The Serpent's Daughter (18 page)

Jade couldn’t help but laugh at her mother’s understatement.
Difficulties
. “A few, but I’m fine.”

Inez persisted. “What happened? I want you to tell me. I have a right to know why you made me come all the way up here, bouncing like so much baggage on that little donkey. ”

Jade sighed, hurt that her mother’s expression of concern still smacked of disappointment in her daughter. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Mother, but I was captured, locked in a dank dungeon, had rats chew on me, thwacked a guard on the head after I kicked him in the gut, and crawled through a maze of filthy conduits to get out. I’m afraid I’ve behaved in a most unladylike manner. Now if you would
please
sit down,” she added, while directing her mother to a woven rug, “I think we are keeping our hostess waiting.” Jade knew that her mother would hasten to sit once she realized she was committing some breach of etiquette. Jade wasn’t disappointed.

“Oh,” murmured Inez softly, as though taken aback by all that Jade had endured.

As soon as they were seated, the younger of the two Berber women brought out a beautifully crafted pottery teapot glazed with a warm ochre color and decorated in red and black with an assortment of designs, including zig-zags, some of which resembled a tree, and diamonds within diamonds. The woman put a handful of dried green tea leaves into the pot and poured hot water over it. Then she added mint leaves and a thick dollop of wild honey in the comb. The older woman maintained her silence during the younger woman’s preparations, as though this were a serious ritual.

Jade took advantage of the lull to inspect the home’s interior. The walls of the single whitewashed room were lavishly decorated with stripes, triangles, and diamonds in vivid red, blue, yellow, and green. The floor-to-ceiling loom dominated one corner, and a shelf, three feet high, ran around the other two walls and part of the third, ending at the doorway. A low shelf that looked like a seat was built into one corner, and several cubbyholes painted in blue and red dotted the vertical space under the main shelf. The result was a room with considerable storage space for pots and platters, while the floor area was kept clean.

Jade noticed another doorway partially hidden at the back of one shelf, tucked behind a curious square vessel. This pot, painted a vivid red, had two large wooden stoppers in the top and four small stoppers in the front, two above and two below. Carvings of leaves, zigzags, and diamonds covered the container. She recognized one pattern as imitating the
kasbah
crenellations. Even the ceiling was ornate. Beams of silver birch and palm trunk supported an interlocking latticework of dyed bamboo, interlaced to form chevrons and diamonds in red, yellow, and black. The effect was an ornamental and strong ceiling that supported more
pisé
above it.

Finally deeming the concoction ready, the younger woman served the tea, stretching up her arm and pouring it from a great height into colorful pottery mugs. She handed them first to the older Berber woman, then to Inez, and finally to Jade before taking a cup for herself.

“Hold it with your right hand, Mother,” whispered Jade. “Never use your left hand. It’s rude.

“Besmellāh,”
said Jade as she raised her cup.

Her mother repeated the word, took a sip, and smiled. “What did we just say, Jade?” she whispered.

“You literally said, ‘In the name of God.’ It’s a blessing. Just say it before you do
anything
and you’ll be all right.” Jade also sipped the tea. “Thank you,” she said in Arabic to the two women. “And thank you for taking in my mother.”

“It is my honor,” said the older woman. “I know you have many questions. It is good you speak Arabic. It is not my tongue, but Bachir learned it and he teaches me as he teaches my daughter and her husband, Mohan, French. So we will talk without him. You will explain,” she added with a nod to Inez, “to your lady mother.” The old lady adjusted her
handira,
woven from soft goat hair. “I am Zoulikha and this is my daughter, Yamna. I am the
kahina
.”

She waited a moment while Jade translated the introductions to her mother and introduced herself and Inez. Zoulikha poured more tea for her guests and nodded to Yamna, who rose and began preparations for a later meal. She went to the curious red pot, tugged open one of the uppermost stoppers, stuck her hand inside, and pulled out a handful of semolina grain.

Zoulikha saw Jade’s fascination with the pot. “It is called an
akoufi
. It is where we store the household’s grain for making couscous. It will hold a week’s worth of grain.”

“It’s beautiful,” said Jade.

“Red is the color of blood, so it means life to us. The grain also gives us life. It is proper for the two to go together.”

Jade wanted to ask about the designs, but the old woman took up another topic.

“I will tell a story,” said Zoulikha. “We are the Imazighen, the free people. This village is the village of the Ait Izem, the children of one who bested a lion and so took Izem’s name as his own. Once the Amazigh people lived all over the
Maghreb,
the land where the sun sets. Our tribes each had a
kahina,
a woman versed in healing and lore. Many also knew how to control the
jinni
. Some could see the future. The strongest in learning were those …” She paused to ask Yamna something.

“Descended,” said Yamna in French to Jade and Inez.

“Yes,” said Zoulikha. “They came from the family of the great queen, Elishat. The Romans called her Dido, which meant ‘wanderer.’ ”

Jade felt an involuntary shudder twitch across her back and shoulders as she recalled the name of Elishat spoken in the Azilah tunnels. Even her mother seemed to take notice when the old woman spoke Dido’s name.

“Don’t you remember reading Virgil’s
Aeneid
, Jade? He describes Dido as the founder and first queen of Carthage.”

“That’s right,” said Jade. “In Tunisia, which is also part of the
Maghreb
.”

Zoulikha continued her story with occasional assistance from her daughter. “Elishat passed on her knowledge and a powerful amulet to her sister, Annah, before her death. This amulet was also a sign of our lineage. From Annah it went on to her eldest daughter and so down the line to the
kahina
called Dahia. Dahia led her people when the Arabs first came to the
Maghreb,
bringing Islam. Many of the Imazighen had left the ancient ways to become Nazarene or to follow the Israelite people, but always a
kahina
led them, though many had lost some of their knowledge.”

The old woman paused a moment to sip more tea and quench her throat, giving Jade a chance to relay the tale so far to Inez. “Dahia knew that the ways of the
kahina
would be lost completely, for the Arabs keep their women locked away. So she united the Amazigh people to do battle. The Romans had already built and rebuilt many ancient fortresses, most with deep tunnels. The Imazighen would not go in them, knowing the people of the night dwelt there. But Dahia could command them to do no harm to her. She had protection, for she carried Elishat’s amulet. It was more than just a symbol of her authority. It was a talisman of great power and holiness.”

Once again the conversation in the tunnels came back to Jade. “The
kahina
gave up the amulet to some man named Igider to give to her daughter,” she whispered.

Zoulikha heard her and smiled, as though she guessed what Jade had said in English. “You know of this already, Jade,” she said. “You know how she gave up the amulet so that her hidden daughter would bear the power and become
kahina
. Igider was her general. But in doing so, Dahia lost its protection and hastened her death. She sacrificed herself to save her people from destruction.”

Jade nodded, feeling slightly dumbfounded and more than a little bit unnerved. Inez noticed, as well.

“Jade, you’re pale. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Close, Mother. I believe I heard one.” She translated Zoulikha’s tale to her mother, then explained first in English, then in Arabic, her experience in the Azilah tunnels. Zoulikha and Yamna exchanged knowing looks and smiled as though all this was perfectly normal. Jade caught the look. “Wait. Was it Yamna in the tunnels? Did Bachir take her there so I would hear this story?”

Zoulikha shook her head. “Yamna has not left the village. ”

“What is the rest of the story?” asked Jade. “There must be a reason you are telling me this. The man I heard in the tunnel, her general, seemed surprised that this
kahina
had a daughter.”

“He was,” said Zoulikha. “The girl was kept secret, for Dahia herself had foreseen this trouble. She knew the girl would be hunted down and killed, so Dahia instructed her sons to adopt Islam to save her people from more war. But she had secretly trained her daughter in the ways of the
kahina
and hid her in the mountains to the southwest. Over the years, the tribe made its way here, where we have lived for many generations. I am now the
kahina
, and carry the wisdom passed on from Elishat. Yamna is my daughter and my pupil, as her daughter, Lallah, will be hers.”

“So you rule this village?” asked Jade.

Zoulikha shook her head. “No. The men choose a sheik, a chief, to oversee the village. He lives in the
kasbah
. But the heart of the tribe is carried by the women. And even the sheik seeks my advice.”

Jade saw Yamna smile and wink at her. “What?” she asked.

“The sheik is my father,” said Yamna. “The man with the favor of the
kahina
is most likely to oversee the village.”

“I still do not understand what
my
role is in your story,” said Jade. “Bachir said you wanted my help.”

“Elishat’s amulet has been taken from us. We need you to get this talisman back.”

“Are you certain it has been stolen? Possibly it is misplaced? ”

“No. The amulet usually remains in a hidden place of which I will not speak at this time. I wear it when I must assume duties of the
kahina
: at healings, births, settling disputes. It has not been lost. Someone took it from its hiding place.”

“Then it must be someone in your own village.”

Zoulikha sighed deeply, as though such a thought were a terrible burden to bear. “Perhaps.”

“Have you searched the houses?” Jade asked.

Zoulikha nodded. “Two women claim some of their bracelets were gone, as well. Silver bracelets belonging to their mothers and handed down through the generations to wear at weddings and harvest festivals.”

“So someone is a thief. Why do you need
me
to find this amulet?”

“Because,” said Zoulikha as she reached across and caressed Jade’s cheek with her wrinkled fingers, “it should not be handled by just anyone, and you are also a daughter of the great Dahia.”

CHAPTER 14

Jinni
are feared, all the more so because they are so difficult to spot. They may come in
the disguise of an animal. Others appear human. Men report having been married to a
jenniya
, which is a very handy explanation for not getting along with one’s spouse. The
easiest way to get rid of such a wife is to let a jackal eat her. Jackals have a taste for
jinni
.

—The Traveler

INEZ LOOKED AS IF SHE MIGHT EXPLODE when Jade translated that last tidbit. Then, remembering her manners, she managed to control both the volume and tone of her next statement. She could not, however, disguise the quiver in her voice, which alerted Jade to just how upset her mother was.

“This is … not possible, Jade. Neither your father nor I am … Imazighen.”

“But you
are
Andalusian, Mother. I believe a goodly number of people have left their, er, mark there, including the Gypsies and the Moors.”

“The family of de Vincente traces its line back countless generations,” said Inez. She held her head high and proud. “Some of your ancestors served in the court of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella.”

“What is bothering you, Mother? What if this story
is
true? Are these people too barbaric for you? Are you afraid some snob in Taos will take offense?”

“Jade! How dare you accuse me of such thoughts!”

“This news angers your lady mother,” observed Zoulikha. “Does it also distress you?”

Jade shrugged. “I am not sure I believe it. It is one thing to say I am Dahia’s daughter. It is another to prove it.”

Zoulikha adjusted her position on the floor rug, exposing her right leg high above the knee. She took up a drop spindle and a pile of combed wool and deftly began to spin yarn by rolling the spindle shaft down her thigh with her right hand. With the left, she played out the combed fibers, her fingers moving out of memory. The rhythmic motion of rolling, catching the spindle at the knee, and scooping it back up to begin again made a hypnotic background for weaving her story.

“Perhaps you know of the Almoravids, Amazigh tribes from the desert south. They became mighty rulers and spread across the waters to Andalucía,” she said, shifting the accent to another syllable. “They took with them many others, both Arabs and Imazighen, to make their nation and to fight the Nazarene living there. At that time, the
kahina
holding Elishat’s talisman bore twin girls. The midwife told her which one was born first, but the
kahina
taught them both. The eldest became
kahina
, and the second girl married a
kaid
, a regional chieftain, who went to Andalucía to serve the ruler.” The old woman looked up from her spindle without stopping her motions and peered deeply into Jade’s eyes. “This girl’s blood runs in your veins and in the veins of your mother.”

“It is a pretty story,” said Jade after she translated for her mother, who responded by folding her arms across her chest. “But hardly proof.”

Without breaking either her gaze or rhythmic motions, Zoulikha continued. “Why else do you dream warnings and feel them in your bones? And why else can you speak to
jinni
?”