Change of Darkness

by Jacinta Jade

  Instead, Siraay looked towards the other end of the room, where another three steps lead upwards to a wall of mirrors, and before which a giant bath was embedded in the floor, barely noticeable save for the wreaths of steam curling up from the still water.

  But immediately before Siraay was probably the best part of the room—three sets of paired glass doors were linked together to let afternoon sun pour through. A necessary requirement, considering that second winter was upon them, although Siraay didn’t think it would snow here. She walked towards the glass doors and, pushing the centre set open, stepped out onto a large balcony, crossing to its edge.

  Peering over the solid balcony railing, which was made out of a lighter-coloured stone, Siraay saw the lower levels of the palace spread out before her, Xarcon guards positioned at various places on the lower roofs and balconies, and beyond that the domed glass ceiling of the arena and the yard with the cells and pit, their layouts well known to her.

  Siraay even thought she could make out a number of dark silhouettes sprinkled against the sands of the arena—the captives in training.

  Looking away from them, she lifted her gaze and took in the whole of Xarcon City, which was laid out in a circular pattern before the palace, a great wall curving around its outer edges.

  And beyond those walls, rocky terrain that grew in size until cliffs rising in the distance became mountains, the purple sky hanging heavily over all of it.

  Siraay breathed in deeply, savouring the crisp air, which she had never been able to appreciate from within the warm environment of the domed arena. Finally, she was where she wanted to be.

  Now to look the part.

  She turned from the view and strode back into the room, her step brisk as she looked about for her servant.

  The female was by the bed, facing away from Siraay as she perfected the arrangement of the pillows.

  ‘His Lordship had new outfits made up for you, lady,’ the female said meekly as she finished with the bed and positioned herself beside a section of the wall close by. The servant lifted and placed her hand on a rounded inset in the wall, and a rectangular portion of black stone slid inwards and to the side, revealing a number of garments hanging within.

  From her position in the centre of the room, Siraay nodded in approval. ‘I’ll bathe first, but I’d like some refreshment. Fruit,’ she ordered.

  The female nodded and pivoted, her face and eyes still turned towards the floor. ‘Of course, my lady. I’ll go ask the kitchen to prepare something for you now.’

  She turned and began to walk towards the door, but Siraay stopped her.

  ‘Wait,’ she commanded.

  The female halted instantly.

  ‘What is your name, in case I have need of you?’

  The female slowly rotated to face Siraay, her eyes finally lifting to meet Siraay’s, an almost sad expression in them. The servant swallowed before speaking, and her voice was soft as she responded.

  ‘My name is Trelar, my lady.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  TRELAR.

  Siraay pinpointed the name in her memory. It was like hunting down facts about someone else’s life. Yet she could recall certain memories now, of Trelar and her former self growing up together, of the pair of them giggling during the day before the Change ceremony, but the feelings attached to those memories were foreign, unconnected to her and who she was now.

  Although Siraay would be interested to know how Trelar had come to be in the service of the Xarconians.

  Not by choice, obviously, judging by the silver band locked around one of the female’s wrists.

  But Siraay appreciated Chezran’s choice in appointing this female as her servant. Even though she no longer felt the ties that had originally bound her and this female together previously, judging by Trelar’s face, and the glimmer of hope still buried in the depths of the female’s eyes, Siraay knew that her new servant would never try to hurt her, and would be loyal.

  ‘Trelar.’

  Siraay pronounced the name slowly, and hope bloomed larger in the servant’s eyes. This would be fun. ‘I’m glad to see that you managed to land on the right side of things. This is the best place you could be.’

  She spoke briskly, moving across the room towards the warm bath that Trelar had prepared for her, still keeping the female in sight as she climbed the steps.

  It was quick, but because Siraay was watching for it, she saw the pain flash across her former friend’s face as the new hope died as quickly as it had been born.

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  A pause for a moment, and Siraay almost smiled derisively as she watched Trelar try to collect herself again.

  ‘I will ask about the refreshments you desire,’ she said finally, giving Siraay a hurried curtsy before turning and walking rapidly from the room, closing the door silently behind her.

  The smile Siraay had been holding back bloomed across her face, and she shook her head and snorted. Sentimental fool. She would enjoy playing with the female’s hopes and dashing them to pieces, over and over again. It was only a question of how long that particular game would last before Trelar realised that the old Siray was never coming back.

  She turned away from the door, dismissing the memories of Trelar and her former self easily, considering the room as she began to undress by the sunken bath.

  Perhaps she should have been overwhelmed by the opulence around her after the recent days and nights spent in the arena, the pit, her cell, and all the stark accommodations, or lack thereof, before that. Yet as Siraay looked around, taking in the wall hangings, gauzy curtains, and gold embellishments of her room, she instead merely judged the room as suitable for her new position—as the right hand of the Lord of Xarcon.

  Satisfied, she flung her shirt, stained with sweat, dirt, and blood, away from her and bent over to make quick work of the laces on her boots, sliding the boots partway off with her hands before playfully flipping them off her feet with deft flicks of her ankles.

  Her excellent aim had each landing one after the other on the dirty spread of cloth on the floor that had been her shirt. Her trousers followed soon after, sailing through the air to join the growing pile with accuracy.

  Sliding her fingers beneath the band of her undershorts, Siraay pushed them downwards, letting them fall around her ankles. She lifted one foot to step out of them, and another quick jerk of her other foot sent the shorts sailing to land on her boots. Her socks soon followed, and then Siraay began unwinding her chest wrappings, her arms moving through the procedure automatically while she reflected on the pile of old garments that had been her training gear.

  Physically, she was no different than she had been before her … awakening. But now, she had the confidence to match her physical abilities. And it made all the difference when you truly knew what you were capable of. It was as if all Siraay’s inhibitions, all the moral debates that had previously existed within her, had been removed, so that now all that mattered was what she wanted.

  True, she still had to work out exactly what it was that she wanted, now that she could really decide for herself. But this was a matter she could sort out after she had heard Chezran’s plan for Kaslon.

  Her body now free of the soiled cloth, she let the wrappings slowly tumble from her hands, the cascade of slim material falling about her, and then faced the steaming bath, naked but for the necklace about her neck.

  The vital accessory would not leave Siraay’s throat, whether she was in this form or in one of her animal forms. Even if she Changed into, say, her sevonix form, the necklace would stay a part of her in the same way her clothes did; it would just be momentarily invisible. Thus, she would never have to risk being separated from the influence of the necklace.

  Carefully lifting a leg, Siraay dipped her toes into the water, and a wave of pleasant goose bumps rose across her flesh as the water embraced the sensitive skin of her feet. The temperature was perfect—hot enough to wash away the stink and feel of the soldiers’ traini
ng she had been forced to endure the past days, without actually scalding her.

  She let the same foot and leg slide into that cleansing warmth, her toned limb carving the water gracefully. Firmly planting that foot, Siraay lifted her other leg and brought it in to join the first, the warm water reaching up to her thighs. Then she began to descend the submerged steps into the bath, sighing happily as her body sank beneath the scented surface.

  The bath, if you had to use the name, was truly more of a small pool, and Siraay swiftly found that a person could float on their back quite comfortably without touching the marble sides. And if she went a bit deeper, just before the spot where the edges of the bath touched the wall, she could actually tread water, her feet clearing the bottom by at least a couple of handspans.

  Movement in the water drew Siraay’s attention to the bathing controls on the side of the marble wall, and a rapid examination pleased her. Like the rest of the room, the technology in use was refined and subtle, and camouflaged vents whose settings could be adjusted constantly circulated the bath water, keeping it warm and clean.

  Siraay sighed again happily, dipping her head beneath the clear surface in order to wet it thoroughly, then she lifted herself up once more, water running down her face and streaming from her long, slicked-back hair, which was darker with its soaking.

  Blinking a couple of times, Siraay made her way slowly to the bath’s edge and examined the range of cleansers that had been laid out for her, scenting each round ball in turn. One of them made her pause—not because she actually liked it but because it seemed to stir something else in her. It was one of the lighter-coloured balls, pale, with blue specks appearing now and again on its surface. Siraay held it before her and deeply breathed its scent in again. It reminded her of dew upon grass, its sharper notes of fruit mixing with the deeper notes of carmitan leaves.

  The image of a mountain appeared in her mind, clouds shifting to reveal it, a pleasant voice accompanying the image.

  Siraay scrunched up her nose, holding the ball away from her at arm’s length for a moment before she flung it away from the bath.

  She turned her attention to the rest of the cleansers. After scenting a couple more, she lingered over one, this ball coloured a deep, warm pink, with darker swirls through it. Siraay breathed in its aroma. Heavy wood scents enveloped her, along with spicy notes and the sweetly rich droplets one might put in the best nectar drinks.

  Satisfied, Siraay moved away from the edge of the large bath and up its steps a little, taking the cleanser with her. There, she applied the ball to her skin, working it in until it became a lathered paste on her body, and focused on rubbing away the muck that coated her.

  When Siraay felt she had scrubbed herself nearly raw, she moved back down the steps and submerged herself again, letting the cycling water whisk away the dirty suds from her body. Then she repeated the entire process again, also lathering her hair.

  After that, she remained submerged in the warm water for a time, her hands supporting her body as she reclined upon one of the lower steps, her legs floating out before her.

  She was still luxuriating in that position when a knock sounded at the door, and a soft voice called through to her.

  ‘It’s Trelar, my lady, with your refreshments.’

  ‘Enter,’ Siraay called back.

  There was a soft click as the door opened, and swivelling her head, Siraay saw Trelar slip into the room, carrying food and drink on a tray.

  As the servant settled the refreshments on the small table near the centre of the room, Siraay stood and began climbing the steps to exit the bath.

  By the time she had reached the top step, Trelar was there, ready with a soft towel. This Siraay accepted from her as she stepped from the water onto the cool black stone, patting herself dry while Trelar crossed to the hidden closet and returned with a dark robe.

  The light in the room had shifted slightly during the time Siraay had been soaking in the hot water, and she appreciated the warmer tones of the light as Trelar held out the garment for her.

  Siraay slid her arms into the sleeves of the robe, the material of the garment folding about her like a soft caress, the silken cloth wonderful against her freshly scrubbed skin. She pushed the long, damp strands of her hair away from her neckline to lay flat against her back, and descended the steps from the bath feeling relaxed and content, although the state of bliss was quickly forgotten when she saw the food waiting on the table, and her stomach immediately made its state known.

  Approaching the table swiftly, Siraay began picking at the food there—a mix of fruit, bread, and some beautifully sliced meat. A banquet, compared to what she had been surviving on previously. As she tasted various items arrayed on the platter before her, she looked up at Trelar, who was once again standing off to the side, awaiting any order.

  ‘Tell me,’ she asked the servant, ‘how did you arrive here?’

  She had been wondering more about this as she had soaked in the bath, especially as Trelar seemed adapted, although resigned, to her surroundings and role.

  ‘I was captured in the forest, lady, not long after the days following our Change ceremony.’

  ‘Our’ Change ceremony. Siraay didn’t miss the usage of the word, and knew her earlier insight had been correct—this female obviously thought her old friend still existed somewhere in the body now standing before her. Siraay accessed the memory of that night, a memory that may as well have happened to a stranger, and almost laughed outright when she remembered how the old Siray had feared potentially never Changing.

  Of course, now it was obvious that it had been her potential to choose from many forms that had made her stall, as it were, during the ceremony. And yet, others in her city had shunned her in the days following. Her eyes narrowed at the recollection as Trelar continued speaking.

  ‘They brought me to this city, pursuing and catching other newly Changed youths like me along the way. Said that we were needed for their army.’

  Siraay pulled herself from the memories she had been scrutinising and instead examined the face before her that her former self had known so well. ‘You went through the training program?’ She eyed Trelar again, wondering how this delicate female could have survived.

  ‘No,’ came the quiet response. ‘His Lordship apparently had need of more servants within the palace, and on the first day of our arrival, the palace steward came down and picked out five of us. Five—from sixty.’ Trelar started to shake her head and then seemed to remember who she was now addressing, and looked down at the floor again. ‘The others were forced to go through the program, much as you were. And slowly their numbers dwindled, as the “weak” ones were either injured, killed, or broken.’

  Sounds familiar, thought Siraay appreciatively. Only way, really, to be sure of having an army of warriors, both in skill and mind.

  ‘The final thirty were inducted into the main part of the army after they completed the training program. But the number varies each time on how many make it through.’ She laughed, and it was both a bitter and hopeless sound. ‘Not that it matters, as they all get clamped with the special metal bands afterwards—and they’re always different after that.’

  ‘Different how?’ Siraay was curious, but thought she knew the answer.

  Trelar raised her gaze, eyes intense as they focused on the jewel resting coolly against Siraay’s throat, despite the heat of her skin from the bath. ‘They are darker, obedient to the wishes of the captains and trainers and, of course, Lord Chezran.’ Her stare drifted upwards to meet Siraay’s eyes. ‘And they never take the bands off. Never want to.’

  Even from across the room, Siraay could almost feel the itch in Trelar’s fingers as the servant’s eyes slid back down to the swirling gold metal of the necklace that wrapped around Siraay’s throat.

  Siraay knew Trelar was wondering if she could remove it. Almost hoped the female would try. But while it would certainly be entertaining, it would mean finding a replacement for the servant aft
er Siraay killed her.

  She watched as Trelar seemed to consider the idea for a moment longer before the servant’s shoulders finally drooped under Siraay’s calculating gaze. ‘The band doesn’t seem to restrict you much,’ she commented to the servant.

  Trelar glanced down at the slim circle of metal wrapped about her wrist. ‘There are different types,’ she explained. ‘There are bands that merely inhibit the ability to Change, like this’—she raised her wrist, and the metal flashed in the afternoon sun—‘and ones that completely alter a person’s mind.’ Her gaze moved again to rest on Siraay’s necklace. ‘For those who wear the second type, they always treat their previous life as if that was the lie.’ Trelar’s eyes were sparking now, her chest rising and falling a little faster as she spoke.

  ‘And why don’t you wear one of those?’ asked Siraay curiously.

  ‘Because I’m not required as a soldier, and they like to reserve those stronger bands for the army. Besides, once they inhibit our ability to Change, what else can we do?’ Trelar shrugged, a despairing movement. ‘This palace, and the city beyond, is monitored day and night, and escape is impossible. And, if you’re caught attempting to flee, they kill you anyway.’

  An effective strategy, Siraay thought, already aware of the punishment. But out loud, she said, ‘So you serve here, biding your time, then?’

  Trelar just looked at her and didn’t respond, her face carefully blank.

  Siraay stopped picking at the platter before her and pivoted to confront her servant. ‘I’d advise you not to hold out for any miraculous transformation on my part back into the person you once thought you knew. You may think that these bands, and indeed, this necklace, alter us in a bad way, but you’re mistaken.’ Siray took slow, measured steps towards Trelar, her gaze hard and uncompromising. ‘I’ve never felt more strong, more in control, or more aware, of everything happening around me.’ She smirked. ‘You think you know what is right and what is wrong, but that is because you still perceive everything through a mind that was raised to think a specific way.’ She ran the tips of the fingers of one hand over the detailing of the necklace, looking down at the tip of the gem she could just see. ‘The bands free those who wear them from those invisible boundaries. It freed me.’ She looked back up at the light-haired female and gave the servant a small, assessing smile. ‘I could arrange to have one brought up here for you, if it would … ease … the troubles of your mind.’