Wind Follower. Carole McDonnell
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around at the furs, fabrics and the objects of wealth, and comparing them to the torn and tattered dinginess of my former home, I regretted my rudeness to Loic and my ungratefulness for such blessings. Although I had lived in poverty, I had not accepted it. Nor had I accepted the loneliness of living in a strange region with no clan to protect me. Now I had both wealth and family.
Mamya Jontay stood near the bed, staring at me, as if waiting for me to speak. I must have looked like a little lost sheep for she suddenly said, “Thesenya, we’re a fierce people, but you’re one of us now. Despite being in the guest quarters, you’re not alone. I know you Thesenyas are close to your mothers. I will bring her here if you wish.”
“And my father?”
She frowned as if I had spoken indecent words. “Not your father. Speak to him little during the betrothal feast days, and never in private. During the days of the Restraint, speak no word to him at all.”
“Among the Theseni, the betrothed couple—”
“Arhe, you’re Doreni now. The Restraint year begins after the six days of the betrothal feast ends. During that time, you and Loic must not see your fathers. Not until the full marriage. Come to know your husband, share each other’s sweetness without the interference of men.”
“This is a harsh custom you’ve thrust upon me, Mamya Jontay,” I said.
She put her arm around my shoulder and said firmly but with kindness, “You will bear it. The rules are narrow, the Golden House is wide, and you are an obedient girl who wants to show everyone you can restrain yourself from running to your father.”
I didn’t think I was obedient, but knew well enough to pretend to be.
She indicated the jewelry scattered about the room. “All this is your dowry, girl.”
“It is not my dowry. My father’s goodness has earned it.”
“Layo, layo. True, he has riches now. And if the marriage fails, all this is yours and his to keep.” She gave me a warning look. “But the marriage will not fail, will it?”
I shook my head.
She continued. “Such wealth can be intimidating, I know. The love of a passionate young man even more so. But you’ll become used to both love and wealth.” She smiled, and strange it was to see a Doreni woman smiling at me. I had gotten used to their formidable stares in the marketplace. “Think of all the good this wealth can do. Only, try to love my Loicuyo for himself. He loves you very much and...” Her words trailed into silence.
“And what?”
“He’ll know if you don’t love him. That’s all.” She walked toward the doorway, pulled the wooden curtain aside, passed through it, then turned and pulled it closed behind her.
I was alone.
Fatigue should have made me sleep, but I missed hearing Mam’s snoring from the other room. I worried about not seeing Father. I lay watching the glittering of jewels in the moonlight, wondering what freedoms I had lost and what burdensome duties I had gained. As I lay there, footsteps echoed in the corridor. “Mamya Jontay?” I whispered, rising from the bed. “Is that you? Is that you, Mam?”
No answer came.
I rose and, as was my custom, reached for my veil. I hastily put it on before I pushed the wooden curtain slats of the door aside.
It was Loic, his finger to his lips. “Throw a gyuilta over your nightdress,” he whispered and raised his hands to show I had nothing to fear. He gestured toward the dark fields. “Let us walk together alone.”
My mother’s advice returned to me. Bend to his will. I wondered, If I bend to his will, will he still want me? “Out there?” I asked. “In the darkness? Without our mothers?”
“I will not hurt you, Satha.”
“No,” I stammered. “I did not think you would hurt me. But—”
“Ah, I see! I’ve heard that Theseni women are afraid of the dark and very superstitious, always sprinkling powders and dropping food for the spirits wherever you go. So it’s really true?” He grinned, entering the room without invitation, and sat down on the bed.
“I’ve heard you Doreni men have small yphers and cannot satisfy women. Is that true?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard you Theseni women are so prickly and pious no man’s ypher can satisfy you. Is that true?”
We faced each other in silence until he lifted a pair of sandals so exquisitely worked their beauty almost left me breathless. I took them from him and placed them on my feet. How dainty my toes looked in them!
“Don’t fear these shadow gods,” he said. “They have no real power.” He said this with such quiet conviction and with such absolute certitude that I knew it to be the truth. “Let’s go, now. While we walk, you must tell me why you don’t like mirrors.”
I stared at him, then glanced at a gold-edged mirror hanging near the door. “How do you know I don’t like mirrors?”
He turned the mirror’s face to the wall. “I’ll tell the servants to remove them if you wish. But your reason for disliking them is not a valid one. You’re not ugly and your dark skin is most becoming.”
“How do you know what is in my heart?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise. “Tell me, my husband. Can you truly see inside my heart?”
He seemed almost ashamed. “It is an unpredictable, undependable birth-gift. A trait inherited from my Desai mother. There is no faithfulness in it that I can trust in.”
“Nevertheless, Waihai! You’re blessed to have such a gift. Jobara!”
A grin spread across his face. “Do you truly think so? Although it’s so fickle? When I’m distressed or grieved, it is of no use at all. My confusion thwarts it.”
“Even so, my husband. Such a gift breeds fear in others. What warrior would not be unsure of himself when speaking to you? If that is the gift’s only purpose, it serves you well. No one can confidently lie to you. And who would dare conspire against you if they think you can see their thoughts?”
His eyes widened as if a new truth had been presented to him. “Jobara! Layo, Layo! Indeed! Yes, truly. Now that you know that secret I will tell you another. I also do not like mirrors. I do not like what I see in them.”
“What do you see?”
“I see the other world inside them.”
“Is there another world inside them?” I asked, surprised.
“At first, Father said I was imagining things. But then Little Mother recognized many of the mirror people I described.”
My eyes must have widened. “Who were these mirror people?”
“Dead ones thrown into the trash heap of Gebelda, or the holy ones taken by the Creator. Or the Arkhai who walk the earth, sky and water.” He stopped abruptly. “You do believe me, don’t you?”
“Waihai! Such gifts! Perhaps the spirits have marked you to intercede for them. And yet, with all this, your clan did not make you a shaman? Do they think perhaps that the falling sickness has wounded your mind?”
Shame spread across his face. For as long as it takes for a crow to wing across the sky, he stared at me. I realized I had spoken about his illness and stuttered an apology.
“Do you always ask stupid questions of people when they tell you all their heart?” he snapped at last.
“I wasn’t ... it just seemed ... only shamans and men with sick minds see visions.”
“I am neither a shaman nor mad.” He breathed deeply, like a child trying to push his angry thoughts away. “Don’t doubt me, Satha. I don’t doubt you. I’ve changed my heart. We will not walk tonight.” Then, pushing me aside, he walked