Читать книгу Wind Follower - Carole McDonnell - Страница 10

LOIC: Half Marriage

The lace veil didn’t entirely conceal my future wife’s face. But in those days, veils were made to tease as well as shield. Like a light winter snowfall on a sloping golden hillside, it flowed over her forehead. Beneath the veil, her eyes shone like sunlight and I longed to bask in them. The hem of her dress flowed onto the embroidered carpet like a river flowing into a meadow. Her perfumed skin was a floral garden—that scent alone would make the desert-dweller weep. How my lips longed to kiss hers. My hand wandered under the veil’s long hem. I found her fingers and squeezed them. None saw me touch her; none saw how she struggled against my touch, digging her fingernails into the palm of my hand.

“Are you hoping to draw blood?” I whispered. “You’ve only succeeded in piercing my heart.”

She turned her face away as if my whispered yearning was the buzzing of a bee she wished to swat. I thought, I’ll win our private undeclared war. Sensing she would keep her poise and not betray the struggle between us, I forced my fingers through hers and interlaced them. But her nails dug deeper into my flesh.

I saw a thought floating through her mind. The Creator has given me a child husband, one who will always be a child. My heart sank. It was like a boulder crushing my chest. I was seeing the marriage as she saw it. I thought, How can I prove to the one I love that I will become a true Pagatsu warrior?

All around us, my clan ate and danced. Although the Kluna clan was absent, scrolls of alliances were made. Wherever the remaining Kluna were, they would be brothers to the Pagatsu.

My heart, however, was on none of this. What, I thought, if I cannot prove myself and she rejects the full marriage when the year mark comes?

I watched as her gaze fell everywhere—on my father, on her parents, at Ydalle, at my Little Mother—but never at me.

With sunken heart, I sat and listened as New Mother Monua said, “The jewel of my life has now been given to your son—the crown of your life. Taer, your son must now forego wearing the youth cap. He’s to be a husband now, after all. Let him wear a marriage cap so all the ladies of Satilo know he’s married.”

Father laughed and removed my cap. “Layo, layo! Truly, yes! Let’s be rid of daughters sending their fathers to me for marriage talks.”

Everyone but Satha laughed at this. She looked at me with eyes that clearly said, I wish some other woman’s daughter had married you.

Little Mother said, “It’s time we leave the betrothed couple alone to get acquainted.” Then she crept up behind us and threw the red courting blanket that Mad Malana had made over our shoulders. Our families left the gathering room, and as the last foot disappeared behind the curtained entrance, Satha yanked her hand from mine and threw the courting blanket onto the ground. She gave me a warning look, something one would give a child playing too near fire.

“This is a good day the Creator made,” I said. My voice cracked, making me feel even younger than I already felt.

“It brings blessings for you and for me,” she answered, although she looked as if the day had brought disaster and not blessing.

“It is strange to be at my own betrothal ceremony,” I said, trying to look into her eyes. “Last year a cousin of my dead mother married.”

She answered with a voice neither inviting nor cold, but patronizing nevertheless. “Is that a fact?”

I pressed on. Oh how lovely she smelled. I can still remember it even now. “I didn’t attend. Father received the Desai News Runner and sent gifts but said it was best if I refused the invitation.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I thought you people were enslaved to customs.”

I thought angrily, We are not enslaved to customs, Thesenya! As a people, we always do what we consider right in our own hearts, and we change customs more often than you, an outsider, would know. I was Doreni, however, and not one to argue with the wrong ideas of outsiders.

I only said, “Our dealings with the Desai are always complicated. For some reason, they and my Father don’t—”

“Stop trembling. Try to breathe. I’m the one who should be nervous, being dragged into your life and treated as chattel.”

I had not realized how my body trembled. I tried to breathe and found myself laughing, immediately liking her again. How brave and forthright she is! I thought. Her humor reminded me of Krika’s.

“Only rich young men can indulge in that kind of laughter.”

I rubbed the indentations her fingernails had pressed into my wrist. “Why are you trying to become my enemy, Satha? Why hurt my heart in the same way you’ve hurt my hand?”

“Coqulyu—little boy—you’re not the kind of person I would think of marrying.”

“Coqalya—little girl—and what ‘kind’ of person do you think I am, exactly?”

“A pretty little boy with too much money.”

“I am more than that.” My voice cracked again. I did not like defending myself against the woman I so wanted to love me. “Hasn’t it been told you that I’m kind and gentle? I’ve heard as much about you.”

“People don’t talk about me, little boy, and I doubt they talk about you either.”

Remembering the boldness of the Ibeni poets, I approached her and put my arms around her waist. “Satha, since we’re to be married and it’s too late to turn back now, let’s be friends.”

She pushed me away. “Would you expect a slave to befriend the master who enslaves her? Rich people and men are used to taking, I suppose I should accept that.”

Her anger irked me. “I’m honorably holding up a promise my father made to his old friend. I’ll admit when Father told me of it I was nervous, but then I saw you and heard what the townspeople said about you—”

She interrupted me with a scornful laugh. “We will be better friends, Loic, if you’re honest with me. You and I know no such promise exists.”

I stared at her, amazed. I had encountered Theseni outspokenness before. Ydalle, for instance, needed to learn more about the Doreni habit of silence, but Satha’s frankness bordered on rudeness.

She walked toward the curtained doorway, looked through the slats, then turned and studied the gathering room. “No, my father didn’t betray your little scheme. But since you have no desire to be honest—”

AlthoughIwasDoreni—andtheDorenirarelyspeakwithfrankness—I resolved to be Theseni and to speak with an open heart. “Your words are sharp shuwas, Satha, but they’re true. No promise exists. I saw you and loved you immediately. How can I prove this to you?”

“I’m not an unpleasant person, Loic.” Her voice grew gentler and she sounded almost like Little Mother. “But you can understand how strange it is to find one’s self suddenly married. Perhaps, if you’d courted me properly instead of interrupting my life so suddenly—”

Her gaze roamed the gathering room, studying the weapons, the buffalo horns, and pelts. In spite of myself, I found myself hoping my wealth would influence her to like me better. “I’ve lived by whims, my wife,” I said, lowering my voice. “Yet I am not selfish. I understand now that I made a grievous error to marry you so hastily. From my heart now I tell you that in my stupidity, eagerness, and joy, I thought this was the right way to proceed.”

“You speak like a poet, Loic. Yet you have much to learn for someone so educated.”

I touched her arm. “Jobara! Indeed, I have much to learn. But, can you not forgive my ignorance? Can you not see the blessings in this match? Consider that I’m one who respects your intelligence, your goodness, your beauty and even your anger. I’m Doreni. We Doreni men aren’t jealous adulterers like the Ibeni. Nor are we harsh like the men of your people who even go so far as to enslave women in their heaven. We have loving, free hearts and Doreni women freely roam where they please.” I paused to catch my breath then spoke again. “I see too you’re looking at the wealth which surrounds you. My family—”

“Now I know you’re speaking honestly because you’re bragging about yourself. Weak men always brag about their wealth. What does your family’s wealth mean to me?”

She took a slice of bala from a platter but didn’t offer me any. The bala was a fruit with many seeds, often used in wedding feasts to encourage fertility. Custom dictated that she should have put it to my mouth for me to suck on, a symbol that she was offering herself to me. She did not and this was considered selfish in the old days. It meant she considered her body her own and would not willingly share it with her husband.

I saw her mind, however: her ploy was designed to make me reconsider the betrothal. Instead of being offended, I also took a bala slice, chewing it slowly. “How juicy it is!” I shouted. “Flooding at the touch of my lips.”

She blushed but her face still retained its hardness.

“Satha,” I said, “You want the truth, therefore I’ll speak the truth.”

She frowned at the bala in my hand. “Say on.”

“I’m alone here in my Father’s house.”

She squinted in disbelief. “How can you say that? It’s obvious everyone loves you.”

“Perhaps they love me, but I walk on a different path and all here want me to tread lightly.”

She smiled at my joke and seemed curious. “And you think I will walk the path with you?”

I was tempted to tell her all my mind, to speak about Krika, about the shadow gods, about my inability to turn Father from the spirits, but I was cautious and I only said, “I sense you will walk with me, Satha. Don’t be afraid of marrying me, Satha. We were created for each other, and the Wind has brought us together to heal each other’s heart.” I stopped speaking when I saw tears rolling down her cheek.

She didn’t speak but stood fidgeting near the wooden curtains of the inner court through which our families had disappeared. She wiped her tears and we stood in silence until our fathers and the elders returned.

My father carried the yellow corn mush and Nwaha carried the white. They poured both into one bowl and put the spoon to my mouth. I ate, and after hesitating for a moment, Satha also ate.

Despite my grief at her resistance, I managed to finish the ceremonial oath. “Beloved, in my father’s house are many mansions. I have prepared a place for you, that where I am there you may be also. Let not your heart be troubled. You believe in the Creator, believe also in me. Where you go, I will go. If I travel far away, I’ll return and bring you to my home.”

She bowed and answered, “My beloved is mine, and I am his. Into his hands, I commit my life.”

My heart leaped at her words even though I saw how distant her heart was.

As the women of the household prepared to take her to the women’s section of the guest quarters, I whispered to her, “Do you think you could love me? Just a little?”

She smiled, but I knew she thought I was like the wind—a force that could blow her wherever it willed, a breeze that could warm and freeze her with a sudden whimsical blast. She considered herself my toy, a thing that I would examine, play with, then throw away when a newer, more exotic plaything was found. Yes, I saw all this, and understood she had steeled her heart against mine.

After the ceremony, I walked to the men’s quarters and called out to Father.

“Why are you here, my son?” he asked, his eyes nervously surveying the courtyard. “Now that the Restraint has begun, you know the customs forbid us speaking together.”

My father rarely looked nervous, and I understood that he was worried for my sake. “I wanted to share my joy with you, Father.”

“I am honored. Tell me then, now that you have finally met the one you love so deeply, what do you think of her? Is she as wonderful as you imagined?”

“We told each other all our hearts, and Father, she pleases me well.”

He tousled my hair. “Does she not remind you of Krika?”

“Krika?” He had mentioned my lost friend and had stirred my anger. “Krika was Doreni and a boy. Satha is neither.”

“They share the same fire. Can you not see it?”

“If that’s true, she’s lucky that Nwaha and not Okiak is her father.” And then, suddenly, like a silly child I began to cry. On the day of my betrothal! How glad I was that Satha was not nearby to see my childishness!

Father held me tightly, pushing my head into his chest, enveloping me in his arms. “I cried, too, on the day I was betrothed to my first wife. I cried, too, on the day you were born.”

I had always understood that Father’s dearest love was not my mother, but his first wife, the one his parents had brought to him after Monua rejected him.

“Father,” I said, “Your first wife lives happily in the fields we long for. You loved her with all your heart. I loved Krika also. He was my age-brother but much more. He was my other heart. I cannot bear to think of him stumbling about in Gebelda, waiting for a life to be sacrificed for him. Could you bear to think of your first wife, or even of my mother, in such a place? Could we not go to the shrine, secretly, and shed some lamb’s blood for Krika? Can I not cut my wrist, hands and palms for him? Should he not be able to sit in the Creator’s longhouse? And look, on such a happy day as this, he should ... he would ... if Krika were alive now, he would stand by my side in all battles against the Arkhai. Yes, he would stand by me in the full marriage ceremony. He would—”

“Sio will stand by your side,” he said, interrupting me. No word about Krika: the deepest heart of my pleading was ignored.

I opened my mouth then closed it again. Clan tradition stated that the son of a warrior’s wife is a warrior’s true son. The law was made for the children of widows and concubines. Not for the bastards of adulteresses. However, Father had forced his own interpretation on our clan.

My heart closed even more against him. “Although you accept Sio as your son, I don’t accept him as my brother.”

Ravens winged towards some unseen carcass, cawing as they went.

“Does that matter? The boy has a kind heart and has drawn a circle, which includes you. He’ll turn you into his brother soon enough. At least, that is his hope.”

“He’s young. I hope he’ll lose that hope when he grows older.”

“When you were younger, you loved him as a brother.”

“Yes, when I was young and understood as little as he does. But young minds change when they grow older.”

Father started laughing. “Are you one to speak about young people’s minds? You who fell in love with a woman you don’t know? A woman who is obviously reluctant to marry you? You who hold onto hurt—my hurt—as if it were your own: you dare speak to me about—”

“About Krika, Father!” I said raising my voice. “I was speaking of Krika. My true brother. Not of Sio.”

He clasped his hands together in front of his face, a thing he always did when he was losing his patience. “How often have you asked me to order a ceremony for Krika? And how often have I told you that is the one thing I cannot do? The Arkhai stronghold is powerful and they see all. If I—”

I pushed him away, wiping my tears. “They’re powerful only because we don’t understand the Creator’s love.”

He stared at me. “And do you know the Creator’s love?”

“He’s far away,” I admitted. “How can I know one who is unlike me and so far above us?”

“True words.” He sounded relieved. “In this at least, you’re not arrogant. The Creator is high above, yes, and because of this, he cannot tend to small matters or small persons. For this reason, he has given us the Arkhai, the shaman, and the holy ones to teach us how to live holy lives.”

“The Arkhai? Those shadow princes? Those posers, deceivers, and boasters? Father, it shames me that you bend to such beggarly and evil spirits! Jobara! Your stupidity in all things—Sio, the Third Wife, Okiak—shames me.”

Across the field was the armory where the guns and cannons of the invaders were kept. I pointed at its latched doorway. “You understand the workings of all these weapons, Father. You have conquered many cities. Yet you leave the sharpest weapons unsheathed and out in the open for anyone to fall upon.”

“You’re speaking of my wife, Loic.” He pointed in my face. “Don’t let your anger take you into a battle you cannot win.”

“Did you see how your wife behaved today? Sitting opposite mine and dressed in costly array and covered in pearls! She’s still acting as if she’s Arhe here.” I clasped my hands together and pleaded with him. “Even now you can divorce her, Father. So, what if the town calls you a cuckold? It’s not as if the thing isn’t known already outside our clan.”

“Perhaps you should remember that as you love Satha so I once loved the Third Wife. Could you repudiate Satha if she wounded you?”

“Satha would never wound me.”

“So you say.” He touched the fuzzy growth on my chin. “What if after the year-mark she decides not to go ahead with the full marriage?”

His words made my head throb and my heartstrings tighten, but I did not show my fear.

“No answer?”

“Satha will enter the full marriage.”

“Kwelku. So you say. Even so. Learn to live with my mistakes as I’ve learned to live with yours. Your wife will be Arhe over all these households. Is that not enough? There is no need to repudiate my wife. Her lack of status in this household is repudiation enough.”

“Kill the whore, Father!” I shouted and suddenly the sting of an open-handed blow silenced me. I had gone too far. Blood streaked from my nose and through my lips. My hand trembled with the urge to return the strike. His scorn-filled eyes dared me to return the blow. I lowered my hand. My head, but not my heart, was bowed, and we stood silently facing each other.

“I should not have hit you, my child,” he said at last. “But one so young should not be so unforgiving. Especially if he isn’t the wounded one.”

I pushed him away, and wiped my bloody nose with the sleeve of my gyuilta. I walked away, throwing my gyuilta to the ground.

When I went to my room, I could not sleep. Love and hate bounced through my mind. I hated the Arkhai most of all because they had caused me to become estranged from father and my clan and were the source of all my distress. As I lay covered in furs, dread began to rise within me, an anticipation of some nameless terror. I began to wonder, Perhaps Okiak has bound me with a love spell. Love-spells were charms he did not dabble in, but he liked to control matters. Making me love someone who would betray me as the Third Wife had betrayed Father would not be beyond him. Suddenly unsure of the reason for my abrupt love for a strange woman, I considered dissolving the marriage. At the same time, other thoughts bounced in my mind: perhaps the love I had for Satha was indeed true. Perhaps it was the Arkhai who wished me to doubt it. Perhaps they wanted to be solitary in the world without friend or ally.

If Satha proved to be my true ally, all was safe. But if she did not, what was I to do? My heart had no desire to search the countryside for a priest to free me from the love-spell. Fear of losing her made me conceive a plan. I resolved to ask Father to hasten the full marriage and to allow us to marry within a week instead of at the customary year-mark ceremony. I resolved, too, that I would convince Satha to couch with me. A child would tie her to me and, however unworthy she found me to be, she would not risk losing the child by divorcing me.

My plan conceived, but not birthed, I fell asleep and dreamed of our full marriage. In the dream, I seemed older. The man who took Satha to bed was myself yet not myself. Older he was, and wounds scarred his body. Instead of lying on a bed we lay on a hard jagged rock which slowly, over a long time, softened beneath us into fur.

While I pondered this strange vision, a voice called out to me, “Loic, Loic.” I knew it was the Wind, the Creator, the Uncaused Causer of all things.

I said, “Here am I.”

All at once, a great sword descended from the sky. Its blade pointing downward, it fluttered like a ribbon of flayed skin in the wind. Of paper the sword was, rather than metal. Words covered its blade, words I could read yet which nonetheless I could not understand.

“Loic,” the Wind said, “behold your sword.”

“Great Chief,” I said, “I shall make my own sword.” The sword ascended back into heaven.

But it descended again and the Wind spoke. “Loic, here is your sword.”

Again, I refused it and again it was received up into heaven.

Then the voice spoke again. Again the sword descended, but this time it turned itself—its hilt now directly above my hand. “Loic, here is your sword.”

Relenting, I agreed to take it. Quickly it descended, and how sharp, straight and powerful it became as it fell from the sky! Its blade seemed alive and the words written on it living words. The sword whirled wildly, smashing Father’s armory, and scattered his weapons to the four winds. Finished, it flew towards me, its hilt at last in the palm of my hand.

I awoke from the dream, not understanding it. Nor did I ask Okiak or any of the clan elders to interpret it. I leaned on the window as moonlight shone through, and looked across the fields towards the room where my beloved lay. I could not return to sleep. At last, I put on my soft leather shoes and walked outside, intent on reaching her door and fulfilling my fear-born plan.