Chapter Seven
Slaves in Sahar
“Hey, where’d you come from? Get out of my way!”
Trinka staggered back, dazed by the sight of a huge cart, clanging with the noise of dozens of pots and pans banging against each other, rolling over the sand where she had just stood. Her senses reeled with the sudden change from standing beneath the cool trees of Parthalan with her family, to being drenched in overwhelming heat with strangers pressing her on every side.
“Watch where you’re going!” Another shout of protest came from behind her as she backed into the corner of a small canopy.
“I’m sorry,” Trinka murmured.
She was about to turn away, when she noticed the man under the canopy had displayed rows of small jewels on his table, glittering brightly in the relentless yellow light.
“Have you seen a green jewel?” she asked the vendor. “It’s kind of dirty looking, about this big.” Trinka held out her hands as she struggled to find the words that would describe Grble’s ornament.
“I don’t sell ‘dirty’ junk,” the man retorted. “Now move on!”
Hastily, Trinka retreated and made her way down the dusty street, lined with stalls like the one she had just run into. It seemed to be some sort of marketplace, and the entire market rang like a set of clanging musical instruments, with each merchant making noise to a different beat and drumming out a different tune. But they all sang the same song.
“The most beautiful eggs in all the land. Like jewels that you eat. All laid by my princess.” A bright blue bird with a large plume of tail feathers chirruped from the side of the stand, where she was tied to one of the merchant’s poles. A sharp-eyed woman peered at the eggs through a small piece of glass, determined to inspect their perfection for herself, while the merchant folded and unfolded his hands and kept up a constant stream of praise for his wares.
Beside him, another man unfurled huge pieces of cloth, all bright reds and glowing purples, intertwined in intricate patterns. A group of women, some with babies strapped to their shoulders, ran their hands over the fabric and bantered back and forth. Everyone seemed to be moving everywhere, with people and animals, young and old, heading in all directions. It was all Trinka could do to not get dizzy watching them.
Amidst a stand of heavily jeweled bangles and a booth selling strings of gangly, repulsive-looking sea creatures, the wares of another merchant caught Trinka’s eye. A man with meaty hands gripped an enormous, green fruit, which he split open with one whack of his curved blade. He turned the insides of the fruit toward the street, where already a small crowd was gathering. Trinka worked her way through the shoppers and bags and babies to get a glimpse of the sparkling, green slices.
Hands with small clinking jewels appeared, and one by one, the slices disappeared as the fruit stand man dropped the jewels into a pot and handed each customer their slice, his left hand never straying from his knife. Two women oohed and ahhed as they savored the fruit in tiny bites and carefully licked the juice from their fingers. Trinka eyed the fruit enviously until a loud crack shattered her concentration. The fruit stand man had swung the long knife whipping against the chopping block, its shining blade just a blur. With a start, a boy who had attempted to sneak a slice dropped the fruit, which fell, useless, into the dusty street. Wide-eyed with terror, the boy quickly scampered off into the crowd.
“Next time someone steals my fruit, I don’t miss!” the fruit seller boomed threateningly.
Trinka nervously backed away, and caught a whiff of something she had never smelled before. On the other side of the street, a man dished out scoops of a thick, stew-like mixture for a line of hungry customers. Trinka’s nose tingled from the exotic mix of sweet and pungent spices, and her mouth began to water as the scent sparked the sensation of mild flames upon her tongue. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she had missed lunch and, being alone in a strange land, had no prospects of getting any dinner. To her surprise, as the customers finished gulping down their meals, they tossed their crystal dishes into a roaring fire. Another man pulled the bowls from the leaping flames with a long, sharp hook and set them on the booth again, sparkling clean.
Trinka sighed and turned away.
The heat blazed on, and the dust stirred up by all the merchants and animals and people passing by coated Trinka’s skin and clothes and filled her mouth and throat. She longed for a cool drink of water to wash away the cake of dust from her mouth and eyes. How good it would feel running down her arms and even splashing against her feet. Just then, she spotted a merchant selling small sips of water in little metal cups, while his associates filled larger bottles and flasks for what appeared to be a substantial fee, as the customers handed over bags full of flat, round jewels.
In front of his stall, a father carried a little girl, about half Trinka’s age, in his arms. Her eyes lay closed as if she were asleep, and her hand drooped lifelessly to one side.
“She needs water. We have none, and no coins to buy any,” the father told the water seller bluntly.
“Please… we have animals in the hills we could trade. We’ll pay anything you ask if you’ll just save our daughter,” the mother pleaded, but the merchant’s stern features remained unmoved.
“No merchandise, no trade.” The family looked desperately to the other merchants at the water counter, who turned away pitilessly or busied themselves with other customers. The father threw their empty flask down in disgust.
Trinka slipped behind the nearest stall and discreetly drew the aquarock from her pocket. “Mayim unda hudor,” she whispered. Instantly, the water trickled out, spilled over her hands, and disappeared into the dusty ground. She reached over, grabbed the empty flask, and filled it to the brim before whispering, “batsa ur vesi.” She took the flask and ran over to the family.
“Here, here’s some water,” she said hurriedly.
“It’s a mirage,” the man protested in disbelief, but his stubborn expression soon turned to joy as he tipped the flask and felt the cool drops fall to his hands and splash across his daughter’s face.
The girl’s beautiful brown eyes fluttered open, and her parents quickly administered a long, cool drink to their daughter.
“Militsa, my baby!” the woman cried.
Trinka started to move on, but the woman caught her shoulder. “Here, please take this with our thanks.” She held out a small metal box with what looked like a curl of smoke carved into the lid. “It’s not much, but it may help keep you warm tonight.”
“Wouldn’t you rather trade it for water?” Trinka asked in surprise.
“It wouldn’t even buy a sip,” the man gestured disparagingly, so Trinka thanked the family and slipped the box into her pocket. She noticed several of the water merchants staring at her with a mix of amazement and disgust, so she quickly melted back into the crowd and continued on her way.
The stall next to the water merchant had a large pen behind it, filled with animals that looked a little like goats, but not much, with very tall necks, short, not-quite-white fur all over, and soft-looking tufts of hair on top of their heads. Instinctively, Trinka reached out to touch the one closest to her, and it nuzzled her hand, gently licking the leftover water from her palm. A baby appeared behind its mother and reached out its pale pink tongue for the few drops. It was so cute, and so soft―and so much more manageable than a goat, Trinka couldn’t help thinking.
“Stay away from my lanidera and their cria!” a crabby man suddenly reprimanded her, and Trinka drew back as if she had been bitten by his words. “What do you think this is, a petting zoo? Unless you’re buying meat, move off!” He waved his knife at her as he gestured―a sharp, metal knife with red jewels in its handle, glittering like drops of blood.
Embarrassed, Trinka turned away and was surprised to see a huge man in a turquoise turban peering down at her even more intently than she had been looking at the animals. Her head barely came past his waist, and his fixed gaze made Trinka uncomfortable. She edged a
way and tried to blend in with the crowd, painfully aware that her heavy, gray goat-hair clothes looked nothing like everyone else’s lightweight, colorful garments. Every few stalls, she glanced back and spotted the man’s turban above the heads of the crowd. He was following at a distance, but trailing her nonetheless. She quickened her pace and so did he.
In desperation, Trinka ducked into an opening between stalls. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, then suddenly realized that wasn’t the only flutter beneath her jacket. She pulled out the piece of cloth from Tarian that she had stuffed there when they had fled the tent. In the heat, the talaria’s long, white wings had come to life, beating against each other. Inspired, Trinka pulled the heavy boots from her feet, tied the thongs together, and slung them over her shoulder. Carefully, she unwrapped the talaria. One of them flew straight up out of the bundle. She jumped and caught it just before it could flutter out of reach, but just as she was bringing that one back down, the other one escaped and smacked into her chin. Fortunately, the encounter had stunned it long enough for Trinka to grab it by the heel.
It was a good thing she’d had so much practice with Ickle and Fiszbee lately, Trinka reflected, as she grasped one fluttering sandal firmly while she slipped on the other one. The wings tried to pull her leg into the air, almost flipping her upside down. Trinka couldn’t help being glad there was no one to see as her goat-hair skirt fell back, revealing her glowing, white robes underneath.
Suddenly, an enormous shadow crept over her, and the talaria settled down just enough for her to slip the other sandal into place. Great hands reached out to grab her around the waist, but Trinka sprang into the air as the talaria forced her feet upward. Her sudden movement caught the man off guard, and she slipped from his grasp. Instinctively, Trinka tried to run, and the talaria took off then settled down to hover just a handbreadth above the surface. The wings pumped quickly, propelling her forward.
Trinka sped through the marketplace, dodging carts and stalls and making countless pedestrians jump from her path. She could hear crashes and curses behind her as people fell out of her way or were pushed aside by the man pursuing her. But eventually, even his huge strides couldn’t keep pace with her winged feet. As he disappeared from view, Trinka relaxed and slowed a little. The talaria (once she had gotten the hang of them) made her feet move swiftly and effortlessly but did nothing for her weary, aching legs and tired body. Her arms were sagging with the strain of trying to hold her body upright, and only the talaria’s movement kept her from stumbling and falling.
As she came to the end of the smooth, flat sand of the marketplace, Trinka saw rocks far in the distance that jutted up in strange columns, far taller than any of the glass towers on Ellipsis. Bright light illuminated the red rock, making it seem to burn against the darkening background of dusky sky. The land around them stretched as far as she could see, barren and flat, with not a sign of life upon its skittering sands.
Unwilling to explore the deserts of Apostrophe in the deepening twilight, Trinka looped back around the marketplace. The street had already begun to empty. Sounds of footsteps on the road, stands folding up, and merchandise jingling away replaced the earlier banter. The sky turned from pink to crimson and spikes of fiery orange shot through it. The talaria slowed, occasionally bumping the ground, and anyone not looking closely would no longer have noticed that she was flying. Trinka stumbled to a stop, exhausted, and lay panting for a moment before she could wrap the talaria in their cloth and slide her aching feet back into their padded boots.
The heat of the day had disappeared in the darkness, and with the sweat pouring out all over her, Trinka shivered in the sudden cold despite her warm garments. As she tucked the talaria back into her jacket, Trinka remembered the little metal box the woman at the water stand had given her. She pulled open the intricately carved lid and found a dozen tiny red beads inside.
Trinka removed one. It smelled tantalizingly sweet and started to melt between her fingers, so she placed it on her tongue. At first, nothing happened, then she felt a spark jolt through her mouth and a flood of warmth run through her body and into her cold hands and feet, warming them up as well as if she had swallowed a fire. The warmth gave Trinka the energy to stand again. As she looked around, she noticed she was behind the same animal pen she had seen earlier.
The lanidera were gone, but the faint sound of plaintive bleating came from nearby. Trinka craned her head and saw that the noisy animal’s right hind leg was caught in a loop of cord. Balefully, the little animal kept bawling and tugging at the cord that only cut tighter into its leg. Trinka rushed forward and began pulling at the knots. She worked until the cord finally pulled loose and the baby animal fell free into her lap. She sat up and pulled straw from her hair with one hand while she gently stroked her new friend. When she stood up, the cria joyfully tried to follow, stepping after her on still unsteady legs. It must be just a new baby, Trinka thought, scooping it up in her arms. She turned and found her way blocked by an enormous dark shadow. She stepped back, and the cria bleated in surprise as she squeezed it tighter. She found herself staring up at the man in the turquoise turban.
“Um, hello,” Trinka said nervously. She tried to step away, but one of his enormous hands clasped her shoulder. She opened her mouth to scream, but his other hand immediately dropped a poof of powder in front of her face. She could feel her throat and lungs screaming and screaming, but even she couldn’t hear a sound. With one mighty arm, he scooped her up as she had done with the cria, and carried both of them away.
Trinka tried to think straight as her head bobbed up and down, and she caught only glimpses of the few remaining stands as she went by. No one seemed to give a second look to the sight of the man carrying her off through the marketplace. Her arms held stiffly to the cria, but her legs hung limp. She couldn’t move them at all to kick or try to get away, but they swung back and forth a little in time with the man’s stride. She tried screaming again but no sound came.
With a thud, Trinka felt herself drop to the ground, and the cria protested loudly.
“Now, let me see.” A small, nearly bald-headed man with a squeaky, busy voice came bustling toward her. “Young, strong, female. Able to carry a heavy load, yet dainty feet?” He peered down at Trinka’s bulky work boots and clicked his tongue. “Well, not too large anyway. Yes, I think we may have a match here. Ghert,” he called to the giant man in the turquoise turban. “Get this slave ready to take to Madam Vashti. And hurry up, it’s almost dark!”
“Slave?” Trinka managed to say, her voice finally unsticking itself from her throat.
“Yes,” a familiar voice oozed. Trinka tensed as the mean lanidera owner appeared before her. “That’s what happens to little foreigners like you who lurk among the market stands. I shall be rewarded for trapping you.” He smiled mockingly. “Pimlico?” he prompted, addressing the balding man.
“What? Oh yes. You shall have your pay when the slave actually sells.”
The crabby man’s face fell. “But our agreement was payment on delivery,” he objected.
“Yes, when I deliver and get paid.” Pimlico answered dismissively. The man’s lips curled. Without another word, he snatched the cria from Trinka’s arms and stalked away.
“Hey!” she called out, but before she could get to her feet, Ghert seized her around the waist and dropped her inside an enclosed cart.
“You can’t do this to me!” she yelled, but Ghert’s face remained expressionless as he swung the door shut in her face, sending her into darkness.