Shadow of the Horsemen (Kalie's Journey) (11 page)

“Yasha is angry because she would rather have Kariik,” one of the women was shrieking. “Better to be a king’s concubine than a warrior’s wife, is that it Yasha?”

“She is angry because she’ll have for a husband a man turned down by a slave girl!” laughed another. “That would cheapen even the finest groom.”

Yasha ignored the second woman and spoke to the first. “I could have had Kariik! And as his wife, not his concubine! He wants me; I can see it in his eyes when he looks upon me. But my father would rather have horses from Riyik’s herd, than a marriage tie with a future king!” She spat in disgust.

“And did Kariik ever ask for you in marriage?” Gallia asked sweetly.

“He would have! Given time.” Yasha was close to tears. “But Riyik offered my father twin foals of his finest horses get.” Thunder, thought Kalie. “And he’s already given Riyik a tent as part of my dowry. We’ll be married right after the men return!”

Kalie didn’t like the distracted way she was feeling. And she didn’t like the knowing way Brenia was looking at her. She shook her head angrily to clear it. This was supposed to be a time sacred to the Goddess. Perhaps her only opportunity to worship freely in this place. Yet all she could think about now was finding Riyik, and telling him what a mistake it would be to marry Yasha; what a terrible mother she would make Yarik…

“Too bad you don’t live with Kalie’s people,” giggled a woman tipsy from the kumis that had been flowing freely. “Then you could have whatever man you wanted, and your father be damned!”

“And then you’d be no better than a whore!” Yessenia snapped with a glare at Yasha. “Not that you’re much better than one anyway.”

Kalie decided she’d heard enough. She should find Varena and make sure they both got home safely. As she turned to go, a shadow stepped in her path, and Kalie saw Brenia’s pale face framed by wild red curls, her veil cast aside. “I wanted to speak with you,” she said.

Kalie did not want to end a night like this with an argument over Riyik.

“I just wanted to say that…I think I understand now.”

“Understand what?” This was not what Kalie had been expecting.

“Why you can’t marry my brother. It’s just that I was so happy when I saw how he looked at you; he has not loved a woman since Yalina died. And when Cassia told me you could not have children, and I saw how good you were with Yarik—it seemed like such a perfect arrangement. I wanted to have you for a sister.”

Kalie was stunned. “I didn’t know that,” was all she could think to say. Brenia wanted her for a sister? Riyik thought he loved her? She had discussed this with Cassia? Kalie didn’t know which news to consider first.

Brenia rushed on. “I couldn’t understand how you could possibly turn him down! But after tonight…I think I can. When you stood there on that hill…you were like a warrior after a great victory. No…” Brenia shook her head. “Like a king, standing before his people.” She shrugged, giving up. “Perhaps there is simply nothing like it here. Certainly no woman could live as you did…have what you had, there in the moonlight. But I can see now, why you wouldn’t give it up to marry any man. Not even my brother. Even though I know you love him.”

Brenia was gone before Kalie could respond—which was probably just as well. She found Varena, and together they walked back to Malke’s tent. Varena seemed to sense Kalie’s need for quiet thought, and for a time, said nothing. But Kalie could tell that, like everyone else this night, Varena too, had something to say.

“What is it, Daughter?” Kalie asked, just before they reached the tent.

Varena looked down, then steeled herself and met Kalie’s eyes. “Only that, oh, Mother you’ve brought so much to this place! So much to me! It’s not my place to tell you—“

“Yes it is,” Kalie said firmly.

Varena struggled to keep meeting Kalie’s gaze, and Kalie encouraged her as best she could with her mind and heart already so full of other things. “I think more people would listen to you if you did not tell them how bad they were and how stupid our way of life is.” As Kalie stared speechless, wondering how many more surprises might be in store for her, Varena pushed on. “I know you’re only saying back to them what most of them have said to you! I know they’ve been mean to you, and you have every right to do the same to them. But, if your home is such a nice place, maybe you can show the others that by being nice to them—like you are with me.”

Varena stopped and looked down, afraid she had gone too far. But Kalie kissed the top of her head, and gently lifted her chin. “My daughter is a very wise woman,” she said.

They stepped inside the tent without another word.

The next night was the final night of the full moon. It would also be the final night of worship and discussion among the women with whom Kalie was at last forging the kind of relationship Alessa had dreamed of. The next day, the men would conclude their rituals and return to their tents after the sun had set. The women would be busy preparing for their return by cooking some kind of traditional meal, and waiting anxiously for word of the omens.

On this last night, only a small group gathered around Kalie on a rocky outcrop that held them suspended over the lake. The fall of moonlight combined with the lapping of the waves gave the place the most otherworldly feel yet. Kalie had been a fool to think there was nothing holy in this land.

Those who disapproved, or who came only to laugh, had at last been weeded out. Tonight, most of the women were in their tents, getting their last good night’s sleep for many nights to come. Only nine women sat with Kalie. Danica was there with her slave Sarika, who, for tonight, was just another woman, and an equal to all there. Larren sat with Mavra on one side of Kalie and Agafa on the other.

Varena had brought a friend, a frightened looking girl named Katya who was risking a severe beating by sneaking out tonight. Brenia had come, bringing Yarik and Barak with her, since Elka had made it clear that chores like childcare (and everything else, it seemed) was beneath her. Two women Kalie had never met before two nights ago, Nika and her slave Basha were there as well. Basha had brought some sewing to work on while she listened. Nika brought her four-year-old daughter, who played happily with the boys, while the women spoke.

To her dismay, Kalie had a headache that had been growing all day. She had slept poorly last night, with Verena’s words—and Brenia’s and Cassia’s as well—keeping her awake. And, she had to admit to herself, thoughts of Riyik had plagued what little sleep she got.

Tonight’s discussion had mostly focused on the difference between the work done in a farming community and that which was necessary in a nomadic one.

“But who actually owns what you have?” Nika asked. “My husband was one of those who followed Karik on his great expedition to the west. He spoke of large houses, some filled entirely with grain! And jewelry and cloth and things for which he had no name! Who owns it all? And who assigns the various tasks that must be done?”

 
“Personal wealth is just that,” said Kalie, wishing her headache would go away so she could enjoy this moment. “Clothing, tools, ornaments…all are made or traded by each person—or given as gifts. It is primarily food, or that which becomes food, that belongs to the community as a whole.

“As to who decides who does what, most communities have some kind of governing body—a council of elders, an elected leader, or, in very small villages, just a priest or priestess—who help settle disputes and organize the work that needs to be done.”

They still couldn’t grasp it. Finally Brenia asked, “What if I wanted to eat meat tonight? Could I just go to the pasture, kill a sheep and cook it for dinner?”

“In most places, yes,” said Kalie. “As I said last night, everyone contributes labor, and everyone shares in the results. Even merchants, who travel most of the year, don’t leave their homes until the spring planting is done. If they don’t make it home by harvest, they help with the harvest wherever they happen to be. But the rest of the time, people pursue their individual talents or interests: crafts, learning, travel, what have you.

“In places where animals are owned individually, and you wanted mutton for dinner, you might trade fish you had caught, or game you snared, or something you made with your hands, like a basket or knife or pot for the sheep.” She smiled as understanding dawned several faces.

“I can’t do anything like that,” said Katya. “Would I starve, then?”

“Of course not—“ Kalie began.

But for the first time, Larren jumped in to help. “I think you’d find that you could learn to do many things you’ve never even imagined, given the chance.”

“Yes!” said Kalie. “Anyone who could do the work you do here, every day, could learn to weave a basket or forge metal or anything else you wanted to learn.”

Katya looked doubtful. “She’s just a slave!” said Mavra. “She doesn’t do anything!”

“She’s a slave, so she does everything!” snapped Kalie.

“But no one who does that work owns any of it!” said Sarika.

“That’s interesting,” said Kalie. “Why do you suppose that is?”

“Because everything is owned by those who have the strength to keep it—or take it,” said Danica.

 
“True,” said Kalie. “In this land, those who kill, hold the power—in other words, the men.”

“The strong men,” Brenia corrected.

“But all the necessities of life—food, clothing, shelter—are provided by the women. There are also more of you than there are of them. So a good question might be: why have you never risen up, and taken back from the men what they have stolen from you? Your power, your dignity, the fruits of your labor, even you own children…”

“You expect us to kill our own husbands and brothers?” cried Nika. “Our own fathers?” Her eyes were wide with horror.

“Is killing the only solution you have in this place?” Kalie demanded angrily. “Couldn’t you just unite and demand justice from the men? If no work was done by anyone, what could they do? Kill you all?”

 
Then again, perhaps they would, Kalie thought looking from one confused face to another. She cursed her headache, while reminding herself of Varena’s good advice the night before.

“Tell us more about the different work women may choose in your land,” Danica, said, changing the subject with the diplomacy Kalie lacked. “My slave Sarika is a skilled healer. Do you mean to say in your world, she could do that all the time, with no other tasks given her?”

Kalie nodded gratefully to Danica, but she addressed her words to Sarika, explaining a little about the temples of healing, and those who traveled her land sharing their knowledge and developing their gifts.

“I’m told I make fine leather,” said Basha, avoiding her mistress’s eyes.

Nika spoke up anyway. “Every slave does that!” she said derisively.

“Not so fine as hers,” said Brenia. “I’ve seen it.” Turning to Kalie she asked, “And could she do that, and nothing else, in your land? People would trade food and other necessities for the leather Basha made?”

“Yes,” said Kalie. “Just as you could make a good living by making superior kumis, and Cassia could do well with her beautiful blankets and cushions.” Their eyes were lighting up now, as each woman began to speak of things she did well; tasks she enjoyed above others.

“Your dancing would be highly regarded,” she said to Agafa, who had remained silent throughout the discussion. “And it would not have been taken as an offer of sex by those who watched.”

“Then I don’t see how she could hold an audience,” said Mavra. Kalie glared at her, but the younger woman did not flinch. “Oh, come now! Surely you’re not saying that people were given all they needed to live just for dancing!”

“I knew few people who made their living solely as entertainers—until I myself did so as a storyteller. For five years.” Kalie turned her back on Mavra and found Agafa gazing at her with dreamy eyes. “If you had a desire to travel as well as dance, you might join a group of merchants. They’re always happy to have more to offer than the goods they carry. With your dancing to attract the locals—“

“I would not earn my living by dancing,” Agafa said firmly. “I never enjoyed it, even when I was praised for it. But I could wish…could you tell us more about those gardens? Where people grow food and flowers and herbs that heal? They sound like eternal springtime. A place to rest in after this life is done. Could I live in such a place? Is the weather so fair there is no need for shelter?”

Nika gagged. “Have you not slept enough of your life outside, Shadow Woman?”

With a clear effort, Agafa met Nika’s gaze. “One night this winter, while I hid from a storm behind old Graf’s tent, I fell asleep, though I fought it, for I knew it meant my death. I dreamed of a place like Kalie described. Mala took pity on me, and brought me inside to keep her goat of a husband off her for a time. But that night, a part of me wished she hadn’t, for the dream was that pleasant. Now I think that if I could live in such a place, I’d never sleep in a tent again.”

The talk turned to matters of family and how the different ways of reckoning lineage and ties. Kalie’s headache grew worse, and she finally asked Varena to go back to Maalke’s tent for some willow bark tea, although she hated for her daughter to miss any of the discussion. Varena, however, was happy to go.

“But where does a woman’s true loyalty lie?” Danica asked. “Her husband or her mother?” Varena returned with a steaming cup. Kalie thanked her profusely, and began sipping the still too hot brew, while Danica waited impatiently for an answer.

“That would depend,” Kalie said as she set the cup down to cool. “But I suppose when it comes down to it, blood is the greatest bond, in my world or this one.”

The women exchanged puzzled glances. “Blood ties are strong, of course,” said Brenia. “The bond between brothers or the duty of a son to his father. But when a woman marries, her duty is to her husband. That’s more powerful than any tie, even mother and child.”

Kalie knew she wasn’t up for another lecture on the virtues of the perfect wife. She sipped more tea and wondered when it would begin to work, growing more and more irritated. “Then perhaps we should ask Basha why she has lived as a slave to her own daughter for all these years!” she snapped.

There was a strangled cry, as Basha jabbed herself with her bone needle, then dropped her sewing into a heap, all color draining from her face.

My, this tea works quickly, thought Kalie, as her headache disappeared in the horrified realization of what she had just done.