humorless smile that bared only the up per row of her teeth. Her dark eyes were intense as they stayed riveted on mine. “You wouldn’t survive the night with them, Secondgirl. We both know it.”
“I’ve got twice the strength you have. Now go in with your child.”
She slapped me, and the blow rang down my spine and blazed fire across my broken ribs. My vision swam and it was hard to breathe.
“I made a promise to my child.” She grabbed a fistful of my hair and lifted my face to the rickshaw.
“Look at her, Bayen Hacros!” she cried. “This is a woman rotting from the inside out with the mating disease! It’s my duty to inform you of her contagion.”
By the moonlight, the drunken lordlings were able to see the welts and scrapes and bruises that mottled every inch of my face. “Could be that she’s your sister, hey,” one of them said doubtfully. “Could be you’re trying to keep her from her duty.”
“She’s no sister of mine.” The dislike was sincere in her voice. She released me with a push, and I stumbled and fell. White-hot pain blasted across my torso and racheted up and down my spine.
By the time my vision cleared, the rickshaw—with Tansan in it—was gone, and Savga was crouched by my head, weeping.
“Did Mama go with them?”
I thought I might retch. Tansan had knowingly given herself over to violation. Not for my sake, no. But to keep a promise to her child. I was furious and appalled, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I would have had the strength of conviction to do the same for my child, had our situa tions been reversed.
Yes. Yes, I would have. How to break a promise to one’s child, knowing that to do so might result in the death of said child’s friend? How to face the anguish and accusation in the child’s eyes each day thereafter?
And how could I explain all that to the six-year-old sobbing beside me?
“We should have fought them,” I said hoarsely.
Savga’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no, Kazonvia. You don’t fight the bayen when they come trolling, hey.”
“Trolling,” I said bitterly. “Is that what it’s called?”
Savga wrapped her little arms about herself and shud dered. “Will Mama come back?”
I glared into the darkness, where Tansan had disappeared.
“Help me prepare the evening meal.” I gestured for Savga to hand me a leathery fish.
And, shuddering, she mutely obeyed.
FOUR 123
T
he arbiyesku trundled into the compound shortly before middle-night.
In the darkness I found Fwipi. Tansan’s infant was sleep ing restlessly in the sling on her humped back. Shoulders stooped, rheumy eyes heavy, Fwipi merely nodded at my hoarse narration of what had occurred. A dark Djimbi man who was pulling one of the carts by means of a yoke about his neck cursed at hearing my news. He wrenched himself free of the traces and strode off.
I wondered who he was to Tansan.
Fwipi watched him disappear into the dark mouth of a hut as I stammered an inane apology.
“With you, without you, she had to serve, Kazonvia.” She spat in the dust. “A curse, her beauty.”
Thick, pungent smoke from the dragon-dung fagots I’d used in the cooking pit slowly curled toward the vast sea of stars above us. Children whimpered as mothers and aunties woke them from the back of the reeking arbiyesku carts, stripped them of their meager clothing, and began scrub bing their shivering bodies clean in the dark.
“Does Tansan have to go with lordlings often?” I asked.
“Once is often.” Fwipi’s tired eyes searched mine. “More than once, you stop counting.”
I didn’t ask more.
The soup I’d made under Savga’s direction was thick as paste and bland as dust. No one complained; everyone was too bone-weary for talk. Afterward—when the carts had been scrubbed clean with sand and wheeled back into the warehouse, and babies had been diapered and suckled to sleep—Savga chose to lay beside me in the barracks.
I was startled by, and grateful for, her decision. It would have been unbearable if
“I’ve got twice the strength you have. Now go in with your child.”
She slapped me, and the blow rang down my spine and blazed fire across my broken ribs. My vision swam and it was hard to breathe.
“I made a promise to my child.” She grabbed a fistful of my hair and lifted my face to the rickshaw.
“Look at her, Bayen Hacros!” she cried. “This is a woman rotting from the inside out with the mating disease! It’s my duty to inform you of her contagion.”
By the moonlight, the drunken lordlings were able to see the welts and scrapes and bruises that mottled every inch of my face. “Could be that she’s your sister, hey,” one of them said doubtfully. “Could be you’re trying to keep her from her duty.”
“She’s no sister of mine.” The dislike was sincere in her voice. She released me with a push, and I stumbled and fell. White-hot pain blasted across my torso and racheted up and down my spine.
By the time my vision cleared, the rickshaw—with Tansan in it—was gone, and Savga was crouched by my head, weeping.
“Did Mama go with them?”
I thought I might retch. Tansan had knowingly given herself over to violation. Not for my sake, no. But to keep a promise to her child. I was furious and appalled, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I would have had the strength of conviction to do the same for my child, had our situa tions been reversed.
Yes. Yes, I would have. How to break a promise to one’s child, knowing that to do so might result in the death of said child’s friend? How to face the anguish and accusation in the child’s eyes each day thereafter?
And how could I explain all that to the six-year-old sobbing beside me?
“We should have fought them,” I said hoarsely.
Savga’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no, Kazonvia. You don’t fight the bayen when they come trolling, hey.”
“Trolling,” I said bitterly. “Is that what it’s called?”
Savga wrapped her little arms about herself and shud dered. “Will Mama come back?”
I glared into the darkness, where Tansan had disappeared.
“Help me prepare the evening meal.” I gestured for Savga to hand me a leathery fish.
And, shuddering, she mutely obeyed.
FOUR 123
T
he arbiyesku trundled into the compound shortly before middle-night.
In the darkness I found Fwipi. Tansan’s infant was sleep ing restlessly in the sling on her humped back. Shoulders stooped, rheumy eyes heavy, Fwipi merely nodded at my hoarse narration of what had occurred. A dark Djimbi man who was pulling one of the carts by means of a yoke about his neck cursed at hearing my news. He wrenched himself free of the traces and strode off.
I wondered who he was to Tansan.
Fwipi watched him disappear into the dark mouth of a hut as I stammered an inane apology.
“With you, without you, she had to serve, Kazonvia.” She spat in the dust. “A curse, her beauty.”
Thick, pungent smoke from the dragon-dung fagots I’d used in the cooking pit slowly curled toward the vast sea of stars above us. Children whimpered as mothers and aunties woke them from the back of the reeking arbiyesku carts, stripped them of their meager clothing, and began scrub bing their shivering bodies clean in the dark.
“Does Tansan have to go with lordlings often?” I asked.
“Once is often.” Fwipi’s tired eyes searched mine. “More than once, you stop counting.”
I didn’t ask more.
The soup I’d made under Savga’s direction was thick as paste and bland as dust. No one complained; everyone was too bone-weary for talk. Afterward—when the carts had been scrubbed clean with sand and wheeled back into the warehouse, and babies had been diapered and suckled to sleep—Savga chose to lay beside me in the barracks.
I was startled by, and grateful for, her decision. It would have been unbearable if
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