If she understood the effects of a man desiring her, Ziva may

have never dreamed about the coming day when her father

would choose a mate for her. As she did not …

Ziva hurried down the long hall to join her father for dinner,

her pale blue silk dress brushing softly against her legs. Why

did I lose track of time in the bath? I did not need to dream of

the man father will choose for my mate. Tall and handsome will

be nice, like those boys Tawna and Kara gush about. I wouldn’t

know. I will go to the market with Tawna and Kara tomorrow.

I do so want to have a look at those boys. How will I convince

Father?

Ziva slipped into her seat at the small table in their private

dining room, breathing a sigh of relief. Father had not yet arrived.

She sat with her back straight, legs crossed at the ankle,

her right foot bouncing as she waited.

Orak, her father, joined her soon after. “I’m sorry to be late,

Ziv.” He strode into the room and took his seat. “Bram kept me

late, discussing problems with distribution.”

“It is fine, Father. I only just arrived.” Ziva smiled. “What

problems are you having with distribution now?”

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2

“The city leaders want to tax our sales. Nothing for you to

worry about. I’ll handle it.”

Servants unobtrusively served the meal. Ziva glanced up

and nodded her thanks to the man who sat her plate in front of

her, then picked up her spoon to eat.

“Tax the sales? Are they not taxing each step of production?

How greedy can they get?”

“I do not know, my dear. Korm’s girl, Tawna, asked about

you.” Orak nodded to the servants and spooned soup into his

mouth.

“Tawna? I haven’t seen her for some time. Was she at

Korm’s shop?” Ziv glanced up from her food.

“Tawna came to encourage Korm to hurry home. I was glad

of it, for I knew you waited for me. She is growing into a pretty

young woman.”

The two then lapsed into silence as they focused on eating.

Ziva thought about her friend. Though they once lived in

houses near each other and spent much time together, they did

not visit as often, now. When Orak and Ziva moved to this bigger

house, the girls were separated. They shared messages

through the day, making plans for a visit to the markets, which

was much easier for Tawna and Kara, who were not protected

as closely as Ziva.

“We have been invited to a party at Roven’s house next

week.” Orak interrupted Ziva’s contemplation.

“A party? At Roven’s? And I have been invited? Do you

think Tawna and Kara will be attending?” Ziva tilted her head

to the side as she peppered her father with questions.

L O S T C H I L D R E N O F T H E P R O P H E T

3

“I believe they will,” Orak said. “Bram mentioned he and

his family would be going.”

“I feel uncomfortable at those things, especially when I

don’t know anyone there.”

“Of course you do, Ziv. No one likes to be in a large group

of strangers. I will be there, too. You will not be alone.”

Ziva noticed the kind look in his deep brown eyes and remembered

how he had taken her to other parties and stayed

close, unlike some other fathers. Most of them left their families

at the edge of the party to seek out business cronies and city

leaders. Orak did not. He held Ziva’s small hand in his big paw

as they walked through the crowd, stopping occasionally to

visit with other merchants until they found Tawna with her

mother and sisters. Ziva begged to be allowed to stay awhile

with them. Orak bent to kiss her on the cheek and reluctantly

left her with her friends. He then returned soon to reclaim her

hand and walked with her to find food.

Ziva often wondered what it would be like to have so many

sisters. It must be nice to have a sister to share secrets with, but

Tawna had other opinions about sisters who were always there,

listening, and crowding her. Ziva supposed it was both bad and

good. She would never know. She had no mother, no brothers,

and no sisters.

She looked up at her father and smiled. “You are right, Father.

You are always there for me.”

He beamed at her, his dark eyes shone from his dark mahogany

face. She looked at his dark hands and arms, then down

at her pale pink arms. His eyes were dark, while hers were blue.

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4

His hair in tight curls, dark brown; she wore hers in soft honey

colored waves across her shoulders.

For the thousandth time, she wondered why she looked so

different from her father. But, now was not the time to ask. She

had tried before, but Orak became somber and melancholic at

the question. Ziva tried to stay away from that subject in happy

times. But, someday … someday, she would get her answer.

Ziva glanced at her father. “I look forward to joining my

friends at the party. May I join Tawna at Bram’s shop tomorrow?

She can help me purchase fabric for a new dress to wear

to the party.”

Orak looked up, his bushy eyebrows lowered. “And how

will Tawna know to meet you there?”

Ziva’s cheeks warmed as she stared at the table in front of

her. “She sent me a message.” She lifted her eyes and rushed

on. “I will be careful. If we are going to a party, I do need a

dress.”

“The seamstress can bring fabric for you to choose from.”

“I know that, but, Father, please. I do so want to go to the

market and visit with my friends. Please.” She stared up at him

through her long, light brown eyelashes.

Orak returned her stare, thinking. At last he replied. “I suppose

I can do without Com for a span or two. Would you

promise to listen to him, follow his orders?”

Ziva pouted.

“You know the market is dangerous for young women, especially

for young women whose fathers are wealthy.”

L O S T C H I L D R E N O F T H E P R O P H E T

5

She breathed heavily through her nose and flicked her eyes

away. “If I must.”

“You must, if you are to go at all.” Orak smiled.

“You will let me go? Thank you, Father.” She leaped from

her seat and threw her arms around his neck.

Orak gathered her close. “You may go, but you must listen

to Com.”

“I will. I promise I will.”

~ ~ ~

At the back of the house, buried in a huge copper kettle, Nat

wiped sweat from his face with the back of his hand, then

grabbed more cleansing sand and continued to scour the burnt

vegetables from the surface of the kettle. Cleaning pots gave

him time to think, and to remember.

Five years earlier, Nat became part of Qinten’s household.

The scullery needed a boy small enough to crawl into the

smaller kettles. He had been small and skinny then. In the years

since coming to the priest’s home, he had grown taller and

stronger, now able only to crawl into the biggest kettles.

Part of his strength came from wrestling the heavy kettles.

The rest came from Kenji. Nat remembered how the older scullery

boys kept the younger, smaller boys in place by beating on

them. Kenji took an instant and personal interest in Nat.

On his first day in the kitchens, Nat had not expected a foot

to be thrust in his path, and he tumbled to the hard, stone floor.

“Get up scrawny,” Kenji had jeered.

Nat had been warned when he arrived in Qinten’s kitchen.

“Beware of the older boys. They think they own the place,” one

A N G E L I Q U E C O N G E R

6

of the young men who brought him to the kitchen had hissed.

Nat wondered what he meant. Now, he knew.

Nat had been carrying his kettle toward the place designated

for cleaning. A hand in his back pushed. He stumbled. Fighting

back would not help this situation. Much as he disliked giving

in, he hated battles even worse. This was one battle he feared

would be forced on him. He turned toward his tormentor. A

bigger boy, covered with the grime of working in the scullery,

stood glaring at him.

“Hi. I’m Nat. And you are?” he said.

“Bigger and better than you.” The boy shoved at the kettle

held in Nat’s arms, knocking him off balance.

Nat regained his balance easily enough. His last owner had

been a drum maker and Nat had plenty of practice in balancing

large, awkward objects of every size.

“I see. You are bigger than me. Better? I doubt that.” Nat

turned to move in the proper direction when a foot reached out

to knock his feet out from under him and sending him sprawling,

the kettle banging across the floor.

“I was told you could manage kettles,” a big voice proclaimed,

reaching down to pull Nat up by the back of his thin

garment. “Falling does not show that ability.”

A red-faced man, obviously someone who mattered in this

kitchen, pulled him to his feet and bent to stare into his eyes.

He wondered about telling the real reason for his fall for half a

breath.

L O S T C H I L D R E N O F T H E P R O P H E T

7

“I usually can manage larger kettles, sir.” He lowered his

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eyes. “I am unfamiliar with this floor and must have tripped on

a rough spot. It will not happen again.”

“Rough spot? On my floor?” the man roared.

“Or something?” Nat whispered.

“Yes, something.” The man softened. “Pick up that kettle

and get it cleaned.”

“Yes, sir.” Nat quickly retrieved the offending kettle and

hurried toward the cleaning grounds.

Nat had been inside the kettle, scrubbing for a short time,

when he felt a tug on his foot. Thinking it may be the red-faced

man, he quickly backed out, to see his tormentor.

“If you think you can avoid a beating by sucking up to

Gowdy, you are mistaken,” the bigger boy had hissed and ran

off.

Nat shook his head and crawled back into the kettle. In the

short confrontation, he had learned two important things. He

knew the name of the red-faced man and he knew he needed to

protect himself from the bigger boy.

Over the next few days, Nat learned the most vicious bully

of the scullery boys had a name, Kenji. Kenji decided Nat was

his personal “project.” The next morning, Kenji waited for him

at breakfast. Before Nat knew what was coming, he had swatted

Nat’s bowl of food off the table onto the floor. Nat quietly

found a rag and cleaned up the mess, earning a smile from Liana,

the girl who had dished up the meal. He received nothing

else, only the smile.

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8

“Food is not to be wasted. You get only one bowl of breakfast,”

Gowdy had growled. “What you do with it is up to you.

If you want to feed the floor, that is your choice. You will wait

until the next meal for more food.”

Nat left the table area and walked to the scullery, found a

dirty kettle, and began to clean it. Later, he watched Kenji walk

through the scullery. Kenji’s more frequent assignment was the

task of turning the spit. When he was there, Nat felt safer traversing

the kitchen. He had managed to avoid Kenji for two

days. Then, while Nat sat with the other boys outside the cleaning

space behind the kitchen one evening, Kenji stood over

him.

“Think you can avoid me?” Kenji sneered.

“It was worth trying.” Nat looked away from him.

“You are wrong. I’m here and you will not hide from me.”

“Why? I do not like fighting.” Nat glanced up at the bigger

boy.

“Because you are smaller and deserve a beating?”

“From you?” Nat voiced his lack of concern with a shrug.

Inside he prepared himself. Would it be better to allow the beating,

or fight back? He had seen other, smaller boys, cowed by

this bully. They gave him their food and did his bidding. Nat

refused to do that. He needed his food to grow. He may be a

slave, but that was all the degradation he needed. No more. He

would fight.

Kenji must have believed Nat would sit and take his beating.

He stepped forward as Nat punched him in the stomach. Kenji’s

eyes widened as he fell back. Nat stood, legs apart and ready.

L O S T C H I L D R E N O F T H E P R O P H E T

9

Kenji regained his balance and began to rain blows on Nat. For

a time, Nat managed blow for blow. However, because he was

smaller and weaker, it was not long before he found himself on

the ground, curled in a ball, arms protecting his head. Eventually,

the beating ended.

Nat had never received another beating from Kenji, he remembered

with satisfaction. Though his bruises did not lighten

for many days and he limped a bit longer than that. Gowdy gave

instructions to the young men to be watchful of Nat. He was

needed to clean the kettles, and no one molested him while he

healed. He could not depend on the young men to protect him

all the time. It was up to him to protect himself.

He watched the other younger boys. Some wanted to be like

Kenji and did all they could to move closer into his circle.

These boys watched the other little boys and ran to tell Kenji

whenever the others did something Kenji didn’t like. Nat

marked these boys, making certain they didn’t know his plans.

As he healed, he spoke quietly with other younger boys.

These boys saw him as a hero. He stood up to Kenji. No one

else had. Alain was first to come, slipping to his side while he

cleaned, whispering encouragement. Other boys found their

way to tell him they were glad he stood up for himself. Nat

considered two plans of attack, while watching Kenji bully and

beat on other boys. He thought of leading a small group of

younger boys in the fight back, but he feared if he did that, he

would be perceived as a bully, as much as Kenji.

Rather than involve the other boys, Nat decided he could

handle Kenji on his own. He smiled at the other boys when they

A N G E L I Q U E C O N G E R

1 0

offered to help him “take down that bully, Kenji” and shook his

head. No. He would do this on his own.

He found a heavy, knotted stick and used it as a crutch, leaning

on it when walking. He hobbled around the scullery and

into the boys’ dormitory, as though he were weak and hurt. He

had dealt with bullies before. He knew to be prepared. It wasn’t

long before Kenji found him alone.

“Thought you could hide from me inside your kettle all the

time, did you?” Kenji snarled. “No kettle here. Where will you

hide now?”

As Nat had expected, Kenji brought his buddies to back him

up. Bullies rarely went anywhere alone.

“And you came with your girl friends,” he taunted.

Kenji’s face reddened beneath the grime. “I beat you to

nothin’ before. I can do it again.”

“Sure you can, with your back up choir.” Nat worked to ensure

Kenji was angry, so angry he lost control. He continued,

“You beat me before. I’m just a little guy. You think you can

take me on any time you want. Of course, you have to bring

along the choir, just to be sure I don’t beat you up.”

“Nah. I don’t need my boys to help beat you up. You’re just

a scrawny bit of nothin’.” Kenji’s anger began to show and the

volume of his voice lifted. “I’ll show you. Min, Drak, stay

back.” Kenji waved them back. “I can beat up this little piece

of nothin’ on my own.”

“You sure?” Drak glanced between Kenji and Nat.

“Of course, I’m sure. Stay back. I’m goin’ to stop the mouth

of this little boy.”

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1 1

Min and Drak stepped back. “If you say so, Kenji. We won’t

join in the fun.”

‘Good. That leaves only Kenji to deal with.’ Nat watched

Kenji ball his hands into fists and move forward, balancing on

the balls of his feet. No, not mad enough.

“Sure you can take care of this little boy, all alone?” Nat

taunted. “I am such a little thing. You are sure you can handle

me on your own?”

“Enough!” Kenji bellowed and rush forward, fists ready to

pound Nat down.

Nat leaned on his stick until he felt Kenji’s hot breath on his

face, then swung it out, crashing it into Kenji’s body with a

resounding “Oof” and a crash.

Kenji looked surprised, sucked in his breath, then lifted his

fists once more to beat on Nat. But Nat gave Kenji no opportunity

to hit him, knocking his hands back with the club. Kenji

ducked his head, obviously determined to hit Nat in the stomach

with it. Nat swept Kenji’s feet from under him with his

club. Kenji fell with a yell and a thud.

Nat glanced quickly toward where Drak and Min stood.

They had disappeared. He spun around, checking to be sure

they were gone. Drak had disappeared, but Min was trying to

sneak up on him.

Nat lifted his club and swept it toward Min, knocking him

in the head with a satisfying thunk. Min fell to the ground, making

no more noise. Nat allowed the club to continue swinging

him around, hitting Kenji again as he rose, prepared to attack

from behind.

A N G E L I Q U E C O N G E R

1 2

The club caught Kenji across the arm. Nat heard a loud

crack, Kenji dropped to the ground with a scream and cradled

his arm. Nat turned to be certain Min was still down. When he

was certain no danger threatened him, he walked to his dorm.

Kenji returned to the kitchen two days later. A rag tied

around his neck supported the arm, tied between two sticks.

There was little he could do in the busy kitchen to stay out of

the way. Gowdy gave him the chore of toting buckets of cleaning

sand to the boys who cleaned the kettles.

Min spent several days in bed before he finally returned to

the kitchen. Drak slipped into the background, staying far away

from the trouble makers. Within two weeks, Kenji and Min

were sold at the slave market.

Now, Nat felt someone pulling on his legs. “What now?” he

muttered, tensing as he backed out of the huge kettle. When he

realized he had been stuck in memories, he relaxed a little.

“Relax, boy,” Gowdy said. “Cook wants to see you.”

“Cook? See me?” Confusion filled Nat. “Why would Cook

want to see me?”

“Don’t know, but you’d better hurry in to the kitchen.”