by B. K. Boes
As Kaela pulled a fresh tunic and skirt from the trunk and stepped behind the blanket hung across the corner, she prayed. Sustainer, let both Momma and the baby live. Give Momma a restful day and bestow wisdom upon Healer Raz.
And give me wisdom, too.
A meeting held in secret with Ednah and Yado awaited her after breakfast. She didn’t know for sure, but she thought it might have something to do with the Adikean trade deal and the story Roshleth Vyad used to justify it. Ednah had asked her to repeat the story twice more since that night almost four cycles ago. Each time, Ednah had seemed more disturbed, and as of late, the Elder had seemed always lost in thought. And just a span ago, she’d had Kaela tell Yado the true story of Yaan and his downfall.
What if she wants me to tell the rest of the council? If she did, she’d be betraying the sacred relationship between an elder Roshleth and her successor. Kaela’s stomach turned. Orlin wouldn’t be pleased either.
She sighed deeply as she reached for her tunic and pulled it over her head. Orlin didn’t understand. She’d tried to explain it to him once when they’d had a few moments alone. He’d been walking her home after a session with the Roshleth and Patriarch.
“You shouldn’t resist our new direction,” Orlin had said. He was only thirteen, but he was as tall as some full-grown men. Vibrant and full of confidence, many of the Hodda girls fawned over him. Orlin wasn’t all bad. He’d just always been told he was wonderful and right and that he was a gift to the Hodda. His grandparents and parents rarely found fault in him.
And so, Kaela braced herself when she spoke her mind. “Our new direction is wrong,” she said. “The Adikeans stand for everything the Hodda are against. Everything Erem is against.”
Orlin had arched his eyebrows at that. “A little judgmental, aren’t we? I thought we tribes of Erem were supposed to be neutral?”
Kaela scrunched her face. “Neutral in politics, Orlin. Not in right and wrong. We don’t take sides in war. We encourage peace between all peoples. We find the value in every culture because we know we all come from the same place.”
“Including the Adikean culture?” Orlin asked with a smirk.
Fists balled at her sides, Kaela had listened with increasing frustration. “They enslave women and children. And some men, too, if foreigners are found guilty of minor crimes.”
“We’re not condoning slavery,” Orlin said. “A trade deal isn’t taking sides in any war. In fact, it is encouraging peace. Nobody wants to see a desperate Adikea. They’ll go crazy if they’re cornered. Trading with them will offer some stability for their nation. And I’ve never once heard you say anything positive about Adikea. Where is all this valuing of culture?”
Kaela had shut her mouth in a thin line, pressing her lips together. What Orlin said was what everyone was saying. It had some truth to it, of course, which was why it was easy for people to accept. Kaela was still three cycles short of ten years old. Her whole life she’d been taught to be humble, to accept wisdom from her elders. And though the reasoning was logical in many ways, Kaela couldn’t get it to sit right in her heart.
Now, as she prepared herself for a long day, Kaela’s mind was full of conflict. She wasn’t looking forward to going to Ogche, or to meeting the Adikean representative and witnessing her people compromise everything for money.
Cling to the now, Kaela. You cannot change the future.
Kaela took another deep breath and focused on the sweet scent of body oil as she spread it over her skin. It would protect her from the sun. She ran her hands over the brown tunic, spun from the soft hair of a young sandbeast. She let the distant chatter of a waking camp become an undertone, a reminder of precious life in the midst of the desert. Closing her eyes, she grounded herself in the now, as Sava had taught her.
I’ll deal with today one step at a time.
Feeling a little less overwhelmed, Kaela finished getting ready and walked just outside their tent where there was a small pile of dried sandbeast dung. It was mostly odorless after it had baked in the sun. She scooped a bit of it into the small fire pit outside the entrance to their tent and struck two fire rocks together. The dung smoldered and burned red. She placed an old iron grate over the low-burning fire.
“Just now getting it started?” Poppa approached with the pot and set it on the grate.
“Yes, Poppa. I… needed a moment to wake up.”
“You didn’t sleep well?” he asked.
Kaela shrugged and changed the subject. “How is Momma?”
His smile froze for a moment, and something sad flashed behind his eyes as the air pulsed with uncertainty. Kaela shivered at the feeling of it, like the sound of thunder rattling the bones before the storm shows its face; she’d not yet fortified her walls for the day. It lasted only a moment before she blocked it out.
“She’s just fine,” he said. “We’ll have a baby keeping us up all hours of the night before too long. Probably before the span is out.”
Kaela didn’t bring up his momentary distress. Since Momma had passed out, Kaela had seen that look on his face too many times to count. Now that she’d felt what it meant, she knew he was keeping something from her. Something about Momma or the baby, or maybe both.
He’ll tell me when the time is right.
Kaela pasted on a smile. “The baby will be here so soon?”
Poppa nodded. He entered the tent and retrieved two flat pieces of bread and placed them on the grate next to the pot. “Warm bread will do us both some good,” he said.
“You going out to the herd today?” Kaela asked.
“I am. There are a few beasts that need hooves tended to.” Poppa used the poker to skewer the bread and take it off the grate. He pulled the loaves off and set one on his knee, giving the other to Kaela. “And you? What is it they’ve got you doing today?”
“We’re going into the marketplace to speak with the Adikean representative,” Kaela said, leaving out the secret meeting with Ednah and Yado.
Poppa frowned, as expected. “The trade deal doesn’t seem right.”
“I know, Poppa.”
“What does Orlin think of all this?”
“He thinks it will be a good thing for the Hodda.” Kaela nibbled her warm bread. “He won’t listen to me when I try to tell him why I think it’s a bad idea.”
Poppa stared into the smoldering fire for a few moments. Finally, he took another bite, swallowed, and looked at Kaela. “Orlin is young and arrogant, but lots of boys are. He’ll get wiser once he’s got a few more years on him. As Patriarch, it will be his sacred duty to listen well when you speak. It is the way of things. The Roshleth’s words of wisdom steers the Patriarch’s actions.”
“That’s what my friends keep telling me,” Kaela said, closing her mouth to any further commentary.
“But?” Poppa raised a brow.
“But what?” Kaela took another bite.
“You have that look. Like you want to say something.”
Kaela looked down at the ground. “It’s nothing.”
“Come on, little one,” Poppa said.
It was strange how that used to bother her. Kaela smiled a little. When Poppa called her little one now it warmed her heart. “I’m not so sure Orlin will be any different when he’s older. I want to care for him one day, but right now I don’t even like him.”
“Ah,” Poppa said. “I see.” He stoked the fire and sat in silence for another few minutes. “You know we will love you just as much if you decide not to confirm?”
Kaela blinked several times, shocked he would speak those words out loud. “No one does that,” she said.
“That’s not true,” Poppa said. “It’s happened, though not often.”
Kaela shook her head. “I can’t give up being a Roshleth, Poppa.”
“It’s your decision, little one. Just remember your mother and I will always love you.” Poppa smiled at her. “We will be proud of you no matter what path you take.”
“I will take the path of the
Roshleth,” Kaela said. No matter what happens with the trade. Or with Orlin. When I am Roshleth my voice will be heard as Ednah said.
She was a keeper of legend and history. No trade deal, and certainly no boy, was going to keep her from that destiny.
When she was finished with breakfast, Kaela hurried to the edge of camp where Ednah chose to pitch her tent every time the Hodda settled. Always at the southwest corner. Ednah was sitting cross-legged outside, drinking a steaming cup of spiced tea, the savory scent of it filling the air around her. She had gotten thinner, occasionally given to fits of coughing and trouble breathing. The scent of the tea had a bitter edge to it, as many of the healer’s elixirs did.
Kaela slowed to a walk as she approached.
“Good morning,” Kaela said.
Ednah looked up from her tea and gave Kaela a grave nod. “There have been better mornings.” She set her cup of tea on the grate above her own dying embers and got to her feet. “Come with me,” she said as she pulled back the flap to her tent and stepped inside.
As Ednah was only one woman, her tent was significantly smaller than the size Kaela’s family enjoyed. Yado sat cross-legged on the large circular rug at the center. A mat was rolled up in one corner, a few blankets folded on top of it. One large trunk took up another corner. Other than that, the tent was empty.
Ednah sat beside Yado and motioned for Kaela to join them on the rug. The movement seemed to bring on a short coughing fit, but the Elder quickly recovered. She took a deep breath, as though she was centering herself. “We have some important things to discuss,” she said.
“Is this about the story of Yaan?” Kaela asked as she lowered herself to the floor.
“It is,” Yado said. “We both believe the council deserves to learn the truth of it. Neither of us are happy with the Adikean trade deal we’re about to make.”
Kaela folded her hands in her lap and twisted her fingers together. “I don’t know if I should do that,” she said. “I mean, I haven’t even reached the age of confirmation. Is it my place to contradict Roshleth Vyad?”
“Though you are young, you are beyond your years in wisdom,” Ednah said. “Most children your age wouldn’t have thought to ask that question.”
Yado smiled. “Under normal circumstances, we would say you are correct. It is not your place. However, this is on our shoulders, as Elders of the Hodda. It is we who are making the contradiction. We simply need you to tell the story. From there, Ednah and I can make a plea to denounce the trade deal.”
“And we go back to how things were,” Ednah said. “Our existence in southeast Erem has never been overly lucrative, but it’s always been a happy one. To lengthen our route all the way to Erem’s western border would disrupt our peace and bring us into a world we want no part of.”
Kaela bit her lower lip. “We go to the market today to speak with the Adikean representative. When would you propose I speak to the rest of the Elders?”
“Tomorrow, when Roshleth Vyad and Patriarch Gavril present the Adikean’s offer to the Elders,” Ednah said. “They will go today, strike a potential deal, and then we’ll have to convince the other Elders to turn it down.”
“We may not have much convincing to do,” Yado said. “If the offer isn’t as sweet as anticipated, the rest of the council will fall in line with us.”
“And what if it is?” Kaela asked. “What if it’s better?”
Ednah sighed deeply. “Then we must lean into the hearts of men.”
“And your role, Kaela, will be even more important.” Yado leaned forward and reached with his hand to pat Kaela’s knee. “Gather your courage, girl. The council will see you as a strong mind, a worthy future Roshleth.”
“And what about Orlin? And our Roshleth and Patriarch? How will they see me?” Kaela felt a heavy weight on her shoulders.
“Perhaps,” Ednah said, “it would be better to consider how the Sustainer might see you. What, in your heart, is the right thing to do?”
Kaela closed her eyes and took a moment to be still. What, in my heart, is the right thing to do? She thought of all the things she’d heard about Adikeans, how they had plagued Leyumin with fear throughout recent history, and how Kaela had just happened to know the true story of Yaan. The Sustainer has equipped me to stop this. He gave me the story, out of thousands of stories, so I could do something about Roshleth Vyad’s manipulation of it.
She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. “All right,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Imrah
The City of Sydor, Adikea
8th Cycle of Chenack
989 Post Schism
Imrah waited as patiently as she could for the cobbler to tally up her master-husband’s bill. He was a small man with a full beard and thinning hair on top. Though he was shorter than Imrah, he somehow managed to look down at her as he handed her the woven box with Master Dakkan’s new leather sandals.
“Fifteen gold coins,” he said, holding out a hand with a firm motion.
“Lady Vega Dakkan won’t be cheated, Master Cobbler,” Imrah said. “I’m not willing to get a reed across my wrist for letting you cheat me.” The last time Imrah had made that mistake, the lady of the house had left her wrist raw. Lady Dakkan was worse than Dramede in that way; she enjoyed the punishment, looked for ways to impose it. Imrah’s master-husband was cruel, but he wasn’t sadistic.
He narrowed his eyes at her, but she didn’t back down. The statuses between them were delicate: he an Adikean man with all the rights in the world, she a slave-wife with very little authority on her own. But the Dakkan name had power, some of which Imrah could draw from when it was in her master’s favor.
Eventually, the cobbler sighed. “Fine. Ten.”
Imrah counted out ten gold coins and handed them over. “Thank you, Master Cobbler.”
He grunted at her, followed her to the door, and slammed it shut behind her. With the small reed-woven box in hand, Imrah headed west through Merchant Hill. This section of the Middle Sector was quiet in the morning. The streets were mostly empty, save the occasional slave-wife sweeping the stoop of her master-husband’s shop and a few early risers like herself.
As Imrah walked, she thought of the rebellion. It was growing steadily. The new hub in Quandesh Quarter had already had success in saving a few boys. Sometimes, it felt like removing one rock at a time to tear down a mountain. Though they’d saved so many, it seemed they barely made a dent. They’d barely touched the Central Sector yet, as most of the slave-wives there were Generationals — slave-wives who had grown up in the system, whose mothers and grandmothers taught them to have allegiance to Adikea. Imrah didn’t know when — or if — they’d ever open a hub in the Central Sector. There were so many boys that had yet to be sent to the canyons, so many that could be saved. But they had to be so careful.
But any progress was good progress, and Imrah felt the journey had been worth the lives saved.
The sun was well above the rooftops now. She quickened her pace, wanting to get home in time to finish a few things before lunch, but as she did, she heard a shuffle behind her. Imrah glanced over her shoulder. A man in a merchant’s cloak, several paces away, stopped mid-jog.
Is he following me?
Imrah took a turn, to see if he’d follow. When he did, her heart jumped into her throat. She walked faster, but his strides were longer. In a panic, Imrah broke into a sprint. Her feet pounded the cobblestone, and she turned, not knowing where she was going. Not caring. She glanced over her shoulder again. Her foot caught on a divet in the road, and she fell. Her hands flung out to catch herself, and the box flung away, landing just out of reach. The cobblestones clawed at her hands and knees as she hit the ground.
The man caught up with her, his face concealed in the shadow of his cloak. He leaned toward her, and she kicked him between the legs as hard as she could.
He drew in a sharp breath and fell to his knees. Imrah was going to take the chance to flee, whe
n he croaked, “Imrah… it’s me. Prestis.”
Imrah gasped as he pulled off the hood of his cloak. “Oh.” She grimaced at the look of pain on his face. He took a few deep breaths. “Are you all right?” Imrah asked.
“I’ll be fine,” Prestis said. He managed to get to his feet and held out a hand. “I was trying to help you up when you fell. Why did you run?”
A burst of anger made Imrah ignore his hand. She got to her feet by herself and tried to keep from yelling too loudly. “Why did you chase me? I thought you were a thief. Or worse!”
Prestis stared at her. “I don’t know. I wasn’t chasing you. I was trying to catch up to you. To talk.”
Imrah crossed her arms. “Well, now you’ve caught me.”
Prestis began to laugh. “I guess I have.”
“It’s not funny.” Imrah tried to frown, but his laughter was contagious, and she couldn’t help but smile. She might have laughed just a little. But, people were always watching, even when you didn’t think they were, and the mark on her forearm was there for anyone who was looking. She shook her head. “Put your hood back on, Merchant,” she said. “And then tell me what you chased me through the Middle Sector for.”
Prestis replaced his hood, still smiling. “Always the practical one,” he said.
“I have to be,” she said, on a more serious note. “I’m a slave-wife.”
His smile faded, and Imrah was sorry for that. But it was true. She couldn’t laugh with an old friend in the street. Not an old friend who happened to be male and dressed in a traveling merchant’s cloak.
“All right then,” Prestis said. “We have a minor issue with those funding and running our program. They need two things. First, proof our efforts are making a difference in the slave-son population. Second, ways to… expand our influence.”