I looked at Kabira. She sat so calmly, collected, sipping her tea. She has as little activity to fill her days as I do—indeed less, because my master does not even visit her bed. I know that she has duties towards Izani, that she appears at public ceremonies with the sons, but those can only be brief respite from this non-life of perpetual expectancy, of idleness and melancholy.
“How do you endure it, First Wife?” I asked her, breaking the silence.
Kabira scoffed. I did not think she would answer. She drank her tea. Eventually she spoke.
“I am no longer concerned with what happens to me. He has already destroyed everything.”
Her voice was quiet and rasping. She sat hunched over her tea bowl, her features veiled by the steam.
“Every day I carry the memory of my dead kin. Everyone he has taken from me. My sons who do not even know me, who are ashamed of their mother, and recoil from my touch. Yet he will not allow me to die.”
She stayed silent awhile. Sipped her tea.
“Has he visited you?”
I nodded. She put down her bowl. Looked out of the window. “Did you talk to each other?”
We had never discussed my master before. But I had led the conversation here.
“Yes. Some. He is pleased with the building work in Ohaddin. Less pleased with me.” I pointed at my belly and thick thighs.
She quickly turned her head and looked at me. She smiled, a twisted sneer. But it was not cruel. More… sorrowful. As if she understood what I meant. And it struck me that she, despite everything she had just said, might still feel something for him. Something I have never felt.
That makes her more of a slave than I have ever been.
She whispered something to Estegi, who quickly got up and left the room. Kabira stood up and sighed.
“Come now. Time for you to pack up your things. You do not want anyone to find your papers.” She straightened her jacket.
“Iskan is moving us to Ohaddin along with the Sovereign Prince and his household. Ready yourself for a new home.”
I have packed my belongings, the things I understand as my own: jackets and trousers he gave me, my hair combs and jewellery. My pressed flowers and writing implements. My dried herbs. I have hidden my secret notes in the back cover of the folder where I keep the pressed flowers.
But none of this is mine. I know that. It all belongs to him. In the desert everything was free—the flowers, plants and animals—nobody owned them, we took what we needed and carried our tools and utensils with us, nothing more. My master owns everything I see around me. He owns me, too.
I do not know when we are moving. I am not allowed to know anything. Neither is Kabira. We are entirely in his hands, objects to handle as he pleases. I find the unpredictability one of the hardest things to bear. I never know when he will summon me and use my body. I never know about anything in advance: things simply happen to me, suddenly and without explanation. One day we will be told to sit on a palanquin and we will be taken to Ohaddin, yet another new place I have never been before. A new cage for me to wait in.
* * *
Today we arrived at Ohaddin. It is evening and very late and I am tired from the journey, in a rocking, swaying and suffocating palanquin. I felt nauseous and irritable, and Estegi, who was my companion, was afraid of me and by the end did not even dare respond to me. But I must write now, at once—it is so wonderful—I understand why I am still alive, I finally understand! Everything has led me here, my patience is being rewarded, and I thank the new Garai for keeping me alive, praise be to the earth and sky and the spirits of the dead!
I could feel it as soon as we were nearing Ohaddin. It was late afternoon, the sun was low in the sky and our convoy passed tired, sweating labourers on their way home from the spice plantations. The palace emerged from behind a hill, so much bigger than anything I could have imagined, and at that very moment I felt it. The vibration. Faintly at first, like a scent on the breeze, a scent of something delicate and elusive that you recognize and try to name, but cannot. Just then Estegi offered me a piece of watermelon rolled in honey and rose water but I held up my hand and told her to be quiet. Completely quiet and still. The convoy wound its way farther, and with the bearers’ every step we came closer to the palace and the sensation intensified. A humming. A murmur. A rhythm that pulsed through my body. I have never felt the life force so strongly before—it is powerful, more so even than the sensation I got from the stem of Sanuel. I could barely sit still, the urge was overwhelming to jump from the palanquin and run to meet that power, that call.
By the time we were carried into the walls of Ohaddin dusk had fallen and all the guards carried torches in their hands. There is a house especially for the women, called Beauty’s House, and I caught glimpses of large rooms and halls and an enormous bathing pool as I was taken to my own room. Everywhere are gold and painted screens, pots and vases, flowers and fountains, and everywhere hums the murmur, the song that is calling to me. I lie upon silk cushions under the hide of some striped animal and my room smells of rose and incense, and yet I cannot sleep. The old Garai, the wisewoman, cannot sleep. She has awakened now. She is more awake than ever. She runs her fingers over her scars and she yearns to go out and find the sacred site she knows is close. She wants to make an offering to it, and she knows that this is the great offering, the one she has been preparing for her whole life.
Still, she must wait. I shall find the site. The new Garai will keep me alive here too, in this enormous cage, and I will seek out the source of the song, and everything will have been worth it.
Everything.
The old Garai lies in wait. I will not forget her, not again, but life here in Ohaddin is more difficult than before. I can feel the life force, every day it beckons and calls to me, but I am denied access. The great offering, so close and yet so out of reach. My master’s inner darkness is ever increasing. He takes possession of my entirety when he enters me. My body and my mind. I cannot defend myself against him, not by any means.
I want to give myself new scars, to cut, to see the blood trickle forth. But I know that it would be wrong. The wounds must mean something. The scars must represent genuine offerings. I cannot cut only to afford myself relief.
* * *
My master took his mother, the wife and me on a walk around the garden already today, on our first day here. Naturally, Izani was accompanied by three servant girls carrying parasols, cushions and a basket of chilled drinks. Kabira took Estegi with her so that she could look around, but had her carry a parasol, so that Izani could not complain about a servant being allowed to go idle. We were followed by two guards with curved sabres. It was clear that my master wanted to show off his creation. Bask in the glory of our admiration. And he has cause.
The garden is exquisite. My master made sure it was completed before bringing the Sovereign Prince, he explained, so it was ready before the palace buildings were erected. He wanted to dazzle the Sovereign with as much splendour as possible, in order to ensure that he would move here willingly and spend gold on a palace of his own. In the west are the three buildings of my master’s household: Serenity House, where he has his private quarters, his bath and his library; Sovereign House, where he works, gives audience and meets other men of power; and Beauty’s House, where we women live together with his mother and servants. The kitchen is also in here. Through the garden, from north-west to south-east, runs a man-made stream with little waterfalls and bridges. In the east, like a mirror image of the houses my master had built for himself, are a further three houses belonging to the Sovereign Prince. But more will be built, for a sovereign must have greater splendour than a vizier.
“Everything is built from the best Karenokoi can provide,” my master said as we stood in front of the Sovereign’s palace, with Izani on one side and the wife on the other. I stood respectfully some steps behind. It was early morning but sounds could already be heard from all the houses: there was a lot to arrange, what with the whole household unpa
cking and putting everything in order. Furniture and servants had been sent in advance, and now the residents could settle in. “I have acquired exotic woods from a great island in the south,” said my master. “Terasu, the island is called. Do you see the columns? How black they are? It is an uncommonly hard type of wood which does not grow in these parts. It needs no painting or treating and it is almost as difficult to work as stone.” He sniggered unpleasantly. “It is not the only exotic thing I brought with me. You will see.”
The palace houses are two storeys high, built on a platform so they cannot be seen from the ground. The platform is covered in brightly coloured tiles, patterned with flowers and leaves which look so real as to compete with the magnificence of the garden. The gilded ceiling shone in the bright morning light and Izani raised a ring-covered hand to shield her eyes. My master saw and smiled. “The brilliance is intentional, so that all beyond these walls cower before the grandeur. Nobody must doubt where all the power in Karenokoi lies. None of the princelings have anything that can compete. Soon they shall all bow, nay grovel, before the power of Ohaddin. My power.”
“My son, you have truly created something remarkable,” said Izani and patted her son proudly on the arm. “Would you not agree, Kabira?”
The sharpness in her voice when she spoke to her daughter-in-law was immediately audible.
“There is nothing like it in all the known lands,” said Kabira. Her voice was expressionless, formal.
“You cannot recognize your father’s old estate, can you?” Izani looked at her son’s wife.
“No, none of it, chi. Everything is far more resplendent and wonderful.”
I heard the sorrow she hid behind her words but my master was deaf to it. Or he did not care.
We strolled farther below the flowering fruit trees. Birds with shining red and blue feathers were singing in an enormous cage.
“I have had all sorts of songbirds brought here,” said my master, indicating the cage. “Many can fly freely in the garden, others I keep in cages. The Lady Sovereign and her daughters are very keen on birds. We have hired young boys with slingshots and bows to patrol the garden and shoot any birds of prey. There is already lively insect and seed trade going on beyond the walls of the palace. Feed for the birds.”
The garden was full of labourers busy watering, clearing and cleaning. Everything is perfect, not a leaf out of place. Nothing dead or ugly is allowed.
“Might you show us the herb garden, che?” Kabira asked her husband, in her most respectful voice.
Izani scoffed but my master nodded. “Naturally, cho.” With an exaggerated gesture he took his wife in one arm and his mother in the other, and escorted them along a winding path between fragrant bushes overflowing with pale pink flowers. As they brushed past the branches, petals fluttered down around them that were crushed under my sandal-clad feet as I followed. We crossed the stream over an arched bridge with richly decorated balustrades. Gold-coloured fish darted past in the clear water. My master pointed to a pond into which flowed the stream. Willows bent over the still surface of the water and waterlily leaves rested like jewels on a dark mirror.
“I have put carp in the water, for my sons to fish. There are several small boats which can be kept cool in the water on the hot summer days. Concerts shall be performed here for the Sovereign’s women—over there, on the other bank, a platform can be erected and they can sit facing the sunset, and the musicians can play on floating boats adorned with lanterns and entertain the court. I shall call it the Garden of Eternal Serenity.”
“Magnificent, my son,” Izani nodded. “You must invite the princelings and their families as well. When they see all this beauty, such costly splendour, they will dare not do anything but kneel before you.”
She did not notice that she had revealed too much: that it was the Sovereign Prince they should kneel before. But Iskan noticed and smiled. “And here, I have granted your request, wife. I had a rose garden created, and with it, as a surprise, a herb garden.”
We walked past roses of every colour, and came eventually to a low wall. My master opened a gate and let us in. His mother stopped outside with furrowed brow, ordered her servants to put up the parasol and fan her. Estegi also stopped outside, at a respectful distance from the Vizier.
In long narrow beds, in spirals and circles, grew all sorts of herbs and spices. I bent down, touched the leaves, took in the scents—sharp, sweet, bitter, fresh. There were all the medicinal plants I knew of, and many more I had never seen or heard of before. This is a place I can walk around and explore, gather, dry, paint. Learn. I walked farther in, and saw that many of the plants were growing in their optimal sites, but that some were wrongly placed, and needed more shade or more space. My fingers were itching to dig, transfer, replant.
I turned around. The wife was standing a few steps behind me looking at a sage plant. My master and his mother were in conversation and Izani looked irritated. I thought it must be because her son had fulfilled Kabira’s wish. Izani did not tolerate Kabira getting her own way in any matter.
I knelt before the wife, and it was I who did it—I, Garai—and not the new one who only showed respect as a strategy for survival.
“Most venerable First Wife,” I whispered, so that my master could not hear. “I thank you.”
“Rise, woman!” the wife burst out, evidently bothered. I did rise, but then bowed deeply.
“Thank you. You have shown me a great kindness. I know what it must have cost you.” I looked pointedly at Izani.
“Yes, yes. It was your concoctions that cured me from my severe ill health this winter, after all. And Sonan said that his cough was cured after the infusion you gave him. That was probably what convinced my honourable husband. Not my words. His sons are his greatest asset.”
My master has no daughters. He does not visit Kabira’s bed, and I have made sure that I do not get pregnant. My master thinks I am barren, and it does not worry him. He has the sons he needs, he says. They are ten, nine and seven years old now. Wild and wilful and strong. I can hear them playing outside as I write. I have never spoken to them. It is not my place. The times they visit their mother I keep to my room. They must not be corrupted by the vision of a concubine. I do not know who decided so. My master or his wife. Perhaps it was me.
The boys live with Izani. Not with their mother. They visit her, sometimes, when Izani allows. Afterwards Kabira does not show her face for several days. She eventually returns to the sunroom, where I draw flowers and Estegi embroiders and one or two cinna players entertain us, accompanied by the sound of the fountain in its marble basin, but she is always quieter than usual. After a while she participates in conversation again. Gives orders to the servant girls. Criticizes my clothes. Orders fresh cakes and demands that a screen be moved so that the light falls better on the painting. Takes out a scroll to educate me. Then everything is as before.
I did not know what I should say to her. Words do not suffice. She can pretend otherwise but I know the herb garden was a gift to me. I suddenly gained a deeper understanding of Kabira. She did not despise me. Whatever else she might have thought of me, I was her only friend.
I bowed again, and took her hand, and kissed it quickly. Released it before Izani had a chance to see.
“Hurry now, Iskan has something else he wants to show us.”
I do not yet know how, but I shall reciprocate this gesture of friendship. This gift Kabira has given me.
Iskan brought us back through the garden, northward. When we reached the snow-white marble steps of Beauty’s House, he stopped and kissed his mother lightly on the cheek. “You can stay here, Izani-chi. I see that you are tired. Soon it will be insufferably hot. I have a little surprise to show my wife.”
Izani was displeased, yet had no choice but to abide. She swept into the palace with her servant girls in tow. Estegi followed after Kabira and my master. I hesitated a moment, then ran after them. My master’s mention of a surprise was not in a benevolent tone. And I s
ensed a tension in Kabira. She had shown me kindness. I did not want to abandon her. The guards followed behind me.
We walked northward, towards the wall. A grove of zismil trees appeared before us and my master gestured to the guards to wait for us under the trees. Zismil also grow on the slopes of Omone. I know their scent. They have a stubborn method of growth, with curved, narrow trunks and sparse crowns stretched towards the sky. They are fast-growing trees, and some were already taller than man-height, though they could not have been there for more than a few years. I saw Kabira clench her hands into fists. She quickened her pace. The zismil trees obscured my view. I could not see where they were going, but I could feel it. The song of the life force, which was always present in Ohaddin as an underground hum, intensified further still. I started to pick up my pace too. Soon I would see its source! Soon I would know its origin, and could begin to prepare my offering!
Kabira emerged from the grove before me. She stopped and looked up. Let out a little cry.
We had come to the foot of a small hill situated against the wall surrounding Ohaddin. A path led straight up the hill, lined with night-black stone tiles. The path finished at a door in a high wall which roundly enclosed a section of the hillside. The wall was crowned with a blood-red roof, resting partly on the wall and partly on the hill itself.
Iskan turned to his wife. He smiled his predatory smile.
“The door is made of the strongest metal, dear wife. It cannot be burnt. It cannot be destroyed. Anji is mine, and mine alone, and nobody else can access her.”
All colour had drained from Kabira’s face. “The graves. On top of the hill. My family.”
She was having difficulty getting the words out.
“I removed them to make space for the roof.” My master shrugged his shoulders, unconcerned. He does not even share his people’s respect for the dead. They do not worship the earth or other gods here, but they do honour their dead, and even I have started to light beeswax candles on the holy days. One for each of my sisters. One for Mother. I do not know whether they are living or dead. But I want to show that I have not forgotten. I understood that he had committed a terrible transgression by desecrating these graves.
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