The Songs of Loss, book one : Armanth

Chapter 11- Jawaad

Jawaad was consulting a cheap leather-bound notebook, slumped in an armchair that some would have considered Spartan given the luxuries he could have afforded. Legs crossed, one boot propped up on the desk, he enjoyed the light of the last evening rays, one hand turning the pages, the other stroking the ochre-gold hair of the young woman sleeping with her head and arm resting on his thigh, having pulled a thick cushion to her feet.

The slave was beautiful, even more so in her slumber; her face, lit by the softness of the last light of day, expressed sincere serenity. She was almost naked. The advantage of Armanth's summer is that it's so hot that anyone who can undress doesn't mind.

Yet the little she was wearing would have paid for a few grams of Loss-metal. Her only garment was a saffron-hued tunic of diaphanous silk, slit wide at the sides, held together only by cords braided with gold thread, and deeply indented across her muscular chest and back. One could almost fit the entire fabric into a clenched fist. She wore light sandals whose laces, also of saffron silk, came up to mid-calf. Finally, the rest of her jewelry consisted of bracelets of braided bronze wire adorned with colorful jasper and beryl beads. Those on her ankles were embellished with small silver bells.

For a moment, Jawaad took his eyes off his reading and put them on Azur. The slave had belonged to him for almost ten years. He hadn't bought her; she was still a free woman when he'd met her, not far from Allenys. She was an Ar'hanthia, from a pious nomadic people who follow the great herds of ghia-thunders on their peninsula, which they consider sacred. He traded with them and found her hidden in the hold of his ship. Her name was Her'eena at the time.

She had fled the arranged marriage where she was to be offered to the son of a neighboring clan chief, being herself the daughter of the chief of her tribe. The punishment that awaited her once she had committed this betrayal was, if she was lucky, enslavement, being sold away from her own people by her own father; if she wasn't, a cruel death. The only choice left to her was to beg Jawaad to take her away from the wrath of her parents; the merchant had taken advantage:

- Do you know what it means, according to the laws of your people, for a woman to beg a man?

Her'eena knew very well; any woman who morally indebted to a man to the Ar'hanthia could be made to pay her debt by enslavement; a custom decreed by the Divine Council, it was said, and found as far north as the Hegemony, although it was rarely invoked elsewhere. She could only nod, before adding:

"But you'll free me, if I accept?"

Jawaad gave a brief smile that the young woman, who didn't know him, didn't understand.

"I never free my slaves; on the other hand, I've already sold some."

"But how can I ever be free again? If... if I ask you, will you sell me back to my grandfather? He'll set me free, he'll understand, he'll even thank you for your gesture and he'll pay you well!"

"All right then. But where I come from, the custom is clear: a free woman cannot be enslaved, unless she commits a serious crime... or submits to the one she wishes to belong to."

Her'eena had accepted, naively. She had even gone down on her knees, bowing her head to her strange savior to show the resolution of her gesture, exposing her neck to him as she parted her hair. She gave herself to him according to her customs, believing she had chosen well in whom she would place her trust and her life, even though she had no other alternative left. So she never saw the second smile that made Jawaad's dark eyes shine:

"You are mine from this moment on. One day I'll offer to buy you back from your grandfather, as we agreed, but I don't know when; after all, you forgot to tell me when I should make the offer."