by Jane Kindred
Ahr spoke to him now across the table, the dusty tenor that was a man’s, but only a breath in alteration from the voice of the woman. “I’ve been thinking about your new laws.” Merit had swept Rhyman clean of many an archaic remnant of the Meeric Age. “You’ve done justice to the commonfolk with your changes in taxation, and revocation of the laws of separation and indenture.” Ahr spoke in a formal tone, as though listing Merit’s accomplishments for the annals of history, and here he paused for effect. “Your renovation of the Criminal Code is certainly judicious—barbaric penalties have been removed, you’ve made the offenses based on class and creed obsolete—”
“But…?” supplied Merit with a faint, paternal smile.
“But you’ve neglected over half the citizens of Rhyman.”
Ahr seemed to take pleasure in stringing Merit along a path of praise and then sweeping the Meeric carpet, so to speak, from under him. It was something Merit delighted in. He hadn’t conversed enough with her in the Age of Ra, so rarely was Ra willing to let a moment go by without a tactile feast of her. His Meer had seemed to know their nights were numbered.
Merit lifted his brow in anticipation of what Ahr had in mind for him today. “How can I have done that, my friend?”
“The laws governing women ought to be the same as those for men.”
Merit smiled and took a peeled bergamot segment from the platter between them, dipping it in sugar. “They are, aren’t they?” Of course Ahr had an answer. He wouldn’t have begun if his plan of attack hadn’t already been well formed.
Ahr gave him a scoffing laugh and leaned in over the table. “Women must wear the veil until marriage, must marry whom their fathers choose, must not speak unless their husbands speak, have no recourse for money except the basest occupations should they not marry or should their husbands die. They are made to stand waiting while their men sit if in the company of other men, to sacrifice their money, should they earn any, to their husband’s family, to give up their names in marriage as though a name were insignificant, to bear the sole responsibility for the care of their young, to act as cooks and maids-in-waiting on their husbands and their broods. And furthermore, you have appointed none of them to your Civil Councils.”
“What?” asked Merit without missing a beat. “I appointed you.”
Ahr sat back and took a draught of his pomegranate tea. “Would I be here, Oldfather, if I hadn’t bartered my breasts for a cock?”
Merit burst out laughing. “Ai, Ahr, don’t ‘Oldfather’ me. You only humor me in that when you’re trying to needle me.”
“Don’t change the subject,” said Ahr over his cup. “I wouldn’t even have been allowed into this court if I still had my breasts—with the exception of the illicit favors I once brought to its king.”
Merit’s amusement evaporated, his weakest spot prodded. “It is not a court, it is Ra’s temple, and it will always be Ra’s temple, and if he was its king, you were its queen whom he adored above all else! Don’t disgrace his memory.” Ahr flinched as though struck and looked down at his tea, and Merit was instantly contrite, reaching across the table and pressing Ahr’s hand as if Ahr were still a young woman. “Forgive me. It’s unacceptable for me to heap the burden of the past upon you.”
Ahr withdrew his hand, shaking his head with a wan smile. “Merit, it’s impossible for you to commit an act one would have to forgive.”
“Fa,” said Merit. “You see me as impossibly virtuous. Stop making yourself the villain of everything.”
Ahr toyed with his cup. “How can I do anything else? It’s what I am.”
“Ahr.” Merit gripped Ahr’s hand over the cup, forcing Ahr to look at him. “Have you never understood what I did to you?”
“You?” Ahr tried to pull away, but Merit held fast. “You did nothing to me—”
He fixed his eyes on Ahr’s. “I stumbled.”
“You stumbled. It was a mistake. That doesn’t make you responsible for what Ra did, for what I allowed.”
“I stumbled, Ahr. I was one of the favored few, the Meer’s litter bearers, so appointed for my strength and dexterity, a man in my prime—standing head and shoulders among my peers. You, who think me so infallible, so adroit—do you think I could ever have stumbled with my liege upon my shoulders?”
Ahr stared at him, slowly shaking his head, not in negation, but as though he couldn’t understand the words Merit was saying.
Merit held Ahr’s gaze and spoke quietly. “I saw you come each day to watch the Meer borne through the street for the annual Blessing. I saw your eyes on his where he peeked at you through the curtains. I saw the turmoil you had put meneut into. It was the last day of the procession. Your fingers touched when you managed to push through the crowds following the litter at last. I saw that also.” Merit’s shoulders lifted and dropped in an unconscious gesture. “And I stumbled.”
Ahr opened his mouth in silent shock, and in place of words, two beads of saltwater slid over his cheeks. Merit’s stumble and his subsequent rebuke by the templar priests had caused the procession’s pause and the distraction that had allowed MeerRa to lift the maiden Ahr into the litter and close the curtains around them, with no one the wiser. It had given them those stolen moments for Ra to undo her, and for Ahr to become the secret consort of a Meer and the mother of his child—the child whose theft from her mother and doting upon by the Meer’s templars would foment a rebellion across the Delta. A single stumble had changed the world.
Ahr moved his hand from the cup into the weave of Merit’s fingers and held them tightly. “Then I love you the more,” he managed. “You are my father.”
“No,” Merit protested. “What I did was terrible, unforgivable.”
“Yes, it was terrible. And beautiful. And it was the only meaning my life ever had. Still you ask me for forgiveness, even for this. I can’t forgive you, Merit. I love you for it.”
Merit withdrew his hand and wiped his brow. “I—how did we manage to get onto this subject? You were critiquing my politics.” He laughed unsteadily.
Ahr took up his breakfast once more. “You’re a master at diverting me,” he said with a smile. “I suspect once again it was a willful act.”
“Ridiculous.”
“Then what were we talking about?”
Merit poured himself a cup of tea. “Ai, this and that,” he hedged, knowing it would madden Ahr. “I believe you were needling me about getting more cooks and maids-in-waiting for my Councilors.”
Ahr lobbed a berry at him, and Merit dodged it, laughing. “Not cooks and maids-in-waiting. Women!”
“Ai,” said Merit. “I misunderstood you. It’s been a while since I’ve had one, also. Concubines would be lovely.” Ahr was easy to provoke, no matter how absurd the stratagem. He had no sense of humor.
“You old bastard,” Ahr exclaimed. “That’s not funny.”
“Of course it is, you obstinate wet blanket.” Merit picked up his napkin, wiped his mouth and pushed away from the table, attempting to suppress his smile. “I heard everything you said. And of course you’re right. That’s why I keep you around. You make me appear unimpeachably wise.” He cleared his throat, at last attempting to be serious. “I have intended to make amendments to the statutes concerning marriage and the livelihood of women. I confess I had placed those changes at a low priority. As for my Councils, I don’t disbelieve that women are as intelligent and levelheaded as men, but it would be difficult to introduce that element. These customs are as old as the Meer.”
“I doubt that,” said Ahr. “The Meer include women.” Emotion flickered on his face and then was gone. “Regardless, I think custom can be changed. You’ve done it with other foolish customs.”
“There has been so much resistance to the dismantling of caste. I don’t think Rhyman is ready for it.”
“Then let us vote,” said Ahr emphatically. “You’ve given the men of R
hyman that opportunity. To deny it to women is unconscionable.”
“You mean let them vote,” said Merit. “You said ‘us’.”
“Us! Them! I tell you, Merit, sometimes I don’t know what I am—and I don’t care. But I am very serious about this, and I insist you treat it with the same respect. And treat me with respect,” he added. “Whether you think of me as woman or man. There should be no difference.”
Merit was sober. “I respect you more than anyone else I know. Save one. I’ll give your proposal some thought—and I mean serious examination. You have my word.” Ahr’s stance relaxed, and Merit surveyed the table. They’d done all they could to this meal. Merit sighed, not unhappily.
As they stood and retreated through the arch, a servant materializing to clear their leavings as though conjured, he sighed again with more regret. “You know, it would be lovely to have a woman again when it comes to that,” he mused as their footsteps resounded across the great hall against the gemstone tile. He stopped for a moment. “Am I insulting you?”
Ahr laughed. “I can’t take exception to your human needs, meneut.” He paused in the archway toward his quarters, studying Merit with curiosity. “When was the last?”
Merit attempted a smile, unable to keep the sorrow out of it. “It was my wife.”
“Oh…Merit. I never even thought—”
Merit waved away Ahr’s concern. “I didn’t see her often. But Ra provided for her well, and she wasn’t unhappy. I think, in fact, she may have taken other lovers. I didn’t question her. I had my own more devoted love.” He managed a more wistful smile. “But I did love her. She died six years ago as a result of a virulent fever. I’d given it to her when I fell ill that autumn—you remember—and it had weakened her heart.”
“I’m sorry.” Ahr squeezed Merit’s shoulder, and then paused before turning away. “That autumn?” he reflected. “I don’t remember what you mean. When were you ill?”
“Well, of course you remember,” Merit reproached him. “After all, it was why—” Merit stopped abruptly, his face draining of blood as he saw that Ahr was staring at him, not understanding.
Ahr frowned at Merit’s sudden halt. “It was why, what?”
“Did you really not know?” Merit’s heart battered his chest. “Ai, Ahr, I don’t think I should speak of this to you. I don’t want to burden you more.”
“What do you mean?” Ahr demanded. “How would this burden me?” Though Merit shook his head, Ahr was adamant. “Don’t keep things from me, Merit. I insist that you explain.”
Merit swallowed, not wanting to speak. “That autumn,” he said at last. “When you were pregnant with Ra’s child—before we knew.”
“When he—” Ahr faltered. “When he stopped asking for me.” Merit nodded, letting Ahr make the connection for himself. “It was because you were ill.”
“Yes.” They were both quiet a moment, the air of the temple stifling with the brooding weight of the past, until Merit felt he must try to make Ahr understand. “He trusted no one else. I was unwell for several weeks. At the beginning, near death. I think he blamed himself. When I returned, he wouldn’t let me bring you to him again. It tore at his conscience.”
“Then he didn’t stop…desiring me.”
“No. Ai, no, dear girl.”
Ahr reached for the column that anchored the arch beneath the vaults of the dome. He looked as though he would be sick. Merit put a hand on his shoulder, and Ahr pushed it away in horror.
“I murdered him,” Ahr gasped. “I stirred up the hatred of Rhyman against him, because of vanity.” Ahr leaned back against the pillar, his face drained of animation. “He told me—she, the renaissant—he had loved me. That was unbearable, but past tense. Do you see what I mean? I thought he meant he had once, and then had stopped. Or I wanted to think that. I wanted it to make sense. I wanted to believe he’d loved and it had faded—something I’d done—my sin of pregnancy—there was no explanation.” He took a ragged breath, wincing as though it hurt to do so. “I murdered him because he scorned me. Because he hurt me so. And it never happened.”
“He stole your child,” said Merit softly, as though he could give Ahr some excuse.
“He loved my child! He loved her as I never did. I barely knew her. And I killed her also out of jealousy.”
“No, Ahr. It’s not as simple as that. I beg you to stop tormenting yourself. You see why I didn’t want to tell you?” He tried once more to comfort, and Ahr whirled away from him.
“Stop protecting me. You can’t protect me from myself. I’m the one who’s unforgivable.”
“No, Ahr.” Merit shook his head, swallowing against a painful lump. “It was the darkest time of my life. The darkest time the Delta has ever known. But you cannot claim responsibility for it. The winds of Rhyman had changed. Meerrá, the winds of the Delta itself. It was the end of the Meeric Age, and you did not create it. You did not dash his head against the steps.” He choked on the words but he had to go on. “You did not hurl RaNa from the portal. Those were the cancers of Rhyman, and I understood it after time and healing had worked their way. I have never blamed you. For your part, I’ve forgiven you. It is past.”
Ahr’s face blazed red with outrage. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare forgive me!” The former consort of the Meer of Rhyman staggered from the arch and fled.
Six: Constraint
No one questioned a man walking a boy, bound and gagged, on a leash through the fog-shrouded streets straggling away from the ruins of Ludtaht Izis. Soth Bessaht, city of possibilities though it might once have been, was replete with slaves and slave owners in the post-Expurgation years. Pearl read this in the faces of those who looked through him without acknowledging his existence as one might a pack animal, and in the faces of others whose gazes slid away from his swiftly with shame, knowing there but for the grace of their masters, went they themselves.
So he’d gone from being the property of one master to the spoils of another. Had he been less tired and defeated, he might have wept, but there seemed little point in exposing himself for what he was just to indulge his misery.
Pike the Meerhunter—a vocation Pearl hadn’t known existed until his captor spoke the word—took him to his dank quarters in a rooming house and made him kneel on the floor while he enjoyed a meal of cold lamb and minted potatoes without offering any to Pearl. Of course, he couldn’t without removing the gag and bit, which he wisely knew better than to do with a Meer. Like Prelate Nesre who’d been Pearl’s master before him, he likely knew Pearl could subsist without food for some time. But even a Meer couldn’t go without water, and Pearl was sorely in need of some and had no way to communicate it.
When Pike turned in for the night, he chained Pearl’s collar to a bolt in the wall and took the narrow cot for himself, sparing Pearl not even a word before he was snoring in deep slumber. Pearl had to stand on the balls of his feet to keep the collar from cutting into his throat. Every time exhaustion won out against his struggle to stay upright, the sudden, choking pain jerked him back from the brink of sleep.
Before dawn, after interminable hours of this, his new master woke apparently quite refreshed and ate a breakfast of smoked fish and stewed figs that would have made Pearl’s mouth water if he’d had any fluid left in him. After tormenting Pearl with downing most of a jug of water, Pike washed with the rest of it and then pissed into the chamber pot in the corner as if to say he had so much excess liquid inside him he needed to eliminate some.
“Now, then,” he said as he buttoned up. “You’re going to become useful.” He unchained Pearl from the bolt and sat him roughly at his small, warped table. “I know better than to remove your gag to let you tell me what I want to hear.” Pike took some scrap parchment from a cupboard and set a graphite pencil in Pearl’s half-numb fingers. “Draw.” Pearl looked up at him mutely, a blank expression professing his ignorance, and Pike struck him withou
t warning, nearly knocking him off balance. “Don’t play games with me, boy. My patience is limited.”
Eyes smarting, Pearl put the pencil to the parchment, trying to think what he could draw that wouldn’t give away Ra’s location, which was obviously what Pike wanted. He couldn’t draw an outright lie, as his pictures were as good as words, but he could draw a record of what had been without implying with the depiction that it regarded a present condition.
Though it took some awkward manipulation to draw with one hand while dragging about the other chained to it, Pearl managed to sketch a fair likeness of the altar room at Ludtaht Ra as it had been in Ra’s time. Pike watched with eagle eyes but without comment as Pearl filled in the dark lapis and obsidian tiles, pressing hard with repeated strokes of the side of the pencil to make a heavy sheen on the parchment.
He added the altar and drew the Maiden Ahr draped upon it—though he knew she’d been no maiden then, it was the name he heard in the flow—paying great attention to the veil that hid her features. The flowing fabric tangled with the lengths of her dark hair and billowed across her naked body, except between her legs where the Meer knelt with his back to the viewer, his head bowed reverently over his love.
As Pearl started on the columns sweeping toward the dome, Pike became impatient and began to tap his foot, spitting his habitual tobacco juice into a bowl on the floor beside him. “Do you think this is useful to me, boy? What have you drawn here?” He yanked the parchment toward him and stabbed at the central figure. “Who is this?”
Pearl merely stared at him. It wasn’t as if he could answer.
Pike let out a slow sigh of irritation. “Is this MeerRa?”
Pearl nodded sullenly, and found himself being yanked forward by the collar so swiftly that he couldn’t brace for it and floundered half off the seat, banging his shins against the leg of the table as Pike brought him close to his face.