The door to the tent was a flap, and it was pushed back by a woman. She was young, perhaps close to my own age. She had nut-brown skin and almond-shaped eyes. Her hair was dark and braided with beads that clanked together, tinkling as she moved. She was long limbed and willowy of frame.
“Ta hu foryel bejeth?” she asked me in her native tongue.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I do not understand your language.”
She smiled and sat beside me. She continued speaking in her foreign language and picked up the pitcher of water. She had a mortar and pestle and was grinding some herbs in it as she chattered. She poured the water into a cup and then sprinkled the herbs in it. She handed it over to me. How did I get here? Who is this woman?
I took it uncertainly. The bowl contained a fragrant mixture of herbs. She made a tilting motion with both hands towards her mouth and said, “Korew.”
I surmised I was supposed to drink it. I gulped down the brew. It was sweet with a bitter aftertaste. The woman watched me until I had drunk all of it.
She stood up and bustled about the tent. I watched her as she opened a wicker basket, then some of the ceramic jars. Then I did imagine my mother back there in the river. I must have mistaken this woman’s dark hair and imagined the violet eyes. My mother had passed long ago. She could not have saved me.
The woman came back over and offered me a bundle. I took it and opened it up. It was a simple dress made of a rough weave, and it seemed similar in style to what the woman was wearing.
“Yu joyelle veu. Ne Aba o weyu ta,” she said with a smile.
“I wish I understood you, but thank you. I think you saved me from the river,” I said in reply. Though I knew we could not understand one another, it seemed appropriate to thank her.
She only smiled again and left me to dress. Once I was dressed, I rose once more on wobbling feet. I had to lean against whatever I could find, including a tent pole, but I found my strength returning a little. There must have been restorative herbs in the drink she had given me. I made it to the tent flap and pushed it back. I blinked into the daylight. Outside, a camp of several more tents awaited me. At the heart of the camp was a cook fire with a few burning coals under a pot. Children were running about, with dogs barking at their heels. Four women chatted together in a circle beneath a nearby tree.
The woman who had come to help was among them, and she jumped up to assist me. I was leaning heavily on the tent poles that framed the doorway to the tent.
When she reached me, she wrapped an arm around my shoulder and said something to me in her language in a scolding tone. She tried to turn me back inside.
I shook my head. “No. I need to get back to my friends.”
She shook her head in reply. She pointed at the ground and then her friends. I didn’t understand her meaning. A second woman who looked older than her, hair streaked with gray, came over as well.
They spoke rapidly in their tongue so fast I could not distinguish the words.
The older woman smiled at me and then said, “Come. Sit.” She motioned to the circle of women, now two, sitting at the far edge of camp.
“Do you speak Danhadine? I was separated from my friends. I need to get back to them,” I said to the older woman.
The older woman only shrugged and pointed again to the circle. “Sit,” she repeated.
My shoulders slumped. Perhaps she only knew a little of my maiden tongue.
I nodded and let them guide me to a seat in their circle. The women smiled at me but watched me with cautious eyes. Once I was seated, they continued their conversation. The young woman who had first greeted me handed me some flat bread and made a motion as if she wanted me to eat. I picked at the bread, mostly out of want for something to do. I tried to organize my thoughts. The woman who was caring for me seemed to have rescued me from the river. I would guess they were Biski, judging from their appearance. The river had separated me from the others. Or they are all dead, a voice nagged at the back of my mind. The women chatted amicably as they wove baskets and sewed blankets together from what appeared to be animal hides. Just beyond them, I saw a few more animal hides drying under the sun. Children played nearby. I did not see the men, which seemed strange. I decided to venture communicating again.
“Where am I?”
The older woman, the one who had commanded me to sit, regarded me with her dark eyes. “Home fire...” She paused as if searching for the word. “Safe.”
I was frustrated with the lack of information, but at least it seemed she understood me, somewhat. “You pulled me out of the river?”
She shook her head.
“A woman”—I motioned to the circle—“pulled me out of the rapids.” I waved my hand up and down like a wave. “Who?”
They all exchanged confused glances. I bit back my frustration. Snapping at them would get me nowhere. “Are there more people that you’ve seen?” I pointed at myself and then pointed towards the forest nearby.
The woman shook her head, and I wasn’t sure if it was to say she did not understand or that she had not seen anyone else. My frustration only grew. I had never felt more helpless. If they are all dead, what will I do? Should I continue on alone? The only problem is that I do not know where I am supposed to go. Johai is planning on using the power of Biski and Danhad to destroy Neaux. How can I stop him on my own?
“Elder speak at night,” the old woman said, interrupting my thoughts.
“Who is this elder? Where is he?” I asked with a hint of desperation in my voice.
She shrugged, and I gave up on asking questions. I sat by the women as they chatted for a while longer. After a time I decided to walk about. They did not stop me, but I felt their eyes on me. I wasn’t sure if it was a lack of trust or if they were merely curious. The oldest man I saw was a youth with barely the hint of a mustache on his upper lip, tending to a heard of goats. There were plenty of male children ranging from toddlers to older boys. I let my frustration go and studied their campsite. Their tents were beautiful and decorated with many tassels and beads. The fabric used was weaved with complex images and shapes. The children ran about in animal hides or, in the case of very small children, naked. The older children helped with chasing chickens back into camp and carrying things for their mothers.
One little girl with twin braids came up to me and tugged at the edge of my gown. She muttered something in her language. I bent down close to her so we were eye to eye. She smiled, showing me a gaped-tooth grin. She touched my face and stroked my cheek. I was wondering what had caught her attention when she said, “Dreau.”
The term startled me, and a shiver went down my spine. I had only been called that by Elenna. One who sees dreams, she had called me. It seemed my heritage was more widely known than by their mystics.
When night fell, a group of men returned. They were carrying arrows and spears slung over their shoulders as they chatted good-naturedly. Two men carried a pole with a wild boar and a dear tied to it by their feet. The women ran to help the men with their burden and went to slaughter the kill.
The oldest of the women went to greet a middle-aged man. He had a broad face and a full beard. Red and blue beads were tied in his dark beard, and his hair was braided down his back. Despite his age, which I suspected was of the same age as the older woman, about middling, they both had creases around the eyes and weatherworn faces. This man’s hair was still jet black despite his age. He and the older woman chatted a few minutes before his eyes fell on me. He strode over to me. I stood up straight as his dark gaze assessed me.
“You are well, then. My wife, Shewa, was concerned you would not wake,” he said to me in greeting.
I was surprised he could speak Danhadine after struggling to communicate with the others most of the afternoon. I did not stop myself from gaping.
“You speak Danhadine!” I said.
He smiled at my surprise. “I was born in Danhad and lived there for many years before going in search of my father’s people.”
“I apologize for my rudeness,” I said, dipping my head as a show of apology. How do you show respect in the Biski culture? I had studied a little about the Biski when I was a girl. Scholars did not know much of their culture. They were a secretive and elusive people; little trade passed between Danhad and the Biski, and even less between Neaux and the Biski.
His eyes narrowed. “You are court raised. I can tell from the way you speak.”
I blushed at his assessment. “I was raised in a noble house,” I admitted. “I want to thank you for taking me into your... camp.”
He waved away my thanks. “It is what the children of the earth do for one another. We have much to speak of, I think. First I must greet my family. Please enjoy the company of my wives and the warmth of my hearth.”
Wives? I tried not to show my shock so as not to offend him. He turned and walked away before I could embarrass myself further. Everyone about camp went to work without instruction. The women helped clean and prepare the meat. The men built up the fire and cleaned their weapons. Before long the boar was cooking over a roaring flame, and the children were settled in their mothers’ laps. What I had learned since the men had returned: the elder, Thero, had four wives. The oldest woman who spoke a little Danhadine was his first wife. Her name was Yellen. The young woman whom had cared for me was the youngest of the four and his most recent wife; her name was Shewa.
There were five other men in the group; they were his sons and brothers-in-law. His three brothers-in-law also had wives of their own, but the pairings were jumbled and difficult to figure out since everyone helped with each other’s children and chores around camp. Once we had eaten and I was groaning and content, the elder came and sat beside me.
“What is a court lady doing this far south of the great river ford?” Thero asked me.
“I was travelling with a group south. We were looking for the leader of the Biski,” I said and waited for his reaction to see if he would acknowledge the leader or deny him as the men had to Johai.
The man’s face closed off. “We have no leader.”
I paused. His reaction is the same as the men Johai had met. “I see.”
“Why would you seek a leader?” he asked me, studying my face. I was wondering why he had not asked me about my heritage. He seemed focused on my eyes. Most people were drawn by their unusual violet hue.
I looked at my feet and picked at the soil with my toe. I did not want to admit the truth that Neaux was seeking to start a war; instead I said, “It was my companions who were looking for a leader. I came south looking for the oracle. We thought that she would be with the leader. I need to learn more about my powers.”
“You are a dreau, that much is clear, but I can see you are not telling me everything,” he replied.
I sighed; there was no avoiding it. “I was travelling with a group of diplomats from Neaux. They are searching for a Biski leader. They want to get Biski support to declare war against Danhad.” They are too late. Johai has already committed Stone Clan and their leader to Danhad against Neaux. I have to find them and warn them.
He inhaled and looked at the fire flickering in front of us. “We do not get involved in the wars of kings. Why would Neaux come to us for such a reason?”
“If you do not enjoy war, then why have your people been attacking the borders?” It was rude to ask, but the question slipped out unbidden.
He growled low in his throat, and I leaned back. “That is not my people’s way, but one tribe has taken it upon themselves to go against the very teaching of the Mother.”
“The Stone Clan?” I guessed.
He settled down and regarded me for a moment. “Yes, the Stone Clan. They are led by a tribesman who has brought several clans to his. He talks about uniting our peoples as one nation like they do in the north. He has swayed many to his cause, but I do not agree with his methods. War is an abomination.”
Since it seemed to upset him, I did not press him further. I knew enough from Johai’s visions either way. If the Neaux delegation had survived, I knew they would seek out the Stone Clan. And with Danhad’s power behind Johai and the Stone Clan, it meant Neaux was in danger, as was Arlene’s throne. I had to warn them about Johai’s plot. If he made it back before they did, then they would all be in danger. “I must get to my friends I was travelling with. I have to warn them. There’s danger awaiting them.”
“Hmm,” Thero hummed. “A dreau’s message cannot be disregarded. But it would be difficult to find them. We only found bodies along the river where we pulled you out. I cannot be certain your friends live.”
Tears threatened the back of my lids. Did everyone perish when the river rose up? What caused that unnatural phenomenon? I took a deep breath. There was no certainty they had perished; I had to be strong. I hesitated to tell him more, but I suspected he would not let me go with a half-truth. “I have seen visions of a man who is trying to bring about the destruction of many people, and if I cannot warn Neaux, then many will die in this war.”
“That is dire indeed,” he replied, and then he sighed. “We cannot cross the river where you came from; it is too swollen from the storms. We would risk lives to do so. It may be that if your companions survived, they would have travelled further east or west, looking for a safer crossing. We would not be able to return you to them without wasting many days searching, and we must head east towards the gathering.”
I bit my lip. It was a logical explanation. Though I feared the worst, I knew I could not impress upon their hospitality further by having them search for the delegation. They may even have turned back if they lost too many men. If they did, perhaps we could delay this war. It was a relief but a small one, tinged with grief for those that had died. The burden of their deaths hung around my neck like a leaden weight.
“Stay with us, and come to the gathering. If they survived, perhaps we will find them again along the route to Mother Lake. If they are searching for a leader, they would be best to go there. That is where the oracle will be, as well,” Thero added.
The oracle! I had wanted to see this mystical soothsayer since Elenna had first told me about her, but my training seemed paltry in comparison to stopping the war.
“Though I appreciate your concern, I cannot delay. If the message is not delivered, war will ensue and many lives will be lost.”
He shook his head. “You coming here is no accident. My wife found you half alive on the river shore. Dark hair and pale skin and eyes as you have, you will draw danger to you. You must stay with us.”
I could try to slip out during the night, but I had no way of knowing where to go or if my friends were even still alive. Even if I went back to Sanore to warn them, I would never get there fast enough. All I could do was move forward and hope I could find the oracle and stop the war in time.
Chapter Six
OVER THE COMING WEEKS, I learned a lot about my hosts. Thero made what time he could to talk with me and teach me a bit about their culture. I learned a bit of the language, mostly enough to get by but not enough to hold a conversation by far. If I were at my leisure, I would want to learn more about their people and their language, but most of my days were busy. I was given tasks to perform, just as any other member of the clan would. I learned weaving, but was miserable at it. I helped sew and mend, but Wey, Thero’s second wife, more often than not had to go back over my work, ripping out the seams I had done. Usually, they had me help with the children or carry something or watch a boiling pot. I appreciated the tasks; it kept my mind from worrying about Elenna and the others. At night I was often so exhausted from chasing after the children, I would collapse onto my sleeping mat and fall into a dreamless sleep.
Between Thero and his wives he had fifteen children. Shewa, his youngest wife, was in the beginning stages of her first pregnancy with Thero’s sixteenth child. She had barely begun to show. Thero’s oldest son was planning on finding a wife at the gathering. It was traditional for a man of means to establish his own family clan once he reached
maturity, or he could take a wife and join his father’s clan or his wife’s. The family dynamics among the Biski were a fluid thing, it seemed. They were tight family units, but they also were independent. In the Running River Clan, Thero led with Wey’s three brothers and their wives. Wey’s oldest brother, Uner, had two wives, and her younger brothers, Muhel and Nojen, each had one. The number of wives a man had was something of a status symbol, the more he could support, the more affluent he was perceived to be.
Between Wey’s brothers, there were at least a dozen children as well, aging from three years old to twenty and two. The entire clan was nearly forty people total, yet everyone was close. Thero was an attentive father, and his children all adored him. As the elder and clan leader, he was deferred to in most things, but when the men were away—which was most days—I noticed that Yellen, his first wife, seemed to carry much of the authority in the men’s absence. Thero treated her like an equal, which was surprising. I had assumed because he had multiple wives he would feel he was superior to the females.
“A man with many wives is both powerful and wise for the good counsel his wives give him,” Thero had said to me one evening by the cook fire.
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