If she swung further out over the cliff, Millah might just reach the elusive berries. In truth, she couldn’t afford the time to retrieve them, yet she didn’t dare return without them. T’omah, her twin, cursed as he rushed to return her illicit weapons to their hideaway. “We have to go,” desperation causing his voice to crack.
Millah shrieked in victory swinging back to the path, then the two careened down the mountain track to the village. It was the eve of their fourteenth birthday. Preparation rights were about to begin, and Millah was almost out of bargaining time. She absolutely refused to comply with tradition… she just had to convince her father to agree. Her campaign had begun months ago, and today’s excursion was to claim the clincher of her final bid: Puffy’r Berries.
***
Charis swatted her maid who, after three years, still hadn’t learned. It was bad enough being traded to be Second-wife to a barbaric warrior chief, but to be childless, living in the shadow of favoured first-wife’s memory, and in constant threat of being replaced by a witless, baby-breeder Third-wife, was enough to make her consider sky-dancing from Bastion’s cliffs.
Yet, despite growing up in Rayna, far removed from the vulgarities of battle, Charis was not unschooled in warfare. She had her wits, her networks and her assets. These had turned out to be both a boon and a curse. They were the traits the king hoped to exploit in Bastion, but had also been the gifts that saved her from being “put away” when proved barren, enabling her to maintain her position as Primary Wife. Before she even set foot on this cursed island, Charis had been unwanted. Yet, she’d worked the situation to her favour… both in Rayna and on Bastion. All she needed was to rid herself of the brat to make life bearable until her plan bore fruit. The knowledge that it was all finally coming together calmed her enough to permit her maid to blunder through her preparation for tonight’s ceremony.
***
Millah had been the anchor point for her family’s love in the void created by her mother’s death. First-daughter, but seventh-born, her father and older brothers had bent the rules and indulged her wildness. For all on Bastion understood that refinement dictated by those closer to Rayna, was not a priority for warriors. First-son even allowed Millah to train with T’omah in preparation for his Transformation trials. For what harm could it do? When a suitable offer was made, like all girls, Millah would be traded. None however, had expected an offer too good to refuse to come so early. Rather than being traded to another clan, Millah was destined for high society; the first of clan-blood to live among peerage.
Millah hugged her twin ferociously. Tomorrow each would undergo Transformation: T’omah would set sail for a moon cycle. In the company of his older brothers he would face trials, suffer wounds, and battle opponents to become a man. And Millah would be traded, claimed and impregnated to fulfil her appropriate destiny. She knew with all her heart T’omah would succeed and return home. In time, a wife would be traded for him, and he would start life as Sixth-son. She, however, if unsuccessful in her efforts tonight, would never return to her family and beloved island home.
Millah had been stripped and ceremonially cleansed, then paraded through the village where she was publicly prodded and poked proving her suitability as a trade of Bastion: she was strong and fit and it was deemed she would bare many sons like her mother and do her clan proud. Hazeah, her mother’s maid, prepared Millah in her wedding garb—body paint infused with lilac oil, her noble heritage displayed via images and patterns. Then all that was left to do was wait for her husband to claim her the following day after the trade had been secured. Until then, the only things keeping her company were the sacrificial smoke passing through the top of the Waiting Hut and weak-wicked candles offering insipid light.
She’d fought, cried and protested but nothing had dinted her father’s determination. She’d been winsome, agreeable and pleasant, which had only raised his suspicion. She’d been cunning and ruthless, at which he’d been delighted and proud. But tonight, she’d try begging and bribery. As the full moon passed over the roof’s opening, Millah broke the law and stole out of her confinement. Cursing the brightness of the night she kept to the shadows and, with stash in hand, crept to her father’s hut.
Bypassing the sentries at his door, Millah used her usual entrance. Her father sat in his chair waiting for her. They went through their regular pantomime of his scowl and rebuke, all the while the twinkle of pride shone in his eyes. Millah bowed her head but clutched the sack with white knuckles. This was it. “Father. Please.” She dropped to her knees and with her head still bowed, she raised the small cache of hard-earned treasure.
Rather than take the sack, Benaiah ran his hand through her thick ebony locks, so much like her mother’s. “Millah, my love. We are bound; you must go.”
“But you are the greatest warrior chief. You have the power to stand against the King.” She had more to say, but the lump in her throat and the fist in her heart suffocated her words.
His voice was soft… tear-laden. “Yes, my daughter, I have. But that doesn’t mean I will.”
Both their heads snapped at the voices coming from the front. Their eyes met: Charis. “Go quickly my girl. If she bears witness to your crime, I will be forced to punish you.” At the hope in her eyes, he continued, “And you will still be sent away.”
“But, Daddy…”
He scooped her into his arms, then rushed her out the window.
***
Charis knew the brat would not give up without a fight. Nor would she. Leaving her cloak in the doorway she prowled through the hut to her husband. Dropping to her knees, fury burned as Lilac oil brushed Charis’s cheeks when she kissed Benaiah’s outstretched hand. But when she stood, and his darkened eyes lavished her body, she knew victory was hers. “My Chief, forgive my unbidden presence, but I sought to comfort you in your grief as you prepare to release your favourites tomorrow.”
***
Millah watched through the window as her father succumbed to the barren bitch’s wiles. Glistening oil—Charis’s shapely body’s only covering—erased Millah from his mind. Her fate was sealed: tomorrow she would sail.
