'You're back,' said the big man, as they dismounted from their mules.
'Baracha,' acknowledged Ash, by way of greeting, and the Alhazii bowed his head slightly.
'You look well for a man supposedly dead.'
The mule yanked the reins in Ash's hand, impatiently. 'It was close,' he confessed, hushing the restless animal. 'What news here since I have been gone?'
'Nothing much of interest.' Baracha shrugged his massive shoulders. 'We've all been praying for your safe return, of course.' He placed a hand on the nose of Ash's mule, as he spoke, and stared straight into the animal's eyes until it stiffened and became still.
'Who is this?' he asked, drawing Nico's attention back from the meditating Rshun in the middle of the courtyard. This close, he could clearly see the many tattoos scrawled across the man's dark skin, tiny flowing Alhazii script, covering him entirely, even his bearded face. Holy verses, no doubt, as he'd heard these desert men liked to sport. The dark eyes slid carefully across Nico, before returning to Ash.
'My apprentice,' explained Ash, and Nico noticed the subtle change in Baracha's expression, his facial muscles tightening in surprise for the merest instant.
Baracha smiled as he again fixed his gaze on Nico. 'He has much to live up to, then.'
He smiles falsely, thought Nico, and decided this man was laughing at him. A spark of anger flared inside. It made him want to prove himself in some way.
Nico pointed to the stand of mali trees in the centre. 'Why do they stand alone like that?'
'Alone?' replied Baracha, turning to look.
'Master Ash told me earlier how you plant your lifeless seals in the forest outside. I was wondering why these seven grow here.'
'Can you not guess?' tested the Alhazii.
But Nico already had, and that was why he had asked. 'I would guess, then, that these trees were grown from seals that still… breathed. That means they bear seeds themselves.'
Baracha tilted his head sideways. 'I can't place your accent boy, Where are you from?'
'Bar-Khos,' Nico informed him, surprised by the pride he heard in his own voice.
'A Mercian? I might have known, from one so small and malnourished.' Again the Alhazii smiled, as if laughing at him.
'We Mercians have done well enough,' retorted Nico, 'in keeping the Mannians at bay these past ten years.'
'True,' Baracha acknowledged, placing a hand on the neck of Nico's mule. The animal flinched. 'But you should guard against talk like that while you are here. Perhaps your master has forgotten to explain these things to you. We include people here from every corner of the Miders. We do not speak of politics.'
'Then I suggest you do not provoke such talk,' said Ash softly.
The Alhazii stared at the old farlander. Ash stared back.
Baracha snorted, then turned and strode off without another word.
'A hard man,' muttered Nico, watching Baracha walk away.
'The deep desert breeds hard men,' replied Ash. 'And its great emptiness gifts them with much imagination. I would caution you to provoke no one while you are here, Nico, especially that one. Now come. We have much to do before we may eat.'
*
They ate keesh and stew left over from lunch, since they had missed the noonday meal by the time they had rubbed down their mules and acquired fresh garments for themselves. Once they finished eating, Ash showed Nico to the door of the wardroom where he would be living with the other apprentices, and left him there to settle in.
Nico felt at a sudden loss, standing there alone in the corridor outside, after the old man so quickly departed. His new black robe hung stiff and heavy from his shoulders, smelling faintly of pine needles. He centred himself for a few moments, as the old man had been training him, then pushed open the door.
It was a large room with a stone floor and a roof of varnished wooden beams. A row of windows faced out on to the courtyard, with the bunks arranged along the opposite side. The room was empty save for two apprentices sitting on their beds. One of them was at work sewing a tear in his robe, his face screwed up in concentration. He seemed no more than fifteen years old, his white undergarments hanging loosely about his slight frame. The other apprentice, of a similar age to Nico, lay on his back reading a book, his long hair shining like straw in the light pouring through the windows. Both of them looked up as Nico stepped quietly into the room.
Nico nodded in their general direction, then looked around for a bunk not in use. He stopped at one with an empty chest standing at its foot.
'Hello,' said the young straw-haired man, as he put down his book and rose to his feet to amble across the room. When he offered his hand, Nico stared at it for several seconds before he took it and shook.
'You must be Master Ash's apprentice,' the young man said in a drawl, then caught Nico's puzzled expression. 'Word gets around rather fast here. Your arrival was the talk of the order during dinner.'
'I see,' said Nico.
'I am Aleas, and that is Flores over there. He is not rude. He simply has no tongue.'
The boy Flores opened his mouth wide to show them his vacant mouth. Nico smiled awkwardly and looked away, somewhat too quickly.
'Nico,' he told them both, as he transferred the few possessions of his pack into the chest.
'We know,' said Aleas. 'I have been warned by my master to keep away from you.'
'Your master?' Nico glanced up.
'Yes, Baracha. I understand you already met.'
'Your master judges others quickly, it seems.'
'He supposes we will likely fight, you being a Mercian and I being an Imperial,' explained Aleas, observing him with lazy, intelligent eyes. As Nico forced himself to return the young man's confident gaze, he found himself thinking: An Imperial? I'm actually standing here face-to-face with the enemy. Strange that he does not seem so terrible.
'So,' said the other, 'how does it feel?
'I'm sorry?'
'Standing here, conversing with a foul Mannian?'
Nico considered the question. 'It feels fine,' he said at last. 'Though in truth I'm somewhat hungover just now, so it may be hard to discern any true discomfort.'
Aleas's smile was genuine. 'Then well met,' he said.
CHAPTER TEN
A Desertion Nico tried to settle into his new environment, though at first it was not so easy.
There were nine other apprentices at the monastery, and all of them male. It was not that women were barred from the order – according to the other apprentices, they were simply never recruited, nor put themselves forth for recruitment.
Not surprisingly, all these young men spoke the common tongue that was Trade, their speech peppered with words and expressions from the older – and sometimes still native – languages of their homelands. Nico was pleased that almost the first thing he learned at the monastery was a variety of swear words he had never heard before.
Each morning the young men awoke well before first light and washed themselves in the communal washroom alongside the other silent Rshun of the order. Then they sat in the candle-lit dining hall, with the sun still not yet risen over the mountains to the east, and ate a simple breakfast of porridge and dried fruits accompanied by a choice of water or chee. The apprentices had to make the most of this fare, for their next and only other meal of the day would be dinner in the evening. Often they slept hungry, the food barely enough for their requirements. It was as though the Rshun wished to encourage the theft of foodstuffs. For certain, they did not condemn such activity, only admonished the apprentice who was clumsy enough to get caught in the act.
