She nodded her head and bowed in
a gesture of respect. "I would be most honored."
"Very well, then, since you seem to know all about it..." Sorpiala said
mysteriously, and bowed in perfunctory fashion. Then before Si'Wren
could say a word, Sorpiala turned and stepped out still clutching
broken goddess wrapped in burlap.
Si'Wren turned away and looked at Nelatha, who was bent over her work
again, grinding and grinding with anxious energy. Nelatha's eyes looked
terrified and miserable.
"Do not worry, Nelatha," said Si'Wren. "Did she not say it was an
accident?" But Nelatha did not say so much as a word to Si'Wren.
After staring at Nelatha a moment longer, Si'Wren finally turned away,
feeling glum, and began to busy herself grinding a new batch of herbs
with the stone mortar and pestle.
Preparations for the caravan feast had already begun. Many of the
Master's fattest livestock were being shepherded into the compound by
their handlers to be slaughtered. Big iron cauldrons had been put on to
boil, for scalding the hides to scrape off the hair. Knives were
sharpened for killing, bleeding, and skinning the animals. By tonight,
all things would be ready for the big feast. But Si'Wren refused to eat
any of the meat, for it was a strange and barbaric new custom.
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