The Forgotten God

Chapter 23

Isaac tossed uncomfortably in the depth of his sleep. It was heavy, as though he was being pushed into the bed by some unseen force, pressing his heart to release the emotions of the life he was dreaming of.

The memories too were weighty, painful when he finally awoke.

That seemed to be some way away as he continued to see the ancient world play out before him, looking out from a body he knew but was not in control of. Not anyone, he was simply an observer, watching a replay and unable to change what had already passed.

The dogs' coats shimmered as he combed them, rewarded by happy wags of their crinkled tails and the occasional excitable lick of their satin tongues.

Ishaq chuckled, batting them away as he tried to brush their ears, feeling they were trying their best to distract him from his duty rather than show any thanks.

"I might prefer this to biting," he laughed, pushing the hounds head back gently as it turned again, its cold nose dampening his own. "But it won't stop me making you look tidy; I don't think your master would be pleased if you ended up matted or with fleas. Nor do I think you would be!"

If they were anything like the mites that had once invaded the family's clothes then they were unbearable. He had heard lice were unpleasant enough but at least they had been confined to the head. The sensation of lying in bed at night and suddenly feeling the itch of tiny creatures scurried over his skin had been appalling. He had practically scratched off a layer before the itch subsided, or the sting outweighed it.

Working in the fields that day, still itching and with skin that was rather raw, was uncomfortable to say the least. By the end of the day, he wasn't sure whether the redness was caused by his nails or the sun.

"He certainly wouldn't," a soft voice answered.

Ishaq looked over to see the delicate form of Mandisa quietly emerge from the kitchens with a bowl of water, setting it down quickly before the dogs could knock it from her hands.

She was a striking but frail looking woman whose body barely seemed to have enough weight to hold her upright. Her heart was strong and glowing with a mystery that she didn't whisper to anyone.

There was a lot of gossip about her, why such a weak looking female would be offered, and where exactly she had originated from. Her skin was an exotic shade of brown, richer than those born and bred, with limpid, sloe eyes that twinkled when she smiled.

"Our illustrious master hates them looking scraggy," she looked amused as the dogs fought to see the bowl before turning their noses up upon finding only water, most of which now spilt over the side to cool her feet. "I doubt he'd be too judgemental over a knot or two though, he knows how stubborn they are. The only time I recall him being furious was when the one in charge had not bothered to tidy them for weeks."

The dogs loved her. Trailing after her and vying for her attention and in the hopes of a treat smuggled from the kitchen; a scrap of game or chicken was a grand offering in between meals. Even with the talk around her, most of the others found her a delight too, always ready with a smile and a helping hand.

"You've not met the larger two yet, have you?" She asked as she straightened up from petting the youngest.

"No," Ishaq shook his head, plucking the loose fur from the combs teeth. "I didn't think he allowed anyone to tend to them?"

"He doesn't," Mandisa smiled knowingly "I just happened to hear he was thinking of allowing someone to shoulder a little of that burden so he can concentrate on other duties. I know well it would be you."