The Tiger's Daughter

by K Arsenault Rivera

  So instead, I picked you up in my arms. In thick fur pelts, I swaddled you. You muttered my name; I whispered that all would be well soon. And I carried you out of the sanvaartain’s ger.

  Otgar followed us. “Are you going to take her to your mother’s?” she asked. “With our aunts and uncles, too?”

  I had not thought this through, so I shrugged. When you shivered, I held you closer.

  “Auntie Khadiyyaar’s little one isn’t old enough to be left alone yet,” Otgar said. “If whatever Barsatoq has is contagious…”

  My eyes lit up.

  Otgar paused, holding up her hands to try to soothe my rage. “Cousin,” she said. “Barsalai. Shefali. That girl might be the most self-absorbed person under the Eternal Sky, but she is important to you. And, if I’m being honest, she is almost as talented as she claims. But she is one person. You must think of the clan, Shefali. A Kharsa must put her clan first. You cannot keep her around the children.”

  Send the children away, then! Let them sit in their own ger! But … No, they would fall into the fire, and someone had to watch them.

  I looked down at you, swaddled like a baby, pale in the moonlight. Gods, Shizuka, you looked so weak.

  “My ger is empty.”

  What? Otgar had a ger? Auntie Zurganqaar stayed with us. Why did Otgar have a ger?

  She shifted her weight. “I enjoy a bit of peace and quiet every now and again,” she said. “I am a woman grown, I am allowed to begin my own ger if I want.”

  But Otgar was unmarried at twenty—itself an anomaly. And only married women began their own gers. What was my cousin up to? And how, exactly, had she gotten out of her marriage when that boy had already paid his bride-price? Yet I did not have the time or the wherewithal to question her. Instead, I followed as she led us to the very edge of the camp.

  Otgar’s ger was the one tree in autumn whose leaves fell before all the others. Small, with a frame half the size of a normal one, only the barest sheet of felt lined it. Once we stepped inside, we saw a few carpets draped from the supports in some effort to provide warmth. In the southern corner was a single bedroll, and in the center, the smallest fire pit it’s possible to have in a ger. I felt as if I were not standing in a ger at all, but something in between a tent and the white felt palaces I am so used to.

  “It is not much to look at,” Otgar said, “or to sleep in. But it is mine, and tonight it is yours.”

  She stoked the smoldering coals that passed for a fire and laid out the bedroll. As I lowered you onto it, she tucked you in, rolling the sheets up to your chin. I took my place at your side.

  “I must wait for Burqila to return,” said Otgar. “I’d ask if everyone in your family is such a foolhardy, mule-stubborn pain, but we are cousins. I still say it’s only your branch. But…”

  She paused by the red door. Her pale eyes fell on you, sputtering meaningless syllables.

  “May Grandmother Sky smile on her,” she said. “No one deserves to suffer like that.”

  The door closed behind her.

  And so we were alone, you and I.

  I squeezed your hand. As the sands of Sur-Shar when baked beneath the sun, so was your flesh. The words that dropped from your lips were not Hokkaran or Qorin. They were the crack of fire consuming wood; the dull roar of flames igniting; the pop of boiling oil. Thick fog hid the brown-gold of your eyes.

  I stared down at you and considered our life together. Our life apart, really. The first day we met, your hands locked around my throat, your face a demonic mask. All the letters you wrote me that I could not read; all the letters I made Otgar write to you. The stories you’d tell me of the goings-on at court. That afternoon beneath the tree, our blood mingling on an arrowhead.

  I touched your cheek.

  How I had longed to do this, Shizuka. Oh, I’d found reasons to touch you. I did take you out for rides, as I’d imagined when we first left. With perfect nonchalance, you touched the star-shaped blaze on my horse’s forehead.

  Perhaps you do not know this. My mare and I were born on the same day. You might be asking yourself how such a thing is possible, when we are now nearly thirty and I ride her still. Just as you and I are something more than human, my horse is something more than a horse. This was known from her birth. My mother’s liver mare was her dam; her sire was a roan. Yet when she emerged, she was black as night, with the white star on her forehead.

  In no way should such a union have yielded a black horse, or the gray she grew into. In cases like these, we say Grandfather Earth guided her birth. My mother hosted a grand feast to celebrate her dual fortune—an Earth-blessed horse, and a healthy young daughter.

  You did not know that when you asked. At least you did not know it consciously. You could not talk to her as I did, could not speak the tongue of swaying wind.

  I wondered if you were speaking your own version of that tongue. I wondered what you were saying.

  I touched your lips while my own trembled. Dry, cracked, flaking. When I dreamed of this moment, I imagined how soft they’d be.

  Yes, Shizuka. I imagined touching your lips, your cloud-soft skin. I had for at least two years. Other girls my age had boys paying their bride-prices already. When my mother asked if I wanted her to find someone, I shook my head.

  I wanted you. Only you.

  From the day we met, I’ve known this as my heart has known to beat. That it took me so long to recognize is my own great shame.

  And I saw you there, a ghost of yourself. You still had so much to do, Shizuka. We were going to slay gods together. The Empire of Hokkaro needed you, too—you had to found your own dynasty, had to raise children, had to ascend to the Dragon Throne. Empress O-Shizuka you would be, and no one in the land would be permitted to write your name without dropping a stroke out of deference.

  You could never be mine. Much as I wanted you, much as we were destined to spend our lives together, we could never be together the way I wanted us to.

  I licked my lips.

  A fever. That such a mundane thing would lay you so low …

  “Shefali.”

  At the sound of my name, I jolted back to reality. The fog on your eyes had lifted.

  “Shizuka?” I said. “Do you need anything?”

  Weak as you were, you squeezed my hand. Again, fire burned in your gaze, all the more bright against your pallid complexion. “Shefali,” you said, tugging on my hand, “kiss me.”

  My mouth hung open. I drew back, a chill running up my spine. “Wh-what?”

  You screwed your eyes shut and forced yourself to sit up. From somewhere within yourself, you found strength enough to pull me onto the bed. “I don’t care how wrong it is,” you said, almost shouting, “I am not going to die without kissing you at least once. Hurry up!”

  How I wanted to! But what if this was just your fevered raving? What if, when you recovered (you had to recover) you regretted it? This could not be happening. You were going to be Empress one day. You could not want to be with me that way.

  “We’re both girls,” I said.

  You grabbed me by the flap of my deel. Mad with strength, you rolled us over. Hot tears fell on my chest and face.

  “Did you hear me?” you roared. “I don’t care! In all the lands of the Empire, I’ve only ever wanted to marry you. You fool Qorin! You do not hesitate to slay a tiger, but you hesitate to kiss a girl?”

  I stared at you, your cheeks flushed red, your whole body trembling.

  “Are you not a warrior?” you said. “Are you not a leader? Act decisively! Don’t sit there and gawk at a dying woman!”

  I sputtered. No words came to me.

  But this was not the time for words, was it?

  And so I wrapped my arms around you. So I held you in my arms as men hold women, as Grandfather Earth held Grandmother Sky. And as Tumenbayar loved Batumongke, as O-Shizuru loved O-Itsuki, so did I love you.

  Yes, Shizuka. The sky is full of stars beyond number, each one representing a life. And yet in all
those lives beyond number, in all those millions of years lived by those before us, in all their shared experience, none have loved so thoroughly as we.

  When our lips met, the stars grew jealous of us. I cannot begin to tell you how it felt. How my whole body rang with the sound of temple bells.

  When we parted, I could not remember how to breathe.

  I stared at you, eyes wide, fear creeping back in. What if you had not liked it? I’d never kissed anyone before.

  But you tugged me down toward you again. “Keep going,” you said, “until I tell you to stop.”

  And so I did. Our mouths met again. You wasted no time slipping your tongue between my lips like a lick of flame. My hands traveled the wall of your spine. I touched your skin and felt the muscle hiding beneath, felt the bones that made you up. Your hands, too, wandered. With a calligrapher’s grace, you danced across my rib cage and collarbones.

  You became my air. Whenever we parted, you redoubled your efforts. You kissed me like a monsoon; you touched me like lightning. You tugged at my deel, too weak to take it off. Whatever doubts I had disappeared when I rid myself of my deel and pants. I paused with my hands on the brocade edges of your dress.

  “Are you—?”

  “Keep going.”

  When I slid off your clothing, I think I died for the first time—for no one can live through such a divine vision. For an eternity I sat up, gaping at your beauty before you tugged me back downward.

  “Fool Qorin,” you whispered into my ear. “I did not say stop.”

  And then your mouth pressed against my neck. Heat and pressure and pain against that tender skin made me moan. You smiled as you kept at it, knowing full well you’d leave a mark.

  “Shizuka, everyone will see,” I whimpered.

  “Let them,” you said. There would be no arguing.

  Still, my hands kept traveling. I left the delicate road of your spine for something softer. Your breasts have always tantalized me, Shizuka; this you well know. Now that I was touching them for the first time, I hardly knew how to contain myself. I kneaded at them as my heart hammered in my chest, as warmth spread throughout me. Burning within me was the desire to be near to you, to burn in your flame, to show you just how much I’d wanted you all these years.

  I took your delicate pink nipple in my mouth. As my tongue ran over it, you made the most wonderful sound—a half moan, half whimper. It only drove me on. You took fistfuls of my hair.

  As best you could, you rocked your hips against my knee.

  I continued worshipping your body. My mouth moved in unspoken prayers at your other breast, your throat, your collarbones. You threw your head back as I kissed you. How you purred, Shizuka! How I treasure that sound above all others still!

  “Lie down,” you said.

  I did as I was told. And though you were sick, when you positioned yourself over me, I swear I was looking up at the Eternal Sky.

  Gods, but the sight of that part of you. It, too, was beautiful—pink and glistening like an orchid slick with dew.

  “Shizuka, are you sure?”

  “Keep going!”

  You fell forward and braced yourself with one shaky arm. With my hair still in your hand, you rode me—a canter at first, then a full gallop. Your wetness covered my mouth and jaw and chin, and I could not get enough of your taste. Again, I licked and suckled; again, I teased your opening. The louder you were, the harder I went.

  “Don’t … don’t you dare stop.…”

  I could feel you throbbing against my tongue. You tugged my hair so hard, I thought it would fall out; you squeezed my head so tight, I thought it would pop off my neck. When at last you went taut as a bowstring, you spoke my name like a prayer.

  I was covered in you. Gods, the smell, Shizuka. How I wish I could smell you again. How I wish I could take a bit of your spirit into me again.

  For a few moments, you lay on top of me, catching your breath. Perhaps you shouldn’t be engaging in such strenuous activity in your state. But I could not say I regretted it. How could I ever regret being so close to you?

  “Shizuka,” I asked, “was that … did you feel…?”

  In response, you rolled over and smiled. If only for an instant, you looked like your old self. You were going to make it. You had to make it now.

  But … well, there was another matter to attend to. My inner thighs were slick, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t desperate for you.

  You clambered on top of me and bent to kiss me.

  I turned away. “You shouldn’t—”

  “You’re only a mess because of me,” you said. “Let me kiss you.”

  Your kisses were more insistent than mine, and your hands more needy. You grabbed me as if you were going to die in the morning, because there was a very real chance you might. Your long nails left trails wherever they went; your flashing teeth nipped at my nipples and skin. You cupped my bottom and squeezed.

  Our eyes met. Your fingers hovered a hairsbreadth away from my center, from the heat between my legs. My breath hitched; I needed you inside me more than I’d ever needed anything in my life.

  “Shefali,” you whispered.

  I licked my lips. I was so eager, Shizuka. I was the bowstring now, waiting to be fired.

  “Before I do this,” you said, “you should know that I’ve loved you since we were children.”

  “I love you, too,” I said.

  And just like that, your fingertips rubbed against me. Pleasure sank into me like an arrow. I clutched you tight and rode your hand.

  “Ready yourself,” you said.

  But how could I when I was so overwhelmed? Your fingers slid inside me and I moaned loud enough for all Sur-Shar to hear me. After that, I bit at your shoulder to try to keep quiet.

  You thrust your fingers in and out of me, hooking them with each stroke. I moaned into your mouth as the pressure built up at the base of my spine. Soon I was going to explode like Dragon’s Fire, soon I was going to burst, soon I was going to die in your arms and …

  And then it all came to a glorious climax, to a small eternity of bliss.

  When it was over, I leaned against you slick with sweat. We both needed a bit of time to catch our breaths—to process what we had just done. Women did not do this with other women. I couldn’t think of anyone who’d done such a thing. And even if one of us were a man, we were unmarried. If your uncle tried to find you a husband now …

  Yet I could not feel bad about it. If this was not how the gods intended us to live our lives, then I’d rather be executed at your side than never touch you again. Looking at you with your eyes so wide, panting, your chest flushed red, I thought this must be the point of it all.

  You were the point.

  And you were also the first to speak.

  “I see your shy nature does not extend to the bedroom,” you said.

  We both laughed. We linked hands underneath the blanket, and I hid my face against your shoulder in mock embarrassment. We stayed that way for a while.

  “Thank you,” you whispered. “I’ve wanted to do that with you for some time.”

  “Since you saw Aunt Zurgaanqar and Uncle Ganzorig?” I asked.

  One night you saw my uncle and aunt rutting. How red you got looking at them, how you stared and sputtered! That was the first time you’d ever seen anything of the sort, you said. No one in Hokkaro spoke of such things.

  But here on the steppes, there is no privacy. What goes on between man and wife has long been known to me. Qorin girls are supposed to ease their shy husbands into it.

  How amusing, then, that we should be together like this. Was I your shy husband? Or were you mine?

  A blush came to your cheek, but you nodded. “I’ve always known I wanted to be with you,” you said. “The same way a child knows who their parents are, so I knew you were the one for me. But I did not know what it meant until…”

  I kissed you on the cheek. “You stared.”

  “I did,” you said. “Because I w
anted so badly to do the same with you.”

  You huddled against me. We had done the same now, and we could never go back.

  No one could know.

  If anyone found out about us, you would not inherit. And much as I loved you, the people of Hokkaro needed you … No, I cannot say they need you more. I need you more than any hundred thousand people put together. But they are the ones to whom you should turn your attention.

  Do you pay attention to them now, in my absence?

  I did not know what the future held that night. So I held your wasting frame in my arms, and I prayed to every god I knew that we’d wake together in the morning.

  * * *

  SURE ENOUGH, I woke before you. The first rosy fingers of dawn turned the blue sky violet. Bright morning stars flickered above our ger; the warm morning air washed against the white felt walls.

  I looked down at you asleep against me, our feet entangled beneath the blankets. Already red crept back into your complexion; already you felt cooler. I squeezed you tight.

  And under the sheets, you were naked. I had not been dreaming, after all.

  But with the dawn came the return of reality. We could not be caught like this. I slipped out of the bedroll. In your sleep, you reached for me; as I stood, your fingers trailed through my hair.

  It hurt my heart to leave you, but I, at least, had to be dressed.

  Just as I tugged on my deel, I heard the clattering of hooves. I did my best to tuck you in tight.

  A few seconds later, my mother threw open the red door. There were dark circles underneath her eyes, and a halo of frizz crowned her head. As a caged animal finally set free is wild and crazed, so was my mother’s expression. In her hands was a dripping waterskin.

  I tried to stop her, but she barreled straight for you.

  “Mother—”

  She knelt next to you, slipped one arm beneath your shoulders, and sat you up. When she saw that you were naked, she scowled at me.

  My cheeks flushed. “She was cold,” I mumbled.

  My mother tilted her head. At times my mother’s muteness is no obstacle to communication. I read her look easy as Qorin letters carved onto a cliff.