The Shadow of Jealousy

Morning entered Imara’s hut in narrow golden lines, slipping through the woven walls and warming the sleeping mats, and Taisa woke first beneath Imara’s arm, listening to the distant sounds of women preparing fires and children chasing one another between the huts, while wishing that the valley might remain quiet long enough for Imara to forget whatever dangerous duty awaited her outside. Taisa turned carefully and kissed Imara’s cheek. Imara opened one eye. “You are trying to wake me gently.” “I am trying to persuade you before you become fully stubborn.” “I am always fully stubborn.” “That is exactly what concerns me.” Taisa kissed her again, this time on the lips, and when Imara began to rise, Taisa caught her wrist and pulled her back down. “Stay here today.” “You said that yesterday.” “Yesterday you were hunting antelope. Today you are going to the western cliffs because armed strangers were seen near the border.” “That is why I must go.” “That is why someone else must go.” Imara laughed softly. “Should I tell Sira that my companion has forbidden me from facing danger?” “Yes. Tell her she may face it instead.” “And what shall I do?” Taisa drew her closer. “I can think of several useful duties inside this hut.” Their kiss lasted until Sira called from outside. “Imara! The patrol is ready!” Taisa closed her eyes. “That woman has the timing of a falling cooking pot.” Imara rose and fastened her red warrior clothing, while Taisa remained beneath the blanket and watched with open disapproval. “Nala will remain in the valley to oversee the younger warriors and inspect the eastern defenses,” Imara explained. “Sira and Kendi are coming with me.” “Then Nala is clearly the clever one.” “Do not tell her I said so.” Imara tied her leopard-patterned cloak across one shoulder, bent over the sleeping mat, and touched her forehead to Taisa’s. “I will return before sunset.” “That is what brave women always say before doing something foolish.” “Then kiss me once more, so I remember to be careful.” Taisa did, though when Imara finally left with Sira and the patrol, she stood in the doorway watching until the warriors disappeared beyond the gate. Later that morning, after the sun had warmed the valley, Taisa carried a clean wrap and her sandals to the lake below the eastern gardens, where several women were washing clothes farther along the shore, and after placing her belongings beneath a low tree, she stepped into the clear water and allowed herself to relax. For a little while she floated beneath the open sky, thinking about Imara, about the new life she had entered, and about how quickly safety could become precious once a woman understood how easily it might be lost. When she returned to the shore, her clothing was gone. She searched beneath the tree, behind the rocks, and among the reeds. Nothing remained—not her wrap, not her sandals, and not the small blue-beaded necklace Imara had recently given her. “Taisa?” one of the washing women called. “Have the fish stolen something?” “My clothing has disappeared.” The women looked at one another, and then one began laughing. “One of the younger warriors must have hidden it as a joke.” Soon the others joined her. “Perhaps the monkeys helped her!” “Perhaps they wanted to see whether Imara’s new companion could survive as a forest spirit!” Taisa managed a smile, although her face burned with embarrassment. She gathered several broad leaves, tied them together as best she could, and walked back toward the village while laughter followed her from hut to hut. A child pointed excitedly. “Taisa has become queen of the leaves!” “Only until someone returns my clothes,” Taisa replied with as much dignity as she could manage. Nala approached from the training ground and stopped when she saw her. “What happened?” “Someone stole everything I left beside the lake.” Nala glanced toward the laughing women. “One of the younger fighters must believe herself very amusing.” “She will believe it less amusing when I discover her name.” Nala smiled faintly. “I will ask among them.” By the time Imara returned from the western patrol, Taisa had borrowed another wrap and was sitting outside their hut with her arms folded. Imara stopped before her. “What happened?” “I went to bathe.” “That sounds peaceful.” “My clothing vanished.” Imara’s mouth twitched. “Do not laugh.” “I am not laughing.” “You are laughing inside.” “Only a little.” Taisa looked away. “My necklace disappeared with it.” The amusement left Imara’s face. “The necklace I gave you?” “Yes.” Nala came over from the training field. “None of the younger women admits taking anything.” Imara sat beside Taisa. “A harmless prankster normally wishes to see the result of her joke. She would have returned the clothing by now.” “You think someone wanted to humiliate me,” Taisa said. “I think we should not dismiss it.” The next morning Taisa dressed early, but when she slid one foot into her sandal, something sharp touched her skin. She pulled away immediately. Hidden beneath the leather strap was a long black thorn whose tip had been coated with a pale sticky substance. Imara examined it carefully. “Poison.” Taisa stared at the sandal. “The clothing was meant to shame me.” “This was meant to injure you.” Nala crouched beside them. “Or frighten her into leaving.” Imara looked around at the gathering warriors. “Who entered this hut before sunrise?” No one answered. Taisa touched Imara’s arm. “Perhaps it was hidden there yesterday.” “Then whoever placed it had access to our home.” The thought settled uneasily over everyone. That afternoon Taisa carried water through the village when a warning shout sounded above her. “Move!” She threw herself aside as a large clay jar fell from the roof and shattered where she had been standing, exploding into fragments and sending water across the ground. Women rushed from nearby huts. “The support rope must have broken,” someone said. Imara climbed onto the roof and examined its loose end. “It did not break.” She held it up. The rope had been cut cleanly. Nala looked toward the outer wall. “Perhaps someone is entering the valley through the eastern rocks.” “I inspected them yesterday,” Imara said. “But we will inspect them again.” Taisa looked around at the familiar faces of the village. The laughter at the lake no longer seemed harmless. That evening she sat beside Imara inside the hut, rubbing her hands together although the night was warm. “This place was safe before I came.” “It remains your home.” “Someone inside it wants me gone.” “Or someone from outside has found a way to enter.” “What if she hates me because I am beside you?” Imara’s expression tightened. “You are not responsible for jealousy in another woman’s heart.” “But I may be the reason it grew.” “The sun does not apologize because shadows exist.” Taisa leaned against Imara’s shoulder, though she slept poorly. The following day a girl brought Taisa a folded piece of bark. “A message from Imara,” she said. “A scout has been injured near the northern path. You are to bring medicine.” Taisa gathered bandages and herbs from the healer and hurried beyond the gardens, but after walking farther than expected, she began to slow. There were no tracks. No broken branches. No voices calling for help. Then the ground beneath her right foot shifted. Taisa threw herself backward as a woven covering collapsed, revealing a deep pit below. She lay in the dust, breathing hard, staring into the darkness. Someone had known she would follow any message carrying Imara’s name. When she returned, Imara read the false message once and crushed it in her fist. “You are not leaving my sight again.” “That may be difficult when you insist upon running toward every danger in the valley.” “Then you will run with me.” Taisa shook her head. “Perhaps I should leave.” “No.” “If I go, this stops.” “If you go, the attacker wins.” “What if next time someone else is hurt?” Imara took both her hands. “This did not begin because you arrived. It began because someone chose secrecy over truth and cruelty over courage.” Taisa’s eyes filled with the fear she had tried all day to conceal. “I do not want to die here.” “You will not.” “How can you promise that?” “I cannot promise that danger will never find us,” Imara said. “I can promise that we will face it together.” Nala entered the hut carrying her spear. “We searched the eastern rocks again. There are footprints near the stream, but the ground is too hard to tell whether they belong to one of our own people or an outsider.” Imara stood. “Then we will make the attacker come to us.” Nala’s eyes sharpened. “You have a plan.” “I have a trap.” Before sunset Imara publicly announced that Taisa no longer felt safe sleeping among the village huts and that they would spend the night in an old hunting lodge beyond the southern gardens. Imara then asked Nala to organize the watch around the lodge. “You know the paths better than anyone,” Imara told her. “Place Sira near the northern trees and Kendi beside the stream. You and I will cover the rear path.” Nala nodded without hesitation. “No one will reach Taisa.” That evening Imara and Taisa entered the hunting lodge carrying blankets, lamps, and food, making certain that anyone watching would believe they intended to stay. Inside, rolled blankets formed the shape of a sleeping woman. After darkness fell, Taisa slipped through a concealed opening and joined Kendi behind the stream bank, while Imara took her position near the rear trail. Nala was supposed to wait fifty paces away between the lodge and the village. Before leaving the hut, however, Imara had quietly rubbed the window latch with the crushed juice of a purple night berry, an oil almost invisible in darkness but bright beneath firelight, because whether the attacker came from inside or outside the valley, anyone opening that window would carry the mark away. Taisa crouched beside Kendi. “What if no one comes?” “Then we spend a very uncomfortable night beside a stream,” Kendi whispered. “And if someone does?” “Then Imara will see her.” Hours passed. The moon climbed higher. At last a hooded figure moved between the trees, approaching from the direction of the village. The figure paused outside the lodge, listened, and then opened the marked window latch. A covered basket was raised. A venomous snake slid through the opening and disappeared into the hut. Imara stepped from the shadows. “Stop!” The hooded woman turned and fled toward the rear path. Imara pursued her, but the figure vanished among the rocks before Sira and Kendi could close the circle. Nala appeared moments later from the direction of the stream. “What happened?” “She escaped,” Imara said. “She knew the paths.” Nala stared toward the darkness. “Then she may already be beyond the valley.” “Perhaps.” The snake was safely trapped, and the warriors returned to the village before dawn. At the central fire, Imara asked every woman who had stood watch to hold out her hands. Nala frowned. “Why?” “The attacker opened the lodge window.” “So?” “So the latch was marked.” Sira held out clean hands. Kendi did the same. Then Nala slowly raised hers. Purple stains covered her fingertips. Silence fell across the village. Taisa stared at her. “Nala?” Nala looked down at her hands, and for one terrible moment she appeared ready to deny everything, but the strength left her face. Imara stepped toward her. “Tell me there is another explanation.” Nala’s eyes filled with tears. “There is not.” The village gathered around the central fire as the sun rose, stunned into silence while Nala stood without her spear or shield before the elders. She had fought beside Imara for years. She had defended the valley, trained its youngest warriors, and carried wounded women home from battle. No one had imagined that she might become its hidden enemy. Finally, Nala spoke. “I loved Imara before most of you knew her name,” she said. “I stood beside her through every battle and every loss, and I believed that one day she might look at me and see more than a warrior.” Imara’s face was hard with grief. “You never told me.” “I was afraid.” “So you attacked Taisa instead?” “The others always left,” Nala said, her voice breaking. “Eleanor left. Zahra left. I told myself they were passing storms, but Taisa stayed. She woke beside you, walked beside you, and entered every part of the life I thought I had earned.” Taisa flinched. “At first I only took her clothes,” Nala continued. “I wanted her embarrassed and unwelcome. I thought she would decide the valley was not her home. Then she stayed, and every failure made me more desperate, until I no longer recognized the woman I had become.” Imara stared at her. “You helped me prepare the watch.” “I knew where the others would stand.” “You promised that no one would reach her.” Nala lowered her head. “I broke every promise I ever made to you.” One elder rose. “No woman who attacks another in secret can remain among us.” Another nodded. “Nala must be banished.” A murmur moved through the village. Nala closed her eyes. “I understand.” Taisa stepped forward. “No.” Imara turned sharply. “Taisa.” “She should not be banished.” “She tried to kill you.” “Yes.” “And you ask for mercy?” “I ask for consequence without exile.” The elders exchanged uncertain looks. Taisa faced them. “This valley gave me another life when I had nowhere to go. It claims that women are not discarded when they are frightened, broken, or lost. If we send Nala into the wilderness, we remove her from our sight, but we do not repair what she has done.” Nala stared at her in disbelief. “Take her rank,” Taisa continued. “Take her weapons. Make her repair every place she damaged and serve every woman she endangered. Make her earn back the village’s trust one day at a time.” Imara studied Taisa carefully. “You would see her every day.” “Yes.” “You would remember what she did.” “I will remember whether she stays or goes.” Nala sank to her knees before Taisa. “I do not deserve this.” “No,” Taisa said quietly. “You do not. That is why what you do next matters.” The elders agreed. Nala surrendered her spear, shield, and warrior belt, and although no one forgave her that morning, the valley left a narrow road open for her to find her way back toward the woman she had once been. That night Taisa returned to Imara’s hut and checked beneath both sandals, behind the water jar, and under the sleeping mat. Imara watched her. “You asked me to remain here yesterday.” “And you went on patrol.” “Tomorrow I am staying.” Taisa looked suspicious. “Because you finally learned to listen?” “Because I intend to guard you personally.” “All day?” “And all night.” “That sounds exhausting.” “I am prepared to endure it.” Taisa smiled for the first time since discovering the pit and stepped into Imara’s arms. “You make very serious promises.” “I am a very serious woman.” “That is not what you said when I walked through the village wearing leaves.” Imara laughed. Taisa kissed her, slowly and deeply, then rested her forehead against hers. “I was afraid this place would stop feeling like home.” Imara held her closer. “Home is not a place where nothing painful happens. It is a place where you are not left alone when it does.” They spent the night together, talking until the fire burned low, kissing whenever words became too small, and finally sleeping wrapped in one another’s arms while the valley rested beneath the moon. The following morning Nala stood on a roof replacing the rope she had cut, wearing simple working clothes without her weapons or rank. Taisa crossed the village carrying a water jar and stopped beneath her. For a moment neither woman spoke. Then Nala said, “The new rope will hold.” Taisa looked up. “It had better.” A faint, uneasy smile passed between them—not forgiveness and not friendship, but the first fragile sign that neither woman intended to run from what came next. Imara watched from across the training ground. Taisa joined her, slipped one hand into hers, and together they walked toward the bright morning.