by Mike Grinti
I should have told him I was scared too, she thought, floating in the darkness between the waking world and dreams. But it was too late, and soon sleep took her.
Jala slept late the next day, but eventually she knew she’d have to go out and face Azi. They were seated beside one another now, but they said almost as little as they had when they’d sat at either end of the ship. This, Jala noted, in spite of everything he’d said about learning more about each other.
What made the whole long journey even more frustrating was that despite being annoyed by him, she still couldn’t help wanting to be near him. But just sitting next to him all day made her want to throw something—or someone—overboard.
She lay in bed that night, again unable to sleep, waiting for the sound of footsteps just outside her door. She wasn’t going to go to him again, but he would come to her, she was sure of it.
He didn’t come. Not that night, and not the next, and then there were no more nights left between them and the First Isle.
A hot, humid rain fell that morning, and they sat together. Her dress was damp and clung to her skin, and she pulled at it in irritation.
“I’m sorry the journey wasn’t more exciting,” Azi said. “It wasn’t what I wanted for us.”
“You could have changed it easily enough. You’ve hardly spoken to me this whole time,” Jala said, not bothering to mask her frustration. “I’m sure your uncle’s pleased.”
“My uncle . . . isn’t speaking much to me either. He’s been taking mournroot again, I think. I’m sorry I’ve been like this. It will be better soon, I promise. I’ll make sure of it. All that’s left is the gifting ceremony, and then you’ll get to see your new home. My home. I hope you like it.”
Jala wanted to say something to show him that she hadn’t forgiven him, but then he reached out and took her hand, and for a moment she held her breath. “I hope I like it too,” she said, her voice quiet and uncertain. He squeezed her hand, and even though she knew something so small shouldn’t erase the boring days and lonely nights . . . it made her feel better.
In spite of the rain and the wet clothes, she smiled. They were both new to this. Things would be all right.
“There it is,” he said, pointing needlessly at the island that appeared out of the rain and mist. “The First Isle.”
“Sails at half,” the captain called. Two sailors were already by the mast, clearly anticipating the order. The sails slackened, and the already slow ship moved more slowly as the island grew closer and more distinct. Soon Jala could see the beach where they would land and where the gifting ceremony would be performed.
“Sails slack. Oars down,” the captain ordered. Oars were lowered into the water, and they were rowed ashore. Azi took her hand again to help her down off the ship. Jala didn’t need the help, but she took the hand anyway.
The other three families, the Gana, Rafa, and Nongo, had sailed ahead to land on the First Isle and make preparations for the gifting, and now they waited for Jala and Azi on the beach. Two wooden thrones had been set out for them, with palm fronds overhead to keep the rain off. They sat, and each of the ambassadors gave Jala gifts to welcome her and pledge their loyalty. There were fine dresses, combs and hairclips, rings and earrings.
The Rafa gave her a bird with a magnificent silver plume as fine as a spider’s web. “It speaks better than any bird found on our islands,” the Rafa ambassador said, “and sings songs from far-off lands that it never forgets.” The Gana gave her a bottle of rare and very beautiful purple dye that had the misfortune to smell like rotten fish. They also gave her a jar filled with a thick cream made from the liver of some fearsome mainland beast. “They say it will make your skin stay smooth and beautiful, like the sky on the night of a full moon. Though now I see that our queen is so beautiful she may never need it.”
The Nongo brought her many trinkets of gold and copper, and one final gift: a large, brittle tome filled with gilded markings. “You see?” the ambassador said, laughing. “On the mainland, their minds are so dull that they cannot remember their own tales. But the illustrations are very beautiful.”
Jala had heard of the mainlander art called writing, but she’d never seen it before. It seemed so ridiculous, like catching fish with your feet instead of throwing a net with your hands. Careful to keep the rain off of the paper, she opened the book. The pictures were beautiful, just as the man had said. One caught her eyes as she continued to turn the pages: a man and a woman, fighting. Each of them wore a different mask over their faces. The man stood on a mountain, and on his mask was drawn a mountain. He held stones in his hands and threw them at the woman. She stood atop a wave or winding river, and her mask was a serpentine river. The stones did not hit her, and her river broke against the mountain.
Jala realized she was holding her breath, losing herself in the picture the way she might lose herself in the words of the very best storyteller.
“Thank you,” she said. “A truly unique gift. Perhaps I will hold a contest to see which island’s storyteller can find meaning in these pictures.”
The ambassador smiled widely. “I have no doubt the Nongo would win such a contest, but the tales themselves would be a gift to all the islands. Wondrous new tales for a wondrous new queen. A promising start, yes?”
“Did your raiders find you a golden tongue, too, my lord?” Jala asked with a laugh. She dismissed him with a wave of her hands. The Nongo ambassador bowed and walked away, still smiling with self-satisfaction.
Jala looked down at the book again, flipping to another page. Someone had drawn thick, dark lines through the writing here and obscured the drawing with streaks of dark ink. She thought it might be flames, but it could just as easily be another mountain.
A promising start . . . not if her father had his way. But what could she do? No more than the river could, beating itself against the mountain.
Her family’s presents waited for her in her room. By tradition, they gave her old, familiar things to help her feel more at home when she arrived: drapes from her old room, a pair of her mother’s earrings, one of Marjani’s dresses. Jala decided she wouldn’t have it resized. She set the birdcage on a windowsill, and after a few minutes the bird repeated several dirty jokes. She wondered what she was supposed to do now that she was queen.
Of course, her parents already had their plans laid out.
The Bardo are royalty now, her father had said. Why should we scuttle after scraps when others eat from the table? The Rafa were great once, I don’t deny it, but now they’re old and weak. They don’t have the ships to raid all the lands they lay claim to. It’s time for us to get our share.
“I just have to figure out how to make it happen,” Jala told the bird.
Her father was right; the Rafa were too weak to raid all of their towns and caravans. But the Rafa were proud, and they’d blame her. When she brought it up, her father had just laughed and said, “Rafa anger is like the mountain’s fart. It’s harmless, and the stink will pass soon enough once the winds blow.”
She needed to speak with Azi. But when she opened her door, a maidservant was there, standing in her way like a very polite boulder.
“I want to see the king,” Jala said. “Please take me to him. I haven’t learned my way around yet.”
“Wouldn’t my queen prefer to rest after her journey?” the woman asked, not making any move to let her pass. “I can bring you fruit and wine if you’re hungry. The hot springs are close by. If you don’t mind the rain, it’s very restful.”
“I’ve been resting for three days,” Jala said with a sigh. “I’m sorry, I should have asked you your name.”
The woman smiled. “Iliana, my queen.”
“Hello, Iliana.” As impatient as she felt, Jala decided she probably should eat, or she’d be hungry and irritable. And she shouldn’t take her frustration out on a stranger. “The food does sound good, and the wine. I’ll take both. When I’m finished, will you tell the king I want to see him?”
Azi came to Jala’s room two hours later. He leaned against the wall near the door. “Are you glad the ceremonies are behind us? There’ll still be a feast tonight for the other families. They’ll all drink to your health until they can’t walk straight, but it should be low on speeches. They’ll be saving that for tomorrow.”
“For the Sectioning?”
Azi nodded. “I’ve never had to preside over it before. But you won’t have to worry about it. Just don’t drink too much, or all the shouting will make your head hurt. But I don’t want to think about that right now. How do you like the First Isle so far? You haven’t seen much of it yet, but you will as soon as things slow down a little. Just wait until there’s a cold wind blowing and you sit in the hot springs. You’ll never want to leave, I promise.”
“Iliana already told me about them. They do sound nice.”
Azi’s face fell a little. Did he really think she was dependent on him to learn everything about her new home? “Oh. Well, there are other things I can show you. How about food? We have so many different things. There’s food in the cellars that no one’s even tried yet, from all over the coast and far into the mainland where there’s no river to carry our ships.”
“Hmm, I don’t think I want to be the first to try something no one knows how to cook.”
“I want you to like it here,” Azi said. “What can I do to make your stay here better? I haven’t given you a wedding present yet. I’m king now, might as well do something worthwhile with it all. Tell me what you want and it’s yours.”
“Oh,” Jala said. “Thank you.” She fell silent. What did she want? The question had caught her off guard. Before, she would have said, I want to be queen, but she had that now.
I want him to love me.
Where had that thought even come from? She wasn’t supposed to want his love, not like this. Not if it meant she might love him, too. She’d been taught from a young age that love was something you felt for your family, and with that love came duty. While her cousins could hope to build love out of their marriages, and the villagers and sailors could marry whoever they wanted, her father always said romantic love would only blind her.
She didn’t feel blinded. She felt free for the first time, giddy to be feeling something that wasn’t supposed to be for her. But love wasn’t something you could just ask for.
“Well?” Azi said, smiling expectantly. “There must be something you’ve always dreamed of having.”
She wanted him to love her, but she couldn’t ask for that. If he could give that, he’d give it freely. And if not . . . she tried not to think about that and instead concentrated on something else. Jewels, clothes, she had all that. She had an exotic bird, even if it did sing the worst songs. Maybe a storyteller to recite all the Forty Tales of Love for them. She’d heard most of them already from her cousins, laughing with Marjani the whole time, but she’d always tried to imagine what it would be like to hear them in some sailor’s arms.
But no. They could have that too easily enough, if he wanted it, and asking now would only be a frustrating tease if there wasn’t anything they could actually do.
A kiss? Simple and heartfelt, something she could have at any time but worth the price of a precious jewel. It would be a nice gesture, at least. A better start than they’d had so far. Just a kiss, nothing more, and it would be enough for now. Maybe it would help them start over.
But even as she opened her mouth to say it another thought came to her, souring her fantasies like a bad smell. Jala’s excitement vanished. Her parents would never forgive her if she wasted such a perfect opportunity. She knew what she had to ask for. What she was supposed to want. “I want you to give my family the city of Two Bones at the Sectioning tomorrow.”
Azi laughed. “What? I can’t just take the Rafa’s city from them.”
“You can, if you make it a present. Tomorrow, at the Sectioning.”
Azi’s smile was gone now. “You’ve only been here a day. Don’t you want to . . . can’t you wait for your clothes to be unpacked and your bed to be slept in before you start making enemies?”
Jala shrugged. “My father says we’re all enemies, we just haven’t fought in two hundred years.”
“Well, my uncle says the Bardo are like sharks only without the good manners, but I don’t always listen to him.”
“You asked what I wanted,” Jala said. “And I told you. You can’t keep throwing the fact that you disobeyed your uncle to marry me back in my face.”
“Yes, and I thought I married you, not your father.” Azi stopped speaking and took a deep breath. “I don’t know how we managed to turn this into an argument. That can’t be what you want, not really. It’s what your family wants. I want to give something to you, not for Jala of the Bardo or Jala the queen of the Five-and-One.”
Jala was silent for a moment. “I’m all of those things. I never pretended not to be. This matters to me. My family matters to me.”
“I thought you were different,” Azi said. “Not just a tool for your family.”
Jala flinched but didn’t let her gaze waver. I am different! she wanted to say, though a part of her wondered about even that. She made herself respond. “You mean you thought I’d just sleep through all the parts where we actually rule. If that’s it, I don’t know who you were walking with on that beach when we met. But it wasn’t me.”
“That’s not what I meant—”
Jala shook her head. “You asked what I wanted, not what you wanted to give me. If you want to take back your gift, just say so.”
“No, you’re right. I offered you anything you wanted, but I expected . . . it doesn’t matter. Are you sure this is what you want?”
No, Jala thought. “Yes,” she said.
“As you wish, my queen. If you’ll excuse me, I’m tired from the journey, and I haven’t seen my mother in weeks.”
Then he was gone.
Jala shut the door behind him and sat down on the bed. Queens don’t cry, her mother had told her. “Well?” she said to the bird the Rafa had given her. “Sing me something, one of those beautiful foreign songs you’re supposed to know. Or are you just a joke they decided to play on me?” The bird sang, in a language she didn’t understand. It was beautiful, just as they said. But it sounded like a love song. Everything the bird sang sounded like a love song.
She finally had to throw a shoe at the bird to make it stop.
That evening, dinner went as Azi had predicted. The wine flowed freely, though Jala noticed that Azi, like her, drank little. They danced together, but Azi held her stiffly and his speech was distant and formal. Jala excused herself from any further dancing and sulked at the table. He can’t stay mad forever. You did what you had to, and he knows it. He would have done the same thing for his family, and everyone would expect as much because he’s a man.
Once everyone tired of dancing, they ate the main course. Tonight it was salted meats from the mainland and freshly caught fish, followed by sweet cakes made from coconut milk.
After that everyone settled down to drinking and boasting. A Nongo captain told Jala about how his ship had found the book of tales given to her as a present.
“The winds were weak, and we found ourselves in some kind of strange undertow, pulling us off course. We had no idea at all where we’d landed and were afraid we’d be going home with nothing more than the laundry off some fisherman’s lines. Not that we saw any fishermen, even. It was all rocks and mountains.
“But then old Adisa saw something up on the cliff. You’d never see it if you weren’t looking at it from the right angle, and if you didn’t have Adisa’s hawk-eyes. Lucky for us, it turned out. We spent two days trying to find a way up, and when we’d almost given up, there it was, a hidden path with a small spring bubbling nearby.
“We snuck in, and we found old men, books, and gold. More old men than gold, as our luck would have it, but there was enough to fill the holds and bring back something special for my queen. They flung themselves on the book,
those old men, trying to keep us from it. We made sure not to get any blood on it, though. You know what they say: blood on the gift makes bad blood between you. And that goes double for queens, I’m sure.”
Jala’d heard the saying before but hadn’t really thought about it much. She pictured the old men huddling with their books, imagined Nongo sailors using clubs and sword hilts instead of blades to keep the pages clean. They wouldn’t have killed them all, Jala reminded herself. Just the ones who tried to stop them. That was another saying. Whatever you can take belongs to you, but leave a little for next time. It was just the way things were. Even before the first king and queen the ships of the Five had raided along the mainland’s shores and down its rivers. The shark didn’t spend too much time wondering if it was wrong to eat the fish.
The other families’ captains all had similar stories, of raiding towns and catching caravans unawares. Even the ambassadors spent much of their time reliving old raids, and the more they drank the more they tried to outdo each other. After a while all of the stories started to sound the same.
When she’d sat through enough of the stories to satisfy politeness, Jala excused herself and retreated to her rooms.
She laid in bed and flipped through the Nongo’s book by the light of the moon shining through a window. It seemed so foolish to write stories down like that. Stories were alive. They had to change depending on what someone needed at the time of the telling, and they couldn’t do that pinned to a sheet of paper.
She liked the illustrations, though. As she examined each intricately painted page, she tried to imagine what stories might be told about them. After a while, she fell asleep.
During the Sectioning of the mainland the next day the ambassadors and captains sat slumped in their seats. One even rested his forehead against the table.
Jala leaned over to Azi, who seemed much less hungover than the rest. “Are you sure they’re alive?” she whispered.