by Dana Marton
“That is why you never see a beggar child with only the hand missing. Beggar lords are always careful to remove at least half an arm, so the little beggars are not mistaken for thieves. Nobody would toss a coin to a thief.”
We walked on in silence, my mind spinning. I had seen many dark things in war, but the customs of Rabeen made my heart sick. “Are many cities like this?”
Among the Shahala, those too sick to work were fed by their neighbors. Those caught in a crime were taught by the elders to do better. At worst, a criminal might be cast out. My people did not go about chopping up others.
Among the Kadar, each warlord made his own law. In Karamur, under the High Lord’s law, theft had to be twice repaid, even if it meant servitude for the thief.
“Why is Rabeen so barbaric?” the words slipped from my lips.
“No market town is kind to thieves.” But then Batumar, his gaze scanning the crowd, added, “Rabeen was not always like this. Once, they had a smaller market but grew all the most exotic fruits here on the island, in hanging gardens. They traded only food back then. They had ways of irrigating their crops and growing tenfold in raised containers, one atop another, as clever as if the gods had invented it themselves. Once, the merchants of Rabeen were more than merchants. They were inventors and philosophers and poets.”
I longed to see such a place, a shining contrast to the now overcrowded island that teemed with a wide range of goods but also with the mutilated. “What happened?”
“War. Their old ways were lost. Now they grow little. Ships bring merchandise, and other ships take it away.” Batumar turned toward the market stalls. “Let us purchase what we need.”
I glanced back toward the handless beggar and caught sight of Pek instead. He seemed to be watching us, but he ducked his head when he realized I had seen him.
As I followed Batumar into the labyrinth of passageways, staying close to him, I tried to shake off my unease.
The market buzzed like a nest of hornets. Not even the sounds of the sea could overpower the noise that rose and fell like the waves. Here on the outskirts, merchandise was sold in open stalls, canvas stretching above to protect the tables that offered fruits, meats, vegetables, and spices.
Various smells assailed us, some pleasant, others stomach-turning. I had never before seen so many things fermented.
We bought hard-fleshed ican fruit that would last the long journey. Batumar also purchased some sweet mosan berries, which we ate at once. Then cheese, which we sampled. And strips of dried meat. We ate some of that too as we moved on, our stomachs filling at last.
The farther we progressed, the more substantial the stores became, square, high-walled tents first, then mud-brick houses stuck to each other. In these houses, colorful clothes and furs were on display on the lower levels, or carpets standing in tall piles. At the top of stairs that led to the second, private, level, children sat, playing, chewing on sugarcane, watching their fathers work, already learning the trade.
We stopped at a candlemaker, and Batumar selected six large tallow candles. Then he tugged off his left boot, shook out a coin, and paid.
He added the candles to our sack.
A droopy-mustached merchant called to us as we passed his shop. “Silk for the mistress.”
“I have the finest perfumes in the world. Try my musk and jasmine,” another offered, wiggling his sizable nose like a rabbit smelling clover.
“Soft kid boots.”
“A jewel to match her eyes.”
All this we passed by. Soon we were nearly across the city. Straight ahead was the sea again and another port with a long wooden dock. To our left, animal pens stood near the water so they could be easily cleaned.
The fowl merchant listed his entire inventory in a singsong voice. He had everything from purple-plumed nefel that lived on swamp frogs, to curved-beak emerald machup that nested on high cliffs. Next to them chickens and ducks were packed two dozen to a cage, but the roosters were kept separately from each other.
“Fighting cocks,” Batumar said. “If they were packed together, they would kill each other.”
As we passed the fowl merchant, I glanced to our right, toward the sprawling slave market.
My breath caught when I saw Pek again, talking to a slaver.
Chapter Six
(The Tiger)
Before I could point out Pek to Batumar, the boy was gone, and my attention was drawn to the shocking sight of women and children kept penned in, separated from the men, all huddled against the cold. In another area, I saw two dozen other children in individual cages like the fowl merchant’s fighting cocks.
The cages were not much bigger, entirely too small for the children. Their feet hung out between the bars on the bottom, their arms to the side, a hole allowing their heads to stick out on top.
Their bodies had conformed to the shape of the small cage, unable to grow past it. I envisioned their bent and stunted bones, and could only imagine how much pain their little bodies must be in.
My spirit sickened. My heart pitched in my chest like a ship in a storm. “Are they deformed by design to make them better beggars?”
But Batumar said darkly, “Dwarves are for entertainment, not for work. One of them is worth twenty times the coin beggar lords pay for a beggar.”
He turned me from the sight and kept talking as we moved away. “The Emperor Drakhar has a fondness for dwarves. There are not enough of them naturally. Some slave masters try to breed them for the Emperor’s court, but it is slow work and does not always bring result. The slave masters of Rabeen invented a different way.”
I truly and well hated the slave masters of Rabeen. I could see a handful as I glanced back, standing together and talking with each other, wearing fanciful clothes decorated with beads and shells, the lower portion of their faces wrapped, but not as with a healer’s veil.
Their wrapping was much more substantial, the cloth ending on the top of their heads in some sort of a turban. Only their eyes showed, and I thought it fitting that they would hide their faces in shame.
As I returned my gaze to the children in the cages, I was shaking with anger and grief. I could not imagine how so much darkness could live in a man’s heart as lived inside the Emperor. How could he be amused by such cruelty? As we walked through rows of animal pens, I kept thinking how we could possibly stop such a man.
I turned to Batumar. “Those children… On our way back?”
He held my gaze. “When we have our mercenaries. I promise.”
As I had never known the High Lord to break his word, the ache in my heart eased a little as we moved on. Once we had the children, I would see what I could do about healing them. I prayed to the spirits that I would get the chance.
Sheep and goat bleated side by side as we moved forward. Cows, horses, then other great animals I had never seen before, the color of desert sand, long-legged, taller even than Batumar. They must have been used for dragging carts, for I could not see how a person could sit on one’s back where a giant hump took up all the space.
Batumar stepped closer to pet one. “Camels.”
A portly man—fat as a harvest mouse, in truth—immediately rushed up to us with an earthenware jar. “Camel milk, mistress. The healthiest of all milks. It will cure any disease. It will strengthen any weakness.” Then he smiled slyly at Batumar. “It will increase a man’s strength in bed.”
I nearly choked on my own spittle at his brazen suggestion. The High Lord of the Kadar certainly did not need help between the furs.
But Batumar laughed at the small man and clapped him on the back. “We will take a flask.”
“A taste, mistress?”
I accepted the cup. The camel milk tasted saltier than cow milk, and richer. Likely it did have some medicinal benefit.
“Very healing,” he said again. “Camel piss too. A cask of that?”
I knew urine was used in the tanning of furs, but I never heard of it used as medicine. Batumar was ready to move on with the flat flask tha
t had an interesting knobby topper, but I asked the merchant, “How does this heal?”
The man went on about wounds and infections, but he was no healer, so he could not tell me what I wished to know. And then I saw a large cage far ahead, apart from the others at the edge of the market, and something about the majestic animal inside drew me forward. I forgot all about the camels.
“It is not the same one,” Batumar said as I passed him.
Eight men were attempting to move the tiger cage, struggling to hold the four long carrying beams—two in front, two in the back—as the tiger roared inside, snapping at them with her fearsome teeth and swiping at them through the bars. I could see scars on her side. I knew those scars.
I grabbed Batumar’s arm, my heart pounding with excitement. “It is she.”
A year earlier, I had been sold into slavery at the port city of Kaharta Reh but was later taken to Karamur, the High Lord’s seat. On that journey, our traveling group had come across a tiger. She had come too close to me. Batumar’s warriors filled her side with spears, but I had healed her afterwards. I had understood that she’d meant us no harm, had only been defending her young.
She had been fearsome then, but now she was truly terrifying in her fury. Between the tiger and the rest of the market, warriors stood on guard at a distance with their bows and arrows, others with lances, in case the cage could not hold her.
Batumar and I stopped at a safe distance.
“Where are you taking her?” he asked the workmen.
The tallest of the ragged men answered without looking at us. “One-Tooth Tum bought her. He’s taking her to the fighting cages of Naresh.” He grunted as they heaved. “She is worth her weight in gold there.” He grunted again. “If we can get her to the ship. Thrice the size of our island tigers. A Selorm battle tiger, I wager.”
She was powerful and powerfully enraged. I did not want her blood to be spilled on Rabeen’s rocks. I fastened my eyes to hers and hummed a spirit song in my heart.
Oh great mother, I greet you as a friend. Oh great mother, I bring you no harm.
Her gaze sharpened. She shook her head. Could she hear? Did she recognize me?
Oh great mother, think of the forest. Think of the wind in the trees. Think of the water of the creek. Oh great mother, think of sleep.
Her eyes found mine. The tiger blinked once, slowly. She stood still now, did not try to swipe at the men through the bars.
Oh great mother, think of the forest. Think of the wind in the trees. Think of the water of the creek. Oh great mother, think of sleep.
She lay down with a great heaving sigh, which nearly unbalanced the crate, but the men steadied it again, grunting under the weight. All the while, she was looking at me.
Some of the men caught her gaze and glanced toward me with fear, others with speculation. I paid them no mind.
Oh great mother, think of the forest. Think of the wind in the trees. Think of the water of the creek. Oh great mother, think of sleep.
And the tiger closed her eyes.
More people were watching now, wondering why all that roaring suddenly stopped. As more and more eyes turned in my direction, Batumar tugged me away.
I followed with reluctance, consoling myself with the thought that I would see the tiger again on our ship.
“What happens in the fighting cages of Naresh?” I asked Batumar.
“Whatever pleases the Queen of Naresh. Female warriors fight each other, bears, lions, and tigers. The gladiator cages of Naresh draw men from the far corners of the world. They fill the cages with a mixture of fighters and beasts, and the fight goes on until only one warrior remains. The women fight naked, with a single double-edged blade. It is considered a great attraction.”
I could not imagine such a place.
I did not wish for the tiger to go to the fighting cages. But neither did I want her to remain on Rabeen, this rock in the middle of the sea. I could see no escape for her here. I consoled myself with the thought that we had a long journey to the mainland. I would think of something before we reached the port of Ishaf.
We meandered back toward our ship, taking a different path through the warren of passageways. Shaking another coin out of his boot, Batumar purchased a blanket made out of camel hair to increase the comfort of our cabin. I tied it around me like a second cloak. The blanket smelled like the camel had, but it did block the wind.
Then we bought dried fruit, smoked sausages, and more cheese, and flat, hard bread that would have to be sawed to bits and soaked in water before we could eat it.
“I would spend the last of our coin on pickled eggs,” Batumar said, and I nodded in agreement.
We had passed by those earlier. Sealed tight in their earthenware jars, the lid made of metal, that would be one food the rats could not attack. Pickled eggs might save us yet if we lost everything else.
The beggar children did not bother with us again, as a new ship had come to port, but a little girl sitting aside by some sacks of wheat grabbed my ankle as we passed.
“Food, blessed mistress. A bit of food please, or a little coin,” she begged in a singsong voice laden with pain. Dark circles of suffering framed her eyes. She winced as she shifted.
Batumar reached into our food sack and came up with a chunk of cheese, which the girl grabbed greedily.
She was moving her arm with difficulty. And she could not move her boney little legs at all. As her clothes shifted, her scars became apparent. She was deformed from having been badly burned.
While Batumar inspected a bag of oats, I reached my hands out to her without thinking. I would have naught to do on our long journey but lie on top of a pile of potatoes. I would have time to recover.
She startled but did not pull away.
I could feel her damaged skin and the muscles that had been destroyed beneath. Then I felt for the good skin and good muscles of my own body, and I sent my healing spirit into her. I gasped as her pain flooded me, but held on until she was fully healed.
Her gaunt face cleared and her emerald eyes flew wide with astonishment, even as I had to steady myself against the pole that held the canvas roof of the stall next to us. She moved her arms and legs, laughter bubbling up her throat as she jumped to her feet, losing her balance and falling down again. She hung on to the wheat sacks behind her and pulled herself to standing once more, eager to learn to walk again.
“Tera.” Batumar managed a growl that was at the same time angry and concerned.
I tried to breathe against the pain I had drawn, watching the girl move in every direction in jerky twists, like a dancing drunkard. Then she suddenly stilled, staring past us before collapsing to the ground and wrapping her arms around herself, her laughter replaced by a gasp of fear.
A wizened old man was running toward us with a dark storm on his face. “What have you done?” He sucked in air. “Heathens!”
He reached us and began to strike me with his fleshy hands at once, but Batumar shoved him back, looking ready to cut him in half.
The man turned to the merchants behind their stalls, and, having caught his breath at last, began loudly complaining for all to hear. “A full gold piece it cost me for the blacksmith to burn them just right. My grandson I lost to infection, but this one lived. Now I have to have her burned again. Who will pay for that? What if she dies? She will probably die, I tell you.”
He waved his arms and stomped his feet as he turned to Batumar. “I demand payment.”
The vendors around us nodded in agreement.
“It is right.” A tall man with pockmarks on his face spoke up. “You damaged his property. If you do not pay for it, you are committing theft.”
The sea of angry faces scowled at us as if we had stolen a side of mutton off a table.
I let the pole go and stepped closer to Batumar, leaned against him for support as pain coursed through me. We could be swallowed in this crowd and never be seen again. One-Tooth Tum would not come looking for us or be overwrought by our disappearanc
e. He already had our crystals.
The crowd moved in closer. A few daggers appeared. One man hefted an ax. I hid my hands behind my back, fearing what would happen if they branded us thieves.
Batumar shot them a warning look, pulling to his full height, squaring his shoulders.
“Can we take her with us?” I whispered, my heart pounding.
He stepped between me and the angry mob, measuring up the men, his stance ready for fight. “We will be traveling through war-torn lands crawling with enemies. She would be no safer with us,” he told me under his breath, his gaze on the crowd.
I knew he had little if any coin left, which we might need to pay the captain to let us off the ship in Ishaf. We might have to buy our own lives yet. And the lives of every man, woman, and child on Dahru depended on our success. But Batumar did reach under his doublet and pulled out a gold piece.
The old man’s eyes glinted with greed as he snatched the coin with a speed that belied his age. He bit hard on it, then gave a satisfied nod as he quickly hid it in a secret pouch behind his belt. Then he stuck his chin out toward us. “Where is the rest?”
I could not have moved had I tried, just breathed against the pain as I waited for the men to finish bargaining.
“Do not burn her again.” Batumar’s voice had a cold edge. He held out another gold coin. From the grim look he shot me, I understood that this coin was our last. “On the next merchant ship, send her to Karamur to serve.”
He stood and spoke like a warlord. He put his hand on his sword.
The old man grabbed the coin, bit this one too, then hid it as quickly as the first. “Yes, my lord. On the next merchant ship, I shall send her to Karamur to serve.”
Batumar looked around at those who had gathered around us. “You are the witnesses.”
Some men put away their daggers with disappointment as they eyed us, probably wondering if we could possibly have some coin left. But a few of the more honest-looking men nodded.
Then Batumar turned to the old man again. “I shall come back this way. When I come to Rabeen again, she better not be here. When I reach Karamur, she better be there waiting, or I will come to find you.”