On Fire’s Wings (17 page)

 

The blast of the
shakaal
startled Kevla so much that she nicked her hand. She jumped and brought the injured finger to her mouth.

“It is time to assemble,” Sahlik said to her servants. “Kevla, are you all right? Let me see the cut.”

“It is nothing,” Kevla said, extending her finger so that Sahlik could examine the thin slice. It was already closing. “Sahlik, I will stay and watch the stews and keep preparing for the feast.”

Sahlik searched her brown eyes. “You are a member of the Clan of Four Waters just as much as any of us, child. You will need to honor the future
khashim.
”

Kevla wished she could tell Sahlik the truth, but both she and Jashemi had felt it was risky. Even Sahlik might quail at the thought of a serving girl who could scry in the fire.

“I am Bai-sha,” she said bluntly. “I will be among the last to honor the young master.”

Sahlik's face softened. “You will be among the last, that is true.” She glanced over at the bubbling pot and pursed her lips. “It will be many hours before I can return,” she said thoughtfully. “If you would stay for a while and then come out, that would be a great help.”

“I am happy to serve,” Kevla murmured. Sahlik eyed her curiously for a moment, then left to join the others.

When she was certain she was alone, Kevla went to one of the fireplaces. Quickly laying a few sandcattle cakes in it, she said, “Burn.” The fire appeared at once, blazing brightly.

Kevla swallowed. She had never tried this before. Her voice quavering slightly, she said, “Burn a little brighter.”

The fire did so, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She had half feared she would burn the kitchen down, but while this size was far too large to cook on, it served Kevla's purpose well.

She seated herself in front of the fire, and watched it intently.

 

The raised dais had been built only a few days ago, but was as sturdy as if it were a permanent structure. Jashemi sat alone at the top; his father stood at the bottom of the wooden stairs. Tomorrow, they would resume their traditional roles, but today, Jashemi was the center of attention and honor, and even Tahmu deferred to him as the “future”
khashim.

Jashemi looked out at the sea of faces, all turned expectantly toward him, and gripped the arms of his chair tightly to calm himself. He knew his father was a good leader. He had seen Tahmu hold his own in both battle and debate, but now his throat was dry and he wondered how Tahmu projected calm and confidence when faced with a crowd of this size. Thank the Great Dragon, Jashemi would not have to say anything, but simply sitting in the chair was intimidating enough.

He waited for the signal, one long blast from the
shakaal
followed by three shorter blasts. He swallowed hard, and then lifted his hand. The rite had begun.

Tahmu, as the highest-ranking member of the Clan, was the first to acknowledge Jashemi's passage to adulthood. He stood at the bottom of the steps and bowed deeply, then ascended. Before he could greet the future
khashim
, Tahmu, like all the Clan, would have to greet the Elements.

Each step had a symbol of the element. There were five in all, Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit. The last step would put the Clansman directly at the feet of his future lord.

Tahmu took the first step. He leaned down and lifted the sizable rock that represented the element of Earth. He said nothing, but closed his eyes as if turning his attention inward, then replaced the rock. Others, Jashemi knew, would not be strong enough to lift the rock and would merely touch its rough surface with reverence.

The wing of a falcon lay on the next step. Tahmu picked it up, and swung it through the air, creating a brief, gentle breeze. Air was thus honored.

The third step had a brazier of coals next to a large pile of quick-burning twigs. Tahmu gathered a handful and dropped them into the brazier. The flames leaped up, and he gazed steadily into their light, not shrinking from the sudden heat, until the flames had burned themselves down to coals once again. Jashemi's heart sped up a little as he watched his father stare into the flames. It would be at this moment, when he gazed into the fire, that Yeshi's lover would reveal himself to Kevla.

Or so Jashemi desperately hoped.

His honoring of Fire complete, Tahmu took the next step. He dipped his fingers into a large ceramic bowl and sprinkled the precious Water on his face.

Spirit had no representation, because it was nothing solid. There was only a white circle painted on the next to last step, indicating where the supplicant would stand. Tahmu stepped into the white circle, and closed his eyes in concentration as he had done with the previous four Elements.

Now, he took the last step, and knelt before his son on a red and blue embroidered cushion. He spoke in soft tones, so that no one would overhear.

“You are a man today, my son. No father could be prouder of his child than I of you.” He smiled gently, and Jashemi felt a lump well in his throat. Then, Tahmu's smile widened mischievously.

“Endure the heat as best you may—both from the sun and from those who approach you.”

Jashemi felt his lips twitch as he suppressed a grin.

“I will step in if you need me. If you feel uncomfortable, look at me and nod imperiously.” He winked, then bowed again and descended the second set of steps on Jashemi's left. He resumed his position at the foot of the steps and looked at the next supplicant who came forward.

Yeshi gazed steadily back at him, then she centered herself and greeted the representations of the Elements. She moved fluidly, observing all the proper etiquette, and yet Jashemi sensed that she was observing the form but not the substance.

When she knelt before him and he took her soft hands in his, she looked up at him. For a moment, their old connection was there.

Anxious to hold on to that instant, he squeezed her hands and opened his mouth to speak. But before words could escape his lips, Yeshi said in a flat voice, “Today my son is a man, with a man's responsibilities. Today his mother is but another woman in his life.”

She rose and went down the stairs, back straight. He watched her go, feeling hollowness in his heart, the deep ache of regret. Then he faced forward again. Yeshi had made it plain how she wished things to be between them. He would not shame himself by begging.

The next person to ascend was Halid, Tahmu's Second. Halid honored all the elements as Tahmu had, then knelt before Jashemi and clasped the
khashimu's
hands.

“I hope to someday serve you as well as I have served your father. You are worthy to succeed him.”

He knew he shouldn't extend the moment by speaking—it was going to be an achingly long day—but Jashemi said, “The Clan has been honored by your service. I will sleep better knowing you will be at my side, as you have been by my father's.”

Nodding, Halid descended the stairs.

Jashemi felt the sun begin to beat down as the morning drew on, and was grateful for the coolness the white clothing provided. Three had pledged. At least two hundred more remained.

Jashemi sighed inwardly, and forced a smile as the next
uhlal
made his ascent. The day was going to be very, very long.

 

The sun grew higher, baking those gathered beneath its harsh glare. Jashemi drank at least a dozen full waterskins and ate only fruit, for the moisture. Some took only a few minutes; others, overcome with the opportunity to speak to the
khashimu,
took several. Every now and then, Jashemi would glance at his father, looking as imperious as possible, and Tahmu would encourage the supplicant to hasten his speech.

So many! The full import of what his father did settled on Jashemi in a way he had never experienced. All these lives, relying on their
khashim,
trusting Tahmu to guide them wisely and well. A grave responsibility.

Finally, the higher-ranking castes and their families gave way to lower. As the sun settled down toward sleep and blessed coolness began to tinge the air, the servants came forward. Jashemi had begun the day nervous and excited. Now he was weary, hungry, and thirsty, and wanted nothing more than to bathe in the caverns and then crawl into bed. It was difficult to even summon courteous interest as the servants bent over his feet, but then he saw something that brought him fully alert.

In the back, at the very end of the line, stood Kevla.

She was veiled, of course, and had her hair properly covered. But he knew it was her. He would know her slender, full form, her carriage, anywhere.

Had she learned what they hoped she would? Now Jashemi was even more impatient to be done with the ceremony, but he knew that each person who came up the stairs had value to him and to the Clan. He tried to return his attention to his duty, but he kept glancing back as the line grew shorter and Kevla, scorned servant and Bai-sha, his half sister and dearest person in the world to him, drew closer.

She trembled as she greeted the Elements, and once she nearly stumbled as the fire seemed to burn more brightly at her approach. Jashemi had to grip the arms of his chair to keep from going to her assistance. Finally, she made it and fell to a huddled heap at his feet. It was more difficult even than he had imagined to keep his face impassive as he leaned forward to take Kevla's outstretched hands.

“I honor my gracious young lord,” she said, “who deigns to acknowledge the Bai-sha girl.”

She said more, but he didn't hear it. His eyes were glued to her face, waiting for the signal.

Slowly, continuing to speak meaningless, proper-sounding words, Kevla blinked her eyes twice. He swallowed hard and felt sweat break out all over his body.

She had seen Yeshi's lover.

K
evla waited until the waning moon had made most of her path across the sky before leaving her small room. Barefoot, she padded down the cool stone steps, pausing now and then and straining to listen. Nothing. While the feasting and revelry had lasted long into the night, even the heartiest carousers had surrendered to too much drink and food by now.

The House was oddly silent. Kevla knew she had little time. Within an hour, the first servants would awaken and begin preparing the day's meals.

Like a small, secret animal, she scampered through the house, pausing in the shadows to make certain she was alone before darting into the open. She was panting by the time she reached the door to the caverns and had to stifle her urge to hurry.

Slowly, she opened the door, so it would not give her away with a telltale sound, and made her silent way down the stairs. She did not take a lantern, but trailed her fingers lightly along the stone walls for guidance in the absolute darkness.

Gradually, she became aware of light at the bottom of the steps. Even now, she did not run; she could not be certain it was safe. She flattened her back against the cool stone and peeked around a curve in the stairway.

He was there, pacing like a caged
simmar
. She exhaled the breath she had been holding, and raced down the last few steps.

“You saw him?” Jashemi asked, his voice low and urgent. She nodded. As if steadying himself against the onslaught of a desert storm, Jashemi asked quietly, “Who is it?”

Oh, she did not want to tell him. Better it was some stranger, someone he did not know….

“Halid.”

He stared, his mouth open, not wanting to believe her. “No, you must be mistaken, Kevla. Halid is devoted to my father. I see it every time—”

There was no time to indulge his doubt. “Jashemi, I am so sorry, I wish it were not so, but it
is
. He stared full into the fire and spoke clearly. I didn't want to believe it either, so I waited, and I watched…but his voice and features were the only ones that even came close to those of the man I saw with Yeshi. It is Halid. It can be none other.”

Jashemi shut his eyes and breathed deeply through his nostrils. Kevla wanted to comfort him, as she had done in this same place so long ago, but a deeper instinct told her to step back. Jashemi needed to come to a point of acceptance on his own.

He sat at the pool's edge, gently kicking the water as he stared into its depths. Quietly, Kevla sat beside him.

At last, Jashemi spoke in a ragged voice. “It makes sense. You told me that my…that Yeshi said something like time was running out. That they had to—had to kill Tahmu soon.”

“Yes,” Kevla whispered.

“Halid is Tahmu's Second. He will become
khashim
if anything happens to Tahmu before I have reached Acknowledgment. That gives them only six months from today. No wonder Yeshi was so upset that I wanted to push the ceremony up.”

He shook his bare head in sorrow and disbelief. “My mother has betrayed my father with the one man he truly trusts, and the two of them are planning murder. This sounds like a fireside tale, not my life.”

Kevla watched as the pain gave way to anger. It was subtle; his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed, but she knew every expression that flitted across his face.

“They will not succeed,” he said through clenched teeth.

“How do we stop them? Are you going to tell your father?”

Jashemi shook his head. “No. How would I explain knowing this? I cannot mention your…abilities. I have to have my own proof. I must somehow catch her with him.” A blistering oath escaped his lips and he pounded the stone floor with a fist. “
Halid!
How could they
do
this?”

Gently guiding his thoughts back to action rather than anger, Kevla asked, “How do you plan to accomplish this? You cannot lurk at Yeshi's door every night.”

He turned to her, and Kevla shrank from the coldness of his smile.

“No,” he said, “but you can.”

“Yes,” she said thoughtfully, “I can.”

 

For the next several nights, Kevla got very little sleep. Every night, she would light a fire in her room, gaze into the flames, and say quietly, “Show me Yeshi.”

If Yeshi was near a fire, be it in her bedroom or elsewhere in the House, Kevla would see her. Sometimes she was too far away, other times her face was as clear to Kevla as if the woman were standing right in front of her. She found that the more she practiced, the clearer even the vague impressions became.

She was not overly concerned on nights when Tahmu was in the House. Not even Yeshi would dare invite a lover in when her husband might enter at any moment. Those nights, Kevla slept gratefully, her dreams troubled only by the appearance of the Great Dragon and his unceasing question.

Inevitably, Tahmu would have to leave. He did so a few weeks after Jashemi's birthday celebration, and Kevla knew that Yeshi would not let the bed grow cold.

It took several hours after nightfall, and Kevla was beginning to nod off when a voice came from the fire.

“I thought you would never come,” breathed Yeshi. Kevla snapped awake and stared into the fire. Sure enough, there was Halid, crushing Yeshi to him in a tight embrace.

Kevla swallowed hard, hoping the plan would work. She closed her eyes, calmed her racing thoughts, and said softly, “Show me Jashemi.”

The flames shimmered and crackled. The forms of Yeshi and Halid gave way to the image of a bed with only one occupant. Jashemi's face was turned away from the fire that had burned in his room every night since they had learned that Halid was the man they sought.

“Jashemi,” whispered Kevla. There was no response. He was deeply asleep. Kevla didn't know what to do. She didn't want to speak so loudly that she might be overheard, but saw no other course.

“Jashemi!” she said, more loudly. “Wake up!”

He started, and looked around. His eyes widened when they looked at the fire.

“Kevla! I can see you!”

That was alarming. Up until this point, Kevla had not realized that she could be seen by those she watched. She had been very lucky to escape detection until now.

“He's with her,” she said.

Jashemi nodded and rose from the bed. Kevla looked away, her cheeks burning. She had not realized Jashemi slept unclothed. She did not extinguish the fire, however, and after a moment, asked of it, “Show me Yeshi.”

 

Jashemi threw on a
rhia
and went silently through the House to his parents' sleeping chamber. As he stood outside, he wondered what would be the best course of action. To knock and feign surprise at seeing Halid there? No, that might give Yeshi a chance to hide him, or he might climb out through the window.

As he hesitated, he heard voices. Soft, lustful murmurings. Laughter.

A red haze fell down over his vision. He heard blood thundering in his ears, and before he realized what he had done he had placed his shoulder to the door and broken it open.

They rushed to pull the sheets up, to cover themselves. Furious, Jashemi grabbed the sheets and yanked them back. He stared, anger mixing with contempt, as hands went to cover groins and breasts.

He reached for Halid, seizing the bigger man's wrists. Halid's knee slammed into Jashemi's stomach, knocking the breath out of him. Jashemi's hands opened and he staggered back. Halid came after him. He clutched a wicked-looking dagger. It glinted in the firelight. Of course. Halid would not be so foolish as to sleep with his master's wife without a weapon immediately to hand.

The blade arced down. Gasping, Jashemi darted to the side and felt the breeze as Halid struck only air. He whirled and angled his body, ramming Halid with his shoulder with all his strength. Halid's bare feet slipped on one of the rugs and he went down, still gripping the knife. He managed to roll over before Jashemi bore down on him, and Jashemi felt the tip of the blade slice through his
rhia
and graze his ribs. He slammed his elbow into Halid's throat, then gripped the hand that held the knife. He squeezed and Halid's hands opened. Jashemi seized the knife. Halid grabbed his arm, but Jashemi easily twisted out of it. In a smooth motion, the blade was at Halid's throat.

For a long moment, they lay there, Jashemi atop Halid, gasping for breath. Jashemi stared into the eyes of his father's most trusted friend, and saw there none of the affectionate warmth he had seen for the last twenty years. He saw only hatred and treachery.

He pressed down with the dagger. A thin trickle of red seeped out from beneath the bright blade. Halid had committed treason against his
khashim.
The punishment was death.

Halid's eyes grew wider as the pressure on his throat increased, but uttered no word. With a low oath, Jashemi leaped to his feet. He still held the dagger.

He could not do it. He could not murder in cold blood, not even when it was deserved. The crime was committed against Tahmu, and Tahmu must be the one to order punishment. Jashemi would abide by the laws of his people, despite the rage that surged along his veins.

Halid's hand went to his throat and found it whole. Slowly, he grinned.

“I knew you wouldn't have the stomach for it,” he said.

Jashemi felt his face flush but ignored the taunt. “I will send a falcon to my father describing in detail what I saw here tonight. Your lives will be in his hands, not mine. May the Dragon have mercy on you, for you'll get none from Tahmu or me.”

He turned and was about to make good his threat when Yeshi's voice stopped him cold.

“What notice will Tahmu take of lies told by a son who is possessed by demons?”

“What do you mean?”

Halid grinned, his teeth white in the firelight. “A few years ago, it seems you were having some very bad dreams. Dreams of people with yellow hair and pale skin, of blue
simmars
with stripes. Dreams that your father knew were sent by
kulis
.”

Hotly, Jashemi retorted, “My father will believe me, no matter what dreams I—” The words died in his throat as the true import of Yeshi's and Halid's words registered.

They knew Tahmu would believe him. That was not the issue. Their words were a threat that they would reveal to others what Jashemi had confided to his father when he thought they were alone. If word got out about Jashemi's strange dreams, the best he could hope for from his father was disinheritance. At worst, he would be executed.

“My bright boy,” purred Yeshi. “One breath of scandal, and you are immediately disowned, like that little slut you keep company with.” Her eyes narrowed. “Go to Tahmu with tales, sweet son of mine, and they will be the last words you speak as a member of the Clan of Four Waters—perhaps the last words you speak as a living man!”

Jashemi made his decision. Kevla had lived as a Bai-sha. So could he, if it meant his father's life would be saved.

“For my father's safety, I will risk it!” he cried.

“Ah, but what about the safety of your little friend? Accidents happen in the kitchen, Jashemi. Burns. Cuts. It would be a shame if Kevla hurt herself—or worse.”

Jashemi felt as if he had been struck in the stomach. He trembled, but not from fear. Outrage at the wild miscarriage of justice made him shake.

“Believe this, Mother, if you believe nothing else. If Kevla comes to any harm, I will kill you myself.”

“You'll have to get past Halid first, and Kevla will still be dead,” Yeshi said, shrugging.

The two lovers looked at one another and grinned in satisfaction as Jashemi struggled to make sense of it all. If he told his father, Halid and Yeshi would make public Jashemi's dreams. Tahmu's hands would be tied. Jashemi would be either disowned or executed. Tahmu could not even act on the news his son had given him, or else the stigma of
kuli
-cursed would be attached to him as well. And then, one day, when Tahmu's guard was down, they would kill him. With he, Jashemi, so conveniently out of the way, it would be easy for Halid to become
khashim
and wed the widowed
khashima.

And Kevla…He could not permit anything to happen to her. As he stared at Yeshi's face, gloating, twisted in a smirk, he realized Yeshi would have no qualms about murdering Kevla.

A low growl escaped him. He rushed the bed on his mother's side, hands raised to strike her, and had the brief satisfaction of watching her quail. Then, he clenched his fist and brought it to his side with an effort.

He turned and marched out of the room, the scornful laughter of the lovers and would-be murderers following him.

 

The next few days that followed were the most anguished of Jashemi's young life. He could not tell his own father that his life was in danger. He could not see Kevla, or even try to contact her through the fire, to confide in her and seek comfort; to do so would put her at risk. Worst of all, he saw his powerlessness reflected in Yeshi's dark, knowing eyes every time he saw her. He lay awake at night, trying desperately to think of a way out.