The more you hesitated in conversation the less likely the other was to believe a lie. This old adage was what echoed in Chantria’s head the moment he walked in. It was indeed a lie Chantria would have to spin to save herself the shame of admitting Ayele’s repeated violation. Intellectually, she knew it wasn’t her fault, but that didn’t erase the humiliation the memory would bring upon her confession.
Chantria couldn’t say she didn’t remember how the scars came to be: there were fresh abrasions over the raised scar. She couldn’t think of anything else that could have caused the scars. Time ticked by in slow seconds in the editor's mind, but each lie she thought of couldn’t cover the truth. Seconds marked by drips of water falling on to the white tiled floor counted down the time for her to come up with a suitable tale
“Well?” Kijani said, and upon his urge to respond told her she was out of time.
The editor finished braiding her coal black hair and allowed herself a calming breath. “They built up over time.”
Her husband's grey eyes darkened, but he held on to a civil tongue. “How were the scars built up over time?”
“They’re rope burns, Kijani.”
“Ok, so someone’s been tying you down. Why?”
“There were one or two different reasons- Kijani, can I perhaps get dressed first?”
Kijani did a double take, apparently he hadn’t noticed she was in a towel. “Chan, if your sisters are in danger we need to get them now.”
The soldier hit a nerve without the editor realising and she snapped back before her mind could catch up with her tongue. “They aren’t Ayele’s type.” She said and just as quickly wished she could take it back. Kijani might not have her capacity for academics, but he wasn’t unperceptive.
Kijani’s reply was stiff with barely contained fury. “I understand. I’ll let you get dressed while I speak to athair. Your uncle unstable?”
Chantria had to think about that. He was prone to rages indoors and out of sight of passing strangers. He was impulsive and acted with little regard for consequences believing himself entitled to others time and body. Chantria was sure Ayele understood what he was doing, but the editor didn’t think he was capable of empathy on an emotional level. “It’s situation dependant. Can you be a little more specific?”
“If I walked up with a couple of my brothers in arms, would he turn your sisters over?”
“I don’t know.” It was a horrifying thing for Chantria to admit. Not because she cared about admitting she didn’t know something, but because she knew Ayele was cold enough to rape and kill without a thought for the victim of his ire. The only thing that stopped her uncle from committing every atrocity that served him was keeping his grandiose delusions alive. If those delusions were ripped away from him in the bright light of reality the editor had no idea what he would do.
The icy eyed editor stared at her reflection in the steamy mirror, both hiding her own reaction while gauging Kijani's. Ayele’s ability to control himself was diminishing the older he got. He used to be able to charm his way in and out of various situations with grandiose claims and tales that, if one thought about them for a moment, became highly improbable to the point of impossible. It’s how he got away with keeping Chantria off school for a week without explanation or a physician's note after beating her so badly there was no way to hide the bruises. He needed the admiration and attention of the people in his surroundings and like a suffocating man needed air. Her uncle's good looks and with it his ability and power to charm was diminishing along with his impulse control. Since his dishonourable discharge from the military his behaviour had gotten worse faster. Chantria guessed it was because his reputation began unravelling and continued to do so the longer he was out of work and on the drink. In his mind he was the victim of a conspiracy to fire him which succeeded and one day he would be vindicated. Ayele’s tale of how he was discharged became more improbable with each re-telling and Chantria wasn’t sure how connected he was to reality at times.
However, the editor was certain that he wouldn’t let his toys go lightly. The knives laid out on the kitchen counter upon her return to her family home the previous night made the editor think he intended to kill. Then perhaps the probable consequences of his action entered her uncle's mind and he abandoned the idea, but if someone threatened to take all of his puppets within a few days of each other?
Chantria kept watching while Kijani searched her face through the mirrors reflection, but the editor new how to keep her face as blank as a grey rock. A defence mechanism developed from her years of suppressing emotions and needs that were not permitted within Ayele’s house.
“I think I get what you’re saying.” Kijani said rubbing the emerging brown stubble on his jaw and flinched.
Chantria sighed. “How’s your rib?”
“Still as broken as it was yesterday.”
“Kijani?”
“hmm?”
“I know your mhathair likes to have everyone in the main house for dinner, but could we maybe have a quiet dinner here instead?”
He nodded. ”I was thinking the same. You still wanting madombi for dinner?”
“I’m not fussy.”
“That ain’t what I asked.” Kijani said, his tone gentle.
“I would prefer Madombi.”
“Then that’s what we’re having.”
~*~
Chantria changed in to a deep green sleeveless wrap dress and thick black wool shawl to guard against the cold despite the ever temperate climate. The editor stood beside the agar oven that baked bread from dough she found in the freezer. She’d put on some make-up for the sake of presentability in this new household. Green frosted pigment, mascara and a simple lipstick was enough to highlight the green in her otherwise sapphire blue eyes. Sighing, Chantria leaned on the black marble counter and stared past her scarred wrists at the white tiled floor.
Kijani said he’d handle his old man. He’d interrogate her otherwise and she wasn’t in the best of mental nor physical state. The last observation Kijani emphasized with a touch of bitterness before walking out the door to the main house. The editor unhappily accepted the point and thanked the Ash for the peace this time alone granted.
The timer went off with an angry ring. Covering her hands in a white cotton dish towel the editor removed the bread from the oven and the whistling kettle from the stove. She baked two rolls thinking he might be back to have lunch with her but found herself relieved. Spiritually, Chantria felt herself between a rock and a wall of spikes. She wanted to get to know Kijani, but that required her to let him get to know her.
In Chantria’s limited experience of social interaction, it was dangerous to allow someone in to your mental life because it was easy to find an effective weapon there. Searching the dark oak cabinets the editor found a set of simple black plates and a matching tea set. From the layer of dust on the tea set, the editor surmised it hadn’t been used in years. Sitting the bread in the basked on the dark wood table Chantria proceeded to wash the dusty set. Tea was soon brewing in the black porcelain kettle and the iron one posted on the stove to heat more water. She’d need more than three cups of chamomile to calm her stomach enough to eat.
The editor found spiced honeyed ham, gouda, a mixed basket of lettuce and grapes in the fridge. Fruit was an unusual luxury in Divinity and grapes even more so. The seeds required a lot of space and heat in the skyscrapers the city devoted to food production which demanded a higher price on the market, but Chantria saw them growing in the Abara greenhouses in passing.
The editor briefly thought of taking her lunch outside when the back door opened and Kijani emerged from the garden into the kitchen. “Athair ain’t too happy. The canopy men are blowing up in the administrator's face right now. You women aren’t fertile till after the Meld. Magic ain’t a thing till after the Meld. Less Melds mean lower birth rates and less magic users. We’ve been paving the road to hell because records didn’t raise the alarm. Defence should have been told. They could be covering up a black market.”
A black market? That gave Chantria food for thought. Ayele liked to threaten to pimp her out to his friends for money if she didn’t start earning. It was entirely possible he knew about this market, if it existed at all. It was uncommon for women to sell themselves openly, but she was sure if a man new where to look, he would find a girl to satisfy him without the potential responsibility of a child. She thought of telling Kijani this, but the words died on her tongue. Instead, she nodded in quiet agreement. “I didn’t think he would be. Tea?”
Kijani thumped himself down on the bench across from her and poured them both a cup. “Remind me, did we tell your uncle we’d swing by tomorrow?”
“Yes, to pick up my branch certificate. He won’t have found it, but we can check on Liseli and Taraji.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” Kijani replied, buttering his roll, but he frowned down at the platter of honeyed ham and Gouda. He sauntered over to the fridge and snatched out the pancetta.
“So, what did your athair say?”
“Not happy just about covers it. He passed on the details you gave to his superior earlier and they started investigating your uncle. Let’s just say his military record was never clean. There were a load of incidents after his first scuffle with the Parasites. The doctor noted his suit was damaged and he had a few scrapes, but they didn’t do a blood test.”
“Do you think he was poisoned?”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Kijani shrugged. “Possible. The poison can do strange things to a man without immunity. What do you think?”
Chantria blinked back her surprise. It was unethical to attempt to diagnose her uncle. The editor had some idea of what could be wrong, but it was unethical to attempt to diagnose her uncle. A diagnosis didn’t mean anything other than you fit the criteria for a certain condition, but there was a lot of overlap. Chantria speculated that it was best to say that someone meets the criteria for certain things and adjust the therapy accordingly to account for individual variation. “My opinion on the subject is null and void.”
“Yes ma’am,” Kijani said, filling his roll
Chantria stopped herself from laughing but couldn’t suppress a smile. “What about your mhathair? She can’t have been happy about not having me in for dinner.”
“Ehm, I had to negotiate on that a bit. We’re still having dinner together here, but mhathair is going to be joining us. She has to talk you through some basics for tomorrow evening's party.”
The editor paused. She forgot about that. “I understand. We’ll have a lot to do tomorrow morning. Is this a private function?”
“What do you mean?”
“Can I invite my sisters?”
“Nah. This is for married crown members only. It’s not an official gathering and we don’t want potential melds at a debut. Anything outwith ordered process causes chaos.”
Chantria mulled this over while chewing on her sandwich. The ham was deliciously balanced between sweet and spicy. The gouda was light and creamy on her tongue and she savoured the taste. “Liselli will want to see pictures.”
“We’ll take plenty. Some will be in the paper the next day.”
“I didn’t think this party would garner so much attention?”
“It’s a big thing when someone enters the crown. The other women want to get to know you. The crown ladies have a lot of political power even though us men are on the front line. We don’t go to regular school. The ladies in the crown and canopy do the teaching and networking for us men folk. We protect and provide. Successful men have good women behind them.”
Chantria heard the unspoken question in his little speech, but self preservation taught her not to answer an assumed question. “I understand the baseline of my role.”
“So what did you majour in? Zadzisai said you’re a triple majour?”
“Social, literary and spirit studies.”
Kijani whistled. “The canopy ladies will eat that up. You could end up teaching half the crown kids a couple of days a weeks by tomorrow.”
“I have a business, Kijani.”
He shrugged. “Like I said, raise your prices. Anything I can do to help?”
“I... Not at the moment. I have a few administrative tasks I need to do to streamline the business. If we have time, I’ll drop by the bank after we’ve been to the registrars for my branch certificate and got my new identification.” It would be nice to get some help with the accounting. Chantria wasn’t bad with numbers. Tax and accounting just wasn’t her area.
“Well. Military work is two weeks on shift, three weeks off. If you need help when I’m of duty, I won’t be doing anything useful anyway.”
‘I want to help’ in Chantria’s mind translated to: ‘I want to know how to destroy you.’ Which was beyond ludicrous under the circumstances. Her education and business brought prestige to the Abara clan and that is what the men of divinity look for. It was a confusing place for the editor. She grew up thinking of herself as incompetent and useless, but reality was telling her otherwise. It was enough to put her off her food.
The silence stretched like an elastic band until Kijani broke it. “Hey Chan, I ain’t book smart, but I understood what you meant. I was looking forward to our first night together, but you’re in charge. There ain’t any rush, but tell me if there’s anything I can do to make you more comfortable.”
Chantria let Kijani’s statement languish for a while. “So, when is your mhathair coming?”
“In an hour, she’s leaving us time to be a couple.” Kijani said bitterly.
Chantria finished her roll and took a long drink of the calming tea. “I’m sorry this isn’t what you expected.”
Kijani’s smile approached a grimace, but there wasn’t a trace of anger directed at her. “Nothing to do with you.”
“How long are you off duty?”
“Three weeks. Figured we could talk about how we want to decorate this place. Moved in and never bothered changing anything when I enlisted.” Kijani said.
Chantria looked beyond the kitchen in to their living room the white walls were a rather bland and the grey corner sofa surrounded what could be a children’s play area if they got rid of the coffee table. “Maybe we could get some plants?”
“Like gardening then?”
It was a trap. “They look nice.”
“Mhathair been looking for an extra pair of hands. My brothers and I ain’t that great with plants. Want to take a walk round the garden?”
Yes please! Was Chantria’s first thought, but not one she could bring herself to admit. “Maybe later. I was just thinking, the registrar isn’t far away and there are a few things I need my documents to sort out a few things.”
“How about doing that tomorrow instead?”
“Tired?”
“We’ve just been out. Once I’m in, I’m in.”
Chantria stared up at the copper clock on the wall above them trying to think of the best way to get out of spending time with her husband. He hadn’t done anything objectively wrong, but his needling in to her was driving her heartrate to a staccato and her chest to constrict her breathing. This must be some sort of sin. “I have some work to do for my authours and I’ll need to send some aether mails to cancel consultation’s for the next two weeks. I’ll have to honour the contracts for the manuscripts and deadlines I’ve committed to.”
“You trying to avoid me?”
“Kijani, it is impossible to avoid you.” Chantria said, but felt a twang of guilt. This six foot man looked like he was a puppy who had just been kicked.
This was hard, Chantria wanted the attention and affection he was offering. She physically wanted to remain in his proximity, but the second she spent a little time alone with her husband the felt the urge to flee. She was so confused she felt the urge to cry, and looking at Kijani’s expression she realised how unnaturally she was behaving for a recently melded woman.
Chantria heard the tales of heightened feelings of excitement and infatuation in passing from the other girls at the university. Naturally, they took their leave and finished their studies either pregnant or with a newborn. Chantria wasn’t interested in coitus at the moment. Her violation was too fresh, but she wanted and needed to give herself a concession. “We could sit and listen to the voice box once your mother is done with me.”
Chantria took his smile as consent and set up her papers outside on the wooden deck table in the freeing sun.
~*~
The manuscript Chantria worked on was as hard to edit as it was for her to read the more direction she gave and the more drafts she went through with the authour. Chantria was almost grateful to take off her editors hat and sit down with her mother in law and husband for dinner. She couldn’t bring herself to go back inside. Her body craved the sun. The last 6 years of her life were spent indoors, shut up in Ayele’s house, the library or the Timber. Ayele, as a disgraced soldier, was barred from the Timber and it was the only place she could safely work.
By setting the table and serving the food her mother in law brought with her from the main house, Chantria avoided being the centre and subject of the conversation. For the first half at least, she only half listened to the conversation and watched the fiery flowers sway in the breeze. As the light dimmed, their petals glowed, lighting the way for the moths to reach their pollen. A multitude of other plants, berries, a kind of moss with white petals clinging to the stones on the raised bed. Purple flowers pointing to the sky and slowly opening the more the three moons light the sky.
Chantria was pulled out of her trance by the mention of her name. His mother was a bit taken aback by Kijani’s behaviour earlier. He’s been rather forceful about not letting him speak to her yet. Though his mother seemed to understand his reasoning.
“But surely if we had kept things calm-” Kijani’s mother began, but he held up a hand.
“I’m your son, you do whatever the hell you want with me. Chantria’s my wife, she’s my responsibility. You say nothing to her.”
“I’m sorry, was there a problem?” Chantria said tentatively.
“No, darling. Your father in law is simply a bit hot headed and Kijani wanted you to have some peace for a couple of days. It’s entirely reasonable really.” Nobuhle said and took over the job of clearing the table.
If it were within Chantria’s nature to swear she would have. Her mother in law had taken away the task she intended to hide behind for the remainder of the evening. Then, on top of everything else, she started brewing the tea, that would have been her back up plan.
“So, darling, I can see we won’t have much to discuss in terms of table manners for tomorrows party. It would be nice if you lent a little more to conversation, however.” Her mother in law continued between the clanging of dishes in the iron sink.
“I’m not very interesting.”
“Nonsense. Mistress Zadzisai called earlier to say your bangles had been resized and she’s looking forward to meeting you tomorrow. She apologised for her husbands lack of tact and wondered if you would like to visit her family for tea next week. As a triple graduate, she is interested to hear your thoughts on the canopy curriculum.”
“Told you you’d be teaching half the canopy.” Kijani said with a smile and Chantria surmised he never hated telling someone he told them so.
She shot him a warning look. “I don’t know what my schedule is going to be like next week.”
“Oh, you can’t refuse. She’s a canopy lady, it would be an utmost insult and bring your young family in to disrepute. She also heard you had sisters, one working in theatre and the other as a seamstress?” Nobuhle said.
“Liseli works in Theatre and Taraji is a Seamstress.” Chantria clarified.
“I see, well, she has some unmarried grandchildren that would be eager to take a look.”
“Iniko and Adjo called dibs.” Kijani said with a raised eyebrow.
Nobuhle retook her seat and poured the tea. “Naturally, they are your sisters in law.” It’s a bit of a scandal that you and your sisters were never at the gatherings. If anyone mentions anything, I strongly advise not to comment.”
“I wouldn’t have anything to add to such a conversation.”
“Understandably, of course. That is for the men folk to investigate: we govern the political sphere, although the men don’t like to admit it. Now, shall I tell the matriarch Zadzisai you will be over for tea at 10th bell next week?” Nobuhle replied with a smile and a twinkle of mischief.
Chantria sighed in resignation. “Yes.”
“The ladies will want to hear about your business as well. There are a few in the canopy who would love to help give your business a boost in exchange for you teaching their children.”
The hairs on the back of Chantria’s neck stood on end and anxiety entered her blood and set her heart pounding. If someone got their claws into her business, they could as easily destroy it as help it. Absolutely not. “It can be discussed.” Chantria replied, keeping neutrality was always safer.
The conversation dragged on for another hour in which Nobuhle gave all the important names she must try and remember. Half the crown will be there tomorrow and they all want to get to know the new addition. Chantria simply nodded along, uncertain she was taking in the information. All she could think about was how she was going to handle the questioning of dozens of people with no means to leave the room. The thought was suffocating enough she delayed going in side with Kijani for as long as she could, bu the minute she stood she realised she was shaking.
It wasn’t the first time Chantria noticed her lack of conscious awareness of her own feelings. The brain might be advanced enough to switch disregard the bodies signals, but the body itself cannot lie.
“Chan? You ok?” Kijani asked, the edge of worry in his tone contradicted his gentle voice.
She had to work to find her voice and even then found it to be a mere thin whisper. “I don’t know.”