Ashia reached up, touching the lush, oiled hair she had cultivated for a lifetime, in hope of pleasing her future husband.
Melan caught the look. “Enjoy the touch, girl. It will be your last for some time.”
Her cousins gasped, and Shanvah put her hands to her head protectively.
Ashia forced herself to let go, dropping her hands to her sides, drawing a calming breath. “It is only hair. It will grow back.” Out of the corner of her eyes, she watched her cousins calm as well.
“Amanvah!” Melan called, and a girl Sikvah’s age came forward. She was too young for a woman’s curves, but her eyes and face were much as the Damajah’s.
Ashia felt a wave of relief. Holy Amanvah was their cousin, firstborn daughter of the Deliverer and Damajah. Once, they had been as close as Asome and Asukaji.
“Cousin!” Ashia greeted her warmly, holding her arms out. It had been years since she had last played with Amanvah, but it did not matter. She was their blood, and would help them in this strange and unfamiliar place.
Amanvah ignored her, refusing to meet Ashia’s eyes. She was years younger and inches shorter than Ashia, but her bearing made it clear she considered her cousins beneath her now. She moved with liquid grace, stepping around the girls to face Melan, meeting the nie’Damaji’ting’s eyes boldly for a Betrothed.
“Here to study pillow dancing?” she smirked. It was common for young women, mostly from poor families, to be taken into the palace for pillow dancing lessons before they were sold to the great harem. Some were returned to their fathers, brides that could bring a fortune in dowry.
Melan nodded. “An hour each day. And an hour of singing. Another at writing, and a fourth to bathe.”
“And the other twenty?” Amanvah asked. “You cannot mean they will be granted the Chamber of Shadows.” Ashia’s skin goosebumped at the name, and she struggled not to shiver despite the hot air.
But Melan shook her head. “The other twenty, they will study sharusahk. They belong to Enkido.”
There were gasps from some of the other girls, and even Amanvah’s face lost its smug look.
Ashia suppressed a snarl. She was blood of the Deliverer. Enkido was but half a man. She might have to obey his instruction, but Nie take her before she think herself his property.
“Shave them, and teach them the bido weave,” Melan said.
Amanvah bowed. “Yes, Nie’Damaji’ting.”
“Thank you, cous …” Ashia began, but as soon as Melan left, Amanvah turned away. She snapped her fingers, pointing to three of the older girls, who immediately went over to Ashia and the others, leading them to the water.
Amanvah went back to a group of other girls, resuming an idle conversation and totally ignoring Ashia, Shanvah, and Sikvah as the nie’dama’ting cut away their beautiful hair and shaved their heads. Ashia stared forward, willing herself not to feel the loss as her heavy locks fell away.
The nie’dama’ting came at her with a cake of soap and a razor next. Ashia froze as the girl lathered her scalp, wielding the blade with expert strokes.
Amanvah returned when they were finished. Kept her gaze above their heads, letting none meet her eyes. “Dry off.” She pointed to a pile of pristinely white, freshly folded drying cloths. “Then follow.”
Again she turned away, as Ashia and the others dried off and followed their haughty cousin back to the dressing area. Behind trailed the same three girls who had cut their hair.
Amanvah walked past the many rolls of white bido silk to a lacquered box at the far end of the chamber. “You are not dama’ting.” She threw them each a roll of the black silk from the box. “Unworthy to wear the white.”
“Unworthy,” the older girls echoed at their backs. Ashia swallowed at that. Betrothed or not, they were blood of the Deliverer, not some common dal’ting.
Enkido was waiting for them when they emerged from the baths with thin, black silk scarves and robes over their bidos. Shanvah and Sikvah had stopped weeping, but still they clutched at each other, eyes on the floor.
Ashia boldly raised her gaze to meet the eunuch’s eyes. She was blood of the Deliverer. Her father would cut off more than this man’s cock if he dared lay a hand on her. She would not be afraid.
She would not.
The eunuch paid her no mind, staring instead at Sikvah, who shook like a hare before the wolf. He made a sharp, dismissive gesture. Sikvah only stared, uncomprehending, beginning to weep once more.
Enkido raised a finger sharply in Sikvah’s face, causing the girl to gasp and stand up straight. Her eyes, wide with fear, crossed as they watched the finger.
Again, Enkido made the dismissive gesture. As if his finger in the air alone had been supporting her, Sikvah bent again, sobbing harder. This put Shanvah over the edge as well, the two of them clutching each other as they shook.
“She doesn’t understand what you want!” Ashia cried. She couldn’t tell if the eunuch was deaf as well as mute, for he did not look at her.
Instead, Enkido’s hand whipped out, slapping Sikvah’s cheek so hard her head struck Shanvah’s and they were both driven hard into the wall.
Ashia was moving before she knew it, interposing herself between the eunuch and the other girls. “How dare you?!” she cried. “We are princesses of the Kaji, blood of the Deliverer, not camels in the bazaar! The Shar’Dama Ka will see you lose that hand.”
Enkido regarded her a moment. Then his hand seemed to flicker, and she was launched backward, an odd tingling in her jaw. She heard more than felt the rebound of the rock wall as she struck it. The sound echoed in her head as she struck the floor, and she knew pain would soon follow.
But Shanvah and Sikvah needed her. She put her hands under her, struggling to rise. She was the eldest. It was her duty to …
Her vision blurred at the edges, then darkened into black.
Enkido, Shanvah, and Sikvah were in the same positions when she woke. It seemed a mere eyeblink, but the dried blood caking her cheek to the marble floor told another story. The girls had stopped crying, standing with their backs straight. They watched her with terrified eyes.
Ashia managed to push herself up to her knees, then rose shakily to her feet. Her face throbbed with more pain than she had ever known. Rather than terrify her, the feeling made her angry. Perhaps he might strike them, but the half-man would not dare kill them. He was just trying to make them afraid.
She set her feet, daring once more to raise her gaze to Enkido. She would not be so easily cowed.
But the eunuch did not acknowledge her at all, simply turning away and walking down the hall, beckoning them with a wave.
Wordlessly, the girls followed.
Enkido stood before the three frightened girls in a large circular chamber lit only by dim wardlight. Like the rest of the underpalace, the floor and walls were stone, cut with wards and worn to a smooth polish by generations of use. The wards on the floor were arranged in concentric circles, like a marksman’s target.
There were no furnishings save myriad weapons hanging from the walls. Spears and shields, bows and arrows, alagai-catchers and short melee knives, throwing blades and batons, weighted chains and other weapons Ashia could not even put a name to.
They had been forced to remove their robes again, placing them on hooks by the door, standing in only their bido weaves.
Enkido, too, wore only his bido. It was barely a strip of silk, for of course he had no manhood to cover. His muscular body was shaved smooth, covered in hundreds of tattooed lines and dots. It was a chaotic design, but Ashia sensed a pattern that was just beyond her ability to discern.
There was a riddle in them. The Riddle of Enkido. Ashia had always been skilled at riddling games. Riddles were taught to girls at a young age, that they might keep their husbands entertained.
The mute Sharum took a sharusahk pose. The girls looked at him blankly for a moment, but as his eyes darkened, Ashia took his meaning and assumed the same pose. Sharusahk was forbidden to dal’ting, but A
shia and her cousins had been taught dance as well as riddling. This was not so different.
“Follow him,” she told the others.
Shanvah and Sikvah complied, and Enkido circled them, inspecting. He grabbed Ashia’s wrist hard, pulling her arm straight as he roughly kicked her legs farther apart. She could feel his grip long after he let go and turned to Shanvah.
Shanvah cried out and hopped from the loud smack to the meat of her thigh, and then Enkido took the stance again. No fool, Shanvah was quick to resume her imitation. She was closer this time, but Enkido kicked her legs out from under her, dropping her to the floor. Sikvah jumped back at that, and even Ashia let her pose slip, turning to face them.
Enkido pointed at her, and that simple gesture made her heart stop. Ashia resumed her pose as Sikvah continued to back away. Eventually she fetched up against the wall and did her very best to sink into it like a spirit.
Once again Enkido took the pose, and Shanvah was quick to scramble to her feet and mimic him. Her feet were set correctly this time, but her back was not straight. Enkido grabbed the strands of bido silk that connected the weave around her shaved head to that covering her nethers. He pulled hard, pressing a thumb into Shanvah’s spine. She cried out in pain, but was helpless to resist as he pulled her back straight.
Enkido let go and turned toward Sikvah. The girl was backed against the wall in terror, hands covering her nose and mouth, eyes wide and tearing. The eunuch flowed smoothly into the pose again.
“Pose, you little fool!” Ashia snapped when the girl did not respond. But Sikvah only shook her head, mewling as she tried to shrink away farther into an unyielding wall.
Enkido moved faster than Ashia could have thought possible. Sikvah tried to run as he came for her, but he was on her in an instant, yanking her arm to turn the momentum of her attempt to flee into a throw. She cried out as she tumbled across the floor to the center of the room.
Enkido was there in an eyeblink, kicking her in the stomach. Sikvah was thrown over onto her back and hit the ground hard. There was blood on her face and she groaned, limbs limp as fronds of palm.
“For Everam’s sake, get up!” Ashia cried, but Sikvah didn’t—or couldn’t—comply. Enkido kicked her again. And again. She wailed, but she might have been crying to a statue of stone for all the eunuch took heed. Perhaps he truly was deaf.
He didn’t appear to be trying to maim or kill her, but neither was there any hint of mercy, or sign that the onslaught would end if she did not rise and take the pose. He paused after each strike, giving her the chance to rise, but Sikvah was beyond comprehension, crippled with fear.
The blows began to accumulate. There was blood running from Sikvah’s nose and mouth, and another cut at her temple. One of her eyes was already beginning to swell. Ashia began to think Enkido truly might kill her. She glanced to Shanvah, but the other girl stood frozen, staring helplessly at the scene.
So fixed was the eunuch on Sikvah, he did not notice as Ashia dropped her pose, sliding silently to the wall. Sacred law forbade her or any woman to touch a spear, so she selected a short, heavy baton, banded with steel. It felt good in her hand. Right.
Years of dance told in the grace of her swift and silent approach, as she carefully kept unseen at Enkido’s back. When she was close enough she didn’t hesitate, swinging the baton hard enough to shatter the eunuch’s skull.
Enkido seemed not to have noticed her, but at the last moment he twisted, putting his littlest finger against her wrist. Ashia barely felt the feather-touch, but her swing missed Enkido’s head by a wide margin. His calm eyes met hers, and Ashia knew then he had been waiting, baiting her to see if she would defend her cousin.
Sikvah lay forgotten, a quivering mass of blood and bruise.
He would have killed her, Ashia thought, just to test me. She bared her teeth, pulling back and swinging again at his head, arcing her blow in from another angle.
It was a feint, and she spun before Enkido could react, moving to smash his kneecap.
But the mute eunuch was unsurprised, again sending her blow out wide with only the barest touch. Again and again Ashia swung the baton at him, but Enkido blocked her effortlessly. She felt a mounting fear at what he might do when he decided the lesson was over and struck back.
A moment later she learned, as he caught her wrist with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, twisting. The hold was delicate, but Ashia’s arm might have been set in stone for all she could move it. Enkido’s other hand wove around her arm, a single hard finger poking her shoulder joint.
Immediately Ashia’s arm went numb, falling loosely to her side as Enkido released it. What had he done? She did not feel her fingers lose their grip on the baton, but heard it clatter to the floor. She looked down, willing her fingers to clench, her arm to rise, but it was futile. She cursed the limb for its betrayal.
Enkido lunged at her, and she instinctively raised her other arm to shield herself. He jabbed a finger, and that arm, too, fell to her side. She tried to back away, but he struck again. Just a tap, and her legs would no longer bear her weight. She collapsed in a heap on the floor, head rebounding off the stone like the clapper of a bell.
With an effort she rolled onto her back, her vision spinning as she watched Enkido stalk over to her. She held her breath, determined not to cry out as the final blow came.
But Enkido squatted at her side, reaching gently to take her face in his hands, as comforting as a mother’s touch.
His fingers found her temples and pressed hard. The pain was beyond anything Ashia could have imagined, but she bit her lip till she tasted blood, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her scream.
The fingers tightened. Ashia’s vision narrowed, then began to blacken at the edges. A moment later, sight vanished entirely. For a few moments, there was a swirl of color, then that, too, fell away, leaving her in darkness.
Enkido let go the hold and rose, moving away toward her cousins.
She knew not how long she lay there, limp, listening to their cries. But then the shrieks and whimpers fell away. Ashia wondered if she had passed out, or the others had. She strained her ears, hearing gentle sighs, steady breathing, and a soft rustling.
A golden pall came over her vision like a sandstorm, and she began to make out vague shapes. However the eunuch had blinded her, it seemed not to be permanent.
Experimentally, she tried to clutch her numbed fingers. The jolt through her arm had little effect, but already it was a far cry from the seeming death of the limb minutes ago.
She could see the vague shape of the eunuch carrying one of her cousins off. Another was still lying nearby. Shanvah, she realized when her sight began to sharpen. The eunuch returned and carried her off as well. Ashia was left alone in the center of the room, twitching and struggling to control her slowly wakening limbs. Every thrash was agony, but so was her feeling of helplessness. And that, she would fight to the death.
The eunuch returned to her, a large blur of dark against the field of gold. She felt him lay his hand flat upon her bare chest, and held her breath.
Enkido pressed hard, compressing her lungs to force that breath free. When Ashia tried to take another breath, she found herself unable. He held her that way for a long time. She jerked and thrashed, trying to get her limbs to obey, to strike at him.
Still he held, and at last Ashia had not the strength or control even to thrash. Her slowly returning vision began to darken again.
Back to sleep, she thought, almost with relief.
But then the eunuch eased his hand slightly. Ashia tried to take a breath, and choked. Her lungs still could not expand fully. But she could take a short breath, and did. It was sweeter than any breath she had ever taken, but it was not enough, and so she took another. And another.
She found a steady rhythm in the short breaths, and again her vision began to return, her limbs to reawaken. But she did not thrash, focused solely on those fluttering, life-giving breaths.
And then E
nkido eased his hand once more. She was allowed a half breath, and accepted it greedily, again finding a steady rhythm to compensate for the missing half.
He raised his hand again, laying it gently on her breast. Ashia took a full breath, and knew it was his gift to her. No pleasure of her life could match the perfection of that single breath.
Then he pushed slowly down again. Ashia went limp, letting him force the air from her lungs. He raised his hand a moment later, and Ashia breathed again. For several minutes, she let him guide her breaths. After struggling so mightily for air, this was complete rest, letting Enkido breathe for her.
She thought that she might fall asleep to that soothing feeling, But he took his hand away, and began massaging her temples, tending the very spot he had brought such agony upon.
Ashia’s return to sight increased rapidly now, the haze before her focusing into the eunuch’s muscular form. Ashia had never before seen a man without his robes and knew she should lower her eyes, but the tattoos on his body called to her once more. The Riddle of Enkido.
The eunuch’s skillful fingers moved from her temples to her still-numb arm. There was a tugging feeling as he worked, but she could not feel his touch on her skin. But then there was a stab of pain that made Ashia jerk. She whipped her head around, seeing Enkido massaging a tiny bruise on her shoulder. An almost perfect circle of purple flesh where his fingertip had struck.
The pain faded quickly, spreading out into a gentle feeling of pins and needles as Ashia’s limb came fully alive once more.
He turned slightly, and Ashia caught sight of a tattoo almost identical to her bruise on the eunuch’s shoulder.
There were others on his temples, right where he had squeezed Ashia. Her eyes flickered over his body, following the lines that connected the points. There were many convergences, some great and some small. Enkido next moved to a bruise on her lower back. She twisted to better see, but she had already seen its tattooed mate on Enkido’s back.
The Skull Throne Page 8