BY CECILE H. BLANC
Copyright is held by the author.
THE GENERAL shed the final layer of damp cotton with a shake of the shoulder, the upper arm stiff again. No blood today, only sweat and dust. The battle leathers had been swiftly collected to be cleaned and oiled. The new contingent of servants from the emerald islands had been well trained. Much larger than the average males of Pylm Cahu, thicker even than the Motulus of her own tribe — but quiet as cats.
She considered a moment that the combination was not without risk, and quickly shed that thought as well. Even now, with the moons of her bleeding spacing out, she could still take down anybody. To think otherwise, to entertain especially that a male could threaten her would be dangerous.
The new Nawala was conservative. Hungry only for external lands and internal control. Their power, the power of their daughters was contingent on certainties. There was no room for change today. After this campaign, perhaps. When the eastern border was consolidated, when we’d reached the sea and secured all the ports from Bahini to Estuatu. Then, maybe, would be the right time.
The sizzling water would be delicious. More than her thighs, sore from riding for almost as long as the sun today, it was her back that was betraying her, slowly but assuredly claiming the receipt of decades of fighting. Ever since her first bleeding, many, many moons ago.
There was no sound now but that of the gentle breeze laying down the tall grasses in the courtyard behind, hushing them to sleep so that the night celebration could begin.
She knew that two servants were standing behind the heavy curtains, waiting for her to step into the bath. She knew it because it was the protocol, but she could not hear them. Again a voice whispered in her mind, like a repressed echo stubbornly resurfacing at chosen moments. Moments of vulnerability? No, of introspection. But are these not the same thing?
Only just before the bath could the general be truly alone. She could be seen dressed in leathers or silks. She could be seen naked by some of the servants. No-one however was allowed to see her undress.
Until the moment where the soft splash of her feet echoed on the curved walls, until that glorious second where the pain and pleasure of burning hot water merged into the same shiver – until then, they would not know for sure whether she was done, and would not risk stepping out.
It was her moment. She was taking her time. There was more power in this than in most of the other hours of the day. This was the secret truth of those who ruled. A shared knowledge that allowed queens to recognize each other, more than the number of rings or consorts or cities. Rulers who did not share in this knowledge never lasted. And she had lasted.
She had bled unusually young. She could still taste the excitement, the rush of the meaning of it, followed immediately, already, by the weight of responsibility adjusting on her frail shoulders, as her mother handed her the sword forged for her the day she was born and named. Now that she could bleed, she would learn to draw blood.
The training had been ruthless, unforgiving. With only eight blooming seasons behind her, she was by far the youngest of her legion. Some only started bleeding at almost twice her years. Although aptitudes were not solely dependent on the years of training, there was no denying the advantages of starting young. That is, as long as the training did not break you.
At nine, she was already leading her legion in the games, and won the flag twice. At thirteen, the former general had taken her to battle for the first time. The smell of blood and horses, the clatter of metal and death, the taste in her mouth as she charged: all her senses were screaming at her that this was her calling. Her unique talent, her goddess-given right. As the second captain kneeled before her and she turned to her mother, filthy from the fight but calm as the warm sea — all knew that she would rule next.
Only a few bloomings later, the late general announced that she had stopped bleeding. She would take the white silks and advise her for a while, then would travel back to Motul, where her only remaining task would be to preserve her mind in written form — adding to the many layers of wisdom that elevated each ruler and generation towards excellence, and the power that came with it.
She took two steps towards the bath, the edge barely visible in the steam. The stone might have been cold, she could not tell. The skin below her feet was as rough as the bark of a tree. After so many years of barefoot training on the scorching heat of desert sands, how would she know where the layer of armour ended and the original body began. The roughness became the self, out of practice and determination.
Except for Leni. For him, she had kept a spot of softness, always. Leni who was born before Mara but named after her, since he was a male. Leni who looked fully Motulu, and was as brave as a girl, braver even. When Mara had bled and claimed her sword, he’d snatched it and slit his forearm, looking the general fiercely in the eye when he announced: “I bled too.”
Leni, who had been allowed to train, and had been fed the same rations as the rest of his legion, quickly developing muscles well beyond the fashion of Pylm Cahu, unfit to marry.
Leni who would never rule, and yet deserved to, besting his twin sister at every turn but helping her through her training, bound by the womb they had once shared and the love they had developed on their own.
Tonight, she would make him third captain. The Nawala would not dare challenge the motion in the middle of a campaign, not when we were doing so well. He would ride to battle with her, and advise on strategy. He would learn, and one day lead his own legion, perhaps even training other males.
The empire had never been so large, by now reaching the oceans on all sides and extending to some of the western islands. With trade developing, more and more citizens decided to forgo the training and work as merchants, swapping the demands of military rigour for a life of comfort and travel, taking husbands in remote cities and consorts in every port.
Training some of the males would be the pragmatic thing to do. But the Nawala was not ripe for this. None of their sons had been born with the same fire as Leni. None of them had been challenged from the inside. And none would tolerate subversion from the outside.
If males started to defend the empire, how long before they claimed citizenship? Once in motion, the machine would go on inexorably, shaking the foundation of Pylm Cahu and slowly crumbling the layers of learning that led the capital to rule over so many lands. Males had been trusted in the past and had failed, they would say. Leni is an anomaly, allowed to bloom because he was her son, and had demonstrated unusual abilities that would undoubtedly serve the empire.
Standing at the edge of the water she looked one last time at the courtyard. The breeze here was soft, while outside the wind slapped her braids on her face, whipped the flags and blasted the sands into deadly towers that burned and suffocated her legions.
That courtyard was her peace, and her reward. Jasmine would thicken the air tonight, soothing everything. But she was tired.
As she was about to step in, she noticed the silence and looked again. The breeze has stopped. The high grasses stood, watchful.
Once again that small voice in her head whispered. Nagged her.
She took the final step. The water was almost too hot, perfect. As if the servants had anticipated those stolen minutes and adjusted the temperature accordingly. They now appeared from behind the curtains on each side, at the same time. Did they signal at each other? Was it part of their training to offer this quiet symmetry?
She snarled like a lioness returning to the pride after a gruesome hunt, having secured food for the cubs and finally enjoying a moment of peace. The heat was almost dizzying. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the stone.
Each of the servants grabbed one of her hands and started scrubbing the nails, the fingers, starting the daily ritual which would turn the general into a queen. She flinched out of habit when they started rubbing her arms, but the muscles were warm and numb. The pain was gone.
Mara loved her brother, but she would not be happy tonight. Quietly, she had endured as he thrived, knowing that eventually the general would stop bleeding and she would claim the throne, as was by now law, no more mere tradition. Unless she was challenged. But she would not be.
What she lacked in military talent Mara more than made up for in political cunning. Her grip on the Nawala was firm already, spending none of the empire’s taxes on their loyalty, leveraging instead one’s service against another’s property, one’s son against another’s title, in a web that she alone could weave, a network of influence and mutual interests.
Expert hands now rested on her shoulders, ready to break the knots and thread the sore muscles with juniper oil.
Again, the silence.
Again, she looked.
The face that looked back into hers, upside down from above, was not the face of a servant.
“I will protect Leni.” she promised.
The general quietly held her gaze.
“There is no other way.”
There was no reason to doubt this. The general heard the voice in her own mind one last time and knew that it was for the best. No more fighting. The empire would be safe in the hands that were now pressing on her neck. Leni would be safe.
She closed her eyes and imagined the quiet grasses, the gentle breeze spreading the news of what was about to happen. The white silks that she would never need to wear, thank the Goddess.
Her softness would be her undoing, and in this thought, she drowned, content in the certainty that her work was done, and the cubs would eat tonight.
***
Born in 1986 in Paris, Cecile H. Blanc studied literature and philosophy, then digital media & communications at the Sorbonne. She has been working as a digital marketing executive for 15 years and is a member of author network Byte the Book. Her texts have been published in a few literary reviews around the world. She lives in London with her family.
