Nelay’s mouth felt so dry. She was on the verge of asking her mother what the balance would take for sparing her father, but her mother groaned, her eyes closed again. Something was wrong—terribly wrong.
“Mother? What is it?”
Her mother’s normally dark skin was pale. She pushed herself clumsily to her feet and staggered toward the door. Nelay jumped up to help her, and only then did she notice the bright red blood where her mother had been sitting, and the shining drops trailing her every step.
Benvi’s youngest son was sent back to his house with Nelay’s father on the back of a donkey and implicit instructions to fetch his mother and older sisters. Meanwhile Panar, Benvi, and the rest of his sons set out with the remaining donkeys and leather water skins to see if they could find the family’s sheep.
All through the day, Nelay’s mother labored. When night came, Nelay lay wrapped in sheepskins on top of the courtyard wall—for there she was safe from snakes—her gaze trained on the stars as her mother’s groans progressed to cries and then to screams.
Nelay pressed her sheepskin fur against her ears, but could still hear her mother’s pain rise to a crescendo. And then everything was hushed and quiet.
Nelay held her breath, waiting. But there was no sound of a baby crying.
Unable to bear it, she got up, the cold air harsh against her skin. She paused at the doorway, then inched up the lever and pushed the door open.
Her mother lay naked on the sheepskins, her abdomen mushy-looking and her breasts hard. She had turned her face to the wall, and silent sobs wracked her body. One of the women had wrapped the baby in a tight bundle and set it on the table.
Dread tore through Nelay and she slipped inside the house, unnoticed by the women. She picked up the tiny baby and gently unwrapped it to reveal a perfectly formed face. He was much larger than Mother’s previous babies, and quite handsome. And unnaturally blue. He was dead.
As the inconsequential weight settled in Nelay’s hands, a terrible knowing burned through her. She had traded this life for her father’s.
“Nelay?” Her head jerked up. Nanu came toward her, arms outstretched. “He was born dead. I’m sorry.”
Nelay looked past her to see her mother watching her. At the grief in that gaze, Nelay’s guilt flared up hot. She shoved her dead brother into Nanu’s arms and ran into the night, her mother’s high pitched keening following her. She didn’t know where to go, and even as young as she was, she knew the dangers of running unseeing through the desert. So she climbed the shade tree in their courtyard, going high up in the branches. And there she stayed as dawn came, bright and hard and indifferent to Nelay’s broken heart.
With the sun came the men with Panar. On the donkey’s backs were the fresh skins of her family’s sheep. She recognized Mag’s black-and-white wool. The skin with the mangled ear was Day. And the one with the dirty ring around the wool of her neck where a collar and bell had once been, that was Blua’s.
Tears blurred Nelay’s vision. Those animals had trusted her to take care of them. She had cursed them more times than not, but she had loved them all the same. And now they were dead. As her baby brother was. And it was Nelay’s fault.
Panar dropped down from the donkey as Nanu slipped outside. Before he could react, she enveloped him in a hug, as she had probably meant to do with Nelay before she darted out last night, and whispered in his ear. From her perch on a wide branch, Nelay watched as Panar shrugged Nanu off and cast an embarrassed look back at the men before walking away to help them unload the sheepskins.
Nelay’s mouth tightened. How could he care more about what the men thought of him than of their mother’s grief? He handled the sheepskins as if they were nothing more than blankets as they tacked them up to be scraped. Nelay felt her gorge rising and had to look away.
Not long after they arrived, her father came from Benvi’s house, hope bright on his face. Once again, Nelay turned away, her gaze catching on a fairy watching her with her head cocked to the side. Nelay stared into the fairy’s golden eyes. The wings at her back matched the long, thin leaves rustling with the breeze.
Nelay heard Benvi knock softly on the door. A few murmured words passed, and then the door shut softly.
Benvi didn’t mince words. “Your son is dead, Denar. Your wife lives, but she is very weak.”
Tears brimmed in Nelay’s swollen eyes and dropped onto the bark of the tree. The fairy flew forward and touched one, her brow creased in confusion. She fluttered closer to Nelay, catching one of the drops as it rolled down her cheek. She held it in her splinter-like fingers, sniffing it, and then her paper tongue flicked out to taste it. She jerked back and shook her head. “Ugh, that’s nothing like sap.” She studied Nelay. “But it is some kind of wound, all the same.” She took a deep breath. “But I am a willow fairy. I know not how to heal it.” She flew slowly away, touching the tree in places, but her gaze kept straying to Nelay.
“Burn him and bury the ashes beside the others.”
Nelay’s father’s head hung low.
There were seven scorch marks in their backyard. And not all of the babies had died at birth. Nelay had memories of many of them. Gummy smiles and fat fingers in her hand. Bruised foreheads and jabbering voices.
Benvi set his sons about fixing up a bed for her father in the shade of the tree where Nelay perched. Lying on her stomach over the branch, she watched the women bring him tea and baked bean cakes.
The smell filtered through the branches, and Nelay’s stomach growled, but she fiercely ignored it as wood was gathered. They laid the tiny body on the top of the stack and lit the wood. Nelay’s mother didn’t come out, though most of the women did.
Nelay forced herself not to look away. As the flames spread across her brother’s body, they spread through her heart, burning away her tears and leaving her feeling like weeks-old ashes that the merest wind might blow away. Once the fire turned to embers, the ashes were scattered.
When it was finished, Benvi set his sons who weren’t scraping hides to doing the chores while he sat beside her father. “Denar, I am sorry for your loss. I will help you in whatever way I can.”
Father stared at his hands as if wondering how they could still be connected to his body. “What can you do, Benvi? You, who have more mouths to feed than I.”
Benvi drew his knees into his chest. “But we have had better luck than you, my friend. Perhaps it’s time we shared that luck. My oldest is in need of a wife.”
Nelay’s mouth fell open and she looked at Haddi, who was caring for their goats. He had a full beard, and thick brows that protruded over his eyes.
“Haddi is near twenty-five,” Father said.
Nelay recoiled. Even though such marriage arrangements were not uncommon in Idara, she had never considered that such an arrangement might be made for her. And Haddi was practically an old man!
Benvi nodded. “This is true. And Nelay is only nine. But she will be of child-bearing age in five years. I will take her into my household as a daughter and raise her up. When she comes of age, Haddi will be well established and able to care for a wife and their children. I will give you eight sheep for her.”
It shocked Nelay when her father didn’t immediately say no, that he seemed to be considering it. “I don’t think she would be happy about leaving,” he finally said.
“She’s too young to understand such things,” Benvi reasoned. “Simply tell her that we are caring for her until your family has enough food for everyone.”
With a sigh, her father tipped his face up. His gaze snagged on Nelay’s, and a single brow rose in surprise. “I’m afraid it is too late for that. Come down, Nelay.”
She climbed carefully down, aware of her father and Benvi watching her every move. She stepped to the ground and turned her back to them, her arms crossed over her chest.
“What say you, Daughter?” her father said gently.
Nelay’s voice came out in a squeak. “I want to stay here.”
F
ather nodded. “I’m not sure how I will feed you. Would you not rather go with Benvi, to be treated as one of his daughters, and when you are ready, marry his son, whom I know to be a good and obedient man?”
Nelay thought she would choke on the knot in her throat. Maybe she deserved this. Maybe it was the price she must pay for breaking her mother’s rules. But she couldn’t bring herself to do the unselfish thing and say yes.
When she didn’t answer, her father sighed. “We can give her time. I cannot care for even one sheep at present, let alone eight. Your boys have slaughtered the sheep—their meat will last us a long time. I do not think Nelay’s mother would part with her either, not with such a recent loss in her heart. If your offer will last that long?”
“It will last as long as you need it, Denar. If Haddi finds another before that time comes, there is no reason the next oldest cannot take Nelay to wife.”
Father tapped his forehead in respect. “You are a good man and a good friend.”
Benvi nodded. “I would consider it an honor to have a child of your house join with mine.” He rose, inclining his head. “Send Panar if you need anything. We’ll take care of the hides at our home.”
“Thank you,” Father responded.
Benvi sighed. “I only wish I could offer more.”
He departed, taking their hides with him, and Nelay was left shaking at the thought of losing her family.
Her father looked at her. “I know you do not want this, Daughter. And I will not force you. Perhaps we can find another way.”
Nelay couldn’t answer him. She stumbled off into the heat of the ovat. She climbed the nearest table mountain and scaled a large collection of rocks shaped like a rabbit’s head. She perched on what would be his nose and looked out over the barren landscape.
She didn’t know how long she sat in the shade of the rocks before she finally looked down. She was shocked to find Siseth sitting directly in front of her, mimicking her position, down to her hugged knees. With her wings tucked against her body, the fairy looked much less threatening.
Tears sprang to Nelay’s eyes. “Why didn’t you warn me?”
The fairy watched her with a narrowed gaze. “Would it have changed anything?”
Nelay sniffed. “I don’t know.” If she hadn’t made the deal, her father would have died. She wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. “I’m the one who made the bargain. I should have died instead.”
The fairy actually looked sad. “You are much too hard to kill for the balance to bother with you.”
Nelay half shook her head. “What does that mean?”
The fairy fanned her wings behind her. “It means you weren’t the only one to make a deal with the fairies.”
Nelay’s eyes widened. “What?”
The fairy spread her wings and tipped back, pushing off the rock and letting an air current hold her aloft. “Ask your mother.”
Nelay’s breath caught in her throat. “What do you mean?”
The fairy flew away.
“And my promise? Will it cost too much?” Nelay called after her.
“It always does,” the fairy responded without looking back.
Nelay climbed to the highest branch she dared and stretched out, reaching for the date. It was still too far. Holding the fruit she’d already gathered in her apron, she slid her foot forward a fraction and stretched out, but her fingers only pushed the date farther away. Then the branch cracked and she slipped, tearing her way through branches and leaves that scratched at her. She landed on her bottom and yelped while sucking in a breath.
The fruit she’d already picked pelted her so she covered her head. Then she glanced up, glaring at the stupid tree as if it had done it on purpose. Her vision suddenly went red and she blinked and rubbed at it. Her fingers came away wet with blood. She gingerly probed her face until she found a shallow cut in the middle of her eyebrow. After she’d mopped up the blood with the corner of her robe, she rolled to her knees and started gathering the dates back into a basket.
She only got about halfway when she heard someone coming. She glanced up to see her brother striding through the grove, his sling in hand. He veered toward her when he saw her, surveying her with a condescending tilt of his head.
“Not so perfect now, are you?”
Panar had been unbearable in the three weeks since Nelay had saved their father. The day when everything had changed. Nelay waited for her parents to laugh, for her mother to touch her with her gentle hands, for her father to whittle, wood shavings surrounding his chair. But there was only silence—silence with a weight and a suffocating presence that drove Nelay from the house more and more often. She spent her time in their grove, watering the trees, which had almost stopped producing altogether. She tended the gardens and the scraggly field of wheat. And despite the back-breaking work, the crops were still sparse.
“I never said I was perfect,” she said to her brother, then gathered the last of the dates and pushed to her feet. She tried to go around him, but he moved to block her.
“How did you magically find that water, Nelay? It wasn’t there before.”
Nelay’s jaw tightened until it ached. She considered telling him—what harm would it do now? But she didn’t trust him, and she didn’t want to share something so big with him, something he could use to hurt her later. “Perhaps the goddess took pity on us.”
Panar snorted. “Liar.”
Nelay let out all of her breath. She was tired of fighting and of silence. “Just leave me alone.” She tried to push past him, but he shoved her to the ground, where she landed on her sore backside.
She sucked in a sharp breath as he bent down. “You always have to be the best. Perfect Nelay.” His words were hot against her cheek.
She kept the pain from showing on her face. “I won’t pretend to be stupid so you can feel wise.”
He raised his hand. Nelay’s gaze hardened. “I’ll tell Father.”
It didn’t stop Panar from punching her in the stomach. All the air left her in a whoosh and then he was gone, running out of the grove.
Nelay tried to stop the tears, but the more she tried, the faster they came. She grabbed the basket of small dates and stumbled back to the house, where she collapsed in her father’s arms and told him what Panar had done to her when she’d killed the snake. What he’d done to her just now.
When she finished and the front of father’s shirt was wet, she pulled back to look at him. His eyes were shadowed and sunken from pain and poor health. His foot was healing, albeit slowly. The pain kept him from sleeping more than a few fitful snatches in the day. “Daughter, Panar would not do such a thing.”
She showed him her stomach, which was still red. Father’s mouth tightened. “I’ll speak with him when he comes home.”
Sniffing, she nodded.
He rested his heavy hands on her shoulders. “Have you seen your mother outside?” Nelay shook her head. “Why don’t you go find her and take her some of those dates? I don’t think she ate anything this morning.”
Nelay hesitated. “I will if you carve something.”
Her father drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “All right.”
Feeling a bit better, Nelay stepped back into the late morning light. She’d just come from the grove, so she checked the outbuilding and the shed. She wandered past the field and garden. She’d almost given up when she finally checked the grove.
Her mother lay beneath the tree amid the ashes of her children. Close enough to hear Panar and Nelay fighting. And she’d done nothing to stop it.
Hurt built inside Nelay until she thought it would burst out of her like a boil. She hesitated, scratching the back of her leg with the opposite foot’s toenail. But looking at her mother’s empty face, pity replaced the anger. So much heartache, bringing children into the world. And Nelay’s father wanted to marry her off to a man more than twice her age and condemn her to a similar life.
She remembered what Panar had said—that he would be
someone important while she would be forced to be a pregnant wife. She swore then that she would never have children. Never marry a man, if that’s what it took.
Steeling herself, Nelay knelt before her mother and set the basket in front of her. But her mother didn’t even acknowledge her presence.
“Mother,” she said hesitantly. “I’ve brought you something to eat.” Still nothing. “Please. You need to eat.”
Nelay reached down and rested a hand on her shoulder to shake her slightly. Only then did she see that the front of her mother’s shirt was crusted with dried milk that had leaked from her breasts. This close, Nelay could smell her mother’s unwashed body and rotten milk.
She sat back on her haunches. Her mother had hardly eaten since the baby’s birth. Her skin hung limp over her bones. She rarely got up longer than was necessary to relieve her bladder and then lie back down. Looking at her, suspicion grew in Nelay’s breast. Her mother wanted to die. Was waiting for it.
Nelay pushed the basket closer. “Please, Mother, you must eat.”
Her mother stared at the food as if it was something foreign and incomprehensible. Then she went back to staring at nothing.
Nelay bowed her head. “Would you like me to bring you water for washing?” When her mother didn’t answer, Nelay decided that was as good as a yes. She drew water from the well and fetched their soap. Back at the grove, she tried to get her mother to stand up. Tried to get her clothes off. In the end, all she managed was to get her sitting on a flat rock.
Nelay poured half the bucket on her mother, who barely seemed to notice. Nelay scrubbed her, clothes and all, as best she could manage, which wasn’t very good, but her mother did smell better.
Then she poured the other half of the bucket over her mother to rinse her off. When Nelay finished, her mother still stared off into nothing as if something inside her had broken. With a fair amount of coaxing and some physical force, Nelay finally managed to get her into the house, where she slumped down, still sopping wet, onto her bed.