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

by Victor Poole

  "Sell him into the quarries," Delmar said. He had folded his arms, and he was looking at Gevad with distaste. Ajalia saw that Delmar hated Gevad, and she wondered why.

  "Wouldn't he be more useful in town?" Ajalia asked.

  "No," he said. "Dissolve the marriage, sell the woman, and sell Gevad into the quarries. If she's lucky," he said, pointing at Lasa, who had drifted into the door, "the profit will cover a part of her family's debt."

  "My mother had an old book," Lasa said. "She had valuable things."

  "No one wants those things," Gevad said quickly. "She's lying," he told Delmar.

  "My mother did magic," Lasa said hastily. "She knew how to make things. She could have a great many things in the room downstairs."

  "I will tell my father what is in that room," Delmar said harshly. "It will all be burned."

  "It already was burned," Ajalia said. "Salla burned it herself before she died."

  Delmar smiled at Ajalia. Ajalia could not see the book that was tucked under his clothes, but she knew it was there. She wanted to ask Delmar why his father would burn old words, but Gevad was watching them both like a parasite.

  "How do I sell him?" she asked.

  "He doesn't know what he's talking about," Gevad said. "He's a fool."

  "Well, I can't trust you, either," Ajalia said. She did not know why, but she did not want to deal with Gevad. She had been looking forward to going through the list of names she had gotten, and now that Lasa was back in the mix, and Gevad was presenting another puzzle, she felt tired of the whole thing.

  "Well," Ajalia said. "Good luck." She tucked the papers into her robe, and said goodbye to Lasa.

  "Where are you going?" Gevad demanded. His eyes narrowed, and his eyebrows dug down. "I thought you were going to sell me, or use me."

  Ajalia sighed. "You know," she said. "I just don't own Lasa. She isn't my problem." Ajalia patted the place where the papers were hidden, and they made a rustling sound. "She's your problem," Ajalia said.

  "But I gave you the debt," Gevad said. Fear was in his face. His jowls were aquiver. "You have to deal with the body downstairs. You have to sell Lasa to recover your debt."

  "Debt reverts," Ajalia said, "to the heirs. It is no longer my debt, and I have no interest in a dead servant. You have told me, all of your people, that you have no slaves. If a slave died, and I owned him, it would be my obligation to bury him. But Salla was never a slave. She was a servant. She is in your house, and her debt reverts to her daughter. You owe me nothing."

  Gevad had begun to pant. A sheen of deathly green was over his skin. "You can't do this to me," he said hoarsely.

  "I didn't do anything," Ajalia said. "Are you coming?" she asked Delmar.

  "They'll try to hide the body," Delmar said. "It's against the law."

  "Okay," Ajalia said.

  "They'll say the mother went away on a journey, and Gevad will get away with his life," Delmar said loudly. His eyes looked to the side, where Lasa was leaning against the door. Her face was still marked up and down with red. Her eyes were swollen. They widened at Delmar's words, and Lasa turned with fury onto Gevad.

  "We are not putting my mother into the garbage," Lasa shrieked at the top of her lungs. Ajalia flinched away from the sound.

  Delmar grinned, and grabbed Ajalia's hand. He pulled her out of the room. Lasa's screams floated behind them as they went down the hall and down the stairs.

  "Do people really dispose of bodies with the poison tree?" Ajalia asked.

  "Not usually," Delmar said. They reached the door of the downstairs room, and Ajalia glanced in at the dead body of the old woman. She wondered if she had imagined the wispy vision of the dark-haired woman that had blurred around the old woman when she had still been alive.

  "Is magic real?" Ajalia asked. They went out into the night, and Delmar adjusted his grasp of Ajalia's fingers. His touch made her feel tired, but she did not want to get away from him yet. Delmar did not answer, and Ajalia sighed. "I was going to see all these people today," she said, putting her free hand onto the sheaf of papers.

  "There's always tomorrow," Delmar said.

  "I can't do it tomorrow," Ajalia snapped. "I have to save all of our silk from your mother."

  Delmar's face pinched a little.

  "Sorry," he said.

  Ajalia drew a deep breath. Slavithe people were gathering in the street in front of Lasa's house, and staring up at the fight that was still unfolding very loudly near the open window. Ajalia could see Lasa gesticulating wildly, the scarf bound around her head streaming down her back.

  "What will happen to them?" she asked Delmar. He sighed.

  "Things," he said.

  "That's not really very helpful," she told him.

  "Sorry," he said again.

  She drew her hand out of his fingers. "Give me the book," she said. Delmar clutched at it where it lay against his side.

  "Why?" he asked. Ajalia laughed at him.

  "Because it's mine."

  "But," Delmar said. Ajalia watched him struggle for words. His lips parted, and then closed. He swallowed. His fingers moved over the edge of the book.

  "Mine," Ajalia said, thrusting out her open hand.

  "I'll pay you for it," Delmar said helplessly.

  "You don't have any money," Ajalia said.

  "You don't know that," Delmar said.

  "I do know that," Ajalia said.

  "I'll give you a different book," Delmar offered.

  "I want my book," Ajalia said.

  "But it's the best book," Delmar said weakly.

  "Great," Ajalia said. "So give me my book."

  "I don't want to," Delmar said. He drew it out. Ajalia could see him itching to open it, to glimpse the pages inside. The cover was a little less dusty now, but it was clearly very old. The pages were thick, and the edges were stained with water and oil.

  Ajalia lifted the book out of Delmar's hands, and his fingers closed on air.

  "Give it back," Delmar whispered.

  "No," Ajalia whispered back, mimicking him. Delmar smiled in spite of himself.

  "Will you share it, then?" he asked.

  "I don't know," she told him.

  "What would I have to do for you to share it with me?" he asked. She stopped walking and looked at him.

  "Look at me," she said. He stopped, and looked at her feet. "Look at my face," she directed. His eyes travelled very slowly up, until they met hers. His eyes were wet with longing. She was stunned at how fiercely he wanted the book. She didn't think she had ever wanted anything that much. She wanted to know what it was like to want something as badly as that.

  "Why do you want it?" Ajalia asked. Delmar's gaze faltered.

  "I don't know," he murmured.

  "Because of magic?" she asked.

  "No," he said quickly.

  "Oh," she said. "Then I guess this book is not any more special than your other books." Delmar opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. They began to walk again. Ajalia was walking towards the little house, but they reached it too soon, and she walked in a long circle around the streets of the residential district. She thought of her dirty black horse, who was being fed by the man who was keeping him, but who had not yet been brushed clean. Her skin itched in sympathy with her sunburnt steed, and she wiggled her shoulders.

  "I bought a horse," she told Delmar.

  "Oh?" he asked.

  "He's very nice," she said. She hadn't meant to tell him about her black horse, but it had come out of her mouth without her permission. She bit down on the inside of her lip, and watched the shadows play out over the white stone streets.

  "I used the black poison tree juice on the stone," she told Delmar. "The stone was gold."

  Delmar nodded. She watched him for some reaction, but he said nothing. She wondered what his other books said about magic. She was not sure that she wanted to know more. "Why do you hide the books outside the city?" she asked him.

  Delmar shifted his hands deeper
into his pockets. "It's quiet out there," he said.

  "But magic isn't real," she said.

  "Sure," he told her.

  "You don't believe in magic," she said.

  "Nope," he agreed.

  She was carrying the old book wrapped in both arms, and her fingers were curled against the old edges of the pages. She did not want to open the book.

  "I guess I'll go home now," she told Delmar.

  "Yes," he said. He followed her through the streets. She did not know why he would not go home. She did not mind, really, but she wondered if his family wanted him. She had never met someone who was so vague. She thought again of her black horse, and began, slowly, to wind her way towards the place where his stall lay in, the long avenue of stalls and stables.

  "You can't meet my horse," she told Delmar.

  "Okay," he said agreeably. She watched to see if he would go away, but he didn't go away.

  "I'm going to brush him for a little while," she said, "because he's covered in mud. I think his skin must itch."

  "I'll come, too," Delmar said.

  "No," she said, but she didn't tell him to go away. She wondered if Lim had found suitable clothes. She was sure that Yelin would look stunning; the female slave was not by any stretch Ajalia's favorite, but Yelin knew how to set her eyes off well, and Ajalia knew for a fact that Yelin had tucked an Eastern gown in the bottom of a pack before they'd left. There had been a fight about the use of the space, but Lim had been in charge, and Yelin had been with Lim.

  Ajalia sighed. She hoped that her boy was keeping Philas well-supplied with the black sludge. She still had the caravan's money tucked against her waist, but Jenna had coins enough to feed everyone, and most of the slaves had valuables, or money of some kind stashed in their personal things.

  "Why aren't you more like a slave would be?" Delmar asked Ajalia.

  Ajalia didn't have the energy to feel offended. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe I'm secretly not a slave."

  Delmar snorted. If Ajalia had felt more like herself, she would have punched him. Right now she didn't care. She was going to see her black horse, and for all she cared, Delmar could buzz along behind her, and bother her the whole time.

  "Do you ride?" Ajalia asked Delmar.

  "Horses are scary," Delmar said. His face looked as though he would rather eat dirt than ride a horse.

  "How do you get around outside?" she asked, but then she remembered that Slavithe people did not travel outside the city. "How far does the farmland go?" she asked, thinking of the orchards and fields she had ridden past on her way into the city. She realized how little time had passed since she had entered the city. She could not remember what day it was now.

  "I've never been all the way out to the desert," Delmar said. Ajalia turned and stared at him.

  "How could you not even have been to the edge of the desert?" she demanded. "How could you stay here all the time?"

  "There's nowhere to go," Delmar said, shrugging.

  "Are you serious?" Ajalia asked. Delmar nodded. "Have you been to the sea?" she asked.

  "I have been there, once," Delmar said. He saw the look that Ajalia was giving him, and he raised his arms in apology. "I stay at home a lot," he said.

  "How many brothers do you have?" she asked. They were nearing her horse.

  "How do people get in here?" Delmar complained, following her through the twisted maze of beams. "I have two brothers," he said.

  "This is the back way," Ajalia said. "What are their names?"

  "Why do you care?" Delmar asked. "You could never get a horse through here," he remarked, looking up at the mess of wood that stretched over their heads.

  "I told you, it's the back way. There's a broad street the main way."

  "Why do you come in backwards way?" Delmar complained.

  "Why don't you care about anything?" Ajalia shot back.

  "I care about tons of things," Delmar said. "Is this your horse?"

  "No," Ajalia said. "I'm not showing you my horse." She let herself into the stall, and scooped up a handful of straw. She began to work the straw over the horse's coat.

  "That's a stupid thing to say," Delmar said. "This is your horse. That's never going to work," he added, watching her critically. He vanished into another stall, and reappeared with a couple of brushes.

  "Thief," Ajalia said.

  "Thief Lord's son," Delmar said. Ajalia took a brush from him and they both began to work over the horse.

  Clouds of dust began to rise up in the darkness, making gritty curtains in the air that drifted slowly to the ground. Ajalia worked over the black horse's shoulder, and the sunburnt horse grunted with satisfaction. His tangled tail whipped back and forth.

  "This horse is disgusting," Delmar said.

  "My horse," Ajalia said. She had put the book into her robe with the sheaf of papers, and it made a heavy lump that dragged down over her waist of coins. "Why do they call him the Thief Lord?" she asked.

  "Can I have the book now?" Delmar asked.

  "No," she said. "What are your brothers' names?"

  "I want to read that book," Delmar said.

  "Why did you know that Salla had this book?" Ajalia said.

  Delmar brushed the horse's flank.

  "What did the paper say that I showed you?" she asked. "Why do you know the old language?"

  "I taught myself," he said. "Will you let me see that book?"

  "Not yet," Ajalia said. "Not until you tell me everything I want to know."

  She waited. Delmar was silent for a very long time. She could feel him looking at her, waiting for her to lose interest, to change her mind.

  "I'm not going to change my mind," Ajalia said pointedly. "What about your brothers?"

  Delmar sighed. "My brothers' names are Coren and Wall," he said.

  "Your brother's name is Wall?" Ajalia asked. "Is that a name here?"

  "No," Delmar said.

  "So your parents just called him Wall?" Ajalia asked. "Why did they name him Wall? Do you call him Wall?"

  "Nobody makes that big of a deal out of it," Delmar said, sounding offended. "He's the next Thief Lord, so it's not like anyone will call him that."

  "What is your father's name?" Ajalia asked. Delmar didn't say anything, and when Ajalia looked at his face, she saw that he was embarrassed. "You don't know what your father's real name is?" she asked. "That's ridiculous. How do you know he's your real father?"

  "Why would that have anything to do with it?" Delmar snapped. "Of course he's my father. We just don't call him anything but the Thief Lord."

  "That seems pretty stupid to me," Ajalia said. "Why didn't you ever try to find out what his name is?" She went to the other side of the horse, and began to comb out the black hair on that side. "What's your mother's name?" she asked.

  "Lilleth," Delmar said promptly.

  "Doesn't she have a title as well?" Ajalia asked.

  "No," Delmar said. "I know my grandfather's name, though. His name is Tree."

  "Tree?" Ajalia asked.

  "Yes, Tree," Delmar said. "You would like him. He's a very nice man."

  "What did the paper say that I showed you?" Ajalia asked. Delmar froze up again.

  "I don't want to tell you," Delmar said. Ajalia brushed right behind the black horse's ears, and the horse stretched out his neck and yawned. Ajalia watched Delmar's face.

  "What do you do with your time?" Ajalia asked. Delmar shrugged.

  "I read," he said.

  "What did the old words on that paper say?" she asked.

  "Why do you want to know?" Delmar demanded. He looked harried, and afraid.

  "I showed you a scrap of paper," Ajalia said. She kept her voice calm. "It had old writing on it. I asked you what the writing said, and you went rushing around with a knife."

  "Well," Delmar said. His mouth puckered a little. Ajalia could see that he was trying to think of another lie.

  "So?" she asked. "What did it say?"

  Ajalia moved her brush over t
he horse's cheeks, and the horse rubbed his head vigorously against her body. She laughed, and pushed the horse away. She bent down and began to brush the mud out of the horse's front leg.

  "It was an old incantation," Delmar said. "It was used by the ancients to lengthen life, and to protect from enemies."

  "So?" Ajalia asked again. "Why, upon seeing that paper, would you rush about looking for that book?"

  "It was dark magic," Delmar said quickly. "Evil magic."

  Ajalia felt the weight of the book pressing down over the tight wrap of coins.

  "Is the book full of evil magic?" she asked. She remembered the first time she had met him, when he had worn a crushed bug in his hair, and had pestered her about his hiding place in the city wall.

  The dirty horse was turning a dusky black under their hands. The clouds of mud and dirt had settled down, and the horse now was twitching his skin with satisfaction. Ajalia wanted to see the dusky black coat of the horse become a shining pitch hue.

  "Is the book full of evil magic?" she asked. The horse sighed, and shifted his weight.

  "No," Delmar said. "It's the only book about magic. Jerome wrote it. He wrote down all about how he built the city of stone, and dug the great quarries, and the river to the sea, and about how he built the harbor wall in one day. And it tells how he pulled down the cloudy plants, and water animals from the kingdom in the sky, and about how he drew up the water from below the ground, to make springs and natural wells." Delmar moved his brush over the black horse's back. "This land used to be a barren desert," he told Ajalia. "Jerome made it habitable. He filled it with plants and living things, and he built this city for us to live in. He saved us from starving to death in the desert."

  "You showed me magic in your other books," Ajalia said.

  "That wasn't real magic," Delmar said. His voice was light, and dismissive; it turned easily over the words like oil slipping through cracks in the ground.

  "You showed me a picture in your book," Ajalia persisted, "and it showed the white rocks coming up, and you said it told how the magic worked. You said then," she added, "that you didn't believe in magic."

  "I don't," Delmar said quickly.

  "Then why do you say this book is so special?" she asked. She saw Delmar glance quickly at her; she could see him watching her eyes, trying to see if she would give up.