She had been watching the children of the Caru-Luth playing near the tents. Scruffy, grubby little urchins for the most part, but they were full of laughter and jest. They enjoyed their meager lives, they enjoyed competing against each other in mostly friendly fights. Some had short shaggy ponies, and they raced them round the settlement, calling for adults to ‘beware, for the young warriors were training’. And the adults looked on, smiling as they recalled their own childhoods. They tolerated much, for these children would grow into the adults who would defend them in their old age, and hunt for their food, should they live that long.
And although she was a guest in one of their hovels, Khahaynd relaxed. At her side Zir lay in his true form. He watched too. Outside, adults and children alike were fawning over Tarih, her horse, who patiently allowed their touch.
And Khahaynd remembered…those days she had been named Naryd.
There had been long summer days spent, mostly with her brother, Naraal, playing in their broad gardens, or riding on the beach: she on her short and tubby pony, Dazyn, and Naraal on a larger horse, Huras. Or they would run through the markets like a couple of street urchins, she dressed in boy's clothes so that she was not scolded overmuch by stallholders, and called ‘improper’.
Breaking a moment from her reverie, Khahaynd opened one eye and peered under the tent flap again. The boys and girls played the same games here. Many of the fiercest were the girls. The Clan seemed to require the same standards from all their children, the ability to fight for the Clan and one's kin.
When she had asked her mother why Naraal had a horse, and she a pony, her mother had replied, “Because he is the elder, dear one.”
“Only by two years!” she replied with indignation. “I am better with animals than he.”
“But he is a boy who will become a warrior to serve our people, while you shall wed, keep a home, and have many children.”
And there it was. Never did she resent her brother; she did not want to be expected to become a warrior any more than she wanted to become a wife and mother. But he was encouraged to be independent, whereas she was not.
Their mother was kind and gentle, though a shrewd trades-woman in cloth and jewellry. Their father was a stern man, but kindly with his family. He was also an astute business-man, though early on Khayand had realised that his cunning was really her mother’s influence. In matters of commerce he mostly followed his wife’s suggestions.
She had once asked her mother about it. “We may be women, but if played carefully, the game of life can bring us great rewards. Make yourself indispensable, daughter. Looks fade, but wisdom grows.”
Wisdom? She knew she was pretty, beautiful even as she approached her twelfth birthday, but that seemed a hollow promise. She would become wise, she had decided, and her wisdom would last a lifetime.
So she sought wisdom. She did not act as her brother’s accomplice in explorations any more, but took to sitting at the back of crowds listening to the speeches in the Tor gardens, of those learned in matters of wisdom, old and new. Much of what they said made little sense to her enquiring mind. Surely any sane person could see they lacked depth, the assurance any true seeker craved. Then, one day she watched a noble black robed woman walk by with several richly-garbed attendants. Two cleared a path for her through the crowds, two held a shade over her head, lest she get too hot, and the others followed in her wake with heads bowed. Khahaynd knew what the woman was. She had seen her kind before. But that day was different. Getting up from her spot at the back of the crowd, she followed the small procession as it headed to the nearby Shrine of the All-Seeing One. The crowd moved out of their way, bowing and paying reverence. As the small group approached their destination, the woman halted, raising a hand, and her procession stopped.
“What do you wish of our Lord?” she said, turning to address Khahaynd. “Speak, child, for He listens to our desires.”
So she, but a young girl, spoke to the Lady and her servants, and possibly to the All-Seeing One, and made her wishes and curiosity known.
The Lady then smiled at her, showing perfect, tiny white teeth. “This you must consider. Our Lord accepts none who are weak of heart. Only those strong and noble enough to do his bidding are welcome. Once you pledge yourself to him, he will never let you go, because He is jealous of his favourites.”
Something about that Lady and her youthful beauty overawed Khahaynd. She looked only six or seven years older than herself, yet she sensed great wisdom behind that smooth white brow, and she knew what power looked like when she saw it. She found herself tempted.
With her shapely pale hand, the woman waved her away. “Go until you are certain. When you return to declare your intentions Sauron the Great will accept you as his own. But on that day there will be no wavering: you are His, or you are not. There is no half-measure when it comes to our Lord's favour.”
And Khayand had gathered her skirts, bowed meaningfully, and walked away, her head full of ideas of how she could become just like that Lady.
When she arrived home her family had important news for her. She was to be wed! She could not believe it. Not yet, not so soon. Her mother would not look her in the eye. That told her much. Naraal could not understand what the fuss was about. It was just part of the life of a woman. Her father looked sheepish.
“It is an excellent match,” he kept insisting. “His family is wealthy and high in status.”
“He is a little older than you,” her mother replied to her father in a soft voice. “I had hoped –”
“For someone better? There is none better.” said her exasperated Father.
“Someone younger,” and those were her mother’s last permitted words on the subject.
Esult, her host in Lhan Tarren, returned to the tent carrying a leg of roast boar and a dish of porridge mixed with cream and honey.
“Time to eat.” She sat on the floor of her hut, opposite Khahaynd. “Our Hunters were well-guided this day,” she said with a smile on her thin face. “We eat plentifully.”
She said her man had been killed in conflict with another Clan. But she was strong enough to look after herself and the children. She was one of the three ‘Wise Women’ of the Clan, so would be supported by the others anyway.
“Will you look for another man?” Khahaynd asked her.
“Perhaps. If the mood takes me.”
The child still in her envied her that freedom of choice the Caru-Luth had. To wed or not, and with whoever they wanted.
“What about you?” Esult asked, supping at the porridge.
“I am a servant of Lord Sauron, of the High Temple and the Abysmal Order. We do not wed.”
Esult frowned. “A lonely life?”
“Nay, sister. We may take lovers, but our loyalty is to the All-Seeing One alone.”
She nodded and continued to eat in silence. She understood.
“So what can you tell me about the ‘Strawheads?’ You said you liked not their company?”
Khahaynd grinned and replied, “They are a self-righteous, objectionable folk who have little regard for their women, even as my family had. A few, yes, a few are considered almost worthy. But for the most part they are property, just like their horses.”
“Many prefer their horses to their wives, I have heard tell.”
The Umbari woman laughed. She knew not any truth in that. She had not been in that land long enough to learn much about them. When she had changed her form to that of a youth riding an old and tired warhorse, a hunting hound following at his side, she was grabbed by the collar and ‘conscripted’ into a cavalry unit - but not for long. A campfire blazed out of control one night, consuming Men and beasts. It was their due reward.
“One day we shall drive them all out of our lands,” her hostess said. “Gondor gave them what was not theirs to give. Now we live in the thorny wilds while the Strawheads have the best tillage and league upon league of verdant pasturage. Curse them! How will they like it when the Old Man sends in his forces and drives them out of their homeland, as the other Clans believe?”
“‘Old Man?’” Khahaynd asked. But Esult would say no more on the matter. She pondered it though, as information to tell the Lady when they met. “Do many serve our Lord here?”
Esult shook her head. “We have our own gods and spirits. Lesser spirits to be sure, but they are enough for most. Here, naught but my children and I honor the All-Seeing One. But none disturb me or interfere. My foretellings are too accurate for that. And what about you, Sister?”
Rising to her feet, her hostess brought her a clean wood tankard, which she filled with a warming amber liquid. “Slowly now, it has a bite.”
Khahaynd took it with a nod of thanks. “I will continue on my path heading north to keep a meeting with the leader of my Order. I cannot be late. We have much work to do. Our Lord grows ever stronger; we must be ready to aid him, and our true King.”
