Cursing wakened her. It was the violent cursing of savagery and hatred. She felt too lazy to open her eyes.
She recalled the inexorable approach of the man in black coming up the valley on a line as straight as the arrow of time. She recalled his touch, her fevered response. She felt the sun on her naked shame. She flew up, wrapped herself in discarded clothing.
Mowfik belabored a fallen tree with his axe, cursing steadily.
He blasphemed both Karkur and the Lord of the Disciple. She scrambled into her clothing, frightened.
Exhaustion stopped Mowfik. He settled on the tree trunk and wept. Narriman went to comfort him.
"It's all right, Father. He didn't hurt me. He shamed me again, but he didn't hurt me." She put her arms around him. "It'll be all right, Father."
"Little Fox, he took Misr. It wasn't you this time."
IX
Narriman changed, hardened, saddened. The Narriman of Wadi al Hamamah would not have recognized her. That Narriman would have been terrified by her.
Mowfik took her to see Al Jahez. The captain was properly outraged. He set his men to scouring the country. He sent an alarm across the kingdom. He appealed to the Most Holy Mrazkim Shrines for a Writ of Anathema, and for prayers for the Lord's intervention.
"And that is all I can do. And it's pointless. He won't be seen. Those who serve the Masters come and go as they please."
"Can't somebody do something?" Narriman demanded. "How long has this been going on? How many women have had to suffer this?"
"It's gone on forever," Al Jahez said. "It went on throughout the age of Empire. It went on before the Empire was bom. It'll go on tomorrow, too."
"Why isn't it stopped?"
"Because no one can stop it. One of the Emperors tried. He sent an .army into the Jebal. Not one man returned."