by Patty Jansen
“Nemedor Satarin is not a bad man,” a merchant said. He looked defensive, with his arms crossed over his chest. “You only need to look at how he cares about his ex-soldiers.”
“Yes, but what about everyone else? Which society allows the oppression of women, the blackmail of young people by the government? This is what they do to you when you protest.” She pointed at her bruised cheekbone.
There were some mumbles of agreement, and some uneasy looks.
“Anyway, what I was going to tell all of you is that we’re performing a never-seen-before interpretation of Changing Fate in two days’ time. The theatre is free and it’s warm. And . . .” She got an idea on the fly. “. . . there will be free food for everyone in the interval.”
She could do what Vayra did, even if she could only do it for one day. One day might be all it took.
Ellisandra left them to digest those statements. The rumour mill would do its work and hopefully it would come to the conclusion she wanted it to reach. They would come. They would bring their friends and neighbours.
In the theatre, she found Tolaki on the stage with the actors, and Aleyo must have gone out, because the orchestra was not rehearsing. She was pleased to find Sariandra upstairs in the office. Her eyes widened when Ellisandra came in.
“You’re all right?” she asked, staring at Ellisandra’s bruised face.
“Fine, as long as I don’t smile. Not much risk of that happening today.”
“That really does look horrible.”
“It hurts.”
“I’m so sorry that you had to get involved. There is going to be so much trouble.”
“Where are you staying?”
“We slept in the den.”
“Isn’t it cold in there?”
“Yes. Very.”
“I’ll see if I can arrange something else.”
“I’m so sorry for all the work it’s causing you.”
“I’m not sorry. I think that maybe we should have had this confrontation a long time ago. Anyway, I’ve brought you this.” She handed her the package.
Sariandra pulled the ribbon and looked into the box. Her mouth fell open. She set the box on the desk and took out the cute little booties.
“Oh, look at them! They’re so cute.” Her eyes glistened. “You’re so kind to me. I don’t know that I’ve deserved it, especially with what happened.”
“You have deserved it, because everyone is entitled to a safe life. Also, in all of this trouble, has anyone thought of you and the little mite or are they all too busy arguing over what’s appropriate and raking snow over this scandal? ‘Woman has baby,’ what a scandal that is. Last I looked, the Endri had a fertility problem.”
A tear ran over Sariandra’s cheek.
“Healer Lasko will be here later today. No need to go home, ever, anymore. You and Jintho will be married as soon as possible.”
“Thank you so much. What have I done to deserve this?”
“You’ve got the bad luck to have the biggest arsehole in Miran as father.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” She hugged Ellisandra—
“Ouch.” Her face bumped into Sariandra’s shoulder.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry what has happened. If I could tell my father what I think of this . . . but I can’t. No one can tell my father anything.”
“Yes, we can,” Ellisandra said. “You wait and see. I think we can.”
She left Sariandra in the drawing room and went downstairs to the stage where Tolaki and the actors were rehearsing the final scene. She sat down on a stool between the folds of the curtains of the backstage area.
Besides Tolaki and the main actors, there were a lot of people fighting on the stage: the prisoners who had broken out of their cells, the prison guards and soldiers. Shouts and thuds echoed in the empty hall. This was the final scene in the play, and it lacked . . . emotion. There was lots of fighting, but no one screamed.
“Stop, stop!” Tolaki yelled, holding her hands high.
The noise dimmed. People stopped acting out fights. The only sound was that of the actors’ panting.
Tolaki said, “I want you to spread out more. Use the entire stage. This is a large battle.”
Ellisandra got off the stool and walked onto the stage, to gasps and wide-eyed looks of the actors. “This scene isn’t working at all. I want more drama. I want death screams. There will be blood. You will all be covered in blood.”
Tolaki looked at her, her eyes wide.
“What did you do to your face?”
“Asitho Bisumar hit me.”
There were some gasps after this statement, too.
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were.”
Tolaki raised her hand to her mouth. “It was an accident, right?”
“Well, he did mean to hit my brother.” Ellisandra told her what had happened minus the fact that Sariandra was pregnant. As she spoke, Tolaki’s mouth fell open. When Ellisandra finished, she opened and closed her mouth several times, but said nothing. Then her expression closed. “Well, you were obviously in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Jintho must have done something that made him really angry.”
“Enough to hit him in his own house?”
“That’s not for me to judge.”
“It is, Tolaki. Do we let people from the council get away with this kind of behaviour? Do we let them rule our lives?”
“What are you suggesting?” Her tone sounded hostile now. “You do know that my brother, your future husband works for Asitho Bisumar, right? Your own brother, too. Why are you telling everyone this? Why are you even here, making a point of showing your face to everyone?”
“Because we have a show to run and I can’t afford a day off. And because I’m sick of not saying anything about stuff like this. We’re all so afraid that we don’t dare to speak up. We obediently allow these people to bully us into silence. We are afraid to find out what they’re deciding over our heads because we don’t want a fuss. We are complacent. We’re silent witnesses to everything the council decides. It’s time that we stood up to be heard.”
“So showing your face like this is somehow going to make a difference? Or covering the stage in blood?”
“Yes, it does, because this is what they do to us. The play is not about the victory of Miran, it is about Mariandra. She is horrified that her kinsmen kill defenceless prisoners, and she says she loves Jihan only because she is afraid that he will kill her, too. The writer of the play isn’t writing about the greatness of Miran. She was Mariandra. This play is a plea for help, but for many years, they misinterpreted it as a heroic play. It isn’t, it’s a protest play. It shows the prisoners as human beings. It shows that they’re sympathetic and could have been our customers, trading partners and friends if only we had listened.” All of a sudden, she felt like she was on fire. Yes, she knew for certain that she was right about this, but that everyone, even the council, had missed this message because they assumed that the author had been a man whose motive for writing the play had been literary accolades. And covering the stage in blood was absolutely the right thing to do.
Tolaki’s cheeks had gone red. “You call the invaders sympathetic? After they killed so many of our people?”
“They were hungry. The war was a misunderstanding because their technology frightened the Mirani. Everyone knows that.”
“You suggest that all our people have died for nothing? That is an insult.” She threw the text onto the ground with a great flutter of paper. “I’m done here. I’ve tried to accommodate your strange ideas for the sake of harmony in the family, but I’m finished. Maybe my brother can get some sense into you.”
“He won’t, because I’m not marrying your brother.”
Tolaki froze. Her mouth fell open. “What did you say? After all the effort we’ve put into the wedding?”
“My life is not about a wedding. It’s about a marriage, and it’s never going to work. I don’t get along with Jaeron, and
I don’t think he likes me.”
“You dare reject my brother, who is a respected businessman?”
“I’m not marrying his career, I’m marrying a person, and he’s not the type of person who would happily be married to me.” She had to make a great effort not to say the words bully or authoritarian prick. With a trembling hand, she pulled the letter out of the pocket of her cloak and handed it to Tolaki. “Here.”
Tolaki ripped the seal and opened the letter. Her eyes widened. “What? You’re serious about this?”
Ellisandra nodded. She had never been more serious about anything in her life.
Tolaki’s eyes were full of anger. “You’re a self-absorbed brat! You selfish harlot! I never want to have another thing to do with you.”
She turned and marched into the corridor.
A moment later, the side door slammed.
Somebody behind Ellisandra said, “Wow.”
She turned around to find all the actors and all the members of the orchestra staring at her. “What are you looking at? Carry on.”
Nobody moved.
“You can gossip about me all you like, and I don’t care. I’m done with being an obedient little woman. Done with keeping quiet about things that worry me. If that means that I’m not going to get married then I’m happy with that. I don’t want a husband who thinks that he can bully me. We Endri women are deliberately being kept out of decision-making. We don’t own anything, we have no rights to anything except finding a husband, and we need our husband’s approval for anything we’d like to do. These men are deciding things on our behalf, and don’t want to tell us what they’re changing and what is being decided. Because supposedly, we’re not interested or politics is boring or you’re much better off talking about the theatre. Well, guess what? This woman would like to know what changes the council plans to make to Foundation Law. This woman would like the council to present a solid case for their changes. This woman would like to read the arguments, heck even vote for or against the changes. Because I am sick of bullying men speaking for me and saying that they know what I want, and that I cannot possibly have any interest in how the country is run. I have news for them: I’m not impressed with how they run the council. I want to see all the information on the table. I want to know what our precious family heirs are voting for.”
Everyone in the hall had fallen quiet as she spoke, but now a woman in the orchestra applauded. She was an older Endri woman, of that age that she was too young to be an elder, and too old to still have dependent children at home. She played the lute in the orchestra, wasn’t a flamboyant or outstanding player, just someone who was always there, always learned her part and always listened to instructions. Ellisandra was ashamed that she had forgotten the woman’s name.
Others joined in the applause, some of them standing up from their seats.
Her eyes met Vayra’s across the heads of the orchestra. He smiled.
Half the orchestra had risen and some people were cheering or had even climbed on their seats. More and more people joined the applause, on the top of the stairs and in between the curtains of the backstage area. Ellisandra didn’t quite know what to do or say. She hadn’t said anything so outrageous to deserve this reaction, had she?
Eventually, the tumult died down.
Ellisandra said, “Play that scene again. Make it violent. Scream as if you’re really trying to kill someone, or if you’re really dying, whichever applies to your character. Tameyo, let me see your fear. When you go down on your knees to Jihan, make it sound as if you’re begging him to spare your life, even if your text says something else.”
“But what about . . .” Tameyo glanced at the corridor where Tolaki had disappeared.
“I’ll carry on supervising the rehearsals. My part of the work is almost completed anyway. If she comes back, she comes back. If not, then she doesn’t. I’m not going to worry about it.” Her cheeks glowed with the emotion.
The group resumed, timid at first.
Ellisandra stopped the action. “I want more emotion. Can’t you scream? Can’t you cry? I want none of this civilised melodrama. I want raw emotion. I want the ladies in the front seats to squirm.”
Tameyo nodded. She looked slightly horrified, but kept her lips pressed together in determination.
“You are going to scream when Jihan kills your lover, like any normal woman would. You . . .” She indicated the actors playing the prisoners. “You’re going to give a good fight. When you’re fatally wounded, you’ll scream. I want to hear screaming, and crying and wailing. Start again.”
Everyone went back to their positions. The people who played the prisoners went to the far side of the stage, the ones who played the guards gathered in a group on Ellisandra’s side of the stage. Tameyo went back to the imaginary cell.
Ellisandra called, “Everyone ready? Let’s do it!” Her head throbbed, but she ignored it.
The escaped prisoners sneaked onto the stage one by one.
“How do we get out of here?” one said.
“Rana, do you remember?” another asked.
“Don’t leave me here!” Mariandra called from the cell. “I know I can’t live where you come from, but if I stay here, they’ll kill me!” Her voice cracked with the emotion.
“Good, good, keep going,” Ellisandra called.
Rana ran across the stage, but at that moment, the guards burst in.
“Halt!”
He turned around.
“Show fear!” Ellisandra yelled.
He scrambled back until he stood almost against the imaginary cell door. He held up his hands to show that he had no weapon.
“Stop!” Ellisandra called. “We need Rana to say something in Coldi. Can anyone here translate something?”
“I can.” Vayra came from the orchestra with the instrument under his arm. “He can shout, ‘You betrayed me!’ ”
“That will do. Can you teach him?”
Vayra retreated to the side of the stage with Liran, who produced his copy of the text. Vayra wrote something at the top of the page, first with his left hand, and then with his right.
Liran read it aloud.
Vayra corrected him until he got it right.
“Let’s do it again,” Ellisandra said.
Everyone resumed their positions.
Keldon proclaimed in his loud stage voice, “Behold, the first time real Coldi is spoken inside the Mirani state theatre!”
Someone in the orchestra said, “Our mistress is breaking all the rules.”
Someone else said, “We want our mistress in the High Council!”
“You would be elected by a landslide!”
Far too many people clapped and cheered. It made Ellisandra feel sick with worry. The fact that she would run in the public section crept ever closer. She had even come to the conclusion that if she wanted to change Miran, she should nominate herself. That would risk her life, but she didn’t want all these good people to put themselves into the path of the current council. She hoped Nemedor Satarin wouldn’t use the army against his own people, but he would never just resign his position. He would fight. It would be ugly, and a genteel Endri woman was probably not the right person to lead that fight.
The prisoners went to the side of the stage again and the guards to the other side.
The guards had swords, but Rana was unarmed. He yelled his Coldi line—Ellisandra had no idea if it sounded genuine—and the group launched into a fight.
“Remember that Coldi people are much stronger than us!”
He lashed out at one of the approaching guards. The man fell down.
“Good, let me see some more of this. I want real fights. I want the audience to wonder if perhaps the prisoners are going to win. I want them to hope that the prisoners might get out alive.”
The other guards had gotten into a fight with the remaining prisoners. The fight surged back and forth over the stage, with shouts of victory and pain.
Mariandra screamed and cried from her
cell.
When Liran put his sword through Rana’s heart, she let out an ear-piercing scream that made Ellisandra’s skin break out in goose bumps.
“Yes, like that.”
The fight was over. All the prisoners were on the ground, and Mariandra had fallen to her knees, sobbing.
Jihan went to open the cell. Mariandra scrambled to her feet and retreated against the wall.
“My love, I will never harm you.” Jihan’s line came out with a chilling undercurrent of meaning. It was perfect.
Mariandra sobbed into her hands.
Jihan stepped into the cell. She shied away from him.
“My love, I will protect you against all future invaders.” He pulled her out of the cell, still sobbing. She stumbled along with him and let herself be guided off the stage.
There was silence.
“Yes!” Ellisandra called and her voice echoed in the silence. “This is how we will perform it. With blood. Lots of blood.”
Someone in the audience clapped, and then another one. These were the theatre people, who usually turned up at the end of rehearsals to sweep the stage, collect the food trays and get everything ready for the next day.
One of the actors playing the guards cheered and started helping the “victims” to their feet. There were claps on shoulders and congratulations.
As all the actors walked off the stage, chatting, Aleyo came to Ellisandra.
“Is it really true that Asitho Bisumar hit you?”
“It is as true as I’m standing here. And I’m not going to keep quiet about it.”
“I guessed as much. Still, I think there will be a lot of trouble. Not sure if the end result will be something you’re happy with.”
“What am I supposed to do? Let myself be abused like this?”
“Guess not . . .” Aleyo said, but she didn’t look convinced. “But standing against Nemedor Satarin in the elections? No one has done that for years.”
“Someone has to be the first.” She let a silence lapse. “Anyway, I haven’t decided if I will do it. I don’t know if I’m the right person to do it.”
“You will,” Aleyo said. “I know you well enough. You will and you should. As for being the right person, isn’t that what we’ve waited for, a man to stand against him? The men of Miran have no courage. It will take a woman to get this done. I will vote for you.”
