SiWren of the Patriarchs | Page 9

as her fingers plucked

for it, and accidentally dropped it in the dirt. She reached down and
picked it up, ignoring the rough coating of caked-on mud which clung
to the bag as she raised it to her lips. The water ran freely out of the
bag's horn spout, it's mud coating wrinkling across the contracting,
silken wet goat skin, giving rise to many miniature ridges.
When she had drunk her full, she heedlessly hung the depleted goat
skin back on the stub of a knot-end on the tent pole upright, a small
axe-hewn sapling. The half-dried mud clung to the goat skin in a
curious pattern of broken and layered ridges that were partly crushed
together wherever their broken edges collided and overran one-another
as a result of the escape of water beneath the muddy leather, which
Si'Wren had taken to quench her thirst.
The water skin forgotten, she rubbed her hands lightly to brush the
coating of mud off her palms and turned to her work, while unheeded
behind her, some of the water skin's encrusted mud crumbled and
dropped to the ground behind her bare feet in little broken clods that
contained the tiny seeds of plants, and the remains of a few dead
insects.
Even as there was but one race of man, which included the giants and
the six-fingered ones, there was also but one breed, likewise, of the
dog.
Hardly a noble creature to look upon, the common camp dog was a
different breed altogether from the huge and fearsome dire wolves that
stood as tall as a man at the shoulder and roamed the farthest and
deepest wilds in savage packs.
The dogs of men more resembled the small wild plains dogs.
Yet, like the wolves, which ran in packs, this hardy domesticated breed
retained a strong pack instinct. It was used as a guard dog and camp
scavenger, but could, like any wolf, become dangerous if starved too
long or unduly provoked, as by the tauntings of foolish children.
Covertly watching the giant visitor, Si'Wren found it a relief not to be

seen by him, unlike the unhappy Foundryman, who, normally
considered by all to be no runt in his own right and anything but a
coward, looked now equally as puny and scared as any small boy. He
looked so scared that Si'Wren could not help but feel sorry for him. The
giant was so tall that the Foundryman must needs tilt his head back and
look almost straight up at the hairy visitor. What an ugly head, to
behold against the majesty of the skies.
"Their gods may indeed be strong," said Nelatha, "but the fight is not
always to the strong, nor the race to the swift, and I have heard
speakings in my time, of an Invisible God."
Si'Wren was so distracted by observing the giant that she forgot herself
and suddenly had to look at Nelatha and say foolishly, "Huh? Forgive
me Nelatha, what did you say?"
Nelatha sighed patiently.
"I said, the gods of the Giants may seem exceeding fierce and large,
and like themselves, false-hearted, but there is an Invisible God that I
have heard of, who is strongest of all."
"Indeed?"
"Aye, and He is a loving, forgiving god. But," Nelatha said, her voice
lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, "the idol makers despise this
Invisible God, because they cannot make any money selling idols of
Him."
Nelatha giggled, and Si'Wren smiled also.
It must be a joke, of course.
Si'Wren and Nelatha both loved to privily mock the moneymakers. The
wheelers and dealers must provide their own fare, and were much
obsessed with money-making schemes in the market place. They were
shrewd cheats, long accustomed to swapping not only goods, but lies
and lives, and often resorted to savage ambushes and bloodlettings after

dark. There was ample reason to be fearful of the night. Hence, they
deserved not only to be feared, but mocked on occasion.
Nelatha giggled because the artificers who made the idols always acted
so godly and superior, and were so full of the greed of dogs but could
never seem to suspect the similarity of themselves to such lowly
creatures. It seemed to the two girls like Heaven's well-deserved gift of
madness to such evil ones.
At least, that was Si'Wren's unspoken opinion. However, it would never
do for a mere slave girl to be so blunt as to speak with such open
foolishness. Si'Wren always guarded her thoughts. For as the wise men,
who ever sat in the city gates, were fond of repeating so often and so
well-deservedly, 'What is foolishly uttered in private, will surely be
regretted openly in public'.
Wise counsel dictated that one such as Si'Wren must not criticize others
more important than herself (which was virtually everybody),