Chapter 25
Mud - Amanki
I guess it was the voices that woke me.
“I am Bazamod, a citizen of Tzoladia. The woman and boy are slaves. I have been recently injured, but I am healing. We are in need of dry clothes, food and water.” The voice was Baskrod’s and he was speaking in the Tzoladian language he had taught me.
“Welcome good sir. We are settled here only temporarily so our lodgings are humble, but you are welcome to all that we have. I am Vlabrez and this is my son Pazker.”
“Greetings.” Baskrod answered in a voice that surprisingly wavered only slightly, “and thank you for your hospitality.”
I wondered if I was still asleep and only dreaming. I had always been prone to strange dreams ever since I was a little boy. The most terrifying nightmares were those when I dreamed that I was dreaming and while still sleeping dreamed that I awoke. After a dream like that, when I really awakened, I was so scared and confused that I had no idea what was real and what was not. I also had dreams that repeated themselves over a period of days or years. Those were usually the ones that came true. Finally, there were the dreams that led me to take action. Such a dream had led me, as a young boy, to go where Baskrod was sorting his catch along the river’s edge. He had not been surprised at all when I told him a dream had led me to him. In fact, he seemed to be expecting me. Baskrod had always been interested in my dreams, but had warned me to be careful with whom I shared them.
The rain had stopped, and I could feel the sunshine on my skin. I decided this was not a dream, though the words being spoken seemed confusing like those in a dream. At first it seemed strange that Baskrod would give a fictitious name and describe us as slaves, but I was glad to hear that his voice sounded so strong.
I could picture Manhera silently nodding her head and smiling in her gentle, reserved way. Feeling tired, I decided to still pretend to be asleep and to listen. I wanted to make sure I knew what role Baskrod wanted me to play, so I wouldn't blow the cover he was weaving.
Naming two of us as slaves would explain Manhera traveling alone with males and would also prevent the stranger from suspecting that we were runaway slaves. It was not unusual for the more well-to-do villagers in Arvuk to own other villagers who were down on their luck for a few years until the slaves earned their right to be free again. Sometimes they tried to run away before serving their full time. I wondered what other details Baskrod would embroider into his story. I knew that the rules of hospitality did not require him to reveal his name or his story to his host until after his needs were met.
“That was some storm you were caught in,” said the man who called himself Vlabrez. “Thank the great Z it ended before the floods reached our camp. I am not wealthy, but you are welcome to share what I have.”
Z must be a name for one of the gods of this place. I had never heard the name before.
“Our greatest need is appropriate clothing for my female slave.” Baskrod answered. “She was swept overboard in the storm. We nearly lost her, but the boy, Amanki was able to save her. I am letting him sleep to regain his strength to continue our voyage. Still, her clothing was lost, so it will need to be replaced.”
There was a moment of awkward silence. ‘I suppose these particular slaves are more valuable to you alive?” Vlabrez finally said in an oddly conspiratorial tone.
“Amanki is a domestic slave, but also sails well. Manhera is a valuable slave since she knows some of the healing arts,” Baskrod answered without seeming surprised by the man’s macabre question.
“I see. My wife should be able to help her. You are most welcome to come to our humble shelter. As I indicated, we have recently arrived, to await the Emperor’s Harvest up river, so what we have is simple, but we can provide you with food and drink. Please be our guest,” Vlabrez answered.
I had no idea what the man meant by the Emperor’s Harvest, but I decided it was time I quit playing millipede. I started fidgeting around and then opened my eyes and stretched.
“Ah, the boy awakens,” Baskrod said. “Amanki, be a good slave and stay with the boat while Manhera comes with me to the house,” he said to me in Webby.
I stood up and joined them, careful to play my part. “Yes sir, forgive me for sleeping so late,” I said as I bowed.
I was surprised to see Baskrod was standing and looking so much better. His bandages had been removed. Slightly startled, I noticed Vlabrez’ sandaled feet were unwebbed like Baskrod’s. Although the current in the storm had carried us far downstream, I would never have expected to find the unwebbed living along the Lanaduk. In fact, Baskrod was the only unwebbed person I had ever met.
“I’m feeling much better than I was,” Baskrod announced, “though I am still anxious to be seen by a real physician in the city.
Vlabrez seemed to accept Baskrod’s explanations. Pazker was openly staring at our feet which, although covered in mud, were still obvious to the boy.
“Come, you must be hungry,” Vlabrez urged Baskrod again, sweeping his hand toward a makeshift reed house not too far from where we were standing. Pazker, you run ahead to let Mommer know we are coming.”
The boy hesitated. “Popper,” the little boy said. “Look at those people’s feet, they look like ducks!”
Vlabrez frowned, “Pazker, those slaves are not…”
“And our feet look kind of like rabbit’s feet,” Baskrod broke in, wiggling his sandaled toes in the mud.
The boy giggled but Vlabrez still seemed disgruntled. “Run along, Pazker,” he repeated and pushed on the boy’s back, directing him toward the house.
The boy glanced down at my feet one more time, snuck a smile at me, and then ran off.
Baskrod instructed me, “We shouldn’t be long. Make sure the boat is ready for the rest of our journey. I do not want to delay any more than necessary.”
“Yes sir, it will be ready,” I replied dutifully and turned to walk back toward the boat.
Suddenly, I noticed that the string with the cylinder seal was no longer dangling around my neck. I reached my hand instinctively to my chest for it, but it was gone.
“Wait!” I called out to the others. “I…I seem to have lost something,” I said, as I started searching the ground with my eyes in a panic.
Baskrod turned toward me and frowned. “We have lost many of our supplies, Amanki. Do the best with what you have.”
As he turned to speak, I noticed for the first time that the cylinder seal was dangling from Baskrod’s neck, partially hidden by his beard. No wonder the stranger had treated him with such deference in spite of his appearance. Having a seal, especially one made from a rare stone, identified him as a wealthy and important man.
“Yes, sir,” I mumbled and then turned to assess the damage the storm had done. It bothered me not to have the seal safely around my neck and I did not like Vlabrez.