Given Page 2

Prince Natahi bowed before her seat. He’d used her whole name, as was proper, but somehow the way he said it seemed familiar, like a caress. The prince wore the vibrant-green pelt of a rare emerald leopard draped over his shoulders and down his back, not quite hiding his warrior’s physique. His skirt was made of the same material—Hopefully from the same poor animal, Yenni thought—and a headdress made of blue-green peafowl feathers sat perched on his head. No runes, at least none that were visible, appeared on his body. It would be insulting to show up to another palace covered in paint as if expecting a fight.

  “Sha-blessed chieftain and chieftainess,” he said, addressing her parents. “Thank you for inviting my family and me to your festivities. I am greatly enjoying myself.”

  Yenni’s father bowed his head sagely while their mother answered. “We’re happy to hear it, Prince Natahi.”

  “Princess, would you do me the honor of accompanying me on a stroll around your grounds?”

  Yenni slid her eyes to her mother, even as her heart jumped to her throat. Was the prince planning to ask for her hand already? Surely her parents would not have finalized their union without telling her?

  But her mother remained as calm and regal as always. “What a wonderful idea,” she said neutrally. Her face gave no hint of her emotions.

  “It would be my pleasure,” Yenni said, and took the hand he offered, stepping down from the dais of the high table.

  Well, this will certainly create gossip, Yenni thought. But it would have been unwise to refuse. Besides, Prince Natahi was not so bad. The few times she’d met him he had been polite and charming. He was also passionate about runelore, like her. And he was handsome. If she had to get married, she could do worse. They walked arm in arm through the palace’s back garden, between women in tall hats or bright head wraps that crowned their heads like sunrise, and among men in fine kaftans who flashed them white smiles.

  There, by a lone iroko tree, she made out Jayeh and her husband chatting with the Fuboli chieftain, the three of them balancing wooden bowls of palm wine on their fingertips. Yenni narrowed her eyes. A few days earlier, the Fuboli had announced that due to bad harvests they would be increasing the price of rice, which Yenni’s tribe imported from them regularly. However, her mother had it on good authority that they had increased the price more for the Yirba.

  “How go your runes?” asked the prince, bringing her back to the present.

  “Oh! Well,” said Yenni. “I’ve gotten much better at pain ward.”

  “Hmm, yes, a tricky one.”

  The pain ward rune was more complicated than most, and needed to be painted down one’s spine to be effective, which required much practice.

  “I am happy to see His Blessedness the chieftain is looking well,” said Prince Natahi, then lowered his voice. “Princess, are you aware of the current political climate on the Sha Islands?”

  “I am,” Yenni said cautiously.

  “So you know that your father’s illness has made brave some of the other tribes—the Fuboli, for example. They came to us to try to foster an alliance, and insinuated that together we would hold more power than the Yirba. To what end, they didn’t exactly specify, but . . .”

  “Do my parents know of this?” Yenni asked sharply.

  “Of course. My father told them. The Gunzu and the Yirba were once one tribe, after all. And the last thing we want is strife among the Islands.” His face went dark. “Not with the Creshens waiting to swoop in as if we were carrion.”

  Yenni paused at that. It was Gunzu ancestors who had refused to enter into trade with the Yirba centuries ago, and the current Gunzu chiefclan upheld that proclamation, so why was Natahi now going on about them once being of the same tribe? They must truly be serious about a marriage alliance.

  “But Cresh is not a threat to us,” said Yenni at last. “We have a treaty.”

  Natahi gave her a pitying look that sent the blood rushing to her face in anger. “They are savages, Princess. They attacked us once, they will do so again. It is their nature to take what does not belong to them. Remember: they stole a third of the Sha Islands, ravaged them, imposed their false gods, and have the nerve to call it civilization, as if they were doing the Islands a favor.”

  “That was over three hundred rains ago—”

  “They exterminated all of our dragons,” Prince Natahi continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. His eyes blazed with righteous anger. “Not a single dragon left on all the Islands. Even in their so-called colonies they slaughtered them all, even those that surrendered.”

  “I know my history,” said Yenni coldly.

  He seemed to catch himself. “No doubt you do, Princess. My apologies, I can get carried away. I have little love for Cresh.”

  He would not be happy to learn of her upcoming journey then. Perhaps she would not have to worry about a betrothal on her return after all.

  Prince Natahi took one of Yenni’s hands in his. “I meant no offense. You are a beautiful, intelligent Island woman and I don’t care what people say, any man would be lucky to have you.”

  “Thank you—what? What do you mean ‘what people say’?”

  “Ah,” he looked uncomfortable. “You do have a reputation for being somewhat . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Unladylike.”

  She pulled her hand free and blinked at him, stunned.

  “But surely you know this? Your study of runelore, your love of the hunt and combat, these are not womanly things.”

  “Many girls hunt with their brothers!”

  “Girls, yes—not women.”

  “And there are female Masters of runelore!”

  “Masters are different. They hold no lands and have no children. They are devoted to communion with the Sha.”

  “As for my combat training, I train in the spear and jabdanu wrestling. Since you are so well versed in history, I trust you know that both those disciplines have been traditionally practiced by women as far back as the Island Wars five hundred rains ago, when women defended our homelands from raiders while the men were away.”

  “Yes—”

  “And I can only assume, with your extensive knowledge of history, that you are well aware of how integral women were in defeating Cresh during the War of the Continent. We sent our women to fight while they did not,” Yenni finished, her face flushed and warm with her irritation.

  “Oh, indeed,” said Prince Natahi. “Though our runes and domestication of flying mounts tipped things in our favor as well. But that was then, and this is now. We are at peace. Women no longer need to fight and hunt,” he said soothingly.

  “So you would have me give up these things?” asked Yenni.

  He gave her a flirtatious smile. “While I may find your quirks charming, there are certain societal expectations that must be observed, and more so for royalty.”

  Yenni folded her arms. “Forgive me, but did you not say you were concerned about a future attack from Cresh? What would you have Island women do then?”

  “The women of the Sha Islands are by far our greatest treasure,” he began, but he was interrupted by a sudden shout. A pack of guards rushed past them, and as the music and drums died down Yenni heard her mother’s voice ring out strong and commanding above the confused chatter.

  “Summon a healer!”

  N’baba!

  2

  The low and soothing coo, coo, coo of the night birds was a welcome contrast to the chaos of earlier. Yenni’s father had at last given out and slumped forward in his chair. Yenni’s mother and youngest brother had rushed off with her father, while Yenni forced herself to push back her anxiety and remain with Dayo and her sisters to attend to their guests and assure them that everything was fine. Her siblings were far better at hiding their fear than she was, but she did her best.

  At long last they’d bid everyone farewell, and now she knelt b
eside her parents’ softgrass mattress, holding her father’s hand and wondering how by all those divine she would leave tomorrow.

  “For the last time go to sleep, all of you,” the chieftain said, glancing around at his family. Yenni hated how weak and breathy his voice sounded. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

  She would receive her final blessing and runes tomorrow. She would leave for Cresh. Tomorrow. Yenni closed her eyes and breathed deeply to still her fluttering heart, smelling the familiar sweetness of the tree violets, and relishing the hot breeze blowing in from the gap between the roof and the wall. Home.

  Her brothers and sisters each came up to hug their father and say good night, but Yenni didn’t want to leave his side, even as Dayo, the last of her siblings to go, called to her from the doorway.

  “I can stay,” she insisted, ignoring her brother.

  “You know you cannot,” said her mother sharply. She was seated on the other side of the large mattress, still wearing the beautiful blue and gold gown she’d put on for the feast, though it was now crumpled. Yenni knew her mother well enough to know the bite in her voice was not due to anger, but worry.

  “Your iyaya is right—you cannot,” her father agreed. “You made a pact with the Sha.”

  Tears pricked Yenni’s eyes. Her father squeezed her hand and sighed. He pushed himself upright. “Dayo, fetch me my runepaint, there,” he said, pointing to a dark shelf in the left corner of the room. Her brother hurried to obey.

  “Now, leave us. I would talk to your sister in private.”

  Dayo bowed, touching his fingertips to the ground. “As you wish, N’baba. Good night.”

  With Dayo gone, Yenni’s father turned his attention back to her. “I had hoped to do this tomorrow after your final blessing from the Masters. But come, give me your hand. I will teach you a new rune.”

  Yenni’s eyes went wide. Each tribe had certain runes they kept carefully hidden from the others. Some were passed down only among the royal family, and only as the Masters deemed royal children ready and worthy. Some were known strictly among the Masters alone. Slowly, reverently, Yenni gave her left hand to her father.

  “Now, listen carefully.” He sang her a rune hymn she had never heard before, the wordless tones of his voice bittersweet. As he sang his voice no longer shook, but came out strong. The hymn was not long, and he had Yenni repeat it twice after him.

  “Very good. Watch and do as I do.”

  He dipped his brush in his paint and drew an unfamiliar rune, this one fluid and interconnecting, on her palm. His hand remained steady and sure. Yenni felt a brief warmth as the rune set, and her father kissed her hand before dropping it and handing her the brush.

  “Pull on your rune as you draw the same one for me.”

  As Yenni pulled ach’e to the rune she found it easy to re-create it on his palm.

  “Well done. Now, with your iyaya as well.”

  Once Yenni had completed the same set of runes with her mother on their right hands, her father sighed and leaned back against the blankets.

  “These runes will keep you connected to us. If they fade, so does our health. If they disappear, so too have we departed this world.”

  Yenni could not stop a tear from falling. “I understand, N’baba.”

  “By the Sha, that will not be for a while yet. A good night’s rest and I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

  “Come,” said Yenni’s mother, drawing her down to sit beside her. “Tell us a story, the way you used to when you were a child. It will be a good distraction to all of us. Tell the story of Orire N’jem.”

  Yenni sniffed, wiped a tear away, and began.

  “Many, many rains ago, when the Sha still walked the world of man, three of them had a disagreement . . .”

  The story went that Father Sho, patron of hunters, insisted that only a hunter’s skill determined their success, but Mother Ib and Father Ji, twin Sha of fortune, argued that luck was most important. They argued for five nights and days, until wise Father Ri came upon them. He suggested they each choose a hunter and give them from one rain to the next to catch a vicious king baboon that liked to steal children to eat. The Sha could protect their chosen from harm, but must not bestow their divine aid—not fortune and not proficiency. Should their hunter succeed by skill or by luck, therein would the Sha find their answer.

  And so Yenni weaved the tale of two young champions, the pioneers of Orire N’jem. The first, a preening prince, was lazy and failed to catch his prey. Due to his failure his whole tribe was cursed with a terrible harvest. However, the second young hunter, a princess from a seasoned mountain tribe, was able to lure out the baboon king and stab him through the heart. So impressed were the Sha by her determination that on her return home they showered her tribe with blessings, including the rune of focus.

  It was tradition ever since that in times of dire need, princes and princesses would make journeys to faraway lands in search of some creature or plant or sacred place, and dedicate their journey to the Sha in the hope of winning their favor, even asking specific boons of them. The journey was always completed alone, with all faith placed in the Sha’s divine protection, and always one year long.

  Thus Yenni had begged to go to Cresh on Orire N’jem. At last her parents had relented, and took Yenni’s case to the tribal Masters. They had conferred and, to Yenni’s joy, agreed that she should go, but under one strange condition: she must ask the Sha not to heal her father, but to protect the tribe from harm. She could not leave on Orire N’jem without the Masters’ blessing, so Yenni agreed. Her father was part of the tribe, after all, so should not the Sha’s protection extend to him as well, thus saving him?

  “You have always been a skillful storyteller,” said her father sleepily when she was done.

  “Iyaya, N’baba, thank you again for trusting me to go on Orire N’jem. I will not fail the tribe, and I will not fail you.”

  Her mother took her hands and rose, urging her to stand as well. She kissed Yenni’s cheek. “It is late. We will both be there on the shore to see you off tomorrow, my sweet daughter, so go to sleep.”

  “Yes. Good night,” said Yenni softly. She touched her fingertips under her chin and bowed to her parents before leaving the room.

  The seabirds called and the ocean shushed against the sand. Yenni lay on the warm stone of the temple dais as Masters Keema, Ollu, and Joko prepared to paint her. All three wore the same style of dress, even though Master Keema was a woman and Masters Ollu and Joko were men. Large headdresses of golden sunbird feathers surrounded their heads, and each was draped in lavish robes reflecting the colors of the Sha they especially worshiped. Master Ollu wore the green and black of Father Gu the warrior, Master Joko’s robes were the blue and yellow of Father Sho the hunter, and Master Keema wore blue and white for Mother Ye, protector of women. They all had pale, watery eyes—the result of the constant pulling of runes and communion with the Sha. It was impossible to tell how old they might be.

  The chiefclan—Yenni’s mother, her father, Jayeh and Ifeh and their husbands, and her brothers, Dayo and Jumi—sat in a semicircle on glittering embroidered cushions, all silent. A ship waited in the harbor and once Yenni received this final rune, she would depart.

  She’d considered flying her field sphinx, Ofa, across the sea, but she didn’t know where she would stable him in Cresh. She decided it was better to leave him home, safe and sound. She’d gone to the royal stables to say one final good-bye that morning. As she scratched the sandy fur of his head, his feline face was long with sorrow.

  Now, beams of dusty sunlight streamed in through the high windows of the temple, and the air smelled of the sea. The atmosphere was hushed and reverent.

  The three Masters arranged themselves around her.

  “Daughter,” began Master Keema.

  “Receive this rune, the holy blessing of the Mothers and Fathers bestowed upon
the Yirba,” continued Master Joko.

  “The Sha’s divine protection,” Master Ollu finished.

  As one they dipped their fingers directly into their bowls and began to sing, their voices blending in beautiful union. Yenni struggled not to squirm as they traced the complex rune on her abdomen. She felt them moving in a circle, drawing branches and lines out from the center.

  Their voices coalesced into a final note, two voices high, one low, and abruptly they stopped, tying off the rune. Without looking, Yenni knew the chalky paint was now one with her skin.

  “This rune will alert you to threats on your life,” said Master Keema.

  “If you feel its heat against your skin . . .” began Master Joko.

  “. . . beware,” Master Ollu finished.

  Yenni stood and bowed to the Masters.

  “Praises be to the Mothers and Fathers,” she responded, a little breathless as her heart thudded in her chest.

  Her family departed the temple in silence, and too soon they were at the docks, where Yenni’s ship waited. She hugged and kissed each one of them, exchanging tears and shaky good-byes, until she came to her father.

  “I’ll see you when the rains come around once more,” she whispered, staring fiercely into his eyes. He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.

  Each step up the ship’s wooden gangplank felt heavy with cause to Yenni, and at last she was staring down at her family, blurred by her tears, as the sailors called and prepared to depart. Yenni’s aunt, Morayo, head of ships, met her at the top. She squeezed Yenni’s shoulder as she made eye contact with Yenni’s mother and nodded. Then all too soon the sails unfurled, and the ship shuddered as it pulled away from the shore.

  Yenni kept track of her days at sea by lining gold figurines along her cabin wall. She often received tiny sculptures, carved in intricate detail, of her favorite creatures as gifts—quick-footed n’ne and glorious sunbirds, fleet cats and giant river fish with tails longer than she was tall. They were some of her most prized possessions, and she planned to sell them all once she reached Cresh. From the moment she left home she must make her own way without the aid of others, lest she break the Sha’s rules and upset them, so she could not accept gold from her family. However, selling her own possessions was an acceptable sacrifice.