The Story of Kalima The Precious

[Kalima al-Ghaliya]

"Many people take for granted that which they have in life. To have a knowledge of your parents, your birth home, and more is a wondrous occurrence. I, on the other hand, find this to be lacking in my own life. Where I was born, who I was born to, the family I come from...all of it is as blank as a painter's canvas. For as long as I can remember I've been Kalima al-Ghaliya, property of Aydemir Mehmet who is a Spice Merchant. Sold to him, as he told me when old enough, by my parents who could not care for me. Perhaps the first memory that comes to mind is me, perhaps in my sixth summer, feeding the horses. Anything before that seems...well not to exist. As if I did not exist before then... Though that is impossible, of course. I had to have came from somewhere, no? Ah, I think too much perhaps.

Aydemir and his family treated me kindly enough. My quarters were with the other 'servants' within their household. A rather spacious building off in the back that housed two large rooms with six servants to each. They, of course, separated us by gender as to avoid any...shameful behavior. The Kasbah was located just a weeks ride outside Marakes. It was not a large familial stronghold by most standards though Zehra, one of Aydemir's women whom he honors with the title Wife, says that at one time it was larger and has been in Aydemir's family for many, many centuries. We were allowed a freedom to roam, fed well, taught in certain aspects as far as basic reading and writing, and even taught a craft. Most of us did not desire to leave for we came there when children and the only home and family, in a sense, that we'd known.

Upon occasion I am cursed with...nightmares. A fellow servant, Demir, suspected they were vague memories of my former life, but if so then I'd wish for them to remain locked away. Screams, steel upon steel, the red shade of blood...and crying...a child's cries...which never failed to wake me from a sound sleep. I refused to speak of them except to Demir. He was a friend, almost a brother, for he'd been there as long as I. We were both practiced in the craft of Weaving. Most of the men learned a more strenuous trade, but due to an illness as a child Demir's body was weak and unhealthy. Each day, from sunrise to sunset, we worked. Sometimes weaving and other times doing chores for Aydemir's household.

I'd always been a quiet person, more prone to listening than speaking, to obey as taught when younger, and never questioned...anything. Until the incident...it started with these nightmares, for I remember Aydemir wielding a sword and it made me question how he came by me, but got worse when one of his son's, Hasan whom was five years older than me, tried to accost me on my way home from market in one of the alleyways. I...did something that I had never before. I disobeyed...for he told me that as property of his Father I belonged to him as well and it was my duty to serve in any way requested...and fought back. I've never been one for violence yet this was different. I sought to protect myself. I kicked and clawed, and did my best to scream- though found that impossible as he struck me in return many times in the face- and eventually found my freedom when I managed to grab his own dagger. Without even thinking I shoved it into his shoulder and listened to Hasan's scream of agony...felt blood on my hand...and ran for all my worth. My first thought was to go home, to explain to Aydemir what had occurred and apologize for my behavior, yet...

Well, I knew before I even got out of the city that I couldn't. Growing up I'd seen many times what Aydemir did to servants whom dared to harm one of their betters. Death was a blessing, begged for after weeks if not months of torture, and I knew without a doubt that would be my fate. Still injured from Hasan's hands and afraid to return home, I camped in the wild...though it was more as if being lost...and cannot recall how long I was out there. When they found me I was barely alive, so I was told, due to lack of food and drink, and the battering of the elements. Who are they you ask?

The Aswad. A group of bandits and outlaws. Most escaped slaves over the ages it seemed. I was taken, instead of left to die, to their dwelling- a kasbah in relatively decent condition long abandoned. Having gone to trade goods with some others they'd stumbled across me, literally, and due to her status, Nazli- being of higher rank due to deed and sister of their leader Kadir- ordered me brought back. Of course, my first week or more there is a blur due to my condition. As I got better though they explained to me that I could join them or leave. I realized I had a choice...I could stay, take the opportunity that was the exact opposite of all I'd ever believed in growing up, and live...or I could refuse and die either at the hands of nature or Aydemir's men.

That was less than three years ago. I yet live to write this so clearly...I chose to stay. My training in the ranks started out low, a simple servant to do as told, and progressed fairly well. My resistant to violence eventually faded, part of my training being with various weaponry. For my first true experience out in the fray I was to take part in a raid on a small stronghold- a familial dwelling- where all my innocence fled before my brown eyes. I was on duty of setting up hand cannon stands and fire them during the chaos, and after aided some of those skilled in healing to tend the wounded- ours and theirs. Those who survived were taken back as prisoners along with what we looted...and one was a girl child- barely three years of age- who had a heartshaped face and frightened eyes. We held the sweet one, Ceyda, for ransom for weeks. Her Father had owned the stronghold we'd raided, and escaped alive with some men, and part of me thought the man would pay and she could return home. He didn't. The response was less than satisfactory and angered Kadir. Nazli later explained that they never actually killed their prisoners, instead accepting them into ranks if money isn't paid- for why waste what could be used?- and the letter told them to kill the child.

Cruel. Hateful. I never though to hear a Father say that of his own child yet the man had. Kadir led a group of men days later and returned in weeks. The man murdered and his coin ours. Ceyda was put into my care though considered the child of Kadir and Aarya, his wife, and time continued to pass. My skill in battle is more than efficient now, though could still use improvement in some areas, and I've been on so many raids I've lost count. Riding on horseback, without a saddle, I adapted to quickly though and frequently use it to my advantage in fighting. I still occasionally travel into Marakes to trade goods- weaving a skill that I'll never give up, and have met with Demir upon once or twice- and on the second visit brought him back with me. Where his condition seems to slowly improve through the care of Nazli. I'm always careful though, keeping my dark brown strands covered along with my face, and the few times I've come close to being caught by Hasan's men, Aydemir having apparently passed of an illness, have managed to escape due to my tiny stature. I am only roughly 5'6 and of a small yet willowy build that allows for quicker movement. Tiny spaces are easy to maneuver. If all else fails? Well, I always have my trusty Kilij and dagger. Nazli says that I am close to being able to someday lead my own raids, but only once Kadir feels I am ready.

We are not always kind and good, we do things that still at times make me feel shame, yet I am alive and that is what matters..."