by Patty Jansen
There, that was better already, a much better use of eye paint than putting it on her eyelids where it irritated her eyes and made her look as if she'd been crying.
Bah, crying was for helpless damsels.
But that still didn't make the decision any easier. She let her shoulders sag. It was easy to be angry in this room. Being angry when facing Father was a whole different matter. Or saying that she didn't want to be in that play when Mother was crying.
There was a knock on the door. Mikandra looked from the door to the wall. If that was her father again, he'd be even more angry with her for painting on the wall. If that was her mother, she would say how disappointed she was in her eldest daughter. If it was Rosep, he would complain about having to re-paint the wall and tell her father.
There was another knock.
"Sis, it's me," a small voice said. "Open up, please."
Mikandra sighed and went to open the door. Her sister slipped inside. In the low light, her face was a pale oval. She glanced from the dress on the floor to the papers scattered over the bed to the text scrawled on the wall. Her eyes were wide. Scared.
Mikandra sometimes forgot how young Liseyo was, and how much what Mother and Father said was still law to her.
"Why is it so cold in here? Hasn't Rosep lit the fire?"
Mikandra gazed at the dark hearth. The fire was producing lots of smoke but no flames.
Annoyed, she poked the smouldering fire bricks aside and fanned the tiny glow in the coals underneath. Flames licked the corner of the fire bricks.
Liseyo sat down on the bed amongst the scattered papers. She picked one up, and then a couple more, shuffling the sheets in order.
"Mother borrowed this text off Gisandra Tussamar. It's very old and precious." There was a tone of accusation in her voice, a tone that said that the noble lady would not appreciated if her precious play got flung over the bed out of order. She was right of course, and that was the annoying part.
"Don't you start, too, Liseyo."
"This is my favourite re-telling of The Invasion. I'm going to play Dinandra."
"Isn't that a role for someone older?"
"They'll make me look older, with white paint in my hair and lines drawn on my face. I get to wear a really nice old-fashioned dress. I think you should join, too. It'd be great fun."
Mikandra sighed. "It's a hideously skewed view of history. There are plenty of documents in the library which say that there was no invasion at all. That the Coldi who came were weak and hungry. They say that the Mirani defenders killed a lot of them before the Coldi could make it clear what they wanted. It's not as if they spoke our language. Flaming creatures came down from the sky indeed. Where is the truth in that? They came in battered aircraft. They didn't shoot and weren't aggressive. The truth is that Miran had the watchtower, and the watchtower keeper used telescopes. Asto is by far the clearest point of light in the sky, and the Mirani council back then knew that people lived there. So why were they still surprised when these people came?" She spread her hands in frustration.
Liseyo's mouth twitched. "Does it matter if it's accurate? It's just a story."
"None of the historical plays is ever just a story. There are children in the audience, and this stuff is being taught to them as fact. They hear that Miran was glorious, yet the evidence is that it was not. We are far more healthy, better-clothed and better fed than the people back then. The children learn that Miran was attacked, but the evidence is that these people came for help, not to conquer."
"Baaah, you're no fun."
"This has nothing to do with fun. It's about the way we learn to see people from outside Miran, and those views start when children are taught this sort of crap."
She let an angry silence lapse.
Liseyo's eyes were big. "I just wish you wouldn't talk like this. It makes me scared. I don't like it when Mother cries. Father is really angry this time, a lot more angry than he was when you refused to go to the theatre. Why do you do this?"
Mikandra sat next to her sister and closed her in her arms. Her shoulders were so thin. "Oh, Liseyo, I'd tell you, but you're not old enough to understand."
"That's what everyone in this house says, and I'm sick of it. Try me. Why do you hate everyone so much?"
Was that what they thought? "I don't hate everyone. I just want to make a difference and do something that helps."
"Being in the hospital makes a difference. There are a lot of sick people who need you."
"It's all fake, Liseyo. Everything we're allowed to do as girls is fake. The theatre, art, music, healing, nothing makes serious money or is anywhere near places where real decisions are made. Nothing is really important. While we're in the theatre rehearsing the plays of centuries ago or in the wards covering up the problems of the city, they make decisions on our behalf, and nothing gets solved. Being in the hospital is just putting dressings on infected wounds that people wouldn't have if they had houses so they weren't sleeping in the street and attacked by maramarang, or if they had heating and didn't get frostbite. I want people to stop the glorifying of Miran. I love Miran, but there are things wrong that we need to make better. I don't think we can do that alone by shutting ourselves off from other people and other worlds."
"So, does that mean you're going?"
Mikandra shrugged. For a moment she wished she'd never received that offer. Everything else she'd done in her life in the way of protest was gentle and reversible. She'd cut off her hair when Mother complained about her wearing it in a ponytail, but it had grown back. She'd walked around in hunting clothes in the city when she'd hidden that stupid dress Mother wanted her to wear so well that no one in the house could find it.
But she had never done anything or said anything that challenged her life with her parents and sister in a way this did.
If she went to Trader Academy, there would be no way back to this house or this room. She would have to be fully independent, and, since she would not find a husband to share her living costs, she would have to earn enough to support herself.
Money frightened her and the thought of not having any frightened her even more.
In the semidarkness of the room, Liseyo was like a pale ghost with her soft cream-coloured hair and huge eyes.
"When you were gone, Father said again that he'll dis-own you. He really means it."
Mikandra shrugged again. If his anger when he got wind of her infatuation for Lihan Ilendar was anything to go by, he would, too.
Apparently, when Father first took up his position as Lawkeeper he had been wronged by Mariandra Ilendar, Lihan's mother and the Ilendar Traders' account keeper. Mikandra never quite understood what the problem was, except that Father chose to remember it whenever a situation came up where an Ilendar family member would benefit from something he did, or something he approved, allowed or paid for.
"Why does he hate us so, Liseyo?"
"He doesn't hate us. He just doesn't want us to be left alone when we're old." Liseyo's eyes glittered.
Mikandra's heart jumped. No, please. "Did Eydrina come to see you, too, and put her hand up . . . there?"
Liseyo nodded. She looked at her hands clasped in her lap. A tear leaked out of her eye and ran down her cheek.
The horror. Two infertile girls in the family. No heirs, no respectable marriages, no future matrons of noble houses, no grandchildren.
"Eydrina says it's especially bad in our generation." Liseyo's voice sounded hoarse. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I can see that it's true, with girls who can't have children and so many others suffering madness. It gets worse all the time." She looked up and met Mikandra' eyes. "You know what it said in the Foundation Declaration, that us Endri have the obligation to look after the city and the laws and all the Nikala workers? We can't do that if we can't even keep our own families alive. Our people are dying." Her lip trembled.
Mikandra nodded. The lack of children born in the Endri nobility had been discussed by many, and no one had come up w
ith a solution. New blood, some said, but when someone married into the Nikala merchants or worker class, the chance that there were children was even less. There were also no records of Mirani Endri fathering children with any of the people from other worlds.
The increasing number of Nikala in the council, like high councillor Nemedor Satarin, already proved that no one needed the Endri, not even to maintain services in Miran. Except those new people had never been taught about responsibility and duty. They wanted money for everything, even for healing, and a lot of the Nikala workers didn't have any, so they went hungry and were sick all the time, and that meant more trouble for the Endri class to fix up, and they had to do so with fewer and fewer people. It was a constant downward spiral.
She stared into the hearth. The fire had expanded to cover the new fire bricks she had thrown in.
Mikandra got up to poke the half-burnt bricks from this morning into a better position.
"What are you going to do about that letter?" Liseyo asked.
"I don't know." Panic crept up in her. She had three days to decide the rest of her life. "I dreamed of this for a long time."
"If you accept, you'll have to leave." Her sister's eyes were wide with fear.
"Yes."
"Then where will you live?"
"At the Guild headquarters, I presume."
"At Kedras?" The world whose major function was to provide a home for the Traders from all over the settled worlds.
Mikandra nodded. She took Liseyo's hands, which felt small and fragile, in hers. "I haven't made a decision yet." Liseyo's eyes were big, and glittered with tears.
A bit later Mikandra added, "I'll think of something." Although what she wanted was clear in her mind, how she was going to do it was not. "Just take care, Liseyo. Whatever I do I do for you, you understand that? Even if it makes Father angry."
Liseyo said, softly, "I don't want you to go. Mother and Father will pick on me doubly hard. They'll tell me that I don't appreciate what I have, and they'll keep telling me that they gave you the opportunity but you wasted it." Her lip trembled. "They'll tell me to go to the hospital in your place, because you embarrassed them. I want to stay in the theatre. I know you hate it, but I like the theatre."
Who would look after Liseyo if she left? Who would make sure that she didn’t blindly follow whatever Father said and set her own wishes aside? Who would make sure that when she did stand up for herself, Father wouldn't hurt her? Who would stop her being married off to a much older man if she became troublesome?
"Will you please promise me to stay here?"
Mikandra looked down. "I can't do that."
"Please?" Her sister's voice was no more than a whisper.
Mikandra's eyes misted over. She didn't want to leave Liseyo, but if she stayed here, neither of their lives would ever improve. "Be strong, Liseyo. For me. I'll sort something out." Eventually. But things were likely to get worse before they got better.
Chapter 3
In the darkness of the night, Mikandra lay awake for a long time, trying to decide the path of her future. She could, of course, do nothing and let the offer lapse as Father wanted. That way, she could stay with Liseyo and protect her against Father's anger.
But even then, she could never be home all the time, and if Father decided to marry her sister off to some old man, there was nothing she could do to stop him. Liseyo would have to learn to fight for herself. If an old man came to her wanting marriage, she would have to make him decide that she wasn't a good option.
She lit the lamp on her night stand and read the letter over and over again. It mentioned the costs, but didn't say where she could go to meet those costs. They just assumed that the Trader Guild students were from rich families and brought their own money. Could she safely assume that sponsorship by Iztho Andrahar meant that he would be paying for her?
She was embarrassed that this thought had not crossed her mind at the time when she had applied and was even more embarrassed that accepting would mean being indebted to a family she had not realised Father hated so much.
She knew there'd been some trouble that concerned Iztho Andrahar's dealing in Barresh, but was it really as bad as Father said?
The fuss about the two-day war in Barresh seemed longer than a year ago. It was the first time in living memory that the Mirani army had been defeated. Granted, Miran was by far the biggest nation on Ceren and most of the other nations were no more than loose groups of primitive tribes living on the coastal fringe of the Mirani continent. Barresh was a coastal enclave on the far western coast, and had been a thorn in Miran's side for hundreds of years.
As far as she understood the Barresh war, there had been an uprising of the locals against the Mirani troops stationed there as part of Barresh's status as protectorate of Miran, and she failed to see how a single man could have enough influence to start a war. And cause defeat of the Mirani army? One single man?
At the time of the war, she'd just started at the hospital and the deluge of injured soldiers that came in had caused major problems. Those men spoke of bands of natives fighting unfairly with blue fire. Some said new weapons. The more superstitious would talk of dark magic. Whatever it was, the "fire" was real and dangerous. Many soldiers died under her hands because too much of their skin had been burnt.
None of the survivors—and she treated many in their agonising recovery—spoke of the involvement of any Mirani Traders in the conflict.
In contrast, they mentioned that the influence of Asto was everywhere in Barresh, and that was the real reason the war had been fought: because Asto had been trying for hundreds of years to get a foothold on the continent that provided its population with so much of its food. So, likely Asto had supported the rebels in Barresh with blue-fire-spewing weapons, and the Mirani army had been unpleasantly surprised.
What did Iztho Andrahar have to do with it?
That made her think that she should go and find out what the issues were, and the thought annoyed her. She wanted to accept the offer and wanted all this other stuff to just go away.
Who cared what Iztho had done or hadn't done? He was a Trader and that meant by default that he was honourable. If he had been involved, it would have been because he acted according to the Traders' moral code. Call her naïve, but she believed that.
She'd never get a chance like this again.
She wanted to go, but she was just so . . . afraid of the future. Afraid to leave her family and travel, afraid to go to this huge place that was the Trader Guild headquarters, full of strangers. She, a daughter of a lowly administrator who had never travelled off-world. She'd get no help from the Mirani Trader apprentices. They were all boys and Mikandra wasn't sure whether they'd shun her because she was a girl, or because she wasn't from the right family. Both, probably. Making friends from elsewhere seemed like a scary thing to do. If she did, the boys would report back to Miran and she'd be shunned anyway for "loving foreigners". She'd seen that happen to Aunt Amandra.
Was that only a small price to pay for the opportunity, or would it forever harm her chance to do well and would she end up worn out and bitter, like Aunt Amandra? Worn out and bitter, with no money and no home to return to and no inheritance?
So what? Go and leave her mother and Liseyo? Or stay and protect them?
She had only three days to decide.
She finally fell asleep and woke up with a shock to see that no one had come into her room overnight to remove the letter from the Trader Guild. It still lay on her bedspread, mocking her with its three-day response ultimatum.
Mikandra got up, dressed in the warm clothes she wore under her hospital gown. First her underthings. Then a thick woollen dress because that's what girls had to wear. The corset went over that. And a jacket with long sleeves. Then stockings that were always itchy. Then she folded up the letter and tucked it in the pocket of her dress.
She decided that she'd go to the hospital and pretend she wasn't going to accept the offer. If she didn't feel any sadness
over it, or if she felt good about being in the hospital, she wouldn't go. If she did feel that she should leave—although the prospect scared her—she would do something about it later today. Both the office of the Andrahar Traders and the Trader Guild offices were close to the hospital and she would walk past them on the way home.
She pushed aside the curtains, letting a cold draft into the room. The night had brought a thin layer of snow, the first for the season, just enough to cover the street. A trail of footsteps in the neighbours' yard marked where the kitchen hand had gone out the gate to pick up the grocery deliveries. If it got any colder, the footsteps would remain white. For now, they had turned black wherever the kitchen hand's boots had touched the ground.
She turned back to the room, walked past her desk and stuck her ID pass in her pocket, just to be sure. If she went to the Guild, they'd probably ask for that.
Mikandra went down into the kitchen, where Rosep slaved over the hot stove already, preparing the evening meal while Father, Mother and Liseyo had their breakfast.
Liseyo looked even smaller than usual. Her eyes were puffy and Mikandra thought that she'd been crying. She ached for her sister, the girl who should have been a boy. The oldest son of the oldest son, discounting the fact that his oldest child was a daughter. Father loved those traditions. He'd taken over the Lawkeeper's business from his father and now he had no son to continue his business, and passing it to her or Liseyo didn't even cross his mind. Mikandra often wondered what went on behind the closed door of her parents' bedroom.
This morning, Father was in his official Lawkeeper robe which he didn't have to but loved to wear outside the court. He quizzed Liseyo on her school work.
Who were the Foundation families?
Ilendar, Andrahar, Takumar, Tussamar and Zithunar.
What is the first principle of the Foundation law?
That Miran is not complete without both Endri and Nikala people.
And the second?
