The Magician’s Apprentice

“Do you like your new home?” she asked.

“And your husband?” Tashana added. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she smiled. “Don’t feel you must dress up the truth, if you’re not pleased. We were all given to men not of our choosing. That gives us the right to complain as much as we want.”

Stara chuckled. “And if I did choose him, am I still allowed to complain?”

“You chose him?” Aranira asked, her eyes widening in surprise. “Not that he isn’t handsome...”

“Of course you are,” Tashana said. “Though you’ll have to allow us to be jealous.”

“I didn’t,” Stara said quickly. “Choose him, that is. I was just curious to know what I should expect if I met someone who had chosen her husband.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “Now I’m not sure if you’ll believe me if I say anything good about him.”

Tashana laughed, and the others joined in. “Give it a try and see what happens.”

“He’s not what I had been led to expect of Sachakan men,” she began, noting how this brought a wry twist to their lips. “He’s considerate and respectful. He’s happy to tell me about his trade and listen to suggestions. He’s . . . he’s surprisingly good company.”

A short silence followed as the women exchanged glances.

“But?” Aranira asked hopefully.

Stara shrugged. “Nothing. Yet. Give it time.”

They chuckled and nodded. “Good to see you’re not too naive about marriage,” Chiara said. “Not like I was. Though ...I was a lot younger, I suspect.”

“How old are you?” Sharina asked.

“Twenty-five.”

“Rikacha said you were younger.”

“I suspect my father lied about my age.”

Tashana nodded. “Have you been married before?”

Stara shook her head. The women exchanged looks of surprise. “I expect you think I’m a little old to be marrying for the first time.” They nodded. “I hadn’t planned to get married at all.”

They frowned and looked at her closely. “Why not?”

Suddenly Stara was not sure what to say. Would they think her odd if she admitted to ambitions in trading? They knew she had Elyne blood, but did they know she had spent half her childhood and her early adult life in Elyne? Should she tell them? It was probably safe enough to, she decided, especially as Kachiro knew and would probably tell his friends. Should I admit I had lovers? They’d love that, but it might get back to Kachiro. I’m not sure he’d find that so “refreshing”.

“Perhaps that is too private a subject to discuss so soon,” Chiara suggested. “You barely know us.” She turned to look at the others. “Perhaps we should tell her more about ourselves. Our stories.”

They nodded.

“I’ll go first,” Aranira said. She looked at Tashana, who smiled and nodded. “Tashana was married at fifteen to Dashina, who was twenty. He approved of his wife greatly, but also of his and other men’s many pleasure slaves, some of which were never properly cared for. From them he caught slavespot, which he passed on to her and to her first child – who died – and since she began to scar he won’t bed her.”

Tashana nodded, smiling despite the pain in her eyes. “At least I kept my figure.” She turned to Sharina. “Sharina was married at eighteen to Rikacha, a man fifteen years older than her. A man with no heart who beats her like a slave. She lost her first child after he hit her in the stomach. Motara threatened to stop talking to and trading with him if he ever hurt her again. Now he hits her only where it won’t show. She has two boys.”

Sharina glanced at Stara and shrugged. “But I am so lucky to have them.” She turned to Chiara. “Chiara was fourteen when she married Motara, who was eighteen. Though he is sweet and generous and appears to be fond of her, he refuses to see what we all can see. She has swelled with child twelve times, birthed eight times, and her body is worn out and broken. Each time she grows sicker and we fear it will kill her. He should let her be – let her rest, at least. How many children does a man need?”

Chiara smiled. “How can I deny him them? He does love them all – and me.”

“You don’t have any choice,” Tashana said darkly.

Sighing, Chiara turned to Aranira and her smile was strained. “Aranira married Vikaro when they were both sixteen. For the first few years all was well. She bore two children, a girl and a boy. But he lost interest in her too quickly. And in the children. It all sounded too strange, until friends of ours discovered the reason. He is infatuated with another woman. A powerful, beautiful woman who desires him in return. A widow whose husband died of an illness the slaves say was too much like poison.”

“He does not have the courage to risk my family’s anger if he is found out,” Aranira said. But there was doubt in her voice.

Stara saw the fear in the plain girl’s eyes and nodded to show her understanding. Her situation is much like Nachira’s, except at least Ikaro loves Nachira and is trying to protect her. The women turned to regard her. This is like a ritual to them, she thought. They tell each other’s stories. It is as if they all gain something from the ritual. Acknowledgement, perhaps. Yet each has made light of her own situation, too. Perhaps it helps them hold on to the good in their lives, too.

She wondered, then, at how willingly they had offered up their private lives to her. Perhaps because, as Kachiro’s wife, they had no choice but to include her in their group. Yet it felt as if they were challenging her as well as revealing themselves. Challenging her to be honest, perhaps? Or to accept their ways.

“We do what we can to help each other,” Tashana told her. “If we can, we will help you, too. So if you need help, don’t fear to ask.”

Stara nodded again. “I understand. If I can help any of you, I will,” she promised. “Though I have no idea how I could.”

Abruptly she thought of magic. It was one asset she had that they didn’t, as far as she knew. But she would not mention it unless she needed to, or could see how it might be of use to them. And though I do like what I’ve seen of them so far, I still barely know them. I’m not going to tell them any secrets until I know I can trust them.

“Admittedly, most of the time all we can offer is sympathy,” Chiara said. “But we have learned that friendship and someone to talk to is worth more than gold. Perhaps more than freedom.”

I’m not sure many slaves would agree with that, Stara thought. Still, a life with no friends or family – no loving, supportive family, that is – would be a sad one, no matter how rich and powerful you were.

Tashana began telling Stara about a friend they had helped, who had moved away with her husband to the north, to a place on the edge of the ash desert. The conversation turned to travel and Stara was surprised to find that all of the women had visited different parts of Sachaka, and most had moved to the city after they were married. Stara decided it would be safe to admit she had grown up partly in Elyne, and they bombarded her with questions about the country.

The conversation shifted and changed, sometimes informative, sometimes sad and often funny. When a slave came to announce the men were leaving Stara felt disappointment and realised she had been enjoying herself. And not just because I’ve been starved for company. I think I like these women. Which made it harder to know about their individual troubles. When she thought about their stories she felt anger stir deep inside. I do want to help them. But I have no idea how. I have magic, but what use is it here?

Magic couldn’t heal Chiara’s worn-out body, or rid Tashana of her disease. It couldn’t stop Sharina’s husband beating her, or stop Aranira’s lusting after another woman and contemplating murder. At this moment, magic seemed like a useless and pointless indulgence.

But it might discourage Kachiro from beating or trying to murder me, if he was so inclined, she thought. I wonder if I could teach Sharina and Aranira magic...

She followed as the women streamed out of the room, down the corridors and into the main meeting room. The men were on their feet, laughing at something. As the women entered they separated, moving to their wife’s side or beckoning their wife to join them. Kachiro slipped a hand lightly around Stara’s waist. He smelled of something