Toads and Diamonds

Toads and Diamonds

Heather Tomlinson

For Bethany

'
CHAPTER ONE Diribani

DIRIBANI
ran toward the stepwell. Squinting against the LX glare, she splashed through the road's deep ruts, pink skirts slapping her calves, her long black braid thumping her shoulders. One hand steadied the empty clay jar on her head. Mud sucked at her bare feet, but the rest of her was dry for a change. Overnight, the goddess Bhagiya had driven her tiger chariot across the heavens, chasing away her sister Naghali's rain snakes. Diribani didn't mind the mud when the fresh-washed sun beamed down on her.

Each panting breath brought rich new smells: wet earth, growing plants, a hint of curried lentils from a farmer's hut. Diribani's empty stomach growled at that, but her stepsister, Tana, couldn't cook their midday meal until Diribani returned with the water. Although their courtyard well served for washing and cleaning, its water had a sour taste. And Diribani had forgotten to fill the drinking jar at the sacred well this morning. Again.

Her stepmother had reminded her that a young woman of

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fifteen, old enough to be trusted with two gold dowry bangles, shouldn't waste time drawing animal pictures in the sand to entertain the neighbor children. Since Ma Hiral wasn't present to scold her for baring her legs like a sweeper, Diribani hiked her dress wrap above her knees and ran faster.

She hopped over small puddles and waded through others with a heron's long stride. Lucky spotted frogs leaped away on either side. Then a stirring in the soupy mud alerted her to an upside-down turtle, struggling to right itself.

"How'd that happen, little sister?" With one bare foot, Diribani flipped the turtle over. She waited to make sure it wasn't injured. Slowly, the turtle got under way, its four stubby legs swimming as much as walking.

"Laaaaa-zy girl," a high voice trilled.

"Who's there?" Diribani spun around, almost dropping the pot. "Show yourself." Behind her, the road was clear to Gurath's town walls and Lotus Gate. Ahead, a small boy led a cow.

"Lazy." The taunting voice came closer. "Lazy girl, girl, girl."

Yellow flashed in a clump of reeds. Diribani held tight to the clay jar---their last one, for she'd broken the others--and bent at the waist to peer into the weedy tangle. A piltreet's bright-black eye stared at her. White wings flipped; the golden throat-patch quivered. "Lazy, lazy."

"Peace to you, too, piltreet-ji," Diribani said. "I trust you spent a pleasant holiday abroad? It was very wet here."

The piltreet whistled. "Lazy."

"What, is Governor Alwar paying
birds
to tattle on honest Gurath folk?" Diribani cocked her head. "His livery does become you, sir."

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The piltreet flew to another reed. It bent under his weight, swaying over a ditch full of cloudy brown water. Diribani's fingers itched to capture the picture he made, this cheeky creature and his dancing reflection. Once, before she'd had to sell her paints, she could have mixed the exact shades of his yellow and white feathers, the rice shoots pulsing green in the flooded field behind him, the blue sky overhead.

However insulting, the piltreet's song expressed the joy everyone felt when the rains ended. No more sitting inside, watching drips eat away their mud-brick walls. No more fighting the black mold that furred every surface, no more grieving past losses and fretting about the future. Especially for her family. Together, Diribani and Tana had gone over their plan again and again. Ma Hiral wasn't convinced, but they couldn't wait any longer for her approval. The time had come to act.

During the cool, dry season after the rains, the port town of Gurath would swell with travelers arriving by ship and caravan, eager to trade for fine cloth and spices, metalwork and gems. As the skies cleared, market tents would unfold like flowers between the guild halls and the customs house. Vendors would set out all manner of delicious food. Diribani licked her lips, thinking of sliced pinkfruit, fried dough sprinkled with cardamom and ginger sugar, spicy fritters dipped in tamarind sauce. Then a loud voice banished all thought of the treats they could no longer afford.

"Look, Chihra, someone left the barn door open."

Diribani straightened to find her way blocked by a group of servant girls from the overseers' quarter. Like her, they carried water jars on their heads; mud daubed their bare feet. But instead of short blouses and draped wraps in bright colors, the traditional dress

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worn by women who worshiped the twelve, these girls wore Believer garb. The emperor's stern religion prescribed the flared white coats and close-fitting cotton trousers to cover a woman's flesh from throat to ankle, be she princess or laundry maid. Diribani felt sorry for the girls encased in such plain fabric, adorned only by the yellow ribbons fluttering from their long sleeves.

She recognized the two in front and offered the customary greeting, though they were unlikely to return it. Converts to the invaders' faith acted as if they themselves had melded the Hundred Kingdoms into an empire. "Peace to you, Chihra, Gulrang."

The round-faced girl, Chihra, surprised her by nodding. The other one, a tall, lean young woman a year older than Diribani, folded her arms over her chest. Her water jar remained perfectly balanced on her head. "Did the cow speak?" she drawled. "Move aside, hay-breath."

"Come on, Gulrang." The shorter girl tugged on her friend's sleeve. "No more trouble, my lady said."

"Not at all," Gulrang sneered. Intent on Diribani, she didn't notice the white mare and rider behind her, or the horse's interest in her water jug. "I wouldn't trouble myself to spit on the dirt-eating-- Help!" When horse lips smacked near her ear, Gulrang shrieked, lost her balance, and stumbled into a puddle. Both hands flew up to catch the full jar before it toppled off her head. Water sloshed out to splatter her white coat.

The mare shook her mane in alarm as the previously convenient water jug ducked out of reach.

"Peace to you, Trader Kalyan." Diribani tried to keep her amusement from showing in her face. She reached her free hand to the mare. "And Jasmine."

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"Peace, Mina Diribani," the young man said pleasantly, as if he hadn't guided his mount into Diribani's tormentors on purpose. "Ladies."

Chihra shot Gulrang an alarmed look. Without spilling a drop from her water jar, she dipped her knees. "Please excuse us, sir. We were just taking our leave."

"Then I'll wish you all a good day." His smile brought an answering simper to Chihra's round face. The other girls giggled behind their hands as they followed her.

Not Gulrang. Her back to the horse and rider, she glared at Diribani. "Until tomorrow," she said.

To an outsider, it might not have sounded alarming. Diribani understood she would face a reckoning the next time they met, but it was worth it to see haughty Gulrang outfaced by a horse.

The servant girl flounced after her companions, back straight and bony hips swaying under the flared white coat. The extra flourish in her walk was for Kalyan's benefit, Diribani was sure. The young trader and his mare were marketplace favorites. Occupied with his father's errands, Kalyan would still make time to let a child stroke Jasmine's soft nose, give a stranger directions, or exchange remarks about the weather with the porters at the customs house. Their two families might have been rivals in the gem-trading business, but Diribani's father had often held up Trader Nikhat's children as models of good behavior.

Jasmine whuffled over Diribani's palm. Glancing down, she realized her dress wrap was still hiked above her calves. Kalyan's older sister, Hima, would never be caught so in public. "Your family is well?" she asked, holding Kalyan's gaze as she surreptitiously let down her skirts. "Your mother and sisters?"

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"All fine, praise the twelve," he said, then grinned. "Frantic, of course, since Prince Zahid's ship just landed after a voyage abroad."

"His Highness must be anxious to return to the palace in Fanjandibad if he's willing to push a caravan through these conditions." Diribani waved at the road's deep ruts and standing water.

"I suppose so. Father said the governor's people didn't expect him for another week. Mother's beside herself."

"The royal ladies will be visiting your house before they set off?"

"We hope so. You know how it is: Dress up and wait." Kalyan tugged on his embroidered sash. He wore court fashion, Diribani noticed, though not, of course, in Believer white. His coat was a charcoal gray over close-fitting trousers, his sash worked in metallic thread, silver and gold, in a geometric design. "They'll probably ask us to bring jewels to them at the fort. But my mother wants the house, the inventory, and all of us polished and ready, just in case."

"Oh, they're likely to call on you," Diribani assured him. "My father used to tell us that Trader Nikhat had the best selection besides..." She faltered.
Besides us
was no longer true. Or, at least, not until Tana's work bore fruit. "In all Tenth Province," she finished.

"We do have some fine stones this season," Kalyan said, as if he hadn't noticed the awkward pause. His expression grew serious. "May I offer our family's condolences, Diribani? Your father's passing leaves a great hole in Gurath. We were all so sorry to hear the news."

"Thank you, Kalyan." Diribani patted the mare's neck, combing the silky mane with her fingers. Tears pricked her eyes, but she wouldn't cry in the road. "I don't know what I would have done without Ma Hiral and Tana."

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"Er..." The young man coughed. "Speaking of Mina Tana, did she happen to mention--"

"My sister's in excellent health," Diribani interrupted. She touched Kalyan's hand in warning as two older women passed them.

He continued in trader-talk, tapping her wrist.
Transaction completed?

Diribani glanced around. The women lingered within earshot, but their backs were safely turned.

Unknown value. More study required,
she signaled back, and withdrew her hand. "Ma Hiral is improving," she said aloud, in case the women were listening. Of course they were! Nikhat's son conversing with Javerikh's daughter? What a delicious tidbit of gossip, even if their speculation completely missed the mark. Diribani liked the friendly young trader, but her sister, Tana, would have made ten trips to the well for the sake of this brief conversation, and then treasured Kalyan's every word as she would a precious stone.

"Please convey my greetings," he said.

"I will," Diribani replied. As if her face showed some of what she was thinking, Kalyan looked at her with a question in his dark eyes. At the same moment, Jasmine took exception to a pair of long-horned water buffalo. The trader saluted Diribani. He gave his restive horse her head and rode toward Lotus Gate.

"Lazy girl," the piltreet commented.

"Be quiet, you." Diribani hurried in the opposite direction. Water. Ma Hiral and Tana were waiting, and it was her fault.

But the world was so beautiful after the rains! Even hunger couldn't dim Diribani's pleasure in the sun's warmth on her shoulders, the vibrant colors all around. Cultivated fields alternated with

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junglelike thickets, alive with birds. It occurred to Diribani that poor girls had more freedom than rich girls. In her old life, she would never have been permitted to go to the sacred well without a chaperone. Beyond the family compound, a servant would have accompanied her, even if she just wanted to visit the corner vendor for a savory pickle. Diribani's mouth watered.

Poor girls have the freedom to go hungry.
She could hear Tana saying it, tart as one of those very pickles. Dear Tana, whose face grew thinner with every passing day because she never took her fair share of rice, pressing it on her mother or Diribani. Though not related to Diribani by blood, Ma Hiral and Tana were more truly her family than her father's grasping cousins. And Ma Hiral had been so ill, disappearing into a fog of grief upon her husband's death. It had been up to Diribani and Tana to plan their futures. Their plan
must
work. Diribani was ready to pledge her two gold bangles on a successful outcome.

Tana wasn't beautiful, but she was so unselfish, and worked so hard, she should have a husband who appreciated her. If Kalyan didn't return her feelings, there were other rising young traders in Gurath. Rustam, Manekh, or maybe Bhim...With the slightest improvement in their fortune, Tana could take her pick of suitors.

Suddenly, after one incautious step, the greasy mud slid under Diribani's foot. Both hands flew to the clay jar as she staggered, then fell to her knees. She landed with a splash in a puddle, just missing a long green ribbon. Diribani had never seen fabric so brilliant, as if it had been woven from threads of enameled metal. It would look lovely in Tana's black hair.

Before she could reach for it, the ribbon coiled upon itself. Diribani stared, her knees cold in the mud, her hands locked on