Reluctant Concubine Read online

  I had left behind childhood when I had stepped on the slave ship. And I had changed more at the House of Tahar, had gained some strength of body and spirit. I hoped it would be enough for what awaited me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  (The Road to Karamur)

  The weather had been growing milder for some time, but the day of our departure brought blustery northern winds.

  After a morning meal of cold meats, boiled eggs, cheese, and bread served in the bedchamber, Batumar’s great procession assembled and flowed to the harbor of Kaharta Reh that seemed deserted compared to the day when I had arrived. Trade and other travel had slowed for the coldest season.

  The winter storms had blown away the stench of the harbor. I could smell only the salty water in the air, untainted by the stink of rotting fish and masses of unwashed men arriving from long voyages.

  The waves whipped high enough to wash over the quays that reached into the sea like giant wooden fingers. A handful of ships bobbed in the harbor, and I shuddered at the thought of another voyage in a dank cabin.

  To my relief, we did not go to the water’s edge, but to a sprawling building. And from this building the warriors led forth the most monstrous animals I had ever seen. I stood frozen to the ground, as I knew what they were—manyinga beasts.

  Many times the size of the largest warrior, shaggy brown fur covered the beasts everywhere but their eyes and the end of their agile trunks, on either side of which enormous tusks curved toward the sky. They moved with lumbering steps but obeyed their masters.

  The men made the beasts kneel before them with nothing but a pat to the animals’ knees. The warriors strapped some kind of a fur-covered box on the back of each animal, then helped Tahar’s frightened servants secure large bundles of traveling supplies behind the strange boxes. When the servants scurried back to the House of Tahar, the warriors climbed the beasts. And then their manyinga stood.

  My throat went dry at the sight.

  Many Shahala farmers used lornis, horses the Kadar called them, for working the fields and carrying the crops to town. Sometimes they used lornis to travel, as the largest of them could easily carry the weight of a man. But when sitting on a lorni, a man’s feet nearly touched the ground. On top of a manyinga, Batumar and his warriors sat high up indeed, and I shuddered at the thought of one of their animals bolting.

  Only one beast remained on its knees, waiting for its rider. With startled dismay, I realized it must be waiting for me.

  My leg bones turned soft suddenly. I did not think I could go a step closer to the monstrous thing, let alone touch it or climb on. I remembered well what Keela had told me about the manyinga, how they could draw a person’s spirit right out of the body. Especially a woman’s.

  At the time, her words had seemed silly superstition. Not now, however, that I had seen the beasts.

  Then I caught the High Lord’s gaze on me.

  A test? If so, why? Kadar women did not ride.

  But I was not Kadar.

  I drew a slow breath. If they were testing me, I would show them the courage of a Shahala. The Kadar knew only the courage of facing one’s enemy in battle and fighting to the death. I would show them the courage of facing one’s fears.

  I gathered up every bit of strength within me, pulling all from the deepest secret places of my soul, from my mother’s memory, from the love of my people. I willed my knees to bend and put one foot before the other. I did not look at the Kadar, but straight at the manyinga. Its brown eyes, nearly as big as my head, looked back at me.

  Eager for its prey?

  My steps faltered, but I pressed on. The animal neither growled nor did it bare its teeth, which had to be enormous, of that I was certain.

  I reached the beast at last and did not allow myself any hesitation but pushed my hands into its long fur and grabbed hold as I had seen the warriors do, aware that every eye fastened upon me.

  The manyinga’s fur felt coarse and dirty under my fingers. And very real. Not at all like some magical beast.

  I filled my lungs with cold sea air. My heartbeat slowed its mad race.

  I planted my foot on the animal’s bent knee. It remained still as I climbed to the seat and sat upon the furs, then drew around me the cloak I had been given by one of the warriors at the High Lord’s command earlier. The wind coming off the sea seemed colder up that high.

  I grabbed the seat and held tight with both hands, then braced myself for the swaying as the animal stood, but it remained on the ground. A minute passed before I realized the manyinga was waiting for a signal.

  As I slid forward in my seat to pat its head, my knees touched the back of the animal’s ears. And with a low sound not unlike the groan of an old man, the beast rose to his feet.

  I allowed a small smile of relief.

  Contact with the manyinga had not brought instant death as Keela had led me to believe, and now that I sat atop the great monster, neither the height nor the slight swaying bothered me—no worse than the top of the numaba trees. I had climbed much higher in search of moonflowers, had hung on to branches shaking much more violently in the wind.

  I finally dared to look around into a sea of astonished faces around me. Then from the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a warrior striding from the stables, pulling a wooden contraption behind him, a strange cart, larger than I had ever seen.

  He stopped in his tracks to stare at me. Laughter from a couple of warriors broke the silence, and his face grew red, and so did mine for at that moment I understood. I had been meant to travel in the cart. He was supposed to ride the beast.

  I would have gladly dismounted had I known how to make the manyinga kneel again. I could not reach its knee to pat it from all the way up where I sat, so I waited for help. But Batumar pointed the man to another warrior and his manyinga.

  The man bowed to the High Lord and secured the cart behind that beast, transferred the bundles from the manyinga’s back to the cart, then climbed up behind the first warrior to share the ride.

  We were ready to leave.

  The manyinga did not move fast, but they could carry a fearsome load. Many of the warriors held obvious affection for their animals. Some even called their beasts by name and talked to them as to old friends. We traveled inland, north, farther and farther away from my people with each step.

  I had many questions about the manyinga, but I stayed away from the guards, although the men riding with us did not behave like the ones who had come to the House of Tahar with Lord Gilrem. Still, I stayed as close as I could to the High Lord, despite knowing that his promise of the night before did not carry to the present day.

  Riding behind Batumar had its advantages. His beast, the largest of them all, blocked some of the wind. No one spoke to me, but I could make out from what I overheard that we would visit only one more warlord before the High Lord returned to Karamur. We were on our way to the House of Joreb, a day’s ride away.

  We did not stop to eat nor to take a break of any other kind. When a warrior had the need, he would stop his beast, do what he had to, then catch up with us. But every time I tried to hold my beast back to stay behind—I noticed by accident that it did that if I placed my hand on its back behind my seat—one of the warriors fell behind with me.

  Soon I was so full of water it could have floated a ship. Thank the spirits, Batumar must have felt the same at last, as he brought his animal to a halt, and when he did, all his guards stopped, for the first time that day.

  I did not think he stopped on my account, I did not think he even remembered by that time that I traveled with them, but I felt grateful to him just the same. He slid to the ground with ease, then, before he walked into the woods, he ordered a man to help me off my mount.

  The warrior patted my beast’s knee, and I could finally escape. I did my best not to show how tired I felt or how sore. On legs numb from all that sitting, I hobbled in the opposite direction from Batumar.

  The Shahala forests were always loud with the cries
of colorful birds and cheerful with a multitude of flowers. But here I barely saw a bird or two, small and drab in feathers of brown and gray, nervously flitting from one branch to the next.

  Soon I came to a stand of bushes in a hidden spot where nobody could see me from the road. Then I finally gave my body the relief it so badly needed. For several moments, I did not even think of running away. But once I did, the urge to bolt came swiftly, the uncontrollable instinct of a wild animal.

  With a pounding heart, I flew through the woods, silent like the night birds. Then I saw the guards and froze, unsure what to expect. An arrow? Or at the least to be apprehended at once and bound while I awaited punishment. One man stood among the trees ahead of me to the right, the other to the left. They watched me in silence as I stood there frozen, my heart hammering now in earnest.

  When neither arrow nor an order to drop to my knees came, I backed away from them and sulked back to the road to my beast, grabbed the long, coarse hair behind his ears, and put my foot on his bent foreleg to pull myself up to my seat.

  Not a day had passed since my arrival to the Kadar that I did not think about running away. I was greatly disheartened at how easily my first true attempt had been defeated.

  I wanted to go to Karamur to find my mother’s grave and the truth about her death, but I would have rather traveled on my own. If I reached the city with Batumar, I might be summarily locked up in his Servant Hall or Maiden Hall. Either way, I would be his.

  I would never again have the freedom to do as I pleased.

  As I mulled how to best escape the next time I received an opportunity, the High Lord returned and strode to his beast without sparing a glance for me. If his guards had told him what I had tried to do in the woods, he showed no sign.

  We rode on until we reached the House of Joreb.

  Lord Joreb, of course, held a feast in the High Lord’s honor. His Great Hall looked much the same as Tahar’s. Servants bustled about, their eyes never meeting ours as they saw to our needs in silence.

  Once again, I sat in the concubines’ place behind Batumar. I held my breath when he was offered a slender maiden, but he politely declined.

  I felt relief for the maiden’s sake, but only doom for myself. I could eat no more, just sat on my silk pillow, praying to the spirits until the feast ended.

  The Palace Guard led me to the High Lord’s chamber. Could I be as lucky once again as I had been the previous night? At least I did not have much time to work myself into a true panic. He strode in but a few moments later.

  He reclined on the pelts that covered his bed and watched me as I sat on the floor in the corner by the hearth, my arms around my knees.

  “Tahar’s warriors claim you to be a healer of much skill.”

  A moment passed before I gathered the courage to respond. “I know the uses of herbs.”

  “You are a Shahala. What else are you?” His obsidian eyes narrowed until I squirmed on the stone.

  “I do not understand, my lord, I am but a slave.”

  He looked at my hair. “Why are you still a maiden?”

  I grew embarrassed at his words, for I knew what he meant. I was older than the girls at Maiden Hall. Even among the Shahala, young women my age had long had their rija feast and were called wives and mothers.

  He did not move his attention from me. “Why were you not with the other maidens? They had to search for you for some time.”

  I had not thought the High Lord had paid any mind to me at all, but now I began to think maybe little escaped his attention. Yet I could not answer his question, for that would have been a long tale, one that stretched all the way to his brother.

  Did he know how Lord Gilrem had fared at Kumra’s hands? Since he did not mention his brother, neither would I. Maybe the High Lord did not wish to be reminded that his brother had fallen victim to the scheming of women.

  I trusted not that he would reward me for my part in Lord Gilrem’s escape. As far as I had seen, gratitude or acknowledging a debt of any kind was not something practiced among the Kadar. Neither would a High Lord want to be indebted to a slave.

  So I put the tale of Lord Gilrem out of my mind and said instead, “I was under punishment, my lord.”

  He nodded, the punishment of servants common in his lands, no doubt. “I would hear the story of how you came to the House of Tahar.”

  I found talking a preferable task to whatever else he could have required, so I began with our Shahala land and told him a thing or two about how civilized people behaved.

  Cautiously I started, but grew bolder little by little, less and less afraid of offending him. I had survived deadly flogging at the House of Tahar. If truth brought punishment, so be it. I would not cower in fear for the rest of my life like a child.

  I recounted the day Jarim had sold me. I told Batumar about the traders, leaving nothing out, neither the scum of the ship nor the hunger, nor the despair of those herded to the auction house.

  And I told him about Kumra too, and the flesh stripped from my back, only I did not tell him why. But I wanted him to hear the whole horrible unfair truth, so he could never say he knew not the cruelty in his lands. So if he let it happen, he would know what he gave his approval to, so he could not lie to his own twisted soul in the night.

  The more I talked, the darker his face turned, but I pushed on to the end, even while knowing he might break me like the lantaya man had broken the mirror my mother had given him, not liking what it showed him.

  Never had Batumar’s face looked friendly with that scar, but his expression turned truly frightening as he listened. Still I stood my ground, cringing back only when he shoved to his feet.

  “You will not come to harm at my hands today,” he said; then he strode out of the chamber.

  The words did not sound like a threat now. They sounded careful. As if he wished not to promise more than he could keep. But any man that careful with his words had to be an honest man, didn’t he?

  Yet, as eager as I was to believe such fancy, I could not. Still, his quick forgiveness of my frank words did surprise me. Had I said as much at the House of Tahar, I would have been beaten half to death.

  A jumble of emotions fought each other in my heart as I snatched a blanket from the back of a chair, dragged it back to the corner to bundle up in, then drifted off to sleep.

  When I woke in the morning, the High Lord was dressing by the bed, one of his guards waiting in the open door.

  I scrambled to my feet and straightened my dress. At the House of Tahar, servants always rose before their lord. At Maiden Hall, all maidens stood ready for the day as soon as the door opened to allow Kumra through. Had she found anyone sleeping, I imagined the punishment would have been severe. I wondered how bad a beating this day would bring me and vowed not to walk to the whipping post meekly as I had before.

  “Joreb has a prisoner,” Batumar said. “An enemy spy too ill to talk.” He strode to the door. “I would have you see if you can heal him.”

  I looked at him, confused, for I had expected scolding. Then my thoughts flew to the unfortunate who needed my help, and I hoped I could give him at least some measure of relief. I followed behind Batumar, wary at his lack of visible anger. I had learned since having lost my freedom that those who hid their fury the best were sometimes the most cruel.

  And suddenly I had more than sleeping late to worry about. What would the High Lord do when he found out I was no true healer? Would he send me to be sold on the auction block, would he keep me as a household slave, or would he toss me out and let me go?

  Since he was Kadar, I could not conceive any possibility of that last option. Then another thought occurred to me. Would he be embarrassed by my lack of skills in front of one of his warlords? Would he think his servant shamed him? Would he have me flogged? I followed Batumar to Joreb’s Great Hall with a heavy heart and a determination to face my fate with courage.

  The servants had already cleared away the remnants of the feast from the night befor
e. The double doors that led to the courtyard stood thrown wide, allowing in enough sunlight so we had no need for torches.

  Two warriors held up the limp body of a burly man in front of Joreb. The man’s head, with its matted long hair, hung onto his naked chest, his scars telling tales of many battles. Fresh bruises and blood covered his body from his last fight.

  Batumar watched for what I would do.

  For the time, the man was mine. So I said, “Would you set him down?”

  The warriors looked at their lord, who nodded.

  I knelt next to the man and saw at once the bloody hole below the last rib where his spirit was slipping away. Even if I still had some of the moonflower’s tears left… He needed so much more. The sickness went too deep inside him.

  My mother would have sent her spirit to talk to his, to tell it to stay. She would have showed him how to push out the bad blood, the rotten bits, the pus. She would have called on the good spirits to strengthen him for the fight. And for her, the good spirits would have listened. Under her fingers, blood vessels would have flexed and the severed would have joined back together as whole.

  Frustration clamped my teeth together.

  I knew what needed to be done, only I could not accomplish it. My spirit had never been the wandering kind. No matter how many times I had tried to send it into a sick person, it never so much as budged in anyone’s direction.

  I craved true power in that moment more fiercely than I ever had before, so fiercely that it scared me. Was this gnawing, all-consuming need what my great-grandmother had felt? Her powers had come late too. But then they had grown to eclipse all others until she had forgotten her vows and wished to use her powers to rule over our people. She had broken the sacred trust, and for this her family had been cast out, living on a secluded beach, even though by the time I was born my mother’s own faithful service had redeemed our name.

  I had no great power like my great-grandmother or even my mother, but I could not leave the injured man without trying to help, not with the pain etched onto his face, pain so fierce I could feel it in my own bones. So I asked the warriors to bring me a blade and a pan of hot coals, and water first boiled, then cooled.