Jaran

by Kate Elliott

  With these expressions of sibling felicity, they felt able to resume the sleeping arrangements of the previous nights. In the morning, she saddled Kriye and Bakhtiian’s remount. They were out of the valley and down to the fork by mid-morning.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “It is not possible to step into the same river twice.”

  —HERACLEITUS OF EPHESUS

  AT THE FORK, BAKHTIIAN dismounted and rested his leg, his back against the thick-grained red rock, his bad knee propped upon the peeling trunk of the dead shrub. His breathing was shallow, but after a bit he mounted by himself and they went on. They emerged onto the plateau unexpectedly, rounding a corner into the midst of short, yellow grass. Behind rose the mountains. On the other three sides, only sky.

  Tess turned to smile at Bakhtiian, blushing when she found his eyes on her. If he could still pass for an attractive man in her eyes after the past four days, as disheveled and worn as he was, with lines of pain enduring around his eyes and mouth, then she had only herself to blame. She remembered the feel of his face brushing her hair, his arm tightening around her—he had been asleep.

  Kriye shied. Tess, calming him, felt hardly any transition from one state to the next as he settled.

  “You’re becoming a good rider,” said Bakhtiian.

  “Thank you.”

  “You have a hand for them. Your little mare is fond of you.” He glanced back at Myshla as they rode out onto the plateau. His left hand gripped the pommel, white-knuckled. “She’s a beautiful animal. Are you fond of her?”

  Tess was inordinately fond of Myshla, a fondness intensified by Myshla’s recognition that she, Tess, was her particular friend. But Tess thought of Jeds and looked away. “I am not in the habit,” she said evenly, “of becoming fond of things I will shortly have to part from.”

  Silence, except for the constant drag of wind in grass.

  “I understand you very well,” said Bakhtiian finally.

  There was no more conversation. Late in the afternoon they agreed to camp, halting at a brush-lined stream.

  “It’s much milder tonight,” said Tess as she unsaddled Kriye.

  “Yes. Here are your blankets.”

  She did not sleep very well, but perhaps that was because the ground was hard. She woke at dawn, stiff. Bakhtiian was already awake, saddling Kriye, forced to stand very curiously in order to favor his injured leg.

  “I’ll saddle the horses,” said Tess, rolling up her blankets. He did not answer. She made a face at his back and went to wash in the stream. When she got back, he had saddled her remount as well. They mounted without speaking and rode on. Soon afterward they found a pyramid of flat-sided rocks, a khoen, at the crest of a rise.

  “That’s ours!”

  Bakhtiian merely nodded. At midday they spotted a rider in red and black atop a far rise, and the rider saw them. It was Kirill. He cantered up and pulled his horse around to walk with theirs.

  “I rescue you again, my heart.” He winked at her and flamboyantly blew her a kiss. Kriye waltzed away from the sudden movement, but Tess reined him back.

  “You’re a shocking flirt,” she said, laughing.

  “Your manners, Kirill,” said Bakhtiian. “Where are the others?”

  Kirill grinned slyly at Tess and pulled his chin: old gray-beard. Tess giggled.

  “Well?”

  “Against the hills,” said Kirill hastily. “How did you hurt your leg?”

  Bakhtiian briefly described the nature and getting of the injury.

  “Oh. So it was an injury. We thought—” He faltered. Tess, twisting one of her bracelets, stared at her wrist. Bakhtiian turned his head to stare directly at the younger man. “Ah, yes,” Kirill finished quickly. “We thought you had gotten into trouble.”

  “I don’t know what else would have kept us out in such weather,” said Bakhtiian.

  Kirill caught Tess’s eye and mouthed the words, “I do.”

  Tess coughed, hiding her laughter, and then gave Kirill an abbreviated version of the last several days. Kirill engaged her in a lively discussion of how best to keep unconscious men on horses. Bakhtiian remained majestically silent.

  “But Kirill, even tied to the saddle—Look! There it is!” She broke away from her two companions, Kriye stretching out into a gallop. The men gathered in the camp scattered, laughing, at her precipitous entrance. She rode almost through the camp before she got Kriye stopped. At first she was besieged by the curious, but Yuri finally escorted her away so that she could wash and change. Later, she walked with Yuri up the narrow valley at the mouth of which they were camped.

  Tess took in a breath of cool air and pushed a branch away from her face. The sun shone overhead, though it was not a particularly warm day. “You wouldn’t know, with the weather as it is now, that we almost froze to death up there.”

  “The worst of the storm went round us, but it was cold, and it rained. We had five fires. Tess.” He stopped at the foot of a shallow escarpment. Tufts of coarse grass dangled from its lip above his head. “How did you manage not to freeze to death? I had your tent. Ilya mentioned a fire, but…”

  She blushed. “We managed,” she said stiffly.

  Yuri grinned. “How like Ilya you sound, Sister. He said exactly the same thing, and in much the same voice. Do you know, when you didn’t come in that first night, we all assumed that the two of you had—”

  “Don’t be a fool, Yuri. Bakhtiian was injured.”

  “I rather liked the idea myself.”

  “Then you can learn to dislike it.” She stepped sharply away from him, but the loose gravel, damp from rain, slipped away from under her feet. She slid down, one leg out, and had to throw an arm back to catch herself. Poised ungracefully on all fours, almost like some crustacean, she lowered herself to sit on the ground. Her frown dissolved and she laughed. “Gods, I’ve been in a bad temper these past few days. Listen, Yuri. If you tell anyone else, I’ll skin you alive.”

  “I won’t!” He collapsed backward to sit beside her.

  “We had to share the blankets and the cloak.”

  “Oh,” said Yuri wisely, “you slept together for warmth. That probably did save you. I suppose, with his knee like that, you couldn’t have—”

  “Yuri!”

  “I’m just teasing.”

  “Then stop teasing.”

  “Why? Was it that uncomfortable?”

  “It was too damned comfortable!” She glanced around, suddenly conscious of the cool quiet of the afternoon and the heated loudness of her voice. There was a pause, as if to let her words dissipate into the calm.

  “Do you know what I think?” said Yuri finally.

  “I won’t.”

  “Your words say you do not want him, but everything else, your face and your tone and the way you put your words together, says that you do.”

  “No.”

  “You lay with Fedya.”

  “Fedya never demanded anything. We shared—what we wanted to share, nothing more than that. More like friends than like lovers.”

  “Why can’t you do that with Ilya?”

  “Yuri, do you really suppose that it would be that easy with Ilya?”

  He regarded her thoughtfully. “I don’t know, Tess. It depends on what Ilya wants.”

  And what if Ilya decided that he wanted Jeds? But she could not say it aloud for fear of hurting Yuri’s feelings. “It depends on what I want, and I don’t want him. Don’t look at me like that. Yes, I’ll admit I find him attractive. I’ll even admit he annoys me frequently, which I suppose is a bad sign. But all other things aside—I’m leaving.”

  He laid a hand on her arm. “I’d forgotten.”

  She scooped up a handful of pebbles and let them dribble in ones and twos through her fingers. They landed on the other stones in a shower of snaps. “I have to return to Jeds.”

  “Do you want to?”

  She stared at the ground. A single, fine strand of her hair was wound among the pebbles like a snake.
“I have a duty to my brother. He must be worrying about me. He doesn’t know where I am. I have to go back. Oh, let’s talk about something else.”

  “We were talking about you and Ilya before.”

  “Were we? You see, I’ve already forgotten. Yuri, Fedya loved his wife, and yet I always felt that it was somehow shameful that he did. Don’t jaran believe in love?”

  “Fedya never gave up his grief, Tess. There is a difference. Of course jaran love. Niko and his wife are as devoted as the rain and the grass. Mikhal loves Sonia.”

  “What about Sonia?”

  “Frankly, I think the attachment is stronger on his side. Oh, she’s fond enough of him, and happy, but when she was younger, before Mikhal marked her, I think she lost her heart to a rider from another tribe.”

  “Why didn’t he marry her?”

  “I heard that two years later he went off with the arenabekh. Some men dislike women that much. Some men love only other men. Some—I don’t know why the others go. I’d never willingly give up the chance to marry.”

  “Why, Yuri, do you have anyone in mind?” To her surprise, he blushed. “You do! Who is it?”

  With terribly casual nonchalance, he palmed a rock and flipped it up into the brush above them. The buzz of an unseen insect stopped, resuming a moment later. “Well. Maybe. Perhaps I’ll mark Konstantina Sakhalin.”

  “Konstantina Sakhalin! I didn’t know you’d fallen in love with her. And in such a short time.”

  “In love with her? I like her well enough—” He flushed again and could not disguise a satisfied smile. “But, Tess, surely you understand that it would be a good connection for our tribes. Not that I’m so valuable of myself, not like Sevyan and Pavel.”

  “Why do you call them valuable? I thought they were important because they’re married to Kira and Stassia. They don’t ride in jahar.”

  “Tess!” Yuri blinked, looking astounded. “How can you say so? They’re smiths, and very fine ones, too, for being—well, Sevyan’s only forty, and Pavel’s about Ilya’s age. Mama was overjoyed when Mother Raevsky told her that Sevyan Lensky was interested in Kira. And it was sheer luck that his brother had also taken to the craft and that he and Stassi—” He chuckled. “I was only six but I still remember how Mama and Mother Raevsky and the Elders of both tribes haggled for ten days over the wedding portions. Uncle Yakhov was wild when Mother Raevsky demanded the prize ram from the herds and half the female lambs from the next season. And the rest, which I can’t recall now. But, of course, he saw that Sevyan and Pavel were worth it, when we only had old Vadim Gorelik for smithing, and he never better than a middling smith anyway. And then it helped him in the end, because when Mikhal fell in love with Sonia—oh, years later, of course—Mama simply looked the other way when Misha went to mark her, though he’d nothing really special to bring to the etsana’s tent. No craft, and though he’s got a good hand for the lute, he wasn’t gifted by the gods for music like Fedya was. And he’s not a remarkably handsome man either.”

  “But he’s very good-natured.”

  “Yes.”

  “But then, Yuri, I don’t mean to sound—”

  He laughed. “Why should Mother Sakhalin agree to me? Because I’m Bakhtiian’s cousin. And my mother is etsana. Konstantina will be etsana someday, and I know exactly what is to be expected of an etsana’s husband.”

  “Wouldn’t Ilya be the best choice to marry an etsana?”

  “Ilya?” He chuckled. “Ilya is exactly the last man any etsana would want to marry. She doesn’t want a husband who will put himself forward, or who will quarrel with whichever cousin or nephew is dyan of her tribe’s jahar. So you see, I am perfect.” He preened a little, to make his point.

  Tess laughed and draped an arm around his shoulders. “I always knew you were perfect, Yuri. But then who will Bakhtiian marry, if not an etsana’s daughter?”

  “I thought you said you weren’t interested in him.”

  “I’m curious, damn you.”

  “Tess, Tess, no need to be snappish. How should I know, anyway? Why do you want to know?”

  “Well, for one thing, he can’t have children unless he’s married, can he? He might have gotten a child on some woman but he wouldn’t be considered its father.”

  “Yes, I remember in Jeds I was surprised how great a fuss those barbarians made over which man got which child on which woman. I only ever had one father, Tess.”

  “What if an unmarried girl gets pregnant, or if a child’s mother dies?”

  Yuri regarded her quizzically. “A child always stays with its mother, or with her kin if its mother dies. And, of course, you know about the herb girls use so they don’t get pregnant. Only married women have children.”

  “Well, then, what about Vladimir? Didn’t his mother have any kin to take him in?”

  Yuri shook his head. “His parents were priests.”

  “They’re dead?”

  “No, given in service to the gods. Those few jaran who take the white robe break all ties with the tribes. A little like the arenabekh, but for different reasons. There are priests at the shrine of Morava. And they’re both men and women, so, of course, sometimes there are children.”

  “But without kin. How did he come to ride in your jahar?”

  “We found him at jahar-ledest. In Jeds you would call them schools, I suppose. There is one here in the west, and one in the east, where young men can train.”

  “You told me about them once.” Above them, a few clouds floated like calm fish in untroubled waters. “Bakhtiian mentioned one once. Doesn’t he know the man who trains there?”

  “Kerchaniia Bakhalo. He rode with Ilya’s father.”

  “Why do you have these ‘schools’? The jaran wander.”

  “Oh, the influence of khaja, I suppose. Bakhalo made the first one, some twenty years back. I learned more there about fighting than I ever learned in the tribe because it’s all you have to think about. Like the arenabekh, but temporary, thank the gods. You’d like it, Tess. Bakhalo has about forty young men at a time. He lives by a town near the coast. That put me off at first, to live in one place, but I’d just been in Jeds and, anyway, we lived in tents. The townspeople there are happy because with the jaran there the pirates don’t bother them! It’s a strange arrangement, but it works. I was never any good at saber until I went there.”

  “Why not?”

  “I never bothered.” He sighed ostentatiously. “That didn’t make me any more popular among the girls. They like a boy who can flash his blade.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Or one who has a reputation, like Ilya. They dangle like so much plump fruit in front of him, but really, when I think of it, he rarely picks from that tree.”

  “Why do you think he doesn’t?”

  “Are you sure you’re not a little bit in love with him?” A wind stirred through the brush. Twigs scraped softly against rock. “I think you should make up to him.”

  “And be left dangling like the rest of the ripe, or overripe, fruit? No thank you.”

  “Perhaps I chose an unfortunate expression.”

  “Very unfortunate.”

  “But, Tess, think of the rest of us. Haven’t you ever noticed that the more Ilya denies himself, the worse of a mood he gets in? Niko once told me that he’d never known Ilya to sleep through the night except when he was with a woman.”

  She flushed scarlet. “Yuri! No.”

  He grinned, enjoying her discomfiture. “You’re just stubborn.”

  “No, I’m protecting myself. He’s very attractive.”

  “Then why don’t you—” He broke off, laughing, to hug her. “It’s much better having you for a sister than a lover, because I get you forever as a sister.”

  “Unless I kill you first.”

  “Tess,” he scolded, “you’d never manage without me. Who got you through that first ten days? Who saddled Myshla for you and brought you food?”

  “Definitely a brother. Only a sibling would hold
that over my head.” She hugged him suddenly and fiercely. “Yuri, I—” She broke off.

  He pushed her back. “What’s wrong? Don’t cry!”

  “My brother is so much older than me. I always wanted another brother, one close in age, so we could share—” She hesitated, went on awkwardly. “One I could love right here, next to my heart, instead of from far away.”

  Yuri’s whole expression transformed, as if his heart, long buried, now shone from his face. Then, unaccountably, he lowered his eyes to stare at his hands. “I love you, too, Tess,” he said in a low voice, as if afraid the admission would offend her.

  “Well, you might at least look at me when you say it!” she demanded, suddenly embarrassed, and then she laughed because he was as flushed as she was.

  “Of course, you know what this means.” He looked up at her with a sly grin.

  “What what means?”

  “Siblings are bound by the oldest of customs to protect one another, even if it means death.”

  “Very well, Yuri. If Bakhtiian ever begins to scold you, I’ll come to your rescue.”

  “It needn’t go that far,” said Yuri quickly. They both grinned and got up to return to camp, brushing dirt and withered blades of grass from their clothing. “We were worried though, Tess. Especially when that storm blew down and you hadn’t gotten back yet.” They walked slowly along the escarpment, boots scuffing through damp grass, content for the moment in each other’s company.

  “I’m surprised Niko didn’t send Josef to look for us.”

  “He would have in another three nights.”

  “Yuri, we could have been dead by then.”

  “But Ilya left us a message that we shouldn’t wait. How were we to know what that meant?”

  Tess stopped, suddenly suspicious. “What did you think it meant?” Yuri knelt abruptly, turning his face away from her, and busied himself brushing imaginary grass from his boots. “Look at me. Why nine nights?”

  He straightened, his flush fading to a slight pink tint along his high cheekbones. “It’s just superstition.”

  “Yes, and?”

  The flush rose a little high, creeping up to his ears, but he met her gaze. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he finished, his tone edged.