Chapter 20

Etti sat with Atira by the fire. Melodia still rested at Uncle Dody’s wagon. Her cousins had applied poultices and cold cloths to her swollen face and the cuts on her arms and legs.

Etti’s impulsive dash from the camp had put Melodia in such danger. Etti hoped she would some day forgive her.

She felt eyes on her. Aunt Ucho had ceased staring at her bruised face, but a hum still rose from others in the tribe whenever Etti appeared. They proved again how adept they were at sideways glances.

Ruslo sat with his advisors, and with Darly and Ito, in front of the large tent. Sandu laughed easily with his father while Dody slumped, staring at the fire. Sandu had not approached her since her return; indeed, he had avoided her gaze and kept as distant as he could without being obvious.

For Ruslo, it was merely another night at the fire with his family, not an evening of agony, as it was for Etti as she sat, bruised and defeated, feeling her life unravel as they toasted Sandu’s upcoming wedding.

To her. Disgust coursed through her veins, and a growing desperation. She would find a way out. This eve, she would force Ruslo to rescind the council’s decision.

He left the dirty work for Rupa. She had squatted down in front of Etti after supper, sitting on her heels. She spoke so softly Etti had to lean forward to hear her. “You will wed Sandu. Two days hence.” Rupa left abruptly after that, leaving no chance to learn more.

Etti pushed it out of her mind and fondled the last three stars on her necklace, thinking of her mother, and her mother’s sons. She sent a prayer to the stars that Rafa and the others had by now safely delivered her brothers to Villasavary. Had Jilé and Durril met their end yet? She could stir no sorrow in her heart for them, but she wished they might learn compassion in their journey to the spirit world.

Before her, a great log burned brightly over the glowing coals. Flames flowed upward over it, like waves crashing on the rocks at sea, the flame embracing the wood, intense and all consuming.

Time passed, and the moon rose, a sliver in the star-strewn sky. Conversation was subdued. Va, it had been a sobering day. She heard bits of conversation from the elders of the tribe. Her brothers’ names were spoken.

Jilé. Durril.

They likely recalled them when they were babes, esteemed offspring of their tribal chief. Mayhap they were telling stories of when they laughed and played, little pony boys prancing through the grass, all their lives before them. Before the hatred destroyed them.

The time had been set for her union. To Sandu. With Rupa’s message, her new role was waiting, only two sunrises away.

She looked at Atira, her concerned expression, the fine lines of worry and anger that had slowly hardened her lovely face. She knows how I feel. The thought brought no comfort, but instead a brooding, painful kinship. In time, that will be me.

A crackling in the fire made her turn. The middle of the large, long log had been consumed. Now glowing, its sap bubbling, the log surrendered. It broke in two and fell into the coal bed below.

A rich stream of sparks flowed upward into the sky, burning out, turning grey.

A sign. A divination. She—Etti—was worth more. She had been treated as no more than a good horse to be traded for personal gain. Men and their weaknesses. Ruslo’s duplicity, Sandu’s selfish punishment for her refusal to accept him as her future husband, the reason he stayed at camp and refused to rescue them yesterday, Uncle Dody’s timidity that prevented him from protecting her. It all pointed to the futility of duty and that feminine custom of yielding.

Her life would change because she had changed. She would never again be the little girl, begging for a scrap of love and attention, of acceptance and understanding. That little girl was gone. She was a woman now, and she deserved more.

“Atira.” Etti grabbed her arm. “I need to talk with you. Anon.”

In the wagon, Etti, Atira and Miri settled on the piled eiderdowns. “I need a spell to defeat Ruslo,” Etti said.

“I… I—” Atira curved her mouth down on one side and glanced deliberately at Miri.

“Here, Miri, would you like to play with the Tali bones?” Etti asked. “See if you can roll three ones. Do it in the corner there.”

Miri grabbed the bones. “I can! I’ll show you.”

Etti faced Atira. “I need a spell to learn the secret. How I can change Ruslo’s mind.”

“Why not Sandu’s?”

“He’s too adamant. Ruslo has to regret, deep down, that he broke his promise to Uncle Dody. Help me, Atira.”

“Regret. ‘Tis a vague thing.”

“You cursed Vano. Please.”

“I can’t.” Atira shook her head. “But I can work a spell for you. For clear sight.”

“Me?” Etti swallowed. She’d seen how Vano had been brought to his knees with Atira’s spell. “What if something goes wrong?”

Atira swung her legs over the side of the stacked eiderdowns, preparing to leave. “Spells are not certain. They can be dangerous.”

Miri rattled the bones and squealed. “I did it!”

“Misto! Misto!” Atira gave Miri a big smile and clapped her hands. “Now let’s see if you can roll three twos. If you can, we’ll make mud pies together tonight.”

Miri squealed and began rolling.

“I cursed Vano because I was desperate. ‘Tis best we don’t try.”

“I am desperate, too, Atira. Let’s do it. Quickly. It must be tonight.”

“You will not hold it against me if it doesn’t work, or goes awry?”

“I promise,” Etti said. “I believe in you.”

“I’ll need these things.” Atira counted off the items.

 

* * *

 

Later, Etti hurried past the fire. Ruslo, Sandu and the others were all still there, by then heavy in their cups, their voices and words looser, louder.

She carried the bag of ashes, lavender, rosemary and other ingredients she’d found in Atira’s case. She held them carefully to her breast as she entered the wagon.

Inside, Atira placed oil, leaves, ashes and two owl feathers in a small silver fire cup. She plucked a short hair from Etti’s temple and added that. A quick poke of the needle brought Etti’s blood to the surface of her finger, and Atira squeezed out three drops. She positioned the candle flame under the cup. It burned the silver black and brought the oil to bubbling. The dainty feathers sank, and Etti’s hair swirled around it all. Atira chanted.

 

Sight to the blind, strength to the weaker,

Stir in the pure, untainted beaker,

Render thy blood, invest in thy heart,

Thus secrets and insight doth impart

To the good heart, the pure heart,

The one who breathes

Hope and love for she who believes

 

Atira removed the candle from below the spell spoon. “Now you say it, Etti.”

Etti hesitated. “Why?”

“By cause it was in the chant. You must believe. Chant it so it might reach your soul.” Atira paused. “So you may achieve clear sight.”

Etti’s ears rang in the silence. Slowly, she repeated the words.

Atira blew on the spoon and removed the hair and owl feathers. “Drink it now.”

Etti sniffed the murky oil. “It smells like a wet chicken.” She quailed from Atira’s glare, pinched her nose and finished it in one swallow.

Soft laughter from the Circle floated into the wagon.

“Let’s go back,” Atira said.

Etti swayed, light-headed, her heart beating slow, thudding heavily, a drum inside her chest. Thump. Thump. Thump.

She rolled her lower lip under her upper teeth. She was poised, she knew, on the threshold of something life-changing, and the moment knocked, insistent, demanding to be answered.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Etti and Atira returned to the fire.

Ruslo and Rupa had settled on benches in the front of the big tent. They had moved back to adjust for the heat of the growing flames. Sandu sat next to him, along with Sandu’s mother and father. Phuro Marko, the elder, sat with them. His presence sent a cold chill down Etti’s back. The formality of their seating, their posture—this could be the time that Ruslo would announce her wedding day.

Etti sat next to Atira in the warm summer grass. Doom settled on her, a heavy yoke. Her heart quickened.

She looked at Sandu with new eyes, her vision sharper, seeing... deeper somehow. The spell was working. She had never seen Sandu like this before. Big, powerful, but at the same time muted, neutral, like a beach with no footprints. Images wandered into her head. A hollow tree. In its branches, an empty nest. She shook her head. What did it mean?

She shivered and wiped her wet brow, more sensations washing over her, reminding her of childhood day dreams. She perceived Sandu as mushy, like green strawberries after a freeze, tasteless.

“What is it?” Atira asked. “You look as if you smelled something horrible.”

“Must be that oil,” Etti whispered. “Your spell.” She paused, checking to be sure the earth was still beneath her. “I’m having the strangest thoughts.” Why was Sandu most of times so… so dull, but in these last few days, when it came to her, so domineering and demanding?

Lust. All men. As Atira had said.

Or something else? As though it had taken wings, her mind soared, high and clear and…

“I have it,” Etti said, insight touching her. “I know what I have to do. Will you support me?”

Atira put her hands out, smiling. “Va!”

Courage coursed through Etti. She stood. Horns of alarm sounded in her head, but still, she faced Sandu squarely. “Sandu,” she said, clearly and loudly, across the fire.

There must have been something in her expression or in her stance, because, while Sandu remained seated, Ruslo stood. To remind her of her duty, she thought with disgust. Of her honor, of which Ruslo had so little.

“What?” Sandu asked, not sounding particularly eager to learn more.

“After the marriage council decision yesterday, you told me that you wanted no one but me. You told me that I was your bride. But when my brothers took me away, Atira ran to you for help and asked you to save Melodia and me.” Etti turned, looking at the other members of the tribe. They were all quiet, watching her. “But you didn’t come to save us. You refused and walked into the woods. And stayed there until Rafa and Ruslo left to bring us back.”

Sandu’s face hardened, and surprise blanched Ruslo’s features.

Atira pulled at Etti’s skirt. “Sit down!” When Etti refused, Atira shot a furious gaze at her as if to say, How could you?

Etti fixed Sandu with a stare. “Atira told you our lives were in danger, but you didn’t come, Sandu. Why not?”

Ruslo pointed at Etti. “Speak with me privately of this.” He jabbed his thumb toward his wagon for her to follow him.

“Na.” Etti held her ground. “I think everyone here would like to hear his answer. Sandu, why didn’t you come to save your bride?”

“You will come to my wagon to discuss this. Now!” Ruslo snarled.

Etti gestured with a wide sweep of her hand that included everyone. “And Ruslo, Rom Baro. My king. Is it not true that you promised my Uncle Dody that you would name Rafa to be my husband, not Sandu?”

Ruslo’s hands fisted at his sides, and his face darkened. “You speak falsehoods,” Ruslo shouted. “You consort with animals in unnatural ways. You cursed your brothers, and they were mutilated. I excused because of your father, but I am out of patience with you. You are henceforth banished.”

Gasps and murmurs swept around the Circle. Wide-eyed relatives turned to Etti. Baba Lolli sat on a short cask, watching, unblinking.

Tradition required Etti to drop her gaze and pack her things. Banned meant shunned. She would have naught to do with the kumpania, and no one would speak to her from this point on.

Her blood stirred again, an oily fury at the injustice of it. She refused to drop her gaze and stared at Ruslo with insolence. “I have spoken naught but the truth, my king.”

Ruslo gave her his back, his signal that all tribal members must do so, as well.

They turned away, but all could still hear her, so Etti continued. “When Sandu decided he wanted me, you broke your promise to Uncle Dody. And do you know why he wanted me of a sudden, Ruslo?”

Rupa and Aunt Ucho remained with their backs turned to her, but several other tribal members turned to face her.

“See.” Etti raised her hands, palms up. “There are some tribal members here that seek the truth.” She took a breath. “Sandu wanted me because he peeked in on me—and Atira and Ucho and Rupa—when we were dancing in a private area at the baron’s chateau.”

Ruslo looked even more outraged, but he had already banished Etti, so he spun around to Atira, standing next to Etti. “Atira, you have become tainted, as well. You’ve spent too much time with her.” Ruslo did not use Etti’s name. He had already engaged the rules of exile. Having been banished, neither he nor anyone in her tribe would ever again speak Etti’s name. Numbness swept over her.

“You, Atira, are banished, too.”