On Fire’s Wings by Christie Golden Page B

squatted beside Sahlik. As she began to scoop the ground plant paste from a bowl and apply it in a pattern to the older woman’s arm, she said logically, “You must stay here for some time while I apply the henna and let it dry. There is time for quite a long story, I would think.”
    Sahlik laughed at that. Kevla couldn’t know how much she reminded Sahlik of Tahmu when he was young.
    â€œYou are certain it won’t distract you? I would not like an ugly spot on my arm to compete with my scars.”
    Kevla grinned and her eyes sparkled as they met Sahlik’s. In a soft, pleasing voice, she said, “I will give you a beautiful pattern, uhlala, so that all eyes may fasten upon its exquisiteness and none will notice anything else.”
    â€œYes, I think you will please Yeshi greatly,” said Sahlik dryly. “Very well. Nearly thirty years ago, when I was but a young woman, I was one of many slaves captured in a battle by Tahmu’s father, the great Rakyn.”
    â€œMay his name forever be spoken,” murmured Kevla. The polite phrase was always uttered when speaking of the honored dead.
    â€œYes, may it be so,” Sahlik replied, pleased. “I served him well and loyally, and for four years on the anniversary of my capture, as is the custom, he made a score on my arm. On the fifth year, Rakyn stood to make the fifth cut, but I told him to hold.”
    Kevla continued to apply the henna with a steady hand, but Sahlik could almost feel how intently the girl was listening.
    â€œâ€˜Great khashim ,’ I said, ‘You have counted the years wrong.’ He stared at me as if I had been kuli -cursed and was gibbering with madness. ‘With this last score, Sahlik, you go free,’ he said. ‘But great Rakyn, I will be free to do what? Free to return to my husband, who loves his wine better than me? You have scored my arm, but you have never broken my bones. So I say again, with all respect: You have counted the years wrong.’”
    â€œAnd what did he say?”
    â€œHe said, as he lowered the dagger, ‘The sun has dazzled my eyes. There are not four cuts on your arm, Sahlik. It seems I have counted the years wrong.’ And neither he nor Tahmu has made a fifth score, and I continue to serve the House of Four Waters.”
    â€œSahlik is a bold woman,” said Kevla, finishing the design.
    â€œSahlik had nothing to lose,” Sahlik replied.
    Kevla met her eyes, and to Sahlik, they seemed much older than her ten years.
    â€œNeither does Kevla,” she said.
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    â€œMy master?”
    Tahmu looked up from the scroll he was perusing. Sahlik stood in the door. From the expression on her face, Tahmu knew exactly why she had come. He motioned her in. She closed the door behind her.
    â€œHow is she doing?” he asked.
    â€œShe is a most impressive youngster. There will be jealousies among the women.”
    Tahmu made an impatient gesture. “Quarrels among Yeshi’s women are the least of my worries,” he said. “Kevla will hold her own among them, then? That is well. Has anyone…?” He could not find the words. Sahlik knew what he asked.
    â€œThe servants think I am growing deaf in my old age, and speak freely when my eyes are not upon them. I have not chosen to enlighten them.” Sahlik smiled fiercely. “Kevla has slept in a corner of the kitchen, seen by many. No one else has noticed the resemblance, although you and I see it strongly.”
    Tahmu let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Perhaps it is because we know the truth that we see the resemblance. Still, I would like to be present.”
    Sahlik shook her head firmly. “No. You are not usually present to introduce a servant. You must do nothing out of the ordinary with this girl. Finding her and bringing her here was strange enough. Draw no more attention to her, and she will take care of herself.”
    While