Shadow of the Horsemen (Kalie's Journey)

by Sandra Saidak

  Cassia fixed Kalie with a desperate gaze. “Can you save my baby?” she whispered.

  For a moment, Kalie was filled with avaricious thoughts of how good life might become for herself and Varena if, against all odds, this baby survived. Just as quickly, she remembered the healers of Hot Springs, forgotten for nearly a year, and a memory of what it meant to be a healer. “I don’t know,” she told Cassia. “But I will do everything in my power to do so.”

  By then, the rest of the household realized something had changed. “What are you doing?” demanded Altia.

  “She didn’t miscarry,” said Kalie, as she rummaged around for what she needed. “At least, not yet. If I can find the right herbs, she might yet deliver a living child.”

  “What?” cried Irisa, leaping up. The baby, dislodged from her breast, began to howl. “Her baby’s dead! I saw the blood!”

  Kalie paused, her hand clasping a piece of snakeroot. “Saw it, Irisa? Or caused it? You seem rather upset at what should be happy news. After all, a good concubine rejoices at her master’s children.”

  Altia turned on Irisa. “You were the first to rush to her side, when she cried out. And you declared the baby lost just moments later. Is there something you want to tell us?”

  Irisa clutched her baby before her like a shield. “I have done nothing!” she shrieked, but Kalie saw that the younger woman was sweating. Of course, the tent was stifling hot. “Nothing but say what everyone here already knows: Cassia is barren! It is Kalie’s fault for putting her through all this again; keeping a doomed child alive inside her, until it dooms the mother as well!” She turned to Kalie with venomous eyes. “Keep plying her with your foul potions and black arts and both will die—then Maalke will kill you as well!”

  Kalie thought furiously. Had Irisa been in the household for both of Cassia’s other miscarriages? There might be no connection at all. But if there was…Kalie shuddered. How could anyone live like this?

  She met Irisa’s gaze with a deadly look of her own. “Irisa, if you gave her anything, I need to know what it was!” The other woman stared back, her face suffused with hatred, but said nothing. Kalie thought desperately for some way to bargain. “Just tell me, and I promise, Maalke will never know.” Foolish, she chided herself. She could hold her own tongue, but couldn’t speak for anyone else in this cursed tent! Besides what store would Irisa set in promises?

  “If you don’t tell us, and she loses the baby,” said Altia, “we will tell my husband it was your doing.”

  Kalie stared at the woman. Was Altia actually trying to help? Or was the old goat just grabbing a chance to do in an annoying competitor? This seemed to be a day for questions.

  Irisa turned back to her work without another word. Altia shrugged and did the same. Kalie set about doing a job for which she lacked training, resources and information, and told herself to be grateful for the silence.

  She remained trapped in the tent, by Cassia’s side for the next two days. There was no further threat of miscarriage, but Kalie insisted that Cassia must remain in her blankets until the baby was born. This pronouncement had the effect of reconciling Altia and Irisa.

  “Women of Aahk do not laze around in bed for three moon spans!” Altia had spat.

  “Besides, what warrior would want a wife or a baby who were so weak they needed such measures to do what all others can do normally?” Irisa had demanded.

  Kalie said nothing, only waited for Maalke’s return, where she had no choice but to present the situation to him.

  To everyone’s surprise, Maalke had agreed to Kalie’s suggestions. Then Altia had flown into a rage and demanded more slaves, claiming she couldn’t run a household without them, what with Tasine gone, Cassia useless, and Kalie busy tending to Cassia. They fought most of the night, but by morning, Maalke had agreed to purchase at least one new slave before the men left for the summer sacrifices. Kalie didn’t like the way he looked at Varena when he said it.

  Cassia finally permitted Kalie to leave the tent the day before the men left. There was to be a great feast that night and Kalie’s labor was needed. Varena had already collected the day’s fuel supply. Now she helped Kalie dig a pit that would be used that night to roast the goat that Altia had butchered. The pit would be lined with stones, heated by a fire above it, and the goat stuffed with vegetables, all of which Kalie and Varena were to gather.

  As they scoured the area around the camp for wild foods that hadn’t already been stripped by other women on the same errand, Kalie noticed a number of women busy with nets near the lake. She asked Varena about it.

  “Most of the nets belong to Leja,” said Varena, delighted as always to be the one Kalie turned to for information. “The rest to the other chief’s wives. Men sometimes hunt ducks and geese with spears, but that’s mostly for target practice. With those nets, Leja can sometimes bring down…” Varena apparently couldn’t count that high.

  “Mmm, sounds delicious.” Kalie tried to remember the last time she’d eaten roasted duck with fruit sauce or goose stuffed with oysters. “Will that be part of the feast?”

  Varena shrugged. “Maybe. Some of the women will make a special dish, if their men like birds. Most men prefer deer or boar—game they hunt themselves. But Leja and the other chief’s wives will feast while the men are away.”

  While Kalie liked the sound of celebrating the time away from the men, she wasn’t happy with the ever-present hierarchy. The chief’s wives owned the nets; the chief’s wives decided who got to eat bounty that should be shared by everyone.

  “Varena, is there any rule against individual women hunting for ducks and geese?”

  “I don’t think so. But only chief’s wives have nets—and they don’t share.” Varena looked pointedly at Kalie, as if fearing another speech about the weird customs of her people. “How could anyone hunt birds without a net?”

  “Come with me,” said Kalie, a smile sliding across her face. “I’ll show you.”

  Kalie led Varena to the huge waste trench that was, mercifully, dug downwind of the crowded camp. While each camp had its own privy for human wastes, this trench was for all the garbage accumulated in the course of nearly two thousand people gathered in one place for an entire season. As much as she hated the endless traveling, Kalie had to admit that even this tough corner of the earth couldn’t survive the abuse of beastmen living in one place year round.

  As smelly as the trench was, it held a wealth of useful objects, if one knew how to look. Kalie noticed that she was not the only forager here today. Ragged women sought scraps of food and pieces of hide to patch shoes, clothing and other necessities. Shadow women, they were called. Women without protection.

  Kalie recalled what she had learned of them before winter set in, when they had to find a tent to stay in, or die. They were women who had been cast out of their tents and families for various reasons, and had to live as best they could, begging and selling their bodies. There were never more than a few at any one time. Cassia had said it was because most Aahken women were honorable, and unlikely to merit such punishment. Kalie suspected it was because most who did were quickly killed, and that allowing a few to linger this way provided entertainment for the men and a warning to the women.

  She finally found what she was looking for: a section of sheep skeleton with several ribs still attached. Two of them had the right shape, so Kalie took them both.

  It was a busy day, and only Cassia’s long nap that afternoon afforded Kalie the time to shape the curved bones into throwing sticks. As Varena watched in fascination, Kalie turned the discarded ribs into simple weapons of deadly efficiency.

  That evening, with preparations completed and the warriors of the tribe busy with some esoteric business of their own, Leja and the other chief’s wives set their nets and waited for the birds to return to the lake for the night. Many women watched with envy; others with bleak and hungry resignation.

  Savory blue smoke hung over the entire camp as meat roasted slowly in pit ovens,
or turned on spits above fires. Then, above the noise of camp, came the honking of geese. Kalie had shed as much of her clothing as she thought she could get away with. Now she hitched up her skirts for greater freedom of movement. The nets were ready, and soon the sounds changed to squawks of anger and fear. Those not snared sought to flee. Kalie knew the geese that escaped would not soon return; this was her only chance.

  She flung her first stick into the midst of a confused gaggle of birds. As she watched in wonder, not one, but two birds fell into the shallows at the edge of the lake. She followed with the second, but it fell into the water without catching anything.

  “Hurry!” she cried to Varena. They raced to the spot. Varena, still dressed properly, was far behind Kalie, who was more interested in finding her weapons than retrieving the geese.

  “Here!” said Varena, spotting the stick and grabbing it.

  “Good work!” said Kalie. “Get the geese, while I try to get one more.” She knew she’d have only one more chance. The ragged remains of the flock were flying east, struggling to gain altitude. She cast her stick again, watching the tiny perfection of the disappearing birds; the deep blue of the evening sky. Then one figure fell from the flock, like a star from the skies. The rest disappeared into the darkening sky.

  Kalie pushed through the noisy crowd of women who were excitedly collecting the prizes of the hunt, avoiding sharp beaks as they wrung necks with quick efficiency. She had to travel beyond the edge of the lake to find the last goose. She found her stick as well.

  It was only when she had her prize safely in her arms, reciting the familiar words of thanks to the dead creature, and savoring the quiet solitude of the night that Kalie noticed Varena had not followed her. She was alone. How long had it been since she enjoyed the luxury of solitude among the fresh smells of summer, watching the stars slowly fill the sky? How long since she had felt the exultation of a successful hunter?

  But to leave Varena alone with valuable food was like tying a rock around her neck and telling her to go for a swim. Kalie headed back to the to the torch lit camp where a buzzing like angry bees was centered on the place she had just left.

  Varena was fighting to hold onto the two geese, stoically ignoring the blows to her body, as a shrieking, red-faced Leja demanded she release them. At least three other women—probably Leja’s slaves—sought to take them from her, but only succeeded in getting in each other’s way, and making it easier for Varena to hang on.

  Kalie flung herself between Leja and Varena in time to catch the next blow—on her chest, because of her height difference—and face the chief’s wife ready for battle. Every woman in the camp was looking on, delighted.

  “Why are you beating my daughter, Chief’s Wife?” she demanded.

  “Daughter?” sputtered Leja. “Her whore of a mother is long dead, as she will be soon, for trying to steal my birds!”

  “Those birds are mine,” said Kalie. “As is this one I’ve just retrieved.” She glanced at the pile of geese, jealously guarded by the other wives and their slaves. “But if all that is not enough for you, then take this!” She offered the goose in her hand. “If stealing from hungry slaves makes you feel more like a woman, by all means, do so!”

  There was a deadly silence. Even the fires seemed to stop crackling.

  Leja’s red face went white. “You will die for those words, slave! But first, amuse me by telling us all why you would send this girl to steal from me in plain sight—then call me a thief!”

  Kalie realized that Leja hadn’t been trying to take what wasn’t hers; she had simply been too busy with her nets to see that a new hunter with a new method had been at work. Leja had assumed, as she had for years, that all birds killed at this lake were hers. Of course, explaining the situation didn’t make Kalie and Varena any less likely to die.

  “I killed three geese with this.” Kalie proffered the throwing stick.

  Most of the chiefs’ wives laughed derisively. Those who had seen Kalie’s demonstration of skill did not laugh, but neither did they speak up in her defense. “Check the marks on my three,” she pressed forward. “Here, you can see where the stick struck this one on the wing; this one here in the belly. Then, too you can see how it was actually striking the ground that killed them. Yours have none of this kind of damage; they died only when you broke their necks…”

  “She’s right,” said one of the other wives, examining the geese. “It’s amazing! Can you show me how to hunt like…?” Then she glanced up at Leja and went silent.

  “Of course she’s right!” said an old woman. Kalie didn’t know her, but guessed she was one of the oldest women alive in this place. “Everyone here saw her using that stick to knock birds from the sky. Everyone except you greedy bitches who every year flaunt your power to have what others cannot.”

  Emboldened by Kalie’s unknown champion, some of the other women began to press forward timidly, asking if they could learn to use such sticks.

  “I don’t believe it!” shouted Leja. “It’s nothing but a sheep’s rib! How could anyone…?”

  “Like this!” Kalie flung the stick skyward, hoping her audience would get the idea, since there was no target to aim at.

  Or so she thought.

  The stick left the torchlight, flew through the night sky in a graceful arc—struck a tiny moving form—and fell down nearly at Kalie’s feet.

  Just beyond it was a small brown duck.

  Kalie thought she heard girlish laughter: bold and gentle and fearless. Not the sort of laughter that was ever heard around here. I won’t deny it’s You, she prayed to her Goddess. Especially if You help me get out of this alive!

  One of the women ran and got the bird. Kalie set a restraining hand on Varena’s shoulders, in case the girl was going to fight for it, but Varena was grinning through her battered face. The woman brought the duck to Kalie with a deference usually reserved for first wives.

  Leja sputtered. “If something so simple could make hunting so easy, we would have known about it!”

  More than one woman bit her lips to avoid laughing out loud. Kalie grinned. “Which is why my people eat well, while so many of yours remain hungry.”

  Then, they saw the men returning from the practice field and everyone scurried to prepare the evening meal.

  Chapter 7

  Kalie carefully wrapped the geese and duck in grass and hung them from one of the tent poles. Despite the heat of the day, nights on the steppes were still cool enough to keep meat fresh. Tomorrow Kalie would learn if the birds truly belonged to her. Tonight, she was as close to free as she had ever been since coming to this land.

  For tonight was the Summer Festival, where even slaves were—to a limited degree—free to eat and drink and sing and dance, while wives proudly served their husbands. Kalie found Altia’s pride in such servitude funny, in a sad way. There was the fierce wife that ruled the tent with a stone first, kneeling before her husband, holding a plate of food within his easy reach while he laughed and joked with his fellow warriors, and ignored her.

  If this was how a wife enjoyed a feast, Kalie was glad to be a slave.

  It was Cassia who would be staying inside to tend the fire tonight. She had insisted on making a brief appearance when the holy men of the tribe had performed their mercifully short ritual, declaring summer and, more importantly, the feast, begun. Then she returned to the tent, promising Kalie she would rest.

  Kalie had tried to treat Varena’s bruises, but the girl had impatiently reminded her that a warrior’s daughter didn’t need to be coddled just because a woman slapped her face a few times. She drank some of the willow bark tea Kalie gave her, but it seemed excitement over the feast she would be participating in was all the analgesic Varena needed.

  Kalie stayed to make sure Cassia was safely tucked back into bed, with a nourishing broth and some choice bits of meat, before going back outside to attend the feast herself.

  This one far surpassed the winter feast. Here was a beautiful summer nigh
t, with meat rich from spring grazing, and even some of the fruits and vegetables she had for so long craved.

  As Kalie wandered through the crowds, tasting food from this or that spit or basket, she looked for some of the women who had shown an interest in her hunting success. Varena had disappeared with a group of girls like herself: daughters of warriors and slave women. Kalie wished her well.

  Before Kalie could find any of the women she sought, two of them approached her. They were both younger than she by at least ten summers: both wives, but not yet mothers, although she suspected one of them was pregnant.

  “Can we see that strange…killing stick?” asked one, who said her name was Tiza. Her companion was Kiska.

  Kalie took the weapon from the thong where it hung at her waist, next her water bag. “Perhaps while the men are away, we can arrange a demonstration; maybe even a group hunt.”

  The women exchanged a startled look, as though such a thought had never occurred to them.

  “Is it true that Riyik asked you to marry him?” asked Kiska. “And that you turned him down?”

  Kalie knew she shouldn’t be surprised that word had spread. Still, she wanted tonight to be about things the horsewomen could do for themselves, and each other—not another round of gossip. “Yes, it’s true,” she said finally.

  “How could any woman turn down a man like that?” demanded Tiza. “Especially a slave!”

  Rather than answering, Kalie peered closer at the woman, and realized where she had seen her before. “Are you from the same clan as my kinswomen, Alessa?”

  “Alessa? Oh, yes, she was Tarnaak’s woman for a time.” Tiza lowered her voice. “The fool lost her in a game of knucklebones with that envoy from the Wolf Tribe! Our chief was furious, for she was clever with potions and charms. There was scarcely a one in the camp who she hadn’t helped.”