A dragonfly’s wing
Rolling amongst brittle leaves;
A plaything of the wind,
That uncouth and awkward child.

– The Canticle of Menkeret.



“Menkeret is a kindly god. He is lord of all mysteries, certainly, and the source of all magic, but he is a benevolent deity foremost of all. Invoke him in your hour of need. He is the door of all subtleties and through subtlety we might best understand him. His emanations are manifold, my daughter and his manifestations truly sublime…………”

My father’s words echo faintly in my mind as though he had spoken them deep in the corridors of time. But they were the utterance of this year past, words of but last spring. It was then that I left him and my dear mother to wander the world, trusting in little more than my wits to protect me. Such a thing, no daughter of Mentrassanae had ever dared to do. The risk of incurring the censure of their kin and of their peers had kept them all in check. No so I!

My family did not oppose my leaving. My father spent long days and nights casting arcane runes and performing rites to safeguard me from harm. The nature and purpose of a few of them are known to me but most remain a mystery, so that, at times, I almost feel as though I do not know my own nature.

This land of the Darrakhai surrounds me now. It seeks to stifle, to oppress and to consume me. But it knows not that I am a viper in its breast. I may be deprived of wealth, of dignity, of freedom, I may be enslaved by the machinations of others but of virtue I will never be deprived. I must learn all that this place, this time and these circumstances have to teach me, for through wisdom I gain strength.

I see a smile. It is Ara’s smile. She approaches in her quiet way, wearing loosely a gown cut from the brown homespun that is the mark of the slave. I am immersed in warm water. We are in the bath chamber of the slave quarters of the house of our master Heshuzius. At present, our master seems to be away on business and rumor has it that he will be bringing home with him a number of new slaves. Those of us that he has seem to please him, for the most part and he is a kindly master by Darrakhai standards.

I dip my shoulders under the water. Having filled the bath myself and perfumed it with spices, I take the opportunity to bathe now that the house is quiet; the noontide heat having seen the majority of the occupants retire until late afternoon. The house has been busy today, for, tonight, the Lady Itelyssia; the wife of Heshuzius intends to entertain guests. Ara has informed me of this. She is a trusted slave and follows the rules of the house to the letter. But I often sense a hidden fear in her and a deep seated longing, the nature of which is still obscure to me.

Ara climbs the steps of the dais and hesitantly sheds her robe. A tanned foot tests the water which I have made cool. She smiles again and enters slowly, making few ripples – such is always her way. Her features are fine and her hair is dark, she has the high cheek bones and sharp chin of the women of Zonovon and she is indeed one of their number. Her large eyes are the eyes of modesty, ever downcast, but they are reflective, beautiful black eyes; made even more beautiful by what suffering they have witnessed. Her arms are muscular but supple and two perfect breasts adorn her. Aye, she is beautiful. A stray thought now crosses my mind; I would possess her.

“I saw your embroideries and your weaving in the loom chamber this morning. They are both very fine,” I tell her with a smile.

“Thank you, you are kind. I had a good teacher.”

“Your mother perhaps?”

She hesitates and gives me a sad look for an instant.

“Yes, my mother taught me to embroider but in the skills of the loom, it was the woman who mostly brought me up, my nurse.”

I step closer to her, she does not react. I can feel her emotion but it is mellow and calm.

“Tell me about your mother and your family,” I ask gently.

“There is not a great deal to tell. I was the youngest of eight children; five brothers and two sisters. They were all slaughtered by the Darrakhai.”

“I am aggrieved to hear it.”

“I alone survived by hiding in an olive barrel for two days. I emerged to find our house a smoking, plundered ruin. I saw the broken body of my brother Haruun first…and…and then in every room; the dried blood of my kin and our faithful retainers.”

“I mourn for you.”

“Thank you but you have no need to,” she says coldly.

“Still, it is fitting and does them honour, as you do them honour through remembrance.”

“I remember them aye, as they were when they lived.”

“How were you enslaved?’

“I found some rags that the plunderers had not taken.