The Hadra

by Diana Rivers

  I shut my eyes and dropped into my deepest self. After a while I shook my head. When I pictured Ursa, I could not feel her death. Perhaps I even felt a little candle flicker of life from that direction.

  “Fool, you would know if she were dead. She is still alive somewhere, while you are making yourself mad with grief. But if that is the only reason you are here with me, you may as well go home to your wife.”

  “I am here because I love you, Alyeeta.”

  “Tell me no lies, girl, you are here because you need me to sop up your grief and your guilt.” In spite of her sharp retort, Alyeeta did not send me away.

  Though I did not keep it a secret from Zheran, neither did I tell her directly. Perhaps it was Alyeeta’s barely concealed look of triumph that gave us away. Zheran stopped me one day when I came to get some article of clothing from her house. “Tazzil, I cannot tell you how to live your life, or who to be with, or when to share your body or your loving, but I can speak for myself and say what I can and cannot live with. I know that you had several lovers before me, all at the same time. That may be the Hadra way or your way, and I do not fault you for that. For me, I know I cannot abide it. It would cause me too much grief and uncertainty. I would rather live alone. Then, when I am able, I could learn to be your friend, rather than your lover. This may be the hardest thing I have ever said to you, Tazzil, but you must choose. I cannot welcome you home from another woman’s bed. It hurts my spirit and my pride too much; in the end, it will destroy my love for you.”

  I felt torn apart and began twisting my shirt in an agony of guilt and confusion. “Oh, Zheran, how can I close her out after all this time?”

  “Do what you must, Tazzil, out of your deepest heart. I will say again, I am not speaking of what you should do but only of what I can and cannot live with, from my own truest nature.”

  Suddenly I was flooded with despair. I saw the future before me cold and loveless with Zheran gone out of my life. “No, you are the one I want to spend my life with. Alyeeta herself even said you were the one great love of my life. I think she has only been toying with me in her way or perhaps toying with us both. I will tell her it has to end.” Now I was shaken with the grief of loss from the other direction. How was I to do this thing?

  “If that is really your decision, go tell her and be with her one last time. Then you will truly know which path to take.”

  “Zheran, I already know.”

  “Go! Then I will be sure and so will you and so will Alyeeta.”

  Alyeeta was full of mockery when I went to talk with her. I found her sitting in the sun in front of her cave and sank down beside her. As I spoke, she set down the book she had been studying to stare at me with contempt. “So,” she said scornfully, “you are going to become like a married woman, as bound and tied as if to a man?”

  “Come, Alyeeta, before this summer we had not been lovers for years, you and I.”

  “Had not and cannot are two very different horses.”

  “Alyeeta, I am happy with Zheran, happier than I have ever been in my life. Be glad for my happiness.”

  “I am glad, so glad that if I were younger I would beat the drum and dance for joy in the Central Circle. But take care with happiness. It is dangerous. It can drug you to sleep. Are you so happy that you would allow her to bind you hand and foot? Does this happiness give her the right to tell you what to do?”

  “No, Alyeeta, but she does have the right to say what she can and cannot live with for herself.”

  “Then let us be lovers one last time if we must seal this forever.”

  “She said you would ask that.”

  “Oh, and what did she say about it? Is she willing? Will she allow it?”

  “That it would be a loving ending. That she is willing this one last time.”

  “And so we have her agreement? How nice! In that case perhaps I do not want this.”

  “Alyeeta!” I shouted in exasperation, jumping to my feet. “How can you be so contrary? In all the years I have loved you, have I ever told you how absolutely impossible you are?”

  “Often, though perhaps not as many times as you have thought it.”

  “No, hardly as many.” I leaned over and put my hand on her mouth to silence her. Then, as I bent to nibble on her ear, I slipped my other hand over her breast and gently pinched her nipple.

  When she tried to pull away from me, I freed her mouth and took hold of her wrist in a firm grip. The moment she could speak again, she said disdainfully, “I feel her standing over us, giving us permission like children told they can go and play.”

  “Do you remember, once long ago, how you tied my hands to the bedpost? Perhaps I should do that to you now and cover your mouth as well.”

  Alyeeta struggled harder in my grip. “No, no, Tazzia, I am too old for that kind of play. Love me gently this last time or let me be.”

  “Good, then come inside,” I answered, tugging on her wrist. “We do not need to make a display of ourselves out here for all of Zelindar to see.”

  “Since when has that ever stopped you?” Alyeeta asked mockingly. Nonetheless, she yielded to my tug and came with me.

  The cave chamber was warm from the sun. A brightly patterned rug covered a large part of the hard-packed dirt floor. There was a fire in the fire pit and several rocks glowed red at the center of it. I looked about suspiciously. “There is no one else here?”

  “No, we are all alone. I was about to bathe before you appeared.” She lit a smudge pot of sweet-herb, and the pungent aroma quickly filled the chamber. By moving a rock, she diverted the flow of fresh cold water away from the pool. Then, with a forked, green stick, she rolled one of the glowing rocks into it. Instantly, there was a loud hiss and a thick cloud of steam rose from the water. She immediately followed this with two more rocks. When I rushed to help her, she brushed me aside. “I can manage well enough in my own home. I have been doing it for a long time without your help. Now take off your clothes.”

  “Are you sure no one…?”

  “I will put a circle of protection around us.”

  The windows had instantly fogged over. Steam hung in the air like mist, obscuring the rest of the cave from sight. The ferns surrounding the upper side of the pool bobbed gently in the warm air, and the moss covering the rocks gleamed with moisture. My senses were dizzied by the aroma of sweet-herb. The whole place seemed filled with magic. Almost as if under a spell, I slipped free of my clothes, pulled out the cooling rocks, and slid my naked body into the warm water. I found myself groaning with pleasure as my dark hair floated out around my head like seaweed.

  Instantly, Alyeeta’s hands were on me, hard and demanding, traveling over my breasts and my belly and down between my legs. Then her body slid in next to mine. “If this is to be the last time, then I want as much of you as I can get,” she growled fiercely in my ear. Gripping my hair with one hand, she kissed me deeply. With her mouth on mine and her leg pressing itself insistently between my legs, I quickly surrendered to Alyeeta and the water, greedily taking in all the pleasures of that moment.

  Afterward, we rolled out, wet and steamy, onto the rug. Now it was my turn to be the lover. She had asked me to be gentle this last time, and I was, moving my fingers very slowly over the contours of her body, exploring and saying good-bye with the same touch, feeling the grief and the pleasure all mingled together, remembering through our bodies all we had shared. I wanted to recall every detail of this body under my hands. This is the last time I will ever touch her here and here and here in this spot, the last time my mouth will cover hers, the last time my fingers will enter this place, the last time I will hear her cry out with passion, the last time, the last time… Those words kept going through my head. Drawing it out as long as possible, I moved with sensuous slowness, as if floating in a trance or in a deep, slow dream.

  When our loving was finally over, Alyeeta put me out the door as if she had been the one to make the decision. “I am getting much too old for this sort of thing. Lo
ok at the gray hairs, the wrinkles. My hands have even started to shake. For shame! You are abusing an old woman with your desires.” I wanted to protest that she looked no older than when I had first met her. So it had seemed during those weeks of loving. But now, as I looked closely, I saw that what she said was indeed true.

  Walking back down the hill, I was filled with grief and loss. At the same time, I felt incredibly relieved to be out from under Alyeeta’s spell. Clearly, I had been caught in her web those past few weeks. Truth be told, I was really very glad that Zheran had finally laid claim to me and called me home.

  * * *

  First I heard the sound of bells and horns, then Kazouri’s voice shouting from the riverside, “Ozzet is back! Ozzet is back with a new boat!” Boat, boat, boat, boat echoed back from the bluffs along the river. I ran full speed toward the sound, my heart pounding with fear and hope. When I got there, several women, some of them strangers to me, were already busy unloading heaps of bales and baskets onto the shore. It was a big boat, brightly painted in bold patterns, and piled high with goods. To my eyes this was a strange-looking craft, wide and shallow, very different in design from the narrow, deep-hulled boats of our southern coast. Ozzet was standing in the bow, commanding the scene with a loud voice, and more Hadra were rushing forward to help.

  Of the women disembarking and the women crowding around them, I had eyes for only one. Ursa was already on the shore. She turned to face me, her expression a strange mixture of defiance and hopeful pleading. She looked as if she had grown two inches and filled out: she had breasts, she had hips, the muscles rippled under her skin.

  “Look how strong I am now,” she said, raising her arms and flexing her muscles to show me. “When there was no wind, we paddled, and where the water was shallow, we hauled the boat. I even helped to build her. Most of the designs painted on her sides are mine. We built the boat ourselves, from the beginning. That was what took us so long. They taught us how in a settlement north of Darthill, a different style from how the Kourmairi build boats here. We wanted to bring her home as a surprise. Now we can teach other women here how to do it. Were you worried? Are you glad to see me back?” She said all this very fast, her words tumbling over one another, as if to stop me from speaking. I was about to say, Ursa, we thought you were dead, when she looked straight into my eyes and asked, “Are you proud of me, Mother?” Her eyes were flashing and her fists were raised to make her muscles leap. She had never called me “Mother” before, not in all the years I had lived in her mother’s house. Now she was laying claim to me and, at the same time, putting all her vulnerable young self out there before me: making a challenge and taking a terrible, heartbreaking risk.

  Suddenly there were tears in my eyes. I wanted to hug her and hold her safe and close, but I sensed that was not what was wanted. “Very proud, my daughter,” I said solemnly. “My heart is filled with pride. You have become a fine, strong woman while you were away, and you have brought us home a splendid boat, beautifully painted. Very, very proud, my Ursa.” Every word was true. Then I could not resist adding, “But you worried us both, especially Zheran. She was terrified that you were injured somewhere or perhaps even dead. Indeed, we thought you were all dead. She grieved for you…You should have sent us word…”

  “That was not so easy to do. We were in some danger and so had to stay hidden. Besides, we wanted the new boat to be a surprise. Anyhow, mothers are supposed to worry. If you do not worry your mother, you are being too tame. That is what Nhari says.” She made a slight nod of her head in the direction of the young stranger who was watching intently from several paces away.

  Those were cruel words. I wanted to shake her. I wanted to scold her for her callousness. Then I realized it was just her youth speaking, and I really did not want to scold her for anything at all. I was too glad to see her safely home. Instead, I shouted, “Ursa!” and grabbed her in a giant hug. For a moment or so, she hugged me back like a child, though the crush of her arms was anything but childlike. Then she disentangled herself with dignity and said quite formally, “I have brought back something for you, Tazzil. It is on very poor paper, but that was all I could find in Darthill.” From the pouch at her waist she drew out a pack of papers, bound together at one edge with cord. On the cover, large curling letters said, “An account of our boat journey down the Escuro River, with maps and pictures, as recorded by Ursalynde of Zelindar.”

  “It is not quite the same quality as yours, but I thought it might please you, nonetheless.” With sudden shyness, she looked down at the ground, and two red dots of color appeared on her cheeks.

  I took the account from her hands and glanced through the pages. There were maps, descriptions of the landscape, detailed drawings of plants and flowers, and accounts of events for each day, all meticulously recorded. I stared at it, speechless with admiration. My daughter had done this amazing piece of work, this child who was always being scolded for her wildness, who could never sit still for her lessons.

  “Have you nothing to say, Tazzil?” It was Zheran’s voice, almost at my elbow. Neither of us had noticed her approach through the crush of other women. I flushed with surprise and said quickly, “It is too wonderful for words. I was just wondering how our little break-neck managed to grow up so suddenly into this tall, strong, learned young woman. This account will have an honored place in the Zildorn for many to read in years to come. It will give us an incentive to finally get the building finished. Such fine work must have a home…” Now that I could speak again, I was running on at the mouth, unable to stop, but Zheran had already turned away. She was paying no more attention to me. Her eyes were on Ursa with such a mixture of hurt and pride it made me want to cry.

  “Hello, Mother,” Ursa said, almost shyly. “I am very sorry for all the pain and worry I caused you.” She seemed truly contrite, with none of the callous arrogance she had expressed just moments before.

  “None of that matters now. You are home safe,” Zheran said, reaching out her arms. This time Ursa let herself be folded into an embrace without pulling away. Nhari was watching this scene, looking lost and lonely. I reached out my hand to her. “Please forgive our poor manners, Nhari. Welcome to Zelindar.”

  * * *

  Later that evening, we held a joyful celebration for the safe return of our voyagers. Songs were sung around a huge fire, and afterward the travelers told stories of their adventures. Ozzet began the tale, then others leapt in eagerly to add their part. Ursa was at my side. She had sought me out deliberately, crossing the circle to sit next to me, with Nhari following after her. When her companions from the trip looked in her direction, Ursa shook her head shyly, and when I tried to question her, she answered each time that it was all written in her account. I finally understood that she was eager for me to read it right away.

  As I was weary, I stayed only a short while. Then I stole away from the festivities to read a little by candlelight and satisfy my curiosity. The first few pages of Ursa’s account were a description of the preparations and the departure. The part that caught my eye—or rather my heart—was the part she had crossed out. She had written “Too personal” next to it and even drawn a design of leaves and flowers over the spot, but most of the words were still quite legible.

  There are eight of us setting out. I am the youngest, but no one reminds me of that. Ozzet treats me with respect, like an equal, as do the others. She expects me to take part in all the decisions and do my full share of the work, not always easy, as the Hadra have their powers to help them and are sometimes hard to keep up with. Still, I am determined to prove my worth. Sometimes, at home, it is hard to know where I stand. One mother fusses over me as if I were still a helpless child, and the other ignores me completely. Even in Zelindar itself it is hard to know where or how I fit into the fabric of things. What are we, we who were born to the Koormir but have grown up among the Hadra? We do not have Hadra powers, yet are we not their daughters just the same? That gave my heart a little twist as I read it—and like
ly, it was meant to.

  The next several pages covered the trip to Darthill: the scenery, the vegetation, the people they encountered on the way, the creatures they saw. It was all interesting and well written but not what I was looking for. The part about Darthill was what grabbed my attention: Finally we are here at the settlement of Darthill, our destination, the place we have been riding toward for days. I should feel happy and relieved. Instead, I wish us back on the road. I think the others feel the same, even Ozzet, though she has not said it in so many words.

  Though most of the women and some of the men of Darthill treat us warmly and seem glad to see us, still there is an undercurrent of fear and suspicion here. Because of what Rhomar said, Ozzet is looking into her grandfather’s death. We went to see the swinging bridge that stands high over the river. This is where he is supposed to have fallen to his death. It is hard to imagine how a man who was familiar with that bridge for so many years and even helped to build it could have fallen by accident. The hair went up on the back of my neck when I stood there looking down.

  Ganthor, who is now headman of the village, was a friend of Rhomar’s. He watches us suspiciously and even follows us about when he thinks we cannot see him. He and his followers blame us for Rhomar’s death and miss no opportunity to say something rude or insulting. Rhomar’s two sons also give us strange looks and refuse to speak to us, as though we are somehow to blame for what happened to their father. They tore up Zheran’s message and threw the pieces to the wind, though I noticed that they read it first.

  I think the other Kourmairi of Darthill are afraid of Ganthor’s followers, as they do not speak up in our defense. Ozzet says her grandfather would not have been so cowardly, but, of course, that may be why he is dead. To add to the tension, there is a girl here named Nhari who is two years my senior. She is not married and does not plan to be, having already turned down two suitors. She says she wants to be like the Hadra and follows them around whenever she can.