by Victor Poole
"My Tree told me about it," he said finally.
"Your grandfather?" Ajalia asked.
"My mother's father," Delmar said. Ajalia's brush froze. Her heart began to pound.
"Grandpa Tree is your mother's father?" Ajalia asked. She had thought, when Delmar had named Tree, and said "grandfather", that he was speaking of his father's father. She felt now as though there were something secret, something wrong, something that no one was supposed to see hidden behind those words, and behind the fact that Delmar did not know his own father's name. She felt as though she had stumbled upon a thing that was shrouded in darkness. Delmar did not seem to notice that anything was wrong.
"What?" Delmar asked.
"What about your father's family?" she asked. She didn't want to learn more awful things. She wanted Delmar to be normal, and vague, and slightly pathetic. She didn't want there to be terrible secrets in his family.
Delmar pulled a clump of horse hair out of his brush, and waved his hand to make it fall away from his fingers. His face was strangely peaceful. Ajalia noticed again how weak his chin was.
"Well, goodbye," Delmar said.
"Where are you going?" Ajalia asked. He moved towards the stall door. She blocked his way.
"I'm going home," Delmar said.
"Why?" she demanded. Ajalia felt the stirrings of anger.
"You told me to go away," Delmar said. "And, you don't believe in magic," he added.
"You said you didn't believe in magic," Ajalia said.
"Everyone has to say that they don't believe," Delmar said. His voice was like cold metal. "But I do believe in magic. So, goodbye." He lifted his hand.
"What is so horrible about your father?" Ajalia asked. She was standing in front of the stall door.
"I don't know," he said. She couldn't tell if he was lying or not. "Something that makes people not want me."
"Delmar," Ajalia said. "Why don't you know anything about yourself?"
He looked up swiftly at her, and then back down. "I know things," he muttered.
"You're like a child," Ajalia said. "You don't know your father's name, you don't know anything about his family, you have nothing to do, and you don't seem to eat."
"I eat," Delmar said hotly. His face flushed, and in the darkness his face looked purple.
"You look like a man who is living on air," Ajalia said.
"I do not look hungry," Delmar shouted. The sound echoed sharply through the row of stalls, and whuffles and snorts rose up around them.
"You're going to wake them all up," Ajalia said. Delmar pressed closer to Ajalia, trying to get past her to the latch, and she moved in front of him again. He reached past her, and she caught his arms around the wrists.
"Let go of me," he snapped.
"No," she said. She was angry, and she did not know why. She felt as though a searing red iron was passing through her heart.
"I'm fine," he said. "There's nothing wrong with me at all."
"You don't eat food," she said furiously. He glared at her. A dim light was burning far out in the avenue, and it caught in the corner of Delmar's eyes and made them gleam.
"We were talking about magic," Delmar said. "You don't know what I do."
Ajalia let go of Delmar's wrist with one hand, and pressed him hard in the ribs. Delmar gasped in pain.
"You're just making stuff up," Delmar gasped.
"You're dying," Ajalia told him. Delmar let out a dark chuckle.
"You're stupid," he said.
"You're hungry," she said. A new thought came to her. "Do you have money?" she asked. Delmar shifted uneasily. He tried to smooth out his face, but she had seen the fear that had come into his eyes. "I see," she said. The money at her waist dragged against her clothes, and made her feel tied to the ground. Her own family, and her own past, seemed suddenly cute, almost anecdotal. She did not envy Delmar.
"Well," she said. She moved aside, and let him open the latch. She took the brush from him, and asked him where he had taken the brushes from. He shrugged dismissively. "Show me," she said angrily. He flushed again, and snatched them back from her.
"I'll put them back," he snapped.
"Delmar," she said. She felt pity for him now.
"Don't talk to me," he said. Ajalia wondered now why she had never noticed the gnawed, starved look in Delmar's eyes. She had thought he was stupid, or vague, but now she saw that he was miserably hungry. She wanted to ask him why his mother did not feed him, if he lived at home, but she remembered the way the rich woman with brown hair had looked past her, and how Delmar's mother had tried to take the silk cover without paying, and she did not have the heart to ask.
"Can I look at your other books?" Ajalia asked. She did not know what else to say. Delmar shifted his weight. He went out of the stall, and put the brushes away. He came back and stood near the open door.
"Well?" he said.
"Well?" Ajalia asked.
"Come on," he said.
Ajalia wrapped her arms around the book in her robes, and came out of the stall. Delmar latched it behind her, and put an arm around her waist. Ajalia leaned into him a little. Delmar's hand patted over the hard ridge that the money made around her middle.
"What's this?" he asked. Ajalia went out the front way, towards the long street that lay between the stables.
"I should go home," Ajalia said.
"To that Philas man?" Delmar said suspiciously.
"No," Ajalia said.
"I don't really believe in magic," Delmar said.
Ajalia didn't say anything.
"Is it money?" Delmar asked. "In your clothes?"
"It isn't my money," Ajalia said.
"Why do you have so much money?" he asked. She felt as though he were accusing her of being better than he was.
"It isn't mine," she said again.
"Why do you have it?" he asked.
"Delmar," she said. "Is there food in your mother's house?"
Delmar shifted from one foot to the other. He thrust his hands into his pockets. His eyes slipped over the ground.
"Maybe," he said.
"Could you go and take some?" she asked.
"No," he said quickly.
"Are there servants in your mother's house?" Ajalia asked patiently. Delmar nodded. "And do they eat food?" she asked. He nodded again. "I want you to go home," Ajalia said, "and I want you to pretend that you're one of the servants." Her heart was making an unpleasant lurching inside of her body. "Can you pretend to be a servant, and steal some food?"
Delmar looked thoughtful. "I could maybe do that," he said. He wasn't looking at Ajalia. He did not look as though he had ever thought of stealing food before. "I'll try," he said. He turned and shook Ajalia's hand. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. "Goodbye," he said solemnly, and set out swiftly for the center of the city.
Ajalia watched him go. She felt as though she were watching a gangly bird swoop away to confront a bevy of vultures. She wondered if she would ever see Delmar again. She thought that she would venture forth and rescue him if he did not appear for several days. She did not think his mother would kill him, but she was not sure that the brown-haired wife of the Thief Lord would not do some unthinkable thing to Delmar, and she was beginning to feel fond of Delmar.
Ajalia went to the end of the long road of the stables, where a torch was burning. She drew the old book of magic out of her robes, and looked at it. She did not think that the book would be anything special, but Delmar's interest in it had piqued her own. She told herself that the book would not be legible. She told herself that the book would be boring, and that she would not be able to read the old letters. She told herself that there would be no beautiful painting inside, showing rocks thrusting out of the earth, and plants descending out of the clouds.
As she turned over the book, examining the heavy binding, and the stains on the edges of the pages, she felt suddenly as though opening the book would ruin everything. She did not want to find out that the book was only a
series of unreadable words. She did not want to feel alone, and as though magic was never a thing that could be. She began to admit to herself that she did want to believe that the city of Slavithe had been built with magic, and that there was more to be seen here than buildings of white stone, and elaborate carvings, and crowds of men, and seeming-men in plain brown robes. She wanted Slavithe to be special. She wanted the Thief Lord to be a man shrouded in mystery. She wanted there to be more in store for her than an endless series of days in which she bargained and traded on the corruption of lying people. She wanted to feel clean, and heroic.
With a feeling of crashing down, Ajalia opened to the first page of the book.
THE END
of
The Slave from the East
BONUS:
Chapter One of book 2: The White Brand,
available now on amazon.com.
THE OLD BOOK
The light of the fire was glinting against the leather of the cover as Ajalia lifted up the first page of the book, and laid it open against the torchlight. Inside of the book was a long series of letters; the first word was written in an old form of Slavithe; Ajalia could not read it.
She closed the book with a snap, and put it under her arm. She walked quickly through the dark streets, and she tried to forget the images she had made, of herself learning magic, of a wonderful adventure opening up in front of her.
She walked to the little house, and let herself in. One of the slaves was asleep on the ground floor near the door. He was wrapped in a heavy travelling cloak, and Ajalia stepped over him. He turned his face to her in the darkness.
"It's me," she said in the Eastern tongue.
"Philas was looking for you," the slave said, and nestled deeper into his makeshift bed.
Ajalia shifted the slim leather book under her arm, and walked up the stairs. Lights were shining out from under a few of the doors. She went carefully past these until she reached the tiny room at the top. She went in, and shut the door behind her. A shard of bright moonlight was falling through the window, and Ajalia sat on the floor, and propped the book in her lap. She opened the book again, this time to a place in the middle, and moved the page into the light of the moon.
Ajalia had studied the language of Slavithe in the East, but the letters on these pages were thicker and wilder than the ones she knew.
She turned the page on her lap, and stared at the letters. Her eyes itched. She felt more disappointed than she wanted to admit. She began to turn the pages of the book over. Page after page of dense writing met her eyes. There were words clustered thickly on every page. She had hoped that there would be some paintings, as there had been in Delmar's books, but this book seemed to hold only writing in the old language that she could not read.
Ajalia rubbed her fists against her eyes, and sighed. She closed the book, and lay it down on the stone floor. She stood up and stretched her fingers up against the low ceiling. She sat down on the stone floor, and turned the book over to look at the back cover. The leather was engraved with a detailed image of long snake with wings. The snake was flying through clouds of what seemed to be water and lightning. Ajalia studied this picture, and ran her fingers over the shapes in the leather.
She opened the book, and studied the lining. The book had been bound with a rich brown leather that had a small grain, and the inside of the cover was lined with red cloth. Ajalia ran her fingers over this cloth, and felt a sharp rectangle beneath the fabric.
She stood up, and carried the book to the window. She tilted the inside of the book against the light, and examined the fabric. She had been right; a shallow rectangle was hidden behind the fabric. Ajalia put her fingers around the edges of the fabric. A slit had been cut within the crease of the book; Ajalia put her fingers against this slit, and jostled the book to shake the rectangle free.
The shape beneath the fabric moved a little. Ajalia shook the book firmly, and an edge of gold worked its way against her fingers.
Ajalia heard footsteps coming up the stairs. She closed the book, and slipped it beneath the robes she had placed under a cover earlier. She stood up as the door opened, and Philas came in.
"You disappeared," Philas said. He leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms.
"I had business," Ajalia said.
"I found out about the feast tomorrow," Philas said. "We've got to go and present ourselves at the square in front of the Thief Lord's house."
"I knew that," Ajalia said.
"But the ceremony is at first light," Philas said.
"That's good to know," Ajalia admitted. She looked away from Philas.
"Can we be friends?" Philas asked. Ajalia shrugged.
"Can you stay sober?" she asked.
"I don't think that's a fair thing to say," Philas said.
"Did Lim find something to wear?" she asked. Philas nodded.
"He made a deal with Saul," Philas said.
"Good," Ajalia said.
"Are you giving me the money now?" Philas asked.
"That's a strange way to ask," Ajalia said.
"You disappeared with all the money," Philas said.
"The boy told me you wanted to steal my soul," Ajalia told Philas.
Philas smiled at Ajalia.
"He also said you were taking advantage of me, and that I would be in charge if I wasn't so nice," Ajalia said. "Do you think I'm nice, Philas?"
"Were you with Delmar?" Philas asked.
"I didn't think you'd remember his name," Ajalia said. "Also, he's got a horrible mother."
"My mother is very nice," Philas said.
"And you didn't answer my question," Ajalia said. "Goodnight," she added.
"Give us a kiss," Philas said. Ajalia sighed. "It isn't the same, is it?" he asked with a smile, and Ajalia breathed in.
"No," she said. "It is not the same."
"Sorry," Philas said. Ajalia shrugged. "You aren't staying up here, are you?" he asked.
"It's quiet," Ajalia said.
"And there's nothing to sleep on," Philas pointed out.
"I like the floor," Ajalia said.
"And I like you," Philas said.
"Just stop," she said.
"Trade rooms with me," Philas said.
"I need a figurehead," Ajalia told him. "I haven't got anyone else. You're going to have to stay in charge. I'm sorry about that."
"It isn't that bad," Philas said. "Your boy's nicer to me."
"I'm paying him for that," Ajalia said.
"And now you're going to give me the store of money?" Philas reminded her, and she smiled at him.
"No," she said.
"I suppose everyone will starve," Philas remarked.
"I guess they will," Ajalia agreed. Philas studied her closely.
"Did something happen to you?" he asked.
She shrugged. "One of my Slavithe servants died," she told him.
"Was that Slavithe boy pestering you?" Philas asked. Ajalia could feel tendrils of warmth spreading out from Philas towards her.
"He told me that I like him," Ajalia said, "and that you're poaching."
Philas laughed. Ajalia did not laugh.
"You didn't believe him," Philas said coaxingly.
"I met him first," Ajalia said.
"You didn't meet him first," Philas said. "You knew me first."
"Remember how you didn't like me until after I met Delmar?" Ajalia asked.
"I've always liked you," Philas said.
"Okay," Ajalia said.
"You don't believe that," Philas told her. "I've been telling you that I liked you for years."
"Yes," Ajalia said, "In horribly sad ways."
"I was not horribly sad," Philas said.
"You were horribly drunk," she reminded him. Philas sniffed.
"I was coping with the lack of you in my life," he said.
"Goodnight," Ajalia said.
"Can I help you in the morning?" Philas asked.
"Go away, Philas," Ajalia said.
&nb
sp; "I love you," Philas said.
"Go to sleep, Philas," Ajalia said.
Philas went out and closed the door behind him. He began to croon an old Eastern ballad about a rich man who pined after his young slave. Ajalia heard other slaves shouting through their doors at Philas. He sang louder, and she laughed.
She lay down against the door, and pillowed her head upon her arms. The stone floor was clean, and cool against her cheek; she thought that Philas must have had the slaves cleaning the house. She told herself to wake up before daybreak, and watched the moonlight creep over the floor. When she slept, she dreamt that Philas and Delmar were each holding one of her hands, and were pulling her apart. She burst into flames, and each of them picked up a piece of her heart, and walked away.
When the dawn was only just beginning to lighten the night sky, Ajalia woke up. Her heart was pounding, and a cold sweat was on her back. She sprang to her feet, and sighed. She stretched out her arms, and went down the stairs to forage in the kitchen.
Someone had left a tray of bread and baked meats in a stone chest beneath the counter; the chest was cool and dry, and the bread had not hardened too much. Ajalia ate the bread. She went through the house to the room where the great paintings hung, and studied the largest paintings. She had not looked closely at them since they had been cleaned, and she could not see them clearly in the darkness. She could see a heavy white shape piercing through the center of one painting; another large painting was dark all over, but she could see little people painted in the corners. The little house was filled with shadow. Ajalia wandered up the stairs, and began to dress in the ceremonial robes of her master. She applied thin oil from a jar to her skin, and then began to paint the mask of her master's clan over her eyes.
The leather book lay out in the open as she spread the orange cream over her cheeks, and her eyes went to the embossed brown cover. She remembered the slit in the lining, and the edge of gold that she had seen before Philas had interrupted her last night. Her fingers ached for the book, but when she had finished painting her face, she lay aside the creams and brushes and combed out her hair.