by Victor Poole
She was reminded suddenly of her status as a slave, and of her long journey towards this strange city in the farthest reaches of Leopath.
"I have to go," she said.
"No, hide your things," the young man said.
"I should go," Ajalia said.
"But you're already here," he protested, "and it's the perfect spot. At least put your things inside. I won't tell anyone."
"I know you won't," Ajalia said. She had stood up, and now she sat down again. "I have things I need to do," she said. She felt very plaintive. She was struck with a desire to ask Delmar if he thought she was a good person.
"I'm going now," she said again, but she didn't stand up.
"Look at this," Delmar said. He picked up the book from the top, and scooched over so that he was next to Ajalia. His leg touched her leg. She moved marginally over. He did not seem to notice. He put the heavy book over her knee, so that she could see better. "These are the oldest letters in Slavithe," he said. "No one uses them anymore. I'm the only one who can read them."
"How did you learn, if no one else taught you?" Ajalia asked.
The young man shrugged. "I figured it out."
"There have to be some old people who know it," she said.
"Only a little," he said. "Anyway, I figured out more than they know."
"What does that mean?" Ajalia asked. She pointed at a scrolling picture of bright blue sparks that ran along one edge of the page.
"I don't know," Delmar admitted. "I haven't worked it all out yet. Some of the pictures don't have instructions."
"Are they instructions?" Ajalia asked. "I thought they would have been stories, or scriptures."
"We don't have scriptures," Delmar told her. "We have no religion. Only magic."
"Doesn't magic count?" she asked. "And isn't it odd to have a word for religion, if you don't have one?"
"Oh, we came from religious peoples, long ago," Delmar said. He flipped through the pages, and showed her diagrams of statues, some of which vaguely resembled the deities from the East, and from the far north. "These are instructions about how to live."
"Most people would call instruction on how to live scripture," Ajalia said.
"Well, they aren't," he said. "Look at this one." He flipped to a part of the book near the beginning. "No, this isn't the one I wanted," he said. "But it's still good. This is a diagram about how to plant crops. See? The energy here, is how you treat the ground, and these are the words you say—"
"Do you believe in magic?" Ajalia asked him. She stood up, and began to unpack the leather pouch of coins. Delmar watched her fingers rip up the seams, and drag wedged coins out of the different hiding places she had made.
"No," he said. "How many things have you got in there?"
"I don't believe in magic," Ajalia said firmly. She finished emptying the leather pouch, and tossed it to the ground. Delmar picked it up and examined the gaps in the lining. Ajalia began to pull apart the seams of her clothes, where she had sewn other coins and valuables into the meeting folds of the cloth.
"How much are you hiding in there?" Delmar asked, as the pile of coins, and gems, and rings grew steadily larger.
"Not enough," Ajalia said. She took the length of cloth that she had tied into her hair, and bundled the coins and other valuables into it. She tied the bundle into a heavy knot, and went to the great hole in the wall.
"Aren't you afraid you won't be able to get it out again?" Delmar asked.
"You wanted me to hide it here," she pointed out.
"Yes, but the rock is heavy," he said.
"That's the point. No one will be able to get my things." Ajalia said.
"You won't be able to get your things," he said.
"Then I'll have to find you," she said.
"You probably won't be able to find me," Delmar said.
"Then I'll hide them up a tree," she said.
"You don't want to do that," he said.
"Then I'll hide them in here," she said. She took the heavy gold ring out of the bundle, because she had a feeling that she'd need it, and then she threw the bundle back into the hole as far as it would go. She heard a heavy clink when it hit the rock within the wall.
Delmar's pale eyes watched her as she came back and began to repair all the bits she had opened up on the seams. She kept a length of thread and a narrow bone needle inside her largest hiding place, and she drew it out and began to sew.
"Don't you get tired of doing that?" he asked, as her fingers flew up the seams.
"No," she said.
"Look, this is the one I wanted to show you," Delmar said. He retrieved another book, and pulled open the pages to a picture that spread over both sheets. Ajalia glanced at the picture, and her fingers slowed, and then stopped.
"What is that?" she asked.
Delmar beamed. "That's the picture of how the magic works," he told her. The pages were painted over with swirling mixes of colors. There were people, and horses in the picture, and great thrusting beams of white rock that were shooting up between columns of dust. The swirls of green and blue were mixed with tiny sparks of red, and the page looked as though it had been spattered with a fine dusting of gold. Ajalia thought it was beautiful.
"I'm going to see a horse," she said. "Do you want to come with me?"
"I don't like horses very much," Delmar said, but he wrapped up his books and put them back into the hole in the wall.
"Aren't they going to be smashed by the boulder?" she asked.
"No, look," he said, and patted the inside of the hollow. Ajalia stood up on her toes to see. "There's a big crack here," he said. "I slide them into that crack, and then the stone won't touch them."
"Why do you keep them here?" Ajalia asked. "Couldn't you keep them better at home?"
"No," he said. "They're better out here." He heaved the white stone up in his arms with a silent grunt, and shoved it back into the wall. Ajalia noted again how ridiculously strong he was, compared to how weak he looked.
"You don't look as though you should be able to lift that," she pointed out.
"Where's the horse?" he asked. "I can't come with you," he added.
"What are you doing out here?" Ajalia asked. She began to walk along the wall.
"That's the wrong way," Delmar said. "You have to come this way if you want to get to the gates."
"It's this way," Ajalia said. She knew she was right.
"The gate is this way. It's not far," Delmar said. She decided that he was lying to her, and she followed him to see where he would lead her next.
"Did you grow up here, in Slavithe?" she asked. They walked along the side of the white wall. There had been a wide space of sand surrounding the wall for a long way around the gate, but here the leaves and growth ran almost right against the wall. The trees did not reach the top of the wall at all. Ajalia could see the stretching, yawning edge of the impossible white wall above their heads. It made a thin line against the pale blue of the sky. The afternoon was deepening. She was hungry.
"Everyone you meet in Slavithe grew up in Slavithe," Delmar said over his shoulder. "There isn't anywhere else to grow up. Some people live out beyond the walls, by the mountains and the harbor, but that's as far out as it gets."
"Don't you want to travel?" she asked.
"No. Don't you want to stay somewhere? Here it is." Delmar led her up to a narrow gap in the walls, that showed up as a pale outline of red in the shadows.
"What is this?" Ajalia said. A line of fear drew itself around her heart. "Where have you taken me?"
"This is how I get in without anyone knowing," Delmar said. "You can use it, too."
Ajalia could smell death and danger. She turned around.
"It's all right," Delmar called. "No one knows about it."
Ajalia ran. She had not encountered this feeling, this feeling that she had sensed coming off that shadowed gap in the wall, for a long, long time, and she had hoped never to come into contact with it again. It was a writhing sense that t
ore at her scalp, and made her fingers itch. She could not hear if Delmar was following her; she hoped that she never saw him again. He was not aware, she thought, of the danger that was in such a passage through the wall, as that gap seemed to be.
She ran until she came into the deep shadows of the forest, and then she continued to follow the wall, jogging steadily until the wide sandy space came into view. Stitches of terror were sticking at her side; she wanted to find a dark place to hide. She went in through the gate, which was still standing ajar, and remembered that she had forgotten the leather pouch. She slapped her hands against her sides in anger, and almost turned back. The leafy shadows of the trees were beguiling, entrancing. She would not go back. The leather pouch would be lost. She told herself she was being ridiculous, but she did not care. She would not go back.
Ajalia walked through the streets of Slavithe, between people that she passed without seeing, and through noises and smells that she did not register. She came to the street where the little house lay, and curved around it, avoiding it. She walked until she came to the horses milling in the street; the smell of manure and dirt and grinding hoofs welcomed her like a safe blanket. She asked around until she found the man who had sold her the sunburnt horse, and she let herself into his stall.
The horse was taller than she remembered, rangier, and his hair was a matted mess. She borrowed some brushes from a man next door, and set to work. The first flurry of hair and mud that flew up from the coat of the black horse was disgusting. Cleaning the horse was not satisfying yet; right now it was only upsetting, because his hair was so long, and his coat was so unkempt. He was not too skinny, but he was not plump with muscle. He had a clear eye, but his mouth drooped a little, and his tail was dull. Half the hair in his mane would have to go; it dangled almost past the bottom of his neck, and carried a wilderness of tangles, and dried up seeds and bits of plants.
A rhythm of worried thought wore a circle in Ajalia's mind as she brushed; I should go back to the house, she told herself, and, I should not have run away. She could not bring herself to think of going back to the place near the wall where the leather pouch lay on the ground. It occurred to Ajalia that the leather pouch lying on the ground would lead any passersby to assume there was some special thing hidden about the place, or at any rate, would lead them to be curious. She did not think of the young man named Delmar, or of the fact that he may remember to return to his books soon enough, and that he would be likely to find the leather pouch. She did not remember where she had left the pouch, and if the young man had picked it up, she would not have known he had. She was in a tizzy of misery.
I should go home, she told herself again and again, in rhythm with the brush that scraped, obnoxiously, against the sweat and dirt-caked coat of the black horse. A wave of panic rewarded each of these thoughts, and she felt more and more alone. She did not want to go back home to the little house, and she did not want to stay here. She did not want to go out into the leafy growth outside the city, and she did not want to feel the things that she now felt. Ajalia was trapped in a cage made by her mind.
She tried to lose herself in the movement of the bristles, as they combed through the horse's coat, but she could not steady her breathing. Clouds of dust and little clumps of mud sprayed out from the brush. Ajalia pushed the brush through a rough patch over the shoulders of the horse, and the smell of sweaty animal rose around her.
An irritated buzzing was passing over Ajalia's skin; she dropped the brush, and pressed herself close against the horse.
"Do you have a name?" she asked. The horse ignored her. She put her cheek against the gritty side of the horse, and he sighed. She brushed him until he was decent, and left his mane and tail for another day. She shoveled the straw in his stall, and went back to the man who was keeping him for her.
"I'll be back tomorrow, or later today," she told the man.
"He eats too much," the man said.
"Then don't feed him so much," Ajalia retorted. "And don't touch his mane."
"I wasn't going to," the man said. "He's a lazy horse. You won't like him much."
"I want a lazy horse," she said.
"No one wants a lazy horse," the man said.
"I do," Ajalia said. She went and patted the horse on the nose, and walked slowly towards the little house. The light was falling into evening. Ajalia could not remember how long she had been in the city. She could not remember what she had meant to do that morning. As she came in sight of the little house, where lights shone out of the windows, she remembered about the paintings she had been cleaning. She wondered if Lim had finished cleaning the other large paintings.
She let herself into the house, and saw that the paintings were clean, and had been hung. Two large paintings were in the first room, and the two small portraits had been placed over the largest couch.
Lim bustled into the room. His hair had been cut back again, and was even closer to the sides of his skull. It looked a little worse. Ajalia did not say anything, but Lim saw her looking.
"Where have you been?" he demanded. "I was looking for you all afternoon. I had to hang those myself." He gestured at the paintings. Ajalia grimaced at him. She did not want to manage Lim right now.
"You finished cleaning them," Ajalia said.
"Have you got those keys?" he asked.
"Have you got money?" she asked right back.
"How much do you want for the house?" he asked.
"I want to keep the accounts while we're here," she said. "Then you can have the house."
"Never," he said. Lim's face was folding up into a pinched expression. His eyes looked narrower, and smaller, now that his luxurious fluff of hair was cut off. His head looked smaller, and his face looked meaner. Ajalia eyed Lim. Lim's mouth was pressed up in an angry curve that bounded beneath his nose. His eyes were squinted in anger, and he was breathing just over his bottom teeth. His breath made a gentle rushing sound.
"Then I want to keep Philas working on my own affairs," Ajalia said.
"I can't spare Philas," Lim said.
"Then I want triple the rent, up front, every month." Ajalia folded her arms. She no longer had a vague buzzing; her soul was back in gear. Lim looked at her.
"You're crazy," he said.
"You're living in my house," she said.
"Prove that you've got it," he wailed, but his voice was weak.
"All right," she said. She went up the stairs and collected Chad, who had set up camp in Philas's room, and took him with her out into the late evening light.
"Where are we going?" Chad asked.
"Show me your old house," Ajalia said. "After we visit Lasa."
She led Chad down the street and through the city.
"Don't you have a hard time remembering your way?" Chad asked.
"No," Ajalia said. She did not explain that she always remembered where she was, because she had been stolen once, a long time ago, and she couldn't afford to be stolen again. She was not in danger of being stolen here, but it was a habit that she could not break.
"I think you know the city better than I do," Chad admitted.
"Do you know a young man called Delmar?" Ajalia asked.
"Yes," Chad replied. He did not volunteer any more information, and Ajalia could see no indication of his reaction to the name she had said.
"How do you know him?" she asked.
"He's the Thief Lord's son," he said.
"Is he the only son?" Ajalia asked.
"No," Chad said, and again, he volunteered no further information. Ajalia had a sense of being adrift, alone, without companionship or fellowship.
"What's he like?" Ajalia asked.
"I know him from when I was a kid," Chad said. "I haven't seen him for a long time."
"Oh," Ajalia said.
"Why?" Chad asked. "Are we going to rob him?"
Ajalia turned and looked at Chad. "What did you say?"
"Well," Chad said, "I thought, maybe, you were going to do another tricky deal."
Ajalia stared at Chad. He was looking at her with wide, innocent eyes, and smiling. She could not think of anything to say to him, but took note of the depths to which his stupidity ran. She did not think he could improve, but he was a useful face.
"Do you think that Gevad robbed your family?" Ajalia asked. They had arrived at the door to Lasa's house, and Ajalia raised her hand to knock.
Chad's face fell. "No," he admitted. "My father was not good with business. My father deserved what he got."
Ajalia's hand hovered over the door, her knuckles ready to rap against the surface. "What did your father get?" she asked.
"He works in the quarries now," Chad said. "He carries stone to the market, from deep within the mountain quarries."
"You said he worked in the market," Ajalia said.
"He brings the stone to the market," Chad said. "That's almost the same thing."
"It's not the same thing," Ajalia said. She knocked on the door.
Lasa opened the door. The blonde woman's eyes were swollen, and she had a red mark on her temple. A bright green cloth was wrapped tightly around her head. Lasa stared at Ajalia, and Ajalia did not have the heart to taunt the Slavithe woman.
"Where's Gevad?" Ajalia asked.
"He's dead," Lasa said.
"Where is he?" Ajalia asked.
Lasa shrugged. "I don't know."
"Is he in the house right now?" Ajalia asked.
"No," Lasa said.
"Hello," Chad said.
"Who's this?" Lasa asked. Her eyes took in Chad.
"He's like you," Ajalia said. "He works for me now." Ajalia looked past Lasa into the darkened hall.
"He isn't here," Lasa said. Ajalia thought she was probably lying.
"Has Gevad cut your hair?" Ajalia asked.
"I cut it," Lasa said sharply.
"He told me your real name," Ajalia said. "And he sold me your mother."
Lasa looked at Ajalia. Her face turned white, and then red. "Why?" she said hoarsely.