Despite the days of traveling on her own, Riva was still not used to sleeping on the ground. She slept badly, waking in the night frequently and pulling herself into a tighter ball for warmth. When she had traveled by herself she had been able to make a fire or wrap herself in a blanket to keep warm and give her a sense of security. Now she was sleeping out in the open and with the feeling of sand everywhere.
When she woke that morning with the sound of the camels and horses stirring nearby, she found herself staring face to face with the terror of her dreams, a scorpion. Freezing up in fear, Riva didn’t dare move. Her mind ran over everything she knew about scorpions, everything that she had read. They were deadly poisonous, struck with blinding speed and were in the same group as spiders... Nothing helpful.
Neither moved.
A slave slipped into the tent and jerked to a halt when he saw the scorpion. His wide dark eyes met examined the scene. Riva could see him edge away in her peripheral, but didn’t dare take her eyes off the little black creature only inches away from her nose.
The scorpion seemed satisfied to have caught her attention and scuttled away slipping under the cover of sand.
The slave let out a breath he was holding in relief. “You are very lucky. The scorpion is sacred and an honored creature in the eyes of the Great One. If it had stung you it would’ve been considered an act of the Almighty. You would have been thrown out of camp, dead or not and left to the desert.”
He hefted a heavy bucket full of water and moved to fill the small basin near Imad’s room.
Riva stared at the place where the scorpion had disappeared, still trembling.
An act of the Almighty? She was beginning to believe it. Slowly she stood and noticed that her hands and legs were covered in a thing while coat of sand. Rubbing her hand together she felt the grittiness slowly fall away.
“What can I do?” She asked the dark-skinned slave.
He looked up in confusion. She had spoken in Alstearian.
Instead she held her hands out in offering. He seemed to get the general idea and went and showed her which rugs she should gather in her arms. Together they took them away from the crowded tents into a more open area of the camp. Here they had poles set deep in the ground and long ropes strung tightly between them.
The slave had fallen silent when he realized that Riva didn’t understand his language. As they threw the heavy rugs over the lines Riva attempted to start a conversation or at least get him talking.
She pointed to herself. “My name is Riva. Riva.” She spoke slowly and clearly. Then she pointed to him pulling her eyebrows up in a question.
He hurled the last rug over the line and pointed at her in confirmation. “Riva?”
She nodded surprised at his excellent pronunciation.
He turned his finger to himself. “I’m Raj.” He said in his own language.
“Raj.” She repeated his name several times trying to get the intonation and pronunciation correct. He laughed at the foreign sounds on his name and corrected her. When she had gotten it right he nodded proudly and handed her a long staff.
Beating the rugs took most of their energy. Riva tired faster than Raj or any of the other slaves that had been there longer than her. The steady cacophonous sounds of thumping was surprisingly relaxing. Riva soon felt the rhythm and fell into it, trying to ignore the burning in her arms and shoulders. To try and giver her arms a break she would switch the dominant force between her right and left hands. It helped a little.
Raj tapped her throbbing shoulder saying her name softly. He showed her, using his own staff, to grip it higher. He swung twice showing her the difference.
You could get more force with less effort using his method and it was less weight to hold up between swings. Riva thanked him and applied what she had learned.
After they had finished they brought the rugs back to Imad’s tent. Riva’s arms were burning so bad during the trip back she was sure she would drop the rugs. She suspected that in doing so she would have to do the chore all over again.
Once all the rugs were placed in their original positions -Raj did most of the work here. He could walk into a room, look around once and know where everything should be placed even hours later- Riva followed Raj around the camp. First they went to the latrines, then the well and finally the camels and the tents where they stored all their belongings. Imad and those close to the King had their own camels and tents set aside.
Speaking without words was remarkably difficult. It required a sharp mind and help the listener remember things once they had puzzled out the meaning. Riva knew she would never forget the difference between Imad’s signet and the others.
With her hands she asked Raj to teach her his language. Pointing at a camel, she shrugged her shoulders. Raj quickly caught on. Even though Riva already knew the Words of the Desert, it would encourage Raj to speak around her. He was more likely to let things slip and Riva needed all the information she could get. Something was wrong, her scare with the scorpion seemed to reinforce her fears.
By midday Riva felt a little more secure with getting around the camp and had succeeded in starting up a game with Raj. First he would tell her the word she was searching for and then she would tell him the word in Alsteare. Raj had an unnerving knack for mimicking the way she said things. Riva taught him something she had once heard her father say to threaten one of his council members: “You will do as I say or I will bring down such wrath unlike the very gods have seen.”
She repeated it several times using the intonation and fierce emotion she remembered her father using. When he said it back to her it sounded perfect, just like an Alstearian noble. No, just like her father. Riva burst into laughter and tears, fondly remembering her harsh foster father.
Raj was annoyed, not understanding what he had done to make her laugh. “What? What did I say?” He asked baffled.
Riva got control of herself and said the word, “Master.” while waggling a finger at him threateningly.
Still uncertain he smiled but it was because he was amused at her reaction, not the joke. What was so funny about pretending to be one of the Masters? His face asked.
Riva sighed wiping tears away. She wished she could explain, but she had to restrain herself. So instead she shook her head and motioned him onward.
He quickly introduced her to the King’s and Imad’s cooks and some of their more skilled and useful servants, people she would come into contact with while working under Imad.
“She looks like she hasn’t done a day of work in her life.” One of the cooks muttered loudly, she snatched Riva’s hand in one of her own calloused ones and stroked Riva’s palm. (Riva, in the meantime kept her expression carefully blank and slightly confused.) “Bah, her hand’s as soft as a new-born’s.” The cook glared accusingly at her.
Riva flinched backward from the fierce stare, hands up sensing an oncoming blow.
The cook laughed seeing her expression and stance. “At least she stays on her toes. She’ll need it. She’s from Alsteare, is she?” The question was directed at Raj.
Raj nodded. “She’s one of Imad’s, I think he has plans for her.” His tone made Riva shiver.
The cook eyed Riva up and down and grunted. “I can see why, but I always thought he was too good for the likes of Alstearian pigs. Maybe her looks changed his mind.” She cacked and turned back to her work.
Raj remained silent, jaws clenched. “Come.” He murmured in Alstearian.
Jerking her body into action she followed Raj, trying to push frightening thoughts aside.
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