On Fire’s Wings

by Christie Golden

  Tahmu could not deny the truth of the statement. Instead he replied, “Let us hope that your mother finds you a wife with whom you can share both. Have you…lain with a woman?”

  “No.” The answer was short and harsh. Tahmu thought this just as well. He had fallen in love with the first woman he had lain with, and her face had haunted him ever since. “But don’t worry. I know what needs to be done to get a child, Father.”

  “Producing an heir is important,” said Tahmu, “but there is more to it than that. There is…tenderness, and pleasure.”

  Jashemi sighed and then laughed. “I sense you will not let me leave until you have told me what you think I need to know.”

  Tahmu, too, laughed, and the tension between them eased. “I would feel better if I sent you to your wife’s bed with a little knowledge, that much is true.”

  Still chuckling, Jashemi replied, “Speak then, and I will listen like a dutiful son.”

  So Tahmu shared what he knew about pleasuring a woman; where they liked to be touched, when to be gentle and when to be forceful. As he spoke, he thought of Keishla and the tender, too-brief time they had shared.

  True to his word, Jashemi listened patiently. Emotions flickered over his face, but Tahmu could not interpret them. He asked no questions. When he had finished, Jashemi searched his father’s face, as if trying to memorize it.

  “Thank you, Father,” he said formally, ducked underneath the water once more, then got out. “Enjoy your bath. I will see you at dinner.”

  As Tahmu watched his son ascend the stairs with a quick step, he wondered, half-ruefully, if all fathers felt as puzzled by their son’s behavior as he.

  Tahmu made the announcement at dinner that night. He did not inform Yeshi beforehand; he was in no mood for an argument before dinner, and he knew he would get one. He seemed to get an argument from Yeshi if he suggested that the sun might rise in the morning and set in the evening.

  She was wise enough not to publicly contradict her husband, but the look she gave both Jashemi and Tahmu was openly hostile. She did venture, as she reached languidly for a piece of fruit, “Husband, do you truly believe there is time to notify all so they may come prepared?”

  “The hawks will fly tomorrow,” he said.

  “And, Mother,” Jashemi interjected, “my birthday comes at a quiet time. The Acknowledgment will be in the midst of Second Harvest season. Our people will appreciate not having to let the fruits of their hard labor feed animals instead of their families.”

  Tahmu gave his son an admiring look. “Well spoken, Jashemi,” he said. This had not occurred to him, but it was true. It would indeed be better to hold the ceremony sooner rather than later. Jashemi wasn’t thinking like a hotheaded youth. He was thinking of his people’s ease and comfort—thinking like a future khashim. Proud of his son, Tahmu clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  Yeshi glowered.

  Yet again, the House of Four Waters began preparing for the descent of hundreds of people. This time, though, the gathering would be a purely celebratory occasion. No one would be riding off to a raid, perhaps never to return. Still, the event brought with it its own unique set of challenges. They would need places for the elderly, women, children, and servants to sleep, not merely healthy men of a certain age. Tahmu rode into the river valleys, asking higher-caste men if they would open their homes to other Clanspeople from far away. They would do as their khashim ordered, of course, but a personal request and thanks from their lord would ease the burden somewhat.

  Kevla, as usual at times like this, was worked hard. But she went through her chores with composure and a sense of achievement. This was exactly what she and Jashemi wanted, and it could result in saving Tahmu’s life.

  They started trickling in several days before the actual date of the ceremony. Kevla knew that the Clan was large, but as the days passed and more and more throngs of people descended, she began to wonder how many people actually called themselves members of the Clan of Four Waters. She asked Sahlik, who chuckled and replied, “Soon as count the hairs on your head, child. I can think of at least two hundred who are high-caste enough to be known to me. And they have families and servants of their own.”

  Kevla doubted that Clan members were as numerous as the hairs on one’s head, but she understood Sahlik’s reference. The numbers were constantly shifting, and whatever their eventual total, it was large.

  Finally, the day arrived. Kevla and Jashemi had not had a chance to speak since they had come up with their plan, but at that time, they had worked most of it out. Kevla felt certain that if anything had happened to disrupt what they had planned, the resourceful Jashemi would have found a way to contact her. She was wide-awake long before the first summoning blast of the shakaal sounded, already in the kitchens tending the fire with the other servants.

  Most of the food would not need to be cooked, because there would be no one to cook it as everyone, including the lowest servants, was required to appear before the khashimu today. While it would satisfy hunger, the feast would be light: breads baked yesterday, fruits, raw vegetables, and stews that could be left to slowly simmer all day long.

  For the first time in her life, Kevla was grateful for the fact that she was Bai-sha. She would be among the last to come before Jashemi and pledge loyalty and devotion—which meant that she could remain alone in the kitchen, gaze into the fire and see and hear nearly everyone else who came before her.

  She and Jashemi had decided that Yeshi would never take anyone low-caste as a lover. So that meant that the unknown man who shared Yeshi’s bed whenever her husband was away was most likely of high rank, perhaps among the highest in the Clan. Kevla recalled Yeshi’s repeated flirtation with Bahrim, and Jashemi sourly put forth several other likely candidates. Even the fact that the voice seemed familiar did not narrow the list much; Kevla had attended Yeshi at many important functions and had heard nearly every high-ranking uhlal address her lady at one time or another. Kevla desperately hoped that she would recognize him when she saw him. If this plan failed…It did not bear thinking about.

  Jashemi had woken several hours ago, and per custom had descended into the caverns alone to bathe. He ducked under the water twenty times, once for each year he had been alive, and rubbed specially consecrated oils into his smooth brown skin until the sweet, spicy fragrance filled his nostrils and his body gleamed in the torchlight. Normally, he would be attended as he prepared for important gatherings, but today he was strictly left alone. The ceremony was centered around Jashemi entering adulthood; no one made such a passage in the company of others.

  He was glad of this custom, as his thoughts were racing and time to himself was welcome. He let the oils dry on his skin, going over every step of the ceremony and looking for places where something might go wrong. The only problem would be if Kevla did not recognize the man, or if somehow the fire was extinguished. He took a deep breath and calmed his mind. Fortunately, everyone would expect him to be slightly nervous on this day.

  He touched his arms, and found them sufficiently dry. It was time to don the ritual clothing. The garments were waiting for him in a basket, so white that they almost seemed to glow of their own accord.

  For a moment, he panicked. What was the order? What were the words? Ah, yes, he remembered.

  First the sandals. He slipped them on, taking a moment to feel the softness of the tanned leather against his skin. Closing his eyes, he intoned softly: “I am a man. If the Dragon wills, my feet will walk leagues for the Clan of Four Waters.”

  Next, the breeches. They were soft as a whisper against his thighs as he donned them. What in the world had the weavers done, to create fabric as strong but seemingly delicate as this? He spoke the ritual words: “I am a man. If the Dragon wills, my kurja will sire many sons for the Clan of Four Waters.”

  Now, the rhia, embroidered with golden thread that seemed to twist like a snake in the flickering torchlight. He slipped it over his head, feeling the fabric caress his skin.
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  “I am a man. If the Dragon wills, my shoulders will carry great burdens for the Clan of Four Waters.”

  Finally, the head covering, light as a falcon’s feather. He wound its length around his head, tucking it in here, letting it trail there.

  “I am a man. If the Dragon wills, my thoughts will be always with the Clan of Four Waters.”

  The ritual calmed him and redirected his mind. This was more than a ruse to discover the identity of Yeshi’s lover. This was the day he became a man, with all the joys, burdens, privileges and sorrows it entailed.

  He had come down the stairs as a youth. He eyed them now as they stretched upward toward the surface. Jashemi straightened. He recalled all the times he had come here as a boy, most poignantly when he had wept in Kevla’s arms for both of the sisters whom he could never acknowledge. He looked down at his body, clad in gleaming white fabric. He beheld muscular thighs, a flat belly, powerful chest and arms. He touched a face that needed shaving to be smooth with hands that had dealt lethal blows.

  Not the body of a boy, not anymore.

  Again, Jashemi looked at the steps. Deliberately, he strode toward them, feeling the muscles work as he moved, taking each step with the full inner knowledge that at the top of the stairs, where a boy had descended, a man would emerge.

  The blast of the shakaal startled Kevla so much that she nicked her hand. She jumped and brought the injured finger to her mouth.

  “It is time to assemble,” Sahlik said to her servants. “Kevla, are you all right? Let me see the cut.”

  “It is nothing,” Kevla said, extending her finger so that Sahlik could examine the thin slice. It was already closing. “Sahlik, I will stay and watch the stews and keep preparing for the feast.”

  Sahlik searched her brown eyes. “You are a member of the Clan of Four Waters just as much as any of us, child. You will need to honor the future khashim.”

  Kevla wished she could tell Sahlik the truth, but both she and Jashemi had felt it was risky. Even Sahlik might quail at the thought of a serving girl who could scry in the fire.

  “I am Bai-sha,” she said bluntly. “I will be among the last to honor the young master.”

  Sahlik’s face softened. “You will be among the last, that is true.” She glanced over at the bubbling pot and pursed her lips. “It will be many hours before I can return,” she said thoughtfully. “If you would stay for a while and then come out, that would be a great help.”

  “I am happy to serve,” Kevla murmured. Sahlik eyed her curiously for a moment, then left to join the others.

  When she was certain she was alone, Kevla went to one of the fireplaces. Quickly laying a few sandcattle cakes in it, she said, “Burn.” The fire appeared at once, blazing brightly.

  Kevla swallowed. She had never tried this before. Her voice quavering slightly, she said, “Burn a little brighter.”

  The fire did so, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She had half feared she would burn the kitchen down, but while this size was far too large to cook on, it served Kevla’s purpose well.

  She seated herself in front of the fire, and watched it intently.

  The raised dais had been built only a few days ago, but was as sturdy as if it were a permanent structure. Jashemi sat alone at the top; his father stood at the bottom of the wooden stairs. Tomorrow, they would resume their traditional roles, but today, Jashemi was the center of attention and honor, and even Tahmu deferred to him as the “future” khashim.

  Jashemi looked out at the sea of faces, all turned expectantly toward him, and gripped the arms of his chair tightly to calm himself. He knew his father was a good leader. He had seen Tahmu hold his own in both battle and debate, but now his throat was dry and he wondered how Tahmu projected calm and confidence when faced with a crowd of this size. Thank the Great Dragon, Jashemi would not have to say anything, but simply sitting in the chair was intimidating enough.

  He waited for the signal, one long blast from the shakaal followed by three shorter blasts. He swallowed hard, and then lifted his hand. The rite had begun.

  Tahmu, as the highest-ranking member of the Clan, was the first to acknowledge Jashemi’s passage to adulthood. He stood at the bottom of the steps and bowed deeply, then ascended. Before he could greet the future khashim, Tahmu, like all the Clan, would have to greet the Elements.

  Each step had a symbol of the element. There were five in all, Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit. The last step would put the Clansman directly at the feet of his future lord.

  Tahmu took the first step. He leaned down and lifted the sizable rock that represented the element of Earth. He said nothing, but closed his eyes as if turning his attention inward, then replaced the rock. Others, Jashemi knew, would not be strong enough to lift the rock and would merely touch its rough surface with reverence.

  The wing of a falcon lay on the next step. Tahmu picked it up, and swung it through the air, creating a brief, gentle breeze. Air was thus honored.

  The third step had a brazier of coals next to a large pile of quick-burning twigs. Tahmu gathered a handful and dropped them into the brazier. The flames leaped up, and he gazed steadily into their light, not shrinking from the sudden heat, until the flames had burned themselves down to coals once again. Jashemi’s heart sped up a little as he watched his father stare into the flames. It would be at this moment, when he gazed into the fire, that Yeshi’s lover would reveal himself to Kevla.

  Or so Jashemi desperately hoped.

  His honoring of Fire complete, Tahmu took the next step. He dipped his fingers into a large ceramic bowl and sprinkled the precious Water on his face.

  Spirit had no representation, because it was nothing solid. There was only a white circle painted on the next to last step, indicating where the supplicant would stand. Tahmu stepped into the white circle, and closed his eyes in concentration as he had done with the previous four Elements.

  Now, he took the last step, and knelt before his son on a red and blue embroidered cushion. He spoke in soft tones, so that no one would overhear.

  “You are a man today, my son. No father could be prouder of his child than I of you.” He smiled gently, and Jashemi felt a lump well in his throat. Then, Tahmu’s smile widened mischievously.

  “Endure the heat as best you may—both from the sun and from those who approach you.”

  Jashemi felt his lips twitch as he suppressed a grin.

  “I will step in if you need me. If you feel uncomfortable, look at me and nod imperiously.” He winked, then bowed again and descended the second set of steps on Jashemi’s left. He resumed his position at the foot of the steps and looked at the next supplicant who came forward.

  Yeshi gazed steadily back at him, then she centered herself and greeted the representations of the Elements. She moved fluidly, observing all the proper etiquette, and yet Jashemi sensed that she was observing the form but not the substance.

  When she knelt before him and he took her soft hands in his, she looked up at him. For a moment, their old connection was there.

  Anxious to hold on to that instant, he squeezed her hands and opened his mouth to speak. But before words could escape his lips, Yeshi said in a flat voice, “Today my son is a man, with a man’s responsibilities. Today his mother is but another woman in his life.”

  She rose and went down the stairs, back straight. He watched her go, feeling hollowness in his heart, the deep ache of regret. Then he faced forward again. Yeshi had made it plain how she wished things to be between them. He would not shame himself by begging.

  The next person to ascend was Halid, Tahmu’s Second. Halid honored all the elements as Tahmu had, then knelt before Jashemi and clasped the khashimu’s hands.

  “I hope to someday serve you as well as I have served your father. You are worthy to succeed him.”

  He knew he shouldn’t extend the moment by speaking—it was going to be an achingly long day—but Jashemi said, “The Clan has been honored by your service. I will sleep better knowing you w
ill be at my side, as you have been by my father’s.”

  Nodding, Halid descended the stairs.

  Jashemi felt the sun begin to beat down as the morning drew on, and was grateful for the coolness the white clothing provided. Three had pledged. At least two hundred more remained.

  Jashemi sighed inwardly, and forced a smile as the next uhlal made his ascent. The day was going to be very, very long.

  The sun grew higher, baking those gathered beneath its harsh glare. Jashemi drank at least a dozen full waterskins and ate only fruit, for the moisture. Some took only a few minutes; others, overcome with the opportunity to speak to the khashimu, took several. Every now and then, Jashemi would glance at his father, looking as imperious as possible, and Tahmu would encourage the supplicant to hasten his speech.

  So many! The full import of what his father did settled on Jashemi in a way he had never experienced. All these lives, relying on their khashim, trusting Tahmu to guide them wisely and well. A grave responsibility.

  Finally, the higher-ranking castes and their families gave way to lower. As the sun settled down toward sleep and blessed coolness began to tinge the air, the servants came forward. Jashemi had begun the day nervous and excited. Now he was weary, hungry, and thirsty, and wanted nothing more than to bathe in the caverns and then crawl into bed. It was difficult to even summon courteous interest as the servants bent over his feet, but then he saw something that brought him fully alert.

  In the back, at the very end of the line, stood Kevla.

  She was veiled, of course, and had her hair properly covered. But he knew it was her. He would know her slender, full form, her carriage, anywhere.

  Had she learned what they hoped she would? Now Jashemi was even more impatient to be done with the ceremony, but he knew that each person who came up the stairs had value to him and to the Clan. He tried to return his attention to his duty, but he kept glancing back as the line grew shorter and Kevla, scorned servant and Bai-sha, his half sister and dearest person in the world to him, drew closer.