9ish

Zula opened her eyes, gasping for breath as she woke. Her maid stirred sleepily, and mumbled, “Lady?”

“No,Ved, it’s nothing. Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep.” The maid turned over and soon snores came from the pile of cushions on the far side of the room. Zula lay back, listening to the rapid pounding of her heart as it slowly regained its normal rhythm. What was it that had frightened her so? She struggled to remember…Lights flashing on stone walls…a jolt that ran through her body like a spear…an green eyes. She shivered at the remembrance of the eyes, and pushed the thought away. She had had these dreams since she was a little girl; her parents had asked the fortune-teller who sat on a corner in the market to read her dreams, but the old woman could tell her nothing. The only people with green eyes were the priests from far over the seas, and she had only met a roving band of them once when she was married. To make the marriage official, her husband had sent for a group of the priests to come and oversee the rituals. They had stood at the back of the temple during her wedding, their wolfs standing silently beside them, not saying a word. They had made her so nervous that she had almost spilled a drop of wine from the cup the priest offered to her and her new husband.

Before the marriage, they had subjected her to a humiliating examination; they had gone over every inch of her body, checking for diseases or unfavorable racial traits. When they insisted on examining her eyes, she resisted, but it was no use. When the priests saw that her eyes were the bright purple of the children of Suktis, one of them had drawn his knife to end her life. Fortunately for her, the leader of the group had barred the man's way; she never heard what was spoken in low voices, but she knew that her life had been spared by the barest margin.

Even now, a year later, she could still feel the nervous tremor in the pit of her stomach at the thought of it. She placed a hand on her belly, which was just beginning to show the first swellings of pregnancy, and smiled. She had not informed her husband yet; he had left to supervise the loading of his latest fleet of merchant ships, and had not been home in more than two cycles of the moon. She had thought of sending a messenger by desha, but decided against it; the deshas were needed at home for plowing and carrying supplies to and from the market. And she would still be with child when he returnedl it was simpler to wait.

With her mind soothed by thoughts of her child, Zula rolled over, and slipped easily back into sleep.

She woke again in the first faint light of the morning. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked around the room. Ved had already arisen, at least an hour ago from the looks of it, and the fire that had been carefully banked the night before was crackling merrily. A bowl of hot broth and loaf of bread were lying warm on the hearth, and she consumed them with a good appetite. Ved might not be highly born, but she was a good worker, a smart housekeeper, and had a good eye for her mistress’ unspoken needs. Zula finished off the last few crumbs of the bread, and drank down the broth. Warmed and invigorated by the meal, she wrapped herself in a brightly colored zali, appropriate to her status as the wife of a successful merchant. Leaning forward, she draped the middle of the long red fabric over the back of her neck, and crossed it over her collarbone. Each side of the fabric then wrapped around her ribs several times, and she tucked the end of the fabric in with a deft twist. She covered her head with a loose length of yellow chali fabric, and ran a small veil across her face, hanging just under her eyes.

She walked sedately out of the bedroom she shared with her housekeeper, and into the garden. It was her job to select the fruits and vegetables that her family and household would eat that day. She carefully prodded the rinds of the melons, checking for ripeness and making sure that there were no soft spots. Selecting two of them, she turned to the hanging pots that contained the small spicy gidics. The tiny vegetables were about the size of her little toe, and had shiny brightly colored skins. They grew readily, and the bushes were thick with them every morning. She pulled a basketful off the plants and turned back towards the house. The sun had risen, and the day was warming. The stones of the walkway still felt cold to her feet, but the sand that blew in from the desert was warming and dry. She scanned the horizon for any sign of a storm, but there was not so much as a single cloud. It would be a hot day, she thought, but calm.

Zula set the baskets in the niche in the wall that would keep them cold, and shut them in with a large stone. She could hear Ved in the kitchen, probably baking the rest of the bread for the household. She entered the kitchen, but paused in the doorway. Ved was singing softly; Zula had often heard her humming under her breath, but she rarely sang out loud. She paused to listen, and Ved’s voice grew louder.

“Give to me a hand to hold,

A heart to love, an eye to see.

And I will give you all my love

And then you shall be all to me.

“I will give myself to you

I give you my heart to hold

I will love you greatly now

And evermore as we grow old.”

The melody was haunting and beautiful; tears prickled gently in Zula’s eyes, as her hand caressed her belly yet again. She wondered if Ved would take a husband, and if her children and Zula’s would play together in the dusty streets. She smiled at the thought, then entered the kitchen noisily. Ved heard her entrance, and ceased singing, though she did smile slightly at her mistress.

Zula and ved were not far apart in age; Zula often thought that they might have been friends if their stations in life had not been so disparate. Ved had been brought in on one of her husband’s trade ships shortly before they were married; she had been found floating on a raft in the middle of the ocean, and steadfastly refused to say where she was from. The sailors had referred to her as Ved, foreigner, all the way home from the trip, and by the time they returned to the land, it had become her name. Zula knew she could not have been from Kedon, since her skin was fair and her hair a light color that caught the sunlight in unusual ways. Zula had the dark skin of the Kedonese, and thick black hair that fell almost to her waist. The only thing that betrayed her mixed heritage were the purple eyes that were usually dark and soft, but shone like gems when she was particularly happy or upset.

As Zula left the kitchen, she noticed that the sun was almost above the roof of the garden shed; if she didn’t hurry, the market would be full, and the best of the day’s wares would be gone.

“Ved,” she called, “I’m going to the market. Please make sure that the house is order before I come back. Oh, and please get my loom ready. I’ll be ready to start weaving when I get back.” Zula picked up a small mallet and tapped it on a brone chime that hung on the wall—as the tone sounded throughout the house, a young man approached and bowed. “Thank you, Nost. Please, grab one of the big baskets and come with me. I need some things from the market.” The young man smiled and nodded.

The air had already lost its moisture, and the wind blowing in from the desert was hot and dry. Zula was glad for the chali she wore; it kept the sand and sun out of her eyes.

As she approached the market place, she could hear the chatter of the other women, the keening of the deshas, and the chants of the vendors echoed across the stone plaza. The plaza was already beginning to fill, the women in their variegated fabircs were milling around, haggling with the vendors, and making sure to check every booth so that they would get the best bargain.

Zula and Vost entered the plaza, and wove through the crowd, heading for the bronze merchant's booth. Several of the households tools were wearing thin, and she wanted to replace them. She picked up a small knife with a sturdy short blade, and examined it.

"Ah, the lady has an excellent eye!" The merchant, noticing that Zula was of high social status than the other women milling around his booth, quickly rushed to attend to her. "This knife was made by artisans in Astaldak, and is very stury." He pulled out a galni and began slicing it, demonstrating how quickly and easily the knife chopped the tough root. "All of my knives are excellently suited for your kitchen, Lady, and will make your housekeeper's job ten times easier. Only twenty lectis!"

"Twenty lectis!" Zula exclaimed, drawing back from the table. "I will not pay more than ten!" She turned as if to leave the booth, but the merchant's voice called her back. "Wait, wait, look, here, I will add this sharpening stone in. Your housekeeper will be able to sharpen it whenever it gets dull. Eighteen lectis."

Zula placed a hand on her hip and scowled. "Do your knives dull so quickly then? No more than thirteen or I will ask my husband to buy me knives when his boats dock in Astaldak. " The merchant looked flustered by the insuination that his wares were of poor quality, and Zula knew she had won. "Alright, alright, to prove that my wares are the best, I will give you two knives, and the sharpening stone. Seventeen lectis, and your husband will save a stop on his route." Zula insisted on inspecting the knives and the stone personally before acceding to the price, but finalyl agreed. The merchant wrapped all three in a large clean rag and Zula placed the parcel in the small basket she carried.

An hour later, Zula and Vost headed back, the basket now full of packages from various merchants, fresh fruits from local farmers, and some new spices recently brought in from the southern lands of the Astaldak. The sun was now rising higher, and sweat poured down Vost's bare back, carving little rivulets in the dust, and making his copper skin shine. Zula mentally tallied up the purchases, and smiled in satisfaction. She had done well, and saved at least thirty lectis. Mushad would be very pleased when he checked the household accounts. She herself carried a small pot of perfumed oil; it wasn't heavy, and she hadn't wanted the oil to spill over her other purchases in the basket. She lifted the lid of the jar, and smelled again the intoxicating scent of the oil within. She had found this scent when preparing for her wedding; the oil merchant had informed her that it was infused with the essence of a flower that grew only in the Selides islands. It was rumored to have come from sunken Suktis, and had a heady fragrance redolent of wine. The jar was highly decorated with what she supposed were images of the flower: one side of the jar showed a sunny garden with white flowers, the other side a garden by moonlight, with blood-red flowers.

Vost suddenly slowed, and Zula looked up from the moonlit scene to meet the cold green eyes of one of the warrior priests. A long white scar traced through his left eyebrow and down the side of his face. The sight of him sent a shiver down her spine.

Lights flashed across a stone room

The smell of burning wine and the sound of a scream

Green eyes shining from the shadows

Zula shook her head, and saw the priest again, standing there like a statue. He was dressed all in black and his clothes flowed loosely in the wind. Leather bands inset with metal studs crossed his chest, and he wore a jagged sword at his hip. His long black hair was bound back into a long leather-bound strand, and his skin was paler than even Ved's.

He gazed at her for a long moment without speaking, and she lowered her eyes so as not to betray their color. She instictively

placed her hands over her belly protectively; this motion did not escape the priest’s eye. His glance flickered down to her gently thickening waist and back up to her face. Then, with a few quiet footsteps, he disappeared down a side street.

Zula’s heart was pounding rapidly, and even Nost seemed tense as they continued their walk toward the house. Nost set the basket down gently in the doorway of the kitchen, bowed, and took his leave, heading back out to the stables to groom the deshas.

“Ved, please come and help me unload the basket,” Zula called, and almost immediately Ved came through the door. “Yes, lady. What needs to be done with these,” she asked, picking up the cloth-wrapped bundle that held the knives. “Those are for the kitchen; just unwrap them and put them away. Make sure to put the sharpening stone somewhere safe, and remember where it is. Ved’s nimble fingers quickly had the parcel unwrapped, and she looked the knives over studiously. “These are good, they will make things much easier in the kitchen. The other knives are so bent and dull that they would hardly cut at all. Thank you for—“ Ved suddenly seemed to be aware of the impertinence of speaking so freely; she blushed brightly red, fell silent and quickly took the knives and put them away in the kitchen.

Unpacking the basket and putting away the purchased items in their proper places took the rest of the morning, and it was soon time for the household to eat the mid-day meal. When her husband was gone, Zula presided over the meal; the servants gathered for the mid-day prayers, then took their meals to eat in their quarters, while Zula and Ved ate in the kitchen. The dining hall was only used when Mushad was home, or if she must entertain company while he was away.

Ved tapped three times on the bronze chime by the front door, and the servants gathered in the shade of the large tree that grew in the atria. As each one entered, they knelt on the sandy stones that paved the open area.

Zula knelt, and lifted her arms, and proclaimed, “Blessings to him who makes the work of our hands fruitful.”

Those gathered responded in their turn, “Blessed be he!”

After the blessing, the worshippers prostrated themselves; after a moment, they returned to their kneeling position.

“Blessings to him who is great and mighty, and defends us from our enemies!”

“Blessed be he!”

“Blessings to him who gives us life and light!”

“Blessed be he!”

After each repetition, all present prostrated themselves, made obeisance to the great god. Only Ved stood apart, saying her own prayers quietly, eyes closed and upturned towards the fiery ball of the sun. Upon finding that she did not share her own faith, Zula had given Ved permission to say her own prayers. Mushad had been highly pleased with Ved’s service and aptitude for running the household, and so did not object to the arrangement.

After the household prayers had been completed, Zula passed out a loaf of bread to each member of the household, and Ved handed each a small jar of broth, and a bowl of beans, spices, and gidics. She had feared to wed a merchant like Mushad, fearing that he would be unfeeling towards the household servants; Zula had no stomach for enforcing rules and strictures that went against her conscience. However, his sisters had visited her to prepare her for the duties of taking over such a large household and they assured her that he was not only fair to the servants, but was often criticized by his friends for being too generous. Mushad had insisted that everyone in his house eat the same food, and made sure that the servants’ sleeping quarters were clean and secure against intruders. In return, those who served in his house would have died to protect him and his family; Zula did not think she had ever lived in such a harmonius dwelling. She thought again of the baby that would soon be coming, and smiled. She was sure that it would be a welcome addition to the household.

Taking her own bowl of gidics, Zula carried her meal out into the section of the garden that was still shady, even though the sun was directly overhead. She loved to eat outside whenever possible. The wind that blew over the sands was hot and dry, but sometimes a breeze would come from across the ocean, and it blew with it the faintest traces of scents that set her heart beating wildly, longing to fly across the waves towards something she had once known but now lay forgotten.

The beans and gidics were spicy, and burned her tongue slightly as she devoured them. As she mopped up the last of the broth with the crust of her bread, she lay back against a bed of flowering vines, and let her eyes close. Ved could manage the house alone for a few minutes; she was so sleepy that she was dreaming less than a minute later.

She flew across the water, waves lapping at her feet. Miles passed by in moments, and night fell; two moons rose in the sky, one burning golden and the other with a pure icy light. As the light from the moons blended, she dived below the waves, and sank into the dim green waters. Down she went, down and down, until through the gloom she saw an ancient building of pure white stone, lying broken and crumbled on the sea floor. She moved through the doorway, and found herself floating in what had once been a large round room. The stone was putted with its years under the sea, and the altar in the middle was broken cleanly down the middle. When she saw the altar, a pain shot through her from her feet to her skull, and she cried out, but the sound was lost in the murky waters. She struggled, trying to swim through the circular opning in the roof of them room, but found herself being pulled downward. Kicking and twisting, she turned to look behind her. Clinging to her foot was a pale man with dark hair; his legs hung uselessly from a crushed spine, and his eyes butrned like with a grreen luminsence.

With a piercing shriek she awoke, clawing for breath and kicking wildly. Zula looked around frantically; she could still feel the man's cold and clammy grip around her ankle. She rolled over onto her knees, and disgorged her meal in the loose dirt at the roots of the vine. She coughed, gagging, and swayed.

An arm went around her shoulder, steadying her and she felt a cool hand brushing her hair away from her face. "Here, Lady, let me help you." Zula drew a choking breath, and looked up into Ved's clear grey eyes.

"Ved..." she gasped. "I..." But her stomach rose again, and she could not continue.

Ved slipped her arm around Zula, and helped her walk back into the house. She laid her carefully in the large bed, and unwrapped her zali. She pulled a thin sheet over Zula's sweating form, and hurried to draw cool water from the well outside.