The Magic Mines of Asharim

by Pauline M. Ross

  “Poor thing,” she said sadly. “I hate betraying their trust like that. Poor, poor thing.”

  6: Friendship

  Winter was fast approaching. Within the township, it made no difference at all. The temperature never varied, we were sheltered from the wind, and the snow fell as gentle rain. Outside, however, the story was very different. There was no prohibition on going onto the outer wall, so every day I climbed the steps and looked out over the parapet. The world beyond was quite different from the way I’d seen it when I arrived. There was nothing but white to be seen in all directions, and the peaks and ridges and hollows blended together into one formless mass, impossible to interpret. Some days, nothing could be seen at all for the thickness of snow falling. Other days there was heavy cloud that merged with the summits, so that land and sky were all one. But occasionally I’d find a pale blue canopy and snow so sparkling white it hurt my eyes.

  The mulers managed two more trips out to us before the track became impassable even for their sturdy, mountain-bred beasts. The first trip brought a new carrier, a woman with a fearsome scar across one cheek, and an additional male companion-servant, somewhat older than the others. The second trip brought two more extractors. After that, we were closed in until the spring.

  Down on the plains, they would be well into the wet season now, the rivers swelling, the fields flooded, the beasts moved to higher ground. They would be lighting the charcoal braziers, but to dry their cloaks, not for warmth. But here, all was snow.

  I worried a little about food supplies, for we were quite a large community and ate our way through a great deal of provender every day. Chendria smirked when I asked about it.

  “You don’t need to worry about that, m’dear. The cellars are full.”

  It seemed she was right, for neither the volume of food provided, nor its quality, ever diminished.

  One benefit the snow brought was the complete relief from my major worry. No matter how many times I’d told myself I was safe here, that no one could find me, even if they were looking, at the back of my mind I still wondered: but what if they can? Now I could look down from the wall at the snow piled up below, reaching to half its height, the mulers’ track buried deep, and know beyond all doubt that I was safe, at least until the thaw.

  I began to feel more settled. I won’t say that I opened up at all, for none of the other residents were people I felt an affinity with, but I began to feel more relaxed around them.

  I also started to explore the town more thoroughly. Many of the doors were unlocked, so I was free to wander in and out of buildings. My earliest discovery was a library. Finally, some books to read! I’d tried not to think about it, but the lack of reading matter created a big void in my life. My brain had turned to jelly without any intellectual stimulation.

  The first time I went in I found Petreon there.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said, turning to go.

  “Feel free,” he said, waving me in. I wandered about a bit, but I wasn’t comfortable. Every time I looked at him, he was watching me, and there was that gleefulness in him again which so disconcerted me. And I wasn’t ready to admit to any degree of literacy – it was too close to acknowledging my origins, and that might be dangerous – so I left without opening a book and never went back.

  Tucked away in a narrow alley was a bookshop, however, and that became my refuge when I wanted to read. Above the shop were living quarters, so I’d take my books and creep up the stairs, sitting in a big armchair with a footstool.

  They were strange books, though. All in one of the lost languages, and littered with words I didn’t know. They were mostly fiction, and I couldn’t make anything of them. All the place names were invented, with many trees, birds, animals, foods that I’d never heard of. They talked of mages and dragons as if such things still existed. I wondered why anyone would invent so much, when surely there was inspiration enough in the real world.

  Rufin still popped up out of nowhere to spend time with me. The trouble with having the ability to read emotions in others is that they have no secrets. Their most deeply hidden wishes and desires are visible to me, whether I want that or not. I watched Rufin’s feelings towards me gradually deepen and strengthen, day by day, quarter moon by quarter moon. What started in pleasant friendship became affection and then – something more. Not love, exactly, for I’d seen real love, the kind that fills a man up and overflows to affect every part of his life. That was not what Rufin felt. But he liked me very much, and it wasn’t just desire, although there was a thread of that too, but something less physical. It was like a deep friendship, I suppose.

  Naturally, I returned his feelings. That, too, is a consequence of my ability, one over which I have no control. Anger, fear, happiness, grief, affection and, of course, desire – I’m aware of them in others because I feel them too. Whatever emotion courses through them flows also in me, and to the same degree. So I felt the same deep friendship for Rufin that he felt for me, and his company brought me a surprising degree of pleasure. I’d been alone for so many moons, hiding, running, pretending. It was an enjoyable experience to find myself in such a restful and undemanding friendship.

  We would sit companionably side by side, while he chattered away. He seemed to understand that I hated to talk about myself, so he didn’t ask. But he told me a great deal about himself, his family and his childhood. Not much about his life after he’d turned twelve or so, however.

  One day he was unusually subdued. Unhappy.

  “Are you all right?” I asked, knowing that he wasn’t.

  He sighed. “Yes. But…” Another heavier sigh. “It’s th’ first darkmoon of the year. That makes it… thirteen, no, fourteen years since my father died and we had t’leave our home.”

  “Really? Is that how it works in your strand?”

  “We could have stayed on if my mother had been fitter, or I’d been older, but… Anyway, my mother and my younger sisters went t’an aunt who had a farm in a different strand, and I went t’Wetherrin t’earn my living.”

  He heaved another great sigh, and lay down with his head in my lap, gazing up at me. I ran my fingers through his hair – he had lovely soft hair, as fine as silk – and his mood calmed.

  “I found work at an inn,” he went on in a low voice. “Sweeping th’floors, washing th’pots, cleaning th’rooms. I hadn’t realised that they served – other things there, not jus’ ale and soup. I was stupid, it should have occurred t’me that there were a lot of women working there, too, and not all of them knew how t’tap a barrel or bake bread. And they were discreet. So I never guessed. Until they started to – t’train me. Well, I like women, I’ve always liked women, so that was all right and I got a bit of a reputation. I was recruited t’a proper brothel, and then another one and another, each one with richer customers than th’last. I serviced men as well, I never minded that. But then…”

  He stopped, and a wave of distress washed through him, upsetting me, too. “Hush,” I said. “You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  “No, I do. I want you t’know.” A surge of affection for me. He was sweet, really. “There was a man, a farrier…” Another long pause, another wave of anguish. “He hurt me, Allandra. He liked t’hurt people, that was how he got his pleasure, he couldn’t do it otherwise. And he liked men. Me, in particular. He came back for me, and I said no. He came back again, and I said no again. The brothel keeper – he was mad at me, he said I was trouble – me! I’ve never made trouble anywhere I’ve been, but I’m not a slave. I choose my customers. So I left, went t’another brothel, but the farrier found me there. So I came here. And when I’ve done my three years, I’ll have a new name and new papers and the mine office will find me work in a different town, not Wetherrin.”

  “You don’t get to choose your customers here,” I said.

  “But I love women!” His face lit up at once. “I love everything about them. All the women here – there isn’t one I don’t enjoy taking care of.”
/>
  “Even Chendria?”

  “Oh, her! She’s never asked for any of th’men. Or th’two old women, although I wouldn’t mind it, myself. Older customers are more appreciative, I find.” He sniggered. “But you – what about Petreon? Do you like him?”

  “I’m not required to like him.”

  “No, but…”

  I couldn’t explain how little his looks or manner mattered to me. So long as he desired me, I could close my eyes and enjoy the business as much as he did.

  We were silent for a while. He had his eyes closed, but although his emotions were less tumultuous, I knew he wasn’t asleep. I suppose everyone at Twisted Rock had their own reason for being there, and there was tragedy or grief in most of them. Rufin’s story had less of either than mine did, but I wasn’t going to share it.

  After a while, he sat up and leaned against my shoulder. “Allandra…”

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve never actually told anyone about this before. I’d rather…”

  “It’s all right. I won’t tell a soul. I’m good with secrets.”

  He turned his face towards me, alight with mischief. “You certainly are! No one’s ever weaselled your history out of you, have they?”

  I just smiled. He had so much charm, it was hard not to respond to it, and his affectionate feelings towards me kept me in his thrall. So when he slowly moved towards me, I couldn’t help myself from leaning into the kiss.

  His lips were warm and soft and tasted of honey. He kissed me once, very gently, breaking away to gaze into my eyes. I felt the surge of triumph in him. Then we came together for a longer kiss, not with the passion of lovers, not yet, but tentatively, as if seeing whether our friendship would survive this test or shatter into a million shards.

  It survived. But from then onward, whenever we were alone, we kissed far more than we talked, and it wasn’t long before his thoughts turned in the obvious direction.

  It was raining one afternoon, and we were sheltering beneath an overhang, cuddling on a wooden bench while water dripped all round us and pattered above our heads. I knew the exact moment his desire awoke. Even so, it was some time before, very hesitantly, he made his approach.

  He ran one finger delicately over the mound of my breast. “You know, there’s nothing t’say we can’t – do whatever we want.” And he cupped my breast firmly, gazing into my eyes. “There’s no rule about it.”

  He was wrong about that; there was definitely one rule, at least. We were both employed to provide a specific service, and to provide it on demand.

  “Are you sure it won’t affect your evening duties?” I said.

  “This is my day off.” He grinned at me. “I get three free days each moon, and it’s up t’me what I do. What about you? Will you be able t’deal with Petreon tonight if he wants you?”

  He always wanted me, but that meant I always wanted him. I couldn’t see any problem there.

  “Let’s find somewhere more private,” I said. “I know a house near here.”

  Sudden anxiety. “You go into th’houses?”

  “Of course. Don’t you?”

  He shook his head. “They’re strange. All th’buildings are. No dirt anywhere, everythin’ new and shiny. It’s… strange.” He shivered. I knew what he meant, but to me the quiet of an empty house outweighed the weirdness of it.

  Rufin allowed me to lead him into a nearby street, dodging from one shelter to the next, and through a small archway into a courtyard with several houses around it. I chose the one I knew to have a bed with a decent mattress. I could feel his desire mounting, and mine with it. Laughter bubbled up in me. Being aware of a man’s desire, boiling with it, yet unable to relieve it is a terrible curse, but this – the anticipation, knowing it will be fulfilled – is such a wonderful feeling. I could barely wait.

  He was an expert, I knew that. How many women had he bedded over the years? And been paid for the pleasure he brought them, too. He set to work on me with the same gentle care he probably lavished on all of them, undressing me slowly, kissing each part as it came within reach, stroking and nibbling, tender as a true lover. Perhaps he was, with me. Or did all his women think themselves the object of his love? If he was that good, likely they did.

  I didn’t need any of that, but I wasn’t about to explain my ability to him. I let him carry on for a while, until we’d got ourselves naked and horizontal. I was breathing more heavily than he was. I moaned once or twice, just so he knew I was ready. Then I took charge, pushing him back onto the mattress and settling myself astride him. His eyes widened, but he made no protest, letting me do whatever I wanted. And then I closed my eyes and let our bodies find their harmony.

  Afterwards, we lay entwined on the bare mattress, the roof tiles pinging with each raindrop. His mood was elated and content at the same time. His head was tucked under my chin, his hair fanning across my breast, and although I couldn’t see his face, I knew he was smiling. But after a while, his mood darkened.

  “I don’t understand you.” He tipped his head up to look at me. “I don’t know whether you’re Akk’ashara or not – it doesn’t matter t’me – but I know you’re a noble of some sort. Something very grand, one of th’important families. So what are you doing here? You were never in a brothel. You’ve never needed t’steal t’survive. You’ve never had t’beg, or been beaten up by th’guards just for existing. So how did you ever end up in a place like this, being fucked by a man like Petreon?”

  I didn’t give him an answer, but he didn’t seem to expect one, for before long he was asleep.

  ~~~~~

  It was three days before anyone found out.

  We’d agreed to keep it quiet, primarily because Chendria would have made my life even more miserable if she knew. I had no worries about discovery. Secrecy was as natural as breathing to me, and Rufin had the innate tendency to lying found in almost everyone with his low social standing.

  So Rufin and I studiously ignored each other whenever we were with anyone else, although I knew how hard it was for him to maintain the pretence. Once he didn’t notice me when I came into the kitchen until I slid into my chair, but when he looked up and saw me there was an explosion of pleasure in his mind. Only the slightest twinkle in his eyes betrayed him, before he looked away again. He was very sweet, and had he been a more educated man, I might have been in real danger of falling for him.

  But one evening I opened the kitchen door and was assaulted by wild, violent emotions. It was as sudden and painful as crashing into a wall. I instinctively raised my arms to protect myself, even though it was futile. I think I cried out.

  There was a sea of noise in the room, many voices shouting at once in a swirling crowd of distorted faces, but I caught one voice raised above the others. “There she is! Th’devious bitch!” Janna, I thought, pointing at me, turning all heads in my direction.

  The torrent of emotions tore at me from all quarters, flailing around in me like a whirlwind. Anger was the strongest. Terrible, searing anger that burned and destroyed and set me aflame. My heart pounded in my chest, my fists clenched and it took all my will-power not to storm into the midst of the crowd and lash out at them. I hated them, loathed and despised them, I wanted to kill them…

  I turned and staggered out of the room and ran across the square towards the fountain, its gentle plashing a stark contrast to the maelstrom of aggressive thoughts tearing through my mind.

  They followed me! By all the demons, just leave me alone! Let me be! But they didn’t. They came on, Janna leading the way, her face red and twisted with rage. I moved back and they kept on coming and I couldn’t get away, I couldn’t escape, there was nowhere to run to. I was trapped.

  I screamed. They stopped, uncertain. Then they came nearer again. I screamed and screamed until my throat was raw, tears pouring down my cheeks, but I couldn’t make them stop, they wouldn’t go away, they wouldn’t leave me alone.

  In despair, I raised my hands, palms outward, as if to push them
away. And it happened, the thing happened again. Power shot through me like a bolt of lightning, burning me up inside until it overwhelmed me. I felt it shoot from my fingers.

  Janna flew. She lifted bodily off the ground and flew backwards, shrieking, until she smashed into a wall. She fell, crumpling into a heap, and didn’t move.

  Silence. Then the anger became fear. They looked at me with terrified eyes.

  I turned and fled.

  7: Witch

  I ran blindly through the streets, not caring where I went, tears tumbling down my face. I raced through squares, down alleys and past fountains. No one followed me, and I was blessedly free of any emotions but my own. Eventually I reached the outer wall, and I could go no further. There was nowhere else to run.

  It was the ultimate irony. I had run from Mesanthia when I was nine. I had fled again when I was fourteen from Hurk Hranda. Finally, and entirely alone, I had run from Caxangur. Desperation had brought me here. The mine was supposed to be my refuge, the safe place where I could stop running at last, leaving the past far behind me.

  Yet here I was, once more running away from the evilness within me. Was there no end to it? Why did the One curse me with this terrible affliction, that has no purpose but to hurt people? What could I do, where could I possibly go?

  The answer was clear. There was nowhere left for me to hide. The mine had failed me.

  I went back to my own house and curled up miserably on the bed, my despair too great even for tears.

  Petreon found me there some time later, although whether it was hours or only a mark or two I couldn’t say. He stuck his head round the bedroom door, a lamp flickering in his hand, and grunted when he saw me. I screwed my eyes shut and pretended to be asleep.

  His footsteps disappeared down the stairs again, and there were odd noises down below, doors opening and closing, a chinking sound. Then the footsteps trod slowly upwards again.

  More noises, in the bedroom this time. I opened one eye. He’d brought the decanter with him, with its peculiar fruity concoction, some kind of fortified wine, and a couple of glasses. He filled them both, setting one glass on the table beside the bed, within reach of my hand.