by Dana Marton
So often did a servant woman come to beg for my help, I began to spend more and more time in the kitchen where I could be approached by those in need, male and female alike. The kitchen had an endless supply of boiling water, which I often needed. I liked the warmth of the cooking fires and the back door to the street—for the vendors who brought fresh goods to the palace each day—which could be open for fresh air as needed.
And so the power of healing finally awakened within me. And as the days passed, I learned that like the power of the muscles that moved my body, the more I did one day, the more I could do the next and easier. I instructed the seamstress to prepare a proper healer’s veil and wore the thin linen around my shoulders like a shawl at all times to keep it at hand, so often did I have to don it.
I often asked the servants who came to me whether they had served under the previous High Lord, Barmorid. If they had, I asked them about another Shahala healer, Chalee. Some remembered her and blessed her name. They claimed she died of a sudden illness, but none knew where she was buried.
I wondered whether I might have more luck with the caravan. They might be the very people who had spirited away her body from the Fortress City.
I had my mind on that when Leena came for me one morning. “Lord Gilrem summons you, my Lady.”
From the servants’ whispers, I had learned he had his own House within the fortress, fit for a prince, with a Pleasure Hall of legendary proportions. He did, however, despite such comforts, spend a lot of his time at the palace, especially in Batumar’s absence. The High Lord trusted him with much responsibility.
I thought maybe he needed my healing.
Leena escorted me. Most of the time, she went about her affairs arranging my meals and the cleaning and renovation of Pleasure Hall, but from time to time, she attached herself to me and would not let me out of her sight.
We walked through the door of the Great Hall, where Lord Gilrem and Shartor waited. I moved forward. Lena remained by the threshold, at a respectable distance.
“I hope the morn finds you well, my Lords.”
“Fair well, my Lady,” Lord Gilrem said without much warmth.
Shartor cut a tall figure in his gray robe, his braided and oiled beard reaching nearly to his thin waist. But of all his features, his eyes stood out as the most unusual, moving independently of each other. He looked like a giant lizard, ready to dash his fearsome tongue out and swallow me whole.
I shook off the fanciful notion and bowed to Lord Gilrem first, then to Shartor, and hoped I did not miss the order and give offense.
“Your fame grows throughout the palace.” Lord Gilrem wore his rich garments as he had at the House of Tahar. When with Batumar, he dressed more simply, similar to the warriors, as the High Lord himself did. “And yet I wonder… What other powers do you have?”
Neither man seemed ill. As I tasted Lord Gilrem’s question, my shoulders tensed.
Shahala healers indeed had powers known to few others, but to say so would have been unpardonably rude, a crass bragging. “No powers, my Lord, but some measure of skill to ease certain pains when the spirits will it.”
Shartor sucked in his breath at my last words, and too late I remembered that some Kadar took mention of the spirits as a slight to Rorin.
“You are modest.” Lord Gilrem examined me closely. “I do not trust that in a man or a woman. It is our nature to make the most of our abilities and make others believe we have even more.”
“I have no great powers, my Lord,” I answered truthfully. What I could do was nothing compared to my mother’s deeds.
“You have the power to break the chains of evil women.” He had never before hinted at remembering Kumra and her daughter and all that had happened to him at the House of Tahar. “And you have the wisdom to know I do not want to speak of it. You have not come to me for payment. Perhaps you think you hold me in debt and like the thought?”
I said nothing, for I felt none too comfortable in his presence. Like a volatile flame he seemed, and at any moment I expected the scorch of his blaze. Although I could not understand why, my instincts said Shartor was the fuel behind the fire.
Lord Gilrem stepped closer. “You did not seek the favor of the High Lord by telling him how you saved his brother. If you had done so, I would have denied it and you would have been punished swiftly for the lie. And yet, you did find favor with Batumar. Karamur is filled with the talk of you.” He watched me, his gaze thick with suspicion, his voice tinged with barely controlled anger.
My mother had once told me that strong anger in a man with a weak spirit was a dangerous thing. I felt that danger all around me.
“You see too much, Tera of the Shahala,” he said. “And you have power far too much for my liking, no matter how you deny it.”
He turned to the soothsayer in a sudden move. “What say you, Shartor? Is she a sorceress?”
I heard Leena’s faint gasp behind me in the silence.
Shartor’s left eye focused on me, while the right one seemed to examine the smoke-stained ceiling. “She knows no respect for Rorin. Gives all her thanks to the spirits.”
The burning torches cast dark shadows on the walls around us.
“As is our Shahala custom, my Lord,” I said respectfully. “I intended no slight to Rorin.”
Shartor waved my words away like one would swat at bothersome summer flies. “Think of the evil, my Lord, that befell you at the House of Tahar. Did she not administer the poison herself? She brought on the illness, then cured it, hoping her reward might be to return with you to Karamur as your new concubine. And when my Lord proved too wise for her wiles, she worked her magic on the High Lord Batumar.”
I glanced from one man to the other, my throat tightening, cold spreading in my chest. “My Lords, I have no magic.”
Lord Gilrem drew his body taller. “Sorcery is a most serious charge.”
Shartor ran his knobby fingers over his beard. “Would not speak it lightly, but we must consider the welfare of our nation and that of your brother. Did he not swear he would not take another concubine?”
Lord Gilrem nodded. “He swore.”
“And here she is, holding the will of our High Lord and of the palace servants too, having enthralled them already.”
My throat was so tight I could barely push the words out. “My Lords, I am innocent of these charges.”
“She rode the manyinga. All of Karamur saw her.” Shartor pronounced the words like a death sentence. And then a sudden dark light brightened his predatory eyes. He opened his mouth to say something else to Gilrem but seemed to change his mind and turned to me, instead. “Leave us now.”
I did so with great relief and some curiosity about what he would say once I left.
“You made a bad enemy, my Lady.” Leena followed close behind as I walked down the hall.
“Better to have a known enemy than an unknown one.” I surprised myself by repeating words I had heard from Batumar.
“You must take care to keep out of his way.”
I planned on following that advice. “Does he spend much time at the palace? I have only seen him at the feasts before.”
“He lurks at the House of Gilrem these days, my Lady. When Batumar became High Lord, Shartor sought to be his chief advisor. But Batumar listens to his warlords and keeps not counsel with soothsayers, as Barmorid before him.”
So Shartor had lost much power under Batumar.
For the first time, I felt relief when the tall doors of Pleasure Hall closed behind me.
“Lord Gilrem puts much stock in his advice,” Leena said as we entered my chamber. “He is these days Shartor’s biggest supporter.”
I thought of Lord Gilrem, who would forever live in Batumar’s shadow. The High Lord cast a wide shadow indeed. To be always an afterthought, the second in command, would have grated even on the most loving of brothers. And Shartor stood ready to whisper the unjustness of it all. Shartor, trying to build back his lost empire.
“Why
would Shartor be bothered by someone as unimportant as I?” For the true inquisitor had been Shartor and not Lord Gilrem. Lord Gilrem might have been weak and callous, but nothing I had seen of him showed a truly evil heart. Shartor’s influence on him showed, brought on a layer of darkness that sent a chill down my spine.
“You are the favorite concubine, my Lady.”
Was I even a concubine? I had only served Batumar with my healing so far.
In his absence, Lord Gilrem ruled as Lord of the castle. If Shartor managed to convince him that in me they had a true sorceress… I shivered and pulled closer to the fire.
* * *
Three days remained until the departure of the caravan, days I had to survive and use for gathering what I needed. I could have saved food from the trays brought to my chamber every meal time, but Tilia always stayed until I finished, in case I had need of something else. And I had to eat those meals anyway. I could not weaken my body by starving it, for the journey would be long and arduous.
My traveling supplies would have to come from the kitchen.
I spent enough time there so the servants barely noted my presence. My elaborate gowns had room enough to hide some food, but not yet. I would collect what I needed only the day before my departure. The bread would grow stale enough on the long journey.
Other than food, I also needed a disguise. I could not travel dressed as a concubine. The thought of that vexed me greatly, until talking with Leena about Shartor brought me the perfect solution.
“What is the punishment for sorcery?” I asked her, regretting that I would have to leave her behind. I would miss her. Once, I had considered the two of us running away together, but by now I knew her loyalty to Batumar was steadfast.
“A truly powerful sorceress cannot be caught, they say. But she might be tricked by a truly powerful soothsayer.” She would not meet my eyes.
“And then?”
She paled, wringing her hands. “The only way to kill a sorceress is to boil her in tar."
The thought of dying among the Kadar and lying in my grave without the Last Blessing like my mother made me shudder. But then it made me think of a way to gain clothes for my disguise.
“Would you summon the seamstress?” I asked with great calm. “If I am to die, I would be buried in the clothing of my own people. As my only wish, surely it would not be denied.”
Tears filled her eyes. “The High Lord will be home soon, my Lady. Then you will be safe and Shartor’s power once again reduced.”
“I pray to the spirits that you are right, but the clothes would give me comfort in the meanwhile.”
If I were to convince the caravan to take me on as a Shahala healer, I had to look like one. I needed a proper Shahala thudi and tunic.
I would have loved to travel with the caravan all the way south, but our ways would have to part outside Karamur’s gate. Once my absence at the palace was discovered, the Palace Guard would be scouring the city and the road, looking for me.
When the caravan reached the end of the open fields, I planned on disappearing into the woods. I had less to fear of wild beasts than of men and prayed the spirits would keep the tigers away. I would follow the caravan from a distance, so as not to lose my way. Some distance from Karamur, I might even be able to rejoin them again.
“You need not prepare for death, my Lady,” Leena protested tearfully and, as if she herself became soothsayer, predicted a long and happy life with Batumar. “You will have sons, my Lady, you will see. They will be strong warriors.”
But at long last, I convinced her to go, and soon she did return with the seamstress, still wringing her hands and bidding me not to despair.
All I required was ready by the next day and, oh, how my heart thrilled just trying on the garments. Light I felt—so light as if I could fly—in the simple thudi and the short tunic, both made from thick, sturdy wool as I had instructed. Considering the cold spring, I would also take my fur-lined Kadar traveling cape.
I spent the next day planning my escape, wandering the hallways—always keeping an eye out for Gilrem and Shartor—noting the position of every guard, the time of their comings and goings. I could find my way around the palace fair well and knew many alternate routes so I could go around any obstacles, but I feared what would happen once I left the sprawling building.
I did not know the streets or the alleys of the covered marketplace. I had only crossed the city once, upon my arrival, but I had been exhausted from the journey and now had only a dim memory.
I had no way of solving that problem and thought it best not to worry about it. I had plenty of other challenges, such as how to leave the palace in the first place, without the Palace Guard seeing me.
I spent a whole day examining every door and window, with care not to cause suspicion, always ready with an excuse should I be caught and questioned. In the end, I decided to exit the palace in a flour jar, of which many were brought to the kitchen every day in a narrow wagon. The miller exchanged freshly ground flour for his empty jars in the morning. I hoped in the cavalcade of the busy kitchen, I could find a moment to slip into one of the jars unseen.
I begged the spirits for an opportunity, the wisdom to recognize it, and the courage to make the most of it. They answered me, taking me from Karamur, but in their own way. Instead of finding freedom on the road back home, I found it on death’s doorstep.
~~~***~~~
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
(Into the Mist)
The last day of waiting I spent in nervous agony. I gathered food first thing in the morning—cheese, cured meat, flatbread, and apples. I hid them under my bed, along with a rolled-up blanket. My knees trembled by the time I finished.
My anxieties only increased as the morning progressed, and I suddenly thought of a great many things that could go wrong with my escape. Better to spend the rest of the day in my chamber, lest I gave myself away.
By the time an unfamiliar servant woman asked to see me after the noon meal, I was grateful for the distraction, guessing she had come for healing. Leena followed on the woman’s heels, her face in a displeased frown.
“I told you, my Lady is not accepting visitors.” She reached out to tug the stranger back.
But the portly woman fell to her knees and bowed until her forehead touched the pelt-covered stones. “Lady Tera, I beg your forgiveness for disturbing you. I plead for a mother’s life.” Her voice shook, as did her hands that clutched her worn shawl.
“I will gladly help if I can. Tell your master to bring her to the kitchen. I shall wait for her there.” Her master was probably one of the merchants who regularly visited the palace and had heard of my healings, and sent the servant because he had a sick concubine.
“My Lady cannot be moved. She is near death in childbirth.” She sobbed with the last couple of words. “She lost two babes in these past years, and now the third might take her. A boy this time, the soothsayer is sure.”
Leena tugged her up, appearing not the least touched by the sad tale, despite the soft heart I knew she possessed. “I am sorry for your troubles, but my Lady cannot leave the palace. The High Lord is away. We cannot ask him to give her leave.”
I stared at the pair, dismay flooding me.
Something deep inside railed against Leena’s words. She had called me her Lady, but for all my beautiful clothes and my spacious chamber, I had little more freedom than a slave.
“I beg you to send your powers to my Lord’s house.” The woman tore away from Leena to fall at my feet. She looked at me with a tear-streaked face, brackets of despair around her mouth.
“I wish I had powers as such.” Tales of my healings had grown so exaggerated, people were willing to believe anything. “But I cannot tell what ails her until I see her, and I cannot heal her unless I know what ails her.”
She sobbed then in earnest, still prostrate before me, her body racked with grief.
Never had I hated not having my own free will more than at that moment. I was a healer. No Hi
gh Lord and no threat of punishment could ever change that. I lifted my veil from the end of the bed and wrapped it around my head, even as Leena’s eyes widened with alarm.
“Lead me, then,” I said to the woman. If by some misfortune I could not escape before Batumar returned, let him flog me if it pleased him. Shartor had already accused me of sorcery; what worse charge could they construct against me?
Leena threw herself across the doorway, barring my way, bolder than I had ever seen her. “I beg you, my Lady.”
I could not be angry at her disobedience. She had my best interest at heart.
“Ask her who her Lord is,” she insisted.
I did not care. I cared only about the birthing mother in pain.
“She is from the House of Gilrem,” Leena said at last, her voice hardening.
Her words stilled me for a moment. Would my healing bring further charges of sorcery upon my head? Was it a trap? If I failed… And even if I succeeded…
Fresh tears washed the servant’s face.
“Did Lord Gilrem send you?” I demanded.
“No, my Lady.”
“He probably forbade them to come.” Leena’s accusing gaze shot to the woman.
She did not respond, just hung her head.
“You must not go, my Lady,” Leena begged with renewed force then. “The High Lord will be greatly displeased, and if something should happen to Lord Gilrem’s concubine…”
She did not have to finish. Lord Gilrem’s punishment would be swift and deadly, of that I was certain.
And still, I could not refuse to help, not even at the price of my own life. I had time enough before the departure of the caravan.
I walked forth, and the women followed, Lord Gilrem’s servant with a hopeful face, Leena weeping now. Such a fuss she made, servants poked their heads into the hallway to see us pass.
I walked to the nearest side door of the palace. Only six guards faced us here, all startled to see me intent upon leaving. They asked respectfully that I would return to my chamber. Before I could fully explain why I could not, the Captain of the Guard was sent for and rushed to us with more warriors yet.
