Naondel

by Maria Turtschaninoff

  “Where is your mother, Orano?”

  “At home, in Ohaddin. In the dairahesi where women ought to be.” He tossed his head. “I accompany my father into battle now. I am old enough. He teaches me everything. I am the youngest, but he loves me the most.”

  “What has your mother taught you?”

  “Other things,” answered Orano evasively. “Less important things.”

  “More food.”

  He searched his pockets and found something. Held out a hand filled with nuts.

  I grabbed hold of his wrist and pulled him towards me. The nuts fell with a soft clatter on the floor. I held his slender body against my filthy clothes, and saw a contortion in his usually expressionless face. I twisted his slender wrists, hard. He did not scream.

  “Scream for your father so he can watch you die.”

  “He will kill you.”

  “But first I will have my revenge. He will witness your death, and know that the fault is his to bear. He will never be the same.”

  These last words I whispered straight into the little brat’s face. I moved my hands around his throat.

  “Scream then! Call for your father!”

  “No,” he said, just as his father had said when I had my fingers around his throat. But this time it was not imbued with the same dark power that had suppressed my strength. This was only a word, but was still more than a mere refusal.

  “No,” he said again. “You will not kill me.”

  It was simply a fact. I squeezed harder. His eyes bulged, but he did not fight back.

  His face grew darker and darker. I opened my own mouth to scream and wake the captain. To get my revenge before he killed me.

  Time stopped. There was nothing but the child’s rapid pulse against my palm, my breath, the heat of the little body against mine.

  I let go and pushed him away. The warrior was gone for good. I recoiled and pressed my face against the mat. Only Sulani was left.

  Orano crawled away from me. I heard small scrabbling sounds.

  A hand reached out and tipped the scavenged nuts into a little pile before me.

  * * *

  We arrived in Ohaddin at dusk. The army stopped outside a high wall and only the captain and his closest men rode in through the gate. I was once again chained to a packhorse led by a guard. On the other side of the wall there was a muddle of houses of a sort I had never seen before, with flat roofs. Lanterns hung by the doors, and lamplight shone through the windows and formed pools on the streets. I could hear voices of adults and children, the bleating of goats and the cackling of some sort of tame bird. The air smelt of smoke and food and muck. I had never seen such a large city before, and, despite my fatigue, I forced myself to look around. I had to know where they had taken me.

  We came to another wall where a smaller gate was opened for the captain. Here most of his entourage diverged and only the captain and his sons rode through. The guard leading my horse gave it a smack on the rump so that it continued through the gate on its own. It was received on the other side by a guard, with a shaved head and dressed entirely in blue, who led it farther without a word.

  We found ourselves in a walled park. I could not see how big it was in the half-light. In the east stood a small cluster of large red buildings with columns and several storeys. In the west was a group of smaller but equally extravagant buildings. Between them spanned a garden. I could not see much of the vegetation in the growing darkness but I could hear the sound of running water, birdsong and wind rustling through dry leaves. From the buildings in the east I could hear music and laughter, from the ones in the west no sounds came, though the windows were illuminated. When the horse stopped by a veranda and hung its head low, I stopped and hung my head low as well.

  The horse would be led to a stall in a warm stable. Fed, maybe brushed.

  I did not know what was to become of me.

  Two new guards, also with shaved heads—one short and stocky and the other tall and bearded—came out through a golden doorway. The stocky one unlocked the lock that attached my chain to the horse’s saddle and took it in his hand. He led me up onto the veranda and through the doorway, with the tall guard behind us. He closed and locked the doors. I was in the captain’s palace in Ohaddin.

  I was taken along a long passage with many doors and arches to an open courtyard with a pond. In the courtyard there was a staircase that led upward. The guard led me up the stairs. I did not see people anywhere or hear any sounds apart from the clink of my own chain.

  We came to another golden entrance. The guard unlocked it and walked towards me. I backed away. He tutted impatiently, grabbed my neck ring and unlocked that too. Then he gave me a little push so that I stumbled in through the doors. They were locked behind me. I was in the captain’s dairahesi.

  I found myself in a hall with a high ceiling. In the middle of the room there was a fountain as white as the herons of the Lake of Sorrow. Windows on two sides were open to the night air. The hall was brightly lit by both candles and lamps, and the floor was laid with thick carpets. Around the two low dark-wood tables there were masses of large pillows and on the pillows there sat women. At one table all the women were young, with long black hair, jackets in bright colours and masses of jewellery. They looked confusingly similar; I could not even figure out how many of them there were. On their table lay embroidery, cards, dice and dishes of fruit and other good things to eat. Around them children of different ages were playing.

  Around the other table sat three women. One was old, with grey-streaked dark hair and an old woman’s wrinkled hands. Her attire was expensive but much simpler than that of the young women. The second woman’s hair was extremely fair. Her trousers and jacket were plain and brown. She did not wear any jewellery either, other than a comb in her white hair. Her skin was of a different colour from mine and that of the dark-haired woman; it shifted between brown and red. The last woman had darker skin than anyone I had ever seen, her hair was curly and eyes were round. It was very difficult to say how old she was, but the look in her eyes told me she was older than I. In her ears and around her throat there hung strange woven objects with pearls and snail shells in the threads.

  “What is that!” cried one of the black-haired women. “Where did it come from?” She covered her mouth with her hand in reaction to my stench.

  “Do not be ridiculous,” said the old woman sourly. “Iskan must have brought her here. I heard from the servants that he was expected tonight.”

  The white-haired woman turned to her. “That means that Orano has also come home.” The old woman smiled, and from her smile I understood that she was Orano’s mother.

  “I have had his favourite dishes prepared.” She was about to say something else but was interrupted by one of the young women.

  “Is she just going to stand there? Surely they do not suppose that she lives here? I refuse to sleep in the same chamber as her!”

  “You wish to defy your master’s wishes?” said the dark-haired woman in a deep voice. “You wish to send word to him: I do not want to live with your newest woman? Is he to give you your own chamber then, Aberra?”

  It became very quiet around the young women’s table. The white-haired woman smirked. Finally another of the young women stood up, one with many bands around her ankles and arms.

  “Well I am certainly glad I have my own chamber. I shall retire now. My master is sure to call upon me tonight.” She left the hall through a small door and several of the others made faces behind her back.

  “She should be careful,” said the one they called Aberra. “She has been the favourite for a long time now. He is bound to change his mind soon.”

  “Maybe to this one,” said one of the others with a nod in my direction. They laughed. But the old woman looked at me thoughtfully.

  “What shall we do with her?” she said quietly to the white-haired woman.

  The walls around them began to distort before my eyes. I felt myself swaying back and forth. It had
been a long time since I had eaten or drunk anything.

  Then a woman emerged from a shadowy corner and glided soundlessly over to me. A pair of strong arms supported me just as I was about to fall. I caught sight of a large nose, hair in an austere plait, a full mouth. Then everything went black.

  I woke up. Everything was soft. A bed, cushions, silk against my skin. Somebody was holding a bowl of water to my mouth, but it was not Orano. They were not the hands of a child; they were broad and strong. Darkness came and went as I slipped in and out of consciousness. My body did not want to be awake. Sleep became an escape. Those hands were there feeding me soup, soft food, bitter-tasting concoctions. Sometimes I could feel the hands wandering over my body, washing wounds, applying dressings. Always with the same tenderness. I kept my eyes closed even when I was awake.

  Sometimes I was sent to him as well. He had his way with me. Afterwards there were more parts of me to wash. More wounds to tend to. I kept my eyes closed. I was there behind them, but he could not see me.

  Then a day passed without him, then two, then more. I opened my eyes and saw sunlight. A grated window, cabinets, chests, carpets, pillows. A bird was singing in a tree outside: a lark. My body did not ache as much. I sat up in bed. There was a door; it was closed. When I tried to stand up my legs did not want to carry me, and I sank back down with a groan. The door opened at once and she entered, the one with the nose and the soft hands.

  She was by my side immediately, helping me into a comfortable position. She tended to my latest affliction, where he had cut me in the corner of my mouth.

  “Can you eat?”

  I tongued at the sores inside my mouth. Opened it tentatively, grimaced and shook my head.

  “Do you want to bathe? Drink?” Her voice was husky. I liked it.

  I nodded. She smiled a crooked smile. “Good. Then we will bathe you first. Wait a moment.”

  I did not move while she was away, and stayed leaning back against a cushion. The sun streaming in through the window grate warmed my legs. I was naked but I refused to look at my body. I have always carried my scars with pride. They were proof that I had fought well. But these injuries had not been inflicted in battle.

  She returned with a large blue garment and wrapped it around me. Then she led me, slowly and patiently, out of the room, through the large hall with the fountain—where several pairs of curious eyes followed us but nobody spoke—out through another door and down a staircase. The last door opened into a room filled with steam. She helped me into a basin of hot water, and I groaned as it scorched my many wounds and sores. Then the pain was replaced by pleasure. My companion rolled up her trouser legs and waded into the water where she began washing my body and hair with something that lathered and smelt good. Sometimes, she touched places he had touched and my first instinct was to recoil. But these were kind hands that wished me well. Eventually I was able to rid myself of the image of the man on top of me, inside me, and simply accept her care.

  It took a lot of scrubbing to clean away everything that clung to me. When I was bedridden she had washed me with rags, but that method was limited. My hair needed a lot of scrubbing; it was matted and full of dried-in unmentionable things. She had to cut a lot out with scissors. She removed my snail shells and bird bones without a word. They belonged to the warrior, and that was no longer who I was.

  Afterwards she dried me carefully, and rubbed sharp-smelling salves on my sores. I stood still, passive, and let it all happen. Then when she had finished and wrapped me up in another garment, I opened my mouth to speak for the first time.

  “Your name?”

  She looked down at the floor, as though she had suddenly become shy.

  “Estegi.”

  “Sulani.”

  She looked up. “I know.” When I looked confused, she added: “Orano told his mother about you. We know a little about who you are.”

  “And you? You are a…” I did not know what word I should use. All of this, from the golden doorways to the food, the bath, the smells, sounds, it was all so foreign to me. “Wife?”

  She snickered. “I am a servant. I have served in the Vizier’s dairahesi since I was a child. Before that I served his mother.”

  “Thank you.”

  She understood what I meant and looked at me solemnly. She bound the cloth around my breast with care. Gave the knot a little pat. Her hands were not old but neither were they young. She was older than I, but by how much I could not say. On an impulse I took hold of one of her hands, felt the bony back of her hand against my palm, pulled it to my lips and kissed it.

  Estegi stopped. Looked at me as my lips rested on her skin. A blush rose from her neck up to her cheeks. She withdrew her hand abruptly. Perhaps I had done something wrong. I lowered my hands and did not move until she had opened the door and led me up the stairs again.

  When night fell I thought about her name. Estegi. It was similar to my own.

  The captain did not like me being clean and smelling good. His interest waned after I had bathed. He sent for me, but not every night, and his perversions diminished. My sores healed.

  I kept to myself. The other women, with their handicrafts and clothes, their gossip and concerts in the garden, did not want to know me, and nor I them. The eldest, who I later learnt was the First Wife, Kabira, rarely seemed to be in the dairahesi. The white-haired one, Garai, I saw sometimes walking in the garden. Orseola, the dark-skinned one, was often in the Sovereign’s palace at night and slept through the days.

  It was Estegi who kept me company. She always had a lot to do—she was Kabira’s personal servant and she kept her busy—but as soon as she had a spare moment she would come to my room. She brought me food. She helped me to train up the strength in my arms and legs when my injuries had healed and I was able to move again. She supported me as we walked through the garden and she pointed out all its wonders.

  But she was the greatest wonder of all.

  She gathered together all the fragments that remained of me. Of my body. Of my very being. With her tender care she sewed me up into a whole person again. As whole as a person like me can be. Ever since those first walks in the gardens of Ohaddin she has been my strength. Everyone has always seen me as the strong one, the protector. The one who keeps others safe. But for me Estegi was the only safety this world had ever offered.

  Kabira

  NEW DARKNESS HAD ENTERED ISKAN. He was drinking from Anji’s dark water with increasing frequency. Those brown eyes, once so beautiful, had blackened to the extent that his pupils and irises appeared to merge. On the surface he was calm and composed as always, but darkness was brewing beneath the veneer. He used it in ways I never knew possible. Estegi told me and Garai about what he had done to Sulani, and her appearance afterwards. Estegi had difficulty finding the words to describe it; she faltered, gestured, then gave up, and looked at us with wide, helpless eyes. There was nothing we could do. Nothing we dared do, for nobody wanted to attract Iskan’s attention. He must have been facing hindrances in the world outside Ohaddin of which we knew nothing, but which were darkening his mind. Something was causing him to drink of the oaki ever more frequently. The dairahesi was a closed world of its own and very little knowledge of the outer world reached us. Sonan was married to a daughter of one of the Sovereign’s most trusted men. I was pleased, because both Korin and Enon had been married to governors’ daughters in other districts where they now lived and wielded power, and they came very seldom to Ohaddin. Despite Sonan and his wife living within the palatial grounds of Ohaddin, I seldom saw him either. He had a son of his own, and duties that his father imposed on him. He had become a grown man with very little time for his mother.

  The only one who was not afraid of Iskan during these dark times was Esiko. She resided with me but scarcely spent time in my chambers. For the most part she was her father’s shadow and followed him wherever he went: on excursions from Ohaddin, overseeing trade, advising the ageing and feeble Sovereign, on his visits to Anji. He kept n
o secrets from her. Though she kept many from me.

  Once I entered my chamber after bathing and found her dressed in one of Garai’s old jackets, one she had been given when she first arrived and was Iskan’s favourite. It was pale blue with elaborate embroidery and did not suit Esiko at all—the colour was entirely wrong for her skin and hair. It was the first time I had seen her in women’s clothes and I froze in the doorway. She had hung some of my jewellery around her thin wrists and neck. Esiko met my gaze in the mirror, unconcerned.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, making an effort to keep my voice calm.

  “I wanted to know what it felt like to be a woman,” she replied, and swung her arms around thoughtfully. “It’s difficult to move in this stiff cloth.”

  “One grows accustomed,” I replied, and quickly stepped in and closed the door. I could not risk somebody seeing her.

  She let the armlets fall to the floor with a clatter and crawled out of the jacket as quick as a polecat. “Lucky I don’t have to.”

  Her naked ribcage was still completely flat, with no signs of breasts forming. Her hips were narrow without a hint of roundness. Every day I studied her body and searched for signs that she was becoming a woman. I knew that I must have a plan for when it happened. How would I conceal it from Iskan? How could I save my child? Yet I could not bring myself to dwell on it. I wanted to keep her with me for ever, as my secret daughter, and I refused to acknowledge to myself or to Garai that time was marching mercilessly on and we were getting ever closer to the day when her body would betray us.

  * * *

  I stood on the wall and watched them ride out into the dawn. Iskan had permitted me to leave the dairahesi for the first time since he had brought me to Ohaddin from Areko, over twenty years previous. Esiko stood by my side. My three sons were riding at the head of the army, on three midnight-black stallions. Banners were flapping in the biting wind. I leant against the rough battlements of the wall. As the sun came up its sharp rays met armour on the chests of both man and beast. I saw three strong men in the prime of life, and at the same time I saw three little boys riding away from their mother.