Reluctant Concubine

by Dana Marton

  I rushed after the Guardian of the Cave.

  “You must make excuses for your absence. The palace is large. A foreigner such as you could easily wander off and become lost. And for next time…” He pulled a handful of thin sticks from his robe and waved them in front of my nose.

  I ran my finger along a pungent stick the length of my forearm. “What are these?”

  “Place one in a tankard in your room and light the end with a candle. Anyone who enters will fall asleep and stay so until the stick is doused and fresh air wakes them from their dreams. Once you light it, cover your face and leave the room,” he added.

  I pulled my hand back. “Is it sorcery?”

  He flashed me an impatient look. “A harmless herb.” He gave a name I never heard and could not pronounce. “The smoke will not harm anyone,” he promised. “Our people, the Seela, use the sleeping sticks to allow rest to those in great pain.”

  I tucked the small bundle inside my tunic as we reached the top of the cliff. Below, I could barely see Karamur, still steeped in thick mist.

  “Thank you, Grandfather.” I bowed, then handed him the fur I had borrowed from the cave. I missed its warmth, but I could not hang on to it while climbing. “I hope I shall see you soon.”

  He smiled at me fondly. “One more word before you leave. Did your mother teach you the use of your powers?”

  Sadness crept into my heart. “She died before they came to me.”

  He nodded as if he had expected my answer. “You must be more careful with them, Tera. Your healing spirit is sacred but not without an end. You must use your skills and your herbs, but your spirit only as last resort, only if you must, and even then…” His expression turned somber. “You cannot help anyone if you give your spirit away and give your body unto death.”

  His blunt words made me think of my mother’s fate. He spoke the truth. I could not give argument.

  “If you had not come to us, and we had not been able to help you in time, your body would not have survived,” he said. “A greater purpose awaits you. You must be more careful for all of our sakes.”

  Like a chided youth, I hung my head and promised, wondering of what greater purpose he spoke. “The Guardian of the Sacred Scrolls mentioned a prophecy—”

  “You must hurry. Dawn is upon us.” His lips flattened in consternation for a moment. “Has your mother never told you, then?”

  I shook my head.

  “Maybe it is better that way. It is not always good for one to know all there is to come. Much of the courage comes from knowing not, I think. Be patient. You will learn soon enough,” he said, then left me to disappear into the woods.

  I looked after him for a long time, until a bird gave cry and took to the air from a treetop, jarring me from my reverie. I heard the flap of its wings but could not see it when I looked up. The cry sounded again, coming from farther now. The bird was flying south.

  Toward Shahala lands.

  The call of freedom sounded like a thousand trumpets in the air. It made me forget the Guardians and Batumar. All that had happened to me in the inhospitable land of the Kadar floated away into the dawn like a strange dream. I turned into the direction of my true home, and my eyes filled with tears, as it seemed the spirits had answered my prayers.

  I was free.

  I ran the first few steps, too giddy to worry about tripping over stones or roots. Had the Palace Guards realized yet that I had gone missing? They would be searching the palace first, but when the mist rose, they would spill out into the city, then outside the gate.

  Enough of them served Batumar so that the captain could send some in every direction. But even that thought could not slow me down. Home.

  Then my feet faltered suddenly. What home? I could not go home to Jarim.

  I could go to Sheharree, I thought and ran on. My mother had friends in the port city, and even had I been a stranger, I would have been welcomed. Even if I had nothing to give in return, the Elders of the city would have made sure I was looked after. But I had something—the healing powers of my spirit.

  I could be happy in Sheharree. The Kerghi hordes might never come. And if they did, why would they come to the Shahala? Our people did not fight. The Kerghi could hardly consider us their enemy.

  I reached a rocky slope and slowed to pick my steps with more care, worried that at any minute the guards would be upon me. I hoped none of them would be punished because I had run away. Nor Leena. Would Batumar blame her for my escape?

  She would probably look for me herself and be worried. If any sick came to the back of the kitchen, she would have to tell them I had gone. I regretted that, leaving the people who had come to depend on me. Sheharree had many healers, but Karamur had only me.

  I fought against the sudden pang of guilt.

  I told myself that Karamur’s sick would learn to go on without my help and be no worse off than before I had arrived. And once the mist came again, and I did not go to the Forgotten City, the Guardians too would know that I had gone. Maybe I was not the one they had waited for all this time. If I had this great destiny they spoke of, would I not have known? Would I not have felt it?

  I made my way down the slope, grateful for my Shahala thudi and short tunic. I rubbed my hands over my arms against the chill, hurrying the dawn, the sunshine and warmth.

  At least, I did not have to fear freezing at night without a tent as long as I found enough dry leaves to gather around me. The weather grew warmer with every passing day.

  Free.

  I smiled at the fading stars. My plans of sneaking out of the city with the caravan had come to naught, and yet here I was. The spirits rarely gave me the exact help I had asked for, but in all important things, they had always helped me in their own way.

  I filled my lungs with the crisp air, the familiar scent of the forest—the scent of freedom. I could not ask for more. I had neither food nor water, but I trusted the spirits to watch over me on the journey. I would look for edible leaves and fruit and roots. Eggs and nuts would be my nourishment, morning dew my drink.

  I did not slow nor did I look back. My mother had fled from Karamur; the Guardian of the Scrolls had said so. The Guardians could not blame me for doing the same. How good running free felt in my legs….

  And yet…something deep in my heart, a whisper so low I could not fully hear…it called me back.

  I refused, even as I knew the heart, like the spirit, did not bear refusal.

  A person cannot refuse his heart without losing it, my mother’s voice whispered into my ear from a long ago conversation we had at the top of a numaba tree.

  My feet faltered, then halted.

  The Guardians had waited for me for a long time. Since when did a Shahala run away from a request for help? Maybe I could stay a little longer. Just until they called the mist the next time. Until I learned what said the prophecies.

  I looked at the woods around me, at the needle-covered Kadar trees that had once seemed strange but became familiar to me during my long journey to Karamur. A few drab little birds of the north, lacking in so many things compared to the colorful beauties of my home, watched me from their branches.

  What made them stay here through the season of snow, the heavy storms, and the punishing winds? Why did they not fly south? Many of them did not survive the hard freezes, of that I was sure. They had strength, these small creatures, strength and courage—two things much valued by the Kadar. The Shahala prized humility and self-sacrifice.

  I stood there for some time before I turned around.

  The sky grew lighter. I hurried back the way I had come, then climbed down the face of the cliff, an easier task now that I had full command of my body and my strength back again.

  Once I reached the ramparts, the climb became easier yet, the mist clearing enough so I could find my way to the palace without trouble. I entered through the kitchen door I had left unlocked when I had escaped. The kitchen stood empty, although somebody had already fed the fire. I hurried throu
gh, paying little mind to the orange flames.

  Luck favored me, as I did not see anyone on my way to Pleasure Hall. Leena had not raised the alarm. I thanked the spirits for that and soon found the reason.

  She still lay at the foot of my bed where she had fallen asleep, worn out by the events of the previous evening.

  I hid my bundle of sleeping sticks quietly in a small jar I kept for herbs in the corner.

  But as I sat upon the bed, her eyes popped open. “Thank the goddesses, your health has returned,” she stammered, her eyes suddenly glistening.

  She pushed to her feet at once to fuss over me. She bade me to rest, which I did but for only a short while, as I had not found my return down the cliff and across the fortress all that exhausting. A strange energy hummed through my body, likely an after-effect of being healed by the Guardians or the excitement of all that I had learned in the Forgotten City.

  * * *

  For the next few days, Leena refused to leave my side.

  All day long, she ordered the servants around, chiding them for bothering me, pushing them out the door as they brought choice sweets and other small treats from the kitchen until I thought I would burst. They fulfilled my smallest wish and provided me with comforts before I ever asked for anything. I had little to occupy my time, as no sick came to me. I wondered if the mist the Guardians had sent might have had some healing in it.

  Finally, on the fourth day, I could not languish in Pleasure Hall any longer and decided to walk to the kitchen to thank the cook for yet another wonderful creation of mosan-berry pie. I did so, distracted by the aroma of baking apples. The cook noticed and insisted on serving me a dish immediately.

  I had sat enough in the past few days, so I walked with my plate, and soon a couple of strange fish, swimming in the tub in the back, distracted me. Their scales glistened in the colors of the sunset with stripes of midnight. Pretty they would have been if not for their enormous teeth, thin as fishbone but the length of my little finger.

  I stared at the fearsome creatures, wondering if they might yet eat each other, when the sudden yelp of pain behind me made me jump.

  I turned. “Who is hurt?”

  Nobody would look at me as I glanced from face to uneasy face. The cook had her hand behind her back.

  “What is it?” I stepped closer.

  “Nothing but a small cut, Lady Tera.” Still she would not show me. Blood dripped to the stones behind her.

  “I would see just the same.”

  She pulled her hand forth with great reluctance, holding the nearly severed thumb in place with her other hand. “Just a scratch. It will quickly heal.” She forced a painful smile and moved to hide the hand again.

  What nonsense was this? I set the plate aside and reached for her. “Let me see.”

  The woman fell on her knees, tears filling her eyes. “I beg you, Lady Tera. You will make yourself ill again.”

  “That was but once and had nothing to do with this.” I took the pain and closed the wound fast, leaving not even a scar. A sudden rush of fatigue cut through me, taking away the glow of the past few days, but I felt no other ill effects.

  I looked around the kitchen then and knew why I had not seen anyone sick. They thought to hide their ailments from me.

  I owed them the truth. “I have been foolish with my own strength. I shall not do that again, but I would not have anyone suffer as long as I can help.”

  They bowed, some looking hopeful, others unconvinced.

  “They need not worry so,” I told Leena on the way back to Pleasure Hall.

  “We worry because we care for you, my lady. Our High Lord is much loved by his people. You are his only concubine.”

  I understood the words she spoke as well as the ones she had left unsaid. The House of Batumar did not have an heir.

  I swallowed my unease, for I had not realized how much his people had put their hopes in me. But as much as I wished for everyone’s dreams to come true, I planned to be gone from Karamur as soon as I had found out more about my mother’s last days from the Guardians, and about the prophecies, the secrets which drew me to the Forgotten City.

  Then something else occurred to me, something so terrible and distasteful to the spirits I barely dared to utter the words, and yet they had to be said.

  “Is Batumar Barmorid’s son?” I held my breath for the answer. Was Batumar my half brother? If so, my presence in his Pleasure Hall was nothing less than an abomination.

  Leena looked at my sudden agitation with concern. “Of course not.”

  I exhaled.

  “In the old days, after the first High Lord was chosen by the warlords, his title passed down to his descendants, but soon our people learned what a bad governance that made. For hundreds of years now, at the death of each High Lord or when he decides he is too old for battle and takes the advisor’s seat, the warlords choose a new High Lord from among their own number. The strongest man with the most courage and wisdom enough to rule.”

  She gave me a curious glance. “Batumar is such. He is respected and much loved.”

  Truly, sometimes I wondered if despite their difference in age, Leena was not a little in love with the High Lord. I nodded in agreement to her words, not wanting to offend her obvious worship.

  We reached Pleasure Hall, and I sank onto a bench by the pool. I missed that glowing sense of well-being, the gift of the Guardians, wished I had been able to keep it a little longer. And then, too late, I remembered the warning of the Guardian of the Cave.

  I had spared little thought for sending someone for my herbs when I had looked at the cut on the cook’s hand back in the kitchen. Why should I have, when my powers were so much quicker?

  Then I remembered the scores of plants my mother had collected and used. In truth, she had brought forth her powers only in the direst circumstances, but since those healings were the most spectacular, I remembered them the best.

  Perhaps the Guardian had been right. Like a child with a powerful tool, I was using my gift badly, wasting it, perhaps. I looked at Leena’s kind face, now pinched with worry. She mistook my pensive silence and thought something was amiss.

  “I promise to be more careful with the healing,” I told her.

  A motherly smile spread on her face as she nodded with relief.

  My mind returned to Batumar. “When a new High Lord comes to the High Seat, does he give up his House to come to rule at the palace at Karamur?”

  “Our High Lord still has his House, run by his stewards, not too far south of here. He visits when he can, although not much of late. He will return there once he leaves Karamur for the advisor’s seat.”

  She must have read my confusion because she went on. “If the High Lord is not killed in fight, he steps down once he passes into old age. As the leader of the combined Kadar troops, our High Lord must be fit for battle.”

  I thought about that and had to admit, as strange as the Kadar customs were, some held a grain of logic.

  “Will you not lie down, my lady?” Leena gestured toward my chamber, apparently still worried.

  “Maybe for a little while,” I agreed, mostly to appease her.

  She followed me into my chamber and covered me once I lay down, but did not leave. “I saw one of Lord Gilrem’s servants in the kitchen today,” she said with hesitation. “He said Shartor no longer visits their House.”

  I sat up at the news. “Did the soothsayer leave the city?”

  “I do not think so, my lady. His following has grown strong of late. The coming war worries many people. They take reassurance where they can find it.”

  “But Lord Gilrem no longer follows him?”

  “Maybe not, my lady. If we are to believe gossip… Shartor forbade the servants to seek you when Lord Gilrem’s concubine and son were dying. He told them you would kill both and curse the House of Gilrem for good measure.”

  No wonder they had looked at me with much anxiety when I had arrived.

  “Do you think Lord Gilr
em sent Shartor away?”

  “I would not know, my lady.”

  “How fares the babe and mother?”

  “Fair well, my lady. Lord Gilrem shows both much favor as I hear.”

  Had Lord Gilrem shaken off Shartor’s influence? I hoped so for Lord Gilrem’s sake as much as my own.

  * * *

  As the summer wore on, little by little the sick returned to seek me once again. They came from the palace and from the city outside, some even from beyond the fortress walls. With my herbs and the skills I had learned from my mother, I healed—mindful of the Guardian’s warning—and waited for the mist to descend.

  It came soon enough as a low cloud on the mountaintop that grew as it made its way down to us. I hurried to Pleasure Hall to prepare, but in the corridor, I met Lord Gilrem.

  “I hope the day finds you well, my lord.”

  “Lady Tera.”

  Since he stopped, I could not press on, either.

  “I see you are fully recovered,” he said.

  “I had but a temporary weakness, my lord.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I saw the servants preparing your funeral wreath in the Great Hall.”

  Nobody had told me about that. Yet I wasn’t surprised. The servants had seen enough death to know the look of it, and without the Guardians, I would have most certainly died.

  He strode to Rorin’s altar. I thought he looked pale, although I could not be sure whether it was only a trick of the flickering torches.

  “My son is growing stronger with every passing day,” he said. “A miracle, my servants insist. Shartor foretold, in confidence, that the child would not be born alive.”

  “What says the soothsayer now?” Maybe I could find out more about the man.

  “I have not seen him these past days.” He watched me closely, his gaze sharpening. “Have you practiced sorcery upon mine in my House?”

  The blood chilled in my veins. “No, my lord. My only gift is healing.”

  Silence filled the space between us.

  “Perhaps you speak the truth,” he said at long last. “I have heard of sorcerers taking lives, but never heard of any risking their own life for another, sapping their own strength and power.”