The First Step


Kestrel Hath woke with a start.

For a moment she stared around the luxurious caravan of the Johdila of Gang, not quite believing that this wasn't another bad dream. She'd been plagued with them all night: terrifying spectres of probability and wild imagination. In her dreams, she had seen Aramanth burn again, had seen her family trapped in the monkey wagons, the same wagons that had claimed the life of Maslo Inch. They had been screaming for her, begging her to save them. And all the while, her enemy, that murderer, Ortiz, stood there and laughed and laughed before reaching for her too…

She shuddered again. Inside her sleeping robe, hung the heavy weight of the Wind Singer's voice. The silver was warmed by her skin and it was comforting. She clutched it through the cloth, her fingers tracing the curves and bumps of the metal carefully.

Instinctively, she glanced towards the curtained window of the caravan. It was a reflexive gesture, a human movement, seeking out warmth and heat after terror. The early rising sun was pouring in through the thin gauze, sending a dim square of yellow light onto the floor of the caravan. It was dawn. Perhaps an hour or so after that. Kess wasn't sure, not without a clock to check by. Her stomach rumbled deeply, reminding her that whatever time it was, she was hungry and hadn't eaten since the early banquet, yesterday evening. And even then it had only been a few morsels she'd been able to pluck from passing trays as they wound on their way towards the crowds of well-dressed wedding guests. Servants in the Mastery, it seemed, didn't need to eat and weren't expected to be hungry like everyone else.

The dark-haired young woman sighed deeply and rolled over on her pallet once more. Maybe she'd catch a few more hours of sleep before the time came to decide what to do with the rest of her life. And, gods, she was tired…

Bang-bang-bang!

The sudden noise sent an electric shock of energy coursing through Kess's veins, like lightning. For a moment, she lay stiff in her bed, praying softly to every deity that she knew of that the knock wasn't for her. The hammering blows against the caravan door sent a sick feeling of familiarity trickling down to her stomach. It had been like that the day that Aramanth had burned. Silence, peace then… then…

Bang-bang-bang!

"Open up!"

The Manth woman rolled out of her blankets and pushed her self upwards until she was kneeling on all fours on the wicker floor of the caravan. With silent, tense movements, she pushed herself up into a standing position. Her nightgown flapped around her legs in the gentle breeze that wafted in under the door. She could feel it stirring through her hair, barely shifting the dark brown strands but still there. Turning towards the window, bare feet padded to the right hand side of the caravan, pausing once she reached the windowsill. The gauzy curtain was hard to capture, blowing as it was in the early morning draught. Abandoning the lower hems of the material, pale fingers clutched the side of the curtain. In one swift movement, Kess pulled back in the simple sheet of muslin.

The sunlight glared into her eyes fiercely. Automatically, she squinted. It was later than she had thought, perhaps more around nine or ten o'clock in the morning. The white light glowed against the dusty panels of the other royal caravans, picking out the gilding and green paint that was part of Gang tradition. From somewhere, she thought she could smell the sizzling, mouth-watering scent of roasting meat.

Shadowing her eyes, she squinted down at the interrupter of her precious sleep. "What do you want?"

The man drew himself up self-importantly. He was tiny, more like a monkey than a grown man and looked only around twelve years old. Dressed painstakingly neatly in stiffly starched red and black robes, he cleared his throat and linked his hand behind his back. "You are Kestrel, servant to Lady Ortiz?" He demanded, in a deep gravely voice. It sounded ridiculous coming out of so small a man.

Two dark brown eyes narrowed down at the servant in confusion. Lady Ortiz…? "I don't…"

"Formerly, the Johdila of Gang. Radiance of the East and Delight of a Million Eyes." Two expectant blue eyes blinked up at her.

Sisi. Kestrel dropped her hand and smoothed down the white folds of her nightgown. Embarrassed at being shown to be so stupid, she cleared her throat. "Yes, I am Kestrel."

"Servant to Lady Ortiz." He rocked on his toes

A flash of irrational anger at her enemy for forcing her to speak his name. "Yes, yes, servant to the Johdila."

"To Lady Ortiz." He corrected her once more. Kess could feel her temper spark.

"What do you want?" Perhaps her voice was too hostile for an innocent Gang maiden; she realised, wincing as a look of surprise crossed the blue-eyed servant's face. Abruptly, she turned her head and avoided his gaze, fussing with the edge of the curtain.

The man coughed. "Yes… Uh, well…" He coughed again, for the third time, his voice coming out deeper than before. "Come with me, please."

Kess began to nod automatically until she felt the servant's gaze drop down to the clothes she was wearing. Or rather, the clothes that she wasn't. "Oh!" A blush scalded up her cheeks. "I'll… eh... have to…"

Another cough. Did this man have a complex? "Of course, mistress. I will wait for you."

"…Thank you."

"Of course, mistress."

Kess dashed away from the window like a fury. Rushing around the caravan, she scrabbled for her clothes, tucked neatly at the foot of her bed. The long green dress, plain and unembroidered except for the tiny line of emerald green thread coiling around the hem. The stockings, the soft, kid-skin shoes that she'd been issued to protect her torn and bleeding feet from the rough stones of the road. She dragged on the shoes, making sure the laces were tight and secure before searching around for something to brush her hair. To her relief, the great set of six mirrors around Sisi's mirror table had not been removed and neither had her plainer set of hairbrushes and combs. Pulling open one of the long, rectangular sheets of reflective glass, she pulled a face at her image staring back at her.

The skin was pale, even more pale than usual and smudges hung under her eyelids. Her eyes were darker and overly bright, like she was suffering from a fever. She reached down for the plain copper handled brush to try and tame her hair. A tremor passed through her as she saw her fingers shake above the copper handle.

Kestrel was afraid.

Fear was not an emotion she was used to dealing with. In childhood, she had never been afraid. In all their adventures she had always fought back, got mad, lost her temper. That had been the dynamics of their little group. She was the brave one, her brother was the cautious one and Mumpo had always been the one who hung back, who preferred to go last. When she had been on the road, before she had met Sisi, she'd never been afraid. She curled up in the shade of trees every night, never lit a fire to keep the wild animals away, scorned any weakness tempting her to deviate from her path and seek a new life in one of the nameless border towns that littered the edges of the Great Road.

But now, after yesterday, she knew fear. The memory of merciless grey eyes sent cold waves of ice running through her veins. She remembered what he could do, how he forced her to stand still when she wanted to run or walk. She remembered losing herself, her memories, her likes, her dislikes, everything that made her Kestrel Hath, Manth woman… and becoming little more than a moving doll, a breathing puppet for his orders.

She had been so happy, so cleansed to leave the cursed city. It was like a heavy weight she had never noticed being piled on, had suddenly lifted, letting her walk straight with her chin up. Of course, she knew that she would have to go back. After all, her family was there, her brother, her friend… But even as she knew it, a tiny part of her couldn't help but wish to stay away and forget everything.

"Miss? Miss, are you ready?"

The copper covered brush clattered onto the little vanity table. Pale hands, empty now, curled into fists. She could feel the pinpricks of uncut nails digging into her palm. "Give me a minute!" The words came strangely easily to her.

"Miss, the men want to come in. They have work to do."

Men? What men? She peered out the window again, screwing up her eyes. The sun had risen a little more since her conversation with Monkey-man and it glared across the Johdila's large, painted caravan. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see the gilded edges glow like fire.

Monkey-man was down by the door of the caravan, three huge thugs loitering along beside him. All were tall, bald and built like bulls, their hands hanging down uselessly at their sides. The servant... Well, she knew he was small but shadowed by these three giants, he was a midget.

He looked around, alerted by the faint rustle of muslin curtains. She thought she saw a spasm of irritation cross the tiny screwed-up face before it was smoothed away into a smile. "Miss. If you please…"

No, I don't please. Kess thought rebelliously. I want to go home.

"Where you want the stuff, guv?" Giant Number One cracked his finger-bones casually, ignoring her completely.

"The cart." Blue eyes skirted away snappishly from Kess. "The one at the end."

"Right you are, guv." The sound of heavy strides thumped against the delicate wooden steps leading up to the caravan door. Briefly, Kess wondered if the steps were even capable of carrying such a weight. Apart from Lunki, they had never held anything heavier than herself or Sisi. And there made even the fat old nursemaid appear as slender as a willow stave. Then she heard a ham-like fist hammering on the door.

"Hope you're decent, Miss!"

"Betcha wouldn't mind if she wasn't, Tom-o!"

"Wait! Wait just one minute!" There was a long green cloak on the floor, fur-trimmed and embroidered with blue thread. Her veil was lying on Sisi's abandoned bed, the white blankets showing up the darker cream of the gauze. With quick, hurried movements, she threw the cloak over her shoulders, feeling it settle down along her back. Then, glancing back at the mirror to make sure it was all right, she pulled her hair back under the veil and set it in place with a small wire band. "I'm ready!"

"Right-o!" And with that cheerful statement as the only word of warning, the door to the Johdila's caravan was heaved in, caving under the weight of a slab-like shoulder. Giants One and Two stumbled onto the floor like two heaps of offal.

Clutching her cloak around her like a shield, Kestrel gave them the coldest look she could muster. Unable to think of a suitable rebuke, she was forced to content herself with a small sniff as she lifted her feet carefully over the large bodies and made her way down the steps. Giant Number One gave a half-hearted swat in the direction of her retreating posterior then sighed again as he missed his intended target by several feet.

Kess left the caravan, her cheeks burning from the muttered complaint about the prissiness of Gang maidens. The sun warmed her through the thick green wool of her cloak, making her shift uncomfortably as she could feel her skin heat. She should call him, she knew. But Monkey-man had disappeared and now she was standing by the steps like a fool, listening to the soft grunts from inside the cabin and feeling hunger gnaw her stomach like a ravenous dog.

A soft murmur of voices to her right. Dark eyes jumped around, dancing with tension.

"That's her, sir." Monkey-man spoke softly, obviously not intending to be overheard. "Lady Ortiz's servant."

"Hmm…" His companion lowered his head slowly, then raised it again. It was a moment before Kess realised that he was in fact nodding. "Yes, she looks like the description. Very well, Merryn. Supervise the men. I will…" But then his voice faded again and she could not hear the rest.

"Of course, sir."

The two men nodded firmly at each other, in perfect time as if at a prearranged signal. Then the other man broke away and began pecking his way over to Kestrel.

The man walked like a stork or a heron picking through river shallows. Every step he took was large and he stuck his long, scrawny legs far out in front of his body. His torso and upper body seemed to hang back a little and his head was furthest back of all, his chin tucked into his neck and every other part of his face drooping down to met the jut of his jaw. His clothes fit him perfectly, the creases of his tunic and shirts crisp and razor-sharp, a curious contrast to the lax sagging of his features.

He stopped in front of her with a little shuffle of his feet. Piercing mud-brown eyes turned up at the corners in an attempt of a smile. Unfortunately, it did not reach his lips. They were pressed tight, the edges turning down with some unknown displeasure or dissatisfaction.

"Miss Kestrel?" He bowed, one liver-spotted hand pressed into his solar plexus.

Kestrel nodded. He bowed once more, more elaborately this time, adding in a tiny flourish of his free hand. "I am Lubulino, miss, head steward of Lord Ortiz's household."

He paused then, as if expecting a reply. What was she supposed to say? Good for you, I knew you'd do it someday? "Thank you."

This hadn't been the answer he'd wanted or expected. She could tell. Subtle though it was, the tiny wrinkle in the centre of his nose and the delicate flaring of two large nostrils spoke volumes about his quickly lowering opinion of the Johdila's servant. But he said nothing, merely smiling as best he could. "Miss Kestrel, I have been charged to escort you to Lord Ortiz's household, where you will resume your duties as hand-maiden to Lady Ortiz."

Kess wondered if she'd ever get used to hearing Sisi being addressed as Lady Ortiz. As the wife of the murderer.

"Thank you." She said again. Belatedly, she bobbed an awkward curtsey. It seemed appropriate.

Another smile, warmer this time, broke over the man's face, like sun pealing out from behind an indeterminate cloud. "Miss Kestrel, shall we?"

The Manth woman eyed the hand held up to her with some slight trepidation. If she took it, then there was no going back. Her destiny and her life would be inexorably twisted and entwined with the Mastery.

…With the murderer.

It was her decision. It was her life, her destiny, her future.

Live with guilt or walk hand-in-hand with death.

With only the slightest hesitation, she placed her hand in the steward's thin, cold fingers.

Lubulino nodded briskly; unaware of the crisis of conscience his new charge had just undergone. "Excellent." With his characteristic long stride, he began to lead Kestrel over to the edge of the camp. The two of them walked up beside the carts that even now were spilling over with trunks of the Johilda's clothes, her jewellery cases and her furniture. Giant Number Three was standing guard, a ridiculous awkward note in the midst of such feminine accoutrements, the proverbial ox in the silk shop. Glumly anticipating an uncomfortable ride in the carts, Kess moved away to the side.

A firm tug held her back. "Ah! No, madam." Lubulino twinkled down at her. Her one curtsey had raised her from a 'miss' to a 'madam' and beyond. "Your transport is over here." He continued, pulling her further away from the hard wooden carts.

"Over…"

"Over here." The last part of the sentence was thrown out with the embellishment of pride. The heron-like steward grinned benignly down at her, practically flourishing as he presented her mode of transport into the city of the Mastery.

Kess swallowed. "Horses?"

A look of mild insult passed over Lubulino's face. "The very finest. Lady Ortiz insisted upon that."

"Thank you, sir, but I…" Kess trailed off into silence as the steward imperiously motioned two groomsmen forward with one wave of his hand. The animals looked so… Big. She ran her tongue over her lips nervously as the impassive groom waited for her to get up on the thing. Receiving no assistance from that quarter, she moved closer to the thing, keeping a wary eye on its dinner-plate-sized hooves. One pale hand moved over the funny bump sticking up on…What is it called again? Oh. Yes. A saddle. Experimentally, she tugged at it, hoping some divine intervention would come down and send knowledge on how to get up on this stupid thing rushing through her head.

She waited.

Nothing.

"Miss?"

Monkey-man again. She turned. Looked down. "Yes?"

He cleared his throat politely and cupped his hands together. Kestrel stared at him.

He coughed again. This man definitely had a complex. "So you can mount, miss."

"But I…"

"Yes, miss." No interjection of a personal opinion even tinted his neutral, polite tones. "I am here to assist you. If you would put your left foot in my hands, miss."

One kidskin shoes descended slowly onto the linked fingers. Slowly, she heaped on more and more pressure as, to her surprise, he held her weight easily.

"Don't worry, miss. I won't let you fall. Now, I'm going to move up a little, miss and then you have to swing your leg over the pommel. Zathran's on the other side, miss. He won't let you fall neither."

He was telling the truth. He did move up, but slowly, until her ankle was in line with her right knee and she was hopping a little on one leg. Pale fingers tightened on the leather pommel as she felt herself lurching slightly to one side and losing her balance.

"Jump, miss!"

She couldn't move. All she wanted was to put her two feet on the ground again. Walking. Walking was safe. Why couldn't she walk into the Mastery? Her parents had. Her brother had. Pin-pin had. "I can't!"

"Great stars, woman! Just bloody jump!" Came the roar from the other side. Startled, the brown mare sidled to the side, terrified by both the loud noise blaring in her sensitive ears as the heavy lump if weight that had dropped onto her back like a sack of ungainly potatoes. A wave of spontaneous applause burst out from the sidelines as Kestrel clung on for dear life to the sticking up pommel in front of her.

"Miss! Just hook your leg…"

"Hold on, we've got you!"

"Groomsman, control that damned horse!"

"Yes sir!"

"Miss, your leg…"

"It's in! She's up!"

Another clatter of applause sounded out from the sidelines as Kestrel – shaken and shaking – straightened up in the saddle. Brown eyes glared furiously at the small crowd of Gang servants who had gathered to view the spectacle she was making of herself. The Manth woman didn't even notice the small hands that quickly shoved her foot into the stirrup; she was so busy cursing the names of everyone who had witnessed her humiliation.

"She's ready, Zathran. Lead her out."

"Yes, sir."

The horse jerked forward into motion and Kess was dragged with it, her body flung up over pommel like a broken puppet. Monkey-man ran alongside her. "Sit up straight, miss! You have to hold the reins like this." He mimed holding out one hand into a type of elegant fist. It looked vaguely like he was presenting a bunch of invisible flowers.

"Reins?"

"The leather strings, miss."

"Oh." She found them, held them like he showed her. It helped. A little.

"That's it, miss."

The road when flat for a little while, leading them away from the camp steadily. Up ahead was a bend, turning left and leading away into the Great Road that ran, a shining river of white and golden stones, down to the City of the Mastery. Down into her chosen destiny.

She wondered if the men beside knew what she had come to do.

"We'll be out of sight of the camp in a few minutes, miss." The gentle mutter came from in front of her, the man they called Zathran. "'Case you want to…"

Say goodbye. Her heart contracted slightly as she thought of tiny Lazarim with his swirling skirts and indescribable passion for the tantaraza. He'd helped her. Maybe he'd miss her too, now that she was gone. Carefully, shifting her body until her waist was in a diagonal with the saddle, she peeped back over her shoulder, squinted around the edge of her veil.

A warm glow spread through her as brown eyes fell on the tiny figure in spangled robes, waiting patiently by the edge of the caravan. He had come to say goodbye. Her eyes widened in surprise as the dancing instructor raised his hand and waved it slowly from side to side.

Lazarim tipped up on his toes, stretching up as high as he could in his attempt to grab her attention. He had barely made it out in time to bid her farewell. The breath puffed from his lips as he fought to control his heart beat, still racing from the exertion. He had run all the way there, from his caravan on the other side of the camp.

Large eyes narrowed then widened with delight as he saw one tiny hand rise up and appear to move. She had seen him! But then the front part of the convoy had reached the bend in the road and she was gone.

The disciple of the tantaraza rocked back on his heels and sighed. He had just lost the best pupil he had ever taught in his life. It hurt. He could have done so much with her. Made her a star, brought her all over the world… With the Johdila's new marriage to the Master's heir, nothing was impossible. Thoughts of what-if warmed him like a fire. How the Water-Dancers of Haran would have stared at them, master and pupil. How the deadly knife-spinners of Poines would've gasped!

But it was not to be. Regretfully, he followed the last lines of the carts as they moved out of sight. He would miss the strange little bird that had flown into their lives along the wearying march to the Mastery. But she had better places to go now. She had to spread her wings a little.

Fly away, child! He called to her in his mind. Fly away! This was not your place, here.

With one last sigh, he made his way back to the caravan campfire to prepare for the departure.