by Dana Marton
“What is this about?” The commanding voice that cut through the night had the power to still the man.
The warrior’s weight lifted from me as he stood to attention with the others.
I gulped air as I grabbed the tattered remains of my clothes and held them together while I scrambled backward, falling into the creek. The frigid water burned my skin and stole my breath. I tried to climb out on the other side but slipped and fell back in. My gaze fluttered in panic to the men.
The one who rescued me stood tall, the moonlight gliding off his light hair. Not as thickly built as the other warriors, he wore magnificent garments studded with gemstones the likes of which I had never seen before. He seemed young, only a few years older than I. But young or not, he was in charge, the warriors’ attention on him as they waited for his command.
He had arrived just in time, and I thanked the spirits for him.
He looked me over as I finally managed to scramble out of the creek on the other side, dripping, shivering from the freezing water. I lifted my long braid that clearly marked me as a maiden. And I knew he understood, but from his annoyed shrug, I also knew he considered it beneath him to be involved in my plight.
“All this noise over a slave woman? Keep her quiet,” he said as he walked away.
~~~***~~~
CHAPTER FIVE
(The Palace Guard)
“Hear that?” The warrior who had grabbed me before waded through the water with large strides that gobbled up the distance between us.
The others stayed on the opposite bank, probably not wanting to ruin their boots, counting on their friend to bring me back.
“You be quiet now,” he murmured, as if trying to calm a skittish animal. “We will not harm you, girl. But a man is due some entertainment after a hard battle.”
In my head, I could hear my mother’s warning: if a Shahala healer lost her maidenhead before gaining her powers, those powers would never come to her but would be lost forever.
“I am a maiden. It is forbidden,” I pleaded as I leaped to run, stumbling on the uneven ground.
He reached me all too quickly.
“Nothing is forbidden to the Palace Guard.” He bent my arm back roughly as he pawed my breast and crushed my lips under his foul breath once again.
The Palace Guard. The man who commanded them must have been the High Lord of the Kadar.
“A pretty one like you.” The one on me grunted into my mouth. “Time you learn to please a man.”
I tasted my own blood and fought hard as if for my life. I swore he would have to take my very breath before he could take the gift from me that I considered precious above everything.
He knocked me to the frozen ground and held me with one hand, pushing down his leggings with the other until I felt his naked skin against mine and his manly weapon poking hard into my thigh.
I went still with fear, which he must have taken as submission because he relaxed his hold and lifted his body to push my knees apart. But I jerked them up, and when he fell with a groan beside me, I broke away and ran toward Tahar’s men and the sentries. At least they respected the customs of their own land, and I knew they would not harm a maiden.
Over the rush of blood in my ears, I heard a man in the distance calling the Palace Guard to service, and I glanced back, my heart racing as fast as my feet, my lungs struggling for air.
The men cursed after me but responded to the call and lumbered off toward the buildings. Still, I feared they were not finished with me yet, and decided to take great care to avoid the Palace Guard in the future, avoid everything that had to do with the cruel High Lord of the Kadar who had denied me his mercy.
I hoped his visit with us would be short and the spirits would give me the cunning to successfully evade his men. I despised the Palace Guard for thinking themselves above the laws of their own land, but despised their High Lord more for allowing it to be so. Any of the Shahala Elders would have given their lives to protect the smallest of our people.
The leaders of a nation set the example for the rest. With a High Lord such as the Kadar’s, no wonder the rest of his people were brutal, thinking nothing of the pain of others. Behind the High Lord’s fair face hid a dark spirit. He had shown his true heart, and I knew I would never forget it.
I ran through the night without my jar, over the trampled snow, barely noticing the falling crystal flakes that had forever lost their magic for me.
I hoped to slip into Maiden Hall unnoticed and repair my clothes before anyone saw me, but when I reached the large room, Kumra waited in the middle, ready to lead the maidens to the feast.
She charged at me as soon as I entered. “What have you done?”
“The Palace Guard—” Holding my wet clothes together as best I could, I cast my gaze to the floor, unable to finish.
She hit me hard across the face, splitting my lip further. Not long before, a blow like that would have sent me sprawling on the floor, but I had grown stronger of late. I stood my ground before her.
“How dare you even speak to the Palace Guard?” She hit me again, backhanded this time, harder, angrier.
Blood trickled down my chin.
“You will stay here. I shall decide what to do with you in the morning.” She turned and led the girls from the hall, the set of her shoulders stiff and angry.
“She hates you because you are more beautiful than she is,” Lenya whispered as she passed by, flashing an encouraging smile.
I looked after her, stunned. Nobody outshone Kumra in beauty. But I understood that Lenya perhaps sought to comfort me, so I did not open my mouth to deny her kind words, for it would have been like throwing a gift back into the gift giver’s face.
I sat on my cot, not minding at all that I would miss the feast, only wishing I had something to eat. I rubbed my wrists where the warrior’s rough grip bruised the flesh, and thanked the spirits that I had been able to escape with such minor injuries.
Hungry and shaken, I lay down, hoping for some rest before the girls returned—a smart idea, as I could find no sleep after they filed back into Maiden Hall a little time later.
They had plenty to say about the powerful stranger, disappointed that he had not chosen any of them. He was not the High Lord after all, but Lord Gilrem, the High Lord’s brother, traveling with some of the Palace Guard.
Guests of the House of Tahar could freely choose from any of the slave women, but a guest of such honor would have been given a maiden for the night as befitting his status—a gift Lord Gilrem had turned down. Igril seemed the most disappointed, nearly crying for the missed opportunity. She assured us a hundred times that Lord Gilrem would have asked to keep her.
“Imagine,” she moaned the word, pressing her hands to her chest, “going back with the High Lord’s brother to live in Karamur.”
She went on and on about the High Lord’s fortress city until we all wished she had been chosen and kept, just so she would be gone from among us and peace could return.
* * *
Morning arrived too soon, as always. I winced as I jumped to stand with the other girls at Kumra’s entrance.
If I had thought saving her daughter would earn her favor, this morning thoroughly disabused me of that notion. She issued her orders maiden by maiden, leaving me last. I held my breath, for I knew she always reserved the worst chores for those she wished to punish.
I expected her to order me to the latrines or to the creek to wash the entrails of the animals slaughtered for the previous night’s feast. The kitchen servants had saved them to be made into strings for the warriors’ bows.
But Kumra issued no order. Instead she waited, and soon five slave women hurried into our hall, each old enough to be my mother.
“Lie down.”
Cold filled my chest as I looked from woman to woman, but I did as Kumra ordered.
They descended on me then, one holding each limb, my legs and arms spread as I struggled against them. “What are you doing to me?”
; “Quiet.” Kumra bent and snatched away the blanket I had wrapped around my body for a makeshift covering, since my clothes had been torn beyond repair.
The fifth slave woman settled between my legs, and I panicked then and fought as hard as I could, but their bony hands bit into my wrists and ankles, still sore from the day before. They were stronger than me, toughened by their labors, hardened by their fear of Kumra.
The woman between my legs slapped my thigh hard to still me, but my fear grew too great to do anything but thrash against my restrainers, like a wild animal against the snare. I no longer cared for what punishment Kumra would mete out for refusing to follow her orders. I cared about nothing but escaping from my bonds and the unknown violence I sensed coming.
I felt the woman’s fingers on me, then a quick jab, and she was searching my opening. I howled like a rabbit in the snare.
She withdrew almost immediately. “Untouched,” she said, and the others released me.
I curled up on the floor and pulled the blanket to cover my body as humiliation washed over me. Hatred, like diseased marrow, filled my bones. I knew my mother would not approve, but still I shook with it.
Kumra stood over me for a few more moments before she turned to leave.
The women followed her out to the courtyard, but one came back a while later with clothes. I put on the worn Kadar garments, a long linen under-tunic and a straight wool dress that fell to my ankles, both roughly woven and scratchy. They were warmer than my Shahala thudi and tunic had been, so I set my dislike aside. I would need warm clothes for my escape.
I kept the torn pieces of my own ruined clothes, stuffed under my cot, grateful when the servant did not demand them. I planned to salvage enough of the thudi to wear under the Kadar clothes, as I did not think I could ever grow comfortable with their custom of being naked underneath.
The woman sent me to work in Tahar’s Hall, and I hurried on, for I feared Kumra might change her mind about me and devise yet some other kind of torture.
At the Great Hall, I found Lenya transforming two old storage rooms into suitable quarters for Gilrem, the High Lord’s brother. He had slept in Warrior Hall with his guards the night before, but hospitality called for better accommodations for a guest of such high honor.
The smaller storeroom in the back would be his, while his guards would sleep in the larger antechamber. The servants had already cleaned both chambers and brought in suitable furniture. Lenya and I had to arrange everything and lay the pelts on the bed.
I worked as fast as I ever had, even though Lenya told me Gilrem and the Palace Guard were inspecting the harbor that day. Still, every time I heard a noise I jumped, scared that the men had returned to find us in their quarters. I prayed they would be gone from the House of Tahar soon, as far as their legs could carry them.
The spirits took pity on me and answered my prayers, not by granting my wish but by saving me in their own way as they often did. The following day, the last of Tahar’s warriors arrived home from the distant battlefield: the wounded and the dead, and those who carried them home.
By Tahar’s special allowance, I moved to Warrior Hall to care for the sick and stayed there for many days, sleeping what little I could between the cots for those brief moments when nobody cried out in need. The old bald-eyed steward of the house came with me to guard my honor, which he did, ever so sullenly, helping with absolutely nothing.
I did not attend the funerals but heard the wailing of the women, and Onra told me when she brought water how on the other side of the creek the dead warriors had been placed into a large hole in the ground, together in battle formation, ready to fight for glory in the spirit world.
Alongside the dead, the servants buried food enough for the journey and exact copies of their weapons carved from the sacred wood of garon trees. Gifts for Rorin, the Kadar god of war, filled the grave so he would give warm welcome to the fallen.
I had little time to leave Warrior Hall for other than the basic necessities and knew little of the outside world save what Onra told me when she stopped in now and then. I did not mind the seclusion. Even with the steward forever at my elbow, I had more freedom than at Maiden Hall under Kumra’s ever-watchful eyes.
The warriors treated me with respect and kindness. Most were young men who had not distinguished themselves in battle enough to be awarded the honor of their first concubine. They shared the hall with the boys who were still in training. The seasoned warriors who had families had their own huts along the fields.
Talk at Warrior Hall centered around young women, not a man there who did not have one picked out to ask for, should Tahar be willing. I enjoyed the free-spirited exchanges and the teasing among the men, the dares and playful competitions.
They hardly seemed the monsters I had once thought them to be. They helped me care for the sick, and I was even allowed to go as far as the foothills with two warriors and the steward, who walked uneasily and hated me for the journey, to gather the necessary herbs.
The boys would gather around me in the evenings and listen to the tales I told the injured whose spirits still lingered between the other world and ours. Sons of warriors were taken into training at the age of eight and sent into their first battle at fourteen. The youngest at Warrior Hall still missed their mothers, although none would have admitted it. They all put up a brave front for honor.
I indulged the boys with new tales night after night, recounting all the legends I knew, even the history of my people. The steward usually slept through this, his robust snoring providing the background music.
“The Shahala come from nine tribes: the Roosha, the Torno, the Shelba, the Mortir, the Zetra, the Fertig, the Lormen, the Tuzgi, and the Pirta, each named after the founding father.” I recounted how they had lived on a large, faraway island inhabited by many nations.
“But some of those nations were evil and committed such atrocious acts as to anger the spirits beyond forgiveness,” I said, and the boys listened.
“And the spirits brought the stars down from the sky and destroyed the island. Only the Shahala escaped, for they were closest to the island’s only gate and were favored by the spirits as they did not follow the ways of evil. Thus our people came to Dahru and vowed forever to live the one right way, and shun the ways of greed, and violence, and all immoral acts.”
I did not mention that the Shahala had come to the island before the Kadar, for it was a matter of contention between our peoples. “They swore a solemn oath to help all living creatures and destroy none, and over the centuries, among them were born some legendary healers.”
“Like you?” one of the boys asked. They seemed much impressed by my work with the wounded.
“Not me, but my mother. She even healed the old High Lord, the one who ruled before Batumar.”
“Barmorid,” said another boy. They could all name every High Lord back to the beginning of Kadar history.
I stood, but they begged me for another tale. And looking at their eager faces, I could not deny them.
“In the beginning, there was nothing.” I began the story, and they immediately quieted again. “And in this nothing, the Great Mother floated. To ease her loneliness, she gave birth to the planets and the stars. They floated from her body and scattered across the universe. Tired she was from her labors and slept for the first time. And when she slept, she dreamed. She dreamed of plants and animals and people, nations and races. And when she woke, she saw that all she dreamed came into being. But as time passed, all she created did not please her, for her creations lacked spirit. So like a mighty wind, she rose and swept through all there is. And all who breathed her gained spirit, until the last of her was gone into the last of her creation.”
The boys thought that a strange tale and asked for more, but I ignored their pleading and sent them off to bed. Morning training came early.
I spent most of the nights checking on my patients, sleeping little. I could always find something to be done. I sought to make up for the lack of my h
ealing powers by doing everything else as well as I knew how. The days passed very much the same, and long before the last wound was closed, I picked the creek empty of ninga beetles. I wished I had some moonflower tears, but numaba trees did not grow in the colder land of the Kadar.
I cleansed the wounds thoroughly with boiled then cooled water, made sure to open the windows every day for fresh air. I asked Talmir to cook the kind of food that strengthened the blood: kiltari liver, whuchu greens, shugone nuts baked into bread.
In those cases where infection had already set in by the time the warrior reached home, I treated the wound with maggots. Talmir gifted me with strips of raw meat that I left in the sunniest corner of the courtyard for a few days. After a couple of winter flies found it, which did not take long, and the maggots grew to the right size, I picked them off with my fingernails and placed them in a small jar, then rinsed them, careful not to kill any.
I placed them into the infected wounds and bandaged over them, not too tight so they could breathe. I looked at them daily and changed the bandage that soaked up the pink frothy fluids the maggots produced as they worked.
They ate away the pus and rotting flesh until after several days I could finally remove them, easier to handle by then as they had grown fatter. The wound, good living flesh, I cleansed once again and treated with an herbal poultice that warded off further infection.
And all through this I talked to the sick, talked day and night, about fine feasts and fine battles they would have after they recovered, the beautiful young women who waited, and the strong sons they would have with them. I talked until my stories became so familiar it was as if they had already happened.
The spirits stayed with us, and not one man died, although I cannot claim credit. The severely injured had not survived the long trip from the battlefield. But the warriors were grateful all the same and chose to think their recovery was a result of my healing.
