Chantria was so focused on her work she didn’t notice the hours slip by until one of the servers dressed in black tapped her on the shoulder. “I’m sorry to disturb you madam, but we are closed.”
The newly married woman rubbed her tired sapphire eyes and looked in to the young man’s kind brown eyes. He’d been making sure her water was topped up throughout the day. She tended to forget to eat or drink after breakfast and she was immensely grateful for his care. So, the ink haired woman was rather ashamed to find the entire café empty and the other servers waiting by the door with their cloaks on ready to leave. The blush was hard to hide on her milky skin, they’d been so kind and here she was intruding on their time. “My apologies.”
“It’s alright madam.” The waiter replied and patiently watched her pack her papers and scroll away.
Chantria reached for her silver pen, but found the waiter holding it out for her. “Thank you.” She packed the pen in the loop of her diary and hefted the heavy satchel.
“Madam, you’ve been coming here for some years and we were wondering… What’s your name?”
The question gave the newly wed pause. The servers viewed her with nothing but suspicion until she removed the sunglasses she was supposed to wear. Chantria didn’t entirely blame them for their caution and distance, but the sudden change was beyond jarring. “Chantria Keita.” She replied
“I’m Lutalo Girma. You’re a graduate right? I could tell from the pen. I’m looking forward to getting mine. What did you study? It’s usually written on the pen, but you just have symbols.”
“That’s because I’m a triple majour. At that point they engrave the symbols in a coat of arms.” Chantria’s reply was carefully calculated to give as little information as possible and she hoped Lutalo didn’t notice.
The server held the stained-glass door open for her and whistled. “How did you do it? I can barely manage my astronomy study and work.”
“I don’t know, but I did.” Chantria said laughing tiredly, “I better get home.”
“Definitely! It must be exciting being a married woman. I want to go to the gatherings myself soon, but it’s probably better I wait until after I graduate. I want to be in a better position for my wife.”
Chantria let him prattle on until they parted at the crossroads. She sighed with relief when he left. She hated answering questions at the best of times, by the tree’s root’s she never knew how much information was too much information. Repeated warnings throughout her early teens of imaginary threats to their safety should they dare to speak to anyone left their mark on her manner. She had no friends outside of her sisters and the need to connect warred with ingrained feelings of peril when attempting to form bonds with another.
This led the editor to wonder why the server was suddenly so nice, but just as soon answered her own question. She covered her eyes with tinted glasses whenever she was out, it was as disconcerting to most as a blank face was to a baby. There were laws against obscuring the eyes, but you were allowed to do it for medical reasons. Most assumed, she covered her eyes because of a medical condition and didn’t question it further. It simply wasn’t their business. Only the soldiers were allowed to demand she take them off for checks.
And… Chantria sighed, They likely heard me crying in the bathroom stall. Guilt and compassion could have given them cause to set aside any gripes they had. She didn’t deserve the pity and their kindness was unsettling. She was simply waiting for the gallows to do their work, but the end of their interaction was rather anti-climactic.
The editor arrived at the place she spent the night and she stood in front of the inviting red front door as if before the gates to hell. It was a nice little town house surrounded by a patch of garden she had scant memories of playing in before the breach in the wall that killed her parents. She used to love hiding in the bushes and jumping out at her father when he came home. When Ayele took over their care however, she was confined inside with her sisters and forbidden from speaking to the other children in the neighbourhood. She still remembered her best friend Hadiza. She got away with sneaking out to play with her until Ayele came back home from whatever shift he was on at the wall, but he came back home early once. He was angry, he got drunk on duty and needed someone else to blame for his transgression. Finding her playing cards in the garden with her friend was enough. He sent Hadiza away and dragged her inside by the hair when her friend wasn’t looking. Chantria wasn’t at school for a week after that. Ayele wasn’t careful enough with his blows and the bruises were too visible. Chantria heard her friend from all those years ago was married to a councillor now and had four souls to nurture.
Her breath quickened and formed short clouds that floated up toward the star filled sky. Her heart rate spiked and the blood froze her gut. She didn’t want to step past the threshold. The editor committed two sins in two days and Chantria feared the devils wrath, but she reached for the doorknob and skittered inside. Her sisters needed her home.
The door clicked shut behind her like deaths rattle and her heart stopped. The air weighed as heavy as the chains of Ayele’s manipulation. The clink of ice against glass forced her hackles to rise and the blood drain from her face. With the air as thick as sand she found it difficult to find the will to move, but she looked down to the left where the long kitchen table made for guests sat. That table held many happy memories. The burn mark from where her mother set a copper pot of stew and forgot to put a mat down. Laughter filled celebrations with their neighbours and school friends still hung around that table like ghosts. Memories gave way to reality when Chantria found Ayele’s coldly smiling face. He sat at the spearhead of the table quietly crushing their souls with his presence.
“Chan, right on time, come join me for a moment before you go to bed.”
Her body moved without her command in a bid of self-preservation and she sat an arm's length away from her uncle. She kept her eyes trained on the moonlight range across from her and noticed Taraji left the knives out on the wooden counter.
“Your husband came to tell me you will be moving to his house tomorrow. Congratulations, Chan. The Abara clan is quite the wealthy military family and I hear the other two brothers are yet to find a match. Excellent strategists. I served under their father at one time.”
“Where are Tara and Lis?” Chantria asked, her blood turned from slurry to ice. Ayele enforced perfection in the home and leaving anything out for any length of time was harshly punished.
“They’re in bed, Chan. It’s late, you’ll see them in the morning. I haven’t told the girls your news.”
“I will tell them in the morning.”
“You know you shouldn’t have taken your glasses off.” Ayele said, his tone had the hard edge of a threat and his hand gripped the crystal glass.
“I couldn’t refuse the soldiers a gaze.”
Ayele paused and took another drink of his whiskey, eyes flashing with rage. “Yes. Hmm, well I hope you don’t forget your sisters when you leave.”
“My household will always be open to them.” Chantria replied, barely able to keep the shiver from her voice.
Ayeles smile widened in to a malicious grin. “I’m sure it will be, but you must pack, chan. Officer Abara said he would be here to pick you up tomorrow, but I’m quite sure he will be early.”
Chantria stood and turned to leave.
“Good night, Chantria.” Ayele said, his tone sickeningly sweet.
She paused with one hand on the banister. “Good night.”
The editor's heart beat a hard staccato against her ribs. she had to force her body to calm its breathing, but she didn’t trust her shaking legs. Chantria slid down the bedroom door and hugged her knees against her chest in an attempt to self sooth, but tears flowed once more before she could stop them. She didn’t think to go to her sisters for comfort, she never thought to ask for help. Who would help?
It took another hour for her to calm herself enough to stand. Chantria wiped her tears and lit a candle with the matches from her dresser drawer. Her room was as meticulously organised as her work. Nothing was on the surfaces apart from a book on her nightstand and the jewellery box on her vanity. The room was so small a set of old clothes left on the floor would make it look untidy. The walls were painted in a light lilac. She used to keep plants mounted on the walls and flowers covering the dresser, but Ayele hated anything he perceived as superfluous or messy and her flowers were some of the first things to go.
Chantria found a trunk and began packing. Sleep was out of the question for now.
The ink haired editor fell asleep the minute she triple checked the contents and over slept by 3 hours. She usually left for work at the 7th chime of morning, avoiding Ayele and missing Liseli in the process, but today nothing could be avoided.
Today she put on her favourite red dress with gold trim and tried her hand at a married woman’s braided bun. Then felt the need to exercise her make up skills again. She went without eyeshadow, but managed a winged eyeliner, foundation and lip gloss. The editor paused before the mirror. She wasn’t sure how she was going to tell her sisters she was leaving the family home as a married woman, it’s not something Chantria had quite accepted herself. Reality moved at an uncomfortable pace, but she looked forward to seeing Kijani. Chantria checked her appearance once more and opened her trunk for a last inventory check. Ayele thought he might be here early and she hoped he was right. There would likely be some back and forth as she collected the rest of her things and move to her new home. Perhaps she could start gardening again and roll back on her working hours... She would have to; it was her duty to shape the little souls she made and Kijani seemed impatient for family life.
The editor stopped that thought with the clicking shut of her trunk. She didn’t want to think of the precursor to children. Ayele set the standard by which she would be treated in the bedroom. Hefting her trunk down the stairs Chantria didn’t dare look in to her sister's eyes as she placed her trunk by the door.
Liseli was the first to speak. “Chan? Where are you going?”
Chantria was about to say she wasn’t entirely sure. Not a lie, she didn’t know where Kijani’s family lived, but that wouldn’t be fair on her sisters. Still, she found it hard to find truthful words that would reassure. In her mind she could already see Liseli’s sensitive brown eyes turn to tears when no one was looking.
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“Chantria has some news to share, girls.” Ayele said.
The editor looked up sharply. She wasn’t expecting Ayele to be awake at this time.
Chantria sat at the other end of the table between her sisters and across from Ayele. “Yes. I was questioned by some soldiers the other day about my glasses. One of them found a match in me. Legally, there was no choice but for me to sign the papers with my husband confirming the match. Once I am settled, my home will be open to both of you.”
Chantria looked from Liseli, her sparkling auburn hair was poker straight and framed her light skin, to Taraji, who reflected their sisters concerned gaze.
“Did the wedding already happen without us?” Tara asked.
“No, the ceremony hasn’t taken place, we just signed the papers.”
“Well, I want to make your dress!” Liseli replied.
Chantria smiled, her emotions calmed by her sister’s enthusiasm for her craft. “I’d love that.”
The editor helped herself to eggs and fruit, the meat was reserved for Ayele who remained remarkably quiet through all conversation about her impending wedding. Chantria kept her answers relatively short and polite. She didn’t have any information to give on wedding themes and colours, she had to discuss that with Kijani. Old habits die a slow death and keeping her sisters in the dark about her double life was as tough as it was cruel and necessary. It was nice to share this little bit of joy with her sisters, but it was hard to ignore Ayele’s cold smile looming at the other end of the table.
The knock on the door silenced Chantria and her sisters. All three stared at Ayele, because only he was allowed to answer the door. He took his time downing his drink, washing the glass and putting it away. Keeping up appearances was the most important thing to her uncle after all.
Chantria’s uncle passed by behind her a little too close for comfort before answering the door.
“Ah, Master Abara, I thought you might be early.”
Kijani’s gruff voice floated through the door in to the heavy kitchen. “Is Chantria ready?”
Chantria quietly hugged her sister’s.
“She is packed, there are some bigger things you will have to come back for, but my girl is extremely organised, so I’m sure she’s got what she needs for the immediate future.”
“Chantria?” Kijani called as she threw on her black cloak.
“Yes?”
“Do you have your branch certificate” Kijani asked peaking in to the kitchen.
The editor blinked. Her branch certificate functioned as a record of her birth. She hadn’t seen that since she stole it to set up her business account with the treasury. They needed that to add her lineage to that of Kijani’s clan and merge family trees. “No. My uncle has been storing it for safe keeping.”
Ayele gritted his teeth. “I’ll have to look it out, I’m not entirely sure where it is.”
“Looks like we’ll be coming back tomorrow then.” Kijani said with a raised eyebrow. Clearly wondering if Ayele had one to many head injuries
“Don’t worry too much uncle, I can get another copy from the registrar. Bits of paper get lost all the time.” Chantria said, her tone polite, now that she was legally a woman, she could get any and all her documents from the registrar of births.
Kijani chuckled. “didn’t think of that.”
Her uncles pleasant smile hardened. “Are you stopping by tomorrow then?”
“Maybe briefly, to see if you’ve found the documents and collect some things. There’s a lot to organise.”
“This your bag Chan?” Kijani asked, gesturing toward the red trunk by the door.
“Yes.”
To Chantria’s horror her husband made a move to pick up the trunk. “Kijani! I can manage that just fine. Your ribs are cracked, already, do you want to break them entirely?” Oh, by the roots I sound like my mother.
Kijani merely chuckled, but picked up her bag anyway. Chantria sighed, and, in the spirit of compromise, held the other end of her trunk and helped heave it in to the carriage.
~*~
They stopped off at the Timber to get her scroll. The editors body tensed at the thought of more work ahead. Her tired eyes longed for a safe night's sleep that wouldn’t come soon and made conversation with her new husband difficult. Chantria kept missing parts of what Kijani said and had to piece together what he meant more than once to come up with a suitable response.
“Chan?”
The editor pulled her gaze from the greenery outside the carriage window and looked in to Kijani’s frowning face.
“Are you ok?”
“Just tired. There have been a lot of changes to our lives these last few days.”
Kijani smiled. “Maybe get an early night then, my mhather is excited to meet you. She thought she’d never have grandchildren pattering about the estate.”
Chantria pointedly ignored the grandchildren comment for her own sanity, but raised an eyebrow at the old-fashioned word for mother. His family must be upper-class. It may be time to crack open a book on etiquette. “I have clients, Kijani. I can’t default on a contract.”
His face fell and guilt set in instantly. The editor knew she should be on leave to settle in to marriage and family. It was entirely unnatural not to take the allotted leave and it wasn’t time she could get back. “I’m sorry, I have contracts that need to be filled. I’ll speak to my clients and see if they can accommodate a delay in delivery.”
“Do you have a lot of... clients?”
Chantria had to think about that a moment. “I suppose.”
Kijani leaned back against the indigo bench and bit his cheek as if chewing over a problem. “Might want to raise your prices. We can’t have your life revolving around work. Our family needs your time.”
The editor paused. Chantria never thought to raise her prices. She didn’t feel worthy of the coin she claimed, but Kijani was right. Time would become a valuable commodity once children were in the picture. Her prices had to change to reflect the value of her time, but Chantria thought of her time as close to worthless, so maybe it was time to reframe the question: how valuable would her time be to others. “I’ll think over a new price structure for my work. I don’t want to lose established authours to other editors.”
“If your good they won’t leave your books. Might even be glad to pay the extra so your eyes are fresher for their books. Are you working tonight?”
She paused. “I don’t think I could.”
The carriage came to an abrupt halt and Chantria stared out the open window at a gate guarding greenery. Kijani’s family seemed the simpler kind of rich. The kind where the home bowed to the land that kept the family inside fed. Apple, orange and plum trees obscured the view of the house. Beyond that, Chantria assumed the family were growing vegetables. Most of the upper-class families did this. The rich had the most land and, with space so sparse the ruling classes kept the masses happy by growing and donating food to the economy. All in the name of proper order! Is what the priests of the soul tree would say, in reality, it was a way to balance status with the needs of the many in past times. This way of working used to be of the utmost importance, but today food was grown in skyscrapers and food was plentiful enough.
This is an extremely traditional household and I’m far from properly dressed for it. Chantria thought, snatching her satchel in frustration.
“Good.” Kijani said, holding out a hand to help her out of the carriage, “phiuthar-mathairr, will probably demand you help with dinner. The women in the house like to have a bit of a party in the kitchen.”
His mother’s sister. “I thought your aunt would be married?” Chantria replied, accepting his hand and stepping down from the carriage.
“She’s not exactly related to us, she used to help mhathair with us and around the house, it’s a pretty big place to manage, she has her own family as well though.”
“I can see that.” Chantria said slowly. She vaguely remembered speaking to one of the more upper-class students in her class while doing a project at university. She was always talking about the next political gathering, who she had to try and build connections with to help her husband advance. The hassle of managing the accounting and inventory of the estate, planning dinner parties, children and employees.
Chantria didn’t say much about her life when pressed. They knew she was a good student, but not much else and it led to a lot of prodding in the group. They were curious, she came to class and went straight to the library. Then they found out she was taking on three majours by looking over her shoulder at her diary. That was more of a headache as people tried harder to get to know her personally and it was harder still to feel as if these women meant anything but malice. Men and women were taught the same material separately as a matter of course to prevent bias between the sexes and account for those delaying entry to married life in favour of studying for stability.
“Mhather demanded I pick you up early so you could have a say in what we’re having for dinner, I didn’t feel I could argue. What do you like to eat?”
Chantria hesitated, but played it off as thinking carefully about her answer while Kijani unlocked the gate, but the first thing that popped in to her head was Madombi. The fluffy dumplings served with stew could be basic comfort food or a delicacy depending on the ingredients used. It was a dish that nourished the soul and she was famished. “Maybe some kind of dumpling stew?” the editor replied, making it seem like a suggestion rather than a request left options open.
Kijani raised an eyebrow. “Simple’s always good for phiuthat-mhathair. Athair’s coming home early, he wants to talk to you as well.”
Chantria hesitated. Attention wasn’t a good thing to the editor and she preferred to sit and listen like a shadow in the room. There was a lot to learn from the atmosphere in the room and as the centre of attention it would be hard to gauge the dynamic of the family. “Any reason in particular?”
Kijani took his time unlocking the gate. “The higher-ups in the chain of command have been wondering about the lack of women at the gatherings since the breach. It’s been getting worse and it’s affecting the defensive lines. Fewer melds mean fewer magic users on the lines.”
“Your athair would be better off questioning my uncle.”
“We can’t bring him in for questioning yet, Chan. We need to investigate.”
The editor usually maintained a stoic demeanour, but she was too tired to hide her worried frown.
“I’ll rain athair in if he gets too intense. The sudden decrease in melds since the breach made the higher ups antsy.”
The ink haired editor watched Kijani open the iron gate with a click of the lock and gesture for her to pass the threshold first. With her stomach in knots, Chantria walked past her husband in to a garden filled with beds of luscious fruit and rich vegetables ready for harvest. She couldn’t resist picking a raspberry from the bush on the way to the looming entrance of what could only be described as a complex. The main building branched off in to smaller buildings, Chantria assumed those were for the branching family.
“Will we be living in one of these smaller buildings?” Chantria asked, staring at the closest branching building.
“Yeah, but mhather likes to have everyone in the main house for dinner. It’s a loud table.”
Chantria’s gaze was drawn to a still flickering curtain, perhaps someone risked a peek? “How are your brothers? You said something about poisoning?”
“A parasite got through their armour; they’re sleeping it off.”
“Isn’t that deadly?”
“Not for us.”
Old blood. The descendants of the first soul were known as old blood. When the soul first bloomed it was said the flower was pollinated by chaos. The first fruit that formed the original soul carried a certain amount of immunity to the rebelling parasites. 50 years ago, the church of souls theorised the old blood line as corrupt and corruption was a threat to order. Extremist denizens of the church quietly murdered those who survived contact with a parasite. Making it seem like they committed suicide or disappeared. At least that was Chantria’s theory. The official council statement was no one survived the parasites touch. The editor found that hard enough to believe that she went looking in the dark parts of the library where few ventured and fewer still understood the text written in the ancient tongue her father taught her. There she found records of infection and death from parasitic touch. At the time when less technology was available only 1/3 of soldiers died of poisoning, now it was close to 100%. The church weakened their army in their misguided pursuit of order. That was the natural consequence of meddling with the soul trees creations.
Chantria held her curious tongue desperate to confirm her theory; they didn’t know each other well enough to pry.
Someone was waiting for them because they didn’t need to knock for someone to open the door.