SiWren of the Patriarchs | Page 7

their way slowly past the spice tent and beyond, to where the
stone masons labored to build the new garden wall.
Si'Wren bowed her head a little, and shut her eyes gently as she softly
sang a prayer for the physical safety of the young boys. She often sang
prayers during her work, swaying gently to the rhythm of her own soft
sweetly-uttered syllables. It was not merely a prayer she sang always,
but sometimes rather, a long-favored tribal song, a song of old which
kept alive the promise about the Garden of Heaven to which all good
souls must surely one day go.
The day was warm and pleasant. It was the kind of day to lull one into
a drifting somnambulance, inviting weary slaves to seize upon the
unwatched moment now and then to pause, and wander freely with
their eyes across the inner mind and the far skies, in spite of the
ever-present risk of sudden discovery and displeasure by the Master.
Nelatha's sudden intake of air accompanied by a frightened gasp of
startlement caused Si'Wren to cease abruptly from her labors and look
up quickly.
Immediately Si'Wren shrank back in an involuntary motion as she
beheld the terrifying sight of a hairy, muscled giant of a man, easily
twice the height of any normal individual. The giant had six great
fingers, like stout wooden pegs, on each hairy, enormous hand.
Because of his size he appeared to be walking with exaggerated
slowness, although the long strides with which he covered the ground
took him across the level courtyard and up the front steps of the House
of Rababull in a surprisingly short time.
His size was truly staggering to behold, and Si'Wren counted it her
good fortune that he was already moving away from the tent entrance
in such a way that she was not so much as glimpsed by him.

Such men, if they be men, could be unpredictably violent, and who
could withstand such a one when he should happen to suddenly lose his
temper? Although they were too big to ride horses, they could run on
their long legs almost as swiftly as any horse, especially in a short
sprint when attacking in a burst of speed. When they did ride, they were
fond of more fitting steeds, such as elephants.
"Was he not terrible to behold?" Nelatha barely breathed, her voice a
terrified series of gasped utterances.
"Aye, he is possessed!" Si'Wren agreed readily.
Indeed, he looked every bit of that.
Demon-possessed men had abnormal strength. How much the more so,
such a one as this human tree?
With trembling fingers, Si'Wren carefully finished filling another tiny
bottle and stoppered it carefully, checking to ensure that it could not
possibly leak if accidentally tipped over or upended within some
traveler's pouch.
"There," she said softly, still shivering in fear. "Ten bottles."
"So soon?" asked Nelatha, looking over her shoulder and
double-checking Si'Wren's finger-count swiftly.
Si'Wren nodded. "I do good, aye?"
Nelatha, sensing how frightened Si'Wren still was, smiled her approval,
and leaned over to hug Si'Wren in a reassuring embrace.
"You keep up a good pace," Nelatha agreed with evident satisfaction. "I
am proud of you, Si'Wren."
They were charged to labor without ceasing, but sometimes both girls
would alike find themselves the free time to rest and watch others, for
which neither girl was apt to criticize the other too unfairly.

Outsiders could not easily see into the tent, thereby to voice any
complaint of idleness, for the veil screened the girls while they worked,
keeping them safely out of view while they labored happily within it's
shadowy confines.
Even so, the two girls did try to be faithful and willing servants who
would scarce conscience the deliberate wasting of their Master's
valuable time and resources, and whose household they rightly
considered themselves to be a part of. To be sure, they counted
themselves but inferior members of the House, and yet, if not heirs,
nevertheless exceeding fortunate to be the property of so great a one as
Master Rababull.
This, then, was their fate and fortune, and it was good in their sight.
Master Rababull had never deliberately mistreated either of them,
although he was known to deal harshly enough with rightly deserving
wrongdoers or habitual slackers if they pushed their luck too far.
He had more than enough of those to preoccupy his attentions.
According to the elder slaves, times were never so evil as now. Si'Wren
wondered at this, being too young to say for herself. But she was
inclined to agree with them.
The giant came out again, and made equally short work of his brief
walk across the wide courtyard to the foundry. To the tune of many
hammers, a group of talented artificers was busy at their