Vessel

Chapter One

On the day she was to die, Liyana walked out of her family’s tent to see the dawn. She buried her toes in the sand, cold from the night, and she wrapped her father’s goatskin cloak tight around her shoulders. She had only moments before everyone would wake.

She fixed her eyes on the east, where the sky was bleached yellow in anticipation. Shadows marked each ridge, rock, and sand dune. Overhead, a few stubborn stars continued to cling to the sky, and a raven, black as a splinter of night, flew into the wind before angling toward the dark peaks of the distant mountains. Liyana felt the wind caress her cheeks and stir her hair. She’d left it loose last night, and she’d counted the strands when she couldn’t sleep. The wind stirred the sand at her feet, and it whistled over the dunes and rocks. She listened to it so intensely that every muscle in her body felt taut.

She had wanted to be calm today.

She’d heard a tale once about a man who had caught the first drop of sun. He’d kept it inside his lantern, and he never felt fear again. In his seventieth year, he was struck by a cobra, and he embraced the snake and called him brother—and then he died. Liyana thought he should have sliced the snake’s head off so at least the cobra wouldn’t bite the man’s family, too, but then again Mother always said Liyana had a decidedly practical streak in her.

On the horizon, the first drop of sun looked like liquid gold.Liyana stretched out her hands and imagined she were cupping it in her palms. As the light spread, it ran up her arms across her tattoos. She refused to look at the markings, and instead she marveled at the beauty of the sand dunes. In the dawn light, they blazed red.

Behind her, the tent flap was tossed open. Aunt Sabisa burst out of the tent, her chest heaving as if she’d run miles instead of the five steps from the sleeping rolls. “You! You want to kill me!”

A goat bleated at her.

“I wake, and you’re not there. In, in, in!” Aunt Sabisa fluttered around Liyana, shooing her toward the tent.

Liyana murmured the traditional apology to an elder whom one has deeply wronged, and then she commented, “You have a lizard in your hair.”

Aunt Sabisa’s hands flew to her head.

Liyana grinned as her aunt shrieked, danced, and flung the tiny lizard onto the ground. She stomped, still shrieking, as the terrified lizard burrowed into the sand and escaped. By the time Aunt Sabisa quit, at least a half dozen people had emerged to watch the spectacle, and another dozen had poked their heads out their tent flaps.

One of them was Jidali, Liyana’s four-year-old brother, who was stuffing a corner of the tent flap into his mouth in an effort not to laugh. His shoulders shook, and his eyes watered. Liyana winked at him, then pointed to a bare patch of sand and said in an innocent voice, “Over there, Aunt Sabisa.”

Aunt Sabisa pounded the sand, stomping so fast that she looked like a rabid jackrabbit. Jidali broke into peals of laughter that shook his whole body. Aunt Sabisa looked at the little boy who now writhed laughing half in and half out of the tent. She twitched her lips, and then her face broke into a smile. Laughter erupted from the nearby tents, and soon the desert rang with a mix of bell-like laughs and deep-bellied laughs. Liyana laughed with them.

Now that was a far better start to her last day.

Liyana let her aunt shepherd her inside. She squeezed Jidali’s hand as she passed, and his face seized up. She knew he’d remembered what day it was. She wanted to stop and embrace him, but as soon as she crossed the threshold, all her female relatives swarmed her, and she was swept to the back of the tent. She let the chatter wash over her—consternation over the state of her hair, the condition of her skin, the length of her fingernails—as they pushed her behind a blanket that had been strung up for privacy. Still clucking at her, the women removed Liyana’s nightshirt and positioned her, naked, in the center of a shallow, silver basin. Sponges were passed around and then dipped into a clay bowl of milk and honey. Liyana shuddered when the first sponge touched her skin.

“You’ll warm again fast,” one of her cousins told her.

But it wasn’t the cold that caused her skin to prickle. Only newborns and those near death were bathed in milk and honey. She smelled the sweet honey and the oversweet goat milk mixing together in a cloying scent that invaded her nostrils and filled her throat. She closed her eyes and waited for the bath to end.

Dabs of water washed the milky residue off her skin, and she was wrapped in cloth and dried as if she were a child. As they rubbed her so dry that her cinnamon-colored skin developed a pink tinge, her aunts and cousins chattered over her, touching on every topic but today’s ceremony.

When they finished, Liyana’s mother lifted her chin so that Liyana’s eyes would meet hers. “You will wear your dancing dress all day today. Do try not to dirty it.” She held Liyana’s gaze a moment longer than was warranted.

Liyana understood the message: Don’t disgrace us.

“I must attend to the goats.” Mother strode out, knocking aside the privacy blanket. Aunt Sabisa readjusted the blanket, and in the minute that followed Mother’s departure, no one spoke.

Liyana broke the silence. “And I thought the dress was for Jidali.” She knew it was a pathetic joke, but it was the best she could manage today. As if they knew that too, her aunts and cousins broke into gales of laughter. As they laughed, Liyana wondered if she would be spending today comforting her family, instead of the other way around.

She was presented first with the finest undergarments that she had ever seen. She fingered the fabric. It was as light and white as a cloud. “My work,” her aunt Andra claimed. Everyone cooed over the intricate weave. Liyana lifted her arms, and the slip was pulled over her head. It floated down around her body. She felt as if she were wearing a piece of the sky.

Next, the ceremonial dress. Aunt Sabisa brought it from the chest where it had lain, sealed against the desert dust. Everyone gasped as she displayed it, though everyone had seen it many times. Over the last year, every woman in the tribe had added seventy stitches of gold thread, and every man had tied seven knots, completing the pattern that matched Liyana’s tattoos. Liyana forced her face to curve into a smile and she put as much enthusiasm into her voice as she could muster. “It is more beautiful than the sunrise.”

Everyone murmured in agreement at this, and Liyana fought the urge to grab the dress, run outside, and thrust it into the clan fire. She felt her face grow hot, even though no one could hear her thoughts. Truly, the dress was beautiful. The bodice was a masterwork of embroidery, and the skirt was composed of twenty panels, twice the usual number, each dyed a brilliant, jewel-like color. It would swirl around her when she danced. The sleeves would billow as well, her dress magnifying her every movement. Slits in the sleeve would cause the fabric to fall back and expose her decorated arms when she reached toward the sky. It fit her perfectly, and by tradition it would never be worn by another. Hers was the only skin it would ever touch. “The sun and the stars will be jealous of me,” she declared.

Her aunts and cousins liked that compliment, and Liyana saw only smiles as the dress was pushed over her head. She was caught inside the fabric, momentarily alone in a swirl of blue, red, and green so deep and rich that her head swam. It smelled of sage. A moment later the dress was cinched around her waist. Aunt Andra fitted shoes on her feet. They were of the softest leather but strong for dancing. Like the dress, these were finer than any shoes her toes had ever touched. She felt as if her feet were being caressed. She hoped the goddess wore these shoes often. They’d never cause a blister. That thought calmed her. She’d prepared her body well—her limbs were strong, her back was straight, her teeth were healthy—and now she wore fine shoes.

“Hair!” one of her cousins cried.

“Watch for lizards,” another said.

More laughter. Even Aunt Sabisa joined in.

Pushing aside the privacy blanket, the aunts and cousins swept Liyana to a stool by the cooking fire pit. All the men, including Jidali, had left the tent during the dressing. Six hands grabbed chunks of her hair, and Liyana did her best not to yelp as they raked combs through it. Once every knot was yanked to everyone’s satisfaction, more hands dove in to braid. By the end, Liyana felt as if every strand had been plucked out of her scalp. She touched her head to check that she still had hair. She felt dozens of braids. Each braid ended in a tiny silver bell. She jiggled her head, and the braids danced around her face. Her hair sang as crisply and clearly as a bird in mating season. “I am a hunter’s worst nightmare,” Liyana said.

One by one, her aunts and cousins kissed her cheeks. She’d be left makeup free so that the goddess could see clearly what her new face looked like. Liyana clenched her hands together on her lap as she received the kisses.

She would not allow a single tear.

Others would come soon, and she would not disgrace her family. Positioning herself on the stool, Liyana spread her skirt to display the elaborately embroidered panels so that her family could admire it as they departed. Two of her cousins flung the tent flap open and secured it on either side. Already, men and women milled outside. Her relatives filed out of the tent.

As the others left, Aunt Andra knelt next to Liyana. “You will be asked by many to take messages into the Dreaming. Do not accept, but do not refuse.”

Liyana nodded. She knew this.

“But if you have the opportunity, please . . . tell my Booka that his herd fattens well and his son . . . Tell him we are well, and we miss him.”

Liyana swallowed. Her throat felt thick. “I am certain Uncle Booka is waiting for you.”

Aunt Andra half smiled. “Of course he is. That man never did anything without my permission, except die.” She left the tent, the last of the aunts and cousins to exit.

Liyana was alone.