Sharon Lee & Steve Miller - Veil of the Dancer

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Veil of the Dancer

In the city of Iravati on the world of Skardu, there lived a scholar who had three daughters, and

they were the light and comfort of his elder years.

Greatly did the scholar rejoice in his two elder daughters—golden-haired Humaria; Shereen with

her tresses of flame—both of these born of the wives his father had picked out for him when he was still

a young man. Surely, they were beautiful and possessed of every womanly grace, the elder daughters of

Scholar Reyman Bhar. Surely, he valued them, as a pious father should.

The third—ah, the third daughter. Small and dark and wise as a mouse was the daughter of his

third, and last, wife. The girl was clever, and it had amused him to teach her to read, and to do sums, and

to speak the various tongues of the unpious. Surely, these were not the natural studies of a daughter, even

the daughter of so renowned a scholar as Reyman Bhar.

It began as duty; for a father must demonstrate to his daughters that, however much they are

beloved, they are deficient in that acuity of thought by which the gods mark out males as the natural

leaders of household, and world. But little Inas, bold mouse, did not fail to learn her letters, as her sisters

had. Problems mathematic she relished as much as flame-haired Shereen did candied sventi leaves.

Walks along the river way brought forth the proper names of birds and their kin; in the long neglected

glade of Istat, with its ancient sundial and moon-marks she proved herself astute in the motions of the

planets.

Higher languages rose as readily to her lips as the dialect of women; she read not only for

knowledge, but for joy, treasuring especially the myths of her mother's now empty homeland. Seeing the

joy of learning in her, the teaching became experiment more than duty, as the scholar sought to discover

the limits of his little one's mind.

On the eve of her fourteenth birthday, he had not yet found them.

Well though the scholar loved his daughters, yet it is a father's duty to see them profitably married.

The man he had decided upon for his golden Humaria was one Safarez, eldest son of Merchant Gabir

Majidi. It was a balanced match, as both the scholar and the merchant agreed. The Majidi son was a

pious man of sober, studious nature, who bore his thirty years with dignity. Over the course of several

interviews with the father and the son, Scholar Bhar had become certain that Safarez would value

nineteen year old Humaria, gay and heedless as a flitterbee; more, that he would protect her and

discipline her and be not behind in those duties which are a husband's joy and especial burden.

So, the price was set, and met; the priests consulted regarding the proper day and hour; the

marriage garden rented; and, finally, Humaria informed of the upcoming blessed alteration in her

circumstances.

Naturally enough, she wept, for she was a good girl and valued her father as she ought. Naturally

enough, Shereen ran to cuddle her and murmur sweet, soothing nonsense into her pretty ears. The

scholar left them to it, and sought his study, where he found his youngest, dark Inas, bent over a book in

the lamplight.

She turned when he entered, and knelt, as befit both a daughter and a student, and bowed 'til her

forehead touched the carpet. Scholar Bhar paused, admiring the graceful arc of her slim body within the

silken pool of her robes. His mouse was growing, he thought. Soon, he would be about choosing a

husband for her.

But not yet. Now, it was Humaria, and, at the change of season he would situate Shereen, who

would surely pine for her sister's companionship. He had a likely match in mind, there, and the husband's

property not so far distant from the Majidi. Then, next year, perhaps—or, more comfortably, the year

after that—he would look about for a suitable husband for his precious, pre-cocious mouse.

"Arise, daughter," he said now, and marked how she did so, swaying to her feet in a single,

boneless move, the robes rustling, then falling silent, sheathing her poised and silent slenderness.

"So," he said, and met her dark eyes through the veil. "A momentous change approaches your life,

my child. Your sister Hu-maria is to wed."

Inas bowed, dainty hands folded demurely before her.

"What?" he chided gently. "Do you not share your sister's joy?"

There was a small pause, not unusual; his mouse weighed her words like a miser weighed his gold.

"Certainly, if my sister is joyous, then it would be unworthy of me to weep," she said in her soft,

soothing voice. "If it is per-mitted that I know—who has come forward as her husband?"

Reyman Bhar nodded, well-pleased to find proper womanly feeling, as well as a scholar's thirst for

knowledge.

"You are allowed to know that Safarez, eldest son of Majidi the Merchant, has claimed the right to

husband Humaria."

Inas the subtle stood silent, then bowed once more, as if an afterthought, which was not, the

scholar thought, like her. He moved to his desk, giving her time to consider, for, surely, even his clever

mouse was female, if not yet full woman, and might perhaps know a moment's envy for a sister's good

fortune.

"They are very grand, the Majidi," she said softly. "Humaria will be pleased."

"Eventually, she will be so," he allowed, seating himself and pulling a notetaker forward. "Today,

she weeps for the home she will lose. Tomorrow, she will sing for the home she is to gain."

"Yes," said Inas, and the scholar smiled into his beard.

"Your sisters will require your assistance with the wedding preparations," he said, opening the

notetaker and beginning a list. "I will be going to Lahore-Gadani tomorrow, to purchase what is needful.

Tell me what I shall bring you."

Mouse silence.

"I? I am not to be wed, Father."

"True. However, it has not escaped one's attention that tomorrow is the anniversary of your natal

day. It amuses me to bring you a gift from the city, in celebration. What shall you have?"

"Why, only yourself, returned to us timely and in good health," Inas said, which was proper, and

womanly, and dutiful.

The scholar smiled more widely into his beard, and said nothing else.

Humaria wept well into the night, rocking inside the circle of Shereen's arms. At last, her sobs

quieted somewhat, and Shereen looked to Inas, who sat on a pillow across the room, as she had all

evening, playing Humaria's favorite songs, softly, upon the lap-harp.

Obedient to the message in her sister's eyes, Inas put the harp aside, arose and moved silently to

the cooking alcove. Deftly, she put the kettle on the heat-ring, rinsed the pot with warm water and

measured peace tea into an infuser.

The kettle boiled. While the tea steeped, she placed Hu-maria's own blue cup on a tray, with a few

sweet biscuits and some leaves of candied sventi. At the last, she added a pink candle, sacred to

Amineh, the little god of women, and breathed a prayer for heart's case. Then, she lifted the tray and

carried it to her sister's couch.

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Sharon Lee & Steve Miller - Veil of the Dancer

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