[Queen of Orcs 02] - Clan Daughter (15 page)

By the time Dar and Mi-pah returned to the hall, the midday meal was nearly ready. It consisted of a pot of stew with the same savory aroma of the one Velasa-pah had prepared. The hall’s single hanmuthi wasn’t large enough to accommodate the entire clan in one sitting, so the mothers ate first. Muth-pah commenced the mothers’ meal by thanking Muth la. That was the sole formality. The mothers served themselves and their children, then sat about chatting.

This casual behavior surprised Dar. “I always said ‘Muth la gives you this food’ while serving,” she said to Mi-pah.

“That’s because you served sons,” replied Mi-pah. “It’s
our
food.”

Dar seized the opportunity to ask another mother a question that had long puzzled her. “Why do we own food?”

Mi-pah regarded Dar as she might an infant. “Everyone knows that.”

“I don’t.”

“Because Muth la rules world through mothers. Children enter life through us. Food comes from our breasts. We’re Muth la’s eyes and hands. We speak her words. Our gifts are her gifts.”

“That makes sense,” said Dar.

“Is it not same among washavokis?”

“Thwa. Sons rule because they’re strong.”

“If that were wisdom, then bears would rule world,” said Mi-pah. “No wonder washavokis are evil.”

Someone called to Mi-pah, who rose and joined a group of mothers at the other side of the room. Dar was left alone, an outsider amid the everyday life of the clan. She envied the mothers about her. They seemed dignified, vibrant, and comfortable in their authority. Mi-pah was already deep in animated conversation. From the way the mothers kept glancing in her direction, Dar was certain they were talking about her. Muth-pah joined the group and spoke with Mi-pah. After a while, Muth-pah rose and walked over to Dar. “Tava, Dargu,” she said.

Dar bent her neck respectfully. “Tava, Mother,” she said, using the honorific form of address.

“You understand courtesy,” said Muth-pah. “And you have bathed. Many live in this hall. You should do it often.”

“I will, Mother,” Dar replied, “though I won’t be staying long. I promised sons I would take them home.”

“Do you know way?”

“Thwa. I hope you can tell me.”

“Way to next hall is hidden. You’ll need sapaha.”

“Would one of your clan do this?”

“We’ll speak of it after Bah Niti,” said Muth-pah.

Dar tried to hide her disappointment, for the moon was in its last quarter and Bah Niti—
Hidden Moon
—wouldn’t occur for five more days. “What should I do until then?”

“Be useful. It’s said each mouth brings two hands,” replied Muth-pah. “Your sons are already on patrol.”

“I can work in fields,” said Dar.

“Good,” said Muth-pah as she rose. “We’ll speak again.”

Dar watched Muth-pah cross the room and join another group of mothers. After Muth-pah spoke, a mother turned to look at Dar. She was the one who had ordered Thak-goth to kill her. She seemed amused.

Dar finished her meal alone, trying to be philosophical about her isolation.
I’m a clanless, ignorant outsider, but despite that, they call me “Mother.”
Dar didn’t sense hostility. Rather, she felt the sting of being different.
“Weasel Mother” was what Mi-pah called me.
That recollection led to an unsettling notion.
This could be a foretaste of the rest of my life.
Once Dar reached Kovok-mah’s homeland, her brand would prevent her from ever leaving. Dar realized she could easily end up as a lonely oddity—
a weasel mother.

Dar lingered after eating, hoping to serve Kovok-mah and the others. When only elderly and half-grown sons appeared for the meal, she realized her companions were still on patrol. Just then, the mother who had stared at Dar approached with Mi-pah in tow. “Our Mother says you wish to work in fields.”

“I’d like to be useful,” replied Dar.

The mother turned to Mi-pah. “Mi, take two tivs and go with Dargu to high field. Hren is planting pashi.”

“Hai, Mother,” said Mi-pah. “Come, Dargu.”

Mi-pah led Dar to a storeroom. There, she handed Dar a tiv, which turned out to be a short-handled digging tool with a flat iron head.
Planting pashi will be stoop work
, thought Dar as she followed Mi-pah outside.

The high field was long and narrow, covering the top of a winding ridge. A low stone wall kept its soil from washing away. Dar guessed that the field’s rich loam had been carried by the orcs up the same steep path that she and Mi-pah had ascended, for the rest of the ridge was rocky and barren. A small group of mothers, some who looked Mi-pah’s age, were bent over and swinging tivs.

“Hren-pah! Weasel Mother and I are here to help.”

An older mother, who was thick-limbed and a head taller than Dar, approached. She gave Dar a quick lesson on how to plant pashi, then handed her a bag of root cuttings. Afterward, Dar joined the mothers who spanned the field in a single line and went to work. The soil wasn’t hard to dig, but the tiv was a heavy tool meant for stronger arms, and using it required bending over. Dar’s back soon ached. She said nothing, taking her cues from the other mothers. Even the youngest worked without complaint. It was heavy labor and it went on until sundown, when Hren-pah called a halt at last.

On the way down to the bathing pool, Hren-pah spoke to Dar for the first time since she had shown her how to plant. “You look like youngling, but you work hard.”

Dar curled her lips into a smile. “Shashav, Hren-pah.”

The mothers, who had labored silently throughout planting, began to chat. As Dar listened to their conversations, she noted that the blooded mothers dropped the “pah” when they addressed one another. Much of their talk concerned a mother named Fre and her recent journey to find a husband. “I heard Thak-goth’s sister’s son desired her,” said a mother.

“And she desired him,” said another.

“It made no difference,” said Hren-pah. “His muthuri would not give blessing. Fre must look elsewhere.”

“Poor Fre!” said the first mother.

“It’s sad,” agreed Hren-pah. “Fre loved unwisely.” She gave Dar a meaningful look.

After bathing, Dar returned with the mothers to the hall for the evening meal. Discovering that Kovok-mah and the others were still absent, she asked Hren-pah when the patrol would return. “Not until Bah Niti,” she replied, “unless they catch washavoki.”

“You were first they caught in six winters,” added another mother, “so don’t expect your velazul early.”

Dar blushed. “Velazul” translated as “lover,” though she didn’t understand its connotation among the orcs. Since there was no one she felt comfortable asking, she had no way of telling if the mother was voicing understanding or disapproval.

Once the sons were fed, the household prepared for sleep. Families gathered in their sleeping chambers and Dar retreated to her empty room. As the fire in the hearth died down and the hanmuthi grew dark, she witnessed intimacy between mothers and their spouses. The feelings it stirred made her turn away. Without Kovok-mah to hold her, Dar was forced to lie upon the floor. Its hardness aggravated her aching back, making it difficult to sleep. Loneliness compounded the problem. Dar missed Kovok-mah. As she dwelled upon his absence, Dar realized how much she had come to care for him. That made the mothers’ talk at the bathing pool especially worrisome.
If they thought Fre loved unwisely, what would they say of me?

Seventeen

After Dar spent the following day planting pashi, she bathed with the mothers who had worked alongside her. Three were blooded—Hren, Twu, and Dree. Two were younglings—Ji and Wra. Ji, who had developed breasts, was anticipating receiving the Gift and could hardly wait. “Muthuri thinks I’ll be tattooed by fall,” she said. “I hope she’s right.”

“You’ve grown fast, Ji,” said Twu-pah. “I was fifteen winters before I was marked.”

“But you were blessed next summer,” said Ji-pah.

“I was lucky,” said Twu-pah. “How many sons visit here? Look at Fre.”

“Thirty winters and still not blessed,” said Hren-pah.

“We’re too distant from other halls,” said Twu-pah. “Muthuris don’t want their sons to move here, so they withhold their blessing.”

“That son named Zna-yat called our clan lost,” said Dree-pah.

“Then he speaks foolishly,” said Hren-pah. “
His
clan is lost, not ours. We’ve stayed true.”

“Yet what has it gained us?” asked Dree-pah. She sighed. “Every hall lies eastward. Zna-yat lives so far away, we might as well be lost.”

Twu-pah sniffed and grinned. “Do I smell atur?”

Dree-pah splashed her.

“Use more depyata, Dree,” said Twu-pah. “Perhaps you can wash it off.”

“No wonder Muth-pah sent those sons on patrol,” said Hren-pah. “They’ll leave soon, and who needs heavy chests about the hall.”

“It’s not only me who smells of atur,” said Dree-pah. “Dargu does too.”

“Kovok-mah, also,” said Twu-pah. “Why does he love you, Dargu?”

Dar blushed. “I thought it was impolite to speak of such things.”

“Among sons that’s true,” said Hren-pah, “but we’re all mothers here.”

“So why
does
he love you?” asked Twu-pah.

“I don’t know,” said Dar.

“Because he lacks sense,” said Hren-pah.

“I think not,” said Dree-pah. “Dargu bit Zna-yat’s neck. He says Muth la has bestowed her powers. They attract sons.”

“And hardship,” added Hren-pah.

The mother’s talk reinforced Dar’s impression that life in the settlement was out of kilter. Sons who should be involved in everyday clan life spent their time guarding against a nonexistent enemy. Even as an outsider, it was clear to Dar that the sons’ absence put a strain on everyone. The hall needed expansion, planting went too slowly, and mothers had difficulty finding mates. The Goblin Wars were long over, but their shadow still darkened lives.

Dar settled into a routine as she waited for the patrol to return. She worked in the fields, bathed with the mothers, ate with them, and slept alone. She participated in clan life, yet was excluded in subtle ways. Conversations stopped when she approached. Mothers were polite, but guarded when they spoke to her. Dar came to sense that everyone knew something important was about to happen; something that involved her.

The patrol was expected to return in time for Bah Niti, which would be marked by a feast. On that day, no mothers worked in the fields. Many, Dar included, gathered wood for a series of bonfires. Others worked on preparing a special meal. All day long, Dar sensed growing excitement, especially among those mothers whose spouses were away. There was no midday meal, and everyone worked into late afternoon. Afterward, the bathing pool was crowded. As Dar washed, she was certain that she detected the scent of atur in the air.
It must be strong, if even I can smell it.
She was also aware that the scent might be her own, for she longed to be with Kovok-mah again.

It was dusk when the sons tramped up the valley, weary from their long patrol. Dar fought the urge to dash up to Kovok-mah. Instead, she watched the other mothers for cues on how to behave. They had gathered outside the entrance to the hall, where they gave no voice to their excitement. This puzzled Dar until she realized the wind bore their feelings to those returning.

When the patrol arrived, the mothers greeted them, and Dar observed the breast-touching gesture many times. It seemed more a means to communicate desire than to initiate it, and both sons and mothers behaved decorously afterward. When Kovok-mah approached, Dar imitated the other mothers. Before, she had always worn a blouse, and she was unprepared for the surge of desire his touch aroused. The air filled with an intoxicating fragrance, and her body became alert to every sensation. After Kovok-mah’s hand drifted away, she felt unable to speak.

Kovok-mah smiled. “Dargu, it’s pleasing to see you dressed like other mothers.” He reached out and softly ran his fingers over Dar’s cheek. “You’ve been much in my chest.”

Dar pressed her lips to his palm and kissed it. “Let’s go where we can be alone,” she said.

Then Dar heard Muth-pah’s voice. “Dargu will enter darkness tonight.”

Kovok-mah’s hand instantly fell from Dar’s cheek. He bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t know.”

Muth-pah strode away before Dar could ask what she was talking about. Instead, she questioned Kovok-mah. “Why did you apologize? What is this darkness?” She reached out to grasp his hand, but he jerked it away.

“I’m sorry, Dargu, but we must stay apart.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Only mothers can enter darkness. This mystery is hidden from sons. Tonight, you are thwada.”

“Thwada? What does that mean?”

“Someone untouchable,” replied Kovok-mah, already retreating. “Someone dangerous.”

Once again, Dar was left alone, but this time she intended to do something about it. She sought out Muth-pah, gave a perfunctory bow, and vented her frustration. “What did you say to Kovok-mah? Why am I thwada?”

Muth-pah seemed unperturbed. “Tomorrow you can be with your velazul. Not tonight.”

“Why?”

“You will enter darkness. You cannot eat or be with son until you return.”