by Dave Smeds
“There has never been an opsha. The tribes have not been united since the sons of Cadra left their father's tent more than a thousand years ago. Many have tried. I will be the first to succeed."
His tone said he believed it. Elenya did, too, though she knew that the people had split into twenty tribes and over a hundred clans since the patriarch of Zyraii begat his fifteen boys. “That's a bold claim."
“Had I been raised as my brothers were, the thought might never have occurred to me. I could have lived exclusively among my own clan for all of my life, and have been content to be war-leader of the T'lil. But my journeys have shown me that there are possibilities beyond what has always been true before. Does that seem strange to you?"
“No. Not anymore."
He stood up straighter, facing her. “I have watched you in the drills. If you were larger, a bit older, you would be a nearly invincible fencer."
“Thank you,” she said, puzzled by the shift in the conversation.
“I would like you to know that, had it been possible to defy custom, I would never have insisted on these months of lessons of you."
“I'm used to training,” she said. “I've been training from the moment I left my cradle."
“It will be different, once you return from Shom. You can ride as a warrior—then you will feel what it is like to be Zyraii. A child is nothing. You will have rank. Maybe you will find that the desert is not such a terrible place. God made it hard, but that's part of the beauty of it."
His fervor attracted her, but he had missed the point again. She wasn't a Zyraii boy.
“Tell me,” she said, her voice regaining some of its curtness, “when the pulstrall is over, will Tebec and I ever be allowed to go to Setan?"
“No,” he said, glancing toward the east.
“That's very good,” she said. “Most of your countrymen look northwest when I mention the place."
He flicked away the date pit. “What you want has been strictly denied by Toltac, and no one, myself included, will defy that edict.” Elenya regretted the withdrawal of their brief camaraderie. “We can help each other, westerner, but only if you give up your fantasies. There is nothing for you in Setan."
“How are you so sure of that?"
“There is a good well, a school for the ken, and some ruins. Despite the stories they love to tell in Surudain and Nyriya, there is no hint of treasure."
“We've tried to tell you it's not treasure we're after."
“Then what is it you want?"
Elenya closed her mouth.
“You see? If your reasons for seeking it were innocent, you would tell me,” Lonal said calmly. “Setan is reserved for the ken. I myself have only been there once. Unless you were hai-Zyraii, you would never be allowed near. It is not a place for warriors. In fact, all men must strip off their weapons within the boundaries of the school. I suppose you could have legitimate purposes there—if you wanted to become a priest. Is that what you're after?"
She sighed. “No."
“Then forget Setan. Only those who prove themselves to Zyraii deserve to see it."
* * * *
As Elenya entered the tent, she startled Peyri. The woman almost spilled the pot of millet that she carried. She set it and its steaming contents in front of Alemar and hurried back behind the purdah, face averted. Elenya was used to it. She was neither man nor woman; to Peyri's mind that left only demons and rythni.
Alemar stared morosely at his bowl as she sat across from him. They began to eat. She still disliked the desert cuisine, but it kept them going. In fact, the aridity preserved meat, her favorite staple, over periods of time that would have rotted it in Cilendrodel.
“What's wrong?"
“Rol has a fever."
Elenya shrugged. “Why should you care?"
“We are responsible for this family,” Alemar said.
She winced at his tone. For his sake, she lied and said, “I only meant that he's a strong boy. He'll be well in a few days, probably sooner."
“I hope so. Peyri has lost three sons now. She has never seen one live past puberty."
Elenya briefly pictured Rol's wisps of facial hair, grown since their arrival. To her, it indicated the accelerated life of the Zyraii—Alemar's beard had only recently filled in at the thin places. Most of the tribe married within a year after the pulstrall, and had half-grown offspring by the age of the twins. By forty, their teeth were worn away from the sand that inevitably migrated into the food, and their grandchildren far outnumbered the years they had left to live.
“Well, if it's serious, what can you do?"
“I don't know."
He was angry and feeling impotent. She herself had known the emotion all too often these past months.
“Alemar, how long are we going to stay here?"
He slowly ate a spoonful of millet. She hadn't asked that question since shortly after they had arrived in the Ahloorm Basin.
“Nothing's changed,” he said. “We've nothing to gain by leaving except a long run or death."
“Do you care?"
He lifted one of the unlit lamps to fill it with oil, its chains tinkling as he lowered it. Its reservoir wasn't particularly empty. “How do you mean?"
“You get enough to eat. You keep your mind occupied. And those women wait on you as if that's all they were ever meant to do. They'd probably lick you clean if you asked them. I think you're getting to like it here, just the way it is."
He replaced the lamp. His hands inevitably came away oily. He scrubbed them in the cleansing sand. “I wish you'd be kinder to them."
“Why?"
“They're victims, too. They didn't choose us."
“They help keep us prisoner,” she argued.
“They've done us no harm."
“Alemar! We came to this country with a purpose!"
“We came here in search of a myth,” he murmured.
She sank down to her haunches. Soon she picked up her bowl and jabbed half-heartedly at her food. Alemar remained in the corner by the cleansing sand, doing something out of Elenya's sight. When he returned to his place, he handed her a flower.
She blinked. “What's this?"
“For your hair. I picked it today, when we were in the desert with Gerat. They only bloom one or two weeks a year."
Tears. “Thank you,” she said hoarsely.
He arranged the petals over one of her ears. “I know it's been harder here for you than for me. The legend may be true. Maybe not. But we're here now, and have to live as best we can."
“I'm so tired,” she said.
They said nothing for a while. The noises of the camp quieted. Alemar blew out all the lamps but one. The rest of the household went to sleep. Soon they heard the distinctive boom of sand shifting out in the dunes, a sound that had shocked them their first nights in Zyraii.
“What is that called?” Alemar whispered.
"Ohoom," Elenya said. They managed wan smiles. They scooted nearer and nestled against each other, two tiny tidepools in the midst of a beach with no ocean.
* * *
XVII
“I AM WILAN."
The Zyraii who spoke seemed to loom above the gathering of boys, voice frighteningly deep. He was a figure meant to be obeyed. Alemar and Elenya recognized the title; it meant man-maker.
“You will do as I say in all things,” Wilan announced. “When I tell you to speak, you will speak. When I tell you to be quiet, you will be silent. I have the power to send you back to your mothers; the pulstrall can wait for you for another year. Do you understand?"
“Yes,” some of the boys whispered.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes!" they replied.
“Good,” Wilan stated crisply. He paced the line of boys, all of them in a neat line facing the oasis of Shom, several hundred yards distant. To either side, three other priests waited, imposing in their light blue robes, veils, and cowls, though not as intimidating as Wilan. Alemar and Elenya had been required to
dispense with their veils, and they felt exposed in front of Wilan's authority. The men were all strangers.
“You have come here as children. You will leave as men. You will walk the path that your fathers walked, endure what they endured. You have been trained in the things a man must know. Now we will see if you have taken the lessons to heart. Can you hunt? Can you recite the laws? Do you understand the arts of war? Do you know your duty?"
The twins had never seen an Ah-no-ken who so resembled a warrior. For a moment, Wilan met each of their glances. They both had to look away.
“If you are slow-minded, I will find that out. If you are frightened, I will know. If you cheat, lie, whine, or seek to curry favor, I will expose you. You are not safe behind your mother's purdah. Every deficiency, every scrap of false pride, the leadenness of your feet, the awkwardness of your tongues, and the pallor of your young buttocks will be there for all to see. I am here to find your weaknesses.
“Becoming a man may not be all you think. You see it as your chance to ride with the warriors, take women to bed, win honor in torovet. But being a man is to play the Bu. If you shame yourself, your next life you may be born a goat. If you fail to provide for your family, you may be born to a mother with sour milk. God is watching, and judging. So, too, you must be able to judge yourself. This is the primary lesson of the pulstrall: Know yourself. Do not expect to leave here with the illusions you arrived with. Soon you will crave them back."
Wilan paused, his attitude becoming almost wistful. “You cannot be a boy again. This is perhaps the hardest lesson. There are no second chances."
By the end of his speech, Wilan had arrived at a pile of equipment. In the center stood a stack of small tents, scarcely more than windbreaks, with accompanying guy ropes and stakes, one for each boy. Near them were goat-hide flasks, uniform in size, filled with water. A few other accessories, such as small butchering knives, flint and steel, and coils of thin rope, had already been picked up by the three assistant Ah-no-ken, who proceeded to distribute them to the group. There were no real weapons, nor any food.
“God placed us on Tanagaran with only our hands and our wits,” Wilan continued. “It is good to remember that, should all our material gains be lost, we still will have God's gifts.” He nudged the tents. “Unlike our ancestors, you will have a few tokens of civilization. For this is the gift of your fathers, and should you be struck with poverty, at least you will have your heritage. Take these, in honor of him who begat you."
After each boy had been given his gear, he went to the stacks and took the tent off the top and whichever flask was nearest. No choices were allowed. Wilan waited until they had formed their line again.
“The first thing you must learn is that, to be a man, there are times to put family and commerce and amusement aside. A time when there is only you and the world. No one can help you, even if they stand at your side. Go.” Wilan pointed to every direction. In every direction was open desert. “There is your fate. Go out to meet it. For the next three days, you will roam the land. Keep solitude. If you encounter one another by chance, take opposite paths. Survive, and return before dusk on the final day. You will have no company. You must see for yourselves that there is no one as lonely as a man."
The four adults abruptly turned and headed back toward the oasis. No opportunity for questions or protests was offered. The boys looked at one another but were afraid to speak. Finally Elenya kissed her brother, balanced her tent pack more comfortably on her shoulders, and set out for the west. Alemar shrugged and started eastward.
A few boys hesitantly followed suit, each in a somewhat different direction, until a little over half the group remained. Then suddenly all of them acted, walking quickly as if to atone for their lack of initiative. By the time Wilan and the other priests had reached the palms, the meeting place was barren.
* * * *
At first, Elenya was pleased to be by herself. It was the first time she had been allowed to since she and Alemar had crossed the Ahrahikte range. It felt like freedom. Not quite, for she was deep within T'lil territory and escape was still not worth the risks, but the lack of observation was a genuine luxury.
The furnace in the sky had not yet stolen the morning's pleasantness. She put as much distance as she could between herself and the starting point, without taxing her body, and spent the heat of the day in a niche among some rocks, her tent fabric serving as an awning.
By the time Achird had burned its trail across the western sky, Elenya no longer felt quite so enthused. She was hungry. Soon she would be thirsty, too. The skins held about two gallons—enough to seem heavy during the morning walk, but in this climate, to drink less than that in one day would sap her vitality, particularly for one not born in the country. By strictest conservation, she could ration it and still not be totally enervated by the end of the three days, but realistically, she would have to find water. That was, of course, part of the point of this section of the pulstrall. Thanks to the oasis, the region possessed several springs, and enough underground moisture to support plants like the boro, but first she had to find one or the other. In the meantime, her stomach was empty. She had actually hoped she would find a snake occupying the niche she had chosen to rest in. Snakes were not nearly as fast as some other sources of food, accustomed as they were to being predators, and they provided a substantial amount of meat. She rolled up her awning and set out.
Dunes, outcroppings, and sandstone flats surrounded her, devoid of any obvious source of sustenance. As dusk settled in, she occasionally heard or saw small creatures scuttling over rocks, but trying to chase down any of them would be an exercise in futility, and even if she did catch one, the amount of edible meat would scarcely be enough to stave off her hunger pangs. She passed a patch of elbraksh brush, its thin leaves curled almost into thorns until the next rain opened them again. She would probably be able to find a pommyt nest somewhere within it, but the bird's eggs were so small they weren't worth tearing her skin or clothing for.
The sun was down, but the light still good, when she spotted a shrike wheeling in the sky. A few moments later, it dove out of sight into the distant sage. Seconds later, it fluttered off toward another stand of elbraksh, a thrashing creature in its grip. Elenya smiled and headed toward the site.
She paused several hundred yards away, until she had seen the shrike fly off, then hurried to the elbraksh before it could return.
Just as she'd expected, the shrike had left its catch, a small but plump sand-runner, impaled on the thorns of the brush. The lizard still shuddered spasmodically. For a moment Elenya felt sorry for it. Its gruesome end might have been avoided if the shrike had possessed talons with which to slay quickly. But why regret a situation from which she benefited? If the shrike had been so well fed that it had decided to hunt more while the light was good, that was its misfortune. Elenya removed the sand-runner and absconded with it.
* * * *
The bulbs Alemar had found were tucked into a cranny between two boulders, in the pocket of loose soil that had collected there. He returned three to the spot and carefully tamped the dirt down again, put eight in his sack, and bit down on the last. Sweet juice gushed over his tongue. Alemar had seen the variety in bloom near the river. It sported a cornucopia of flowers on a knee-high, thick stalk, multiple blooms and multiple colors on each stem. Ironically, the pollen would induce nausea if swallowed, but the bulbs were considered a delicacy. They seemed far too small to produce such a spectacular plant. All that remained above ground here had been one withered shred, just enough to alert Alemar to the presence of the bulbs. Those he had left would wait, if necessary, several years for enough rain to flower, though lesser rains would prompt root growth.
He sat on one of the boulders and watched the sky shift to deep oranges, pinks, purples, and reds. Flamboyant sunsets were the rule in Zyraii. He virtually ignored them now. But when he did stop to notice, he never failed to be overwhelmed. The desert did have its advantages.
The air
was cooling rapidly. Before the light failed altogether, Alemar rose and searched for a campsite. The rocks were not only hard, they attracted creatures. The dunes not far away promised better.
* * * *
Elenya spread out her tent and reached for the stakes. The hides were well sewn, she noticed. She wondered whether any of the girls of the T'krt had been the seamstress. It brought to mind one of the last nights before she had left for Shom:
“What is that?” Elenya asked. Meyr had just come out of the tent, carrying a small bundle.
The girl paused, eyes wide, mute. Meyr always did her best to avoid any sort of contact with her strange “parent.” Finally, still without comment, she held out the object.
Elenya let it unfold, and recognized it. At the same time, Peyri stepped out, noticed the pair, and hurried forward. It was she who answered the question.
“It is a tent for the pulstrall. A boy will use it during part of the time he is at the oasis."
“What boy?"
“Any boy. It doesn't matter. She is required to make one."
“Why?"
Peyri hesitated. Suddenly she turned to Meyr and said, “Take it to Clan Mother. She is waiting."
Meyr nodded submissively, gingerly lifted the tent out of Elenya's hands, and scurried away.
Peyri sighed. “This is not a matter that men need be interested in."
“Is it forbidden?” Elenya said testily.
“No,” Peyri admitted.
“Then tell me. I'm just curious. It's not as if I'm plotting something."
Peyri hesitated. Always, the internal debate. The women never were sure how to act with Elenya. A true Zyraii, no doubt, would not have asked his wife such a question. Finally, Peyri said, “Last year, Meyr began her bleeding."
Elenya raised her eyebrows. “So?"
“You don't understand? It is time for her to be a woman."
“Of course it is,” Elenya said. “Is there something unusual about that?"
“I don't think being a woman in your land is the same as being a woman here."
“That's true."
Peyri continued, “To become a woman of the Zyraii, she is taught all she will need to be a wife. In the year after she starts to bleed, she must show that she can do all of these things alone. She must be able to cook both the common foods and the ritual ones. She must make a garment for every member of her family. She must cure hides. She must understand how to please her husband when she goes to his bed, and how to prevent the children from happening at the wrong time. The last thing is to make the tents for the boys to use in the pulstrall. Now she can be married. When the new men come back from Shom, she will be ready."
