all around her lay dead alagai. Seven of them. The ravine was cleared, and Micha, Jarvah, and the others were staring at her.
Micha caught her elbow. ‘What was that?’
‘What?’ Ashia said. ‘I was honouring our master with sharusahk.’
Micha’s brows tightened as she lowered her voice to a harsh whisper the others could not hear. ‘You know what, sister. You lost control. You seek to honour our master, but Enkido would be ashamed of you for such a display, especially in front of our little sisters. You are lucky the Sharum did not see as well.’
Ashia had been struck many times over the years, but no blow had ever hit as hard as those words. Ashia wanted to deny them, but as her full senses returned she saw the truth.
‘Everam forgive me,’ she whispered.
Micha gave her elbow a comforting squeeze. ‘I understand, sister. I feel it too, when the magic is high. But it has always been you we look to for example. With our master dead, there is only you.’
Ashia took Micha’s hands in hers, squeezing tightly. ‘No, beloved sister. There is only us. With Shanvah gone, the Sharum’ting will look to you and Jarvah as well. You must be strong for them as you have been for me, this night.’
Ashia’s robes were still wet with demon gore as she made her way back to the palace chambers she shared with Asome and their infant son, Kaji.
Normally she would change from her Sharum robes to proper women’s blacks before returning, that she might not further the rift with her husband. Asome had never approved of her taking the spear, but it was not his decision to make. Both had petitioned the Deliverer to divorce them when he named her Sharum’ting, but her uncle had refused the request, his wisdom a mystery.
Ashia was tired of hiding, though, tired of pretending to be a helpless jiwah in her chambers even as she broke men and bled alagai in the night. All to protect the honour of a man who cared nothing for her.
Enkido would be ashamed of you. Micha’s words echoed in her mind. What was her husband’s displeasure compared to that?
She was silent as a spirit, but there was no sign of Asome – her husband likely sleeping in Asukaji’s embrace in the new Damaji’s palace. The only one present was Ashia’s grandmother Kajivah, asleep on a divan outside the nursery. Her first great-grandchild, the Holy Mother doted on the boy, refusing a proper nurse.
‘Who could love the boy better than his own grandmother?’ she would always say. Implicit in that statement, of course, was her belief that Ashia herself was unsuitable, now that she had taken up the spear.
Ashia slipped by without disturbing her, closing the nursery door behind her as she looked down upon her sleeping son.
She had not wanted the child. She had feared what bearing would do to her warrior’s body, and there was no love lost between her and Asome. Her brother’s need to have his own sister bear his lover’s child had seemed an abomination.
But Kaji, that perfect, beautiful child, was no abomination. Having spent months with him suckling at her breast, sleeping in her arms, reaching his tiny hands up to touch her face, Ashia could not bring herself to wish any change upon her life that might undo him. His existence was inevera.
Enkido would be ashamed of you.
There was a creak, and the edge of the crib broke off in her hands with a loud crack. Kaji opened his eyes and let out a shriek.
Ashia tossed the broken wood aside, reaching for the boy. Always his mother’s touch could calm him, but this time Kaji thrashed in her arms, struggling wildly. She tried to still him, but he screamed louder at her clutch, and she saw his skin bruising at her touch.
The night strength was still upon her.
Quickly, Ashia laid her son back in his pillows, seeing in horror his soft, smooth skin bruised and stained with the demon ichor that still clung to her. The stink of it was thick in the air.
The door slammed open, and Kajivah stormed into the room. ‘What are you doing, disturbing the child at this hour?!’
Then she saw the child, bruised and covered in ichor, and let out a wail. She turned to Ashia, enraged. ‘Get out! Get out! You should be ashamed of yourself!’
She shoved hard, and Ashia, fearing her own strength, allowed herself to be driven from the room. Kajivah took the child in her arms, kicking the door shut behind her.
For the second time that night, Ashia lost her centre. Her legs turned to water as she stumbled to her room, slamming the door and slumping to the floor in darkness.
Perhaps the abomination is me.
For the first time in years, Ashia put her hand to her face and wept. She wanted nothing more than the comforting presence of her master.
But Enkido was on the lonely path, and like her grandmother, he would be ashamed of her.
327–332 AR
‘Sit up straight,’ Kajivah snapped. ‘You’re a princess of the Kaji, not some kha’ting wretch! I despair of ever finding you a husband worthy of your blood who will take you.’
‘Yes, Tikka.’ Ashia shivered, though the palace baths were warm and steamy. She was but thirteen, and in no rush to marry, but Kajivah had seen the reddened wadding and seized upon it. Nevertheless, she straightened as her mother, Imisandre, scrubbed her back.
‘Nonsense, Mother,’ Imisandre said. ‘Thirteen and beautiful, eldest daughter of the Damaji of Krasia’s greatest tribe, and niece to the Deliverer himself? Ashia is the most desirable bride in all the world.’
Ashia shivered again. Her mother had meant the words to calm her, but they did the opposite.
Kajivah was apt to be vexed when her daughters disagreed with her, but she only smiled patiently, signalling her daughter-in-law Thalaja to add more hot stones to the water. She always held court thus, from the nursery to the kitchen to the baths.
Her subjects were her five dal’ting daughters – Imisandre, Hoshvah, Hanya, Thalaja, and Everalia – and granddaughters Ashia, Shanvah, Sikvah, Micha, and Jarvah.
‘It appears Dama Baden agrees,’ Kajivah said.
Every head turned sharply to look at her. ‘His grandson Raji?’ Imisandre asked.
A wide grin broke across Kajivah’s face now that the secret was out. ‘They say no man has ever offered such wealth for a single bride.’
Ashia couldn’t breathe. A moment ago she would have put this moment off for years, but … Prince Raji? The boy was handsome and strong, heir to the white and a fortune that dwarfed even the Andrah’s. What more could she want?
‘He is not worthy of you, sister.’
All eyes turned to Ashia’s brother Asukaji, standing in the doorway with his back to the women. It was not an uncommon sight. No man would have been allowed entry to the women’s bath, but Asukaji was but twelve and still in his bido. More, he was push’ting, and all the women knew it, more interested in the gossip in a woman’s head than what was under her robes.
All the women of the family adored Asukaji. Even Kajivah did not mind that he preferred men, so long as he did his duty