Naondel

by Maria Turtschaninoff

  I fell to my knees on the floor and bowed low. This new Garai, this weak and submissive girl, she knows what to do. She knows who has the power, who she must bow to and how low. She surprises herself with her knowledge. Where does it come from? But Garai’s bow did not please the wife. She marched over to me and snatched the combs from my hair.

  “You are slave-sold,” she hissed. “Only a wife may wear seven combs in her hair. For you one will suffice.”

  At that moment I understood my place: nethermost; slave-sold; lower than the lowest. I stayed bowed down as she arranged my hair. My silence and submission seemed to calm her. She took a step back when she was finished.

  “Rise.” I did as she ordered. She eyed me carefully, turned me around with a rough hand. “I can see the appeal. Your colouring is most unusual. But your garments are absolutely hideous. The yellow colour dulls the lustre of your hair. You should wear pale blue. Perhaps with silver embroidery to bring out the shimmer of your hair and skin.”

  I did not say that it was my master who had given me the clothes. I only nodded.

  She sighed. “If you keep Iskan satisfied perhaps he will stay away from my bed. I suppose I should see that as a blessing.” Suddenly her expression softened and I saw that she was not as old as I had first thought. Actually only a handful of years older than me. I gestured towards her swollen belly.

  “Your first?”

  The hard expression returned. “No. My third son.”

  She swept out of the room without another word. Then, later that day, some servants came with beautiful silk coats in pale blue with silver threads and pearl embroidery. They weighed more than my whole pack in the clan. The new Garai dresses up in these impractical clothes every morning. She sets up her hair with an ornamental comb. She covers her scars under long sleeves and heavy silver arm bands. I write so that I do not forget, and I hide these pages under a loose stone panel in the floor of my room. These are the things I must remember:

  The true Garai bears symbols on her skin. Three scars from blood offerings. Two for promises made. One for an enemy defeated. The new Garai shall never replace the warrior, the wisdom, the life force.

  * * *

  Today I asked the wife whether I may go out into the garden. I have seen it from the window.

  “That is the garden of the Sovereign Prince,” she replied shortly. A little later she came to fetch me and led me to the locked doors that separate the women’s residence from the rest of the palace. Two men were standing guard, with blue jackets and sabres by their sides.

  “His Highness has given us leave to promenade in his garden this afternoon,” she said. One of the guards unlocked the doors and we stepped through the gilded doorway. We descended a small back staircase, with the guards close behind. I wanted to rush, I wanted to run, but the wife’s gait was slow and heavy with the child she bore, and I restrained my fervour. We emerged onto a terrace and the garden spanned before us, dazzling and lush. I had not realized how much I had missed living plants until I stood among them again, and a gentle sigh forced its way out before the new Garai could prevent it. The wife gave me a sharp look.

  “I will sit here in the shade.”

  One guard stood behind the bench where she sat, while the other followed me as I took tentative steps out into the garden.

  The plants here are very different from anything I have seen in my roaming. Some have thick leaves and fleshy flowers, which I think must make them suited to this climate, enabling them to hold liquid during long periods of drought. Others have enormous flower cups, larger than my face, and emit a wonderful scent. I think they would not survive the dry summers if the Sovereign Prince’s master gardener did not water them. I saw some men watering and tidying the flower beds, but they turned from me, and the guard cleared his throat to steer me in another direction. It is clear: I am not to speak to any man but my master, and preferably not be seen by any either. I wonder whether the guards here are eunuchs. They are slender and beardless with boyishly smooth skin, so it is not impossible. A grotesque custom.

  At first I was overwhelmed by the floral display and thought I would never find what I was looking for. All the plants were so unfamiliar to me, and between the nectar-dripping flowers fluttered butterflies larger than I could ever have imagined. Beautifully shaped trees offered shade from the harsh sun and I could have happily strolled around in wonder all day. But I supposed my time was limited, and sooner or later the guard would return me to the terrace where the wife was waiting. So I took a deep breath and reached out with my mind, and there, deep within the soil, I could feel the earth’s power pulsing. It smacked of something different, against the soles of my feet, from the energy of the mountains back home. It was not as bare and wild, but fertile and voluptuous and full of life. I stopped still and closed my eyes, letting the life force flow through and fill me. When I opened my eyes my gaze fell on the wall that encloses the palace garden and separates it from the city, whose hustle and hubbub I could hear but could not see. The wall caught the rays of the late-afternoon sun and there, in the cracks and crevices between the stones, a familiar plant was meandering out with long pointed leaves and modest little red flowers. I smiled to myself.

  With the guard’s attention briefly elsewhere, I picked a clump of the thin leaves. Their tart aroma filled me with an intense feeling of happiness. It smelt like home. I pushed the bunch up into one of my sleeves, and the sharp edges scratched my scars.

  The sting made me remember. Other scars. Another place. I closed my eyes and was immediately transported to the edge of the desert, with Mother by my side.

  We were walking on the eastern mountain ridge. It was early morning, and the sun’s first rays were lighting our path, while night prevailed in the desert farther below. Mother and I both had our spears in hand and her grey hair gleamed in the rosy morning light. The sheer slopes glistened with the moisture of clouds that had descended during the night and were now being lifted by the sun back to the mountain peaks. Mother crouched down to point at something.

  “Do you see, Garai? This humble plant is called Goddess Tongue. It needs very little to survive and grows almost everywhere. Put it to memory. It can be a woman’s best friend.”

  “When?” I asked, and crouched to look. Long, pointed leaves stuck to a thin vine woven in and out of the cracks in the mountainside.

  “When she wants to keep her moon blood flowing. When she does not want to be with child.”

  “Children are a gift,” I said and stood up. “That is what you have taught me.”

  “It is true. I have never used Goddess Tongue myself. But there are women whose lives can be threatened by pregnancy. Or wisewomen who want to let their moon blood flow freely, so that their contact with the life force stays strong.”

  Mother raised her arms to the east, to greet the sun, and when her sleeves slid down I saw all her scars glimmer white in the soft light. So many scars. So many promises, offerings and victories. I hoped that I could bear as many scars one day.

  When I looked around I found myself back on the terrace, lying on the cool marble floor. The wife was sitting on the bench and looking at me.

  “You lost consciousness,” she said shortly. “The guard carried you here.”

  I blinked. The vision had been very strong. Or was it only a memory? A memory of my mother from one of our many treks up in the mountains. I closed my eyes to my pain. The new Garai has no memories, no secrets. I took a deep breath and cut myself loose from the life force pulsing in the earth below us. I sat up.

  “It must have been the heat. I feel fine now.”

  We went inside, and the guard escorted me to my room where a meal was awaiting me. I ate in solitude and then swallowed a few of the narrow leaves. I did not want to bear his child. I never ever want that. I want to keep bleeding, and keep my contact with the life force, and not forget who I am.

  Garai priestess

  Garai daughter

  Garai hunter

  Garai roam
er

  Garai.

  * * *

  My master is at Ohaddin overseeing the work on his new palace. Much of what he bought during the journey to Harrera was material for the build. Before he travelled he told me that the work had already been under way for three years. We were lying in his bed, the one he always calls me to when my services are required. His room is peculiar, with expensive carpets on the floor, large glazed earthenware jugs, pictures painted on screens along the walls, and more silver lamps than I can count. I do not understand why he needs so much silver and gold and paintings. A roof against rain and cold—I understand why settlers want that. They are not hardy as we roamers. But what is the purpose of everything else? What more do they really need than a window out to the sky and wind and sun?

  As though he could read my thoughts, my master gestured with contempt at all the decadence. The new palace, he explained, would be completely different. Magnificent. He has sent out a whole fleet of tradesmen to gather logs from Terasu, the jungle-grown island realm in the south, and an army of labourers to the marble quarries in the north. Areko’s best architects, stonemasons and carpenters are already at work on the building.

  “My palace shall be the centre of the world!” he said and clasped his hands behind his head. I thought he must be jesting. The world has but one centre: the bottomless Sea of Semai, the navel of the world, connected by navel string to the body of the Goddess before she gave birth to the earth in a flood of blood and salt water. I thought everybody knew that. I wanted to correct him, but the new Garai shushed me. I ran my fingertips lightly over the scars on the inside of my wrist and said nothing.

  “Thrice-three more years before completion. Though I hope to be able to move the entire royal court there beforehand.”

  “The entire court, Master?”

  “Yes, my beautiful savage.” He smiled contentedly. “The Sovereign’s health is failing. I give him fortifying water from a very special spring on my land in Ohaddin. It helps him, at times.” He chortled, as though at a secret of his own. “But I have explained to him that it would benefit him greatly to live nearer to the spring. Many are those who would gain access to the spring’s powers, of course, but I have explained to the Sovereign that it is the privilege of the monarch alone.” He turned on his side to face me. The soft lamplight made his skin shimmer. He is not muscular, like the men in our clan. Rather he is strong and smooth like the kawol, the great cat that presides over the mountains around the Meirem Desert. He reached out a hand and caressed my breasts.

  “There are many who envy me. They have since I was born. My mother knew from the beginning that I was special—chosen. Destined for great things. And now I am proving her right. She sees the same in my sons, Korin and Enon. I am developing a dominion that they shall help me rule. Korin is only four years old but has already mastered horse, bow and brush.”

  “Does Master have any daughters?” I rarely ask questions. My master enjoys talking anyhow. Yet I was curious. His wife has the face and body of a woman who has gone through pregnancy many times.

  “Daughters! What do I need them for? All they do is incur expenses in upbringing and dowry. No, I shall have only sons. Many. I have seen it.”

  The new Garai forbade me speak. She swallowed all the words welling up in my mouth.

  He lost himself in his thoughts awhile, his hand still fondling my breasts.

  “The Sovereign sees the intelligence in my plans, too. He has given me access to his gold reserves, but funds are already beginning to dry up. I thought he was a richer man. But there are ways to replenish supplies, of course. Raise taxes. War, and the spoils of war. And I shall see to it that the neighbouring cities understand that it is in their interest to support Areko financially. Or else…” He yawned. “I have not yet decided the best way to go about it. But when the time comes, the Ohaddin palace shall become legendary in all the known lands.” He pulled himself up. “Come to me. Once more, then I will sleep before my journey.”

  I lay still, and made the sounds he likes, and even though it always takes longer the second time he soon rolled off me and immediately fell asleep. I lay still until he was snoring deeply, then crept quietly out and through the narrow passageway back to my own room. My master does not like me to be in his bed when he wakes. Now I am sitting and writing this by lamplight because I need to let out everything the new Garai prevented me from saying. That daughters are worth so much. My mother saw untold worth in her four daughters. She knew that each one of us was a blessing. Mother said that long ago there were many wisewomen, and that the whole world followed the paths walked by the roaming folk. That everybody knew the earth was born from the womb of the Goddess. But now we who know the truth live our lives persecuted. Though we have knowledge and plants and cures that can help people, we must keep our beliefs and our rites secret.

  But Mother initiated me into the lore. She had already intimated its deepest secrets before I was abducted and sold. To me and my sisters. I wonder where they are now. I wonder whether I will see them again in this life. I do not believe I will. Though perhaps they are thinking the same about me, right now, this very evening.

  The weight of the spear in my hand.

  The roar of the kawol in the darkness.

  The blood of the Goddess below the earth’s surface,

  throbbing under naked soles.

  * * *

  The time came for the wife to give birth while my master was at Ohaddin. I heard the screams and commotion. Many servant girls were running up and down the corridor outside. I am free to wander in the residence outside my room, where the wife and other women in the Sovereign’s household have their quarters. My master has his own rooms here, but they can only be accessed from this residence via the secret passage from my room. I think that other men have similar arrangements with their wives and concubines. But guards abound, and they make sure that nobody strays into the wrong room. My master said it is a sloppy arrangement and that in the new palace it will be entirely different. I rarely leave my room: it is all the same to me.

  After an especially drawn-out howl from the wife’s quarters I opened my door and peeked out. A servant scurried past with a jug and bowl on a tray. I slipped out and the guard let me in to see the wife. The anteroom was full of people. Some old women dressed in white sat around burning incense and mumbling prayers. They worship spirits of the dead and know nothing of the Goddess. Young wives of high-ranking courtiers were sitting on silk cushions and talking quietly, but every time a scream was heard from inside the room they blanched and had difficulty returning to their conversation. The servants were rushing to and fro with various objects for which I could see no use.

  No one stopped me from going in to see the wife. It was warm inside her room and incense was burning in there, too. I sniffed at the air, and stretched out my tongue to taste the smoke. It was mainly useless and would do nothing to ease her sufferings, but I also detected aulium. Good, that should afford her a little relief. There were dreary old ladies mumbling prayers in there, too. The wife, white as snow and dripping with sweat, was lying in a large bed. A tall, bony servant girl in a grey jacket held a fresh cold compress to her forehead. Yet another contraction shook the labouring woman’s body and she bellowed wordlessly with mouth wide open. Her long, dark hair lay tangled on her pillows and her eyes were sunken. There did not seem to be anyone tending to the actual birth, other than through prayers and cold compresses. I walked over to the bed, pulled the covers off the wife and examined her quickly. She glared at me, but then came another pain that made her unable to speak. Her contractions were close together, but I could see that she was not yet very open. The child seemed to be in the right position.

  “How long has she been in labour?” I asked the servant.

  “Since last night,” she replied. She seemed calm and capable. She could help me.

  “Get all these women out,” I told her. “You and I will manage the birth, but I do not want anyone else in this room.”
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  She looked me in the eye and nodded. I hurried back to my room and searched through my supplies. I have gathered and dried a wide selection of plants from the Sovereign’s garden. I do not even hide what I am doing. Nobody but the servants sets foot in my room.

  The ideal remedy would have been gamleaf, but it does not grow this far south. They are mostly decorative plants that grow in the Sovereign’s garden, so I had not managed to get any brannberry either. But bao, which is used as a condiment here, actually has pain relief qualities in larger doses. And I had thousandroot. It would have to do. I rushed back with my packets and found more white-clad women in the anteroom. They gave me nasty looks as I ran past, and muttered their prayers with even more fervour. There is a time for prayer and a time for action, my mother always said. Now was a time for action. I could thank the Goddess afterwards.

  When I entered the room the servant was standing by the door and the wife was lying on her side in bed, panting. Another woman remained: my master’s mother Izani, her grey hair clinking with silver chains and a jacket so laden with pearls and gems that she could barely lift her arms. Her face was dark with anger.

  “You! Slave-sold! It is not your place to give orders.”

  The new Garai fell to her knees and touched her forehead to the floor. I knew that this woman held higher rank than the wife. She had the final word on everything.

  “Forgive me, most venerable mother of my master. Where I come from it is a slave’s job to deliver babies. Let worms eat my eyes for my wrongdoing.”

  “Get up.”

  I did so, and pretended not to notice the wife wail at another contraction. “Permit me at least to deal with the messy part, my lady, so that the blood does not ruin your clothes.”

  Izani looked over at the wife. I could see that she would much rather leave, but did not want to let it seem as though I had made the decision.