CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A single candle perforates the night

Illuminating tears streaking her face

The echoes of her cries cling to her lips

But flick’ring hope gives luster to dismay

In answer to a soft whispered desire

A spark ignites and friendship catches fire

—THE BOOK OF UNVEILING

The water bucket was long empty and the stench of piss and shit was strong. So was the crying. Hours passed, a day or more? Time was stagnant. But they hadn’t been beaten. That was the shiny bit under the tarnish—the bit she could grab hold of.

Zeli had almost nodded off back to sleep when a door opened. A door in the ceiling. A rickety-looking ladder was dropped down and a man’s gruff voice shouted, “Boys up first!”

A key ring was dropped down onto the ground and the nearest child scrabbled over to reach it. There was just one key, but it opened all of their chains. Once unlocked, the young boys gathered together, looking suspicious, but eventually one brave soul began to climb.

With the light from the door in the ceiling, Zeli could see their surroundings better and realized the room they were in had been cut into the earth. The walls were dirt and the windows overhead were actually low to the ground from the outside.

Small faces streaked with dirt and misery blinked as at least thirty boys from five to fifteen ascended the ladder. Then the door was shut.

The key made its way to her hands and after a few tries she was able to unlock her chains. Whispers filled the space as the remaining girls chattered worriedly with one another. A small body sat next to her.

“What could be worse than this?” Ulani whispered.

Zeli reached for the little girl’s hand and squeezed once she found it. “Mice gnawing at your toes. It could be freezing cold in here so our fingers turn to ice and fall off. Or burning hot as the Scald so our skin melts off.”

Ulani squeezed back. “That would be worse.”

“Shut up, you two,” Tana grumbled. “Your little game isn’t any fun.”

“What else?” asked a tiny voice from across the room.

“Wild dogs pulling you by the hair to their den where they’ll rip your arms off and eat them for dinner and then have your legs for first meal.” Though she couldn’t see clearly, she felt the rapt attention of the girls.

“A sidewinder shooting his venom into your eyeballs,” Zeli said, “burning them out.”

She continued to think up more and more awful things that could befall them, reasons to be grateful that they were just cold and hungry and thirsty and many had soiled themselves. They weren’t dead yet and for the moment they were being left alone. She knew that one or both of those conditions were soon to change.

Their turn came about an hour later. The door in the ceiling opened again and the ladder thrown down. The same harsh voice called for the girls. As the eldest, Zeli went first, Ulani at her heels, which meant Tana was right behind her.

The unsteady rungs creaked beneath her weight but held fast. She poked her head up into a large room, close and musty, with about a dozen men scattered about. There was no sign of the boys.

The sun peeked through cracks in the mud bricks that comprised the structure. Outside, the sounds of a busy town were audible. They were near some kind of market. A whip-thin, middle-aged woman approached them, her nappy, salt-and-pepper hair coiled into a handful of thick tendrils that reached her midback.

“This way,” she barked and turned back around. Zeli motioned for the younger girls to stay behind her as she followed the woman outside. They stood in a fenced-in yard with high walls. A makeshift outdoor shower was penned in the corner. It was really just a platform with a large trough overhead that could be overturned with a rope handle. The trough was fed by a pump, its pipe extended high.

“Clothes off!” the old woman said.

The girls huddled close to one another, nerves making them shiver in the heat. The woman raised a whip that Zeli hadn’t seen before. Her menacing expression caused the girls to comply, tossing their foul clothing into a pile.

They took turns standing in the outdoor shower in small groups as tepid water was dumped over them. The woman tossed them two bars of soap to share. Zeli did her best to scrub the stink and other substances off her body. The dirty, wet sand beneath them soaked it all up.

When all were deemed clean, the woman passed out rough towels, tunics, and trousers. It was left to the girls to determine who could fit what. The fabric was cheap, the clothing poorly made. It abraded Zeli’s skin, but she quieted the urge to scratch. She kept her hands fisted at her sides, waiting for what would come next.

“Look presentable or your heads will be shaved,” the woman spat, tossing them a few combs she’d produced from her pocket. “You’ve got half an hour.” Then she went back inside, leaving them in the open yard.

They were a pathetic lot, wet hair beginning to frizz on most of them as it dried in the scorching afternoon. The sun beat down, and the girls looked at one another blankly.

“Who knows how to braid?” Zeli asked. Over half raised their hands.

She organized the girls into groups and the braiders quickly tamed the heads of their partners with simple plaits. She patted her own head; her rows of braids weren’t neat anymore, but they were still in place. It would take longer than they had to undo them and put them into some other style.

Other than the yelps of the tender-headed as kinks were combed out, the girls remained quiet. In what seemed like no time at all, the woman was back with a bucket of drinking water and each girl slaked their thirst. Then they were ushered back inside.

Now, the large room held more people. Richly hued, carefully embroidered clothing marked them all as payrollers. A handful of women were sprinkled among the men. Some had brought solemn-eyed servants with them as well.

The girls were lined up in a row from shortest to tallest. Zeli was somewhere near the middle. The woman who’d been directing them faded into the background and a shorter man with a bushy mustache and polished walking stick stepped up to greet the payrollers.

“All these whelps are strong and healthy, look for yourselves.”

The payrollers walked up and down the row, inspecting the girls. We’re merchandise, Zeli thought, clenching her jaw. They were asked to hold their hands out, show their teeth, jump up and down.

Any girl who didn’t act quickly enough got a smack to the back of the head from Bushy Mustache. When Tana refused to open her mouth for one woman, his cane struck her backside. The girl’s nostrils flared, but she finally complied.

One by one, the children were picked. One man took five girls, the tallest ones. He seemed like a merchant or factory type. Others seemed to be in the market for domestic servants.

“All have given tribute?” one woman asked.

Bushy Mustache eyed the row of silent children. “Certainly. We have already borne the expense of sending them to the capital so it will not be assigned to you. They’re all Song-free and ready to work.”

Considering the young ages of many of the girls, Zeli doubted they had all given tribute. And since none of the nabbers had bothered to ask if any of them still had their Songs, it was an empty guarantee. But once the purchasers discovered the truth, that they would have to send some of their new servants all the way to Sayya, these nabbers would be far, far away.

One man showed special interest in Ulani and Tana. His tunic was, rather ostentatiously, bordered in a colorful array of jewels. A permanent smile graced his fleshy lips, and his close attention made Zeli’s skin crawl. He asked the sisters to turn around several times, peering at them closely. When he gripped Ulani’s jaw to inspect her teeth, tears welled in the child’s eyes. Her sister grabbed her hand tight, the veins in her hand popping out in bold relief. Zeli’s stomach churned.

A voice to her left trilled prettily. “That one looks sturdy, if a bit undersized. What do you think, Kyssa-denili?”

Zeli peeled her eyes away from the man accosting the sisters to find a female payroller scrutinizing her. The woman was a bit undersized herself, thirty at most, and small-boned with a pointed chin.

“I think she will do, mideni,” the servant said. She was tall and thickly built, the opposite of her mistress in just about every way. An image of Zeli standing with Devana crossed her mind briefly before she pushed it away.

The mistress nodded absently, and Kyssa approached. “Can you sew?” she asked.

Zeli nodded. “I can weave also.” She held up her hand with the bracelet still attached.

Kyssa nodded, though if she wasn’t from the Lake Cities, she probably didn’t know anything about good-luck charms. “You come with us.”

Zeli leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I’m not supposed to be here. Up until a few days ago, I was a personal servant of the Magister of Lower Faalagol. I was nabbed and brought here.”

Kyssa searched her face for a moment and pursed her lips. “That may be so, but do you truly believe a Magister would have trouble replacing a servant? No doubt someone has taken your place there already.”

Zeli’s shoulders slumped. She was right. Devana may miss her and may resent having to train someone new, but Zeli was in no way indispensable.

Kyssa motioned toward her mistress. “Ora-mideni treats her workers well and gives opportunities for advancement. The indenture is not for a lifetime—in ten years, you could be free.”

Zeli looked around the space. Of the payrollers buying children, Ora seemed the least intimidating. She had treated Kyssa with a certain amount of respect and the woman appeared well fed and uninjured.

“Yes … I guess you’re right,” Zeli said. As the woman began to turn away, she blurted, “Would you have room for my sisters as well?” She motioned to Tana and Ulani. The man who’d been inspecting them was now conferring with Bushy Mustache, several paces away. “They both sew like a dream.”

Kyssa considered. “We don’t really need you to sew, just have dexterous fingers.”

“Look how small their fingers are,” Zeli said. Both girls obligingly wiggled their appendages. “Very nimble.”

“I’m not sure we need any more, and besides, I think Mengu-mideni has his eye on them.” She looked over at the payroller who’d sparked such an uncomfortable reaction.

“I know,” she whispered, her heart falling.

Kyssa frowned, staring at the man, a look of disgust on her face. “Give me a moment.” She went to speak with her mistress. Both women looked over to where Mengu stood, then back at the girls. Ulani smiled beautifully, showing off a dimple. Even Tana managed to look pleasant. The two women bent their heads to confer.

The blood in Zeli’s veins slowed as time dragged. Then Kyssa was headed her way again, face expressionless. Zeli wrung her hands, prepared to beg her case, but Kyssa gave a curt nod. The breath escaped from her lungs in a rush as the tension bunching her shoulders released. She motioned to the two younger girls who scampered to her side.

“Ora-mideni, here are your new workers,” Kyssa said as her mistress sidled up.

Ora’s dainty features looked upon the girls kindly. “They are such pretty things,” she said. “Mengu-deni will be jealous of me, indeed.” Then she spun on her heel and walked away toward the door, leaving Kyssa to complete the transaction.

Zeli’s brief relief was cut short when she spied Mengu narrowing his eyes at them. Kyssa marched over, purse in her hand. She, Mengu, and Bushy Mustache were too far away to hear, but it looked like the three of them traded sharp words, likely over ownership of the girls. After a brief back and forth, Kyssa handed over a quantity of grams and Bushy Mustache smiled, greedily.

Zeli felt like she’d been riding the coach again, her body sore and taut, this time from worry. As Kyssa approached them, triumphant, Zeli took Tana’s hand and pulled her closer, with Ulani on her other side. They followed Kyssa into the sunshine, and Zeli finally took a breath.

She didn’t know what awaited them in the care of Ora, nor what their dexterous fingers would be needed for, but she was confident that whatever their fate entailed, it could have been much worse.