Chapter 7

The marketplace of Parsaena’s eastern district was a bustle of activity and excitement. Wealthy noblewomen in elegantly embroidered gowns strolled about the booths selling fabrics, jewelry, and perfumes, while servants bartered loudly with vendors of vegetables, breads, meat, and spices for their master’s lavish tables. Colorful tents flapped in the breeze, while minstrels, jugglers, tumblers, and magicians drew crowds of citizens eager for entertainment.

The effect was completely opposite from what Daelia had seen just over the bridge. While the western district became quiet, gray, and depressed, this district had all the appearance of a thriving economy. Could it really be the same city?

In this place, money was all that mattered; money and power. Those in possession of neither had no place, and certainly no worth.

She passed by tables, stalls, and merchant wagons, all displaying their goods for eager buyers. While admiring a cart of exotic fruits of every shape and color, Daelia accidentally bumped against a young noblewoman. She was dressed in a kirtle of yellow satin, trimmed with ermine, and was followed by several maidservants carrying paper-wrapped packages. The woman paused to turn pale eyes upon Daelia, icy gaze sweeping in obvious distain over the girl’s worn tunic, muddy boots, and red curls tumbling in disarray. “Watch where you walk, peasant,” the woman said haughtily before continuing on towards a stand selling oriental silks.

Daelia blushed, shocked at the woman’s tone, and suddenly conscious of her appearance. Looking down at her leggings, she realized that she was dressed more like a man than a woman of twenty-three. No wonder her approach was gathering stares and titters from a group of brightly dressed young girls. My clothing was always good enough for the forest. I needed nothing more, she yelled at them in her mind. All she wanted was to get out of the middle of this crowd.

As she rounded a couple of booths selling swords and tooled leather items, a noise up ahead caught her attention. Curious, she veered through the throng towards the voice whose words were beginning to become clearer.

“--men and women, all fit for immediate service! Household servants, stable hands, wet nurses, and cooks…anything ye need!”

Slowly, the owner of the voice came into view. He was an oily looking character who stood on a wooden platform while calling out to the large crowd that had gathered.

“In just a few minutes I will bring out some of the finest workers ye will see anywhere! I can guarantee to fill any position ye might need filled! Serving girls, men for your fields, cooks for your kitchen, seamstresses—“

Daelia wasn’t sure if she understood: people for sale? Skirting around the gathering, she approached a small group of ragged figures standing forlornly behind the platform. By their appearance, she guessed they must be the ones about to be sold. They weren’t chained or tied up in any way. Why didn’t they run?

She asked this of a small woman she guessed to be about her own age. The woman wore a shapeless, brown dress and her hair was loose about her shoulders; her expression was emotionless as she replied, “We’re to be indentured servants; we aren’t slaves.”

When Daelia pressed her to explain she sighed heavily, “We work for whoever buys us for a set number of years, afterwhich, we are free to go. My family can’t pay their tax, so here I am. No other way to make money ‘round here, besides the brothels.”

Dealia cringed inwardly at the thought. “So you chose to be here?”

The girl nodded, no longer looking at her, but at the oily trader who was now leading the first person for sale onto the platform.


You should do this, came an unbidden voice in the back of her mind.

Could I do it? She asked herself as, one by one, the pitiful servants were sold off. Might this be my only chance?

No. Not a servant; anything but belonging to someone else. She could never choose to be the property of another human. She would beg before selling herself as a servant, or even sell her bow!

You must. Just do it. All will be well.

She paced as she tried to shut out the voice. It was telling her to give up her freedom. She had been a prisoner under Duard for too long. How could Deus ask this of her? I cannot!

You must.

No!

Trust me.

“You, girl! Are you here to find a position?” The trader hissed at her from the top of the steps that led up to the platform, “If you are, get up here now before you waste anymore of my time!”

As he spoke, Daelia felt time stop and the trader’s voice fade away. A familiar sensation washed over her as she saw a picture in the back of her mind. The picture was not of a person or an event, but of a feeling; a sense of peace and assurance, but also of urgency and warning.

Something important was going to happen; something that hinged on the decision she was being asked to make at that very moment. Suddenly the picture changed, and she now saw a young woman, herself, wandering up and down a street that seemed never to end. After what she new to be an eternity, the young woman collapsed and lay motionless.

Never had her gift come upon her so strongly. Then as quickly as it had come, the feeling vanished, and the market noise picked up where it had left off. The trader had just finished his question and was impatiently awaiting her answer. She hesitated.

“Well?”

She was ready.

I hope you know what you’re doing, she said angrily to herself. Placing a worn boot on the bottom step, she nodded to the man. Yes, she was there to find a position.