This chapter concerns birth control and implied abortion. If you morally disagree with this, please don't take offense. I'm not trying to start a fight. Also, domestic violence. sad
And, okay, Akshamala's husband is kind of a bastard. But, something to keep in mind is what morals and laws are valued in Harad culture: loyalty, trust, honesty, the submission of the woman to the man. And, what she said before rings true: Harad men are strong and cruel. Their laws cannot be violated. So…when you add a fierce, temperamental personality to this equation…the result is not very pleasant. Thank you for your reviews! They make my heart sing with joy. Seriously.

Memory Two, Part II: Her Child

Akshamala's life took a slow, dark turn. The days were unpleasant, and night was a constant nightmare. Every day, Dhenuka made her go to the altar of Sauron at the head of the village to pray for pregnancy…and a son. Every night, Dhenuka tried to make the process possible. Sometimes, several times a night.

Akshamala had no desire for a child. She was physically incapable of birthing it properly—her waist and hips were much too narrow, so much of her was undeveloped and unfinished. Akshamala also had no desire for her husband. It became routine for her. Every night, she would undress and lie underneath the blankets of their bed and wait. He would come home to their tent and undress, crawl beneath the covers and lie with her. Akshamala would not move, nor breathe, nor speak, nor respond to any of his attentions. She felt, quite literally, rather dead when he would do it.

And every time she went to the altar, she prayed to be barren. But Akshamala knew that gods hardly ever listened and took matters into her own hands.

With her sisters, Pumeet and Jambalee, she secretly began making an old, forbidden medicine that prevented childbirth. It was completely taboo for any Harad woman to make the substance, and even more so to ingest the agent. She did so every day for a year and a half. She felt life die inside her many times. But her intense fear drove her to do whatever she could to prevent anything from happening to her that she could not control.

Dhenuka was very confused about his wife. These days, he made her pray at the altar three times a day. He lay with her two or three times a night. She received a fertility blessing from the shaman at each holy day. She drank the blood of the sacrificial virgin, long known for its aid in reproduction. Akshamala still did not conceive.

His wife was not a bad woman. She cleaned, cooked, all the things a good wife did. She was quiet and did not complain. He was her master and she had never questioned that.

That was, until one day he came home early from the mumaks with a bad wound on his back.

Akshamala had been drinking the black bile. It was disgusting, but she was grateful to it keeping her barren one more day, one more week, one more month, one more year. She was swallowing the last traces of it when Dhenuka suddenly entered the tent. He came upon her and his eyes formed into hard slits.

"What are you drinking?" he asked suspiciously. She opened her mouth to answer, but he abruptly yanked the bowl away from her. He sniffed it carefully, tasted a little of it from his finger. His eyes turned dark and menacing, and he set his gaze upon his wife.

He struck her as hard as he could across the face. A cry escaped Akshamala's lips as she crashed to the ground. Dhenuka threw the bowl away. "You conniving bitch!" he roared, dragging her back up by her hair. Akshamala fought back, trying to make him let go of her, but he was so much larger than her that it was useless. And it only made him angrier.

Dhenuka shook her so hard that her vision faded in and out. "You shame me! How could you! Have you no loyalty? Answer me!"

Akshamala did not have the coherency to respond; he tossed her to the floor.

"I am your husband, your master. You will do what I say. You will never speak to your family again, do you understand? Your sisters are a bad influence on you. You will never question my word again." growled Dhenuka, his eyes alight and fierce. She raised her head from the ground and managed a brief nod.

"Good," he said. He picked her up off the floor and carried her to the bed.

Two months later, Akshamala was pronounced with child by the shaman of the Eiliai. The shaman took her unmarked wrist and carved a ring of star-shapes around it…the sign of the mother. She would have an encirclement for each child she would have.

Dhenuka was very happy.

Noaje was not.

He had some inkling of what had gone on between his sister and her husband. He did not like it—he had begged his father not to marry Akshamala to the older man. Akshamala was too young for the task of a being a wife to such a fierce person. And now he noticed the cutting off of Akshamala from their family. He went to Rukaba, his father, and asked to have Dhenuka and Akshamala be brought into their household. Rukaba, doubting whether or not he had made the right choice for his eldest daughter, agreed with his son.

Dhenuka and Akshamala went back and became members of the Iwai household, and life turned much better for the Harad girl. Because she was pregnant, Dhenuka no longer reached for her at night. She was back with her siblings again.

There is a saying as old as the Haradrim itself: Harad women delight not in their husbands, but in their children.

Harad marriages had become legendary for turning out badly—spouses were mismatched, did not love each other, and generally were at a disagreement and discomfort with each other. So it was with Dhenuka and Akshamala.

Akshamala loved this baby.

She was frightened of having it, that was sure, but she loved her. The shaman had prophesized a daughter—Dhenuka did not like this, but shamans were not always right. Akshamala believed him fully.

She was going to have a daughter. A daughter to love, to cherish. She would teach her secrets that only a mother can teach. Her heart was warm with unfaltering joy. Smiles graced her face more often now as she progressed in her pregnancy.

Her mother noticed the change for the better in her daughter and was glad.

Days passed, and then months. Time came and time went. It was about a month before Akshamala was to give birth that her little sister found her with interesting news.

"'Shamala!" cried Jambalee, running towards Akshamala as she cooked lebedee, hard desert bread.

"What's wrong?" asked Akshamala, stopping her work.

"They captured a pale-face on the border! A real one, too."

"Really?" asked Akshamala, sort of amused.

"Yes…I want to see him. I've never seen one before."

"Neither have I," said Akshamala, shaking her head and beginning her task again.

But that was to change.

Much was to change.