This is the Journal of Mykal - slave, warrior, restorer of the wonders of our ancestors.  Pretty much in that order. Some day this journal will be worth ten pounds of salt as the world seeks to know what led to my future greatness, but for now it is my little secret.  I say that I am destined for greatness, because my god, Com Durak, has always gifted me with understandings that have spared my life time and again.  Surely such visions are from the master of all that mortals create?

Granted, my serf-mother, Kree’Stan, worshipped Keifieh, but she was always prattling on about such idiot notions as “freedom” and “liberty”.  What is freedom to one who’s mind is in bondage to ignorance?  Or, what is liberty to one who is free only to die alone and thirsting?  I am but a slave, certainly, yet I have earned liberty from my honorable masters.

And who am I to curse my masters?  The Elders of the tribe of Sarkil’Kai spared my life, though my own birth tribe was wiped out by their mighty warriors.  I do not curse the Sarkil’Kai anymore - there is little water and many who want it, and the strong and quick-witted survive. In fact, I no longer even remember the name of my birth Tribe.  I pray in thanks that Com Durak graced me with Inspiration that I might survive and even thrive among my captors.  Moreover, my serf-mother was a sorceress, and as you may have guessed, she taught me to petition certain Djinn for the power to do a few things others cannot - things that help slaves survive their slavery more or less in comfort, of course, and easily hidden.

But I digress.  I am starting this journal on Day 1 of my journey, of my Bonding.  I have been tattood with my Bond, and set out into the world to find my fellow Bondmates.  Some will one day ask why I was not at the Gathering and did not leave in the company of my Bondmates, and that answer is simple:  I am a sorcerer.  Not a good one, however.  I was mastering the art of speaking with animals, which I think will come useful in the year to come, but failed to pronounce the Word of Power correctly.  The word-rune is difficult until mastered, and I think I spoke the word-rune for ‘idiot’!  That’s humor, for the reader who is slow on the uptake.

Anyway, I was unconscious for hours. When I came to, fortune had not smiled on me.  Some of those accursed young men of the tribe of Chiv’Ran, may their pumps be forever empty, found me unconscious and thinking me drunk, dropped me into an old well.  By the time some passing merchants found me, my Bondmates had been gone for a couple days.  I am not certain the Elders quite believed my story, but discovering that I had been selected for the Bonding was equally unbelievable.  Of course, Com Durak surely guided whatever lottery contraption the Elders use to pick those selected for the Bonding Year, so I should not have been surprised.  But to imagine me, a mere slave, now tribeless and free in body as well as spirit!  Amazing.

I think I saw them ahead at dusk, on the horizon, so I imagine I will catch up to the rest of the Bonding by late morning tomorrow.  I can’t wait to meet those who will be my brethren for the coming year.  I wonder if any of them will recall that I am a slave?  That is acceptable.  Just so long as they don’t find out I’m a sorcerer…