Sufferborn

by J C Hartcarver

  Dorhen had known transitional magic, though he might not have realized it. All of Wikshen’s previous incarnations had known it too. Dorhen and Wikshen shared this in common—an extraordinary coincidence.

  “I have great things planned for you, my friend,” Lamrhath went on. “Your presence with us was unexpected, but since you’re here, we’re going to make the most of it. I said it to Dorhen and I’ll say it to you: the more you comply, the better life will be. We have comforts and pleasures we mean to share with you as our brother, and in return we want you to share your talents with us.”

  Wikshen frowned and narrowed his brow, glaring forward.

  Lamrhath continued, “There is a man out in the Lightlands named Chandran who is doing important work, trying to find a sword I need. Chandran holds a high office in our faction. If and when he dies, I’ll install you in his place.” Though he waited, Wikshen showed no reaction. “You’re probably the greatest ally Ilbith could ever acquire. If anyone can get the sword back, you can.”

  Wikshen’s voice finally rasped out, “What will you give me?”

  “Oh? He hasn’t lost his voice to the sun. What do you want, my friend?”

  “Freedom.”

  “You’ll have it. We have to go back to the Ilbith tower soon, though we’re low on gold now, so you and a handful of others will travel on foot. You can walk freely. You can walk freely with entitlement, but I do need your support. I mostly do my work from the tower, but you’ll be my hand on the earth, won’t you?” He waited a few seconds for a rare response from Wikshen. “You’re free to grow your cult if you wish. But you have to agree that your cult, the Wikshonites, are now a branch of Ilbith. How about it?”

  “Open the window,” Wikshen said.

  “You don’t agree? I see… I won’t open the window. And I’ll take a candle away for tonight because I’m confident about you. You’ll have your freedom, but in the kingdom of Ilbith, freedom comes with a tax. Your tax will consist of a few oddball errands here and there. When I say bring me a sword, you’ll bring it. I’m thinking you’re the only one who can. Order your Wikshonites to carry out my silly requests and see if I care. What do you say?”

  “Open the window and let me die.”

  Lamrhath snapped his head downward. “See that brand on your side?”

  “The one which still burns like fire?”

  “Yes. It’ll produce a real fire if you don’t comply. We’ve been reading about Wikshen and his aversion to heat. But we won’t kill you with it. We’ll just set you on fire and put you out again and again.”

  Eyes locked forward, Wikshen sneered.

  “If you can’t be bothered to put in a little work for the governing faction, we’ll have some fun instead. And fire isn’t the only spell the brand can channel. If you do happen to incinerate, we’ll trap you in another holding sphere and store it in a pot of boiling water.”

  At Wikshen’s continued silence, Lamrhath moved toward the door. “You’ll change your mind. You’ll be out in the cold night air soon. If you like dark settings, you’ll think about your duty to Ilbith.”

  Chapter 24

  Her Broken Stone

  With pain stabbing her feet and back, Kalea trudged along the dirt road through the woods to the creek behind the convent. A typical day. She daydreamed of Dorhen as her chores stretched on.

  Her arm ached as if it would soon fall off from hauling the basket with its broken wicker twigs scratching her skin. What a terrible cloudy day, grey like her dowdy vestal tabard. She groaned at the basket full of dirty clothes. Pointless. By the size of the incoming black rain cloud, the laundry would never dry. She went through the motions, the rhythm of her life. Washing clothes to keep the never-ending cycle turning.

  She arrived at the stream, its bank already littered with old vestals wailing out tears, more like giant black birds than women. Nothing out of the ordinary. Kalea put some clothes into the water and went to work. One garment down. Without the need to look, she went to the next.

  The wind picked up. She sighed and continued to the next garment, scrubbing it against a rock. It never took long for her hands to grow sore. A huge gust of wind blew over her, taking her veils away. She grunted and grabbed a lock of hair from her face, not noticing the blood trail her fingers smeared across her cheek.

  Getting back to work, she gasped at the blood billowing under the water like the clouds in the sky. An odd shirt mingled with her laundry. Her heart rate increased when she lifted it out of the water by its shoulders. It was a man’s white undershirt, sopping wet and drenched in blood. Dorhen’s shirt.

  Blood blossomed at the side and dripped like thick milk.

  The old women’s wails grew louder and more grievous as Kalea added her own to the mix, screaming and wrenching the shirt in her two fists.

  And then she woke up.

  Twice, she had experienced similar dreams featuring a bloody shirt, and after the latest one, she awoke to the nightmare of living under Chandran’s command. In the morning, he untied her rope and used it to haul her down a couple of steep banks to a creek.

  “Strip,” he said. “And hurry with your bathing. I don’t have all morning.”

  He strode over and untied the rope from her wrists. “Don’t try to run,” he added as her eyes darted for possible escape paths. “If you try, I’ll beat you.”

  He smiled, and his eyes brightened. “I’ll give you the choice: magical punishment or physical.” What could be worse than using magic ropes to suffocate her?

  When the ropes were off, he stepped back. “Hurry up now. You stink.”

  She untied the knot at the top of her bodice and paused. “Are you going to watch me?”

  He crossed his arms. “Of course. Can’t have you escape, now can I? Besides, if you’re my thrall, you’ll learn to…do things while I’m around. We don’t have time for modesty.”

  She continued with the laces and refrained from asking if he planned to molest her eventually. It was easy to assume he would someday. Would that be the price of finding Dorhen and the novices?

  She shivered in the cold air as her kirtle dropped into a pool around her feet. Her thin chemise dropped next, and Chandran’s eyes darted straight to Dorhen’s moonstone hanging between her breasts. He stepped closer and reached for it. She reflexively slapped his hand.

  “Sorry!” she said, and shielded her face.

  He was glaring when she lowered her hands, his fist balled. He lurched forward and grabbed her hair, steering her to the ground and pinning her as she whimpered and whined.

  “Please! Don’t.”

  He choked her with one hand and lifted her moonstone to inspect it. When he released her throat, she sucked in a desperate gulp of air but immediately grabbed for the stone in his hands.

  “You want to die, don’t you? Or maybe you want something else, since you got us this far.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “That’s mine,” she said.

  “Who ever said my thrall could have personal items? What does this do, pretty?”

  She coughed. “Nothing. Well, it glows, that’s all. It’s sentimental. Please.”

  “It glows, huh?” He shifted his narrowed gaze to her. “You’re an interesting girl, aren’t you? Tell me, what do you know about magic stones?”

  “Nothing. I’m a simple vestal. Someone gave it to me. All I know is it glows.”

  He forced it over her head as she screamed and thrashed. “Relax!” He wrestled her arms down and lowered his face so close his sour breath wafted up her nose. “I’ll keep it for a few days to give you a little incentive to earn it back. You act like it’s important to you.”

  A smile curled at the edges of his mouth. “You said you were a vestal?” She swallowed and nodded. “Real cute. If it’s true…bet you never sucked a cock before, huh?”

  She didn’t want to show any reaction, but her eyes widened and her lungs stopped anyway.

  “Relax. For now, you’re working for this stone. Glowing isn’t the mos
t impressive thing I’ve seen a stone do, so I don’t mind you keeping it. But you’re still on the program, and after you pass you can have it back. Deal?”

  She nodded again. At this point, she’d have to find a way to escape without the stone, a necessary pain. She’d already given her shell bracelet away to Bowaen, and now this man had taken her last memento of the elf who loved her. Her virginity was more valuable than jewelry, and she intended to give it freely to Dorhen.

  Unable to control her pout, she began bathing as he’d ordered, choosing to sit on a rock and splash the freezing water on herself rather than immerse in it. Her lip quivered with grief and her teeth chattered in the cold. In her peripheral vision, a fresh green plant swayed on the other side of the river.

  Del! It was Del, he’d found her! He and Bowaen must’ve cared enough to look for her. His dark form showed through the patches of green, and Kalea caught a glimpse of his eyes. Then she realized she was naked. And he was looking at her. She covered her breasts with her bare arm.

  “What’re you on about?” Chandran roared, and stormed toward her.

  “Sorry, I—”

  “Hold on.” Chandran sniffed the air. Del always stank like his pipe smoke. Across the river, the bushes rustled as he crawled away.

  Kalea threw her arms around Chandran’s neck. “Oh, please!” she cried. “There’s a fox over there! Don’t let it bite me. Help me, Chandran!”

  He reared his hand back and slapped her across the face. With an echoing sound, the shock jounced her into the shallow water, and the freezing current rushed over her naked flesh. She was too rattled to rise yet, and the pain blossomed and spread across her skull. It took several long seconds to notice her disgraceful position, legs wide open, sprawled on the muddy river bottom. Chandran loomed, staring down at her. She closed her legs.

  “Don’t be stupid!” he yelled. “And remember to address me as ‘master.’”

  He turned and went back to his toil with his herbs and pouches spread out on a tree stump. Kalea remained sitting in the water, forgetting about the cold as she cradled her aching head. At least she’d prevented him from detecting Del.

  After that incident, Kalea tolerated Chandran’s routine. Bowaen and Del knew what had become of her, she kept reminding herself. They’d come for her soon. For now, her virginity remained intact, but as the days went on, the tension of if or when he’d decide to molest her tightened around her mind. He kept busy with his herbs, weapons, and meditation. He tied her hands less often, though his eyes remained constantly on her, and he flashed the stone around his neck as a reminder to behave.

  He spent a few hours one night trying to make it glow. “Someone swindled you,” he said. “It won’t glow. How do you make it work?”

  She lay on her side with the warded rope tied to one wrist, cradling her head on her arm. “I don’t know. I’ve never been able to make it glow.”

  Chandran laughed. “It must be cracked or something.” Squinting, he brought it closer to his eyes in the lantern light. He might’ve been correct, considering Dorhen had dropped it during the raid.

  Her imagination flaunted horrible images of Dorhen fighting those men and what must’ve happened after she left him. The chaos in the convent must’ve gotten pretty rough. She forced the fabricated images out of her head before emotion overcame her. Another possibility was the stone could’ve broken the moment she batted it out of Dorhen’s hand. Or…

  Chandran continued, “Or you got swindled.”

  The next morning, Chandran roused her at the earliest hint of sunrise. “I’ve got a lead,” he said. “Want to earn a visit with your broken stone?”

  She yawned and pushed herself up off the uneven, rocky ground. At least he had given her a blanket last night. “Yes, master.”

  She’d taken up the habit of doing little things like obliging to call him that, which pleased him enough to slacken her ropes or gain an extra portion of food. She had decided to be okay with his rules for as long as it took Bowaen and Del to rescue her.

  He opened his pack, pulled out a purple dress, and tossed it to her. “Put this on.”

  It consisted of two garments, a bodice and a skirt. The bodice’s sleeves were short and a slit divided the skirt at the side to show her leg. Long rows of beaded fringe were sewn in tiers to the hips. What humiliating thing was he about to make her do?

  Chandran held the end of a thin stick in the lantern’s flame. He scraped a knife blade along the charred edge and returned it to the flame for a few seconds. Approaching her with it, he seized her chin in his strong hand.

  “Sit,” he said, taking his own seat on a stump. Kalea lowered to the ground in front of him. “The best way to lose an eye is to struggle.” He tended to spout a lot of similar lines.

  Is that how you apply your own whore make-up? Oh, how she wanted to ask it aloud. She’d watched him smudge ash on his eyes a few times already. He went all around her eyelids with the smelly, scratchy stick, and followed up with his callused, unkind thumb. Forget about black, her eyes should be red by now.

  When he finished, he leaned back and observed his work, squinting. “Eh. You look fine, I guess. My standards exceed you, but I’d pork you in a pinch.”

  “Is that what you’re going to do?”

  She winced as he cocked his hand high. It didn’t spring. His flat hand turned to a pointing finger. “No. Now pay attention.” He bent over his things, put away the charcoal stick, and uncovered a large, gourd-shaped instrument with a long shaft and four strings from its canvas covering. “What do you know about dancing?”

  “It’s moving your body to music.”

  “I mean, what’s your experience?”

  “Vestals don’t dance. We’re not allowed to.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Follow my instruction. Push your hips to the right and hold it.”

  She obeyed, jutting her right hip out.

  “No, now you’re standing on one foot. Flatten your feet. Good. When I pluck this pipa string, swing your hips to the left—without raising your feet.” He plucked the same string repeatedly, and Kalea did as he ordered. “Roll your pelvis to the front. Good,” he said, “faster.” After a while, she got used to the rhythm. “Now roll to the back.” The change of direction jarred her, and he growled, but she picked up the slack and found the rhythm.

  Chandran stopped playing. “Now raise your arms and use them.” He bent one elbow at a time, covering his face with the back of his hand, and shifted to the other hand with a smooth, swooping motion.

  Kalea mimicked him, trying to get it right. He started playing again, and she worked to keep both movements going at once. “Tighten it up. Form! Think of your form.” Sweat beaded on her forehead.

  “Good. Here’s another move.” Putting the pipa down, he stood and put his hands on his hips. “Flick your ass muscles, one cheek at a time.”

  He demonstrated, and his hip did a sharp snap to the side. He alternated to the other side and back. He sat again. “Think of your muscle and snap it. Tighten and release as fast as you can.”

  She tried it. Her hip snapped successfully and managed to jiggle the rest of her too.

  “Concentrate it. Just your hip. One hip at a time.” She tried again and must’ve made progress, because a smile spread across his face. He started playing. “Listen to this note.” He played a high one and repeated it. “Snap your ass muscle whenever you hear this note.” She did. Keeping the rhythm proved harder with this move. “I’ll be inserting this note into the song, and you’ll snap whenever you hear it.”

  After a few more hip snaps, she dropped her arms. “This is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tried to do.”

  Chandran’s frown returned. “The men in the tavern won’t think so.”

  “Men in the tavern?” Kalea’s mouth went dry, and not because of all the exercise.

  “Yes, particularly Bowaen.”

  “Bowaen?”

  He balled a fist over his instrument. If not for the pipa, she might’
ve gotten socked for asking so many questions.

  “Your friend. The one with the sword I need—Bowaen! I project he’ll stop at the big tavern in Jumaire. If not, he’ll stop somewhere eventually, which’s what people do when on the road. You’re not only my thrall, you’re my partner. This is the kind of thing we’ll do according to our kingsorcerer’s divine requests. You’re going to dance, and he’ll see you, and you’re going to get him so randy and mesmerized, I’ll be able to do my work more easily. With the help of a few spells, your distraction should do fine. But first, we have to choreograph a dance.”

  “What if I don’t want to dance in front of a bunch of men?”

  He paused to stare. Another smile curled. His eyes perused her body. “I think I can find a way to punish you.”

  “If I’m your partner, how am I supposed to function the way you want when you keep threatening me?”

  “You haven’t passed the program yet. You think I’m stupid enough to trust you after three or so days?”

  She crossed her arms over her exposed stomach. “I told you, I have to follow the sword. I want to be with you as long as you get it. It’s my will.”

  “Sure it is, pretty. As long as you cooperate, we’ll get it. Now pay attention.”

  Certain of Bowaen and Del’s intended path, Chandran shoved a white-haired wig in the style of the Sharzian ethnicity on Kalea’s head, threw a cloak over her, and took her into the tavern in Jumaire, the town north of Gaulice.

  The upstairs loft looked packed to the point of bursting so that all the folk up there might pour down at any moment. Kalea stared at the packed crowd until Chandran grabbed her arm and jerked her to attention.

  “Wait!” she said. “I can’t dance in front of all these people. I’ve not practiced enough.”

  “Be silent and do as I say. Besides, this tavern gets a lot of greenhorns. These men will be more interested in your willowy body anyway.”

  He pushed down on her shoulders to make her sit on the stairs leading to the loft. “On my first note, you’ll slide out of the cloak and begin your dance.”