Kate Elliott - Shadow Gate

After a long time he heard hurried footsteps pattering on the earth, coming up from behind. He drew his sword. Avisha started to cry.

But it was Bai, loping like a wolf chasing prey. She was wiping her hands on a scrap of cloth, and although she threw away the cloth before she reached them, he was sure it was bloody.

Nallo knew the tales, how the persistent, fortunate, clever child fought past obstacles and won through to a good life in the end. But she'd never believed in them. She'd watched three older brothers die, too weakened with diarrhea to do more than stare mutely at

those tending them. She'd been sent to Old Cross market with her uncle and littlest niece, both girls meant for debt slavery, but although her little niece's labor had been bought up quickly, not one soul had bid on Nallo. Too thin, too sour-looking, too tall, too old, not pretty. There were plenty of desperate folk on the roads, farms failing, laborers out of work, too many children and not enough food to feed them all. The folk who could afford to purchase the labor of those unfortunate enough to be selling had the leisure to be choosy.

Her husband had made the contract with her family through intermediaries. He'd needed a wife quickly; there was a newborn to care for. Everyone had told her she was fortunate. It was the best life she could hope for.

He'd been a gentle man, patient and kind. Everyone in the village had said so, reminding her again and again that she was fortunate. And it was even true.

She wasn't gentle or kind or patient. Everyone had said so, and it was true.

She had no obligation to stay with Avisha and the little ones. But she had nowhere else to go. That had been her husband's last, if unwilling, gift to her: a reason to keep going and not just walk into the hills, lie down in the grass, and die.

They walked for half the morning, and at length halted to let the horses water at a pond ringed by mulberry trees. The children peed, and got a scrap to eat and a swallow of old wine. Then they walked on.

Avisha moved up to walk alongside the man. She tried to draw him into conversation. When he wouldn't talk about himself, she talked about her old life, about her father, about her mother; she chattered about plants and their uses.

'She's a pretty girl,' remarked Zubaidit over her shoulder, addressing Nallo. 'She seems knowledgeable about herbs.'

'Her mother taught her.'

'That's a good piece of knowledge to have. She's old enough to think of marriage.'

'We're too poor to think of marriage. We've no kin. We've nothing.'

'Perhaps you can find a man willing to look no farther than youth and herbcraft.'

'One who is desperate enough to take on a destitute girl with no marriage portion and no kinfolk to sweeten the net of alliance? It was hard enough for my family to find a man willing to marry me.'

'Why is that?'

'I've got a bad temper. I say things people don't want to hear. I ought not to, but they just slip out.'

'Which god took your apprenticeship service?'

'The Thunderer. After my year was up, my kinfolk asked if the temple would fake me on for an eight-year service, but they didn't want me either.' She hated the way she sounded, like a child whining for a stalk of sweet-cane to suck on. 'Never mind. It wasn't so bad. My husband treated me well. The work wasn't so hard. We didn't go hungry.'

It had been a good life. She saw that, now it was gone.

'It's a hard path to walk, away from what you can never go back to.'

'Is that how it is for you and your brother?' Nallo asked boldly. Since she could not see the hierodule's face, she watched her walk instead.

The woman wore a plain linen exercise kilt, tied with a cord at the waist, and a tight sleeveless vest. Her limbs, thus displayed, were smooth, sculpted, and strong. 'I'm not sure where this path will lead us.'

They hit a steep stretch, too difficult to climb while talking, and afterward Nallo could think of no way to resume the conversation. Up ahead, Avisha had started in again.

Late in the afternoon they halted for the night near the dregs of a stream. They shared out a leather bottle full of vinegary mead and finished off a sack of dry rice cake and mushy radish, although these scraps could not cut the hollow feeling in their stomachs. Avisha got the little ones settled to sleep while Nallo went to wash in the stream, to take a little privacy to do her business. Coming back, walking slowly because her ankle ached, she came up behind the sister and brother where they had moved away from the camp to talk between themselves. She paused in the cover of a stand of pipe-brush, too embarrassed to reveal herself.

'What is wrong with that girl? She won't shut up.'

'You'd be more agreeable if you'd look at people with a little compassion. I worry about you, Kesh. You aren't happy.'

'We were slaves for twelve years! In what manner am I meant to be happy} Or does the goddess have an answer for that as well?'

'The gods have an answer, if you take the time to pray.'

'I pray that we get rid of them. We're moving so slowly, Bai. Why did we have to bring them with us?'

'We had to get everyone out of sight, because if that lot marching into town saw these on the far shore they might think to cross and grab them, and then they'd find sign of our passage. I don't want any trouble.'

'We've got trouble enough with these refugees. How long will you let them burden us? Or do you mean to hand out our coin to them, too, until we have nothing left for ourselves?'

She chortled, but it was a bitter laugh. 'We have plenty of coin, Kesh.'

'Stolen from Master Feden's chest! I'd have liked to have seen when you grabbed those strings right in front of his fat face. Aui! What do you think is happening in Olossi?'

'Captain Anji has found a way to defeat them, or he's dead and Olossi is overrun.'

'Then best we not drag our feet helping every sad traveler on the road. We can't help everyone.'

'We can help these.'

'Nallo?' Along the track from camp came Avisha.

The brother muttered a complaint under his breath while the sister laughed softly and said, 'I'm going to make the prayers for a safe night. Do you want to help me?'

'No. I'll go take a piss.'

'As you wish.'

'Aui!' That was Avisha, meeting them on the trail. 'I didn't see you here. Did you see Nallo?'

Nallo rattled the pipe-brush, then moved into view as if she'd just come walking that way. Keshad pushed past her. Nallo noticed what had been staring her in the face all along: the man had the debt mark tattooed at the outer curve of his left eye. Twelve years a slave. He had said so himself. He wore no bronze bracelets to mark

his status as a slave, but those were easy to take off. Zubaidit's face was unmarked, but that wasn't unusual in those dedicated to the gods, which was a different form of servitude and obligation than that taken on by those who sold the rights to their labor or their debt on the auction square.

They were runaway slaves, who had brazenly raided the master's strongbox. Wasn't there a penalty, assessed at any assizes court, for those who aided or abetted slaves running away from their contract?

At dawn, Nallo took the children and their few possessions aside. She saw, in the man's face, a rush of relief at the thought of being rid of them, and she supposed that Zubaidit's complicated frown disguised relief as well.

'Our thanks for your aid,' Nallo said politely. 'May the gods watch over you and grant you the same courtesy you have shown others.'

Zubaidit snorted, and her brother looked alarmed.

'Can't we go on this way together, Nallo?' Avisha asked plaintively.

'No. We'd just slow them down.'

'Let's go.' Keshad was already looking up the path as the sun rose.