[Queen of Orcs 02] - Clan Daughter (19 page)

“Not yet. I need to think some more. Meanwhile, honor Dargu and keep her close. We can use her only once. When Dargu entered darkness, she foresaw her death.”

Twenty-one

Dar learned of Muth-yat’s decision through indirect ways, starting the following morning. Zor-yat arrived in Dar’s chamber, her lips curled into a smile. “Dargu,” she said, “your chamber is ready at last! Let me show you.”

Zor-yat led Dar back to the hanmuthi. “Now that we have three unblessed mothers, I had to rearrange things.” She showed Dar a large, elegant chamber adjoining the hanmuthi. A mother was already in it. “This is Thir-yat, Nir-yat’s younger sister,” said Zor-yat. “Thir-yat, this is Dargu, who has bitten your brother’s neck.”

Thir-yat bowed politely, and Dar returned the bow.

Two sons appeared bearing furnishings from Dar’s old room. As soon as Dar’s chest was set down, Zor-yat opened it. It contained only a dagger, for Dar had discarded all her washavoki clothing. “This will not do!” exclaimed Zor-yat in a surprised tone. “You need more clothes.” She regarded Dar’s outfit, as if she had noticed it for the first time. “That’s very quaint, but styles are different here. I know mother who does fine work. I’ll send for her. Tonight, you must be properly dressed.”

Zor-yat breezed out of the room as Nir-yat entered it. “Is this for us? Window chamber?”

“Hai,” said Thir-yat, grinning. “Muthuri said it’s because of Dargu.”

Nir-yat smiled. “Shashav, Dargu.”

Dar felt relieved. Sharing a chamber off the hanmuthi meant inclusion in daily life. She especially appreciated how Zor-yat’s choice of rooms insured that Thir-yat and Nir-yat would be satisfied with the arrangement. Zor-yat had put on a gracious performance, yet Dar suspected it was a performance all the same. It seemed more likely that Zor-yat had been waiting for Muth-yat’s decision, not for the room to be readied. Once again, Dar had witnessed an orc twisting the truth, and it made her uneasy.

“There’s to be feast tonight,” said Thir-yat, “to celebrate Zna’s return and honor Dargu’s deeds.”

As Thir-yat spoke, a gray-haired mother appeared in the doorway. She bowed to Dar. “Mother,” she said, “I’m Thorma-yat. Zor-yat asked me to prepare your clothes.” Thorma-yat frowned. “You have strange body. This will be difficult.”

Thorma-yat asked Dar to undress, then measured her using different-colored strings, which she knotted to record each dimension. Afterward, she produced a bag of fabric swatches and asked, “What cloth do you favor?”

It was the first time Dar had ever been asked such a question. Before, her wishes had never mattered. Dar felt deeply moved as she fingered the colorful fabrics. Nir-yat noticed. “Your eyes grow wet. Are you hurt?”

“Thwa. It means I’m happy,” said Dar. “These are so beautiful and soft.”

“I’ll be happy when you choose one,” said Thormayat. “There is much work ahead and little time.”

Dar selected indigo cloth for her neva and a sky blue fabric for her kefs. After Thorma-yat hurried off, Nir-yat offered to give Dar a tour of the hall. Dar gladly accepted. The hall proved a thriving place, more like a small city than a dwelling. There were walled gardens, sacred places, stables, workshops, communal baths, numerous hanmuthis, even more storerooms, and a huge kitchen that served the entire hall.

Later, Nir-yat showed Dar the terraced fields that covered the mountainside. Many of the fields contained plants with tiny yellow blossoms that swayed in the breeze. Dar wondered which field Zna-yat had worked, surrounded by its wall built by Lama-tok and Duth-tok. Thinking of her traveling companions made Dar long to see them.
Life was simpler on the road.
She recalled falling asleep in Kovok-mah’s arms so vividly that she almost felt his touch. Dar shook the image from her mind, then noticed Nir-yat watching her. “What were you thinking about?” asked the mother in her customary directness.

“How pretty crops look.”

Nir-yat shot her a strange look. “You must love flowers very much.”

Orcs had no midday meal on feast days, so by the time Dar bathed and dressed in her new clothes, she was ravenous. She was also jittery. The occasion would mark her formal introduction to Zor-yat’s extensive family—three generations of orcs with whom Dar expected to spend the rest of her life. Knowing her reception would foreshadow that life, Dar’s trepidations returned in force. She began to pace anxiously about the room.

“Don’t worry, Dargu,” said Nir-yat. “Muthuri is pleased with you.”

“And your clothes look nice,” added Thir-yat.

Indeed, Thorma-yat had performed a miracle within the time allotted, and Dar’s new kefs and neva fit perfectly. “You’re right, Thir-yat,” Dar said, “I’ve never worn anything so lovely.” She popped a washuthahi seed into her mouth to insure that her teeth were properly blackened and continued to wait.

When the sun began to set, sons brought food from the central kitchen. They set a cauldron upon the hearth and arranged platters of delicacies about it. The hanmuthi filled with savory aromas as both sexes of Zor-yat’s family assembled for the feast. Zor-yat sat upon her stool while everyone else sat on cushions. Nir-yat, Thir-yat, and Dar were seated on her right side. Zor-yat’s husband, Dna-tok, sat on her left, along with Zna-yat, her only unblessed son. Zor-yat’s three blessed daughters, with their spouses and children, completed the circle about the hearth. In all, twenty-three individuals gazed at Dar.

Zor-yat rose. “Long has there been empty spot within this circle. Long did I believe Zna-yat had rejoined Muth la. Yet here he sits, having passed through many perils. He returned with tales of mother who saved him. That mother is Dargu.”

Zor-yat bowed to Dar. “Shashav, Dargu.”

After Dar returned the bow, Zor-yat spoke again. “All alive are Muth la’s children. Think this as you regard Dargu. I see one who is guided by Muth la. She deserves our honor and friendship. Join me and welcome her.”

Everyone in the room bowed to Dar. “Welcome, Dargu.”

Dar bowed. “Shashav.”

Zor-yat walked over to the cauldron, and intoned the words that blessed the feast. “Food is Muth la’s gift.”

The room echoed with the response. “Shashav, Muth la.”

Youngling sons quickly distributed metal plates and small wooden drinking bowls. Then Zor-yat personally served everyone stew. She was followed by the blooded mothers, who passed out the other delicacies and poured herb-scented water into drinking bowls. Dar was invited to join in these tasks. Once everyone was served, the feasting began.

The room quieted as everyone satisfied their hunger with food Dar thought was superior to any prepared for King Kregant. Scent was an important element of every dish, and all the food was spiced. The aromas tended to be subtle, though perhaps not to the orcs’ keen noses. Dar marveled at the wide variety of flavors and relished everything.

When the eating slowed, Zna-yat launched into an account of his rescue. He showed a skill for drama, and soon had everyone spellbound. After he finished speaking, Zor-yat brought out a large silver urn. It turned out to be a drinking vessel that was passed among the adults. Each drank deeply when it was his or her turn. Dar did the same when the vessel reached her. The dark liquid it contained had the spicy sweetness of washuthahi seeds and warmed her stomach like brandy.

By the second time the vessel reached Dar, she was already feeling the draught’s effects. Every sensation was pleasantly heightened, and she felt relaxed and happy. The third time she drank from the silver vessel, the room seemed to dance and the voices about her blended into incoherent music. In a state of bliss, Dar failed to notice that the orcs were less affected by the drink. Yet even they were in a buoyant mood. Nir-yat beamed as she shook Dar’s shoulder. “Dargu, I must tell you something,” she said, slurring her words slightly.

“What?”

“Dargu, I was like my brother. At first, you displeased me. But now…But now I’m so,
so
glad you’re here.”

Thir-yat chimed in. “Dargu, you’re no…” She erupted in a fit of hissy orcish giggles. “Dargu, you’re no washavoki. Your teeth are pretty.”

“Hai,” said Dar, grinning to show them off. “So are my new clothes. I wish Kovok-mah could see them.”

“Muthuri’s brother’s son?” asked Nir-yat.

“Hai,” said Dar, her caution gone. “He said my teeth were pretty, too.” Then she added, “He liked my scent.”

“
He
taught you how to speak?” asked Nir-yat.

“Hai,” said Dar, “I miss him so.”

Nir-yat leaned close to Dar and breathed in deeply. “Hai,” she whispered. “I can tell.”

Twenty-two

Dar awoke next morning with a throbbing head. She had no memory of her indiscretion, but Nir-yat did. Nir-yat kept that information to herself, for she saw Dar’s feelings as understandable, though unfortunate. She couldn’t imagine Kovok-mah returning Dar’s affection.

Dar moaned. “Oh, my head.”

“You drank too much falfhissi,” said Nir-yat.

The word meant “laughing water,” though Dar didn’t feel much like laughing. She moaned again.

“Cold bath will help,” said Nir-yat. “Then it’s off to work.”

Dar expected to work, but not so soon. On her way to the bath, she learned she was to be a cook. Every mother acquired a skill, and Zor-yat had determined that Dar would be taught to prepare food. It seemed an unlikely choice. Dar’s sense of smell was inferior to an orc’s, yet it would be crucial in spicing dishes. Nevertheless, a muthuri was rarely questioned in her hanmuthi, and Dar felt that she was in no position to do so. If Zor-yat wanted her to cook, she would learn to cook.

Nir-yat left Dar in the charge of a rotund mother named Gar-yat. “So, Zor-yat wants you to cook,” she said, her expression reflecting her low opinion of the idea. She sniffed. “You smell of falfhissi.”

“We had feast last night,” replied Dar.

“I know,” said Gar-yat. “I helped prepare it.” She handed Dar some washuthahi seeds. “These will help with your head. Until it clears, you can peel pashi.” Gary-at led Dar over to a bin filled with pashi roots, stopping to get a knife along the way. A son was sitting on a bench close by, peeling roots and tossing them into a bowl.

“Tathug-hak,” said Gar-yat, “here is Dargu, Zor-yat’s washavoki mother. She’s peeling pashi today.”

Tathug-hak bowed politely, but said nothing. Dar sat next to him and began to work. As she peeled, she pondered the words of Gar-yat’s introduction, for they seemed to define her. “Washavoki” meant she was an outsider. “Mother” meant she was due respect. Dar was uncertain what it meant to be “
Zor-yat’s
washavoki mother,” but she felt it was a significant distinction. Everyone seemed to know of Dar, and she suspected that was Zor-yat’s doing. Zor-yat had also chosen Dar’s training without consultation.
Is she my protector or my keeper? What are her plans for me?
She recalled Zna-yat’s statement that the Yat clan mothers were subtle thinkers, and she believed him. Already, Dar felt caught in an invisible web, gently constrained for some unknown purpose.

Dar continued to work in the kitchen every day. There, Gar-yat endeavored to teach her. The subject was extensive, and while Dar’s poor sense of smell made her an inept pupil, Gar-yat persisted. Dar found her training interesting, but frustrating. Sometimes, she prepared dishes that tasted fine to her but were deemed inedible. Nevertheless, Dar worked diligently and tried to devise ways to use spices that relied on measurement rather than smell or taste.

She ate in the hanmuthi, where meals often included visitors. Unblessed sons and mothers frequently visited other halls as part of courtship. Since Dar ate with Nir-yat and Thir-yat, she met all the sons who dined with them. Three weeks after Dar’s arrival, a son joined the midday meal. Nir-yat introduced him. “Dargu, this is Kathog-mah.”

After Dar acknowledged his bow, Kathog-mah asked, “Are you washavoki who traveled with my cousin?”

“Who’s your cousin?’ asked Dar, feigning ignorance.

“Kovok-mah.”

“Hai. We journeyed together,” said Dar, keeping her voice and expression neutral. “How is he?”

“He’s become strange. He lives with his goats.”