I Who Am Called Little One

I WHO AM CALLED LITTLE ONE.


Under the blistering noon light of the sun, the caravan of horses raced
over that place of the painted desert where trees begin to grow amid the
dunes and the sands must give way to the grasses, and the painted desert
become the high prairie. Beside the lead horse, struggling to keep up was a
young girl clad in duwhitwhite cloths and ribbons. Her neck was encircled by
a leather rope which extended to the pommel of the rider of that horse where
it was tied. She hung onto the rope desperately and jogged alongside as they
went slowly along their way. The rider turned slightly to regard her with a
wicked glimmer in his wicked eye, his wicked eye of pure opal that he stole
from a witch.

“See slave,” said he, “see,” he said, “we pass the painted desert now into
the high prairie! Surely your Master has forsaken you now!”
“I who am called little one,” she replied curtly, before pausing for
breath, “am the most prized of my Master, and he shall come for me as surely
as the moon must rise.”

The rider snorted derisively and clucked his tongue, and they moved a
little faster obliging the slave to run.

Later, among the grasses of the high prairie, where a fire might be lit and
a tent raised, and the dogs might prowl about wary for danger, the menfolk
sat about drinking wine and throwing the ankle bones of goat. Their leader
turned to the weary slave who knelt beside and a little behind him, chained
to a stake driven into the ground.

“See slave,” said he, “see,” he said, “we rest easy beneath the purple
night skies that clothe the high prairie and toss between us the ankle bones
of goat. Surely your Master has forsaken you now!”
“I who am called little one,” she replied with a yawn, “am the most prized
of my Master, and he shall come for me as surely as hair come from your
large nose.”

The menfolk laughed, and tossed again the ankle bones of goat.

The next day and half of the day after they moved through the long grasses
of the high prairie, and keenly watched about for signs of lion. However,
the herds upon which they preyed were far north now, and they were safe from
lion. The clouds began to roll and run through the skies in the distance.
Far from here, the rains would soon drown the river. The lead rider turned
in his saddle and whispered low to the slave who snuck beside him, all quiet
and alert.

“See slave,” said he, “see,” he said, “even now we ware the slealthy lion,
who might by chance happen upon us and lo would we be much afeard though on
our swift horses not so afeard as you. Quiet though we be, we fear not your
Master for surely he has forsaken you now!”
“I who am called little one,” she hissed back, “am the most prized of my
Master, and he shall come for me as surely as a stalking lion would make a
fine meal out of you.”
Beneath the rising foothills and stone crags that ringed the mountains
which dominated that place, the horses picked their way carefully, watching
out for loose stones which might turn a hoof aside. All around them now was
stone, and all above and below them was stone. As they ascended and the
clicking of hooves upon stone turned to the soft sound of hooves upon snow
and it became cold in that place, still the slave jogged barefoot along side
and though her cheeks were red and tears in her eyes she did not complain.
Before she might freeze to death she was hurled across the great shoulders
of the lead horse and a fur thrown over her. Not struggling, she lay still
like nothing so much as a sack of grain. She felt a pat upon her fur covered
back, and it was the rider again.

“See slave,” said he, “see,” he said, “we are in the home of the great
shaggy men of the mountains, who are wild and untamed and rule this place.
We must go carefully or else they would surely be offended by our
impertinence and set upon us with their great stone clubs, and we would die.
It matters not that we go slowly through this place, for surely your Master
has forsaken you now.”
“I who am called little one,” came the muffled voice from beneath the fur,
“am the most prized of my Master, and he shall come for me as surely as the
great shaggy men of the mountain look down on you small creeping men of the
low places and permit you to come here only until they become bored and make
goblets from your skulls for sport.”

And after the wideness of the mountain, the snowy carpeted passes led in
certain ways surely down again to the wide fast river, already swollen with
snowmelt and awaiting the rains. Once there, they bartered and paid for
passage with the river people, who tended those banks for the long reeds
they chewed idly sometimes and wove into their long barges. The horses and
all they bore were loaded onto barges for a leisurely trip downriver. The
lead barge held the nut brown steed of the rider who stood now and calmed
the nervous beast with calm words and a stroking hand upon it’s nose while
they were carried by the waters. He looked over at the slave who knelt down
hugging her thin stomach and rocking gently, looking rather green.

“See slave,” said he, “see,” he said, “even now this mighty river carries
us far, far from the places we have travelled. Surely your Master has
forsaken you now.”
“I who am called little one,” she moaned, rubbing her stomach as she felt
queasy again, “am the most prized of my Master, and he shall come for me as
surely as the river must wind its course and be stayed from it by the hand
of no man.”

They came then to a certain place where buildings of stout wooden beams
were hung about by silk cloth for walls, and were as light and cool as air
but still strong enough to vex the very wind. The brightly coloured place
was awash with movement and noise like unto the crashing of a mighty sea as
the silken cloth rippled and snapped under the whipping wind. The men took
rode their horses through that place all the while looking about in
wonderment at it, for surely it was a marvellous city and wondrous to see.

“See slave,” said he, “see,” he said, “all about us the marvels of this
silken city, we are now so far from the place of your birth that we might as
well have travelled beyond the moon and stars, surely your Master has
forsaken you now.”
“I who am called little one,” she replied distractedly, taking in the
wonders all around, “am the most prized of my Master, and he shall come for
me as surely as this silken city does writhe in the wind.”

On they went, over the paved road which led from that place, their horses
glad of firm ground to step upon. Beside them were golden fields and
pleasant meadows that basked in the sun. Bobbing up and down in the long
wheatgrass were the darker heads of farmers, sowing here or reaping there or
digging a channel for water. The lead rider tugged on the rope casually held
in his fist and the slave leashed to it struggled to run up beside him that
she might hear as he spoke.

“See slave,” said he, “see,” he said, “what peace and comfort all around,
and how far we have come from the painted desert. Soon the rains shall come
to feed these fields and wash away the slightest of our tracks. Not that it
matters, for surely your Master has forsaken you now.”
“I who am called little one,” she said with a sniff, “am the most prized of
my Master, and he shall come for me as surely as the rains shall not wash
from you the stench of your own wickedness.”

And the rains did come. As they left that place the rains came mightily,
far more mightily then in recent years. The fields were quenched and the
earth groaned with water. The horses struggled through the mud and the
steaming warm fog. Before them on the road a tall shadow of grey emerged
from the mists and bid them hold. Throwing back his cloak, a man of great
wrath was revealed who made war on those men there, and did fight them.

And in the steaming wet sticky hot mud, the rider was unseated from his
steed and knelt bleeding before the victor of that fight, clutching at his
bitter wounds. The slave cried out in pleasure and rushed into the waiting
arms of the one who had stood in the road, and was carried up into his
embrace and covered in kisses. Spitting upon the head of the bandit who had
learned the difference that day between the taking and the having of a
thing, she spoke then to him.

“I who am called little one,” she said with a broad grin, “am the most
prized of my Master, and I knew that he would come for me, as surely as he
would never forsake his faithful slave.”

And with that she was taken back, back through the silken city and back
along the path of the wide river gorged with rain, and bacroacross the snow
carpeted passes of that mountain place where a wise man treads slowly, and
back across the high prairie to where the painted desert stretches into
forever.


END.