Fragmented

by Madeline Dyer

  Behind me, I hear several sharp intakes of breath and low murmurings.

  The man grins as he leaves.

  The woman smiles. “I’m Soraya.”

  “Seven,” I say, a little wary. I try not to look at her stomach, then realize I’m subconsciously covering my own with my arms.

  “I know your name,” she says. The dark circles under her eyes make her face seem smaller. She turns her head, looks back out toward the rest of the room.

  I follow her gaze, then search for Corin. Or any signs of him. But I can’t see him. They’ve probably taken him far away—he’d still be shouting after me. I press my hands together in my lap; they’re clammy.

  “Come on,” Soraya says. “You have to look good for your welcoming, else the Gods might not let you become Zharat. I’ve still got my dress from my ceremony. It’s a sort-of red.” She sizes me up, and the way she looks at me suddenly makes me think of my brother. She has the same look in her eyes as Three had when he was making radios.

  I look away quickly.

  “Yes,” Soraya says, “the dress should fit. I’ve never been as high status as you, even when I was new here, but the color will do—I don’t know if anyone’s still got a full dress that’s really bright red anyway, so the Gods will understand. But we can accessorize it. Adhylia and Keicha have both got some red ribbons they’ll lend you, I’m sure. And my dress will look lovely on you. You’ve got the right figure. Though you’re tall, aren’t you? It might be a bit short.”

  The deep-orange dress is very short—though it has a high neckline that covers my Seer pendant beneath the fabric—and I don’t think it’s done up correctly at the back. Doesn’t feel secure. There’s also a stain—a stain that Soraya tells me is her blood—down the front, marring the ornate embroidery work and beading. But there’s nothing I can do now because our welcoming ceremonies are starting. Anyway, it’s not that noticeable. What’s more noticeable are the neon orange ribbons in my hair—Soraya’s face had dropped when she found she’d remembered the color incorrectly—and the fluorescent pink bands around my wrists that another woman, Olive, found for me. She told me it was important to emphasize my status to the Gods in my welcoming, but the red flower tucked in my hair is barely noticeable, and Olive seemed worried as she left.

  Four older children are playing the drums now; they keep a monotonous beat going. There’s a lot of light in here with the amount of bulbs that are rigged up across the tube’s ceiling, and I don’t like it. It’s disorientating, and the brightness burns my eyes.

  Huge red and black curtains hang along several walls, and furs and hides are spread over the center of the floor in a perfect circle. People—so many of them—thickly line the walls, all standing in silence.

  “Welcome.” Manning stands in the center of the circle of furs, his arms spread wide. He wears a long black cloak, and his braids look like the ends have been dipped in tar. Then he looks at me, takes in my appearance, and frowns. “Why ain’t you wearing a red dress? That’s your color—the best red, the brightest red, woman. Marcus said he passed on the message. Could no one find you one? There must be one…” He looks around then points at a woman who’s wearing a purple frock. “What happened to the gown you had six years ago?”

  She squeaks something back in a voice that sounds like it hasn’t been used in just as many years, then steps back, allowing the crowd to swallow her.

  Manning turns to me, disapproval written on his face. “You’ve gotta dress appropriately for your status, woman, else you’ll lose it. You must wear something red all the time, but you must wear more red for the Gods, in the ceremonies. Make an effort. I’ll make sure your status be apparent this time, but from now on, dress in your rightful color. Red.” His eyes narrow, but, before I can say anything, he inclines his head toward the space next to him. “Stand there.”

  I walk over there, heart pounding. Everyone is watching. There are a lot of people squashed in, but I know not all the Zharat are here. Soraya told me that a lot will be preparing the feast, that it’s a privilege to be told by the chief that you can be involved in preparation for a welcoming—let alone a double ceremony—and most of the children will be in the nursing chamber, out of the way. The Gods apparently don’t like many children present in ceremonies.

  I also asked Soraya about Esther, but the Zharat woman didn’t know anything, other than that healers can’t be interrupted. She was confident that when Esther’s awake, Manning will tell me and Corin.

  A quick flick of my head tells me Jed is the nearest person I recognize, besides Manning. Soraya seems to have melted into the wall. And Corin… I can’t see him. I press my lips together, try to remain calm.

  Manning smiles at me as I reach his side—but it is not a smile I want to receive. I stand a few feet from him. I look around. But everyone’s quiet. They’re all watching me. I try to think: am I supposed to do something? When Soraya sorted out the orange dress for me, she told me my part in the ritual would be self-explanatory, but now everyone’s staring at me expectantly, and I don’t know what to do.

  Manning turns to me, and the tarry ends of his braids glisten under the bright light.

  “Where’s Corin?”

  I feel my heart rate rise. What if he’s gone, escaped? But he wouldn’t, would he? He wouldn’t just leave… He wouldn’t leave me and Esther here….

  “I don’t know.”

  A man steps forward, and my eyes are drawn to the bison tattoo on his forehead. One of the Zharat Seers. I know I’m right, though I can’t spot a pendant around his neck. No crystal anywhere that I can see… But it doesn’t just have to be crystal does it? My mother said something about it once, but I curse silently, can’t remember. I never paid much attention to her Seer talk before, because I only became one after she left—after she surrendered herself to the Enhanced to save Rahn and Corin. Hidden under my dress, my Seer pendant radiates a flash of warmth, and, for a moment, I’m terrified that this Zharat Seer has recognized me, that he knows what I am.

  I hold my breath, then swallow hard.

  But the man isn’t looking at me. He has a small drum—skin stretched over a bone frame—attached to his waist, and now he beats it with what looks like a small bird’s leg bone. But his rhythm is out of time with the children’s, and the sounds grate on my ears.

  “This be unfortunate, woman.” It’s the worst lie Manning’s told yet.

  My stomach clenches, my eyes water a little. I look around again, searching for Corin. But there are so many people in here now, and the only ones who stand out are Manning and the Seer.

  A baby starts crying.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  I turn at Corin’s voice, see him pushing through a group of blue-clad women. He looks a little sweaty, as if he’s been rushing around.

  Corin smiles broadly as he joins Manning and myself in the center of the room. His eyes meet mine, and—for a second—I’m sure he’s trying to tell me something. But I’ve no idea what. I just concentrate on stilling my shaking legs, and trying not to fall over.

  Manning turns and addresses his people in words I don’t understand. There are nods. A few shakes of the head.

  Then Manning turns back to us, indicates for us to stand closer together. We do. Corin’s arm brushes against mine. I shiver a little.

  “You must stand still,” Manning says. He pauses between each word as though he’s having trouble breathing. “Moving will fail your initiation. Both of you.”

  My heart races.

  “Initiation?” Corin says.

  “Stand still. We can’t afford to have stupid people in our tribe.”

  I stand still. As still as I can. I look straight ahead, then I pick out Nyesha from the crowd. She’s wearing a beautiful yellow dress—where the color gets brighter as it moves to the hem—and she looks tense, her eyes focused on a spot somewhere behind me.

  I listen, not daring to move. There’s rustling. It fills my ears. Murmurs. And footsteps. I hone in on those, my
breaths getting louder. More footsteps, closer now. I glance at Manning, then at the Seer, careful not to move my head, and—

  A knife skims my ear.

  I narrowly avoid screaming, force myself not to move just as another blade whizzes past me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Corin flinch. But I can’t turn my head toward him, can’t check he’s okay.

  “Get down!” the Seer yells, and then he is a blur of falling movement.

  I throw myself down onto the furs. But they don’t help much. I crash into the stone floor. Pain in my chest and bad shoulder. I drag huge gulping breaths of ragged air in, tensing slightly. A moment later, I raise my head, listening. Footsteps again. But they’re leaving, not approaching us.

  Corin’s lying next to me, also on his stomach. The Seer’s on his side, watching us. His eyes are dark and beady. Like a hawk. A hawk who perpetually watches as he circles, never missing a thing.

  Slowly, the Seer stands.

  The Zharat start clapping. A low rumble.

  I stay lying on the floor, my elbows poking out, in case I need to spring up at any second. I think Corin is in the same position, but I’m too scared to turn.

  “Stand.” The Seer’s voice is loud.

  Corin and I jump up in unison. I grab at my dress, pull the hem back down.

  Manning lips peel back a little. “Well done.” His tone is cynical. “You can take orders without questioning.”

  He beckons toward the crowd, and two men step forward. They are both holding knives. A woman follows them. She has a small bowl in her hands. I strain my neck to see what is in it: some sort of black liquid. Her hair is piled up high on her head, in loose plaits. She is dressed in a dark red hue that borders on brown. Both men wear loincloths. Nothing else. The sight of so much of their skin makes me uneasy, yet I know it’s silly. I showered with Corin, and he was just wearing his boxers. It’s not that much different.

  But these men are huge. Their muscles bulge from them, make them look unnatural. And they’re covered in tattoos.

  “Sit down.”

  Corin and I do as instructed, and Manning addresses the gathering room in that strange language. I turn my head, look at Corin. He frowns a little, then straightens his expression as Manning turns back to us.

  “You will have our sign on you now,” Manning says to us. “And you will begin to learn the Zharat language tonight. The Seers say that the Gods have accepted you.”

  I start to nod, but the men with the knives are suddenly so close. One seizes my arm. His fingers are surprisingly short, chubby, and—

  He stabs the knife into the inside of my elbow.

  Sharp, hot pain fills me. I scream, but my scream cuts off as Corin’s loud grunt fills the room. My head pounds as I turn to look at him. I see the blood, oozing across his arm. Across my arm. Down onto Soraya’s dress. A strange sensation fills my ears.

  The woman with the bowl steps forward, and the second man dips his forefinger into the bowl. Dark ink drips from his finger as he raises it. Then he smears it over my arm, over the fresh cut. I gasp, pain. Stinging.

  “Hereby, Seven Sarr’s welcomed to us.” Manning sounds strangely enthusiastic about what he’s saying. “She now be Seven Sarr of the Zharat. Seven’s a highly ranked woman, of the best red, proven herself courageous and brave, worthy. A valued asset. She also be unblessed. Any men who wish to fight for her have two days, starting now, to make a formal proposal through me.”

  My breath hitches, but I try to remain calm, remind myself to breathe.

  “Welcome, Seven Sarr of the Zharat!”

  There’s a loud cheer, and I don’t know where to look. So I look at Corin and continue to as Manning welcomes him to the Zharat.

  I can’t help but notice that the cheer for Corin’s welcoming is not as big as it was mine. But he doesn’t look annoyed. He looks like he’s barely noticed.

  He turns, smiling warmly at me. Very warmly. So warmly that my skin begins to crawl. I frown.

  Corin claps his hands three times. I frown, hadn’t realized we were supposed to do anything more. I start to raise my hands.

  “What is this?” Manning shouts. His face is red.

  The Seer’s suddenly by my side, trying to push Corin away from me.

  “No, Sev!” Corin shouts.

  I see him thrust his hand toward me. I see what’s in his hand.

  My head jerks up. I focus on his eyes. Warmth floods me. My mouth dries, my chest feels strange, too light. I can’t breathe. The room’s starting to spin, and all the Zharat faces whirl around me. Around me and Corin, and his hand with the—

  “Marry me, Seven.”

  The ring is simple, silver. One jewel. Pale green with a mauve aura. Like some of the ones I saw in the lava walls.

  It’s a Zharat ring. Somehow that seems significant….

  He doesn’t really want to marry you. He’s only proposing because the situation has forced him to.

  My next breath grates against my throat. I feel beads of sweat line the back of my neck, my spine, my legs. My Seer pendant feels strangely cold. I swallow hard, look up. The bulbs are pools of white light that try to blind me. My head fills with a jarring sensation.

  “Sev?” Corin’s eyes are urgent.

  I look at the ring again, feel something strange within me. Something I can’t put my finger on.

  “Yes.” The word jolts out of me.

  Then—I don’t know, the next few moments…well, too much happens. I can’t take it all in. All I can do is stare at the ring as Corin slides it onto my finger. It’s a little big, and it twists around so that the jewel is hidden from sight.

  My chest feels strange, my Seer pendant burns.

  Manning’s shouting. A lot of the Zharat are shouting.

  “We are now engaged,” Corin announces. “So there’s no point continuing with this warrior fight for my fiancée.” His voice is loud, and it’s as if he’s speaking more to them than me. It’s a public announcement. Not at all private or special like it’s supposed to be.

  I stiffen as there’s another collective intake of breath. Somewhere in the distance, a spirit shrieks. The Turning, it’s still going on. Manning said before they can last for days.

  “No,” Manning says. “Seven’s not engaged.”

  “But she accepted.” Corin’s grip on my hand gets tighter. “She wants to be with me.”

  I nod. “We’re together.”

  Manning’s eyes narrow. “Your engagement means nothing here.” His brow seems to get heavier as he glares at Corin. “Proposals must be made through me. I told you, respect our traditions. Though I’ll note your interest, and you can fight for her—I doubt you’ll win though, man. Not with the amount of attention she be garnering.”

  Corin shakes his head. “It’s not right that Sev can’t choose who she wants to be with it. Not right for any woman. What if—”

  “Seven will gladly wed the strongest suitor.” Manning’s eyes narrow even further. “He will be able to provide for her and her children the most efficiently. It is an effective system. Your engagement means nothing here,” he repeats. He looks at me. “Take the ring off.”

  Shivers run down my spine. The back of my front teeth taste bad. And the Zharat mark on my arm stings.

  “Take it off now.”

  I hold the chief’s gaze for as long as I can, before I do.

  “Take this as a warning,” Manning says in a low voice to Corin. Then he turns to the rest of his people—our people. “All official valid proposals and requests must be made through me, as always.”

  There’s a murmur, several men nod. I start to feel very sick.

  “Good.” Manning claps loudly. He speaks a few words in his language, then a few in ours. “We will now welcome Seven Sarr and Corin Eriksen. Let the celebrations begin.”

  The next few hours pass in a blur of dancing, drinking, and celebrating that I cannot get away from. Several times, I tried to get near Corin, squeezing between all the hands that kept grabbing me, bu
t no one would let me near him. And then he seemed to disappear.

  A woman now informs me that Corin went off in a mood after he asked Manning to tell him where Esther is, and Manning told him, in no uncertain terms, that he must not visit Esther until she’s awake, and the healers have finished, and he’s been given permission—and that Corin will be taken to his sister as soon as this is the case. Understandably, that made Corin angry. And it doesn’t make me feel any better now.

  I swallow hard, trying not to be overwhelmed by the atmosphere. I head over to the food tables, survey the options: celery, white potatoes, peas, beans, dried strips of meat that look like bushbuck. As I stand there, a woman pushes past me, sets new pans of steaming food down. It’s orange, thick, gloopy.

  “Yam pottage,” she says. “Miran’s just bringin’ some more wholegrain sorghum. He’s just gone out to collect it; it’s been cookin’ for a while.”

  “Gone out?” I echo her words faintly. “Outside?” Isn’t the Turning still going on?

  I immediately have visions of spirits tearing limbs from men, and it does nothing for my appetite.

  The woman nods. “Aye. Outside. Up to the grill. Can’t cook in these tubes, dear. We just do the preparation here, grindin’ the sorghum, the mixin’ ready for the bakin’, the choppin’, the butcherin’—that sort. The men have been goin’ back and forth all mornin’ to the grill. Won’t let us women out in the Turning.”

  I stare at her. “But they’re going out in the Turning?”

  I see the spirits again, hear the sounds of glass shattering, see that man being killed, the blood. My stomach tightens.

  “Aye. Not ideal,” she agrees. “But Mannin’ wanted the welcomings today so we had to have feasts cooked up. Anyway, on his last trip, Miran said the Turnin’ looks like it’s comin’ to an end. They can stop pretty abruptly here nowadays.”

  She turns, heads back. I bite my lip, watch her get lost in the crowds.