The Hadra

by Diana Rivers

  Soon we could hear that cry echoing in back of us down the line of march, “Mishghall, free today, free tomorrow, free forever!” Finally, it was resounding around us like thunder and echoing from the rooftops, a roar so loud that I imagined it could be heard beyond the city walls, if any guards were still in hiding. Grinning, Pell slid down to safety on Torvir’s back. “There, I have done my best,” she said with another nod. “Now it is your turn to amaze and entertain.”

  Rishka, on the other side of Pell, quickly took up the challenge. She raised two swords and began twirling them high above her head, then slapping the blades together, Muinyairin style, when she caught them again, so that they rang out in time to the chant. This brought more loud cheers from these same watchers who only moments before had been ready to pull us from our horses and tear us limb from limb. From behind us I could hear the rapid and insistent beat of the Sheezerti drums. Now that the crowd was with us, not against us, I was wishing I had something of my own to add to the show. Just as I thought that, Dancer, with no signal from me, reared up, spun about, and came down dancing on her front feet. There were no more boos or hisses or shouts of “Puntyar,” but many shouts for us to “do it again, do it again,” which Dancer quickly obliged. This brought another storm of wild cheers and applause. Thus encouraged, Dancer went through a whole series of tricks: leaps, turns, bows, prances, and dancing steps that I had certainly never taught her. All I could do was cling desperately to her mane while people shouted for more. I knew our image of power would not be improved by a spectacular, half-naked fall in front of the line of march.

  Rishka, seeing what we were up to, encouraged Lightfoot to do some fancy footwork of his own. Dancer, of course, had to match it. “Well done,” Pell said, as she signaled Dhashoti and Ozzet to drop back a few steps. For a short while, Rishka and I rode alone at the front, with our horses rearing and dancing and springing about. Rishka was clearly enjoying herself, ignoring my desperate pleas to stop. I could barely hold on. Dancer was following some inner voice of her own. She was completely deaf to mine. Clearly, she had been in parades before and was doing exactly what she had been trained to do.

  Just as I felt myself slipping precariously, I heard shouts from in back of us, “Make way for the Sheezerti of Eezore.” Much to my relief, the Sheezerti swept around us and pushed their way up to the front. Dancer paused in her madness. I took advantage of the moment to slip safely from her back and stand unnoticed in the press of the crowd. Leaning against her, I struggled to catch my breath. I was dizzy and soaked with sweat, but Dancer was scarcely breathing hard. No doubt, had I been willing, she could have danced the whole way at the head of the march.

  Already we had won the day by our audacity. The Koormir of Mishghall may not love Witches and star-brats, but they do love a good show, and we were certainly giving them that. The Sheezerti, who had never ridden horseback before leaving Eezore, had the natural balance of acrobats. They were not so much good riders as mounted tumblers who used their horses’ backs as a platform for their tricks. While agilely leaping on and off, they were doing twists, turns, and flips, shaking their tambourines and making rushes into the crowd to collect money in their hats. I cheered as they passed, only too glad to let someone else go at the front for a while. With relief, I stayed to watch as the Witches passed, then the Circle, then Ozzet with the young women of Darthill. After that, many other Hadra rode by, among them Kazouri, with Katchaira of Mishghall mounted in front of her on Crusher’s back. Katchia, bare-breasted like the rest of us, was waving and bowing in all directions, her face flushed with excitement and pride.

  I had no desire to find a place again in the march and could happily have stood there all day watching my sisters pass. Suddenly, I felt a presence next to me and turned to see Zheran standing quietly at my side. “Did you find your sister?” I asked, shouting to be heard above the din. “Will you be staying with her?”

  Zheran shook her head. She had a strange look on her face. “My sister says she cannot have me in her house. Her husband will not abide a woman who has left her man. She cannot go against his will. She is far more afraid of him than I ever was of Rhomar.”

  “Then what will you do?” I asked, dismayed.

  “I will go with the Hadera Lossi—no, I mean the Hadra—to your new settlement. I do not think I can live with men anymore.” She had said she would come, not even asking if we would have her.

  “But we have no settlement,” I said quickly. “We have nothing, only our horses and the road before us and the few possessions we have managed to salvage. Who knows how many miles lie between us and a settlement of our own, miles or perhaps years. Until then, we are like Wanderers. What kind of life is that for a woman who has had her own home and husband and children?”

  “The one I choose,” she said with quiet dignity. Then she gave a sudden little smile. “Or who knows, perhaps the one the Goddess chose for me. When you find this settlement, I will help you organize it. I have many skills, and this time no one will tell me not to use them because I am a woman.” Her tone changed suddenly. “Unless, of course, you will not take me because I do not have your powers. Perhaps you only spoke before out of pity and because you thought I would not come. After all, I can never be a Hadra.” There was pride in her tone and an unspoken plea behind her words.

  I said quickly, “If you are willing to endure our hardships, Zheran, then come with us and be welcome wherever we go. Among us, you will be free to do whatever you have the skill and the will to do.” I said all this earnestly enough, but in my head I heard the words Trouble, this means trouble. Some inexplicable fear clutched at my heart. At the same moment there was a loud signal. The Hadra in the march were pulling to the side so that I was suddenly surrounded by women, all talking excitedly. Zheran took my arm so as not to lose me in the press, and I felt her shiver. I was suddenly awed by her courage. At the same time, I felt very protective. “Would you ride next to me when we rejoin the march?”

  She shook her head and said sadly, “I have no horse. I gave her back to Nhokosos thinking I would not need her in the city or be able to afford her care here.”

  “We will find you another or regain that one before he leaves. To come with us, you must have a horse. In the meantime, would you like to ride on Dancer with me?”

  She nodded, saying, “I would be honored,” and I felt her tremble again.

  As we spoke, the last of the Hadra who had been in the march moved aside. Marching to the wild cheers of the crowd, the Koormir swept forward between us, rank after rank of them. They were mostly men, led by the headman, or, as he is called in Mishghall, the mayor, and his own personal troop of soldiers. There were flags and banners flying, horns blowing, and drums resounding loudly. It was very grand and glorious. We all bowed as they passed. Then Pell took up her chant again, which was soon echoing back from all around us. The switch went so smoothly, it looked as if it had been planned and agreed upon. And indeed, the mayor would have been a fool to act as if we had marched at the front in spite of him or against his will. For his part, he appeared to take it in good spirits and bowed to us in return, nodding from side to side as he passed our ranks. Watching all this, I thought to myself, At least for a while the Koormir of Mishghall will remember the Hadra as we were this day. They will not forget how we rode bare-breasted at the front of their march with our swords flashing, our horses dancing, and our great banner flying overhead. Let that be imprinted on their memories.

  Soon after the mayor had passed, Nhokosos, with the folk of Darthill, rode by to more loud cheers. To my surprise, Alyeeta was riding next to him, waving and smiling to the crowd. After a while, there were even groups of Kourmairi women marching. Most of them had some representation of the Goddess with them, sometimes carried on a platform, sometimes raised high on a pole or stitched into a banner. I watched them all go by with an ache in my heart. These were my people, yet I was not one of them. I never could be and never truly had been. This was a Kourmairi city, but I could not
live here, would not be welcome among them. I could not abide their ways, nor they mine. I wished them peace, I wished them strength against all the Zarns of Garmishair, but I knew my own home would have to be elsewhere. After a while, I grew weary of watching this endless flow of people. I was tired and hungry. My feet hurt and the day was growing late.

  Aiyee! Aiyee! Aiyee! Suddenly, Hayika and the other women who had gone south with her surged in around us from both sides of the street. We shouted greetings and news to each other. Soon we found ourselves pushed into rejoining the march, no longer in our carefully planned ranks, but in a great flood of women, pressing forward like the Escuro. Other watchers from the street rushed pell-mell to join the march, wherever they could squeeze themselves in. It was in this way that we all, Kourmairi and Hadra together, flowed out of the city by the south gate and poured like a living river into a huge meadow, large enough to have been an Essu ground.

  Exhausted, I eased Zheran down and then swung myself off Dancer’s back with a deep sigh. Immediately I saw that I had put myself between Katchia and Dhashoti. I quickly stepped back out of their way. It was as if I had landed in a nest of knives. With great bitterness in her voice, Katchia was saying, “What right did you have to look at me that way? Am I some sort of trash in your eyes because you were born with the power to protect yourself and I was not?” Dhashoti was looking down at the ground and shaking her head. “Look at me!” Katchia raged. “Answer me! By what right?”

  “None, no right,” Dhashoti replied, almost in a whisper, without looking up. “That is how I was trained from childhood, to have contempt for whores. Every time I was nice to some boy, my mother would say, ‘Take care, or you will grow up to be one of them,’ meaning, of course, a whore. Little did she think I would grow up to be something much worse in her eyes. I already was, though she did not know it then. But in truth, I never met a whore face-to-face before this. Now I am ashamed of my own quick judgment and the pain it cost you. And how can I say that I am any better? All this winter, I paid for my safety with my body. Even now, my cousin lurks about as if he thinks to have me back in his power.”

  Suddenly, almost as if her words had summoned him, a young man slipped out of the horde of people and leaned over to say some words in her ear. Dhashoti whirled about with an angry cry. “No! Never again!” she shouted. Immediately he found himself surrounded by a circle of Hadra, myself included.

  “So now you show your true colors,” he snarled. “After all I did to keep you safe, you are still a Puntyar and you consort with whores. I should have denounced you to the guards while I had the chance.”

  Furious, I shouted in his face, “Sometimes I wish my powers did not stop me from doing harm. If not for that, you would be lying on the ground from the force of my blow.”

  Katchia pushed past me roughly, saying, “I have no such powers to stay my hand.” Before any of us could think to stop her, she had stepped up to him and swung her arm so the back of her fist connected with his jaw. He was caught completely by surprise, knocked off his feet from the force of the blow. Staring up at her wide-eyed, he lay on the ground with blood spurting from his cut lip. She leapt at him and began kicking him everywhere: in the head, the side, the stomach; wherever she could reach him. All the while she was shouting, “This is for every man who ever raped me, who beat me, who mocked me, who robbed me, who called me names…” She spit out a new phrase in time to each kick. It was clear she intended to finish his life. For a moment we all stared at her in shocked amazement, frozen in place. Then Kazouri broke the spell, shouting, “Stop her before she kills him! Tazzi, help me hold her!” This time, not even Kazouri’s great strength was enough. It took myself and Murghanth as well to subdue her. Pell pulled the man to his feet. He spit out two teeth, and shrugged free of her hands, snarling, “You are all whores and murderers, all dirty Puntyar!”

  Pell wiped the blood from her hands down the sides of her pants and said calmly, “And you are a fool. Times have changed. Look around you, Cousin. The time for owning women is over. The Zarn can no longer lord it over Mishghall, and men can no longer lord it over women. You forced yourself on Dhashoti all winter by threatening to denounce her to the guards. Do you expect her to be grateful? Would you be grateful for such a bargain?”

  “I am not a woman,” he said with contempt. “I would not make such a bargain.” Katchia gave a roar of rage and tried to lunge at him again. Quickly two men came out of the crowd and led the cousin away, while Katchia shouted that she wanted to kill him, that in fact killing was too good for such scum.

  Katchia was still struggling in our arms when Dhashoti came to stand in front of her with her head bowed. “Thank you, Katchaira, for doing what I could not do for myself, but wanted to so many times. I will never forget that.” She reached out and put her hand on Katchia’s arm.

  Katchia quieted suddenly. She stood looking down at Dhashoti’s hand for a long moment. All motion seemed stilled. No one spoke. Then, very slowly, she put her own hand over Dhashoti’s. “To the end of the old and the beginning of the new. Never again will I collect taxes for any Zarn or lay my body down for any man to use against my will. Never again will your cousin be able to abuse you in that way. Never!” We eased our grip and she shook free of us. Fingers pointing, she swept the watchers with her hand. “Never again,” she called out. When one man jeered, she took a step toward him, rage flashing from her eyes. He hastily stepped back and vanished into the throng.

  Wanting to be away from Katchia’s anger, I looked around and noticed a small grove of trees that formed a high spot in the field. Several Hadra were gathered there, along with a few Kourmairi, so I hurried eagerly in that direction. When I arrived, I was surprised to see Renaise standing in the center of a small crowd. Apparently, she was about to dance. Full of curiosity, I pushed my way toward the front of the crowd.

  Some torches had already been lit. Noya was playing her drum, and Vestri her flute. Renaise had changed her clothes and was wearing a long, soft, gauzy skirt of bright blue, stitched with bursts of brilliant color. It hung low on her hips. Above it, she had on a richly embroidered vest that bared her belly and her full round breasts, as well as her arms. As torchlight played on her body, she began to move, slowly at first, rolling her hips and her belly. Seeing this, I was suddenly flooded with desire, not for Renaise herself, but for all women, for the part of us that is round and soft and full, the part that we, as Hadra, had been forced to hide for so long. Thalyisi, Renaise’s cousin, was standing next to me. She winked and leaned toward me to whisper suggestively in my ear, “Nice to watch, eh? This is how we used to dance in our village for the man we were to marry—though not, of course, half-naked that way.”

  I had to admit to myself that Renaise danced very well and that I certainly enjoyed being witness to it. This was a side of her I could not have imagined. Dhashoti, who must have followed me there, was watching with rapt attention, her eyes shining, and her mouth slightly open. Renaise was answering her looks with heated glances. More drummers had joined in. The women around me, Hadra and Kourmairi both, began clapping out the rhythm, stamping their feet in time to the music and shouting encouragement. Some of the men were shouting too, though more crudely. Some of them were even tossing coins at her feet, to which Renaise responded by dancing faster, rapidly undulating her breasts, her hips, and her belly. She had a sensuous smile on her face, as if to encourage them. The men shouted louder and she quickly acquired quite a sizable pile of coins. Soon her body was glistening with sweat. Watching her, I could feel the heat rising between my legs, and with it that pleasurable tension, almost like pain.

  With a sudden little cry, Renaise abruptly stopped her dance. She was breathing hard and seemed somewhat unsteady on her feet. Looking around at all those people, she appeared slightly dazed or surprised. When she caught sight of the pile of shiny coins, she shook her head in bewilderment. Dhashoti rushed forward to throw a shawl over her sweaty shoulders and help her to steady herself.

  As
soon as Renaise stepped out of the center, the Sheezerti rushed in to take her place, doing their tricks and their tumbling, collecting more coins, and calling for grain and tools and whatever else we might need for our new venture. By now, quite a large crowd had gathered, drawn by the music. It was getting dark and more torches had been lit. Tribute was beginning to pile up: clothing and bedding, a sack of grain, a plow, baskets of potatoes and eggs, more grain, some chairs that looked none too sturdy, shovels and hoes and other garden tools. The pile was growing dangerously high. I was somewhat uncomfortable with this, not sure if the Kourmairi saw themselves as thanking an ally or paying tribute to an invader or perhaps clearing out their storage bins.

  When they were done performing, the Sheezerti slipped back into the crowd to make music for the rest of us. In time to their drums, some of the Hadra began to dance. After watching for a while, I finally joined the others. With the pleasure of movement, I could feel the fears and tensions of the day flowing out of my body. Soon, even some of the Kourmairi women were dancing with us, while others of them drummed and clapped. We women were all grinning at each other in delight, but from the glowers and mutters of their men, I could tell they were none too pleased at this turn of events.

  One man, growing impatient, even reached out to grab his woman’s arm. “Come away from here. These Witches will poison your mind,” he snarled. The woman pulled free of his grasp. Telakeet leapt to her feet with a growl. The man reached out again, but before he could grab his wife a second time or Telakeet could do him any damage, Shalamith stood up and stepped between them with her glowing presence. She was in her shining aspect. She threw back her golden hair and arched her back so that her breasts gleamed in the torchlight. The man gasped and stepped back at once, almost colliding with me. The woman stepped back to the other side and raised her hands as if in reverence. By now, the dancing and drumming had come to a halt. We were all staring at this little drama.