Naondel E-Book

Maria Turtschaninoff

• Herausgeber: Pushkin Children's Books
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 543

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

The founding story of the Red Abbey Chronicles, Naondel is a spellbinding tale of finding strength in friendship and never giving up hope, even in the darkest of times In the opulent palace of Ohaddin, women have one purpose - to obey. Some were brought here as girls, captured and enslaved; some as servants; some as wives. All of them must do what the Master tells them, for he wields a deadly and secret power. But the women have powers too. One is a healer. One can control dreams. One is a warrior. One can see everything that is coming. In their golden prison, the women wait. They plan. They write down their stories. They dream of a refuge, a safe place where girls can be free. And, finally, when the moon glows red, they will have their revenge. Maria Turtschaninoff was born in 1977 and has been writing fairy tales since she was five. She is the author of many books about magical worlds, has been awarded the Swedish YLE Literature Prize and has twice won the Society of Swedish Literature Prize. She has also been nominated for the 2017 Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award and the 2017 CILIP Carnegie Medal. Naondel is part of the Red Abbey Chronicles which began with Maresi.

Leseprobe

PUSHKIN PRESS

PRAISE FOR THE RED ABBEY CHRONICLES

“A haunting fable”

SUZY FEAY, FINANCIAL TIMES

“Turtschaninoff weaves a hypnotic spell… at once contemporary and timeless”

GUARDIAN

“Combines a flavour of The Handmaid’s Tale with bursts of excitement reminiscent of Harry Potter’s magic duels”

OBSERVER

“Should appeal to fans of Ursula K. Le Guin… A lucid, layered, deeply engaging story”

METRO

“Stands out for its startling originality, and for the frightening plausibility of the dangerous world it creates”

TELEGRAPH

“It’s rare to find a YA fantasy with such polished writing… Utterly satisfying and completely different”

BOOKLIST, STARRED REVIEW

“Dark, powerful and original… it really stands out in a very crowded YA marketplace. Thrilling, suspenseful and gloriously feminist”

THE BOOKSELLER

“A beautifully painted, fantastical setting like no other; this story will resonate with me for a long time”

BEN ALDERSON, BOOKTUBER

“Atmospheric, immersive and definitely original, Maresi has a quiet urgent magic that makes her story powerful, poignant and memorable”

FOR BOOKS’ SAKE

“A book full of courage. Dark, brave and so gripping you’ll read it in one sitting with that instinctive hunch hovering over your shoulder warning you that something terrible is about happen if you turn the page. And then you turn the page…”

LAURA DOCKRILL

“A few times in a life time, a book comes along that wraps you completely in its world and its characters. Wildly imaginative and vivid and filled with wonders… this book makes me proud to be a woman”

CASEY DAVERON, BOOKTUBER (CASEY ANN BOOKS)

“A poignant, slow-burning fantasy”

TARAN MATHARU

“Turtschaninoff puts traditional elements of female magic to effective dramatic use… But what’s more impressive about this fantasy is the subtlety with which the serenity of the island and its way of life is established—through the calls of birds, the sounds of the lapping sea, the smoothness of driftwood”

THE HORN BOOK

“Absolutely incredible, wonderfully mesmerising and a complete delight… Maresi completely captured my heart along with my imagination, and I’m not sure I want it back”

ONCE UPONA BOOKCASE

“Beautifully written… Maresi has a touch of Katniss about her, and although the target market is different, female lovers of dystopian fantasy adventures will enjoy the journey”

THE SCHOOL LIBRARIAN

For Hanna, my friend

Contents

Title PageDedicationMapPrologue Kabira Garai Orseola Garai Kabira Sulani Kabira Clarás Iona Clarás Kabira Garai Clarás Kabira Clarás Sulani Clarás Sulani Clarás Daera Kabira Esiko’s Letter Daera Name List Acknowledgements Copyright

Prologue

HESE SCRIPTURES CONSTITUTE THE innermost archives of the Red Abbey. They contain the history of Naondel and the long journey undertaken by the first sisters to reach the island of Menos. Our journey. It has all been penned by our own hands. Some sections were written before we came to Menos, others after the founding of the Red Abbey. Much of what is written in these accounts must never be disclosed beyond the guardian walls of the Abbey. The knowledge contained herein is far too dangerous. Though neither must the chronicles be forgotten entirely. The Abbey must never forget what was endured to create this refuge for our successors, a place where women can work and learn side by side. May our legacy live on as long as these walls remain standing: Kabira the first Mother, Clarás who led our flight, Garai the High Priestess, Estegi the servant and second Mother, Orseola the Dreamweaver, Sulani the Brave, Daera the first Rose, and Iona, who was lost.

Kabira

HERE ARE FEW WHOM I HAVE LOVED IN my overlong life. Two of them I have betrayed. One I have killed. One has turned her back on me. And one has held my death in his hand. There is no beauty in my past. No goodness. Yet I am forcing myself to look back and recall Ohaddin, the palace, and all that came to pass therein.

There was no palace in Ohaddin, not to begin with. There was only my father’s house.

Our family was wealthy; our ancestral estate was of long standing and comprised a spice plantation, several orchards and extensive fields of okahara, poppies and wheat. The house itself was beautifully situated in a sloping dip at the foot of a hill which gave shade in the worst of the summer’s midday heat, and protection from the harshest of the winter’s rainstorms. The ancient walls were of thick stone and clay, and from the roof terrace there spanned a far-ranging view over our grounds and those of our neighbours, all the estates and plantations, and the Sakanui River snaking down to the sea. In the east one could see the pillars of smoke rising from Areko, the capital city of the realm of Karenokoi. The city of the Sovereign Prince. On clear days one might glimpse the ocean like a silvery mirage on the south-west horizon.

I met Iskan at the spice market in my nineteenth year. As daughters of a wealthy family, it was certainly not the responsibility of my sisters, Agin and Lehan, and I to sell the estate’s yields of cinnamon bark, etse and bao spice. This was undertaken by the overseer and his little pack of labourers, under the supervision of Father and our brother Tihe. I recall the procession of carts laden with sacks of bark and bundles of bao and gleaming red heaps of etse pods. Father and Tihe rode up front on well-groomed horses. Each cart was flanked by two labourers, on foot, at either side of the horses’ heads; both a sign of Father’s status and as protection against thieves. Mother, my sisters and I travelled in a carriage at the back of the caravan, with a green-silk baldachin over our heads as protection from the heat. The gold-embroidered fabric let through a pleasant glow of daylight, and we jostled along on the uneven path and talked. It was Lehan’s first journey to the spice market and she was brimming with curiosity and questions. Halfway to the city, Mother produced steamed dumplings of sweet-spiced pork in soft dough, fresh dates and chilled water flavoured with oranges. When the carriage drove over one of the larger of the path’s potholes, Lehan spilt meat juice down her new yellow-silk coat and received a scolding from Agin. It was she who had embroidered the orange blossoms around the cuffs and neckline. But Mother only looked out over the okahara fields, now in bloom, and did not involve herself in the girls’ quarrel. Suddenly she turned to me.

“I first met your father when the okahara was in bloom. He gave me a bunch of the white flowers on our second meeting, and I thought that he must be poor. Other young men gave the girls they were courting orchids and precious fabrics, or jewellery of silver and goldenstone. He told me that I reminded him of the silky-soft petals of an okahara flower. A shocking thing for a man to say to a maid!” Mother chuckled. I bit into a succulent date and smiled. Mother had recounted her first meeting with Father many times. It was one of our favourite stories. They had met by the stream where Mother would often go to fetch water, and which Father happened upon as he rode home from Areko where he had purchased new farming tools. He was his father’s only son and heir, but he did not reveal his name to Mother, nor she her own to him, until their third encounter.

“He had already captured my heart,” Mother continued with a sigh. “I reconciled myself with the idea of binding my life to a man of modest means, and thought that perhaps it would be just as well to marry a poet. But then I got—”

The three of us joined in: “—both money and poetry!” Mother smacked my knee with the cover of our lunch pack.

“You disrespectful little cackling hens!” But she smiled, still in a daydream.

Perhaps it was the mood she inspired in me that made me notice Iskan as soon as we arrived at the gardens of the Sovereign Prince. At every spice market the Sovereign opened his gardens of unparalleled splendour to the wives and daughters of noble families. The men, their sons and labourers saw to the arduous physical work of auctioning off their batches of spices in the spice square near the port. Merchants came sailing from far and wide to buy of the renowned spice yields of Karenokoi, and paid a high levy to the Sovereign for the privilege. Our spices would fetch dizzying prices overseas, and the farther the merchants sailed, the more they sold for. They were the source of the land’s prosperity, and of the Sovereign Prince’s fortune.

When we came to Whisperers’ Gate, the entrance to the Sovereign’s gardens, we had to wait a short while for passengers from other carriages to disembark. Lehan leant out of the carriage, curious to scrutinize the other women, but Agin pulled her back abruptly.

“That is not any way for a well-born girl to behave!”

Lehan sat back in the carriage with crossed arms and a furrowed brow, provoking an immediate response from Mother: “Scowls destroy beauty.” It was something she had said throughout Lehan’s life, for she was the beauty of the three of us. Her skin was always fresh as rose petals, even after spending all day out in the sun without a proper wide-brimmed straw hat for protection, or after crying herself sick as she did if Mother and Father ever denied her something that she wanted. Her hair was thick, and black as coal, and framed her heart-shaped face and big brown eyes in a way that my flimsy hair never could. Agin had the hardest face of the three of us, and large hands and feet. Father sometimes joked that she was his second son. I know he meant no harm, but Agin took great offence. She was the good daughter, the one who looked after me—though I was her elder—and Lehan and Tihe. She was the one who performed offerings to the ancestors, even though that was my duty as eldest daughter. I would always forget, and then Agin would be the one to undertake the tiresome passage up the burial mound, and burn the incense and tobacco to appease the spirits of the ancestors. The only responsibility that I did not shirk was the spring. I made sure to keep it clean, to sweep around it and fish out dead leaves and insects with a net. Yet that was because my siblings knew nothing of the secrets of the spring.

I could already see a great deal from my seat in the carriage without leaning out as Lehan had done. Women and girls, dressed in costly jewel-coloured silk coats, stepped down from the carriages, their heads heavy with hairpieces of silver chains and coins. Some handsome young men of the court, with well-kept beards and royal-blue shirts over loose white trousers, helped the ladies down while the little girls, presumably daughters of the Sovereign’s concubines, hung flower garlands around their necks in greeting. One of the young men was a head taller than the others. From the silver stitching on his collar I deduced that he must hold a high position in court, close to the Sovereign himself. He wore his hair very short and his eyes were uncommonly dark. When our carriage rolled up to the gate it was he who stepped forward and offered his hand to help Mother down. She gave a dignified nod and accepted flower garlands from the little girls, and the young man bowed to her before turning back to the carriage once more—to me. I offered my hand and he took it. His hand was dry and warm and perfectly soft. He smiled at me with plump red lips.

“Welcome, Kabira ak Malik-cho.” He was well informed as well, though it was not difficult to guess that the eldest daughter of the family would step out of the carriage directly after her mother, and from Mother’s nine silver chains one could surmise that we were of the house of Cho. I stepped down with care, but did not return his smile. It would hardly be seemly. He still held my hand in his. “My name is Iskan ak Honta-che, at your service. There are refreshments provided by the pond. You must be warm after your long journey.” I bowed, and he released my hand. He helped Agin down without a word, but when Lehan stepped out I saw his gaze linger on her hair, her skin. Her eyes.

“Come, Lehan.” I took her hand. “The pond is this way.” I did not wish to be impolite, so I bowed to Iskan once more. “Che.”

He continued to smile, as though he saw straight through me.

I pulled Agin and Lehan along with me. Lehan’s eyes were drinking everything in. The beautifully dressed women. The garden paths dotted with crushed seashells. The flower beds of sweet-smelling blossoms with butterflies as big as your hand fluttering hither and thither between. There were many fountains trickling crystal-clear water, and the pendant branches of a parasol tree stretched out above us, offering shade. Mother followed us through the garden, nodding graciously at other harika ladies who were herding their daughters along the paths, and I mused that we too resembled butterflies in our brightly coloured silk jackets.

Then the park opened up to reveal the palace, fronted by its huge pearl-like pond. Lehan stopped still, wide-eyed. “I never knew it was so big,” she whispered, enraptured.

The royal palace was the largest building in Karenokoi, and it was impossible to conceive of anything more majestic. It was built on two storeys and spanned the entire north section of the garden. Its red marble came from inland Karenokoi, which gave the building a colour unlike any other in all the realm. The roof tiles were black, and the entrance to the palace from the garden was formed of wide, arched double doors of beautiful gold filigree. The palace housed the Sovereign Prince, his wives, his concubines and all his hundred children, as well as the royal court, which also comprised around a hundred persons. The palace was not at all visible from the city; consequently few citizens had ever seen more than the roof.

The palace is still standing, or so I heard. Though, naturally, no longer in use.

Around the pond were several long tables dressed with gold-embroidered damask and covered with dishes overflowing with chilled fruits, pitchers of iced green tea, candied flowers and pastries glistening with honey. Lehan had eyes only for the palace and its magnificent grounds, and expressed no interest in eating, but Agin and I enjoyed sampling the many delicacies. Mother had found some acquaintances to talk to, and was sitting with them on a bench beneath a jacaranda tree while young girls fetched them refreshing beverages. Suddenly I saw a tall figure in white and blue approaching Lehan where she stood gazing up at the palace. It was Iskan, the man who had been so forthcoming at the entrance gate. He pointed something out to her and she giggled in delight. Mother frowned, and Agin and I sighed as one.

“I’ll take care of this,” I said and hastened over to Lehan.

“Look Kabira, that’s the residence of the Lady Sovereign!” said Lehan as I reached her side. “Iskan resides in the palace. He meets with the Sovereign Prince almost every day!”

Iskan smiled at her exuberant expression. Did this man never stop smiling?

“Perhaps you will permit me to show you the palace? Unfortunately the second floor is out of bounds to anyone other than the Sovereign Prince and his family, but there are many splendid chambers on the ground floor as well.”

“Please Kabira, may we?” Lehan was practically jumping up and down with glee. I laid a calming hand on her shoulder and it seemed to remind her of befitting harika conduct. She stilled and lowered her gaze.

“That is most kind of you, che. But two unmarried young women…” I let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished. It was most unbecoming that I should need to remind him of the rules of propriety.

His big brown eyes opened wide and he looked quite appalled. “I should never dream of escorting you alone! My nurse will accompany us as chaperone, naturally.”

Lehan peered up at me through her thick eyelashes. I pursed my lips and looked at Iskan, and saw a sort of mischief sparkle in his eyes. He was poking fun at me!

“Very well. Come along, Lehan.”

I started hastily towards the steps leading up to the gilded doors and Lehan squealed and scurried after. We waited a moment in the shade of the bloodsnail-red baldachin hanging above the doors, and Iskan soon joined us with an old woman, dressed in white, leaning on his arm. She nodded at us sternly but Iskan did not present her. Instead he threw open the doors and showed us in with a grandiose gesture.

“As if the palace were his own,” I whispered to Lehan, but she was already gaping at the entrance hall’s marble floor and the stunning painted screens dressing every wall. The nurse sat down on a stool in a corner, trying to catch her breath, and Iskan smiled at me.

“As you can see, cho. Everything is most decent.”

I scoffed, because I did not know how to respond. He walked over to Lehan, who had stopped before a screen that depicted a ship in front of a green island in the midst of a storm.

“This piece is by Master Liau ak Tiwe-chi.”

Lehan’s eyes grew wide. “That means it’s over four hundred years old!”

“The Sovereign has much older treasures in his collections,” said Iskan genially, and Lehan blushed. She rushed over to the next screen.

“Is she a devotee of fine art, your sister?” Iskan asked, appearing at my side. I was standing with arms crossed and my hands tucked into my sleeves. Mother would have shuddered to see me so, and I noticed the old nurse scowl.

“No, she is not. She simply likes anything that is pretty, golden or expensive.” I softened. “Though our father has seen to it that all of his children receive an education in the classics.”

“Let me see, your father is Malik ak Sangui-cho. And your estate lies in the north-west, towards the Halim mountains?”

I nodded to hide the fact that I was impressed. “Though not so far as the mountains. Several estates lie between.” I glanced at the silver stitching on his collar. “What is your position at the court?”

“I am son of our esteemed Vizier, Honta ak Lien-che.”

Walking along the screens of the southern wall, I stumbled and came to a sudden halt. The son of the Vizier! The man I had scolded and snubbed! I removed my hands from my sleeves and bowed low. “My lord. My apologies. I…”

He waved away my words. “I prefer not to reveal my parentage immediately. All the better to learn what people truly think of me.” I looked up quickly and saw that sparkle in his eyes again. I pursed my lips.

“Better to learn who is silly enough not to realize at once who you are.” I was displeased at him for having exposed me so. Yet he appeared to find the situation most amusing, and throughout the rest of our brief tour of the reception rooms and their artistic treasures he paid me at least as much attention as he did Lehan. He was an unfailing source of information on all the beautiful paintings, sculptures and ceremonial objects and furnishings that there were to see. Unlike my sister, I truly was fascinated by art history, and found myself listening with great interest, quite against my will. Iskan had a pleasant manner, though he was clearly poking fun at me. He spoke with ease and animation, and the only thing that irritated me somewhat was his tendency to do so with a certain sense of entitlement. But when he was facing me, and losing himself in the detailed description of a jade statue with its fascinating history of wartime plunder, he focused all of his attention on me. As though I were someone important. Someone he truly wanted to speak with. It was difficult to tear myself away from his dark eyes. When he finally led us back out into the light he held open the golden door, and his bare hand brushed against mine.

It took a long time after that for my heartbeat to return to its normal pace.

We journeyed home at dusk. Tihe accompanied us, while Father would remain another day to finalize the last trade agreements. Tihe rode out in front together with some of the labourers in their carts, and two hired guards followed behind our carriage. We were as quiet on the homeward journey as we had been talkative on the outbound. Lehan was asleep with her head on Mother’s lap before we had even left the city walls, while Agin and I were each wrapped up in our own silence. What she was thinking I do not know, perhaps about the rolls of silk cloth jostling along on one of the carts ahead. My head was filled with the classical paintings I had read about but never before seen with my own eyes, with thoughts of the great echoing halls and gilded ceilings, the throne room of Supreme Serenity and its three-hundred-year-old solemnity. But in every recollection was also the image of intense eyes and a flashing smile. I leant back on a cushion and looked out into the darkness that had descended upon the district.

Iskan has not left my thoughts for a single day since.

Father came home the following day, laden with purses heavy with coins and full of stories from the spice square, all the merchants he had met and talked to there, and how happy he was with how business had fared. Later, when we were sat in the courtyard, gathered around the supper Mother had laid out under the shade of a baldachin, Father licked oil from his fingers, leant back against the cushions strewn on the ground and took a glug of wine from his bowl.

“And what about my little girls? Did you have an enjoyable day?”

I let Lehan blather on about the garden and the palace and the nice young man who had showed us around. I stayed quiet. Father watched Lehan closely as she spoke, and when she had finally exhausted the topic he gazed down pensively into his bowl. “I met a young man before I left for home. He asked if he may visit my daughters with whom he had spent such a pleasant day in the palace.”

I looked up at once. Father met my gaze.

“That is precisely what he said—my daughters. Did one of you take a liking to him?”

Lehan blushed and looked down. “Father, I…”

“It is quite clear that he is referring to Lehan,” I said quietly. “He is only being polite.”

“I cannot say that I understand it as polite,” Father answered. “It is customary for a suitor to make it known which of the daughters of a household he is courting.”

“I was mostly interested in the palace,” admitted Lehan. “Though he certainly was pleasant.”

“Lehan is still young, husband,” Mother said, pouring more wine into Father’s bowl. “Only fourteen years.”

“What did you say to him?” I tried to sound as though the answer was of little consequence.

“That he is welcome.” Mother gave him a sharp look and he shrugged his shoulders. “He is the son of the Vizier. It is not my place to deny him anything.”

“I believe,” I said bitterly, “that Iskan is not accustomed to being denied anything. Ever.”

I reached for a date to hide my reddened cheeks. Agin, ever keen-eyed, noticed, and I looked away. She turned to Father.

“I cannot wait to set my needle in that saffron-yellow raw silk, Father. Where did you say it came from?”

“Herak. There were many who envied the deal, daughter, you should know! But I have done business with the same tradesman for several years. He buys a great deal of our yield for a very favourable price. In exchange I buy raw Heraki silk from him. It is most coveted and little goes to export. The Lady Sovereign herself probably does not have as much rare cloth to set her needle in as you do, Agin!”

Agin laughed. “As if the Lady Sovereign would do her own sewing, Father! You are too funny!”

I flashed her a secret grateful smile. Now everybody was talking about cloth and not about Iskan.

* * *

During the following weeks there were two hearts that I studied especially closely: Lehan’s and my own. Mine perplexed me entirely. I had met a young man who was irritating and self-important, and who had showed interest in my sister. So why did he recur in my thoughts? Why were my daydreams filled with his eyes and smile, and my night dreams filled with his hands and lips? I had never been in love before. Agin and I had giggled about some of the boys in the district, but only in fun. Like children making sand cakes as practice before baking real cakes with flour, honey and cinnamon.

However I tried to deny it, I eventually had to concede that I now had honey and cinnamon on my hands.

Lehan was harder to read. She did not speak of Iskan—but then neither did I. She mentioned our visit to the palace once, but spoke only of the jade throne and not of the man who had shown it to us.

I was quite convinced that her heart was still making sand cakes. Yet this afforded me no comfort. A man such as Iskan would have whatsoever he desired, and my sister was the most beautiful girl in the whole of the Renka district. One evening during the hottest of the summer moons he paid an entirely unexpected visit. Mother and Father welcomed him as an old friend, as if a visitation from the Vizier’s son were a commonplace occurrence. The servants rushed back and forth carrying silver trays laden with dates, candied almonds, sweet rice cakes flavoured with rose water, chilled tea and vinegar-soaked plums, prepared according to our grandmother’s recipe.

I used to love those plums when I was a girl. Grandmother had taught me how to prepare them before she passed away. You must soak a ripening plum in vinegar and sugar with masses of spices. It is eaten during the hottest moons because, according to traditional wisdom, vinegar has a cooling effect on the body. We always had access to fresh spices: cinnamon bark direct from the tree and etse pods still moist with fruit pulp. When you eat the plum the sharpness of the vinegar makes your eyes water, but the sweetness also tickles your tongue, and the spices caress your palate.

It has been a long time since I tasted a plum.

We daughters were not called into the shaderoom, where Father, Mother and Tihe entertained our guest. The shaderoom ran along the north side of the house, where the hill behind the house afforded a certain shade, and it was the coolest place to be during the worst of the summer heat. Lehan, Agin and I sat with our needlework and tried not to let our curiosity get the better of us. We could not hear what they were doing, but sometimes Father’s hearty laughter resounded across the courtyard to where we were sitting. As darkness began to fall Father summoned his musicians, and soon the crisp strings of the cinna and the mellow tones of the tilan floated out to us. I smiled down at my embroidery. Not all harika employed their own musicians. We were most worthy of entertaining even the Vizier’s son.

The evening was already velvet-black, and the air full of the coos of night doves and the violins of cicadas, when Father’s most favoured servant Aikon summoned us. We set our needlework down by the oil lamps and I straightened Lehan’s collar. When we stood up Agin smoothed down the stray hairs on my temple.

“I am glad you chose your sky-blue jacket, Kabira. It makes you look like a blossom.”

I pushed Lehan in front of me. “What does it matter,” I mumbled, grateful that the dim light veiled my blushes.

Mother, Father, Tihe and Iskan were seated around a low rosewood table in the shaderoom, encircled by flaming lamps. The windows and doors were open to let the cool evening breeze flow through the room, which smelt of lamp oil and food, though the table had been cleared and only a few bowls of iced tea remained. We daughters knelt down on a woollen mat, at a respectful distance.

“You have met my daughters, of course, my most honoured guest.” Father gestured at us each in turn. “Kabira, my eldest. Agin, my helper. And Lehan, my youngest.”

I held my head down-bent but peeked up through my eyelashes. Iskan’s gaze swept over us all, and lingered on Lehan. It came as no surprise, yet I had to swallow hard several times. Next to me Agin sighed, ever so quietly.

“Girls, the evening is late and our guest can no longer ride home to the capital. He is to stay with us tonight. Kabira.”

I looked up. Father was scratching his beard. “Tihe and I have arranged a meeting with our neighbours in the north early tomorrow. Keep your mother company until our return as she gives Iskan-che a tour of the grounds.”

“Yes, Father,” I replied and bowed. Iskan looked at me, and there was that irritating little smile again. I lifted my chin and brazenly met his gaze. I could never let him know of the effect he had on me.

Agin did not want to leave her needlework the following day. “I am the only one with nothing to gain from this meeting,” she said mischievously. “You and Lehan are more than capable of entertaining our most lauded guest.”

I could not think of a good response, so I scoffed and pulled Lehan along with me down the stairs. Mother and Iskan were already waiting in the courtyard in quiet conversation.

“My ladies.” Iskan bowed elegantly as we approached and then straightened to reveal another of his characteristic smiles. That morning he was dressed in a deep-blue jacket and trousers of brilliant-white silk. “I could barely sleep last night for excitement about our little excursion.”

I immediately blushed and bit my cheeks hard. Could he read my mind? I had not been able to sleep at all. Just knowing that he was in the same house was enough to set my heart aflutter.

“My lord.” I bowed, and Lehan did the same. We were both dressed in green garments that morning, hers as light as young grass, mine as deep as moss. I had shown extra care in fixing her hair that morning, as had Agin in fixing mine.

“I should be honoured to present our modest grounds.” Mother took the lead. We went out through the door in the low north wall of the courtyard. The ground was still moist with dew and the air fresh and fragrant. Iskan walked beside me, with Lehan a few steps behind.

We had a pleasant morning. Iskan was attentive and asked intelligent questions about the estate and everything Father grew, about the number of servants and labourers, and our ancestry and traditions. I had rarely seen Mother so animated and verbose—by Father’s side she usually let him steer the conversation, and with her children she was full of warnings and sober advice. Yet now she was proving herself to be full of knowledge about flowers and the maintenance of the grounds. Iskan praised Mother’s herb garden and her flower pots, which put her in very good humour, and when he promised to bring her plants from the Sovereign Prince’s personal gardens she hardly knew how to express her gratitude.

Iskan listened politely to everything Mother had to say. At times he asked me questions and kept me entertained with amusing side commentaries. His eyes lingered longest on Lehan. I realized that the same had been true in the palace. Lehan was only fourteen years old and did not have much to say. I was more interesting to talk to, but she was more beautiful, and my heart was aching, yet I was already growing accustomed to the ache. I was not the first girl to suffer so. One day my turn would come and a young man would visit our home for my sake, and perhaps he would not inspire in me scents of cinnamon and honey, but I could live with that.

When Father and Tihe returned, we girls were sent back to our diversions, and Iskan ate a light meal with the men before riding back to Areko. Tihe came looking for us and found us sitting in the courtyard practising our calligraphy under the baldachin.

“A remarkable man, Iskan ak Honta-che,” he said, and sat down by Agin’s feet. He bumped into her arm, as if by accident, so that her brush stroke went askew. She sighed as he grinned.

“Did you know that he has already ridden into battle once? He accompanied the Sovereign Prince’s eldest son when they quashed the Nernai uprising. It was Iskan’s strategy that won the battle.”

“I can imagine,” I said sourly and quickly set down my brush pen before Tihe could ruin my scroll as well. He loved to tease his sisters, yet always took our side against anyone else.

“What do you mean?” Tihe stretched his tall frame out on some cushions and looked up at the bright summer sky. He had grown at an incredible rate over the past year and was now taller than Father. He was over a year younger than me and at least as self-important as Iskan.

“I only mean that Iskan seems convinced that all success is his earning and all failure is the fault of another.”

Agin laughed as Tihe threw a cushion at me, and I was glad to have set down my brush pen.

“Girls understand nothing,” he said snidely. “Iskan has been schooled in leadership since he was a boy. He is his father’s right hand, and there is nothing that happens in the palace that he does not know about, or have involvement in. He gets to be where the action is. Not forgotten on a dusty herb farm like me. Next time there is war I want to be a part of it!”

“Do you really think Iskan has been in actual battle? He and the Sovereign’s son were probably sat in a tent far from the battlefield drinking wine and playing pochasi.”

Agin gave me a look of concern. “You are certainly not singing his praises.”

“Why should I? One egotistical young man is much like another, whether he be the son of the Vizier or the son of a spice merchant.” I got up. “I am tired of writing. Can we not begin designing our new jackets? I want one made of the saffron silk.”

As soon as we began talking about clothes and needlework Tihe left us alone, and nobody mentioned Iskan again that day. Yet still his name rang in my ears. Every beat of my heart was singing it, again and again. Iskan. Iskan.

Iskan.

Iskan began to visit regularly after that, and his visits soon took on a familiar routine. He would ride over in the evening once he had fulfilled his day’s duties at the palace and spend the evening with Father, Mother and Tihe. The next day, when Father and Tihe were busy with jobs on the plantation, it was up to Mother and us girls to entertain him. Sometimes we would walk through the gardens or adjacent spice plantations. If the heat was too intense we sat indoors and Iskan would watch as we did our sewing or other appropriate tasks. The ache in my heart became a familiar and constant companion to these visits. I learnt to live with it. Agin ceased her little taunts. Even she could see the way Iskan looked at our youngest sister. The only one who appeared not to notice or particularly care was Lehan herself. She enjoyed the attention, that was clear, but I think that she saw Iskan similarly to how she saw Tihe—with sisterly affection. And I think that despite his pride, or perhaps because of it, he was not satisfied with this. So he continued to visit us without taking the decisive step and asking for Lehan’s hand.

“He is like a dithering tradesman who pinches at packets and sniffs at cinnamon bark but cannot resolve to make an offer,” said Father one evening after Iskan had ridden back to the district capital. He liked Iskan and looked forward to his visits, but at the same time he was irritated that he never spoke his mind.

We sat in the shaderoom and talked while moths of varying sizes danced around the oil lamps and singed their wings. Lehan blushed and went to refill the lamps on the other side of the room. She knew Father was talking about her and could never feel comfortable while others were discussing her future.

“You know how it usually turns out for those tradesmen,” Mother replied, and cut a thread from her sewing. “They miss out on the best deals.”

Father lit his pipe and took a pensive puff. “Right you are, Esiko. But so far there have been no other offers.”

“No, but she is still young. I believe that many of our friends consider it inappropriate to allow their sons to court the youngest daughter with two older sisters still at home.”

Agin and I exchanged glances. What could we say? Agin was only sixteen, so just old enough for marriage, whereas I was almost twenty, and Father had not yet received an offer for my hand.

“I suppose there is no hurry. It will give Lehan a chance to grow up a little. It is probably only the spice merchant in me that wants deals to be settled as quickly as possible.”

Mother and Father asked Lehan many times what she thought of Iskan, but all they could get out of the girl was that she thought he was “pleasant”. They did not want to marry her off against her will, but neither did she seem unwilling. So they let the matter rest. And I resolved that I must rid my heart of this folly.

Ten days later Iskan visited again, but this time he arrived to a near-empty house. Father and Tihe had travelled eastward to buy new bao plants after an entire crop had been destroyed by the harsh summer drought. The worst of the heat was over, and in another half-moon or so the autumn rains would come. It was the best time to renew the spice tree crop. Agin had gone to stay with our aunt to help her sew a bridal gown for her eldest daughter, our cousin Neika. She was to marry as soon as the autumn rains had passed. Lehan had contracted a bad summer cold and lay in bed, while all the maidservants of the household competed to pamper her with hot and cold drinks, compresses and home remedies. That evening Mother and I were sitting alone in the sunroom. Mother was embroidering a collar for Lehan (I could not help but think that it too resembled a bridal outfit), and I read out loud from the teachings of Haong ak Sishe-chu. He has always been my favourite of the nine master teachers, because he mixes philosophy with history. We had come to the third scroll when Aikon opened the door and showed Iskan in. I began to roll up the scroll, but Iskan gestured for me to stop.

“Please, do not let me disturb.” He smiled. Mother bowed over her needlework and I hesitated, with the scroll in my hand. It sounded as if he were teasing me, as usual, but would he really do so with Mother nearby? He sat down on his usual cushion, crossed his legs and looked at me encouragingly. My heart was pounding wildly, but I just frowned, unrolled Haong and started reading again.

Iskan listened attentively throughout the whole third scroll and half of the fourth before inquiring as to the whereabouts of the rest of family when I had stopped for a sip of iced tea. I let Mother answer. When she told him that Lehan was sick in bed I studied his face carefully. He asked politely how she was feeling and if there was anything he might do, but I could not find any semblance of concern in his eyes or facial expression. My heart skipped a beat. Though a summer cold was naturally nothing to worry about.

Then Iskan turned to me. “So I suppose you and I will have to amuse ourselves alone tomorrow, Kabira-cho. What shall we do?”

I lowered my head and attempted to look busy rolling up the scrolls.

“You could show Iskan-che the spring, Kabira.” Mother set down her needlework.

“A spring? I do not think you have mentioned one, cho.”

I had never shown Iskan the spring. It was not oaki—forbidden—but it was sacred. All districts in the realm of Karenokoi were built around a sacred place: a mountain, river, lake or, as in the district of Renka, a spring.

“Our family are guardians of Anji, the sacred spring of Renka,” I replied reluctantly. Just as I had expected, Iskan chuckled with amusement.

“I have heard of Anji. In my nurse’s tales when I was a boy.”

“The spring is absolutely real,” I said indignantly.

“I do not doubt it.” Iskan leant back, visibly amused by my reaction. “Though few remain who would call it sacred.”

“The old beliefs have disappeared in most of Karenokoi,” Mother said. “But in many parts the traditions live on. My mother-in-law took great care to cherish and honour the spring, as my husband’s family has always done. She taught my eldest daughter to uphold the tradition.”

I squirmed. It did not feel proper that Mother should speak of this with an outsider, though neither the spring nor my role as its guardian were secret. However, the true wisdom Father’s mother had imparted was something nobody knew but me. Hence why they could make light of Anji’s significance. Mother especially had always thought that Grandmother was stuck in the past and was annoyed that she occupied so much of my time with her lessons and visits to the spring, especially at night. It was inappropriate. It was old superstition. Mother was a practical woman. She understood that which she could see and touch, and did not assign value to anything else.

She did not know that much of what she could see and touch in her own home, of her own wealth, was thanks to Anji. She did not know that the spring affected our harvests, our health and our fortune.

“I would consider it an honour to visit your sacred site,” said Iskan and bowed low to me. “Tomorrow, at dawn?”

He knew that I rose early in the mornings. I deliberated. The moon was waxing and it was only a few nights before full moon. Anji was good and strong. Why not? Perhaps I could teach this arrogant man a little humility. Make him swallow his haughty scepticism!

I slammed shut the lid to the box of scrolls.

“As you wish, che.” I smiled sweetly at him, and when he raised his eyebrows I realized that it was perhaps the first time he had seen me smile.

We met the next morning on the path leading to the spring. I brought with me the broom, a drinking bowl, a small clay pot filled with water and Aikon, Father’s faithful servant, because I could not be unchaperoned with a man who was not my kin. Iskan gazed in the direction of Areko, which could be glimpsed in the early morning mist like a flickering mirage of shining roofs and smoking plumes. He was clearly restless. Wasting his time here with me, an old maid, when he could be back in the palace in the capital and… well, doing whatever it was he did there. Enchanting beautiful girls, shining the Sovereign’s shoes. He never said exactly what his responsibilities were at the court, but he happily hinted that he was incredibly important and highly praised. I sailed straight past him.

“Follow me,” I said as my only greeting. It was more than inexcusably discourteous, especially to such a highranking guest. Yet there was something about Iskan that always got my hackles up.

He hurried after me along the path that snaked up the hill behind our grounds. It was late summer now, and all the grass had dried. The hill was brown and dead, and dust covered our shoes as we walked. The worst of the heat was over, and soon the autumn rains would come. I found myself hoping they did not come too soon. Not before I could teach Iskan a lesson.

We came to the point where the path curved to the left and continued up to the tomb on the crown of the hill. There I turned right, onto a barely discernible trail which led around the hill through the rustling dried grass. My shoes darkened with dew.

“So much haste, cho,” panted Iskan. It occurred to me that he was not like the young men on the plantations, used to long rides and hard work. A palace lapdog, that was all he was, used to treats and caresses and no more. I knew that. So why did my heart still race at the sound of his voice so close behind me? Why did the thought of a morning alone with him send delight surging through me, as though I were flying on swallows’ wings?

When we rounded the hill and had nearly reached the crevice I turned around.

“Aikon, you wait here.”

Aikon frowned his already wrinkled forehead, but said nothing. I gave him a reassuring smile. “We are only by the spring. I shall call for you if need be.”

Iskan held out his hands. “Cho, I beg of you. You needn’t fear anything in my company.”

I pursed my lips and gave him a look. He smiled broadly. “This is a sacred site. A little respect, che.”

He put on an appropriately humble expression and nodded. We walked the last part together in silence. The crevice is scarcely visible until you stand before it, and the spring makes no sound at all. The rift opens to a dark, narrow recess in the side of the hill, with its foot to the east. I continued towards its opening with Iskan, the Vizier’s son, close on my heels.

When I was met by the cool air of the chamber inside and the smell of spring water I felt a sense of calm run through me. All the vexation and the pounding of my heart drained away. No matter what Mother said, this was a sacred place—an ancient site for worship of the divine: the balance of nature. I could feel it every time I came to the spring, and I could not imagine how others did not perceive the same thing. I took a deep breath and let peace wash over me. Then I stepped inside.

Anji was deep inside the hollow chamber. The walls were bare rock and nothing grew in the gloom, nothing except the velvety moss which was still green and healthy even after our long period of drought. The spring water formed a small mirror by the rock face, no larger than two silk shawls spread out to dry in the sun. It was framed by smooth white stones set around it by someone many generations ago. Some dead leaves had blown up onto the stones, and I swept them away carefully with the broom I had brought. A leaf was floating in the dark water, and I whispered the words that Father’s mother had taught me before I picked it out. Nothing dead could taint the sacred water. As always, I was surprised by the coldness of the water on my fingertips. I leant forward and saw my own face reflected in its untroubled surface. Sometimes other things could be seen in the spring. Things to come. Events from the past.

A face appeared next to mine and gave me a start. For a moment I had completely forgotten Iskan’s presence.

“Very pretty. And I truly appreciate the coolness.”

I stood bolt upright. My cheeks flushed hot.

“Anji has more than just cooling powers.” I took the clay pot and showed him. “This is ordinary water from a normal estate well.” I removed the stopper and took a sip. “No poison, see?”

Iskan raised his eyebrows in amusement but said nothing. I bowed down, whispered thanks to Anji and filled the bowl with her icy water. Then I walked to the mouth of the chamber. I looked down at the two thistles growing by the entrance, quite dry and dead. I held up the bowl so that Iskan could see what I was doing, and then poured the spring water over the one to the west, slowly and carefully so the dry ground had time to swallow every drop. Then I poured water from the clay pot over the eastern plant in the same way. Iskan stood leaning against the rock wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

“There. Meet me here three nights from now, at the full moon.” I pushed the stopper firmly back in the clay pot, turned on my heel and rounded the hill before Iskan had to time to react. Aikon was waiting for me by the bend with a grim expression. My hands were sweaty and I felt as though I could barely breathe. What had I just done? I stumbled on a stone and Aikon had to catch me to keep me from falling. I had invited a man—a man my parents saw as suitor to my own sister—to meet me at night. Alone. For I knew I would have no chaperone. I knew I would meet Iskan alone, and my cheeks blazed with shame. Yet I was not sorry.

During the three days that followed I was an exemplary sister and daughter. I took care of Lehan, whose fever had lessened but who was still exhausted and weak. I helped Mother with all of her errands. I made offerings to the spirits of the ancestors up on the burial mound. I waited on Father and Tihe when they arrived home, weary from their long journey and troubled over the rise in the price of bao plants. All to avoid thinking about what I had done. What I was intending to do.

The night of the full moon was cloud-free and bright. I sat in my bedchamber and waited until the whole household had fallen into a deep sleep. Midnight had long passed before I dared sneak out.

Unknown birds were singing in the surrounding bushes as I walked the familiar path round the foot of the hill. The colours, smells, sounds—everything was different. I, too, was changed by the night. I had become someone else. A woman who sneaks out to meet the man she loves, with no regard for propriety, family, consequence. My shame, my reservations, I left them all behind. In that moment I was free. Freer than I have ever been since. I often dream about that walk to the hill. In my dreams it is never-ending. Sometimes I am floating above the ground. The shadows are blue, the moon enormous and the air cool against my skin. It smells of dew and soil and etse. Everything in the dream feels real, razor-sharp. Freedom and joy swell through me as though my heart might burst.

The dream always ends in the same way. My dream-self becomes aware of something approaching. Something large and black that eclipses the moon and stars. Something about to devour everything. I try to scream. Then I wake up, in my own bed, with the night sky on the other side of the window. My heart pounds and I know it is too late.

Too late to scream.

Iskan was there waiting for me when I arrived. He was sitting with his back to the dark mouth of the chamber. Next to him were the silhouettes of the two dead thistles. The eastern one, which I had watered with ordinary well water, looked the same as it had three days previously. The western one, however, to which I had given Anji’s water, had a new shoot at its root, the length of a hand.

“It might be a coincidence,” came Iskan’s voice out from the shadows. “You might have come here and watered it every day since we saw each other last.”

Yet I heard doubt in his voice. I came to sit down on the ground next to him. I could not see his facial expression in the dark.

“Anji can bestow life and wealth, if you drink of her water at the right time. And she can bring death and destruction if you drink at the wrong time. The power of the spring is primeval. My father’s mother said that all the sacred sites of the different districts had powers once, but that many have been depleted by human greed, or simply forgotten.” As I turned to face Iskan the silver chains jangled in my hair. “The spring is the source of our ancestral wealth. It has been used, guarded and cared for by the eldest daughter for many generations.”

My father’s mother would not have approved of me discussing Anji’s secrets with an outsider in this way. But the night and the moonlight had swept away all my reservations and I felt not a tinge of a bad conscience. I was sitting beside Iskan—he and I alone—and I was prepared to say anything to make him believe me. To make him see me.

“So no one but you knows about this?” His voice was full of disbelief. Mocking.

I took his hand, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if I had a right to touch him so. His hand was warm and soft in mine.

“Come,” I said, and pulled him to his feet. I led him inside the crevice, his hand in mine all the while. My heart was pounding in my throat and my mouth was dry, but my head was clear and my thoughts darted like fish in water. It was dark in the chamber but my feet felt out the way and I led Iskan directly to the spring. She was shining like silver in the moonlight.

“Look down in the water,” I whispered. “What do you see?”

He leant forward, callous, disinterested.

“I see myself. And the moon. It’s shining. It…”

He stopped. Quietened. The disinterest disappeared and his entire body tensed, as though on guard. I did not look into the water. I looked at him.

I was still holding his hand.

Suddenly he turned to me, pulled me close.

“What is this?” His voice was a whisper, a hiss. “What is this I am seeing?”

“Anji shows what has been or what will be. Sometimes she shows your greatest wish.”

He stood stock-still. His hands gripped my upper arms so hard it hurt. “Why do you not look yourself?”

“I already know what has happened. I know how my future looks. And I know what I wish for.”

The last part I said very quietly. I could hardly believe the words had come out of my mouth. Iskan’s face was right before mine now. His eyes were big and dark in his moonlit face. I had never been so close to him before. He smelt of expensive things: the almond oil in his hair, the incense of the palace, the horse that he had ridden to Ohaddin.

A shudder ran through his body. A change—I felt it in his hands, in the grip on my arms. The hardness and tension melted away and he smiled, slow and gentle.

“You do know why I have been coming here all summer, do you not Kabira?” He leant forward, and I could feel his breath on my skin. It was sweet with wine. “For you.”

Then he kissed me, and it tasted of honey and cinnamon.

From that night on I was a lost cause. A fire blazed inside me, a fire of madness and abandon. There was nothing I would not do to be close to Iskan. Nothing I did not do. I did things I had heard that other girls did for love, forbidden things, things I used to look down on. Now I was the one sneaking out at night to meet my lover in secret. Iskan continued to visit our family just as before, but whenever he spent the night in one of the guest chambers we always met by the spring. Sometimes he came only at night, just to see me. We would sit by the spring and talk. I asked him about his life in the palace and he was happy to explain. Yet he was not the type of man to speak only of himself. Sooner or later he always led the conversation back to me, and I told him everything I knew about that which most piqued his curiosity: the spring and its powers. I passed on everything that my father’s mother had taught me, as well as that which I had discovered myself through experience and intuition. That under the waxing moon the spring water is good and bestows strength, power and vitality, but under the waning moon the water is dangerous, filled with corruption, pestilence and death. Though Anji has greater resources than these alone. For my kin, for generations past, the spring was above all a source of knowledge.

“My mother does not believe in the power of Anji, but my father knows,” I told Iskan one night. The autumn rains had begun but it did not rain that night. Swathes of cloud rushed past a waning moon and we had taken shelter from the winds inside the chamber. Iskan had spread a blanket out on the wet ground, but the damp seeped through and I was shivering. “We never speak of it directly, but he trusts my advice. I warn him about the coming droughts, floods and pests. I visit Anji and then tell him when to sow and when to harvest. He spreads the word to our neighbours. The wise ones have learnt to take heed, then their plantations thrive and their yields grow at the same rate as ours.”

“But were you not struck by drought this summer?” Iskan asked. He had taken a lamp with him several meetings ago and hidden it in the chamber between our reunions. Its warm shine illuminated his right cheekbone and almond-shaped eyes. I could barely look at him, he was so beautiful.

“Yes, and Anji foretold it. But what can be done against drought if the channels run dry? Father made preparations to ensure he had enough silver to replace the plants that died.”

“How do you see these things? Are they clear images that depict the future?”

I shook my head. “More like feelings which flash through me, pictures in my head and reflections in the water, everything together. They are not always easy to interpret, even for me after years of practice. Sometimes she tells of things which have already happened.”

“What use is that?” Iskan stretched out on his back on the blanket, his hands behind his head. The cold and damp did not seem to bother him at all.

“Anji is not for using. The spring is the primordial life force, unfettered and free. What we mortals do with it is up to us.”

“Of course, you are not obliged to warn your neighbours,” said Iskan slowly. “Your estate could soon be the mightiest in the Renka district.”

“Anji forbid!” I drew the sign of the circle on my heart with my fingers. “That would be misuse of the balance. Who knows how it might affect us—or affect Anji herself.”

“I might have known you were far too honest for that,” said Iskan.

I sat up straight. He glanced at me and saw that I had taken offence. Without a word he stretched his arm out and pulled me close. His lips fuelled the fire that burned in my body and I forgot all about the cold and damp.

The spring became even more significant to me than before. Now it was our place. I would often visit in the daytimes as well, to clean away dead leaves and weeds, to refill the oil lamp, and to sit and daydream about Iskan. He did not come to visit the family as often as he had, and my father’s irritation was escalating. He had still not made it clear to Father that I was his reason for coming; rather he continued to be amiable and attentive towards all three daughters. Yet he came more often at night, several times per moon. Each time we met he told me when to expect him the next time.