Desert Song Excerpt: The Shifting Winds

Desert Song: A Girl In Exile, a Trickster Horse, and the Women Rising Up
is now available through our Community Publishing Campaign.

The night pooled around Mahteni, magnificent in its depth. Moonlight silvered the wide plain. The wind rippled the grasses like marsh reeds quivering in the currents’ flow. Piles of rock and a few twisted old trees dotted the flat expanse, scattered like giant’s crumbs across the floor. They crouched, dark with shadows, unknowable in their hidden mysteries.

Mahteni rode quietly
through the shine of silver, letting the horse pick her way through the
grasses. The light wind lifted the curls from her face. The cool air quieted
her worried heart. The expanse of night made room for her thoughts as she
mulled on all she had seen and heard. She had detoured up a foothill trail to
visit a village and speak with the elders. Their hesitant comments and murmured
asides confirmed what she had noticed in Turim. The winds had shifted since she
had left six years ago.

She did not like the
direction they blew.

Once and always, until
now, men and women stood as equals in Harraken culture. A boy could spin and
weave; a girl could hunt and ride. A man could tend the hearth fire and
children; a woman could work the forges or ride to war. Decisions were made by
everyone, all together, at the village sings. At least, that’s what Mahteni’s
memory insisted. But, she reluctantly admitted, that was over a decade ago.
During the five years of war, the warriors had commanded absolute authority. At
the end of those terrifying times, she had gone into Mariana disguised as a
water worker. She had heard reports that the warriors had been reluctant to
give up control, even after the first tenuous years of ceasefire had ended.
Three years ago, her brother had written about his relief that the first
village sing had started up again . . . but his hope for peace was
short-lived. Just before Ari Ara was found, the Marianans had threatened
to invade again, convinced the desert people had taken their heir. The Harraken
shifted back to warriors-rule, worried about the possibility of attack. But the
war had been averted, and a time of peace had arrived. The village sings ought
to have been restored; the Harrak-Mettahl should have insisted on it, but
Tahkan had neglected his duties in order to sneak into Mariana to meet his
daughter. She did not blame him for that choice, but she also saw the mess he
had left behind. With the warriors barring women from the meets, the decisions
slanted toward their priorities . . . and that shift was reflected in
the changes in their culture.

During the welcoming
feast in Turim, and again at this village, she had sat among one family and
then the next, offering the Shirar family’s greetings, listening to the news
and gossip . . . and noticing the things left unsaid. She silently
watched the women rise and serve the men. Her green eyes followed the shushing
of girls and the pampering of boys. She kept track of who did the talking and
whose sentences were trampled by another. She watched to see who lent a hand with
the dishwashing, and who sat with feet up on the tables, picking their teeth
with a belt-knife. She joined the women in peeling fruit and chopping
vegetables, asking after this woman or that friend, carefully tracking whose
fathers or brothers were now named as leaders where once mothers and sisters
had earned that praise. She questioned the old women about the frequency of the
village sings and watched the heads shake. In many places, there hadn’t been a
village sing – a real one with everyone involved – for months, sometimes years.

The grandmothers who
had grown up before the war yearned for the fairness of the village sings.
Their lined faces crinkled with distaste as they complained about warriors-rule.
It was one thing for the warriors to assume the mantle of authority when the
Harraken were under attack, but in times of peace, warriors should not be
settling disputes over wandering chickens and broken hearts and which fields to
plant with what crops. How would they understand why one grandmother couldn’t
share a house with another, but must be respectfully accommodated at the other
end of the village? How could they know that the rocky field would support kerat grain, but would need twice as
much water? How would the warriors know the importance of negotiating clay
rights evenly among the potters? How would they understand the need to allocate
timber harvests for new looms instead of spears and shields?

When voices are silenced from the Harraken Song, Mahteni thought darkly, the music is not complete. The decisions weakened and faltered. The harmony became unclear. Discord was sown between people. Resentments built into hatred.

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