“Will you share this room and my bed with me?” He wiped his face with a cloth, giving me a hopeful look.
I had to laugh, having nearly forgotten how all of this had started. “I will, Ochieng. If only because I don’t wish to sleep on the beach.”
~ 19 ~
We slid aside the cover from the hole to the stairwell, and I commented about how Ochieng’s room had so much wood when very little of the rest of the house did.
“I’ve been a bachelor for many years,” he replied. “And it saddened me at times, to be around my siblings’ families, especially stuck here in the rainy season. So I began finding ways to plane and fit together small pieces of wood. I made this floor over many years.”
We’d descended back into the lower levels, the house full of the sounds of sleep or mourning, like sinking into a pool of sorrow I’d managed to forget for a blissful space of time. Glancing at Ochieng, I saw he felt it, too, so I took his hand, lacing his fingers with mine, in the way he’d taught me. It seemed wrong that we’d taken some happiness—like stealing a snack while everyone else starved—and yet the smile he gave me made it hard to regret that.
Upon reflection, it seemed much of life since leaving the seraglio had been like that. Before I left seemed a long blur of sameness—the tropical warmth, being bathed and groomed, dancing, lounging, decorating myself with the finest jewels of the empire. There’d been a perfection to it, but nothing stood out, other than the punishments I’d rather forget, and which I’d quickly learned to avoid by being exquisitely obedient.
Since then, however, the sweet memories stood out in high relief, vividly colored in my mind. Standing on the deck of the Valeria, watching the enormous whales move beneath the crystalline water. The moment Kaja gave me my sword. Eating in that outdoor café in Ehas, drinking wine and savoring my freedom. Lying in the dark on the deck of the Robin, listening to Ochieng spin tales from the patterns in the stars. Seeing elephants for the first time. Ochieng kissing me while the pre-rains light melted golden thick around us. These had become my new jewels, shining and precious, and ones that I’d keep forever in a special place in my heart and mind.
Now I added this new one, the sweet memory of tasting Ochieng’s body in the quiet intimacy of his room, drowning my senses in him. I’d remember it for the rest of my life, no matter what came next.
It seemed that the good moments became all that much better for standing out from the struggle. I didn’t understand what that meant, but maybe I didn’t need to yet. Somehow, though, I thought Kaja might have understood this. Perhaps Danu teaches it. It seemed Her stern sword and unflinching justice would be balanced by these shining soft moments of sheer happiness.
We stayed quiet until we got outside, going down the steps through the storehouse. “Why did you stay a bachelor all those years?” I asked when we no longer risked disturbing anyone. “If it saddened you not to have a family of your own, why didn’t you marry?”
“Because you weren’t here yet,” he replied easily. His smile widened at whatever he saw in my face. “Argue the point with me all you like, lovely Ivariel, but I knew I needed to wait for someone special. No matter how long she dragged her feet in finding me.”
I made a dismissive sound.
“It’s true. If only because I knew I needed a wife who wouldn’t pitch me off the terrace when I told her one too many stories during the rainy season,” he added, sliding me a grin.
“Don’t be so sure I won’t!” I told him, then closed my mouth over the astonishment. Who was I that I could say such a thing to a man? But he only laughed.
“See? This is true. And why you are the perfect woman for me. Absolutely worth waiting for.”
I didn’t reply to that, still not sure how long this moment of happiness could last. Once I’d believed in forever—until “forever” had become a death sentence. If I’d learned nothing else in this last year, I’d at least learned to always look past the surface, especially an enticing one. Pretty things looked that way to cover the ugliness beneath. That included myself.
By mutual accord, we took the path around to the beach to check on Capa first. Along the way, we passed various men and women of the family, hired workers, even some from town—all standing guard at various points. Mostly watching the approaches from downriver. They nodded to us in silence, all song banished. I hated everything about that. Too much like the Imperial Palace, with the guards watching everything, all the time.
But I didn’t say so. Instead I told Ochieng about the elephants at dawn. How they’d sung and I’d danced. He commented that he was sorry to have missed it, and I could tell he meant it, a bruised regret settling around him.
Capa hadn’t moved, opening one weary eye to see that it was us, then closing it again with a sigh that billowed out of her. Violet still stood with her, as did a number of other elephants. Several human guards had been posted to the beach, and for once I didn’t mind Desta’s militant zeal. Ochieng checked Capa’s wounds, while I stood by and fretted. Violet dusted me with her trunk and I leaned on her, sharing our mutual worry.
Ochieng hadn’t said anything about me taking up my sword or daggers, though he had to know they were in the bags he’d carried to his rooms in his preemptive effort to ensure my moving in with him. I’d stuffed the blade I’d taken from Ayela in there, too. Seeing all the weapons around me made my palms itch to check mine, a habit I’d finally taken as my own from Kaja’s determined training. The gauzy dress felt wrong, also, and it occurred to me that I should’ve donned my fighting leathers.
But I hadn’t worn them since that night. Desta’s accusing glare hovered in my mind. He’s always protecting you. When will you step up and protect him? Ochieng didn’t need protecting though—and if he did, likely he needed protecting from me, the greatest threat to his enduring happiness and peace of mind.
I should leave now. The time was right. I’d given Ochieng a gift of pleasure to repay all he’d given me, at least in part, and added a jewel of a memory to my small hoard. I couldn’t help the D’tiembos or Nyambura, not when I couldn’t control the monster within. For a while there, I’d had a glimpse of the future that I could live in that room with Ochieng. Now that possibility had become equally impossible, and I didn’t understand who I’d been in that moment that I’d even entertained the notion.
I was broken, and I would never heal. I would not allow myself to close my eyes to that stark truth again.
Ochieng approached me, expression grave. “It doesn’t look good. We can’t hope for much.”
“No,” I replied. “But we’ve known that all along.”
He cocked his head ever so slightly. “You’ve been sure Capa wouldn’t survive?”
Capa. Not me. I’d fallen into my usual self-absorption. “She lost so much blood,” I offered, hoping to cover my true thoughts.
“That’s true.” He sighed. “Let’s go see what we can do for Efe. I’d hoped to ask Violet for help, but I hate to make her leave Capa.”
As we’d talked, Violet had returned to her fallen sister, standing guard over her, their trunks intertwined as if they held hands.
“It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. Maybe Efe will be hungry.”
We detoured back to the storehouse, filling a woven grass basket with all of Efe’s favorite treats. Passing the training grounds, I saw Desta and Simyu, among others, drilling with some of the other elephants. They wore elaborate harnesses, with shields strapped over their vulnerable spots. The riders brandished long spears or shot arrows from their backs as the elephants ran at surprisingly nimble speeds. Nothing like a horse, and with none of that grace, but something about the elephants’ size gave their riders extra strength, and they easily struck down human-shaped targets.
A vision of Zalaika flashed against my mind’s eye, her hair in long, streaming braids, her profile sharp and gilded with fire as she clung to Bimyr’s side, her machete
slicing through Dasnarian armor as easily as she sliced fruit for her family. Zalaika who hadn’t gone with her husband into danger.
“I’m sorry I never asked about your father, how he died,” I said. Then realized how abrupt the introduction of that topic sounded.
Ochieng, however, never bothered by the labyrinthine turn of my thoughts, glanced at me. “Desta told you?”
“How did you know?”
Ochieng looked off into the distance, a sad and thoughtful expression on his face. “Desta… dwells. Broods. It may not be fair of me, but I think it’s not healthy. Our father is gone. This attack brought that forward, but how it happened is no more relevant than that the sun sets.” Looking back at me, he ran a hand over my hair, settling it at the back of my neck and stroking there. “Besides, it never surprised me that you didn’t ask. The way you grew up, your father wasn’t a part of your world.”
“My father was there, in the Imperial Palace.”
“Ah, but how often did you interact with him?”
I hadn’t even met him before I turned eighteen and left the seraglio, though I’d been presented to him when I was born. Ochieng knew that and smiled, again a sad twist to it. “My father was a huge part of my life,” he offered. “And though I miss him deeply, I think I’m most fortunate to have had him to guide me, to help me become a man. It’s better to have something, to treasure time with a person, even if you must lose them, than to have them live but not be part of your life, don’t you think?”
~ 20 ~
I didn’t know—it seemed like I’d suffered so much loss and so little treasuring that I had no perspective on the question. So I didn’t reply. And Ochieng allowed me my silence, as he always did. Besides, he’d made his point and likely knew it. He might suspect I still harbored half a plan to leave and had been speaking to those thoughts, too, with his uncanny ability to read me.
We found Efe in the thin mud of the elephants’ lagoon, the only one in there. She’d backed herself into a sheltered wallow, the reeds towering around her, bright green from the rains. If I hadn’t known to look for her, I’d have taken the dome of her head for a gray rock, the tip of her trunk for a bit of floating detritus.
She stirred when we called her name, lifting her head high enough to blink open her eyes, clots of mud clinging to her lavish eyelashes. Helva would’ve killed for such lashes, it occurred to me, and a surge of love and missing her left me breathless.
If I left, maybe I could journey back to Dasnaria after all. With Rodolf dead, I legally counted as a widow. I could disguise myself and sneak back into the Imperial Palace. I’d promised to return for my sisters, with every intention of doing so. Though when I’d made the promise I’d thought it would be a matter of traveling from within the empire, not across the greater world. And what would I do once there? I had no more power to free them now than I’d had then.
“Try tempting her with this one.” Ochieng turned my hand palm up and placed Efe’s favorite fruit in it, the tenor of his voice indicating he knew he drew me out of deep thought.
“Why me?” I asked reflexively, the fruit cool and fragrant in my palm. My stomach stirred and I realized I couldn’t recall when I’d last eaten.
“Because she likes you better.” Then he grinned. “Since you’re hungry, too, have a bite to entice her.”
I wrinkled my nose at him, but knelt down in the mud. I’d have to wash and change clothes for the burial of Femi anyway. I’d long since learned not to expect to stay clean while working with my big friends who loved to dunk people as a sign of affection.
“Efe,” I crooned, making an effort to call from my heart, too, so she’d sense my good will. “Efe, darling—look what I have for you.” Taking Ochieng’s suggestion, I bit into the fruit. It was a bit mealy from being stored so long, but full of juice and sunshine. I held it out on my palm toward the tip of her trunk. “Smell that? So yummy. Mmm.”
Her trunk twitched, but she didn’t move otherwise.
“That was a terrible effort. Don’t you have experience coaxing little kids to eat?” Ochieng chided me.
“No,” I snapped over my shoulder. “The servants did that.”
“Such a princess.”
“You’re just now figuring that out?” I inched forward, waving the fruit nearer Efe’s trunk. “Don’t listen to mean old Ochieng, honey. I’m your sister under the skin. Us princesses have to stick together.”
She lifted her head a bit, eye glimmering less balefully, her trunk gliding in my direction. “That’s it. Tasty snack for you.” Her trunk stopped a good arm’s length from me, however. “Come a little closer and it’s yours,” I promised, edging a bit farther out, holding out the fruit to better entice her.
“You’re going to end up in the lagoon at that rate,” Ochieng observed.
“Quiet. I’m focusing. Here Efe. Look what I have for you.”
Her trunk straining for me, Efe moved a little, nearly closing the distance. She reached, but couldn’t quite.
“Come on, sweetheart,” I crooned. “You’re almost there.”
She eyed me, then the fruit. Then lunged up to grab it from my hand. The sudden movement displaced the liquid mud, the semi-solid ground beneath me falling away. Sucking me right under.
I shrieked as I went—inhaling a mouthful of mud in my carelessness—and floundered in the stinking, sticky stuff. Efe’s trunk wrapped around my waist and she helpfully nudged me to the surface then pushed me to the bank, making fretful noises. Ochieng grabbed my seeking hands and pulled me onto solid ground—not making concerned sounds but laughing his ass off.
I sat up, wiping the mud from my face so I could at least open my eyes and glare at him. He sat beside me, a wagging finger pointing at me, while he laughed so hard he gasped for breath and tears ran down his face. I batted at his finger and turned to face Efe, who stood over me, mud sheeting off of her in great glops, anxiously exploring me with her trunk.
“I’m fine, honey, I’m fine,” I reassured her. At last satisfied, she cast about for the fruit, which floated nearby, happily snaking it up and eating it with relish. “No, don’t—” I stopped when my caution came too late. “That thing was filthy, Efe!”
“Elephants don’t care about such things,” Ochieng managed. “It won’t hurt her.”
“Good,” I retorted, “since I drank a bellyful of the stuff.” I turned to spit out the mud making my teeth grind grittily against each other. How my mother would cringe to see me. The notion made me viciously happy. One day I would return and she would see the woman I’d become. And I’d enjoy every moment of it.
“I tried to warn you,” Ochieng said, eyeing me.
“Ah,” I said, “but you see, it was all a part of my clever plan.” I gestured triumphantly to Efe, who—apparently convinced I wouldn’t drown—now helped herself to the basket of fruit we’d brought, tail and ears flapping with perky interest, as if she’d never sulked at all. “Efe is out of the mud.”
“True are your words,” Ochieng said.
I wrinkled my nose at him. “That’s not exactly a correct usage.”
He took my hand, lacing our fingers together, unbothered by my filthy state. “Let’s take Efe to Capa and the others, then clean off in the river.”
“Is it safe?” I frowned at him.
“The current is slowing, and the elephants will watch out for us.” He squeezed my hand. “I promise I won’t let the river have you. You’re far too precious.”
“You know what your mother says. The river takes what she wishes, whether we yield it willingly or not.”
His smile faded, and I was sorry to have said it.
* * * *
We gathered in the late afternoon to consign Femi to the afterlife. I hadn’t ever attended any kind of memorial for the dead before, something that struck me suddenly as I did my best to ape what the others did. Fortunately Thanda ha
d guessed that I’d at least not know Chiyajuan—or Nyamburan, I wasn’t sure—customs and gave me a shapeless gray dress to wear, along with a finely woven veil of the same color to drape over my head, pins holding it to my hair. The men wore similar robes, and small rounds of the veil fabric on their heads. Seeing everyone gathered at the base of the hill, I would have called the color “elephant gray,” they looked so much like a cluster of the tribe.
So perhaps the customs went even more specific, to those of the D’tiembo family, who identified with their totem elephants above all.
I stayed with the cluster of women not in Femi’s direct line, which meant Thanda, Simyu, and other cousins and cousins’ wives, along with some of the men. Before abandoning me to Thanda’s care, Ochieng had told me he’d join me there.
Soon I saw why. Zalaika, Palesa, and Nafula soon appeared, riding Violet, Bimyr, and another elephant whose name I didn’t know. But the women rode backwards, their heads and bodies entirely draped in the gray veils. Palesa and Nafula’s husbands guided their elephants with a hand on their jaw, while Ochieng and Desta flanked Violet, guiding her for their mother and matriarch. They sang a song I hadn’t heard before, the women keening high notes that sounded like the embodiment of the agony of grief, the men’s somber voices booming below with the stepping of the elephants.
Between them, the three elephants pulled a cart, which held Femi’s body on a bed of dried flower blossoms mounded on hay. Behind the cart walked all the D’tiembo children, Ayela at the fore, like a smaller procession of elephants. Their higher voices chimed in the keening, too, sending shivers through my ears.
Until then I thought that the children must have been kept away, protected from such a horrible experience, but apparently not. Following behind Thanda, I joined the rest of the family bringing up the rear of the solemn parade, which turned—not surprisingly—to the river.
We passed the guards, still on alert, none of them of the family. All saluted. Then joined in the song, picking up the refrain and passing it back. It was the first Chiyajuan song I’d heard, I realized, that didn’t change as different singers picked it up. This song remained the same, frozen in place, just as Femi’s young life would. I choked on that, feeling the ultimate impact of death, that the song stopped moving with it, and I couldn’t have sung, even if I’d known how.
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