On Fire’s Wings Page 7

  Her smile grew and she asked, “So it is your love for my lord that keeps you from our hall?”

  He leaned in closer to the litter and said, “Nothing else would keep me from the radiance of your company.”

  Disgusted with the exchange but careful not to show it, Kevla returned to her honeycake. Suddenly, a cry rang out.

  “It is you!”

  Every head turned in the direction of the shout. A poorly dressed, low-caste man was pushing his way toward the khashima. It was obviously a beggar, but Kevla had never seen any of the beggars who frequented the marketplace be so assertive.

  Yeshi’s men set the litter down as quickly and smoothly as possible. Drawing curved swords, four of them stepped protectively in front of their mistress. Others moved toward the increasingly hysterical man. Yeshi’s face was impassive, but Kevla saw her painted fingers tighten on the chair arm. Bahrim took the opportunity to lay his hand on hers.

  “It is you!” the man cried again, pointing directly at—

  “Me?” Kevla whispered, her hand going to her throat. He must have recognized her from the market. But how? The veil hid everything but her kohl-rimmed eyes. Bahrim gaped at her.

  “I’ve been trying to find you!” the man continued. Flecks of spittle flew from his lips and his eyes were enormous. “She and I,” he said, turning to look at Tiah, “we’ve been waiting for you!”

  Kevla looked over at Tiah, but the other woman stared back at the man. She seemed turned to stone in place atop her mare.

  “You will not address my women so,” said Yeshi coldly.

  “They are not your women, great lady, they are ours—they belong to all of Arukan! I have dreamed of you. Had visions of you riding the Great Dragon—”

  Visions? The Dragon? Kevla felt horror seep through her. The man was not simply an aggressive beggar. He had visions. He was blaspheming the Great Dragon. That could only mean one thing.

  “Kuli-cursed!” screamed a voice from the crowd. The word seemed to jolt everyone into action. Yeshi’s men sprang upon the man. He went down under a pile of muscular, sun-browned bodies, and when they got to their feet the man’s face was bruised and bloody.

  “Great lady, what would you have us do with him?” one of Yeshi’s men asked, slightly out of breath.

  Yeshi’s eyes were wide and her breathing was quick, but other than that she seemed perfectly in control. “The kulis have seduced him. There is only one punishment for the kuli-cursed.”

  Kevla began to tremble and clenched her hands hard in her lap. Everyone in Arukan, including her, knew the punishment for being unfortunate enough to be cursed by demons.

  The man cried out. “Great lady, I implore you, I am not kuli-cursed! My visions are true, they are sent from—”

  Yeshi’s men again turned on him and this time when they stopped, the man had been beaten unconscious. Kevla kept swallowing, grateful that she had only eaten a few bites of the honeycake, struggling to keep even those few bites from coming back up. Yesterday, she had watched a man being devoured by a river creature. Today, she would see another man burn to death.

  Nothing in Arukan was more feared than the kulis, unless one considered the Great Dragon himself. But the Dragon was honored and revered, and his laws protected his people and kept them on the right path. The demons who lurked in the caves at the foot of the mountains and who haunted one’s dreams had no hint of goodness about them. To attract the attention of one, to become then cursed, was a fate that made being burned alive seem like a blessing.

  “It will be done, my lady,” continued Yeshi’s man. “Do you wish it now, or shall we wait for the morrow?”

  There was only one reason for waiting. When a kuli-cursed was burned, it was important for as many people as possible to witness it, so that they would be reminded of how dreadful it was, and would be on their guard. Yeshi looked around at the sea of people in the marketplace.

  “There are many here to witness,” she said. “Do it now.”

  Bahrim lingered with Yeshi, offering his consolation for the traumatic encounter.

  Precious as wood was in a land where trees grew only by the few nurturing waters, everyone at the marketplace was anxious that the cursed man be destroyed as quickly as possible, lest they, too, become victims of the kulis. The vendors offered their stools and chairs, which were broken into pieces. Dried grasses, used to feed the animals, were offered for quick kindling. Yeshi smoothed the sacrifice by tossing coins for the proffered wood. Before Kevla quite realized what was going on, a pyre had been built outside the market area and the unconscious beggar, bound hand and foot, doused with lamp oil and with a rag stuffed into his mouth, was hurled atop it.

  “Death to demons!” someone shouted, and the chant was taken up: “Death to demons! Death to demons!”

  Someone grabbed a torch and lit the pyre. Kevla looked away, but Yeshi’s hand closed on her wrist. Kevla gazed into the hard eyes of her mistress.

  “He wanted to drag you and Tiah into his madness,” Yeshi said. “He could have tainted both of you, accused you, too, of being demons. Then you and Tiah would be on that pyre with him. It is well that he is punished quickly. Watch, Kevla. Watch and remember this day.”

  Kevla couldn’t imagine that she would ever forget it. Reluctantly, she raised her head and watched as the fire consumed the body. Thick, acrid smoke, laced with the stench of burning flesh, scalded her throat and made her eyes water. She heard the shouts and cheers of the crowd as their fear was assuaged, and she was grateful that the guards had beaten the poor, deluded soul senseless before they burned him.

  Please, Great Dragon, she prayed silently, please don’t let this happen to anyone in the House of Four Waters.

  Chapter Six

  Yeshi and her entourage returned to the House of Four Waters subdued by the incident. The handmaidens prepared their mistress for bed, and what little conversation there was, was brief and spoken in low tones. Yeshi did not ask Kevla to stay with her again. Kevla retired to the room she shared with the other girls and prepared for sleep in silence. While she didn’t expect that Tiah and Ranna would ever become her friends, the fire that had fueled enmity between the handmaidens and the newcomer seemed to have been extinguished. It was as if Tiah felt that being included in the madman’s raving with Kevla made problems between them less important.

  Days turned into weeks, then months. Kevla adapted to being around so many people and grew used to the unpredictability of serving Yeshi. While each day began the same way, there was no telling what direction it might take. Each morning the girls would arise with the sun, eat some bread, cheese, and fruit and drink a cup of eusho, then descend into the cool caverns to bathe. After that, they would go to Yeshi’s wing, where they would awaken, bathe, and dress their mistress. How the day developed from there depended entirely upon what Yeshi wished to do. As the months passed, Kevla had done everything from spending all day with Yeshi in the caverns, to lounging in the gardens under the pavilion, to even traveling once or twice to another uhlala’s household.

  She saw Sahlik often, her benefactor Tahmu infrequently, and concentrated on mastering the art of pleasing Yeshi. It was an easy life, much easier than standing on a corner crying for customers, and Kevla thrived. Now and then, she would think of her mother, and with a pang wondered how she fared. As time passed, however, even that brief thought came with less frequency.

  One day, Kevla glanced in the mirror as she was tidying Yeshi’s room and saw that her face had changed. Her cheeks were slightly less round, her eyes longer, her lips fuller. With a shock, she realized that more than a year had passed since she had first arrived at the House of Four Waters. She smiled at her reflection, and thanked the Dragon for her good fortune.

  Kevla learned that Tahmu and several of his servants would shortly be leaving for a wonderful reason—the khashim of the Clan of Four Waters was going to fetch his son, the young master, and bring him home.

  After Tahmu departed, Yeshi alternated between moping
and anticipating her husband and son’s return. A few weeks after Tahmu departed, Kevla was in Yeshi’s quarters opening a window when she spotted a cloud of dust. She stared at it, frowning.

  “Kevla,” asked Yeshi, “what do you look at?”

  “I am not sure, great lady. There is some dust in the east.”

  “Please the Dragon, not a dust storm,” muttered Tiah, as she shouldered Kevla aside to see for herself. She gasped.

  “Great lady,” cried Tiah, “I am happy to report that a sa’abah rider comes!”

  Yeshi was up from her cushions and at the window in a heartbeat. She squinted, cursing a little as the sun dazzled her eyes, and then laughed. She reached to hug Tiah, saying, “An extra glass of wine for you at the dinner tonight, sharp eyes! It is one of Tahmu’s scouts! My boy is coming home!”

  She rushed from the room, crying, “Sahlik! Sahlik, Tahmu’s scout comes! Have wine and food ready for him!”

  The three handmaidens hastened after their lady. They found her where Kevla had never seen her before—in the kitchens. Sahlik had prepared a plate of juicy fruits and light grains. There was a skin of wine at the ready, but the thirsty scout clearly preferred simple water. His dark face was white with sand and Kevla wrinkled her nose at his smell. But Yeshi had pulled up a stool right next to him.

  “And my brother’s wife? Is she well?” Yeshi asked.

  “Yes, great lady. She has many letters for you, which will be coming in the caravan. I would have brought them myself, but the khashim bade me travel lightly, to make good speed.”

  “Yes, of course. Do not rush your meal, and when you are through, take all the time you like in the caverns.”

  The exhausted man’s eyes lit up. “Thank you, great lady.”

  The House exploded into activity. The rider was only three days ahead of the caravan, and much had to be done if the khashim and the heir of the Clan of Four Waters were to be received with all due honor.

  The kitchens, which usually were quiet for at least a few hours in the depths of night, were bustling nonstop. Lambs, calves, and goat kids were slaughtered and prepared for the feast. Servants were sent to the marketplace for tempting tidbits to adorn the table. Cakes and pastries were prepared, stuffed with fruits both fresh and dried and drizzled with honey and crushed nuts. Barrels of wine, aging in the caverns where they were cool and protected, were uncorked and decanted.

  All the rugs were taken out and beaten, the floors swept and mopped with precious, scented water. Metal plates and decorative objects were polished until one’s reflection could be seen in them. Flowers from the garden were brought into every corner of the great House, so that a pleasant, fresh scent permeated the place.

  Yeshi was tended to almost nonstop as well. At first Kevla was worried when Yeshi requested Tiah to do her henna.

  “My lady,” stammered Kevla, “are you not pleased with my designs?”

  “Quite pleased, my little bird,” Yeshi replied soothingly. She added, with a wink at Tiah, “but there are some parts of my body that you are too young yet to henna.”

  Tiah smiled, and the two older women laughed together. While there was not a single spot on her mother’s body that Kevla had not, at one time or another, adorned with the green plant paste, Kevla feigned shyness, and smiled at Yeshi when she patted the girl’s cheek and left arm in arm with Tiah.

  “You will help me,” said Sahlik, coming up behind Kevla and taking her arm. “Ranna, I know that Maluuk will need to stock up on supplies. Go see what he needs.”

  Sulkily, Ranna said, “He has an apprentice. Let Asha do the work.”

  Sahlik straightened and looked the young woman in the eye. “You obey Yeshi,” she said with deceptive softness. “When Yeshi is not around, you obey me. Asha will be busy preparing salves and ointments. He will not have time to run to the market.”

  “Why not send Kevla?”

  “Because I’m sending you. I have other duties for Kevla.”

  Ranna sighed. “Very well, Sahlik.” She slowly moved in the direction of the door.

  Kevla watched her go, unable to suppress a smirk of satisfaction. No doubt, Sahlik had something special, something fun, to offer her.

  She did not.

  Halfway through the task that Sahlik had assigned Kevla—that of opening and freshening the rooms of the khashimu—Kevla wished that she’d been the one to go to market and shop for herbs and oils for the healer.

  Jashemi’s rooms had been sealed up for almost two years. With no air to waft through them, they smelled stale and unwelcoming. Kevla, laden with sweet-smelling, just-washed linens, wrinkled her nose despite the opulence of the chambers.

  The bed was bare. Fine dust had settled on every piece of furniture, proof that the powdery sand found a way where even fresh air did not. Kevla looked around and put the bedclothes safely down outside, in the corridor. She put her hands on her narrow hips, surveyed the enormity of the task, sighed, and went to work. It took her the better part of the afternoon, and by the time she was done, she smelled worse than the room had. But it was finished.

  She had beaten the mattress and pillows to rid them of dust, and covered them with sumptuous blue and green fabrics. The pillows were embroidered with gold thread, which shone among the deeper hues. Jashemi’s clothes had been removed from storage, washed, and now rested in a chest made of a light wood that smelled tangy and sharp-sweet. Kevla wondered if the young master would have outgrown them; he had been gone for a while.

  Kevla had polished the table and filled ceramic bowls with fresh fruit. Another bowl and a pitcher of water stood on a small pedestal beside the bed. She had cleaned and refilled the oil lamps, beaten the rugs, swept, and mopped the floor, and now, as Sahlik had instructed her, tucked dried whole fruits studded with cloves among the bedding and here and there.

  She ached, but she was proud of her handiwork. The young master’s room was ready.

  As she went to the caverns to cleanse herself from the dust and sweat of the day’s labor, she wondered what this boy would be like. He was not much younger than she. Would he be kind and wise, like his father? Would he be petty and spoiled, like his mother? She had strained her ears listening for any gossip that would give a hint, but no one talked about Jashemi-kha-Tahmu very much, except as his father’s heir.

  Kevla was putting the finishing touches on Yeshi’s hair, weaving dried flowers and jewels into the glossy black locks, when a strange, wailing sound made her jump.

  “Ouch!” Yeshi’s manicured hand went to her head and rubbed to ease the sting that Kevla’s sudden tug had caused.

  “Great lady, I am sorry! But the sound—”

  Ranna and Tiah laughed, looking slightly superior. “I suppose a market Bai-sha girl would not know the sounds of the shakaal,” said Ranna, in a voice meant for Yeshi to interpret as fondly indulgent but that Kevla recognized as condescending.

  Yeshi chuckled, the pain forgotten. “They are long horns. If you blow on one end, the sound you hear comes out the other. Hurry, girl! If the shakaal has been sounded, they are not too far away!”

  Yeshi looked happier and more animated than Kevla had ever seen her. Kevla felt a warmth in her heart at Yeshi’s anticipation that was almost maternal.

  “You three will attend me at the dinner. Kevla, watch the others and learn. They have been to many such events and I’m sure will be happy to share their knowledge.”

  Kevla looked at the other women. Even now, she doubted very much they would be happy to share anything with her. “Lady,” she began, “I have attended you at dinners before.”

  “Not like this one!” Yeshi exclaimed delightedly.

  If Kevla had thought that the House had been a flurry of activity two days ago, it was nothing compared to what she saw now. Yeshi disappeared, flitting about to check on everything. Ranna and Tiah took off somewhere immediately afterward. Left on her own, Kevla tentatively wandered throughout the House, keeping out of the way but observing everything. She had a fluttering in her st
omach. Ever since she had prepared Jashemi’s room, she had wondered what the khashimu would be like. She was anxious to see him, although she knew that he would barely acknowledge her presence. Tahmu was not old, but he would not live forever. One day, the boy whose room she had cleaned would be the khashim of the Clan of Four Waters.

  She had never ventured into the Great Hall before; she had had no need. While Yeshi and Tahmu often entertained guests, the room in which they received them hitherto was much less formal. Now, though, she peered inside, and her brown eyes grew large as eggs at what she beheld.

  It was so vast, she had utterly no reference to compare it to. It seemed to her to stretch forever. A low table of dark, polished wood ran almost the full length of the hall. Dozens of pillows flanked it, and after a quick count Kevla realized that nearly fifty people would be fed here tonight. Colorful rugs, every hue of the rainbow, further cushioned the stone floor. Twenty fans made of the feathers of some huge bird were propped up against the walls. No doubt, servants would provide a cooling breeze as their master and his guests dined.

  “If you’ve nothing better to do than gawk,” came Sahlik’s voice, “then go back to the kitchen and help with the feast.”

  Disappointed, Kevla nodded. She was there for the next three hours, basting chickens, carrying bowls, grinding herbs. So it was that at one point she was given a jug of a mint-and-vinegar beverage and thrust into the throng of servers. Unsure as to what to do, she imitated the others, kneeling to the left and pouring the drink into the ceramic cup, not the glass one or the golden one, and wiping the lip free from any drops.

  She might as well have not been present, for all the attention she drew. She knelt and poured for fragrant, bejeweled, and veiled women and for bearded, bold-voiced men. She saw clothing in colors she had only seen before in dreams, and weapons of all varieties lying beside men who seemed as large to her as a horse.

  Kevla had lost track of how many glasses she had poured when a hand seized her wrist. She gasped, but the fear faded when she saw that it was Tahmu. It returned full fold when she saw the mixture of anger and—was it fear?—in his eyes.