The Book of Forbidden Wisdom

by Gillian Murray Kendall

  “This marriage is void.” The words echoed in the tent.

  I gripped my bouquet, and one of the rose thorns that had not been entirely removed pierced my finger. I bled onto a petal. Red on white.

  I knew the voice. I had known it from the beginning.

  Kalo.

  My older brother, Kalo.

  Of course.

  Chapter Two

  Things Fall Apart

  Leth only had time to remove the garland of flowers around his neck and put it over my head before his parents were on either side of him and hustling him away.

  “I’m sure we’ll settle it,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Well that’s comforting,” snapped Silky.

  Leth’s father, a large bluff man with a red face, looked back at me apologetically, but he didn’t let go of his son.

  “Land dispute,” he said to me. “Happens. Sometimes it works out, Lady Angel.” He nodded at my sister. “Lady Silky.” Then he and Leth’s mother and Leth were gone, part of the crowd headed for the open air. I saw Leth begin to turn toward me, but just then his mother must have said something, because he bent his head to her.

  “Shrew-­faced witch,” said Silky.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Leth’s mother. She’s only ever had her eye on the land. Are you blind? She doesn’t care about you—­or Leth—­at all.”

  “Silky,” I said, “you’re making that up.”

  “Am I?”

  I sighed. “All right—­maybe it’s true. But you shouldn’t throw around the word ‘witch.’ It’s dangerous.”

  “She should be burned at the stake,” said Silky. Her face was like stone in stark contrast to her airy blue dress and the dark red flowers in her hair. “She got Leth away from you fast enough.”

  “Not for long,” I said. But that was as much hope as it was truth.

  “It’s a land dispute,” Silky said. “Anything could happen.”

  Meanwhile the Wedding Director was smiling until all her sharpened teeth showed. Sharpened teeth were a sign of her guild; Wedding Directors, as well as Arbitrators, were a landless guild that, even so, garnered respect.

  The Wedding Director was shepherding the guests to the feast, I suppose in the hope that food would distract them from the main drama—­at least for a while. The canopy of flowers under which Leth and I were to sit at the feast, however, would now remain forever unused. Even if we later married, the thing would be done quickly and secretly; marriage after a land dispute was tainted.

  I felt tainted.

  Silky and I walked through the crowd over to Father and Kalo. As I went, I noticed that Trey had managed to come to the wedding after all. He leaned against one of the support beams of the hall, and although I didn’t want to call attention to his forbidden presence by staring, I saw that his face was bloodless. He stared at me as if he’d never seen me before. Then, as the crowd pushed me toward him, he reached out and almost touched me. But not quite. His hand fell to his side. I didn’t move toward him.

  For the first time that day, I wanted to weep.

  Kalo and Father were no longer screaming at each other. In fact, they were locked in what looked like a painful embrace—­all, I knew, for the benefit of the crowd.

  Father embraces long-­absent son.

  How he hated Kalo.

  When Kalo had gone to Shibbeth, the great country to the north, we had expected to find his body returned to us, the limbs and head in a heap on the torso. The Alleusanuslidans of Shibbeth weren’t subtle. But in the end he married well and acquired land, and then his wife died, and he married again, this time to a woman with even greater estates. By then the ‘Lidans, as we called them, had realized he knew better than they how to use land for profit, and he gained money from being a Steward and bought more land.

  His worth was close to mine, but, it appeared now, that wasn’t enough for him. He had always resented the riches that came from my mother to me, and now he was taking pleasure in my ruin. The fact that he had no actual right over my inheritance was going to make no difference. Women might hold land, but men made the laws. And no matter what happened, he had already sullied the land merger with the Nessons.

  Kalo was a bully. I hadn’t missed him for a moment when he had gone to Shibbeth.

  Now I loathed him.

  As a child, I fought him when he tried to smash the eggs of the flash red meadow birds, and he made my life as difficult as possible in return.

  To Silky, he was simply cruel. When she turned eleven, he told her he had arranged with Father to marry her to Wilcomb Surry, a boy rich in land but twisted in mind.

  Silky couldn’t turn to Father. He was locked up in his grief over our mother. She was left to her anxiety. She barely ate and grew ever more despondent despite anything I could say. Her relief had only come when, for whatever reason, Wilcomb Surry paid the penalty attached and backed out of the pre-­contract. Later he died during the great sickness. Meanwhile, Kalo had turned his attention back to me. He tried to find out if I knew anything about The Book of Forbidden Wisdom or the Spiral City. He burned my upper arm, where father couldn’t see it. But I said nothing. There was nothing I could say.

  So he took pleasure in burning me some more.

  Shortly after that, Kalo left for Shibbeth.

  Now, by the time Silky and I reached Kalo and Father, I was too angry to retreat into formula.

  “Kalo,” I said. “You ruin things.”

  “You will follow the protocols of greeting,” said my father, who had always found a refuge—­from anger, from grief, from his family—­in formula.

  “You are welcome to me,” said Silky obediently. Father diminished her as no one else could.

  “I can’t say the same,” I said. But neither Silky nor I had a chance to say anything more to Kalo before the Arbitrator and his assistants were pushing us back to the house. The Arbitrator dealt with me directly, and he was gentle. After all, until it was proven otherwise, I was a lot of land on the hoof. When we were in the library, we all sat, except for the Arbitrator, who propped open the Land Book and the Marriage Book on my father’s desk.

  “My Lord,” said the Arbitrator to my father. “Is this marriage now null?”

  My father said nothing. He looked as if he were in another world.

  “It is,” said Kalo. “She doesn’t have my permission.”

  “I have Father’s,” I said.

  “She does,” said Silky.

  “And do you really think our father is still head of this house?” asked Kalo.

  “Would you dispute it?” asked my father, and I could see his rage building.

  “I just don’t want you to be burdened,” said Kalo. “And I have an even bigger merger in mind. One that will make us all rich.”

  “We are rich,” my father said grimly.

  “Richer. Besides, she can’t marry without co-­consent,” said Kalo. And it was true. But he had been gone so long, it hadn’t seemed to matter. And besides, what was there to object to about a union between Leth and me?

  “You can’t just come back and destroy my life,” I said, although I knew in fact he could. He just had. “The match with Leth is a good land match.”

  “There will be a penalty if you renege,” the Arbitrator warned Kalo and my father. “And the Nessons will not be happy if you do.”

  “I’ll be able to pay that penalty tenfold,” said Kalo.

  That caught my father’s attention.

  “How?”

  “My land extends far into Shibbeth,” said Kalo. “More than that, I’m Steward and advisor to the greatest of the ‘Lidan Lords. They plant as I tell them, and they reap more grain than they can imagine. They pay me well, and I buy more land and make more gold. It’s a rather wonderful cycle.”

  “Be that as it may,” h
e said, “what’s wrong with Angel’s match?”

  “What’s wrong,” said Kalo, “is that I have a better one for her with a Lord of Shibbeth.” I recognized the crooked smile on Kalo’s face. He was about to inflict pain.

  I fingered the flowers around my neck; they had already begun to wilt. I took my hand away and reached for Silky. She came willingly to my side. She was shaking. I felt sick, dreading what was coming.

  “Through Angel’s marriage,” said Kalo, “the ‘Lidans will bring untold land holdings and wealth to this family. And they won’t be our rivals anymore.”

  “ ‘Lidans,” said Father, “have been known to break faith.”

  And I have none in you, I thought, looking at Kalo.

  “I’ve dealt with them for years,” said Kalo. “And I’m going to seal an alliance with them—­through Angel’s marriage. An ironclad alliance.”

  Of course.

  Silky continued to tremble, but I didn’t think she had cause—­not for herself. Kalo wouldn’t touch her, at least for now. He was after the one who had the most to lose.

  “We can’t make enemies of Leth’s family,” said my father. He seemed uncertain, and I thought that perhaps, finally, he was going to stand up to Kalo. I wanted to get down on my knees and kiss the ground in front of his boots in the ultimate gesture of deference.

  The Arbitrator broke in. “Even if you pay the penalty,” he said, “if the marriage and merger do not proceed, there will be bad feeling.”

  Now I wanted to kiss the ground in front of the Arbitrator’s boots, too.

  “All right,” said Kalo. “Let Leth take her. But if she marries without my consent, she forfeits her dowry.”

  “No one will take a woman without a dowry,” said Father.

  “In that case, it will be Leth’s refusal,” said Kalo. “We won’t even have to pay the penalty.”

  Leth’s refusal. Suddenly the fear within me turned to hope.

  Because it didn’t matter what Kalo or Leth’s father or his mother-­the-­witch thought. I had some money from my mother that I had hidden away. I knew that Leth himself had some land that belonged solely to him and not to his family—­enough to yield a kitchen garden. Not much, but enough, if we were frugal, to live on. Leth was an honorable man, and we were pre-­contracted. Minutes away from being contracted. We would find a way to get by.

  More importantly, I would not marry an unknown ‘Lidan. The rumors said that the ‘Lidans branded their women—­a small brand, an indelible mark of ownership—­and enforced them to silence. I didn’t want to be branded, and, besides, I wasn’t good at silence.

  Then I looked at my father. I knew he loathed to side with Kalo, but I could see the land greed in his eyes again. Once Mother had died, the love of land was all that was left him. I was a noisy, willful disappointment. Silky was even worse because she looked exactly like Mother. She was a constant reminder of his loss. He didn’t dislike us, but he didn’t have much affection for us, either.

  Land was easy to love.

  “If Leth and his family refuse the penalty,” said my father, “and if they freely give her up, you have my leave to make this alliance.” He wouldn’t meet my eye.

  “Thank you, Father,” said Kalo. His tone was mocking.

  I should have kept silent, but I couldn’t.

  “You’re not going to have your way, Kalo,” I said. “ ’Lidan alliance or no ‘Lidan alliance.”

  “You think Leth will take you without a dower?” Kalo smiled. The smile turned into a frown, and he looked speculatively at Silky. “I’m going to work out something for you, too, Silky. Perhaps a ‘Lidan Lordling.”

  “I don’t want to marry a ‘Lidan,” said Silky. “I want to stay in Arcadia.”

  “You’d certainly have to learn to be silent,” said Kalo, as if musing to himself.

  “They’ll hurt me.”

  “That part doesn’t take long at all. It’s a small mark. Many ‘Lidan women consider it a sign of beauty.”

  “Then they’re idiots.”

  The Arbitrator ushered Silky and me out of the room. As we left, I heard him say, “It’s time to bring in the Nessons. Send a servant who knows how to hold his tongue.” He was speaking to Kalo now—­ceding to my brother what should have been my father’s prerogative.

  Silky and I went to my bedroom. We were to be no part of the planning and negotiations.

  Silky slumped onto the cushioned long-­chair and took off her chaplet of flowers. It had seen better days, although the small red sun-­discs in her hair still glowed. I noted how beautiful she was. I was pretty enough but had missed beauty somehow—­maybe it was the set of my nose. Silky said it was because I wouldn’t stick in my chin and that green eyes were just unfashionable. Not unbeautiful. But Silky thought the world of me, and I didn’t expect her to be the most objective judge.

  Now she stared into space; she was miserable or in shock or both. I had to keep her out of a ‘Lidan match. I would not let her be branded and owned and silenced. Their practices were not our practices—­and my sister would never be on the receiving end of a brand.

  Nor would I. Ever.

  I had tasted despair the night my mother died; Silky, young then, had yet to know real despair. My job was to protect her.

  Our mother would have wanted that.

  Silky and I sat.

  “You know they’re deciding our fates,” Silky said finally.

  “I know.”

  “Is Leth going to rescue you?”

  I hesitated. Then I spoke firmly.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who’s going to rescue me?”

  “I am.”

  She didn’t reply, because she knew it was true.

  I would make sure that wherever Leth and I lived after he rescued me, there would always be room for Silky.

  My thoughts turned back to what was going on in the other room—­without us. Trust Kalo to insinuate himself with the ‘Lidans. I supposed I was glad they hadn’t simply killed him, but it was possible I was experiencing the kind of family feeling that they drilled into women from infancy on. Early training was hard to overcome.

  I noticed that the beautiful decorations on my hands were smudged, and I imagined that I had sweat away those on my throat. Perhaps the tendrils from the nape of my neck and down my back and arms still remained.

  The tarnished, wilted exhausted bride-­that-­almost-­was. All the ceremony was rubbing away. What flowers remained fresh would soon fade. Like me.

  We waited.

  And then there was a knock on the door—­a knock, meaning a stranger to the household. But before I could get to the door to lock out whoever it was (my father or Kalo would have simply walked in), the door opened.

  The bard stepped inside.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. But he didn’t look sorry, and he didn’t drop his eyes. He pushed his thick hair back out of his face, and again I saw depth in his blue eyes.

  I felt as if a chair had been pulled out from under me.

  “I’ve been wandering the house,” he said. “They wouldn’t let me in at the feast. Although the cook gave me scraps in return for the news.” I wondered why he was in the house at all.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “I need to get paid,” said the Bard.

  For some reason, I was disappointed, although I didn’t know what I expected.

  Silky was on her feet and halfway across the room before I could move.

  “Go away,” she said. “This is the Lady Angel. This is the bride, and you don’t even bow.”

  “Oh,” said the Bard. “Sorry. But.”

  “You still need to get paid,” I said.

  Silky blazed. “You come in here for money? You have no right to bother the La
dy Angel. No right.” And then she broke down in tears.

  “Wrong room, I suppose,” said the Bard. “But I’ve tried all the others.” Yet I noticed he made no move to leave.

  I felt strangely calm, but it may have been because of the Bard’s behavior. He looked around the room with interest—­at the books, at Silky, at me in my wilted state—­but I could tell he meant us no harm; I had no sense that he was covetous. He probably needed the money badly.

  He shrugged. “I just need to get paid for the wedding music,” he said. “I never got to the epic or the comic ballads.”

  “And for how much of the wedding music do we owe you?” I asked. We stood there staring at each other.

  And it wasn’t about the money.

  Silky had gone back to the long-­chair, and, although she continued to weep quietly, I had no sense that she was going to fly at him again.

  “I stopped when the yelling began,” said the Bard. And I was almost sure I saw the flicker of a smile on his face. Then he grew serious. “If needs be,” he said, “I can do without.”

  But I knew he couldn’t. He was landless, and he needed to be paid, in spite of the fact that the tale of the Montrose-­Nesson wedding-­that-­wasn’t would get him hearers (and pennies) for weeks.

  Pennies didn’t last long. Even payment for part of a wedding would last much, much longer.

  I went to the big chest in my room and took some gold coins from the hidden cache in the bottom of it, and then I put the coins in the Bard’s hand.

  I had given him three times the amount normally given to the Bard of a wedding, and that for less than a third of the music.

  “Thank you, my Lady.” He looked taken aback.

  “Try and be kind to me in your songs,” I said.

  “I would do that without the gold,” he said. “Is it supposed to be a bribe? Because I don’t take them. Bribes.”

  Silky stopped weeping instantly.

  “How can you be so evil?” she cried out. “My sister, the Lady Angel, is being kind, which is more than can be said of just about anyone right now.”

  “Of that,” he said, “there’s little question. I suspect you’re both kind.” And he gave me a smile that reached right down inside.