by Diana Rivers
It was clear that Pell was in a fret to leave, but the matter was out of her hands. By evening, the Kourmairi, no doubt under the influence of brew, were making us pledges of undying friendship and guaranteeing safety for our possessions and our lives. I was sick of it all and wanted to crawl away to some private place, but the Sheezerti were in their glory.
As soon as the tables had been cleared away, they announced their performance with drums and cymbals. When all eyes were on them, Noya gave a sharp cry and they whirled into the circle in a series of wild leaps and flips. Next came a brilliant performance of juggling and tumbling, punctuated by rhythmic claps and shouts. They ended with a near miraculous balancing act that involved the whole troop. This was followed by a thunder of applause and a shower of coins. The Muinyairin, not to be outdone, leapt into the circle the moment the Sheezerti had bowed out. They did their sword dance to the loud encouragement of the Kourmairi men, some of whom, clumsily, tried to join in.
I was just wondering how we were going to stop this madness from going on all night, when riders came from Mishghall with the message that there would be a grand victory march through the city the day after the morrow, led by those notables who had survived the siege. With them was a young woman named Dhashoti, who was clearly one of ours. She said she was to be our guide into the city. Immediately, we sent riders south to catch up with Hayika and the others and ask if they wanted to march with us through the streets of Mishghall, since there was no longer any need to hide from the Zarn’s army.
Suddenly all this motion was too much for me. It seemed as if the messengers and Dhashoti and the leaping, twirling Sheezerti and the Muinyairin with their flashing swords and the grinning Kourmairi men and the flirting Kourmairi women were all whirling around together. There was no still place in all the world and no solid spot to stand. I began swaying on my feet. My stomach was rising up into my throat. Hands came and firmly took hold of my arms. Voices on each side of me said, “Come over to the edge of the clearing, Tazzi,” and, “Lean on us, Tazzi.” I did as I was told, hardly aware of my feet touching the ground. The voices told me to bend my head over and open my mouth. As I did so, everything I had consumed that day came gushing out in a great shower of vomit.
My throat burned and tears ran down my face. One of those hands passed me a damp rag to wipe my face and mouth, while the others supported me. After a few more retches, I was able to stand on my own and look about. The owner of one set of hands was Rishka, and the other, Pell. Renaise was holding out another clean cloth to me. With the drink out of my system, a sudden embarrassed sanity returned. I was about to make my craven apologies and admissions, but Pell shook her head. “We have all done it at some time in our lives. You just waited longer than the rest of us. Now perhaps you will remember that drink is not our friend.”
I was shaking my head to clear it. “Well, Renaise, do you have your bucket of water ready?” I asked ruefully.
“No, you will have to find your own. It will help the ache in your head.”
“Rishka, how is it that you are not suffering in the same way? Surely you had enough drink this day to fell a bull.”
“I know how to give the appearance of being deep in my cups and quite jolly, while actually drinking very little. After my first time, I knew it was nothing I wanted to do again.” They took me back between them, unrolled my mat, and laid me down on it. Renaise brought me a large wet cloth for my head. Then Olna came with her healing presence. She sat by me patiently, holding my hand in hers and murmuring softly to me until I fell asleep.
* * *
I was being roughly shaken awake. I opened my eyes a slit and saw Murghanth’s long, skinny arm. Quickly I shut my eyes again and groaned. My head throbbed. My mouth was dry and tasted foul. I wanted to be left alone for another hour at least—or maybe a year. Or better yet, forever. The shaking became more urgent and Murghanth’s grating voice was added to it. “Hurry, Tazzi! We let you sleep until last, but now it is time. We must be gone before the Kourmairi awaken and impede our departure.”
“And we must reach the city tonight if we are to march with them tomorrow.” That was Teko’s voice. She was standing just behind Murghanth, peering down at me. I groaned again and struggled to sit up. Murghanth was saying excitedly, “Think of it, we are going to march openly together through a free city, a city where Zarns have no more power. Free women in a free city! On your feet, Tazzi! It is time to go! You can sleep on Dancer’s back on the way.” With that, she gave a hard tug on my arm and I found myself standing. Instantly, Teko was rolling up my bedroll.
Something was wrong with me, very wrong, so wrong that at first I could not understand what it was. Then it came to me like a blow. Silence! My head was stuffed with silence, a silence louder and more persistent than any noise. I heard sounds that were outside and came in through my ears. But what had always been with me since I could first remember, my inner ear, that speechless knowing of another’s thoughts and feelings, that was dead to me. A block of stone was in its place. I shook my head to clear it. Nothing changed. The powers I had cursed so often were gone. It felt as if some part of me had died or been cut away.
Pell was walking swiftly toward me, with Dancer following. “On your horse, Tazzi. It is time to go.”
“Oh, Pell, it is all gone. What have I done? Will I ever…?” I asked in a panic, with my hands pressed around my head.
She was grinning and gave me a pat on the back. It may have been kindly meant, but it felt like a blow from the paw of an Oolanth cat. “Give it time, it will all come back. Only, next time, remember…”
“Never! I will never forget! I will never drink a drop of their brew again, not as long as I live. I pledge to the Mother to remember all my life, if only my powers will return.” I said this fervently, little knowing I was echoing every sorry drunk who wakens in the morning, full of regret, with a thick and aching head.
Pell burst out laughing. “That is what they all say. On your horse now, so we can be on the road.”
We made our escape easily enough. Except for Nhokosos and a few others who planned to go to Mishghall with us and were already mounted to ride, most of the Kourmairi men, including Rhomar, were sleeping off the celebration. With so few men about, the women of Darthill were suddenly much in evidence, packing extra food and bedding for us, showering us with kisses and attention. Ozzet and four other young women who were clearly star-brats had declared they were coming with us, though some of their mothers were pleading with them not to go.
Dhashoti planned to ride back with us in spite of her hard ride the day before. She had declared herself our guide and our key to the city. Besides Zheran, who had not left Kazouri’s side, five or six other Kourmairi women had decided to accompany us and were all eager to be off before their men awakened.
Having traveled hard and slept little the past few nights, I quickly passed into a state beyond weariness. With the additional effects of hard brew, I was like a sleepwalker when I climbed on Dancer’s back. As soon as we were clear of the settlement, I dozed off and stayed in that state for much of the ride.
It was evening and almost dark before we came within sight of the city walls. Well before we could see the flaring light of her torches or glimpse her walls, looming dark before us, we could hear the warning bells of Mishghall, ringing loudly to announce our presence. Soon many more torches were lit and people began pouring out of the city to greet us, clapping, cheering, shouting, staring, showering us with questions and praise, reaching out to touch us. Some were even hissing or booing. To a city that has just thrown off its invaders, several hundred women advancing on its walls must have been a daunting sight. In spite of that, the folk of Mishghall remained, for the most part, good-humored and kindly, offering us food and shelter and whatever else we needed.
After climbing on Kazouri’s shoulders and beating on a Sheezerti drum for silence, Pell made a little speech for us. Bowing in all directions, she thanked the Kourmairi of Mishghall many times for their g
enerosity, explaining that due to our great numbers, we preferred to camp where we were. She ended by saying, “Food, however, will be gladly accepted.” Soon food was pouring into our hands from all sides. We did not have the bother of cooking on our own fires that night. It was left to Dhashoti to firmly and politely clear away the crowd of Kourmairi that pressed around us, explaining that we needed some rest after the great battle. Otherwise, we might have been forced to take part in still another all-night celebration.
When Nhokosos finally left, taking with him the folk of Darthill, Zheran decided to stay with us. She said she was not yet ready to go into the city. The woman seemed to crave our company. Many times during the evening I had noticed her watching us intently, as if studying our ways for future use. Meanwhile, Renaise, her cousin Thalyisi, and some of the Sheezerti struggled to make order out of the chaos of our temporary camp. At last all the Koormir of Mishghall had departed, all except for the Hadera Lossi of that city, those young women who had somehow evaded the Zarn’s edict and army, and managed to stay safely hidden within the city’s walls. They remained with us through that night.
Even now, as I write of this, remembering it fills my heart to breaking with both joy and sorrow. The Hadera Lossi of Mishghall were crying, laughing, looking into our faces, touching our hands, saying over and over with wonderment: “So many of you…” “You finally came…” “Who could believe after all this time that we would finally be free…” “That we could be safe…” “So many lost…dead…burned…gone…” “Hunted like animals…” “How different we all are and yet…” They poured out their stories of death and courage and treachery and survival, and they eagerly asked for ours. If I told it all, everything I saw and heard that night, it would more than fill the biggest book on Alyeeta’s shelves. Dhashoti’s story alone could make a book.
As soon as there was a pause in their stories, many of us began questioning them about Mishghall. We knew, of course, that it was a port city, built around the curve of the bay, but there was so much else we wanted to learn. Soon Pell was down on her knees with Dhashoti, drawing lines in the dirt for the streets, the avenues, the largest buildings, the parks, plazas, docks, and wharves. The main street that went from north to south was called Shell Street, a grand avenue, really, Dhashoti said. It was down this avenue that the march would proceed. As we talked, I grew ever more eager to see this city built by the Koormir, by my own people. Growing up, I thought all the Koormir were farmers in little dirt villages like Nemanthi and only the Shokarn lived in cities. Clearly I had much to learn.
Suddenly Pell stood up, wiping her hands on her pants. She beckoned Kazouri over and climbed on her shoulders again so she could be seen over that mass of women. Kazouri bellowed for silence. When Pell had our attention she shouted, “Tomorrow, we, the Khal Hadera Lossien, need to go at the head of the march, in front of everyone.”
“What do you mean?” Dhashoti cried, shocked and alarmed. “Even in front of the headman and the officials of Mishghall? Not possible! No! No! It would be too disrespectful.”
At almost the same moment, Ozzet shouted, “Not in front of Nhokosos and his men. They would be most displeased.”
“Yes, exactly that, however disrespectful or displeasing it might be,” Pell answered instantly. “In front of all of them, so they never forget the sight of a thousand or more of us Puntyar marching in their streets. Listen, I have been on my own since my eleventh year, observing the ways of men and devising strategies to stay alive in spite of them. This has left me with a good nose for survival and a very small store of respect for men, except perhaps the Wanderers.
“The Koormir are nice enough now. They are glad to have us as allies to help win their battles against the Zarn. But how will they treat us in times of peace? Will we even be able to have peace with them? Rhomar is right, there are many others who think as he does. As soon as they are sure the weight of the Zarn is off their backs, their male pride will begin to chafe at the thought that women helped them gain their freedom. They may wish to be rid of us as well. Their pride may even make them thirst for vengeance. Respect? They are the ones who must have respect for us or we will never be safe among them.
“I think if they had their choice, these Kourmairi men would treat us much as they treat the Shokarn guards. Remember, to them we are just so many Puntyar, as they so often like to remind us. So I say we go at the head of the march tomorrow! Let us give them a show they will never forget!” Pell raised both her arms and shook her fists. There was a roar of shouts and cheers but also many voices raised in argument, mostly from the women of Darthill and Mishghall.
Pell swung off Kazouri’s shoulders and said to Dhashoti, “Now it is yours to decide. Remember, if you do this with us, you go against a whole lifetime of training.” Dhashoti looked troubled and confused, but Rishka was nodding her head and grinning widely. I could see her eyes sparkling with excitement in the firelight. The Sheezerti were already making their plans. Most the women who had ridden with us for a while were ready to follow Pell’s lead in this. Even those Witches who had stayed with us, Alyeeta, Shalamith, and Telakeet, all agreed with Pell’s plan, Alyeeta in particular. “That will give these humans something to think on,” she said with relish. Meanwhile, I could see Dhashoti moving about among the Hadera Lossi of Mishghall and Darthill, talking intently and gesturing with her hands. Sooner than I expected, she came back and nodded to Pell.
“This is what they say. They will walk with you at the head of the march if you will promise not to go the whole way in that manner, but only part of it. Then we separate and make way for the headman and the rest of the procession. If the rest of you can agree to that, then we are with you.”
“Done?” Pell asked, looking around at all of us.
“Done!” we shouted back, the word echoing through our ranks.
“Done,” Pell said to Dhashoti, with a clasp of her hand. “But only if you will be our guide and give us our signals.”
And so our agreements were made. There was another round of cheers. Then Noya of the Sheezerti said, “We must have a banner to march under. We should not go into the streets without our own banner to speak for us.”
“Where would we get such a thing?” someone else shouted back.
“We should make it,” Tama answered boldly. I had seldom heard her speak up in front of others in that way.
“When?” “How?” “With what?” “Who will make it?” “What words should it have?” asked a chorus of voices.
In the end, Tama cleared a space on the dirt to draw with Pell’s stick, while Dhashoti and some of the others went into the city for fabric, thread, and scissors. “What should we put on this banner?” Tama called out.
“Horses,” someone shouted. “Women on horses,” someone else called back. Maireth stepped forward to say forcefully, “The symbols of the Circle: the circle, the triangle, the star, one inside the other. We have waited a long time to be able to show ourselves in public.” Many voices called out, “Yes, the Circle, we have been silent too long.” “The Great Star,” someone else shouted, and there was a roar of approval. All this while, Tama was drawing rapidly and with considerable skill everything as it was suggested.
“We should write Khal Hadera Lossien across the top,” Kazouri called out.
“No, they do not call us that anymore, and even for us it is too long. It should say Hadera Lossi, for that is what they call us now.”
I had been sitting, watching Tama draw. At those last words, I jumped up and shouted, “No, not their name for us, our own. If we cannot be Khal Hadera Lossien, then let us be called Hadra, for that is what it will come to in the end.” I felt a chill run down my back as I remembered looking down from the hill in the Wanderer encampment into a vision of a very different valley, perhaps in some future time. Quickly I turned to ask Alyeeta, “Is that a Witch word or an Asharan word?”
Before she could respond, Nunyair answered in a loud voice, “It is a Shokarn word. It means ‘wild ones.’” At
that, there was an uproar of shouts and cheers. I could hear “Hadra” echoing from all around me and felt again that shiver of foreknowing.
When the others returned, they brought with them a bright blue sheet to use for the banner and a pole to carry it on, as well as scissors, thread, needles, and many colorful scraps of fabric. Tama organized the work with the help of Lhiri of Eezore, Dhashoti of Mishghall, and the Sheezerti of the streets. Maireth lovingly cut the symbols of the Circle out of the brightest colors, and others of the Circle helped her sew them on. Rishka cut out the horses, following Tama’s drawings, and Tama herself made the figures.
As there were more than enough eager hands to do the work, I drew back to watch. Pell stood next to me, looking at all this activity with a strange little smile on her face. Her expression was such a mix of pleasure and sorrow that it made me want to cry. Suddenly she turned that look on me. “All these years, Tazzi, all these years…struggling, planning, enduring…never knowing if this day would finally come. I am almost ready to let go of it, sister, almost ready. Right now I am weary to the bone, weary to my very soul.” And soon I will be handing it on to you. She turned away quickly and disappeared into the crowd, but not before I saw tears sparkling on her cheeks. She had not said those last words aloud, but I trembled when I heard them in my head.
And so, again, we made a late night of it. But this time I was very wide awake. My powers had come back to me. Full of gratitude for that, I listened to everything with my inner senses as well as my outer ones. I also remembered to eat sparingly and to drink no brew at all. Together, that night, we made a huge, blue banner that had at its center three horses of different colors ridden by three women of different colors, all dressed in their brightest clothes, and carrying banners. Around them was a circle of symbols, brilliant-hued and intricate. Shining above everything was a giant star, the Great Star that had dominated all our lives. Across the top, written in large letters, were the words The Hadra of Yarmald.