The city beyond the ivory gate was enormous—gates, turrets, golden domes, domes painted in blue and white stripes under the polished blue dome of the sky; a city overflowing with people and beasts of burden, a city clogged with gardens, each planted densely with fragrant flowers that bloomed all day and night. The air was a cacophony of smells: freshly caught fish and ground turmeric, seaweed and tuberose, sweat and sun-warmed cedarwood. If someone squeezed the whole of the Coast into a very dense ball, it would perhaps amount to this city in size, but probably not.
I glanced at Taem beside me on the deck. He was seeing all this for the first time, and his eyes were glazed, his breath a little short. The dress I had picked for him had been too long, and his hemming of it clumsy; but he’d look enough of a girl for the Khana, I hoped. I told him to construct a ward for his mind, for good measure, and what he wrought was intricate and pretty as a net of woven lilac flowers.
Five people waited for us at the pier, immovable among the swirling crowd of porters, sailors, sherbet-sellers, fish-cart drivers, jongleurs, itinerant fire-eaters, and all the impossible rest. I tugged Taem towards the group, the chest and my seabag between us. Four women; the three elders of a height, the fourth very small, a head shorter than Taem.
I couldn’t see the women’s features; all four of them were heavily veiled in layers of glittering spidersilk, beaded with black pearls for the elders, seed garnet for the smaller woman. I squinted my eyes to see what power they held, but the veils extended beyond the physical plane, masking the wearers’ minds—and deepnames?—from even my trained eye. The fifth figure turned out to be an automaton, two-legged, two-armed, smooth-breasted and constructed completely of enameled white metal, with little blue squiggles running over its torso and thighs.
I bowed politely to the three elders—the one on the left, the one on the right, and finally the middle one, as protocol dictated. “I greet the Kelli-khatoun of the Khana, and make known to you my servant, Taemin.” Thank Bird for a name not conspicuously male or female.
The three elder women inclined their heads, and the middle one spoke in a warm, deep voice that reminded me of pleasant times I spent in her company years before. “The Kelli-khatoun welcome you, Vendelin-khatoun. I bring to your memory my granddaughter Sureh, who will be as your guide and companion.”
The smallest woman bowed. Sureh! I thought she’d be taller by now. I bowed, too, and when we were straightening, Sureh moved one corner of the veil away from her face for a split second. A large lucent brown eye winked at me, then was again concealed.
The Kelli-elder motioned to the automaton, and it relieved me of my trading chest and seabag. I longed to talk privately to Sureh, to hear her laugh, but that would have to wait until we were safely among the Khana.
We passed through the narrow streets of seaside neighborhoods, where whitewashed houses were stained with salt and brown-skinned children played complicated games involving multicolored pebbles and squares. Beautiful women, their nut-brown faces round and generous with smiles, hung laundry on ropes and sang of apple blossom, willing suitors, nightingales. Some stared at us as we passed; others turned their eyes away and made the three-fingered sign to avert the uncanny.
Taem watched them intently, and I could feel his hurt rise to the surface, gulp the unfamiliar air. None of the people here had deepnames, but these were plebes, and plebes everywhere had little potential for magic. Taem’s father had been a fluke among his people, in the slums at the capital. My father had tutored him in magic, and supported his innovations. It always felt right to me that Taem would study at our school, but with the noble kids tormenting him, I was no longer sure.
The city changed, further inland—the buildings taller, gridded and fortified by deepnames. Here, too, the people seemed happy enough—men in embroidered kaftans escorted women turbaned and perfumed in persimmon; maidens and youths peered at us from the windows, their clothes adorned with garlands of fresh alyta flowers. Taem gasped once—I followed his horrified gaze to where, in the shadow of an ornate doorway, there lurked a womanshape that reeked of hurt layered like grime in a building taken over by flies and orphans. You cannot heal her—but before I could speak, Sureh squeezed his hand.
She leaned over to me next, and whispered, “My grandmothers set me to watch over you, so don’t do anything stupid, all right?”
I whispered back to her, “Like what?”
“Times are difficult now, and the Kelli had to argue with the other Khana to let you come,” she whispered back, “Just play it by the rules, all right?”
Or else? What will you do?
She trailed her hand on my sleeve, but I wasn’t soothed.
We didn’t speak further until we came to the Khana quarter. Gray stone walls rose high, sheltering the Khana from the rest of the city. The walls were sleek with little power grids that protected the stones from the growth of ivy and the touch of strangers. Within the Khana quarter there was a smaller quarter, I remembered, walled in white stone, guarded by even stronger wards. Men lived there—inaccessible, untouchable Khana men who spent their days immersed in their holy Book of Birdseed. A woman would pass through the inner gates for her nuptial rites and return to the outer quarters at dawn, and again every night until a child was conceived. Boys lived with their mothers only till the age of four, and then passed through the white gates and out of the women’s domain.
At the horn gates of the outer Khana quarter, another surprise waited for me. Flanking the gates there towered two automatons, man-shaped and easily thrice as high as myself. Like our porter, the giant sentinels were welded of articulated white metal and adorned with blue designs, tear-shaped, or seed-shaped—yes, like little germinating seeds—and within the seed-shapes something more, maybe letters.
At a signal from one of the Kelli-khatoun, the sentinels stepped aside to allow us passage through the gate and into the inner court, shadowed and comforting like a drink of chilled sherbet.
Sureh took us to our rooms to refresh before the traditional Eight-Fish Meal, during which our alliance would be confirmed and all manner of trading business decided. Taemin stumbled to his room without as much as a backward glance. I didn’t like how he seemed to me, worn to the bone, exhaustion trampling even pain. Perhaps the earlier vision of the woman with the nameloss haunted him, or perhaps the dress drove my brother’s bullying even more sharply home. I should have thought about it before I made him wear it, but what else could we do?
My brooding was interrupted by a sigh from Sureh as she took off her veil—both her veils, the one of spidersilk and the one woven with magic. I’d cherished her letters, looked forward to seeing her again—but now I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She drew on her deepnames. There were two—and beautiful, so beautiful—a single syllable and a three-syllable. I’d never seen another person with this configuration anywhere, except my mother. The shorter name felt white and warm; the longer name was also a warm white but more delicate, as if filigreed. She called forth three candlebulbs, and they spun up above her head to the ceiling, illuminating her dark hair, her flawless brown skin, her generous mouth, the brilliant eyes—a face I could look at forever. She stepped closer, and her short name extended curiously to touch my mind. When I didn’t resist it, she smiled, and her cheeks dimpled. Sweet Bird! I smiled back—more a demented grin, I suppose. I had to close my eyes, but behind them Sureh’s names still burned.
She perched on the bed and motioned me to sit by her. “I can brush your hair,” she said, and I shivered. Bird! I hoped she hadn’t noticed. This was only a brushing, for Bird’s sake, and I had to look presentable for the feast, but for once I was glad to be sitting. I turned my back to her, and she pulled the watersnake-ivory pins out of my hair and ran her hands through it. For sure she felt me shiver this time, because she giggled. “It’s so long and straight,” she said.
Surprised by the wistfulness in her voice, I twisted my head back to look. Her hair was lovely, haloing her head in a spray o
f curls. “What’s wrong with yours?”
“Look! It’s a mess.” She blew some stray hairs out of her face. “I bet yours would stay put if I make four braids.”
We sat in warm silence while she tugged gently at my hair with her comb.
At last, she broke the silence. “So tell me about your Coast.”
Images of the Kekeri house with its blooming springtime gardens flashed before my eyes. “It’s... not too big, and kind of... well, it’s beautiful.” I sounded like an idiot.
“Not that, silly!” she giggled. “I heard... I heard people do all kinds of things on your Coast.”
Oh. That. In the mainland too, they always asked me about it, as if Coastal families were odd or wrong, and for some reason they expected me to get embarrassed. I felt disappointed a little. “Anything you want, as long as the others agree.”
She didn’t respond, but the combing stopped. I refused to be embarrassed. “So, do the Khana allow men to be with men, and women with women?”
Sureh cleared her throat. “Women with women, sure. I....”
I turned to face her. Her hands were in her lap, playing with a large horn comb. She looked flushed, although it was hard to tell with her skin so dark. “I shouldn’t know about the men...,” she said, “But no, we really don’t. You’re not supposed to spill, umm, seed... any seed... without a purpose, like when making a child. Seeds are sacred to Bird.”
Her knee touched my thigh. If I leaned over now, I could kiss her. Would she like it if I kissed her?
She looked down at her hands, and I had to resist the urge to stroke her hair. “So... have you been...,” she said, “You know, with a boy?”
“Yeah.” Boys were all right, I supposed. The prospect of marriage didn’t repulse me, although I wasn’t looking forward to it, either. “I like girls better.”
She looked up. Her eyes were warm brown like autumn pools and other poetic things, and I was feeling very stupid.
She nodded, blissfully. “Me too.”
My heart croaked in my chest, but then she said, “I’m really looking forward to the other Sureh.”
When she saw my bewildered look, she said, “Trader women go in groups to protect each other on the road, and they take the name of the strongest, yes? Like the Kelli-khatoun. And then they can be together.”
“I see.” In a warm room I felt suddenly cold all over, my skin beaded with small cold drops of sweat. “And these other Sureh... do they have to be Khana?”
She hesitated, as if in a grip of some unreadable, unpleasant emotion. “Strangers are dangerous to us,” she said. “My own mother....”
—and of course at this exact moment Taemin emerged from his room with my black formal dress in his hands.
Before he could speak, Sureh jumped off the bed. She walked a few steps towards Taemin. I felt him go tight and still, hands gripping the stiff shiny fabric. The name-veil trembled around his head, a halo of five-petaled lilacs so lifelike I felt disappointed that there was no fragrance.
“A very pretty ward,” Sureh said, “but you can take it off now. We’re safe, I promise. Far from men.”
He shot me a terrified glance, and I nodded. He sighed, then let his ward wink out, flower by purple flower, until his names were revealed.
Sureh watched him, enraptured. “I’ve never seen long names like yours. So delicate, and yet strong, like precious metal threads. Such a beautiful power. How do you use it?”
I felt jealous all of a sudden. In the house Kekeri, everyone always admired Taemin. Everyone but my brother.
“That’s not any power,” he muttered. “That’s nothing. I’m kind of powerless. A weakling, people say.”
People. Say. Damn Taemin and his fairly transparent moods. “Taem’s a mind-healer,” I spoke, my words like a caw in my own ears. “His dad is the greatest mind-healer in the world.”
Sureh froze. I clamped my hand to my mouth, but of course, it was too late. So much for that particular deception. It hadn’t even lasted a day.
For what seemed like forever, none of us moved. At last, Sureh said, in a dead, flat kind of voice, “I shouldn’t be in the same room with you. You’re not even Khana.”
He looked at me then, his pain all jagged and brittle as a dry thistle. “Taem,” I said. “Please.” I’d have to talk to him later, comfort him, after I’d sorted it out with Sureh....
“Whatever you want.” He waved a desperate hand, then stumbled out. I heard him collapse on the bed.
Sureh looked up at me, and I felt watery pain rising off her, a hurt so different from Taem’s, and yet so strong it made my throat catch. Don’t do anything stupid, she had said. Her grandmothers had sent her to watch over me. Play it by the rules, she’d said.
Or else what? She’d have to tell, wouldn’t she? So why was she still standing here? She read it on my face, I think, because she took my hand between her palms, squeezed it. When she spoke, her voice was like a wounded bird’s. “I don’t... Vendelin-khatoun, your mother means so much to me, taught me so much, and you.... But a man here, and especially now.... I don’t know, I don’t know what to do!”
Oh, Bird. It was my fault. My error. I’d lied to the people I sought to ally with. I’d put Sureh in this position, and still she was trying to stand by me, and I wasn’t even her liege! What if I did convince her to keep quiet, and her people found out? What price would she have to pay, for my deception? No. I couldn’t risk it. I had to make it right with the Khana.
My father had always taught me to speak the truth, no matter how bitter. A Kekeri owned up to one’s mistakes, and true allies should honor truths. But it was my mother’s alliance I sought to uphold, so perhaps I could soften the truth with a gift.
I squeezed Sureh’s hands back, then jumped off the bed. Knelt by my trading box. I hadn’t had a chance to show this to Taemin, but there was another puzzle lock at the side, and a secret compartment. Three levels. Not pictorial, just antique syllabary. The first lock spelled out Taemin. Second, my brother’s name, Laukur. Third one was for me.
The perfect family that never was. I twisted up the side lid and pulled out my gift, wrapped prettily in patterned cotton.
I looked up. Sureh was chewing nervously on a stray strand of hair, and her eyes searched my face.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll fix everything.”
Then I left the room in search of the Kelli-khatoun.
* * *
I found the oldest of the Kelli in the feast-room, a long, tight chamber lit with candlebulbs. She was directing women in the setup of the Eight-Fish Meal. The first two dishes were already laid out: a carp stuffed with carrots, and a steaming pilav in a vast legged vat. When she looked at me, still in my traveling clothes and my braids half-plaited, she sent her women away, but waited for me to speak.
I breathed in. “Kelli-khatoun. This is for you, from me, made by my own hands in the house Penareh.”
I unwrapped the gift and engaged my name to start the clockwork going in its body. It soared above the table—a long fish of hammered silver, its eight fins flaring to expel eight different perfumes: apple, musk, and peppered fig; sycamore, meadwine, and marsh flower; alyta, and gray rose. The Coastal odors made me feel more grounded, more myself.
“A splendid gift,” the Kelli said, “That would have been appropriate to reveal at the feast.”
Here it comes.
I had to do this for Sureh. No. I had to do this for myself.
“Kelli-khatoun, I witness to you now that I broke your hospitality. I make my apology now, and ask that you still consider my gift, and the good will of my house, for the fault is mine alone.”
She grunted, noncommittal. “Let’s hear it.”
“My companion, Taemin, is a boy.” I didn’t take him, he came himself. But I wouldn’t stoop so low, and besides, he was under my protection. “He and I have been raised together, Kelli-khatoun. He is mild-mannered, and will make no trouble.”
The Kelli’s eyes cooled, slits of winterd
ark. “He’ll have to leave at once.”
“But-”
She flipped her wrist, and two names reared above her head, short and strong. I couldn’t resist her even if I tried. The light in my fish went out, and it crashed to the table. Its tail twitched, and the pooled bitterness of the marsh flower made my nose and ears water.
“Outside men are dangerous. I thought Myna-khatoun would teach you this?”
I frowned. Mother had told me not to bring male servants, but why should the Kelli fear a small teenage boy? “She taught me that the Khana women were strong and wise. You go south to Burri, and Lepaleh, and over the great mountains to Keshet....”
“And everywhere the Khana are welcomed, and everywhere we are despised. Who else has women traders?”
“On the Coast...”
“The south is nothing like your Coast. For hundreds of years we have made our home here, but lately there have been so many attacks. The holy artificers made the Raw Guards to keep us safe, the holy Birdseed writ for all to see, but even that is not enough. The other Khana stood against us Kelli in admitting you, a stranger, at so dangerous a time, but Myna-khatoun has always honored us. And what will I do with you now?”
She rubbed her mouth, as if chewing on a rotten walnut. Finally, she spoke. “The others will think me dangerously foolish, but for your mother’s sake I will suffer that. The man will leave here. You can stay.”
“No!” She wasn’t even listening to me! You want me to send him out there to your hostile city on his own? “He is not dangerous to you! To anyone!”
She shook her head. “All outside men are a danger to the Khana. When we trade, we go in threes, in fours, for our protection, but sometimes it is not enough. There are more of them, or they are stronger, or one of us falters. Name loss is horrible, Vendelin, but even worse is rape. You should ask Sureh what happened to her mother.”
Oh no, I thought, my stomach lurching like the fish. Please, no. No wonder Sureh froze like that. But Taemin would never even touch a girl that way. I had to make her see—”He’s not that kind, Kelli-khatoun, I swear! He’d never harm you!”
Beneath Ceaseless Skies #80 Page 2
