Song of the Sea Spirit: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles) (4 page)

Chapter 2

The town looked deserted by the time Jora made it back. She laid the flute on her workbench before running to the civic hall. Entering by the rear door, she found everyone already seated, facing the dais in the front of the hall. Those who’d arrived late stood along the outer walls and along the back wall, the benches already taken.

She caught her mother’s disapproving glare and gave her a dim, apologetic smile. Briana waved to her, and she made her way past people seated on the end of the row to join her cousin and Tearna. Three-year-old Ransom sat quietly in Tearna’s lap, his eyelids heavy and his body leaning against hers. Briana sat beside her six-year-old daughter, who seemed enraptured by the affair. “Pardon,” she said, squeezing herself between Tearna and an older woman she knew only from sight.

“I saw Boden in his robe a minute ago,” Briana said, leaning forward to look at Jora. “He looked so handsome.”

“Just like his papa,” Tearna said, winking.

Gunnar was sitting in the front row with eight of his nine children and all four wives. On his lap sat his daughter Ricca by Third Wife Janli. The smallest ones sat on the laps of their mothers, and the two elder children, Welliam and Sharten, assisted with the toddlers. All Gunnar’s children had his dark brown hair, even Ricca, whose mother was probably the blondest woman in town. Looking over his shoulder, he caught Jora’s eye and acknowledged her with a nod.

When the council leader stepped onto the dais, the civic hall quieted. At the front of the room was a table upon which sat a row of wooden cups, each adorned with a ribbon of a different color. Beside each cup was a wooden stick of the Son Maker tree with the bark removed to expose the sensitive bare wood. Three councilwomen conferred beside the table. One of them used her finger to count the cups while the two others whispered about the content of a tablet one of them was holding. They caught the attention of the council leader and whispered something into her ear.

Jora watched curiously, as did nearly everyone else in the hall, until the council leader’s gaze swept across the audience of some two thousand villagers as if she were looking for someone. To Jora’s horror, the council leader pointed directly at her. One of the councilwomen peered at her, nodded, and walked down the aisle toward her row. With every step, Jora felt her heartbeat quicken and her face warm hotter.

“Jora Lanseri,” the woman said, crooking a finger in a beckoning gesture. “I need a word with you, dear.”

Jora shot her two friends a horrified look before standing. Tearna squeezed her hand reassuringly, and Jora excused herself to step over the feet and around the knees of those beside her on the bench. Under the curious gazes of two thousand of her relatives, friends, neighbors, and the rest of the townsfolk, she followed the councilwoman to the door in the front of the hall. Jora felt the blood draining from her face and pooling in her feet as they grew heavier with every step. She followed the councilwoman into the front chamber.

The councilwoman stopped and faced her. Jora judged her to be in her forties, perhaps a teacher or midwife—someone who dealt with children, for she had kindly blue eyes and wrinkles around her mouth and eyes from smiling.

“Councilwoman, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“It seems this is your last chance to submit for the Antenuptial before your twenty-third birthday,” the councilwoman said.

“Yes, but—”

“Do you find Boden Sayeg objectionable on a personal level?”

“No, of course not. We’ve been friends for years.”

“Then I urge you to submit. According to our records, the only marriage between a Lanseri and a Sayeg in the last fifty years is your cousin Briana and Boden’s third cousin, Jalen. For the sake of diversity within our town, it’s important that you submit.”

“Even if I qualified, he wouldn’t choose me,” she argued. “We’ve already discussed it. I don’t want to marry him, and he doesn’t want to marry me.”

“Jora, please—”

“No.” She considered suggesting there were surely other men whose families had no marriages with Lanseri women, but that would be disingenuous. Once she turned twenty-three, she would marry Gunnar. Not only would the councilwoman’s concern about a Lanseri-Sayeg union be laid to rest, but Jora’s own sense of duty, that nagging voice urging her to comply for the good of her people, would be silenced as well. Telling the councilwoman that, however, was problematic, for Gunnar’s near-proposal might have the appearance of impropriety and having influenced Jora’s decision not to submit for his son’s Antenuptial. The last thing she wanted was for Gunnar to be censured for what was an innocent and honest communication. “I understand the need for diversity, I do, but I’m not going to submit for Boden, especially knowing he won’t choose me. I’ve suffered that humiliation dozens of times, and I won’t do it again.”

The councilwoman pinched her lips together sympathetically and nodded. “I understand. May I at least give you this cup, in the event you change your mind?”

Jora stepped back and held up her hands, refusing the cup. “I’ve given this a lot of thought over the last couple of months. I won’t change my mind in the next ten minutes.”

She sighed. “Very well. Shall we return? The assembly is waiting.”

Jora groaned, knowing two thousand pairs of eyes would be watching her come out, waiting to see whether she’d peed in a cup. With a deep breath to draw courage into her heart, she followed the councilwoman out of the room and hurried back down the center aisle, her head high but her eyes directed at the floor so she wouldn’t have to meet those two thousand curious gazes. People whispered “Good luck” or asked “Did you submit?” as she walked past them. Someone muttered something she didn’t hear, but it prompted a ripple of laughter. Jora considered walking past her row and right out the door, but she couldn’t miss Boden’s Antenuptial and wedding.

“They made you submit?” Tearna whispered as she took her seat.

“No. She tried to guilt me into it, but I held strong.”

Tearna raised her eyebrows. “Who are you and what have you done with Jora?”

In the front row, Gunnar was half-standing, half-turned around, watching her with intense interest. She smiled at him, hoping that would assure him that all was well. On his right, Anika tugged his arm, pulling him back onto the bench.

“People of Kaild,” said the council leader. A hush settled over the crowd. “Thank you for your patience. We apologize for the delay. Today we’re gathered to witness the selection of a wife for Boden Sayeg, who becomes a man on this day.”

The room erupted in cheers and applause while Boden came through a door in the back of the room and stepped up onto the dais behind the table of pee cups. He wore a floor-length ceremonial robe in deep brown with the red-streaked white flowers of the Son Maker tree embroidered around the hem, cuffs, and neckline. His cheeks reddened under the attention, which made Jora smile. He’d always been uncomfortable with effusive praise or affection and with expressing his own feelings, though he made it plain through his actions how he felt. He was quiet and hard-working, dependable and focused, a boy much more likely to be the one offering support than receiving it. She was proud of the man he’d become, and she cheered more loudly than those around her.

When the noise died down, the council leader stepped up to the table. “Here we have the submissions of five girls who would like the chance to become Boden’s First Wife. Should any of these girls qualify, you are free to choose one or more of them to take as your wife or wives, but only one can be named your First Wife. It is she who will receive your first seed, and it is she who bears the responsibility of attending to your affairs while you’re away. Are there any girls who have not yet submitted who would like to before testing is begun?”

Boden looked directly at her, his thumbs pressed together and his fingertips tapping rhythmically. She gave him a dim smile, and he lowered his gaze to the floor.

The audience remained quiet but for a small eruption of giggles from a group of girls who looked to be about fourteen or fifteen, too young to wed. A few people turned their heads to Jora. Tearna nudged her playfully, took her by the wrist, and started to raise her arm.

“Stop,” Jora whispered fiercely, pressing her arm firmly into her lap.

“Then let us begin. Councilwoman Omondi?”

The councilwoman dipped each of the prepared wooden sticks into the cups, going down the line until each cup had a stick from the Son Maker in it, leaning against its lip. She returned to the first one, tied with a green ribbon, and pulled the stick from the cup. “Green is fertile.”

A squeal broke the silence from the front of the hall, and a redhead shot to her feet and danced in place.

“Red is fertile.”

The beautiful Hanna Molnar stood. Though she made no sound, the smile on her face when she turned to wave at someone in the audience made it clear she was pleased.

“Blue is fertile,” Omondi said.

Micah leaped to her feet and clapped for herself. The gesture didn’t come across as arrogant or boastful, simply joyful. People chuckled.

“Yellow is fertile. Violet is not fertile.”

Another leatherworking apprentice, Shiri, who wore the yellow ribbon, stood, but the poor girl wearing violet burst into tears. People muttered “Aww” or clicked their tongues in pity, which was the worst part, though it was nearly impossible for a girl not to cry when she was the only one to be disqualified in front of everyone. Jora knew this from experience.

“From these four girls, Boden Sayeg,” the council leader said, “do you choose a wife?”

Hanna Molnar lifted her chin and gazed around with an air of superiority.

“Look at her,” Tearna whispered. “She’s so sure he’ll pick her. I hope he doesn’t.”

“Shh!” Jora said.

Boden looked at each of the girls in turn, acknowledging them with a nod. He blinked slowly and then turned to the council leader. The room was as still as night. “Yes, I do, Madam Councilwoman. I choose Micah, wearer of the blue ribbon.”

Hanna gasped, and her hands slapped over her mouth.

“Yes,” someone whispered behind Jora. She turned on the bench to see her brother Loel’s smiling face and couldn’t help but smile back. He’d been smitten with Hanna for some time, perhaps since he had first started noticing that girls were prettier than boys. His Antenuptial was a few weeks away, and he would be the next boy with the opportunity to take Hannah as his First Wife, assuming she was fertile then. If she did submit, she would probably be disqualified.

Everyone—or nearly everyone—applauded while Micah joined Boden on the dais and hooked her arm in his as if she were afraid he would try to escape.

“Congratulations, Micah. You’ve been chosen as First Wife to Boden Sayeg. Do you have any objections?”

“Challenger’s mighty fists, no! I’m honored to be selected.”

A chuckle ripped across the audience.

“Boden, do you choose a Second Wife?” Omondi asked.

“No,” Loel whispered. “Say no.”

Boden avoided looking at the remaining girls. “Not at this time.” The remaining girls took their seats, not nearly as excited as they’d been only moments earlier.

The bride and groom joined hands, Boden’s right to Micah’s left, and the two were tied together at the wrists with the blue ribbon. After exchanging mutual pledges to honor each other by building a family around this core, they were pronounced man and woman, husband and wife.

Jora shot to her feet, applauding furiously, though she paused to wipe away a tear. A small part of her was jealous of Micah, having received the pledge of such a good-hearted man, but mostly she was happy for Boden. Now he was a man about to father his first child.

Boden and Micah, their hands still joined and tied together, ran laughing through a rain of Son Maker tree seeds to the door. Everyone cheered as they followed the couple outside. It took a few minutes for everyone to file out of the civic hall and join them in the dining hall. Micah fed Boden fruit from the Son Maker in the hopes they would conceive a son. The townsfolk, led by the town’s choir, sang a song of fertility to the newlyweds, toasted them with a sip of wine, and bid them love and happiness in their union.