Still he shook his head. “I cannot do it. There is another to whom I...” His voice trailed away to nothing when he realized he was saying the wrong thing to her, his eyelids dropping.
Gods, he is a dullard, she thought to herself with annoyance. She resisted the urge to comment about the person he had almost referred to, and narrowed her eyes at him, forcing him to feel her will. “Do not disobey me."
She noticed a flurry of activity at the entrance of the temple, and Sibias emerged, his appearance clearing a passage between the assembled guards, servants and courtiers. Many of them had not seen him in his sorcerer's mantle, that which empowered and revealed his darkest powers.
"Be quiet,” she said to Hanrah, holding her son by the sleeve, turning her attention to her favorite as he approached. “Well?"
Sibias bowed his head and smiled at her, his eyes glowing. “Your will is done,” he said. “The empress is being prepared.” He glanced to her side and frowned, observing Hanrah, who struggled like an untrained hound in her grip.
Others watched too. Mehmet saw that it was time to take action. “Guards, stoke the temple fires in readiness for our offerings."
Sibias's eyes lit. “The first, as we agreed?"
Mehmet hesitated only a moment. Since Hanrah's forbidden courtesan was what seemed to be ailing him, it seemed the logical thing to do. If he were gone, Hanrah would have nothing to fight for. Right now, she needed him, even if it meant temporarily stamping the passion out of him to get her way. He had to learn. This was one way. “Yes, do it."
Sibias clapped his hands over his head.
Glancing to her right, Mehmet saw her men working steadily at Hurda's wall, stoking the fires there. The flames in Hurda's hungry open mouth leapt high. The assembled crowd moved back, afraid. Screams issued from beyond the entrance. A pair of guards entered, hauling a struggling figure between them.
Hanrah broke free of her hold when he saw who it was that was being brought in. “Kazeen,” he shouted.
Guards blocked his path to the prisoner. He looked back at her, his expression frantic.
"Say goodbye to your friend,” she instructed.
He shook his head vigorously. “Please, no."
"I need to make a sacrifice,” she said in a weary tone, secretly amused at his sudden turnaround.
"Not Kazeen, please.” He was quite desperate.
Would he do anything to save his lover? An idea occurred to her. Why not keep the slave a while, in order to manipulate her son. “What would you do to save him?"
Hanrah frowned, apparently fearful of saying the wrong thing. “Whatever you wish, Mother."
Mehmet smiled. “Agree to the marriage, and I may allow him to live."
Hanrah's frown deepened. “Promise me that if I do this thing, he will be spared."
She disliked promising something she had no intention of doing. She gave a deep sigh, rolling her eyes. “All right then, I promise.” She gestured to the guards who held Kazeen. “Take him over there. Where we can all see him.” Under her breath, she murmured: “We might as well have everyone and their lovers present and accounted for."
The guards moved the struggling slave in front of the gallery, stationing themselves either side of him, pushing him to his knees between them. Hanrah stared across at the slave, his expression woebegone. Mehmet snapped her fingers at him and pointed at the throne. He took his place without saying a further word.
Sibias had observed the whole procedure with amusement, but once Hanrah was seated, he gestured toward the door. A further scurry of activity ensued, and the sound of a horn announced the arrival of Elishiba. Mehmet took her place alongside her son, sitting to observe the entrance of Ramsis’ daughter.
All eyes watched as the figure covered in a voluminous veil slowly entered the room, a hum of high expectation going around the crowd. Several angry shouts issued from the gallery of prisoners, only to be hushed by guards. Mehmet glanced over, saw that blood had been drawn on the warrior Xerxes’ neck. Amshazar, however, seemed strangely still and watchful, as if unperturbed by his situation. It made her curious but she dismissed it, turning her attention to Elishiba, watching with anticipation as she moved into the room.
She expected some amount of resistance from the Empress Elishiba, who had seemed so determined to have her voice heard the day before. Instead, Elishiba was silent. Her outline was strangely contained, apart from her feet as she stepped into room. Was it Sibias's special incense that had made her this way, or something else? Mehmet frowned. The veil she wore obscured her features, which meant she could not read Elishiba's mood. She wished she hadn't insisted on the veil after all, since she had only decided upon it to impress the courtiers who watched on. It was nothing but a nuisance.
Elishiba seemed not to move her head, not even to glance around at her surroundings or to look for her people. On first entrance to the temple visitors were usually shocked, for the effigy of Hurda was frightening, and many disliked the smell of burnt flesh, which sometimes resulted in fear-filled screams, retching and vomiting. There was no such reaction from Elishiba.
"Get on with it,” Mehmet declared to Sibias, uneasily, rising to her feet. She grabbed her son by the shoulder of his wedding coat and hauled him back onto his feet.
"There will be no marriage until the agreed negotiations are fulfilled.” Elishiba's voice rang out across the temple, calm and clear, projected for all to hear.
Several of the courtiers chuckled with amusement at her audacity. Others gasped in astonishment. Mehmet was somewhat startled. She expected screams of indignation, yes. An attempt to run, perhaps, but not this unearthly calm sense of purpose that emanated from the solitary figure before them. She looked at Sibias, who seemed perplexed as well. With her free hand, she reached for the comfort of her pendant, for it always reassured her. Elishiba had made her uneasy, with her self-assured air of control, and she drew strength from the restless jinneyah within.
It helped.
"Sibias, indicate to the Empress Elishiba that she and her people are subject to our will now."
He nodded, shifting his shoulders, lifting his arms in readiness. He began to chant his sorcerer's tongue.
Mehmet leaned forward, licking her lips in anticipation. This was going to be good. Sibias moved his arms, undulating them, and from his fingertips drops of liquid fell to the floor where they shimmered and grew, changing into the shape of serpents. Screams of horror came from the crowd.
Mehmet smiled with pleasure. Sibias's creature of choice was the snake, for he admired its cold power. Soon there were as many as twenty or thirty large serpents at his feet, writhing in amongst each other.
Sibias weaved his arms and pointed them in the direction of the daughter of Ramsis. The serpents moved under his spell, slithering across the floor of the temple toward the lone figure. Mehmet waited for the daughter of Ramsis to scream, cower and beg, but she stood her ground. The snakes were closing on her fast, and shouts of outrage emanated from the gallery area where the prisoners were held.
Mehmet was annoyed at the lack of spectacle. “Sibias, she has been overly drugged by your incense."
The snakes were almost upon her feet when Elishiba finally moved. She pushed back the veil, and put her hands out toward the apparition that Sibias had created. Mehmet stared in dismay as rays of white light poured out from the palms of her hands, creating a barrier around her, which the serpents moved along but apparently could not breach. They slithered around the halo of light she had created but could not break in.
Sibias roared with rage, sending out more serpents, until a pile of them encircled her, as high as her knees, but still she did not falter, her eyes glowing with certainty that she held them at bay.
Mehmet cursed loudly. “She uses sorcery!"
Elishiba slowly lowered her hands and as she did the light dropped and the snakes melted away into the floor.
Sibias roared with fury. His hands fisted in the air and he closed on her. Elishiba lifted one hand an
d pushed him back with a powerful beam of white light centered upon his chest.
Mehmet gritted her teeth with frustration. The daughter of Ramsis had secret powers, how annoying was that? Her hand closed on the amulet at her breast.
Elishiba seemed to notice that and frowned at her. “Negotiate,” she declared, again.
"Never,” seethed Mehmet. Damn the woman, she thought to herself. If Elishiba knew sorcery, she would battle them at every turn. That was not what she wanted. Elishiba could clearly equal Sibias; she would not be forced. Mehmet was thoroughly angered by the turn of events and wanted done with her, this young woman who so blatantly opposed her. She would offer Elishiba as sacrifice, her and her people, and claim her country anyway. There was only one way to do it. She yanked the amulet from its chain, pulling the stopper from it in doing so. A desire akin to lust roared up inside Mehmet as she watched this most longed for moment. “Pretty spells are as nothing compared to the power I own,” she cackled.
Oh yes, there was hesitation and concern in Elishiba's expression now, for the amulet had spun into the air, bursting free of Mehmet's palm. Purple and white vapors poured out into the atmosphere before her. The vapors shot high, almost to the ceiling of the temple, and around her voices lifted in concern. Within the purple mist a figure had begun to form.
Mehmet peered, her eyes narrowing as she tried to see what her jinneyah looked like, this thing that she had held close to her breast for so many years, this powerful thing that she alone owned.
A sound like a great yawn emerged from the mist and, as it evaporated, a tall and mighty woman could be seen standing there. Her breasts were bare, a simple swathe of fabric hung around her hips held in place by knot at the front. Her skin gleamed. It was the color of aged parchment, her eyes almond-shaped and slanted up at the outer edges. Her upper arms were strongly muscled and encased in copper bands, as were her ankles. Her feet were bare, apart from rings on her toes, and her wild black hair spooled down her back to the floor. She grinned at the assembled crowd expectantly, at once fearsome, bawdy, and warrior-like.
"Greetings.” She spoke in a strangely accented voice. “You are my owner,” she added, and pointed down at Mehmet, leaning down to examine her.
Mehmet took a deep breath, a heady thrill running through her as the awesome jinneyah recognized her for what she was. “Yes, I am your owner."
The jinneyah smiled, slyly. “Allow me to grant you three wishes, owner."
Excitement ran in Mehmet's veins. She glanced over at Elishiba, beautiful, magical Elishiba. She hated her, wanted rid of her. She was more of an obstacle than a key. Now that the jinneyah was truly hers, she would gain control of Aleem through her power, instead. “Jinneyah, my first wish is for you to destroy my son's betrothed ... and make sure it's a painful death, why don't you."
The jinneyah bowed her head, smiling as if in anticipation. She opened her mouth and began to sing a peculiar song, her hands weaving together in front of her as if to guide the notes on the atmosphere. The assembled crowd looked on, mesmerized, as the sound filled the temple, a curious and unsettling tune, until within it the sound of a long and painful scream emerged.
Mehmet looked at Elishiba with anticipation, but she was still, her gaze averted elsewhere, which led Mehmet to the horror of the sight before them. In front of the prisoner's balcony, the slave boy Kazeen writhed on the floor in apparent agony, his fingers clutching at his throat and belly, blood pouring from his mouth onto the floor.
"Kazeen, no!” Hanrah shouted as he launched himself across the temple.
Mehmet's head snapped back toward the jinneyah. She had ceased her song and stood by with her arms folded beneath her bare breasts. “What is the meaning of this? I instructed you to kill my son's betrothed."
"I have done your bidding, owner. This is the person to whom your son considers himself betrothed."
Mehmet looked back to where the jinneyah pointed, at the slave boy Kazeen, now lying still on the floor, her son beside him wailing with grief, blood staining his clothing.
"That is not what I meant,” she cried out, confused. This was supposed to be about her gaining power. The occurrences here today were driving her to madness.
Hanrah lifted his head at the sound of her voice and shouted across the temple. “You should have known I had betrothed my heart to him."
He stood to his feet, blood dripping from his hands. He glared at her with an expression she had never before seen, one that shocked her to the core.
"I will never forgive you for this. I would rather be left in the desert without water than be your son, I curse you, mother of mine, you and every evil bone in your body!"
Horrorstruck, Mehmet saw the truth. He'd changed. He'd turned. She looked to Sibias, whose image floated strangely before her eyes. Faces stared at her all around, Hanrah's expression mirrored over and again. She backed away, broken by the unfamiliar look of retribution in her son's eyes.
* * * *
Elishiba watched the unfolding scene with both fear and caution. Her legs were shaking, her mouth dry.
As Mehmet slumped into her chair, her eyes clouded. Events had taken a strange and unexpected turn.
Elishiba's gaze flitted around the place as she tried to keep everyone within her sights. Hanrah seemed fixed where he stood in the center of the temple, staring at his mother in disbelief, blood dripping from his hands. The young man to whom the jinneyah had directed her power must have had been his secret lover, Elishiba realized, the one Amshazar had mentioned.
Sibias stood by; at first apparently thrilled by the sight of the loosed jinneyah, his mood had quickly turned with the tide of events. He looked as if he was about to take action. Beyond him, in the prisoners’ gallery, she sensed Amshazar was watching him too, as he had been all along. Amshazar's power and support had poured into her since she had entered the temple, even before. He guided her all along, and she had cautiously bided her time, waiting for the right moment. And apparently it had come.
Mehmet had used one wish, but now she was weak, losing sight of her purpose, her goals shifting all the while as she tried to find her path. Her guards and courtiers were growing restless, although wary under the awesome presence of the jinneyah. Now was the time for Elishiba to take action. But how? The question raced around her mind. A simple spell, Amshazar had said. She needed to take advantage of the Jinneyah's remaining wishes. But the Jinneyah answered only to her owner. Elishiba's mind whirred on. She could barely breathe, for the tension in her body was so acute. All around her emotions flared: fear, horror, fascination, disgust, curiosity. The whole gamut of human emotion poured out of the souls within this temple, those who had witnessed the strange things that had gone on. The jinneyah stood by, chuckling darkly to herself, patiently waiting to see what her owner said next.
How can I control this? The question echoed within, and as it did Mehmet let out a great moan of frustration, her fists slamming down on the arms of her throne. As she lifted her chin and let the wail of frustration out, Elishiba saw the way.
She looked at Amshazar. Their eyes met across the crowd. He nodded at her.
Mustering every bit of emotion inside her, Elishiba drew upon the love she had for the people who waited for her to see them safe. She rolled the emotions over and over until they grew huge, a power welling within her that she could use. When she felt it was large enough, she tapped Amshazar's vitality into it to further enhance it, and then pushed the force out across the temple.
Light flared across the gap between her and Mehmet. Mehmet's head dropped back against the headrest of her throne, and her mouth opened wide.
Elishiba mouthed the words she needed her to speak. “Jinneyah, my second and third wish is for you to return to the amulet, and for you to take me with you."
Mehmet's body shuddered. Her head was fixed back against the chair, her neck stretched and her mouth gaping as the strange garbled words spilled out. The Jinneyah roared fiercely and stamped her foot, anger spilling from her. Th
e sound rattled the very walls of the temple, dust and plaster falling around the room.
Sibias shouted his objection, hurling himself at Elishiba. She moved to avoid him, but a huge flash of light obscured her vision and then she saw that a figure blocked his way. It was Amshazar. He had broken free when she needed his protection and held back Mehmet's acolyte with splayed hands.
"The jinneyah. Elishiba, the jinneyah,” Amshazar shouted, as he battled with Sibias.
Elishiba's glance flitted between the two men, now wrestling each other with both body and will, and the jinneyah who was fuming in frustration.
Again she pushed, and the garbled words issued from Mehmet's mouth. “Return to your prison, and take me there with you, I command you as your owner."
Elishiba sensed resistance in Mehmet's body; it was shaking, shuddering as if she'd been poisoned. Her head was still fixed back, her throat swallowing convulsively. She kept the power flowing although the pressure to hold Mehmet in place and repeat the words to the jinneyah again was immense, her limbs shook and she felt sick to her gut from effort.
A scream issued behind her and she saw that Amshazar and Sibias rolled toward the fires that flared from the effigy of the God Hurda. Amshazar was dangerously close to the flames and her heart leapt with fear for his life. As her focus shifted, Mehmet seemed to break free of the spell. Elishiba channeled her energy once again, pushing her enemy back to the chair. The Jinneyah was already vaporizing into the amulet, her hands reaching out for Mehmet as she did so. She was nearly there, and with all her being she pushed again, repeating the words.
In the background, she heard Sibias bellowing fiercely. In the corner of her vision she saw that Sibias stood in the flames of the fire, his arms outstretched toward Amshazar. In his death throes, he sent out black jets from his fingers to his old adversary. “I die, you die,” he screamed, with his final breath.
"No,” she said, as Amshazar dropped to the ground, a pile of serpents covering his face. He writhed, but his power was wholly with her now, and he did not break that loop. On one side of her, her goal, now so near to fruition. On the other, Amshazar struggled for life. Could she risk shifting the power to Amshazar, to help him? Uncertainty gripped her, and as it did, the jinneyah seemed to resist grabbing hold of Mehmet, and grew strong.
Unveiling the Sorceress Page 20