by J. S. Bangs
“Even now that Sadja-dar has gone to Majasravi?”
A look of black anger crossed Nagiri’s face. “The servants still remember me.” She sighed and looked at the baby again. “We’ll have to disguise him.”
It took a few minutes, but Nagiri found a wicker basket in a storeroom, and they packed the bottom of the basket with blankets from Mandhi’s chamber. They nestled Jhumitu inside. He squirmed for a moment, let out a whine of discomfort, then turned his head and resumed his sleep. Mandhi put the lid on the basket and slung it at her waist.
“In the darkness, you’ll look like a maid,” Nagiri whispered. “Follow me. No one will stop us.”
They crept through the darkened halls of the palace. They passed a servant carrying a lamp, who spared them no glance, then they approached the door into the outer courtyard. Mandhi’s pulse quickened. The guard who waited there merely glanced at Nagiri, nodded, and let them both through. No one spared a thought for her basket.
The outer courtyard was black as obsidian, lit only by a few lamps casting pale circles of yellow light. A pair of guards watched the front gate. Mandhi started toward it, but Nagiri grabbed her elbow.
“Not there,” she said. “Too much noise. We go to one of the side doors.”
She led Mandhi around the edge of the courtyard until they reached a small wooden door guarded by a single young man in Sadja’s green livery. Upon seeing them he straightened and opened his mouth to speak, but Nagiri put a finger on her lips. The man recognized her and relaxed.
“What are you doing here, Nagiri-kha?” he asked. “Sadja-dar is in Majasravi. And I thought you—”
“There’s more than one reason for me to be in the palace, Bauram,” Nagiri said with a bit of edge to her voice. “Let me and my friend out.”
The man glanced from Nagiri to Mandhi, then shrugged. “So long as I don’t get into trouble over it.”
He opened the door for them.
They slipped into a narrow side street that wound beside the palace wall. Nagiri touched her finger to her lips, then led Mandhi down the road. A hundred paces later they reached the corner of the palace, beneath the tall, domed guard tower. Nagiri went to the edge of the road, bent, and picked up a little oil lamp that had been hidden behind a rock. She took an ember from her leather pouch and blew on it until she could relight the lamp. The pool of light was enough for them to see.
“Better,” Nagiri said. “Now we can get to where we’re going. Where are we going?”
“The Kaleksha district,” Mandhi said.
“What?” Nagiri stopped mid-stride. “You’re planning on going into the Kaleksha district, by yourself, at night, with a small child?”
“Several people among the Kaleksha know me,” Mandhi said defensively. “I’ll be safe. They are expecting me to come.”
“At midnight,” Nagiri said with dark bemusement in her voice. “And you comment on my nighttime movements.”
“I was married to one of their brothers,” Mandhi said testily. “But he died, and the child and I will be attending a rite for his memory.”
Even in the dim lamplight Mandhi could see Nagiri’s wide-eyed gape. “You were married to a Kaleksha? Why didn’t you ever say so? I thought you were Uluriya, and you don’t—”
“Taleg was also Uluriya,” Mandhi said, cutting off her question, the exact same question everyone had. “He converted. Anyway, his brother is waiting for me.”
Navran stared at Mandhi with the amazed, nervous expression of someone looking at a madman. “Married an Uluriya Kaleksha. That is the strangest thing I’ve ever heard.” She sighed. “Now when is this memorial? In the middle of the night?”
“Don’t be silly. Tomorrow morning.”
“Then you have no need to go to the Kaleksha district tonight,” Nagiri said firmly. “You’ll come with me to my father’s house. He has a comfortable manor here in the city. You can sleep safely in my room, and no one will question you. In the morning you go with the Kaleksha, if you really must, then return to Sadja-dar’s palace. Safer than venturing into the Kaleksha district at night.”
“But they’re waiting for me,” Mandhi said. “I sent them messages.”
“They’ll assume you couldn’t get out of the palace,” Nagiri said. “Surely they were prepared for that possibility. Then they’ll be pleasantly surprised when you arrive in the morning. Stop arguing and follow me.”
She turned and started marching down the street away from the palace. She didn’t even look back to see if Mandhi followed.
“Wait a moment,” Mandhi said. “It’s—oh, fine, I’ll come with. Give me a moment to get Jhumitu out of this basket.”
As if awoken by his name, Jhumitu began to cry. Mandhi opened the basket and pulled Jhumitu out, clucking to soothe him and patting him gently on the back. Nagiri approached and helped her arrange the sling around her shoulders.
“He probably needs to nurse,” Mandhi said. “How far is it to your father’s manor?”
“Not far,” Nagiri said. “I’ve walked the road so many times I could do it in my sleep. But hurry. The sound of a baby might alert someone in the palace.”
Jhumitu quieted as he nuzzled against Mandhi’s belly. She hurried to keep up with Nagiri’s quick steps.
The moon was new, and the streets of Davrakhanda were lit by nothing except the multitude of stars. Mandhi said a prayer for the souls of her father and her husband as she and Nagiri slipped through the darkness. She was nervous. It was dark, and they were two young women—but the distance turned out to be short. Even at their cautious pace through the darkness, they only walked for about ten minutes before Nagiri put her hand on Mandhi’s shoulder.
“Here,” she whispered. She pointed to their left.
The houses in this district were large, of a different design than the noble houses which Mandhi was used to in Virnas. They reached three stories tall, and they did not seem to have the interior courtyards which were ubiquitous in the south. Rather, their upper stories boasted a series of porches which looked down the slopes of Davrakhanda to the sea and bathed in the cool breezes and bright sunlight of the harbor.
Beneath the lowest of the porches was a niche with a gate in it, where a lamp burned on a chain. Nagiri entered the niche, pulled a key on a leather strap from beneath her sari, and opened the door with a creak.
“Quiet,” she whispered. She and Mandhi stepped through the door.
“Not quiet enough,” someone said. A hand pushed the gate shut behind them.
Nagiri turned in alarm, then an expression of relief spread over her face. “Canju,” she said. “It’s only you.”
“Your father sent me here to wait for you, Nagiri-kha,” the man said. “He’ll speak to you in the morning.”
“He will?” Nagiri said. Worry crept back into her voice.
The man grunted. “Who is this with you?”
“My friend,” Nagiri said. “Leave her alone. She’s with me.”
“She’ll be in your chamber?”
“She’s with me,” Nagiri repeated.
A weary sigh from the other man. “Where’s she from?”
Mandhi answered. “I was in the palace. I am the guest of Sadja-dar and of Ashturma-kha his regent.”
“I suppose I can’t make you go back alone, then. Wait here. In the morning we’ll see what to do with you.”
“Canju,” Nagiri said with disappointment, “is that how you speak to one of my guests?”
“I speak for my lord Padna-kha. In the morning you’ll hear what he has to tell you.”
Nagiri huffed. She grabbed Mandhi’s elbow and pulled her into the estate, away from the gate and into a cool stone-floored hall. She leaned into Mandhi’s ear and said, “He’s just the house-master. My father likes him, but he can’t do anything to us.”
“And your father?” Mandhi whispered back.
She was silent. “Well, at least he can’t do anything to you,” she said.
* * *
The khadir Padna
saw Mandhi and Nagiri the next morning over breakfast. He sat stretched out on a long divan with a tray of smoked fish and cold rice at his elbow, apparently untouched. They stood on the top-most balcony of the estate, with the gentle morning breeze stirring their hair. Morning sunlight burned behind them. The khadir roasted his daughter with a glare.
“But father,” Nagiri said insistently, “why now? I went to the palace all the time, before.”
“This woman,” Padna said, gesturing to Mandhi, “is the guest of Sadja-dar and Ashturma-kha. You shouldn’t be taking her out of the palace.”
“She wanted out. She’ll be safe.”
“And where are you going with her?”
Nagiri glanced aside at Mandhi. “The Kaleksha district,” she said softly.
The khadir snorted. “Safe.”
“You can give us an escort,” Nagiri said.
“And I will, if this woman insists on going,” Padna said. “I don’t want her going alone, and I don’t want you going out unaccompanied.”
“Why? You said—”
“Things have changed,” Padna said sharply. “I have been speaking with Uradha-kha of his son Chadru-kha. You may remember him from when he visited Davrakhanda last fall.”
“I don’t recall. Father, I met too many people.”
“He is twenty-five and will inherit his father’s holdings in Kshayudi. You two may be betrothed.”
Nagiri’s expression of annoyance melted into shock. Mandhi took half a step backward, involuntarily. Perhaps it was not the best that she had come with Nagiri to this conversation.
“Father…” began Nagiri.
The khadir raised his hand to stop her. “Nothing is decided yet. But in the meantime, I can’t have you sneaking out night. Not while Uradha-kha and I are in negotiations.”
He nodded at Mandhi. “Apologies, my lady, for bringing you into this. As a guest of my lord and king Sadja-dar and his regent Ashturma-kha, I won’t restrain you from whatever errand you have with the Kaleksha, but I will provide you with a guard, if you require one.”
“Yes, my lord,” Mandhi said meekly. She was simply glad that more of Nagiri’s trouble hadn’t spilled over onto her.
“Now you may go,” the khadir said. “Mandhi, you are free to join Nagiri-kha here at home whenever you wish, but I’d rather she didn’t go any longer to the palace.”
“Father,” Nagiri began to pout, but her father cut her off with a wave of his hand.
“Go,” he said.
Nagiri raised her head and looked down at her seated father with a bit of annoyance, then turned on a heel and marched into the estate. Mandhi followed a step behind her.
“Ashturma-kha,” Nagiri muttered as soon as they were out of her father’s hearing. “Terrible choices….”
“I don’t understand,” Mandhi said.
Nagiri muttered. “You probably don’t know the courtiers yet.” She grabbed Mandhi by her elbow and guided her to the room where Jhumitu was sleeping. As soon as they had entered she pulled the curtain shut and threw herself onto one of the cushions on the floor.
“Ashturma-kha the regent is Sadja’s brother-in-law,” Nagiri said. She closed her eyes and began to count on her fingers. “Since he’s Sadja-dar’s regent, everyone wants his favor, including my father. And Uradha-kha is the regent’s cousin, so my father is hoping to get our families closer together by pairing me with his son.”
“And you’d rather marry someone else,” Mandhi said. She was familiar with the problem. She walked to the cradle of blankets where little Jhumitu was dozing neatly and pulled the topmost sheet over him.
“I wouldn’t care much,” Nagiri said, stretching her legs, “if he were here in Davrakhanda. He’s rich enough, I guess. No, Kshayudi is the problem.”
“Problem how?”
Nagiri groaned. “Do you know where Kshayudi is?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
“That’s the problem. I’ve heard of it. It’s way off in the west, about as far from Davrakhanda as you can get without crossing into another kingdom. Near Old Rajunda. And I am not about to spend my time in some mud palace surrounded by rice paddies. I like it here in Davrakhanda.”
Mandhi lowered herself to the ground next to Jhumitu. She wasn’t sure the khadir Padna knew she had brought the child with her, and it was probably better that way.
“I don’t know that I can help you,” Mandhi said. “Perhaps…”
Nagiri put her hands over her eyes and cursed softly. “I’m still coming with you,” she said.
“To the Kaleksha?”
“Yes,” Nagiri insisted. “My father didn’t say I couldn’t.”
“Good,” Mandhi said cautiously. She would appreciate having someone with her.
For a moment Nagiri stayed with her eyes closed. She pounded a fist on the ground. “Not going to fix anything now,” she growled. “Let’s get that guard and get out of here.”
* * *
The Kaleksha shrine was a small building with a low roof tucked between two-story houses in the Kaleksha district. The floor of the shrine was dug into the ground so that six stone steps descended from the street to the temple’s entrance, and the roof barely rose above the level of the street. It was unpainted, the walls covered with a graying mud, the wooden shingles of the roof turning black with the droppings of gulls and the runoff of the buildings next to it.
“What an ugly place,” Nagiri said.
“Certainly less colorful than your temples,” Mandhi said, gently rocking Jhumitu as they waited. The dhorsha temples were painted in teal and green and orange, decorated with images of the Powers, demons, humans, and animals. And the Uluriya painted their bhilami brilliant white and brought images of Manjur and the amashi into them. This place looked as cold and dark and uninviting as she could imagine.
She turned to Nagiri. “You don’t need to come, you know,” she said. “You could go back. I’ll be fine.”
“You have my curiosity, now,” Nagiri said. “Beside, what would I do with him?” She gestured to the armed escort that Nagiri’s father had provided.
A face emerged from the darkness beyond the threshold of the temple. Someone said something in Kaleksha, a jumble of consonants and growls, and Kest emerged from within.
He seemed thinner than the last time Mandhi had seen him, his face slightly gaunt beneath his raucous red beard. She was struck again by how strongly he resembled Taleg. “You’re here,” he said, faintly surprised. “We didn’t expect to see you.”
“I couldn’t come last night,” she said. “I stayed with Nagiri-kha.” She gestured to Nagiri next to her.
“A relative of yours?” Kest asked.
“No,” Nagiri said. “Just a companion.”
Kest looked at Nagiri with a bit of confusion. “I guess. Will you come in? It’ll be an hour or so before we’re ready.”
“I’ll come,” Mandhi said quickly. She glanced over to Nagiri. “Last chance to leave.”
“Not leaving,” Nagiri said firmly. “You stay at the entrance,” she said to their escort.
They descended the stairs and crossed the threshold into the dimly lit interior of the shrine. Mandhi’s skin crawled, and she felt a wave of panic and disorientation. An unclean place, a forbidden temple, and here she was with her infant. She hugged Jhumitu closer to her chest. She could enter, by the law of Ghuptashya, so long as she didn’t offer any worship to the faithless Powers, nor eat any unclean thing. Still she recoiled.
Jhumitu gurgled and cried for a moment. She rocked him. She couldn’t see anything except a few points of light cast by lamps burning in the corners.
“You’re here,” someone to her right said. She recognized the voice as one of the men who had spoken to her at the Uluriya bhilami, the kind one. The name came to her: Glanod.
“I’m here,” she said. “And this is my, ah, companion Nagiri.”
“And your child,” Glanod said, his voice rising with happiness. “His name is Jhumitu?”
�
��Yes.”
“Jhumitu os Dramab,” Glanod said proudly, as if Jhumitu were his own son. Mandhi almost objected to the addition of the Kaleksha surname—but on what grounds? It was his father’s name after all. “Please, sit down,” Glanod went on. “We have a while to remember Taleg before the fire is burned, and we need to hear about Taleg from you.”
He gestured for Mandhi and Nagiri to sit on a bench against one of the walls. He barked a quick command, and several other people approached and pulled benches close or took up seats on the floor. As Mandhi’s eyes adjusted she made out Taleg’s brother Kest, Adleg—the other one who had confronted her at the bhilami—and several others she didn’t recognize. An old Kaleksha man with gray hair and a beard the color of bleached wool stood at the back of the gathered crowd with his arms folded.
Glanod rose to his feet and stood directly in front of Mandhi. He first addressed the gathered Kaleksha in their own language with a clattering of blocky words that had a sing-song rhythm. Then he turned to Mandhi.
“When a man’s breath goes into the west, we gather to remember him. Kest is his nearest blood kin, so he has first turn to speak.”
Kest rose to his feet, looking at the floor. He began to speak in Kaleksha. Mandhi was mildly disappointed—she had hoped to hear something about Taleg. But after a moment he glanced at Mandhi and spoke in halting Amuran.
“Taleg was my brother, the oldest son of our father. Like our father he had hair the color of fire. When I was very little I remember seeing them standing together in a field with the sun setting, and they looked like twin torches lit up by the sunlight. At… At….” He glanced to Glanod and said something in Kaleksha.
“The clanhome,” Glanod said quietly.
“At the clanhome he was like my father. He cared for our mother and our farm, and he did the work of two men caring for our farm and protecting us from our enemies. He avenged the death of my uncle Adleg’s father,” he said with a nod toward Adleg. “When he was nineteen he sailed to Amur to bring money back to the clan. After that I never saw him again. And that is what I remember about Taleg.”
Mandhi suppressed the tightness in her chest so she could speak. Glanod said a few more words to the group, then turned to Mandhi. “You were with him when he died?”
