. Having maintained a respectful silence until now, those gathered around them roared out a loud cheer.
One of the girls from the musicians' group carried a folded striped sash over to Rada, who handed it to Bozidar. Then she beckoned Danika to come forward, and she stepped back to let her take her place in front of Scar.
Now that the moment of her chuvai had come, Danika stood motionless, gazing up with solemn blue eyes at Bozidar as he lifted the chuva and held it over the rising smoke, intoning a blessing for it. The old priest then handed the chuva to Scar, who held it between his two hands and repeated the blessing. He lowered himself to one knee in front of Danika and slowly unfolded the sash. As he laid it over Danika's shoulder, then wrapped it around her waist and tied it, he spoke another brief prayer. Then he repeated it in Amestrian, so everyone present would know exactly what he was doing.
"I claim this child as mine in the name of the Creator Ishvala."
He met Danika's eyes, which were wide and solemn with the gravity of what had just occurred. Despite how grown up she had wanted to behave throughout the proceedings, her eyes filled up with tears and with a sob she threw her arms tightly around Scar's neck.
Standing next to Roy, Madame Christmas swore under her breath as she desperately rummaged in her handbag. She finally found her handkerchief and yanked it out just as a couple of tears were about to completely ruin her makeup. Since she was already taken care of, Roy offered his handkerchief to Riza, who hadn't expected to get so emotional. Roy just smiled to himself, sniffling females on either side of him.
The wedding ritual was repeated three more times. Miles was led in by Zulema, although it seemed more like the other way around as the old woman leaned on his arm. Olivier watched with detached calm as Miles and his new bride held their hands over the incense. Then, as Miles pulled Vesya into his arms for their first kiss as a married couple, Olivier was surprised and annoyed at finding herself stiffening tensely. She couldn't even recognize the emotion she was feeling, but it was extremely unpleasant. She was further irritated as she recalled what Scar told her the night before. It was still bullshit, she told herself angrily. Complete bullshit.
When it was Dejan and Naisha's turn, Shua gave his daughter-in-law a wink as he presented his son at the altar, and when it came to their kiss, Naisha threw herself at Dejan hard enough to nearly knock him over.
Damyan and Yasna's vows took a little extra time. Saahad Bozidar waited patiently while Yasna had a giggling fit that she passed on to Damyan, and they had to repeat their responses several times before they could get through it. If he hadn't known that they had been sweethearts since they were children, the old priest would have had doubts about their future. He certainly had no doubts once Damyan swept his new bride into his arms and jumped around with her, both of them laughing and crying at the same time.
One final ritual remained to be observed. It had no religious significance, but it was a longstanding tradition. Each of the grooms lowered themselves down and perched their brides on one shoulder. When they successfully rose up without losing their burdens, the women let out a high pitched whoop of eh-hs, and a loud cheer of approval went up from the men as their brothers proved how ably they could support their wives and uphold Ishvalan manhood. The men then began to sing a boisterous song, clapping out the rhythm, as the bridegrooms paraded around the camp with their brides still on their shoulders, finally making their way to their places at the tables.
This was the signal for everyone to sit down, and the tables were quickly covered with platters of food. The main dish was roast lamb, courtesy of Havoc's father, who had begun to make a very handsome profit from selling Shua's sholmi and wanted to pass on his good fortune. There was a thick stew made with rabbit and vegetables, paper-thin layers of pastry wrapped around a filling of chicken, eggs, and almonds, cold vegetable salads, fresh fruit, and piles of flatbread and McGinty's biscuits. Added to this was plenty of beer supplied by the Havocs, red and white wine, courtesy of the Knox family, and the last of Shua's precious sholmi.
Soon the musicians began playing, but as Dejan started leading the first tune, he suddenly stopped.
"Aw, hell!" he cried.
Shua scowled back at him. "What's wrong?"
Dejan spread his hands in mock dismay. "I'm playing at my own wedding! You know what that means?"
Shua let out a laugh as he scraped his bow across the strings of his fiddle. "That means you're not getting paid!"
The musicians thought this was uproariously funny, and it took them a few moments to compose themselves enough to start playing again.
Scar and Rada held pride of place at the head of the first table, and Roy and Riza sat a few places down from them. Roy was usually rather garrulous at these kinds of gatherings, but now he sat quietly observing. He noticed that Rada was wearing the wooden bracelet that the carpenter in the temple made for her, and she occasionally glanced down at it, running her fingertip over the intricate carvings with a smile playing on her lips. Then she would turn her attention back to her husband with a look of adoration.
Feeling suddenly melancholy, Roy took a drink of wine from his cup. A nice red from Aerugo. A fairly young vintage, but mellow. He drained the cup and was about to reach for the nearby bottle, when another liquid was poured into his glass. He looked up with a start to find Shua at his right shoulder, holding a bottle of his sholmi.
"If I keep this stuff around too much longer," the Ishvalan fiddler said, "I'll end up drinking it myself, and that wouldn't be pretty. You wouldn't mind helping me finish it off, would you, Brigadier?"
Roy obligingly took a swallow of the liquor, feeling a pleasant bloom of heat spread through his chest after the first few moments. "No, I wouldn't mind at all."
Shua chuckled and topped off his cup again. "I didn't think so. Zhaarad!" he called to Scar, lifting the bottle. "How about you?"
"No, thank you," Scar replied.
"Ah, no, how silly of me to ask," Shua said with an easy grin. "Rada, sweetheart, I suppose you want to keep a clear head as well?"
"I'm sorry, Shua," Rada said, taking a small sip of wine. "I'm just not a drinker."
"Very wise," Shua agreed. "For some, this stuff is a magical elixir. For others, it's just a bottle full of stupid." He moved on with his bottle toward the other end of the table where General Armstrong sat. "How about you, General? Feel like taking a chance?" he asked, moving the mouth of the bottle toward her cup.
Olivier quickly covered the cup with her hand. "No, thanks."
Shua raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"
She glared up at him. "Positive," she growled.
"Well," Shua said as he moved away. "That's disappointing."
Roy took another swallow, feeling rather smug about not being a lightweight like some people. He gazed around him again, thinking how this was just the sort of new beginning Ishval needed, with new families starting, Ishvalans and Amestrians sharing a meal and a celebration together, and a man who was once an illusive terror transformed into the patriarch of a loving family. It was a wonderful sight, but it only seemed to deepen his melancholy.
The musicians began playing again, and the four brides got up and sang together. After making another couple of rounds with his bottle, refilling Roy's cup more than once, Shua coaxed Danika to stand up in front of everyone and sing the song he had taught her, accompanying her on his fiddle. She sang it all the way through without forgetting any of the words, and she ended the song with a triumphant little swoop of her voice, raising her hands in the air. She was loudly cheered and she ran giggling to climb back into Scar's lap.
As the musicians paused for a break, Roy stared down at the amber liquid in his cup. He had heard an old saying, in wine there is truth. He supposed it didn't necessarily have to be wine, and as he took one more mouthful of sholmi, a realization finally dawned on him. No, it didn't just dawn on him. It had been there for a long time, but he never had the strength to face it, and if he didn't face it now, he might never feel this brave again. He picked up his cup and stood with a slight unsteadiness.
"Excuse me!" he called out. "Could I have everyone's attention for a moment?"
The conversation lulled as the guests all turned to him, and Riza looked up at him with cautious curiosity.
"Thank you," Roy continued. "I wanted to take this moment to say a few words in honor of the brides and their very lucky husbands. I have been in the company of lovely ladies before, but the present company is truly exceptional. That includes you, General Armstrong!" he added, lifting his cup in Olivier's direction.
She just rolled her eyes, and Shua called out, "I saw her first, Mustang!"
"No, you—forget it!" Roy shook his head and waved off Shua's comment. "Anyway, I feel very privileged to have been part of this. It may be the conviviality of all of you gathered here, or it may be because of the interesting vintages I keep finding in my cup, but I'm feeling…"
"Stupid drunk?" Olivier suggested as he paused.
"Inspired!" Roy concluded, ignoring her. "I've seen the impossible become possible, and I see a bright future. But there's one thing that could make it just a little brighter.
"I've learned a lot since I came here, for which I'm grateful, and the one thing that really stands out at this moment is something you said to me, Andakar Ruhad of Ishval," Roy said, pointing to Scar. "Just the other day, you told me a really universal truth, that a man who can't recognize the worth of a good woman is a fool."
Riza suddenly stiffened as Roy spread his hands in a self-deprecating gesture. "I'm the first one to admit that I've done a lot of foolish things in my life, but I'm not such a fool as to underestimate the worth of the woman sitting beside me here, who has been beside me all these years and who has had my total trust all that time. I'd be a complete fool if I thought I was even remotely worthy of her, but I'm sure as hell going to give it a try!"
He turned to Riza, who sat rigid, her head down and her face burning, refusing to look at him. "Lieu—" he began, then shook his head. "Riza Hawkeye, will you marry me?"
There were a few quiet gasps from the others seated at the tables, and Roy heard General Armstrong mutter something that was probably not complimentary, but he kept his attention on Riza.
Without looking up, Riza whispered urgently, "Please, Brigadier, stop it!"
"No, I won't!" Roy sat back down and lifted her chin to make her look at him. "I love you, Riza. I've loved you for years, and if you didn't love me back, you never would have put up with me for this long!"
"Sir!" Riza hissed in a plea and a warning. "I think you've had too much to drink!"
"No, I think I've had just the right amount," Roy replied. "Just enough to have a moment of clarity! We've both been trying to shoulder the same burden by ourselves and letting it keep us apart when we should have been carrying it together. It's not like we don't already know the worst about each other. We already know what we did here. You already know that I'm a complete idiot and that I'm useless when I'm wet." He slid off his chair onto his knees, eliciting a little squeal of protest from her. "But what you don't know is how desperately I love you and how I would gladly embarrass myself in front of all these people and how I—"
Riza quickly put her fingers over his lips with a stern look in her brown eyes. She hadn't realized how quiet it had become until she had gotten him to shut up. She was almost afraid to look around, knowing that everyone was staring at them. She just focused on Roy's face as he gazed back at her with earnest, pleading eyes. She tried with all her will not to, but she finally broke into a smile.
"You really are an idiot, you know that?" she scolded him gently.
Roy took her fingers away from his mouth, holding her hand tightly in his. "Of course I know. And now, so does everyone else."
"I'll still shoot you if you ever step out of line," Riza warned him.
Roy kissed her fingers and grinned. "And I'll die the happiest man on earth."
"Well, as long as that's understood," Riza said. She drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and smiled at him. "Then I'll marry you, Roy Mustang."
Both tables exploded in cheers, whistles, and high, ululating jackal howls as Roy stood up, pulling Riza up with him and kissing her.
Madame Christmas fanned herself with her handkerchief. "Oh, dear God, I was ready to get down on my knees! I never would have gotten up again!"
Shua laughed to himself and kissed the nearly empty bottle in his hand. A magic elixir. A bottle full of stupid. Sometimes it was both.
Instead of the raucous call of a cactus wren, Scar was awoken by the quieter trilling of a desert quail. He couldn't recall ever having had a sounder sleep. It might have been because of the new mattress he had slept on, another shameful indulgence, but then he remembered the other reason.
He turned his head to see Rada lying beside him, her breath soft and even as she slept. He watched her in silent wonder, not daring to spoil the moment by waking her. He had been more nervous than he cared to admit. He dreaded disappointing her or, God forbid, hurting her. But the moment his hands were pressed to her skin, he could read every current, every rhythm, every sensation. Her body sang to him, and he was never so eager to answer to his name than when she breathed it.
"Ma—ma!" a little voice outside their tent sang softly. "Pa—pa!"
Rada's eyes opened suddenly and stared into his. The next few moments were filled with a scramble to find clothing that had been cast aside the night before with little regard to where it landed.
"Here! This is—no, this is mine!"
"No, give me that, silly! This is yours!"
In another moment, Rada called out, "Come in, sweetie!"
Danika came barreling into their tent and flung herself onto the bed. She kissed them both, then snuggled down between them, letting out a sigh of utter contentment. Scar propped his head on his hand and watched his small family. It almost seemed strange that this should feel so natural, so right, when he could barely imagine how all of this could have come out of so much misery. He quickly ran the back of his knuckles over the corner of his eye to catch the tear that had escaped. Neither Rada nor Danika had noticed, being too preoccupied with tickling each other. He sent them into squeals of laughter by suddenly scooping them together into his arms and holding them tightly. He was acutely aware of how fragile happiness was and how quickly something precious could be lost and how helpless he would be to stop it. But as he drew strength from them, he felt invincible.
