Authors: Leslie Ann Moore
A cloud of melancholy settled over her, and the day that had started out so bright and full of excitement now seemed much more dim and sad. She contemplated returning to the castle, but quickly changed her mind when she sighted a well-dressed hikui woman at a street stall, purchasing pies.
Jelena’s spirits lifted.
Perhaps not all of my kind live at the bottom of elven society after all!
The woman completed her purchases and moved along up the street. Jelena hurried after, determined not to lose sight of her.
If I could just talk to her…I know she’ll tell me the truth.
The woman soon turned off the main street into a narrow lane. She walked quickly; Jelena followed as close as she dared, not wishing to be too obvious in her pursuit, yet not wanting to lose her unwitting guide in the maze of small streets and alleys. She realized she had no idea how to get back to the main thoroughfare leading to the castle. She would eventually need to ask for directions; for now, though, she was content to let this woman lead her onward to whatever encounter the gods had mandated for them.
The forest began to thin out and soon Jelena found herself in a clearing within the city. Well-kept, modest houses lined the hard-packed, dirt lanes. The people she saw were all of mixed blood.
This must be it! I’ve found Jokimichi!
She felt a rush of excitement and quickened her pace in order to catch up with her guide.
“Excuse me please!” she called out.
The woman had paused in a doorway, a key in her hand. She looked up as Jelena approached.
“Yes, may I help you?” the woman said, a little smile on her lips. Her face still had much of its youthful beauty, despite the lines brought by middle age. Her dark brown hair, streaked with silver, hung down her back in a neat braid.
“I…I…” Jelena cursed herself for her awkwardness. Why did she feel this way—shy, yet exhilarated? She wanted to fling her arms around the woman but at the same time, she wanted to flee. She stared helplessly into the kind brown eyes, too tongue-tied to speak.
The woman set her basket down on the ground and took Jelena’s hand. Her palm felt rough and warm. “Are you ill, child? Is there something I can do for you, someone I can fetch?” she asked.
“N…no, no,” Jelena spluttered, finding her voice at last. “I’m not ill, just lost. Well, not lost, really. I wanted to find this place, wanted to find others…”
“Others?” The woman raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, others like me…like you, mistress. I am not from around here, you see.”
“That is abundantly clear. Your accent gives you away. I haven’t heard its like before.”
“I’m from Soldara, mistress. My Siri-dar is not so good yet.”
“Your Siri-dar is quite good,” the woman responded. She leaned over to pluck the basket off the ground. “Well, I suppose you’d better come in, then.” She fitted the key into a shiny brass lock, turned it, and gave the door a gentle shove with her foot. Jelena followed her into a small entry hall and waited while her hostess closed the door and set the basket down on a low table.
“Welcome to my home,” the woman said. “I am Sateyuka.”
The Weaver’s Tale
Jelena snatched off her hat and sketched a quick bow. “My name is Jelena, mistress,” she replied.
“What a lovely name,” Sateyuka said, “and so different. You are a long way from home, Jelena. How is it that you find yourself in Sendai?”
“It is a long story, mistress.”
Sateyuka smiled wryly and shook her head. “Please, Jelena. Call me Sateyuka. There are no masters or mistresses in this house, only hard working common folk. Come into the sitting room. I’ll make tea and we can talk.”
Sateyuka led Jelena through a sliding door made of thin wood into a cozy little room just off the entry hall. Three low chairs, a table, and some floor cushions made up the room’s simple furnishings. An unlit fireplace anchored the wall opposite the door. Sateyuka crossed the room to throw open the shutters of the single window, letting in some of the late afternoon sunshine and fresh air. A heavy mesh screen shielded the interior of the room from passers-by.
“Make yourself comfortable. I shouldn’t be too long.” Sateyuka smiled and whisked from the room, brown braid swinging.
Jelena settled into one of the chairs to wait.
I have so many questions
, she thought. Would Sateyuka be willing to answer them all? Or would she soon tire of her overeager young guest and find some excuse to send Jelena on her way?
I suppose I’ll find out.
Sateyuka returned quickly, bearing a teapot—whimsically shaped like a fat-bodied hen—and two cups on a wooden tray. In addition to the tea, two of the little pies that Jelena had observed her hostess purchasing just a short time ago were laid out on cloth napkins. Sateyuka set the tray down atop the table and poured each of them a cup of tea.
“Careful, it’s hot,” she warned as she passed a cup and a pie to Jelena. She then sank into the chair opposite her guest.
Jelena bit into the pastry with a sigh of delight, savoring the mix of honey-sweetened crushed nuts and berries. She had to stop herself from devouring the confection in a single bite.
“I’d heard rumors there were folk of mixed blood in Soldara,” Sateyuka said. “We here in Sendai have a tightly knit community, and I know of no one who has ever had any contact with hikui from beyond the borders of Alasiri.” She paused to take a sip of her tea, and to appraise her young visitor over the rim of her cup.
“I was born at a place called Amsara,” Jelena said, setting her teacup down on the table. She finished the pie and brushed the last crumbs from her fingers. “The duke’s only sister—my mother—died giving birth to me. My uncle could never really accept me as family because of my elven blood, but he couldn’t turn his back on me, either. He sent me to be raised in the servant’s hall. Luckily I had a foster mother and a cousin who loved me.”
“We hear stories of how hikui are treated in the human lands, and some among us say that we should be thankful we live here in Alasiri.” Sateyuka frowned and Jelena thought she could hear the faintest trace of bitterness in the older woman’s voice.
“It’s true that Soldarans have no places of honor or dignity in their world for mixed-bloods. The priests teach the people that elvenkind are the offspring of demons…and therefore, have no souls. They say that any child born of a mating between an elf and a human is soulless as well.” Now, Jelena’s voice trembled with bitterness. “The people of Amsara take their religion quite seriously.”
“Is that why you fled your home? To escape ill treatment at the hands of humans?”
“Partly so, yes. I also wanted very much to find the man who fathered me. On her deathbed, my birth mother passed on to my foster mother a ring that she said belonged to my father. She also swore that she and my father had truly loved each other.”
“A powerful force, love. It makes us do brave things…and foolhardy ones as well.” Sateyuka’s soft brown eyes grew hazy, as if she wandered in the country of her memories, reliving a moment in her past both painful and sweet. With a sigh, she refocused her attention on her visitor. “So, now I know part of the tale of how you came to be in Alasiri,” she said, smiling. “What brings you to Sendai? Have you reason to believe your father may be here?”
Jelena paused, considered how much of the truth to tell Sateyuka, then decided that the facts of her elven parentage must remain close-kept until the king decided otherwise.
“I came here with the Lord of Kerala. I am married to his younger son.”
Sateyuka’s eyebrows shot up. “Your fortunes have risen, indeed. The House of Sakehera is old and powerful. Lord Sen is well respected among the people, okui and hikui alike. He is the only lord on the King’s Council who has spoken up in support of equal rights for our folk.” Jelena shifted uneasily in her chair, eager to ask the question that had been uppermost in her mind since she first entered Sateyuka’s small, neat house, but yet afraid of the answer.
“I know Lord Sen and the people of Kerala are…more tolerant. This they told me themselves. Most of them accepted me, and treated me well.”
With one notable exception
, she thought. “But I wish to hear the truth spoken of…the truth which I can see with my own eyes as I walk the streets.”
Sateyuka sipped her tea in silence for several heartbeats, her expression thoughtful. When at last she spoke, her response seemed careful and measured.
“My husband Azareshu died several years ago,” she said. “He was a master weaver—one of the very best in the city—but because of the laws that forbid a person of mixed blood from becoming a member in any of the craft guilds, he was denied access to the best markets. Still, we managed. With hard work and perseverance, we built our business into one of the biggest weaving and dye shops in Sendai. That was before the fire.”
She paused, her mouth set in a thin, tight line, as if, at any moment, a wail of grief might break forth. Jelena waited in silence, recognizing the sight of old pain freshly recalled and felt anew.
After a moment, Sateyuka regained her composure and continued. “It was no accident—the fire—although we didn’t find out until after the flames had been put out. We lost our entire inventory and most of our equipment as well. My husband suffered lung damage from the smoke. He kept running back into the burning shop to save whatever he could, which was precious little. When it was all over, we were left with two looms, one dye vat almost too warped by heat to use, and three bales of raw wool. Not much with which to rebuild a shop as big as ours had been.
“The next day, while searching the ruins for anything that might be salvageable, my eldest son came across a medallion half-buried in the ashes. It was one of the tokens worn by apprentices of the Weavers and Dyers Guild. Somehow, it had survived the flames. Engraved on the back was the insignia of Kai Kaiori, our biggest competitor.”
“This Kai Kaiori sent apprentices to burn you out? But why?” Jelena immediately realized the naievite of the question.
Sateyuka laughed sharply. “Kai Kaiori is a high ranking member of the Guild. Our shop had been seriously cutting into her business, a situation that she couldn’t tolerate!”
“Did you confront her?”
“My husband and sons went to her shop with the medallion as evidence, but it was useless. She denied she had anything to do with the fire, and she challenged us to prove otherwise. Azareshu tried to fight. He went to the authorities, but they refused to investigate. He even petitioned the king, but we never received a reply.”
Sateyuka rubbed at her eyes, either to relieve an itch or wipe away tears— Jelena could not tell. “The stress of it all proved too much for my dear husband. His lungs became worse and soon, he was too weak to rise from our bed. He died, and my sons and I were left alone.” Sateyuka fell silent, but only for a moment. Their eyes met and Jelena saw a woman who had survived unbearable grief and hardship, yet remained unbowed, with not a particle of self-pity anywhere within her to otherwise poison her recovery.
“After Azareshu died, I determined to rebuild. Thankfully, we had some money put aside, so I was able to rent a small space and purchase enough supplies to deliver some smaller orders. Ai, things were very hard that first year, but we survived. Our best customers were patient. They refused to abandon us, and because of them, we were able to stay afloat.
“Now, the business is almost back to where it had been before the fire. My eldest and his wife are the master weavers now. My other daughter-in-law oversees the dyeing and my youngest son attends to all of the daily business matters. I see to the accounts.”
Sateyuka raised the teapot with an expectant lift of her chin. Jelena held out her cup for a refill. “I’ve told you all of this, Jelena, so that you can better understand what it’s like for us. A few hikui families have managed to prosper, despite how things are, but most just get by, and too many still live in poverty, though Alasiri itself is rich. Still, we live our lives as best we can. We get married, raise our families, run businesses, pay taxes…. As long as we remain separate—apart from mainstream elven society—the burden of our situation is barely felt by many of us, and the okui folk can go on pretending that we are all content. It’s only when the interests of a hikui collides with that of an okui that the ugly truth rears its head.”
Jelena sighed and forced herself to relax back into her chair. Sateyuka hadn’t revealed anything Jelena didn’t already suspect. “What am I to do?” she mused. “How can I reconcile all of this with what my life has become?”
“You are very lucky, child,” Sateyuka pointed out. “You are protected by virtue of your marriage into the House of Sakehera. Legally, you now have the same rights as an okui.”
“Maybe so, but it does not change the fact that I am still hikui. How can I live with rights that are denied others of our kind?”
“I haven’t the answer to that question, Jelena. Only you know what is truly in your heart. If your husband loves you and you love him…and I can see that you do by the look in your eyes…then perhaps that is all that should count for you right now. These are weighty matters, these questions of the rights of hikui people. Many women and men, both stronger and wiser than you and I, have spent their entire lives fighting for equality under elven law for our people. It has yet to happen.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then added, “Perhaps it never will.”