The Godspeaker Trilogy by Karen Miller Page A

Abajai!” said the slave Nim. Hekat could see him wondering about her, his gaze kept slipping sideways to stare, but he didn’t say a word. He just stood back so she and Abajai and Yagji could pass by.
    “Hmm,” said Yagji, grudging, as they walked up a paved torchlit pathway to the villa. “It would appear my gardens haven’t died .”
    Hekat marveled at Yagji’s gardens, stretching as far as the largest goat pasture in the village. Flowers rioted in perfumed profusion, pink and yellow and pale blue and mauve. There were fountains, bubbling, their deep bowls filled with flitting green-and-silver striped fish. Delicate trees with silver branches and whiskery seed pods drooped towards the dark green grass. More torches flamed from tall poles. There was a crimson godpost, topped with a black scorpion. A vivid carved snake sinuously embraced it; the fat drop of poison at the tip of each exposed fang was a green gemstone larger than her own clenched fist. Hekat clutched her snake-eye amulet, amazed.
    “The godsnake of Et-Raklion,” said Abajai. “It is our symbol, given by the god itself. Proof that Et-Raklion is its most blessed city.”
    Ahead, the villa. Built of that same pale cream stone, perhaps one hundred tall man-paces wide, its roof was tiled in black and gold. The enormous double front doors were painted black and bound with bronze. Hekat stared. Aieee, it was beautiful!
    The paved path ended at four wide stone steps. As Abajai put his foot on the first one the doors were thrown open.
    “Master Abajai! Master Yagji!”
    Another slave, wrapped head to toe in blue and golden fabric. His head bristled with godbraids like a spiny zikzik, shy sly predator of the desert. Over his robes he wore a green silk shawl, edged around with tinkling amulets. He wasn’t a young man, Hekat realized. He was just well fed, and that made him look younger.
    “Yes, Retoth,” said Abajai. “Your masters are home.”
    “And we’re starving,” announced Yagji. “Get out of the doorway, you stupid man, and find us some food at once!”
    Retoth bowed low, then retreated into the villa. “Of course, of course, master. Baths are being prepared for you now. I have roused the kitchen and your chambers are being scented as we speak.”
    Hekat followed Abajai and Yagji inside, and Retoth closed the double doors behind them. Stranded, struck dumb, she looked around her, at the shiny blue-green stone floor, at the green walls with images of people and places bound inside golden borders and hung from hooks, at the gold and silver tables covered in carved-stone people and animals, at the bowls and bowls of freshly cut flowers. Inside the villa was light as day, there were so many lamps and candles burning.
    “This is Hekat,” said Abajai to Retoth. “You and I will talk of her in due course. For now she goes below, but not with the others.”
    “Yes, master,” said Retoth, smiling as though he knew a secret. He clapped his hands, and moments later a short woman slave with greying godbraids and lines on her face appeared. Her robes were wool, and dyed a soft yellow. “Nada! Take this Hekat below the stairs. See to her comfort and settle her in the single chamber.”
    “Abajai?” said Hekat, uncertain.
    “Go,” said Abajai. “Keep your counsel and obey Retoth and this slave Nada, or you will displease me.”
    Displease Abajai? She would rather throw herself from the top of Raklion’s Pinnacle. The slave Nada turned and walked away. Following, Hekat was proud her eyes did not waste water.
    The slave Nada led her along a wide lamplit passageway to the back of the villa, then down a long steep flight of twisting stairs to more lamplit passageways and many rooms. Hekat stared, astonished. Rooms below the ground? She had never heard of such a thing. She would ask Abajai what that meant when she saw him at newsun; there was no point asking the woman Nada. She was a slave. What would she know?
    The slave Nada took her to a bath