CHAPTER 4
SHARUM BLOOD
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 calm her, but they did the opposite.
Kajivah was apt to be vexed when her daughters disagreed with her, but she only smiled patiently, signaling 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 and took wives to provide her with grandchildren.
“Beloved nephew,” Kajivah said. “What brings you here?”
“My last visit to the women’s bath, I am afraid,” the boy said, to a chorus of disappointment. “I was called to Hannu Pash this morning. I will be taking the white.”
Kajivah led the cheers. “That’s wonderful! Of course we all knew it would be so. You are the Deliverer’s nephew.”
Asukaji gave a shrug. “Are you not the Deliverer’s mother? His wives and sisters, his nieces? Why is it none of you is in white, yet I should be?”
“You are a man,” Kajivah said, as if it were obvious.
“What does that matter?” Asukaji said. “You ask whom Ashia should be worthy of, but the true question is what man is worthy of her?”
“Who in the Kaji is higher than Dama Baden’s heir?” Ashia asked. “Father wouldn’t marry me into another tribe … would he?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Kajivah snapped. “The very notion is absurd.”
But there was doubt on her face as she looked to her grandson. “Who is worthy, then?”
“Asome, of course,” Asukaji said. The two boys were nearly inseparable.
“He is our cousin!” Ashia said, shocked.
Asukaji shrugged. “What of it? The Evejah speaks of many such unions in the time of Kaji. Asome is the son of the Shar’Dama Ka, beautiful, rich, and powerful. More, he can cement the ties between my father and the house of Jardir.”
“I am of house Jardir,” Kajivah said, her voice strengthening. “Your father is his brother-in-law, and I, his mother. What further tie is required?”
“A direct one,” Asukaji said. “From the Deliverer and father to a single son.” He dared to look into the room for a moment, meeting Ashia’s eyes. “Your son.”
“You have a direct one,” Kajivah said. “I am the Holy Mother. You are all blood of the Deliverer.”
Asukaji turned back away and bowed. “I mean no disrespect, Tikka. Holy Mother is a fine title, but it has not turned your black robes white. Nor my blessed sister’s.”
Kajivah fell silent at that, and Ashia began to consider. Marrying a first cousin was not unheard of in powerful families, and Asome was beautiful, as Asukaji said. He had taken after his mother in appearance, and the Damajah’s beauty was without equal. Asome had her face and slender build, and he wore them well.
“Why not Jayan?” she asked.
“What?” Asukaji said.
“If I should marry a cousin as you say, why not the Deliverer’s firstborn?” Ashia asked. “Unless he weds his sister, who is more worthy than I, Shar’Dama Ka’s eldest niece?”
Unlike slender Asome, Jayan took after the Deliverer in form—broader and thick with muscle. He was not kind, but Jayan radiated power enough to make even Ashia flush.
Asukaji spat. “Sharum dog. They are animals bred for the Maze, sister. I would as soon let you marry a jackal.”
“That is enough!” Kajivah snapped. “You forget yourself, boy. The Deliverer himself is Sharum.”
“Was Sharum,” Asukaji said. “Now he wears the white.”
That very day, Kajivah set a fire under Ashan and dragged Ashia, Shanvah, and Sikvah before the Shar’Dama Ka, demanding they be made dama’ting.
But one did not make demands of the Deliverer and Damajah. Kajivah and her daughters were given white veils. Ashia and her cousins were sent to the Dama’ting Palace.
“It is good, sister,” Asukaji said, as the girls were pushed toward the waiting Damajah. “There is no reason why our father or the Deliverer should refuse your match to Asome now.”
Kajivah did not seem satisfied, but Ashia could not see why. The Deliverer had named them his blood and heaped honor upon them. Ashia had no wish to be dama’ting, but who knew what mysteries she might learn in their palace?
Kai’ting. She liked the sound. It was powerful. Regal. Shanvah and Sikvah were afraid, but Ashia went gladly.
The Damajah escorted the girls out of the great chamber through her own personal entrance. An honor in itself. There waited Qeva, Damaji’ting of the Kaji, and her daughter and heir, Melan, along with one of the Damajah’s mute eunuch guards.
“The girls will be taught letters, singing, and pillow dancing for four hours each day,” the Damajah told Damaji’ting Qeva. “The other twenty, they belong to Enkido.”
She nodded to the eunuch, and Ashia gasped. Shanvah clutched at her. Sikvah began to cry.
The Damajah ignored them, turning to the eunuch. “Make something worthy out of them.”