The Grey Ones
The Demons of the North: IV

JUNIPER

She was exhausted. Her legs were numb, she was sore, and her breath was short. No more, she thought in ecstasy. She could take no more, even if she wanted to. But the Vasaath seemed satisfied, and she certainly was, and now she only wished to fall into a blissful sleep. Then, her belly rumbled impatiently. She had forgotten how hungry she was.

Without a word, the Vasaath gently rolled her to the side and motioned her to stay put. He then rose, put his breeches on, and left the bedchamber. She missed him at once but allowed herself to stretch despite her straining muscles. Even the ache was pleasant, in its own strange way.

When he returned a short while later, he brought with him a plate of food and a cup of the black liquid she had brewed earlier.

She was grateful and attempted to sit. Her whole body resisted but she fought through it and sat up, albeit slowly. She groaned and laughed.

“Does it hurt?” he asked her and she could see the worry in his eyes.

“I’m not made of glass,” she reminded him but when his face did not soften, she smiled reassuringly. “I’m a bit sore, but I’ve experienced worse pain, trust me.”

“You eat,” he said, “and I’ll be back shortly.”

He left her again and Juniper devoured the food he had brought her, her hungry belly grateful for the sustenance. When she turned to the cup with the black concoction, she hesitated. It looked rather ominous, black as ink, and smelled quite pungent. She took a deep breath and downed it in one sweep. It was awful and burned in her throat. She coughed, croaked, and quickly stuffed her mouth with the grapes that were left on her plate.

The Vasaath came hurling in, alerted, and demanded to know what was wrong. When Juniper told him that nothing was wrong and that she only drank the Shadow Veil, he relaxed and huffed.

“Yes,” he muttered while wringing water out of a rag he had brought with him. “I’ve never tasted it myself, but I’ve heard it’s not very pleasant.” He removed the plate and handed her the rag, telling her to press it to where it hurt.

She smiled at the thoughtfulness but her ache was manageable. She accepted the wet cloth either way and carefully washed herself. When she was finished, she lay back down and sighed deeply. She felt strong and free, as if she had found new courage and new will.

The Vasaath joined her on the bed and settled in comfortably next to her. He held her close, caressed her gently, and lay in silence.

She quickly drifted off into a deep sleep and when she awoke the morning after, she found herself alone in the bed. She had been carefully wrapped in the furs, encased in a warm cocoon. With a sigh, she slowly rose. Her body still ached, as if she was bruised, but she paid it no mind; she was built for pain, as her mother used to tell her—in comparison to the red moon, this was nothing.

With some effort, she managed to get dressed, and when she left the bedchamber, she found the Vasaath sitting by the table with a large map in front of him. She wished him good morning, and he met her with a warm gaze.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Well, to be honest,” she huffed and carefully sank down next to him, “I feel quite battered. Other than that, I am very content.”

He gently touched her back and said, “I’ve had some of the men draw you a hot bath. Perhaps that will make you feel better.”

Juniper groaned. The last thing she wanted was to recve side-eyed glances from the other soldiers. “I don’t want to be any trouble, sir!”

“It’s no trouble,” he insisted and kissed her softly. “You are an honoured guest.”

She shifted awkwardly and bit her lip. “So, they don’t know what we… well, did?”

He frowned and shook his head. “It’s our secret.”

“And Kasethen’s, and Neema’s,” Juniper reminded him.

The Vasaath raised a brow. “Yes, well, they will keep it to themselves.”

She chuckled. It felt nice having such an affair as a secret; it felt private and precious. It was something that only concerned the two of them.

She had known since childhood that she would marry politically and that her purity and virtue were the attributes which would determine how well-received she would be by the noble houses. Her romantic affairs were national affairs and concerned the whole dukedom. If she were salacious, she would be harshly judged by all six dukedoms, as well as Illyria.

She was not free to love whomever, and neither was the Vasaath. Keeping their relationship a secret was necessary for them both, and she would rather keep it so than have everyone’s nose in it.

The bath did wonders to her healing frame and by late afternoon, the ache was nearly gone. She was enjoying a book when Neema suddenly stood by the entrance of Juniper’s tent, waiting for an invitation.

“Please,” said Juniper and rose, “come in.”

The woman smiled and stepped inside with a basket in her hand. “The Vasaath wanted me to make sure you were feeling well. I have some salves and herbs that can help you if you need it.”

“Thank you.”

Neema gently grabbed Juniper’s chin and observed her face. “Yes, you have freed your soul now.”

Juniper smiled, blushed, and looked away. Indeed, she felt lighter than air. “Can I offer you some tea?”

The woman seemed surprised, but accepted graciously and sat down by the table. “So, from one woman to another: how was your first experience? You braved a Kas, and not just anyone. That takes a lot of courage for a maiden.”

Juniper felt her cheeks glow as she put the kettle to the fire. “It was…” She couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t even know how to describe it.” She turned to Neema and asked, “Do you do that every day?”

Neema seemed shocked before the burst out laughing. “My dear, no!”

“Oh.” Juniper was suddenly very embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t you worry,” said Neema and gathered herself. “I’m not offended. I know you must think I am nothing but a pleasure worker—or a common whore—but trust me, what I do couldn’t be more different.”

Juniper sat down on one of the pillows, still a bit embarrassed for her blunt prejudice. “I don’t think of you as, well, that.”

“It’s perfectly reasonable,” said Neema. “It’s the way you have been raised. I was raised the same way. Trust me, I know the difference.”

“Where do you come from, then?” Juniper asked. “You’re Edredian, so I doubt you were born in Kasarath.”

Neema smiled. “No, indeed I was not. I was born on a small island west of here, probably as far west as the words of Edred have settled.”

“So you converted?”

“I was a child when the Kas came to my village,” said Neema.

Juniper looked at the woman, eyed her carefully, before she said, “So you were forced to convert, then?”

Neema sighed. “My mother died of fever when I was very young, and my father lived on the bottom of a bottle and couldn’t afford to keep me on. So, he sold me as a maid to a pleasure house when I was but five years old.”

Juniper swallowed hard as her heart almost stopped. Five years old?

“I saw horrors done to women there that you couldn’t possibly fathom, my lady. I still remember the day the Kas came, very vividly. I was eleven years old, and I watched as these grey giants cut through the men like a hot knife through butter.”

She took a sip from her tea and Juniper quickly did, too—she had already forgotten about the tea, she was so shocked.

“They hurt no women and no children, and any man that laid down his weapon was spared. When the fighting was over, I remember how I was taken into the arms of a soldier who promised me that no one would ever hurt me again.” The woman had a sorrowful look about her, and then she said, “And no one has ever since.”

Neema sighed again. Juniper observed her sombre face and contemplated some upon her tale of woe—such a terrible childhood the woman must have had. It made Juniper’s seem like paradise.

“So, you see,” said Neema, “I wasn’t forced—I was saved. From that day, I knew I wanted to help these magnificent people save others like me.”

“But do you feel free? Truly?” Juniper asked in earnest. “Do you not feel trapped in your role?”

Neema rested her elbows on the table. “You don’t know what freedom is if you’ve never been truly trapped. I have. I went from being treated horribly, by everyone, but most of all by men, to being a highly respected member of a beautiful society, where men barely even look me in the eye unless I give them permission to.”

The woman smiled and took another sip.

“Yes,” she then said. “I have an appointed role, a role I didn’t choose for myself, that much is true. But I have a purpose, a function. That function is vital to make our society work. I’m a healer. That is my function.”

Juniper listened carefully, trying her best to understand.

“Do I sometimes engage in intimate meetings?” Neema continued. “Yes. Sometimes, that is necessary for a person to heal. Am I forced to it? No. I am free to choose, as any other maasa. Many never lie with their patients, and that is their choice. If I choose to indulge them, they treat me like a goddess. Most times, I just tend to wounds or upset stomachs, or simply hold someone and give them a shoulder to cry on.”

She leaned forwards and smiled.

“You ask me if I feel free,” she said, a glitter in her eye. “The answer is yes, but no one is truly free. We are all bound by something, be it family, duty, dreams, or desires. I think we all feel trapped at some point in our lives, while we feel free other times. But do I have freedom? Of course.”

Juniper pondered this for a moment. It wasn’t the answer she had expected, and neither did she truly understand it. What was freedom, if not choice?

“If you didn’t choose your role,” she asked, “and with your terrible experiences, how can you live so comfortably in it?”

“Because I want to help,” said Neema. “For me, it’s very easy. I heal, so I help. Had I been a baker, I would have given food to the people. Had I been a teacher, I would have taught the children. I have taken control of my own body. I heal myself by healing others.”

“But what about the people who want to travel the world?” Juniper asked. “What about the people who want to have a family of their own and not hand over their children?”

Neema’s face hardened and she straightened. “You speak of children as a person’s right, but what about the child? Aren’t we bound by morality to let the children have the best possible opportunities in life? Aren’t we selfish if we claim that the children are always better off with those who birthed them?”

“Are they not?”

“I certainly wasn’t. My father sold me to a horrible woman so that he could keep drinking. When I arrived at Kasarath, I was embraced by a woman with so much love, I burst into tears. No one had ever held me like that before. Not even my own mother held that much love for me, and this woman had just met me and she wasn’t even my kind. She was my nemethan, my teacher, my mother, and she loved me from the moment she laid her eyes on me. She has taught me everything I know about love and respect.”

Juniper dropped her gaze, ashamed and embarrassed. Who was she to speak of mothers and fathers? “My father wants to sell me, as well. Not to a pleasure house, no, but he wants to marry me to a horrible man.”

“If he were a good father, he wouldn’t do that,” Neema said coldly.

“But it is my appointed role.” Tears prickled her eyes as she gazed up. “It is my duty to bring together my house with another great house and secure political alliances. I am to birth sons that will one day rule a Dukedom, whose sons will succeed them. That is my role, my function, and I can replace no freedom in that.”

“Some would call you lucky,” said Neema. “You’d have a comfortable home, food in abundance, beautiful dresses, servants. There are people out there who don’t even own a pair of shoes. Would you be ready to live like that, or would you rather have your castle and your food and your husband?”

Juniper bit her tongue. Indeed, how could she justify the hatred she felt for her fate when she knew there were people out there who had it worse?

“I am not robbing you of your pain, my lady,” said Neema, now softer. “But answer me this: would you have felt trapped, had they respected you?”

She wondered, but even in her mind, such a notion was impossible. She shrugged her shoulders.

“You will never be free in these lands, because you are a woman,” said the maasa. “Not even women respect women here, for Builder’s sake! I am free because I am respected. Am I allowed to keep my child? No. No one is, because we all know that they are better off with those who are carefully selected to raise them. Am I allowed to travel the world? I am here now, aren’t I? I chose to go with the Saathenaan to see new places, and to be at the forefront when they save people from the rot. That was my choice.”

Juniper sat in silence. She had nothing to say, no point to argue. Neema was right: if women were respected, Lord Christopher would never have struck her—and neither would her father. Had she been respected, as a woman, her father wouldn’t speak about her the way he did, and neither would the people in the city. That was indeed an indisputable fact, and perhaps it could even be called a rot.

“Do you feel uncertain about joining the Kasenon?” Neema then asked.

Juniper shifted awkwardly. “I have already escaped one terrible fate, but have I done so only to have another one thrust upon me?”

“What are your aspirations, then? What do you want in life?”

“I don’t know!” Juniper huffed. “All I know is that I want the freedom to choose!”

“Yes, that would be the ultimate dream, for all of us, but it will only ever be a dream.” Neema sighed deeply. “I think that water is boiled by now.”

Juniper quickly rose to prepare the tea, and served them both. They drank it in silence, both seemingly deep in thought, and it then struck Juniper how much she had missed female company. Despite their rather upsetting argument, she still felt comfortable in Neema’s presence. The woman possessed strength and confidence, something Juniper had seldom seen in a woman before; it was as though she knew her worth and that no one could bring her down. She didn’t even cower before the Vasaath himself. It was admirable and inspiring.

After a few more moments, the maasa rose, thanked for the tea, and turned to leave the tent.

“I hope we can be friends,” Juniper quickly said, and Neema paused.

“Of course, my dear,” said she. “We have to take care of each other.”

Juniper nodded, feeling warmth spreading inside her body—the unfamiliar feeling of trust, and true kinship. Neema was a kindred soul, she was sure of it.