Naondel

by Maria Turtschaninoff

  It would have been the best time in my life, were I not living in constant fear of being discovered.

  One morning, when the heat had passed and the winds blew cold around the palace, I was sitting by the first fire pot of autumn and reading. It was a scroll Sonan had brought me the previous day, and it came from the secret section of Iskan’s library. It was the first text I had encountered that spoke of Anji. It was ancient and written in code, with mysterious symbols. Iskan had added his own notes to the text in an attempt to interpret it, with Anji’s help, but had not got far. Anji clearly did not want to assist him in everything. I knew that if only I could get access to her water under the waxing moon I would be able to read what was contained therein as easily as if it were written in my own tongue. I could just about discern some patterns; when the girl in my womb kicked, a thread of meaning glinted among the symbols. I saw a snake, an apple, a five-petalled rose.

  “You should be careful.” Startled, I dropped the scroll I was holding with a thud. Garai was sitting cross-legged on a silk cushion on the other side of the fire pot. I had been so absorbed in the text that I had not heard her enter. I attempted to pull my jacket down over my swelling belly, but it was futile. Garai’s sharp eyes had not missed a thing.

  I picked up the scroll to make sure it did not get damaged. Then I leant back, folded my hands demonstratively over my belly and met her gaze with defiance. Those pale eyes, they always frightened me a little. I could not get used to them.

  “How far are you?” asked Garai. I did not respond, and the chains on her comb jingled slightly as she tilted her head to one side. Her pale skin was flushed pink from the heat of the coals. She was so thin that her collarbones stuck out sharply from the neckline of her jacket in the dancing glow of the embers. I remember precisely how she was dressed, in a dove-grey jacket without embroidery or embellishment, with loose trousers in a lighter shade of grey. She wore no ornament but the comb in her hair. Around her mouth were wrinkles I had not noticed before, and the skin around her eyes showed many lines, as thin as spider legs. Time was catching up with her, too. However, unlike other women, Garai did not seem to resist; she welcomed it.

  She sighed and inspected my belly. “Not many moons left, I should think. Two, maybe? And nobody knows about it?”

  I pursed my lips. “What do you take me for, a mere concubine? I have been exceedingly prudent.”

  “And Iskan has been staying in Amdurabi recently. Good. But if he discovers your pregnancy now and chooses to abort the girl it will take its toll on you. It makes no difference how accustomed you are to oaki water. You are too far through. And too old.”

  “Hence he shall never know.”

  “What will you do when she is born?”

  I hesitated. Looked down at my hands, where the first dark flecks were beginning to spread—a sign that I was no longer young. My plan had been my secret; I had been thinking on it and honing it for such a long time. Yet Garai could reveal it to Iskan right now if she so chose. It did not matter if I told her.

  “How did you guess?” I asked, to buy some time.

  “You keep to your quarters. You meet no one but your son. I know that you spent the night with Iskan after his mother’s death. It was not difficult to deduce.”

  “Does anyone else know about this?”

  “Orseola. But not because I said anything to her. She has seen it in your dreams.”

  Orseola. She was incalculable. Dangerous. I did not understand her and one could never guess what she would say or do. “And the others?”

  Now it was Garai’s turn to scoff. “They do not care about you at all. For them you may as well be a painted screen, as long as you do not benefit from their master’s favour. All they care about is their rank and order of preference, and who is Iskan’s current favourite.” Sadness came over her expression. “It is not their fault. They have nothing else in their lives. Three of them cannot even read. How are they supposed to fill their empty days?”

  “Now that Izani is no longer here to watch over me, I mean to present the girl as a son.”

  Garai raised her eyebrows. She sat quietly for a very long time and observed me. Then she gazed down at the embers. I clasped my hands, hard. Tried to fill my mind with the crackling sounds of the coal, the shutters rattling in the wind, the solitary screech of a bird in the sky outside. The child in my belly was tucked up and still. Waiting.

  “We must be very careful. I can be her nurse, so nobody from outside need enter. Do you plan to breastfeed personally?”

  I nodded. My fingers were digging into my palms. I held my breath.

  “Good. That will reduce the risks. We must simply never give him a reason to doubt. I will speak with Orseola. She is our weak point, but there is a chance that she will go along with us.” She smiled a sour smile and stood up.

  I held out my hand. Tried to regain control over the situation.

  “Why are you helping me?”

  Garai stood up. She blinked those disconcertingly pale eyes.

  “I am not helping you. I am helping her.” She pointed at my belly. “You have made a choice. She has not.”

  When she left I had to lie down awhile. The girl was kicking downward, against my most tender innards, and I wondered what I had done.

  In my dream Lehan came to me. She said nothing. She only looked at me, and then pushed me with both hands, and I fell and fell.

  The girl was born one moon later. Iskan had returned from Amdurabi but did not come to my chambers. I had stayed quiet and still like a mouse afraid of being discovered by a cat. I did not call on the servants and had Estegi and Garai tend to me. Estegi knew about the child. She massaged my swollen feet every evening, she rubbed my bulging belly with almond oil and kept me company in the sleepless nights when the baby’s kicks kept me awake. When the birth started, and the contractions made me gasp for air and pant in pain, I wanted to hear her read aloud from the latest scroll Sonan had brought me from the library. I knew I could trust Estegi not to tell anybody about the forbidden texts, and she had a pleasant voice, deep and soft. But she could not read.

  “Fetch Garai,” I hissed between the pains. Estegi bowed and hurried away. It was interminably long before she returned and I lay there fighting against the scream that was desperate to come out. No one must hear that a child was born in my bedchamber that night.

  They came sneaking in so quietly that I did not even notice them enter until they were standing beside the carpet I was crouched on. Garai’s eyes glistened in the lamp light.

  “We were nearly discovered,” she whispered. “One of the concubines woke up. I hope nobody notices that my bed is empty.”

  There was no room for fear among all the pain. “Read,” I gasped and pointed at the scroll.

  Garai went over to the table and examined it with interest. “Where did you get this?”

  I waved my hands in anger. Another dagger pierced my belly and made it impossible for me to speak. Estegi answered for me.

  “They are from the Vizier’s library. Her son brings them for her.”

  Garai nodded slowly. She unrolled the scroll and started to read in a quiet voice. This one was about the sacred plants of Elian and their uses. Estegi crouched beside me.

  “Come. Walk with me.”

  Supported on her arm, I began to pace around the chamber. I did not hear much of Garai’s recitation but her voice gave a rhythm to my wandering and my feet followed the plant names across the floor. Blackleaf, water root, skull bonnet, tripoint shine, erreberry, wolf paw, winterhem, a name for every ache. I clutched Estegi’s bony hand and she took all of my weight on her hard hip when I needed to rest.

  It was after midnight when I got on all fours and bore down. Since I had given birth to three sons already my daughter slipped out quickly and almost without strain on my part, in a gush of water, blood and mucus. Garai delivered her, and Estegi dried her off as I rolled onto my back. The umbilical cord was still connecting us when I held her to my breast. D
ark eyes, wrinkled red skin. She was alive, she was breathing, and she was completely quiet. The only thing to be heard in the chamber was the breathing of three women. Estegi and Garai either side of me looked on as the girl found her way to my breast. She suckled, and the night was dark around us, and the enormity of what I had just done found its way to my heart with full force. I looked at Garai. She was smiling the brightest smile I had ever seen cross her lips.

  “She is perfect, Kabira. Just perfect.” She saw my concern, but it did not dampen her joy. “She is strong. There is a reason that she is here, I can feel it. Can you? Hear her speak with the earth, with the life force!”

  I listened and heard the soft sucking from the child’s mouth, panting with endeavour. She was outside me now, not inside. Her body was warm and solid against mine. She had a smell like all babies do, and at the same time one altogether her own. It was rich and dark, like earth and leaves and water. Like Anji.

  I could not hear what Garai heard, but I understood what she meant. This girl was firmly anchored in the world. In this place. Perhaps I had some of Anji’s water in my body when it was creating hers. Perhaps Iskan’s seed had carried the spring’s water, good and dark. She was of us both, and of Anji and Ohaddin.

  “Her name is Esiko,” I whispered. “Iskan may name her what he will, but her name is Esiko. After my mother.”

  “Is she to be his son?” asked Estegi in a strangely wistful tone.

  “She shall be his youngest and most beloved son,” Garai answered in my stead, as though it were a prophecy. I kissed Esiko’s downy little head. For that one night she was mine and mine alone. She stopped suckling, shut her eyes and fell straight to sleep in a way none of her brothers ever had. She was entirely her own person, even then.

  Sulani

  Y THE TIME THEY CAPTURED ME I HAD already single-handedly destroyed hundreds of enemy soldiers. First with arrows dipped in winemussel poison. When that ran out, with bludgeon and blade. They bound me, and after beating me bloody they took me to the army encampment. There must have been at least five hundred tents. In them slept the commanders. Sometimes two by two. The number of foot soldiers was far greater. They had heavily armed fighters: curved, shining swords, helmets, breastplates and leg guards. The arms were often unprotected. Not many bowmen. Good horses, also with armour around their heads and flanks. All in perfect order and strictly disciplined. The soldiers I killed only made up a fraction of the army’s forces. It would not stop their advance. Yet my victory was great. I held the army back long enough to give the river folk time to pack up their belongings and escape downstream.

  I thanked the River spirit for the victory she bestowed on me.

  I was pushed through the mud to the captain’s tent. In the shadows incense was burning. Many burn sweet-smelling substances to mask the smell of death and corpses from the field. The captain stood by a table covered in papers and maps, toying with the handle of a dagger. A man of medium height, not quite young, but with a smooth, expressionless face. Broad shoulders and a certain muscle mass—the type that comes from a lot of riding and sports. Not from any genuine fight for survival. A weak chin, covered by a meagre beard.

  Beside him, on a pillow, sat a little boy of around ten years old.

  “Are you the one who led the attacks against my forces?” asked the captain without looking at me. “Who destroyed the bridges on our way, who stole our equipment in the night, who killed our messengers and scouts?”

  He took a step towards me. He had left the dagger on the table. There were no guards in the tent. I could snap his neck with my bare hands. The boy would scream but it would already be too late. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. Prepared myself.

  “Where are the others?” The captain advanced on me. “You have slain hundreds of my men over the last few days.” He leant forward and eyeballed me. “What I do not understand is why you have put up such a resistance. I thought that this part of Jaferi was almost uninhabited?”

  I shifted all of my weight onto one foot. My hands were ready. Dry mud and blood fell to the floor as I stretched my fingers in preparation.

  He saw the minute movement and shook his head.

  “No. You will not do that,” he said and smiled. It was the smile of someone who had killed before. Someone who had enjoyed it. Then he did something to me. With his eyes. They pierced me. It hurt terribly. Far more than the wounds inflicted by steel earlier that day. When the pain became too great I collapsed on the mats that covered the tent floor.

  The child tilted his head to one side and watched as his father broke every bone in my body.

  I did not scream. The child did not scream. The captain stood with his hands stretched over me and carried out his work with concentration and precision. All that could be heard in the tent were my groans and the sounds of the camp drifting in from outside. Stomping boots, horses’ whinnies, the clatter of weapons and tools.

  Only when I lay broken and half dead by his feet did the captain lower his hands. He turned to the child.

  “Look you, Orano, this is how I handle my enemies. What do you think we should do with the scum now? Leave him by the riverbank, so that the others may see what we do to those who attempt to resist us?”

  The child leant over me. My vision was blurred and I saw only a light oval coming towards me.

  “It’s a woman,” said the child’s voice.

  The captain leant forward. He was quiet for a long while.

  “You have sharp eyes my son. Do you see anything else?”

  “Yes, Father, can’t you? She is filled with the power.”

  “The river.” The captain sounded surprised. “There must be more to it than I had suspected. Clever boy.”

  The forms leaning over me disappeared. Then the man appeared sitting on his haunches beside me, holding something up to my lips. “Drink.”

  My jaw was crushed so that I could not even drink if I wanted to. He poured some water into my mouth and waited, unmoving. After a moment he gave me more. That time I could swallow. The pain slowly lessened.

  “You see,” said the man, speaking not to me but to the child, “Anji’s water heals her faster than I have seen it heal anybody before.”

  “It is because the power already flows through her,” said the child. “Her river and Anji are akin.”

  “Akin, but not the same.” I was drifting out of consciousness and barely heard his last words. “I would very much like to learn more of this power, but it is too great and difficult to dominate. There may be more like her: river warriors imbued with the power of the water. The river must be destroyed.”

  When I awoke I did not know whether it was morning or night. The tent was as dimly lit as when I had arrived. I was lying on my side with my cheek against the soft mat. My mouth was dry. My body no longer ached. I stretched out one arm, then the other. When I sat up I could feel something heavy around my neck. I brought my fingers to my collarbone and found a solid metal collar encasing my throat. From there ran a thin metal chain that was attached securely to an iron ring in the ground.

  Something moved in the tent. I was not alone. I immediately retreated until I was pressed up against the canvas wall of the tent.

  “Why are you dressed like a man?” asked a highpitched voice.

  It was the child. He was sitting on a mountain of red and blue cushions. Next to him were a lamp and a table covered in rolls of paper. He was watching me without fear, without any expression on his little face at all. His hair was short and dark, his eyes nearly black in the dim light. His father and the guards were nowhere to be seen.

  “Why are you dressed like a man?”

  I gestured at my clothes and shook my head. If I could lure the child closer I could frighten the captain into letting me go. Or take revenge by killing his child. Revenge for forcing my people to flee. Revenge for destroying their home. My home. I was the River Warrior. Vengeance was mine to exact.

  The child inspected me carefully. “You are right. Yo
ur clothes are neither those of a man nor a woman. You haven’t cut your hair. When I first saw you I thought that all savages wore their hair long.” He leant forward. “And full of mussel and snail shells.”

  I held his gaze. Tried to coax him to come closer. But he did not move.

  “You are the only one, aren’t you? You are the only one who does this.”

  I nodded. The shells in my hair rattled.

  There were bones of wading birds in there too. And otter teeth. I raised my hand and beckoned him over, but he shook his head, still solemn.

  “No. You are dangerous. I can see that. Very dangerous.” He leant his head to one side. “Almost as dangerous as my father.” The child nodded. “You have seen it, too. Because you have the same power inside you. The same as my father and I. He can choose whether to use it or not. This I cannot do.”

  He looked down at the mat, was quiet a moment, then returned to me.

  “Yet you fight in battle like a man. Why? You needn’t. You could stay home embroidering and playing the cinna if you wanted.”

  “Then who would protect my people? My River?” The words scratched my throat. I could not remember the last time I had spoken.

  “The men, of course.”

  “Why them and not me?”

  The boy sat quietly for a long while, and, for the first time, I saw his expression change. He chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip and seemed concerned. Even worried.

  “They are stronger?”

  “I have killed hundreds of your father’s strong men.”

  “But you are different. You are…” He could not find the right word.

  “I am the River Warrior. I have dedicated my life to the River. She has bestowed her life force on me. She does not care what I have between my legs.”

  The boy blushed and turned away. I huddled into my corner and leant my forehead on my knees. I must find a way to escape. Escape or die—once I had exacted my revenge.

  A little later the captain came into the tent in travelling attire. He walked over to his son.