by Robin Hobb
There was a muttered response of “Welcome, Elliania, Narwhal Clan woman. ” I sensed that she had stepped back into the ritual and taken up the words, too. Peottre had retreated into the row of her clansmen. Women came to stand around her, and there was a formalized greeting that passed between every woman of the Narwhal Clan and Elliania. A group of wide-eyed girls, hair loose upon their shoulders, stood in a cluster, watching her. One, taller than the others and close to being a woman herself, pointed at Dutiful and said something approving to two of her fellows. They giggled and drew closer to her, whispering and nudging one another. I sensed that these girls had been Elliania's playmates and companions, but that Elliania had stepped apart from them now and into the ranks of the women. The effortless way in which she had assumed command of the situation told me that she had, in many ways, been a woman amongst them for a long time. This ceremony was the formal recognition that her body was starting to catch up with her spirit.
When every woman had greeted her, Elliania stepped back out of the circle of firelight from the hearth. A stillness came over the crowd, replacing the murmur of comment and welcome. For a brief time, I felt their awkwardness. Peottre shifted on his feet, then forced himself to stand still. Dutiful remained where he had been, and I sensed that these minutes were passing like hours for him.
Finally, the same young woman who had whispered to the Great Mother stepped forward. A faint blush suffused her cheeks. Obviously, she felt she was stepping above her station, but no one else had offered to take charge. She cleared her throat, but there was still a tremor in her voice as she said, “I am Almata, a daughter of the Mothers of the Narwhal Clan. I am cousin to the Narcheska Elliania, and six years her senior. Unworthy as I am, I will speak for the Great Mother. ”
Page 92
She paused a moment, as if to allow time for someone to challenge her in this role. There were older women present, but none of them spoke. A few gave tiny, encouraging nods. Most looked heartsick. Almata took a deep breath, visibly steadied herself, and spoke again.
“We are gathered in our mothershouse because one not of our clan has come among us, seeking to join his lines to ours. He asks, not just for any woman, but for our Narcheska Elliania, she whose daughters will in turn be Narcheska and Mother and Great Mother to us all. Stand forth, warrior. Who seeks to court our Elliania, our Narcheska of the Narwhals? Where is the warrior bold enough to seek the mothers' permission to bed with our daughter, and give her daughters to raise up as Mothers of the Narwhal Clan?”
Dutiful took a shuddering breath. He should not have; he should have been steadier than that, and yet I could not blame him. All could sense that something was awry here tonight, and it was something more than foreigners intruding on an Outislander ceremony. I had a sense of people stretching to close a gap, of trying to mend a tragedy by retreating to tradition. Yet there was no space left for us to be cautious. Dutiful's voice was steady as he proclaimed, “I come. I would have the Narcheska Elliania of the Narwhal Clan as the mother of my children. ”
“And how will you provide for her and the children that you will give her? What will you contribute to the Narwhal Clan, that we should let your bloodlines mingle with ours?”
And suddenly we were on solid ground. Chade had prepared well for this. Riddle nudged me, and I stepped aside almost in rhythm with the other guards. Behind them was a canvas-draped heap. Longwick dragged the cover from it, and each guardsman in turn took up an item and brought it forward as Chade announced what it was. Dutiful stood silent and proud as his gifts were presented to both Almata and the Narcheska, as well he might be. Nothing had been spared.
Some of the trove had come with us, hastily transferred from the Maiden's Chance to the Tusker. Casks of brandy from Shoaks, a bale of ermine skins from the Mountain Kingdom, and colored glass beads from Tilth, wrought into a tapestry that could be hung over a window. Silver earrings, Kettricken's own handiwork. Cotton, linen, and fine woolen cloth from Bearns were among the offerings. Other gifts were merely mentioned as promises, cargo to be brought from Zylig on the next trip. The reading of that list took some time. The labor of three skilled smiths for three years. A bull and twelve cows of our finest bloodlines. Six brace of oxen, and a team of matched horses. Hunting hounds and two merlins, trained to be lady's birds. And some things that Chade offered on Prince Dutiful's behalf were only dreams yet, trade and peace between the Six Duchies and the Out Islands, gifts of wheat when their fishing harvest was poor, good iron, and the freedom to trade in all the Six Duchies ports. It was a long list and I felt the day's weariness catch up with me as Chade catalogued it for them.
But all weariness left me when Chade concluded and Almata spoke again. “This is the offer made to our clan. Mothers, daughters, and sisters, what say you? Do any speak against him?”
Silence followed her words. It evidently expressed approval, for Almata nodded gravely. Then she turned to Elliania. “Cousin, Woman of the Narwhal Clan, Elliania the Narcheska, what is your will? Do you desire this man? Will you take him as yours?”
The muscles stood out in Peottre's neck as the slender young woman stepped forward. Dutiful held out a hand, palm up. She stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and placed her hand flat upon his. When she turned to look at him, and as their eyes met, my lad blushed again. “I will take him,” she replied gravely. A part of me noted that she did not reply as to whether she desired him or not. She took a deeper breath and said, more loudly, “I will take him, and he will bed me, and we will give daughters to the mothershouse. If he performs the task that I have already named to him. If he can bring here, to this hearth, the head of the dragon Icefyre, then he may call me wife. ”
Peottre's eyes flickered shut and then open again. He forced himself to watch as his sister-daughter sold herself. His shoulders moved once in what might have been a sob denied. Almata held a hand out and someone placed a long strip of leather in it. She stepped forward and continued speaking as she bound Dutiful's and Elliania's wrists together.
“This binds you as your words have bound you. While she accepts you, bed with no other, Dutiful, or that woman's life is forfeit to Elliania's knife. While he pleases you, Elliania, bed with no other, or that man must face the challenge of Dutiful's sword. Now, mingle your blood upon the hearthstones of our mothershouse, in offering to Eda for the children she may send you. ”
Page 93
I had no desire to watch, but I did. First the knife was offered to Dutiful. He betrayed no pain as he sliced his forearm until it bled freely. He cupped his bound hand and waited for blood to trickle past the leather strip and into his palm. Elliania did likewise, her face grave and somehow impassive, as if she had transgressed into an area so far beyond disgrace that nothing could move her now. When each hand cupped a small amount of blood, Almata guided their hands into a clasp. Then they knelt and each left a palm print of the mingled blood on the hearthstone. When they turned to face the gathered folk again, Almata freed their hands of the leather cord, and offered it to Dutiful, who accepted it gravely. Almata moved to stand behind them, a hand on each of their shoulders. She tried to put a note of joy into her voice, but it sounded flat to me as she announced, “They stand before you, joined and bound by their words. Wish them well, my people. ” The murmur of approval that rose from the gathered folk was more as if they applauded a deed of great courage than if they had just witnessed the happy joining of a loving couple. Elliania bowed her head before it, Sacrifice for them in some way I did not yet comprehend.
I'm married? Wonder, dismay, and outrage mingled in Dutiful's flung Skill-thought.
Not until you give her a dragon's head, I warned him.
Not until we hold the real ceremony in Buckkeep Castle, Chade comforted him.
The Prince looked dazed.
All around us, the hall erupted into activity. Boards were brought out, and then food to grace them. Outislander minstrels struck up
a song upon their windy instruments. True to their tradition, the minstrels so twisted the words to fit the tune that I could scarce understand it. I noticed that two of them came to greet Cockle and invite him to their corner of the hall. Their welcome seemed genuine, and again I was struck by the universal understanding that seems to exist amongst musicians.
Dutiful Skill-shared with me the words Elliania said quietly to him. “Now you must hold my hand and walk with me as I present you to my older cousins. Remember, they are my elders. Although I am the Narcheska, I still owe them the deference due my elders. So do you. ” She spoke as if instructing a child.
“I'll try not to humiliate you,” he replied, rather stiffly. His words did not please me and yet I could not completely blame him for saying them.
“Then smile. And keep quiet, as befits a warrior in a mothershouse that is not his own,” she retorted. She took his hand and let it be obvious that she led him. Rather as one might lead a prize bull by the ring in his nose, I thought to myself. The women did not come to meet him. Instead, Elliania took him from group to group. At each, he made the warrior's obeisance accepted in the Out Islands, that is, he offered his sword hand, empty and now bloodied, wrist up, to them while bowing his head. They smiled upon him, and offered comments to the Narcheska upon her choice. I sensed that in another time and place, the words would have been lighthearted and teasing. But at this ceremony and with this man, the compliments offered to her were moderate and well mannered. Instead of relieving the tension of the formal pledging, they prolonged it.
Seeing the other groups of warriors dispersing throughout the feast, Chade dismissed us from our ranks. Ears and eyes open, he cautioned me as I wended my way through the throng.
Always, I replied to him. He did not need to suggest that I keep the Prince in sight. Until I knew what was behind this façade, I had no idea who might or might not wish him harm. And so I drifted about the wedding feast, never too far from my prince and keeping a light Skill-contact with him.
The gathering was very different from any Buckkeep celebration. There was no seating of the guests according to rank or favor. Instead, the food was set out and people helped themselves to it and wandered the room as they ate it. There was roast mutton on spits kept warm near the hearth, and trays heaped with fowl cooked whole. I sampled from a platter of smoked candlefish, seasoned and crisp and remarkably tasty. Outislander breads seemed to be dark and unleavened, cooked in huge flat rounds. Diners tore off a piece of an appropriate size and then heaped it with sliced and pickled vegetables, or dipped it in fish oil and salt. All the flavors of the foods seemed overly strong to me, and much of it was pickled or smoked or salted. Only the mutton and the chicken were freshly killed, and even those had been seasoned with some sort of seaweed.
The eating and drinking, the talking and the music and some sort of juggling contest, with betting, all happened simultaneously. The roar of raised voices was near deafening. After a time, I became aware of something else. Young Outislander women of the Narwhal Clan were approaching not just our guardsmen but even Civil and Cockle. I saw several guards grinning fatuously as their young partners led them outside or up the shadowy staircase.
Page 94
Are they deliberately luring Dutiful's guard away? I Skilled anxiously to Chade.
Here, it is a woman's prerogative, he replied. They do not have the same customs regarding chastity. The guardsmen were warned to be cautious but not cool. The Prince's warriors and companions are expected to be available for the evening but only if they are invited; it would be a breach of hospitality if they approached a woman who had not first signaled her interest. If you have not noticed, there is a lack of men here, and far fewer children than there should be for this many women. An empty womb filled on a wedding night foretells a lucky child, here.
Was there a reason I was not told of this before now?
Does it bother you?
After a moment of surreptitious peering, I located my old mentor. He was sitting on one of the bed benches, nibbling on a fowl's leg and conversing with a woman half his age. I caught a glimpse of Civil and his cat disappearing into the upper reaches of the house. The woman who led him was at least five years older than he was, but he did not look intimidated. I had no time to wonder or worry where Swift had vanished to; surely he was too young to be of any interest to these viragos. In that moment I realized that Dutiful was leaving the mothershouse in the company of a gaggle of the Narcheska's girlish friends. Elliania did not look particularly pleased, even though she still held his hand and led him out of the door.
It was not easy to follow him. A woman with a tray of sweets stepped between me and the door. I managed to feign a thick-witted indifference to her offering of more than the sticky confections as I helped myself to a handful in a boorish display of greed and ate them in two mouthfuls. Somehow this flattered her, and she set the tray aside and followed me as I ate them. She was still at my elbow when I reached the door. “Where's the backhouse?” I asked her, and when she did not understand the Six Duchies euphemism, I mimed what I sought. With a puzzled look, she pointed out a low building to me and returned to the feasting. As I walked toward it, I cast a wide glance for Dutiful. There were several couples in the courtyard, in various stages of dalliance, and two boys carrying water from the well back into the mothershouse. Where had he gone?
I saw him at last, not far away, sitting beside Elliania on a grassy rise near some young apple trees. The other girls had settled around them in a ring. These were girls not yet women, as their loose hair proclaimed. I guessed that their ages ranged from ten to fifteen or so. Doubtless, before this night, they were Elliania's playmates for years. Now she has left their companionship behind her with her change to woman's status.
Not quite, Dutiful informed me sourly. They have evaluated me as if I were a horse bought cheap at the fair. “If he is a warrior, where are his scars?” “Did he not have a clan? Why does his face not bear her tattoo?” They tease her, and one of them is quite a nasty little vixen. Lestra is her name, and she is Elliania's older cousin. She is mocking Elliania, saying that perhaps she is a woman and even wed in name, but that she doubts that she has ever been kissed. Lestra claims to have been kissed several times, quite thoroughly, even though she has not bled yet. Fitz, have the girls no shame or reticence in this land?
I grasped it on an intuitive level. Dutiful, it is a driving-out. Elliania is no longer one of them, and so they will peck and tease her tonight. Doubtless it would have happened in any case; it may even be seen as a part of her womanhood ceremony. And then, needlessly, I added, Be careful. Follow her lead, lest you shame her somehow.
I have no idea what she wants of me, he replied helplessly. She glares at me out of the corner of her eye, and yet holds to my hand as if it were a line thrown to her in wild water.
As clearly as if I sat beside him, the words reached me through our Skill-link. The girl who flung the challenge was taller than Elliania, and perchance older. I knew enough of women to know that age alone did not determine their blood time. Indeed, save for her loose hair, I would have guessed her a woman already. Lestra spoke saucily, taunting Elliania with, “So. You'll bind him to you, so no one else can have him, but you dare not even kiss him!”
“Perhaps I do not wish to kiss him yet. Perhaps I intend to wait until he has proven himself worthy of me. ”
Lestra shook her head. She had little bells wired into her hair and I heard the jingle of her mane as she said mockingly, “No, Elliania, we know you well. As a girl you were always the most meek and least daring of us. I daresay you are the same as a woman. You don't dare kiss him, and he is too timid a man to take one for himself. He is a smooth-cheeked boy, masquerading as a man. Isn't that true, ‘Prince'? You are as timid as she is. Perhaps I could teach you to be bolder. He does not even look at her breasts! Or perhaps they are so small, he cannot see them. ”
Page 95
I did not envy Dutiful. I had no advice to offer him. I sat myself down on the low stone wall that marked the edge of the young orchard. I lifted my hands to my face and rubbed my cheeks, as a man does when he has had too much to drink and seeks to drive the tingle from his face. I hoped folk would think me drunk and leave me sitting. I did not relish watching Dutiful go through his dilemma, but I dared not leave him. I sagged my shoulders and set my head as if staring into the distance while watching out of the corner of my eye.
Dutiful made an effort, speaking stiffly. “Perhaps I respect Narcheska Elliania too much to take what she has not offered. ” I could feel his steely determination not to look at her breasts as he said this. His awareness of them, bared and warm so near him, was taking its toll.
He could not see the look Elliania cast to one side. That answer had not pleased her.
“But you don't respect me, do you?” the little minx taunted him.
“No,” he replied shortly. “I do not think that I do. ”
“Then there is no problem. Show your boldness and kiss me!” Lestra commanded him triumphantly. “And I will tell her if she is missing anything worth having. ” As if to force him to the act, she leaned forward suddenly, thrusting her face at him, even as one sly hand flew toward his groin. “What's this?” she crowed mischievously as Dutiful shot to his feet with an exclamation of outrage. “There's more than a kiss he has waiting for you, Elliania. Look at it! An army of one has pitched a tent for you there! Will the siege last long?”
“Stop it, Lestra!” Elliania snarled. She too had come to her feet. Her cheeks blazed with color and she did not look at Dutiful but scowled at her enemy. Her bared breasts rose and fell with her angry breath.
