The Godspeaker Trilogy Omnibus by Karen Miller

Book Preface

s the village and its splintered, weathered wooden godpost dwindled into the heat-hazed distance behind them the thin Trader Abajai said, his hand warm and secure on Hekat’s shoulder, “The others we purchased. Do you know them?”

He and fat Yagji had bought four more villagers after leaving the man’s holding. A woman, another she-brat and two boys. Unlike her, they walked with the rest of the slaves, chained to them and to each other, guarded by the five tall slaves with spears. Sitting before Abajai on his white camel, with its coarse hair tickling her bare legs, she shook her head. “No. Hekat knows man. Woman. Man’s sons.” A shiver rippled over her skin. “Godspeaker.”

“No-one else? You had no friends?” said Abajai. “Who will you weep for tonight, Hekat?”

She shrugged. “Hekat not weep.”

Riding beside them. Yagji sighed. “Must you talk to it, Aba? It’s not a pet.”

Abajai chuckled. “I’ve heard you talk to your monkey.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Monkey?”

“An animal. Smelly, noisy, greedy.” He smiled. “Yagji will introduce you when we reach Et-Raklion.”

“I won’t,” said Yagji. “She will teach little Hooli bad manners. Abajai, you should sell this one before we get home.” A red stone carved into a single staring eye dangled on a chain around his neck; he clutched it with plump fingers. “There is a darkness . . .”

“Superstition,” Abajai grunted. “The god desired us to find this one, Yagji. You worry for nothing. We will reach Et-Raklion.”

Hekat frowned. “Et-Raklion?”

“Our home.”

“Where?”

Abajai pointed ahead, to where the ground met the sky. “Further than your eye can see, Hekat. Many godmoons traveling beyond the horizon.”

She shook her head. That place was so far away she couldn’t imagine it. Already she was lost. The barren land stretched on every side, dressed in all its hot colors: red, orange, ochre, brown. Spindle grass withered beneath the uncovered sun, dull purple, dying green. The sky was a heavy palm pressing her flat towards the slow-baked ground. Beneath the padding of camel-feet, the clanking of slave-chains, the clicking of rock against pebble, silence waited like a sandcat poised to smother and kill. If she wasn’t careful, she’d forget how to breathe.

Abajai’s hand returned to her shoulder. “Fear not, Hekat. You are safe with me.”