In accented Irran, he says, “Our ship is fueled. We won’t trouble you much longer.”
“Please,” I beg, feeling desperate. “Let’s have some nomo and talk before you go.”
“To bear more insults?” he rumbles. “We have heard enough.”
My first day as Jara, and I’m already failing. “I apologize for my brother’s harsh words. Whatever he said does not represent Irra. Forgive me for leaving the negotiations in his hands. My absence was unplanned. Unexpectedly, I found my queen, and she required my attention.”
His heavy head swivels toward me. “Your queen? Did I hear that right? You are the new Jara?” I nod, and he turns to face me fully. “Praise Alioth it is not your barbarian brother. Frath offers its congratulations.”
Pride suffuses my skin. “It would honor me if your delegation would stay to witness our joining.”
He pauses, considering, and then gives a hand signal to his guards, who sigh and set down their heavy loads, grumbling at the change in plans. “I will accept the nomo. Then we will see about your other invitation.”
Chapter 11
Rose
Oljin leaves without saying goodbye, and he’s gone for days. Saana’s vigorous reassurances that he’s coming back, communicated in a scolding tone and with a lot of fussing over the fading bite mark on my neck and extra doses of her herbal concoctions poured down my throat, don’t untangle the tight knot in my stomach.
He has a whole life I don’t know about, and I have no idea how I’m going to fit into it.
At least I’m getting stronger. I can stand on my own, although my coordination is still too poor to walk. I can stay awake longer for our language lessons. I’m able to help Saana prepare meals by peeling fruit and chopping vegetables. My vision is improving a little bit, too. I notice it when I can focus on the marks she’s making on a scroll of cream-colored paper after she brings me breakfast. I haven’t been able to see their letter shapes before, and a thrill runs through me when I see their soft, slanting forms.
“Can I have it?” I ask her, testing the limits of my language learning with the question. I point at the paper, hoping she understands me. She nods and retrieves a blank roll and a stiff feather with some kind of black mineral embedded in the shaft.
It feels like heaven being able to write again. I scratch out everything I’ve experienced since my abduction, my handwriting sloppy and out-of-practice. It’s a huge, rushing relief to put it on paper. Everything I’ve carried in my head all this time,all the new experiences and old fears. My injuries and my rescue. My newfound relationship with Oljin. The songs they’ve taught me. I write down all of it.
I fill up the scroll, front and back, and then ask Saana for another one, shaking out the cramp in my hand. She laughs and tells me to rest instead. Grudgingly, I nap, and when I wake up, she appears with a tray of food, a fresh roll of paper next to the bowl of stew.
“Thank you,” I tell her, hand on my chest. I repeat it in her language, then grab the scroll, writing the words down in English. I hand it to her, pointing, and she breaks into a smile as she jots the translation.
We eat together, passing the paper back and forth, filling it with a new dictionary, one that’s never been written before. One that will build connections and bring us closer together, even if it’s not in alphabetical order.
This is exactly how I felt collecting folk songs for my dissertation. Every new one is a little burst of happiness better than Christmas morning.
I’m too wired to sleep when Saana tries to take the scroll away from me. She sighs and complains as she lights a lantern so we can keep working, but I can tell she’s excited about the project, too.
I learn that their language is called Irran, after this place, Irra. I learn their sun is called Alioth. I learn Saana has a child named Pravil, but that her husband is dead. When I ask via hand gestures and broken Irran how Oljin is connected to her, she tries to explain, repeating the wordjaraover and over, mixed in with something about Pravil.
“They’re friends?” I venture. “Like Rose and Saana are jara?”
“No.” She blows out a frustrated breath, rattling off something I can’t follow. Then she enunciates slowly, “Jara Oljin. Alara Rose.”
Oljin called me “alara,” too. If Saana’s drawing the comparison between jara and alara, they must be male and female versions of the same word. It means some kind of relationship. Lovers, maybe? Boyfriend and girlfriend?
An uncomfortable prickle climbs up my spine. Are Saana’s child and Oljin a couple? That would explain why Oljin and Saana are so familiar, if they’re basically extended family. What does that mean for me, though, if he already has a partner?
Don’t be a bummer, Rose.
This is another species with different biology and culture, I remind myself, much as I reminded Gary when we were on our road trip. There might not be any such thing as monogamy here. Sex might be more friendly, and love might not be exclusive. Even on Earth, that works for lots of people, even if it doesn’t really work for me.
“Jara Oljin and Alara Pravil?” I ask, before I panic too much about whether I can handle falling in love with someone who’s in love with someone else.
Saana turns bright yellow andhowls. She laughs so hard she starts coughing, pounding herself in the chest. I can’t help giggling along with her, even if I’m not sure what I said was funny. Finally, she recovers enough to choke out, “No, no, no. Jara Oljin. Alara Rose.”
I blow out a breath, relieved. I was trying to be open-minded, but I don’t want to share him. I grab one of the greenishcrackers left on the dinner tray. I break it in half and hand half to Saana.
“Share.” I scribble the word on the scroll. Then I pluck the half-cracker out of her hand and eat it. “No share.”
