Naondel Read online

  PUSHKIN PRESS

  PRAISE FOR THE RED ABBEY CHRONICLES

  “A haunting fable”

  SUZY FEAY, FINANCIAL TIMES

  “Turtschaninoff weaves a hypnotic spell… at once contemporary and timeless”

  GUARDIAN

  “Combines a flavour of The Handmaid’s Tale with bursts of excitement reminiscent of Harry Potter’s magic duels”

  OBSERVER

  “Should appeal to fans of Ursula K. Le Guin… A lucid, layered, deeply engaging story”

  METRO

  “Stands out for its startling originality, and for the frightening plausibility of the dangerous world it creates”

  TELEGRAPH

  “It’s rare to find a YA fantasy with such polished writing… Utterly satisfying and completely different”

  BOOKLIST, STARRED REVIEW

  “Dark, powerful and original… it really stands out in a very crowded YA marketplace. Thrilling, suspenseful and gloriously feminist”

  THE BOOKSELLER

  “A beautifully painted, fantastical setting like no other; this story will resonate with me for a long time”

  BEN ALDERSON, BOOKTUBER

  “Atmospheric, immersive and definitely original, Maresi has a quiet urgent magic that makes her story powerful, poignant and memorable”

  FOR BOOKS’ SAKE

  “A book full of courage. Dark, brave and so gripping you’ll read it in one sitting with that instinctive hunch hovering over your shoulder warning you that something terrible is about happen if you turn the page. And then you turn the page…”

  LAURA DOCKRILL

  “A few times in a life time, a book comes along that wraps you completely in its world and its characters. Wildly imaginative and vivid and filled with wonders… this book makes me proud to be a woman”

  CASEY DAVERON, BOOKTUBER (CASEY ANN BOOKS)

  “A poignant, slow-burning fantasy”

  TARAN MATHARU

  “Turtschaninoff puts traditional elements of female magic to effective dramatic use… But what’s more impressive about this fantasy is the subtlety with which the serenity of the island and its way of life is established—through the calls of birds, the sounds of the lapping sea, the smoothness of driftwood”

  THE HORN BOOK

  “Absolutely incredible, wonderfully mesmerising and a complete delight… Maresi completely captured my heart along with my imagination, and I’m not sure I want it back”

  ONCE UPON A BOOKCASE

  “Beautifully written… Maresi has a touch of Katniss about her, and although the target market is different, female lovers of dystopian fantasy adventures will enjoy the journey”

  THE SCHOOL LIBRARIAN

  For Hanna, my friend

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Map

  Prologue

  Kabira

  Garai

  Orseola

  Garai

  Kabira

  Sulani

  Kabira

  Clarás

  Iona

  Clarás

  Kabira

  Garai

  Clarás

  Kabira

  Clarás

  Sulani

  Clarás

  Sulani

  Clarás

  Daera

  Kabira

  Esiko’s Letter

  Daera

  Name List

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  Prologue

  HESE SCRIPTURES CONSTITUTE THE innermost archives of the Red Abbey. They contain the history of Naondel and the long journey undertaken by the first sisters to reach the island of Menos. Our journey. It has all been penned by our own hands. Some sections were written before we came to Menos, others after the founding of the Red Abbey. Much of what is written in these accounts must never be disclosed beyond the guardian walls of the Abbey. The knowledge contained herein is far too dangerous. Though neither must the chronicles be forgotten entirely. The Abbey must never forget what was endured to create this refuge for our successors, a place where women can work and learn side by side. May our legacy live on as long as these walls remain standing: Kabira the first Mother, Clarás who led our flight, Garai the High Priestess, Estegi the servant and second Mother, Orseola the Dreamweaver, Sulani the Brave, Daera the first Rose, and Iona, who was lost.

  Kabira

  HERE ARE FEW WHOM I HAVE LOVED IN my overlong life. Two of them I have betrayed. One I have killed. One has turned her back on me. And one has held my death in his hand. There is no beauty in my past. No goodness. Yet I am forcing myself to look back and recall Ohaddin, the palace, and all that came to pass therein.

  There was no palace in Ohaddin, not to begin with. There was only my father’s house.

  Our family was wealthy; our ancestral estate was of long standing and comprised a spice plantation, several orchards and extensive fields of okahara, poppies and wheat. The house itself was beautifully situated in a sloping dip at the foot of a hill which gave shade in the worst of the summer’s midday heat, and protection from the harshest of the winter’s rainstorms. The ancient walls were of thick stone and clay, and from the roof terrace there spanned a far-ranging view over our grounds and those of our neighbours, all the estates and plantations, and the Sakanui River snaking down to the sea. In the east one could see the pillars of smoke rising from Areko, the capital city of the realm of Karenokoi. The city of the Sovereign Prince. On clear days one might glimpse the ocean like a silvery mirage on the south-west horizon.

  I met Iskan at the spice market in my nineteenth year. As daughters of a wealthy family, it was certainly not the responsibility of my sisters, Agin and Lehan, and I to sell the estate’s yields of cinnamon bark, etse and bao spice. This was undertaken by the overseer and his little pack of labourers, under the supervision of Father and our brother Tihe. I recall the procession of carts laden with sacks of bark and bundles of bao and gleaming red heaps of etse pods. Father and Tihe rode up front on well-groomed horses. Each cart was flanked by two labourers, on foot, at either side of the horses’ heads; both a sign of Father’s status and as protection against thieves. Mother, my sisters and I travelled in a carriage at the back of the caravan, with a green-silk baldachin over our heads as protection from the heat. The gold-embroidered fabric let through a pleasant glow of daylight, and we jostled along on the uneven path and talked. It was Lehan’s first journey to the spice market and she was brimming with curiosity and questions. Halfway to the city, Mother produced steamed dumplings of sweet-spiced pork in soft dough, fresh dates and chilled water flavoured with oranges. When the carriage drove over one of the larger of the path’s potholes, Lehan spilt meat juice down her new yellow-silk coat and received a scolding from Agin. It was she who had embroidered the orange blossoms around the cuffs and neckline. But Mother only looked out over the okahara fields, now in bloom, and did not involve herself in the girls’ quarrel. Suddenly she turned to me.

  “I first met your father when the okahara was in bloom. He gave me a bunch of the white flowers on our second meeting, and I thought that he must be poor. Other young men gave the girls they were courting orchids and precious fabrics, or jewellery of silver and goldenstone. He told me that I reminded him of the silky-soft petals of an okahara flower. A shocking thing for a man to say to a maid!” Mother chuckled. I bit into a succulent date and smiled. Mother had recounted her first meeting with Father many times. It was one of our favourite stories. They had met by the stream where Mother would often go to fetch water, and which Father happened upon as he rode home from Areko where he had purchased new farming tools. He was his father’s only son and heir, but he did not reveal his name to Mother, nor she her own to him, until their third encoun
ter.

  “He had already captured my heart,” Mother continued with a sigh. “I reconciled myself with the idea of binding my life to a man of modest means, and thought that perhaps it would be just as well to marry a poet. But then I got—”

  The three of us joined in: “—both money and poetry!” Mother smacked my knee with the cover of our lunch pack.

  “You disrespectful little cackling hens!” But she smiled, still in a daydream.

  Perhaps it was the mood she inspired in me that made me notice Iskan as soon as we arrived at the gardens of the Sovereign Prince. At every spice market the Sovereign opened his gardens of unparalleled splendour to the wives and daughters of noble families. The men, their sons and labourers saw to the arduous physical work of auctioning off their batches of spices in the spice square near the port. Merchants came sailing from far and wide to buy of the renowned spice yields of Karenokoi, and paid a high levy to the Sovereign for the privilege. Our spices would fetch dizzying prices overseas, and the farther the merchants sailed, the more they sold for. They were the source of the land’s prosperity, and of the Sovereign Prince’s fortune.

  When we came to Whisperers’ Gate, the entrance to the Sovereign’s gardens, we had to wait a short while for passengers from other carriages to disembark. Lehan leant out of the carriage, curious to scrutinize the other women, but Agin pulled her back abruptly.

  “That is not any way for a well-born girl to behave!”

  Lehan sat back in the carriage with crossed arms and a furrowed brow, provoking an immediate response from Mother: “Scowls destroy beauty.” It was something she had said throughout Lehan’s life, for she was the beauty of the three of us. Her skin was always fresh as rose petals, even after spending all day out in the sun without a proper wide-brimmed straw hat for protection, or after crying herself sick as she did if Mother and Father ever denied her something that she wanted. Her hair was thick, and black as coal, and framed her heart-shaped face and big brown eyes in a way that my flimsy hair never could. Agin had the hardest face of the three of us, and large hands and feet. Father sometimes joked that she was his second son. I know he meant no harm, but Agin took great offence. She was the good daughter, the one who looked after me—though I was her elder—and Lehan and Tihe. She was the one who performed offerings to the ancestors, even though that was my duty as eldest daughter. I would always forget, and then Agin would be the one to undertake the tiresome passage up the burial mound, and burn the incense and tobacco to appease the spirits of the ancestors. The only responsibility that I did not shirk was the spring. I made sure to keep it clean, to sweep around it and fish out dead leaves and insects with a net. Yet that was because my siblings knew nothing of the secrets of the spring.

  I could already see a great deal from my seat in the carriage without leaning out as Lehan had done. Women and girls, dressed in costly jewel-coloured silk coats, stepped down from the carriages, their heads heavy with hairpieces of silver chains and coins. Some handsome young men of the court, with well-kept beards and royal-blue shirts over loose white trousers, helped the ladies down while the little girls, presumably daughters of the Sovereign’s concubines, hung flower garlands around their necks in greeting. One of the young men was a head taller than the others. From the silver stitching on his collar I deduced that he must hold a high position in court, close to the Sovereign himself. He wore his hair very short and his eyes were uncommonly dark. When our carriage rolled up to the gate it was he who stepped forward and offered his hand to help Mother down. She gave a dignified nod and accepted flower garlands from the little girls, and the young man bowed to her before turning back to the carriage once more—to me. I offered my hand and he took it. His hand was dry and warm and perfectly soft. He smiled at me with plump red lips.

  “Welcome, Kabira ak Malik-cho.” He was well informed as well, though it was not difficult to guess that the eldest daughter of the family would step out of the carriage directly after her mother, and from Mother’s nine silver chains one could surmise that we were of the house of Cho. I stepped down with care, but did not return his smile. It would hardly be seemly. He still held my hand in his. “My name is Iskan ak Honta-che, at your service. There are refreshments provided by the pond. You must be warm after your long journey.” I bowed, and he released my hand. He helped Agin down without a word, but when Lehan stepped out I saw his gaze linger on her hair, her skin. Her eyes.

  “Come, Lehan.” I took her hand. “The pond is this way.” I did not wish to be impolite, so I bowed to Iskan once more. “Che.”

  He continued to smile, as though he saw straight through me.

  I pulled Agin and Lehan along with me. Lehan’s eyes were drinking everything in. The beautifully dressed women. The garden paths dotted with crushed seashells. The flower beds of sweet-smelling blossoms with butterflies as big as your hand fluttering hither and thither between. There were many fountains trickling crystal-clear water, and the pendant branches of a parasol tree stretched out above us, offering shade. Mother followed us through the garden, nodding graciously at other harika ladies who were herding their daughters along the paths, and I mused that we too resembled butterflies in our brightly coloured silk jackets.

  Then the park opened up to reveal the palace, fronted by its huge pearl-like pond. Lehan stopped still, wide-eyed. “I never knew it was so big,” she whispered, enraptured.

  The royal palace was the largest building in Karenokoi, and it was impossible to conceive of anything more majestic. It was built on two storeys and spanned the entire north section of the garden. Its red marble came from inland Karenokoi, which gave the building a colour unlike any other in all the realm. The roof tiles were black, and the entrance to the palace from the garden was formed of wide, arched double doors of beautiful gold filigree. The palace housed the Sovereign Prince, his wives, his concubines and all his hundred children, as well as the royal court, which also comprised around a hundred persons. The palace was not at all visible from the city; consequently few citizens had ever seen more than the roof.

  The palace is still standing, or so I heard. Though, naturally, no longer in use.

  Around the pond were several long tables dressed with gold-embroidered damask and covered with dishes overflowing with chilled fruits, pitchers of iced green tea, candied flowers and pastries glistening with honey. Lehan had eyes only for the palace and its magnificent grounds, and expressed no interest in eating, but Agin and I enjoyed sampling the many delicacies. Mother had found some acquaintances to talk to, and was sitting with them on a bench beneath a jacaranda tree while young girls fetched them refreshing beverages. Suddenly I saw a tall figure in white and blue approaching Lehan where she stood gazing up at the palace. It was Iskan, the man who had been so forthcoming at the entrance gate. He pointed something out to her and she giggled in delight. Mother frowned, and Agin and I sighed as one.

  “I’ll take care of this,” I said and hastened over to Lehan.

  “Look Kabira, that’s the residence of the Lady Sovereign!” said Lehan as I reached her side. “Iskan resides in the palace. He meets with the Sovereign Prince almost every day!”

  Iskan smiled at her exuberant expression. Did this man never stop smiling?

  “Perhaps you will permit me to show you the palace? Unfortunately the second floor is out of bounds to anyone other than the Sovereign Prince and his family, but there are many splendid chambers on the ground floor as well.”

  “Please Kabira, may we?” Lehan was practically jumping up and down with glee. I laid a calming hand on her shoulder and it seemed to remind her of befitting harika conduct. She stilled and lowered her gaze.

  “That is most kind of you, che. But two unmarried young women…” I let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished. It was most unbecoming that I should need to remind him of the rules of propriety.

  His big brown eyes opened wide and he looked quite appalled. “I should never dream of escorting you alone! My nurse will accompany us as chaperone, natu
rally.”

  Lehan peered up at me through her thick eyelashes. I pursed my lips and looked at Iskan, and saw a sort of mischief sparkle in his eyes. He was poking fun at me!

  “Very well. Come along, Lehan.”

  I started hastily towards the steps leading up to the gilded doors and Lehan squealed and scurried after. We waited a moment in the shade of the bloodsnail-red baldachin hanging above the doors, and Iskan soon joined us with an old woman, dressed in white, leaning on his arm. She nodded at us sternly but Iskan did not present her. Instead he threw open the doors and showed us in with a grandiose gesture.

  “As if the palace were his own,” I whispered to Lehan, but she was already gaping at the entrance hall’s marble floor and the stunning painted screens dressing every wall. The nurse sat down on a stool in a corner, trying to catch her breath, and Iskan smiled at me.

  “As you can see, cho. Everything is most decent.”

  I scoffed, because I did not know how to respond. He walked over to Lehan, who had stopped before a screen that depicted a ship in front of a green island in the midst of a storm.

  “This piece is by Master Liau ak Tiwe-chi.”

  Lehan’s eyes grew wide. “That means it’s over four hundred years old!”

  “The Sovereign has much older treasures in his collections,” said Iskan genially, and Lehan blushed. She rushed over to the next screen.

  “Is she a devotee of fine art, your sister?” Iskan asked, appearing at my side. I was standing with arms crossed and my hands tucked into my sleeves. Mother would have shuddered to see me so, and I noticed the old nurse scowl.

  “No, she is not. She simply likes anything that is pretty, golden or expensive.” I softened. “Though our father has seen to it that all of his children receive an education in the classics.”

  “Let me see, your father is Malik ak Sangui-cho. And your estate lies in the north-west, towards the Halim mountains?”