She followed the trail of the slave march eastward, rising at dawn, walking steadily all morning, resting at noon, and walking until sundown. She slept on the earth where she stopped, and waking, set off again without hesitation. She lived off the refuse of the march, eating the stalks discarded from vegetables, and the bones thrown out of the stewpots. The land was low and undulating, and clothed in a dry spiky grass which scratched at her ankles. At the high point of each rise she looked ahead, hoping to catch sight of the great march, but every time she saw nothing but the next long rolling hill, and the hazy autumn sky.
From time to time she passed dead bodies, most commonly of old people, people she had once known. She made herself look at them, made herself see the wounds of the spears that had killed them, because the sight fuelled the anger and hatred that drove her on. But after a while she avoided the sad bundles. She was growing weaker, and was fighting the temptation to lie down herself, and slip into a sleep from which she would never wake.
Then the day came when there were no more leavings from the march. After ten days, the provisions were evidently running low, and everything that could be eaten was being eaten. On the eleventh day, Kestrel found nothing at all. There was no shortage of water, each shallow valley had its stream, and for a while, by filling her belly full of water, she could forget her hunger. But when the hunger returned, the pain was worse.
On the twelfth day she began to feel dizzy. When she stopped to rest at noon, her legs gave way beneath her, as if only the rhythm of walking step by step had kept her upright. She folded to the ground, and lay huddled on one side, and knew no more.
Some hours later she was woken by the flickering of a bright light. The sun was low in the sky, and was dazzling her eyelids. Then came blackness. Then the brilliant light once more. She became aware of sounds: the rumble of carriage wheels, the clatter of horses’ hooves. She forced herself up onto one elbow, and opened her eyes.
There before her, quite close, moving slowly in a long line of coaches, wagons, and men on horseback, was an exquisite high-wheeled carriage, painted orange and green, ornamented with gold. In the carriage sat a young woman, looking out. Kestrel stared at her, not knowing whether she was dreaming or awake. The young woman stared back. Then she started to scream.
‘She’s looking at me! She’s looking at me!’
The immense column of carriages came to a halt. Tall men seized Kestrel and lifted her into the air. She was carried before a man in a gold cloak, who said things to her she didn’t understand. Then she lost consciousness again.
Kestrel half-woke to the sound of voices. One, the voice of a cross-sounding man, was saying in an impatient sort of way, as if it should be obvious to everybody,
‘Put her to death, put her to death.’
The other was the voice of a haughty young woman.
‘Nonsense, Barzan. She must be made to understand what she’s done, then she must have her eyes put out. Everyone knows that.’
‘But radiance, we can’t wait until she wakes up. We’re late already.’
‘Who said we were to wait? You can put her in my carriage, and Lunki will watch over her.’
‘In your carriage, radiance?’ The one called Barzan sounded very surprised.
‘Why not? She’s seen me already. And she’s only a girl, you know.’
Kestrel hadn’t opened her eyes, so the unknown people who were arguing over her still believed her to be unconscious. She now felt herself lifted up by several hands and carried up steps and into a darker place, which she supposed must be the young woman’s carriage. Here she was laid down on a soft bed, and shortly felt the rumbling motion of the carriage wheels rolling over the rough ground. The shock of all that had happened to her, and the softness of the bed, and the jogging motion of the carriage, combined to send her back into a deep sleep.
When she woke for the second time, she opened her eyes for a brief moment, and saw in the half-light of the curtained carriage two ladies, one fat and one thin. The thin one was about her own age, and astonishingly beautiful. Kestrel closed her eyes again, and lay there listening to their conversation, hoping to find out what they meant to do with her.
She heard one of them return to her bedside and sit down to gaze at her. It was the young one, the beautiful one, with the haughty voice. After a while she said, in an approving tone,
‘She’s not at all fat.’
‘The poor thing’s starved,’ said the fat woman.
‘She won’t like having her eyes put out, will she?’
There came no answer to this. The young woman evidently took this silence as a criticism.
‘She shouldn’t have looked at me, darling. You know that very well.’
‘Yes, sweetie. But my baby should have been wearing her veil.’
‘She still looked at me. So it’s too late now.’
‘I wonder what she thought.’
‘So do I, rather.’
There was a silence. Then the young woman went on,
‘You know, Lunki, apart from you and mama and papa, no one’s seen my face since I was seven years old.’
‘Quite right too. My baby mustn’t show her face, not until she’s married.’
Yes, I know.’ She sounded unenthusiastic.
Kestrel felt her come closer. She felt her curious fingers touch her cropped hair.
‘Wake her up, darling. Poke her.’
‘It’ll take more than poking, sweetie. That one needs food.’
‘Feed her, then. At once. Now.’
‘But she’s asleep.’
‘Push it into her,’ said the imperious young woman.
Kestrel heard the one called Lunki, evidently a servant, rattling about in a cupboard. She began to think she had better open her eyes before some strange substance was forced into her mouth. But then she heard the young woman clap her hands and say,
‘Honey! How clever you are, Lunki!’
Kestrel smelled the honey on the spoon. Then she felt the cool trickle on her lips. Still pretending she was half-asleep, she poked out the tip of her tongue and licked the sticky sweetness. It tasted of wild clover in summer meadows.
‘She ate it! Give her more!’
Honey drip by honey drip, Kestrel felt her strength returning. After a while, she judged the time was right to admit that she was awake. She fluttered her eyelids and opened them, and looked up at the two ladies who were leaning over her.
‘She’s awake! Look, Lunki, she’s awake!’
The beautiful young woman clapped her hands once more.
‘Can she speak? Make her say something.’
Kestrel decided she had better speak.
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.
‘Oh, you darling! Can I keep her?’
‘What about –?’ The fat servant touched her eyes.
‘Oh!’ The young woman was shocked. ‘I can’t possibly let them put out her eyes. That would be too horrible.’
Kestrel heard everything, and said nothing. She had decided to say as little as possible until she learned who these people were.
‘She can be my servant. My servants are allowed to look at me. That is, you are, you know, Lunki.’
She turned to Kestrel and spoke as if to a small child.
‘Would you like to be my servant? Or would you rather have your eyes put out with red-hot skewers?’
Kestrel said nothing.
‘She’s thinking about it. I don’t mind.’
The young woman’s sharp eyes suddenly caught sight of the silver S that was hanging on a string round Kestrel’s neck. She reached one hand and touched it, turning it this way and that to study it.
‘I like this,’ she said. ‘I want it. Give it to me.’
‘No,’ said Kestrel.
‘No?’ Astonished, the young woman turned to Lunki. ‘She said no. But I want it. She must give it to me.’ And to Kestrel, ‘You have to give me what I want.’
‘No,’ said Kestrel again, and took the silver
voice away from her elegant white hand.
The young woman stared at her.
‘How dare you!’
She slapped Kestrel’s face. Without thinking twice, Kestrel slapped her back, as hard as she could. The young woman burst into tears. The servant saw this aghast.
‘Baby!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, my poor baby!’
‘You’ve been kind to me,’ said Kestrel, ‘and you’re very beautiful, but if you hit me again I’ll kill you.’
The young woman gasped for breath.
‘Oh! You’ll be so punished! Oh! You’ll cry! I’ll make you cry! Oh, you creature!’
She took Kestrel’s hand in her own violently trembling hand and pulled it and twisted it, as a confused rush of words came tumbling out.
‘Why aren’t you afraid of me? Did I hurt you? I’m sorry if I hurt you, but you’re not to – you’re not to –’ She raised Kestrel’s hand to her lips and kissed it. ‘Why are you so unkind to me? Do you really think I’m beautiful? How would you kill me? Why aren’t you afraid?’
Gently, Kestrel drew back her hand. The young woman became calmer. Her huge amber eyes gazed at Kestrel, and her sweet soft lips trembled.
‘Please tell me. Am I really beautiful?’
‘I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful in all my life.’
‘Oh, I’m so glad.’
She was entirely sincere. It seemed that it was somehow necessary for her to be beautiful. Kestrel picked this up at once. Whatever other faults this imperious young woman had, she was not vain.
Somehow the slaps had been forgotten, on both sides.
‘Who are you?’ asked Kestrel.
‘Who am I? Don’t you know?’
‘No.’
‘I’m the Johdila Sirharasi of Gang, the Pearl of Perfection, the Radiance of the East, and the Delight of a Million Eyes.’
‘Oh.’ There seemed nothing else to say.
‘I’m on my way to be married.’
‘Who to?’
‘I don’t exactly know.’
‘So how do you know you want to marry him?’
‘I have to marry him, whether I want to or not.’
‘I wouldn’t.’
‘Wouldn’t you?’
Kestrel could see that no one had ever talked to her like this in all her life. On her face was a look of astonishment, as if a curtain was being swept aside, to reveal a vista on a new and exciting world.
Lunki saw this too, and was alarmed.
‘Baby, take care, won’t you? We don’t know anything about her.’
‘Then she can tell us.’ To Kestrel, ‘Tell us.’
‘Tell you what?’
‘Who you are. What you’re doing.’
‘My name is Kestrel Hath. I’m looking for my family.’
‘Why? Where are they?’
‘If I knew, I wouldn’t have to look.’
Again, Kestrel saw the shock of surprise on her face. She thought to herself, she’s a princess, she always gets what she wants, no one’s ever answered her back before.
‘You’re really not afraid of me?’ the Johdila asked.
‘No,’ said Kestrel. ‘Why would you want to hurt me?’
‘I don’t. I did to start with. But not any more.’
‘So we can be friends.’
Kestrel meant nothing very much by this, but the word made a great impact on the young princess.
‘Friends? I’ve never had a friend.’
She studied Kestrel with close attention, wanting to understand her.
‘Why do you wear such ugly clothes?’
‘So no one will look at me.’
The Johdila puzzled over that. Then,
‘I’ve decided to keep you,’ she announced.
‘You can’t keep me. I’m not a pet.’
‘But I want to.’
‘Then you must ask me.’
‘Ask you? But what if you say no?’
‘Then you don’t get what you want.’
‘But that’s – that’s –’ She clearly wanted to say, that’s not right, but something in Kestrel’s face made her hesitate. ‘But that will make me sad.’
‘Not for long.’
‘Can I keep you? Please?’
Kestrel couldn’t help smiling. She felt so much better, now she’d eaten. And the Johdila did look so comical, with her pretty face all puckered up and ready to cry.
‘Maybe I’ll stay just until I’m well again,’ she said. ‘If you’d like me to.’
The Johdila looked in wonder at Kestrel’s smile.
‘What do you want me to give you?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Then why are you smiling at me?’
‘You’re funny. You make me smile.’
The Johdila considered this gravely.
‘Is that how friends smile? For no reason?’
‘Yes.’
So the Johdila smiled back.
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Kestrel, caught unawares by the radiance of her smile. ‘How lovely you are!’
5
Looking, listening, learning
Ozoh the Wise took the sacred chicken from its basket, and carefully dusted its feet with powdered chalk. Nearby, his royal master the Johanna of Gang, the Lord of a Million Souls and the father of the Johdila Sirharasi, stepped down from his royal carriage, lowered his enormous body into a camp-chair, and emitted a long loud groan.
‘Be quiet, Foofy. You’ll disturb the chicken.’ This from his wife, the Johdi of Gang, Mother of the Nations. Though known affectionately to her people as ‘Little Mother’, she was as large as her husband, her girth made even more imposing by the stiff heavily-ornamented tent-like garments she wore.
The Johanna groaned because he was hungry. He slept poorly while travelling, and when not sleeping, he thought about food. At home if he woke in the night, which he never did, he could call for any food he wanted. On this journey, if he woke in the night, which he did every night, he must go hungry. His wife had introduced a strict rule that no breakfast was to be served at court until the day’s signs had been read. After all, as she had pointed out, if the reading called for a day of fasting, and they had already eaten, who knew what the consequences might be?
The royal augur held the sacred chicken over the sign mat, which he had unrolled on a level patch of ground. The chicken was white and fat and fluffy, with sticky-out feathers all round its mad pink eyes. Ozoh was thin and bald and bare, at least from the waist up, so that everyone could see the intricate blue-green patterns that twined all over his body, the proof of his claim that one of his grandmothers had been a snake. Below the waist he wore the traditional baggy pantaloons of Gang, so no one knew whether the markings extended over his bottom; but many wondered.
‘Oh! Ha!’ he muttered, and lowered the chicken carefully onto the mat. The whole watching court went still, tensed to see what the chicken would do. Two men watched with particular attention. Barzan, the gloomy stooping Grand Vizier, standing behind the Johanna on his right side, kept his eyes on the movements of the chicken. The other man, a tall handsome soldier, watched the royal augur. His name was Zohon, and he was the Commander of the Johjan Guards.
The chicken looked back at them for a moment. Then, moving its head in abrupt jerks, it strutted off the mat towards its dish of corn.
‘Aaah!’ went the court.
A short line of white footmarks had been left on the mat by the departing chicken. The augur looked at them closely.
‘Excellent.’
Everyone relaxed. That meant there would be breakfast.
‘As your mightiness can see, the signs enter through Fang and exit through Yanoo.’
‘They look clear enough to me,’ said the Johanna.
‘Indeed so. Nothing untoward will happen today’
‘That’s all right, then.’
The Johanna started to rise.
‘So long,’ added the augur, ‘as all members of the royal party do their duty with a glad heart.’
&nbs
p; ‘Ah,’ said the Johanna. He looked towards his wife.
‘What if they don’t?’ asked the Johdi, thinking at once of her daughter, the Johdila Sirharasi, still asleep in her carriage. Sisi was not known for doing her duty, with a glad heart or otherwise.
‘If they don’t,’ said the augur gravely, ‘there will be consequences.’
‘Oh dear,’ fretted the Johdi. ‘I was afraid of that.’
Happily, Ozoh the Wise understood her well.
‘The Johdila, of course, has no duties,’ he said. ‘Not in the strict sense of the word. Being as yet unmarried.’
‘Oh! Ah. Not in the strict sense of the word,’ said the Johdi, greatly relieved.
‘And in the matter of signs, as your gloriousness appreciates, only the very strictest sense of the word applies.’
‘That’s all right, then,’ said the Johanna again. ‘Bring on the hot buttered pancakes.’
The Johdila Sirharasi did not breakfast in the dining tent with the rest of the court. Her breakfast was carried to her own private sleeping carriage, by two servants wearing blindfolds. They were afraid of dropping the heavily-laden trays, and so they proceeded very slowly from the kitchen wagon to the Johdila’s carriage. By the time they arrived, the melted butter on the pancakes had formed a hard yellow crust. This happened morning after morning, but no one thought to improve the arrangements, because the Johdila never complained. She never complained because she never ate her breakfast. It was eaten later, and in secret, by her maid Lunki. The rule at court was that the servants did not eat until their masters had eaten, and since the Johdila sometimes went for days without eating, Lunki had learned to take the opportunities that fate placed in her path.
The two servants stumbled their way into the outer room of the Johdila’s carriage, where Kestrel now had a bunk bed alongside Lunki. They handed over their trays, and stumbled out again. They made no attempt to peek through the blindfolds. Any man who looked on the unveiled face of the Johdila would have his eyes burned out with red-hot skewers.
‘Breakfast, sweetie,’ cooed Lunki through the dividing curtain.
‘Boil me a glass of water, darling.’
William Nicholson - [Wind on Fire 02] Page 5
