Gani catches Naci just as she pulls away from the yurt’s entrance, her eyes wide with a mix of bewilderment and exhilaration. “Naci, what are you doing, eavesdropping like a child?” her mother scolds, though her eyes hold a hint of amusement.
Flushed, Naci bounces on her heels, her heart racing in her chest. “But mother, did you see? Did you see?” she bursts out, unable to contain her astonishment.
Gani shakes her head, her lips quirking upwards in a knowing smile. “Oh, I saw alright,” she murmurs, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Quite a sight, isn’t it?”
But Naci seems far from being satisfied with the understatement. She grabs her mother’s hands, her grip tight, her face glowing with a rare, youthful excitement. “No, you don’t understand. It’s her, the groom. She’s a woman, Mother, a woman!”
Gani’s amusement vanishes as if someone snuffed it out. Her face hardens, her grasp on Naci’s hand turning firm, almost painful. “Don’t say such absurd things, Naci. You know as well as I do that it’s not possible,” she warns, her voice dropping low, her gaze intense, pinning Naci down.
Naci shakes her head vigorously, her face a landscape of confusion, excitement, and a dawning realization that her mother refuses to see the truth. “But Mother, I saw her clearly. She is a woman. How can you deny what is right before our eyes?”
Gani sighs, releasing Naci’s hand as she turns away, her face wearing a deep frown, her brow furrowed in frustration and worry. “Naci, listen to me carefully,” she begins, her voice stern, demanding obedience. “In this world, what you think you saw does not matter. It is what others believe that holds power. And everyone, including the Alinkar, believes the groom to be a man. It’s not our place to question or challenge that.”
Naci’s face falls, her excitement dimming as reality crashes down around her. She feels like a child again, scolded and silenced, her joy snuffed out by the weight of traditions and expectations.
Gani takes a step closer, her hands cupping Naci’s face, forcing her to meet her gaze, her eyes burning with urgency. “You must never mention this again, Naci. Not to anyone. If word gets out that you are questioning the groom’s gender, it will bring shame upon not only you but both our families.”
Naci nods, a heavy weight settling in her chest as she processes her mother’s words. A whirlpool of emotions swirl within her—curiosity, defiance, fear—but in the end, she obeys. She’s led to the lavish coach, a fine veil gracing her head, casting a soft shadow over her features.
Her mother, sitting across from her, speaks up, her voice firm and filled with caution. “Remember, Naci, under no circumstance should the groom see your face or hear your voice until after the ceremony. It is of utmost importance.”
The interior of the coach is fragrant with the scent of fresh flowers, an aromatic cloud that seems to hold whispers of the events to come. Naci sits there, silent, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken words, traditions woven tight around them like the intricate patterns of her veil.
Naci nods silently, feeling the weight of her mother’s words. While she is consumed by her doubts and curiosities, she cannot forget the gravity of the occasion and the importance of adhering to the customs.
Gani continues, her eyes filled with a mix of pride and concern. “Once we arrive, the women of the groom’s family will assist you. They will prepare you for the ceremony, helping you with your dress and the final touches. Our clan will join us by evening.”
Naci swallows hard, the anticipation building up inside her. She wonders about the groom’s family and how they would receive her, especially with the startling revelation she had just made. However, she stays silent, trying to prepare herself mentally for the evening ahead. The weight of tradition and the expectations of two families rested on her shoulders. She knew she had to be strong, no matter what lay ahead.
Each bump in the road, every change in terrain, makes the coach sway, but the sheer craftsmanship of the coach ensures that the ride remains smooth and largely comfortable.
Outside, the scenery is a whirlwind of colors. The vast stretches of open plains, the occasional trees, the lakes and the distant mountains on the horizon paint a picture of untouched beauty. But Naci hardly notices it. She’s too consumed by her thoughts, her emotions a turbulent storm within her.
On either side of the coach, the two Alinkar men ride, their imposing presence felt even within the confines of the coach, their eyes scanning the surroundings with hawk-like precision, their eagles ready to shriek at the first threat they notice, ensuring the safety of their precious cargo.
But it’s the presence of the mysterious groom that’s the most unsettling. Naci can’t see her—him, but knows there’s a mystery she must unfold soon.
Gani, sensing her daughter’s unease, often tries to engage her in light conversation, pointing out landmarks or reminiscing about her own wedding journey. But Naci’s mind is elsewhere, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts and what-ifs.
As the sun starts to set, casting a golden hue over the world, the coach’s journey ends.
The Alinkar settlement stands in stark contrast to the one Naci is used to. Enormous yurts with intricately embroidered motifs glisten in the waning sunlight, each of them a testament to their wealth and dominance in the region. The very air seems to shimmer with a kind of latent energy, telling tales of prosperity and power.
As the coach pulls in, Naci observes tall wooden totems lining the pathway, each representing ancestral spirits and guardian deities of the Alinkar. The yurts are encircled by wooden fences, intricately carved and painted in vibrant colors, with symbols of strength, and unity.
The ground, a mix of crushed stones and soft grass, is bustling with activity. Merchants from distant lands haggle with locals over the price of exotic goods, children run around chasing each other, and warriors practice their skills in cordoned-off areas, their bodies moving fluidly, their swords glistening.
Off to one side, a grand platform adorned with silks and furs indicates a place for public gatherings and announcements. Close to it, a massive yurt, larger than any other, stands proudly. It is evident that it belongs to the chieftain of the Alinkar clan.
Naci can feel hundreds of eyes on her as she steps out of the coach. Whispers pass through the crowd like ripples in water. Her veil, though obscuring most of her face, doesn’t shield her from the palpable curiosity of the onlookers. She stands tall, taking in her surroundings, her heart pounding not out of fear but a complex mix of excitement and uncertainty.
Gani, ever the guiding presence, whispers to Naci, “Remember, chin up, walk with grace. We are representing the Jabliu today.”
Naci nods subtly, her posture straightening even more. Two women, adorned in Alinkar traditional attire, approach. Their dresses are a canvas of rich blues and golds, their hair adorned with silver and turquoise accessories. They must be the women assigned to help Naci prepare for the ceremony.
One of them, a middle-aged woman with a kind face, bows slightly, “Welcome, Daughter of Jabliu. I am Ailana, and this is my niece, Sarnai. We are honored to assist you.”
Before Naci can respond, a deep horn sounds from the grand platform, silencing the settlement. The chieftain, an imposing figure with a thick beard and eyes that seem to pierce through the very soul, stands up. He raises his hand in a sign of greeting and respect to Naci and Gani.
“Today, we welcome not just a guest, but a union of two clans, two legacies. As the night approaches, let the festivities begin!”
And just like that, the entire settlement erupts into celebration. Music, dance, and jubilant cries fill the air. The Alinkar clan, known for their hospitality, ensure that the night becomes a true spectacle, a celebration of hope for a prosperous future.
Naci is led into a spacious yurt, the interior decorated with elaborate patterns, shimmering trinkets hanging from the ceiling, and a plush carpet beneath her feet. The gentle glow from the lanterns casts soft, dancing shadows on the walls, creating a serene ambiance.
The air inside is perfumed with the subtle scent of sandalwood and rose, calming her frayed nerves. The yurt is divided into sections with silk curtains, ensuring some privacy. A beautifully laid out ensemble awaits her, the fabric looking rich and inviting.
Sarnai, with her youthful energy, immediately sets to work, arranging various items and preparing the necessary accessories. Ailana, on the other hand, takes a moment to assess Naci, her gaze appreciative and kind. “You’re a vision, even before we’ve started,” she comments with a gentle smile.
Gani, carefully unveils the embroideries that Naci had worked on. There’s a hint of hesitance in her eyes, probably due to their not-so-perfect quality given the rushed circumstances.
“These are the embroideries Naci has worked on,” Gani says, her voice wavering slightly but filled with pride. “They might not be the grandest, but they are a labor of love.”
Ailana takes a moment to inspect the embroideries, her fingers gently caressing the fabric, feeling the stitches. “Every stitch tells a story, every imperfection a testament to the hands that worked on it. They are beautiful,” she assures Gani.
Naci’s cheeks flush with a mixture of pride and relief. The acknowledgment from Ailana means more to her than she’d anticipated.
With grace and expertise, the three women set about dressing Naci. The gown is a stunning mix of blues, greens, and silvers, representing the colors of the Jabliu clan. The embroideries Naci made are delicately sewn onto the dress, enhancing its beauty.
As they near the completion of her preparation, a messenger arrives to escort Gani to meet the chieftain, leaving Naci alone with Ailana and Sarnai.
As Sarnai works on braiding Naci’s hair, weaving in little silver trinkets and flowers, Ailana shares stories of past Alinkar weddings, her voice soothing and melodious.
Naci takes a deep breath, feeling a little nervous but also eager to grasp this rare moment of privacy to satisfy the burning curiosity within her.
With a cautious yet innocent demeanor, she ventures, “I’ve heard … interesting things about the Alinkar customs and traditions. Especially about the groom’s upbringing.” She casts her eyes downward, her heart pounding in her chest as she gauges the reactions of the two women.
Ailana and Sarnai share a knowing glance before breaking into gentle laughter. Sarnai speaks first, her voice lighthearted, “Oh, you mean the unique circumstances of his upbringing? It’s quite a tale indeed.”
Ailana nods in agreement, her voice taking on a warm and reassuring tone as she begins the story. “Many years ago, our chief faced a series of unfortunate events where he was unable to have a child. It was a trying time, filled with sadness and longing. But then, when hope seemed distant, his third wife gave birth to a blessing, a beautiful baby girl.”
Sarnai picks up where Ailana left off, her eyes twinkling with the gravity of the tale. “But considering the situation, and fearing that this might be his only chance to secure a heir, the chief made a daring decision. He chose to raise him as a young man, a choice that encompassed both courage and love, breaking and reshaping traditions.”
Ailana leans in closer to Naci, her voice dropping to a reverent whisper, “Everyone in the clan learned to embrace this unique path, treating him with the respect and reverence reserved for a future leader. The chief demanded it, ensuring that anyone who dared to treat him otherwise faced stern reprimands.”
“The world beyond our borders knows him as a man, with a spirit fierce and strong,” Sarnai adds, her voice portraying a sense of pride and admiration. “But deep down, under the masks and the roles we play, there lies a heart that transcends gender, a spirit that embodies the strengths and grace of both man and woman.”
Naci listens with rapt attention, her heart swelling with a myriad of emotions as she processes the extraordinary tale of her groom’s life journey. The words resonate with her, painting a portrait of a person who defied norms, who carried the weight of expectations with unparalleled strength.
As the story comes to an end, the atmosphere in the yurt feels enchanted, the space they share seems sacred and warm, wrapped in the delicate glow of the lanterns and the tale of strength and adaptability.
Naci feels a connection, a thread of understanding that weaves its way into her heart. She smiles, a soft, kind smile, touched by the candid sharing and the tale of a life so courageously lived.
She whispers, almost to herself, “It sounds like a tale of a person who has lived with the beauty and strength of both worlds, harmoniously blended into one.”
Ailana and Sarnai nod, their smiles reflective of a deep-seated pride for their clan and the extraordinary person who was to be Naci’s groom.
Once dressed, Naci stands tall, the dress flowing gracefully around her, making her look ethereal. The combined efforts of the women have transformed her into a true bride.
With a heart pounding like thunderous hoofbeats, Naci steps into the vital center of the gathering—the most honored yurt. The vibrant hues of hand-woven rugs greet her, each pattern telling tales as ancient as the mountains. The air is heady with the scent of spices and fresh flowers, whispering secrets of auspicious moments and blessings to come.
Naci’s soul dances with joy as her gaze lands on the familiar faces of her beloved family, clustered together in rich garments of celebration, their eyes sparkling with love and pride. She feels a rush of home washing over her, a tide of warmth and unconditional love that threatens to bring tears to her eyes.
As she scans the crowd, her heart leaps at the sight of Liara, her cherished horse, standing gallantly at the outskirts of the celebration. Liara, with her coat that mirrors the moon’s glow and her grace that has been her companion through countless adventures. The sight of her evokes memories of freedom, of wild rides under the vast open sky.
Continuing her path, she reaches the groom, who stands like a figure carved from the gentle hands of a craftsman; elegant, delicate, yet with a sadness that pools in the depth of his sorrowful eyes. But beneath that sorrow, there lies a mesmerizing beauty, and as Naci stands next to him, she can’t shake off the sense that regardless of gender, there is an allure, a magnetic pull that emanates from the person beside her.
Finally, they are ushered to sit beside each other, their side-by-side posture forming a painting of juxtaposed emotions; joy meeting sorrow, anticipation merging with apprehension. As they sit, the groom gifts her a smile, a hint of warmth breaking through the sorrow, lighting up their face with a gentle glow that beckons her in, offering a glimpse of the person beneath the exterior.
In a tradition as old as the stars themselves, they lean in, the whispers of their names exchanged in a sacred promise, a secret just between them as the world watches with bated breath. Naci shares her name, a treasured word that carries the weight of her history, her joys, her dreams. “Horohan,” the groom reciprocates, the utterance of his name carrying a similar weight, a tether of stories and experiences that weave together at this moment, joining them in an intimate connection.
As the ritual reaches its crescendo, the community brings forward a cup, brimming with a traditional alcohol, a liquid that carries with it the history and the spirit of their people. Together, they take turns, lips touching the same spot on the cup, sharing in the age-old tradition that signifies unity, not just between them, but with the cosmos, the ancestors, and the very land that nurtures them.
In the following moment of solemnity and understanding, their bond is sealed, their destinies intertwined with the sharing of the spiritual liquid that coursed through their veins, binding them in ways deeper and more profound than any could envisage. A silent pledge to each other and to the community, it is a sacred moment steeped in tradition and reverence, a representation of unity, respect, and the beginning of a shared journey.
With the culmination of the ceremony, Horohan tenderly takes Naci’s hand, his touch warm yet firm, and guides her amidst the hushed whispers and subtle nods of approval from the gathered crowd, to the place they were to start their journey together, their yurt. Every step feels both like an eternity and yet over in a blink as anxiety wraps around her heart, squeezing tight with the fear of the unknown.
But, as they approach, she realizes that the path Horohan is taking doesn’t lead to the couple’s yurt she’d been told about. Instead, they stop before another yurt, more modest in its decoration but equally comforting in its familiarity.
Horohan pauses, releasing her hand and turning to face her. The sorrow from before lingers, but there’s a new depth in his eyes now—a struggle, perhaps, or a resolution. “You can sleep here tonight,” he says softly, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words. “No one will touch you.”
Naci blinks, the surprise evident in her eyes. Before she can formulate a response, Horohan continues, “If you wish, you can leave with your family tomorrow and go back to your clan.”
The words hang heavily in the air, an unexpected offering, one that Naci hadn’t dared to imagine. But instead of the relief she might have expected to feel, a wave of confusion washes over her. Abandoned? Rejected? The emotions swirl inside, leaving her more adrift than before.
Horohan’s gaze is steady but the sadness within has deepened, making Naci wonder about the stories hidden behind those eyes. Without another word, he turns, heading towards his own yurt, leaving Naci standing there, a myriad of emotions battling within.
Inside the yurt, the stillness seems to mock her. The realization that she’s alone, untouched, and in a way, unclaimed, gnaws at her. The expectation of being a bride, of being wanted, clashes violently with the reality of the situation. Worthlessness seeps in, filling the void left by Horohan’s departure. The weight of her own self-doubt and the uncertainty of her place in this new world bears down on her.
Sitting amidst the luxurious fabrics of her bridal attire, Naci’s heart races in tumultuous beats. Rejection is a feeling she thought she understood, but nothing could’ve prepared her for the sting it carries tonight. She was accustomed to her independent spirit, the unyielding flame of freedom that had always characterized her. It was a flame she wore with pride, one that had always given her the strength to shrug off dismissals or judgments. But this? This is different.
How could Horohan, someone who has barely known her for a day, have such a profound effect on her emotions? How could his silent rejection make her feel so small, so inconsequential? It is infuriating.
“I miss me,” she whispers into the cold, empty space of the yurt. She missed her laughter, her carefree nature, the winds of the steppe tangling in her hair as she rode, fearless and free. The Naci who danced to her own tunes and cared little for the world’s opinion.
Bitterness swells within her. “Curse you, Horohan,” she mutters, her voice laced with a mix of anger and hurt. It wasn’t just about the rejection, it was the lack of understanding, the void of empathy. Didn’t he realize that his silence was louder than any words, that the space he offered was colder than the vast steppe in winter?
Hugging her knees, she allows herself to grieve for the expectations shattered, the dreams disrupted. But deep inside, a resilient spark, that intrinsic part of Naci that made her who she is, begins to smolder. She would not let this night define her. She will rise, as she always did. The dawn will bring clarity, and she will find herself again amidst the winds of Tepr.
Gani catches Naci just as she pulls away from the yurt’s entrance, her eyes wide with a mix of bewilderment and exhilaration. “Naci, what are you doing, eavesdropping like a child?” her mother scolds, though her eyes hold a hint of amusement.
Flushed, Naci bounces on her heels, her heart racing in her chest. “But mother, did you see? Did you see?” she bursts out, unable to contain her astonishment.
Gani shakes her head, her lips quirking upwards in a knowing smile. “Oh, I saw alright,” she murmurs, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Quite a sight, isn’t it?”
But Naci seems far from being satisfied with the understatement. She grabs her mother’s hands, her grip tight, her face glowing with a rare, youthful excitement. “No, you don’t understand. It’s her, the groom. She’s a woman, Mother, a woman!”
Gani’s amusement vanishes as if someone snuffed it out. Her face hardens, her grasp on Naci’s hand turning firm, almost painful. “Don’t say such absurd things, Naci. You know as well as I do that it’s not possible,” she warns, her voice dropping low, her gaze intense, pinning Naci down.
Naci shakes her head vigorously, her face a landscape of confusion, excitement, and a dawning realization that her mother refuses to see the truth. “But Mother, I saw her clearly. She is a woman. How can you deny what is right before our eyes?”
Gani sighs, releasing Naci’s hand as she turns away, her face wearing a deep frown, her brow furrowed in frustration and worry. “Naci, listen to me carefully,” she begins, her voice stern, demanding obedience. “In this world, what you think you saw does not matter. It is what others believe that holds power. And everyone, including the Alinkar, believes the groom to be a man. It’s not our place to question or challenge that.”
Naci’s face falls, her excitement dimming as reality crashes down around her. She feels like a child again, scolded and silenced, her joy snuffed out by the weight of traditions and expectations.
Gani takes a step closer, her hands cupping Naci’s face, forcing her to meet her gaze, her eyes burning with urgency. “You must never mention this again, Naci. Not to anyone. If word gets out that you are questioning the groom’s gender, it will bring shame upon not only you but both our families.”
Naci nods, a heavy weight settling in her chest as she processes her mother’s words. A whirlpool of emotions swirl within her—curiosity, defiance, fear—but in the end, she obeys. She’s led to the lavish coach, a fine veil gracing her head, casting a soft shadow over her features.
Her mother, sitting across from her, speaks up, her voice firm and filled with caution. “Remember, Naci, under no circumstance should the groom see your face or hear your voice until after the ceremony. It is of utmost importance.”
The interior of the coach is fragrant with the scent of fresh flowers, an aromatic cloud that seems to hold whispers of the events to come. Naci sits there, silent, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken words, traditions woven tight around them like the intricate patterns of her veil.
Naci nods silently, feeling the weight of her mother’s words. While she is consumed by her doubts and curiosities, she cannot forget the gravity of the occasion and the importance of adhering to the customs.
Gani continues, her eyes filled with a mix of pride and concern. “Once we arrive, the women of the groom’s family will assist you. They will prepare you for the ceremony, helping you with your dress and the final touches. Our clan will join us by evening.”
Naci swallows hard, the anticipation building up inside her. She wonders about the groom’s family and how they would receive her, especially with the startling revelation she had just made. However, she stays silent, trying to prepare herself mentally for the evening ahead. The weight of tradition and the expectations of two families rested on her shoulders. She knew she had to be strong, no matter what lay ahead.
Each bump in the road, every change in terrain, makes the coach sway, but the sheer craftsmanship of the coach ensures that the ride remains smooth and largely comfortable.
Outside, the scenery is a whirlwind of colors. The vast stretches of open plains, the occasional trees, the lakes and the distant mountains on the horizon paint a picture of untouched beauty. But Naci hardly notices it. She’s too consumed by her thoughts, her emotions a turbulent storm within her.
On either side of the coach, the two Alinkar men ride, their imposing presence felt even within the confines of the coach, their eyes scanning the surroundings with hawk-like precision, their eagles ready to shriek at the first threat they notice, ensuring the safety of their precious cargo.
But it’s the presence of the mysterious groom that’s the most unsettling. Naci can’t see her—him, but knows there’s a mystery she must unfold soon.
Gani, sensing her daughter’s unease, often tries to engage her in light conversation, pointing out landmarks or reminiscing about her own wedding journey. But Naci’s mind is elsewhere, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts and what-ifs.
As the sun starts to set, casting a golden hue over the world, the coach’s journey ends.
The Alinkar settlement stands in stark contrast to the one Naci is used to. Enormous yurts with intricately embroidered motifs glisten in the waning sunlight, each of them a testament to their wealth and dominance in the region. The very air seems to shimmer with a kind of latent energy, telling tales of prosperity and power.
As the coach pulls in, Naci observes tall wooden totems lining the pathway, each representing ancestral spirits and guardian deities of the Alinkar. The yurts are encircled by wooden fences, intricately carved and painted in vibrant colors, with symbols of strength, and unity.
The ground, a mix of crushed stones and soft grass, is bustling with activity. Merchants from distant lands haggle with locals over the price of exotic goods, children run around chasing each other, and warriors practice their skills in cordoned-off areas, their bodies moving fluidly, their swords glistening.
Off to one side, a grand platform adorned with silks and furs indicates a place for public gatherings and announcements. Close to it, a massive yurt, larger than any other, stands proudly. It is evident that it belongs to the chieftain of the Alinkar clan.
Naci can feel hundreds of eyes on her as she steps out of the coach. Whispers pass through the crowd like ripples in water. Her veil, though obscuring most of her face, doesn’t shield her from the palpable curiosity of the onlookers. She stands tall, taking in her surroundings, her heart pounding not out of fear but a complex mix of excitement and uncertainty.
Gani, ever the guiding presence, whispers to Naci, “Remember, chin up, walk with grace. We are representing the Jabliu today.”
Naci nods subtly, her posture straightening even more. Two women, adorned in Alinkar traditional attire, approach. Their dresses are a canvas of rich blues and golds, their hair adorned with silver and turquoise accessories. They must be the women assigned to help Naci prepare for the ceremony.
One of them, a middle-aged woman with a kind face, bows slightly, “Welcome, Daughter of Jabliu. I am Ailana, and this is my niece, Sarnai. We are honored to assist you.”
Before Naci can respond, a deep horn sounds from the grand platform, silencing the settlement. The chieftain, an imposing figure with a thick beard and eyes that seem to pierce through the very soul, stands up. He raises his hand in a sign of greeting and respect to Naci and Gani.
“Today, we welcome not just a guest, but a union of two clans, two legacies. As the night approaches, let the festivities begin!”
And just like that, the entire settlement erupts into celebration. Music, dance, and jubilant cries fill the air. The Alinkar clan, known for their hospitality, ensure that the night becomes a true spectacle, a celebration of hope for a prosperous future.
Naci is led into a spacious yurt, the interior decorated with elaborate patterns, shimmering trinkets hanging from the ceiling, and a plush carpet beneath her feet. The gentle glow from the lanterns casts soft, dancing shadows on the walls, creating a serene ambiance.
The air inside is perfumed with the subtle scent of sandalwood and rose, calming her frayed nerves. The yurt is divided into sections with silk curtains, ensuring some privacy. A beautifully laid out ensemble awaits her, the fabric looking rich and inviting.
Sarnai, with her youthful energy, immediately sets to work, arranging various items and preparing the necessary accessories. Ailana, on the other hand, takes a moment to assess Naci, her gaze appreciative and kind. “You’re a vision, even before we’ve started,” she comments with a gentle smile.
Gani, carefully unveils the embroideries that Naci had worked on. There’s a hint of hesitance in her eyes, probably due to their not-so-perfect quality given the rushed circumstances.
“These are the embroideries Naci has worked on,” Gani says, her voice wavering slightly but filled with pride. “They might not be the grandest, but they are a labor of love.”
Ailana takes a moment to inspect the embroideries, her fingers gently caressing the fabric, feeling the stitches. “Every stitch tells a story, every imperfection a testament to the hands that worked on it. They are beautiful,” she assures Gani.
Naci’s cheeks flush with a mixture of pride and relief. The acknowledgment from Ailana means more to her than she’d anticipated.
With grace and expertise, the three women set about dressing Naci. The gown is a stunning mix of blues, greens, and silvers, representing the colors of the Jabliu clan. The embroideries Naci made are delicately sewn onto the dress, enhancing its beauty.
As they near the completion of her preparation, a messenger arrives to escort Gani to meet the chieftain, leaving Naci alone with Ailana and Sarnai.
As Sarnai works on braiding Naci’s hair, weaving in little silver trinkets and flowers, Ailana shares stories of past Alinkar weddings, her voice soothing and melodious.
Naci takes a deep breath, feeling a little nervous but also eager to grasp this rare moment of privacy to satisfy the burning curiosity within her.
With a cautious yet innocent demeanor, she ventures, “I’ve heard … interesting things about the Alinkar customs and traditions. Especially about the groom’s upbringing.” She casts her eyes downward, her heart pounding in her chest as she gauges the reactions of the two women.
Ailana and Sarnai share a knowing glance before breaking into gentle laughter. Sarnai speaks first, her voice lighthearted, “Oh, you mean the unique circumstances of his upbringing? It’s quite a tale indeed.”
Ailana nods in agreement, her voice taking on a warm and reassuring tone as she begins the story. “Many years ago, our chief faced a series of unfortunate events where he was unable to have a child. It was a trying time, filled with sadness and longing. But then, when hope seemed distant, his third wife gave birth to a blessing, a beautiful baby girl.”
Sarnai picks up where Ailana left off, her eyes twinkling with the gravity of the tale. “But considering the situation, and fearing that this might be his only chance to secure a heir, the chief made a daring decision. He chose to raise him as a young man, a choice that encompassed both courage and love, breaking and reshaping traditions.”
Ailana leans in closer to Naci, her voice dropping to a reverent whisper, “Everyone in the clan learned to embrace this unique path, treating him with the respect and reverence reserved for a future leader. The chief demanded it, ensuring that anyone who dared to treat him otherwise faced stern reprimands.”
“The world beyond our borders knows him as a man, with a spirit fierce and strong,” Sarnai adds, her voice portraying a sense of pride and admiration. “But deep down, under the masks and the roles we play, there lies a heart that transcends gender, a spirit that embodies the strengths and grace of both man and woman.”
Naci listens with rapt attention, her heart swelling with a myriad of emotions as she processes the extraordinary tale of her groom’s life journey. The words resonate with her, painting a portrait of a person who defied norms, who carried the weight of expectations with unparalleled strength.
As the story comes to an end, the atmosphere in the yurt feels enchanted, the space they share seems sacred and warm, wrapped in the delicate glow of the lanterns and the tale of strength and adaptability.
Naci feels a connection, a thread of understanding that weaves its way into her heart. She smiles, a soft, kind smile, touched by the candid sharing and the tale of a life so courageously lived.
She whispers, almost to herself, “It sounds like a tale of a person who has lived with the beauty and strength of both worlds, harmoniously blended into one.”
Ailana and Sarnai nod, their smiles reflective of a deep-seated pride for their clan and the extraordinary person who was to be Naci’s groom.
Once dressed, Naci stands tall, the dress flowing gracefully around her, making her look ethereal. The combined efforts of the women have transformed her into a true bride.
With a heart pounding like thunderous hoofbeats, Naci steps into the vital center of the gathering—the most honored yurt. The vibrant hues of hand-woven rugs greet her, each pattern telling tales as ancient as the mountains. The air is heady with the scent of spices and fresh flowers, whispering secrets of auspicious moments and blessings to come.
Naci’s soul dances with joy as her gaze lands on the familiar faces of her beloved family, clustered together in rich garments of celebration, their eyes sparkling with love and pride. She feels a rush of home washing over her, a tide of warmth and unconditional love that threatens to bring tears to her eyes.
As she scans the crowd, her heart leaps at the sight of Liara, her cherished horse, standing gallantly at the outskirts of the celebration. Liara, with her coat that mirrors the moon’s glow and her grace that has been her companion through countless adventures. The sight of her evokes memories of freedom, of wild rides under the vast open sky.
Continuing her path, she reaches the groom, who stands like a figure carved from the gentle hands of a craftsman; elegant, delicate, yet with a sadness that pools in the depth of his sorrowful eyes. But beneath that sorrow, there lies a mesmerizing beauty, and as Naci stands next to him, she can’t shake off the sense that regardless of gender, there is an allure, a magnetic pull that emanates from the person beside her.
Finally, they are ushered to sit beside each other, their side-by-side posture forming a painting of juxtaposed emotions; joy meeting sorrow, anticipation merging with apprehension. As they sit, the groom gifts her a smile, a hint of warmth breaking through the sorrow, lighting up their face with a gentle glow that beckons her in, offering a glimpse of the person beneath the exterior.
In a tradition as old as the stars themselves, they lean in, the whispers of their names exchanged in a sacred promise, a secret just between them as the world watches with bated breath. Naci shares her name, a treasured word that carries the weight of her history, her joys, her dreams. “Horohan,” the groom reciprocates, the utterance of his name carrying a similar weight, a tether of stories and experiences that weave together at this moment, joining them in an intimate connection.
As the ritual reaches its crescendo, the community brings forward a cup, brimming with a traditional alcohol, a liquid that carries with it the history and the spirit of their people. Together, they take turns, lips touching the same spot on the cup, sharing in the age-old tradition that signifies unity, not just between them, but with the cosmos, the ancestors, and the very land that nurtures them.
In the following moment of solemnity and understanding, their bond is sealed, their destinies intertwined with the sharing of the spiritual liquid that coursed through their veins, binding them in ways deeper and more profound than any could envisage. A silent pledge to each other and to the community, it is a sacred moment steeped in tradition and reverence, a representation of unity, respect, and the beginning of a shared journey.
With the culmination of the ceremony, Horohan tenderly takes Naci’s hand, his touch warm yet firm, and guides her amidst the hushed whispers and subtle nods of approval from the gathered crowd, to the place they were to start their journey together, their yurt. Every step feels both like an eternity and yet over in a blink as anxiety wraps around her heart, squeezing tight with the fear of the unknown.
But, as they approach, she realizes that the path Horohan is taking doesn’t lead to the couple’s yurt she’d been told about. Instead, they stop before another yurt, more modest in its decoration but equally comforting in its familiarity.
Horohan pauses, releasing her hand and turning to face her. The sorrow from before lingers, but there’s a new depth in his eyes now—a struggle, perhaps, or a resolution. “You can sleep here tonight,” he says softly, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words. “No one will touch you.”
Naci blinks, the surprise evident in her eyes. Before she can formulate a response, Horohan continues, “If you wish, you can leave with your family tomorrow and go back to your clan.”
The words hang heavily in the air, an unexpected offering, one that Naci hadn’t dared to imagine. But instead of the relief she might have expected to feel, a wave of confusion washes over her. Abandoned? Rejected? The emotions swirl inside, leaving her more adrift than before.
Horohan’s gaze is steady but the sadness within has deepened, making Naci wonder about the stories hidden behind those eyes. Without another word, he turns, heading towards his own yurt, leaving Naci standing there, a myriad of emotions battling within.
Inside the yurt, the stillness seems to mock her. The realization that she’s alone, untouched, and in a way, unclaimed, gnaws at her. The expectation of being a bride, of being wanted, clashes violently with the reality of the situation. Worthlessness seeps in, filling the void left by Horohan’s departure. The weight of her own self-doubt and the uncertainty of her place in this new world bears down on her.
Sitting amidst the luxurious fabrics of her bridal attire, Naci’s heart races in tumultuous beats. Rejection is a feeling she thought she understood, but nothing could’ve prepared her for the sting it carries tonight. She was accustomed to her independent spirit, the unyielding flame of freedom that had always characterized her. It was a flame she wore with pride, one that had always given her the strength to shrug off dismissals or judgments. But this? This is different.
How could Horohan, someone who has barely known her for a day, have such a profound effect on her emotions? How could his silent rejection make her feel so small, so inconsequential? It is infuriating.
“I miss me,” she whispers into the cold, empty space of the yurt. She missed her laughter, her carefree nature, the winds of the steppe tangling in her hair as she rode, fearless and free. The Naci who danced to her own tunes and cared little for the world’s opinion.
Bitterness swells within her. “Curse you, Horohan,” she mutters, her voice laced with a mix of anger and hurt. It wasn’t just about the rejection, it was the lack of understanding, the void of empathy. Didn’t he realize that his silence was louder than any words, that the space he offered was colder than the vast steppe in winter?
Hugging her knees, she allows herself to grieve for the expectations shattered, the dreams disrupted. But deep inside, a resilient spark, that intrinsic part of Naci that made her who she is, begins to smolder. She would not let this night define her. She will rise, as she always did. The dawn will bring clarity, and she will find herself again amidst the winds of Tepr.
