by Jay Lake
I AM COME. Dust sifted down from the ceiling. I WILL SPEAK TO THE GIRL GREEN. The Lily Goddess said something else, in a language I did not know.
I realized I was kneeling on the floor. I did not remember falling forward. Everyone I could see, from the aspirants in front of me to the back of the gallery beyond them, knelt as well. Everyone except the Temple Mother in her theophany as the Lily Goddess.
I stood and took the half dozen steps to present myself before Her. I could not look at the Temple Mother’s eyes, and found myself drawn again to the blood on Her foot. My own loins felt both hot and empty, in pain like the worst of a monthly.
The Dancing Mistress stood with me. Out of the corner of my vision I could see her head was held high. She addressed the Lily Goddess in her own language. The Goddess answered likewise, in that gigantic voice. Then She spoke to me.
GREEN. YOU ARE A POOR SERVANT, BUT A BRILLIANT TOOL.
Drawing my shoulders up a bit, I nodded toward Her feet. I felt like a kestrel before a typhoon. Why had I thought this better than the simple judgment of women against women?
There was nowhere to go, nothing to do, but stand in place, even against the tearing feeling within me.
YOU HAVE SINNED AGAINST MY HOUSE, THE HOUSE OF SHIPS, AND THE HOUSE OF STREETS.
I fell to my knees once more and wept.
I LOVE YOU TOO MUCH TO LET YOU BE THROWN DOWN FOR THIS.
My weeping became tears, from the base of my stricken heart.
DANGER ARISES TO SELISTAN, TO KALIMPURA, TO MY TEMPLE. YOU ARE THE BLADE I WOULD TURN AGAINST IT. IN ANSWER TO THE PLEAS FOR JUSTICE AMONG THE WOMEN OF THIS CITY, I BANISH YOU FROM THESE SHORES TO THE COLD NORTH, ACROSS THE SEA. THERE YOU WILL STOP WHAT HAS BEGUN BEFORE IT CAN STRIDE ACROSS THE WATERS AND STRIKE HERE.
I was on the floor. Drool ran from my mouth across the marble. My ears were bleeding. I realized that I must know one thing. “Wh-where, Goddess, does this d-danger lie?”
The Temple Mother’s hand trembled as she pointed to the Dancing Mistress. WITHIN THE COILS OF THIS ONE’S HEART.
A great thunderclap echoed. The thuribles fell; some crushed or shattered even though they were made of silver and brass. The Temple Mother staggered forward, slipping on the pool of blood beneath her left foot. I tried to gain my feet, but it was the Dancing Mistress who caught her before she tumbled to the floor.
“Th-thank you,” the Temple Mother said.
Wailing and screaming rose all around. It took all the Priestly Mothers, and the Blades besides, to calm the gallery this time.
______
The Dancing Mistress and I stood in the sacred circle surrounded by Blades. Mother Argai was there with her crossbow, and a dozen more, including Mother Shesturi, who would not meet my eye. The gallery was being cleared of visitors, aspirants, and some of the vowed Mothers.
“Mother,” I said.
The Temple Mother looked up at me. In that moment, I could see within her face all the women she had been—the girl aspirant, the young priestess, the training Mother of middle years, and now the wise old woman who led us all and took the Goddess into her body at need. I wonder what she saw in me. Scars? Rebellion? Perhaps a foreign fool pretending to be a good Kalimpuri.
“It is too late, Green.” A sick smile quirked her face. “That was being a shout from the heavens as surely as I have ever heard in my life. The Goddess’ command was clearly stated. You will go.”
“I . . . I am not ready.” True as it was, the admission surprised me.
“Your time is done.” Her face hardened as she pulled herself wearily to her feet. Pitching her voice loud to the gallery, the Temple Mother announced, “I will have order. We are in convocation now.”
The room fell silent again. Not the stunned silence of the Goddess’ departure, but the rustling, noisy silence of a group of unhappy people waiting to hear what might come next.
“We have been told what must be done,” she said. “We have not been told how to go about it.”
“If the danger is in her heart,” shouted someone whose voice I did not know, “cut her open and still the threat while we can.”
I glanced at the Dancing Mistress. Certainly she knew she was surrounded by women who would have her life in a moment if they could.
“Do we remain at risk?” she whispered.
It took me a moment to understand that she made a joke. I snorted, then turned my attention back to the Temple Mother. She was speaking to the gallery directly above and behind me, where I could not see the seats or know who was asking for the Dancing Mistress’ life.
“. . . not so much a fool,” the Temple Mother was saying. “Even our youngest aspirants would know better than to think the Goddess meant our troubles were literally coiled within this one’s heart like worms in a dog.”
“It is a clean solution,” the woman called back down. “And does not turn against the word of the Goddess.”
“Do not be stupid,” I called out, surprising myself.
The Temple Mother gave me an angry look.
“We are in convocation,” I told her. “Surely I am given right to speak.”
“You are not vowed or sworn,” she said. “Even so, the Goddess called you by name, so you stand tall in Her sight. Speak if you must.”
I stood and stepped to the center of the sacred circle. Turning around, I saw a knot of women in justiciary robes. One of them had loudly called for my friend’s death.
“You insult our intelligence,” I said, “and betray the clear intent of the Goddess. My oldest and greatest friend has crossed the Storm Sea to bring me word of a disaster in the north. The Lily Goddess has joined Her voice to this foreign news to ask that we return there. The Dancing Mistress holds close some deed or choice or hope or love that will play a part in the unfolding of this.”
“There is no argument here.” The Temple Mother looked around. “We have been given as clear a directive as has crossed this altar in my lifetime. There will be no appeasement of the Bittern Court. There will be no killing of this stranger.” Her gaze settled on me. “You have been banished from the shores of Selistan. From these shores you are being cast.”
She then gave her orders to Mother Vajpai. “Wrap them both in beggars’ robes and march them to the Avenue of Ships. There you will throw them into the sea, with three handles of Blade archers to see that they do not return to Kalimpura. If either of them sets hand or foot back on land, pierce it with an arrow.”
Mother Vajpai bowed her head. “So it shall be done, Mother.”
“This is the will of the Goddess,” the Temple Mother called out.
The answer echoed in a mix of voices almost as loud as the Goddess’ voice had been: “This is the will of the Goddess.”
I had never seen such a run. As crowded as this city ever was, almost forty women with weapons in their hands and murder in their eyes cleared a path through which you could have driven an elephant. A knot of toughs in Bittern Court colors were shoved back just in front of the Blood Fountain, and I saw a great many disappointed Street Guild men as well.
We moved through the late afternoon like the blackest, most dangerous festival processional. Blades and prisoners swept down Jaimurti Street toward the Avenue of Ships. People scattered, but followed to see what the fuss was. Everything on the streets of Kalimpura was a show for someone.
I watched children racing along, the little cutpurses and beggars. How many of them had been sold already? How many would live long enough to grow into their lives? How many was I leaving behind?
“Green.”
I looked over at the Dancing Mistress and found my eyes full of tears.
“This is change, not death,” she said. “The path remains open before you.”
Then we spilled out onto the docks. Mother Vajpai was taken up onto the shoulders of Mother Adhiti. She stood there—a trick of balance I’d shown her, I realized with a strange, quirky pride—scanning the waterfront. A crowd gathered around us, ringing my escort of Blades with s
houting faces. Someone tossed a rotten fish over the heads of the Blades. As I did not dare raise my hands to block the missile, it struck me with a wet, stinking slap.
Mother Vajpai jumped down and, using our battle code, called for fighting as needed but to cause no deaths. She then pointed east, curiously enough toward Arvani’s Pier. We hustled along as fruit, fish, and stones began to shower down. The women did not strike back, though they could have. Riot was unfolding in our wake.
I saw the purpose in Mother Vajpai’s plan quickly enough. The Blades took the base of the pier, where it met the waterfront, pushing the Dancing Mistress and me out onto the tongue of stone. A single handle scrambled ahead, forcing anyone working there up the gangplanks of the moored ships and effectively clearing our path.
“You will leap from the end.” Mother Vajpai pointed. “The Blades will stand over you as directed, but there you will be free of thrown cobblestones.”
“Thank you,” I said, though it seemed foolish.
“I suggest you speak quickly to whatever captain will listen first as you swim alongside.” Her face clouded. “I should hate to have you killed.”
“So would I.”
The Dancing Mistress took my hand. The sense of Mother Vajpai’s words must have been clear enough.
Followed by twelve archers, all women I knew, and some of them women I had been very close to indeed, the Dancing Mistress and I walked to the end of the dock. The rails of the dozen ships we passed were crowded with sailors, longshoremen, and idlers being harangued by panicked pursers and mates. The onlookers were all too busy laughing and jeering in the dozens of languages of the sea.
This show would be remembered in the taverns for years to come. I waved broadly, pretending a bravery I did not have.
Then we were at the end of the pier, and the women were driving us forward at arrow point without breaking stride. I went into the ocean with my teacher beside me, wondering if we would come up whole and how many dead-eyed monsters awaited us here.
Returning Once More
SOMEHOW I took in a mouthful of harbor water. It was foul—not just the throat-closing saltiness of the sea, but a mix of stagnation and bilge and whatever had flowed out of the bottom of Kalimpura as well. I found the surface and kicked hard to keep my head and shoulders in the air, spitting the whole time.
The Dancing Mistress struggled, though the tide was slack and there was almost no chop. I launched myself into her and tried to buoy her up. “Breathe!” I shouted in Petraean. “And do not thrash so!”
She calmed a bit. I tugged at her as I kicked in a backstroke toward the footing of the pier. Up along the top, I could see Mother Vajpai frowning at me. She was surrounded by drawn bows.
Time for a better plan, I thought. A ship was moored to the left, in the last tieup along Arvani’s Pier. She was a low, wide, open-topped coastal trader, in truth an overgrown longboat. Half a dozen Selistani men lounged at the taffrail. They stared as they passed a pipe.
The Dancing Mistress’ struggles slackened. Dragging her with me, I grasped hold of the ship’s rudder for support.
“Here,” I said to her, “hold on to this chain.”
“You there,” one of the men called down in Seliu. He spoke with a thick Bhopurti accent. “Hands off. You might break something.”
They all laughed at this wonderful joke. An arrow shot right in front of them to splash in the water beyond. The men and I looked at the pier to see Mother Vajpai there, shaking her head. Mother Gita winked at me.
So it truly was not the Blades’ desire that I die today. I drew some small comfort from this prospect. Even in the heat of the afternoon, I was shivering. The water wasn’t cold, but I was. The Dancing Mistress’ condition grew worse, shaking and coughing. I’d never before seen her frightened.
“Man, bring us aboard,” I said in my best imitation Bhopurti accent. Hiding the Stone Coast in my speech had been harder.
The leader glanced at the array of bowwomen, then back at me. His laughter was gone. “You are a danger, little boy.”
I had to get out of the water. “I am far more than a danger. I am an opportunity.”
“For what?”
“Bring us aboard, and I shall tell you.”
He looked at Mother Vajpai again. I saw her nod. Reluctantly, grumbling, his men threw down a pair of ropes. We both climbed in our sodden beggars’ cloth. Hands helped me over the rail, but they stayed well away from the Dancing Mistress.
I lay gratefully for a moment on the sun-warmed deck. My breathing was ragged and my heart raced, but I was no longer in danger of drowning. The Dancing Mistress coughed until she spewed, spraying her guts across the deck as the sailors jumped back cursing.
“Speak quickly,” the leader said. “I don’t like those arrows over there. I like you fouling my ship even less.”
After opening my mouth, I stopped. The truth would not impress a man like this, who probably worshipped his great-grandmother or some little crocodile god. I could not readily imagine a lie that would be convincing from me, ragged and wet at his feet.
So I stood.
“I will not tell you I’m no trouble,” I said. “But I will tell you I’m the kind of trouble you want.”
He laughed. “How’s that, little boy?”
“A boat like yours calls at ports all along the coast. Smart people sometimes think they don’t have to pay, right?”
Now his face closed, suspicion dawning. “It is happening.”
“I’ll face down any of your men. Any two of them. If I throw them to the deck, take me on as a tough to watch over your cargo and defeat your enemies.” I nudged the Dancing Mistress with my foot. “My friend here is allergic to water, but on a dry deck, dock or beach, she can fight all of you.”
She groaned miserably, but rolled over and showed him the claws of her left hand. He looked impressed, then laughed. “You are being a great fool, whatever else may be true.”
“I am the one it takes a dozen archers to keep at bay,” I said quietly. “And I cook very well.”
“Enough!” shouted Mother Vajpai from the docks. “There will be no fighting today.” She tossed a small leather sack on the deck. It clinked in a manner the captain seemed to find promising. “I will hire you to sail east, to Bhopura, if you leave now with all your hands. Especially the newest ones.”
He scooped the sack up and opened it. A greedy smile dawned. “We will be gone within the hour.”
The captain’s men put a boat over the side and rigged a tow line. That took much shouting and splashing. The vessel began to edge away from the dock. Mother Vajpai stood at the end of the pier, making the sign of the lily with her hands. Beside her, Mother Gita winked at me again.
Then we were turning away from the docks of Kalimpura. With much cursing and shouting, we headed out to sea.
Utavi, the captain of the little coastal trader Chittachai, agreed to sail us well east of the city, then out to sea and into the shipping lanes, where we would try to hail a vessel bound for the Stone Coast. The price of our passage paid by Mother Vajpai could probably have bought the entire boat.
The Dancing Mistress and I had little enough chance to talk as our new, temporary home was hugging the coast. Chittachai’s deck was open, except for a small space under the poop and an even smaller space under a little foredeck, which the crew used as an equipment locker.
After a day aboard in my right mind, it was clear enough to me that she either had a hidden, shallow hold, or truly vast bilges. These men were smugglers, moving goods past whatever taxmen or customs officials might be working the port towns of this coast.
Now we were their cargo.
Other than being out from under the threat of imminent harm, we were little better off than we had been back at Arvani’s Pier. Warm, dry, fed, but still much shorter on prospects than on intentions. In the evenings, I missed my belled silk. That was more of a habit these days than anything serious. Keeping count in my mind all anew, and sewing those many bells yet
again, seemed more than I could bear.
How had the women of my home kept theirs? By never moving far from where they started, of course. Like Shar, a woman there was born in one hut, living in a second with whatever man would take her in, and perhaps a third with one of her children after another son’s wife did not want her around. All of them within a few furlongs’ distance.
Girls who strode across oceans as I did could not expect to maintain tradition. I mourned my loss. Perhaps the Blades had kept the silk against my return, though more likely Samma had burned it.
Every step I’d ever taken toward home had only led me farther away. Just as I myself had been taken away.
“I killed a man, back in Kalimpura,” I told the Dancing Mistress the first evening of our coastwise voyage.
“When did you become a killer?” Her voice was heavy with sadness.
I never did, I told myself. I thought of Michael Curry, sitting in surprise as the light vanished from his eyes. “You taught me to stand against the ill in the world.” The excuse sounded horridly weak, even to me.
“This man you killed? Was he responsible for the ills of the world?”
“No.” I picked at a splinter on the rail. Monkeys screamed in the dark trees a few hundred yards to the north, where the jungle came down into the water behind a great bar of sand. The evening brought a shift of the breeze, which caused the boat’s heading to change. The smells changed as well, to rot and the sickly sweet odor of fruit going bad. No wonder the monkeys were screaming. They were drunk on ferment. “It was in the service of what I was told was justice. I have found a great interest in such things since returning to where I was sold.”
A long silence followed. Eventually the Dancing Mistress spoke. “Federo does . . . did . . . does many things I do not understand. The buying of children was one part of his duties in the old days, when he carried the Factor’s seal and purse. As I heard the tale, he bought you from your father at the gate of your farm.”