Freedom's Gate

by Naomi Kritzer

  Lauria! Tamar!” Janiya rode up, leading two horses behind her. “You’ll both need horses for the ride out. These two mares are gentle and predictable—suitable mounts for inexperienced riders. Have either of you ridden a horse before?”

  Tamar shook her head. I nodded: “I used to work in the stables.”

  “Among the Alashi, you’ll still find that you’ll need a gentle mount at first.” She dismounted. “Tamar, you’ll ride Kesh. Lauria, you’ll ride Kara. Take the reins and follow me; we’re going to need to step outside of camp to learn the basics.”

  Tamar took the reins in her hand, looking like she expected the horse to try to take a bite out of her. I was glad I didn’t have to feign that sort of nervousness. I took the reins with more confidence; our horses plodded calmly behind us until we were beyond the tents and out on the open hills.

  The Alashi saddle was different from the Greek style. It came up high in front and in back, and was made with much more padding. The stirrups were better made and better attached, though they were so far off the ground I wondered how anyone actually got her foot up into one.

  “The basics of riding a horse really aren’t that difficult,” Janiya said. “Always approach from the horse’s left side. To get on, hold the saddle, put your foot in the stirrup, step up, and swing your leg over.” She demonstrated. I followed her lead, then watched Tamar. Tamar could barely reach the stirrup with her foot, but she grabbed the saddle, swung herself up, and landed, exhilarated, on the horse’s back. Janiya nodded slightly, unsmiling. “There you go. To get off, you just reverse the process. Tuck your foot into the stirrup, grab the saddle, swing your leg back over, and lower yourself to the ground.” I dismounted; Tamar hesitantly followed along again, sliding gracefully to her feet beside the horse.

  “To tell your horse to move forward, nudge her a little with your knees. And sit back when you want her to slow down or stop, or pull her the reins—gently. You don’t have to intimidate your horse; these are horses we give to children to ride. They want to take you where you want to go—just tell them, gently, where that is and they’ll do it.” She looked gravely from my face to Tamar’s; satisfied with whatever she found there, she went on. “To guide her in a direction, for now, you can turn her head gently with the reins. To go to the right, tug to the right; left, tug to the left. When you fall off—and you will, sooner or later—try to land on your side and roll. Now mount again, and we’ll practice.”

  Contrary to Janiya’s apparent fears, Tamar had a gentle, almost cautious touch with her horse. We rode our horses at a walk out to a large boulder and then back, several times. The saddle was more comfortable to sit in than the Greek saddle, but had a strange, foreign feel; comfortable or not, it wasn’t what I was used to. Just as well. It would make it easier for me to look uncomfortable, and less likely that I’d find myself executed with the bandits and rapists . . .

  When Janiya was satisfied that we were comfortable with walking, she had us encourage our horses to a faster pace. Back again, Janiya was reasonably pleased. “You can dismount now,” she said. “Lead your horses back to the camp; you’ll fetch water for them, then we’ll all pack to leave.” Tamar watched me stroke Kara’s neck and carefully mimicked me. That brought a reluctant smile to Janiya’s lips. “We’ll have some treats for the horses before we go. You can each feed your horse an apple, so that Kesh and Kara will know that you’re their friends.”

  When we returned from the stream with buckets of water, Saken bustled over to give us instructions on what to do to help get the sisterhood ready to leave. She put Tamar to work counting waterskins and checking each for leaks; she had me shovel scoops of lentils from a huge heap into smaller sacks of oiled linen, then loosely sew each sack shut when I was done. Five of the other women joined Saken in dismantling the yurts. They came apart in pieces. First the contents were moved out and packed up: every rug, hanging, trunk, and spindle. Then the huge pieces of black wool that formed the roof and the walls were taken down and rolled up. This exposed the skeleton of the yurt, a series of panels of crisscrossed wood, lashed together. The thongs and ropes that bound them together were painstakingly untied, and the panels that formed the framework were stacked and tied together. Finally, the ashes from the hearth at the center (though I hadn’t seen a fire burning inside since I arrived) were carefully swept away.

  While all this was going on, most of the other women had left the camp. I found out where they’d gone when they returned with an entire herd of animals. There were at least two horses for each woman—each woman had a primary mount, like Kara and Kesh, but there were plenty to spare. The herd also included camels, goats, and sheep; finally, there were three dogs that tore excitedly around our camp before trotting obediently to Janiya, to help keep the sheep and goats from wandering off.

  Though Tamar and I tried to help, and Saken tried to let us, we were more of a hindrance than anything else for the next step: everything in the camp, from swords to lentils, jewelry to rugs, yurt frame to leftover dried animal dung, was loaded onto the animals. The horses bore some of it; the camels bore the rest. Every animal was loaded with a precise, balanced load, tied so that it wouldn’t bounce and bruise them, or rub badly and leave a sore. Even Kesh and Kara were loaded with waterskins and some of the food. To the back of one horse’s saddle, Janiya tied two ropes that hung slack; those went to the rolled-up reed mats that crushed black wool together with our shorn hair. “These will drag along behind,” Saken explained. “Bouncing over the ground helps to compress the fibers.”

  We were ready before most of the other Alashi. Our camp was a tiny, bare hole in the still-roiling sea of yurts, animals, and people. I expected to ride out at that point, but there seemed to be one last task; everyone still stood by her horse, holding the reins and waiting. And then—a short blast from a horn. The eldress approached, sitting gracefully on a huge black horse. “Janiya,” she said gravely, and Janiya placed her hand flat over her heart and bowed.

  “All has been made ready,” Janiya said.

  “Until the rivers return,” the eldress said.

  “May it be soon.”

  “For now, take this with my trust and blessings.” The eldress presented Janiya with a horn; it was small and curved, made from a polished sheep’s horn, not much bigger than my hand. Metal had been fitted around it, and a chain to that, and Janiya hung it carefully around her neck.

  “You’ll take the Ash River grazing grounds for the summer. We will see you at the fall gathering.”

  Janiya saluted again, then lifted the horn to her lips and blew.

  “Move out!” she ordered. We mounted our horses, and I rode out onto the open steppe with Janiya’s sisterhood.

  The mood, riding out, was festive. Saken and three others urged their horses to a gallop, racing across the plain ahead of the herd animals and the rest of us; Saken’s friend Erdene took a turn riding the horse dragging the felt, and chatted with Tamar and me. “What are the Ash River grazing grounds?” Tamar asked.

  “The Ash River is a little creek that runs through that part of the steppe; it’s fed by a spring and runs even in the summer. We call it the Ash River because the stones on the bottom are gray, like ashes. They’re excellent grazing grounds. I think the eldress is being nice to us because we have two new recruits.” She said it kindly, but Tamar flushed a little anyway. “The Alashi all split up during the summer; there’s nowhere with enough water and grass to take care of all of us and all our animals for very long. The unmarried men and women split off into sword brotherhoods and sword sisterhoods.” Erdene sighed, a little bitterly. “The subclans . . . well, some of them stay nearby. Others travel north to trade for lentils and rice, things we can’t grow ourselves.”

  “Erdene!” It was Saken, circling back, another woman beside her, and with a quick smile, Erdene switched back to her own horse and urged it forward to join Saken, while the new woman mounted the horse that was dragging the felt.

  Riding in the back with Tamar, I
observed the other women as carefully as I could. There was Ruan, who seemed so intent on intimidating us; everyone, I decided, was cordial to her, but she had no special friend. Of course, Janiya had no special friends, either. The commander rode near the middle of the group, yet alone. Erdene and Saken were clearly best friends; Maydan, the healer, rode beside the woman who’d offered me more kumiss—Jolay, I remembered her name was, and she had a musical laugh that carried over the steppe better than Janiya’s horn.

  Toward the end of the morning, Jolay took a turn with the felt. Maydan dropped back to ride beside her. “Have you met Maydan?” Jolay asked us.

  “They’ve met me but I don’t think they’ve met you,” Maydan said. “I patched up Tamar’s feet when they arrived.”

  “They met me,” Jolay said with mock indignation. “Alone of all the sisters, I personally made certain that they had sufficient kumiss during the celebration last night.”

  Maydan giggled. “I’m sure they deeply appreciated it.” She gave me a sidelong smile that made it clear that she, like Jolay, was aware that newcomers to the Alashi weren’t always fond of the stuff.

  “Yeah, well, I think I deserve some credit for my hospitality.”

  “They say the Greeks have servants that do nothing but pour wine—maybe we’ll make you the kumiss-pourer for the sisterhood.”

  “You get out of real work because of your talents; I don’t know why I should have to pick up manure when I’m so talented at pouring kumiss,” Jolay said.

  We stopped to rest at midday. “You two are doing well,” Janiya said, as Tamar and I slid to the ground. Tamar moved gingerly; her legs were already aching, I knew, and raw from the saddle. Since I was used to riding, I felt a bit better than she did—but even for me, it had been close to a month now since I’d bid good-bye to Zhade, and the saddle was not shaped quite like a Greek saddle. My body held aches I hadn’t felt in a long time. I stretched my muscles, wishing I’d done so before mounting the horse to begin with, then sat down with the others and took a share of lunch: mare’s-milk cheese, thin flat bread that had been cooked that morning, and dried apples. The cheese was sour but not too bad—better by far than the vile milk drink Jolay had offered me more of. I had a bad feeling that I’d be drinking kumiss again, and probably soon.

  Maydan wandered back over as we were finishing our cheese. “How are your legs doing?” she asked. “Any soreness?”

  “I’m fine,” Tamar said.

  “Me, too,” I said. I had some aches, but not that bad.

  Maydan laughed. “Janiya was right,” she said. “She thought you were both the ‘I’m fine, leave me alone’ type. Drop your pants; I’m taking a look at your legs myself.”

  Tamar’s face went red to her ears—Ruan was staring at us both with an amused smile—but I was too panicked to feel shame. Would Maydan be able to read my past in my skin? The look on Maydan’s face made it clear that I was not going to be able to get out of this; setting my teeth, I untied the drawstring of my pants and let Maydan check me for saddle sores. To my intense relief, her touch was light and her examination very brief. “No blisters,” she said. “You’re not so bad. Here’s a salve, spread it on each night if you think you need it.” She slapped a small clay pot into my hand. It reeked of unwashed wool. Tamar’s saddle sores rated a sigh, a scolding for having lied about her condition, and a larger pot of salve with stricter instructions to use it. Tamar withdrew with the pot to a more private spot and returned a few minutes later, still walking gingerly.

  “What fragile little apple blossoms you are,” Ruan said. “Needing salve from a healer just to ride a horse.”

  I ignored her and stalked back to my horse, putting the pot into one of the open saddlebags near the back. “Oh, you must think you’re going to need it, too,” Ruan called after me. “You’re keeping it right where you can get at it . . .”

  “That’s right,” I said. “I might need the pot to throw at your head.”

  I thought there was a ripple of amusement, but for the most part the sisterhood seemed to be ignoring both Ruan’s taunts and my response. Ruan stepped closer to me, her eyes narrowing. “Maybe you don’t know how we settle our differences here, blossom, so I’ll fill you in. When we fight, we fight. Unarmed combat: fists and feet. Till someone gives up. And anytime you want to challenge me, slave girl, just let me know.” She turned on one heel and strode away.

  Despite myself, I was shaken. I didn’t actually really fear that Ruan could hurt me; Sophos had been able to rape me because he was armed, I was drugged, and I wasn’t suspicious until it was too late. The knife that had been within my grasp flashed briefly through my mind; I pushed it away. I could hold my own in a fair fight. But it could compromise my identity. Though undoubtedly slaves fought among themselves occasionally, I had picked fights with most of the boys in my neighborhood. I doubted that your average six-year-old slave girl had scrapped with the other slave children quite so often.

  I glanced at Tamar; she was white-faced and white-lipped. Definitely not someone who thought back to fistfights with neighbor boys with mild nostalgia. In Tamar’s experience, a raised fist meant a beating. A slave who fought with another slave would likely be punished; a slave who raised her hand to her master might well be killed. I finished tucking the salve away and squatted down next to Tamar. “She doesn’t own us,” I whispered. “If she tries to hurt you, just hurt her back.”

  Tamar shook her head, not saying anything.

  “Don’t worry if you don’t know how to fight. They’ll teach us soon enough.” And if they don’t, I’ll teach you how to make a fist and swing when the other person isn’t looking. Before I do—whatever it is that Kyros has me do. You deserve better than to be a target for bullies like Ruan.

  We rode through the afternoon and into the twilight; the light was fading and we were still riding. I had begun to wonder if we were simply going to ride through the night when someone crested a low rise and called, “There it is!” There were glad exclamations around us, and we all urged our tired horses faster.

  “It” turned out to be a small cairn of stones marking a well. Janiya unpacked a bucket with a long rope tied to its handle and then coiled neatly inside the bucket. Over the well, she quickly fitted together a small frame so that the rope could be drawn over a bar instead of pulled straight up. Finally, she drove a metal stake with a loop at one end straight into the ground, and tied the loose end of the rope to the stake. She lowered the bucket down into the well; we heard a faint splash as it hit the water. “Right,” she said to me and Tamar. “Start drawing water.”

  It was one of the few tasks that we couldn’t screw up. Another bucket appeared moments later, and we took turns, one of us drawing up the new bucket of water and draining it into the second bucket, and the other carrying the second bucket to wherever water seemed to be needed now: to the animal trough, first, for the horses, goats, sheep, and camels; then, when all the animals had drunk their fill, to a second trough, where the women refilled their waterskins. Finally, a large metal kettle was set out, and we filled that. It took a long time, and by the end, our arms and backs were as sore as our legs.

  While we drew water, the other women set up the camp: the framework for the yurt was lashed together, the wool and canvas was bound to it, the roof drawn over the top. Dried animal dung was unpacked and lit; some of the water we’d drawn was mixed with rice and lentils and set over the fire. The horses and camels were all unloaded, the horses’ saddles removed, and the horses rubbed down and groomed as well as fed and watered—Kara and Kesh as well. The sisters worked together efficiently; I wondered whose job drawing water would have been, since I saw no one standing idle.

  When the troughs were full and seemed to be staying full, dinner was ready. Ruan served the stew; she made no comment as she dished up lentils and rice for me or Tamar, but she made no eye contact, either. I was already growing tired of Alashi spices, and had little appetite for the food, though I finished my bowl.

  �
��Is it all right if I have a little more?” Tamar asked.

  Ruan held out her hand in response; Tamar handed her the bowl and Ruan filled it again. I thought of the meager portions at Sophos’s—foreign spices or not, for Tamar it was a treat just to be able to fill her stomach.

  To my relief, the kumiss didn’t come out; everyone just got out the blankets and went to sleep. Tamar and I slept in the same yurt we’d slept in the previous night; in addition to us and Ruan, five other women slept inside: Saken, Erdene, Maydan, Jolay, and a woman I didn’t know yet. The stranger unrolled her blanket close to mine; she had raven-black hair and dark eyes, and smelled faintly of incense. No one really had the energy for conversation, but she flashed me a brief smile as she laid out her bed. “I’m Zhanna,” she said. “It’s nice to have you with us.”

  “Thank you,” I said. A moment too late, I heard the slight bitter edge in my voice.

  Zhanna sat back on her heels, running her fingers through her cropped hair to work a little of the sand out. “No, I mean it,” she said. “I love getting new people. I’ve served with the sisterhood for eight summers now, and it’s nice to spend a little time with someone I don’t already know.”

  Across the tent, I heard a contemptuous grunt from Ruan. Zhanna shrugged and shook her head, and then lay down to sleep. I lay down as well; despite my aching legs, back, and arms, and despite the snores coming from somewhere far too close to my head, I fell almost instantly into a dreamless sleep.

  We woke at dawn, and Janiya set Tamar and me to work drawing water again. I clenched my teeth and said nothing as we drew up bucket after bucket. Fortunately it didn’t take as much water to satisfy the animals after a cool, quiet night, and by the time the yurt was down and packed, we were done as well. Saken led our horses over to where we were, saddled and ready. “We’ll teach you to saddle them up and everything else once we get to the Ash River grazing ground,” she said. “How are your legs?”

  “Fine,” I said. I realized only after I’d spit the word out how defensive I sounded. Tamar just nodded.