Reluctant Concubine

by Dana Marton

  I grabbed my veil and herbs and rushed after her. “How badly?”

  “You must hurry, my lady.”

  I slowed. “I might need jalik for a bad burn.” I turned back toward my chamber. I had some jalik leaves drying on the mantel, not completely ready yet, but better than anything else I had.

  She grabbed my hand and tugged. “Poison, my lady, you must hurry.”

  “Which is it then, poison or burning?”

  “Both,” she stuttered, so agitated as to be nearly incoherent.

  Healers gained a great calm in a crisis, but those untrained in the healing arts often panicked. I did not think she would be able to give me much detail. Best to see it for myself, I thought, and followed her.

  But when we reached the kitchen, we found the kitchen staff missing and only two strange men within.

  The girl closed and barred the door behind us, then covered her face with her hands. The men grabbed me at once.

  “What is the meaning of this?” I demanded as my heart clamored.

  They pulled a sack over my head; then they stuffed me into an empty flour jar. They fastened the lid on tight.

  The outer door creaked open, then I heard the noise of the street. The jar jostled as they carried it. In the narrow space, I could not lift my arms to free my head from the sack. I called for help, but the burlap and the jar muffled my cries.

  My lungs burned for air. I banged my fists against the fire-hardened clay, fearing that if they did not release me soon, I would suffocate.

  But at long last they set the jar down and opened the lid, then dragged me forth into the light. I blinked against the sun as I gasped for air. The smell of tar twisted my nose and made me cough.

  “Sorceress!” The single word cut the air like a sword.

  True fear filled me as I turned toward Shartor’s voice. We stood in an alley somewhere behind the palace, the narrow space filled with his followers. The men and women looked upon me with hate, scowls on every face.

  “Lord Gilrem is dead because of her,” Shartor pronounced, his strange eyes bloodshot and wild. “And so is Lord Batumar. She is the friend of our enemies. I swear to you, it is she who called the war.”

  Cold spread through my veins. “Lord Shartor, I—”

  The crowd began to chant and drowned out my protest. “Sorceress! Sorceress!”

  They ceased only when Shartor held up his hands. “What is the punishment for sorcery?”

  The crowd roared, “Death!”

  “And what is the only way to kill a dark sorceress?”

  The crowd parted, revealing a great steaming cauldron over a burning fire. “Boil her in tar!”

  The two men who had kidnapped me grabbed me and dragged me forward. I protested, but the crowd would not hear my words. They closed their hearts to my pleas and were more interested in blood than reason.

  Spirits, help me now.

  The bubbling cauldron waited but a dozen steps away. My heart beat against my ribs in a wild, panicked rhythm.

  “No! Wait!” I fought, straining my arms and scraping my ankle on the rough stone.

  Then the sun dimmed suddenly. And within another step, the alley grew dark.

  “The mist,” women whispered, charms jingling.

  And indeed, the mist descended upon us rapidly and thickened. In another few steps, I could no longer see the cauldron.

  “The sorceress calls the mist. Do not weaken. The mist will lift when she is dead,” Shartor shouted from somewhere in the deep fog.

  I heard footsteps on stone. Moving away.

  The men’s hold on my arms tightened at first, then loosened. “Lord Shartor?”

  “Boil her in tar,” came the order, but this time, no chanting from the crowd.

  A dog howled in the distance, the eerie sound echoing off the walls around us, the mist distorting the howl into something otherworldly.

  The man on my right let me go first. His boots slapped against the stone as he hurried away. The man on my left was close behind him.

  “Sorceress!” Shartor roared in the mist.

  I ran in the opposite direction from his voice, my soft leather slippers soundless.

  I could only guess the way back to the palace and prayed to the spirits the whole time to lead me. I did take some wrong turns, but at long last, I reached the cliff. I climbed, my heart clamoring from narrowly escaping death and also from worrying. I knew that the mist was the Guardians’ way of calling me to them. Had something happened?

  The Guardian of the Cave waited for me at the top of the cliff. He stepped forward, then back, unable to hold still, his large belly jiggling. “You must come at once.” Worry lined his face. “Selaila the Seer calls for you.”

  With my heart in my throat, I followed him.

  A most severe man about my own age waited for us at the fork in the path. His robe hung ill-fitting on his lanky figure, the sharp lines of his face inscrutable. He bowed to me, but when he spoke, his voice held no warmth.

  “I am the new Guardian of the Scrolls. The Seer awaits you, my lady.” He joined us as we hurried on, keeping his gaze on the city ahead. He avoided looking at me.

  He had the right, I thought sadly, to blame me for his father’s death. I wanted to ask for his forgiveness, but that was something not best done in a rush.

  We reached the city and hurried toward Selaila’s hut. The streets were never crowded, for the people who lived here saw their numbers much reduced over the centuries, and those who remained were shy around strangers. We passed but a handful of men and women who peered at me with curiosity but kept their distance.

  At our destination, the Guardian of the Cave called out a greeting before he entered. I followed him, the young Guardian of the Scrolls stepping inside behind me. The hut had but one chamber, round, with no furniture but some old pelts scattered on the floor. Swirling, painted images decorated the wall, mesmerizing my eyes. I had to turn from them to keep from growing dizzy.

  “Lady Tera.” The girl in the middle of the chamber, not yet a woman, bowed and took my hand. Her hair fell to her ankles and was completely white, as were her eyes, without irises.

  “Have you seen him?” I blurted, inexcusably impolite but too anguished to stop myself.

  Nothing but kindness sat on her face, even if her tone was somber. “Since the High Lord of the Kadar left through the gate, I have gone to him each day to follow his fate, but now I can no longer see. It is all darkness, my lady.”

  Dread weighed down my limbs and my heart, and a thick fear clogged my lungs. She led me to stand under a round metal medallion fixed to the ceiling, then moved it aside, revealing a hole in the roof that looked straight to the sky.

  “If I take you there, you might be able to find him, for your spirit is connected to his.”

  “I am ready.”

  She lifted her face into the beam of light. “Close your eyes.”

  I did as she asked. I would have done anything to find Batumar.

  She hummed an ancient spirit song I could not understand, but my mind floated along with the melody. The sunlight shone through my eyelids, strengthening into a blinding white. And then I saw stars over a city like Karamur, only some of this city lay in ruins. A great black tower rose to the sky in the middle. On the city wall hung ten black flags.

  No, not flags, I saw as I reached closer. Ten men hung from ropes by their necks, all dead—Batumar’s guard.

  I cried out and stopped, but a presence behind me pushed me forward until I stood inside the city gates. Smoke rose from some of the houses, but no one bothered to put out the fires. Destruction everywhere, the bodies of men, women, and children piled high along the streets. Soldiers fought over the belongings of the dead, snarling like animals. They did not see me.

  I moved toward the palace and its broken gate, the building cold and dark inside like a giant grave. I floated forward and suddenly felt alone. The presence that had been all this time behind me could no longer follow.

  I moved thro
ugh hall after hall, chamber after chamber, staring in horror at the beast-like warriors who passed me unseeing. Soon I felt something pull me forward, and I descended under the halls of the palace to the dungeons. I found Batumar there, covered in wounds, barely hanging on to life.

  I screamed, and the force of the sound ripped from my throat brought me back to Selaila’s hut. Tears streamed down my face, but I wiped them off, thanked the girl, and rushed outside.

  “I must go to Mernor. The prophecies foretold that I would stop the war. I should have gone to Mernor in the first place, and no other.”

  Perhaps the two Guardians sensed my resolve, because they did not question me. We returned to the cave for enough food for the journey and started out for the Gate.

  “They seek you,” the Guardian of the Cave said suddenly. “Your woman servant and the Palace Guard. They are here in the valley. Do you wish to see them, or should I direct them back from whence they came?”

  I thought of my trip through the Gate, a journey that might yet prove a journey into death. Leena had been like a mother to me. I wished to embrace her one more time, wished to make sure she would not blame herself if something happened to me. “I would see them for a moment.”

  The Guardian nodded, and as we cut through the deep woods toward the Gate, we soon met Leena and a small group of warriors, along with the Captain of the Guard, on the path. Quickly I told them what I had learned from the Seer. Of course, they insisted upon escorting me to the Gate. Leena held my hand the whole way, tears washing her face.

  We traveled faster than Batumar’s army had before, for we carried few provisions and were on foot, able to cut over the ridge. For once, I barely noticed the biting cold of the high mountain. I leaned into the cutting wind when we walked and huddled with Leena for warmth under our thick robes when we rested.

  When we arrived at the Gate, we wasted no time. I said farewell to the Guardians and then embraced Leena. I prayed to the spirits that I would live to see her again in this life. “I thank you for all your kindness toward me.”

  She drew herself straight suddenly. “I shall go with you, Lady Tera.”

  Tears flooded my eyes at this display of loyalty. “You cannot.” I walked toward the pillars the Guardian of the Gate had selected for me.

  “We will guard the Lady Tera well,” the captain assured the Guardians and Leena.

  I turned to face him. “I go alone.” I had no plan, only the hope that having brought me this far, the spirits would not desert me now.

  “Lady Tera, you cannot,” the captain protested.

  “I can and I will. Your armor and colors would be instantly recognized.” I thought of the Kadar guards hanging from Mernor’s walls. “You would only get us all killed.”

  The captain thought on that for a moment but shook his head.

  “The Lady Tera is right.” The Guardian of the Cave intervened on my behalf. “This is no longer a matter of force but of destinies.”

  A longer silence followed his words.

  The captain nodded gravely at last. “We shall wait here.”

  Leena stepped in front of me to speak in a whisper not to be heard by the others. “I abandoned my son once so as to save his life. I cannot abandon him again. I offended Rorin and his goddesses by trying to outsmart my fate. He is dying anyway.”

  I gasped. Her great love for Batumar made sense suddenly. “Is he your son? The one you left behind as a babe?”

  She nodded rapidly, tears washing her face.

  I took her hand, part of me stunned yet another part not so surprised, and we stepped into the circle together. I saw the archways around us, but when I looked through them, I saw not the mountain and Batumar’s men but wondrous places of faraway. Only one opening stood dark as if a black fog had swallowed up everything behind it. And through this opening we leaped.

  The journey passed in a bright flash of light and a moment of dizziness, a smell similar to that of lavender, and air so thin it forced my lungs to gasp. But one gasp was all. We came out on the other side, and even in the starless night, I could see that we were in the middle of a river, on an island no larger than Batumar’s palace, surrounded by dark waters.

  Warriors guarded the gate, their campfires like giant fireflies dotting the island. The next moment, we were noticed. The moment after that, we were seized.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  (Journey through a Forsaken Land)

  The soldiers stank of sweat, mead, and dried blood that caked their armor. Their hands were rough upon us, and they had bloodlust in their eyes and filthy words dripping from their leering lips. They began with confiscating our traveling supplies. They spoke the language of the Kerghi—harsh growling sounds—and so I addressed them in that same tongue.

  I looked above their heads and said in a clear voice, “I am Queen Manala of Chebbar, coming to surrender to Khan Woldrom to save my people. Take me to him at once.” I could think of nothing else that could purchase us time enough to escape. I had not come this far only to be raped and killed.

  They stepped back, snarling in anger and disappointment at being robbed of a night of entertainment, but more than they wanted to abuse us, they feared their khan, it seemed, for two of the men took us to the tent of their captain.

  The burly giant said nothing as he listened to the report of our arrival and claims. His gaze swept my golden gown, very much the worse for wear. Not unreasonable for a queen in the time of war and on a great journey.

  “You travel without your guard?” he asked after some time.

  “If the khan favors my plea, I have nothing to fear of his warriors. If he does not, my guards cannot protect me.”

  I stood tall and would not flinch under his inspection, hoping my short hair would not give me away. With luck, the Chebbar customs were not like those of the Kadar, and hair had less significance. And even if that was not the case, I wondered if a Kerghi captain would know much about the customs of the Chebbar.

  “Queen Manala.” He glanced at Leena, then back at me. “You will go to Mernor in the morning under escort. Rest here for what remains of the night.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” I nodded gratefully, and after he strode out, I sank onto a wooden chest, relief suddenly turning my knees weak.

  Leena looked at me with open admiration. “Well done, my lady.”

  Maybe. But how to proceed?

  Even though the captain had promised to send us to Mernor, I had no wish to travel with his men. I did not know how long the journey to the city would last. Chebbar might fall before we arrived, and our ruse would be discovered. I did not want to be close to so many swords when the truth came out.

  “It would be best if we traveled on our own.”

  Leena moved to the front of the tent and listened. “Two guards outside.”

  I slipped to the ground and lifted the edge of the tent in the back. “None here.”

  We were not prisoners and were on an island besides. The guards at front were probably more for our protection than for fear that we would escape. We had come of our own free will, after all.

  We waited as the night wore on and the camp grew quieter around us. When I was afraid to wait any longer—we needed the cover of darkness for as long as we could have it—we crawled out the back.

  Most of the men slept in their tents, some snoring the stars out of the sky. We crept in the cover of bushes toward the water, to the boats that lay like great dead fish on the shore. But when we reached closer, we found the boats well-guarded and the men watching them alert.

  While on Dahru, summer was barely turning into fall, we were now much farther north, the weather much colder here. Shivering, we crept back in the other direction and down to the water’s edge until we found a large log wedged into the mud. I waded into the river, Leena close behind me. My feet went numb in the icy water long before we managed to push the log into the water.

  We did not let go of it but went along, submerging our trembling bodies. With our heads hidden behi
nd the log, we floated down the river to find Mernor, and in it, Batumar. Or die in the trying.

  My wet gown pulled me down, but I hung on with all my strength. I did not dare even to whisper to Leena, as the water would have carried my voice well and far.

  I could barely feel my limbs by the time we floated out of sight of the island. I tried to angle us toward the bank, but we floated downriver for some time, as the current was strong and the log not easily directed.

  The first light of morning dawned on the horizon by the time we finally reached land. We pushed the log back into the water, then sought refuge in the thick forest ahead. Shivering, we lay on the cold ground, holding on to each other for warmth, too exhausted to rise.

  But we did not dare to stay long or to start a fire. When we were able, we stumbled deeper into the woods, feeding on the succulent leaves of lenil bushes we passed. What we did not eat, we saved, as we did not know when we might have food again.

  The wind picked up and swayed the giant trees above, but low to the ground the bushes protected us. Still, even the fraction of the full wind proved enough to chill us further. My sunborn body shivered without stop; my skin stung with pain. Leena seemed to carry on better, having been snowborn. She had lived through a lifetime of frigid winters.

  We did not find anything else to eat, although we saw many strange plants and birds and tracks of other smaller animals. A lot of the trees and bushes had thorns, some I suspected poisonous, so we forged ahead with great care.

  In a valley, we came upon an abandoned tar pit, the smell turning my stomach.

  Boil her in tar. I heard the cries again for a moment as I remembered the boiling cauldron in the alley. I told Leena about Shartor and his mob. She prayed loudly to the goddesses to burn off his braided beard and other parts that stuck out from his body.

  As we walked on, I shared with Leena some stories about my childhood and my mother. In turn, she told me how she had been a powerful warlord’s favorite concubine but gave up all the luxuries of his Pleasure Hall and became a servant to save her son’s life. My heart ached for her and all that she had suffered.