Compromising Responses
Shaira’s POV
Why had Angro risked so much for me?
I had no memories prior to what had happened in the last hour, so if Angro said I was the daughter of some eteri settlers but had been raised as an opranchi, then it must be true because what other explanation could there be for what he did?
But I knew that couldn’t be true because if it were, the tingling in my head wouldn’t be caused by the translator implanted in my brain every time I spoke their language.
I must undoubtedly be an eteri, although Angro did seem to know something about my past. But those military clothes Omawit mentioned—was that true? Or did he only say that to sway the decision in his favor so that I would become his slave?
With those doubts hammering in my head, I was led by a group of spear-wielding men to the house Chief Owan had mentioned—the Tahuri, the house of custody. We passed through the village, and the curious villagers couldn’t stop staring at me, but I also watched them, though with my head lowered somewhat, ashamed of my near nakedness. In the eyes of those who looked at me, I saw no trace of rejection or hatred; rather, they seemed to share in my distress. At one point, when I stumbled, three pairs of arms extended to help me up, and as we neared our destination, a woman handed me a shirt. I took it, grateful, and saw that the woman followed me with her eyes, ensuring that it fit me properly.
The opranchi were a kind people, so I hoped that the investigation that was to be conducted would reveal that, indeed, I was one of them.
“As you can see, the house of custody only has one other guest,” said one of the armed men leading me as he pointed to a man who was clearly intoxicated. “Make yourself comfortable. Some women will be along shortly to clean you up and dress you.”
I looked around. The Tahuri was a large hut with a high roof, divided into what could be considered alcoves covered by simple curtains. In the center was a long, carved wooden table, which must have served as a dining area, and in the back was what I assumed to be the bath. My doubts were quickly dispelled when three young women entered and, after introducing themselves respectfully, stripped me of the rags that still covered me and then invited me to step into a large tub that they filled with warm water. They gently scrubbed the dirt from my skin with a soft sponge and poured pleasantly scented oil over my hair. Then they dried me with a cotton towel, and when they went to dress me, I requested to wear the shirt that the woman had given me. They complied without objection.
“Are your parents really eteri?” asked one of the girls, unable to suppress her question any longer.
“I...” I had to consider that the questions might not be as innocent as they seemed and that my answers could reach Chief Owan’s ears. “I know they are, though I never got to meet them.”
My response seemed to excite the three young women, who then looked at me with admiration.
“You’re very beautiful. Your skin is so white, almost the color of milk, and your eyes are gorgeous; you must have inherited them from your parents because they shine like the stars they came from,” commented one of the girls.
“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” I responded, uncertain.
Unbeknownst to them, I also knew nothing about my past, so I began to accept the idea that I would have to rebuild my own story, even if it was based on assumptions.
“And what tribe are you from?” asked the girl who hadn’t spoken yet, as she finished drying my calves, treating me as if I were a princess and they were my ladies-in-waiting.
“Oh, I…”
“What an impertinent question,” said the girl who had spoken first. “Of course she must be from the tribe of the sagori because Angro mentioned her parents were settlers near the fort.”
“Do you know Angro?” asked the second girl with a gleam of excitement in her eyes.
“Isn’t he so handsome?” said the third without waiting for me to answer.
“All of us in the village are in love with him,” stated the second girl. “And since he stood up for you, confronting Omawit... He was so brave!”
“If it weren’t for the fact that we all know he’s engaged to Amari, we’d think he was in love with you,” said the first girl.
“Amari?” I asked.
“Yes, she’s the daughter of Owan, our chief, who wants Angro to be his heir.”
“Does Owan not have sons to succeed him?”
The girls looked at me strangely, and I feared I had said something inappropriate that could reveal who I really was.
“Succeed him?” asked the third girl.
“What she means is that sometimes the expectation is for the chief’s sons to inherit from their fathers, right?” The first girl, who had spoken, looked at me, and assuming she was getting me out of trouble, I nodded. “Maybe that’s how it is among the sagori, I don’t know, but here Owan chose Angro, and that’s why Omawit hates him.”
“So Omawit…” I began.
“Yes. Omawit is Owan’s son,” answered the second girl. “And he hates Angro because his father didn’t choose him as the successor. That’s why Owan gave his daughter, Amari, to Angro to marry, so the succession would be sealed.”
I needed to learn about the customs and laws of the opranchi before I risked making a comment that could compromise me.
“You must be hungry, Shaira,” said the third girl, perhaps trying to win my favor. “We’ll bring you fruit and meat, and some oat cakes that were just baked. Would you like that?”
“You know my name,” I said after accepting the offer.
“Everyone in the village knows it by now,” said the second girl as if it were obvious. “I think they’ll be talking about you for the next nine moons.”
I blushed. I didn’t think I’d become so popular so quickly.
“Well, let’s go get the food,” ordered the first girl, who seemed to lead the others. “We’ll be right back, Shaira. Can we call you by your name?”
“You have the name of a star traveler,” said the second girl after I nodded. “Your opranchi parents must have given it to you because they knew you were an eteri.”
I nodded again without saying a word, afraid that I might make another mistake. But before they left, I dared to ask their names.
“Winu.”
“Wila.”
“Amila.”
The three girls left, and my attention turned to the only man who shared this large house with me, which would have been mine alone if not for him. He was lying on the floor, sleeping off the drunkenness that had likely landed him in the house of custody. I glanced around and soon felt at ease. My ‘imprisonment’ was much better than being in Omawit’s possession, who had turned out to be the son of Chief Owan and, thus, had such a bad relationship with Angro, whom I should meet here soon, being treated like a princess. I eagerly awaited the chance to see him again and thank him for what he had done, though I had no idea how the investigation into my past would unfold. For now, the mere thought of not being with Omawit was enough relief.
“So you come from the tribe of the sagori,” said the man on the floor, surprising me. “I’m from there too. Tell me, sweetheart, what family are you from? What are your parents’ names? Maybe I know them, and you can come back with me to the village. How about that?”
I swallowed hard, frightened.
What was I going to say to this drunk man?
Perhaps the investigation wouldn’t take as long as I had hoped.