The Curse of Kalathan

Five: Pilgrimage

She wasn't the only girl who had been brought to the palace from the prison. There was another one, a girl so small Trina had been surprised to learn she was eighteen, only a year younger than herself. She was dark-skinned, her eyes black, almond-shaped and fearful. She was from the north, she told Trina in her heavily accented Kalath after she had been brought in, washed and dressed as Trina had been, and then locked in the room with her. Her family had pleaded with her to leave their village when she had been found out, and she had travelled to the city with a trader. She had found work and a bed sweeping and cleaning in the market for a cloth merchant, but then her sleeve had slipped. The stall owner didn't want bad luck to ruin her business, and Uka had spent the next days and nights in the streets until she had been arrested at last, hunger driving her to theft. The mark on her arm was newer than Trina's, her shame more raw.

"Do you think we are leaving now?" she whispered to Trina, as the woman told them to take their jackets and the bundles waiting beside the door and follow her. It was dawn, the light just beginning to turn golden.

"What do you think?" asked Trina, annoyed at the stupidity of the question. Of course they were leaving. The girls were dressed to travel, in fur-lined boots and hooded jackets, nicer than anything she had ever owned herself, and the bundles looked as if they held spare clothes. She felt sorry for Uka, for the traumatic months she had lived since her left-handedness had been discovered, but she was uneducated and so nervous that Trina didn't particularly enjoy her company. They had been told by the woman that they were going to be servants on a journey, on a pilgrimage to Paristia. "We are servants?" Trina had asked, not understanding. She didn't much like the sound of that but it was better than being thrown back into prison.

"Yes," said the woman. "Servants for the journey. You will serve the pilgrims."

"Who are the pilgrims?" asked Trina.

The woman shook her head. "You will find out when you leave."

"Wouldn't they rather have men? For a journey?" A scary suspicion was growing in Trina's mind. She knew how to make a campfire and cook food over it, she had been a servant, but perhaps that was not the kind of servant they were going to be expected to be. Why take two women, two omens of bad luck, on a pilgrimage? In the two years she had been taking care of herself, scraping a living doing the work no one else wanted to do, often going hungry and sleeping in the cold, she had managed to protect herself from men who thought her curse meant she was not worthy of their respect. She had learnt to keep away from men as much as she could and had once had to bite and kick her way out of a bad situation in a cheap boarding house. She was not willing to sink that low now, even if it meant she would never be hungry and cold and scared again. She had her pride, if not her freedom.

"Servants," said the woman firmly. "That is all." She met Trina's eyes, and Trina thought she saw compassion there. She decided to believe her, and to put her suspicions aside. Uka was trembling; but Trina doubted that the thought had crossed her mind.

"And afterwards? Will we go back to prison?"

"I don't know," said the woman, and Trina felt that she was telling the truth. Then she looked around before lowering her voice to speak to them. "And take these. Keep them at your belts." She handed them each a small knife, each with a clip to attach to a belt.

"What for?" asked Uka, holding hers as if it might bite her.

"Just ... in case. From me, hear. Don't mention it to anyone."

Trina took the knife and did what the woman said. She had been terse and brief with them over the past days, but she had taken care of them and Trina had learnt to be glad for any kindness, whatever form it took. If they were going to be traveling with a group of men she might be glad of the knife.

So they were going on a journey. If the woman was right and they were going along to work, it was nothing to complain about. The warm clothes, the food, the soft bed – Trina knew she was still a prisoner, but it was better than a cell, and she allowed herself to feel a little hope alongside her uncertainty.

The girls followed the woman along passages and down stairs. Trina's eyes darted everywhere, still hoping for a glimpse of the princes. The golden-haired twins in their colourful clothes had always been her favourite, and then perhaps Kaspar who was only a little younger than she was. He was getting as handsome as his brothers, and unlike grumpy Theo he always had a smile for the crowds. She wasn't especially fond of Theo; his broad, open face and thick auburn hair were too much like his father's for her taste, and he was never cheerful as his brothers were. Theo and the queen were the sullen ones, the ones who looked as if they would rather be anywhere else than on the road to the temple, that they would rather be doing anything else than waving and smiling at the ordinary people who had flocked to see them. The other two were just children, Ben already the image of his father and eldest brother, and Maikal as fair as his mother, a smaller version of the twins.

But in the four days since she had been brought to the palace, three since Uka had arrived, this was the first time she was even leaving the bedroom. She had stared out of the window for hours, searching all the time, but the room was three storeys up and faced a back yard. The only young men she had seen were trussed-up servants, bent old gardeners, weedy stable boys. Not a prince in sight. It was disappointing. Now they were leaving on this journey, and she would lose her chance.

They were led outside, across a green courtyard, out the other side towards what looked to Trina like stables. There was a group of people and horses outside.

"You are not to speak to them," said the woman, as they walked. "Pralin will tell you what to do."

Trina did not ask what she meant, because she had seen someone in the group gathered around the horses, a face buried deep in her memories. He was older, ten years older, his head still shiny-bald, his gut still straining the red fabric of his robe. He was sitting on a pile of luggage, drinking from a leather flask he held in his fat hand, shouting for someone to move, to hurry up with his horse. She felt the bile rise in her throat, as the memory of terror and disbelief washed over her. She was looking at the priest who had caught her, who had dragged her away from her father that day, the priest who had shoved her through the doors of the temple for the ritual that had left her dripping with pigeon blood and shivering with disgust. Was he the pilgrim, this priest? Could she bear it, if he was? Perhaps it would be better to refuse, to take her chances back in that cell in the prison.

And then she looked around, still reeling from the shock, at the other people gathered around the horses, her stomach hollow at the thought of having to serve this man, at the thought of travelling with him. She turned her face away towards the horses, clutching her stomach against the nausea she felt. Standing just a few feet away from her was a young man, his auburn hair glinting a little in the weak morning sunlight. He was fastening a bow to the side of a horse – no, two bows, and he was carefully wrapping them in cloth as if he was concerned that the journey should not hurt them. He turned at the priest's shout, only glancing at Trina briefly before focussing his attention on his saddle again. He had no silk turban or gold crown today, no red cape lined with white fur, but Trina knew him immediately. And the others were there too, she realised – Jandrin and Jameth, their golden hair standing out against the drab brown of their travelling clothes; Kaspar, older now than she remembered, stroking the nose of his horse. Ben and Maikal, standing with a slight older man who was fastening their capes around them. So these were the pilgrims. She looked back at the priest, who was eating now, shoving a heel of bread into his mouth and washing it down with more of whatever was in his flask. She was a servant to the princes of Kalathan! This could be the miracle she had been hoping for, it could be a gateway to a new life, a new chance to be something more than a fugitive. If she served them well, if she behaved herself and kept her tongue, maybe ... there were so many possibilities. As she was helped up onto a pony with Uka, she marvelled at her luck. Even if she had to spend a few days serving the odious priest, it would be worth it. If you could see me now, Father, she thought, happily, as the procession began to move forward, you would be so proud.