by Namina Forna
* * *
When the lesson ends, I remain seated, anxiety building. What does Karmoko Thandiwe want with me? I’m so tense, everything she taught us about alaki physiology has disappeared, replaced by a thousand horrific scenarios involving bloody rungus and questions about my true nature. My fears spiral higher and higher until Keita walks over, places a hand on my shoulder. I shiver from the surprising warmth of it, my thoughts abruptly calming.
“If Karmoko Thandiwe wanted to report you to the jatu, she would have done so by now,” he says quietly, “so remember that before you panic.”
I don’t even know how he sensed my feelings, but I exhale. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I whisper.
He nods, heads for the door, but now the others have noticed I’m not following behind them.
“Ye not coming, Deka?” Britta asks.
“In a moment,” I say, waving them away. “Save me dinner. Karmoko Thandiwe wishes to speak with me.”
“What did you do?” Li, Britta’s uruni, asks. He’s a lanky boy from the Eastern provinces, all smiles and easy manner.
“Nothing that I know of,” I quickly say. Then I frown. “And why would you think I did something?”
Acalan humphs pompously. “Well, what else would it be? She never asks for you.”
“Let’s hurry and eat, I’m starving,” Li complains.
“Yer always starving,” Britta notes.
“A case of the river condemning the stream for rushing too fast, isn’t it?” Li sniffs.
Keita turns to me, a silent reminder in his eyes: Don’t panic. “I’ll save you dinner, Deka,” he says.
I force myself to nod. “My thanks.”
Their voices disappear down the hallway.
Now I’m alone with Karmoko Thandiwe in the large, forbidding cavern, tension worming its way through my insides as I watch her put away her teaching scrolls.
Finally, she turns to me. “Follow me, Deka,” she says quietly.
I nod. “Yes, Karmoko.”
My nervousness grows as she leads me out of the caverns up to a narrow stairway I’ve never seen before. Its sides seem to gather closer the farther up I go. What does the karmoko plan for me? Does she want to imprison me, study and bleed me? My thoughts whirl faster and faster until finally, I can’t bear the anticipation any longer.
I stop, apprehensive. “Karmoko Thandiwe,” I rasp.
“Yes?”
“Is this about before? About what happened with the deathshrieks?”
She turns to me with a frown, seeming confused. “Something happened when the deathshrieks came? I cannot recall.” As I blink at her, perplexed, she steps closer, whispers in my ear: “If something did, however, happen then, I would be wise to keep it to myself, would I not? Just as I would also be wise to explore it at the most opportune time….”
Shock washes over me like a wave.
She’s not going to lock me away? Study me like the deathshrieks caged under the Warthu Bera? My muscles feel weak. My entire body feels unbalanced. “I don’t understand,” I say, looking up at her.
Karmoko Thandiwe shrugs. “I have no intention of hurting you, alaki. You are Umu’s daughter, are you not?”
I blink, startled at this casual acknowledgment after all my weeks of sneaking about. “You knew my mother?”
She nods. “She was four years my junior. An admirable Shadow. Ferocious, determined. A pity what happened to her. She could have been a legend, but then she got with child. You, I presume?”
I nod, then glance up at her. “So that’s why she left? Because of me?”
She nods. “It was quite the scandal. We Shadows are not allowed to marry, so an execution order was sent out. Luckily, she had some noble as a benefactor who protected her. Got her away in time. I can’t imagine how she did it, running away in the last week of rainy season, flooding everywhere. I’m grateful she survived. How is she?”
“Dead,” I reply, in a daze now. “The red pox.”
Karmoko Thandiwe blinks before she nods again. Then: “Did she live a good life?”
“She was happy till the end.” I look at her. “I have a question. Was she like me? Did she have any…abnormalities?”
“As far as I could tell, she was perfectly human.” Karmoko Thandiwe looks down at me, her eyes piercing mine. “Truth be told, of all the alaki I’ve met in the two years since the emperor’s mandate, I’ve met none like you.”
“None other—” I stop midsentence when a familiar whistling pierces my ears. It’s coming from the top of the stairs, where an open door leads to a small private garden beside the courtyard. “White Hands?”
“Is that what you call the Lady of the Equus?” Karmoko Thandiwe’s eyebrows rise. She steps to the side, clearing space for me on the stairs. “She’s waiting for you.”
Gasping, I rush past her up the stairs and out into the garden, where White Hands sits on a mound of pillows. A feast is spread out before her, and the equus twins are curled at her side, stuffing themselves. The hazy-sweet scent from her water pipe curls around the garden, mingling with the warm evening air.
“The Lady of the Equus!” I gasp, hurrying over. “Braima, Masaima, you’re all here!”
The twins look up from their meal of yellow apples and other exotic fruit. “Hello, Quiet One.” Masaima grins fondly.
“Have you missed us?” Braima adds, rising.
I rush over, joyfully petting them, and then waiting as they nuzzle me. Masaima begins nibbling my hair, but I don’t even mind it. “I’ve missed you both so much!” I say, hugging them. How long has it been since I last saw them both, sweet-talking their way into eating all the apples in the wagon? I hug them even tighter, grinning when they hug me back.
“The world is so much more beautiful when we’re around, is that not true?” Braima muses with a flick of his black-striped tail.
“Surely so, Brother,” Masaima agrees. “We make all things better.”
I blink to push back the tears burning my eyes. “Well, you’ve both certainly made my day better,” I say, releasing them.
Then I turn to White Hands, nervous. If it wasn’t for her, I’d still be in Irfut, still be in that cellar. And now she’s here. Why is she here?
“Lady of the Equus,” I say respectfully, walking over.
“White Hands will do,” she replies with a wave of her hand. “I’m quite fond of that name, actually.”
When I stop just short of her, uncertain what to do next, she looks up at me, amused. “Tell me, is this awkward little approach how they teach you to greet your elders at the Warthu Bera nowadays?” she asks, taking an idle puff of her water pipe and blowing little smoke rings into the air.
“No.” I dip a knee to the ground in the formal greeting the karmokos prefer outside of lessons. “Evening greetings, White Hands,” I say.
“Evening greetings, Deka.” She looks me up and down, then adds, “You’ve certainly become more exuberant these past days. The Warthu Bera must be good for you.”
I shrug. “Somewhat,” I say, thinking of Katya. “My thanks for sending Britta and me here.”
I know now that had it not been for her intervention, we would have probably been separated and sent to lesser training grounds, as so many alaki are. She’s the one who decided that we were worthy of the Warthu Bera. And it was a good thing that she did. I have to blink away thoughts of what Karmoko Thandiwe told me about Mother. Something about what she said is still niggling at me, though I’m not exactly sure what.
“And how is our ever-cheerful Britta?” she asks.
I smile. “Even more cheerful, now that she’s tossing boys across the sandpits.”
“Exuberance must be in the air.” White Hands puts down her water pipe, then nibbles delicately on a fruit. “Imagine my surprise when I hear that you of all people are now bleedi
ng yourself and calling yourself demon. You, the alaki who nearly dissolved in a puddle of shame every time I said the words ‘cursed blood.’ I take it you’re no longer unsure of the truth of my words.”
My blush heats me all the way to the roots of my hair. I didn’t know she knew I doubted the promises she used to lure me here. “No, I am not,” I say truthfully. “The Warthu Bera is exactly as you promised. I am…no longer ashamed of what I am,” I say. “No matter my origins, there is worth in what I am.”
To my surprise, White Hands gives a full-throated laugh. “Well, that certainly is good to hear. And much better than you moping around in the wagon. It quite put me off my feed. Carambola?” She offers me a plate of the delicate yellowish-green fruits shaped like stars.
I shake my head. “No, thank you,” I say respectfully.
“We’ll take it,” Braima says, a greedy gleam in his eye as his fingers reach.
“No use letting a good fruit go to waste,” Masaima adds.
White Hands smacks their fingers. “Not for you,” she says sternly. “You may go eat over there, test the figs on that tree.” She points.
As the equus pout and canter away, she turns to me. “Here’s a lesson for you, Deka. When someone—particularly your elder—offers you food, you eat. This is the way of the Southern provinces.”
I nod and hastily take the plate. “My thanks, White Hands,” I say. As I carefully sit across from her, I have a thought. “Why are you here? Did you bring more girls to the Warthu Bera?”
I glance through the garden gate over to the courtyard, where the moon shines down on the statue of the emperor. There’s only one wagon there—the same one that brought us all the way from the North.
White Hands shakes her head. “No, the Warthu Bera has enough girls.”
Now I’m confused. “Then why are you here?”
“Because I teach here, of course,” she says.
“Teach?” I echo.
“The Lady of the Equus is being modest, so as not to impress you with her stature,” Karmoko Thandiwe says as she walks toward us. “She oversees the Warthu Bera, in addition to all the other training grounds.”
I feel my mouth slackening as I turn to White Hands. “You—”
“Oversee all the training grounds? Yes, I suppose I do.” She shrugs, then places a slice of cheese on my plate. “Try this, it pairs excellently with the carambola.”
I shake my head, still in shock. If she oversees all the grounds, that must mean she’s a noble—only the rich and powerful are given tasks as important as that. “I can’t eat with you,” I say. “It wouldn’t be respectful, you’re—”
“Your new karmoko? Of course I am,” White Hands finishes smugly. As my head whips from her to Karmoko Thandiwe, she continues: “I occasionally take on a student or two to prepare them for the most…demanding raids, which is, of course, why I brought you and Britta here. Although your friend Belcalis also fascinates me, as does the ever-angry Gazal.”
I frown. “You know Belcalis? And Gazal?”
“Undoubtedly. I keep my eyes sharp for promising students. You four will be my first new trainees. Lessons start tomorrow.”
“You’ll report to her after dinner,” Karmoko Thandiwe adds. “Promptly.”
I bow to her. “Yes, my lady,” I say.
“You mean, yes, Karmoko,” White Hands corrects, smiling at me. “Well, that’s that. Unless you want to remain here and smoke with us.”
The very thought appalls me. I rush upright. “No, Karmoko,” I gasp, then I bow and scurry away, leaving White Hands in the garden, Karmoko Thandiwe standing behind her.
I’m halfway back to the common bedroom before I understand what bothered me about Karmoko Thandiwe’s words. She said Mother ran away the last week of the rainy season. But I was born in the month of the silver wolven, more than ten months after that.
I’ve watched Karmoko Thandiwe recite entire passages from memory in class. She’s always correct when it comes to dates. But the timing she gave me isn’t humanly possible. If she’s correct, Mother was pregnant at least a full month before she met Father. There’s no way I’m his natural child. There’s no way I’m natural at all.
So why am I turning her words over in my head, wondering if there’s something there?
When I arrive at the lake the next evening, White Hands is seated on a small carpet, a bronze goblet of the potent local palm wine in hand. It’s been a warmer Hemairan day than usual, and the smell of night jasmine wraps everything in a haze of sweetness. The scent so intoxicates me, it takes some seconds before I see the weapons laid out beside White Hands, their metal glinting in the low evening light. Panic beats a heightened pulse in my veins, pushing away the thoughts that have been plaguing me all day—my conversation with Karmoko Thandiwe, my doubts about who my father is…
All I can see now are those weapons, gleaming sinisterly in the fading light. Neophytes are required to use wooden weapons for the first two months, and the end of my second month isn’t even near yet. I’m only supposed to use metal weapons in the third month, as I prepare to go out on raids.
And yet here is an array of metal weapons, clearly meant for use.
A thousand questions suddenly flit across my mind. What exactly did White Hands mean when she said “the most demanding raids,” and why has she chosen us four—Britta, Belcalis, Gazal, and me—to accomplish them?
I glance at the three other girls, not surprised to see that they all seem unnerved too, except, of course, for Britta, whom I told about White Hands’s surprise arrival last night. “Evening greetings, Karmoko,” she says with a wide grin, kneeling quickly to White Hands.
White Hands’s mouth quirks into a smile. “Evening greetings, Britta,” she replies. Then she turns to the rest of us. “You’re all on time. Wonderful. I hate latecomers, don’t you?”
When we look at each other, unsure of how to respond, she rises, dusting herself off. She’s wearing the sedate brown robes of a karmoko, and I’m not surprised to find they suit her even better than her old traveling blacks ever did. She walks over, nods at us.
“I am your new karmoko,” she announces. “You may call me Karmoko, or Karmoko White Hands. I’m very fond of that name.” She winks at me as she says this.
I quickly bow. “Evening greetings, Karmoko White Hands,” I say, echoing the other girls.
“Evening greetings,” she returns.
Then she spots us watching the weapons. “You’ve noticed my teaching tools. Wonderful. As you may have heard, I’ve specially selected you all to go on certain raids for the Warthu Bera, and consequently, I feel there’s no point insulting your natural abilities by giving you practice swords and weaponry to train with. The four of you are alaki, you can and already have faced worse—mostly.” She glances at Britta when she says this, and Britta blushes, embarrassed at being singled out.
“That’s why I have decided to hold these lessons. Now that I’m here, it’s time I molded the champions of this school.”
“Champions?” Belcalis repeats.
White Hands doesn’t answer. She’s now walking over to Gazal, an expression of concern on her face. I frown as I see the same thing she has. Gazal’s forehead shines with sweat, and her eyes are slightly unfocused. She’s staring at the lake, as pale as a ghost. I almost wonder if she’s sick, but alaki don’t get sick. Once our blood begins changing, we become immune to most illnesses, our bodies fighting them and healing just as fast as they do everything else.
“You don’t look at all well,” White Hands says softly. “Gazal, is it not?”
“Yes, Karmoko.” Gazal nods, her eyes flicking to the water.
As White Hands’s eyes follow Gazal’s gaze, a calculating expression surfaces. She casually takes the novice by the elbow. “Why don’t we go over to the lake, cool you off.”
“No!” The wor
d barks from Gazal’s lips, and she jerks herself out of White Hands’s hands.
A quiet knowing rises in our new karmoko’s eyes. “It’s the lake, isn’t it?” When Gazal doesn’t respond, she repeats her words. “Isn’t it, novice?”
Gazal reluctantly nods.
“Why?”
Gazal shakes her head frantically, that frightened expression taking over. My eyes widen, watching her. I’ve never seen her unnerved before. “I can’t, I—”
“You have to say it in order to overcome it,” White Hands insists calmly. “The lake can’t change, and I certainly won’t, so whatever it is, you have to address it now, so we can move on with our lesson.”
“Please,” Gazal whimpers, her eyes fixed on the dark water.
“Please what?”
“Please, I don’t want to be near that, I don’t want—”
I’ve never seen Gazal so distraught, didn’t even know it was possible. I suddenly feel deeply uneasy, as if I’m witnessing something I shouldn’t.
“This isn’t right,” Britta whispers beside me.
I nod. White Hands likes to play with people, but this is a shade too far. Her expression is implacable now as she turns to Gazal. “Why don’t you want to be near the water?” she asks, then adds, “I can’t do anything if you don’t tell me why.”
Gazal only shakes her head, her eyes wilder. The thought of talking about it obviously terrifies her.
“Very well,” White Hands says, grabbing her by the arm. She drags her toward the lake.
“No. NO!” Gazal shrieks, digging her feet in, but White Hands is unyielding. She keeps pulling Gazal closer and closer until finally, the novice can’t take it anymore.
“They locked me inside it!” she screams.
Gazal collapses, tears falling from her eyes. She’s sobbing so hard, her entire body is racked by the force of her cries.
