Read Online The Godspeaker Trilogy by Karen Miller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karen Miller
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face went still, and his eyes rolled like a goat’s when the knife approaches. He shook his fist at her, then went to help Obid and the guards prod the merchandise into a large empty pen.
Hekat smiled, and folded her arms.
The pen’s black guard dog stood quietly, its white eyes watching, but did nothing to stop them. When all the slaves had shuffled in, and the guards had taken off their chains and dropped them outside the pen with a clanking thud, Obid crooked his finger at her.
“I see you now,” he said. “I see you in this pen.”
Scuffing her shoes on the tiny colored stones she walked past the staring dog and the penkeeper and Obid to join the naked slaves. They stared at her in wondering silence, standing as though they still wore chains. Obid pulled the pen’s gate shut and the penkeeper fastened its lock. She heard the penkeeper say to Obid, “Your master’s a mad one, keeping that. Don’t you see its evil eye?”
“I do not speak of my master,” said Obid. He sounded sullen. Hekat thought he wanted to agree with the penkeeper but did not dare.
“My eye not evil,” she said, loud enough for them to hear her. “My eye beautiful. Hekat beautiful. So the mirror say, and the woman Bisla, and Abajai when he look at me.”
The black dog with white eyes growled, and Obid said, “I see you no talking. I say the word. Abajai’s nod.”
If she made trouble he’d tell Abajai, and Abajai would be angry. So, no making trouble. She pulled a face at Obid because that was not talking. Obid slitted his eyes at her, then went with the other guards to unpack supplies from the pack-camels so she and the merchandise could eat and drink. The penkeeper returned to his stool and made sure he didn’t look anywhere near her.
The floor of the pen was dirt, not colored stones like the road. She’d had too many highsuns of sitting on the camel, her legs itched to run. But the pen was crowded, no room for running, instead she walked around its inside edge and smiled to see Abajai’s slaves cringe as though they were goats and she a prowling sandcat. Like a sandcat she bared her teeth, laughing aloud as they remembered their chains were gone and fought each other to get away.
It was a good feeling, to see them fall over in their fear.
Obid and the guards fed and watered themselves first. After that they watered the camels, then they carried bowls and cups, bags of food and jars of water into the pen with the merchandise. “Sir!” said Obid, and all the slaves bumped their skinny haunches to the ground and held out their hands for a bowl and a cup. The bowls were filled with bread, cheese and cold roasted corn. Each cup received a ladle’s worth of water. The slaves’ eyes were greedy, their tongues licked their lips, but they could not eat or drink until Obid gave his nod.
Hekat did not sit. She could see Obid wanted to make her but did not dare. He knew if he could make trouble for her she could make it for him, too. He shoved a bowl and cup at her, his face angry.
“Eat,” he said, and the merchandise obeyed him.
She stared at the bowl, letting her face show her distaste. She had not eaten slave food once since Abajai saved her from the man. She did not want to eat it now, it reminded her of that life she no longer lived, the nameless she-brat she’d left behind in that village. But her belly was empty and her mouth was parched.
She drank the water, then put dry bread in her mouth and chewed, and chewed, and swallowed. Outside the pen the penkeeper told Obid and the other guards to help him clean up pish and dung. Obid’s eyes showed he did not want to, but he could not say no. He was a slave, the penkeeper was free.
Hekat smiled, and ate her food.
On the other side of the pen she heard a scuffle. Grunting. Still chewing, she went to see. One of the slaves had dropped its bowl. Its bread and cheese and corn were in the dirt. Other slaves were stealing them. They would never dare to steal from a bowl,
Hekat smiled, and folded her arms.
The pen’s black guard dog stood quietly, its white eyes watching, but did nothing to stop them. When all the slaves had shuffled in, and the guards had taken off their chains and dropped them outside the pen with a clanking thud, Obid crooked his finger at her.
“I see you now,” he said. “I see you in this pen.”
Scuffing her shoes on the tiny colored stones she walked past the staring dog and the penkeeper and Obid to join the naked slaves. They stared at her in wondering silence, standing as though they still wore chains. Obid pulled the pen’s gate shut and the penkeeper fastened its lock. She heard the penkeeper say to Obid, “Your master’s a mad one, keeping that. Don’t you see its evil eye?”
“I do not speak of my master,” said Obid. He sounded sullen. Hekat thought he wanted to agree with the penkeeper but did not dare.
“My eye not evil,” she said, loud enough for them to hear her. “My eye beautiful. Hekat beautiful. So the mirror say, and the woman Bisla, and Abajai when he look at me.”
The black dog with white eyes growled, and Obid said, “I see you no talking. I say the word. Abajai’s nod.”
If she made trouble he’d tell Abajai, and Abajai would be angry. So, no making trouble. She pulled a face at Obid because that was not talking. Obid slitted his eyes at her, then went with the other guards to unpack supplies from the pack-camels so she and the merchandise could eat and drink. The penkeeper returned to his stool and made sure he didn’t look anywhere near her.
The floor of the pen was dirt, not colored stones like the road. She’d had too many highsuns of sitting on the camel, her legs itched to run. But the pen was crowded, no room for running, instead she walked around its inside edge and smiled to see Abajai’s slaves cringe as though they were goats and she a prowling sandcat. Like a sandcat she bared her teeth, laughing aloud as they remembered their chains were gone and fought each other to get away.
It was a good feeling, to see them fall over in their fear.
Obid and the guards fed and watered themselves first. After that they watered the camels, then they carried bowls and cups, bags of food and jars of water into the pen with the merchandise. “Sir!” said Obid, and all the slaves bumped their skinny haunches to the ground and held out their hands for a bowl and a cup. The bowls were filled with bread, cheese and cold roasted corn. Each cup received a ladle’s worth of water. The slaves’ eyes were greedy, their tongues licked their lips, but they could not eat or drink until Obid gave his nod.
Hekat did not sit. She could see Obid wanted to make her but did not dare. He knew if he could make trouble for her she could make it for him, too. He shoved a bowl and cup at her, his face angry.
“Eat,” he said, and the merchandise obeyed him.
She stared at the bowl, letting her face show her distaste. She had not eaten slave food once since Abajai saved her from the man. She did not want to eat it now, it reminded her of that life she no longer lived, the nameless she-brat she’d left behind in that village. But her belly was empty and her mouth was parched.
She drank the water, then put dry bread in her mouth and chewed, and chewed, and swallowed. Outside the pen the penkeeper told Obid and the other guards to help him clean up pish and dung. Obid’s eyes showed he did not want to, but he could not say no. He was a slave, the penkeeper was free.
Hekat smiled, and ate her food.
On the other side of the pen she heard a scuffle. Grunting. Still chewing, she went to see. One of the slaves had dropped its bowl. Its bread and cheese and corn were in the dirt. Other slaves were stealing them. They would never dare to steal from a bowl,