But when Shria rose, Ryl was stunned. No woman of the Birani had her own seal, bound as she was by that of her father or of her husband. “Ma?” he blurted out, before he caught himself.
“You forget, son, I am of the Reen. I came to the Birani out of love for your father, but I still carry my past with me, which is as much a part of you and your future as anything that came to you from your father.”
“But…” Ryl began to protest.
The Allesha asked, “You do know that each village has its own traditions, don’t you?”
“But…”
“The women of the Reen are equals with the men,” explained the Storyteller.
“I know.”
“So, should they not also sign a contract, as men do?” asked the Allesha.
“Yeah, but my ma never did before.”
Shria turned to her son. “No other contract has ever been so important to me, not since my marriage vows were witnessed.” She moved slowly, deliberately inking her seal each time before firmly pressing it onto the three copies of the Agreement.
The Battai now spoke to the boy again. “It is time for you to sign your Alleshine Agreement.”
Ryl stood, because it seemed the right thing to do.
The Battai asked, “Do you sanction this Agreement and all that it says or implies?”
“Yes.”
The Healer asked, “Do you do this of your own free will, with no force or coercion?”
“Yes.”
The Storyteller asked, “Do you understand that accepting this Agreement may change your life in ways you neither expected nor sought?”
“Yes.”
The Allesha asked, “Do you promise to uphold the Alleshi, to honor us and obey our will, and to be a true and formidable Defender of our Peace, for as long as you live?”
“Yes.”
“Done!” exclaimed the Battai, who now reached for the boy’s right hand and pushed it into the bowl of red ink.
“Hey!” Ryl protested.
“Your right hand is the seal of a Blessed Boy,” said the Battai. “Now, press it onto each copy of the Agreement.” The boy obeyed, and when he had sealed the third copy, the Battai clapped the boy on his back, while handing him a damp cloth to wipe his hand. “Well done.”
The Allesha rose and spoke to the boy. “Blessings on you, boy. We accept you into our community and honor you as one of our own.” She pressed her seal onto the Agreements, binding the Alleshi to the boy.
The Battai poured seven glasses of wine from a decanter and raised his. “I propose a toast to the boy and his Allesha.”
“To the boy and his Allesha,” all rejoined.
“To my Allesha,” Ryl added, in awe and wonder, but still not trusting that any of this could truly be happening to him.
Chapter 11
The forest smelled of the crisp end of autumn. The moon hadn’t yet crested over the mountaintops, and the sky that showed through the leafless trees was filled with stars. Along the easy, generations-worn trail that wound down the mountain to The Valley, the boy and the old man walked side by side in silence, lost as they were in their thoughts. The Battai carried a lantern to light the way.
A sad sweetness seeped into the Battai’s heart, of hope for the lad mingled with his own sense of time irretrievably lost. It was always such for the Battai, this final duty, taking a boy to his Allesha.
At a clearing near the end of the woods, the boy turned to the Battai, “You usually have so much to say. Why are you quiet now?”
“I was waiting to see if you have any last questions for me.”
The Battai purposely slowed his pace to give the boy time to think. They continued walking, listening to the crunch of leaves underfoot.
“What questions should I ask?” The boy stared at the glimpses of The Valley lights through the dark wood, rather than looking directly at the Battai. His tone was uncharacteristically tentative. “I mean, are there any other things I should know that will help me?”
“What kind of help do you mean?”
“What happens when I get there?” The boy jabbed his hand in the direction of The Valley. “She’s pretty old. Probably as old as my ma. I’ve never had a woman that old. Do I treat her like a teacher or a lover or what?”
“Treat her as you would any woman or man, with respect and good will.” As the Battai spoke, he unconsciously shook his head, knowing this boy still had much to learn about respect and good will. But he quickly disciplined his actions and tone, reminding himself to keep his voice non-judgmental and his manner impassive. “She will be many things to you. Head of the house. Lover. Teacher. Friend. And what she will be will change often. After all, as I’ve explained to you, that’s what the title Allesha literally means — Every Woman. So it is that an Allesha must be many women, to give what—”
“No!” The boy interrupted. “None of your philosophy, Battai. I need something I can use, now, tonight. Do I embrace her in greeting or open my hands in the traditional way or wait for her to approach me? What’s this nonsense about naming her?”
“I’ve no doubt your village Storyteller has already taught you about the significance of naming.”
“Yeah.” The boy shrugged, then in a whining singsong voice that the Battai assumed was supposed to mimic a Storyteller, he recited the lesson. “Relationships define us. Important bonds and pacts change us. And the names we share within the privacy of those relationships represent this, sealing us to the ‘other.’”
“So it will be with your Allesha.”
“But so many names… how many can you have? One for every relationship? That’d be dozens of names. Maybe more. It’s unnatural.”
“Nothing is more natural. The Alleshi have simply taken what we already do, what our people have always done, and imbued it with layers of meaning we might not have otherwise recognized.” The Battai paused, realizing that the boy wasn’t ready to understand the nuances and import of name giving. Instead, he decided to take another tack. “You’ve already experienced this. What is your Father’s name?”
“Mistral. Mistral of the Birani. You know that.”
“Yes, but you don’t call him Mistral of the Birani, except when you speak of him to strangers. If you were talking to others about a man related to you, you might say, ‘my father.’ In conversation with him, I’ve heard you call him ‘Pa,’ though I’m sure your name for him has changed as you’ve grown and your relationship has changed. You probably even have a name you use when you’re angry with him. But none of your names for your father are those used by his wife or his Allesha.”
“Sure, but how do I do it — name her?” The boy shook his head. “Skies! That’s not important right now. Tell me about tonight and tomorrow morning. Will there be some initiation or ritual or something? What do I do or say to please her and get me into that inner room?”
“There’s no second guessing any Allesha. All I can suggest is what I said before. Eventually, you will learn how to act, because that’s one of the important things an Allesha teaches her boy.”
Gradually, the forest gave way to cultivated greenery, the winding dirt path became a groomed gravel walkway, and the hills flattened to The Valley — so slowly that the Battai wondered if the boy noticed. Then again, this boy seemed to notice little that didn’t directly and immediately affect him.
“But what about tonight, old man, what about the sex?”
“There’ll be no sex for you tonight.”
The boy stopped abruptly and pulled on the Battai’s shoulder to swing him around, so the two of them were face to face. “What do you mean? Why not?”
“You’ll have no intimacy until you are intimate.”
“Now you’re talking nonsense, old man.”
“Until you understand how far from nonsense I’m speaking, you’ll not learn any of what your Allesha has to give.” The Battai started walking again.
“Well, that’s what you’re supposed to be doing, helping me understand.” The boy follow
ed the Battai, catching up to him easily. “Right, old man? That’s part of what my pa paid you for. So explain. I want you to be able to tell her I understand, so we don’t waste any time getting to that inner room.”
“I won’t be telling your Allesha anything. It will be up to you. She’ll watch you, and, being an Allesha, she’ll know when you’re ready. Just try to remember this: attempting to control an Allesha will be a losing battle. Play her neither for a fool, nor for a weak opponent. She’s shrewder and more powerful than anyone you have ever met.” The Battai gestured to the slate-roofed cedar-shingled one-story house in front of them. “This is where I leave you. I wish you well, boy.”
No lights shone through the front windows, which surprised the Battai. Wondering what the new Allesha had planned for this boy, he was certain of one thing: it would be an interesting match.
The boy seemed to want to say something, but nothing came out of his mouth. The Battai clapped him lightly on the back, pushing him forward through the gate. Knowing his role was finished, the Battai extinguished his lantern and quickly disappeared into the darkness.
The boy turned once more and, not seeing the Battai, whispered to the shadows, “Goodbye, old man… and thank you.”
He walked through the open front outer door of his Allesha’s home and called out “Hello?” in a thin, uncertain voice. Then he rapped tentatively on the inner door.
The Battai stood there for some time, watching the house from a distance, knowing he would see nothing, for he could go this far and no farther. Eventually, he made his way home through the cool night air, alone.
Chapter 12
When there was no answer to his knock, Ryl poked his head inside, and called out tentatively, “Hello?”
No answer. Could it be she’s hard of hearing?
He left his coat, pack, satchel, bow and quiver in the vestibule between the inner and outer doors and cautiously stepped into the darkened greeting room. “Hello? Ouch! Damn.” He rubbed his shin where it had jammed into some low-lying piece of furniture. “Anyone here?”
“I’m in the kitchen. Come on in.”
He hated the relief he felt at the sound of her voice, the soft femininity that offered solace from the fears he didn’t want to acknowledge. Behind him was the empty night and others’ expectations of him. His unknowable future lay ahead, behind the black silhouette of a dark door framed by the light of the room beyond.
The kitchen was so brightly lit by gas globes that he had to blink to accustom his eyes after the deep dark of the evening. The Allesha stood at a stone counter with her back to him. Wearing a food-stained wraparound apron over a simple belted green dress. she showed a bit more leg than he was used to seeing in a mature woman. But then, those were legs worthy of showing.
“Please excuse my back,” she said without turning toward him. “If I don’t spoon the jam when it’s at this temperature, the whole thing will be ruined. I hope you like bealberries. The harvest was good this year, so we have quite a bit preserved for the winter. Ah, there, that’s the last of them.”
She turned, looked at him quite seriously, then erupted into one of the most dazzling smiles he’d ever felt. “Welcome to my home… I should say our home, because that’s what it will be for the next few months.” She wiped her hands on the apron before placing them on his shoulders. They were about the same height so that she looked directly into his eyes. Then she quickly brushed her lips on each of his cheeks.
It was over before he had time to react. In fact, she had him sitting at the square oak table, though he wasn’t sure how he had gotten there. She hadn’t pushed him or anything. It was just those light, almost weightless kisses, and then he found himself seated across the table from her.
“Are you hungry? I don’t suppose you had your supper.”
“No, ma’am.”
Looking across the table at her, he knew she was only an arm’s reach away — but not his arm. His entire being was enshrouded in an itchy wool cocoon. It was a familiar discomfort, enclosing him, rooting him to the chair, as though he weren’t quite in this room but apart from it and her.
“No to which, the hunger or the supper?” she asked.
“No, I haven’t had supper, so I guess I’ll be getting hungry soon, ma’am.”
“Good.” The word propelled her out of her chair. “The day was so filled with preparation, I didn’t find the time to eat, either. I’ll have a meal together for us shortly. Don’t bother to help this time. Just sit there and talk to me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He felt as if he were a watcher at a Storyteller’s tableau, but what he was watching was his own life. For almost as many years as he could remember, he had struggled, lashing out in anger even when he didn’t want to, but had to, to break free of the deadening. Only with Lilla had it been effortless to step into the flow of his life, making it fully and truly his own. With Lilla, and when hunting, and sometimes when he was alone with his mother in her kitchen.
The Allesha set the table with homespun mats and napkins, pewter forks and bone-handled steel knives suitable for a headman’s hunt banquet. He picked up the knife in front of him and felt the finely-honed edge with his thumb. Superb. No old wife’s knife this. He bounced it in his hand, appreciative of the heft and balance. When he saw she was watching him, he quickly put the knife back on the table, in the exact same place and position.
She pulled a large covered clay pot from the oven. “It’s roast chicken. Which do you prefer: white meat or dark?”
“If we could use some of those hot bealberries as a sauce, I’ll take white meat. Otherwise, a leg and thigh would be good.”
“White meat it is.” She placed a blue and white pottery plate brimming with carrots, small white potatoes, chicken and hot berry sauce in front of him, and a similarly generous one at her place. In the middle of the table was a rattan basket filled with fresh baked hard-crusted bread and a tub of sweet butter. An earthen jug beside the basket held cool spring water.
“Please start eating; don’t let it get cold.” She whipped off the apron, sat down, picked up her knife and fork, then looked at him and put them back down on the table. “Or do your people practice some thanksgiving ritual before meals?”
He shrugged, and heard his voice echo in his own skull. “Some do. I don’t, except when my parents insist. Usually, I just set aside bits of food for the spirits that live beyond our gate. Still, maybe this meal is different because it’s our first together.” Though he’d never tried it, letting a woman think she’d inspired a man to prayer had to be an effective way to impress and seduce.
“Yes, it is a special night, but hollow prayers can turn around and become a curse.”
“Why’d you say that?” Damn, is she reading my mind?
“Please let us start this out right, with honesty.” She reached with her right hand to touch the fingertips of his left. “You don’t strike me as one who would bow his head in prayer. I can’t imagine you bowing your head for anything or anyone. You face all that comes to you straight on, looking it in the eye, in confrontation or friendship or both, but always directly. If I’m mistaken, please tell me. Is praying at the table something you would do without being asked, because the words sprang of their own spirit from your inner self?”
“Not usually.” If she already knew the answer, why did the woman ask the question? “Skies! You’re right. Mouthing words is useless. It’s only what a person does that counts.”
“Well said and very true. Should you ever be moved to pray, to give thanks, I would be honored to share that with you. For now, shall we put some of our food on this saucer for the spirits, so we may take it outside after our meal?”
“Okay.”
He chose and cut a small tender portion from each food on his plate and put it in the saucer; she followed suit with offerings neither less nor more than his.
But it felt wrong, this ordinary dinner, in a kitchen that was nicer than any he’d ever seen, but still just a kitch
en. And, yet, sitting across the table, eating a meal she had prepared for him, was an Allesha. His Allesha, if he were to believe everything that had transpired.
He took a bite of chicken dunked in the berry sauce. “This food is good. I was hungrier than I thought. Thanks, ma’am.”
“‘Ma’am’ sounds terribly formal, don’t you think? I’m assuming you know that one of the first responsibilities of a Blessed Boy is to name his Allesha.”
“They told me that. But… well, I’m not sure I know how to do that, ma’am.”
“You will.” While she buttered a piece of bread, she asked, “How was your day? I understand you took off for the forest in the early morning.”
He hadn’t slept the night before and had gone wandering before dawn when he couldn’t stand it anymore. All the waiting to hear the Alleshi’s decision. And those damned empty reassurances from everyone, when he knew and they knew that no Allesha worthy of the title would give him a second glance.
But here he was, and he still couldn’t understand how it could have happened. Would she realize her mistake? Could she still send him away? Or was she playing some game? Was he there only to be laughed at when they told him the truth: that he really wasn’t a suitable candidate? So sorry, but get the hell out of here.
He shifted in his seat and poked at his food.
“Our mountains are beautiful. I don’t fault you for wanting to lose yourself in them,” she continued. “But today wasn’t your last opportunity to be in our forest. I hope we’ll have many walks together in the woods, even when they’re bare and covered with snow.” She paused to savor a small bite of the chicken. “Actually, I was thinking… how would you like a hunt tomorrow? I was in my coldhouse today, checking our winter provisions, and there’s still space for some meat. Would you join me in a hunt?”
“So that’s why you chose me.” The words erupted before he could swallow them. But once spoken, he allowed them to carry him, crashing clumsily through the cocoon’s barrier into his life. “I knew there had to be a catch. You needed a hunter to supply your table. Guess I’ll be doing that for the rest of my life.”
The Winter Boy Page 6