Naondel

by Maria Turtschaninoff

  “How do you see these things? Are they clear images that depict the future?”

  I shook my head. “More like feelings which flash through me, pictures in my head and reflections in the water, everything together. They are not always easy to interpret, even for me after years of practice. Sometimes she tells of things which have already happened.”

  “What use is that?” Iskan stretched out on his back on the blanket, his hands behind his head. The cold and damp did not seem to bother him at all.

  “Anji is not for using. The spring is the primordial life force, unfettered and free. What we mortals do with it is up to us.”

  “Of course, you are not obliged to warn your neighbours,” said Iskan slowly. “Your estate could soon be the mightiest in the Renka district.”

  “Anji forbid!” I drew the sign of the circle on my heart with my fingers. “That would be misuse of the balance. Who knows how it might affect us—or affect Anji herself.”

  “I might have known you were far too honest for that,” said Iskan.

  I sat up straight. He glanced at me and saw that I had taken offence. Without a word he stretched his arm out and pulled me close. His lips fuelled the fire that burned in my body and I forgot all about the cold and damp.

  The spring became even more significant to me than before. Now it was our place. I would often visit in the daytimes as well, to clean away dead leaves and weeds, to refill the oil lamp, and to sit and daydream about Iskan. He did not come to visit the family as often as he had, and my father’s irritation was escalating. He had still not made it clear to Father that I was his reason for coming; rather he continued to be amiable and attentive towards all three daughters. Yet he came more often at night, several times per moon. Each time we met he told me when to expect him the next time.

  Therefore I was very surprised when one afternoon I found footprints in the mud around the spring. I had not seen Iskan in five days—had he been here? Had he been waiting for me? Had I misunderstood what he had said? Or was somebody else visiting the spring? I checked the oil in the lamp and found it full, as it had been when I had filled it a few days before. Perhaps not Iskan then, but somebody else.

  I could barely sleep the following night, and I got up several times to gaze in the direction of Anji’s chamber even though it was not visible from the house. What if he had been waiting at the spring and became angry with me? What if he never came back? My racing mind would give me no peace. When finally the night came that Iskan was expected to arrive I was hot as though from fever. I dressed myself with trembling hands in the most beautiful jacket I owned, lined my eyes with kohl and fragranced my hair with jasmine-perfumed oil. I did not dare wear my hair chains; their jingling might give me away. I crept barefoot out into the courtyard and waited until I had carefully closed the outer door behind me before putting on my shoes. The whole way up to Anji’s chamber I walked as though on needles. My heart sank—there was nobody waiting outside. I groped my way through the dark opening, my feet refusing to find the path by themselves as they usually did. I heard nothing but the beating of my own heart.

  Someone was stood bent over the spring. I recognized the broad back and dark hair. I let out a sob, such was my relief, and Iskan turned around.

  “It is a full moon tonight,” he said. And then: “What is the matter?”

  “I thought you had been here,” I answered, trying to steady my voice. “I saw tracks around the spring. I was afraid I was mistaken about which night we were meeting.”

  “No, I have not been here,” he answered mildly. “Come, I have brought spiced cakes, prepared by the Sovereign’s own master chef.”

  He walked over to the blanket that he had already spread out in the usual spot, and lit the lamp. In its gentle glow I saw a silver dish of brown cakes, two bowls and a jug of wine. My heart leapt. He had been waiting for me.

  We sat and talked as usual, and he told me of his travels with the Sovereign, and his father the Vizier, to the district of Amdurabi, east of Renka, where the district governor had ordered a great celebration with fireworks in honour of the Sovereign Prince. I drank in every word. Iskan was here once more—with me. Those nights we spent together were like secret jewels I carried with me that no one else could see.

  “Speaking of Amdurabi,” said Iskan, feeding me another cake, “has the spring shown you happenings in other districts?”

  I brushed some crumbs from my lips and swallowed. “No. Anji is the spring of Renka. Her life force is drawn from this soil and these hills. What happens far way is others’ concern. In Amdurabi I believe their sacred site is the Mountain of Haran.”

  “Is that why Anji shows you the future of your family specifically?”

  “I do not know. I believe the closer something is, the clearer it can be perceived in Anji’s water. But I see what concerns me and mine. You have looked in the spring under the full moon yourself, and you probably saw something entirely different.”

  Iskan had never wanted to tell me what he had seen in the water. He nodded pensively. “I cannot interpret the visions as well as you. Everything is so disparate and unclear. But I shall practise.”

  He jumped up and pulled me to my feet. “Come!” He upturned the two bowls and poured out the last drops of wine. “Let us toast with the water of the full moon!”

  He filled the bowls with Anji’s water and handed one to me. Then he raised his to the heavens and the night. “To us, to the future!”

  I lifted my bowl and drank of the cold water, and thought about Iskan and me and the future, and my whole body was singing with joy.

  With those little words Iskan gave me hope that he would soon ask my father for my hand. Yet the winter came, bringing cold, dry winds from the north-west, and Iskan’s visits to our family grew ever more seldom. We continued to meet at the spring, but also less and less frequently. Iskan excused himself, saying that his father could not afford to spare him too often.

  “I am indispensable to my father and his office,” he said one night, when we were sitting huddled under a blanket, my teeth chattering from cold. “He cannot manage without me, he says so every day. Father is old and can no longer handle all the intrigues of court as I can. And it is of utmost importance that the Vizier be aware of all happenings at the court of his master. In many ways I am the most essential person to the Sovereign. More important than those puny sons of his, that is for sure.” He scoffed. “You know, the Sovereign gave them new horses—all seven of them. Truly fine horses they are, from Elian in the west. He lavishes gifts on those incompetent oafs, though it is only I who am of any use to him!”

  “You were given a new sword last autumn by the Sovereign himself,” I reminded him, cautiously. “How many can say that they have received the like? He considers you his right hand, as indispensable as his own sword.”

  Iskan chewed on the inside of his cheek. The storm cloud passed and his face gradually lightened. “Yes, of course. He would be a fool not to realize it.”

  I swallowed. The Sovereign Prince was sacred. It felt dangerous to speak of him in this way. Like blasphemy. Yet Iskan did so often, and I thought that he must speak very differently at the royal court from when he was with normal citizens.

  “But Kabira, you must understand that this means I cannot return for a while now. Perhaps until springtime, when it is warmer.” He pulled the blanket tighter around us. “It is so cold that I can never fully warm up again until the following day once I have returned to the palace.” He gave me a kiss on the forehead and stood up. “Come, let us toast to springtime and milder winds.”

  He led me to Anji. He always wanted to drink from her when the moon was new. The water was so cold that it hurt to swallow it. Iskan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “I can feel it endow me with strength—in both body and mind.” He took out a clay pot and filled it with spring water. “So I can manage until we see each other again. I will send word, Kabira.” He leant forward and brushed his lips against min
e. “Until spring, my little bird.”

  I stood at the mouth of the chamber and watched him disappear down the hillside, towards the grove where he usually left his horse. The wind was biting at my cheeks but I barely felt it. My heart was even colder.

  It was a long and tiresome winter. Gone were my usual high spirits, and nothing brought me joy. The only one who understood the cause of my change was Agin. I often caught her observing me with thoughtfully furrowed brow, which made me even more bad-tempered and off-kilter, so I shrank away from both sisters and spent a great deal of time alone. Mother was concerned. She thought I was bored from the lack of activity in winter. Her solution was to drag me to various neighbours and relatives. I suspect she also believed that what I needed was a husband, but the young men who were hustled into my path were nothing compared to my Iskan. They did not conduct themselves with such dignity. They did not tell such interesting anecdotes as Iskan’s from the royal court. Their lips were not as red. Their laughter not as infectious. They did not look at me with the same dark eyes. And they did not make my skin smoulder the way Iskan could with his very presence. I am afraid that I met all the polite, honest youths of our district with disdain and disinterest. What could they offer me that the Vizier’s son could not offer tenfold?

  I would be ashamed now to think of how I behaved, if I were still capable of shame. My reputation was tarnished, and when Mother surrendered and stopped dragging me to all the families of her acquaintance, not a mother remained who would see her son married to the haughty daughter of Malik-cho.

  The only thing I did of my own volition was visit the spring, which I did daily, and often several times a day. I kept the surrounding ground free from a single leaf or blade of grass. I adorned Anji with beautiful white stones. I would often sit at the spring’s edge in a winter jacket and layered shawls, gazing into the clear water and thinking of Iskan, reliving each encounter we had had there. Sometimes, when I thought about his kisses, I saw in my reflection that my cheeks blazed red. He had kissed me. He had called me his own. He had promised to return.

  The spring was altered. Anji and I had always shared a special relationship. Mother would have laughed at me if she had known that I thought so, but it was true. Father’s mother found it much more difficult than I ever did to understand Anji and interpret her revelations. Yet now it seemed the spring had turned from me. When I sat at her edge I could not find that affinity. She was no longer interested in me. Resting with my hand in the ice-cold water, I tried to understand, but Anji did not respond. It felt like both Iskan and Anji had forsaken me, and it broke my heart. I could not endure losing them both.

  On the next full moon I was prepared. I needed to stare into the water to try to understand why Anji had turned from me. Perhaps she could show me Iskan, when he intended to return, what our future held. The worst of the winter winds had settled and a little warmth was returning. Spring would soon come. He had promised to send word by then.

  I sat fully clothed on my bed and waited until the household was asleep, just like all the nights I had walked up the hill to Iskan. Yet now it was Anji who filled my thoughts. The full moon hung large and white above my head as I followed the path around the hill, and each blade of grass had a sharp moon shadow. When I approached the chamber the air was dense with the life force emanating from Anji. She was awake, she was strong! I hurried the last steps, rushed breathless into the chamber to meet her—and stopped dead. Someone was standing in front of the water. I must have emitted a sound, because the person turned around and raised an object that flashed in the moonlight. A sword.

  “Who goes?”

  I nearly fell to the ground with joy and relief. It was Iskan.

  “It is I—Kabira,” I stammered. “You have returned, che!”

  He came to me, the sword still in his hand.

  “What are you doing here?” He leant over me, his face in darkness, his voice hard. “Answer me!”

  “I came to visit Anji.” I outstretched an imploring hand. “Please Iskan, why are you angry?”

  “Were you coming to meet another man? Are you going behind my back?” He grabbed my wrist and twisted it.

  “No!” I swallowed. I tried to remember how I used to talk to him when he acted this way. “What other man could possibly compare to you, Iskan ak Honta-che, son of the Vizier, the Sovereign’s most brilliant jewel? For me there is no other.”

  He let go and stepped back. The moonbeams played on the sword’s edge.

  “Have you missed me? Have you thought about me?”

  “Every day, che! Every moment! You have kept me waiting so long!”

  “I have thought about you also, Kabira. Often, in the lonely nights at the palace.” He threw his sword to the ground and stepped towards me. “Are you mine, Kabira? Mine alone?”

  “Yes, Iskan, now and for ever, I am yours alone.”

  He leant into me, his mouth by my ear. “Can you prove it to me? Now, my Kabira?”

  I nodded, knowing he could feel the movement against his chest.

  “Answer me, Kabira. Say that you want me.”

  “I want you, Iskan. Please.”

  I had thought about it many times, when we kissed, when he held me close, when he touched me. However, I had been entirely unprepared for the desire that his hands had roused in my body. My mother had never taught me about such things. I had felt desire in my body that was stronger than reason. I had wanted him. I had wanted him for a long time. Though not here. Not like this. Yet I was afraid. Afraid of his erratic anger, his volatility.

  “Then you shall have what you want,” he whispered and kissed my neck. “I shall give it to you. Now.”

  So Iskan ak Honta-che took my virginity inside Anji’s chamber, on the bare ground, and it was not how I had dreamt it would be, but I held on to his shoulders and thought that this meant that he was mine, truly mine. He wanted me. The son of the Vizier who could have anybody he wanted, and he wanted me, Kabira.

  It was only later, back in my bedchamber, picking flecks of dirt from my trousers in the handbasin, that I realized I never had asked Iskan what he was doing there at the spring under the full moon. Or what he had seen in Anji’s water.

  We continued seeing each other, but Iskan no longer visited the house. He met me only at Anji, at night. I suspected that he came alone some nights, like the night I surprised him under the full moon. However, I dared not verify my suspicions, and neither did I ask. I did not want to provoke that cold anger again. That side of Iskan frightened me, so I did everything within my power to keep him in good humour. Asked him about life in the palace. Praised him for the services he had rendered his father or the Sovereign. Took pity on him when he felt he had been unfairly treated, which was often. Iskan saw injustice and insult in almost every deed. Now that we were lovers he revealed more of this side to me. He let his cool composure slip sometimes and exposed his uncertainty, which I took as a sign of his love for me. He was prepared to let me see inside him and I harboured every confidence in my heart like treasure.

  Iskan was inordinately jealous of nearly every member of the royal court, despite the fact that he personally held one of the most prestigious positions. Yet this position was principally due to his lineage, and this weighed on him; he wanted a role in his own right.

  “There is no one at court with a mind as sharp as mine! They go through life as blind as moles in the earth.” Iskan was sitting at Anji’s edge and drawing patterns in the water with his fingertips. He seemed to be speaking to the water at least as much as to me. “The Sovereign ought to see it! Yet he is equally blind. He gives his sons all the best appointments. They are mollycoddled layabouts. The eldest, Orlan, cares only for hunting. The others attend parties, take endless amounts of concubines, and are weak and indolent. A man must never let his desires weaken his body or spirit. He should never take so many concubines that they divert his attention from what is truly important.” He raised his hand and let the water drip from his fingertips into the spring a
gain, his eyes following every drop, like a lover looking upon his beloved.

  “Your time shall come,” I said, to remind him of my presence. I sat by his feet with my gaze fixed on his face. “I know it.”

  “Yes.” He smiled, still facing Anji. “I have knowledge they lack, do I not?” His voice softened. “And I am learning more all the time. I am not impatient. I can bide my time, until the moment is right. And when it is, you will tell me, won’t you?”

  “Does she tell you much?” I asked in a small voice. Perhaps Iskan would soon be able to interpret Anji’s revelations as well as I. He would not need me.

  “She shows some things,” he said slowly, with something like affection. “Not everything I want to know. But she sets me on the right path. Soon I shall learn how to coax it all out of her.” He shook the last drops of water from his hand and turned to me, as if awoken from a dream.

  “Kabira.” He rose to his feet and detached his sword. Pulled on the tie of his trousers. “Now it is your turn.”

  He took me every time we met. First he drank from Anji, or played with her water, or simply stared into it. I was not to disturb him. When he was ready it was my turn. It improved after the first time. He kissed me, and caressed me, and sometimes he managed to spark fire and desire in my body. And I wanted him—inside me. In those moments Iskan was mine alone. He was totally and utterly with me, and I competed with no one, not even Anji.

  By and by there came to pass that which I had both feared and hoped for. At the peak of spring my bleedings ceased. I was with child. I did not know how to deliver the news to Iskan. I feared he would be angry, though at least then he would have no choice but finally to speak to my father. To ask for my hand. Then we could stop meeting like this, in secret, concealed by night and darkness.

  Iskan was in good humour that night. He had brought a thick blanket for us to sit on, and cushions, and rice cakes and sweetened wine. We sat outside the crevice and ate and talked quietly. Iskan talked, and I listened. The Sovereign had praised Iskan’s counsel regarding courtiers who had been exposed for taking extra fees from foreign merchants in exchange for better sites at the spice market. All tariffs on spice trade were owed to the Sovereign Prince alone.