by J. S. Bangs
“Yes,” Mandhi said. She sniffed.
“Then you must speak last. Allow a few others to speak, then your turn will come.”
Adleg rose next. He spoke very briefly, entirely in Kaleksha. Another man after him spoke for a bit, then Glanod gestured to Mandhi.
“Say as much as you will,” he told her. “But you must say how he died.”
Mandhi rose, holding Jhumitu in her arms. She swallowed, glanced over at Nagiri, then took a deep breath.
“What I remember about Taleg,” she said, “is that he was good. He came to my father’s house when I was fifteen. My father—”
She hesitated for a moment. She couldn’t tell them her father was the Heir of Manjur, not even if Navran ruled openly in Virnas. She would only speak of Taleg.
“Taleg had sailed on a ship with an Uluriya merchant.” The men nodded as she said this, for the Uluriya ships were often crewed with Kaleksha sailors. “And the Uluriya captain had saved his life, and in gratitude Taleg had pledged himself to him. So he was converted to the worship of Ulaur, and the captain recommended Taleg to my father’s service.”
The men seemed to pull back a little at this, but only Adleg seemed openly disturbed. “It was an honorable thing. My father was old and infirm and had no other child, so Taleg became my bodyguard as I traveled throughout Amur on my father’s business. And a little more than a year ago, we were married.” No need to give more details than that about their marriage.
“And then,” she said, and her voice cracked. “My brother—or a man whom we thought was my brother—he was captured by the Red Men. We went to Majasravi to save him. In the night we attempted to rescue him from their clutches, but it didn’t go as planned. I was with them. The Red Men caught up with us. My brother escaped, but Taleg….”
She took a deep breath to calm herself, and she closed her eyes against the tears. “They stabbed him in the gut. I held his hand while he bled out in the street.”
She bowed her head and made no attempt to hide her tears. When she looked up, she saw that Kest had red eyes and wet cheeks, and the men around him let tears fall without shame, wetting their beards.
With a quavering voice Kest raised his head and said, “Where was he buried?”
Mandhi sniffed to clear her throat. “He was burned in the Uluriya style, so his smoke would rise to Ulaur. And his spirit is kindled as a star in the heavens.”
“He defended his brother-in-law and his wife,” Glanod said, his glance going from face to face among the Kaleksha. “Does anyone here still doubt whether his was a good death?”
A rumble of assent in Kaleksha rose from the men. Only Adleg hesitated, but at a glance from Glanod he hung his head and agreed.
“And Jhumitu?” Glanod asked. “Did Taleg know he had a son?”
“He didn’t,” Mandhi said. A sob shook her, and she rested her head in her hand for a moment. Her voice creaked as she spoke. “I didn’t know that I carried a child until after his death. He never knew.”
No one could possibly question whether the child was Taleg’s. A single glance at Jhumitu’s color told them he had mingled blood.
“Thank you,” Glanod said. He looked over at the white-haired man at the back of their group. The man nodded, and Glanod rose to his feet.
“We begin. Kest will burn the memorial to send him into the west.”
The white-haired man moved to the far end of the shrine and took up his place before a blackened bowl and a diamond of bones laced together with leather strips that dangled from the rafter overhead. The rest of the Kaleksha moved forward and stood around the bowl. Mandhi sat on a bench a little away from the rite. She was here to watch, not participate. Seeing Mandhi’s recusal, Nagiri sat next to Mandhi and leaned in.
“Was the story you told them true?” she asked.
“Do you think I would lie to these people at my husband’s funeral?” Mandhi said.
Nagiri shook her head. “I’m sorry. I took you for a reckless fool when I heard you were going to the Kaleksha district. But I understand now.”
Mandhi patted Nagiri’s knee. Jhumitu began to cry softly, a little caw like a gull, the dearest sound she had ever heard a child make. He was hungry. Could he wait? She doubted this hall full of mourning men was the right place to nurse.
The white-haired man lit a bundle of herbs and placed them in the bowl. The smoke mingled with the bones hanging from the rafters and curled up through a vent in the ceiling. A sweet, smoky smell diffused through the chamber. He began to speak. It took Mandhi a while to realize it was a prayer, for he didn’t chant in the style of the dhorsha and saghada, but rather kept to a peculiar cadence, a lilting rhythm like the lapping of waves against the shore. She heard him say Taleg os Dramab several times, then heard Kest’s name in the middle of a welter of unfamiliar syllables.
Kest stepped forward and received a handful of dried herbs from the priest. He crushed the leaves in his hand and sprinkled them over the coals in the bowl. A heavy gray smoke with an earthy, rich smell wafted up from the brazier, curling through the hangings of bone. He said Taleg’s name and added a long, heavy prayer. His voice caught and he stopped for a moment, tears rolling down his cheeks. His chest heaved. The prayer continued, the cadence trembling on the edge of a sob, then finally he finished and sat down. He dropped his head into his hands.
Glanod came forward next and offered the leaves to the fire. Mandhi was surprised to hear Jhumitu’s name in the prayer, and then her own. After he had finished he stood behind Kest. He rested his hands on the boy’s shoulders. Kest bent over and sobbed.
The others made their offerings to the fire, reciting shorter prayers, then returning to where they stood. It didn’t last long. When the final prayer had finished, the white-haired man took a handful of his own leaves and added them to the coals, speaking in a slow, low voice. His fingers dipped into the bowl and took a pinch of ash, and he drew a black stripe across his forehead. The other men crowded forward and did the same, Kest coming last. Glanod knelt next to Mandhi.
“Take a bit of ash,” he said. “It isn’t an offering, but a way to mark ourselves as mourners. That does not offend Ulaur, does it?”
For a proper answer she would have to ask a saghada. But she felt a twinge of longing. She hadn’t properly mourned Taleg at his death, not as his widow—it had been impossible, and the Uluriya of Majasravi had not know they were married. “I’ll come,” she said.
She approached the bowl. The men parted to make room for her, and she took a pinch of the black ash. She smeared her own forehead, feeling the warm, gritty charcoal against her skin.
I remember you, Taleg. Your son will know your memory. With her thumb she smudged Jhumitu’s forehead. He cried. He wasn’t the only one.
Glanod appeared next to Mandhi. “We have been fasting for three days in preparation,” he said. “Now we have a feast in Taleg’s honor. Will you come with us?”
A twinge of regret passed through her. “I could come,” she said, “but I can’t eat unclean food.”
Glanod winced. A deep breath, and then he nodded. “I don’t know your customs—”
“Nor do I know yours,” Mandhi added quickly.
“But you’ll come,” Glanod said. “It’ll be enough.”
He got up and returned to Kest, who stood and wiped his cheeks dry. Nagiri walked up to Mandhi and whispered, “You could make an exception for their feast.”
“No, I can’t. You don’t understand anything about the Uluriya.”
Nagiri rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m hungry. I hope their Kaleksha food isn’t completely inedible.”
The ash-marked men marched out of the shrine with Mandhi and Nagiri trailing. On the next street over they approached a guesthouse from which the smell of grilling meats and boiling rice emerged on billows of steam. Mandhi’s mouth watered despite herself. They ducked inside.
“My goodness,” Nagiri said. “They weren’t kidding when they said feast.”
The central table of the
guesthouse was covered with great platters of roti, bowls of rice boiled with cumin, turmeric, and anise, plates of crushed garlic in olive oil, and trays covered with grilled fish. A crowd waited outside the guesthouse, and as soon as the ash-marked men had settled themselves at the head table the others filed in and took up every remaining seat. Mandhi and Nagiri sat between Glanod and Kest. While people were still entering, Glanod rose to his feet and shouted some instruction, including Taleg’s name. The people began to eat.
“Is this how you eat in Kalignas?” Nagiri asked, grabbing a roti and picking a snapper from the plate of fish.
“No,” Glanod said with a little smile. “But we are in Amur, and we must hire Amuran cooks. In Kalignas we would have lamb and a kind of roti, but also hreb, adadl, kistlak.” He shrugged. “You have no names for such things in Amuran. Perhaps if you ever come to Kalignas you can see them.”
Nagiri laughed. “Certainly. When I come to Kalignas.”
Jhumitu began to squirm and cry again. It was a convenient excuse—Mandhi would rather not simply sit and stare at food she couldn’t eat. “I need to nurse the child,” she said. “May I go to a private room?”
“You can’t nurse here?” Nagiri asked with her mouth full.
“I’d prefer a little privacy,” Mandhi said, glancing at the hall filled with Kaleksha men.
Glanod called one of the women bringing trays of food from the kitchen and explained the situation. A woman took Mandhi’s hand and set her on a stool in the corner of the kitchen, where only the cooks could see her. A small window next to her let steam into the alley. Mandhi placed herself on the stool so that no one looking in could see her.
She lifted her choli above her breasts with a sigh of relief. All of her choli were too small now that she was nursing, but she had no money to buy larger ones and she hadn’t wanted to ask Sadja’s regent to give her more. She let Jhumitu latch onto her nipple, then leaned against the wall and closed her eyes for a moment of rest.
Footsteps sounded in the alley where the window opened. Mandhi adjusted her position on the stool to make sure no one saw her. Three voices spoke in Kaleksha. With a start, Mandhi recognized two of them: one was Kest, and the other was Adleg. There was some kind of argument. Mandhi heard Taleg’s name, and then her own and Jhumitu’s. A feeling of alarm rose in the pit of her stomach. She understood nothing, but the discussion, whatever it was, was not gentle.
Jhumitu finished, letting Mandhi’s milky nipple fall from his mouth. She moved him to the other breast. The argument was still going on outside. She waited. No need to alert them to the fact that she heard. Their discussion lasted a few minutes more, then their steps moved toward the front of the building.
Jhumitu finished. Mandhi swaddled him tightly, kissed the top of his head, then tucked him into the sling around her shoulders. He cooed, turned into her chest, and was asleep in a moment.
She returned to her seat at the master table. Kest was just coming in the other door, and he sat down on the other side of Nagiri. He glanced across the table at Glanod with a nervous frown.
“I should go,” Mandhi said quickly. “Ashturma-kha, the regent, is probably looking for me, panicked that I’ve disappeared.”
“Really?” Glanod said. “So quickly—”
“Forgive me,” Mandhi said. “I cannot eat here, and I’m tired after having left the palace in the middle of the night.”
A glance passed between Glanod and Kest. Mandhi’s sense of alarm grew. She stood up and rapidly smoothed her sari down her front.
“I hope we haven’t upset you,” Glanod said, rising to meet her.
“Not at all,” Mandhi said. She turned to him. “Nagiri’s escort will bring me back to the palace. Nagiri, are you coming?”
Nagiri rose, giving Mandhi a strange glare. “If I have to,” she said reluctantly.
Kest stood as well and walked in front of Mandhi and Nagiri toward the entrance. Adleg and the rest of the ash-marked men rose.
“Thank you for coming,” Kest said. “I needed you here. My brother’s spirit thanks you.”
They followed Mandhi and Nagiri to the entrance. She blinked her eyes against the light as she emerged. Where was the escort? He was supposed to be by the door. The ash-marked Kaleksha men moved up the stairs on either side of them.
“I’m sorry,” Kest said. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, a plaintive and earnest look on his face. “Taleg would understand.”
She and Nagiri were completely surrounded by tall, well-muscled Kaleksha men. Her heart thundered in her chest. “What do you mean?”
Adleg leaned forward. “The child belongs to his father’s clan, not to the wench who seduced him.”
Mandhi pulled the sleeping Jhumitu into her chest. Panic churned in her blood. “What are you doing?”
Nagiri let out a scream as two men grabbed her from behind. One of them stuffed a hand over her mouth. Mandhi bolted, but got no more than a pace before the thick, heavy hands of the Kaleksha closed over her.
A hand covered her mouth. She couldn’t scream. Another hand covered her eyes. They lifted her up, twisted her arms behind her back, and pinned her to someone’s chest. Fingers tickled her neck—the sling which held Jhumitu was untied. A moment later the warm, precious weight against her belly was gone. Jhumitu cried out, then she heard a man’s voice hush him. She jerked and kicked, but it was like thrashing against a stone. Her screams could not escape her throat.
They carried her off, feet crunching in the dusty road. A curtain was pulled aside. Quiet muttering in Kaleksha. They dropped her feet-first into something, and her toes felt rough, coiled reeds. The hand over her eyes moved for a second, and she caught a glimpse of a disheveled storeroom, filled with enormous, empty baskets. A man with an ash-smeared forehead stuffed a rag into her mouth, and someone tied her wrists with a strip of leather. A hand pushed her head down.
“Get in. Curl up,” the Kaleksha man said.
She grunted and kicked. Patiently, with firm, unstoppable force, the Kaleksha men grabbed her ankles and elbows and forced her to bend at the waist, winding her up into a ball and pressing her down into the basket. The lid was fixed over her. A scraping sound and a heavy weight pressed the lid down, pinning her to the ground with her knees curled up against her chest.
“Don’t worry,” a Kaleksha voice. “You’ll be found soon enough.”
A hundred points of light shone through the weave of the basket. She heard the steps of the Kaleksha men through the door, saw their shadows as points of light going dark. Sunlight sparkled through the weave and grew dim.
Silence.
Navran
The majakhadir of Ahunas was a man named Yavada, a prim, fat, middle-aged man with a thin mustache and fingers that folded together like eels in a basket. He looked at Navran with a greasy, self-satisfied expression that seemed to vary between wanting to please Navran and wanting to taunt him.
“You understand my guest is nervous about your appearance. I must ask for your guard to stay outside, Navran-dar. You do understand, it’s not about distrust, at least not on my part, but Thudra-dar is a great deal more nervous—”
“No,” Navran said. “Dastha stays.”
Dastha stood next to Navran with his hand on the hilt of his sword, his face a stony mask of indifference. He glanced at Navran and showed a tiny smile of bemusement. Josi stood on the other side, her arms folded over her chest, the corner of her lips bent adorably in thought.
“But if Dastha must accompany you, my lord and king,” Yavada went on, “then my guest will not appear. You understand, I am not free to act—a man in my position must always care for his guests, even as he respects his king—and I only relay the conditions which Thudra has established for this meeting.”
Navran growled. “He will disarm, but he won’t leave.”
Yavada opened his mouth to let out another torrent of excuses, but then he closed it and looked thoughtful. “That may be acceptable,” he said. He stroked his chin for a moment, s
miled showing yellow teeth, and said to Dastha, “Leave your sword here. Then all of you come with me into the inner rooms.”
Dastha bowed his head to Navran. “My lord and king?”
“Do it,” Navran said. Dastha undid his sword belt set it on the ground at the edge of the room. Yavada smiled and waved for them to follow, as if he were inviting them to a party.
“Do follow me, please,” he said. “We have tea and cane sugar and coconut rice balls for you—not as delightful as what comes from your kitchen in Virnas, my lord and king—the rumors about the abilities of your cook Paidacha have reached us even here—but perhaps they’ll amuse you. Please, sit down, take your places, our guest will be with us in a few moments.”
They entered a room with yellow-painted walls, open on one side, looking out over a garden of palms and hibiscus, with a crescent-shaped pool filled with lotuses in the center. Navran sat atop an orange cushion at the low table. Josi sat down beside him, while Dastha remained on his feet behind them, crossing his arms and watching the doors. As soon as they had seated themselves, a serving girl came in and offered each of them a cup of tea and a crumbled piece of cane sugar. A tray of the promised rice balls was set on the center of the table.
Josi leaned over. “This is the largest estate I’ve seen outside your palace. I’d say that Yavada-kha is doing nicely for himself.”
“Ahunas,” Navran said. “Largest city outside of Virnas.”
“But his fealty should be to you,” Josi said. “I wish….” Her eyebrows knotted together. “I wish I understood what he was doing.”
The curtain over the door parted, and Thudra entered followed by Yavada. Last came in a lanky, scowling boy. Thudra’s son Vidham. Navran recognized him from the palace.
“So!” Thudra said with mock conviviality. He and Yavada took seats across from Navran and Josi at the table. “You brought someone to stand behind you and scowl at me, and I’ve done the same, Navran-dar. My son Vidham should be able to take on your palace guard, don’t you think?”