daughter,” another girl added as if unable to resist the gossip. “She uses every excuse to keep her.”
A commotion at the Great Hall’s door silenced her.
A beautiful young woman entered, dressed in a white flowing dress of the finest silk. Her golden hair, combed to a sheen, fell nearly to the backs of her knees. A garland of white flowers graced her head, her small feet bare on the stone floor. I did not recognize her until somebody whispered, “Onra,” behind me.
She walked to the Lord’s seat with trembling grace, then lowered herself to her knees and bowed deep before him. He looked her over, then took her hand and rose, bringing her up with him. He turned his back on the warriors at his table and led her through a doorway, deeper into the house, a servant quick to close the door behind them.
“I cannot believe she was chosen before me,” the redhead whispered furiously. “I should be the one to wear the dress and nothing else on my body to please my Lord. When it is my turn, Tahar will keep me.”
The celebration in the Great Hall continued as if nothing had happened, as if nobody at all cared about the brutal crime being committed somewhere near.
At the Shahala, if a man forced himself on a woman, he was cast out from his people, made as if dead, left to wander the hills alone until he starved, if the spirits willed it so.
Not for the first time and not for the last, I felt stricken by the vast difference between the Kadar and the Shahala, repulsed by the people who had bought me. How could the sun and the moons tolerate such people? How could the spirits? Why did the sea not rise up to wash away even their shameful memory?
How I wished for my mother, her wisdom, her strength. Silently, I asked her spirit to guide me, to help me be wise enough to know what to do, and brave enough to do it.
I waited for a long time to feel a response that she heard me, as I often had back home—a slight breeze on my face, the graceful dip of a tree branch, the playful slosh of a wave that sounded different from the others. But nothing happened there in our veiled room.
Then Tahar reappeared in the doorway, at last, with Onra behind him, and I forgot to worry about my mother. Onra stood naked, her pale flesh glowing in the trembling light cast by the torches. She stayed where she stood, while Tahar, an arrogant smile on his face, seated himself amid loud cheers.
“Does this mean he keeps her?” I whispered.
“He would have sent her straight to Pleasure Hall, then,” one of the girls answered.
My heart ached for Onra as she walked slowly across the endless room. A woman servant threw flower petals on her and thanked her for bringing good luck to the House. The warriors banged their fists on the table, whistled, and made other rude noises.
She slowed when she walked by our window, blood smeared on her white thighs. Her head held high, she shed no tears. When she reached the outside door, her mother wrapped her in a blanket and led her out into the cold night.
A young warrior stood from the end of the table.
“Tonight, she will be had by many,” the redhead next to me whispered. “Straight from the Lord’s bed, her virgin’s blood still flowing. It is good luck for the men.”
~~~***~~~
CHAPTER THREE
(Pleasure Hall)
That night, I had a dream—the last one for a long time to come.
In my dream, I searched the woods behind our house for fresh herbs when a great mist descended on the mountain. I crossed the foothills and reached the mountain with the speed of a dream. At first, I could not see anything. My heart flapped inside my chest like a caged bird. Then I heard a faint voice, my mother’s, calling me up the mountain and deeper into the mist.
As I walked, the mist began to swirl around me. I recognized the good spirits of the Shahala, and I knew they had come down from the sky, not to harm but to protect me, to lead me to my mother. I ran forward as fast as I
A commotion at the Great Hall’s door silenced her.
A beautiful young woman entered, dressed in a white flowing dress of the finest silk. Her golden hair, combed to a sheen, fell nearly to the backs of her knees. A garland of white flowers graced her head, her small feet bare on the stone floor. I did not recognize her until somebody whispered, “Onra,” behind me.
She walked to the Lord’s seat with trembling grace, then lowered herself to her knees and bowed deep before him. He looked her over, then took her hand and rose, bringing her up with him. He turned his back on the warriors at his table and led her through a doorway, deeper into the house, a servant quick to close the door behind them.
“I cannot believe she was chosen before me,” the redhead whispered furiously. “I should be the one to wear the dress and nothing else on my body to please my Lord. When it is my turn, Tahar will keep me.”
The celebration in the Great Hall continued as if nothing had happened, as if nobody at all cared about the brutal crime being committed somewhere near.
At the Shahala, if a man forced himself on a woman, he was cast out from his people, made as if dead, left to wander the hills alone until he starved, if the spirits willed it so.
Not for the first time and not for the last, I felt stricken by the vast difference between the Kadar and the Shahala, repulsed by the people who had bought me. How could the sun and the moons tolerate such people? How could the spirits? Why did the sea not rise up to wash away even their shameful memory?
How I wished for my mother, her wisdom, her strength. Silently, I asked her spirit to guide me, to help me be wise enough to know what to do, and brave enough to do it.
I waited for a long time to feel a response that she heard me, as I often had back home—a slight breeze on my face, the graceful dip of a tree branch, the playful slosh of a wave that sounded different from the others. But nothing happened there in our veiled room.
Then Tahar reappeared in the doorway, at last, with Onra behind him, and I forgot to worry about my mother. Onra stood naked, her pale flesh glowing in the trembling light cast by the torches. She stayed where she stood, while Tahar, an arrogant smile on his face, seated himself amid loud cheers.
“Does this mean he keeps her?” I whispered.
“He would have sent her straight to Pleasure Hall, then,” one of the girls answered.
My heart ached for Onra as she walked slowly across the endless room. A woman servant threw flower petals on her and thanked her for bringing good luck to the House. The warriors banged their fists on the table, whistled, and made other rude noises.
She slowed when she walked by our window, blood smeared on her white thighs. Her head held high, she shed no tears. When she reached the outside door, her mother wrapped her in a blanket and led her out into the cold night.
A young warrior stood from the end of the table.
“Tonight, she will be had by many,” the redhead next to me whispered. “Straight from the Lord’s bed, her virgin’s blood still flowing. It is good luck for the men.”
~~~***~~~
CHAPTER THREE
(Pleasure Hall)
That night, I had a dream—the last one for a long time to come.
In my dream, I searched the woods behind our house for fresh herbs when a great mist descended on the mountain. I crossed the foothills and reached the mountain with the speed of a dream. At first, I could not see anything. My heart flapped inside my chest like a caged bird. Then I heard a faint voice, my mother’s, calling me up the mountain and deeper into the mist.
As I walked, the mist began to swirl around me. I recognized the good spirits of the Shahala, and I knew they had come down from the sky, not to harm but to protect me, to lead me to my mother. I ran forward as fast as I
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