She would go back to sleep, to sleep in the comfort of her cool room by the river, with its song of water, her sheets like a silken river carrying her to another day. Oh yes, that place was within reach, just beneath this terrible dream. She would hold on to the brocaded corner of her bedclothes, while her body floated in this unreal world. The one that said she was a hoda.
She felt a pressure on her arm. Someone jiggling her, urging her to wake.
No, no. Mustn't open my eyes. There is a woman without a tongue out there.
But the jostling came again. The moment Gilar opened her eyes, the hoda signed to her:
Welcome, Gilar. <
Here was a slave not using her honorific. She would havethis slave disciplined. But the place to do that was on the other side of the sheet, her home by the river.
Through the roof, imperfectly woven, panes of light slashed into the room, hurting her eyes along with her mouth. Something was dreadfully wrong with her mouth.
The hoda was signing again.
Do you need more pain drink?<
Gilar nodded. She wanted a pain drink, even if this was only a dream. She sipped from a cup, then lay back again.
She opened her mouth to ask where she was, but when she did, out came an awful bray. Her throat convulsed, and a trickle down her throat tasted thick and wrong. She tried to speak again, and again came the squawk of a jiga bird. What was in her mouth? Gilar sat up, as hands came to restrain her. She brayed again and again. The pain dug down her throat like a shovel. The hoda held on to her, arms wrapped around Gilar's arms, pinning them to her side, as Gilar fought to stick her hand in her mouth, to take out the knife, to hit the hoda, and to fall through the sheet to a safe world.
Hmmm, hmmm
, came the hoda's voice. The same sound her hoda slave had made when she was a child needing comfort.
Hmmm, hmmm.
Hearing that old nurse's song, Gilar wept. Her face fell against the hoda's shoulder, against the rough cloth of her tunic. But her nurse was dead these three years past. Calming herself, she pulled away, looking at the slave in front of her, a young hoda.
The girl removed her hands from around Gilar, and signed to her: Do not cry in front of Mistress Aramee. Be brave now, and cry with me later. <
Gilar hesitated to use slave language. In the palace she needed only to read what the hoda said, never needed to use hand sign herself. It was vulgar to wave hands. But she did so now, not wishing to bray. Cry? Why am I crying?<
You know why, my sister. <
Gilar reached up and wiped the water from her cheeks.
She knuckled at her eyes, but she kept her mouth firmly closed. No more braying sounds. Where are my real clothes?< Gilar signed. This coarse tunic needed to be replaced at once.
Maypong set them afloat in the Puldar.<
Gilar thought of her beautiful silk tunic, floating on the river like a sea serpent. She imagined Maypong setting the clothes there, after taking the coins from the king's hand, after turning her face. Away.
The sun had moved beyond the peak of the ceiling to slide down the steep roof. The day was aging. The sun moved in the heavens. She was truly and really here, then. In a dark realm.
The truth, when it settled upon her, made her feel as heavy as a stone settling into the river. The river took the bodies of those no one cared about. She didn't want to float long. She wanted, desperately, to find the bottom and have it over with.
Maypong is not my mother,< Gilar signed.
No. Not anymore. <
Outside Gilar heard voices. What compound am I in?< Her fingers were more clumsy than those of this hoda, who had practice waving her fingers at people.
The hoda answered. The Mistress Aramee's households
Gilar nodded.
She was fending off thinking about her mouth. If she thought about how her body had been ruined, it would drive her mad. She thought instead about Aramee, a woman with one of the best islets, right on the River Sodesh. A fine compound, so she had heard in the days before. But
She felt a pressure on her arm. Someone jiggling her, urging her to wake.
No, no. Mustn't open my eyes. There is a woman without a tongue out there.
But the jostling came again. The moment Gilar opened her eyes, the hoda signed to her:
Welcome, Gilar. <
Here was a slave not using her honorific. She would havethis slave disciplined. But the place to do that was on the other side of the sheet, her home by the river.
Through the roof, imperfectly woven, panes of light slashed into the room, hurting her eyes along with her mouth. Something was dreadfully wrong with her mouth.
The hoda was signing again.
Do you need more pain drink?<
Gilar nodded. She wanted a pain drink, even if this was only a dream. She sipped from a cup, then lay back again.
She opened her mouth to ask where she was, but when she did, out came an awful bray. Her throat convulsed, and a trickle down her throat tasted thick and wrong. She tried to speak again, and again came the squawk of a jiga bird. What was in her mouth? Gilar sat up, as hands came to restrain her. She brayed again and again. The pain dug down her throat like a shovel. The hoda held on to her, arms wrapped around Gilar's arms, pinning them to her side, as Gilar fought to stick her hand in her mouth, to take out the knife, to hit the hoda, and to fall through the sheet to a safe world.
Hmmm, hmmm
, came the hoda's voice. The same sound her hoda slave had made when she was a child needing comfort.
Hmmm, hmmm.
Hearing that old nurse's song, Gilar wept. Her face fell against the hoda's shoulder, against the rough cloth of her tunic. But her nurse was dead these three years past. Calming herself, she pulled away, looking at the slave in front of her, a young hoda.
The girl removed her hands from around Gilar, and signed to her: Do not cry in front of Mistress Aramee. Be brave now, and cry with me later. <
Gilar hesitated to use slave language. In the palace she needed only to read what the hoda said, never needed to use hand sign herself. It was vulgar to wave hands. But she did so now, not wishing to bray. Cry? Why am I crying?<
You know why, my sister. <
Gilar reached up and wiped the water from her cheeks.
She knuckled at her eyes, but she kept her mouth firmly closed. No more braying sounds. Where are my real clothes?< Gilar signed. This coarse tunic needed to be replaced at once.
Maypong set them afloat in the Puldar.<
Gilar thought of her beautiful silk tunic, floating on the river like a sea serpent. She imagined Maypong setting the clothes there, after taking the coins from the king's hand, after turning her face. Away.
The sun had moved beyond the peak of the ceiling to slide down the steep roof. The day was aging. The sun moved in the heavens. She was truly and really here, then. In a dark realm.
The truth, when it settled upon her, made her feel as heavy as a stone settling into the river. The river took the bodies of those no one cared about. She didn't want to float long. She wanted, desperately, to find the bottom and have it over with.
Maypong is not my mother,< Gilar signed.
No. Not anymore. <
Outside Gilar heard voices. What compound am I in?< Her fingers were more clumsy than those of this hoda, who had practice waving her fingers at people.
The hoda answered. The Mistress Aramee's households
Gilar nodded.
She was fending off thinking about her mouth. If she thought about how her body had been ruined, it would drive her mad. She thought instead about Aramee, a woman with one of the best islets, right on the River Sodesh. A fine compound, so she had heard in the days before. But
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