Secrets of the Sands

by Leona Wisoker

  Behind her, Chac coughed, alerting her to his presence; she halfturned and motioned for him to join her at the window.

  “It's a busier place than I expected,” she said when he stood beside her.

  “It's the heart of the southlands,” he said, frowning down at the street. He seemed less than pleased about something. “Where's your maid?”

  “I sent her on an errand.”

  “Alone? Are you mad?” He stared at her.

  She shook her head, remembering how people had moved out of Halla's path. “She'll be fine, Chac.”

  “This isn't Bright Bay, damn it,” he said, unaccountably upset, and went to the door. She heard him speaking with one of the guards in a low voice; he returned to her side a few moments later, his frown eased only slightly. “They'll find her. Don't ever send her out without an escort to protect her. Don't try walking alone, yourself, not here. It's not safe. You don't have the status for it just yet. Gods know I've been trying, but it's not taking hold.”

  She turned her head to look at him. “What do you mean, you've been trying? What have you been doing?”

  “While you've been chatting along the way with Deiq,” he said tartly, “I've been trying to arrange alliances to keep you safe on the road and get us to Scratha Fortress. So has Micru. It's not been going well at all. We haven't received a single invitation to visit any Family yet. That's bad, Alyea, that's very bad. Past Water's End, your only source of water and food is the fortresses. You don't just show up at the gates and bang on the door to say hello. You need an invitation. And we don't have one. Not one.”

  “Why didn't you tell me this?” she demanded. “I could have—”

  “You don't know how,” he cut her off. “If Deiq hadn't taken an interest in you, I would have introduced you round each dinner and maybe had better luck; but all they saw was you sitting with him, and they wanted no part of that. He's not trusted much, south to north, commoner or noble.”

  “You could have said,” she complained.

  “I did tell you to get rid of him,” Chac reminded her impatiently.

  She grimaced, wondering if Deiq had understood the impact his attentions would have; if it had been calculated. I can get you to Scratha Fortress safely, he'd said, and promised help if she asked for it.

  “Damn it,” she said aloud.

  “Yes.” Chac seemed about to say something else, but then his attention drew sharply to the street again; she leaned, looking to see what had caught his eye.

  Gria and her mother stumbled by below, wrists weighed down with heavy chains and cuffs. The guards in the party walked very close to the women, and Alyea could make out a dark bruise on the older woman's face. Sela seemed to be halfway between shock and apoplectic rage; her daughter's expression alternated between blank and frightened. The machago Ierie, cheerful and smug, sauntered down the street in front of the small procession.

  Alyea felt her chest tighten at the sight. “It isn't fair. It isn't right. They believed him; that's their only crime.”

  “I doubt it,” Chac said. “Do you really think a machago would make the long trip just for one pair of northern women? They upset someone powerful enough to pay a slave-trader to come all the way past the Horn and steal them away to a place they'd never escape.”

  Alyea stared down at the street, hardly seeing the crowds now. The slave trader's party had passed out of sight now, around a corner.

  “Deiq knew,” she said under her breath.

  “What?” Chac's attention sharpened on her. He scowled.

  “He said he knew what was going on with them,” Alyea said. “But he didn't tell me. I didn't ask,” she added to the fierce glare the old man directed at her.

  “Good,” Chac said. “At least you did that right.” He rubbed his temples. “I have to go make some arrangements. I'll be back soon. Stay here; for the love of the gods, don't go out there until I've secured something for an alliance.” He walked out without looking back.

  She sighed and went back to staring out the window.

  Not long afterwards, a firm knock rattled the thin door behind her. She crossed the room and opened the door with her expressionless public face firmly in place, and held to it with all her might a moment later as machago Ierie grinned at her unpleasantly.

  “Lady Alyea,” he said. “A present for you.”

  Behind him, the two northern women glared at Alyea as if they held her responsible for the situation. Four guards loomed behind, their attention completely on the slaves, ready to grab them if they tried to bolt.

  The bruise on Sela's face, at close range, looked very dark, and very large.

  “A present?” she said sharply.

  “From nu-s'e Deiq,” the man said. “He has purchased these women and wishes me to give them into your care.”

  “When did this happen?” she demanded.

  “My lady,” Ierie said, unruffled, “the hallway is not the best place to hold this discussion.”

  “You certainly aren't entering my room!” she said before thinking.

  He shrugged. “Do you accept this gift or not, Lady Alyea?”

  It had been sensible, before, to stay out of the troubles of the northern women. It would be beyond madness, now, to refuse the gift; another kind of madness to accept. She'd made herself an easy target for whatever game Deiq had set up. He'd guessed her sympathy for the northern women, and now she owed him a debt beyond paying, whatever phrasing the machago used to hide it.

  If this was a gift, she was an asp-jacau.

  “Yes,” she said at last.

  Smirking, Ierie produced a leather document case and handed it to her. “Your paperwork, my lady. You are now wholly responsible for these mac'egas; the mark on their bands is registered with the Water's End hayrar under your name. If they attempt to leave Water's End, by any road, while not in your presence, they will be stopped and returned to you.”

  Alyea felt her stomach curdling from the intensity of Sela's stare.

  Ierie stepped aside and motioned for the two women to advance. Alyea opened the door wider and moved out of the way as the northerns, prompted by an ungentle shove from the guards behind them, stumbled into her room.

  “The cuffs,” Ierie said, “do not come off. They will be slaves, south to north, for the rest of their lives. I recommend you do not try to take them back into the northlands, but that is your choice entirely. Good day, my lady.”

  He turned and sauntered away, his guards following.

  “Gods,” Alyea said under her breath, and closed the door. She stood staring at the plain, scarred wood for a few breaths, gathering strength and sorting her thoughts, before turning to look at her new slaves.

  “You tried to warn us,” Gria said miserably.

  “How convenient,” her mother snapped. “And now you own us, do you? Let me tell you, I don't accept it! I want this cuff off and I intend to bring charges in front of King Oruen!” She brandished her arm at Alyea, as if intending to use the heavy metal cuff as a weapon.

  “He said they don't come off,” Gria said.

  “Nonsense. That was just to scare us. We'll be free of this mistake soon.” She fixed Alyea with a stern glare. “Won't we, my lady?”

  Alyea drew a deep breath and sank into a chair. “No,” she said. “I'm afraid not.”

  Chacerly examined the proffered hand soberly. He shook his head after a moment of tapping and poking at the band, and looked up at Alyea. He'd been furious on finding the two northern women in Alyea's room, but that anger seemed to have vanished now, replaced with a deep concern.

  “I haven't seen this in years. I thought it was a lost art.”

  “Art?” Sela said bitterly.

  Chac sat back on his heels and looked up at her, then stood. “It is an art,” he said. “What it's used for may not be. Look—see that silver twisting through the metal?” He pointed to a fine network of shining lines woven through the duller metal of the slave cuff. “That's called ugren. It's a rare alloy. There's not
hing I know of that cuts or melts it, once it's hardened and set. And as it's contacting your skin, it's likely bonded to that as well. Attempting to remove the cuffs could rip your flesh right down to the bone beneath.”

  Sela stared, her face bone-white. Gria moaned softly, looking ill. “It's not a common slave cuff,” Chac said harshly. “Whoever hired Ierie to come get you wanted to be damn sure you'd never be considered free again, north to south.”

  Alyea put a hand over her mouth.

  “Oh, it gets worse,” Chac said, turning a fierce glare on Alyea. “Far as I know, only ones know how to put on an ugren cuff without killing the slave are the teyanain. And when they get involved, everything goes to all the hells. On top of it all, you said Deiq bought these women, and presented them to you as a gift?” He shook head, lips tight. “What a damn mess. Did you ask him to get involved?”

  “No,” Alyea said as strongly as she could without shouting. “Not even a hint.”

  Chac studied the northern women for a moment, seeming to consider something, then looked back at Alyea. His expression had acquired a chilly, frightening detachment. “You have two options,” he said. “The first one is to find out who they were going to be sold to originally, and send them on to him as a gift.”

  Alyea shook her head. “I won't do that. ”

  “Then you have to kill them,” he said.

  She stared at him, shocked. Sela whimpered. Gria shivered, huddling closer to her mother.

  “They're dangerous by their very presence,” he said. “You're under a debt while they're in your service. You're involving yourself in political games you know nothing about if you keep them alive, and it could destroy you. What you're doing is more important than two northern women.”

  “If you lay one hand on them, Chacerly,” Alyea said with measured chill, “I will see you stripped and sent into the deep sands to die.”

  They matched glares for a long, silent moment.

  “It's safer to be rid of them,” he said. “You don't know what you're doing.”

  “I don't believe in killing innocents to save myself some trouble,” she said. “And they're legally mine. Not yours. I make the decision on this.”

  “You're letting emotion drive you,” Chacerly said. “Not reality.”

  “I said no.”

  His lip curled for a moment, then he shrugged and said, “As you will, my lady. I'd advise asking them some very hard questions, if you're still listening to anything I have to say.”

  “You're my advisor, Chac,” Alyea said, trying to lighten her tone. “I always listen. I just make my own decisions about your advice.”

  “Talk to them, then,” he said. “Find out what's going on before it catches up to you. I'd offer to help but I doubt you'd care for my methods.”

  He turned and left the room without another word, shooting the northerns one final dark, misgiving glance as he passed. Alyea sighed and let herself fold into a chair. Before anyone could speak, Halla burst into the room, beaming. Her smile faded as she took in the two women sitting on Alyea's bed.

  “What—” she started, a frown beginning to form.

  “I'll explain later,” Alyea said, and made a peremptory gesture for the northerns to be silent. “What is it?”

  Halla studied the women for another moment, her forehead furrowed in concern. “Perhaps this isn't a good time?”

  “It's as good a time as any other,” Alyea said. “Out with it.”

  “Well, it's like this,” Halla said uncertainly. “I . . . I think I've had word of my son.”

  “That's good,” Alyea said, unable to summon up more energy for enthusiasm. “What did you hear?”

  “I was . . . I went to the washing square . . . and spoke to the other women there. And men! They have men doing the washing here, my lady.”

  Alyea's smile felt more genuine now. “And someone there told you about your son?”

  “Well, I said I was looking,” Halla said. She seemed to have forgotten the two sullen northern women. “I told my story, and explained how I was working for you while I searched for my son. One of the women said she'd seen a northern boy locally, one with a light slave cuff on; she said that means he was working off a small debt or something minor, and would be free to go once that was up. She didn't know his name, but gave me a description and an address.”

  “Go find out, then,” Alyea said. “What are you waiting for?”

  Halla hesitated again, twisting her hands together nervously. “Well, my lady, I'm fairly sure it's my son; the description fits, right down to the mole on his cheek. It's just . . . the man he's working for . . . she said it was Deiq.”

  Alyea shut her eyes and muttered, “Why am I not surprised?”

  She stood and crossed the room to the small desk. As she'd expected, she found writing supplies inside; she pulled them out and swiftly wrote a brief note, blotted it, and rolled it up. At a loss for a seal, she spotted several lengths of ribbon in the drawer and used one to tie the parchment roll securely. The other three women watched her with varying degrees of silent bewilderment.

  Alyea handed Halla the note and said, “Take this to the local judge, the hayrar. It's an affidavit that Peysimun Family will be personally liable for whatever debt or service your son has incurred, and to release him into your care immediately. Make them write you a note transferring the liability and take it to the place your son is staying. I'm sure he'll know who to present the release to.”

  Halla held the note as if it were the most precious thing she'd ever seen.

  “Thank you, my lady,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “Go on,” Alyea said, and the woman almost ran from the room.

  “Does this Deiq make a practice of holding slaves?” Sela demanded before the door had fully shut behind Halla. “I thought it illegal!”

  “In the kingdom, it is; but we're all far from home, Sela. And before you launch another tirade, keep in mind that I did try to warn you!”

  “And what could we have done?” Sela cried. “Run, and be captured? Or run, and find out you were lying, and disgrace ourselves beyond hope? What else was there to do?”

  Alyea sighed. “Why would anyone want to enslave you in the first place?”

  “How should I know?” Sela snapped.

  “It cost someone a lot of time and money to bring both of you down here and put those cuffs on your arms. Why are you so important?”

  “You'd know more about southern reasoning than I would,” Sela said nastily.

  Alyea rubbed her temples, trying to ease the beginnings of a monstrous headache, and murmured to herself, “I can see this is going to be a long night.”

  * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  The building that rose before them measured no larger than any other in the village, and hardly seemed as opulent as the palace in Bright Bay. It did, however, have carefully trimmed hedges, neatly shaped rosebushes, a paved courtyard, a small stable to one side, and two armed guards at the plain wooden door.

  The guards watched them approach without a flicker of emotion crossing their broad faces. Idisio felt a chill crawling along his spine as he came closer. He'd seen eyes like that before—in men who killed for coin.

  Scratha seemed undisturbed by the cold stare of the guards. He strode up to them as arrogant and assured as he'd ever been in the King's Palace and stopped just out of their reach.

  “We're here to see Yuer,” he announced.

  “Yeah, we figured that,” one of the guards said, surveying the three visitors with a dark squint. “Either that or you want to sell the girl, and she don't look whipped enough for that.”

  “Yuer,” Scratha repeated coldly.

  “Yeah, go on in. He said you'd be here tonight.”

  Scratha checked mid-stride and turned a hard stare on the guard. “Excuse me?”

  “You're expected,” the guard clarified, and jerked a thumb at the door. “Go on in already. Unless you've changed your mind about the girl?” He leered at Ri
ss. She shrank back.

  “No,” Scratha said, and pushed the door open. He strode in without looking back. Idisio and Riss almost tripped over each other crowding in behind him.

  The small room beyond held little more than a comfortably smoldering fireplace and four low, wide chairs set around a short-legged round table. Idisio rocked to a stop and stared in unabashed fascination at the man in the chair facing them.

  There was a lot to stare at: skin like a bleached hide pulled too tight over prominent bones and a face filled with a mass of drooping wrinkles, as if all the spare skin had somehow migrated there. Wispy, dark hair scraggled along a pale scalp. The man smoothed his long-fingered, almost skeletal hands repeatedly over a thick, dark red lap-blanket, although Idisio found the room uncomfortably warm.