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.
SATHA: The Little Taste
Mamya Jontay, Loic’s Little Mother, the noblewoman who had raised him since his birth, led me to my rooms in the women’s section of the guest quarters. With her were other Pagatsu noblewomen. After greeting me with dancing and singing, they left us alone in my dowry-filled room surrounded by chalcedony, gold, jasper, jade, turquoise and other riches. She gestured toward the bed on which a pearl-encrusted silk quilt rested. I walked in silence toward it.
Glancing around at the furs, fabrics and the objects of wealth, and comparing them to the torn and tattered dinginess of my former home, I regretted my rudeness to Loic and my ungratefulness for such blessings. Although I had lived in poverty, I had not accepted it. Nor had I accepted the loneliness of living in a strange region with no clan to protect me. Now I had both wealth and family.
Mamya Jontay stood near the bed, staring at me, as if waiting for me to speak. I must have looked like a little lost sheep for she suddenly said, “Thesenya, we’re a fierce people, but you’re one of us now. Despite being in the guest quarters, you’re not alone. I know you Thesenyas are close to your mothers. I will bring her here if you wish.”
“And my father?”
She frowned as if I had spoken indecent words. “Not your father. Speak to him little during the betrothal feast days, and never in private. During the days of the Restraint, speak no word to him at all.”
“Among the Theseni, the betrothed couple—”
“Arhe, you’re Doreni now. The Restraint year begins after the six days of the betrothal feast ends. During that time, you and Loic must not see your fathers. Not until the full marriage. Come to know your husband, share each other’s sweetness without the interference of men.”
“This is a harsh custom you’ve thrust upon me, Mamya Jontay,” I said.
She put her arm around my shoulder and said firmly but with kindness, “You will bear it. The rules are narrow, the Golden House is wide, and you are an obedient girl who wants to show everyone you can restrain yourself from running to your father.”
I didn’t think I was obedient, but knew well enough to pretend to be.
She indicated the jewelry scattered about the room. “All this is your dowry, girl.”
“It is not my dowry. My father’s goodness has earned it.”
“Layo, layo. True, he has riches now. And if the marriage fails, all this is yours and his to keep.” She gave me a warning look. “But the marriage will not fail, will it?”
I shook my head.
She continued. “Such wealth can be intimidating, I know. The love of a passionate young man even more so. But you’ll become used to both love and wealth.” She smiled, and strange it was to see a Doreni woman smiling at me. I had gotten used to their formidable stares in the marketplace. “Think of all the good this wealth can do. Only, try to love my Loicuyo for himself. He loves you very much and...” Her words trailed into silence.
“And what?”
“He’ll know if you don’t love him. That’s all.” She walked toward the doorway, pulled the wooden curtain aside, passed through it, then turned and pulled it closed behind her.
I was alone.
Fatigue should have made me sleep, but I missed hearing Mam’s snoring from the other room. I worried about not seeing Father. I lay watching the glittering of jewels in the moonlight, wondering what freedoms I had lost and what burdensome duties I had gained. As I lay there, footsteps echoed in the corridor. “Mamya Jontay?” I whispered, rising from the bed. “Is that you? Is that you, Mam?”
No answer came.
I rose and, as was my custom, reached for my veil. I hastily put it on before I pushed the wooden curtain slats of the door aside.
It was Loic, his finger to his lips. “Throw a gyuilta over your nightdress,” he whispered and raised his hands to show I had nothing to fear. He gestured toward the dark fields. “Let us walk together alone.”
My
