Spoils of War - Chapter 13
Here's the next to the last chapter of this one...
Chapter 13 - A Dose of Reality
Inzilanî sat on the edge of her bed, numb to everything. She had put the couch back together with its cushions in their proper place and pulled it back out where it belonged. She had banked the fire in the fire-bowl. She had given Eirien a nod as the nimir arrived for her evening watch. Then she retreated to her curtained space, removed the material at her hips, folded it carefully and stowed it so that when she was ready to use it to practice more of her sewing, it would be ready for her. Now she sat on the edge of her bed with all energy gone, all hope shattered.
She had failed again; but then, the Umbari captain had always told her she danced like a cow. A real dancer would have made certain she finished the celebration with the partner of her choice. What was more, Bronamar had walked out, nearly run out, and there could be only one reason why: she had offended him deeply. She had done as he asked, and it had displeased him. The last time she had so deeply displeased a nimir, she had been given away.
It would happen again, now. Bronamar would find someone to take her, hopefully someone who could use a slave for cleaning and proper duties this time. Or perhaps would he find another merchant who would take her away to another far-away place, to someone who didn't know someone who could tell tales of her inadequacy. Either way, this quiet and peaceful life lived high above the ground in the talan was over. All was wrong again, and Inzilanî couldn't understand what she'd done to turn things so badly.
She had made the moves she had learned as a child and polished beneath a whip; she had seen in the way he had reacted, in the way his clothing had tented, that he was ready and even eager for the celebration. And his touch… She closed her eyes and relived that very brief moment when he had touched her face. He had wanted to celebrate with her - at least, the star-fire in his eyes had led her to believe that he did - and for the first time in her life, she had wanted it as well. What had happened? Why had the fire suddenly gone out?
Was it that the nimîr didn't celebrate life with any but other nimîr? Was that why Borongil hadn't wanted to touch her either? Or was it because, no matter what he had told her, Bronamar deep down knew that she was urkan, tainted and dirty because she had been used by them. That made more sense.
Inzilanî sighed, finding no peace, no freedom from the gloom that had settled in her heart. There was no place to run from it - she was lost in this vast forest filled with ugliness sent by the Dark Lord, and she would die if she fled - and so was at the mercy of the nimîr. There was little more she could do than just lie back, try not to dream more ugliness in the night, so as not to make Eirien have to report her lapse to Bronamar. Not that Bronamar would care one way or the other anyway anymore.
She rolled into bed and faced the curtain and railing wall that was the outside of the talan, deliberately not marveling at the way the talan was made that seemed to gather the starlight and moonlight into it. She would endure; she would survive. She had no choice. The nimîr would give her no other choice. She wouldn't cry, wouldn't even weep, for the tears would solve nothing, soothe nothing, and she was tired of crying, of being weak. But it hurt, she hurt. What he had done - fleeing from her like that - had hurt more than she had thought it possible to hurt a person without striking them with a weapon. He hadn't needed to throw her on the floor and force himself into her to make her want to scream after all.
"Inzilanî, are you awake?"
She blinked in astonishment. Borongil? Here? Now? What was he doing here? She didn't belong to him anymore, and therefore owed him no answers. She closed her eyes tightly and curled into a small ball. Maybe he'd just go away?
She sensed motion not far from her bed, but resisted reacting in any way. She was asleep, she wouldn't move, wouldn't even twitch. "Inzilanî? I need to talk to you, and Bronamar tells us that you understand most of his words now."
"I no… I do not belong to you anymore. I do not have to hear you," she said softly and bitterly. "Go away, and leave me in peace."
A weight settled next to her, and a large hand cupped her shoulder. "Look at me. Please."
"No. Go away. No more words."
But the nimir was stronger than she was, and didn't let up the pressure but simply turned her to face him. "Yes, more words. Until you understand."
Inzilanî's eyes flew open and she propped herself up on her elbows to glare at him. "I understand. I not…" She hit herself upside the head and made a crazy face at him. "I not need more words. Bronamar giving me away now too, like you give me away. I understand. When he finds new…" Her vocabulary ran out. He had never given her a word for owner. "When he says I belong new person, I go with that one. I understand good."
Borongil wrapped a hand around her head. "Listen to me. There will be no new person to belong to. You belong to no one now - only to you."
"I am a slave," she shook her head free. "He try.. tried to say no, but I know. I know. First I slave Umbari, then I slave uruk, then I your slave, and then Bronamar…"
"No." Borongil's head shook just as firmly. "You were a slave to the Umbari and the uruk, but never mine, never Bronamar's. We took care of you, tried to help you see you were safe here; and Bronamar helped you after you cut yourself, taught you the words, helped you to heal."
"And now he is angry."
"No, he is not angry. You surprised him, Inzilanî."
"He ask… asked me to dance for him!" she didn't quite shout. "I did what he asked, and still I make him angry. I thought…" Her breath caught in her throat. "I thought the spirits help me, I feel them help, and know I can celebrate - not…" She made the ugly gesture. "Bronamar never give me word for what uruk did to me. You tell me this word!"
Borongil blanched and lowered his head. "That is rape - forcing…"
"Rape." At last she had a word for the ugliness. "After the dance not rape - is celebrate. Very different. I thought…" She closed her eyes and willed the tears away. "I watch… watched Bronamar during the dance. His body said yes to the…" Again her vocabulary failed her. "I saw. And he touched me…"
"He should not have," Borongil said softly. "He knows better."
"Because I am slave," Inzilanî nodded. "Because I am dirty and wrong from when uruk rape me. I am no good."
"No. No! Nothing like that." Borongil sighed. "Our people… We are…" His eyes were sad. "Inzilanî, we do not 'celebrate' only one time, and then… Oh, this is hard!" He huffed and sat down on the edge of the bed in frustration, and then looked at her carefully and tried again. "Our people have different ways from yours. You live ten, twenty, fifty years, then die. We do not."
She pulled back from him into her pillow. "What you mean, you do not?"
"We do not die, not from age. We live a very long time. Very long."
"You look like my older brother," she complained, frowning. "Not old."
Borongil smiled a sad smile. "I was old when your grandfather's grandfather's grandfather was an infant, Inzilanî. I was old when the sea people came to your land."
"No…" It couldn't be true. These things were just stories, legends! Everything that she'd ever heard about the nimîr had proven untrue! That was too… wasn't it?
"Because we live a very long time, we choose one person, one love, and stay with them all the days. We never… 'celebrate'… with anyone but that one person." Borongil looked at her intently. "Ever."
Inzilanî grew still, and she sat with her mouth not quite open for a long moment. "Ever?" she asked very quietly.
"Ever," he said softly. "My mother died many, many, many hundred years ago, when my brother was born. My father never wanted another, will never want another. Ever." The utter solemnity with which he told her this, and the way his voice shook when he spoke of his mother, convinced her that he was telling the truth. "Now think, Inzilanî. If you know that you are going to live many, many, many hundred years, would you love someone who will die in ten, twenty, fifty years, if you cannot love again?"
"Can… not… love again?"
He shook his head. "If Bronamar celebrates with you, Inzilanî, he joins his life to yours for all the days. When you die, you will leave him alone for all the days."
"All the days." It sounded so hard, so bad, so final. "So never nimîr and…" She stumbled. "What you call my people then?"
"Mortals. Men." They were small words, and Borongil said them very sadly. "Sometimes we join with mortals. Not often, but sometimes. For a short time - one mortal lifetime - all is good. But after…"
"Not good." Inzilanî's head was beginning to hurt from the many huge differences between the world she understood and the nimîr world. "And I not… I am really not a slave?" she asked timidly.
"No, little one. You stopped being a slave when we dragged you out of that camp."
"And I am not… like small animal you dress in special dress and I make you and Malheril more important with other nimîr?" For the first time, she considered that Bronamar hadn't been lying to her after all. "And others, they are not slaves?"
Borongil's hand grasped hers gently. "No, Inzilanî. You are a very young one who was badly hurt when we found you, and we kept you with us to try to help you get better." He shook her hand slightly to make his point. "The boys we found with you, they were hurt too, but not so badly. With other mortals, they would grow strong again, and we took them to other mortals. But my father was afraid for you, with good reason. And now…"
Inzilanî sat up in bed. "But what I do now, Borongil? If I not a slave, what am I?"
His grey eyes shone at her with understanding. "Free."
She stared at him, her mouth hanging open for a long time, shocked and struck dumb by the enormity of what he had said with such a small, simple word.
Borongil rose and motioned for her to lie back down, then tucked her back into her covers. "As for what you do now, what do you want to do? The choice is yours, after all." He patted her hands on the blanket and then quietly left the talan.
Inzilanî lay awake for a very long time after that.
oOoOo
Bronamar arrived at the talan after Inzilanî had sat down to the table to break her fast with food from a basket delivered early that morning. He paused the moment she saw him, then walked over and sat down. "Inzilanî…"
"Is all right. Borongil tell me... told me much." She presented the plate of bread to him. "I am sorry I… surprised you."
She had never seen him pull such a face before; he had a thoroughly embarrassed look in his eye, and his cheeks were red. "I did ask you to do what you did," he said finally. "Sometimes I need to think first before asking."
Inzilanî had to smile. "Yes, you did ask. But I think you not… did not know what you ask."
"Definitely not." He nodded vigorously, but then sobered. "I am sorry I… just left."
"Borongil tell… told me many things I not know before," she offered with the bowl of nutmeats she held out. "I not know… and I thought maybe…" It was her turn to blush. "First time since uruk that I think maybe… not bad to celebrate life. You would not…" She stopped and thought for a moment, then gave the ugly sign. "You would not…"
"No, I would not." Bronamar had turned very pale. "I should never have…"
"Bronamar, I danced for you. I asked you to celebrate life with me. Celebrate life is not rape. Very different."
His eyes widened in shock, and then he shook his head. "Inzilanî, I…"
She shook her head. "I… did not understand nimîr way. Borongil told me many things. Nimîr way cannot have bed-slave, cannot celebrate life from dance with slave." She tipped her head at him. "You not understand my dance, I not understand your ways. Was better you left, before…"
"But I hurt you."
"Yes." Inzilanî watched her teacher flinch as if she'd slapped him. "But the hurt was not understanding. You not want to hurt. I know this."
"I am sorry." Bronamar looked up into her eyes, and she could see the depth of sorrow in his. "I am sorry for many things. It is not wise for a healer and one whom he is helping to… celebrate life, as you say. I should never have touched you in that way."
"Nimîr never make mistakes?" Inzilanî asked him gently. His eyes widened. "Was a mistake. I asked for your touch, remember?" She smiled at him again as he nodded. "I liked your touch, before I hear it was wrong. Like I tell you, Borongil told me many things, and I think for long time after he leave… left. He say… said… that you help me to heal - from these." She pointed to her wrists. "I think maybe you help heal more than that."
He gazed at her steadily for a very long moment. "Something has changed. You have changed."
"Yes. I know now you tell me the truth." She straightened her shoulders and looked him directly in the eyes. "I know now I am not a slave." Then she sagged and looked down at her plate. "But I not know who I am now if I not slave… what I want to do. Borongil say is my choice now. How I know what I want?" She turned timid eyes to her teacher.
Bronamar's face was clear of all worry or shame, and he reached out a hand to her. "Perhaps that is something we can talk about today, while we practice more words."
Inzilanî turned her hand so that she held him back. "I think I like that talk."
Vocabulary
nimir - (A) elf
nimîr - (A) elves
talan - (S) tree dwelling of the wood elves
uruk - (A) orc (nom. case)
urkan - (A) orc (obj. case)
Chapter 13 - A Dose of Reality
Inzilanî sat on the edge of her bed, numb to everything. She had put the couch back together with its cushions in their proper place and pulled it back out where it belonged. She had banked the fire in the fire-bowl. She had given Eirien a nod as the nimir arrived for her evening watch. Then she retreated to her curtained space, removed the material at her hips, folded it carefully and stowed it so that when she was ready to use it to practice more of her sewing, it would be ready for her. Now she sat on the edge of her bed with all energy gone, all hope shattered.
She had failed again; but then, the Umbari captain had always told her she danced like a cow. A real dancer would have made certain she finished the celebration with the partner of her choice. What was more, Bronamar had walked out, nearly run out, and there could be only one reason why: she had offended him deeply. She had done as he asked, and it had displeased him. The last time she had so deeply displeased a nimir, she had been given away.
It would happen again, now. Bronamar would find someone to take her, hopefully someone who could use a slave for cleaning and proper duties this time. Or perhaps would he find another merchant who would take her away to another far-away place, to someone who didn't know someone who could tell tales of her inadequacy. Either way, this quiet and peaceful life lived high above the ground in the talan was over. All was wrong again, and Inzilanî couldn't understand what she'd done to turn things so badly.
She had made the moves she had learned as a child and polished beneath a whip; she had seen in the way he had reacted, in the way his clothing had tented, that he was ready and even eager for the celebration. And his touch… She closed her eyes and relived that very brief moment when he had touched her face. He had wanted to celebrate with her - at least, the star-fire in his eyes had led her to believe that he did - and for the first time in her life, she had wanted it as well. What had happened? Why had the fire suddenly gone out?
Was it that the nimîr didn't celebrate life with any but other nimîr? Was that why Borongil hadn't wanted to touch her either? Or was it because, no matter what he had told her, Bronamar deep down knew that she was urkan, tainted and dirty because she had been used by them. That made more sense.
Inzilanî sighed, finding no peace, no freedom from the gloom that had settled in her heart. There was no place to run from it - she was lost in this vast forest filled with ugliness sent by the Dark Lord, and she would die if she fled - and so was at the mercy of the nimîr. There was little more she could do than just lie back, try not to dream more ugliness in the night, so as not to make Eirien have to report her lapse to Bronamar. Not that Bronamar would care one way or the other anyway anymore.
She rolled into bed and faced the curtain and railing wall that was the outside of the talan, deliberately not marveling at the way the talan was made that seemed to gather the starlight and moonlight into it. She would endure; she would survive. She had no choice. The nimîr would give her no other choice. She wouldn't cry, wouldn't even weep, for the tears would solve nothing, soothe nothing, and she was tired of crying, of being weak. But it hurt, she hurt. What he had done - fleeing from her like that - had hurt more than she had thought it possible to hurt a person without striking them with a weapon. He hadn't needed to throw her on the floor and force himself into her to make her want to scream after all.
"Inzilanî, are you awake?"
She blinked in astonishment. Borongil? Here? Now? What was he doing here? She didn't belong to him anymore, and therefore owed him no answers. She closed her eyes tightly and curled into a small ball. Maybe he'd just go away?
She sensed motion not far from her bed, but resisted reacting in any way. She was asleep, she wouldn't move, wouldn't even twitch. "Inzilanî? I need to talk to you, and Bronamar tells us that you understand most of his words now."
"I no… I do not belong to you anymore. I do not have to hear you," she said softly and bitterly. "Go away, and leave me in peace."
A weight settled next to her, and a large hand cupped her shoulder. "Look at me. Please."
"No. Go away. No more words."
But the nimir was stronger than she was, and didn't let up the pressure but simply turned her to face him. "Yes, more words. Until you understand."
Inzilanî's eyes flew open and she propped herself up on her elbows to glare at him. "I understand. I not…" She hit herself upside the head and made a crazy face at him. "I not need more words. Bronamar giving me away now too, like you give me away. I understand. When he finds new…" Her vocabulary ran out. He had never given her a word for owner. "When he says I belong new person, I go with that one. I understand good."
Borongil wrapped a hand around her head. "Listen to me. There will be no new person to belong to. You belong to no one now - only to you."
"I am a slave," she shook her head free. "He try.. tried to say no, but I know. I know. First I slave Umbari, then I slave uruk, then I your slave, and then Bronamar…"
"No." Borongil's head shook just as firmly. "You were a slave to the Umbari and the uruk, but never mine, never Bronamar's. We took care of you, tried to help you see you were safe here; and Bronamar helped you after you cut yourself, taught you the words, helped you to heal."
"And now he is angry."
"No, he is not angry. You surprised him, Inzilanî."
"He ask… asked me to dance for him!" she didn't quite shout. "I did what he asked, and still I make him angry. I thought…" Her breath caught in her throat. "I thought the spirits help me, I feel them help, and know I can celebrate - not…" She made the ugly gesture. "Bronamar never give me word for what uruk did to me. You tell me this word!"
Borongil blanched and lowered his head. "That is rape - forcing…"
"Rape." At last she had a word for the ugliness. "After the dance not rape - is celebrate. Very different. I thought…" She closed her eyes and willed the tears away. "I watch… watched Bronamar during the dance. His body said yes to the…" Again her vocabulary failed her. "I saw. And he touched me…"
"He should not have," Borongil said softly. "He knows better."
"Because I am slave," Inzilanî nodded. "Because I am dirty and wrong from when uruk rape me. I am no good."
"No. No! Nothing like that." Borongil sighed. "Our people… We are…" His eyes were sad. "Inzilanî, we do not 'celebrate' only one time, and then… Oh, this is hard!" He huffed and sat down on the edge of the bed in frustration, and then looked at her carefully and tried again. "Our people have different ways from yours. You live ten, twenty, fifty years, then die. We do not."
She pulled back from him into her pillow. "What you mean, you do not?"
"We do not die, not from age. We live a very long time. Very long."
"You look like my older brother," she complained, frowning. "Not old."
Borongil smiled a sad smile. "I was old when your grandfather's grandfather's grandfather was an infant, Inzilanî. I was old when the sea people came to your land."
"No…" It couldn't be true. These things were just stories, legends! Everything that she'd ever heard about the nimîr had proven untrue! That was too… wasn't it?
"Because we live a very long time, we choose one person, one love, and stay with them all the days. We never… 'celebrate'… with anyone but that one person." Borongil looked at her intently. "Ever."
Inzilanî grew still, and she sat with her mouth not quite open for a long moment. "Ever?" she asked very quietly.
"Ever," he said softly. "My mother died many, many, many hundred years ago, when my brother was born. My father never wanted another, will never want another. Ever." The utter solemnity with which he told her this, and the way his voice shook when he spoke of his mother, convinced her that he was telling the truth. "Now think, Inzilanî. If you know that you are going to live many, many, many hundred years, would you love someone who will die in ten, twenty, fifty years, if you cannot love again?"
"Can… not… love again?"
He shook his head. "If Bronamar celebrates with you, Inzilanî, he joins his life to yours for all the days. When you die, you will leave him alone for all the days."
"All the days." It sounded so hard, so bad, so final. "So never nimîr and…" She stumbled. "What you call my people then?"
"Mortals. Men." They were small words, and Borongil said them very sadly. "Sometimes we join with mortals. Not often, but sometimes. For a short time - one mortal lifetime - all is good. But after…"
"Not good." Inzilanî's head was beginning to hurt from the many huge differences between the world she understood and the nimîr world. "And I not… I am really not a slave?" she asked timidly.
"No, little one. You stopped being a slave when we dragged you out of that camp."
"And I am not… like small animal you dress in special dress and I make you and Malheril more important with other nimîr?" For the first time, she considered that Bronamar hadn't been lying to her after all. "And others, they are not slaves?"
Borongil's hand grasped hers gently. "No, Inzilanî. You are a very young one who was badly hurt when we found you, and we kept you with us to try to help you get better." He shook her hand slightly to make his point. "The boys we found with you, they were hurt too, but not so badly. With other mortals, they would grow strong again, and we took them to other mortals. But my father was afraid for you, with good reason. And now…"
Inzilanî sat up in bed. "But what I do now, Borongil? If I not a slave, what am I?"
His grey eyes shone at her with understanding. "Free."
She stared at him, her mouth hanging open for a long time, shocked and struck dumb by the enormity of what he had said with such a small, simple word.
Borongil rose and motioned for her to lie back down, then tucked her back into her covers. "As for what you do now, what do you want to do? The choice is yours, after all." He patted her hands on the blanket and then quietly left the talan.
Inzilanî lay awake for a very long time after that.
oOoOo
Bronamar arrived at the talan after Inzilanî had sat down to the table to break her fast with food from a basket delivered early that morning. He paused the moment she saw him, then walked over and sat down. "Inzilanî…"
"Is all right. Borongil tell me... told me much." She presented the plate of bread to him. "I am sorry I… surprised you."
She had never seen him pull such a face before; he had a thoroughly embarrassed look in his eye, and his cheeks were red. "I did ask you to do what you did," he said finally. "Sometimes I need to think first before asking."
Inzilanî had to smile. "Yes, you did ask. But I think you not… did not know what you ask."
"Definitely not." He nodded vigorously, but then sobered. "I am sorry I… just left."
"Borongil tell… told me many things I not know before," she offered with the bowl of nutmeats she held out. "I not know… and I thought maybe…" It was her turn to blush. "First time since uruk that I think maybe… not bad to celebrate life. You would not…" She stopped and thought for a moment, then gave the ugly sign. "You would not…"
"No, I would not." Bronamar had turned very pale. "I should never have…"
"Bronamar, I danced for you. I asked you to celebrate life with me. Celebrate life is not rape. Very different."
His eyes widened in shock, and then he shook his head. "Inzilanî, I…"
She shook her head. "I… did not understand nimîr way. Borongil told me many things. Nimîr way cannot have bed-slave, cannot celebrate life from dance with slave." She tipped her head at him. "You not understand my dance, I not understand your ways. Was better you left, before…"
"But I hurt you."
"Yes." Inzilanî watched her teacher flinch as if she'd slapped him. "But the hurt was not understanding. You not want to hurt. I know this."
"I am sorry." Bronamar looked up into her eyes, and she could see the depth of sorrow in his. "I am sorry for many things. It is not wise for a healer and one whom he is helping to… celebrate life, as you say. I should never have touched you in that way."
"Nimîr never make mistakes?" Inzilanî asked him gently. His eyes widened. "Was a mistake. I asked for your touch, remember?" She smiled at him again as he nodded. "I liked your touch, before I hear it was wrong. Like I tell you, Borongil told me many things, and I think for long time after he leave… left. He say… said… that you help me to heal - from these." She pointed to her wrists. "I think maybe you help heal more than that."
He gazed at her steadily for a very long moment. "Something has changed. You have changed."
"Yes. I know now you tell me the truth." She straightened her shoulders and looked him directly in the eyes. "I know now I am not a slave." Then she sagged and looked down at her plate. "But I not know who I am now if I not slave… what I want to do. Borongil say is my choice now. How I know what I want?" She turned timid eyes to her teacher.
Bronamar's face was clear of all worry or shame, and he reached out a hand to her. "Perhaps that is something we can talk about today, while we practice more words."
Inzilanî turned her hand so that she held him back. "I think I like that talk."
Vocabulary
nimir - (A) elf
nimîr - (A) elves
talan - (S) tree dwelling of the wood elves
uruk - (A) orc (nom. case)
urkan - (A) orc (obj. case)