by Prue Batten
And Liam, he thought. A Faeran, no less. Adelina seemed fearful of him; she who had the courage of a war-queen. He moved his fingers in the sign of the horn, an automatic action because one should be cautious of an Other, whether in the Amritsands or not. His horn hand unfolded. But this Other, he seemed such an engaging fellow.
Bare moors climbed steadily higher until they opened out into the marsh-ridden territory of the Great Lakes. The occasional red-leafed tree lit up the slopes of the hills like a ruby in the cleavage of some magnificent chest. In autumn, the bright fire of that blood-red hue would have made an afrit proud; they were after all sprites of flame in the Raj. Scattered across the hills in curious little dun-coloured heaps were tumbled towers of some ancient defensive sort. Weathered and broken, they were decrepit remnants of a different time when aggression and incursion reigned.
‘They remind me of my Pa’s shatranj set,' Ana said and he felt her turn to look at the ruins. 'He had little ruhks, battlements wrought of ivory and ebony. He bought the set from a Pymm trader who had been in the Raj and he and Mother used to play at night. Every time Pa took one of her pieces, he would hum a little tune.’ She hummed against Kholi’s back and he could feel the grief bleeding through to his spine. So, it is her father who has caused this deep sadness, it is the sadness of loss. Having lost his own parents when he was younger and with a sister who barely knew her mother and father, he understood the awful emptiness, the fear that one might be alone and out of one’s depth.
‘Kholi, where shall we camp?’ Adelina’s rich voice called from her seat behind Ajax, causing shivers of desire to ripple through Kholi. They had come to an unusual fold in one of the hills and which displayed a full circle of the ruby-leafed trees. Amongst them a small stream rippled down toward the van.
‘Here I think,’ he looked around, surveying the glade as Mogu entered, moaning in her pitiful way. ‘We’ll be kindly sheltered by these trees. And the stream has no unseelie air. Do you agree?’
‘No unseelie presence?’ Adelina sighed with tiredness. ‘Then let’s stop! My rear is melded to this seat and I can’t sit a minute longer. Whoa, Ajax, whoa.’ The horse hardly needed to be bid twice, the sheen of sweat glistening under the harness. Mogu, with much groaning and spitting, folded herself to the ground enabling Ana and Kholi to ease their stiff bodies from the high horned Raji saddle.
Later, filled with Adelina’s appetising stew and bread, chewing at a dried fig, Ana caught herself marveling at her good fortune. To escape, to be a Traveller, even if by default! She turned over the tiny pincushion she had embroidered that afternoon. As the needle had pushed in and out with its flaring tail of threads, she felt a small wave of happiness spreading to the dead, dry places of her soul. Kholi had erected his pavilion and Ana could hear the little bells that skirted its roof as they tinkled in the evening breeze. Melon coloured tassels swung energetically on the corners of the tent and the striped fabric ruckled and puffed as the draught teased it. Kholi wandered over and sat next to her by the fire. ‘Well, my princess, there’s weather coming. I can smell rain on the breeze. In the night hours if I am not mistaken, so we must to bed soon and be off at dawn.’
Ana didn’t reply immediately, just turned the pincushion around in her hands. Then she spoke, so quietly Kholi sat closer to hear. ‘You know, this is the only thing I’ve done since Pa died, of which I feel remotely proud.’
‘What do you mean, princess?’
‘My father took twelve months to die. In that time I help to wash him, feed him, I talked to him for hours, read to him, played shatranj; things which were important and practical and of which I was proud. Then he died and with him went my purpose and my identity. When he was alive, he made me feel special. Do you know,’ she looked at Kholi with eyes diamond bright in the light of the fire. ‘He used to call me princess too. And blossom, pet and a whole lot of other silly names that made me feel unique. But with Mother as the head of the house, I ceased to exist as a person, special or otherwise. I suffered such pain, Kholi. I liken it to being drowned in a murky swamp. Darkness everywhere. You see, Pa was my friend and wherever he was on the farm I would help him. Even when I was tiny. Mother and Peter had no patience with me after his death because I seemed paralysed with loss. But the truth of it was that I had a cloud around my head as if I walked in a fog. I was so tired; miserable and tired and no one seemed to understand, least of all me. I just wanted someone to say I was normal, that what I was feeling was normal, but no one did. And then I just wanted to think of nothing because if I thought, it would be of Pa and this pain would crush me,’ she hit her chest with a bunched fist, ‘and sometimes my thoughts seemed like a donkey harnessed to a grinding wheel, going round and round.’ She returned her eyes to the pincushion. ‘When I was embroidering, nothing else pierced my brain. And it was the same when I left home. I had a purpose; to get away. And I thought of nothing else. So you see, leaving was the best thing I could do. For me.’
Kholi took her hand and rubbed it. ‘Indeed, my princess. But demons have a habit of riding unseen on your back. It’s best you acknowledge your grief and love your father. Don’t run from it. I think that’s what your mother is doing. Run, run, run.’ Kholi made pumping motions with his arms as if the Wild Hunt were behind him. ‘She won’t acknowledge how threatened she feels by the loss of her husband.’
‘My mother!’ Ana’s voice scalded the cool night air. ‘My mother has run from nothing. She is Mrs. Lamb, landswoman. She didn’t even run from the horror of betrothing me to Bellingham. Any normal mother would have run a million miles from that.’
‘But Ana, let’s think on that for a minute.’ With a swish of her skirts and tossing of hair over her shoulder, Adelina had joined them, passing each of them a glass of muscat, which glowed gold in the firelight. Pausing to light a cheroot, she sucked on it and then blew out a perfect smoke ring occasioning a lift from Kholi’s eyebrow. ‘The Bellinghams are rich, aren’t they?’
‘Yes...’
‘Was your farm in trouble?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I’m not sure.’ Ana looked down, disconcerted. ‘I didn’t listen to Mother and Peter at night. I would go off on my own. I know we had a spell of footrot and I think there was a crop failure and I suppose Fiona’s dowry won’t help that much because she’s the daughter of a landsman and she has three sisters, so the dowry chest would be fairly small.’
‘So?’ Adelina turned up her hands enquiringly, the cheroot glowing as the breeze brushed past its tip.
‘We were unable to hold our sales at the beginning of summer because of the footrot. And sales on the wheat came to nothing because we had no wheat to sell.’
‘And I am guessing,’ Adelina took another puff and then flicked the exhausted cheroot into the fire, ‘this would involve the loss of substantial income?’
Ana nodded. Her face had flushed, as if she had almost been caught in a misdemeanour. It seemed Adelina had pinpointed her accidental disinterest in her family’s trials; that lost as she was in her own grief, she had neglected to wonder how her mother, Peter and her father’s legacy of ‘Rotherwood’ were coping.
‘Well then,' Adelina continued. 'You can understand why your mother would betroth you to a wealthy family in desperation, can’t you?’
‘To a point.’ Ana spoke with a sharp edge. ‘But not to the Bellinghams. There are other wealthy sons in our district.’ Anger began to flare. ‘Honestly! The man was set to rape me and would have if you, Kholi, had not happened along. Why are you taking my mother’s side? What about me?’
‘But Ana, maybe Bellingham made an offer too good for your mother to refuse.’
‘Too good?’ Scorn sounded like a cymbal clash. ‘Too good to ignore me being assaulted? Too good to ignore Bellingham’s reputation? Do you know he raped a friend of mine? Aine, Adelina, how could a mother do that to her own daughter?’
‘Because I suspect she was utterly desperate and afraid she would lose her family’s farm, her home, her loved husb
and’s legacy, that she, you and Peter may end in the Poorhouse. And now she is even more desperate, having lost you. From what you have said as we travelled, you have had a loving, secure family for your whole life. Don't you think you think your mother regrets her actions, Ana? She is living with the fact that what she did in a moment of panic has driven her daughter away, possibly that her daughter might be dead. I am not condoning her choice, muirnin, not by a long shot, but I think I can see what she was trying to do. As Kholi says, I think she is mired in her own grief and thinking only as clearly as her emotions will let her. As are you, my dear. Please Ana, will you not return?’
‘Never! To marry that... that...’ She fell silent and her hands shook.
Kholi reached for them and held them in his own, aware the assault was even now coursing through her memory. ‘But, my dear princess, you would not have to marry him. You see, he’s dead.’
The fire crackled and spat and lines of sparks drifted into the night sky.
‘When, how?’ shock reduced Ana’s reply to a faint whisper.
‘Last night.’ Adelina replied, shifting herself to sit on a convenient log, closer to Kholi. ‘He didn’t return to his home and a search party found his remains at Buck’s Passing.’
‘What do you mean, his remains?’
Adelina sat for a moment, visions of her dark, black notion filling her head. ‘It’s believed he was a victim of the Cabyll Ushtey.’
Ana’s hand flew to her mouth and her eyes widened. But then a grey shadow passed over her face, eyes as cold as iron, mouth bitter and grim. Like watching a winter frost harden, Adelina thought.
‘It’s no loss,' said Ana. He deserves his end. Besides, it just happened quicker than fate would have decreed had I married him. Because by the Napae, I would have killed him myself I tell you. I hated him.’
‘Ana!’ Adelina admonished.
Kholi raised his eyebrows and scrutinized the young woman’s eyes, seeing a desperate hunger for vengeance. This girl was troubled and no wonder, he thought, as he reached for her hand. Abuse of any sort bruised a tender psyche. ‘See, little princess,’ he said. 'There’s no need for you to stay away from your family now. You can return. Your mother deserves to have her daughter back, to know you are alive.'
‘No!’ she was adamant. ‘If nothing else this whole event has just propelled me to be a master of my own destiny, not my family’s. Don’t you see?’ she looked at her friends. ‘Please try and understand. My family don’t respect me. They have ignored my hurts. They have! I so desperately needed them when Pa died, let alone after Bellingham.’ She shuddered. ‘And anyway,’ her voice flattened. ‘I am a woman. Whatever happened, ultimately I would have left home to marry or perhaps to work on another estate. I have just brought the leaving to fruition sooner. And without the entanglement of an unsuitable match.’
Chapter Eleven
Around the campfire, the companions brooded. Then Kholi shifted and slapped his thighs with his palms. ‘You shall stay with us, sweet Ana. We’ll mind you, won’t we, Adelina? For the moment anyway, so rest easy.’ He cast a look at the woman he wanted to love and saw her eyes narrow but then she nodded and reached for the young woman’s shoulder to rub it. Ana looked at them both and gave them a tentative smile.
Kholi clapped his hands together. ‘Enough of this soul-baring and heart-creasing talk! I’m going to tell a story. Would you like that, sweet ladies? Kholi Khatoun can turn his hand to stories as easy as he can sell rugs. We have a collection of the most wonderful stories in the Raj called A Thousand and One Nights. I am going to tell you the one we call The Historic Fart.’
‘Kholi Khatoun,’ Adelina laughed with delight, her eyes bright in the light of the flame.
Kholi began. ‘In the Amritsands there lived a wealthy merchant called Abu Hasan whose money was made selling rugs and mats. Hmm! Just like Kholi, don’t you think?’ His eyes sparkled and he looked wistfully into the flaring red and yellow flames. ‘But Abu Hasan tired of the nomadic life,’ Kholi looked down at his hands and then cast a long glance at Adelina. ‘Again, just like Kholi.’ But then he grinned. ‘So he became a wealthy town merchant with a prosperous shop, a beautiful wife and a big house with a view over the town all the way to where the Amritsands glimmered in the distance. He was young, Abu Hasan, and would always offer up thanks to the spirits of good fortune when he sat on his roof on a rug, smoking a hookah and enjoying the spoils of wealth.’
Kholi shifted on the log on which he sat, smoothing the folds of his cloak which draped around him. ‘But life is never simple, is it?’ He looked directly at Ana. ‘Just when he thought things were at the peak of perfection, his lovely wife died. Just like that.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘And Abu Hasan fell into a black pit of despair, grief stricken and floundering. His friends worried for him, for his loneliness affected him badly and it seemed as if he had lost interest in living After a suitable time had passed, those same friends chivvied the young widower to marry again. He agreed and so the town matchmaker was put to work. She found a lovely woman who, whilst not competing with his first wife for unparalleled beauty, was nevertheless something of a desert bloom.’
He stood up and walked around the fire, assuming a position in front of the women like a bard in front of an audience. His hair shifted in the lazy breeze and his robes blew and creased gently around him, creating the image of some exotic man of legend; perhaps even Abu Hasan himself. ‘Abu Hasan organized a massive wedding feast whilst the bride, whom he had not yet seen, went into seclusion where she was fêted and served by the women of the town. They would come from her chambers and taunt Abu Hasan with florid and tantalising descriptions of the desert flower’s attributes. And despite himself, he found he looked forward to the wedding greatly.’
‘Kith and kin came from all across the Raj and Abu Hasan provided a wondrous feast in the biggest tent the town had ever seen. There were five different types of rice, sherbets, curries, goats stuffed with figs, dates and almonds and sprinkled with cumin and cardamom. There was lamb tagine and fish stuffed with walnuts and pistachios. Everyone ate until robes and cords, tassels and sashes had to be undone and re-girded as middles expanded.’
‘Finally it was time for the groom to be summoned to the bedding chamber, the bride having departed long since so that she may be prepared. He rose from amongst the guests at the table, pulling his silk robes around, the epitome of dignity and assurance. But as he stepped away from the tables, he let fly with the biggest, loudest, most ripping fart that had been heard in all the Raj. In fact it was said that even the camels at the Kosi-Kamali oasis stood up with concern as it flew on the air.’
Adelina and Ana chuckled as the images of the desert merchant’s embarrassment filled their heads. Kholi looked at the adorable woman with the cascading copper hair and wondered if she had any idea of how seductive she appeared. He raised his eyes to the skies, offered a small prayer and then continued. ‘The guests, hiding smiles and guffaws, talked loudly, pretending not to have heard. Abu Hasan was mortified, excusing himself as if to go to relieve himself and prepare for his nuptial bed. But with other ideas entirely, the poor man ran to the stables, saddled his horse and rode away from the town, weeping copiously.’
‘He took ship for the far away coastlines of the Raj and was employed by a kaffir for ten years as his most trusted bodyguard. But finally, desperate homesickness got the better of him and he slipped away to return to the town of his previous life. To see if people remembered the Abu Hasan from before the fart, not after.’
Again giggles filled the encampment, but Kholi held up a hand for silence and continued. ‘On the long and arduous travail, he endured a thousand hardships of hunger, thirst and fatigue and a thousand dangers from lions, snakes and afrits. If I detailed them all, my ladies, we would be here for the passing of one or two more nights, I can tell you, which is why the story is a part of A Thousand and One Nights. Suffice to say that in every travail his strength and honour prevailed. But at great cost to hi
s body and maybe, just maybe, even more to his spirit.’
‘Nearing the town, he was unrecognizable. He looked very different after ten years and more, and so he had occasion to wander unknown and unmolested for seven days. At every turn, with every view, his heart built hope that he might return, that he could once again be Abu Hasan the merchant. Finally as he leaned against a wall, thinking on hope and the future, he heard a young girl talking to her mother.’
‘Mother, tell me what day I was born so that I may have my fortune told.’
The mother answered. ‘My child, you were born on the very night when Abu Hasan farted.’
Ana and Adelina exploded. Even Kholi who knew the story as well as he knew the lines on the palm of his hand, chuckled. The very air around the fire sparkled with relaxed humour.
‘The poor man fled, crying to himself, 'Verily my fart has become a date! To be remembered forever and ever.' And so Abu Hasan, the great merchant and famed and esteemed bodyguard returned to the lonesome, singular existence he had experienced as he had journeyed back to his town. He travelled all around Eirie in self imposed exile, never speaking, never spoken to, until he died somewhere in the dry Amritsands.’ Kholi folded his hand across his middle and gave a theatrical bow.
‘Kholi,’ Ana clapped her hand delightedly, ‘you have missed your calling.’
‘Indeed.’ Adelina’s eyes darkened and her face flushed as she looked at Kholi. He watched her pull gently on Ana’s arm and wished on all the djinns that his prayers would be answered. ‘You tell a story as if you are made for entertaining. I thank you sir. You have taken the evening and turned it into a treasure.’ She smiled as she spoke and Ana nodded her head in agreement, covering a yawn with her hand. ‘Come now, Ana,’ Adelina said. ‘It’s time for sleeping. I propose for you to use my bed and I have a wish to sleep in Kholi’s tent. I have never slept under canvas and I have often wondered if it should suit me.’
