The Black Coast

by Mike Brooks

  “If you are telling this lord these things… are you not dismissing his offer of marriage?”

  Saana thought about the crossing her clan had made; the short days and long nights, fighting the waves and the wind, steering by the stars and the swell. She thought about her people; the old and the young, the hale and the sick, all the faces she was responsible for. She thought of how much effort it had taken to persuade them all to leave Tjakorsha; how she’d had to convince them the Great Ocean and the largely unknown lands on the other side of it were a better option than facing The Golden—the Blight of Tjakorsha, Clan-Breaker, Belt-Taker—and its clanless warriors. She thought of all she’d risked, and all her people meant to her.

  Then she thought of how to acknowledge yourself as a woman in Naridan speech was to automatically make yourself lesser than a man, and of Ristjaan’s headless body, and of Blackcreek’s arrogance in confronting her over Kerrti and the Naridan healer girl the previous night.

  Then she thought of what Nalon had said about how important honour was to the nobles here, and how badly Blackcreek had gone against it. She looked at him, weighing him. The Dark Father help her, she believed that he believed what he was saying was true—that this was the only way.

  “This man is not dismissing it yet,” she said, and what she could only think of as an expression of uncomfortable relief crossed his face. Yes, he felt this was necessary, yet he also didn’t like it. Perhaps she had to trust he knew his countrymen.

  “Very well,” Blackcreek said, dipping his own cup and drinking. Saana wasn’t sure if he thought this was a part of the process, or whether he was just thirsty. If he’d drunk anywhere near as much as she had last night, it was probably the latter. “We have already covered some areas. This man will not expect you to submit to his will without good reason, but he will expect you not to contradict him in front of other thanes.”

  Saana raised an eyebrow. “‘This man’? Not ‘this lord’?”

  Blackcreek nodded. “If this man does not expect you to submit to him, then he is not your lord.”

  Saana took another drink to mask her surprise. She hadn’t expected that to be so easy. “Agreed, then. This man will submit to your will where you clearly have greater knowledge. She will expect you to do the same.”

  Blackcreek looked startled for a moment, then nodded thoughtfully. “The sea? Your customs? That manner of thing?”

  Saana nodded in her turn. “Yes. This man will not have you trying to tell her fishers how to fish.”

  “Agreed.” Blackcreek smiled faintly. “This is not how this man thought his marriage would begin. Even this morning.”

  “It is not beginning yet!” Saana told him sternly. She took another drink and considered her next words. If she played this correctly…

  “This man will make a vow to you,” she began. “She will work as hard as she can to make it so no Tjakorshi will speak or act badly towards a man who…”—she paused for a moment, but forged on—“… a man who courts a man, or a woman who courts a woman.”

  Now it was Blackcreek’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “This man is surprised.”

  You’re not the only one, Saana thought. But her vow to Kerrti needed honouring, and she thought she could see a way to turn it into leverage. “However,” she continued, “this man needs your word that you will work as hard as you can so no Naridan will treat a woman, Naridan or Tjakorshi, as not as good as a man.”

  Blackcreek’s face went very still.

  “Your word, Blackcreek,” Saana pressed. “This man will not be married to you as an equal only to see other women treated poorly just for being women. That will not bind our peoples together.”

  “This lord is not certain you understand what you are asking,” Blackcreek muttered.

  “Last night, you told this man she is not in Tjakorsha any longer,” Saana reminded him. “You were right. But you have told this man your family makes the laws here; you honour your God-King, but you make the laws on this land. Is this true?”

  “There are some laws we could not change without censure, but as a whole… yes, it is true,” Blackcreek acknowledged.

  “Then you can change your laws,” Saana said urgently. “You must. If this man’s clan cannot live here equal under your laws, your laws are not fit for us. You and this man will not marry, and the clan will face whatever may come from the north alone, if we need to.”

  Blackcreek grimaced.

  And then nodded. “Very well. This man cannot promise it will be easy or quick to make his people accept it, but you have his word he will do this.”

  Saana tried to hide her relief. She hadn’t been sure he would go for it. “You may be surprised. This man suspects your women, at least, will not object.”

  Blackcreek’s expression suggested that he had his doubts, but didn’t argue further. “What else should we discuss?”

  Well, there was one rather obvious thing they hadn’t covered. She tried to ignore her quickening heart.

  “Fucking,” Saana said, and felt a stab of perverse glee as Blackcreek nearly choked on his water. She waited to see if he would speak, but he seemed to have lost all command of his own language.

  “When Tjakorshi marry,” Saana continued, “they mostly agree to only fuck each other.”

  “Mostly?” Blackcreek wheezed, although Saana wasn’t clear whether his strangled tone was due to shock or an after-effect of his choking. She ignored it.

  “Daimon of Blackcreek, have you fucked a woman before?”

  He was just staring at her now, wordless and apparently terrified. It was possibly cruel, but her own nerves were soothed somewhat the more he cringed, so she sailed blithely on.

  “This man needs you to be honest. It is very important for marriage vows.”

  Blackcreek seemed to shrink in on himself further, but finally shook his head. Saana did her best to hid her smile, then found it wiped from her face anyway as another thought occurred to her.

  “Have you fucked a man?”

  Blackcreek cleared his throat and glared at her. “In the first place, after what we have just discussed, it should not matter to you if this man had. In the second place, no, he has not. Although his brother has,” he added, a challenging tone in his voice.

  “This man also has,” Saana said sternly. “Several. She assures you, Daimon of Blackcreek, she has no intention of stopping. So, as a man who has never fucked a woman, who suggested this marriage out of duty and not love… what can you offer?”

  Blackcreek looked a bit like he’d just been punched and wasn’t sure which way was up. “Do all Tjakorshi marriage discussions include this subject?”

  “For most Tjakorshi marriages, fucking is not a new thing,” Saana said bluntly.

  “Fine,” Blackcreek muttered. He drained the rest of his water and slammed the cup down on the wooden floor with a loud clack. “Saana Sattistutar of the Brown Eagle clan; Naridans will also lie with each other without being married, but to lie with someone to whom you are not married when you are married brings great shame onto both you and your spouse. This man cannot agree to you lying with anyone else, should we be married.”

  Saana shrugged. She’d expected as much. “This man has said what she has said. She will expect you not to disappoint her.” She knew he was young and hale, at any rate. She supposed she could close her eyes, if she needed to. But perhaps not. It wasn’t as if he was ugly. He was just always so stiff, like a child’s stick doll come to life. Tavi had moved and felt like a real person, warm and solid and… She pushed the memory away again as she felt her lower belly clench.

  “This man will expect the same from you,” Blackcreek said. He met her gaze steadily, only the muscles in his throat giving away his nervous swallowing. “If you are going to make this man agree to that in front of two witnesses,” he added, more softly, “this man will insist on parity.”

  Saana didn’t know what “parity” meant either, but she could guess. She smiled, to try to show that she’d perhaps be
en teasing a little. “That may not actually need to be spoken of in front of witnesses. This man would not expect you to fuck if you did not want to. She just would like to know you would sometimes want to.”

  She saw Blackcreek’s eyes travel over what he could see of her over the low barrel. Saana had to admit, she probably didn’t look her best this morning. She certainly didn’t feel her best.

  Blackcreek nodded slowly, and found his voice on the second try. “This, ah… This man… would want to. Sometimes.”

  Saana nodded, as though she’d never had a doubt, and tried to calm her breathing, which had got a little fast. It might never come to it, of course. It wasn’t like she hadn’t taken matters into her own hands before. Still, it was good to know she might have another option, if she felt the need.

  “Also,” Blackcreek added, his eyes not quite meeting hers, “a marriage… that is to say, a Naridan marriage… is not considered fully valid until it is consummated.”

  Saana frowned. “What does that word mean?”

  Blackcreek coughed slightly. “We would have to lie together before the marriage would be considered valid.”

  Saana raised her eyebrows. “And by ‘lie together’, you mean fuck?”

  Blackcreek just nodded.

  “And… do people watch? How does anyone know?”

  “Nari knows,” Blackcreek said, with the air of a man who had very little interest in further discussing the details. “That is what is important. Your god does not watch over your marriage bed?”

  Saana shuddered. The thought of Father Krayk’s cold, dead eyes watching her sweating and writhing with another person would be quite enough to put her off the notion entirely. “This man hopes not! She told you before, we do not wish to draw the Dark Father’s attention.” She dipped her cup again and tried to put the image from her mind. “What of Zhanna? This man cannot marry you if you are to keep her as a hostage.”

  “If we were to marry, Zhanna would no longer be required to be a hostage,” Blackcreek replied. He cast a look towards her back door. “Although this man did not anticipate her leaving so suddenly.”

  Saana waved her hand to dismiss his concerns. “Being hostage was Zhanna’s idea. She will return if she is needed to. So,” she continued, taking another sip of water, “what else do we need to talk about?”

  JEYA

  “WE MUST LEAVE,” Galem said, hìs voice low and shaking.

  “We… what?” Jeya whispered back in confusion. Truth to tell, shé’d like nothing better than to be a long way from imminent bloodshed, but this was Galem’s family. How could hè just want to run? Shé tried to think what shé’d fear most if shé were about to enter someone else’s house uninvited, whatever hér motives. “We could… we could raise the alarm! Shout for yòur neighbours!”

  “No!” Galem turned to hér, and even in the moonshadows cast by the paddleleaf’s boughs, Jeya could see the pain on hìs face. “Ì can’t be seen! Not if this is happening!”

  “What is ‘this’?” Jeya demanded. It seemed fairly obvious to hér, but had Galem expected it somehow? What had happened to the sheltered youth whose mōther whipped guards for allowing a stranger to get too close to hìm? Being rich suddenly didn’t seem like such a good thing, if it meant you might find half a dozen armed intruders coming for you in the night. Jeya had needed to dodge people who’d had it in for hér before, but that was usually because shé’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “This is why my parents have few friends,” Galem said. Hè backed away up the paddleleaf branch as hè spoke. “Someone’s betrayed us, and Ì don’t know who. Anyone Ì run to could be my enemy. My family spoke about this, many times. If this happens, Ì flee.”

  “Flee? Where to?” Galem dropped down over the wall and Jeya scrambled after hìm, glad to put even its questionable protection between hér and the garden. “Where will yòu run to if yòu can’t trust anyone?”

  “Ì don’t know!” Galem hissed. “Somewhere not here! Somewhere Ì can hide until Ì can find out if my family…”

  Survive. Hè couldn’t say the word, but Jeya heard it nonetheless. Shé grabbed hìs hands.

  “Do yòu trust mé?”

  Galem hesitated. Then hè nodded once, firmly.

  “Yes. Yes, Ì do.”

  “Then come with mé.” Shé turned and began to run down the towpath, and a moment later shé heard Galem’s footsteps following hér.

  “Where are we going?” Galem asked as they ran. Jeya gave silent thanks for the blessing of the moons’ light; flat and level though the towpath was, they’d be risking a twisted or broken ankle otherwise.

  “To the First Level,” shé said.

  “The main city?” Galem exclaimed. “That’s full of people!”

  “All the better to hide yòu,” Jeya argued. “Besides, that’s where Í know. There are places we can sleep, safe places, where no one will know to look for yòu.”

  “But Jeya!” Galem protested. “Ì’m not dressed to blend in!”

  Hè was right. The clothes hè wore for their night-time excursions were older, simpler ones lacking the sumptuous colours and intricate embroidery of what Jeya thought of as usual clothing for a rich person, but they were still far finer than anything shé’d ever owned. Hè might not look that out of place in the main streets, but hè’d certainly draw attention at Ngaiyu’s, or anywhere near there. Shé wasn’t necessarily concerned about someone tracking hìm down because of it—the city was huge, and rumours could surely only fly so far—but it might mark hìm out as a target for robbery. Which led to its own question.

  “Do yòu have any money?” she asked. She looked back over her shoulder, partly to make sure hè was keeping up and partly to check that they weren’t being followed. They weren’t: the towpath was clear behind them, which was a mercy from the gods.

  “Not with mè,” Galem admitted. “Why?”

  Not with me. As though there was the option to go back for it! “Yòu’re right: yòu’ll need different clothes. If yòu can’t buy any, Í’ll have to steal some for yòu.”

  “Steal?” Galem puffed. “But the Watch!”

  Jeya managed not to laugh. “Í’m not going to steal anything while they’re looking! They’re always hanging around the markets, but they won’t be where we’re going.”

  They passed where they’d so recently been kissing, then cut over the first footbridge they came to, the wooden slats thunking hollowly beneath their feet as they crossed to the far bank. The stone walls of gardens began to give way to the timber frames of warehouses as the canal reached the Second Level wharves, and Jeya slowed hér pace. Galem seemed short of breath, and there was no risk of them being chased or followed now. Better to slow down and walk, rather than have someone remember two running youths, should anyone come asking questions.

  “Who were those people?” shé said quietly, leading the way between warehouses across wheel ruts still half-full with water from the afternoon’s rain. Galem followed, stepping where shé stepped, as though unwilling to trust any other part of the ground.

  “I don’t know,” hè said finally, just when Jeya was starting to think hè hadn’t heard hér. “My family has enemies, though.”

  “Enemies?” A chill ran through Jeya, one that had nothing to do with the warm night air. “Yòu don’t mean a Shark, do yòu?” If Galem’s family had run afoul of a Shark, that might change things significantly in terms of where was and wasn’t safe.

  “No, no, of course not,” Galem replied, then stopped talking again. They’d reached the top of one of the roads that wound down the steep hillside from the Second Level to the First. There were still lights burning here and there in the city below, peeping out from behind wooden shutters under the forest of roofs washed silver by the moons’ light. Farther south was the harbour itself, and to the east was the broken ground, twisting waterways and myriad bridges of the Narrows. It was Jeya’s world, and shé knew it well, but that didn’t mean it was safe.

  �
��Galem,” shé said, turning to hìm, trying to make hìm understand. “I know yòu’re worried, I know yòu’re scared…” Shé paused, suddenly remembering that Naridans didn’t like to admit to such things, but Galem said nothing so shé carried on. “But yòu need to tell mé what’s going on, if yòu know it. Otherwise, Í can’t help keep yòu safe.”

  Shé’d expected hìm to shrug, or say something unhelpful. Shé’d wondered if hè’d snap at her, or turn away. Shé hadn’t expected hìm to suddenly envelop hér in a hug, hìs lean arms wrapping around hér and hìs cheek pressed against hérs. Shé hugged hìm back, as tightly as shé could, as though shé could make everything bad go away for hìm if she could only hold hìm tightly long enough, even as shé thrilled again at the touch of hìs skin on hérs. Despite the circumstances, it dried hér mouth and set hér blood singing to have such a beautiful thing so close.

  “Ì’m sorry,” hè whispered into hér ear, hìs breath catching. “Ì’m sorry. But Ì’ve never told anyone about it before. Ever.”

  “It’s okay,” Jeya found hérself saying. “It’s okay. Just… just tell mé what yòu can. Maybe Í can—”

  “Jeya,” Galem whispered. “Those people would have been sent by the Naridans. Because Ì’m the Splinter Prince.”

  SAANA

  “SO WE ARE agreed?” Daimon asked, his voice still carrying a hint of nervousness, and a slight rasp from how long they’d been talking. Saana had built the small fire pit back up twice, an activity in which Zhanna’s dragon had taken a great interest. “We marry, under Naridan law and Tjakorshi custom. We are equal. You defer to this man in front of Naridan lords, this man defers to you in front of your witches. We each expect all our people to treat one of us as they would the other.”

  Saana’s throat fluttered. She was sailing into unknown waters. Blackcreek was proud, stubborn, and still sometimes unpredictable. She’d never really expected to enter into marriage with anyone, let alone this serious, smooth-cheeked youth from another land. If she stopped to think about it, the idea was nonsense.