“Mhm.”

“Did that hurt?” Shalla asked, from behind Belili.

“No,” Belili lied.

“I’m trying to be careful,” Shalla said, continuing to move the comb through Belili’s hair, “but it is not easy. You have to take more care. A woman’s hair is her most important feature. You should grow it out more.”

Belili had imagined how that would look like before. Tala and Ninkar wore their hair long, but neither of them worked in the fields. The other women had advised her to keep it short. Looking too feminine too early could be dangerous even on a place like Zabu’s farm.

“It is inconvenient with fieldwork,” she said, keeping herself from wincing when the comb caught another knot or piece of dirt.

“Well, I do not think Master Jas’ar will have you work in the fields.” Shalla’s hands never stopped working. “It is nice to have another girl in the house. I hope this time the gods give me a daughter.”

Belili didn’t respond. The magus might have called her his apprentice but wouldn’t he change his mind once he learned of her failure? How would Gulan and Shalla treat them when the magus rejected her? What will happen to us if Zabu and the others are dead? She thought.

The sound of running feet interrupted her dark thoughts.

“Mother, mother!”

The boy from before came running into the room, holding a clay pot the size of his head against his chest.

“No running inside, Sabi,” Shalla chided. “Did you wake master Jas’ar with your ruckus?”

“No,” the boy said, his expression making Belili immediately feel sorry for him. He held the pot out to his mother.

“Put it on the table,” Shalla said. “I am not done with Belili’s hair yet.”

Sabi carefully placed his burden on the tabletop, before he circled it to take a seat on a pillow on the other side. From there he watched the women with eagerness in his eyes.

Why is he so interested in me? Belili thought glancing over at him.

“He wants to know if you are a real magus, right Sabi?” Shalla dropped the comb on the table and reached for the pot. “Please, turn around.”

Belili did as she was told, seeing that the boy had perked up looking at her expectantly.

“I am not,” she said. “A magus, I mean.”

Sabi dropped back on his pillow, the disappointment clearly written on his face.

“Master Jas’ar just made Belili his apprentice,” Shalla said, taking the lit of the pot. “She has to learn many things before she will be a powerful magus.”

“Like magic?” the boy asked excitedly.

Shalla dipped her index finger into the vessels and held it up for Belili to see. “Ointment against scratches and bruises. I swear, Gulan has to make another pot every other week just for our boys alone. It is the one thing I can send Sabi to fetch.”

While she began to apply the strong-smelling paste to the scratches on Belili’s hand, she gave her son a strict look. “You know what your father told you. A wise man must study many things.”

“Like what?”

Shalla winked at Belili, but the latter had no idea what answer the excited boy wanted to hear.

“The signs for one,” Shalla said. “A magus has to be able to read. And how to count. Of course, she must also learn about the gods.”

The boy’s expression made clear that he didn’t like that answer at all. Looking for hope he turned his eyes on Belili. “Does he make you sit down and learn before you are allowed to play, too?”

“No,” Belili said. “I do not know. I have not learned anything yet.”

The boy cocked his head. “You do not know any signs? Can you count?”

Belili shook her head. These weren’t things that were taught to farm slaves. Of course, she knew how to count with her fingers but that was all.

“Mother!” Sabi was suddenly excited. “I know a lot of signs. And I can already count to sixty. Maybe I can learn from the magus, too.” He was shining with enthusiasm.

Belili looked nervously at Shalla, afraid she would be blamed for her son’s new plans. The young woman didn’t look up but calmly continued to apply the ointment to the many bumps and scratches on Belili’s knees and hands.

The boy jumped up and tugged on her shoulder. “Can I?”

His mother took her time. Ignoring her son’s excitement, she finished with Belili’s second knee and gestured for her to let her tunic down again.

“Mother, please!”

Shalla closed the clay pot and rose, waving Belili’s offered hand off with a smile. “To become an apprentice, you must be at least twelve years old. How many years is that?”

Sabi let go of his mother’s dress and stared down at his fingers. His lips silently moved with the digits. “Six? In six years, I will be twelve.”

“A bit more,” his mother said. “Your sixth birthday is still quite some time off.” She handed the ointment to her son. “Now bring this back.”

“But the magus will leave again!” Sabi seemed quite distraught that his opportunity was going to disappear.

Shalla sighed. “If you study hard and listen to your father, he might send you to Saggab when you are old enough. They say there are magi in the city.” A little hope returned to the boy’s face but his mother quickly raised a finger. “But he will only do so if you do well in your studies. Your father has many brothers but your grandfather sent him because he was the hardest worker.”

Clutching the clay pot to his chest the dejected Sabi shambled out of the room. Looking after him, his mother shook her head. Then her attention returned to Belili.

“I’m sorry,” Belili said, unsure how to interact with the healer’s kind wife.

Shalla frowned. “What are you apologizing for?”

“…for upsetting your son?” Belili lowered her eyes. Her life had taught her that apologizing was the safest response if you didn’t know what to say.

“Oh, do not be foolish,” Shalla said, taking Belili’s hand in hers. “The boy listened to too many of his father’s stories. Gulan has been obsessed with magic ever since he returned from his studies in Saggab. He even built a shrine dedicated to Nemki in his workroom.” The healer’s wife shook her head about the foolishness of the men in her life. “Come. You can bring master Jas’ar his meal. I am sure Sabi has managed to wake him by now.” Holding on to Belili’s hand she guided her into the kitchen. “My father-in-law always says you must eat hearty to heal.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Stepping into the kitchen, they encounter Saras and Rani. The demure servant girl was quietly listening to Belili’s brother who was enthusiastically waving his hands to underline whatever story he was sharing.

“Rani,” Shalla said, interrupting Saras' wild tale, “Belili wants to bring Master Jas’ar his food. Saras, do you mind showing her the way to the workroom?”

“Of course, Shalla,” Saras said unperturbed by the interruption.

Rani filled a bowl with a generous portion of soup from a cauldron and placed it on a tray. She added a spoon, half a loaf of bread, a clay pitcher with beer, and a cup and handed the now heavily loaded piece of wood to Saras. The boy received it frowning.

“It is heavy,” the girl said, with a quiet voice. “You can carry it to the door.”

“Oh, sure.” Saras turned to Belili. “This way.”

They passed through the little courtyard and entered the building Belili had slept in. Halfway down the corridor, Saras stopped at a doorway. This one was closed with an actual wooden door and not a curtain.

“Here,” Saras said and handed the tray to Belili. Then he knocked at the door and stepped back. After a moment of silence, the door opened from inside and Sabi stuck his head out.

“It is Belili,” he said over his shoulder. “And she has food.”

“Ask her if she wants to come in,” Master Jas’ar said from somewhere beyond the door. “Maybe she will share with us.”

“You can come in,” Sabi said and opened the door all the way.

“Thank you,” Belili said. When she was about to step through the door, she noticed that Saras was about to follow her. She glanced back at him and slightly shook her head. I must talk to Master Jas’ar alone, she thought.

For a moment an expression of stubbornness flickered over his face but then he thought better of it and relented, turning away. “Come, Sabi, we will see if Shalla has any shores she needs us to do.”

The little boy showed his reluctance more openly. Probably not coming up with an argument, he looked hopefully back into the room.

“It is fine,” the magus said. “Go and give my thanks to your mother.”

“…okay.” With an expression of disappointment and betrayal, Sabi shuffled past Belili.

“Come on,” Saras said, ruffling the younger one’s hair. “Did I already show you my sword? I got it from an Epi-khmet warrior.”

“No!” Sabi perked up immediately.

Walking down the corridor, Saras waved his hand as if slashing with an invisible blade. “It is heavy and very sharp and even the hilt is cast from bronze.”

Sabi’s eyes widened as he hurried to keep up with the older boy’s longer legs. “Can I hold it?”

“We will have to ask your mother. She took it when we arrived.”

Are all boys the same? Belili thought, looking after the two.

“Are you not coming in?” master Jas’ar asked, startling her.

“I am sorry,” she said, hurrying inside as quickly as she dared, carrying the heavy tray.

The walls around her were lined with shelves filled with wooden boxes and clay vessels of all forms and sizes. The light came from a big window in the front that was covered with a curtain. Undyed it let the sun through while obscuring the view outside.

Master Jas’ar lay on one of two low cots that were placed on opposite walls in the front of the room. He waved her closer. “You can put it here.” He nodded towards a small table next to the cot.

Belili quickly did as instructed while the magus carefully sat up.

“Please, hand me the bowl,” master Jas’ar said. “The healer asked me to move as little as possible and while I usually never listen to their advice, I would feel guilty if he had to stitch up my leg a fourth time.

Belili handed him the bowl and the wooden spoon and then took a seat on a small stool next to the bed the magus pointed at. While he ate, she looked around. She had never been in a room like this before. There was nothing comparable on the farm. If she had to describe it, she would have said that it felt like the kitchen, the pantry, and Zabu and Tala’s room had been shoved into one. Of course, that description fell far short.

Bushels of different herbs hung from the ceiling to dry, filling the room with an aromatic smell. In one corner in the back stood a wide table that seemed to be Gulan’s workbench. There were mortars, bowls, a knife that looked like it belonged in a kitchen, and all kinds of other instruments Belili had never seen before.

Finally, her attention was caught by a modest shrine, on the opposite wall. At first glance, it looked similar to Tala’s. There were idols and bowls and plates with sacrifices. Something about this one was different though. She couldn’t quite say why her attention was drawn to it but for a moment she was unable to take her eyes off it.

“Go ahead and take a look,” Master Jas’ar said, without following her gaze. “But pass me the beer first.”

Belili filled his cup from the pitcher before carefully crossing the room. She glanced back a couple of times but the magus didn’t look up from his meal. Careful, as if afraid to disturb anything, she studied the simple woodcarvings that decorated the shrine and the little statues. It was the idol in the center that drew her attention.

“Who is this?” she asked, silently. “Is it the god Nemki?”

The low chewing noises behind her stopped. “You heard of him before?”

“No.” Belili looked over her shoulder. “Shalla said her husband had been very interested in magic ever since he returned from Saggab. And that he built an altar for a god called Nemki.”

“Is he now?” master Jas’ar murmured while cleaning his bowl with a piece of bread.

Belili reached for the idol. It was a simple likeness of a man with a beard holding a bushel of wheat in one hand and a fish in the other. Remembering the time she had touched the carvings on magus’ staff she hesitated just before her fingertips touched the clay. The memory of her thoughts drowning in a flood of voices was still vivid and she could feel a cold shiver run down her spine.

It took a small effort of will but she was able to pull herself away from whatever drew her to Nemki’s statue. As she turned back, she noticed that Master Jas’ar was watching her with sharp eyes.

“Interesting,” he said. “Can you tell why you are drawn to Nemki?”

How could I? She thought. Until today she had never heard of the god. At least not that she remembered. She opened her mouth to say just that but hesitated. Is he testing me? She had failed bitterly when he had sent her to call on the goddess Insu. I cannot fail again. He will throw me away.

“He…he is the god of magic?” she asked. She tried to remember Gulan’s words. “He is the one that made the sages.”

The corner of Master Jas’ar’s mouth perked up a little. “You listened well. That is good.” Nodding to himself, he gestured to the stool next to his cot. “Now that both of us had time to rest we can finally talk a bit. Tell me what happened out there with Insu?”

Obediently, Belili took a seat and told everything that had happened that night. How she had tried but failed to stand her ground with the goddess. While she described the moment her will had given away, she had to pause to fight back tears. She would never forget the overwhelming pressure of the goddess’s presence and anger.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up in surprise. Master Jas’ar patted her gently.

“It is overwhelming in the beginning but in time you will get used to it,” he said. “It will be like walking through a sandstorm or…,” he paused searching for the right words, “learning to swim. You need to get used to these forces and how to move in them. Your innate connection to the other site will only help you to adjust. If it does not drive you mad, that is. That is always a possibility.”

Belili whipped her eyes, relieved that the magus showed no sign of anger or disappointment. “What…what is happening to me? What happened when I touched your staff?”

The magus retracted his hand and began stroking his long beard. “At this point, I can only speculate but I am rather sure that you were born with an open third eye of some kind, enabling you to perceive the other side. Of course, these words are only man’s insufficient attempt to describe connections to whatever realm the gods reside in when they are not taking a manifested shape in front of us.”

“Like Insu when she answered my call?” Hanging on Master Jas’ar’s every word, Belili had spoken without thinking. For half a heartbeat she was afraid her interruption might offend the magus but instead, his expression showed a glimmer of approval.

“Even those close to the divine understand very little about it. Mortals are only one thing in one place,” he pointed at the floor between them. “Higher beings can manifest themselves in this world but when they are not, they seem to be more…stretched out. And so, a god can be in multiple households and temples far apart from each other.” He raised his finger, pointing at the altar.

Belili sat back. It was a lot to take in. On the farm, she had been taught what she needed to know to do her duty. She had learned the prayers to Urk and the other gods who ensured they had good harvests. On holy days, she sang the songs and performed the rites together with the other residents. It had been enough for a slave.

The world is so much greater, she thought. Everybody knew important men like priests and wise men – men like Gulan – had much more knowledge about the worship of the gods. It was where their power and authority stemmed from after all. What master Jas’ar is speaking of, this knowledge is not meant for the likes of me.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, it felt like a sin just listening to him. Like an affront against the order she had grown up in.

But I want to know more. I must. The intensity of the realization – the need – surprised her. Until now she couldn’t remember to have ever really desired anything like she did the knowledge the magus was sharing with her.

A sudden thought struck her. “Are you a god, too?”