It was a hawk.
Her heart leaped, as it always did whenever one of the winged messengers arrived. She raced out the doors, down the spiral stone stairs, out of the House and across the courtyard to the aerie. By the time she had ascended the stairs, breathless and sweaty, the bird had arrived and the hawk master was unfastening the small message.
He read it quickly, and a grin spread over his face. He turned to Kevla, thrust the message at her and said, “Give this to your mistress! Hurry!”
Kevla took the message and hurried down the stairs. The small, tightly rolled piece of parchment seemed to burn in her hand. As she reentered the coolness of the House, she ducked into a corner and unrolled the message with shaking hands.
Yeshi: We are victorious. The clan has scattered with only a few of their precious sa’abahs. The rest, we have captured and will divide among the clans. We will also have many five-scores. Jashemi conducted himself with skill and honor. Halid, too, did the Clan and his khashim proud. Our allies worked well together and all are pleased with the results. We have lost men, but that was to be expected. If only it was not necessary to trade lives for pride and livestock. With sa’abahs enough so that all high-caste warriors may ride them, we will make good time returning home. I hope the baby and you are well.
Kevla’s knees suddenly went weak and she almost slid down the wall to the floor. Jashemi and Tahmu had survived. That was all she needed to know. Five-scores, sa’abahs, Clan honor—no doubt these things were important to others, but as far as she was concerned, they would have been bought at too dear a cost if it had meant having to ceremonially burn the corpses of the khashim and his heir.
She heard footsteps and the sound of voices. Quickly, Kevla rerolled the scrap of parchment and hastened along the corridor to the stairs. Yeshi was in her room, standing and bathing her face when Kevla burst the door open.
Yeshi turned to frown at the noisy interruption, but Kevla thrust the message at her. “The hawkmaster smiled when he read it,” she said. “So it must be good news.”
Yeshi snatched the parchment out of Kevla’s hands. Her eyes flickered back and forth much more rapidly than Kevla’s had when she had read the missive. Yeshi brought a hand to her lips, and although she began to weep she smiled broadly.
“Good news indeed,” she said to Kevla. “They are victorious and they are coming home. My son and my husband are safe.” She pressed the small letter to her chest. “Thank the Great Dragon. Kevla, run and fetch Sahlik. We must be about preparing for a celebration!”
Kevla wondered if Yeshi had read the part about we have lost men. Was it possible to celebrate and grieve at the same time? Would there be pyres blazing under the starlit skies the same night as celebratory torches flickered in the great hall?
As she hastened to the kitchens, she could not help but think about Jashemi. She had tried not to dwell overmuch on thoughts of the khashimu and the odd parting they had made. Now, with his arrival imminent, the memory of that night flooded back to her. He had wanted her to admit that she would miss him, would fear for him.
We are not done with each other yet. His prediction that he would return had come true, and her heart was glad of it. Yet now that he would soon be back, what would he want from her? They had crossed a line that night, when he knelt in front of a servant and wiped the tears from her face, and she feared what lay on the other side of it.
It was only three days later that Tahmu’s colors of red and gold were spotted against the blue sky. The deep, resonant sound of the shakaal issued, and the weary but exultant scout announced that the khashim was only a few hours behind him.
Yeshi was sitting at her window, watching the horizon intently, while Kevla dusted her mistress’s face with powder and Ranna and Tiah worked on her feet and hair respectively. “I want to be the first to see him,” Yeshi had said.
As Kevla applied the kohl, Yeshi started. A black line went straight from her eye to her ear.
“They are coming!” Yeshi cried, leaping up. She knocked over the basin of water at her feet, which splashed all over Ranna’s lap. Oblivious to the chaos she was creating for her handmaidens, she pointed out the window. “They are—”
Suddenly, Yeshi doubled over, her hands clutching her belly. Kevla caught her as she stumbled and would have fallen. There was a puddle of liquid at Yeshi’s feet. At first glance, Kevla thought it was the spilled water from the basin…but that had gone all over Ranna, not the floor….
“Help me,” Kevla snapped. “The baby is coming!”
“What…what should we do?” Ranna stammered.
“Fetch Asha. He’ll bring the birthing stool and herbs,” said Kevla, reciting the steps Asha had drummed into her head. “And hot water—we need hot water and towels.”
Yeshi’s fingers dug into Kevla’s shoulders and she moaned softly. Kevla looked up at her mistress and tried to smile reassuringly.
“The great lady said the baby would wait for his father,” she reminded Yeshi. “Well, the one is coming, and now so is the other.”
Ranna was dismissed after she became ill. Tiah seemed made of sterner stuff and stayed on. Sahlik arrived quickly, and was a deeply comforting presence. Asha, too, was calm and soothing, his long fingers gently probing the mother-to-be’s body.
“It has turned,” he said reassuringly. “This should be an easy birth.”
The look Yeshi gave him at this comment made him cringe. Yeshi was sweating, her hair was a tangled mess, and she seemed beyond words. All Kevla heard from her were shrieks, moans and growls.
She steeled herself to the sounds of Yeshi’s pain. Neither Sahlik nor Asha seemed disturbed by the noises, so Kevla assumed that this was simply part of a normal birth. Every few minutes, Kevla glanced anxiously out the window, to see how much closer the returning warriors had come.
After a few hours had passed, Kevla went to the window and saw a milling throng of people down in the courtyard. She could not see Tahmu, but he had to be there. Hastening back to Asha, she said, “The warriors are here!”
“Good,” he said. “Great lady, get on the stool.”
Whimpering, Yeshi straddled the wooden birthing stool, supported by the strong arms of Tiah and Sahlik. Kevla had prepared the tepid pool of water with scented herbs to catch the baby. She placed it between Yeshi’s parted legs, risking a glimpse at Asha. His fingers were just inside Yeshi’s body, and they were coated with dark fluids. Kevla gulped, and for a moment envied the absent Ranna.
Suddenly, Yeshi cried, “No! Tahmu must be here!”
“Great lady,” stammered Asha, “the baby will come as it chooses. To try to halt—”
“Tahmu!” screamed Yeshi. “Tahmu!”
“Dragon’s teeth,” muttered Asha. “Kevla, go find Tahmu.”
Kevla nodded and raced down the stairs, once slipping and almost falling in her haste. There was a huge commotion in the courtyard, and although she had grown considerably in her time at the House, she was still so short she could not see over the tall figures of the returning warriors.
“Tahmu!” she screamed, heedless of proper etiquette, pushing past large, rhia-clad torsos and the long legs of the sa’abahs. “Tahmu, where are you?”
“Great khashim,” cried one of the men, “your little servant wants you!” Several men turned to regard Kevla and joined in their friend’s laughter. She ignored them.
“I must find Tahmu! The baby is—”
“Here I am, Kevla,” said a calm, familiar voice. “Take me to her.”
Kevla turned to start fighting her way back through the crowd, but the warriors parted for their khashim as they had not done for her.
“Is she—all right?”
“Well enough,” Kevla responded, “but the baby is almost here, and she wants you—”
“She wants me to catch the baby, for luck,” Tahmu said. He pushed past her and raced up the stairs to Yeshi’s chamber.
Kevla followed, only a few steps behind. Tahmu entered, grasped and kissed his wi
fe’s hand, and then took up a position beside Asha. The baby’s head was already showing.
“Tahmu, you are here!” gasped Yeshi.
“I am here, my wife, and ready to catch our child,” he said, his voice deep with emotion. He held the basin of herbs and flowers. Kevla stood by with clean cloths, ready to hand them to Tahmu once the baby had come. As Yeshi screamed and strained, more and more of the baby’s head appeared.
She frowned at it, her heart speeding up. No, please let this not be so….
“The baby’s face is red,” she said, her voice trembling.
“All babies are red when they are born,” snapped Asha. Sweat dappled his forehead. “Push again, Yeshi!”
With a cry that hurt Kevla’s ears, Yeshi panted and did as she was told. More of the baby slipped out into the waiting world.
The redness was still there. On the baby’s face, smeared with fluid but obviously there.
“Its face is red!” Kevla cried again, filled with horror.
“That is just the after birth,” Asha said. “Once more, Yeshi, push and bring forth the baby!”
Yeshi tensed, then growled low in her throat and bore down. The baby surged forward to splash into the bowl that Tahmu held. At that moment, Maluuk rushed in and took over from Asha, who seemed relieved to relinquish his position. The baby took a deep breath and squalled.
“A girl-child,” Maluuk said. “Whole and sound.”
“A daughter,” cried Yeshi as Tiah and Sahlik helped her to the bed and began to clean her. “I have a little girl…”
Kevla stared as if transfixed. The baby kicked and squirmed as Tahmu began to clean her. His smile started to fade as he washed her face, and the red marks that Asha had claimed were afterbirth did not come off on the towel.
“Maluuk—” he said, looking imploringly at the healer. Kevla’s arms folded about herself. She was suddenly very cold.
“The blood mark,” Maluuk whispered. Yeshi was still crying softly, but both Tiah and Sahlik had heard. Their eyes widened and they exchanged glances. Exhausted as she was, Yeshi caught the change of mood in the room. She propped herself up on her elbows.
“Tahmu? Give me our daughter!”
The baby was still shrieking. The blood mark covered fully half its face, an angry red blotch that spoke louder than any words of the displeasure of the Great Dragon.
“Tahmu…” Yeshi’s voice was pleading. She was begging for her husband to give her their child, for him to say that it was all right, that their baby was beautiful, perfect….
Tahmu did not answer. He snatched a cloth from Kevla’s stiff fingers and wrapped the baby in it, his eyes glued to the red blotch on his daughter’s face, and said in a cold voice, “Leave us.”
They hurried out, not wanting to see what had to happen next. Tahmu himself wished with every fiber of his being that he did not have to do this, but the traditions were clear. The baby was imperfect.
He rose unsteadily, clutching the crying, wriggling bundle to his heart. Tahmu met Yeshi’s eyes, and he saw her dawning comprehension.
“The blood mark,” he said heavily. He did not need to explain further. It was rare, but not unfamiliar to the people of Arukan, this bitter stain that sometimes singled out the unfortunate children of wretched parents.
He knew why this child was so marked. It was a sign that the Great Dragon was still angry with him. It had given him back a daughter he did not know he had, but it had cruelly taken away this precious little girl now clasped in his arms.
For a moment, Yeshi did not react. Then she said, “No.”
“I am sorry, my wife. Perhaps this is the Dragon’s price for bringing so many of our brave warriors safely home.” The lie burned him, but he could not let Yeshi know the truth. There was no need to inflict more pain on her. She would know suffering aplenty in the next few moments, and for years to come.
“No,” said Yeshi, again. She held out her arms imperiously. “Give me my daughter.”
“It is best if I take her—it—now,” Tahmu said, aware that he was pleading. “If you hold her, it will only hurt you more when I—”
“Give her to me!” With a strength that startled him she leaped up from the birthbed and lunged at him. He barely managed to turn in time to keep her from seizing the infant. Even so, he was not quick enough to prevent Yeshi from scoring his face with her long, sharp nails. One came perilously close to his eye and he jerked his head away.
Her small fists rained down upon his back, her hands scrabbled for the baby, her screams echoed in his ears. She ducked underneath him and seized the infant, clasping it close to breasts that were swollen and full of milk.
“She’s mine! I won’t let you take her!”
But she was a delicate woman, and weak from her ordeal, and Tahmu was a war-hardened man. Implacably, hating himself, hating her for making this so much more painful than it had to be for both of them, he wrested the baby from her and pushed her backward.
She fell onto the bed. He stood, clutching the bundled, crying baby, waiting for her to come at him again, but all the strength seemed to bleed out of her. She lay where she had fallen, sprawled on the lavish bed where this tragic child had been conceived, and mewled pitifully.
“My baby,” she moaned, “my little girl…give her to me, Tahmu, please, I beg you, give her to me….”
His heart ached as he watched her, filled with his own grief at what he must do. “I’m sorry,” he said uselessly, and left her, racing down the stairs into the courtyard and grabbing the reins of the nearest sa’abah from a startled Clansman.
For much of his trip, the baby continued to scream. It wanted sustenance, love, its parents, soft bedding. All the things a baby has a right to expect when it is brought into the world, all the things Tahmu had not given Kevla and could not give this little girl. Eventually, its cries subsided. It whimpered now and then, enough for Tahmu to know that his daughter was still alive.
By the time he reached the Clan’s altar at the foot of the mountains, the girl made barely any sounds at all. He drew the sa’abah to a halt and slipped to the ground. Tahmu felt ill when he saw the remnants of all the offerings Yeshi had made to the Dragon in his absence. Dried leaves from fruit long since devoured, wilted flowers, empty water jugs—all pleas from the House of Four Waters to bring the warriors home safely.
Most of those pleas had been answered; they had lost few men. But the Great Dragon had a terrible price for his protection, and Tahmu’s feet felt as heavy as if they were carved of stone as he approached the offering area.
He looked down at the baby. Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, illogically trying to explain what he was doing to her. “But this is the way of our people. The Great Dragon marks those it would have us give to him. He robs them of their sight, or the use of their legs, or their minds. He cleaves their mouths, or gives them only nine fingers, or,” he paused, the lump in his throat preventing speech, “or stains their faces with the blood mark, as he has done with you.”
Gently, he reached to touch the blotch on his child’s otherwise perfect face. She opened her eyes and regarded him. Tahmu held the doomed infant close.
“Dragon!” he cried at last, his voice raw, “Dragon, you have tormented me for so long. I beg you, let this be your last judgment upon me and my House. You marked this child. She is yours. I have torn her from the arms of her mother to bring her to you, as our traditions demand. Now leave me and mine be!”
Gently, he placed her on the offering stone. She roused at the movement, and somehow summoned the strength to cry. He turned, willing himself not to hear the heart-breaking noise, although it seemed to echo in his head long after his mount had placed many miles of desert sand between them.
Chapter Ten
Kevla thought it would have been better if the household had been permitted to show its grief. Had the child been born clean, not so clearly marked by the Great Dragon’s disfavor, and died during birth, i
t would have been deeply mourned. As it was, no one spoke of it. Things moved on as if all was normal, but there was a sickly, frightened, sorrowful pall that hung over the House as if storm clouds sat atop it.
Yeshi locked herself in her room and would see no one. Several times a day, Tahmu knocked on her door and asked permission to enter. All he received was silence. On the third day, he muttered something under his breath and burst open the door with his shoulder.
Kevla did not know in what condition he found Yeshi, but an hour later she, Tiah and Ranna were summoned to the room. Yeshi lay on the bed, still in the filthy, blood- and afterbirth-stained clothing she had worn on the day she had borne her ill-fated child. She stared, unseeing, at the ceiling, but as the day wore on the three women managed to coax her into eating a few bites of food, shedding her soiled clothing, and permitting herself to be bathed from a basin.
While Yeshi slowly and unwillingly returned to her women, the rest of the House was kept busy with the flood of new five-scores. Kevla did not interact with them, but she passed them in the kitchens now and then and pitied them. Most were not much older than she, and female. They seemed terrified and spoke with a thick accent. Some of them bore old scars. She wanted to let them know that it was all right, that Tahmu was a good master, but when she did try to speak to them, they shrank from her like frightened liahs. Kevla hoped that Sahlik’s mixture of practicality and kindness would reach them.
She saw little of Jashemi, and there was no talk from Maluuk about resuming their lessons. She feared that going to war had changed the young lord. Was that strange connection she had felt real? Or was she fooling herself into thinking she meant anything to him other than as a servant? He passed her in the halls with no acknowledgment, and at such times she was buffeted with both relief and regret. She told herself it was for the best; any closeness between a Bai-sha and a khashimu, even a friendship, courted trouble.
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