Kate Elliott - Jaran

Cloth brushed her back, and Tess started awake and lay still, cursing herself for her dreams. Jacques again, damn him. She felt flushed all along her skin, up and down her body, and she sighed, resigned, recalling the dream more clearly now. Jacques's presence had not been the important element in this dream; what they were doing together was.

Outside, bells jingled softly, muffled by distance, and one of the herd beasts lowed, sounding more like a cow than the goat it resembled. A bird trilled once, twice, and then ceased. It must be nearly dawn. Yuri had taught her that trillers heralded dawn, whistlers noon, and hooters dusk.

"This isn't his tent," said a man, his voice pitched so low that Tess would not have heard him if he hadn't been standing a hand's breadth away from her, separated from her only by the cloth of her tent. "This is a woman's pattern."

A foot dragged along the fabric, pushing the wall in ever so slightly. Grass rustled, the barest sound, as he crept away. A word exhaled, farther away, so she heard the breath but not the meaning. She reached to pull her tent flap aside to look out.

"Stahar linaya!''

The force of the words-Battle! Night! Treachery! — ringing out in-in Fedya's voice? — sent her forward without thinking, responding to his piercing cry for help. She tumbled out of her tent and ran right into a body crouched outside. The figure stumbled forward, reaching for his saber. She caught a flash of white face as she reached for her own saber, only to recall that she was in women's clothing. The man took off running.

A confusion of figures clustered around Bakhtiian's solitary tent. A man screamed in rage. Suddenly, sabers winked pale in the hazy predawn dimness.

Two men-Vladimir and Fedya-faced off against three, their shapes shifting in a delicate dance around Bakhtiian's tent.

"Get back, Tess!" A hand pressed her back against her tent, and she looked up to see Kirill beside her. He clutched a blanket around his waist with one hand. His torso was utterly naked, and for a wildly improbable moment, she simply stared, at his arms, at the pale down of fine hair on his chest-

"— your saber!" he hissed urgently.

She swallowed hard and reached back into her tent and pulled out her saber. He grabbed it from her one-handed, slipping the blade free with a deft twist, and ran forward into the fight. "Vladi! Disarm him now! Fedya, to me. Yuri, Konstans, to their backs."

With a blur of strokes, Vladimir disarmed one man and then without pausing flung himself on the other and wrestled him to the ground. Faced with Fedya and Kirill, and the appearance of several other men in various stages of undress, the third man threw down his saber. Yuri darted forward and picked up the three sabers. He wore only trousers and no boots. A man cried out in pain, and then Bakhtiian appeared at the same moment as the first swell of light, the disk of the sun cresting the horizon, flooded the scene with dawn's pale light. He was, of course, impeccably dressed, shirt tucked in, trousers straight, saber held with light command in his right hand-but he was barefoot.

"Vladi," he said in a calm voice that carried easily in the hush of the moment, "let him up."

Vladi sat atop the second man, knife pressed against the edge of the man's eye. Blood welled and trickled down the man's cheek, and he whimpered in fear. Some of the older riders had taken over, holding the other two men captive. Now many of the tribe filtered in to form a rough circle around this altercation. Vladi sat back reluctantly and withdrew his knife. The man did not move from the ground, but he lifted a hand to cover his eye.

"What is this?" Elizaveta Sakhalin and her nephew arrived. "What men have breached the peace of this tribe?"

Niko and Josef yanked the man from the ground and hustled him over to stand by his compatriots. In the light, the raiders looked a sorry bunch, ill-fed, sallow, and peevish.

"I don't recognize them," said Bakhtiian.

One man lifted his head and spat in Bakhtiian's direction. "I'm only sorry we didn't kill you."

"You will be sorrier when we are done with you," said Elizaveta Sakhalin, favoring the three captives with a withering stare.

"This is men's business," the bold one snapped.

"Conducted within our tents? I think not. Yaroslav." She nodded to her nephew. "You will confine them until the Elders have discussed their fate."

"There," said Konstantina, startling Tess by coming up quietly beside her. "You see, Tsara." She angled her neck to include her cousin, who had trailed after her, both hands holding a blanket demurely around herself. "I was right. There is Nadezhda Martov."

Tess was distracted from watching the captives being led away by the sight of Martov arriving some steps behind Bakhtiian, decently dressed in a shift and skirt. Bakhtiian glanced back at her, aware of her presence, and then moved forward to speak with Niko and Fedya and Vladimir.

"And get some clothes on," he said to the other men.

Konstantina chuckled. "You see. All the women have arrived to take a look."

Glancing around, Tess realized that a disproportionate number of the younger women of the tribe had arrived. A few whistled as Kirill came back over to her tent. His eyes were lowered in a becoming fashion, but there was no doubting the slight sauntering display in his walk.

"You, too, Kirill," said Bakhtiian. "Fedya, was it you caught the intruders? I thought as much. And you did well, Vladi."

"Thank you," said Kirill as he returned Tess's saber. Tsara laid a hand on his arm and led him away, looking smug.

"What will happen to the captives?" Tess asked Konstantina, who still hovered at her elbow. Sakhalin and her nephew reappeared to consult with Bakhtiian.

"Oh, I should think that we'll leave them for the birds. Ah, there he is. If you'll excuse me." Konstantina strode away straight toward Yuri, Tess noted with interest, as he retreated hastily from the fray.

"No," Bakhtiian was saying, "I take full responsibility for this act. Had I not been here, this would never have happened. I do not want to bring further trouble for your tribe, Mother Sakhalin. We will leave today."

Sakhalin considered and spoke with her nephew, and then they all walked off together. Vladimir trailed in their wake. Only Fedya remained, standing quite still, head tilted slightly, as if he was trying to hear or taste something on the wind. He turned slowly and walked off, toward Tess at first, and then veering away toward the edge of camp, tracking some unseen path.

"It is a beautiful tent." Tess looked round to see Na-dezhda Martov standing four paces away from her.

"It is," agreed Tess cautiously. "It was gifted me by Mother Orzhekov. It used to be her daughter's."

"Then you are, by her decree, Ilyakoria Bakhtiian's cousin," said the woman pleasantly. "Mother Orzhekov is a renowned weaver. Her niece wove the finest patterns I have ever seen."

"Her niece?"

"Bakhtiian's elder sister. I knew her before she died."

"Ah," said Tess, not knowing what else to say.

"You are from-a long ways away?"

"I am from a-city-a place of many stone tents-Jeds…"

"Yes, I have heard of it. Ilyakoria speaks of it."

For an instant, Tess had an uncomfortably vivid image of just when he spoke of such things to Nadezhda Martov. She suppressed it and smiled instead.

"Those are borrowed clothes, are they not?" asked Martov. When Tess nodded, she nodded in return. "Come. Though you must ride in men's clothing, I think you will benefit from having women's clothing of your own, as well. And with your coloring-" A gleam of challenge lit her eyes. "I know just what will suit you."

They did not leave until midday. Bakhtiian gave them one of his khuhaylan mares, and most of the tarpans were exchanged for fresh mounts. Tess was forced to consult with Yuri on how to add her burgeoning possessions to her saddle roll: a fine suit of women's clothing gathered by Martov from women throughout the tribe. Tsara gave Tess a fine silver bracelet. Yuri managed to fit the roll of clothing on to one of the ten horses now burdened with the generous provisions given to the jahar by the women of the tribe.