Altaica

by Tracy M. Joyce

  Yet Umniga cautioned him that the girl was growing obsessed with becoming a Kenati. She had reached puberty and no guardian presented itself; still she held out hope that one would come. It was odd—the more controlled and confident that Ratilal became, the more Samia seemed to want, and need, to leave and join the Kenati. As time went by she became more despairing. She begged Umniga to allow her to join the ranks of the Kenati, but the old woman refused. She seemed happy enough when she was away, but would mysteriously become withdrawn on her return. At this time Ratilal was the ‘golden child’, behaving as he should while Samia was slipping away.

  Asha moaned and mumbled incoherently, then sleepily sat up, blinking her bleary eyes.

  Shahjahan stood, bending over her in concern as he felt her brow. ‘What’s wrong, little one, what do you need?’

  Asha did not recognise where she was. Flickering light revealed a large room, someone was beside her speaking softly. She moved, the pain in her ribs and head recalling to her the earlier events. She focused on the face beside her, astonished to see the clan lord.

  ‘My lord?’ she whispered hoarsely, still clearly a little confused and half asleep. ‘My head hurts.’ The last was said in a small, vulnerable childlike voice.

  Shahjahan couldn’t help but smile. ‘I know. Scoot forward, I will put some more bloodroot on your stitches.’

  Obediently, she did so. Slowly, the oddness of her situation dawned on her. Why was the clan lord looking after her? This was not what she had expected. He re-dressed her head, gave her water to drink and bade her lie down. Bewildered, she did so and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Alone again with his thoughts, he couldn’t help but compare Asha with Samia. They seemed opposites. Samia had carried more weight, her face was more rounded, her hair long and dark. Asha, he knew, had never wanted to be a Kenati. She had wanted to remain with her parents, but Fihr arrived when she was a child and she had no choice. Samia found her reluctance to join the Kenati incomprehensible and aggravating. She described her as disagreeable, wild and ungrateful. When Asha became Umniga’s apprentice, Samia withdrew emotionally even further.

  One day he had found her lying in bed, curled up much as Asha was now, pale and apparently asleep. She would not wake. She was cold. He pulled back the covers and saw the blood. Gods, the blood, so much blood! And of her own doing. It had soaked into the bedding around her. He was a seasoned warrior, yet the sight of so much blood from his little girl felled him. He had blamed Umniga and the Kenati for so many years. His anger and grief consumed him. Yet, he grinned at the irony; here was Asha, in his daughter’s room so many years later, and by his hand. He took one last look at her before returning to the chair by the fire and falling asleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE COURTYARD WAS full, despite the early hour. All the watch and many of the wealthy who lived within the old city walls had turned out and stood facing a large pole with an iron ring near its top. Asha stood at the front of this crowd next to Vikram; her bandaged head and colourful bruises visible to all. Shahjahan stood beside a guard holding a short multi-tailed whip.

  Ratilal, shackled, was escorted from his cell near the watch house to the pole. Once there, his shirt was removed and his shackles were unlocked and threaded through the metal ring attached to the pole, raising his arms high above his head.

  ‘My son callously, brutally, attacked Asha of the Kenati. There can be no doubt of his crime, as he was caught in the act and the evidence of it is before you.’ He paused. ‘The law applies to all in my demesne, regardless of birth. Ratilal will receive twenty lashes. Let this be known where you will—I will not tolerate law breakers!’

  Vikram felt a swell of pride—this was indeed the clan lord of old; maybe there was still hope. Shahjahan took the whip himself, causing a ripple of shock to course through the crowd. He gave it an experimental flick. Such was the silence that the clink of the small metal balls, which weighted each stiffened tail, could be heard clearly. Ratilal stood tall and defiant. His tanned, muscular back and shoulders were unblemished and taut. His father drew his arm back and flicked it forward in a deceptively lazy way, yet the whip flew toward its target.

  Asha watched, appearing impassive, yet marvelling at how easily Ratilal’s back began bleeding; each stroke bringing her immense satisfaction. The smooth noise of the whip steadily dulled as it became saturated with blood, the sound reminiscent of wet clothes being thrashed on a rock. The ground between him and his father was stained with blood that had been flicked off the whip as it swung. The first stroke left Ratilal’s back red. By the final stroke his back was sliced, bleeding and bruised. Shahjahan remained resolute. A subtle pallor, the sweat on his brow and hardness in his eyes were the only indicators of what the task had cost him. He handed the whip to a guard. ‘Remember this! The law is for everyone.’

  He turned and headed into the keep where he met the chancellor. ‘No Kenati will have their weapons removed when they visit here—ever.’ He continued, ‘The women who work here should have, at least, a knife always about themselves.’

  The chancellor gave him an apologetic look. ‘They have done so for many years, high lord.’

  ‘I’ve been blind and a thorough fool,’ he said, running his hand over his suddenly careworn face.

  ‘You were grieving.’

  ‘For too long. No, don’t make excuses. I heard rumours about him, but no one came forward, no proof.’

  ‘No, no proof.’

  Once they were secluded in the meeting room again, Shahjahan bitterly ranted, ‘Gods! It would have been better if Karan and Baldev had kept coming and taken Faros.’ The chancellor looked shocked. ‘Well, they could have dealt with him. If I was lucky, he’d have been killed in battle, or I would. Either way, he wouldn’t be ruling the clan or I wouldn’t have to worry. Oh, and enough of this “high lord” rubbish. I am simply clan lord and Ratilal does not deserve an elevated title—not him, not his cronies.’

  ‘Yes, clan lord.’ The chancellor grinned.

  ‘Wipe that grin off your face,’ Shahjahan huffed at him.

  ‘Yes, clan lord.’ The chancellor’s grin grew.

  ‘Now, we have to prepare to meet Baldev and Karan at The Four Ways. Ready wagons with supplies—plenty of food, water, blankets, some assorted clothing. Sounds like these people are in a bad way.’

  ‘You are agreeing to let Lords Karan and Baldev in? With troops?’

  ‘I have no damn choice. My son saw to that. I can’t send Asha back to them in her state with a negative answer. Gods know what they’ll think, or do. Aside from that, they may just be right about all this, damn them! Get everything ready. I want the wagons gone today. Asha, Vikram and a few guards can go with them direct to Parlan.’

  * * *

  Shahjahan entered Ratilal’s chamber to see half a dozen of his son’s friends hovering around the room. One of them was treating his back, if the litany of complaints issuing from Ratilal was anything to judge by. All conversation ceased upon his entry. He walked to the bed where his son lay face down. Ratilal coldly appraised his approaching father.

  ‘Leave us,’ Shahjahan commanded.

  ‘No, they can stay.’ The lacerations on his face made him wince as he spoke and his speech was clipped.

  ‘Leave us!’ They did not look to Ratilal, but hastily left the room.

  ‘Cowards,’ Ratilal sneered quietly at their departing backs.

  ‘No. They know who is clan lord here.’

  ‘What do you want?’ came the truculent response.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘You’ve done your talking already.’

  Shahjahan ignored him, removing the cloth covering his wounded back. ‘Did Niaz treat this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you sure he’s your friend?’ Ratilal moaned as he tried to turn his head enough to see the state of his back. ‘Stay still. I will fix it.’

  ‘What, have you got the whip with you? Going to finish the job properly?’<
br />
  ‘Shut up. You gave me no choice and you know it,’ Shahjahan growled. He retrieved salt from a well-stocked box of medical supplies and mixed up a strong salt water solution, then thoroughly bathed the gouges.

  Ratilal hissed. ‘It’s already been bathed.’

  ‘Not well.’ Shahjahan smiled as his son groaned. ‘I’m glad to see someone at least had the presence of mind to supply a kit for your use,’ he said as he perused the contents of the box of medicinal supplies.

  ‘Glad? The old woman left it and then scurried out like a cockroach. It was up to my men to help me.’

  Shahjahan frowned at his use of ‘my men’. He grabbed a salve of honeygold, scooped a liberal amount into a bowl, then blended in powdered duckweed. His hand paused over the bloodroot. No, he thought. Let him hurt a little longer.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Ratilal demanded.

  ‘Honeygold salve mixed with duckweed—helps healing and stops bleeding. Your friends should have thought of this.’

  ‘They hadn’t finished.’ Shahjahan began applying the salve to his son’s lacerated back.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘You are my son.’

  ‘Didn’t feel like that earlier. You whipped me like a common criminal.’

  ‘You behaved like a common criminal. You know the law.’

  Ratilal deflected this by saying, ‘You picked an inopportune time to start caring about Kenati and being clan lord.’ Shahjahan’s pause in his ministrations gave Ratilal satisfaction in knowing that he had hurt him, but if he could have seen the pain and wrath on his father’s face, he may well have given pause to his gloating.

  ‘I have been wrong in my hatred of the Kenati. They were not to blame for Samia’s death.’ Ratilal stiffened under his hands. ‘And I have neglected some of my duties. Regardless of that, you would have been punished. I have never neglected the law in this respect. What possessed you?’ No answer was forthcoming. ‘Things will change, Ratilal. Get used to it. We will resume our duties to the outlying settlements, and when I see Lords Karan and Baldev, I will talk about reinstating the games.’

  Surprised, Ratilal tried to face him, but his father’s large, firm hand on his shoulder restrained him. ‘Be still, for the love of the gods, be still. I am nearly finished.’ Ratilal grumbled, but laid quietly, his mind racing over this unwelcome turn of events. ‘All right, slowly sit up. I’m going to need to look at your face.’ Ratilal eased himself upright. ‘Gods, that’s deep! I can see part of your cheek bone. I’ll need to stitch them.’ Shahjahan carefully stitched Ratilal’s face. ‘It will scar. You won’t be so pretty anymore.’

  Ratilal snarled, pulling at his father’s work, and scowled in pain. As if able to read his thoughts, Shahjahan suddenly grabbed his chin, forcing his son to look him in the eye.

  ‘You will not go near Asha again. Do you hear me? Go find a willing whore, but never do this again. I don’t ever want to hear even a whisper of such things again.’ He resumed his stitching.

  Ratilal, his mind still racing, put aside his anger. ‘Why are you seeing Karan and Baldev?’

  ‘Lords Karan and Baldev have asked to enter my territory.’

  ‘They’re already in our territory.’

  ‘No. That is theirs now.’

  ‘It was ours—they took it!’

  ‘It’s theirs—for now. If I had not neglected the people, they could not have taken it.’

  ‘The people! Disloyal scum.’ Ratilal was scathing.

  ‘No! It is a mark of their loyalty that it took Karan and Baldev so long to annex the lands north of The Divide.’ Shahjahan interpreted his silence to mean acquiescence, raising his hope that he could reach his son. ‘Now, do you want to know why I am meeting them? Or have you heard rumours already?’

  ‘How could I?’ In truth, he had received information, but he had not given it any credence. He needed to hear it from the old man. He listened attentively as Shahjahan spoke while he continued stitching.

  ‘This is perfect.’ A cunning smile lit his face.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Once they are in our territory they will be easy to kill. They will have fewer guards; they will be at our mercy. We can remove them, retake the northern territory and drive their clans back to the plateau and the Northern Forest where they belong.’

  Shahjahan was silent, simply staring at him. ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘I will give them safe passage. I will not break my word. They have not broken theirs.’

  ‘Their word!’

  ‘Son, make no mistake, the only reason I still rule here is because they did not want to. If they had wanted Faros, they would have taken it and we would never have been able to stop them.’

  ‘No, we could stop them. We have excellent warriors.’

  ‘They are better. How many would you sacrifice in a futile new war? We have lost the power, position, glory and honour of our clan, through stupidity and arrogance; not just mine. Over generations, we have forgotten and neglected our traditions. Traded old values for ones of lesser worth. We will not resurrect ourselves so easily. But from now on we will work toward it. These strangers represent a possible threat we must deal with together.’

  ‘If they’re a threat, kill them.’

  Shahjahan shook his head. ‘I doubt they themselves are a threat. Also, if the gods have brought them to our attention, it will not do to anger them by killing the strangers.’ He paused, thoughtful. ‘It’s what they may be running from that I’m worried about. We need to find out about them.’

  ‘I understand.’ Ratilal nodded. ‘If they have made it this far, then others may come too.’

  The clan lord smiled at his understanding. ‘Exactly. Be patient, son. We will return to our strength and reclaim our honour, but not your way.’

  ‘I want to come.’

  Shahjahan scrutinised his face carefully. Seeing nothing but eagerness, he assented, faintly hopeful that by having Ratilal work closely with him, it may not be too late to mould him into a better leader. ‘Yes, but not to The Four Ways. Go directly to Parlan.’

  ‘Why not The Four Ways?’ Ratilal was petulant.

  ‘I must tell them what befell Asha, for they will see her soon enough, and I do not want you there when I do.’

  ‘I can look after myself,’ he said, shrugging, thinking only of the opportunity it would provide him.

  ‘Not in this state,’ Shahjahan scoffed. ‘Even if you were in fighting trim, Karan would gut you like a fish and Baldev would rip off your head and use it for a door knob because of what you have done. Let me deal with this and stay clear of Asha.’

  Just when he thought he had made his son understand, Ratilal said, ‘We don’t have to meet them. I don’t like them setting foot here. No one may follow the strangers. Or maybe not for a long time. We can build up our defences in the meantime. We don’t need the others. The glory would be all ours.’

  Shahjahan shook his head sadly. ‘I thought you understood. Despite everything else, despite the fact that I think they are right—and remember, I am clan lord, not you—the moment you assaulted Asha you left me no choice in the matter. She came to me at their bidding. We cannot fight a war with them again, not so soon. I leave in the morning. You will not leave for a few days …’ He raised his hand to forestall his son. ‘Because of your back. Then you will join me.’

  Ratilal nodded. That would allow plenty of time to plan.

  Shahjahan exited the room to be met by Ratilal’s closest friend, Niaz, lolling in the corridor. Niaz drew himself up, nodding deferentially at the clan lord as he passed. He was ignored. His resentful glare followed the old man’s back before he returned to Ratilal.

  ‘Sit,’ Ratilal instructed him. ‘We have plans to make.’

  * * *

  Shahjahan sought out the chatelaine. ‘I’ve treated my son’s wounds.’

  ‘Yes, lord.’

  ‘You left the medical supplies?’

  ‘Indeed, my lord. His fr
iends were there to treat him. I did not stay.’

  ‘Could not or would not stay?’

  ‘None of the other staff wanted to treat him. I would not force them. I would have treated him myself, my lord, but … I did not want to linger.’

  ‘Gods, damn it! They’re all scared of him?’

  ‘They avoid him. Even his friends, debauched as they are, are not …’

  ‘Has he assaulted any of the staff?’

  Hesitatingly she replied, ‘Once, just after Samia died.’ Shahjahan groaned. ‘We did not tell you at the time, because you had enough to bear.’

  ‘Has it happened since?’

  ‘No, my lord, not here. We thought he had learnt, after that, not to foul his own nest.’

  ‘So someone dealt with him, yes? Barracks justice?’ She nodded. ‘Good.’ The faint glimmer of hope he had experienced when talking to Ratilal was now almost quashed. He felt bereaved by its loss and wished he could cling to it. ‘He will be bedridden for today. See that he stays that way for at least two more days beyond that. Take him willow bark tea and lace it with enough sleepsease to render him incapable of leaving until then. After that he can join me, but I don’t want him interfering with my plans.’

  ‘With pleasure, my lord,’ the elderly woman smiled.

  * * *

  Umniga’s wagon rolled inexorably through the undulating slopes surrounding the delta. As she drove through the fertile farm lands, she received welcoming smiles from all, along with offers of a meal or bed should she choose to stop. Gratefully, she declined, but often was stopped thereafter so someone could give her a loaf of bread, cheese, apples, or anything small and ready to hand for her journey. The children invariably asked where Asha was, disappointed that they would not hear her stories.

  Finally, she approached the small fishing village of Parlan. Colourful cottages dotted the lee side of a gentle rise along the grassy coast. She stopped her wagon outside a long, low, thatched cottage, around which were clustered other cottages like berries on a bush. All of them belonged to Deo and his family. His wife came out of the main house with a puzzled smile, followed by a small grandchild.