by Victor Poole
Ajalia could hear the chanting of a wedding below her in the little house; she wondered what the crowd out in the street were making of the sounds. She was sure the Slavithe people could hear the whole ceremony from outside.
Ajalia pressed the edges of the rectangle until it peeped, just visible, out of the lining. She gripped the gold edge of the rectangle, and pulled it out of the book. A warm shiver of satisfaction ran down her spine when she examined the flat piece of stone that she had drawn out of the lining.
The shape was a thin slice of white stone; gold paint had been applied to the edges, and letters had been written all over both sides of the stone in black ink. The piece of stone was the key to a cipher; on one side was the obscure old writing that filled the book, and on the other was the narrow, elegant writing that Ajalia had learned to read. The modern Slavithe was slightly different than the writing Ajalia had studied, but each of the letters was clearly visible. Ajalia closed the book with a snap, and tucked the stone piece into the deepest recess of her inner robe. She hid the book in the room, and then went to the door. She looked behind her into the room, and thought about whether or not Delmar was likely to try to steal the book from her. All the slaves in the house knew that she had been staying up here, and though she did not let strangers into the house, even she had been flummoxed by Delmar's vague insistency in the last few days. There was no saying what his strange manners would compel the Eastern slaves to do for him.
Ajalia went and got the old book out, and tucked it back into the interior of her robe. Her master's ceremonial robe had no pockets, or places to hide things, but her plain cream robe that she wore against her skin was made to carry all manner of things. She felt the weight of the coins against this inner robe, and sighed. She had slept with the caravan's store of money strapped around her waist, and though the coins were growing heavy and damp against her body, she had yet to regret heeding the tickling feeling that was still gnawing at the base of her skull. She knew the money was in danger, and she would rather keep it next to her skin than in any other hiding place.
The major disadvantage of her master's ceremonial robes was that they prevented her from easily reaching her knife. In her experience, the act of impersonating her Eastern master was protection enough, but here in the isolated city of Slavithe, and among the other slaves, who were still responding to the upheaval of Lim's demotion from leader, Ajalia felt more exposed than she could remember being on any trading journey.
Something about this trip was different; Ajalia had felt so since she had come within sight of the gleaming white stone of the city walls. Something about Slavithe, about its people, and its customs, made Ajalia shiver and brace herself.
The last marriage song came to a close downstairs; Ajalia could hear the slaves pounding their feet against the stone floor. Ajalia adjusted the sweep of her hair, and fluffed the ends of her black silk beard. She took a deep breath, and put her shoulders into the shape of her master's carriage.
As Ajalia swept down the stairs, her heavy robes pulling down over her body, she thought of her master. He was one of the few men she had ever grown to respect, and when she had belonged to him for a time, she had come to admire him as well. Ajalia's master was a just man; he did not attempt to enact justice on the world, but his dealings among his slaves, and between his near relations, were just. He treated people as people; Ajalia had spent her life watching human beings try to take things from each other, and her master was one of the few men she had met who made her feel as though she were more than a means to an end.
She thought of his voice, and of the timber of his words, and her jaw dropped lower against her neck. The inscrutable stare of the Eastern chief came into her eyes, and she became, in her own mind, an embodiment of him.
THE OFFERING
The slaves near the bottom of the stairs parted when Ajalia appeared, and waited for Philas to take his place just behind her shoulder, before falling into formation behind her. Ajalia went straight to the door; one of the slaves darted to it, and opened it for her.
The sun had just tipped over the edge of the farthest city wall as Ajalia stepped into the street of the city. The air was a clear white hue; it had not yet begun to appear blue. Ajalia looked through the crowds of gray-cloaked Slavithe who were still standing, unlit tapers in hand, around the door to the little house. They parted around her, just as the slaves had done, and watched Ajalia, Philas, and the long double procession of slaves that followed her emerge from the little house. The slave boy came last, and he closed and locked the door behind the last slave. The bundles of silks and other goods that had been stored in the little house had been moved into one of the guarded warehouses in the city; once Ajalia had convinced Lim to save the silks, the erstwhile leader of the caravan had moved the valuables to a more secure location.
Chad was hovering near the entrance to the little house. Ajalia had seen him out of the corner of her eye as she had emerged from the little house, but she had shown no sign, and the young Slavithe man melted back, put off by the grandeur and spectacle of the Eastern slaves. He had grown used to Ajalia as herself, but he was excluded from the elaborate world of the Eastern traders. Ajalia now was embodying her master; she looked like him, and moved like him. Her eyes were heavy and impassive, and her head sat squarely over her shoulders with the peculiar slant of an older man. Chad trailed along behind the mass of Slavithe figures, who followed in the wake of Ajalia's painted majesty; the people wanted to see what the Eastern trader would offer to the Thief Lord in honor of the Feast of Beautiful Things.
The streets were strangely silent; Ajalia noticed the silence, and realized that she had grown used to the soothing chatter of Slavithe sounds. The sounds of the Slavithe in their city was a constant hum; they chatted to each other about the weather, and about their children. Ajalia had heard neighbors quarreling, in a loving tone, over servants and food, and she had overheard merchants keeping up a constant patter of noise through the streets of the market.
The silence now was absolute. The quite pad of many feet filled up the echoing canyon formed by the high stone walls of the houses. Ajalia glanced up at the balconies and windows of the white houses. On the day the caravan had entered the great walls of the city, the balconies had been overflowing with bodies; spectators had hung from every window and pillar in order to see the colorful caravan from the East. Now the stone balconies and windows were empty; every door was shut, and the city appeared to be void of life.
The streets that they passed through on their way to the Thief Lord's house were empty. Ajalia had expected to meet crowds of people on her way to the offering place, but the only Slavithe people she found were those who had crowded around the front of the little house. She decided that the rest of the city must have already gathered in the square before the Thief Lord's house, but when the long procession reached that place, it was similarly empty. Two torches burned before the Thief Lord's door, but the square was bare.
Ajalia felt Philas stir at her side, but she did not turn towards him. She wanted to see what would happen. She walked through the open street towards the Thief Lord's door, and stopped some distance from his front step.
The street could not properly be called a square, but it was nearer an open space than any of the other streets in the residential district. Slavithe bodies, cloaked in bland gray, crowded against the far walls of the street. The Slavithe people all stood well back from Ajalia and her train of slaves; they had to crush against the houses opposite, and their numbers stretched far down to the corners. They all stood and watched, their unlit tapers held in their hands. Ajalia could not tell which of them were women. Their faces were bare, and the heads that she saw were all close cropped.
Ajalia had not yet found out if the shorn Slavithe women had mannish figures, or if they bound up their bodies to appear as men. She herself was thin and agile, and the bulk of her master's ceremonial robes made it easy to pass as a man.
The gold-dusted silk of her glued-on beard
itched in the light of the rising sun, as she stared impassively at the house nearest the Thief Lord's house. The great white house of stone was the only residential building Ajalia had seen in the city that was free standing; a gap as wide as a man's shoulders spread between it and the white stone walls nearest it. She could see a long, deep shadow, like a black cut in a white sea, running up beside the many stories of the house. Ajalia had seen many balconies in the city that shared supports with the neighboring balconies; on one street, she had seen three balconies all built from one slab of white stone. The Thief Lord's house had balconies, but they were carved so that they curved away from the houses nearest them, and billowed beautifully over the facade of the Thief Lord's house. The house was tall, and serene in the morning light.
Time passed; Ajalia stood, impassive, immune to the shuffling she could hear behind her. Some of the slaves rustled, glancing at each other. She thought she could hear Lim's nervous breathing. He had not been sold for so long, and he was so used to the protection of his position, that Ajalia was sure the sweat was gathering rapidly on his temples. She did not pity him.
Yelin had tucked herself behind many of the other slaves; the only slaves absent from the caravan now were those who were tending to the horses, and the great blue yurl. The slaves had dressed themselves in the finest clothing they had; many of them wore heavy gold ornaments in their hair, or over their ears. Some of them had rings, though Ajalia was the only slave wearing the golden shimmer over her skin. The Eastern traders believed that gold drew good trade; when they were at crucial trades, they pressed long flakes of real gold against their eyebrows, and under their eyes; they believed that surrounding themselves with the shimmer of gold would lead them to the greatest trade, and the highest profit. Lim had kept the flaked gold himself, but Ajalia had taken it from his room when he had been stripped of his rank. As the face-bearing slave, she needed the gold flakes for state occasions, and for important trades.
The leather book and the caravan's coins dragged heavily against Ajalia's inner robe; she felt the sweat building through her garments. The air of the morning was sweet and cool, but the warmth of the sun would soon make her master's robe unbearably hot.
Ajalia's mouth was pulled into a thin, grim line. She began to ponder on the forest she had explored just outside the city. She wondered if the Slavithe people ever made clothes or cloaks from the skins of the animals she had seen there. She had not ever seen the gray colored fabric the people were all wearing today; their brown and tan earth colors had filled the city before.
As she thought of the gowns she had seen hanging in Eccsa's tiny room, gowns that were pleated, and sewn with tidy stitches, and that were composed of more colored fabrics than those worn by the Slavithe people, the door to the Thief Lord's house opened.
Ajalia did not look at the door, but she waited. Philas felt no compunction about staring; he was playing only himself, and could stare at what he liked. Ajalia hoped that Philas would keep his mouth shut; she did not want him to interrupt her concentration. He would have been all right before all the kissing, and the wheedling, but they had not worked together publicly since then, and she did not trust his judgment.
Philas remained silent, and the Thief Lord stepped out of his house, and towards Ajalia.
She did not look at him; she could see him coming in her peripheral vision, and she remained impassive. Her heart began to skip in her chest. She reflected that she had been right to be afraid of this day. She could feel the avarice, the desire, the wanting that rolled off of the Thief Lord's body. She knew that he meant to steal from her, and she knew that he was determined to succeed.
With a movement like a great mountain crumbling, Ajalia turned her head. Her eyes did not change, and her mouth remained still, carved down in a bow of stern distaste. The black silk beard, shimmering in the new light with gold, threw tiny flecks of light into Ajalia's eyes.
She used her master's voice; her jaw deepened, and her neck stretched wide and long. "I bring a gift," Ajalia said. Her tones filled up the narrow space, and bounced against the stone sides of the houses.
"To honor you on this day, the Feast of Beautiful Things, I have brought a gift, the finest treasure of the East," Ajalia intoned. Her voice rumbled deeply against the flagstones beneath her, and sent shivers of vibration through the unlit tapers in the Slavithe people's hands.
She could feel the Thief Lord's lips whetting, and his whole body leaning towards her. Her eyes flicked momentarily towards the open door to the Thief Lord's house; she saw a shadow there. Ajalia closed her mouth, and clasped her hands together in the folds of her master's magnificent robe.
"You do us great honor, elaborate stranger from the East," the Thief Lord said. His voice was acidic, and thin; it bounced around the square like poisoned arrows. Ajalia made no sign. She watched the open door, and waited. Finally, the Thief Lord turned, and jerked his shoulder towards the square.
The tall woman with brown hair came with a stately walk out of the house, followed by two young men. Ajalia studied these two males. She assumed that they were Delmar's brothers. One was a little younger than Delmar, and had a scruff of beard starting at his chin. This, she supposed, was Wall. The younger brother stayed unnaturally close to his mother's side; he had wide brown eyes, and his mouth was thrust forward, and open a little. His nose was sharp.
Ajalia waited, and after a time, Delmar appeared. He inched out of the house, his face ablaze with shame, and edged to the far side of the street, as far as he could stand from his family, and still be near the house.
"Great Master," Ajalia said loudly, and an audible gasp erupted from the crowds of Slavithe people behind her. She had used the old tongue. These words were the only words she knew of that older language; the man who had taught her Slavithe had shown them to her once when he was drunk, and explained how to pronounce them. The Slavithe man had explained that the words were magic, old magic, and that they invoked the mantle of power that passed from Thief Lord to Thief Lord in the governance of Slavithe. The man had told Ajalia that no one spoke the old tongue, or used references to the old mythology, but that there were always whispers that the magic was real.
Ajalia did not know if her words would impress the Thief Lord, but she knew that they would have an effect on the people crowded behind her, and she hoped that they would impact the Thief Lord's wife as well. Ajalia had a feeling that the Thief Lord's wife was the person who would determine the success or failure of her gift today.
Before the murmurs and amazement of the Slavithe voices had died away, Ajalia spoke again.
"I have come into your city to trade," Ajalia said loudly, "and I have found more than wealth here in Slavithe. I have found hope for a new way of life. I have found a pattern to follow. To honor your own ways, which are so superior to the ways of my own land, I give you now the crown jewels of my caravan, the most valuable possessions I carry with me. I present to you, the man who engineered the journey, and who oversaw our trades. Lim!" Ajalia cried, and threw both of her arms into the air. Her heavy sleeves rippled up through the morning air, and made a sound like blazing fire.
Lim may have been shorn, and stripped of all he possessed, but he was not a fool. He had gotten a robe from Saul, another of the male slaves, and he was resplendent in an inky green robe that had been traced through with silver threads, and pocked in and out with white glass beads. The sleeves were drawn tightly up around his shoulders, and his cream robe beneath set off the shimmering green silk. He had washed and tinted his hair with silver paint, and his eyes had been traced around with a heavy line of red; he looked like a silver-crested snake, and his body, as he stepped clear of the ranks of slaves that followed Ajalia, was puffed up to make him look quite taller than he was. His neck was stretched up towards the sky, and his eyes carried all the hauteur and disdain of a powerful man.
A ripple of excitement shivered through the crowd of Slavithe people that lined the street. The slaves behind Ajalia were still and silent; they had
known something was going to happen to Lim, and all of them had the sense of an impressive moment. Ajalia thought that she could feel Yelin vibrating with anticipation behind the column of slaves.
Ajalia's eyes swept towards the Thief Lord's face. She was too immersed in her role to let her muscles twitch, but the Thief Lord's eyes had stretched upward, and his cheeks were hollowed with shock. As Lim walked majestically out of the column of Eastern slaves, his arms held out to show his magnificent robes, Ajalia glanced at the Thief Lord's wife. The tall woman's eyes had narrowed slightly, and her proud mouth was pursed in a speculative look. Ajalia knew that she was calculating the worth of the green silk robe.
"Although my heart will always lie in the land of my Eastern master," Lim said, his lips curling impressively over the thick Eastern sounds, "I embrace willingly this sacrifice, and bond my allegiance now to your fair city and people."
Ajalia watched Lim process with grand solemnity to the door of the Thief Lord's house. The shorn slave threw out his robe to one side, the fabric rippling loudly through the air, and knelt before the Thief Lord.
"I accept my service in your house, great one," Lim said slowly in Slavithe.
Ajalia's lips pressed out a little; she was impressed. Lim had not deigned to speak Slavithe since the caravan had arrived in the white stone city. She thought that he must have pressed Philas to teach him that phrase the night before.
The Thief Lord smiled in spite of himself; Ajalia saw his sharp features crook into a wry look of pleasure. The Thief Lord made a motion with his hand, and Lim stood up, and took his place behind the Thief Lord's right shoulder.
Ajalia could see the Thief Lord twitch a little with discomfort at the nearness of the Eastern slave, but the ruler of Slavithe kept a dignified face. The eyes of all the crowd of gray-cloaked figures were on Lim, and on the splendor of his robes.