by Beth Wangler
“Am I so different?”
Elesekk and Nihae exchange a look over my head. “Well,” Elesekk says, “when we knew you, you would have jumped at a chance to tell a story about the Thaliel and aivenkaites. You would have told the story before anyone had time to ask.”
“And when Tatanda...well, you never allowed anyone to rebuke you for doing something good. And you used to take correction with a smile,” Nihae added.
Pitka’s appearance around the corner of the porch interrupts us before I can answer, but their comments linger in my mind. Pipit pulls up short at the sight of my companions, shy in the presence of near-strangers.
“Pipit,” I smile. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she says. Her bare toes trace a gap between boards on the porch floor, but she comes no closer.
“You remember Elesekk and Nihae from yesterday?” I ask, knowing she does.
“Peace to you, Pitka.” Nihae smiles at the girl, holding her hand out as an invitation to join us.
Pitka shuffles forward a few steps and looks at me. “Why do they say that?” She tilts her head. “Why don’t they say good-morning like everyone else?”
“Story time?” I answer, leaving the swing and moving to my desk chair. Pitka’s face lights up. She scurries forward, now that I am not between strangers, and sits on my lap. “I just told you about Aia’s promise to Nhardah the Firstborn yesterday. It has to do with that and also with another prophecy. Do you remember the name of Nhardah’s great great great grandson?”
Pitka frowns, and her lips move as she counts the generations on her fingers. “Was he…Maraiah?”
“Yes! But he wasn’t called that yet when this story takes place. He was named ‘Vander,’ which means ‘Follower.’ This was a long time ago, but not as long ago as the Lake of Living Water.”
So I tell the story of my ancestor: the prophecy made at his birth, the jealousy of his siblings, and his eventual flight into the wilderness with his children and pregnant wife Maisie. I tell of Maisie going into labor, a fallen star, and Vander’s mental wrestling with the star. I tell of the star blessing Vander after the man won their contest and begged the star to save Maisie and their children.
“The star said these words: ‘Here is your new name. You will be called ‘Maraiah,’ for Aia our Thaies has chosen you from among your siblings. Your descendants will become a nation set apart for Him. One day, you will possess this land in peace, and the peace of Aia will guard you. As for your wife and son, they will live and grow strong.’
“So,” I conclude, “when Maraians say, ‘Peace to you,’ it is a reminder of the promise that one day we’ll have our own land and that Aia’s peace will guard us, and it is a wish that we will see that day with our own eyes.”
Pitka tilts her head to the side. “I don’t understand. Why do they want land so much?”
“If Iranines didn’t live on this island, if they had no home, and if other people were very mean to them and their babies, how would you feel?” I ask.
Pitka barely has to think before she answers, “I would want a home where I could be away from the mean people.”
“That is why we want our own land,” Elesekk says.
A servant rings a bell by the front door, calling us to breakfast. “It’s time to eat!” Pitka cheers. She slides off my lap and hurries into the house.
“So you are still telling your stories.” Nihae threads an arm through mine. We follow Pitka at a slower pace.
“Of course I am. It’s my purpose in life,” slides off my tongue.
Behind us, Elesekk lets out a sound of surprise. “That’s different. Weren’t you and Saviayr—”
“That changed long ago,” I interrupt. I dealt with losing those hopes years ago; I do not need to repeat that now.
“But the kaite said you would lead Maraiah,” Nihae argues. “Prophecies don’t change.”
We cross the threshold. I lower my voice. “No, but they can be misunderstood. My role is clearly just to record the histories. I can remind our people of who we are that way.”
We draw near to the dining room, so there is only time for Nihae to tilt her head and say, “I wonder…” Then Maylani’s stream of chatter overshadows any other conversation, and we wait for Tatanda’s entrance to begin the meal.
Chapter 6
After breakfast, Maylani, Saviayr, and I stop by Nadina’s house. Maylani wants to buy fabric from the marketplace to make a new dress for her wedding. The material we weave and dye ourselves is not of fine enough quality for such an occasion. Mayli views Nadina’s fashion advice as indispensable.
A servant leads us into the great room, where Nadina’s mother plays with Nadina’s youngest brother, who was born nine months ago. When her mother informs us that Nadina is still getting ready, Maylani pulls Saviayr over to a window to talk. I sink down to watch the baby boy on the rug.
“Good morning, Raiba,” Nadina’s mother says, rolling her ‘r’s in a proper, aristocratic Iranine accent. “We have missed you recently.”
I visited every day when their second youngest child was born. While Maylani and Nadina practiced their music and embroidery, I played with and helped care for the baby. With Maylani away, I have not visited.
“Forgive my neglect,” I apologize.
She pats my knee. “Ah, I understand. You and my Nandi have never been close. Perhaps we will see you more with Mayli being home, and our little one can enjoy your company?”
The baby crawls toward us. He climbs into my lap, and warmth melts through my heart. “I’d like that. But I don’t know if she’s staying on the island after her wedding.” A new sadness adds to the heaviness in my chest. I love children but will never have my own now. I may not allow myself to love Savi anymore, yet I will be faithful to my vow. I will never marry any other than him.
It doesn’t matter, I reprimand myself. I try to strangle my sadness and force myself to smile. Hopefully practice will make fake smiles feel more natural.
“Ah, yes, the wedding.” The mother nods. “My Nadina has talked of nothing else since she returned home last night. So this is the young man.” She casts a glance at Saviayr. I follow her gaze instinctively and find Saviayr looking our way. The hard set of his forehead, the tightness of his lips that has been present every time I’ve seen him, is gone. The corners of his lips just barely tilt up. Our eyes meet, and the softness in his green ones drains the tension out of my shoulders.
This is my Savi.
The baby squirms in my lap and babbles. I look down and grin at him.
“I hope he is good enough for Mayli,” Nadina’s mother frets.
“He is the best,” I promise. I hope she is good enough for him. Then guilt twinges. Maylani isn’t inferior. She cares about her family and friends deeply, even if she doesn’t always know how to show it. Most of the time, especially since her mother died, Maylani focuses on making the family laugh and soothing Tatanda’s dark moods.
If I try to take myself out of the situation, I have to admit that a thoughtful, gentle husband could be very good for Mayli.
Nadina breezes in with a giggle and we take our leave, heading to the marketplace in the valley.
For such a small island, our marketplace is relatively large. On any given day, there are about ten stalls in addition to the five permanent craftsmen—the baker, smiths, weavers, scribes, and sandal makers—who own small shops. Vibrant fabrics, rugs, and baskets dangle from the stalls and fill open shop windows with violet, red, blue, and green. Seagulls and pigeons cry greedily, and vendors shoo them away with shouts. The salty tang of sea air, never fully missing anywhere on the island, is stronger and fresher here.
Maylani talks with every person we pass. “By the spirits, how are you! I haven’t seen you in forever. I’ve been away visiting Izyphor, you know. Oh, you’d love Izyphor. They have this thinly-sliced roasted meat that is delicious. Their bright blue dye is so unique and beautiful. And they have this one tradition where—” and she goes on and on.
“And you know, I just got home yesterday with my fiancé. Meet my Saviayr. He’s quite a catch. The royal Yrin couldn’t live without him. Our marriage is in three days. Tell everyone!”
Watching her display Saviayr like a prized possession, I start to frown. Hardness enters my chest. My jaw tenses. Nadina’s constant giggling intensifies the effect. Combined with the heavy odor of spices and the humidity, the company weighs on me.
Why did I agree to come?
Sandat joins us, impeccably groomed as always. He replaces Nadina at my side with possessive authority, and I cannot decide if he’s a welcome improvement. Instead of giggles, I now have a harangue against Maraiah as my companion.
“I wonder what Mayli is thinking, uniting herself with one of them.” Sandat frowns fiercely. One of the vendors, instead of calling Sandat’s attention to her wares, halts with her mouth open mid-word and draws back. “They are nothing but lazy heathens. It’s more trouble for Izyphor to pay for their food and shelter than they are worth. Do you know they regularly eat the corpses of their dead babies?”
My hands clench. My short fingernails dig into my palms. “No,” I argue. How dare he accuse us of such an abomination? But this shouldn’t surprise me. Most people find the truth, that Izyphor forces Maraians to send our babies to their deaths, too terrible to believe of the most powerful empire in the world. Alternate rumors abound, most blaming Maraiah in some way. This is far from the first time I’ve heard such accusations.
It still awakens the long-dormant flame of conviction in me.
Aia-Thaies, save. The blood of our murdered children cries out to You. Rescue Maraiah from their oppressors.
As always, Sandat misinterprets what I say. He takes my “no” as an admission of ignorance instead of as disagreement. “It’s true. I’m sorry to tell you, but they are truly the most vile people to walk Orrock.”
I can no longer listen. “I am one of those people.”
Sandat pulls up short. After a moment, he chuckles. “Nice try, Raiba, but you should take lessons in humor from Anik.”
“No.” This time, I make my voice as firm as fordue. I touch my chanavea. Sandat’s eyes lower to the charm and widen. “I am Maraian.”
He looks up at me, and loathing wars with confusion on his face. “But you are Maylani’s cousin. From the mainland. That—that thing isn’t yours. You could have gotten it from one of them. Tying my sandals at the side wouldn’t make me a woman, after all.”
Everyone in our group has stopped and now stares at us. I glance at Mayli. I wish I didn’t have to bring this stain to her family’s reputation, but there is no more hiding the truth. Not now that I’ve begun.
“Tatanda has graciously taken me into his family,” I correct, “and did not know my ancestry. I am Maraian.”
There is silence. Before it lengthens, Nadina giggles.
No one else makes a sound or a move. All their eyes are on me.
The silence drags on. I must do something to distract them; I didn't mean to ruin Mayli’s trip to the market.
I glance around for a distraction and find an immediate answer to prayer. Leaning against the scribes’ shop is the strange man with ebony skin and ancient eyes from last night. Unlike a normal person, Lev makes no effort to hide his staring when I notice.
Unlike my friends, his staring does not make me squirm.
I nod to him. “Lev.”
Lev’s white teeth stand out sharply in his dark face when he smiles. “Peace to you, Raiballeon.”
Maylani glances back and leans into Saviayr. “Who is this? Another old acquaintance, Raiba?”
“This is Lev. I met him yesterday.”
“When?” Maylani asks.
Sandat gives Lev his most disdainful glance. He says, “Let’s move on. If he is a friend of a Maraian, he must be as evil as them.”
Maylani gasps out a reproach, but Lev tilts his head and lifts one eyebrow. “Child, who is this noisome boy?”
I ignore Sandat’s exclamation of disbelief. “He is Sandat, a friend of my cousin. And this is Nadina, my cousin Maylani, and Saviayr.”
Sandat exclaims, “Noisome boy! Indeed! Who do you think you are to—”
But the moment I say Savi’s name, Lev straightens up. “He is?” He talks over Sandat as if the Iranine boy does not exist. “His name is Saviayr? Why?”
Savi looks at me with an eyebrow raised in question and answers, “It’s a common Maraian name nowadays and has been for the past twenty-three years. It means ‘Saved from the Water.’”
“Obviously.” Lev rolls his eyes. “But why is it your name?”
This time, Savi looks at Maylani, Sandat, and Nadina before beginning. He raises his chin at Sandat’s squinting eyes. “Surely you know that the sultan and the royals are afraid of us Maraians,” Saviayr says, almost more a challenge to Sandat than an answer to Lev, “because we don’t die off like their other slaves. Most of the time, you know, the peoples they enslave don’t survive for long, so the Izyphorns go conquer new people. That didn’t happen with Maraiah. Izyphor was afraid we’d be too numerous and rise up against them, so they ordered that every month-old Maraian baby be placed in a box and floated down the river.” Saviayr’s lips curl up. “That way it’s up to the divinities whether the child lives.
“I survived, and my adopted parents gave me this name.”
Maylani covers her mouth with her fingers. “By the spirits, that’s horrible!”
“Those poor babies,” Nadina frets with a nervous giggle.
The spark I felt earlier stirs in my chest. It’s fury that this is happening every day, it’s conviction that I have to do something about it, and it’s dangerous. It could get my loved ones killed.
I must stamp it out.
Sandat crosses his bare arms over his chest and glares at Saviayr. “That’s ridiculous. Obviously, your people committed a grave wrong and the Izyphorns are giving you a just punishment.”
The spark grows. “That’s not—”
Sandat whirls. He jabs a finger at me. “You do not get to speak! You filthy, lying scum of a slave—”
“Enough.” Lev speaks the word calmly and emphatically. His expression reminds me of the rage of the sea during a winter thunderstorm, when the water could chill you or lightning could burn you. “You will watch what you say about my chi—the Maraian people.”
Sandat swallows and raises his chin, a gesture that fails rather spectacularly to make him seem intimidating. “Is that a threat?” he challenges.
Lev shakes his head in incredulity, but his tone remains placid. “Are you really so dull that you need me to answer that question?”
For the first time since I have known him, Sandat is speechless. I can’t stop the smile that fills my face.
Lev turns to Savi next, and warmth infuses his voice. “As for you, son, well said. Now, Raiballeon, do you remember what I asked you yesterday?”
“I…” I glance at my cousin, who looks distinctly disturbed, and don’t answer.
“My question is the same,” Lev continues anyways. “Do you believe your name?”
Something twists inside my mind, an understanding that wants to be born. I still don’t know what he means. Instead, I remember Nihae and Elesekk thinking that I’ve changed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Saviayr asks. “Who are you?”
Maylani gives a giggle that rivals Nadina. “Come on, Raiba.” She gives Savi a tug. “Let’s keep going, okay? He seems like a madman.”
I don’t budge. “No. Lev, what do you mean?”
Lev smiles, and I’m reminded of a refreshing breeze giving relief after a long, sweltering summer day. “I’ll leave you now. It was an honor to meet you, Saviayr, a pleasure, girls, and something quite different, boy. Peace to you, Raiballeon, Saviayr,” he tells us, not waiting for a reply before starting off.
Before Saviayr and I finish responding, “May it also return to you,” Lev has disappeared between the buildings and stalls.
“Raiballeon
.” Mayli looks at me like she’s never seen me before. “You sure changed when I was gone. I mean, it’s a good change. You’re so much more talkative now.” She smiles. “The old Raiba never did anything half as interesting. We do need to find you better friends, though, people who aren’t so…rude or strange?”
I give a quick nod. My eyes meet Savi’s, and my pulse quickens for a second. His forehead wrinkles. I don’t have an answer to his question, I don’t have any idea who Lev is or what he’s talking about, so I redirect my sight to the ground.
It’s better that way. I shouldn’t be looking at him. I shouldn’t.
“I’ve never been so insulted in my life,” Sandat fumes. “I will not tolerate this. Maylani, let me know if you come to your senses. As long as you keep company with these—” and he calls us an Iranine name that sets all of our cheeks burning— “then you will not keep company with me.”
He storms off, followed by a trail of red dust.
At least this excursion has brought about one good thing.
Everyone else ignores me. Maylani buys enough well-made yellow material for a dress, and we stop by her favorite seamstress. “Make it in the latest Izyphorn fashion,” Mayli requests. “Their dresses are single-shouldered, usually with the—” she mimes the cut of Izyphorn dresses— “strap on the left shoulder. And for the skirt, hmm. Can it have two-inch pleats, you know, and come down only a hand’s breadth below my knees?”
Rarely have I been so happy to return home or felt as lonely after an hour with my cousin. My soul is weary, though it is not even midday. I retreat to my room, where I sit by my window and crochet Mayli’s bridal shawl until lunch.
Chapter 7
Late that night, preparing for a barbecue, I realize Saviayr and I will have to interact if I ever hope to spend time with Maylani after their wedding. Anik will likely marry soon, Pitka is growing up, and I have no prospects of marriage. When I can no longer stay with Tatanda, Mayli and Saviayr may be my best hope for a place to live.
