CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The rumble of wagon wheels over packed earth and the gentle rocking of the floor lulled Chandi into sleeping long past sunrise. Asleep in the wagons again? A note of annoyance tinged her subconscious, chiding her slowly out of sleep. You know better than that. She groaned and levered herself over onto her side, tossing off the blankets. She hated to wake up sweaty like this. Wait, blankets? And a pillow. Her eyes snapped open. She blinked two or three times. It’s too quiet. There were no other wagons, and there was no music. This isn’t the caravan! Where am I?
Chandi sat up. The sleep-fog dissipated, revealing her nightmare for the reality of the night before. She busied herself combing her fingers through her hair, trying to make sure she was composed before turning around. She couldn’t lie to herself and pretend yesterday never happened, but the Chèin'ii kept their grief to themselves.
“You’re awake, are you?” It was the voice of her hero from the attack.
“M-mm.” She swallowed. Taking a deep breath to steady her voice, she turned around. She owed him her thanks, at least. When she saw his face, though, she screamed. “Y-y-you’re!”
“I’m?”
“You’re the kidnapper from the Carnival!”
He twisted farther around in his seat to look at her, his hands still loosely gripping the reins. One of the horses whickered.“Kidnapper? Is that what you thought?”
She nodded vigorously and inched backwards in the wagon bed.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. You just… reminded me of someone.” He turned his attention back to the horses pulling the wagon. He sounded sad.
Maybe he’s not a slaver? Chandi allowed herself to relax a little. He had saved her the night before.
“I’m Ravi,” he said after a while. The softness of his tenor seemed to match the lines of his face.
“Chandi.”
“A good name.”
“…Who did I remind you of?”
His back stiffened. When he did not answer, Chandi cast about for something to say. Finally, she decided to change the subject. “Where are we going?”
“Sararaq, to the south.”
Sararaq. That supported his claim that he wasn’t a kidnapper: that wasn’t a slave-holding city, and it was known to be reasonably safe. “But there are monsters on the southern road.”
He nodded. “I think they all converged on Q’uungerab. Don’t ask me why.” Ravi’s voice was curiously level as he spoke. “I’ve seen broken dunes, but listen…”
Chandi strained her ears. …There. Faint, but still audible over the groaning of the wagon, she could hear desert birds and the drone of insects. “Ah. All right. …You think Sararaq will be any safer than Q’uungerab was?”
“For the moment.” He gave the reins a shake, urging the horses unnecessarily.
Chandi leaned back against the wall of the wagon, studying his profile. The comforting sound of the rumbling wheels soothed some of her tension. Sararaq, huh? I think that’s where we were headed before. Maybe there’ll be survivors there. …Except that’s a really long way to make it on foot. Especially when they sent us out the north gate.
“Did anyone else make it out?” Surely I can’t be the only one. He didn’t answer. “Ravi?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hm.” She pursed her lips. No help there, not that it was reasonable to expect him to know that. There were a lot more people in the city than monsters, however. Surely someone must have made it out – maybe even someone else in the clan. Someone survived. This can’t be the end of the Aranya Prasuuna. I won’t let it. She changed the subject again, hoping to keep him talking so the sorrow would not overtake her. “Are you a merchant?”
He nodded.
“What were you selling?”
“Glasswork. Beads, mirrors, trinkets.”
Chandi twisted her mouth. He was not being very cooperative. “Do you make them yourself?”
“No.”
“Where do you get them, then?”
“I broker.”
“You what?”
“Broker.”
“What does that mean?”
“I sell what the creators make. Then I bring the money home and divide it out.”
“That seems weird.”
He shrugged. “Not really.”
“But, why?”
Finally he turned around again to look at her. “Because you can’t build things on the road.”
Chandi blinked; that was the expression she always got from Papa for asking too many whys. And it simply wasn’t true that you couldn’t build things on the road. Chèin’ii artisans did that all the time.
“You seem cheerful, all things considered.” Ravi turned back to the horses.
“I’m alive, and ‘dwelling on a thing only brings more of it.’" Even if I do keep feeling like I’m going to choke. The proverb came easily, at least; it had been one of the grandmothers’ favorites.
She watched his face, but it was almost like he hadn’t heard her. His eyes were fixed on the horses ahead of them. He twitched the reins again. She cast about for some other question to try to draw him out, keep him talking so she didn’t have to think, but nothing came. It was too quiet with only the rumbling of a single wagon on the road. Chandi turned around to sit and watch the road travel by while her thoughts turned inward.
Without quite realizing when, she found herself humming. The tune felt somber, but it lifted the strangeness a little so she continued. Conscious of the song now, a few lines appeared in her mind.
She stopped humming. No. I will not. They are not dead. She had last heard that song at Grandmother Nastaran’s funeral pyre, months ago. Another song, any other song. She began humming the next tune that occurred to her, but once again stopped only a few bars in. That was worse. She tried again, and came up with a third, one no outsider was ever supposed to hear. The Chèin’ii kept their grief to themselves. Why can I not come up with a single performance piece? Through all of this, Ravi said nothing.
Something light, fun. …There’s one; the young lovers who couldn’t handle life on the road. She tried humming that, but even to her it sounded strained, both flat and sharp by turns.
“Don’t force yourself.” Ravi’s voice fell like a brick.
“I’ll find them.” She knew she would, eventually. She hoped her voice sounded as certain. Gita. You’re still out there somewhere, at least. Right?
Ravi grunted. It sounded vaguely encouraging. Chandi wasn’t sure if he was humoring her or if the encouragement was genuine. Either way, she set her jaw.
“If you’re hungry, there’s food. Chest in the middle.”
Her stomach grumbled loudly. She hadn’t been, until he mentioned food. She glanced up: somehow it had become midday.
The food in the chest was nearly indistinguishable from what the caravan kept on the road – dried fruit, nuts, some jerky, and wafers of a crispy flatbread. That last she had never tried. She bit into one as she gathered up a midday meal for two people and grimaced; it was like chewing on tree bark, only with less flavor. The other wafers she had grabbed all went to him.
“What is that stale bread?” She bit into a disk of dried apricot to help wash down the pasty feeling in her mouth.
“Asath. You get used to it.”
Chandi wasn’t sure why she’d want to “get used to” asath when naan was so much better. “About how long until we reach Sararaq?”
“A week, give or take.”
Chandi felt her stomach sink. A whole week of riding in silence? “What shall we do to pass the time?”
Ravi’s eyebrows traveled to his hairline when he turned to look at her.
* * *
The days on the road with only taciturn Ravi for company were less interminable than she had feared. He had no knack for the games younglings played to entertain themselves on the road, but Chandi found them far less entertaining than she once had. Eventually, though, Ravi learned that she could neither read nor write. Afte
r that he called her up to sit beside him and divided his attention between driving the horses and teaching her letters.
Learning to write was slow going. Even holding the thin reed pen felt awkward. The looping movements were vaguely familiar from her fans, but it felt cramped working them with fingers rather than wrists. Now, as they approached Sararaq Pradesh, she thought she had a basic mastery of the first half of the alphabet. She kept at it as they approached the gates, trying hard not to let the bumpiness of travel spoil the shape of the characters.
The approach to Sararaq was grand in its own way, Chandi supposed, but somehow failed to capture the wonder of Q’uungerab’s sculpted walls. Here the glory was displayed from behind a plain facade of yellow brick. Colored glass and polished stone could be seen glimmering from the roofs and windows within. The city’s palace, on a rise in the middle of the city, and the mansions near it, were said to be covered in mosaics of unmatched beauty. Q’uungerab wore her wealth brazenly; Sararaq owned her wealth proudly and displayed it modestly.
Some things were the same in every city. It was odd that the normalness of a line at the gates would draw attention to itself here, until she remembered their limp back to Q’uungerab. At the gates, Ravi spoke to the guard for only a moment and was waved in.
“You know the guard?”
“I do. I told you, I broker for the glassmakers.”
“So you’re not going to get in trouble because of what happened in Q’uungerab, are you?”
“You leave that to me.”
Moving through the gates of Sararaq was like opening a geode. The clay brick here was a yellow so pale it was almost white, and even the lowliest of hovels they passed were ornamented. The corner columns were carved and sculpted out of the main building, and most were painted in vibrant colors. Most of the windows were glassed, and Chandi wondered about the use of divided panes until she saw one standing open.
“How do they do that?”
“With a skillful application of simple mechanics.”
“What?”
Ravi smiled. “I’ll show you when we get home.”
She made a face, but didn’t think he saw. No city will ever be ‘home.’
They rumbled down the main avenue and the buildings to either side became more elaborate. Columns were joined by sandstone shutters pierced with elaborate designs, painted scrollwork, murals, and sometimes small bits of gilt. Tiles ran around other doors and windows, their shapes suggesting fields of flowers. On balconied upper stories she saw windows filled with patterns of colored glass. These buildings were painted bright white, and their shining mosaics were more elaborate. They were entering the wealthy district of the city.
“Ravi, where exactly do you live?”
“It’s not far now.”
“…Are you a noble?”
He laughed. She hadn’t heard him laugh before; it was a rusty, unused sound, but pleasant nonetheless. “No, not a noble. Nowhere near a noble. But the guild masters wouldn’t trust me to broker for them if I wasn’t good at what I did, now would they?”
“I suppose.”
The buildings grew more spaced out and set back from the road. She could see gardens visible behind elaborate pierced stone screens, and gates flanked by bronze urns or gilded and painted statues of all manner of animals. It was into one of the smaller of these that Ravi finally turned, a pair of chinkara frozen mid-leap to either side of the gate. The approach was lined by young khejri trees and acacia, and twice crossed over a narrow channel of water that flowed through the garden. Ahead of them stood a two-story house with white inset columns. These were accented at the ball ornaments with gilt and traced along the spiral insets with deep blue. The pierced shutters were painted in blue and white, while intricate tile work outlined the foundation and doorframe.
Chandi gaped. “Are you sure you’re not a noble?”
Ravi chuckled. “The nobles are all up the hill. It’s more comfortable here below. I’ll have you in out of the sun in just a bit.”
* * *
The horses and wagon were handed off to a stableman at the shallow front stair, which led up to a green-painted double door. Ravi gripped the bronze pulls, one in each hand, and swung the doors open with a flourish worthy of a caravaner.
“Welcome. I hope you make yourself at home. This place… gets a little lonely sometimes.” The door opened onto a vaulted two-story hallway running the width of the house, with a staircase leading up to the second floor landing on either end. Behind the great curving stairways stretched the first-story halls. The room was floored with six-sided tan tiles, a blue lotus petal reaching to each corner of each tile. Directly ahead, across the hallway, Chandi saw another door. It stood open, and behind it was a small grassy courtyard.
“So much water…”
“Sararaq was built around one of the largest oases in the Qaehl. Please, enter.” Ravi stepped to the side and invited her in with a sweep of his arms. She entered, still gaping, and Ravi closed the door behind them.
“I’ll have to introduce you to Pari, and then she’ll find you a room and some fresh clothes.” He spoke to fill the silence. Strange that it hadn’t bothered him on the road.
Pari, his serving-woman, was a handsome woman of about forty who mothered both of them from the moment she appeared. She was broad-shouldered and muscular, but no more so than some of the aunties had been. She smiled as she looked Chandi over before bundling her off with an “I’ll see to everything and never-you-mind about her, just be down for dinner on time.”
Before she quite knew it, Chandi was in a copper tub of hot water with a loaf of soap and a rough cloth while Pari searched out “something suitable” to dress her in while her own clothes dried. Chandi was ignored when she mentioned the bundle in the wagon. It wasn’t worth worrying over, though; she’d never had a hot-water bath before, and the loaf of soap was much nicer than laver leaf.
She washed her hair and scrubbed until her skin turned pink, then it was out to dry off. She discovered that Pari had taken her clothes with her when she went to find something new. Chandi stood there wrapped in a towel until the woman bustled back moments later with fresh clothes.
“Here you are. These should fit you nicely while I get your things cleaned up.”
“Thank you, Aun- wait, I’m sorry. What should I call you?”
“Oh, jus’ Pari’s fine.” She set most of the bundle down on a wooden bench in the room and handed Chandi the white linen undergarments.
Those were familiar. What came next was not. It appeared to be a skirt, except that attached at the waist was a large pleated circle with a wedge cut out from the middle to the farthest edge. Chandi started to put it on with the cloth circle in front and Pari quickly stepped in to help.
“Oh. Is that how that works. I haven’t seen one of these before.”
“They are a little old-fashioned, but the little miss always favored them. Here, let me get the belt. Do you like a veil?”
“Uh, no, thank you. Who’s the little miss?”
“Ravi’s little girl. Lost her, oh a good five years ago now.” Pari began to chatter as she finished dressing Chandi. The belt, an intricate beaded braid of heavy linen with gold and turquoise, caught the edges of the upper circle, and two pleats in the sides created the appearance of sleeves. The skirt fell to a few inches above her ankles, and the sleeves were a little too long, but otherwise it fit nicely. She tried raising her arms above her head, and for a moment she had wings made of ochre cloth before they slipped off her wrists and collapsed around her shoulders. The dark red skirt was also deeply pleated, and fell about her legs almost like it was divided. It was a fascinating design. Pari nodded to herself, pressing her palms together in front of her mouth.
“What do you call this?” Chandi lowered her arms and shook her shoulders so the sleeves fell back into place.
“It’s a belemen.”
“It’s a little heavy, but I think I like it.” The ends of the belt chimed as she twisted around to
look at the back of the dress. This will be fun to dance in.
“Good, good. It’s lovely.”
“So this belonged to his daughter? Are you sure it’s all right if I wear it?”
“Never you worry about that. If he makes a fuss I’ll set him straight. They’re wasted just moldering in a chest.” Pari winked at her.
“Now, your room. Come along, I’ve got to get back to the kitchen soon.”
It was back through the hallways and up the back stairs to the second floor. Thankfully the halls were straightforward, so when Chandi forgot herself and began to gawk she was still able to catch up easily.
“Come along, come along. You act like you’ve never seen inside a house before.”
“I am Chèin’ii.”
“Yes, of course, but we’ll not hold that against you.” Pari drew out a small brass key and turned the latch on a door. “You’ll have time enough to look around later. This should do nicely for your room.” She pushed the door open so that Chandi could step inside ahead of her.
The room was about the size of the one she had shared with her parents at the caravanserai, painted in dusty yellow with green scrollwork. Along the wall under the window was a bed of dark wood polished until it shone. Both coverlet and bolster were in green with gold accents, emphasizing the scrollwork on the walls. The window stood open, and would have allowed a breeze had there been a breath of wind outside. On the far end of the room was a chest of the same wood as the bed. Its bindings were bronze, as was the lock plate on its front. To the left of the chest hung a mirror, its frame also made of the same dark, reddish wood. Their reflections swirled a little around the edges.
“Careful; you’ll swallow a bug.”
Chandi snapped her jaw closed, blushing a little. “I’ve never seen a place this nice, let alone been able to stay there.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Pari sounded like she was smiling, but it seemed like she was usually smiling. “Do you want to come help me in the kitchen?”
“I don’t know how to cook. Ravi said he had a library: could I go there?” If she was going to find her family, she would need information, and right now that meant maps.
Advent of Ruin (The Qaehl Cycle Book 1) Page 11
