"The Hand of Friendship"
Written by Faanshi (June 1999)

	In the last weeks of the winter of 3904, the mighty armies of the
Khalid Atar made their way through the Empyre, waging war upon the 
Children of the Air. Great were the number of the Varati hosts -- and 
great the might of the dark-winged Hawk of Heaven, as he called down his 
power upon the heads of the denizens of Lycenae, in an unforgettable 
display of divine wrath.
	Among such a host a single young shudra was barely worth notice,
even one brought to the attention of Khalid Atar by his own adopted 
daughter, even one who displayed healing talents. Just as unworthy of 
general notice -- at least once the Atarvani had completed the task of 
burning his mind bare -- was a Mongrel man. But two things were held in 
common by the shudra Faanshi and the Mongrel once known as Thomas, now 
known as Murako: they had been given to Kiera Khalida. And they had both 
been abused. Never mind that their sufferings had come from entirely 
different hands, for entirely different reasons. As a new morning 
dawned, no one else seemed to take much notice of the form of the broken 
man huddled by the small embers of the campfire in the heart of the 
Khalida encampment; even Kiera stayed only long enough to bestow upon 
the naraki his new name, before departing on the duties she performed in 
the service of the Amir-al.
	Her new winged mistress had extended a hand of compassion to her. 
And thus did Faanshi, once captive of Clan Sarazen and now free servant of
Clan Khalida, feel moved to try to do the same for the man now called Murako.
	She had never before seen a man like him -- though to be sure, 
Faanshi had seen very few men in her sheltered, sequestered life, before 
Hashim of Clan Sarazen had abruptly spirited her off on their march to 
war. Men, in her small and barely begun store of experience, did not 
speak to her with something like respect, something almost like 
kindness, and unmistakable eloquence. Nor did they stare into firelight 
with haunted eyes, pain lurking just behind their faces... and cause 
that wild power within her, the magic that sometimes mended and 
sometimes marred and which had caused the Warlord Hashim to permit her 
to live, to roil in queasy reaction.
	But Faanshi did not have long to try to reach out to this strange 
man who had been thrust into Kiera's keeping, for she soon discovered 
that her heart-mother Ulima was ill that morning... and even as she and 
Murako strove to make the venerable old Ushasti woman comfortable by the 
campfire beneath Kiera's tarp, one of the Lions of Fire soon arrived on 
the scene, and the women and the naraki could do naught but attend to him.
	The Agni-Haidar did not stay long to partake in the warmth of 
honeyed tea and the campfire; surprising neither the wise-woman Ulima 
nor the shudra Faanshi, the warrior was soon on his way, called to the 
duties awaiting him in the vast army crossing the territory of the 
Empyre.
	Nor could Faanshi linger overlong next to the fire, not unless it 
was done while carrying out duties of her own. More mobile than her 
heart-mother, younger and stronger, she had the strength to go where 
Ulima could not through the course of that day, carrying herbs with 
which to barter and messages from the Ushasti woman to the herbs' 
recipients, bringing back armfuls of clothing to be mended or other 
items in need of repair. In the midst of Clan Khalida, so much larger 
than Clan Sarazen that Faanshi could still scarcely comprehend that she 
had a position within their ranks, there was always something for a 
shudra's hands to do. And so Faanshi worked, while attending to her 
ailing, aged kinswoman, worrying to herself over Ulima's condition, not 
daring to try to call up her magic to try to soothe her, not when she 
was uncertain of her ability to do the old woman good rather than harm.
	In the midst of Clan Khalida, too, there was always work for a 
naraki. With Kiera gone to attend to her own duties -- mostly mysterious 
duties to the shudra who now looked to her as mistress -- there was no 
one to give fitting work to Kiera Khalida's new slave. But not for long. 
Soon enough, with word from Kiera that Thomas might be sent to work 
wherever Ulima saw fit, the old priestess sent Faanshi on queries around 
the Khalida encampment. And soon enough, work came looking for the big 
brown-haired, brown-eyed Mongrel. The Nabi Jhonan himself came to fetch 
Murako away, promising to find labor fitting for a man of the Mongrel's 
size and strength.
	Faanshi watched them go, troubled, and not knowing why.
	And wise Ulima, ever alert to the need to properly teach the mind 
of a guileless maiden, beckoned Faanshi to her and said, "Daughter of my 
heart, I sense that your own heart is heavy for this Mongrel man. Tell 
me what your thoughts whisper to you of him."
	Since none were in sight to stay her tongue or to cause her eyes 
to turn to the earth, the shudra gazed upon the old priestess, saying 
softly, "He is in pain, heart-mother. When I look upon him, my hands and 
ears ache, and I can think of nothing save that I must touch him and 
make the darkness behind his eyes go away, for it does not seem right 
that it should be there."
	"You uphold well the sixth of the holy surahs," approved the 
Ushasti woman, pleased by the maiden's compassion, "but the Atarvani 
have seared his soul, my child, and the power within you will not soothe 
the fire of the priests of the Amir-al. You will not help him, and you 
may harm yourself, if you try."
	"But... why would the Atarvani hurt him?" Faanshi wrung her hands,
disturbed. "Do you think that he is a bad man? Has he sinned against 
Khalid Atar, like the Warlord Hashim?"
	Many long years had Ulima lived; many men had she seen and known, 
both bad and good, sinful and righteous. More than one maiden, too, had 
she seen seek insight into the inner nature of a man. The aged wise-
woman had seen much in the eyes and bearing of the Mongrel Murako, but 
knew that a noble countenance could oft conceal the basest of souls. And 
so she advised Faanshi, saying, "We have only just begun to know this 
naraki, dear one. The Atarvani have put him through their holy flames; 
why this was done is not our place to question. But if we obey the fifth 
surah, if we are wise and watchful, we will learn whether he is a good 
man or a bad one, and whether he has been broken by the priestly 
fires... or born anew, his soul cleansed and strengthened."
	The shudra hearkened unto the words of her elder, and at last, 
resolution blossomed in her innocent breast. "I wish to help him... but 
heart-mother, if I cannot use my magic... I do not know _how_."
	Ulima smiled, for although Faanshi could not yet command the magic 
in her blood, the wise-woman knew that this child whose very name meant 
'refuge' spoke with the voice of a healer. "Then follow the counsel of 
the surahs, and follow the counsel of your heart -- and there are many 
ways to mend what has been broken, Faanshi. Perhaps what pain the hand 
of magic cannot ease, the hand of friendship can."

	She had never had a friend before, Faanshi thought to herself as 
she lay wakeful in the middle of the night. Before the Warlord had taken 
her to war, before the coming of Kiera Khalida, there had been only 
Ulima to look upon her with kindness. Now, though, the Most High had
claimed her for his own Clan, and it seemed to the halfbreed maiden that 
she should be especially dutiful, especially mindful of the need to
serve her new mistress with honor, to show her gratitude for the mercy
of the Amir-al... and the friendship of Imphada Kiera.
	The new naraki, too, would need to serve Imphada Kiera with honor.
	Thinking of Murako, Faanshi arose from her sleeping place to peek 
forth from the shelter of the tiny tent. She could see the shadowed form 
of the Mongrel man lying huddled by the embers of their campfire, and as 
she peered with anxious eyes through the darkness, there came to her 
ears the softest of moans. The sounds of dark dreaming were foreign to 
the maiden, but she heard pain within that hoarse whispered cry. And 
thus she veiled herself, stepping forth into the night.
	The firelight was weak and wan, but the shine of the moon and the 
stars illumined the naraki in his slumber, curled and shivering beneath 
the thin blanket he had been given. As Faanshi knelt beside him she 
could see strain in his furrowed brow and his tight-closed eyes, and for 
all that she could feel no itch upon her palms nor pricking in her 
sword-sliced ears, still she knew that she beheld suffering. Thus the 
maiden fetched her own coverlet, and with shy and gentle hands she 
tucked it about the Mongrel's prone form, hoping that new warmth would 
ease his repose... and breathing a prayer to Ushas that it would be so.
	Perhaps the Lady of the Dawn heard her supplication, for soon 
Murako grew still again, his features relaxing. Relieved, Faanshi crept 
back into her tent, back to the side of her sleeping heart-mother. Now the 
young shudra was content... and hopeful.
	The Imphada Kiera had come into her life to deliver her from the 
Warlord -- and a boon unsought had it been to find a friend. A precious gift 
indeed it would be, mused Faanshi as she willingly embraced slumber of 
her own, to have two.

End.