I was heading to the wagon next to the one I had slept in when I became inspired to dance around the fire pit just once to hear the sound it would make. Dee started laughing and then told me in a tone that hinted of seriousness that the Tuchuk belled dweller slaves because they didn't trust them. I suppose I wasn't meant to take such joy in them, those delicate noisemakers, but I couldn't help it. I told her that I could understand the idea, after all...they didn't know me or I them. I confided then that I just couldn't help the feeling that my Brave Warrior liked knowing where I was, and I liked it. Dee added...so he can run and hide? We both laughed and then began the wagon inspections.
If anyone anywhere lived a more simplistic life than the Brave Warrior Fonce, I had yet to meet them. At least as far as his personal wagon went. He did, however, have all manner of ...things...in his other wagons. From blankets to stores of food and trinkets. Anything and everything possible stacked as high as a hand could reach took both my and Dee's breath as we ogled with wide eyes. Dee finally said it must have been from His time as Ubar. I can not say it surprised me, only that He no longer held that position. Dee's Master had told her, perhaps it was time for the Ubar Fonce to be Ubar of His own. I liked the sentiment of that, and it was showing me just how big and wide the spread of my dreams could reach, and I was just beginning to fill a tiny corner. Much of the supplies were - like the other wagons I would come to find - pretty much packed and ready to go. Whether it had been done a hand ago or a full year ago I couldn't tell, but it made the urgency of being ready melt away like the last snow beneath the warmth of the Central Fire.
Cool air nipped at my calves as I pranced toward the next wagon, bringing me to a halt to examine the bare expanse of my legs. It was a nonchalant comment Dee offered, saying most of the slave attire was already packed, but she would see what she could find in case I was to wear it. I could suddenly hear Yama saying "See, cover your ankles." She had meant it seriously, but as I had grown older it had become somewhat of a joke. I hated wearing shoes, and I couldn't run with all the wadding of skirt down around my ankles. The only time my ankles were ever covered was when I stood still, and that didn't happen all the time. All wrapped up in the belligerence of early teens, I had pushed her on it one day.
"What does it matter if my ankles show?" I had turned to ask her one day.
"It's not proper for a lady."
"Why?" Straight and to the point I was.
"It gives the wrong impression to boys." Yama had turned to study me when she answered.
"Some boy is going to look at my muddy scraped ankle and fall helplessly in some trance and simply have to whisk me off as his captive to a life of decadence and ill repute?"
Yama said, "You should be so lucky."
There was so much more than just my ankles showing now, even the angle of knee, the increased breadth of thigh. I think Lar Torvis decided to focus all of his heat and intensity right on the rounded spots of my cheeks and leave an imprint of rosy red. That red was further enhanced by the arrival of two kaiila kicking up mud and dirt into a cloud that peppered silt over everything in sight. The riders were young, though even in youth they had a skill with the kaiila that was unmatched by any I had seen. One expertly flipped a giggling Nya off his saddle while the other directed his beast to size up Dee through a slow circle of inspection. I retreated backward up the stairs of the closest wagon, given away with every other step by the light melody of bells. I didn't escape without notice, nor feeling the weight of an assessment of my own before I slipped into the sanctuary of the shadows behind canvas. I took one quick breath and instantly thought of...Goldie.
The scents were not the same, and there were no purple and gold tapestries, nor squat vases or even a shelf of dolls, but the feeling was every bit the same as stepping into Goldie's wagon. The air was thick and intoxicating, hovering around jars and containers securely tied into crates and baskets. The faint outline of what looked like a sigil stained the wood of floor near the spot where the small brazier would sit. From the ribbing of wagon top hung strings and knotted designs, shuddering in the motion of my entrance and the buffet of breeze against canvas. And a discordant choir of voices whispered.."come in, come in." I shook my head, stopping them instantly, and let the voices I was certain existed come back into focus. Dee's face appeared at the wagon's opening, and she quickly begged me to depart, saying this must be the Spex wagon. I wouldn't argue, though now I was eager to meet the Spex. I wondered if she was quirky and funny like Goldie, and made tea in a little round pot.
I would have asked then and there, but Nya was informing Dee that her Master wanted her back at his wagons as soon as she was done here. There was no mistaking the blessing of happiness that danced over Dee's face when she heard that. With only one wagon to go, we hurried on over before Dee would have to depart. Nya then directed her attention at me, asking about my release from the chains, and I happily displayed the jewelry that replaced it. Nya wrinkled her nose and said.."He tired of you already, did he?" My mouth fell open, but that reply dissolved into the air as I brushed it aside. Dee was showing me the slave wagon. "My very own wagon?" I asked with all the surprise I felt. Both women were laughing, and Dee explained that my Brave Warrior Fonce actually owned another slave. Nya added quickly that she was sure he would get more, since, men like a lot of variety.
I had never shared my room with anyone, except for my cousin Edda. We had spent our nights together staying up long past the time we were supposed to, just talking and playing games and giggling. When we grew older, we started painting the pictures of dreams and hopes, the very ones that I carry with me now. Edda was always the better painter, having this rich imagination that brought in colors and designs I had never thought of. Even still, her dreams had more to do with words and paper, writing and stories, than anything else. My life on the plains was a pleasant retreat, a vacation meant to inspire her flow of thoughts. When the time came for her to return to the city, she was more than happy to say goodbye to the breeze and grass.
Dee was explaining that this was where I was to sleep, Nya was cavorting through the wagon alleys, calling out to someone down the row. And I was juggling a whole lot of knowledge that needed absorbing. And it was just beginning.
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