On Fire’s Wings

by Christie Golden

  They did not reply. Instead, the leader jerked his head in Kevla’s direction and the other two grabbed her and hauled her to her feet. She was wearing nothing but a light sleeping rhia.

  “Stop!” she cried, “put me down! I am handmaiden to the khashima, you must—”

  “It is by the khashima’s orders that we are here, Bai-sha,” one of the men snarled.

  Kevla’s heart sank at the words. She looked over her shoulder, and saw that Ranna looked stricken at what was happening to her. Even Tiah seemed upset.

  “Where are you taking me?” she demanded as they dragged her down the stairs. A foot caught on a step and she winced.

  “You are no longer to serve the great lady,” one of the men said. “You are to stay in the kitchen. You will sleep in a small room, alone.” They half carried, half dragged her up another increasingly narrow set of stairs.

  “There must be a mistake!” she stammered. “I have not displeased the great lady. Please, let me speak to her and—”

  The man clutching her right arm shook her so violently that her head snapped back. “You are never to directly address the khashima again! Do you understand?”

  Terrified now, Kevla only nodded. The stairs came to an abrupt end and the guard in front hauled open a heavy wooden door. They flung her inside. She stumbled and fell, hitting hard stone and cutting her hands and legs on sharp edges. She eased herself up to a sitting position and when the blow came it almost knocked her unconscious.

  “That,” said one of the men, leaning so close to her that she could smell his stale breath, “is from the khashima. She told me to tell you that it is but a taste of what you will experience if you speak to her son again.”

  He slammed the door shut, and Kevla was plunged into darkness.

  For a moment, she huddled on the stone floor, trying to understand. She hurt all over, but her face hurt the worst. She reached to touch her mouth gingerly and winced as her fingers touched and probed. Then the import of the man’s last words fully descended upon her.

  There was only one conclusion. Yeshi had seen her with Jashemi. She had been so offended at the thought of her son with a lowly Bai-sha that she had ordered Kevla banished. Suddenly, Kevla couldn’t breathe and her body went cold.

  This was what she had dreaded; that she would lose her enviable position and be turned away in shame and disgrace. This was the fear that had tempered the pleasure of her time with the young lord, the shadow to the bright light of their moments together. Their secret meetings were forbidden, and she had known it. Now, she would have to pay.

  Even so, somehow, the thought of never being with him again made her heart hurt worse than her battered body. She began to sob, loudly, violently, each paroxysm of grief and loss racking her body painfully. She pounded fists into the stone floor, welcoming the ache. She kicked and screamed and begged with the unseen, unfeeling khashima. And when at last she drifted into an exhausted slumber, her dreams were haunted by the image of Jashemi on one of the river rafts, drifting farther and farther away from her even as he extended his arms to her, crying out for rescue.

  Chapter Eleven

  The sound of the door swinging open woke Kevla early the next morning. She blinked sleepily, wondering why she was gazing directly at an old harvesting rake, and then memory came flooding back. She bolted upright, then sagged in relief when she saw Sahlik standing in the door.

  Harshly, Sahlik said, “Get up, girl. You’re to come work in the kitchens now.”

  Kevla felt the smile bleed from her face. There was no reprieve in Sahlik’s grim mien. But Sahlik had always been kind to her, had been the one who arranged for her and Jashemi to meet….

  Kevla got to her feet. Her rhia was wet in places, and even as she looked down at it and realized with shame what the wetness was, Sahlik said, “You’ve soiled yourself, girl.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kevla whispered. She felt her face grow hot. “There was no pot, and the door was locked…May I be permitted to bathe and change?”

  Sahlik laughed without humor. “You are forbidden the use of the caverns. I’ll send up a clean rag and some water. When you are done, come immediately to the kitchens. There’s a beating in it for you if you are late.”

  She closed the door, but Kevla didn’t hear the latch falling into place. Her stomach roiled. She choked the vomit down, knowing it would go badly for her if she added that to the mess she had already made. She gritted her teeth against the nausea and grief that welled up inside her.

  A few moments later, one of the new five-scores brought up a basin of water and a clean rhia. Kevla remembered the girl. What was her name…Shara? Sharu, that was it. Kevla had attempted to make pleasant overtures to her, but the five-score had regarded her with terror. Now, though, Sharu gazed curiously at Kevla, with no sign of awe as she placed the items down the floor. Stories of Kevla’s fall from grace had already begun their inevitable spread.

  “Thank you,” Kevla managed to say. Sharu stared, and then closed the door.

  The water was clean at least, although the rhia was little more than the rag Sahlik had described. It had been repeatedly torn and remended, and there were deep stains in it that would never come out. Shaking, Kevla washed her groin and legs, willing herself not to think of the cool water of the caverns and how good it felt against her skin. She slipped into the stained garment with grim resignation.

  It was still better. Whatever working in the kitchen entailed, it was still better to be here, at the House of Four Waters, with a remote possibility of seeing Jashemi, than to be anywhere else.

  By nightfall, Kevla thought with longing of dancing on the street corner and crying her mother’s skills.

  There was no softening of Sahlik’s demeanor. She put Kevla to work immediately, and it proved grueling. Kevla was forced to stand for hours in the hot sun, collecting the droppings of the sandcattle, horses, and sa’abahs. She spread them out to dry, and gathered the dried droppings to use as fuel for the cook fires. She was permitted to go into the caverns only to haul buckets full of water. She stirred, scrubbed, chopped, ground and carried until her arms burned with pain. Twice, she was permitted to stop and eat, and the meals were meager: dried bread, heels of cheeses, fruits that were overripe and unfit to serve the higher-caste servants or the lord and lady.

  Through it all, Kevla caught Sharu watching her intently. She was too exhausted and broken-hearted to try to be friendly.

  Every time she tried to steal a few moments to sit and rest or rub her aching limbs, Sahlik was there, barking orders and dragging her to her feet. By the time she ate what passed for an evening meal and was brusquely dismissed by Sahlik, it was all she could do to stumble out of the kitchen and crawl up the stairs to her room. She almost fell to the floor. Curled up on the hard stone, she fell asleep within minutes.

  Such was her life for the next several weeks. She moved dazedly, doing what was asked of her, moving to the next thing, then collapsing, exhausted, in her tiny room. Sahlik continued to behave as if Kevla had never been anything other than the lowest-ranking of the House’s servants. The girl saw nothing of Yeshi, Tahmu, or Jashemi, and turned away whenever Tiah or Ranna came to the kitchen to select treats for their mistress. She thought she could feel no worse, but when Tiah and Ranna came accompanied by Sharu, the five-score Kevla had thought to befriend, she had to bite her lip to keep scalding tears of disappointment from flowing down her dirty cheeks. The little five-score, who had once been so timid, was now elevated to Kevla’s former status.

  One day, while she was tending the fire, Sahlik did something completely incomprehensible. The elderly servant positioned herself so that no one could see what she was doing, then deliberately poured a cup of hot eusho on Kevla’s hand.

  Kevla cried out, staring in shock at Sahlik. Before she could say anything, Sahlik said sharply, “You clumsy girl! Look what you’ve done! Go see Maluuk right away. If that blisters you’ll be of no use here at all.”

  Wide-eyed, Kevla clutched her
burned hand and backed away from Sahlik, who continued to glower at her. Then she started running, pushing her way though the crowded kitchen and racing over the courtyard to the healer’s small hut.

  The scald was minor. What hurt more than the injury was the knowledge that Sahlik had intentionally inflicted it. Was the head servant trying to kill her? Kevla began to cry as she ran. She tried to stifle the sobs, but she might just as well have tried to dam the Four Waters with a walking stick.

  She slowed as she approached the healing hut. She dragged her arm across her wet face and sniffed hard. Swallowing, Kevla straightened, composed herself, and opened the door.

  “Maluuk, I—”

  The words died in her throat. Standing there waiting for her was Jashemi. She stared at him, and then her legs refused to hold her. It was as if the last few weeks of pain, shame, and exhaustion caught up with her in the span of an instant. He caught her before she fell and carried her over to the table. Still weak, she did not protest.

  “Kevla, I am so very sorry. I take full responsibility. Let me see the burn. Good, she didn’t hurt you too badly. I will put something on it.”

  Kevla felt as though his words were coming from leagues away. Their meaning registered only slowly. She watched him as he removed the stopper from a jar and scooped out a fingerful of gray, pleasant-smelling ointment. He applied the salve with a delicate touch, and the pain subsided at once.

  “Sahlik…she did this to me so I could meet you?”

  Jashemi gave her a quick glance. “Of course. Did you think she simply wanted to hurt you?”

  “I—I didn’t know what to think,” Kevla said, her voice thick. “I had thought that Yeshi liked me, and when she…then Sahlik was so mean to me….”

  He paused in his treatment to look at her gravely. “My mother discovered us together,” he said. “It is my fault. I was careless. I should have made sure that never happened.” He finished applying salve and began to bind the wound with a clean cloth. Suddenly, his mouth twisted in a smile. “It seems as though I am always apologizing to you.”

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, Kevla couldn’t help smiling in return. “You are a most unusual khashimu.”

  “And you are an unusual….” He paused. “Girl,” he said. Kevla felt her cheeks flush. “Now, you need to finish tying this. Your story will be that you came to the hut and neither Maluuk nor Asha was here, so you treated yourself.”

  She complied, holding her arm against her body to better secure the bandage.

  “Where are they?”

  “Someone has been injured by the river. I saw them go and told Sahlik that we had a chance to meet.”

  “Why has Sahlik been so cruel? It seems as though she has been particularly hard on me.”

  Jashemi’s face hardened. “My mother has a little spy. One of the five-scores we brought home from the raid. Shari, I think her name is.”

  “Sharu,” Kevla corrected. “I tried to be kind to her.”

  “Of course you did. For several weeks, Sharu was in the kitchens, watching to make sure you were treated as badly as possible. Mother was satisfied and rewarded Sharu by making her a handmaiden. Now that she is no longer in the kitchen, Sahlik does not have to be so harsh with you.”

  “Thank the Dragon for that, at least,” Kevla said softly.

  She had not intended her words to be interpreted as criticism, but she saw Jashemi wince. When he spoke again, his voice was serious.

  “Because of my carelessness, you lost your position,” he said. “I don’t want anything else to happen to you, but I can’t lie to you. If we continue to meet, someone could find out.”

  Their eyes met, and she realized what he was saying. He was asking if she wanted to keep seeing him. He was not ordering, as was his birthright. Kevla realized that every moment of true happiness she had experienced at the House of Four Waters had occurred when the two of them were alone together. It had been good to be Yeshi’s handmaiden, yes, but she had to be constantly on her guard. Over time and repeated encounters with Jashemi, she had learned to let the line between master and servant blur. There was a warmth in her heart for this boy that she had never felt with anyone else: a sense of safety despite the danger, an oasis of peace in a desert of apprehension.

  He was letting her decide. She could choose safety, or she could choose him.

  “Then we must make certain that doesn’t happen,” she said.

  Knowing that Sahlik’s abuse was a sham helped Kevla to accept it more easily. She cringed when berated, and Sahlik spared no opportunity to harass the girl. But there was no physical violence after the “accidental burn,” and Kevla’s duties suddenly became much less demanding. She ate better, and was able to rest for longer periods of time.

  Yet it was still hard work. Her body grew strong from the physical demands, her slender build becoming more defined with muscles and her blossoming womanhood. Some of the young men she encountered on her errands stared at her growing chest, straining against the confines of her rhia. Sahlik made a point of complaining loudly when Kevla asked for a different garment, but the next morning Kevla was handed several fresh rhias, none of which clung quite so revealingly as her older ones.

  She saw Jashemi infrequently, and it was always an unexpected delight. Their moments together were tense and exciting, the thought of discovery adding a sharp tang of adventure to an experience the two found both necessary and painfully happy. At the same time, she had never felt more comfortable in his presence.

  One night, after a particularly grueling day, Kevla’s body ached more than usual. She had quarreled with some of the five-scores over the preparation of a dish, and although she knew she was correct, Sahlik had sided with the other girls. Kevla understood the necessity of the pretense, but somehow, today she was sick of the act.

  Her newly large breasts were tender and her belly hurt as well. Perhaps she had eaten something that disagreed with her. Her head ached. For no reason, she sat down on the stone floor of her small room and wept angrily.

  It was all so awful, so unfair! She had tended Yeshi well. She had kept Yeshi’s secrets, and this was how the khashima repaid her. It had been so long since she and Jashemi had played Shamizan that she was certain she’d forget the few rules.

  Has there ever been anyone more wretched than I? she thought, misery overwhelming her. She stretched out onto the stone, felt its coolness against her hot, tearstained cheeks, and fell into an unhappy slumber.

  Kevla opened her eyes to discover that she was surrounded by flames. They leaped up, walls of fire, forming an enclosure that trapped her inside their circle more firmly than if they had been made of stone. Smoke swirled around her, but it did not sting her eyes, nor make her gasp for breath. She turned, slowly, seeking a break in the enormous sheets of flame, and then screamed as she saw something more frightening than fire.

  It seemed made of fire itself, all hues of red and yellow and orange. It moved with the same sinuous grace as the flames that surrounded it, but it seemed unaffected by their licking tongues. Slowly, it lifted its serpentine neck, reared up on its massive, scalyhind legs. Two membranous wings unfolded and beat the air, setting the flames to dancing wildly. It opened its mouth. For an instant, Kevla caught sight of teeth as long as her arm, and a flickering, forked tongue. Then fire spewed forth. Its massive tail raised and then came crashing down on the burned earth. The ground trembled and Kevla fell.

  The Dragon lowered its horned, wedge-shaped head until it was mere inches from Kevla’s face. She wanted to scream, close her eyes, turn away, but she remained transfixed, as the bird before the snake. She stared into its glowing yellow eyes.

  It opened its mouth, and Kevla braced herself for the exquisite agony of its fiery breath. Instead, the monster spoke, and Kevla understood the words. Understood, but could not comprehend their meaning. The noise of the Dragon’s voice shattered her ears, reverberated along her bones, dropped her to the ground in agony.

  “DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU
ARE?”

  Kevla was brought awake by the sound of her own scream. She bolted upright, gasping for breath. Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest. Her rhia clung to her, and she realized that she was soaked with sweat.

  The light of the full moon spilled in through the small window, silvering and softening the harsh angles of the stacked-up tools. Kevla wiped at her wet face, shivering with fear and mortification.

  Even her dreams, it seemed, mirrored her fall from favor and the shame inherent in her very existence. The dragon in her dream had to be the Great Dragon, who lived in the heart of Mount Bari. According to legend, the Dragon sent his flames in the form of molten stone coursing down the steep sides of Mount Bari when the people of Arukan forgot their traditions and laws.

  Forget who they were.

  DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?

  Kevla could hear the bellowing voice in her head even now and she put her hands to her ears, as if the voice were real and could be shut out by something as paltry as human flesh and bone.

  Perhaps the dream meant that the Great Dragon was as displeased with Kevla as Yeshi. Perhaps the Dragon felt that Kevla had no right to presume to a friendship with a khashimu, heir to the most powerful Clan in Arukan. She was born of a halaan. She was Bai-sha, her father unknown to her, one of her mother’s clients. She recalled the Dragon’s ferocity in the dream and shuddered.

  And then, as she moved to sit up, she saw more evidence of the Dragon’s displeasure.

  Blood was all over her thighs.

  Kevla went through the motions of her day, but she almost felt as though she was standing outside her body. The only thing that brought her back to living in her own skin was the sensation of torn rags stuffed inside her, to absorb the telltale bleeding. Twice, she had to change them, and fought back tears of misery as she looked at the sodden, scarlet fabric.

  Until the moment that the blood had begun flowing from her sulim, she had been cloaked in the safety of childhood. Kevla had dreaded being sent away from the House of Four Waters for disobedience, but now that fate was almost certain. She was now a viable female, able to conceive and bear children, and would no doubt be part of some negotiation with another clan; of the same value as a cart of vegetables or a brace of sandcattle. Or, she mused darkly, perhaps less, as she was Bai-sha.