The Hadra

by Diana Rivers

  When the early-morning sun first showed its glowing rim over the hills of Zelindar, touching the waves with gold, that was the signal for the ritual to begin. Each mother stepped forward with her child in her arms and walked to the edge of the water. If she had a companion, that woman went with her. The rest of us drew back silently to watch. Tama went first, holding Laisha high and facing the sea. “Goddess, Mother of us all, here before You is Your child Laisha, daughter of Tamaraine and Pellandria, granddaughter of Ansoniya and Charaindru…” Tama named her mother and Pell’s mother and then their mothers and their mothers’ mothers, going as far back as she was able. “Mother, we name her Laisha in Your sight and hold her up to ask for Your blessing. Goddess, may You guide and protect her in this life. May she follow in Your ways. Blessed be.” Tama scooped up some water from the sea to sprinkle over the child’s head and in the palms of her hands. Not at all cowed by this solemn occasion, Laisha crowed with delight and tried to grab her mother’s hair.

  Next, Tama turned to face us. “Before you who are the women of my family and my city, we name this child Laisha. We trust she will grow up among you loved and accepted and will find her place here in Zelindar. May you also guide and protect her in this life. Laisha,” she said again. This time the women answered. Laisha, Laisha, Laisha echoed up and down the shore.

  Then the next woman held up her child and said her words, and then the next and the next, until all were done. I felt myself being relentlessly seduced into accepting this invasion of noisy little beings in our lives. When this formal part was over, there was some singing, followed by a simple breakfast of nuts, fruit, and bread, laid out on blankets on the beach. Afterward, there were games and races organized for the older children like Ishnu and Ursa, as well as wrestling and tumbling contests. Ursa won an embarrassing amount of times and made sure we noticed, while Ishnu did not win at all and hardly seemed to care.

  At the end of these festivities, we all wound our way together in a long procession to the Central Circle, for Kara had announced a “surprise.” There, among the terraces of bright flowers, sat a stone platform with a large, mysterious, veiled object on it. I knew it had not been there the day before. It must have been carried and set in place in the night with the greatest care for secrecy. Kara and Vestri went up on either side of this strange object while Yolande came forward to say some words about the courage of young women choosing to have babies under such circumstances. Luckily for me, it was not a long speech, for I was quite out of patience with all this talk of babies. Also, I was burning with curiosity about this hidden object. When Yolande finished, she gave a slight nod of her head. Kara and Vestri undid the cord and drew back the cloth. The surprise was suddenly revealed as a larger-than-life clay statue of a seated woman, with a girl-child standing boldly on her shoulders. The child’s arms were raised in a gesture of triumph. A moment of hushed silence was quickly followed by a chorus of exclamations and then a deafening thunder of applause.

  Kara had been making smaller sculptures for a while but nothing on this grand a scale. Later, I went up to congratulate her. When I hugged her, she was still shivering with excitement. “We did it! We did it! We kept it a secret. Vestri and all the apprentices helped me in the making of it. We brought it here in the dark of night.” Women were crowding around to touch and caress the wonderful clay figures. Many were bringing flowers to lay at the mother’s feet. Someone had woven a wreath of flowers for each of their heads.

  I felt suddenly humble and deeply touched. Tears stung my eyes. This was surely the finest work I had ever seen. “Thank you, Kara, you have given Zelindar a central heart.” Before I left, I heard Yolande asking Kara if she would shape a sculpture for Wanderer Hill. Kara blushed and nodded, looking very pleased. I felt full of pride for her. She had certainly come a far way from being the girl who was just a maker of plates and jugs for her family’s trade. Her life was happening just as she had wished that first day in Zelindar so many years ago, that day when we had all stood together at the top of Third Hill, looking down and sharing our hopes.

  Later, after Ishnu went off with Tama and Pell, and Ursa disappeared again—no doubt to more mischief—Zheran and I went home alone. As we were walking companionably together, arm in arm, she said, thoughtfully and with some sadness, “I wonder if my daughters will ever find such acceptance here.”

  Without a thought, I answered, “One will, but in her own time and in her own way. The other will not want it.” I had no idea where those words had come from, yet instantly I knew them to be true. Zheran nodded without question, as if she really had her answer. I was feeling very loving toward her at that moment and glad we were alone together after all the excitement of the morning. Besides feeling weary, a strange sort of peaceful acceptance had come over me: for babies, for children, for mothers, for lovers, for whatever else came into my life.

  Alyeeta, of course, had been right about us. After a while, Zheran and I had indeed become lovers, but in a quiet way. This was not the youthful passion I had shared with Kara or the hard sexuality that I had known with Pell or that strange bond that had tied me to Alyeeta. Certainly this had none of the wild madness that Rishka had brought into my life. With Zheran I shared a gentle, quiet loving that filled my soul with much-needed peace, gave some steadiness to my life, and made me humbly grateful.

  Now, with the house empty of children, we took off our ritual clothes, set them aside with care, and lay down together for a moment of rest. Feeling loving and contented, I reached over and drew Zheran’s body against mine. She gave a deep sigh of pleasure and snuggled into me. Gently, almost playfully, I nibbled on the back of her neck. Then, with sudden urgency, those nibbles turned into sharp little bites.

  Both of us had talked of how tired we were, how much we needed to rest. Instead, I found myself needing to touch, to reach out, to be close. Almost without volition, my hands began traveling over the soft familiar roundness of her body: over her breasts, her belly, her thighs. Sensuously unresistant, I could feel her opening herself to me in a way she was seldom able to when the girls were home, even when they were sleeping.

  Soon she was moving catlike against my caresses and giving little moans of pleasure. Heat rose between us. Moaning in response, I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into the familiar comfort of her warmth while waves of desire burned along my nerves. As my hands moved down her body, Zheran groaned and parted her legs slightly. My fingers slipped into her wet fullness. With another groan, she turned a little, opening her legs wider and arching her back, spreading herself out under my hands. Following that invitation, my finger began moving faster and faster. I was feeling the echo of her pleasure as an ache of desire deep in my own body, a rising heat between my legs. Responding to the rocking of her body and the urgency of her moans, I slipped another finger inside and then a third. She was opening still more under the pressure of my fingers, her body calling to my hand, pushing against it, hungry and needful. I pressed harder, pushing back against her need.

  Suddenly the resistance was gone and my whole hand slipped inside her. I gave a gasp of surprise at finding myself enveloped in deep, wet warmth, a living cave that closed around my wrist. Awed and startled, I moved my hand slightly. With a wild cry of pleasure, she clamped her legs around my arm and rode my hand until her whole body shuddered in release. As my cry echoed hers, she sank hard fingers into my hair and grabbed me against her in a bone-crushing embrace. Then, for a while, we lay still and silent that way, bodies pressed tight together, heart beating against heart, breath ragged, my hand still inside her.

  Finally I whispered in her ear, “Zheran, you have to give me back my hand.” With a sigh she released me. I drew back a little to look at her. “Woman, you are certainly full of surprises. That has never happened to me before with anyone.” I was amazed that this reserved, dignified woman could suddenly be so wild and full of passion.

  She gave me a quick, sharp look, an expression that had both blame and heat in it. “Or with me either
, Tazzil, you may be sure of that.”

  Later, Zheran fell asleep in my arms. I lay awake a long time. Watching her sleep, there was such a feeling of tenderness in my heart, I found myself wishing that nothing more eventful than that day’s happenings would ever again occur in our lives.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The advance of the Shokarn army was no secret. Such a large force could not move through the land undetected. First, Kourmairi from the east rode in to warn us. Then came the Wanderers who had been tracking and observing the army’s movements. Next, our own sentries found the guards and began following them in our direction, reporting back to us in relays. From all reports, the Shokarn were avoiding Kourmairi settlements and, indeed, whenever possible, any contact at all with the Kourmairi. It seemed clear that Zelindar and Wanderer Hill were the targets of this incursion.

  When they were less than half a day’s ride away, we Hadra would have known with no warning from anyone. We each had our own inner warning systems hammering away at us, signaling the approach of some large, hostile force. My head throbbed constantly and my chest ached. Many of the other Hadra complained of the impact. Jhemar, especially, felt assaulted.

  Already there had been meetings, discussions, and even some arguments among us. Some of the Kourmairi and even some of the Wanderers spoke for attacking the Shokarn before they came any closer, as we were many times their number, which our sentries had reported at fewer than four hundred and probably closer to three. “We will have to fight them sooner or later. Why not do it as far from our homes as possible?” That was the question many were asking.

  The Hadra, of course, could not fight in that manner, and Lorren was totally opposed to the inevitable bloodshed that would follow. He argued for a very different course, saying, “Let me go and speak with them under a flag of safe conduct. I think I can persuade them to go back. Who would know better what to say to a captain of the guards? They may be soldiers, but after all, they are still just men and not so different from ourselves.”

  Yolande, with none of her usual calm demeanor, cried and pleaded with him to change his mind. “I am begging you, my husband. Please, Lorren, if you have ever loved me, do not go. It will likely mean your death.” The rest of us joined her, calling out, “No, Lorren, they will surely kill you.” “Lorren, you will only be throwing your life away.” “Whatever you say to them, Lorren, we will still have to fight.” There were even some mutterings of suspicion among the Kourmairi concerning Lorren’s loyalty. “What do we really know of this man? Why should we follow him? Perhaps he is still the Zarn’s agent and is planning to leave us open to attack.” Through all of it, Lorren was adamant. “I have to do this. Of what use is all my work here if it only ends in slaughter?”

  By late afternoon, the enemy appeared as tiny black dots across the width of the plain. We were all assembled at Wanderer Hill, Wanderer and Hadra and Kourmairi from both settlements. There were even some Kourmairi from north and east of us and some Hadra from other settlements. I had been dismayed and angry to see Garrell among the Kourmairi from Indaran. The talk was that Ossan was gravely ill from eating poisoned food and so Garrell had come in his place. Because of our common danger and at Garrell’s insistence, Lorren had reluctantly granted him permission to be there among us, in spite of Yolande’s strong objections.

  Lomaire was also there, probably because he thought he should be, but he looked uneasy and out of place. He would have been far more comfortable, I suppose, if a vast caravan of merchants were advancing on us rather than a hostile army. At least he had the good sense to stay out of the way and let some of the other men of Zelandria take charge. A few of our people, Lomaire among them, stayed at the top of Wanderer Hill to keep watch on what was happening, but most of us, many hundred strong, went to gather at the base of the hill where the flatlands began. Our extra horses had already been taken off to the side, clearing the space between us and the Shokarn army. The Koormir and the Wanderers were armed with whatever they could find in preparation for an attack: swords, pitchforks, pikes. The Hadra were interspersed among them. We were massed as if for battle, though we had finally agreed to let Lorren try his plan first. We agreed partly because he had been so insistent but also because we really had nothing better to offer. Even Yolande had fallen silent.

  The Shokarn finally came in sight late in the day. Lorren rode forward with those we had agreed would accompany him: Ormorth and Turin from among the Wanderers; Garrell and two others from Indaran; three men I did not know from Zelandria. Of the Hadra, Pell, Rishka, and myself rode beside him. As we approached the Shokarn, an angry buzz rose in back of us from among our ranks. The noise grew louder and louder, until Lorren finally signaled for silence. It was then that I noticed a Kourmairi among the Shokarn. Rhomar, the man who had been Zheran’s husband, was riding with them as if he were their guide.

  As they got closer I could see the Shokarn captain conferring intently with Rhomar. The captain seemed confused and angry. We may not have been as Rhomar had led him to expect. Meanwhile, we continued riding forward at a slow, steady pace. Lorren rode in the middle, bearing a huge yellow banner for safe-speaking. When we were within hearing range, Lorren called out, “Captain Perthan, on your honor, I claim the shelter of a Shokarn truce so we may talk.”

  “Lorren the traitor, we were once friends when you served the Zarn, but you can no longer lay claim to my friendship. You have dishonored your Shokarn name and can claim nothing of us.” Nonetheless, the captain raised his hand for his troops to stop. Then he rode forward several more steps before he himself stopped. When Rhomar made a move to accompany him, he was ordered to stay back. That, at least, is a beginning, I thought. Perhaps something good will come of Lorren’s plan after all.

  Lorren spoke very calmly. “I ask that you and I both dismount, Captain, and that we meet in the middle to confer. My people are somewhat outarmed, but yours, as you can see, are far outnumbered. Perthan, please, you cannot win this encounter. Few of you will even get home alive. But many of my own people will also die unnecessarily. I want to avoid that if at all possible.”

  “I will give you till the departing sun touches the tallest tree on that hill to say your piece, Lorren the traitor, that is all. Then we will do what we were sent here to do. You must not expect me to go back to Eezore in disgrace as you did. I have no plans to live as an outcast and be a penniless Wanderer all my life.” After those words, they both rode forward slowly till they were about twenty feet apart. Then Lorren raised his hand, slid from his horse, and took a few more steps. He planted the flag of truce by driving the sharpened end of the pole into the ground. After that, he stepped back again with a slight bow. The yellow flag flapped between them like a strange sort of boundary. “First of all, Captain, why have you come here into our peaceful country with this force of men?”

  “A country that harbors the Hadra is not a peaceful country. The Hadra are all enemies of the Zarn and any who shelter them are his enemies as well. By befriending them, you have declared war on the Zarn himself. He plans to see you all punished as traitors.” While the captain recited those harsh words as if they had been committed to memory, he kept glancing nervously at our large number.

  “The Hadra cannot help who they are,” Lorren answered. “They were born with powers. They did not choose them and could not put them aside even if they wished to, but they are no threat to the Zarn.” He spoke in a clear, steady voice that seemed to hold no anger. “You can see that they have gone as far from him as possible. Why have you followed us here when all we want is peace?”

  “The Hadra are all outlaws, as are many of the Wanderers. As you well know, the Hadra even fought against the Zarn’s guards in Mishghall, something he will never forgive. And you, Lorren, you are an escaped prisoner. I have orders to burn out this nest of traitors and to bring you back alive to stand trial in Eezore as an example for others.” At this, there was an uproar from the watchers, followed by a thunderous response from the guards. When Lorren and the
captain had succeeded in bringing silence again, Lorren asked calmly, “And if I agreed to go back peacefully with you to Eezore, would you turn away from here and leave these folk in peace?”

  Now the Wanderers were shouting, “No! No! We will fight for you, Lorren! We will not let you go!” Over this noise I heard Rhomar shouting, “Do not listen. Do not trust him. He is the leader of their army, he is the one. Without him their defense will quickly fail and fall apart. Kill him and they will lose all their will to fight.” He looked as if he could barely restrain himself. At his words, I signaled to Pell and Rishka. Quickly we started riding forward. At the same moment, Rhomar suddenly dashed from the ranks of guards and began charging straight at Lorren with his sword drawn. Urging Dancer into a gallop, I cut in front of Lorren from one side just as Pell and Rishka came in from the other.

  We were not an instant too soon. Howling with rage, Rhomar was upon us, ready to cut down an unarmed man. Instead, he met with three Hadra, crashed against our wall of power, and fell from his horse with his own bloody sword in his chest. It all happened so fast that Lorren had no chance to step back. All of us were spattered with Rhomar’s blood, and the captain himself was thrown down by Rhomar’s fleeing horse.

  Now the fighting will begin, I thought. My heart was pounding with fear. Rishka and Pell rushed to help the captain to his feet so his men could see he was unharmed, while I kept my body in front of Lorren to shield him from another assault. The Shokarn troops seemed ready to break rank and attack at any moment, even without an order from their leader. I was watching so intently for danger from that direction that I was unaware of danger in back of us until I heard the shouts. By the time I turned, it was already too late. Garrell had ridden at Lorren, thrown himself off his horse onto Lorren’s back, and stabbed him three times before his own men could grab his arms and stop him.