by May, K. C.
“Jora!”
From the beach, Tearna beckoned her with waving arms. Had time passed so quickly? It seemed she’d arrived only a moment ago. She waved back. A few more minutes.
She played a few notes of her favorite song, adjusting her fingering when she got them wrong. She played them again and again, getting them right after the third attempt.
A joyful twitter broke her concentration. She looked down to find a bottlenose dolphin eyeing her from the water near her feet, its mouth open as if in a smile.
“Hail,” she said, charmed by the creature’s friendly greeting. “Did my flute playing disturb you?”
The dolphin rose out of the water a few inches and twittered some more.
Jora laughed. “I’ll get better, I promise. In the meantime, you might want to find another place to nap or hunt or whatever you were doing. I plan to come here to practice every spare moment I can.”
To her surprise, the dolphin whistled the same notes she’d played—the correct notes, as if it knew which of her attempts was the right one.
“How did... You just...”
The creature twittered again and rolled in the water. It acted like it was flirting with her.
“Do it again.” She waited, but the dolphin merely watched her with one dark eye. She lifted the flute and played the notes.
And the dolphin repeated them.
“Goodness!” This was astounding. Jora wondered whether she had unwittingly found a way to say hail or something else in Dolphinese. Then it struck her that the name of the piece was Song of the Sea Spirit. Perhaps the enchanting melody hadn’t been composed by a human at all but a dolphin. A sea spirit.
“Jora!” Tearna was waving more frantically now.
Boden’s Antenuptial. “Oh, Challenger’s bollocks!” She scuttled to her feet. This was the one event she couldn’t be late for. She started to run back to shore, but stopped and returned to the edge of the rocks. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” she said to the dolphin. “I hope to see you again.”
With that, the dolphin rose up onto its powerful tail, twittered happily, and dove back into the water.
Jora laughed and waved before running back to the beach.
Chapter 2
The town looked deserted by the time Jora made it back. She laid the flute on her workbench before running to the civic hall. Entering by the rear door, she found everyone already seated, facing the dais in the front of the hall. Those who’d arrived late stood along the outer walls and along the back wall, the benches already taken.
She caught her mother’s disapproving glare and gave her a dim, apologetic smile. Briana waved to her, and she made her way past people seated on the end of the row to join her cousin and Tearna. Three-year-old Ransom sat quietly in Tearna’s lap, his eyelids heavy and his body leaning against hers. Briana sat beside her six-year-old daughter, who seemed enraptured by the affair. “Pardon,” she said, squeezing herself between Tearna and an older woman she knew only from sight.
“I saw Boden in his robe a minute ago,” Briana said, leaning forward to look at Jora. “He looked so handsome.”
“Just like his papa,” Tearna said, winking.
Gunnar was sitting in the front row with eight of his nine children and all four wives. On his lap sat his daughter Ricca by Third Wife Janli. The smallest ones sat on the laps of their mothers, and the two elder children, Welliam and Sharten, assisted with the toddlers. All Gunnar’s children had his dark brown hair, even Ricca, whose mother was probably the blondest woman in town. Looking over his shoulder, he caught Jora’s eye and acknowledged her with a nod.
When the council leader stepped onto the dais, the civic hall quieted. At the front of the room was a table upon which sat a row of wooden cups, each adorned with a ribbon of a different color. Beside each cup was a wooden stick of the Son Maker tree with the bark removed to expose the sensitive bare wood. Three councilwomen conferred beside the table. One of them used her finger to count the cups while the two others whispered about the content of a tablet one of them was holding. They caught the attention of the council leader and whispered something into her ear.
Jora watched curiously, as did nearly everyone else in the hall, until the council leader’s gaze swept across the audience of some two thousand villagers as if she were looking for someone. To Jora’s horror, the council leader pointed directly at her. One of the councilwomen peered at her, nodded, and walked down the aisle toward her row. With every step, Jora felt her heartbeat quicken and her face warm hotter.
“Jora Lanseri,” the woman said, crooking a finger in a beckoning gesture. “I need a word with you, dear.”
Jora shot her two friends a horrified look before standing. Tearna squeezed her hand reassuringly, and Jora excused herself to step over the feet and around the knees of those beside her on the bench. Under the curious gazes of two thousand of her relatives, friends, neighbors, and the rest of the townsfolk, she followed the councilwoman to the door in the front of the hall. Jora felt the blood draining from her face and pooling in her feet as they grew heavier with every step. She followed the councilwoman into the front chamber.
The councilwoman stopped and faced her. Jora judged her to be in her forties, perhaps a teacher or midwife—someone who dealt with children, for she had kindly blue eyes and wrinkles around her mouth and eyes from smiling.
“Councilwoman, what’s wrong?” she asked.
“It seems this is your last chance to submit for the Antenuptial before your twenty-third birthday,” the councilwoman said.
“Yes, but—”
“Do you find Boden Sayeg objectionable on a personal level?”
“No, of course not. We’ve been friends for years.”
“Then I urge you to submit. According to our records, the only marriage between a Lanseri and a Sayeg in the last fifty years is your cousin Briana and Boden’s third cousin, Jalen. For the sake of diversity within our town, it’s important that you submit.”
“Even if I qualified, he wouldn’t choose me,” she argued. “We’ve already discussed it. I don’t want to marry him, and he doesn’t want to marry me.”
“Jora, please—”
“No.” She considered suggesting there were surely other men whose families had no marriages with Lanseri women, but that would be disingenuous. Once she turned twenty-three, she would marry Gunnar. Not only would the councilwoman’s concern about a Lanseri-Sayeg union be laid to rest, but Jora’s own sense of duty, that nagging voice urging her to comply for the good of her people, would be silenced as well. Telling the councilwoman that, however, was problematic, for Gunnar’s near-proposal might have the appearance of impropriety and having influenced Jora’s decision not to submit for his son’s Antenuptial. The last thing she wanted was for Gunnar to be censured for what was an innocent and honest communication. “I understand the need for diversity, I do, but I’m not going to submit for Boden, especially knowing he won’t choose me. I’ve suffered that humiliation dozens of times, and I won’t do it again.”
The councilwoman pinched her lips together sympathetically and nodded. “I understand. May I at least give you this cup, in the event you change your mind?”
Jora stepped back and held up her hands, refusing the cup. “I’ve given this a lot of thought over the last couple of months. I won’t change my mind in the next ten minutes.”
She sighed. “Very well. Shall we return? The assembly is waiting.”
Jora groaned, knowing two thousand pairs of eyes would be watching her come out, waiting to see whether she’d peed in a cup. With a deep breath to draw courage into her heart, she followed the councilwoman out of the room and hurried back down the center aisle, her head high but her eyes directed at the floor so she wouldn’t have to meet those two thousand curious gazes. People whispered “Good luck” or asked “Did you submit?” as she walked past them. Someone muttered something she didn’t hear, but it prompted a ripple of laughter. Jora considered walking past her row and right out th
e door, but she couldn’t miss Boden’s Antenuptial and wedding.
“They made you submit?” Tearna whispered as she took her seat.
“No. She tried to guilt me into it, but I held strong.”
Tearna raised her eyebrows. “Who are you and what have you done with Jora?”
In the front row, Gunnar was half-standing, half-turned around, watching her with intense interest. She smiled at him, hoping that would assure him that all was well. On his right, Anika tugged his arm, pulling him back onto the bench.
“People of Kaild,” said the council leader. A hush settled over the crowd. “Thank you for your patience. We apologize for the delay. Today we’re gathered to witness the selection of a wife for Boden Sayeg, who becomes a man on this day.”
The room erupted in cheers and applause while Boden came through a door in the back of the room and stepped up onto the dais behind the table of pee cups. He wore a floor-length ceremonial robe in deep brown with the red-streaked white flowers of the Son Maker tree embroidered around the hem, cuffs, and neckline. His cheeks reddened under the attention, which made Jora smile. He’d always been uncomfortable with effusive praise or affection and with expressing his own feelings, though he made it plain through his actions how he felt. He was quiet and hard-working, dependable and focused, a boy much more likely to be the one offering support than receiving it. She was proud of the man he’d become, and she cheered more loudly than those around her.
When the noise died down, the council leader stepped up to the table. “Here we have the submissions of five girls who would like the chance to become Boden’s First Wife. Should any of these girls qualify, you are free to choose one or more of them to take as your wife or wives, but only one can be named your First Wife. It is she who will receive your first seed, and it is she who bears the responsibility of attending to your affairs while you’re away. Are there any girls who have not yet submitted who would like to before testing is begun?”
Boden looked directly at her, his thumbs pressed together and his fingertips tapping rhythmically. She gave him a dim smile, and he lowered his gaze to the floor.
The audience remained quiet but for a small eruption of giggles from a group of girls who looked to be about fourteen or fifteen, too young to wed. A few people turned their heads to Jora. Tearna nudged her playfully, took her by the wrist, and started to raise her arm.
“Stop,” Jora whispered fiercely, pressing her arm firmly into her lap.
“Then let us begin. Councilwoman Omondi?”
The councilwoman dipped each of the prepared wooden sticks into the cups, going down the line until each cup had a stick from the Son Maker in it, leaning against its lip. She returned to the first one, tied with a green ribbon, and pulled the stick from the cup. “Green is fertile.”
A squeal broke the silence from the front of the hall, and a redhead shot to her feet and danced in place.
“Red is fertile.”
The beautiful Hanna Molnar stood. Though she made no sound, the smile on her face when she turned to wave at someone in the audience made it clear she was pleased.
“Blue is fertile,” Omondi said.
Micah leaped to her feet and clapped for herself. The gesture didn’t come across as arrogant or boastful, simply joyful. People chuckled.
“Yellow is fertile. Violet is not fertile.”
Another leatherworking apprentice, Shiri, who wore the yellow ribbon, stood, but the poor girl wearing violet burst into tears. People muttered “Aww” or clicked their tongues in pity, which was the worst part, though it was nearly impossible for a girl not to cry when she was the only one to be disqualified in front of everyone. Jora knew this from experience.
“From these four girls, Boden Sayeg,” the council leader said, “do you choose a wife?”
Hanna Molnar lifted her chin and gazed around with an air of superiority.
“Look at her,” Tearna whispered. “She’s so sure he’ll pick her. I hope he doesn’t.”
“Shh!” Jora said.
Boden looked at each of the girls in turn, acknowledging them with a nod. He blinked slowly and then turned to the council leader. The room was as still as night. “Yes, I do, Madam Councilwoman. I choose Micah, wearer of the blue ribbon.”
Hanna gasped, and her hands slapped over her mouth.
“Yes,” someone whispered behind Jora. She turned on the bench to see her brother Loel’s smiling face and couldn’t help but smile back. He’d been smitten with Hanna for some time, perhaps since he had first started noticing that girls were prettier than boys. His Antenuptial was a few weeks away, and he would be the next boy with the opportunity to take Hannah as his First Wife, assuming she was fertile then. If she did submit, she would probably be disqualified.
Everyone—or nearly everyone—applauded while Micah joined Boden on the dais and hooked her arm in his as if she were afraid he would try to escape.
“Congratulations, Micah. You’ve been chosen as First Wife to Boden Sayeg. Do you have any objections?”
“Challenger’s mighty fists, no! I’m honored to be selected.”
A chuckle ripped across the audience.
“Boden, do you choose a Second Wife?” Omondi asked.
“No,” Loel whispered. “Say no.”
Boden avoided looking at the remaining girls. “Not at this time.” The remaining girls took their seats, not nearly as excited as they’d been only moments earlier.
The bride and groom joined hands, Boden’s right to Micah’s left, and the two were tied together at the wrists with the blue ribbon. After exchanging mutual pledges to honor each other by building a family around this core, they were pronounced man and woman, husband and wife.
Jora shot to her feet, applauding furiously, though she paused to wipe away a tear. A small part of her was jealous of Micah, having received the pledge of such a good-hearted man, but mostly she was happy for Boden. Now he was a man about to father his first child.
Boden and Micah, their hands still joined and tied together, ran laughing through a rain of Son Maker tree seeds to the door. Everyone cheered as they followed the couple outside. It took a few minutes for everyone to file out of the civic hall and join them in the dining hall. Micah fed Boden fruit from the Son Maker in the hopes they would conceive a son. The townsfolk, led by the town’s choir, sang a song of fertility to the newlyweds, toasted them with a sip of wine, and bid them love and happiness in their union.
The wedding feast lasted an hour, partly because the newlyweds were required to eat with their hands tied together. Boden, being right-handed, had to eat with his left hand, though once Micah had finished, she fed him with her free hand. It was an amusing sight, watching Boden blush under the scrutiny of the townspeople and her occasional kiss. While they ate, the musicians played, which captivated Jora’s attention more so than the antics of the newly married couple or the food on her own plate. When they finally played Song of the Sea Spirit, she closed her eyes and let the music take her away.
The flute solo teased her soul like a memory that was a hair out of reach. Something was missing from her life, something significant, but she had no idea what. She would have been perfectly content with her life if it weren’t for that song. It made her yearn for that missing element, and it made her mind clench, trying to figure out what it could be. When the song came to an end, she wept silent tears of longing.
“What’s wrong?” Tearna asked. “Are you sorry you didn’t submit?”
Jora wiped her eyes. “No. It’s that song.”
“I’ve never known anyone who was moved so deeply by a silly song,” Briana said. “I think you missed your calling. You should have been a musician instead of a leatherworker.”
Perhaps her cousin was right. “It’s too late now. I’m too old to begin an apprenticeship.”
“Did she tell you what Boden gave her?” Tearna asked, popping a small meatball into her mouth. “A flute.”
Briana gasped. “He didn’t.”
&
nbsp; Jora nodded. “He did. I was playing it on the shoal when Tearna came to get me.” An image of the dolphin came to her mind. There was something significant in the way it whistled part of the song. Excitement began as a dim red coal in her chest, warming her. She had to go back to the shoal and play the flute. If the same dolphin returned and whistled those notes again, then she would know it wasn’t simply a coincidence.
Briana’s mouth dropped open. “A promissory?”
“What? No!” Jora said, her mind snapping back to the present moment.
“What’s a promissory?” Tearna asked.
“Never mind,” Jora said. “It’s not. It’s just a gift.”
“But you’re not leaving,” Briana argued. “Why would he give you a gift if it wasn’t a promissory? Especially one as lavish as a flute?”
“What in Retar’s name is a promissory?” Tearna asked.
Briana explained the concept of a promissory to Tearna, but Jora waved it off. Briana was wrong. She didn’t know Boden like Jora did. They were close friends, that was all. He’d never been effusive or particularly demonstrative with his feelings, and so giving her a gift upon his leaving, one she would find especially valuable, simply communicated the affection he’d never really spoken... Oh, God’s Challenger! It was a promissory.
Jora buried her face in her hands, trying to rationalize to herself why it couldn’t be. They’d agreed a marriage between them would be awkward. Had he agreed with her simply because she’d said it first?
Tearna massaged Jora’s shoulders. “Cheer up. Feelings change in ten years.”
She looked up at her friends. She could only hope, especially considering she was planning to marry his father, the man Boden would least want to see her with.
Chapter 3
When Boden opened the outer door of the marriage chamber the morning after his wedding, about a hundred people greeted the newly wedded couple with cheers and applause. He felt the familiar heat fill his cheeks, but Micah beamed. She’d been more prepared for the Antenuptials, wedding, and marital consummation than Boden had, despite the fact that she was a year and a half younger. He supposed that girls were groomed for this as boys were groomed for war.