Songweaver's Awakening

Chapter 14 - Rajheem

Rajheem watched Antuk’s small, white hands move over the tooled leather saddle.  She worked with ruthless efficiency, child-like arms never seeming to tire as they rubbed and polished the dark surface to a glossy sheen.  Like the most nimble of musicians, she could move each hand almost completely independently of the other.  Rajheem had once seen her polish a saddle with one hand while simultaneously opening a new bottle of oil with the other.

He shifted his weight on the wooden stool and his muscles ached in response.  Neither Helen nor Lladwen had said anything to him about his trip to Haman’s house, and somehow, that made him more apprehensive than if one of them had confronted him.  Both acted as if the incident had not occurred at all, until he began to doubt whether it had actually been Lladwen following him.  But who else fit Lladwen’s description and would be interested enough to follow around a wayward musician?  Somewhere, he thought, there must be a list where they kept tally of all his transgressions, just waiting until the right moment to present it to him.

“...then, after a few years in my birthplace, I left my parents to go to Talia.”  Antuk  talked while she worked, her words punctuated by each pass with the soft-bristled brush.  Rajheem listened with half an ear, his attention focused on his thoughts and the stray bit of straw that had found its way into the tack room.  “I wandered through Talia for several years, ventured into Malacho for a bit, and finally made my way here.”

Some of what she was saying filtered into his mind.  “How old are you, Antuk?”

“I was born, by your calendar, a week before Anshanamere, eleven years ago.”

Rajheem halted in his methodical grinding of the piece of straw beneath his foot.  “You’re younger than me?”  Rajheem tried hard to keep the growing grin on his face, but failed miserably.  Despite the moonchild’s youthful appearance, he’d always assumed she was older because of her demeanor and the vast store of knowledge she had.  He’d come to accept her scolding, vehement as any mother’s.

Antuk scowled at him.  “Wipe that smirk off your face.  If I were to reckon my years in human terms, I’d be ten years your senior.  We don’t live as long as your folk, but we mature faster.  I was considered an adult at nine years of age.  You, on the other hand,” she gave him a pointed glare, “are still a pup.”

Rajheem bristled.  “I’m sixteen.  Some people are married by my age.”

“Some,” Antuk agreed, “but for politics.  It does not make you any less of a pup.”

He frowned, but couldn’t think of any clever reply, so he turned his frustrations back to the piece of straw, grinding it into the stone until its end was frayed as a camel’s whip.

“So who did she have you sing for this time?” Antuk asked, hands still steady against the saddle.  The brush in her palm had been replaced with a bit of cloth.  “I saw you leave by carriage with an escort last evening.  I wouldn’t have known it was you with that great big hood over your head, but that lute of yours makes a funny shape when it’s in a bag.”

“Jahn,” Rajheem answered.

She nodded.  “That explains the new horse in the stables this morning.  One of the finest animals I’ve ever seen.  She’s small, but,” Antuk shrugged, “that’s not something someone like me should complain about.  Helen has offered her to me to fulfill our contract.”

Rajheem sat up straight.  A muscle in his back gave a twinge in protest.  “You’re leaving?”

“Not yet,” Antuk said, not looking up from her work, “in a few months.”

Rajheem dropped his gaze to his hands, picking at the calluses that marked his left fingers.  He’d gotten used to the moonchild.  She was a friendly ear to talk to.