Keepers of the Ancient Wisdom (Kalie's Journey Book 3)

by Sandra Saidak

  “And what about you, Mother? And Riyik? Jolie told me that at festivals, there is much…sharing of bodies. Even couples who are married may choose other partners.”

  “That is true all year,” said Kalie. “But more so at festivals. Especially this one, at the time of darkness and death. It’s a way for people to join together against the darkness; a defiance of death by summoning new life.”

  “So will you…? Or Father?” Kalie couldn’t tell what answer Varena was hoping for, but it sounded like more than idle curiosity.

  “Your father may of course do as he wishes,” Kalie said, then stopped and considered her words. “I suppose in that way, it is much like life on the steppes.”

  “Except that here, the woman’s consent is what matters.”

  “True! And as for me…well, pregnant women usually refrain. And besides, I will be busy listening for gossip or complaints that might tell me of any further trouble.”

  “Oh, Mother, you should relax and have some fun! We’re safe now; there’s no one chasing us. Darva and Sirak are no threat to anyone, and everyone else is making friends and becoming a part of things. You should too!”

  Kalie smiled. “Your father said nearly the same thing to me just yesterday.”

  “You should listen to us.”

  “Let’s go home and check on the food,” said Kalie. “Brenia and I are making extra for Borik and Zanal, since neither can cook, and it would be bad luck for any house to be without food to share, tonight.”

  But as they reached their lovely home, from which heat and good smells were wafting, Kalie thought that what she really needed to do was listen to Riyik and Varena. She would think about it. Tomorrow.

  But tonight, she would simply be happy.

  Chapter 10

  “On this, the longest night of the year, let us offer our own light, to the Light which will return, little by little, each day, beginning with tomorrow’s dawn.” The priestess intoned the ancient words in a darkness that was nearly total. Not a single fire burned within any home in Stonebridge. Then she hung a tiny shell of burning oil on the highest branch of the evergreen tree in the temple grove. One by one, every priest, priestess and acolyte did the same, until the tree glowed like stars on a summer night.

  Next, the youngest acolyte came forward with a burning brand, and lit the bonfire in the center of the marketplace. The people murmured as the fire took hold and climbed above their heads, declaring to the heavens their intention to fight darkness with light. When it was burning well, and the falling snow popped and crackled in and around it, one member of each household lit a torch and held it carefully as they walked to the kindling that waited in each cold hearth of the town.

  “May I take the torch?” Varena asked, noticing that many of the torchbearers were those newly initiated into adulthood.

  Kalie wanted to say yes, but customs ingrained in her since birth would not allow it.

  “Your mother carries life within her,” explained Jula, their neighbor, whose family made baskets and brooms. “It’s best if she is the one to bring the fire to your hearth.” Jula’s own daughter, Minda, was also pregnant and carried the fire that would light their hearth.

  Varena nodded, content to walk behind Kalie and Riyik, and keeping a firm hold on Yarik’s hand. Now that the children around him made him welcome in their play, rather than hitting him and calling him names as they had on the steppes, Yarik did his best to be everywhere at once and explore everything.

  When the four of them entered their dark home, Kalie knelt beside the hearth and dropped her small torch into the center of the waiting wood shavings. As the light grew, a table laden with food came into view. It had been Riyik’s idea to make as their contribution to the feast meat cooked in the manner of the steppes. Now, as Kalie took in the rich smells, and the table that seemed to groan under the weight of it all, she was glad he’d thought of it. The people here needed to know that not everything about the horse tribes was bad. Kalie needed to remember it as well.

  “You don’t need to wait for our first visitors,” Riyik told Varena. “If your friends are waiting for you—“ A knock sounded at their door.

  “I think they’re here,” Varena said with a grin, running to fling open the door and greet whoever stood on the threshold. Soon, the town was transformed into a vibrant, glowing place of laughter and energy. People worked their way through home after home, eating, drinking and talking. Once everyone had the chance to sample everyone else’s cooking, it was time for the many entertainments to begin. The dancing Varena had spoken of earlier would occur outside, later in the night, when people were warm enough from wine and food not to care about the cold. For now, people gathered in every temple large enough to hold a crowd and watched the truly skilled perform. Each temple boasted something wonderful: storytelling, dancing, music, guessing games and riddle contests.

  Kalie was spellbound by one storyteller in particular. He was a visitor who had arrived the day before with a small entourage. While his fellow performers provided background music and pantomime to enhance his stories, the stranger held the audience in thrall. He was tall and muscular, with flashing dark eyes, and his neatly trimmed beard and mustache seemed to call attention to his mouth as he spoke. Most impressive to Kalie was the way the teller’s voice changed as he became by turns, a goat, a wolf, a duck, a grouchy old man and, at one point, the Goddess Herself.

  When the performance was over, Kalie rose to her feet and cheered, along with most of the audience. “Would you like to speak with him?” Riyik asked her. “One storyteller to another?”

  “Later, perhaps,” said Kalie, noting the large crowd of admirers surrounding the man. “When he is not so busy. What would you like to do next?”

  “I thought I might try my luck at the riddle contest. I should at least be able to gage my ability with your language, and maybe confound the locals with a few riddles they haven’t heard.”

  “I think I’ll do some more visiting,” said Kalie. “But I’ll join you later if I can. Oh, and remember: any riddle that mentions a bird which dies in your hand—the answer is a snowflake.”

  “I think that will be the answer to a lot of them tonight, but thank you.” Riyik brushed her lips with his and hurried to his next destination.

  Kalie wrapped herself tight in her sheepskin cloak—one of the few things she still had from the steppes—and wandered around outside. Swarms of people, dressed in a rainbow of bright clothing made from everything from fur and wool to linen and leather, played in the snow and ran in and out of buildings. Borik, red faced with exertion from the snowball fight he was having with several children, was dressed in nothing but the leather shirt and pants he wore when he rode in from the grasslands. Zanal, dressed more sensibly in several layers of locally woven cloth and a wolf skin parka, worked with a group of both children and adults at constructing houses and animals from snow.

  Kalie stood where she was, turning slowly to take it all in. All over the world, she thought, people are, at this moment, celebrating the turning of the season. Even in the grasslands. The only difference is, here I am free. She flung out her arms, and spun around, much as Darva had done in her new home, just to take in all the blessings surrounding her.

  And as if the thought had conjured her, when Kalie came to a stop, the first person she saw was Darva. The woman looked far less happy now, as she trudged toward one of the temples, carrying a large jug. Apple cider, Kalie guessed, to refill the cauldron of the delicious hot brew that was probably empty again.

  For the past eight days, Darva had lived in considerably less lavish circumstances, with a family of five women, who had zealously undertaken their job of teaching her the joy to be had in working for the good of the community. Kalie knew that Darva was well fed and not mistreated, although it was hard to tell any of that from her sullen expression. Kalie looked around for Sirak, her other concern, but did not see him.

  She had just decided to go look for him when she spotted Brenia, and
began to move through the snow in her direction. Halfway there, she realized Brenia was not alone. She was speaking with Martel, and even in the dark night, with shadows dancing from the light of the bonfire, and those that shone from open doors, Kalie could see the adoration in the man’s eyes as he gazed at the dignified red haired woman.

  Brenia caught sight of Kalie and quickly handed Martel a ceramic cup. “There’s the friend I promised to meet. Thank you for the drink.” She moved through the snow toward Kalie at an impressive speed, but still with that unconscious grace Kalie had noticed the first time she met her.

  “Were we supposed to meet?” Kalie asked innocently.

  “I just wasn’t sure how else to get away,” Brenia said. They began to walk, and Kalie did not suggest going inside, sensing Brenia might want to speak in private, and perhaps wished for some frigid air to cool the blush on her face.

  “Was he bothering you?”

  Brenia shook her head. “He’s very nice. I enjoy talking to him.”

  “And he obviously enjoys talking to you. He’s a widower, as I’m sure you know. I don’t think he has any children.”

  “No, none. Which is sad. I’ve seen him with the village children…and…with mine, lately. He’s been coming to visit, bringing gifts, and oh, Kalie, I don’t know how to tell him to stop!”

  Kalie stopped and looked her friend in the eye. “Are you sure you want him to?”

  “Kalie, I’m still married to Hysaak!”

  Kalie barely controlled a yelp of disbelief. But that wouldn’t help. So, she calmly asked, “How do you reason that? He threw you away before we left.”

  “I know,” sighed Brenia. “And I know that I threw away the laws and injustice of my homeland when I came here. But marriage is for life. We don’t have this…what do you call it here? Separation?”

  “Of course you do! Hysaak already did it. In your land, any man may put aside his wife whenever he chooses.”

  “But a wife can’t put aside her husband!”

  “Here she can. And surely, even by your laws you became free to remarry once Hysaak threw you away!”

  Brenia sighed. “I was free to end my life in to avoid further shame. Or live with my brother, if he was willing to take me in.”

  “Which he did! Can’t Riyik just give you permission—“

  “It doesn’t work like that! Or maybe now it does. Maybe I’m just not ready.”

  Kalie relaxed. “That, I support. I’m sorry if I pushed you just now.”

  “How are you feeling?” Brenia tactfully changed the subject.

  Kalie’s hand slipped inside her mantle and settled on her belly. “Quite good, actually. No morning sickness yet.”

  “You’re lucky. I was sick all the time with my first two. Barak’s the only one I wasn’t sick with.”

  “I’m too busy being sick with worry about troublemakers here. I don’t know what’s going to happen with Darva and Sirak, and I’m afraid Tarella is turning out to be nothing but a parasite.”

  “Tarella won’t be a problem,” said Brenia firmly. Even as she spoke, Tarella spilled from one of the temples, leaning heavily on Varian, the oldest of the three brothers she was living with. Both were laughing and appeared quite drunk. “As long as she keeps him happy in bed, and he keeps her in jewelry, everything works.”

  “And the rest of the family? I’ve heard complaints that she eats—and wears—more than she works. “

  “They will work it out as a family,” Brenia said firmly. “Isn’t that what people do here? Let’s get out of the cold!” They went into one of the temples where a musical performance had just ended. People were heading outside to the bonfire where the dancing was about to begin. There was still food and wine on the table—the only furniture in the room, so Kalie and Brenia went to help themselves.

  “And then there’s Darva.”

  “I’d be more worried about Sirak,” said Brenia.

  “My thoughts exactly.” They left the temple to watch the dancing.

  To Kalie’s surprise, Darva was outside watching as well—and looking like a completely different person than the sullen woman helping with the cider. The visiting storyteller was beside her, wrapping her in a cape of rich fur, and saying something that made Darva laugh.

  “You must teach me to dance in the manner of your people!” the handsome man said as he led Darva to join the other dancers.” Darva blushed, and protested she could not dance. “Then I will teach you ours,” the storyteller insisted.

  Kalie and Brenia exchanged a baffled look. Then Kalie saw Riyik across the open space. Standing with him were Zanal and the priest named Orin. It was the identical grins all three shared that told her something was going on.

  She marched up to them, Brenia walking behind her with her usual dignified gait. “All right, what are you three plotting?”

  “Remember when I said I had an idea about how to handle Darva?” asked Riyik. “There it is.”

  “Seduction by storyteller? Interesting. But I don’t see how—“

  “Kalie,” said Zanal. “What is the one thing an ambitious slave girl from the steppes dreams of all her life?”

  “You mean other than a son to win wealth and luxury for her? To find and marry a prince, I suppose.”

  Riyik pointed to the dancers, who were beginning to move to the music. The storyteller spun Darva with a skill that would have made the least competent dancer look good. “Behold!” called Riyik.

  “But he’s not a prince!”

  “He’s not particularly interested in women, either,” said Orin. “But Casim cannot resist trying a new role, and he playacts better than anyone I know. For the rest of this winter, he’s going to stay here and court Darva, telling her fine tales of his great ambition to become king, which of course, no one in this part of the world understands.”

  “How lonely he must be.” Brenia sighed, catching on to the plot. “An oddity among his own people. No one understands him at all—until the right woman comes along.”

  “And Darva will be only too happy to assure him that she understands him perfectly,” said Zanal. “And then she will tell him all about how things work where she comes from, and why those ways are so much better.”

  “All right,” said Kalie. “I understand that Darva will be too busy plotting with her future husband to plot with her son. But what happens when she learns that Casim is not going to become king? Or marry her?”

  “Casim is more than a storyteller,” said Orin. “He has been called to mediate disputes all around the region of the Great Water. He has a special way of listening to people which grants him a deeper understanding than most of us have.”

  “It is our hope,” Nara said, joining them. “That Casim will find a way to open Darva up to new possibilities, even as she tries to do the same for him. At the very least, he thinks he can help her overcome her maddening fears that cause her to see everyone who walks on the earth as either predator or prey.”

  “But what does Casim get out of this arrangement?” asked Brenia.

  “He will learn new stories,” said Orin. “More than that, really: an entirely foreign way of viewing the world. Can you imagine what someone like Casim can do with that? The stories he will create? The roles he will inhabit? What he learns from this playacting will influence his craft for the rest of his life.”

  “Brilliant,” said Kalie. “Insane, perhaps, but brilliant. And Sirak?”

  “The boy is a natural leader,” said Orin. “We are seeking positive directions for that gift. After tonight, thoughts of the people will turn to spring. And the warning our new friends have brought.” He looked at Riyik, Zanal, and Brenia with piercing eyes.

  “We must discuss it further,” said Nara, “but I believe that we will soon seek your services in preparing ourselves for less friendly visitors from the east. And since only the men and boys are trained in this art you call war, there are only five who can teach us. Or six if Sirak can understand that he is needed as well.”

&
nbsp; “Which may well be all he needs to change his path,” said Orin.

  After a moment, Riyik said, “I think I’ve had enough celebrating for one night.” Kalie, too, was ready to go home. It had been a night of revelations. As they wound their way past the dancers who whirled in a broad circle around the bonfire, Kalie saw Varena dance by, hand in hand with a tall young man, probably just a few years older than she was. They stopped to watch for a moment, and then continued on to their home. The air between the dwellings smelled of clean cold air and wood smoke.

  “You could go back if you want,” Kalie said. “The celebrations will last until dawn.”

  “You could as well,” said Riyik. “We may have married in my world, but I told you at the time I would accept the customs of yours. If there’s someone else you want to spend the night with—“

  Kalie stopped him with a kiss. “I’ve got all the man I need or want right here. But as our child grows, I may have less desire—or desirability—and you are a man, with a man’s needs. If there is someone else you want, tonight, or anytime, it will be all right.”

  Riyik wrapped his arms around Kalie as they reached their door. “I have all the woman I need right here. And we don’t need anyone’s customs to tell us what to do about that. It’s the longest night of the year, and there’s still plenty of if left.”

  They went inside and closed the door behind them.

  Chapter 11

  For Kalie, the second half of winter was a quiet time of letting go: of the desperate flight from captivity that brought her to this new place, and of her fears that she had brought danger to her home. She finally took the time to get to know people—not just the leaders and those she could discuss the dangers of the east with—but people who became her friends.

  Casim turned out to be as interesting as Orin had claimed, and Kalie spent many hours with him, exchanging stories, and watching in fascination as Casim convinced Darva that she would soon be queen of the land. Most intriguing was how Casim—and his entourage, whom Darva viewed as his servants—subtly conveyed the notions that empathy and responsibility towards one’s people were requirements for ruling. That certainly wasn’t the way it was where Darva was from. But it became clear over time that it left an impression on her.