When Sahlik summoned her one afternoon while Yeshi napped, shortly after the khashimu had returned, Kevla was curious but not concerned. She stood in the kitchens, waiting for Sahlik to acknowledge her.
Sahlik turned and took her in from head to toe. “I have a new task for you. Since Jashemi has returned, Yeshi has taken much more of an interest in the functioning of the House. She will have less need of her women.”
Kevla gnawed her lower lip. If Yeshi had less need of her women, would not Ranna and Tiah quickly step in to command what time their mistress deigned to give them? And if Kevla was set another task, would not Yeshi forget about her?
But Sahlik had continued speaking and Kevla quickly returned her attention to the older woman.
“…healer,” Sahlik was saying. “You will study with him several times a week. Such skills will be useful.”
A lump welled up in Kevla’s throat. She was going to be sent away. They had decided she was not worthy to serve Yeshi, and had come up with a way to get her out of the great House.
“As Sahlik wishes,” she said thickly, bowing. She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and looked up.
“You’re not being punished, Kevla,” Sahlik said. “I promise. I’ll keep an eye on Ranna and Tiah for you.” And she winked.
Relieved, Kevla grinned, and ran to the healer’s small house. When she reached the brightly painted red door of Maluuk’s hut, she yanked it open and said breathlessly, “Maluuk, I’m here to—”
The words died in her throat as the occupants of the hut looked up at her. Asha and Maluuk she expected, but not the third person. Seated on a small stool was Jashemi-kha-Tahmu.
She dropped to her knees. “Forgive me, I did not know—”
“Kevla, rise.” Jashemi’s voice was patient. Kevla scrambled to her feet, looking at the healer with a mute inquiry.
“Jashemi is also to be taught knowledge of healing,” Maluuk said mildly. “For this time together, you are equal as my students. There is no master here.” He stood up straighter and his eyes twinkled. “Except for me.”
Kevla wondered if this was a trick of some sort and her gaze darted to that of the young master for confirmation. His kind smile widened into a grin at her expression.
“It is true what Maluuk says. During this time, you and I are equals.” He rose, took her hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. Kevla’s hand remained limp with shock in Jashemi’s strong but gentle grip as he led her to a stool.
“Now,” said Maluuk, clearing his throat, “we will begin with the treatment of minor injuries.”
As the classes went on, Kevla learned to enjoy them. Maluuk was a good teacher and encouraged both students to ask questions. Her quick mind followed everything that Maluuk taught them, and Jashemi proved to be an intelligent young man. She accepted the situation, but what did strike her as odd was the fact that Maluuk would leave them to themselves for the second half of each “lesson,” which lasted three hours in the afternoons. They were told to talk about what they had learned that day, and at first, in formal tones, that was all they discussed.
Then one afternoon, Jashemi said, “Can you play Shamizan?”
“What is Shamizan?” Jashemi’s eyes lit up. For the first time since she had known him, Kevla thought that he looked like a boy her own age, not a small adult.
“Oh, it’s so much fun! Let me go get my set—” He rose and ran out of the hut, returning only a few moments later, flushed and out of breath. Kevla suspected he had run the entire way. Hardly proper behavior for a future khashim, but it was good to see Jashemi so happy.
“It’s easy to learn.” He placed a carved wooden board with black and white interlocking circles painted on it on one of the small tables. The overlapping sections of the circles were gray. He motioned that Kevla should draw up a stool. She hesitated. It was one thing to sit beside the young master during class, or even when they were discussing the lesson. But he had dropped the formality and was treating her as if they were of the same caste. Uneasy, she obeyed.
From a small pouch tucked under his arm, Jashemi withdrew a handful of clear, shiny stones, cupping them in his brown palm.
Forgetting herself, Kevla exclaimed, “They are beautiful!” and added quickly, “my lord. What kind of stone are they?”
“They are only glass,” Jashemi said. “There are five families of colors: reds, blues, greens, yellows, and purples. So up to five people can play. Within each family, there are three shades. You place them like so, on the areas of black, white and gray.”
They might be only glass, but Kevla thought the “stones” exquisite. They caught and held the light, and the colors were so intense. She was drawn to the reds and picked one up. It was the color of flame, and for a brief moment she thought it might feel hot in her hand. But it was cool and smooth. She rubbed it on her cheek, blushing when she caught Jashemi looking at her.
The rules were easy: dark hues were placed on the black areas of the board, light hues on the white, and medium tones on the gray. There was a roll of marked ivory sticks to determine play, and the object was to eliminate the opponent’s pieces.
Easy to learn, hard to stop, Kevla thought. At one point, she looked up from the board and saw Jashemi regarding her with an intent gaze. His face dissolved into delight as she ducked her head and smiled.
“You like the game, then?”
“Oh, yes, very much.”
“I am so glad. I hoped you would.”
Shamizan quickly became a regular feature of their “study sessions.” So, too, did another unexpected development. Jashemi began to teach Kevla how to write and read. He was a patient teacher, and Kevla a quick student, so the task was a pleasant one for both. Still, Kevla felt awkward when he would touch her hand as she held a pen, correcting the placement of her fingers, or casually put a hand on her shoulder as he leaned in to observe her work. He seemed to find it very easy to forget that he was khashimu and she was Bai-sha.
Despite her unease, Kevla looked forward to these sessions, and missed them on the days when they did not occur. Sahlik had told her to stay quiet about the healer’s teaching. It was not truly a secret, Sahlik said, but Kevla would be wise not to draw attention to herself. Kevla agreed. She had no desire for Tiah and Ranna to have something else to resent. And of course, not even Sahlik knew about the furtive sessions of reading and writing instruction and the endless rounds of Shamizan.
One day, after she had sent Tiah and Ranna away for her nap, Yeshi called for Kevla. “You sent for me, great lady?”
Yeshi looked wonderful. She had been much happier since Jashemi had come home, and Kevla had observed that mother and son spent much time together and enjoyed one another’s company. Yeshi, as Sahlik had said, had become more involved in the running of the household, and seemed to have less need of her usual self-indulgent pleasures.
Yeshi smiled as she reclined on the bed—a true, genuine smile that made her look radiant. “Yes, Kevla. Sahlik tells me that you have been studying under Maluuk. Is this so?”
For a moment, Kevla panicked. But Yeshi didn’t look upset, and she knew it would be unwise to lie.
“Yes, great lady.”
“That is good news to me.” She patted the bed beside her, and Kevla, growing more and more confused, obediently climbed up to sit beside her mistress.
Gently, Yeshi took Kevla’s hand and placed it on her belly, below her navel. “I am pleased, because I would like you to assist Maluuk in delivering my baby.”
Kevla’s jaw dropped. “Your baby?”
Yeshi grinned and nodded her head excitedly. “You are my good luck charm, little Kevla. My personal blessing from the Great Dragon. After ten years I have been able to conceive!”
Kevla’s eyes filled with tears. Gently, she spread her fingers on Yeshi’s belly and said, “Blessings on this baby. And blessings on the House of Four Waters!”
It was two days after the festival of Kur, and Kevla and Jashemi were engaged in a particularly delightful game of Shamizan. As they were younger than most of the household, they had not celebrated Kur with as much vigor as the adults had.
Kevla was familiar with the wild nature of the celebratory festival. It was the one time a year when the people believed the Great Dragon turned a blind eye to indulgent pleasures. Keishla had always had more business than she could handle during the three-day celebration. The people of Arukan drank to excess, ate to excess, and did many other things to excess during Kur. There was a great feast and much flowing wine at the House of Four Waters, but compared to what Kevla was used to encountering with Keishla and her customers, it seemed rather staid to her. The next few days were astoundingly quiet, as most of the household seemed averse to noise, light or rich foods.
“Ha!” cried Jashemi triumphantly as he picked up no fewer than eight of Kevla’s red pieces. “You only have six markers left, and I have over a dozen!”
They both started when they heard the unmistakable sound of the shakaal. Their gazes locked.
“What—” Kevla began.
The transformation in Jashemi was startling to her. In a heartbeat, he had gone from a playful, mischievous youth gloating over a board game victory to the stone-faced khashimu of the Clan of Four Waters.
“I’ll find out. Stay here. Say nothing of our being together.”
His robes rustling softly, he rose and hastened out the door. When Jashemi did not return immediately, Kevla occupied herself by finishing the ointment Maluuk had requested she make. Her ears strained for any sound.
The door banged open. Maluuk and his apprentice rushed in. Clinging to them, an arm slung around each of their shoulders, was a rider close to collapse. His face was pale with sand, and there were dark red patches on his white rhia.
“Kevla, water,” snapped Maluuk. He made straight for the long table. With a swift motion he sent the board and the pieces clattering to the floor and lay the stranger down on the table’s cool surface.
Kevla poured a cup of water and brought it to the healer. Maluuk lifted the man’s head up and dribbled some of the precious liquid onto lips so dry they cracked and bled. A swollen tongue crept out and caught a few drops, then the man began to drink eagerly.
“Gently,” said Maluuk, “a sip at a time. Kevla, keep giving him water, slowly. Asha, help me.”
Kevla cradled the man’s head in her arms and did as she was told, watching anxiously as Maluuk and Asha cut away the rider’s torn, bloody rhia. Her eyes widened as she saw the injuries that had been inflicted upon the stranger: cuts as long as her arm, and one festering wound in the shoulder where a small length of broken arrow shaft still protruded.
“Tahmu,” gasped the man. His voice sounded as dry as the desert sands he had crossed. “Messages…we were attacked….”
“Kevla, go find Tahmu.” She nodded, placed the rider’s head down gently on the stone table, and sped out the door.
She raced down the little hill, searching frantically for her lord. If the shakaal had been blown, then it was likely that the household was already alerted. Jashemi, too, would have learned what had transpired. Even as she stumbled and nearly twisted her ankle, she saw two white shapes running out of the house toward her: Jashemi and his father.
She ran toward them, her legs pumping. “Rider!” she screamed as they caught sight of her. “He’s hurt! He says he was attacked! He’s at the healing hut, come quickly!”
In midstride she turned and raced back the way she had come. The men overtook her and by the time she had returned to the small hut, Tahmu was at the rider’s side. He clutched the stranger’s hand and bent his head close to the man’s mouth, straining to catch the faint words. Jashemi stood on the other side, his gaze darting from the injured man to his father.
Kevla was gasping for breath, her heart hammering so loudly that it was hard for her to hear anything over it.
“In the middle…night,” the rider said, “after the…celebration of Kur…no one attacks during Kur…” He coughed, and Kevla saw to her horror that there was bloody foam on his lips. “There were many dead when Father…me to you…message in my pack….”
He hissed as Maluuk bathed his injuries. Kevla could not take her eyes off the sight. She was no expert, but she could tell he was grievously wounded.
“Keep speaking,” Tahmu said.
“Father, he is badly hurt. Surely he needs rest and—”
Even though Tahmu’s look was not directed at her, Kevla shrank from it. Jashemi fell silent at once.
Maluuk and Asha were now slathering on a thick, pungent ointment. Tahmu gripped the man’s hand harder, pressed it to his chest.
“Keep speaking, Sammis,” he urged. “Everything you can tell us is precious.”
Sammis opened his mouth, but the words never came. His eyes suddenly became fixed and staring, and his body went limp. Tahmu sighed. He held the dead hand for a moment longer, then reached and gently shut the wide eyes.
“Sammis was a dead man before he arrived,” Tahmu said to Jashemi. “That is why I did not let him rest. No healer could have saved him, and I had hoped he would live long enough to tell me what had happened.”
“You knew him?” Kevla blurted. Everyone turned to stare and her and she blushed.
“Yes,” Tahmu said. “He was my nephew. Jashemi’s cousin.”
Kevla turned compassionate eyes on the boy. His face was impassive, though his eyes were shiny and his lower lip quivered slightly. Their gazes locked, and an unspoken message passed between them.
“Maluuk, prepare him for the pyre. Jashemi, find his mount and fetch the messages he said he carried.”
“Yes, Father.” Jashemi headed for the door. Impulsively, Kevla followed. They stood outside the door, hands raised to shield their eyes from the sun as they tried to see where Sammis’s mount had gone. Kevla realized she didn’t know if they should be looking for a horse or a sa’abah.
“You should not be seen with me,” hissed Jashemi, barely moving his lips.
The rebuke stung. She had thought…she had been foolish to think it.
“Two sets of eyes are better than one,” she replied stubbornly. “I am a servant assisting the khashimu.”
“Curse you, Kevla, it’s more than that,” Jashemi said, but did not elaborate. “There. It sought out the company of other sa’abahs.”
The exhausted beast, a female, had indeed tried to join the herd of the House of Four Waters. They found her pacing mournfully back and forth outside the stone corral, bleating plaintively as she scented water and others of her own kind on the other side. Tahmu’s sa’abahs had come up to her and were nuzzling her, their muzzles barely clearly the wall.
She started when Jashemi and Kevla hurried up to her, but Jashemi dove for the trailing reins. He spoke softly to the creature, patting her neck and sending a small cloud of dust into the air.
“Down, down,” he urged the sa’abah, tugging on the reins. Obediently, she crouched so that Jashemi could reach the saddle and the small bundle tied securely to it. So tightly was the leather pouch bound to the saddle that Jashemi had to use the small knife he always wore to cut it free. He removed the saddle, opened the gate, and let the exhausted sa’abah inside. She headed straight for the trough, lowered her head, and began to drink. The others crowded around her, reaching to touch her with their small, stubby arms, as if they understood that she had been through a terrible ordeal.
Although she had lived at the House for some time now, Kevla still found the sa’abahs fascinating, and watched them as Jashemi fumbled through the sack. She heard a rustling, then silence, then a deep sigh.
She turned around just in time to catch him wiping his eyes with his sleeve. Her heart ached in sympathy. Without thinking she touched his arm gently.
Jashemi jerked away, and immediately Kevla dropped to her knees. Again, she had assumed too much.
“Forgive me, young lord! I transgressed, I did not mean—”
A gentle hand on her shoulder urged her to rise. “It’s all right,” he assured her. “I just….”
“What does the letter say?”
His face crumpled and he looked down. “My uncle and all of my male cousins are dead. Slaughtered while they slept off the wine they had drunk in celebration of Kur.”
Kevla listened, remaining silent.
Jashemi cleared his throat and continued in a more normal tone of voice. “The women were…were assaulted and then taken. Probably they are five-scores now. My cousin Sammis was sent by my uncle to summon help.” He looked at her now, and she did not like the expression on his face. “The first thing the raiders did was burn the aerie, so that no warning hawks could be sent out to gather reinforcements. The Sa’abah Clan has probably taken what they want and are long gone.”
“The Sa’abah Clan?” Kevla repeated, incredulous. She looked over at the milling creatures. They seemed gentle, intelligent. They had welcomed a stranger.
“It is ironic that the people who breed the most peaceful of animals are the ones most thirsty for blood,” said Jashemi, bitterly. He looked down at the parchment in his hand. Kevla followed his gaze and saw that he had crumpled the missive.
Jashemi composed himself. “We will attack in retaliation. Father will want to see this. Return to the House, Kevla. My mother will be distraught to hear of the death of her brother.”
Without another word he turned and trudged slowly back toward the healer’s hut. Kevla wanted to follow. She had no desire to be in Yeshi’s company when the khashima received such dreadful news.
For the third time in the span of a few months, the House of Four Waters was thrown into a flurry of activity. This time, though, the preparations were not for a welcome-home feast, or the wild celebration of a favorite holiday, but for battle.
Kevla continued her lessons in healing. Maluuk explained that he would be going with the warriors, as his skills would be needed to treat the injured.
“And there will be,” he said, seeming suddenly very old. “There are always injured. Too many, even in a victory.”
Asha would stay behind, to assume his master’s position. Kevla would become his apprentice, assisting him in treating the household and preparing bandages, salves, ointments, and tinctures. Although it was uncommon for a woman to be placed in such an important position as apprentice healer, the usual niceties could not be observed. Asha seemed happy enough to take on the role of a full healer, and apparently didn’t object to Kevla’s gender.
She had always looked upon these sessions as play, an escape from the world of the household, a time to be with Jashemi. But Jashemi no longer attended the lessons, as he would be expected to accompany his father into battle. Her time with Maluuk had a new sense of urgency to it, and there was no more play involved.
Still, it was better than being with Yeshi. Kevla had not been present when Tahmu had told his wife that her brother was murdered and her nieces and nephews dead or captured. But she had heard the scream of anguish as she waited outside the door, and exchanged helpless glances with Tiah and Ranna. For the first time, she had felt a kinship with the other women as they listened to their mistress shriek and sob.
For nearly a day, Yeshi would not speak to them. She permitted them to bring her food, but nothing more, and she never looked at them when they entered quietly. When at last she did rouse herself to let them bathe and dress her, there was a new harshness to her mien. The three women moved quietly around their mistress, frightened for themselves, frightened for their household.
The war party was assembled with astonishing rapidity. The warriors would need to travel well and quickly, as the Sa’abah Clan was nomadic. Every bit of preserved food was brought forth and packed, and dozens of animals were slaughtered to replenish the stores. Weapons were brought out of storage, sharpened, cleaned, repaired, and set aside. Craftsmen worked from sunrise to sunrise making more arrows, more swords, more knives. Falcons flew back and forth from the House, as Tahmu called in his allies and they responded.
They trickled in, clan by clan, and Kevla gaped in amazement at the numbers. Within a few days, over five hundred men from the Sheep Clan, the River Clan, the Horserider Clan, the Star Clan, and the Cattle Clan had arrived to assist the Clan of Four Waters. None of the household’s women had a chance to visit the caverns, as they were constantly teeming with warriors set on enjoying the House of Four Waters’ famous bathing pool before they left for battle.
Kevla would have been glad to see them go had not she feared for Jashemi and Tahmu. What would happen if either one of them was killed? If both were killed? The thought was so dreadful that Kevla always drove it from her mind. But at night, she had dreams, and though she never remembered them, she would awaken with tears on her face.
The night before the warriors were to depart was not marked by revelry. It was too grim an occasion. Yeshi had dismissed her women and Kevla, wanting to do something to help, assisted in distributing freshly-filled waterskins to the men camped out on the grounds.
They were all of a kind: angry-looking or solemn-faced men, clad not in finery but in weather-worn rhias, who barely acknowledged her presence, though they took the waterskins she offered readily enough. They were crowded together, and Kevla heard conversations consisting of low mutterings and angry cries, the jingling of tack, the crackle of small fires. There was a smell of leather, fur, and sweat that after an hour or so made her stomach roil.
She had turned and was headed back to the House for more waterskins when a hand clamped down on her arm. She started to cry out, but turned and saw that it was Jashemi. He held a finger to his lips and she nodded. He tugged on her arm, leading her away from the bustle of the House.
Kevla trotted after him, confused and a little alarmed. Why would the khashimu want to see her alone, at night? Finally, Jashemi stopped.
“We are far enough away, we won’t be overheard. And the moon is new.”
Kevla kept her gaze on the ground. “What does my lord wish?” she asked.
“To apologize.”
She was so startled that her head whipped up and she stared at him. “My lord, a khashimu never apologizes to a servant!”
“But Jashemi can and will apologize to Kevla,” Jashemi countered. She had no response, merely looked at him in confusion. What was going on?
She heard him swallow. “You felt sorry for me the day that Sammis came. You wanted to help. I was rude to you. I wish I could explain why. Maybe someday.”
Kevla lowered her eyes again. “I do not understand.”
“I saw the hurt on your face,” he said gently, stepping closer to her. She felt the soft puff of his breath on her cheek. “When I said you shouldn’t be with me.”
“My lord, you were right to say that. I overstepped.”
He made an annoyed sound. “Kevla, please let me apologize!”
“Of course. As the khashimu wishes.”
There was a pause. Then he said, “I am leaving tomorrow. Will—will you miss me?”
Her heart almost stopped. “Of course. I shall say prayers for the safety of my lord and my lord’s son.”
“Kevla, I—” She would not—could not—look at him. She knew what he wanted to hear, and she couldn’t speak it. Not when she was Bai-sha and he was khashimu.
“Never mind. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here. I don’t know what I was—” He turned and strode off.
Kevla’s knees buckled and she fell hard to the earth. A quick sob escaped her and she clapped her hand over her mouth. He was already several paces away, but somehow he heard the soft sound. Kevla huddled on the sand, her head on her hands, willing him to go away. Before she realized what he had done, he was on his hands and knees in front of her.
“Kevla, talk to me,” he implored.
She mustn’t say it. She mustn’t say anything. But the words seemed to have a life of their own.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered. “I’m so afraid something will happen to you.”
“Look at me,” he said. She did, and found his face seemed blurry to her. She wiped angrily at the telltale tears. “I know you’re afraid,” he said softly. “I am, too. So is Father, and so are all the men. We all know we could be riding to our deaths.”
He swore suddenly, a harsh curse that startled Kevla. “I hate these stupid raids! Why must people die like this? My uncle was not the most admirable of men, but he did not deserve to have his throat cut while he slept!”
“Perhaps the Sa’abah Clan—” began Kevla.
“It’s not just them,” he snarled. “It’s all of them. We could just as easily be riding against the Star Clan or the Horserider Clan tonight as riding with them. They’re our allies now, but we’ve fought them in the past. And we have allied with the Sa’abah Clan, and look what they’ve done.” He continued to fume in silence, his lips pressed together in a thin line of anger.
“Come back,” said Kevla, softly, shocked by her boldness.
His eyes searched hers, then he startled her by reaching out and taking her hands in his. Their palms pressed together, hot and moist in the darkness. Tears continued to slip down her cheeks. He leaned forward, releasing one hand to wipe the tears from her face with an odd mixture of grace and clumsiness. Starlight caught the glitter of tears in his own eyes.
“I will come back,” he said firmly.
“But only the Great Dragon knows our destinies,” she replied, her voice catching on the words.
Jashemi placed one hand on either side of her face, forcing her to look into his eyes.
“We are not done with each other yet,” he said fiercely. “I don’t know my destiny, but I know this much. I can feel it. Can’t you?”
As she gazed into his eyes, she felt a sudden lightening. Her tense muscles eased, relaxing so that she almost slumped. He was right. Somehow, in a way that surpassed her understanding, she knew that he was right. What she felt swirling inside her now was not something as frail as hope. It was swift, certain knowledge.
Some would die in this retaliatory raid. Perhaps people she knew. Perhaps even Tahmu.
But not Jashemi.
We are not done with each other yet.