“Beautiful yes?” the old man said, catching his gaze. “The work of my eldest daughter. She is quite gifted.” He paused. “So, then friend Anseh,” Master Dawan continued. “I have spoken at such length I have not heard your tales.
Makami took a deep sip from his tea. Anseh was his real name, from his people, the one he had been given. Whoever hunted him here, only knew Makami, the name he had taken for himself in these lands. After the past night, he had decided it was best he was Anseh once more.
“I am afraid my tales are not as grand, Master Dawan.” Makami did not flinch at his own lie. The horrors he had seen could compete with the best stories.
“Where do you come from then?” Master Dawan pressed. “You speak the trader’s tongue well, but your speech marks you as a man of the south.”
Makami nodded, impressed with the old man’s perceptiveness. “Far south, yes. But I have lived much of my life in the great cities of the west.”
“Ah!” the old man said with a knowing wink. “That explains your love of music! Some of the sweetest sounds to grace my ears have flowed from those lands.”
Makami nodded. “In the city of Jenna, I stood in attendance to the funeral of the late king. A hundred bards who played three-necked koras, a hundred drummers and a hundred more musicians and singers marched in procession as the king journeyed through the city, laid upon a bed of gold so heavy, that it was pulled by twenty stout war-bulls of purest white, their great horns too wrapped in sheets of gold. As he passed, the drummers struck their instruments in unison, while jombari players strummed gracefully, and the bards cried out so haunting a song, that the very sky opened and wept in mourning.”
Master Dawan listened, rapt by the tale. Sitting back, he released a breath of awe. Turning back to Makami, he looked him over with a wistful expression. “I say these words not as insult friend Anseh, but for one who has seen such wonders, you now seem overcome by misfortune.”
If it would not sound so bitter, Makami would have laughed aloud. Instead, he merely nodded.
“Well misfortune can be met with fortune,” Master Dawan said. “Soon, before the rains begin, my daughters and I will journey across the sands to the east lands. If it pleases you, join us.”
Makami looked at the man in surprise, taken aback.
“I can offer food and drink once more, but for so long a journey I shall expect you to work,” he said sternly, “—and listen to my tales.” At this he gave a smile and wink.
Makami smiled back. Perhaps his misfortune was easing, if only slightly. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off as a sudden blur of feathers streaked past his vision. It was a bird—a large hawk. As Master Dawan held up a hand, it landed on a stretch of leather that covered the old man’s arm, extending its bright blue wings wide before folding them against its golden breast.
“Ah Izri!” Master Dawan greeted the bird brightly. “I trust you have brought my eldest daughter safely back from market.”
The way the old man spoke to the hawk, Makami half-expected it to answer. Instead it turned its gold crested head before again stretching its massive wings, taking off in a flapping blur and soaring straight towards an approaching figure.
Master Dawan clapped in delight. “Praise you Kahya! You have trained him well!”
The approaching figure didn’t answer immediately, dark piercing eyes passing over Master Dawan, and then Makami. A free hand moved to the dark veil which covered the figure’s face, pulling it down to reveal a surprising sight—a woman. Dressed as she was in dust-ridden flowing trousers and a billowing shirt, she was easily mistaken for a man.
“He is your bird father,” she said, thick black hair spilling down to her shoulders as she pushed back a hooded shawl. “I do not see why I must take him with me each morning.” With a series of clicks and whistles she lifted her arm and the hawk flew away, this time landing atop a wooden stand that stood beneath their covering. It perched there, gazing down at them.
“To watch over you dear Kahya. I trust Izri’s eyes as well as my own.”
The woman grunted and made a face, dropping down to sit cross-legged with them. “I handle myself well enough.” She poured herself some tea, sipping it slowly before turning a piercing gaze to Makami. “Another stray?” Her nose wrinkled with a grimace. “Can you at least choose one who wears more than rags and smells better than a wet baushanga?”
“Ah this is friend Anseh,” Master Dawan said, wincing slightly at his daughter’s sharp remarks, “a traveler who has fallen on ill fortune. I have offered him food and drink for work, from now through the crossing of the sands.” Makami opened his mouth to make his own introductions, but the woman abruptly turned away.
“That dog Zaba tried to trade me moth eaten cloths for near twice their worth,” she said, changing the subject. “But I bested him in the end. He parted with them for far less, and I received several jars of sweet oil as well—for nothing more than a few cones of salt. A worthy trade I think.”
Master Dawan nodded in appreciation, turning to Makami with a grin. “My daughter’s skills at haggling surpassed my own long ago.” He rose to his feet. “I will make the arrangements for Zaba’s goods. If you will, see to friend Anseh.”
Makami watched the old man walk away, leaving him with his eldest daughter. The woman continued to sip her tea slowly, as if he were not there. After a long awkward bout of silence, he opened his mouth to speak, but once again she beat him to it.
“Father is fond of strays,” she said, never
