In the same way, Adia had stood over the pitiful little White offspring, Oh’Dar, struggling with the choices and the consequences and finally knowing she could not abandon him, and no matter what the cost, she knew she could not abandon this life either. No matter that it had been formed by an act of violence and hatred. Khon’Tor had not known he was speaking to his situation when he had declared to the People that “All offspring are innocent.” Little did he know that even as he made his grand speech, his offspring was silently taking form within the very maiden he had violated.
Adia took Nadiwani’s hand in hers and held it, shaking her head ever-so-slightly. Nadiwani nodded her understanding and squeezed Adia’s hand in acknowledgment.
The Healer spoke up. “I cannot remember a time when I did not know what to do—what the next step should be. I have accepted what life has handed me as bravely as I could, but at this moment, all my confidence is gone. I wish my father were here.”
She needed someone stronger than herself to turn to, someone she could lean on—a place to rest where for once she did not need to have all the answers.
While the two were still leaning on the table, lost in thought, Acaraho arrived with Honovi. Adia and Nadiwani looked quickly at each other; they had not noticed the time passing.
Nadiwani hurried over to greet them, buying Adia some time to collect herself. Adia quickly dried her tears and prayed that Acaraho—who seemed to miss nothing—might by some chance not notice she had been crying.
* * *
Adia’s prayers were not answered. As usual, Acaraho had seen everything.
He felt the sadness in the room the moment he entered. He could sense Nadiwani’s solemn mood. He could see Adia had been crying; everything about her denoted vulnerability. He wanted to put his arms around her and comfort her but knew he could not. And he also wanted to know what had happened to upset her so.
Instead, he just looked at her, his eyes soft.
Adia met his gaze and could feel his concern. She had to turn away lest his kindness break the last remaining self-control she had and start her tears again.
Acaraho. Adia admitted to herself that her feelings and her attraction to him were inappropriate. She knew she could never tell him how she felt, but hoped he understood. That if there were any way she could be with him, she would be. There was no one in her heart but him.
And then it hit her.
I am going to have to tell Acaraho I am with offspring. Now he would believe she had broken trust with the People. But worse than that, he was going to think she had mated with someone; that she had chosen to be with another male. Not him.
If she could tell him that Khon’Tor had taken her Without Her Consent—then he would know this was not of her choosing. But she could tell him none of that, either. Of everything I am facing, this is the most unbearable part of it all. What will he think of me? Does he know me well enough to realize I would never choose this voluntarily? And if I had, it would have been with him and him alone? I must tell him right away before anyone else notices and the rumors start.
Suddenly, a feeling of protection and safety and comfort came back to her, and she remembered lying against Acaraho when she was ill. It was a memory of what Nadiwani had told her, how she had pressed Acaraho’s muscular body into service to raise Adia’s body temperature. And in that brief recall, Adia could feel his tenderness toward her.
Her heart was breaking. She would rather disappear than have to see the look on Acaraho’s face when the time came to tell him. She knew it would not be long before she had to do so. It devastated her to realize that when the time came, it would be both the longest and the most painful conversation she had ever had with him.
Acaraho was standing there, watching her. He had seen the anguish play over her face, and he knew she was struggling with something huge. He wished she would turn to him for help; he could not bear to see her so unhappy.
What could be weighing her down like this? She was so glad Honovi came here to teach Oh’Dar Whitespeak. But all of a sudden, something is seriously wrong. Whatever has happened, I cannot depend on snippets and rumors any longer. I have to find a way to be close to her again. But Acaraho knew that to avoid suspicion something like that would have to come from Khon’Tor himself.
If something was to be Khon’Tor’s idea, it meant there had to be something in it for Khon’Tor. Acaraho knew everyone had something they valued above everything else, and the one thing the Leader valued above all else was his position of power. Which, to his detriment, he gauged based on what the People thought of him.
The outside Waschini threat is no longer at the forefront of his mind. It has been replaced by Hakani’s seeding and the Waschini offspring. In the past, I was Khon’Tor’s source of information about what went on in the Healer’s Quarters. If I could reignite Khon’Tor’s interest, he might reinstate my contact with the Healer and Oh’Dar.
* * *
Khon’Tor was sitting in the meeting room waiting for their regular update. Acaraho was not late. Acaraho was seldom late. The Leader had arrived early to have some time alone to reflect on the situation at hand. Khon’Tor was confident Adia was under his control and would never reveal he had attacked her. He was satisfied that she felt compelled by the Rah-hora to keep it secret.
But he had other worries on his mind, the first being his mate Hakani and a lifetime of pretending the offspring she was carrying was his. The second was his obsession with who the father of the offspring might be. The third was his ongoing concern over Akule, the watcher who had told him Adia was leaving Kthama against his orders. Of these three, the only one he could actively do anything about was the situation with Akule. Khon’Tor still did not know if Akule suspected he had something to do with Adia’s incident.
If he approached Akule to ask him anything further about that evening, if Akule did not already suspect Khon’Tor, then the Leader risked raising his suspicions by bringing it up.
Khon’Tor was lost in his thoughts when Acaraho arrived. After the standard updates, which reflected great process on essential repairs and the recent success of the hunting parties, Khon’Tor turned the conversation to one of his usual interests, to the state of community in general.
Acaraho reported there was still overwhelming goodwill toward both the Leader and Hakani over her expected offspring. He said there was a good amount of interest in Honovi, Oh’Dar’s Whitespeak teacher, and the offspring’s progress. After all, compared to usual day-to-day living, these were exciting times for the People.
“How is the Waschini offspring progressing?” asked Khon’Tor.
“I do not know. I am not around them as I used to be, Khon’Tor. I do suspect though that Ogima Adoeete would appreciate an update on Honovi’s progress and how she is adapting to living here among the People. I imagine people in her village are wondering how she is doing,” he added.
Khon’Tor considered what Acaraho was saying. Good relations between the People and the Brothers are essential to all of us. And Honovi set aside her responsibilities in her community to provide this service to me. I also want to know what is happening with that offspring. Perhaps pulling Acaraho away from the situation with the Healer was a mistake. But I need Acaraho to run the cold weather activities. How can he be in both worlds? He would have to do it in his free time, and it is not appropriate for me to order that.
Chapter 3
Days trickled by. Adia knew her time was running short. Before long, someone would notice her changing body. She had already put on more weight than she would have imagined should happen this early. The older females were the most likely to notice and raise an eyebrow at her changing figure.
She was overwhelmed. The worst of it was that she had to tell Acaraho. Then she had to face Khon’Tor. She had not decided whether that would be best done alone or quietly in a public place. She knew he would have to control his reaction if there were others around.
On the one hand, he was the father of her offspring, and A
dia thought perhaps she owed it to him to tell him one-on-one. Then she argued with herself that it had not been consensual and whatever rights he had would be those she bestowed on him. And those would be if, and only if, she thought it was for the good of the offspring.
Adia felt sick when she thought about the offspring’s future. No father, no one to mentor him or her other than myself and Nadiwani. Three females, if I count Honovi’s presence. Regardless of whether it is a male or female, the offspring will need a male figure in its life to provide balance. She knew Khon’Tor would not be providing that as he could never claim the offspring without the details of its conception coming out. So he or she would never have a father; he or she would have the shadow hanging over it that it had been born of a Healer—a Healer who had selfishly abdicated her responsibility to the People to produce an offspring.
Without the truth being told, Adia would bear judgment against herself, as would her offspring. But there is no way to redeem me other than revealing that Khon’Tor took me Without My Consent. And I have already accepted that the devastation to the community would be far worse than living with the personal injustice.
But that was before there was an offspring involved, thought Adia. Did that fact affect her decision? She thought long and hard about it. She tried to envision which would be harder for the offspring.
What would be worse? To live knowing its mother had failed in her calling as a Healer? And never to know who its father was? Or to know who its father was and bear the burden that it was conceived by force, without its mother’s consent? It would carry the stigma of either all its life.
Adia paced the room. No matter how it came out, it would be a difficult life for the offspring.
Even if I could convince Khon’Tor to come forward and claim the offspring, to let it be raised as the heir to his leadership, there would still be the resounding damage to the community because of his crimes.
Perhaps it would be best if she gave the offspring up—let it go to another community to be raised. But what effect would that have? Would it scar her offspring forever? Would he or she feel rejected, thrown away, not loveable enough? Perhaps it would be better not to know. To grow up unaware with two loving parents not related to it by blood would surely be better than having a shamed Healer for a mother and a disgraced rapist for a father.
Offspring are so fragile, thought Adia. They need stability to flourish. In the best of all worlds, they receive love from both a mother and a father who conceived them in love and awaited their birth anxiously and with excited hearts. But mine will never have that. And I know I cannot send my offspring away. Only if there were a grave threat of danger, could I bring myself to make that decision.
As Adia was considering all angles, it dawned on her that she and Nadiwani had discussed that Oh’Dar would need a male mentor. He was being raised entirely by females because his other caretakers were females too—Mapiya, Haiwee. Where was Oh’Dar going to learn about being a man? Yes, he was never going to have the influence of a Waschini father, but males had a common thread across all tribes. She knew enough of the People and the Brothers to be aware that males filled the same roles of responsibility, protection, leadership, and providing for their families. How would Oh’Dar learn the way a male demonstrated values of honesty and kindness and honor? If he had any chance of finding a mate, he would have to be able to function as a male and fulfill a male’s responsibilities.
There is time to decide, thought Adia. Oh’Dar is just a small offspring. He will not truly need that influence until he is six or seven years old.
And then Adia thought again about what would happen once she told Khon’Tor she was with offspring. He would not take it well, to say the least. Despite all the goodwill he had shown in the assembly—the intention for Oh’Dar to have what he needed, and the call on the community to help with his upbringing—there was a genuine possibility it would all disappear once she told him about this.
Adia decided that though it was not necessary yet, she would ask Khon’Tor if she could select a mentor to be a male role model for Oh’Dar. Perhaps if he agrees and it is put in motion now, the promise will hold up through the terrible storm that is coming once he learns of my condition.
Another person might have gone to Khon’Tor and demanded what she wanted, threatening to reveal his crimes if she did not get what she asked. Another person might have used the fact of her pregnancy to blackmail him through the rest of his leadership. None of these thoughts, which would have come easily to someone like Hakani, even occurred to Adia.
* * *
Adia did not know who to tell first. She dreaded both confrontations, though it would not strictly be a confrontation with Acaraho. She would rather face Khon’Tor’s wrath a hundred times than have to tell Acaraho and risk seeing hurt cross his face.
Even though she knew she could never be with Acaraho, she still had the dream of being with him. And now she was about to lose even that fragment of imaginary happiness.
Adia decided she would tell Acaraho first. It was the more difficult of the two, and she did not want to take a chance he might figure it out before she could tell him. He must hear it from her. He deserved to hear it from her. The question was where to tell him. The only place she could think of was in one of the small meeting rooms, much like Khon’Tor used, but one far away from observing eyes.
Adia spent the morning in meditation and preparation. She prayed to the Great Mother for help—for the right words, for strength, for wisdom. She prayed for Acaraho, that this would not hurt him as much as she thought it would, and that in time he would come to know that it could not have been of her choice. Even though that would raise more questions, she needed him to know there was no one in her heart but him.
It was time. Adia sent word for Acaraho to meet her in the room she had selected. She had picked one as far away as possible from the others. She felt as if her heart was about to explode in her chest, and it was all she could do to still her mind, to keep the tears from falling. She was so afraid, so afraid, to see the look of hurt on his face when she told him.
* * *
Acaraho arrived, and Adia turned and motioned him to come in.
“Acaraho,” she started, speaking slowly. “Thank you for coming. I am sure you have no idea why I want to meet with you. I know it is unusual, out of convention. We have hardly exchanged any words, though we have spent a great deal of time together. I wish there were words to explain how desperately sorry I am that in the first real conversation we have together, I have to tell you what I am about to.” And then she had to pause to collect herself. Tears were welling up in her eyes, ready to fall at any moment.
“Before I tell you what I must, please try to remember who I am. Please try to remember who you know me to be.” Then she broke down. The tears fell, and she could not get herself back under control.
Before he could stop himself, Acaraho had his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. Adia leaned against him and sobbed. He could tell by how she was responding to him, melting into him, that she cared for him too. So what could be so terrible, what matters so much?
He had been alarmed when she sent word she wanted to see him. He had no context for the meeting—why it was being held there and not in the Healer’s Quarters. The nature of it was clandestine and secretive, and it put him on edge. Did she know he cared for her and was going to rebuke him? He was worried, and if he admitted it, he was afraid too. But now that was behind him, and he was about to find out.
He did not want to, but still holding her with both hands, he pulled her away enough to look into her eyes and said to her softly, “Adia. Just tell me. It will be alright. Just tell me,” he whispered. His kindness broke her last reserves, and she broke down, sobbing. “Acaraho. Acaraho. I am seeded with an offspring.”
Acaraho could not have heard that correctly. He frowned and blinked as if clearing his eyes would clear his mind.
“You’re with offspring,” he said, as if saying it h
imself would make it sink in.
“Yes. Please do not ask. Please. I am so sorry. I am so sorry,” was all Adia could say, more tears falling.
A million feelings and thoughts burned through Acaraho simultaneously. It is not possible. She is the Healer. She would never— Who? How? I thought she cared for me. I know she cares for me. How can this be? It cannot be,” one after the other, almost faster than he could process them.
And then, amid the pain and confusion and anguish, a small opening cleared, and a rational thought poked its way through to his consciousness; it was the only explanation that made any sense. Khon’Tor.
Acaraho stepped away from Adia and roared in anguish. He picked up the rock slab table and threw it against the wall, snapping it in two. He knocked over the seating boulders, sending them rolling across the floor. He destroyed everything he could get his hands on, trying to dispel the rage. Then he pressed his hands to his forehead and stormed about.
Adia backed up against the wall, and she watched him tear the room apart piece by piece, rocks and boulders flying, shattering—until there was nothing left to destroy.
Some of his anger dispelled, Acaraho came back to himself. He turned to see her terrified, pressed up against the far wall. He looked at her as she stood there staring back at him, frozen.
“I knew Khon’Tor hurt you, Adia,” he yelled, “I knew it was not an accident. But that? Never that he would do that!”
The Healer’s Mantle Page 4