On Fire’s Wings (16 page)

“I like it when he is gone to a far corner of the land,” said Yeshi. “We can take our time.”

The man planted a kiss on Yeshi's naked shoulder. “It is still too short a time to lie with you, my beloved. A lifetime would be too short.”

Kevla inhaled swiftly. She had heard that voice before, but where? She felt certain that she knew this man.

Yeshi did not reply, only continued gazing into the fire. Her lover moved on to rubbing her neck. She sighed and leaned against him.

“I can offer you no more than a lifetime,” she said, “but we will have at least that. Have you thought more on it?”

Kevla was lost. There was no way to legally sever a marriage in Arukan. How, then, could Yeshi offer this man a lifetime with her?

“I have,” the man replied. “It will be difficult but I think we can manage it.”

“It would be best if you were nowhere near,” Yeshi said.

“It would be best if neither of us was near,” he replied. “That narrows our options.”

“Time is growing short, too,” Yeshi added. She looked younger, softer in the firelight, but there was nothing soft about her next words.

“We must kill Tahmu soon.”

 

Kevla barely slept. The dreams came as they always did, but frightening as they were, her memories of what she had overheard terrified Kevla even more.

What to do? She could not accuse Yeshi, not without proof. Nor, she admitted, even
with
proof, not as low-caste as she was. She supposed she could tell Sahlik. But how would she explain how she came by the knowledge? She could not tell anyone about her abilities, even though she had learned something urgent and important through them.

There was only one person in whom she could confide, and she desperately hoped they would have time together soon.

She spent every waking moment in a state of heightened awareness, wondering if today would be the day when Yeshi and her unknown lover would strike. It did not matter to her if Tahmu were in the House or not, because until she knew who Yeshi's lover was, she had no idea how close he was to Tahmu.

The Great Dragon seemed to have no interest in Kevla's waking torments. Each night, it demanded,
“DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?”
And she continued to have no answer for it.

She stood again in the ring of fire, quaking in terror before the Dragon's overwhelming presence, when suddenly she bolted awake to find Jashemi sitting beside her on the floor.

“I am sorry to come in the night like this,” he said, “but it has been so long since I saw you, and there seemed no other way.”

They both took up a great deal more space on the floor of the tiny room than they had when they were children, and were forced to sit close together. Kevla sat up and clasped her hands about her knees.

“I'm glad you came,” she said. “I have learned something awful, and I don't know what to do about it.”

“What?”

“I have told you that I can see in the flame. See into other fires, and into the faces of those who sit around those fires.” Her tongue would not cooperate and her mouth clamped shut of its own accord. How to tell this to Yeshi's son?

Gently, Jashemi urged, “Go on.”

“I think I should have told you this earlier, but I thought no good would come of it if I did.” She took a deep breath. “When I was still a handmaiden, I suspected Yeshi was taking lovers. Now, I am certain. I have seen them. Together.”

Jashemi went very still. The moon was still close to new and there was little light. She was glad of that. She did not want to see the pain on his face.

Finally, he said, “I have suspected the same myself. I had hoped I was wrong. It could mean her life if Father learns of it. Do you know who it is?”

Kevla shook her head. “Scrying by the fire is difficult. It's unclear at best, and the man never looks directly into the flames so I can see his face. But the voice seems familiar, though I can't identify it. Jashemi, there's more,” she blurted. “The other night, I saw them sitting together and they were talking—talking about killing Tahmu.”

“What?”

She shushed him frantically, fearing that his outburst would draw attention. For the first time she was grateful that her small room was so far away from the other living areas. Quickly, in a hushed voice, she recounted the conversation.

“You're sure of this?”

She nodded miserably. “The words are branded in my head,” she said. “I've been sick with worry. You're the only one I could tell.”

He was silent. Gently, tentatively, she touched his arm. “I'm so sorry, Jashemi. I wish this weren't so.”

“Kevla…” he said slowly, “you don't think…you are certain…You are certain your power is true? Perhaps you are seeing something that doesn't really exist.”

“Do you think I'm a demon, then?” She hadn't meant the statement to sound so challenging, but his words hurt her deeply. He softened at once, and impulsively stroked her cheek.

“Of course not. I shouldn't have said that.” A soft moan escaped his lips and he buried his face in his hands. “If only you knew who it was,” he said, his voice thick with pain.

“Maybe we can find out. I have an idea….”

T
ahmu lazed in the cool water, letting it caress his body and wash away the dirt and aches of a hard day of riding.
Sa'abahs
were more comfortable than horses, but he had been riding since daybreak and it was nearly dusk. He was growing older and his body preferred beds to hard-packed desert soil.

He heard footsteps coming down the stairs and turned to see who it was. He smiled when he saw Jashemi.

“Have you come to join me in the waters, my son?”

“Indeed I have, Father, unless you wish to be alone.”

“I always have time for you.” The words were sincere. There had been a distance between them since Jashemi had spoken to Tahmu of his dreams. Jashemi had said nothing more about them since then and Tahmu desperately hoped the troubling dreams had ceased.

Jashemi stripped off his
rhia
and stepped into the cool water. He sank beneath the surface, then sat beside his father on the stone steps. The silence that fell between them was awkward, but Tahmu waited for Jashemi to break it.

“My birth festival is approaching,” Jashemi said at last. Tahmu nodded. Jashemi would be turning twenty, the age at which an Arukani youth became a man. The Waiting would then begin, and within six months the Acknowledgment would occur. At that time, Jashemi would come into his own as heir. He would not receive all of his father's land, wealth or prestige, but much of it would be granted to him at that time.

“I have a request,” Jashemi continued. “I would like to make the ceremony open to all members of the Clan and their servants. Even five-scores.”

“We will be gathering everyone together for the Acknowledgment in six more months. They will not like having to make the trek twice.”

“I know,” his son said. “But I would like to do this.”

“Why?”

“Perhaps we can change things around,” Jashemi said, which was not an answer to the question. “Perhaps we can have everyone come for the birthday celebration instead.”

Tahmu regarded his offspring with a mixture of affection and exasperation. Where had this streak of defiance come from? Why was Jashemi so bent on changing things, on defying—

And then he thought of a youth much like Jashemi, who had been hotheaded and passionate and set on much greater acts of defiance. Jashemi-kha-Tahmu had had bad dreams a few years ago, and now he wanted to change the order in which the Clan came to honor him. Tahmu-kha-Rakyn had wanted to marry a low-caste woman and had brought their Bai-sha child into the House of Four Waters. Who was he to judge his son?

Sighing, he said, “It can be done, but we will need to send falcons out tomorrow. Such a journey requires time to prepare, and we must make it as simple as possible for our people to obey. You are certain you must have it this way?”

Jashemi turned to face him. He smiled, but there was something sad in his eyes. “I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” he said.

As he regarded his son and thought about the upcoming celebration, Tahmu realized that there were things he and Jashemi had never discussed; things that a father needed to tell his son.

“You are about to become a man according to the laws of our people,” he said. “Soon after that, you will take a wife.”

Jashemi's expression was unreadable. “I am not unaware of my duties to the Clan.”

“It is not always a duty,” Tahmu said. “With the right woman, it can be joyful.”

“Forgive me for saying this, Father, but it seems to me from what you have told me that you know of both joy and duty, but not with the same woman.”

Tahmu could not deny the truth of the statement. Instead he replied, “Let us hope that your mother finds you a wife with whom you can share both. Have you…lain with a woman?”

“No.” The answer was short and harsh. Tahmu thought this just as well. He had fallen in love with the first woman he had lain with, and her face had haunted him ever since. “But don't worry. I know what needs to be done to get a child, Father.”

“Producing an heir is important,” said Tahmu, “but there is more to it than that. There is…tenderness, and pleasure.”

Jashemi sighed and then laughed. “I sense you will not let me leave until you have told me what you think I need to know.”

Tahmu, too, laughed, and the tension between them eased. “I would feel better if I sent you to your wife's bed with a little knowledge, that much is true.”

Still chuckling, Jashemi replied, “Speak then, and I will listen like a dutiful son.”

So Tahmu shared what he knew about pleasuring a woman; where they liked to be touched, when to be gentle and when to be forceful. As he spoke, he thought of Keishla and the tender, too-brief time they had shared.

True to his word, Jashemi listened patiently. Emotions flickered over his face, but Tahmu could not interpret them. He asked no questions. When he had finished, Jashemi searched his father's face, as if trying to memorize it.

“Thank you, Father,” he said formally, ducked underneath the water once more, then got out. “Enjoy your bath. I will see you at dinner.”

As Tahmu watched his son ascend the stairs with a quick step, he wondered, half-ruefully, if all fathers felt as puzzled by their son's behavior as he.

 

Tahmu made the announcement at dinner that night. He did not inform Yeshi beforehand; he was in no mood for an argument before dinner, and he knew he would get one. He seemed to get an argument from Yeshi if he suggested that the sun might rise in the morning and set in the evening.

She was wise enough not to publicly contradict her husband, but the look she gave both Jashemi and Tahmu was openly hostile. She did venture, as she reached languidly for a piece of fruit, “Husband, do you truly believe there is time to notify all so they may come prepared?”

“The hawks will fly tomorrow,” he said.

“And, Mother,” Jashemi interjected, “my birthday comes at a quiet time. The Acknowledgment will be in the midst of Second Harvest season. Our people will appreciate not having to let the fruits of their hard labor feed animals instead of their families.”

Tahmu gave his son an admiring look. “Well spoken, Jashemi,” he said. This had not occurred to him, but it was true. It would indeed be better to hold the ceremony sooner rather than later. Jashemi wasn't thinking like a hotheaded youth. He was thinking of his people's ease and comfort—thinking like a future
khashim
. Proud of his son, Tahmu clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Yeshi glowered.

 

Yet again, the House of Four Waters began preparing for the descent of hundreds of people. This time, though, the gathering would be a purely celebratory occasion. No one would be riding off to a raid, perhaps never to return. Still, the event brought with it its own unique set of challenges. They would need places for the elderly, women, children, and servants to sleep, not merely healthy men of a certain age. Tahmu rode into the river valleys, asking higher-caste men if they would open their homes to other Clanspeople from far away. They would do as their
khashim
ordered, of course, but a personal request and thanks from their lord would ease the burden somewhat.

Kevla, as usual at times like this, was worked hard. But she went through her chores with composure and a sense of achievement. This was exactly what she and Jashemi wanted, and it could result in saving Tahmu's life.

They started trickling in several days before the actual date of the ceremony. Kevla knew that the Clan was large, but as the days passed and more and more throngs of people descended, she began to wonder how many people actually called themselves members of the Clan of Four Waters. She asked Sahlik, who chuckled and replied, “Soon as count the hairs on your head, child. I can think of at least two hundred who are high-caste enough to be known to me. And they have families and servants of their own.”

Kevla doubted that Clan members were as numerous as the hairs on one's head, but she understood Sahlik's reference. The numbers were constantly shifting, and whatever their eventual total, it was large.

Finally, the day arrived. Kevla and Jashemi had not had a chance to speak since they had come up with their plan, but at that time, they had worked most of it out. Kevla felt certain that if anything had happened to disrupt what they had planned, the resourceful Jashemi would have found a way to contact her. She was wide-awake long before the first summoning blast of the
shakaal
sounded, already in the kitchens tending the fire with the other servants.

Most of the food would not need to be cooked, because there would be no one to cook it as everyone, including the lowest servants, was required to appear before the
khashimu
today. While it would satisfy hunger, the feast would be light: breads baked yesterday, fruits, raw vegetables, and stews that could be left to slowly simmer all day long.

For the first time in her life, Kevla was grateful for the fact that she was Bai-sha. She would be among the last to come before Jashemi and pledge loyalty and devotion—which meant that she could remain alone in the kitchen, gaze into the fire and see and hear nearly everyone else who came before her.

She and Jashemi had decided that Yeshi would never take anyone low-caste as a lover. So that meant that the unknown man who shared Yeshi's bed whenever her husband was away was most likely of high rank, perhaps among the highest in the Clan. Kevla recalled Yeshi's repeated flirtation with Bahrim, and Jashemi sourly put forth several other likely candidates. Even the fact that the voice seemed familiar did not narrow the list much; Kevla had attended Yeshi at many important functions and had heard nearly every high-ranking
uhlal
address her lady at one time or another. Kevla desperately hoped that she would recognize him when she saw him. If this plan failed…It did not bear thinking about.

 

Jashemi had woken several hours ago, and per custom had descended into the caverns alone to bathe. He ducked under the water twenty times, once for each year he had been alive, and rubbed specially consecrated oils into his smooth brown skin until the sweet, spicy fragrance filled his nostrils and his body gleamed in the torchlight. Normally, he would be attended as he prepared for important gatherings, but today he was strictly left alone. The ceremony was centered around Jashemi entering adulthood; no one made such a passage in the company of others.

He was glad of this custom, as his thoughts were racing and time to himself was welcome. He let the oils dry on his skin, going over every step of the ceremony and looking for places where something might go wrong. The only problem would be if Kevla did not recognize the man, or if somehow the fire was extinguished. He took a deep breath and calmed his mind. Fortunately, everyone would expect him to be slightly nervous on this day.

He touched his arms, and found them sufficiently dry. It was time to don the ritual clothing. The garments were waiting for him in a basket, so white that they almost seemed to glow of their own accord.

For a moment, he panicked. What was the order? What were the words? Ah, yes, he remembered.

First the sandals. He slipped them on, taking a moment to feel the softness of the tanned leather against his skin. Closing his eyes, he intoned softly: “I am a man. If the Dragon wills, my feet will walk leagues for the Clan of Four Waters.”

Next, the breeches. They were soft as a whisper against his thighs as he donned them. What in the world had the weavers done, to create fabric as strong but seemingly delicate as this? He spoke the ritual words: “I am a man. If the Dragon wills, my
kurja
will sire many sons for the Clan of Four Waters.”

Now, the
rhia,
embroidered with golden thread that seemed to twist like a snake in the flickering torchlight. He slipped it over his head, feeling the fabric caress his skin.

“I am a man. If the Dragon wills, my shoulders will carry great burdens for the Clan of Four Waters.”

Finally, the head covering, light as a falcon's feather. He wound its length around his head, tucking it in here, letting it trail there.

“I am a man. If the Dragon wills, my thoughts will be always with the Clan of Four Waters.”

The ritual calmed him and redirected his mind. This was more than a ruse to discover the identity of Yeshi's lover. This was the day he became a man, with all the joys, burdens, privileges and sorrows it entailed.

He had come down the stairs as a youth. He eyed them now as they stretched upward toward the surface. Jashemi straightened. He recalled all the times he had come here as a boy, most poignantly when he had wept in Kevla's arms for both of the sisters whom he could never acknowledge. He looked down at his body, clad in gleaming white fabric. He beheld muscular thighs, a flat belly, powerful chest and arms. He touched a face that needed shaving to be smooth with hands that had dealt lethal blows.

Not the body of a boy, not anymore.

Again, Jashemi looked at the steps. Deliberately, he strode toward them, feeling the muscles work as he moved, taking each step with the full inner knowledge that at the top of the stairs, where a boy had descended, a man would emerge.