Shadow of the Horsemen (Kalie's Journey)

by Sandra Saidak

  Looking back later, Kalie would see the hand of the Goddess in all that happened that day: in the way she found a patch of berries that all the other women had somehow overlooked. In the way fish filled the simple weir she had woven from grass while she went about her foraging. Even in the way that both of Maalke’s wives slept all day.

  But the most important thing of all happened when Kalie finally made contact with the Shadow Women.

  She had been trying, since discovering their existence, to get to know them, offering bits of food and a kind word whenever she could. But while scavenging the midden for bones that might still have enough marrow to produce soup, Kalie recognized one of the outcast women, bent upon the same errand, not twenty paces from herself—and realized she finally had something to offer them.

  “Would you like some of these?” Kalie held out a handful of precious berries.

  The woman approached her warily, eyed her suspiciously, then grabbed the food from her hand, jumping back and crouching as she stuffed it in her mouth.

  Something in the way she moved, some remnant of grace beneath the stiffness and pain, made Kalie blurt out, “You were a dancer, weren’t you!”

  The woman stared at her for a long time. “No,” she said at last, rising painfully to her full height. “I was the greatest dancer of them all. Chief Vorik’s fairest treasure. Ahnaak himself tried to buy me from him.” As she traveled backward in her memory, her eyes became clearer and her voice, raspy from long disuse, grew stronger.

  “What happened?” Kalie asked.

  “What always happens. My beauty faded and my limbs grew stiff. Vorik took a new wife who had long despised me, and she persuaded him to cast me into the shadows. He told me he couldn’t bear to sell me to another, but if he had any love left for me, he’d have killed me, rather than this.” Her gaze narrowed on Kalie’s face. “I know you! You are the new storyteller who’s hoping for a place like mine.” Her hollow cheeks split with a nearly toothless grin and she held out her skeletal arms. “Take a good look at me girl, and see your own future.”

  Kalie looked. Then she stepped forward and held out her hands in a gesture of friendship. “My name is Kalie. What is yours?”

  “Agafa,” said the woman, after a moment’s surprise. She did not take Kalie’s hands. “Why do you waste your time with me?”

  “I want to learn about this place where I now find myself. I want to learn all I can about becoming the favored entertainer of a chief. And I want to tell you about the place I come from. Tonight, I’m going to celebrate the coming of age of my adopted daughter, as we would in my home. There will be food. I invite you—and all the other women who have been wrongly cast out this way—to join us.”

  Then she turned and walked away without waiting for Agafa’s response. And without the soup bones, she realized later.

  Word spread throughout the half empty camp that something was to happen tonight; something that involved slaves and barbaric rituals. No one stopped her, but as the sun began its descent, many women hid in their tents with their children. But many more stood at a wary distance, curious as to what Kalie was up to.

  The day had been as brutally hot as Kalie had feared, but now, as evening fell, a deliciously cool breeze wafted through the camp. She took it as another good sign as she surveyed the feast spread before Maalke’s tent. Geese stuffed with all manner of roots and seeds, fish roasted on a bed of sweet grass, and hard cakes of flat bread Kalie had somehow managed to coax from the wild rye that grew here. They might not taste like much, but they would be filling, and with the syrup she had made from the berries, they might just become a new taste sensation. Beside the food was a basket of dried flowers Kalie had carefully saved from the spring profusion.

  When Kalie went inside to fetch Varena, she stopped short at what she saw. All day, Varena had followed Kalie like a shadow, sometimes watching the preparations, sometimes helping. Now, like the moon peeking out from behind a cloud, Varena’s face showed a glimpse of the woman she might one day become. Her gray eyes danced with excitement and curiosity. Her skin, though reddened from the merciless sun of this land, was fresh and vital. Her wheat colored hair held a golden sheen.

  Forgetting the decorum that had been so important to her on this day in her own life Kalie flung her arms around Varena and kissed both her cheeks.

  “What was that for?” Varena looked shocked, but not at all displeased, as Kalie would have been at her age.

  “I’ll tell you later! Come now; it’s time to begin!”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I found a beautiful spot by the lake,” Kalie said as she led Varena outside and watched her gawk at all the food assembled there. She didn’t mention that by “beautiful” she meant the cleanest, least trampled and mud-churned place that contained both water and a dry, level stretch of beach for dancing.

  Still, the setting sun was glorious. With no trees to block the sky, no mountains to cut off the brilliant show a moment before it played itself out, the feast would have a fine backdrop. Kalie turned and looked toward the east, and nearly dropped her pilfered sacks of kumis. The moon, fat and golden, lay upon the horizon like a tunnel through which one might escape this world and travel to one altogether new and magical.

  “How did you get so much food?” Varena asked. “Is it all for us?”

  Kalie looked at the feast, hoping again it would be enough for what she had in mind, and then forced a laugh. “I suppose we might be able to eat it all. But a feast is better when shared. Besides, we could never carry it all by ourselves.” Kalie nodded to the skeletal, frightened-looking women who hovered nearby, and prayed it all didn’t fall apart right now.

  “Shadow Women?” cried Varena. “This is how you plan to honor me?”

  Kalie faced Varena and her look of betrayal. “Listen to me, daughter,” she said gently, yet with an edge that commanded the new woman’s attention. “They are women, just like us—“

  “They are not like us! They are less than us. The only women in this camp who are! Do you want me to think I’m even less than Altia and Irisa think I am—”?

  “I want you to see that you—and they—are so much more than Altia and Irisa think! I want to show you that women—all women—are greater than the men who rule over you have ever let any of you know.” Kalie sighed. “Varena, I wanted to invite all of your friends and family—“ And Larren, too, if she had bothered to find out where she lived…

  “But I haven’t got any, except you. I know, Kalie. And I thank you for trying to have enough people to make it a real feast, but—“

  “I tried to find some of the girls you were with last night, but none were allowed to speak with me when I went to their tents. Perhaps, if we make enough noise and have enough fun, their mistresses might come see what’s going on, and allow them as well.” Of course, if that happened, there wouldn’t be enough food for everyone. Kalie wasn’t sure which one to hope for.

  She knelt and lifted the platter holding the largest of the geese. Varena picked up the basket of flat bread. Hesitantly, as if fearing it was all some kind of cruel joke, Agafa and the other five half-starved, Shadow Women came forward to carry the rest.

  She had always assumed that they worked together for foraging and mutual protection—or at least warmth, when the nights were cold. But only a single pair of women were together. Mother and daughter? Kalie wondered. Sisters? Perhaps lovers. For women to love each other in that way was yet another “abomination” to these people. Still, any sign of closeness or caring was hopeful. Agafa and the other three moved separately, like solitary animals forced into a herd.

  “Come, Varena. Walk beside me.” Kalie led them through the silent camp. With the men away, there were no bonfires, no boisterous gatherings. Only the faint light of braziers shone through the quiet tents. Entry flaps were closed, but here and there, Kalie saw veiled faces peeking out at them. The shadow women dared tiny bites of food when they thought Kalie wasn’t looking, as fear warred with hunge
r and lost. Kalie didn’t mind. It appeared it would only be the eight of them, and all that food. Yet as the sky deepened to violet and the sun slid below the western rim of the world in a bed of orange and crimson, Kalie found she didn’t mind that either. Power swirled around her, palpable in the warm sweet air of summer. She walked toward the sunset, keeping her back to the rising moon, almost afraid to face the aspect of the Goddess at Her most powerful.

  Chapter 9

  They reached the spot Kalie had chosen. As the moonlight gilded the lake, and cast a silver sheen over the endless stretch of dry grass, the ugliness of the place receded into the twilight. As soon as they began arranging the food, however, Kalie realized that any rituals would have to wait. Otherwise, they would all be too distracted by the feast to hear a word Kalie said.

  Still, anything done in joy was an act of worship. Kalie decided to put that teaching to the test. “We have gathered here, in the light of the Goddess, to welcome a new woman into our midst!” Kalie intoned the ancient words. “Let us welcome her with music and dance; with instruction into the women’s mysteries. But first, in the oldest way remembered: with feasting! Varena will begin it,” she added as two of the shadow women reached forward eagerly. Kalie heaped a plate with the best pieces of goose and stuffing, fish and hard bread soaked in berry syrup.

  Varena may not have understood any of what Kalie said about women’s mysteries, but she understood good food in plenty, and what it meant to be the first one served. For the others, it was cruder, more basic: food enough to fill their shrunken bellies, without shouts or blows to drive them away as they gorged themselves. Kalie had to physically force some of them so slow down, to chew more fully, to keep them from becoming sick from the very thing that should be helping to restore their health.

  Kalie ate sparingly, more for the joy of eating the fruits of her own labor at her own pace than from any real hunger. As the moon rose, a sense of excitement filled her, driving out any lingering despair that this job was too much for her. She sipped some kumis, and thought about how nice summer wine made from those berries would have been, if she’d only had time to let them ferment. Then she wondered how she would begin.

  There were ritual words that the priestess would be saying now, but Kalie couldn’t remember them all, despite the number of these she had attended, and Varena wouldn’t know the correct responses. She could try a story, but translating so many alien concepts into the beastmen’s harsh tongue was beyond her right now.

  She watched Varena savoring her last bites of food, eyes dancing as she looked eagerly at Kalie, wondering what was next, all her fears forgotten, and suddenly a voice rose up inside Kalie and burst from her mouth.

  Kalie began to sing an old song often sung at these festivals. It told of the ancient Earth, lonely and barren, and the spark that began the miracle of life. How the Goddess gave birth to all that now lived upon her body. Kalie sang in her own tongue, with no thought of translation. Yet as she looked at the faces of the women around her, she knew that no translation was needed. The passion and the power that flowed from Kalie reached them just fine.

  Women began to emerge from their tents. Most stood and watched from the door flaps, but a few came closer, watching and listening. Kalie beckoned them closer, then began another song; one that went with a circle dance. She grabbed Varena’s hand, then the hand of one of the Shadow Women, urging them into a circle. For a moment, Varena seemed willing to try, but the Shadow Woman pulled away, and none of the others would join. Kalie gave up and finished the song, just as a small group of women approached.

  She looked anxiously at the remains of the feast, hoping she could offer them something, then saw it would not be necessary. Arriving before the others, despite her slow gate was the old woman who had taken Kalie’s side against Leja during the dispute over the geese the day before. Behind her a slave woman carried a tray of food nearly as fine as what Kalie herself had prepared. “If you’re going to invite everyone, better make sure you have enough food,” the ancient one was saying, and for a moment, Kalie felt she was listening to a priestess.

  That was not all. Brenia and one of the other wives Kalie remembered from a storytelling party carried offerings as well, though not as impressive as the crone’s. She put an arm around Varena and urged her forward.

  “I and my daughter am honored by your presence at her Womanhood Ceremony, and thank you for your gifts,” she said.

  Some of the women giggled behind their veils, while others grinned with expectation of a new farce. But some seemed genuinely interested.

  “I would like to know of this strange custom you speak of,” said the old woman.

  “And I would like to know who it is I must thank, not once, but twice,” Kalie answered.

  Brenia came forward quickly to make introductions, looking rather shocked that Kalie did not already know. “This is Danica, mother of Chief Zavan.”

  Kalie was impressed. A chief’s mother was probably the highest ranked woman in this society, though few lived long enough to attain such status.

  “What is this that you do here tonight?” Danica asked.

  Kalie felt a strange stirring, as if it was a priestess who had asked a ritual question that would allow everything to begin.

  She replied in kind. “We are here to welcome a new woman into our midst, and celebrate the power of the Goddess.”

  “This slave girl?” Rather than breaking the mood, Danica’s mocking question felt to Kalie like an opportunity.

  “In this place, for this night, when the moon is at her fullest power, there are no slaves. There are no wives or concubines. There are only women, daughters of Mother Earth, chosen at birth to be Her mortal incarnation.”

  There was a ripple of whispered exclamations, but Kalie’s attention was focused on Danica, whose gaze grew very far away.

  “My grandmother spoke as you do,” the old woman said. “Perhaps only to me. She came as a slave from a distant land, but when she gave my grandfather his only son—my father—he made her his wife. But when I was a child, she told me she had once been a priestess of the Great Goddess. That in her land, all women were as the wives of kings.”

  “She spoke the truth,” Kalie said, striving to keep her voice steady, while her heart soared at the prospect of meeting a distant kinswoman. “Come, join our celebration, and find out what your grandmother tried so hard to teach to you.”

  She began another song; more like a chant. The cadence was similar to the singing the beastmen did in their own rituals. And while Kalie’s song was only a simple welcome of the harvest, more appropriate for later in the summer, and rarely sung at initiations such as these, she could feel it weave its web of power among the gathered women.

  “Come Varena,” Kalie called when the song ended. “Let us make you ready to be presented to the Goddess.” She uncovered the basket of dried flowers, taking out a comb and a tiny leather bottle of oil that she had distilled from the rose-like flowers that grew here. When she removed Varena’s veil, members of the crowd looked around nervously, but there were only women here, so most of them settled down to watch.

  “In my land, there would be fresh flowers for your hair, but dried ones will have to do for tonight, as if you had come into your womanhood in winter.”

  As Kalie combed the sweet oil into Varena’s hair and wove the flowers into a garland for her, everyone saw Varena transform from despised slave girl to an incarnation of the Goddess in Her form as Maiden. Only her ragged felt clothing bound her to the role her world had thrust upon her. One of the women commented on that.

  “Well that is because she is here,” said Kalie. “In my land, she would be naked. We all would be.”

  “Abomination!” cried one of the women.

  “No!” Kalie rose to her full height. “Abomination is a world where the power to kill is revered, and the power to bring forth life is shunned! Abomination is taking pleasure in hurting others or stealing what they would gladly share if you but asked! Abomina
tion is women who have forgotten their own power while they cower before men who should have been drowned at birth!”

  The shocked silence that greeted her words was absolute. All at once, Kalie ran out of words. She had been talking, explaining, arguing and preaching since she came to this land nearly a year ago, and she was sick of it. This was not a night for politics. Kalie felt a rush power inside her more primal than anything she had ever experienced. If she didn’t find a way to release it, it would burn its way out.

  Closing her eyes, she drew a deep, steadying breath of the summer night air. She kicked off her leather shoes, and felt the earth beneath her feet, as her toes curled into the tough grass. For a moment, she felt the Goddess she had abandoned reaching out to embrace her, and then something suffocating came between them. It was the clothes; the heavy, scratchy felt.

  Her eyes still closed, Kalie pulled the stifling garments from her body one by one, until she stood naked beneath the moon, and felt its power coursing through her.

  Then she began to dance.

  The power of the Earth rose up through the soles of her feet: ancient and unchanging. Older and wiser than any of Her creations could hope to be. And Kalie had feared the beastmen would destroy this? She laughed at her own foolishness, her dance taking on a merry, childlike gait as she wove playfully among the women, tugging at their garments, and beckoning them to join her.

  Yet she didn’t stop to see if they did; rather she spun and leapt with eyes focused only on the moon whose monthly cycle mirrored her own, and who now commanded that Kalie’s dance change. She slowed her steps, stretching her arms overhead. The dance was as joyous as before, but deeper and more sedate; the dance of a woman’s power to bring forth life from her own body, even if that meant dying in the process. Yet when she survived the process of giving birth, joys and sorrows multiplied, and a woman discovered the awesome responsibility of nurturing a child.