The Magic Mines of Asharim

by Pauline M. Ross

  “The flickers? But I can help. I can flame them.”

  “No! We cannot… You will see, but we have to leave at once.”

  And then it started. Renni’s flickers switched instantly from agitation to something far worse, an anger that couldn’t be contained. My own responded, and the aggression that tore through my mind was like a spear, tearing me to shreds.

  I’d heard so much of the boiling hatred of unrestrained flickers. When I’d lived in Hurk Hranda as a child, there were innumerable tales of their unleashed violence, the way they leapt onto anyone within range, pouring poison into their blood, so that they blackened and burned from within. Many a night I’d woken screaming with the images in my head. When I’d had to invent a reason for not becoming an extractor in the mines, my revulsion was not faked.

  But I’d experienced it myself only once before, when Xando and I had been trapped under the mountain. Then, I’d only had eight flickers to deal with, and the entire mountain between us and the killing spree at Twisted Rock. Now I had thirty-six, and Renni’s flickers were right beside me.

  I had to get away, to put distance between me and the imminent disaster. But the pain was too great. Anger tore through me like a whirlwind, it ate at me, it consumed me. I collapsed to my knees, screaming.

  Hands grabbed my arms and lifted me bodily, carrying me away from Renni. Someone bumped into us, and I was hurled into the dirt, but it was enough. I was far enough away to separate my own flickers from hers, soothe mine even as hers reached a crescendo of hatred.

  Voices shouting, more organised now. “Fire! Bring fire!” Footsteps thundered past, more shouting.

  I was hauled to my feet again, but this time I resisted. I knew now what I had to do. “Stop! Give me a moment.”

  They released me, leaving me in an island of calm. I spun round to face Renni. Even with my eyes closed, I knew where she was.

  Fine control no longer mattered, only one thing could deal with Renni’s flickers before they burst out of their hiding places and leapt onto anyone within reach. Without her control, they would fulfil their murderous imperative.

  Now was the moment, now, before it was too late. I channelled all the anger of my flickers and hers, shut out everything else and pushed with my mind. Fire!

  Her body exploded into flames that I could see even with my eyes closed. The heat seared my face, and the sudden rush of air tugged at my clothes. Cries of alarm sounded, and one penetrating scream, shrill and agonised, before it was cut off abruptly.

  Then Renni’s flickers were gone, and there were only my own, keening softly for their fellows, lost to the flames.

  My mind exhausted, I dropped into blackness.

  43: Punishment

  I woke in a soft bed with silk sheets. A round face loomed over me, filled with concern.

  “Ah, awake at last!” she said. Ghan Klur. The mother of the twins. I was back in the women’s quarters.

  My flickers all twittered with excitement to have me conscious again. They never seemed to sleep, so I wondered what it was like for them when I was there in body but my mind was closed down. They knew, somehow. They only panicked if I were no longer there at all, as when I’d heedlessly run off down the canal towpath.

  “Here, drink this.” There were several other women crowded into my little room – they always seemed to cluster together, like geese – and one of them handed Ghan Klur a bowl of some liquid. Heaving myself upright, I obediently drank it. It was foul stuff, thin and with an unpleasant fungus taste to it, but I swallowed it all. They smiled and nodded encouragingly.

  “Now you feel better,” Ghan Klur said with great assurance, and it was true, within a very short time I began to recover my strength. “In a little while, you eat something, and then you dress in your best for your husband.” I raised an eyebrow. “Yes, he will want you tonight. He has sent word. You must be strong for your husband.”

  But she wouldn’t quite meet my eyes. Be strong for him? That sounded ominous. Prince Kru Hrin had a reputation as a cruel man, so I suppose a certain amount of slapping around was inevitable. Well, it was what I had agreed to. It was a humiliating role for a Highest of the Empire, but I would have my revenge soon enough. I would not be afraid of this man.

  So when food was brought to me, I ate it without demur, and then put on the silk tunic and trousers my husband had sent. A wedding gift. How romantic. There were other bodices in the box in my room, which were prettier than the one I had on, but I refused them all. My thrower’s coat went over the top. The women sighed at the unhappy effect on my appearance. I had to agree it looked incongruous with the flimsy silks.

  Then I waited.

  I felt very odd. Disconnected, not quite fitting in my own body. At first I was not sure what was wrong. But after a while, it began to dawn on me that I was no longer aware of any minds. I stretched my consciousness outwards, but there was nothing. Yet I could hear voices outside my window, in the courtyard.

  They had drugged me. The strange drink had taken away my ability to see minds. Not like the hassalma, for the world was almost normal in other ways, but it was disconcerting. A brief experiment revealed that my power over fire was gone as well. Interesting. My husband, it seemed, wanted me helpless.

  Most of the women had disappeared, all but Ghan Klur, folded into a corner of my room like a brightly coloured spider.

  “What was that? What was in the drink you gave me?”

  She smirked. “You feel it, eh? It is from the dried stem of the moonrose plant. It will not hurt you.”

  Too late to worry about that now. It was done and I was powerless, subject to every whim of my barbaric husband. I shivered.

  It was hard to tell what hour it was, for the Hrandish have no concept of time beyond dawn and dusk, moonrise and moonset. It was not long after brightmoon, so the sky was still light for the whole evening. The moon was close to setting before they came for me at last, six warriors in what they called fire clothes – relaxed wear for an evening round the campfire. I wasn’t sure whether that was a good sign or not. I’d studied Hrandish customs intensively when I’d lived here, but I was discovering there were still huge gaps in my knowledge. It unsettled me to feel ignorant.

  The warriors said not a word to me as they led me through the twisting corridors of the women’s quarters, and by mysterious back ways to avoid the great courtyard. As soon as I stepped inside the warrior’s palace, I was struck by the opulence of it. The plain, dark wood and tiled floors of the women’s side of the building gave way to lush rugs and wall-hangings, extravagant carvings on doors and window-frames, the subtle glimmer of gold everywhere.

  They took me to a large courtyard where many warriors sat in huddled groups on the ground, intent on games of bones. My husband emerged from a cluster gathered around a couple of women who were dancing with feathers and not much else. The convivial, masculine atmosphere didn’t seem too threatening. Or perhaps that was just because I couldn’t see the anger churning in their minds.

  I knelt demurely before him. The warriors all gathered round me, making lecherous comments. I detected a few flickers about, although I couldn’t tell who had them.

  “Ah, my zarn azay! Such a pity she has the face of a pig, but it is not her fault. She is an outcomer.”

  His warriors cheered and laughed at these words of wisdom.

  “Stand, zarn azay. You may dance for us, if you wish.”

  “I hear your words, but I regret I cannot dance well enough to please a great warrior.”

  “I daresay you cannot. No grace, you outcomers, not like proper women. But you have one or two skills that we do not, it seems.” His eyes glittered, and for the first time I felt a twinge of fear. No, that was foolish. “You can make fire, my little zarn azay. That is very clever. So clever, to burn one of my finest warriors with your witchery.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up a hand. “Say nothing, outcomer. You must be careful here, for in truth, who can say what happened? You were not t
he only outcomer present. Perhaps this killing was not by your hand at all. Perhaps it was your friend, eh?”

  My friend? Xando?

  “But do not fear, little zarn azay, for we have the Trannatta safely locked away. An outcomer – a guest in our city – yet he murders our fine warriors! Such gratitude for our hospitality. But the city is safe from him, and tomorrow we will show him Hrandish mercy, eh?”

  He laughed and his warriors all joined in, making throat-slitting gestures.

  “Of course, if it should happen that this mishap was merely an accident by my zarn azay… that would be a simpler matter, a small chastisement, nothing more. The Trannatta could leave with our goodwill. What do you say?” He bent forward so that his face was a finger’s breadth from mine. I had to force myself to be still, and not lean away from the sour smell of spices on his breath.

  Demons. He knew I couldn’t refuse. A small chastisement – a beating, undoubtedly. But better than Xando’s execution. I lowered my eyes. “I submit to my husband’s will.”

  The warriors buzzed with excited chatter, which was puzzling.

  The prince flicked a finger, and his krin haar jumped forward from the crowd. “Prepare her. Lock away the coat. Put her on the punishment chair.”

  My stomach lurched, and all my flickers squeaked in alarm at my surge of fear. The punishment chair. Sweet goddess, this was not going to be pleasant.

  The krin haar each grabbed one of my arms and hauled me forcibly back into the palace.

  “I can walk,” I gasped, as my arms were wrenched painfully. “No need to drag me.”

  They took no notice, pulling me through several rooms, each more opulent than the last, until we reached what could only be the Most Mighty’s bedchamber. The vast bed, suspended by ropes from a wooden frame, dominated the room. On the opposite wall lay a couple of low pallets. The only other furniture in the room was the punishment chair.

  What sort of man keeps a punishment chair in his bedchamber? In fact, it was nothing like a chair, unless you removed the seat and legs and kept only the back, just an upright about the height of my chest, with metal shackles at the base. The rough cloth covering it was spotted with what looked like blood.

  I could have fled, perhaps. Run for my life through the maze of palace corridors, trying to find a way out, hoping to avoid the hundreds of warriors who could kill me with their bare hands. Yet if I did that, even if I survived, I would have failed. There would be no possibility of bringing the river to Mesanthia. My husband was an essential part of my plan, and spending a night with him was as good a way as any of doing what needed to be done. Would he kill me? I was gambling that he wouldn’t go that far, not with a woman whose death could bring the Imperial Army down on his head. He would beat me soundly, then fuck me, and that would be the end of it.

  One of the krin haar tore my coat from my back and disappeared with it. The other stripped me one garment at a time, his lascivious eyes all over me, with a sneering grin. The clothes were tossed into a heap on the floor.

  When I was naked, they bent me over the punishment chair, face down, tied at ankles and wrists. With final tugs to tighten the shackles, they left me there.

  That wasn’t quite the worst moment of my life, but it came close. I couldn’t move, the shackles gripped me in a painful clasp, and I had no idea what evil my husband planned. I’d had to make difficult choices over the years, but at least I’d had choices to make. Here I had no option but to submit and hope for the best.

  But I had my secret weapons. My thrower’s coat was locked away somewhere, but my flickers were tucked away in my bodice in the heap of discarded clothes on the floor, not five paces away. I summoned two of them, one to protect me from pain, the other to heal. They twittered excitedly, and, with their fellows cooing encouragement, crawled out of their pockets and set out across the floor towards me. Flickers aren’t the quickest of movers, and I was in an agony of impatience at their slow progress. The room was well lit, but their glimmering pinpoints of light would be visible to anyone glancing their way.

  The room outside gradually filled with male voices. My charming husband had brought all his warriors to watch my humiliation. Demons, they were a strange, cruel people, the Hrandish.

  I urged the flickers to hurry, but it wasn’t in their nature. The door opened and the audience began to drift in. I could only hope they were sufficiently distracted by my nakedness not to glance at the floor near my hands.

  Just as my husband came in, first one flicker crawled into my waiting hands, then the other. My instinct was to curl my fingers protectively round them, but I was too tightly bound to move, so each one slithered into a palm and sat there, quivering with pleasure at being called upon to help.

  They were a surprising comfort to me, my flickers. They got agitated easily, and needed constant soothing, but when I was the one in trouble, they seemed able to find the strength to give me the same support. They reminded me of my father’s sisters, whose over-protectiveness was a great trial to me as a child, but when I fell and drew blood, they cooed and fluttered reassuringly around me like so many pigeons.

  I would have been sunk if any of the men had been able to detect my flickers, as I could detect theirs. At least two of them had some hidden about them, but they seemed unaware of mine. I knew my husband had none, nor did his krin haar.

  The men milled about, collecting round my helpless form, passing flasks of wine from hand to hand, commenting loudly on the size and shape of my various parts. One of the warriors waved the punishment tool in front of me – a solid-looking wooden handle fitted with a thick leather flap. Hands reached to stroke my buttocks, but my husband yelled and they drew back. I was surrounded, the smell of wine and spiced meat and smoke overpowering.

  Then they began.

  The first stroke was not so bad, just a momentary stinging, but the next was worse. Before long pain was lancing through me, and my skin was aflame. Each thwack echoed in my head. They worked on my buttocks first, then they moved on to my back, making the skin sting as though a hundred knives were cutting me. After each one, I prayed that would be the end of it, but it went on and on. I don’t know how long. Time had no meaning there.

  They all took turns, except my husband, who stood near my head where he could watch my pain with close attention. I tried, I really tried not to react, but after the first few strokes, I couldn’t help grimacing, and then grunting, and by the end, every stroke forced a yelp from me. Tears squeezed from my eyes. My husband laughed at my distress. “Harder! Harder!” he urged his warriors, grinning. “Purge all the evil from her!” They were happy to comply.

  It seemed endless. My flickers were distressed but I had no comfort to offer them. The two clinging to my palms hummed to me, encouraging me to summon their powers, but I tried not to. If I healed my bruised and bleeding skin, or accepted my punishment too calmly, even these half-drunk men would notice. So I took nothing from the healing flicker, and at first only called for help with the pain when I began to get light-headed. But as time went on, and there was no sign of an end in sight, I confess I took all the help my little friend could offer.

  The torment stopped abruptly. My husband clapped his hands, and most of the warriors shuffled out, chatting and laughing. Only the krin haar stayed behind. Now I cried from relief, for surely the worst was over. Soon I would be released from this agonising position, my husband would take his pleasure and then—

  “My pretty lamb!” the prince yelled. “Where is my little lamb? A ram needs his lamb.”

  A door slid open behind me, and after a moment I heard muffled voices, and strangled sounds, as if someone were gagged.

  “Ah, there he is! Such a pretty lamb! Untie him, I want him free.”

  There was some scuffling, which stopped abruptly. Then the low sounds of a man getting amorous. “Very nice. Very acceptable. Do you two want some amusement? You can have her, if it pleases you. You will not have to look at her face.”

  Oh, wonderful. It was no
t so much my husband’s preference for young men that surprised me, for I’d had some inkling of that already. It wasn’t even the insult of being thrown to the krin haar, like a bone to dogs, that irritated. No, it was finding that I was not, after all, to be alone with my husband that night. That was a problem.

  Yet I should have anticipated it. A Hrandish prince acquired his krin haar when he achieved manhood, and they stayed with him for life, closer than brothers. A lot closer than Hrandish brothers, in fact, especially when they happened to be princes. They went everywhere with him, and even, it seemed, slept in the same room at night. Their sole purpose was to protect him from harm, even from his own wife. And that was going to make things awkward.

  The two circled me for a while, touching and poking and squeezing. They described in gloating detail what they were going to do to me. Perhaps it should have distressed me, but by this time I was beyond the normal range of feelings, my mind numb. None of what they gleefully proposed was new to me, and it was nothing at all compared to what I’d already suffered that night. This was just sex, and all I could think about was that this was the final humiliation, and after this my ordeal would be over.

  At least with the drug still in my blood, there was no risk of feeling their desire. That would have been a nightmare beyond endurance, to be unable to shut my mind to their lust, to be forced to enjoy my own violation. I thanked the One that the drug had removed the possibility. It was a curiously sterile experience. I was used to sex, but as an active participant, just as much engaged as the man. Not like this, being pushed around like a slab of meat. It was the same with Xando, the same flatness and lack of passion. I was an observer, not a participant, as if I were a wooden doll, not a person.

  The krin haar took their time. I tried not to think about what they were doing, counting heartbeats in my head. One… two… three… One hundred… one hundred and one… I lost track around seven hundred. And still they amused themselves by taking as long as possible.