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286 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 28, 2007
The scent of Madrise’s soap was sweet in his braids from the night before. Too long since he’d regularly honored his family, his clan, and the warriors who taught him; it had ached. To whisper those names, to sing their deeds, their lineage, their deaths, it had ached, but the ritual had loosened the anger, eased the impatience.
“One day, Lik’ta, I know you will run through the tall grasses, dance upon the snow, eat the tiny spring apples from the trees. You will feel the Winds in your mane, and your songs will be sung over many fires, the drummers chanting your name.”
One long braid fell over his shoulder, laced with a single dark green stone and tied with a red silk. Long enough to just kiss the pages of the beloved book, it seemed almost metallic in the lamplight—copper wire plaited together.
One owner after another—good, bad, all the same. Life at Kasiik’s had been hard but stable. The horses were fine, the food reasonable. A’chaffa! He’d been whipped only on rare occasion, never harassed. Life had been tolerable. Then the head man had come out with the branding irons and announced the slavers were stealing slaves. Kade had fought, upending the bin of coals and attacking the head man with his bare hands. He wore his clan marks, he wore his scars. He would not wear the marks of a master.
A voice, dark and menacing, sounded in his head. "...to the mines, Kadras. Down, swallowed in the earth, no wind, no sun, no sky. Lost inside the body of the mother..."
His braids fell around him, twisted and matted. He could see the insects that traveled the long copper roads looking for patches of skin to make their home. It occurred to him suddenly that he did have a tribe that depended upon him—Kadras, the keeper of the tribe of lice and flies. That amused him, made him chuckle, made his eyes sparkle with something too near madness.