“My high lord said I would be treated well here.”

“And so you are, harsha. But for his word, you would have been driven off like a diseased dog.”

“I am being driven off in other ways.”

She snorted, and handed another bowl to her daughter-in-law to dry. They began to talk together, laughing over some silly thing one of the children had done.

“I would like to wash,” I said, furious, interrupting their conversation. Another law broken.

The house-owner’s wife turned slowly, and looked above my head. She was white-lipped with fury “When my lord comes home from supervising the mine,” she said, “I will tell him of your insolence.”

“And when my lord returns, I’ll tell him of your hardness towards me.”

“It will be your word against ours, harsha. And your word is worthless.”

“My word is not worthless,” I said. “I am the Firelord’s handmaid. He will protect me.”

“You’re not a handmaid!” she spat. “You’re not even a woman. You’re a sop, a favour to keep the Quelled hordes happy, to keep peace in the mines that threaten revolt. By having a Quelled handmaid, our high lord flatters the slaves, indulges them, soothes them into thinking they have some kind of worth. And we Chosen pay. But for his sake we suffer you. For peace, we suffer—”

“You lie!”

“Oh, do I, harsha? You flatter yourself if you think he protects you. He protects the peace, that’s all. He’s gone now to send messengers to all the other towns, to all the Chosen, to tell them to be tolerant of you for the sake of peace. He safeguards our Chosen right to own the mines and control the Quelled. He safeguards our power. He does not protect you.”

In our rage we looked into each other’s eyes. I came close to striking her. Before I did, or said something I would regret, I grabbed my fur cloak and left the house.

I went up the rocky slope behind the houses, past the old stone toilet house, and over a steep ridge to a small valley. A river flowed through the valley, rapid and cold. I went down to the water, stripped and washed, standing thigh-deep in the icy flow. I was shaking before I started, from outrage and anger; soon I shook from cold as well, and my body went white and numb. I dried myself on the hem of my woollen outer garment, dressed, and pulled my heavy woollen sleeves down over my frozen hands. My fingers were so numb I could hardly lace up the front of my outer dress, and the wind whistled in the gaps and froze my flesh.

I went for a long run, jumping over stones and tussock grass, until feeling crept into my feet again, and my breath made quick mists on the sombre morning air. But I felt no better, and anger still burned in me about what the woman had said.

Far from the town I sat on a smooth low rock, took off my sacred sign, and looked at the human eye engraved on it. It symbolised his inner eye, his divining power. The eye glimmered and winked and seemed to mock me, and in sudden anger I picked up a pointed stone and scratched my family sign across it. I made the circle, outside the iris of the eye, and I scratched deeply the waving lines going outwards all around. Somehow the two signs combined, his and mine; they made a harmonious design, defeating my purpose. I put the sign about my neck again, and sat gazing along the valley.