Toads and Diamonds

by Heather Tomlinson

  "Lazy girl, girl, girl," a piltreet scolded. A pack of monkeys screamed insults at one another. Oblivious to their racket, a spider added a thread to her web. A peahen strutted past, gawky chicks scurrying after her.

  "Why the white coat?" the priestess asked.

  Tana twisted her hands together. "I was afraid of being recognized."

  "Oh?" The woman extended her hand. Like a silver bracelet, the boa curled around her wrist. "Ch, ch," the priestess said. "Not so tight, friend." She put her arm in a patch of sunlight, and the boa released her, stretching out to soak up the warmth.

  Tana explained about Gulrang's tearful arrival, the attack on Diribani, Kalyan's warning about the governor's activities. She left out the trader's offer of marriage, and the cobra, finishing with her other concern: "I'm sure the governor's men will be watching for me, and maybe worse. If Diribani's flowers and jewels maddened a white-coat enough to threaten her life, what about my snakes and frogs? Those people don't respect animals--they eat them! And although the prince saved us, he didn't make Alwar stop the bounty on snake skins."

  As if to punctuate her words, a toad landed at her feet and croaked. Loudly.

  "I'll be a constant reminder that Alwar isn't the only power in Gurath, even if he doesn't understand it. Especially if he doesn't understand it." Tana snorted. "I certainly don't understand it. Do you, Ma-ji?"

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  "No," the priestess said tranquilly. "But the gods' will may manifest itself in unlikely ways."

  "There must be a reason." Tana leaned forward, nudging a ratter aside with her knee. "Naghali-ji can't have meant for me to cause trouble for my family, or sit at the well all day, speaking lucky frogs for children, house nagas for mouse-infested householders, and poisonous serpents to frighten everyone else!"

  "And so?" The priestess waited, as patient as the tree under which they sat. A stripe-tailed squirrel chased another up the trunk. Hidden by dense foliage, the two chattered back and forth.

  "I think I need to look for the reason," Tana finished.

  "A pilgrimage? That's a traditional solution for those troubled in body or spirit."

  "You think it's a good idea?"

  "I think you must do as your heart guides you."

  Color burned Tana's cheeks. The goddess had asked what her soul desired. To keep my family safe had been Tana's unvoiced answer. Naghali-ji had given her snakes. Now the priestess advised Tana to listen to her heart, and it told her to abandon the people she cared about. "Where should I go?" she said. Another ratter, long and muscular, curled beside her. A champion, Indu would have called it.

  "There's a traditional answer to that question, too." The priestess stood and held out her hand. "Stay here until it comes to you. You're welcome to dance with us; perhaps that discipline will help."

  Tana bowed her head. "Thank you, Ma-ji."

  She meant to stay a few nights. But Tiger Month padded by on velvet paws, and she found much to do in the temple grove. When Horse Month galloped in, Tana's answer rode with it.

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  ***

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN Diribani

  BEFORE she could cover the yawn with her hand, Diribani's jaw cracked open. She closed her mouth just as Lady Yisha glanced over and frowned. The woman had a gift for catching Diribani in bad manners.

  Diribani lowered her eyes in apology and turned to the gauzy wall of the howdah. Through the last days of Tiger Month, the elephant had carried them east, against the sun's path. The strips of jungle growth had thinned, then melted into vast fields dotted with laborers. They harvested the rice and cotton planted before the rains, or sowed wheat and barley. Trees lined the imperial road, providing welcome shade. The subsequent hours of travel through Horse Month's dry, pleasant weather were so much the same that Diribani gauged their progress by the size of the trees, which dwindled as they traveled from Tenth Province. Diribani wondered whether they'd find tiny saplings planted on the stretch to Fanjandibad. Carved from the last of the once-independent Hundred Kingdoms,

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  Eighteenth Province had been added to the empire at the beginning of the current emperor's reign.

  This morning, the royal caravan had turned south to skirt the deep desert. As they left villages and cropland behind, flat terrain wrinkled into scrubby hills. Not much grew here but thorn trees and small-leafed bushes, from what Diribani could see through the canopy's fabric. The vegetation gave off a pungent, rather medicinal scent. A bird whistled, sweetly, its coloring too drab for her to distinguish against sparse gray-green leaves. Scorpion country, snake country.

  What would Tana be doing now? The prince had dispatched several couriers to carry Diribani's jewels back to Gurath, and coin to start construction on a house by the stepwell. Ma Hiral would be in her element, situating walls for nicely proportioned rooms, directing the placement of doors and windows to catch the breeze, supervising the plastering and painting. Indu must be thrilled, too, Tana's gift the source of endless fascination. And her sister? Diribani imagined Tana enjoying the cool waters at the well, visiting with Geetika and Parul and Hima, surrounded by people who loved her, not these severe women who sniffed whenever Diribani opened her mouth.

  Diribani wondered whether Tana had determined Naghali-ji's purpose for her gift. She was no closer to an answer for herself, though she had little else to occupy her thoughts. Also, she had discovered a potential flaw in the prince's resolution of the dispute in the street. After Zahid's intervention, the goddess's jewels flowed into Gurath through Governor Alwar's grasping fingers. Diribani couldn't imagine him using the proceeds to fund an animal hospital, or a school for poor children. Bigger guns for the fort, more

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  likely. At best, he'd build inns for traveling merchants, to encourage them to trade in Gurath. Would Sister Naghali be displeased?

  A movement outside distracted Diribani. She sat up and put her nose against the fabric. Let Lady Yisha frown. She must not know that her face had set in a habitual sneer, like a parrot's.

  The petty thought flew out of Diribani's mind as she realized what she was seeing. "Gazelles!" she said. Yellow mimosa blossoms fluttered to the carpet around her. "Or antelope? Four, no, five! And there's another group, coming across the ridge."

  Other ladies crowded to her side of the howdah, making the platform tip alarmingly before the far straps tightened against the elephant's side.

  "Paper and pen!" Lady Yisha snapped her fingers. The lady sitting closest to the desk box opened it for her.

  At first, the ritual of note passing had broken the monotony of travel; now Diribani wondered why they didn't just call out to their servants, and save everyone the bother of handing the pouch up and down. The women rode close enough to hear a raised voice. At Diribani's exclamation, one girl stood up in her stirrups and shaded her eyes to follow the ridgeline. With a whoop of excitement, she wheeled her horse and galloped toward the front of the caravan.

  The gazelles' white tails flicked, flicked, just like Ruqayya's fingers commanding her servants. Since it wasn't very tactful, comparing any part of a princess to an antelope's backside, Diribani kept the thought to herself. She kept a lot of thoughts to herself, riding with Lady Yisha and her set. At the end of the day, Mahan and Zeen, the two stern women assigned to guard Diribani and her jewels, would have a scant handful of rough gems to collect for their box.

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  "Eyo, driver." Lady Yisha's message pouch went down; the driver whistled. A mounted servant claimed the pouch and read the note.

  Until the gazelles swerved away from the caravan, they might provide a new topic of conversation. "Aren't they graceful?" Diribani said.

  "Delightful," one of the ladies conceded.

  "They do bounce so, you'd think it would shake up their insides," another said.

  "Pepper, or tamarind sauce?"

  Diribani silenced a groan. Once the ladies finished complaining about one meal, they speculated about the next, and whether it would suit their delicate digestions
. What was the cook thinking? Too spicy, or not spicy enough, and, always, too much garlic. Nissa, the maid Ruqayya had assigned to Diribani, had told her in confidence that one pack elephant carried nothing but breath-freshening fennel seeds for the noblewomen's use.

  "Spit-roasted," Lady Yisha said with unusual vigor. "I could fancy a bite of nice, tender kid with tamarind sauce." She actually smacked her lips.

  Then Diribani realized that the ladies were talking about the gazelles. They were talking about eating them.

  Her knuckles tightened on the platform railing as she closed her eyes and tried not to disgrace herself. That's why the servant had ridden to the front of the line, anticipating Lady Yisha's note. She'd gone to alert the hunters, in case they hadn't already spotted the herd--although it was more likely that the party's advance trackers and scouts had found them earlier, and driven the animals toward the caravan so more people could have a go at killing them.

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  Diribani couldn't bear to open her eyes and watch that graceful flight end in blood and death.

  "Oh, good shooting," a lady said. "That makes three for the princess."

  "Four, by my count," Lady Yisha corrected.

  "As you say, my lady."

  "What an archer Princess Ruqayya is."

  Diribani opened her eyes. "Why don't they use guns?" she asked. Rubies gleamed among starflowers.

  Disapproving stares swiveled to bear on her. "Guns aren't that accurate," a woman said, as if this fault could be laid, like so many others, at Diribani's feet.

  Lady Yisha sniffed. "And it would hardly be sporting. Which reminds me. Have I told you about the time my grandfather killed a tiger with only a broken spear-butt?"

  As the other ladies demurred, they made themselves comfortable in a way that suggested to Diribani that they had heard the story. And that it was long and tedious, like so many of the noblewoman's reminiscences. Diribani no longer wondered why the woman's daughters and sisters traveled separately.

  If Diribani had made friends who were traveling in other howdahs, she would have asked Ruqayya for permission to switch places. But unless they were ill, the younger, livelier women all rode horses. "To escape our mothers," one had giggled to Diribani at a meal. "Praise to God, the littles stayed in Fanjandibad with their nurses this year, or I'd have been stuck in a howdah, too, wiping sticky faces and bottoms. Ugh."

  "Praise to Her Highness, rather." A young woman raised her

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  cup in salute. "I heard she's the one who refused permission to the pregnant ladies and young mothers this time."

  "Well, she would, wouldn't she? After her sister died on the last trip, and the baby, too," another said. Then she had stared into her cup, as if she'd spoken out of turn, and the conversation had shifted.

  As Lady Yisha droned on about the tiger, Diribani braced herself against the howdah frame and looked out. White tails flashed in the distance, so not all of the gazelles had been killed. Enough fallen bodies lay on the sparse grass to make Diribani grateful, for a change, that the curtains clouded her view.

  The thin fabric didn't obscure Prince Zahid, riding past marching men, oxcarts, camels, and elephants toward a veiled figure just now unstringing her bow. Her crisp movements were as distinctive as his prancing bay. Flick, flick, she directed servants to collect the gazelles, and turned to exchange words with her brother. The scarf hid her face, but every line of the princess's body radiated pride in her deadly accomplishments.

  Disgust flared before Diribani's conscience pricked her. Why shouldn't Ruqayya be proud of her skill? If she hadn't been so handy with her knife, or her brother with a sword, Diribani wouldn't have the luxury of being disgusted by their ferocious ways. When the man had attacked her at the fort, she certainly hadn't remembered any of her temple training. Rather than trying to escape or deflect the attack, she'd huddled against the fountain like a rabbit in short grass, as if stillness would give her safety.

  It was all very well for a sheltered Gurath girl to congratulate herself on achieving some harmony with her fellow creatures. Diribani had learned a little, listening to the other young women

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  talk over meals in the princess's tent. Ruqayya's ancestors had lived a nomad's life, in terrain more barren than this, and relied on their hunting skills to feed their children. Although their dominion over Diribani's people had begun generations ago, the emperor's throne hadn't passed peacefully from one occupant to the next. Perhaps a white-coat princess didn't dare trust in the goodwill of others. Diribani tried to imagine drawing a weapon and actually using it against another person. The thought made her stomach cramp in knots.

  When Naghali-ji had asked her at the well what her soul desired, beauty was Diribani's answer. And she'd already received it. What could be lovelier than a flower? No, whatever the goddess intended for Diribani to learn from her gift, she was sure it didn't involve choosing a path of violence.

  Ruqayya mopped up gravy with a piece of bread. "Lentils and yogurt and sliced cucumber again, Mina Diribani? You'll blow away, like a leaf!" Fingers snapped in one of her characteristic gestures.

  "I don't believe so, my lady," Diribani answered. She shook her head at Nissa, who was trying to slip a spoonful of gazelle stew onto her plate.

  "The broth will strengthen you." Since Nissa had the princess's support, the maid dared to argue. "I picked the meat out," she coaxed.

  "No, thank you." Diribani declined with a smile and two lotuses.

  "Our gentle flower girl," Ruqayya mocked. She stretched her arms over her head and leaned against the bolster, relaxed as a hunting cat. Their caravan had stopped for the night. Lamplight reflected off the royal tent's crimson walls, warming the princess's dark skin and waking purple lights in her curly black hair. In these private

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  quarters, Ruqayya and her friends had shed their coats and wore sleeveless cotton tunics over their trousers. "You don't eat meat, you won't join us for archery or knife work--"

  "I saw her slap a mosquito," a girl piped up, to general laughter.

  "Can't you defend yourself at all?" Ladli asked, more scornfully. Tall and fit, the same age as Diribani, the young noblewoman was second only to Ruqayya in skill with a knife. Or so it had seemed to Diribani, watching them practice.

  She might have turned aside the question with more smiles and flowers, as she usually did. Tonight the memory of the fleeing antelope woke a contrary impulse. "Defend? A little."

  "With what, a garland of flowers and a few rough rubies?"

  "Not usually, no." Diribani drew in a steadying breath. That barb had been aimed with malice. Ladli must have heard about the incident with Captain Tashrif. Diribani hadn't crossed his path since that afternoon in Gurath, but the soldier might not have been as discreet as Prince Zahid about how, exactly, Diribani's gift had come to the prince's attention. "I did study dancing at the temple."

  "Warfare with bells and drums? That explains much of your history," Ladli drawled.

  This time, the other girls' laughter sounded uneasy. Diribani's people had been conquered, but she was the princess's guest. This conversation pushed good manners to the edge of acceptability.

  Ruqayya lolled, as indolent as before, though her eyes were intent. "Really? I've heard of temple dancing but never had the opportunity to see it."

  "I should hope not!" Ladli exclaimed. "Our pure, devout princess visit an idolater's temple, to be bitten by snakes and crapped upon by pigeons?"

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  Even Diribani smiled at the accurate imitation of Lady Yisha's scandalized tones. The older woman might have thought it, but she would certainly never say anything so vulgar out loud. "I'm not as good as my sister, Tana, but I learned the basic steps."

  "Will you show us?" Ruqayya asked.

  "Dance for you? Here?" Diribani looked around the tent. "I suppose. A drum would help. As I said, I'm not an expert."

  "Oh, yes."

  "My maid drums."

  "Mine, too."
>
  Chattering like nesting birds, the young women summoned servants to fetch the instruments and clear the serving dishes. The two guards who followed Diribani everywhere picked up flowers and gems, recording the latter and securing them in a locked box. Then, with professional interest, they smoothed the carpets over the ground in the center of the large tent, leaving no uneven ridge or pocket to trip her.

  Diribani knotted her long hair at the nape of her neck and asked Nissa to retrieve the mended pink dress wrap; all the clothes Ruqayya had provided were too grand to risk tearing. In preparation for dancing, Diribani rearranged the fabric so it resembled a pair of baggy trousers rather than the usual draped skirt. She shortened it, too, to just above the ankles, and dispensed with the shoulder drape. After conferring briefly with Ruqayya and then the two drummers, she was ready.

  The other young women had gathered in a circle at the edges of the tent. Their maids packed in behind them, faces alight with the prospect of entertainment after the day's ride. When the princess had taken her seat among them, Diribani stood in the middle of the

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  empty space, folded her hands, and prayed silently. Now was not the time to speak, scattering tiny hazards for her bare feet to find. Manali-ji, Naghali-ji, sister goddesses of love and wisdom, guide my steps. She nodded to the first drummer.

  The heart drum sounded. Diribani relaxed; the woman had understood her instructions. Slowly, Diribani bent into the dance's opening movements, designed to warm muscles, focus the mind, and stretch the limbs for the faster sequences to follow. When she'd finished a complete repetition and saluted each of the twelve sacred points of the compass, she signaled to the second musician.

  The spirit drum had a higher, thinner tone, but this woman, too, proved an artist. Her capable fingers made the rhythm skitter like gazelles leaping.