by Dana Marton
“Lord Gilrem—”
“Ten crystals, girl,” he said, “for not telling anyone I am better. For helping me away from here.”
Strange how sometimes we cannot see things simply because we do not expect to see them. Even after living among the Kadar all that time, I was still not used to looking for deceit behind their words.
But at that moment, I finally understood everything. Kumra had been giving him the lantaya, or some other herb like it, to rob him of his spirit so he would do her will.
“Twenty blue crystals.” Lord Gilrem upped the price.
I could not comprehend such a sum, more than I had been sold for. A wave of cold resentment rose in my heart. The Kadar stole my life and turned me into a slave. Lord Gilrem himself could not be bothered to stay the hands of his warriors when they had been upon me. He had left me to his men at the creek.
Why should I help him?
Because he needs my help, the answer came swiftly.
But if I helped him, I would seal my own fate. When he left, Kumra would have her revenge upon me—I remembered well the story of Igril’s brother. On the other hand, if Lord Gilrem stayed and Keela birthed a son, I would be set free.
Maybe she was with child already. Being her first, she might not notice at first. I resolved to start watching her more closely.
“I order you to help me,” he snapped, even as he collapsed onto the bed.
I hesitated. Maybe he was as much a prisoner as I. But he did not have to work. Nobody beat him. All he had to do was stay in his chamber and put seeds into Keela’s secret cave. Was it a fate so terrible that I should die for helping him?
And I would die if I defied Kumra in this, of that I was sure, whether by poison or beating.
I would have died for a number of people without another thought. My people. Or Onra, even though she was a foreigner. But not for a dark-hearted Kadar Lord.
“I cannot help you, my Lord. Forgive me,” I said, then ran away.
* * *
I dreamed a strange dream that night. In my dream, my heart and mind were filled with lantaya, not Lord Gilrem’s. The juice ran dark, the color of the phial that held it. The lantaya rose up within me like the tide and drowned the spirit my mother had breathed into me at my birthing.
I woke with a fright. I reached under my tunic to clutch the empty moonflower phial between my fingers, as I searched my clamoring heart and mind to make sure my spirit was still within me.
I did not have much time to think about my dream. Keela woke soon and needed my service in the inner chamber.
“Which one?” She wore only her under tunic of fine linen, several dresses on the floor before her.
Her belly did not seem to have grown. Nor did her breasts look swollen the least. Disappointment settled on my shoulders.
“The golden?” The color looked particularly nice on her, the tight bodice and billowing skirt especially slimming. Blue silk trimmed the fine damask, the rich cloth embroidered with pearls and enamel.
She kicked the dress away. “It makes me look pallid.”
“The green, then? The color matches your eyes.” Elaborate flower patterns had been woven into the light wool, the cuff and hem decorated with a thin strip of silky fur.
She thought for a short while before shaking her head. “The crimson.” She pointed to the silk dress embroidered in gold. “Red is Yullin’s favorite color.”
I had forgotten all about the upcoming holy day of Yullin, one of the war god Rorin’s many goddesses. Kadar women believed the warm wind, which would soon come to melt the snow and start the new season of planting, was the hot breath of Yullin as she sighed in pleasure in Rorin’s bed.
The goddess Yullin watched over all growing things, beginnings, and fertility. Keela seemed especially eager to attend the day’s sacrifices and offerings.
The outer door to my chamber creaked open—probably one of the maidens bringing the tray. It would be some kind of cooked small grain that represented plenty, and chicken or pork. Chickens scratched good luck from the dirt, while swine rooted it up. Kadar custom forbade the eating of fish or any flying bird on a holy day, as fish could swim away with someone’s good fortune and the birds would fly away with it.
“Shall I bring in your morning meal?” I shook the slight wrinkles from the red gown, the fine silk hissing. A faint scent of perfume rose from the material.
“Not yet. Assist me first.”
I helped her dress, then restored her hair to its proper splendor, tucking in a thin braid here and there that had come undone during the night. All through this, Lord Gilrem lay motionless on the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
I brought in the tray and served Keela first as she demanded. She ate only a few bites, then left to join her mother. I carried the tray to Lord Gilrem, and he sat up to eat, consuming more food than I had ever seen him take.
Once again, he ordered me to aid his escape, offered crystals first, then threatened. Then he offered to take me with him and make me a valued concubine in his Pleasure Hall. I left the room with the tray as soon as he finished his meal.
I ate some of the mangled leftovers while I waited for one of the maidens to fetch the tray. Kumra did not have separate meals sent for me, for Keela and Lord Gilrem left plenty each day. I was chewing on a piece of cold chicken when Onra sailed in.
“Kumra ordered that you should stay here all day to attend Lord Gilrem.” She pressed her lips into a narrow line of exasperation.
I shrugged. “Yullin will not miss a Shahala woman.”
“She will know you are not there, and she will withhold her favor from you for certain.” Her expression darkened. “You must give me something of yours to place in the offering jar.”
I looked about my person, more to please Onra than to garner favor with Yullin, but I had precious little to give. Other than my clothes, my only possession was my charm belt, five small charms hanging from it now, two given to me by Onra and Lenya each, the last one by Talmir’s wife.
I untied that one, the bird symbol of my ancestors’ tribe, and handed it to Onra. Maybe if I reminded the goddess that I was a Shahala, she would show mercy and send me back to my people. Onra palmed the small carving with a nod of relief.
“I shall say many prayers for you,” she promised, then rushed off so she wouldn’t miss anything.
I had some peace then before Kumra stopped by after the ceremony, bringing melted snow consecrated by Yullin. She sprinkled the bed and Lord Gilrem in it. I could have told her about his plans of escape. I could have asked for more medicine and sneaked drops into his food unseen. I could have taken the water jar from the chamber so he would have been forced to drink whatever I brought him.
Those thoughts swirled in my mind as Kumra passed me with a narrow-eyed look on her way out. I said nothing. I had not promised my help to the man, but neither could I harm him.
Because I had a Shahala heart. And my mother’s spirit.
I could see myself in those thoughts at last, as if in a mirror, and disliked what I saw. I had wanted, all my life, to be a daughter worthy of my mother, to become just like her. Yet what would she think if she could see me now? Had I become like the self-serving Kadar I despised?
I had, I feared. I had been so sure I was ready for the spirits to bless me with true powers, yet I still behaved as a child.
A Shahala healer could not choose whom she helped. Who was I, barely a woman, to decide who was worthy? My duty was to help everyone as best I could with no questions asked. If I assisted Kumra with ensnaring Lord Gilrem, I would have gained my freedom, but I would have lost my spirit, a fate as bad as if the lantaya filled my heart and drowned it.
So I told Lord Gilrem I would help him, and poured water into the black phial, and at every meal, I dropped a drop in his cup in front of Keela. And every day he drank and pretended to be weak. But as soon as Keela left the chamber, he rose and walked around the room to stretch his limbs.
On the third day, after Keela had
gone to visit the latrines and I knew Kumra would be at Maiden Hall assigning chores, I turned to Lord Gilrem. “My Lord, the time is here.”
At once he donned his short under-tunic and doublet, wrapped his feet and pulled on his boots, then stood ready.
“The shortest way out is through the door that leads from Tahar’s Hall to the street,” I told him, remembering well the door through which I had walked into slavery. “The steward keeps it locked at all times, but he cannot refuse you exit.”
Lord Gilrem shook his head. “We cannot waste time looking for the man.”
He was right. Keela could return any minute, and the steward, one of the oldest men at the House of Tahar, oversaw many things from the spinning to the purchases that came in from the market.
“The War Gate, then.” In my mind I mapped the path to the wide portal through which the warriors marched off to war and returned. “We shall have to cross the courtyard.” Which would be busy this time of the day. “We will have to move fast.” And pray that we would not be seen by Kumra or Keela.
“I stand ready.” His eyes, almost completely clear now, glinted with determination. He was still but a shadow of the warrior prince I had first seen by the creek, but his richly embroidered golden doublet lent him stature and the sword by his side an illusion of strength. The effort of getting fully dressed for the first time in a long time had put some color into his face.
I stuck my head out the door but saw only servants, so I rushed down the corridor, Lord Gilrem close behind me. I checked once again before we stepped out to the courtyard.
“We will go straight for the gate.” We had to spend as little time in the open as possible.
But no sooner did the words leave my mouth than Kumra appeared at the door of Maiden Hall. We drew back and watched from the shadows as she marched to the kitchen.
I grabbed the phial hanging from my neck. Knowing this was my last chance, I whispered the question I had not dared ask before. “My mother was at Karamur some years back to heal the High Lord. Have you met her, my Lord?”
“My brother is never sick. Must have been the High Lord before him.” His shrug said he cared not about some foreign healer. “What now? We must be quick.”
Disappointment brought a bitter taste to my tongue. “We must chance it.” We had to cross between the kitchen and Maiden Hall and pray that Kumra would not see.
Only a short distance separated the two buildings. We would be in the open the whole time, and Kumra could step from the kitchen at any moment. And Keela too could easily see us, on her way back from the latrines.
Could they stop him? They could call the guard and claim he was delirious from his illness, have him carried back to his chamber. He did look pale and weak. Kumra could force her potion on him and gain control of him again.
My gaze darted around the courtyard.
Lord Gilrem nudged me from behind.
“Keep your head down, my Lord.” I stepped away from the doorway.
We hurried through, paying little mind to the servants who bustled about. The air filled with their voices and the sound of hammer striking metal that came from behind Servant House, the blacksmith crafting more swords.
I could smell meat roasting in the kitchen as we neared, my heart beating faster when we came to the open door. Kumra threw one order after another at Talmir, her back to us. We sped our steps and came out behind the kitchen and Maiden Hall at last. I glanced briefly to the left in the direction of the women’s latrines. I did not see Keela among the people there.
We hastened to the War Gate.
Lord Gilrem moved in front of me once we neared. “You best stay for now. The guards might question if I take a maiden who has not been given to me.” He strode through the gate without looking back. The guards stood at attention as he passed.
For the first time since we had stepped outside, I noticed the bite of the cold and shivered. Lord Gilrem turned toward the port and strode out of sight in a few steps. Free. My throat burned with longing to be on the other side of that gate.
A sudden gust of wind pushed against me. I blinked hard and hurried back to the guest quarters and was cleaning the inner chamber by the time Keela returned.
“Where did he go?” Confusion widened her eyes when she realized Lord Gilrem no longer lay among the tangled covers.
I kept my head down. “He wished to leave.”
A brittle, hard silence followed, the room growing cold around us. I glanced up at her face, distorted by hatred and outrage.
“You let him go?” She closed the distance between us and slapped me across the face, then flew out the door, wailing.
Running would have done me no good, so I stayed in place until, in a few moments, Kumra rushed in with Keela on her heels. She glanced around the room as if not believing her daughter, then grabbed me by the hair.
“You stupid murna. You will regret your disobedience.” She spat the words into my face, the look of hatred that distorted her beautiful features identical to her daughter’s. They had never looked more alike than at that moment.
Pain spread through my scalp. I pressed my lips together.
She dragged me through the courtyard to the flogging post next to Servant House and tied me herself.
She screamed for a warrior, but suddenly none seemed to be in sight. So she tore the whip from its peg on the side of the post and shoved it into the hands of one of the male servants who came around at the commotion.
“Whip her!”
The first strike did not hurt at once. The pain was such a shock, a moment or two passed before my body caught up with it. But fast enough came the second and the third, and I felt the clothes rend first; then my skin split. My knees gave; only the rope held me up, tearing my shoulders.
And the whip kept coming.
Pain such as I had never felt before seared through my body. The courtyard swam before me. A few warriors gathered around, then more and more. I prayed to the spirits to allow me to faint. I thought of Igril’s brother who had been beaten to death at this same post and wondered how long he had been able to bear the pain.
As my eyes rolled back in my head, I reached for the sweet oblivion of death, welcoming it.
“Stop!” Kumra’s voice snapped from far away. “Cut her down. I want her conscious so she can fully appreciate the rest.”
The rope suddenly gave, and I fell to the ground, scraping my face, the gravel under the thin layer of snow cutting my lip. I did not feel cold. Flames danced on my back with unbearable heat.
I could neither move nor see.
“She was found in shame, no longer a maiden,” Kumra declared. “Any of you may have her as you please.”
I forced my eyes open a slit. The hem of her crimson gown swept by my face, swirling in the powdery snow as she walked away, her charms jingling.
“Cut off her hair. All of it,” she called back, probably to a servant woman. Then her hem disappeared.
I heard Onra’s voice, pleading with the warriors. “Give her to us.”
To my horror, she offered herself in exchange. I lay helpless, my lips unable to move to protest such sacrifice.
But she pleaded in vain. Rough hands lifted me up, and the warriors carried me away.
~~~***~~~
CHAPTER SEVEN
(Batumar, High Lord of the Kadar)
I had no strength left to care about what would happen to me next—the pain could scarcely grow worse. But the warriors did not hurt me. They cared for me as if I was one of their own, as I had cared for them in the past. They kept me safe at Warrior Hall, out of Kumra’s reach.
I remained with them day after day, Talmir bringing soups from the kitchen, made from tender kiltari liver and whuchu greens, and bread too, baked with spicy shugone nuts. Onra stayed with me whenever she could, and Lenya sent messages.
I healed fast, my mother’s spirit working within me, and by the next moon crossing, I stood ready.
I planned on sneaking away through the fields to
the hills as soon as the sun set, to give myself as much time as I could before they discovered my absence in the morning. As much as the warriors liked me, they would have to report a runaway slave or pay the heavy price when accused of aiding my escape.
Only Onra and Talmir knew of my plan. I asked both to join me, but both chose to stay, Talmir for the sake of his family, Onra for the sake of her mother.
Talmir brought me a small bundle, shoes of tough leather strips that would stand up to the rocks of the hills, a flask for water, and food. He returned the length of cloth I had given him, clean and beautiful as ever, ready to provide me with my disguise.
I could scarcely believe that Kumra had not missed it yet. A whole winter had passed since I had owned anything other than my ill-fitting Kadar dress. I could not fathom a life of such abundance that someone would not miss a possession of such beauty for this many days.
I catalogued my supplies as I catalogued my injuries—both would greatly influence the outcome of my escape. Itchy and new, the skin on my back still pulled as I moved, but I could walk without much pain. And I had to walk only as far as the next port. I could finish healing on the ship.
But I would not sail home, not yet. I would journey to Karamur first to find my mother’s grave and to find out how she had died exactly. As great a healer as she had been, as strong as the spirit had worked within her, I could not imagine her succumbing to a simple traveling illness. Now that I knew the Kadar better, I suspected foul play.
Onra popped in to bring me a handful of healing herbs at the last moment. I was tying them into my bundle after we had said our last tearful goodbye, when suddenly the horn sounded at the War Gate.
My whole world stilled, then restarted again with a great rush. The few warriors in the Hall ran outside, and after a while I could make out some of the shouting in the courtyard, even through the sudden pounding in my ears.
“Lord Tahar returns!”