The Devourers (11 page)

His smell, too, lingered long, both in my bedroll and on my skin, bringing me back to the unclean truth of where I was and what had happened to me.

—

It was only once Fenrir was gone that I wanted him back. It wasn't because your mother was some weak-willed fool with a secret need to wed a rapist. No. It was because of the vision he'd left me. I was never one given easily to superstition, but how could I ignore such a thing? Not only had he violated me in flesh, he'd violated my mind like some infernal djinn out of the stories. He'd even mentioned that some of his kind called themselves djinns, after all. Suddenly his wild tales seemed a little more possible, if not true.

It was only in that dead, moonlit silence that I emerged from shock of all this strangeness and began to truly think of the consequences of Fenrir's actions. I checked my entire body for wounds, to make sure he'd kept his promise that he wouldn't hurt me. He'd kept the other promise he'd made me as well, and left a leather purse full of coins by my bedroll. It was little relief to me then.

As I'd planned when I realized that there was no escaping sex with him, I took one of the browning lemons that I always carry in my belongings (I had just two left), and sliced it in half with my bloodstained knife. I licked it, to wake me from the dullness of anger and confusion. Usually, I'd use half the hollowed skin to block my womb if the man let me (and if he was drunk or fool enough, even if he didn't), and at other times I used various ointments or tinctures that my mother taught me to make, depending on ingredients I could find. Fenrir, of course, wouldn't have allowed any of that, because he fancied himself a creator of children. This time it was too late.

I squeezed the stinging juice between my legs all the same, and rubbed his come off my hair and thighs with it and some water. While I sat there smelling of lemon with my cunt feeling like sweet-scented fire, one thought ran through my head again and again: This sad devil Fenrir might have made me a mother, and if there is one thing a woman cannot be in this empire all by herself, it is that. I wanted no child, let alone one forced into my womb by a mad white soothsayer I didn't know or love in any way. Fenrir's strange beliefs, the unavoidable proof of sorcery that he'd left me with, made me dread the possibility of a child given to me by him even more than any other man who'd ever fucked me.

Without thinking I ran after him into the night, wrapped in my shawl, bare feet throbbing on the cold tamped ground of the caravanserai courtyard. I would have shouted his strange name if not for the risk of waking the whole town, silent then in sleep. I ran as far as the chauk outside the gate, but there was no one around. I parted my shawl and flapped it, pushed heavy breaths from my throat into the air, as if my scent might bring him back like a dog. But he was gone.

I don't know what I expected of him. But if he had the power to put such visions in my head, to weave a prophet's poetry from so base a thing as rape, perhaps he had the power to erase that prophecy as well.

*
The narrator in this scroll is Cyrah, who has appeared earlier in the translations as the survivor of Fenrir's sexual assault. She is a young Muslim woman, homeless and poor enough that she chooses a transient lifestyle. A woman of her means in the Mughal Empire would probably be illiterate. Perhaps this was orally transcribed at some point?

M
y eyes were wide open when the first rays of morning drenched the curtains like a sop rag. I might have dozed while sitting on my bed, blade in hand, but I got no real sleep. I was up all night waiting, hoping Fenrir would return, and also dreading that he would. My head hurt, and my ass and back ached like a hag's from sitting in one place for so long. My entire body was stiff. I heard the sounds of the new day spreading through Katra Jogidas, the sellers taking their places in their stalls and shouting at their sleep-muzzled errand boys, the camels beginning their snorting and groaning, the guests of the caravanserai parting their curtains to join in the rough chorus of coughing and blowing to clear their throats and noses of the winter night's mucus. As I heard these things, it was as if I came awake, despite having had no sleep. I couldn't stay inside forever, waiting for Fenrir to return and right this wrong he had done to me. That was like waiting in bed to see if a dream you just had might replace what was real around you.

If he still lingered in Mumtazabad, as unlikely as that was, I couldn't spot him by sitting in bed all day. I looked at the dull blade of my knife, a farmer's blade that I'd never before used for violence. The edge was darkened with a thin sliver of Fenrir's dried blood. There were also dark crimson spots on my dupatta and choli. I decided I would wash neither. I don't know quite what compelled me to keep these souvenirs of that night. Perhaps it was something to do with his odd way of preparing for what he was going to do by asking me for my hair. I felt a symmetry in doing the same, cutting a portion, however minuscule, of him out of his body and keeping it. Somehow I felt that keeping a part of him, aside from what he'd left inside me, might yet give me some power over him.

Eyelids throbbing from lack of sleep, body shaking from the cold of dawn and the shock of the last night, I got up to get dressed.

—

The first thing I did was visit one of the merchants and exchange the European coins Fenrir gave me for rupiyas I could use, so that I didn't have to take any suitors for a while. I could find some work in the bazaars or helping at the construction sites if I ran out of coins, being able-bodied and young. But Fenrir had been generous in that, at least, and there would be no need, not for a while at least. The merchant looked at me with suspicion, surprised at the value of the coins, especially since I was an uncovered woman and thus marked as poor. But what could he say? Nothing. He was just glad to get his hands on them. I probably let him rip me off. My heart wasn't in the haggling.

This done, I began my search, wandering every caravanserai and bazaar in Mumtazabad till my feet ached. I felt no joy at my sudden wealth, since I was still the same woman in the same world, where no amount of money could make me a noblewoman safely ensconced in a palanquin. I didn't even have an appetite to waste coins on food. Fenrir and his companions were nowhere to be seen. I returned to Katra Jogidas at sunset, tired and upset, and finally gave in to sleep.

—

I spent the next day wandering the chauks and bazaars of Mumtazabad in a trance like a witless beggar-girl. I didn't need money, so I took no suitors, didn't look for any other work. I slept little, though I spent many hours every morning in bed trying to will away this new life I didn't want. I was on the verge of deciding if it was time to move on, to leave Mumtazabad for the great cities of Akbarabad or Shahjahanabad and see if I could just start anew there while I still had Fenrir's money. I've never stayed anywhere for very long, after all, and I've rarely had more reason to keep moving, lest my mind stagnate in ill-fated Mumtazabad like a muck pond that breeds disease. I wanted no diseases of the mind, and it felt like I was well on the way to festering a few into existence in my aching, sleep-addled skull.

Then, on the third morning following the night Fenrir came to me, I saw him. I happened upon him wandering the scented bazaars of Katra Fulel.
^*
Well, I thought it was him, at least, at first glance, because of a flash of fur and bone trinkets. But it wasn't Fenrir, but one of his companions—the palest one. The youngest one, whose skin color was most suited to the description of a white man. His clothes were very similar (and similarly ugly and crude) to those of Fenrir and the other one, except that he had a longer and finer cloak that hid most of his animalistic accoutrements. Fenrir had swaggered about showing them proudly. This one wasn't ashamed, exactly, but a little wary of flashing his bone necklaces and fur raiment. He also looked quite a bit younger than Fenrir. When I spotted him he was strolling leisurely past the stalls, his face empty of feeling—looking dazed and rather alone without the other two by his side. The sick, flowered air of the bazaar seemed to suit him, his nostrils flaring but face calm.

Obviously, I was surprised to see him. But I was far more surprised, and frightened, when his eyes met mine, and he started striding toward me through the crowd. I wondered whether to run—I admit I felt a strong urge to do so, but they tell you never to flee from a wild dog unless you want to enrage or excite it even further. Thinking him not unlike Fenrir, I stood still and waited for him, telling myself that he could do no harm to me in the middle of a bazaar, that he would be beaten by the men on the street if he tried anything.

He stopped a foot from me, staring as if unsure of what he was seeing. A frown knotted his otherwise smooth and boyish face as he looked me up and down, making gooseflesh prickle against my clothes.

“You…”

Though I suppose I should have expected it, it surprised me again that he, too, spoke Pashto.

“Yes?” I asked, heart pounding. I wanted to speak, but he seemed to be about to say something.

“You smell familiar,” he said. His accent was very different from Fenrir's, like that of a lisping but deep-voiced child who has just learned to speak.

“I don't know why you would say that,” I told him, trying to sound forceful, and feeling at least a hint of an advantage because of my more lucid speech. “But do you know Fen-eer?”

His eyes widened. “Fenrir? Who told you that name?” he said, his voice dropping lower till it sounded near inhuman. I felt his hand grasp my arm and I whipped it out of his reach, stepping back.

“Don't!” I whispered. “Don't you dare touch me, if you value your own life. Don't you realize where we are?”

He didn't seem to care where we were, but lucky for him no one seemed to have seen him grab me, or didn't care enough yet, considering his somewhat imposing looks (despite the face of a boy just growing into a man). But he didn't try to touch me again, instead nodding to himself.

“I knew it. I was right. It is you. His beloved bitch.”

“Beloved? Who the fuck do you think you're calling a bitch?”

He gave me a wide grin, a little startled. He licked his teeth.

“Force of habit. Fenrir's not his name, but I know who you're talking about, little girl.”

“You came in with him, to the caravanserai. In Katra Jogidas.”

“Yes. He was talking to you. I didn't quite remember what you looked like. But your smell, yes. It stands out even here. It was on Fenrir, almost, became part of his scent. I couldn't understand it at first, fool that I am.”

I ignored these comments, though they only sharpened the urge to move away from him, as far as I could, to never see any of these three men from what ungodly parts of Europe I don't know, these three men who had suddenly come into my life and broken it. I cleared my throat.

“What's his name, if not Fen-eer?”

“I don't know. He never told us.”

“In your journeys he never told you his name?”

“He told us a name. He doesn't know my name, either. He just knows a name. Trust him to tell you his name's Fenrir. Fancies himself a god. At least I think that was a god. From one of his stories about his old land. Nostalgic till the end, with his moping.”

“You don't seem to like him very much, for one who's traveled so far with him.”

His entire body flinched for a second and I thought he was about to hit me, but his arms didn't move from his sides. I stepped back, keeping my eyes on his now livid face. To my shock, there seemed tears about to spill from his eyes.

“What insight is this, coming from a human whore who fucked him once?”

“I didn't. I didn't do that,” I said in a broken voice, cursing myself for sounding so like the little girl he repeatedly called me.

“That's not what he said. Are you calling him a liar, little whore?” I felt the spray of his spit on my face as he said
whore,
and I clenched my jaw in revulsion, going against all my instincts and not walking very fast in the opposite direction. I knew that would be the best way to weaken myself in front of this man.

“He's many things, that cowardly cunt, but he's not a liar. Not to me, anyway,” he said with a petulance that startled me, though he seemed less angry now that I'd stood my ground. I let myself speak as he panted.

“I didn't
choose
to lie with him. That's what I meant. And please lower your voice, unless you want to be at the sorry end of a mob.”

“I could rip any of these people apart one at a time or all together, if it came to that, so don't worry about me,” he said, his eyes still watery, but his mouth smiling. I felt goose bumps crawl under my clothes. “Tell me something, little bitch. Why do you still stand here listening to me? You don't like me very much, I can tell.”

“I'm looking for your friend, whatever his name is. That is the only reason I'm standing here. You're no more pleasant than he was, if a little more honest about how base you are. Whatever tribe you both belong to, it is a shameful one.”

“I don't know what he told you, but we don't come from the same tribe.”

“He didn't tell me anything that made sense.”

“That sounds like him, to be sure. Shall we go somewhere we can talk properly? Where do you take the men?”

“I'm not going anywhere. Do you think me such a fool, even after what your friend did?”

He laughed at this, shaking his head. “Just because Fenrir had a hard-on for you doesn't mean everyone else does, too. Trust me. I have no desire to fuck you or any other human. The very thought sickens me.”

I stifled a sudden rage that blossomed in me, making me blush. I knew that he probably took that to be shame. But it was anger at this notion, that I thought myself desirable to all and sundry because his friend deigned to rape me. I felt like whipping out my blade and stabbing him, but I didn't. Doing so would probably end with me executed for a mad whore. Or disarmed and gutted by this boyish-looking but undoubtedly dangerous white man.

“Well, little boy,” I said through my teeth, giving myself no time to regret my sharper tone, since I was already quite scared. “Your older friend has shown me that trust isn't something I should be handing out to savage-looking white men, so forgive me for not taking your word that you don't take after his habits. There's no need to go anywhere. Just tell me where he is and we can part ways.”

I saw his jaw jump. Again, he began panting, soft and quick. It was such a wrong thing, to see a man do that standing in one place, without physical exertion to tire him to heavy breathing. I could feel my palms sweating, eager for the handle of my blade. He opened his mouth, spoke in a language I couldn't understand, paused, and then spoke again in Pashto, so low that I almost couldn't hear him.

“Why do you seek Fenrir? Do you love him?”

“No,” I snapped, not only because I certainly didn't feel anything approaching even the nether regions of love or like for Fenrir, but also because, for whatever reason, it was clearly the safest thing for me to let this man know this.

The panting ceased. He looked relieved. I, too, was relieved.

“He's not a coward, you know. I didn't mean to say that,” he said, taking a deep breath and shaking his head.
Next you're going to say he's not a cunt, either,
I felt like saying, but I didn't push my luck. “He is afraid of many, many things, little one. But he is not a coward.”

“You make as little sense as he does. Perhaps it's your dead men's Pashto that makes you all sound like madmen to me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “He told you a few things, did he?”

“As I said, nothing that made any sense to me.” I decided not to tell him about the vision Fenrir had given me.

“Fenrir isn't mad, as you seem to think he is. He may have some madness in him, as may we all. But the things he told you can be explained. And I can track him, so you may talk to him about whatever it is.”

“So you can help me find your friend. What do
you
want from me, if not what Fenrir wanted.”

He squinted. “Fenrir has left Mumtazabad. We didn't part on the best of terms. I shouldn't have let him leave. I have my own reasons, and I'm going after him. You can either come with me or not. I don't want anything in return.”

“You expect me to believe that you're doing me a kindness?”

“I expect nothing. To be honest, I didn't even expect to find you. I wasn't looking for you. But I can help you find Fenrir. I find his interest in you, well, interesting. It is not the way of our tribes to mingle with your kind. I'm curious. I want to
see
him answer to you, in whatever way he may.”

“My kind. You're not Christians. But your tribes don't mingle with Muslims?”

“Never mind that. I'm going to set out to look for him tomorrow morning.”

“Is that it? Because I'm done talking to you for today.” I took a step backward, as if to show him, like a wild dog, that I had no wish to engage with him further.

He peered at me from under a frown and spit copiously at my feet. Then, suddenly, he crossed himself. “I'm sorry if I have frightened you on this day.”

I had to stop myself from laughing in surprise at this shocking change, and the odd gesture. “You haven't,” I lied, despite the fact that he looked, in that moment, so very young and soft, so confused, with his long hair and large, moist eyes.

“You've got spunk, for a little human girl. I can see that's why Fenrir chose you. If you want to settle whatever debts or matters you have with Fenrir, then be at the Northern Gate tomorrow. If you're not there by the time dawn becomes morning, I leave. You'll never see me again, nor Fenrir. You have the night to make your choice. Does that sound fair?”

I nodded. He sniffed, returned my nod, and turned away with a swirl of his cloak, raising a cloud of dust that made my nostrils itch. Even through the perfumes of the bazaar, his smell clung to the wake of dust, and I felt a clammy sweat form under my headscarf as I remembered Fenrir's stench.