by J. S. Bangs
“… yours now,” Bhila finished. “You’ll follow me back up the hill?”
Mandhi blinked away her reverie. “Yes, of course. Taleg, you keep the slave, the man, in front of you.” She couldn’t bring herself to say his name.
Taleg nodded and pointed where he wanted Navran to go. Bhila continued to talk aimlessly as they left the warehouse district and climbed into the city proper, his words scattering harmlessly away from Mandhi’s ears. At the top of the stairs, she thanked Bhila and dismissed him, then motioned for Taleg and Navran to follow. She did not look back at them. She couldn’t.
They walked half the distance back to the estate, then Mandhi stopped. No use going any farther. She glanced behind her, saw Taleg and the miserable debt-slave standing behind her, and motioned into an alley.
“There may be a mistake,” she said as soon as they were reasonably private. “But if so, never fear, we’ll release you with no harm done. Tell me truly, now. Do you belong to the Uluriya?”
The man’s mouth opened slowly and his tongue flexed, as if he were unsure how to speak. “I don’t know,” he said. His voice was deep and hoarse.
“You don’t know? Don’t try to fool me. You’ve got nothing to lose here. We are looking for a man that we believed to be Uluriya, as we are. But your beard is untrimmed and your hair untied, so I want to know if we have the wrong person.”
The man looked between Mandhi to Taleg with that same dark, unsparing gaze. He took a very long time to answer. “I was born Uluriya,” he said. “That was a long time ago.”
Mandhi pulled the second star-iron ring from her finger. “And this? Do you recognize this?”
The man appeared startled, and a shade of anger flashed in his eyes. But a moment later the impassive mask descended again, and he simply nodded.
“Is it yours?” Mandhi went on. “Why didn’t you keep it?”
“A man took it from me.”
“A man. You mean Rishakka, the slave trader in Ahunas.”
Navran did not respond. He continued to stare at Mandhi.
“So? Was that the man or not, or are you trying to deceive me?”
“It was a slave trader. I don’t remember his name.”
Mandhi shoved the ring back onto her own finger. “Do you have any idea what this is?”
The man’s gaze slipped to the pair of rings on Mandhi’s finger. “Maybe not.”
She wasn’t going to pry anything else out of him, now. With a grunt of disgust she turned out of the alley and into the traffic of the street.
When they reached the estate and entered the outer chamber, she heard Habdana shouting Mandhi and Taleg have returned through the house before them. Navran stepped into the room and looked around. His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed as if a curtain of suspicion fell over them. She imagined how it looked to unfamiliar eyes: colored tiles and fine rugs on the floor, lacquered tables and silk cushions against the walls, and the air scented with cinnamon and rose. It meant wealth and comfort and the strong possibility of a trick, or some more insidious slavery.
She pointed Navran to the door of the men’s ablution chamber. “Through there. Taleg and a serving boy will help you get clean, which you so desperately need. Then—oh, no.”
The curtain over the door of the men’s chamber parted, and Cauratha came through supported by Habdana’s hand. Her father’s steps stuttered into the room, and the boy eased him onto a bench near the wall and put a cushion under his feet. Cauratha took a moment to gather his breath, then said, “Navran.”
Navran turned to Cauratha. Mandhi could barely stand to watch her father’s face. His eyes took in the man’s unkempt hair and filthy garment, and his visage crumpled into confusion and disappointment. “Mandhi, is he the one?”
“As far as I can tell. He says it’s his ring.”
Cauratha raised his hand. “Bring it to me.”
Mandhi twisted the second ring off her finger and passed it into her father’s palm. He glanced at the ring, then up at Navran. “Is this yours?”
The man shifted from one foot to the other in evident discomfort. “It was.”
“Where did you get it?”
“My father gave it to me.”
“Your father. Yes, that may be the case. Did he ever tell you where it came from?”
“No.”
“You never asked? Because you must have seen it wasn’t an ordinary ring.”
Navran slouched and lowered his head, as if attempting to fold in on himself. “I didn’t talk to my father much.”
“Well.” Cauratha seemed ready to say something, but he swallowed his words and shook his head. With a creaking sigh he reached for Habdana’s hand. “Let us go in. You will need to be cleansed and dressed properly, and you must wear your beard in the Uluriya style. I’ll call for a barber.”
He rose to his unsteady feet and shuffled forward. Navran stood awkwardly at the entrance to the men’s ablution chamber. Taleg prodded him gently from behind, and with a glance backwards he stepped through the curtain.
Mandhi pushed through the curtain into the women’s chamber and washed her hands and feet rapidly, muttering prayers and curses with equal vehemence. For once, she had returned before nightfall and could forego the full ablution—and good, because she had no patience for it. She shook the drops of water off her hands and charged through the inner door, straight into Srithi.
“Oh!” Srithi shouted and tumbled backwards, catching herself before she fell. “Mandhi! I was coming to see you. Did you find Navran?”
“Yes. Unfortunately.” Mandhi brushed passed her towards the door to the men’s chamber.
“Wait!” Srithi shouted. She tugged at the sleeve of Mandhi’s choli and cupped her hand to Mandhi’s ear. “I found the saghada.”
“Oh.” Mandhi’s fury abated a little. None of this was Srithi’s fault. She unclenched her fists and turned to her friend. “Thank you. Who?”
“His name is Ghauna. Do you know him?”
“No, I don’t believe so.”
“But it’s better that way, no?”
“Yes, probably.” Of course, even if he had met Mandhi or Cauratha, he would have no idea who she really was. Or else he would never agree to what she was going to ask.
“I thought so. I told him that a young Uluriya woman needed help and discretion, and he seemed willing enough. He’ll see you tonight.” Her voice dropped. “I think he’ll want coin, though.”
Coin was no problem. She could just ask—ah, no. She couldn’t ask her father, nor Veshta who normally supported her and Cauratha. “I don’t suppose you have anything you could give me,” she whispered.
Srithi grinned. “Of course I do. But you have to tell me what this is about.”
Mandhi grabbed Srithi’s hand and kissed her on the cheek. “I will. Afterwards. I promise.”
She glanced down the hall. Cauratha had emerged from the men’s ablution chamber and rested on a stone bench next to Taleg.
“I have to go talk to Taleg and my father,” she said. “Later, tell me exactly how to get to Ghauna. And tomorrow you can know everything.”
She hurried to where her father sat, the folds of her sari rustling insistently around her.
“Just not yet,” Taleg said when she came within earshot. “He still has the mind of a laborer and a slave. You heard him. He barely speaks. He doesn’t understand why he’s here. His religious upbringing was defective. We can’t, we can’t simply drop the whole weight of the Manjur inheritance on him at once.”
Cauratha closed his eyes. “Mandhi, do you hear what Taleg is saying? He thinks we should hide Navran’s name from him until he is ready.”
Mandhi’s heart leapt into her mouth. She had hoped for something like this, but she felt intense relief that Taleg had brought the word and not her. “Yes. He will be ready, but not yet.”
“I can’t lie to him.” Cauratha’s lips trembled. He folded his hands on his lap and thought for a while. “But tonight we can let him rest and e
at in peace. Tomorrow, after we perform the sacrifice, we will dine together, and I’ll tell him the truth. Most of the truth. We’ll see when he is prepared for the rest of it.”
* * *
The sun had slid behind the distant horizon of the west, leaving the last bit of orange to leach out of the sky. Mandhi counted the coins in the purse Srithi had given her, while Taleg stood watch at the corner of the house. By all appearances, he was merely an escort for a merchant’s daughter going out for a nightly walk. As intended.
“I don’t know, Mandhi,” Taleg said quietly.
“You don’t know what?” This was dissembling. She knew exactly what he meant.
“I don’t like going against your father’s wishes. He has trusted me with so much. With you, to begin with.”
“He said I had latitude to choose, as long as he had another Heir. I’ve delivered him his Heir, and now I’m choosing. And if I have to choose against my father’s will, at least we’ll be within the law of Ulaur. So we agreed.”
“Yes, we agreed, but…”
Mandhi straightened and drew as close to Taleg as she dared without violating their pretense. “Do you love me?”
Taleg looked at her, directly and intently, his pale eyes like chips of moonlight. “Yes,” he said. He threw back his head and turned to the road. “Tell me where we’re going.”
It was a short walk through the Uluriya Quarter of Virnas, thick with wealthy merchant estates and the homes of prominent saghada. But they had to get farther away. They crossed the city, passed beneath the shadow of the king’s palace, and came to the East Quarter, the artisan’s quarter, where the silversmiths and silk merchants mingled their shops around the long market road. Many of the doors had the pentacle over them, and Mandhi began to count the ones they passed. The roads at this hour were empty save wanderers like themselves and a few stray goats. The forges were quelled, but the district still stank of charcoal and the tang of borax.
“Here,” Mandhi said. The ninth door on the left bearing the pentacle.
“Are you ready?” Taleg asked.
She brushed passed him and squeezed his hand. “I have been for a very long time.” She knocked on the door.
A middle-aged man in a shabby blue kurta answered, his lips parting into a sly smile as soon as he saw Mandhi. He bowed.
“The stars upon your house,” Mandhi said.
“They are,” the man said. “You must be the one that Srithi told me of. Come in. My house is pure, those who follow Ulaur may enter without fear.”
Mandhi and Taleg came inside, touching only the tips of their fingers to the water in the clay vessel by the door for ablution. Taleg crouched to get through the door and stood with his shoulders slouched and head down to avoid banging against the palm thatch of the ceiling. The house had but one room aside from the curtained bed-chamber in the rear. A woman and a small child sat at a low table, and the woman bowed her head to Mandhi briefly but said nothing.
“So, you need the services of a saghada,” the man said. He reached up to bring down one of the baskets hanging from the rafters. “My name is Ghauna. I serve the Uluriya families of this district, but I have never seen you before. Of course, that is the point, no?” He winked at her.
“I need you to perform a wedding,” Mandhi said. “It must be according to the law in every respect. But no one else can know.”
“I guessed as much,” Ghauna said. He removed an ivory brush, a jar of oil, and a silver-bound palm-leaf book from the basket. “And where is the groom?”
Mandhi pointed to Taleg.
The man made no effort to hide his surprise. His eyes grew wide, and he looked Taleg up and down from the crown of his ruddy head to his broad, sandaled feet. Taleg grew red, and Mandhi took his hand with defiant brazenness.
“I see why this is a secret,” the man said. He pointed to Taleg. “You cut your hair in our style, but do you truly belong to the Uluriya?”
“I do,” Taleg said.
“I have never heard of a Kaleksha who became an Uluriya. But don’t tell me about it. I agreed to do this, but I want to know as little as possible. Just tell me your names.”
“Taleg. And my wife will be Mandhi.”
A thrill of pride went through Mandhi at hearing the words. She stepped closer to him so their shoulders touched.
Ghauna opened the book and found the page he wanted. He pulled the lid off the jar of oil, and the smell of myrrh flooded the room. In a moment, his demeanor stiffened into total seriousness. He dipped his first finger into the oil and drew the pentacle on his own forehead and the palm of his left hand. “In the name of Ulaur, who formed the stars and cast them to the earth, who makes the seven-winged amashi his servants, who gave the iron of heaven to Manjur his chosen, whose Heir we remember forever.” He anointed Mandhi and Taleg with a pentacle on their foreheads, then said, “Join hands. This will not take long.”
True to his word, the man performed the ceremony quickly but exactly. When it ended, the pleats of their hair were braided together, and the hands they clasped together were fragrant with oil. The man read the last lines of the rite, then carefully folded the book shut. Mandhi gasped for air as if she had not breathed in an hour. Her heart thudded in her chest.
“Now,” Ghauna said. “Unbraid your hair so that no one sees it when you return. And don’t touch each other until you’re far away from here. I don’t want the least bit of trouble coming back to me for this. Now, does one of you have something for me?”
Mandhi tossed the pouch of coins onto the table. The man emptied it into his palm, nodded once, then slipped them into the pocket of his tunic. “The stars upon your house. Go.”
Taleg ducked out the low door, and Mandhi followed. Without hesitation, he took up his usual, swift, fearless gait through the city. Mandhi followed a pace behind him. It seemed like a mile stood between them. How had she stood so close to him for so long? Her hands were shaking, and her tongue was dry. The smell of myrrh covered both of them. If anyone met them they would know that something was afoot. She hadn’t thought to bribe the doorkeeper at Veshta’s estate. But no, perhaps a bribe would raise more suspicion. They would enter quickly, go through their respective entrances, and then—
When they reached the estate, the doorkeeper merely nodded at them before opening the door of the outer chamber. When they were alone, Mandhi took Taleg’s hand and whispered, “Go through the men’s chamber, then to your room. I will go to my bed-chamber and ensure that all is safe. Then you can come to me.”
Taleg nodded. A thin smile wanted to escape his lips, but he seemed to try to hold it back. Without a word, he disappeared through the curtain.
Don’t run. Oh, she wanted to run. Instead, she washed her hands and feet in the ablution chamber and walked up the stairs to her room with quiet, measured steps. Srithi’s chamber was next to hers, but when she peeked through the curtain she saw Srithi’s silhouette in the bed and heard her quiet breathing. Her own room was dark, lit only by the slivers of moonlight leaking in from the window over the courtyard. She slipped inside the curtain and parted it to watch his approach.
No one moved for several long minutes. Then, with steps as silent as a tree planting its roots, Taleg appeared through the shadow. Mandhi let the curtain fall and retreated into the darkness of her room.
Taleg entered. “Mandhi,” he whispered.
Mandhi stepped forward and found his hand. His fingers closed over hers, and he raised her knuckles to his lips for a kiss. His other hand clutched her waist and pulled her to him.
“Are you afraid?” he asked.
She took his hand and put it on her breast. “Do you feel how hard my heart beats?” It was hammering as if to break itself against her ribs.
“Yes.”
“That isn’t fear. It’s joy.”
She slipped her hands underneath his dhoti. His skin was warm, his flesh firm and smooth. He pulled aside the folds of her sari. The silk fell away in ruffles at her feet. His hands encircled he
r waist. He lifted her feet off the ground, bringing her up into his chest. She threw her arms around his neck, leaned in, inhaling the smell of sweat of his chest, the cumin on his breath, the myrrh on his forehead.
They kissed, hard, lips and tongues mingling and releasing all the frustration and impatience they had built up over the last year. His hands flowed from her waist to her thighs and rose to cup her breasts. And they fell into her bed.
3
Taleg stirred in her bed. His breath warmed Mandhi’s cheek. Her hand rose to find his cheek. He withdrew his arm from where it rested across her stomach, kissed her forehead, and sat up.
“It’s nearly dawn. I have to go.”
Mandhi rolled over and rested her head for a moment against his thigh. She rubbed his calf and reached down to his toes. “So go already.”
A laugh rumbled in his chest. “Good to hear you won’t be missing me.”
She leapt up, grabbed his beard, and pulled his face down for a long kiss. “Were you expecting something else?” she said. “Today is the offering in the Ruin, and you have to purify yourself before you go. Just make sure you come again as soon as possible.”
Groaning, he rose to his feet and pulled on his loose cotton pants. “Tonight. Every night, if I can make it.”
“Eventually you’ll get tired of me.”
“I doubt that.” He bent down, grabbed her beneath her arms, and pulled her into the air, where she slid down onto his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and buried her in kisses.
Several minutes later she caught her breath. “You were leaving,” she said. “If you’re here when Cauratha wakes up….”
“I know.” He lowered her back into the bed and turned toward the opaque curtain over her door. “Once I go through that curtain, I’ll be your escort and sometime friend. You understand that, right?”
“Yes.” She had lived with that arrangement for years. She could live with it another day.
He nodded. With a heavy sigh, he parted the curtain and left.
