Between Men
How do I write about what has happened in the last two days? I am at odds with
myself, struggling with the feelings of what is left of the barbarian girl and
being completely at peace as the slave joy. I no longer have to worry or even
think about what has continuously occupied my mind for some time now, growing in
intensity the nearer we came to the Sardar Fair.
Two nights ago, at a time when I actually felt relaxed, a voice came out of the
darkness ... a voice I recognized instantly, though he was at first referred to
as 'stranger'.
He entered the camp, his face hidden in the depths of his cloak. I could not
look at anyone. I'd had that dream so filled with symbolism night after night
and now it was reality ... and yet unlike the dream, I had no choice in what
happened. "What happens, if anything, is between men."
I am not barbarian joy any more. I know this. Yet ... two men confronted each
other yesterday ... brothers. These two brothers have in one way or another
shaped my life ... and me ... almost since the day I came here. It tore at me to
think that when the canjellne was offered ... and accepted ... that one of them
could die.
If I could have run into the night, I would have done so. I thought at one point
they were engrossed enough with each other that I could slowly slip away. And
within seconds of my first tentative movement was ordered to belly. He did not
have to look at me to know my intentions. He did not have to speak to make me
obey.
While they still spoke, I fell asleep by the fire, exhausted from tears and the
tension draining from me. He carried me into the tent where I woke late in the
morning. His fingers circled my wrist as he slept with me at his side. Though
his grasp was physically loose, it held me as securely as any ring-hooked chain.
I knew the touch well enough that I also knew the outcome of the canjellne. Yet,
as he continued to sleep there, I touched the collar at my neck. It is metal,
hammered shut. It is not designed to be removed.
I am joy. My Master is Szol of Ar.