Chapter 2
"Good morning, my sisters!" Arija called cheerily.
The morning in question was in fact nearly half-over, a fact which Arija refused to ignore.
"Come, lay-abeds, it is time to rise. Father will be quite irked if you are not dressed and ready for the noon meal."
The girls lying on the eleven occupied beds groaned in unison.
"Where do you get this energy, Arija?" Lahleh, Arija's sister by the same mother, muttered.
"It is a simple matter of wanting to be doing, rather than not doing," Arija replied.
"Curse your riddling tongue!" Lahleh answered as she sat up, blinking blearily in the light Arija had let into the room.
"How you can be awake after a night such as we have had," began Elil, to frantic shushing by her half-awake sisters.
"Keep silent, Elil!" warned Dílara. "If Father finds out how we spend our nights-"
"He will be utterly enraged, we know," Nasimi said. Nasimi often acted like the eldest, for her mother was chief of Arefi's wives.
"Enough with this fighting, sisters! Father will be far crosser if he hears of our quarrels," Arija warned.
"Oh, leave us be!" Nasimi said, and as she always did, Arija bowed to her sister's orders.
Arija glanced up from her weaving when her sisters entered. Each took her loom, stifling yawns, and began her work anew.
"Come, sisters, where is your joy in work?" Arija asked.
"Silence, you!" hissed Parvana. "We are tired of your harping."
"Perhaps we should not go tonight, if it tires you so and turns your moods so dark," Arija suggested lightly.
Collective gasps filled the room.
"How could you even suggest such a thing, Arija?" asked Roshanara, Arija's other sister by the same mother.
"It seems practical to me. We spend our days in work, and our nights in dance, and then we are too tired even to speak cordially to one another."
"But the woman promised us great joy if we would but dance with her sons!" cried Kader, one of Arefi's twin daughters.
"Yes, Arija. She promised us prosperity and happiness for lifetimes to come!" added Kíraz, Kader's twin.
"And what have we seen of her promises? So far, nothing!"
"It has not been very long," said Dílara practically. "The woman said 'every night for a year's span'. For eleven months only have we danced with her sons. We must only keep at it for another month, and success will be ours."
"Eleven months are wearing upon us. I believe we must stop now, while we can."
"But why would we want to stop?"
Arija glanced at her sisters. "Could you see yourselves wed to one of her sons? Do you love the men you dance with? Could you bear them strong sons? Would you let them rule our tribe?" When none answered, she finished. "I thought not. Let us stay abed tonight, then, sisters."
"I will not," said Nasimi, and soon the other girls began to follow her lead.
"Well," Arija said finally, "I plan to. Do not expect me to go dancing tonight."
"But Arija, you must!" This from Kíraz.
"I must do nothing. I am not beholden to that woman."
"She told your fortune, Arija. She said wondrous things of your future."
Arija thought on this. It was true. The woman had pledged her six strong sons, all set to be rulers of her tribe. But, she had said, this would only happen if Arija did as the fortuneteller commanded.
"Can I not achieve wondrous things on my own? Why must I do as she says?"
"Oh, that is easy for you to say!" chimed in Ayman, one of Arefi's younger daughters. "You are the eldest, and you are beautiful. You will be married easily."
"It is harder for us, as the youngest," added Siran, "for we know Father cannot pay all our dowries. Twelve daughters is a hard burden to bear, and Father cannot afford it, no matter how hard he tries. For us, this is the only way we can ever have families."
"Sisters, you must but have faith-"
"Do not ruin this for us, Arija," said Elil. "Please, dance with us for just one more month."
Arija sighed. "Very well," she said, and returned to her weaving.
The weaving tent stayed silent for a long time, until a servant entered.
"Chief Arefi requests the presence of his daughters," the servant announced, bowing respectfully.
Under the servant's watchful eye, the girls put away their shuttles and threads and hastily made themselves presentable. They followed the servant to their father's fine tent, and waited outside until they were announced.
"Nasimi, daughter of Arefi's first wife Jalila," announced the servant.
Nasimi glanced proudly at her sisters and entered the tent. Arija could picture her. She would kneel on the floor and bow low for their father, and then turn, preening, to take her place at Jalila's side. Nasimi's seniority chafed at Arija. She was, after all, firstborn, and her mother Amira had been Arefi's first wife. He had loved her very much, too, Amira often told her daughter, until he met Jalila and Amira became the lesser wife.
But Amira bore Arefi three daughters, and Jalila has but one child in all these years, Arija thought. Her mother, too, consoled herself thusly.
"Arija, Lahleh, and Roshanara, daughters of Arefi's senior wife Amira."
The sisters entered together and bowed low. When Arija looked up, she noticed her father's gaze upon her. He looked proud enough, but she didn't know if this was an act for some diplomat or if he was actually pleased to see his daughters. She located Amira and led her sisters over.
"Elil and Siran, daughters of Arefi's wife Fatima."
"Zara, Parvana, and Dílara, daughters of Arefi's wife Hadia."
"Kader, Kíraz, and Ayman, daughters of Arefi's wife Salma."
Each girl entered and bowed low before her father, then took her place at her mother's side. When the ceremony had ended, Arefi spoke.
"I have presented each of my daughters to you. Have any of them pleased you?"
Arija followed her father's gaze and located a man she assumed was some sort of diplomat. He did not look Pynterran, but Arija could not place his nationality.
"It is most unfortunate to have so many daughters and not a single son to raise as heir," the man replied rudely. Arija flushed, and she watched her father's jaw set.
"For this reason," he said through clenched teeth, "I plan to marry my daughters well, that they may bring strong sons into my family."
"You'll understand, of course, if I cannot promise my prince to your tribe. He is, after all, my king's only son."
"I mourn with your king that he had no more children," Arefi agreed.
"You understand, I must choose a bride who is not too young-" the diplomat glanced at Ayman, Siran, and the twins, the eldest of whom were fourteen- "and who is quite lovely in appearance. She should also be able to bear strong sons to my king's line, and she should be a hard worker."
Arefi beckoned Arija forward. "My eldest daughter fits all those criteria, I believe. She would be most pleased to wed your prince."
Arija smiled, but inside her heart was sinking. She had always expected an arranged marriage, but she had planned to live here, in Pynterre. She looked nervously back at her sisters. What about them? Without her, they would never fulfill the fortuneteller's command, and many of her sisters would remain unwed.
She looked back at the diplomat. He was eyeing her up and down, as though she were some property he had to appraise.
"She'll do," he said finally, and the tension in the tent relaxed. "We shall leave within a week."
"Leave?" Arija spoke without thinking. Horrified at her forwardness, she clapped a hand over her mouth.
Arefi glanced at her, his eyebrows raised. "Something you wish to say, daughter?"
She could hear the hardness in his tone. She had embarrassed him, and herself. "Please, father, if I could have but a month with my sisters," she found herself saying.
Her father's reaction was unexpected. "Is this pleasing to you?" he asked the diplomat.
"I suppose a month cannot make too much difference," the man replied.
"Very well, then. Arija, you may stay with your sisters for one month and one month only. On the appointed day you will leave with no protestations. Am I understood?"
Arija nodded. "Yes, Father."
"You are dismissed," he said, addressing her sisters as well as herself. The girls bowed low and left.
"You are bold, to speak so to Father," Lahleh said when they had returned to the weaving tent.
"I do not know what came over me," Arija replied honestly. "It was as if I had lost all control over my mouth."
"It is such a pity that you shamed yourself so soon after Father showed you his favor," Nasimi said nastily. "He did not choose any of us to wed this foreign prince."
"I do not think he was showing me any favor, Nasimi. I am his eldest daughter, and tradition states that the eldest shall marry before her sisters."
"And yet I am the senior daughter, which is above the elder daughter in ranking. You may have noticed that I was announced first."
"She shamed herself for us!" Siran protested. "We asked her to dance with us for one more month, so we too may have our husbands, and she requested that month. You have no right to be so cruel to her."
Nasimi snorted. "And you have no right to talk so to me. My mother is Arefi's first wife, and I am her only child. I rank above all of you, even you, Arija."
"May we return to our weaving in peace?" asked Dílara irritably.
"Yes, let us not quarrel," Arija agreed. "We shame ourselves and our father by fighting like dogs over a dropped table scrap. Let us do our work."
The girls returned to their weaving in silence.
As evening fell, Arija sat outside her tent, gazing up at the stars. They were so bright, and so many, here in the desert. Would they shine so brightly in the city she was bound to?
She hardly noticed the figure sinking down next to her, and only acknowledged her mother's presence when Amira asked, "What are you thinking about, Daughter?"
"I'm wondering about the stars. Are they so bright wherever I'm going?"
"Marigina, across the sea. I do not know, my daughter. I have never left Pynterre. But no, I do not think they are so bright away from home."
"But they are the same stars?"
"Yes, some of them. You will be far south of us, and many stars will be different there. You will have to learn their names and their stories on your own."
"I hardly remember the stories of these stars," Arija said. How would she ever learn and remember new constellations in her new home?
"Then let me tell you one," Amira said gently. "See, there, that line of stars? Below it, the stars form a gown- can you see that?"
Arija nodded.
"That is a girl all dressed up for a ball. She worked as a servant, but one day she saw the prince of her castle and became determined to be his bride. So, throughout weeks and weeks, she wove a cloth shining white as the moon, and sewed on bits of crystal and pearl that fell off the dresses of the fine ladies. She sewed a beautiful dress and decorated it with these shining gems, but the true beauty was in the care she gave its embroidery. She took lavender thread and sewed flowers and vines and leaves all over the gown, and when she had finished, it was the finest anyone had ever seen.
"A few weeks later, the prince announced a ball, and the serving girl was excited to wear her dress for the first time. She left her task early and bathed until every bit of grime was gone from her body. She pulled her hair into an outrageous shape, all twisted bits and loose curls. She had no face powder, and so left her face bare, but she was as beautiful as any lady in court with her face clean. Then, just as she was about to enter, an old servant pulled her aside.
"'I was a princess once,' she said, 'but I was taken from my homeland and brought here. Still, I wish to help you in your quest to become royalty.' The woman gave her a necklace of diamonds she had hidden in her bed for years upon years. 'Wear this,' she said, 'and there is no way he can ignore you.'
"The serving girl went to the ball, and all was as the woman had told her. The prince danced with her and her alone. He took her out into the garden and proclaimed his love for her evermore. And she believed him.
"But she slipped away early, early that morning, and hid her dress, and let down her hair, and grimed her face, and the prince began his search for the beautiful woman of the night before. He came down into the kitchen and saw the serving girl, for she had forgotten, in her haste, to take off her diamond necklace. But he did not recognize her without her borrowed finery, and he had her put to death for stealing. He spent the rest of his days wondering what had become of the beautiful woman at the ball."
"That is a sad story," Arija said when her mother had finished.
"A sad story, yes, but its heart is true. Do not pretend to be someone you are not, for you cannot fool anyone with a disguise," Amira said wisely.
"Why haven't you ever told me that story before?"
"I have, but it always ended happily."
"Then why change the ending?"
"You were young, Daughter, and a sad ending would not have ensured happy dreams for you. But now I think you need to know the true story, so that you will remember it when you leave us. Be true to yourself, Arija, wherever your fate may take you."
"I will, Mother. I promise."
They stayed a long time, and the stars, as if bidding farewell to Arija, shone all the brighter.
Well. I was going to wait on this, but I had some peer pressure...
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!--Mazzie--!