The Slave from the East (The Eastern Slave Series Book 1)

by Victor Poole

  Ajalia drank the water, and put the vessel down on the sill of the open window. She climbed out of the wide window, and dropped down to the alley that ran behind the shop. She looked up at the wall of the building opposite, which cast a heavy shadow over her. The wall looked like an enormous fortress wall, and she began to wonder what the building could be. It did not look like a house, and it did not look like it belonged to another part of the market.

  Ajalia walked around the edge of the alley and found the end of the building. She traced her way around the strange building, and found that there was a wide entrance on the next street. She saw that she was on the edge of the market. Beyond the wide entrance, and after a long stretch of the same tall, nearly windowless wall, was the wall of the city. The street ran up against the city wall, and the stone was slightly rougher, and had shining facets in the texture of the rock. The wall was made of great blocks that had been fitted seamlessly together. Ajalia thought that the rumors of magic in Slavithe must have come from the impossible stonework that peppered the city. The carvings were beautiful in themselves, but the enormous wall was almost more impressive, because of its thickness and its height.

  Ajalia went to the entrance and walked up the broad steps. Inside a heavy stone archway was a lone, high corridor that was filled with carvings. Stone dragons and leaping white horses were etched deeply into the walls of the corridor, which opened out onto the street. Ajalia put her hand to one of the stone horses, and an old man's voice made her jump.

  "We say that the magic of the city came first from its horses," the voice said. Ajalia did not turn right away. She could feel a warmth over her right shoulder, and she knew that a man was there. She finished examining the stone horse, and passed her fingers gently over the finely carved muzzle and eyes of the muscular steed.

  Then she turned and looked at the man. He was old, but not as old as she had expected, and he was poor. She was surprised that she could tell so easily that he was poor; all of Slavithe seemed to dress in unison, and yet, though this man's clothing was clean, there was something in the way that it hung over his shoulders that told her he was without material substance in the world.

  Ajalia drew a coin from her robe, and passed it to the old man, who seemed to evaporate into thin air. Ajalia smiled in spite of herself. Even here, in the strangely idyllic city of white stone, there were beggars.

  The corridor fell into deep shadow as Ajalia followed it into the building. She knew that there must be several floors, and that there must be spacious rooms on either side of the corridor, but she saw no other doors or entrances. The ceiling of the corridor was high, and made of achingly arched stone, but it was not nearly high enough to take up even half the height of the wall she had seen outside.

  The building felt empty to Ajalia; she could hear the echoes of her own footsteps as she marched slowly down into the darkness. Something made her stop, as she reached the extreme edge of the light, and she turned her back on the darkness. There was a mystery in this building, even if it was only a cultural shroud, but she felt in her heart that she was not ready for another shock. She walked back towards the sunlight.

  AJALIA MAKES A DEAL

  The strips of cloth she had bought made a gentle lump against her clothes, and she made her way out of the wide, open entrance of the tall building, and wound back into the market. She bought a needle and some plain spun thread at a stall, and then walked through the filtering sun to the stall where Lim was beginning to hold court to the elite of the city.

  Lim's eyes flicked at Ajalia when she came into the stall, but his mouth was still moving, his arms gesturing expansively as he extolled in the Eastern tongue the wonders of his wares to an audience of the wealthiest Slavithe. Philas had been sent for, and was busy translating for Lim.

  Ajalia took a skein of silk thread down from where it hung in the stall, and cut a narrow length from the shining rope. She put the skein where it had been, and sat on the edge of the table, nestled in among the silken riot that was Philas's display. Her white clothed figure made a neat contrast to the glimmering silk, and as she pulled the silk thread apart, and wound it together with the Slavithe thread, she felt the eyes of the crowd taking her in.

  Lim's voice changed; it became deeper, and more relaxed. He knew that no one was looking at him anymore, and he began to dwell with more specificity over the uses of the silks, and the wonderful impression Eastern silk made on business acquaintances.

  Ajalia threaded her needle with the mixed threads, and began to embroider the first colored length of Slavithe fabric she had bought. The fabric was a forest green, and the skein of silk thread she had chosen was pure gold in its tint. She had mixed the gold thread with a wisp of pale brown thread, and the two made a shining stitch against the green cloth. Ajalia dipped her needle in and out of the Slavithe fabric, and her arm was graceful and long.

  She glanced up at the crowd of Slavithe people that clustered round the stall, and she smiled. None of the Slavithe men and women smiled back at her. She saw that the women here all had long hair, like the tall wealthy woman and Lasa had had long hair. She thought that long hair must be connected somehow to wealth or position.

  One of the women near Ajalia, a stout woman with jet black hair, reached out and touched the green fabric she was stitching.

  "What are you making?" the woman asked her. Ajalia smiled sweetly, and stitched on. Philas caught the question, and began to explain.

  "Our silk is very fine for embroidering," he told the woman.

  Lim spoke over Philas, and began to wax eloquent about mixed textures. The woman ignored Philas and went straight up to Lim.

  "I want that woman to make me a dress," she said loudly, thrusting a finger at Ajalia. "How much?"

  Lim talked over the woman, still in the Eastern tongue. He was relying on Philas to translate for him. His arms waved up and down, and his fingers made little twirls against the silk.

  "Hey, Lim," Philas said in the Eastern language. "What should I say?"

  Lim's eyes flicked to the side. He ignored Philas's interruption for a few more moments, but the other Slavithe women were beginning to move in around the plump woman. Some of them put their fingers to the few stitches Ajalia had placed in the green cloth. The gold silk made a subtle shimmer against the green. Ajalia had known it would look well. She straightened her face into her best imitation of an earnest young maiden sewing diligently in a corner.

  She knew she was making a good effect, because even Lim stuttered to a halt for a few moments, and the whole group of people stared at Ajalia's fingers as they swept up and down, leading the gold mixed with brown, and making a delicate swirl with one straight line of stitches.

  Philas began again, and he kept talking through the silence. His voice made a soothing background to the rhythm of Ajalia's needle.

  "Dresses made from Slavithe fabric will be aided with this fantasy thread," Philas droned quietly. Ajalia pushed the needle into the thick green cloth. The needle took a narrow bite of fabric and then pulled through the field of green. "When you sew with silk thread," Philas said, "fairies and sparkles of magic follow the thread." Ajalia's eyes flicked to him; he was sitting back, leaning against the pillar of the stall, his arms folded, his eyes half-closed. The sun was sinking fast, soaking the stall and the street and the bodies of the wealthy Slavithe men and women with rich golden light.

  "If you wear clothes adorned with silk thread," Philas moaned into the air, his accent thick and lazy through the Slavithe sounds, "your life will become a wonderland of joy and contentment."

  Ajalia wanted to laugh, but she drew her mouth down into a pout of diligence. She imagined herself sitting at a little fireside, mending an old farmer's socks by dim light. She tucked her feet together under her the edge of the table.

  Lim began to talk again. In the Eastern tongue, he promised the crowd things that Ajalia knew he would never be able to deliver, and Philas chose words and phrases from the East and propped them together in Slavithe wor
ds. Ajalia listened to the two of them. Lim was giving a fantastic impression of a crazy foreigner, and Philas was doing the lovely, well-meaning, intelligent, but fundamentally useless servant act. It was a good gig; they worked well together. Ajalia admired the effect.

  The threads beneath her hands got into a tangle, and she let them grow into an awful knot. She tugged at them, and then turned the cloth over to show the back. A narrow stream of neat stitches led up to a galaxy of cloudy brown and shining gold thread that had been only a gentle snarl, and that Ajalia had subtly tightened into a snarl of epic proportions. She heard the women purse their lips and draw in their breath, and she smiled to herself, though not visibly, as she drew a sharp knife from her waist and prepared to cut the threads away.

  The knife was tiny and pointed; it was much too large and long to ever be mistaken for a needle, but it could not even be called a baby dagger. It was a useful tool, not even quite large enough to be a utensil for eating, but perfect for piercing holes into leather, and snapping through threads, and killing small animals.

  As Ajalia brought the knife in against the threads, just as the shining edge touched the first gossamer of floating brown, a man in the crowd cried out.

  "Stop it!" he said angrily. "Stop her," he repeated, turning quickly to Lim.

  Lim stared at the man, and then turned to look at what Ajalia was doing. She casually snapped through some of the tangled threads, and two different Slavithe women reached forward and grabbed the half-sewn cloth out of her hands. Ajalia let them take the green cloth. She watched them curiously, like a fisherman studies the telltale signs of big fish under the water. She could afford to make a scene, if it led to six months of sewing work for her slaves. She turned the little knife over in her fingers, and watched the Slavithe women exclaiming over the green cloth.

  "It can be saved," the woman was saying that was holding it. The other woman that had reached out for the cloth was still touching it; her body was close to the woman in possession of the cloth, and she looked as though she was not going to easily resign her slight claim to the embroidered fabric. They were turning over the cloth, examining the stitches, and running their fingers over the snarl of threads.

  "It is a very beautiful thing," one of the other women in the crowd told Ajalia sternly. "You must not destroy beautiful things."

  A murmur of assent ran through the crowd, and Philas, once again the personification of the well-meaning but useless servant, repeated what the woman had said to Ajalia in Slavithe, and then in the Eastern language. Ajalia nodded diligently, and made a gesture of apology to the group of women that were clustered, like wounded hens, over the piece of green cloth.

  "I will buy this," the woman said, whose fingers were still touching the fringe of the cloth. "My daughter will finish sewing it."

  She had pulled out a measure of coins as she spoke. Her hands were like quicksilver, and she thrust the coins out at Lim, who took them with a gracefulness that belied his elaborate gestures and long-winded speeches.

  The woman who had hold of the cloth cried out, and reached for her own purse, and a battle exploded through the group of women and men who wore the plain Slavithe robes of brown. The men joined in the exchange, and bid loud offers at Lim on the part of their wives and mothers; Ajalia quietly pulled out another length of cloth, this one a brilliant orange, and threaded her needle with a length of the golden silk thread.

  Within a few moments, the green cloth had been sold, and the coins sorted out. The hubbub died down almost immediately, and seconds after the last chattering Slavithe woman had turned her eyes back to the silks and chains in the stall, Ajalia's gentle sewing gained attention.

  "She has started again," a man shouted, and another burble of voices began to wash over the three slaves of the Eastern trading chief. Most of the other slaves had been sent home, but some four or five had been kept behind, and they were standing or sitting near the very back of the stall, dozing, or watching the Slavithe people. Ajalia, Lim, and Philas were the only slaves at the front of the stall.

  Ajalia glanced to her left, and saw Lim nod to Philas. She bent her eyes to her sewing, and began to make an Eastern flower in large, looping stitches. She had been taught to sew once when she was young, and living with her first master in the East. He had been a merchant on the fringe of the East, and he had specialized in buying up spoiled pieces of silk, and embroidering over the damaged areas, mending them and embellishing them so that they could be sold in the far west near the sea. People in the lands central to Leopath, and even western lands that were not so far out on the coast, could recognize quality silks when they saw them, but those on the very farthest edge of civilization were impressed with the sewn-over silks, even if the dye was uneven, or discolored in places.

  Ajalia had been set to sewing these flowers and leafy vines as a child, and her fingers made the shapes easily now that she was no longer minding her stitches. Ajalia had turned her attention on Lim and Philas, and the drama that was unfolding over the goods in the stall.

  Some of the Slavithe women were demanding that Lim sell them all of the skeins of silk at once, so that they could set their own servants to embroidering all the clothes in their households, and others were trying to make bargains, trading Slavithe fabric or other goods for the valuable threads. Several of the men had their heads together, and Ajalia, when she strained her ears, sensed a conspiracy among them to buy up all the goods of the stall, and hold a kind of grip over the rest of the wealthy families in Slavithe.

  At least two of the women, who had not been able to buy the green piece of cloth, took the orange fabric from Ajalia and haggled for it with Lim.

  Ajalia waited until four or five negotiations were in full swing, the Slavithe people shouting over each other to Philas, and Philas rendering their words over to Lim, who took his time to respond to each statement before turning to the next. Then, when she was sure that no one would notice her, she stood up and went to one of the fluffy dolls made of the wool of the Eastern heavy horses.

  The horses that they had brought with the caravan were light horses, used for riding and pulling the special carts used for processions, but far in the East was another, heavier kind of horse that lived in the steppes and narrow valleys of the Eastern mountain. The heavy Eastern horses were not traded outside the East, and they grew thick wooly coats in the winter that made them look like walking bushes. Their wool was shaved off once a year, right after the snow melted in the spring, and the wool was used to stuff mattresses and pillows, weave heavy blankets for the lighter horses, and formed into the woolen dolls that were used as dress forms, and for displaying robes in the markets. The fluffy dolls were packed tightly down into leather cases, and five or more could be strapped into a pack the size of a large loaf of bread. When they were unpacked, they had to be fluffed a little, but the wool was very springy, and it lasted nearly forever.

  Ajalia picked up the fluffy doll, and set it up against one of the tables. The fluffy doll was wearing an extra robe from the caravan; it was a deep red robe with pastel detailing around the cuffs. The neck rose in a high arc around the neck, and there were flaps over the shoulders where fringe could be sewn to hang down over the waist. The robe was long, but it did not quite brush the ground, and Ajalia took the two panels of the front and twisted them open, so that the pale silver lining shone out against the setting sun.

  The light was fading quickly, and before too long, the market would be illuminated only by the torches that hung over the different corners of the streets. The moon had not yet risen, and the sky was filled with thin, scrappy clouds that obscured the sky where the stars would be. Now the white streets and buildings were still bouncing around the rich gold light of the setting sun; there was no longer a warm glare, but there was plenty of light still.

  Ajalia took the last Slavithe cloth she had bought, a skinny length of cream, and tore it into three strips. The tearing sound attracted Philas's gaze, and because so many of the Slavithe were trying to get and
keep Philas's attention, they followed his eyes. They saw that Ajalia was doing something new, and almost against their wills, they stopped to watch. Only one Slavithe man persisted, ignoring the new source of attraction, and pressing adamantly against Lim with a hand full of cash.

  Ajalia took the three pieces of Slavithe cloth, and braided them into a narrow belt. She wrapped the belt around the waist of the fluffy doll, and drew it tight, then tied it over into a stylish knot. She had arranged the robe underneath so that the silver lining was held open by the belt. The rough Slavithe cream made a surprising contrast against the shimmering silk, and the shape of the braid, and the knot, made a pleasant break in the long lengths of the robe.

  A gentle murmur moved through the gathered Slavithe people, and Ajalia sensed that she had crossed some sort of line. They had before been tempted almost indecently by the beautiful glow of the silken stitches, but now each and every one of them was inflamed with an unholy desire to buy up silk robes and wrap them round with homemade braided belts of cream cloth.

  Lim cleared his throat and caught Ajalia's eye. His message was clear; scram before you cause a riot. She unwrapped the belt from the fluffy doll, and the robes fell flat again. A noise of crushed disappointment ran through the crowd, and Lim chuffed in annoyance.

  "Put it back before you go," he snapped at her in the Eastern language. Ajalia had not yet heard him say anything in Slavithe. She did not know if he knew other languages, or if he made some sort of exception for Slavithe. His mimes and gestures seemed too practiced to apply to only one trading journey. She would ask Philas later if Lim was always like this, mute to an almost ridiculous degree, and unwilling to learn the native language at all.