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

by Victor Poole

  "Goodbye," the old woman said. She lowered herself into the chair near the fire, and turned her face into the breeze from the window. Ajalia wanted to know more about the old woman; she felt oddly out of place here. She felt as if the old woman knew more about things than she did, and she did not like that feeling.

  As she walked towards the door, she lifted a scrap of paper from the tables, where the bottles and jars lay scattered. The paper was covered with the strange old writing that she had seen before in Delmar's books.

  Ajalia let herself out of the room, and went up the stairs. She found Delmar in the room where the party had been; Eccsa and Gevad were there. Gevad was dressed in a rough tan robe, and he looked both miserable and snide. Eccsa was holding court on a long blue sofa that had been decorated with heavy red buttons carved from wood. Delmar was standing near the door; Ajalia got the impression that he had been trying to leave for some time.

  "Are you coming with me?" Ajalia asked, knocking on the sill of the door, and putting her face into the room.

  Eccsa burst into raptures, Gevad looked sour, and Delmar spun. "Oh, yes," Delmar said. "My most hearty congratulations on this solemn occasion," he said over Eccsa, bowing quickly in her direction. He escaped the room and grabbed Ajalia by the arm. "Hurry up," Delmar hissed, "before she invites me to dinner."

  "You could just say no," Ajalia said. They were rushing down the stairs, impelled by Delmar's urgent force. Delmar made a face at her. She held up the scrap of paper. "What does this say?" she asked.

  Delmar stopped. His face was suddenly ashen. "Where did you get that?" he asked.

  "From Eccsa's mother," Ajalia said. She pointed at the door to the room where the old woman sat. "In there."

  Before she could stop him, Delmar had darted into the room. Ajalia followed him, and she saw the old woman sitting in her chair before the fire, and a blaze was burning merrily inside. Delmar rushed towards the flames, and thrust his hands into the fire.

  MAGIC

  Ajalia watched in shock as Delmar flung the contents of the fire out into the room; some of the burning flecks landed against the old woman's legs, but she didn't seem to notice. The old woman was rocking silently back and forth against the hard back of her chair, and a slight smile was on her face.

  Delmar beat the fire out of several pieces of paper that had been in the fireplace. He examined them, and then pushed his face against the old woman.

  "Where is it?" he asked. "Where's the book?"

  "I have none," the old woman said. Delmar turned to Ajalia.

  "Malkos said you have a knife on you," he said. His eyes were wild; they were filled with a piercing energy that made Ajalia feel as though she were about to be blown aside by a bolt of lightning.

  "It's my knife," she said.

  "Give it to me," he pleaded.

  "No," she said. She had never shared her knife with anyone. She had let Gevad use it, but only because she had wanted Lasa's hair cut, and she had felt the moment flow into such a giving. She did not share her knife. It was her knife. It was as much a part of her as her heart.

  Delmar looked at her, and she thought that she could see a part of his soul. "Please," he said. Ajalia saw what he was really saying, which was, do you trust me? She did not like the way she responded to the look in his eyes. She pulled the knife out of its casing, and gave it to him.

  Like a serpent, Delmar was kneeling at the floor, and the edge of the knife was pressed close to the old woman's throat.

  "What are you doing?" Ajalia cried.

  "Where is the book?" Delmar asked. The old woman laughed an eerie laugh, and Ajalia was suddenly reminded of the way that Lasa had lied to her.

  "Why is she lying to hide a book?" Ajalia asked. She waved her hand at Delmar. "That won't work," she said. "Give my knife back." The old woman looked swiftly up at Ajalia, and then just as swiftly away, but Ajalia had seen enough. "She's lying, Delmar," she said. She stepped closer, and took the knife away from him. She sheathed it, and knelt in front of the old woman's chair.

  "She won't tell you where it is," Delmar said.

  "Well, she won't if you kill her," Ajalia said.

  "I wasn't going to kill her," Delmar protested.

  "Knives kill," she told him.

  "Then why do you have one?" he demanded.

  "Because I'm a little person," she said, and she did not add, because I'm a woman.

  "She is right," the old woman said peaceably. She turned up her nose at Delmar. "I will never tell you where it is."

  "Then you admit you have it," Delmar said quickly.

  "What are you looking for?" Ajalia asked. Delmar folded his arms. He studied the old woman, and kicked aside the scraps of paper from the fire. He had not burned his hands, but the hair on the tops of his knuckles was singed.

  "An old book," he said.

  "The oldest," the old woman corrected. Her eyes were still milky, but Ajalia could see that a piercing intensity burned through what was still visible of her pupils and irises. "It is the oldest book, and I will give it to the girl, not to you."

  "Fine," Delmar said. "Where is it?"

  "He wants it for himself," the old woman told Ajalia. "But you would use it the way it is meant to be used."

  "What is this book?" Ajalia demanded.

  "Magic," Delmar and the old woman said together.

  "The book is magic?" Ajalia asked. Delmar looked at her as though she were stupid. The old woman cackled softly.

  "You see," the old woman said to Delmar, "she will use it properly. She does not believe."

  "Fine, she can have it," Delmar said, "but where is it?"

  "He thinks that magic is free," the old woman told Ajalia. "It is not. Magic takes out of you, just as any kind of work takes away from you. He sees magic as a way to escape. He is a fool."

  "It's magic," Delmar said scornfully. "And if you knew how to use it, why would you be staying in here?"

  The old woman's face grew sober; her mouth pursed up. "He makes a fair point," she told Ajalia, "but he will lie to you to take the book away. If you give it to him, you will regret it."

  "Why?" Ajalia asked. "He has other books."

  "Shh!" Delmar said urgently. The old woman laughed.

  "So it was you," she said. "I wondered who stole them."

  "You stole your books?" Ajalia asked. Delmar shook his head impatiently.

  "I rescued them," he said.

  "I thought the Thief Lord had them," the old woman mused.

  "He did," Delmar said shortly. "I rescued them." The old woman turned her face thoughtfully towards Delmar. Her eyebrows, pale and gleaming in the firelight, lifted up.

  "Did you really?" the old woman asked. "What was your father going to do with them?"

  Ajalia was looking at Delmar. Delmar shifted uncomfortably. "Where's the book?" he asked the old woman, but the power in the room had shifted; he looked now like a boy who asked, and not like a strong man.

  "Will you give me the book, grandmother?" Ajalia asked. The old woman studied Ajalia.

  "Do you know that he will do anything to get it from you?" the old woman asked. Ajalia looked at Delmar. The fervor of desire was still in the lines of his face. Ajalia shrugged, and then she nodded.

  "I believe it is likely," Ajalia admitted.

  "Well, will you protect it?" the old woman demanded. Ajalia looked at the old woman. She looked around the room, at the shambles of dust and dirt, and the ancient tools that hung against the wall. The dresses that were hung over the bed shone like scraps of moonlight somehow. Ajalia thought they looked wrinkled, and empty. The window was still open, and the daylight was fading outside.

  "I will do what is reasonable," Ajalia said.

  The old woman smiled. Her mouth opened a little, and shining white teeth were visible behind her lips. Ajalia frowned. The old woman's teeth did not look as though they belonged to such an old woman.

  "I like her," the old woman told Delmar. "She is worthy."

  "Now will you tel
l us where it is?" Delmar demanded.

  "I will tell the young woman," the old woman said. She stood up out of her chair, and her body was stronger and straighter than it had been. She seemed to grow taller as Ajalia watched, and her hair, which was white and thick, seemed to change for a flickering moment to raven black. A second image of a younger woman showed around the edges of the old woman's face and figure; Ajalia caught a glimpse of a brilliant green dress, and of vivid, compelling eyes.

  Ajalia tried to see if Delmar was seeing what she was seeing, but he still wore only the determined look he had had on his face before; he did not seem to see the change in the old woman.

  "Protect her," the old woman told Delmar. "A curse follows those who attempt to take the book from its true possessor."

  "Fine, I understand, where is it?" Delmar demanded. His eyes were beginning to comb over the floor, and into the shadows of the room. His fingers were spread wide, ready to clutch at the book.

  "I don't know if I want this book," Ajalia said. Delmar scoffed. The old woman smiled more widely.

  "I like you," the old woman told Ajalia. "You will do quite well, I think." The old woman sighed, and stretched her arms towards the rafters. Ajalia caught a shimmering glimpse of the raven-haired woman, strong, and lithe, and sinuous. "The book is on top of a beam," the old woman told Ajalia, and her eyes flickered to Delmar. "Protect her," she said again, and with another sigh, and a final luxurious stretch towards the ceiling, the old woman, and the faint image of the raven-haired woman collapsed into a heap on the floor.

  The vision of the strong woman vanished, and the old woman alone lay crumpled up, her draggled, faded green robe tangled over her legs, and her ancient hands stretched out. She was dead.

  Delmar seized the old woman's chair, and moved it below one of the wooden beams that stretched the length of the ceiling. He climbed on top of the chair, and looked around.

  "It's over there," he cried, and jumped down. He carried the chair through the room, and placed it under the second beam, near the end of the room. He stood with his hand on the back of the chair, and looked at Ajalia.

  "Well," he said.

  "Well, what?" she asked.

  "Come and get your book," he said. Ajalia walked slowly towards him.

  "Why did you threaten her?" she asked. Delmar looked at her with wide eyes. His lips were parted.

  "I thought it might work," he said.

  "It didn't," Ajalia pointed out. She climbed onto the seat of the chair, and stretched up on her toes. The long, filthy tops of the beams came into view, and she saw a slim leather book, about two fingers thick, lying atop the beam nearest her face. The beams and the book were coated with fuzzy dust. Dried leaves from the herbs had fallen over the surface of the book.

  The room still smelled of the aromatic steam from the floor covering that Ajalia had burned, and the last embers of the fire were dying. Ajalia thought she could hear footsteps on the stairs. She took the dusty book, and handed it down to Delmar.

  "Hide it," she told him, and he thrust the book into his clothes. Ajalia took the sheaf of papers out of her robe, and turned to the list of names and debts. She moved to the window, and examined the paper. Delmar stood awkwardly next to the chair. He seemed to notice it all of a sudden, and carried it back to where it had stood near the fire. As he was setting the chair down, the door slammed open, and Lasa appeared.

  "Mother, I—" Lasa stopped, and her eyes took in the crumpled heap of her mother, and Delmar with his hands on the back of the chair, and Ajalia standing near the window with the papers held to the light. "What are you doing here?" Lasa demanded. She went to her mother and nudged the body with her foot.

  "She's dead," Ajalia said.

  "Oh, no," Lasa said. "She does this all the time. She'll come to in a moment." Lasa sat down in her mother's chair, and put her chin in her hands. "I thought you were gone," Lasa added.

  "No," Ajalia said.

  "What's he still doing here?" Lasa asked, pointing at Delmar. Delmar looked at Ajalia.

  "Followed me here," Ajalia said, which was not exactly true.

  "Go home," Lasa told Delmar.

  "I'm not finished following her," Delmar said. Lasa shrugged. She looked at her mother.

  "Has she been like that for long?" Lasa asked.

  "She's dead," Ajalia said again.

  "She isn't dead," Lasa said impatiently. "She faints. The air in here is close." If Lasa had noticed the missing carpeting, or the hanging bunches of herbs and rotting vegetables, she showed no sign.

  "Was your mother's name Arra?" Ajalia asked.

  "She isn't dead!" Lasa said.

  "Salla?" Ajalia asked.

  "What is that?" Lasa asked, standing up and crossing to Ajalia. Ajalia held the papers so that Lasa couldn't see. "Her name is Salla," Lasa admitted.

  "Was," Ajalia corrected.

  "Is," Lasa said irritably. She went to the old woman and shook her roughly by the shoulder. "Mother," she cried. "Mother, get up. Wake up!"

  Ajalia watched as Lasa slowly grew hysterical. Delmar crept over to the window, and put his arm around Ajalia, as though she were a shield between him and chaos.

  "What happened?" Lasa shrieked. Her face was streaked with tears, and red marks ran up and down her cheeks and her forehead where she had rubbed her fists. Ajalia doubted that the sorrow was genuine. There was a rubbery sound to Lasa's voice, a kind of forced emotion. Ajalia thought she could see the shadow of a smile nestling in Lasa's cheeks.

  "She just fell down," Delmar said.

  "Why were you in here?" Lasa asked suspiciously.

  "Your mother owed me money," Ajalia remarked.

  "No she didn't," Lasa said automatically.

  Ajalia read off a number, and Lasa laughed loudly. "She's dead," Lasa said.

  "That doesn't matter," Delmar told Ajalia. "Debt falls on the heirs, the same as property."

  "I knew about the debt passing down," Ajalia said. "It's your father's debt, isn't it?" she asked Lasa.

  "I have no father," Lasa said dramatically.

  "Well, that can't be true," Delmar said. "Everyone has a father."

  "That's easy for you to say," Lasa spat, "son of the Thief Lord."

  "Not my fault," Delmar said.

  "He can't marry you," Lasa told Ajalia spitefully. "You don't own yourself."

  "Well, according to this," Ajalia said with a smile, "I own you."

  Ajalia watched as Lasa turned first cold, and then hot. She saw that at first Lasa did not breathe, and then she breathed in so quickly that Ajalia thought she might faint.

  "I'll kill you," Lasa breathed. "I'm a free woman. I married Gevad."

  "Yes," Ajalia said. "Gevad." She left the body on the floor, and went past Lasa and out of the room.

  "Wait," Lasa cried. "I'm coming! I'll pay! Wait!"

  Ajalia went up the stairs. She could hear Lasa shouting behind her, and Delmar coming up behind the bald woman.

  Ajalia went down the hallway to the room where Gevad and Lasa had held their celebration. She knocked at the door.

  "Go away!" Gevad shouted. He sounded hoarse; Ajalia thought he might have been drinking, but then she remembered that the Slavithe had no liquors. She knocked again, and Gevad roared. She opened the door, and the roar cut off. "Oh," Gevad said. "It's you again."

  "Hello," Ajalia said. "I hear that you're married."

  "I am married," Gevad said. He seemed to be taking the matter well enough. He had a sort of deprecating look on his face, and his shoulders had stopped twitching with greed. He looked less like a shiny predator. Marriage, Ajalia thought, suited him.

  "I own your wife," Ajalia said.

  "What's that?" Gevad asked. Ajalia showed him the papers.

  "Salla died a few minutes ago," she said. Gevad whistled.

  "That's quite funny," he said. "You know I could only marry her because the mother and her debt were transferred to you. You left me Lasa, but the debt was attached to the mother."

  "
Is it her father's debt?" Ajalia asked. Gevad nodded.

  "He tried to hide what his family was," Gevad said. "But hiding was expensive."

  "What are they?" Ajalia asked.

  "Were," Gevad corrected. "They worked in magic. It's a shameful thing to believe, nowadays. No one thinks the stories are real. Salla did magic." Gevad gave the papers back to Ajalia. "It's strange that she should die," he said.

  "She was very old," Ajalia said.

  "You don't understand," Gevad said. "They don't usually die."

  "Who don't?" Ajalia asked. She was beginning to feel impatient.

  "The women who work magic. They live a long time." Gevad shrugged. "Lasa was sure she had another lifetime in her."

  Lasa and Delmar had stopped somewhere down the hall; Ajalia could hear them arguing. Lasa was accusing Delmar of upsetting her mother.

  "How old is Lasa?" Ajalia asked.

  Gevad laughed. "She's human, she's normal," he said. "She's as old as she looks."

  "What about men?" Ajalia asked. "How old do they look?"

  "Men don't do magic," Gevad said. "And if they're smart, they avoid women who do. Salla was one of the last."

  "Why are you telling me this?" Ajalia asked.

  Gevad shrugged. He looked positively docile. "My life is over," he said. "You own my wife."

  Ajalia did not ask him what that meant; the curve of his spine told her how bad the situation was for him.

  She felt strangely merciful. "I was going to use Chad as a front," she said. "But you would do just as well."

  A sharp gleam entered Gevad's eyes; he looked an echo of his old self. "You would sell her back to me?" A tickle in Ajalia's spine told her he was about to trick her into some awful chasm. The corners of her mouth turned down. She went to the door.

  "Delmar," she said. Delmar looked up from his argument, and came into the room.

  "Yes?" he asked. Ajalia felt suddenly as though Delmar were a sort of domesticated guard animal. She did not know why he was still here, still following her and doing what she wanted. She thought he was very strange.

  "What would you do with Gevad," she asked Delmar, "if you were me?"

  "This is ridiculous," Gevad said angrily. The docility had gone out of his face; he was, once again, a rabid beast.