The City of Dust (Ruin)

For almost two years, I have been a slave. I have been owned by two and loved by neither. I have been obedient, I have been pleasant and though sometimes withdrawn, I have been safe. But what I have never been is truly frightened.

Fear is found in the form of man, ominous and overbearing. It has tasted me, it has taunted me and it has told me to beware.

I had gone to the cliffs, book of prose in hand, and found a rock to relax on. There were a few that mulled about, but one in particular drew my attention, the man I had seen Edicea talking to in the square.

Silas allows me many things, among them curiosity. It was with this emotion that I peered at him over the top of my book. There were, or so I thought, similarities between this man and my Master, though I wasn’t quite sure what.

After some time, he approached me, and I, being the ever so eager slave to please, removed myself from my rock to fall in towered posture at his feet. For reasons I can not relate, for they are a mystery to me, he seemed irritated at this fact, and hauled me back up to sit upon my perch.

He saw the cards, and questioned them, and though I asked him if he would like a reading, Past, Present and Future, I did not get the feeling this was his intent. In fact, his irritation seemed to bloom further. I thought he was done with me, turning away, but then I heard the command in his voice. I was to follow.

He led me along as he spoke, I forced to follow by the invisible tether that marked me as slave. "Let me tell you that the other day when I met your Master's sister I had a pulling in my heart... something familiar to me and now to find that you are teller of men's lives. I would think only a strange woman.. could insight such feelings as she did in me. And Only a strange woman could read the threads as you do with sad tats of paper"

His destination was an alley, one I thought to be riddled with unseen urts and things that would no doubt draw upon my nightmares, if I allowed my thoughts to wander.

"Do you wish to know my future?.. My past?"

I find that reading people is much like reading the cards. There are aura’s that surround them, be it benign or malevolent, be they free or slave, one that tells of the mortal coil within the abode. I felt, for some reason, that I should apologize. That perhaps in some way I had offended him. I think I did not, at this point, wish to know anything about him, but proper slave etiquette required I reply.

“If you wish to tell me, Master.”

"Are you so trapped in your bond to Sir Gein you have no desires of your own? I saw what you did... how you immediately went to your knees upon my approach.. tell me Fate.. is your fate to have nothing of your own not even your desires? Do you wish to know about me slave? Do you know of desires.. is that in your ... allowed vocabulary?"

I could feel it, the tangible tang of fear, metallic and distasteful on my tongue. I thought for an instant that I might be a dead slave girl within the space of the next several ihn, that Silas would find upon his return home, the demise of his slave in some disgusting alley. If I was even found.

I am a slave girl, a woman caught in collar’s command, one that would find death in disobedience. Of course I desired. But somehow I didn’t think we were talking about the same thing. He grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back, he now so close I could feel the exchange of heat between us. So close I was not only touching him, I was breathing him.

"Tell me Fate.. do you desire to know about me? About why your Mistress sought me out? Do you desire to see what about me scares you...."

There are some things, knowledge’s and memories I purposely push away. Whispers within the House that I ignore. It’s a cold place without Silas, at times foreboding and dismal, a place of unrest. A nocturnal encampment of need. There is a hunger within the walls, one that never seems sated, and as I sit here reliving my experience, I suddenly realize why I had found he and my Master so similar.

His fist had entangled in my hair, violently turning my head to expose my neck. He tasted me, salty flesh and fear ebbing with every pulse, his tongue sliding across my skin.

I did not! I did not wish to know him, his desires or his future. My desire however was made quite clear. “I desire to be released!”

And to my surprise, he did, albeit a bit harshly. I fell to the cobbles, my hand reaching out to the ground for support. But not before he had taken one of the cards from the protected pouch at my side. As he disappeared into the throat of the dark alley, he was laughing, his words chilling.

His sister also reads, not by way of cards, but by trails blood and bowels. He said that she once tried to tell him his future and he nearly tore her to shreds. That a man’s secrets were his own. That I would do well to remember that. Only then, was my card, the one he had taken, returned to me, spinning on the breath of the wind and falling directly in front of me. The City of Dust, the card of Ruin, is one of the most negative and justifiably feared cards in all the deck, and one that had never been picked before.

I think in my haste to leave, somewhere, I dropped my precious book, the one I had bought with the coin Silas allowed me to keep. I am becoming quite adept at losing things.

I am becoming quite adept at many things…

Merci, Mercy

The longer I stay in collar, the odder free women seem to me.

I wonder if I was ever like them. Not that they are all bad. In fact, I have found, though many possess a certain amount of aloof horridness, others can be quite pleasant.

I met her in the falls and read her cards. I don’t believe she .. believed, for I could see the skepticism in her eye, the look of doubt on her face. But once I began, I could also see indecision, as if she thought that I might be, in some small way, tricking her. I don’t trick intentionally, I only relate what the cards tell me, albeit, sometimes they do make it hard to find the answers.

Sometimes my cards are surly.

Payment in Paper

Twice now, I have been given a book as payment for my readings. The first one was on dance, the second a book of poems.

Not only a book of poems, but a favored book from Nika’s libary. I’ve already read it twice and it now holds a special place on the small table in Silas’ room, near where I sleep. I shall read it again.

The Worst Kind of Fate

I sometimes forget the addiction, the want of knowledge, the tell tale signs of what the future will bring.

She comes to me often, her brow furrowed with the need to know, as if I am some sort of oracle that can make her life easier, as if I can bring peace to her surly existence. I can not.

I am merely a girl from the island of Cathris, a single soul trapped in her own realm of imprisonment, one cursed by her own blood to slavery for actions that took place before my birth. This is my reality. For me, there is no other. I still hold hope that someday, the curse will be broken and I will be free, allowed to companion, to bear children, to live the life I have been denied.

I am not complaining, for I realize how lucky I truly am. I am not beaten, or used in a harsh manner. Silas is generous with both my freedom and his coin. Though I am expected to obey, I am not bound by normal rules and if it were not for the collar about my neck, I probably wouldn’t always remember who or what I have become.

Of course, there are those who never fail to remind me of exactly what I am.

She said she had sent a letter to my owner for my purchase, wanted me to know that she had tried. I had taken this as a comment meant to put my mind at ease, she thinking perhaps I was ill treated and that she was doing a great service on my behalf.

Slaves should never assume.

She was offended that I, a mere slave, would have the audacity to believe she was worried about me, that she actually cared for my safety in any way. She told me that if I ever offended her in such a way again, that she would send a letter to my Master informing him of my impudence. She also said that if I was ever for sale, that she would be the first.. and the last to offer a price for me.

This does not worry me, however, for I know he will never sell me. To him I am more then a woman who can read the future for personal gain. I am more then a warm body that conforms to his own in the dark of the night. There is a bond between us, one bound by the collar I wear, one tied to the secret we share and I know I could never belong to another. At least not as completely as I belong to him. He is the man who makes the tattoo of my heart beat like a jungle drum. He is the man who drowns me in the soulfulness of his eyes when he looks at me. He is the man who finds fascination in the woman he owns and I will always love him. I think I would not leave him even if I was freed.

Thank the kings I belong to a man such as Silas, for now I understand belonging to a woman is the worst kind of fate.

The Butterfly

I am not immune.

I would have thought I was, to a certain extent, unable to find others attractive. It’s not a sexual trigger that draws me, but one of the mind.

It could be that I am simply more open to the magic of thoughts, the unraveling of destinies, but too, I think it is much more then that. When I do find someone that is truly interested in talking to me, I think it is a stimulation of the most important kind. It’s nice to have my opinion heard, though this is not something I volunteer unless asked.

Which brings me to today’s escapade.

I had ventured into one of the parks, as I do often, in hopes of finding Landra again. Instead of finding her though, I found another, a man unexpected.

I have been careful since the attempt by the trevian to take me, keeping my distance from those that I think may do me harm. But of course, as a slave, this is an impossible feat in most circumstances.

I had taken the book of poems with me that I had bought with the coin Silas allows me to keep, and found the perfect rock on which to perch. I was lingering fondly over one particular passage when he called for me, my book set aside so that I might serve him.

Usually when someone calls me into service, it is so that I may read for them, giving them glimpses into the past.. or most preferably, the future. I was already retracting the worn squares of rence from the safe keeping of their pouch, but hastily found myself re-pocketing them at his command.

He did not want a reading, he merely wished to talk.

Few free talk to me, other then wanting to purchase an ahn of my time for their own benefits. There are, of course, exceptions, but most times I am merely a way to a means. But he, he seemed to want nothing to do with the cards. No one has ever refused a reading before. I can’t say that I was discontent.

His caste was low, by the color of his garments, but they were well made and clean, he smelling of leather and soap. His hair was long and dark, pulled back and tied, his features almost hawkish in nature, but in no way severe, though it was his eyes that captivated me, green and bright and fringed with the longest eyelashes I believe I have ever seen. He hadn’t shaved in some days, his face over shadowed with a stubble of beard, his lips full and tempting, and I found myself staring at him without realizing it. For an instant, I wondered what it would be like to be kissed by those lips, to be taken within his warm embrace and held tightly. To be wanted, if just for an ihn.

He smiled, as if reading my thoughts, though I know this is quite impossible. But still, it was an eerie enough feeling to force me to drop my gaze from such mesmerizing scenery.

He had many questions, asking them one after another, sometimes pausing in between as he pondered and sometimes moving directly into another. My name, where I was from, who owned me, for how long and perhaps the most embarrassing, why I was still a white silk. That seems to be the question on every one’s mind these days.

I told him about the curse, my journey to Ar, my stay at the kennels, my first Master, Tony and Silas. All this time, while we talked, he sat on the upper crest of a rock, carving on a piece of wood, while I knelt before him. I’m not sure that he was truly interested in knowing my history, but that he was a collector of words, of stories, more to sate his own curiosity then anything.

He offered nothing of himself, no detail in which I would be allowed to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. I knelt there, long after the conversation had seemed complete, though I was not dismissed. Instead, I quietly watched him work on the small block of wood, amazed at the outcome. It was a tiny, a perfectly formed butterfly, one that he handed out for me to take. A gift. No one has ever given me anything, not without wanting something in return. He said to keep it with me all the time, as a reminder, for some day my metamorphosis would be complete.

This small talisman now resides in the pouch that holds my deck and the coppers I acquire through the cards, safe.

A Day in the Square

I will miss him when he goes again, but having him home has been so nice. He took me shopping, of sorts, allowing me to choose something with the coin I’ve earned from doing the readings. I chose a small book of poetry, one that has obviously been read many times over, but then, those are the best loved books.

I have also promised him that I will try harder to get along with the other slaves, that I will succeed in closing the gap that lies between us. I realize, now more then ever, how important this is. For the last several nights I’ve gotten to sleep with him, curled at his side with my head on his chest. I can think of no better way I would like to spend my nights..

Too, I visited the inn, as I have been doing the last few hands, to read for Nika. The cards are quiet of late. Perhaps they are resting for something. They do that at times.

Mistress Nika allowed me to borrow a book from her library, which I will return in one hands time. I shall take very good care of it, another book of poetry.

Dreaming of Home

The lapping of the waves bathed my feet in such soft reverence and if I closed my eyes, I could feel a thousand tiny licks tickle at my toes. My heels dug into the wet sands, carving a small hole where ocean pooled. Lar torvis streamed downward in warming rays, creating small reflecting jeweled prisms where droplets on my flesh reigned.

I think have never been so content, so completely free of turmoil and so emotionally calmed. I knew that if I died at that precise ehn, that nothing could have made for a more perfect departure from this world.

Heavily fringed lids covered my eyes and I lay back into the cool escape of the sands, nestling into the silhouette my body had made. I shifted, first to the left and then to the right, something sharp poking me in the back, probably an errant stick or a shell. I wiggled and squirmed, trying to alleviate the uncomfortable entity from poking me, but to no avail.

I awoke with a moan, trying to dislodge the corner of one of the books I was laying on from my spine. It was hard to tell which book was the culprit, for in fact, there were many that shared my place of rest on Silas’ couch. Today, before I made my way back to Ar, I would at set the room to right.

When at last I gave up the search for the object that had awakened me from such a surreal existence, I moved to the window that over looked the courtyard below. Dawn’s gray knife was sluicing through darkened twilight skies and colliding with a pinpoint of magenta, one that would soon burst with heated hues of topaz, oranges and touches of copper.

I have come to realize though this is not the island home on which I have been raised, it is no less beautiful. Sunrises and sunsets hold a magic all their own across the land, but then, I’m sure that is true of any city.

Know it or not, I am home.