Eastlick and Other Stories

by Page, Shannon

  Reaching within, I pressed my shift against the blood, praying that the stain would remain hidden under my robes as I approached the edge of the blanket.

  “Come,” he said. His eyes were dark dying suns as he lifted a silver pot over a second chalice. “May I?” Steam rose from the spout.

  “Thank you.” I folded my legs beneath me, sitting on the grass with what I hoped was an elegant motion. Fain murmured and settled, poking his beak out of the folds of my robe to gaze bird-mad at Piero, fooling no one.

  He carefully poured out three teaspoons of a beverage darker than rock oil, then handed it to me.

  I sipped. It was delicious: bitter, and hot, and full of fantastic magic. Coffee.

  “You know this is forbidden!” The African beans would not come to this country for another hundred years or more.

  “I do know that. Which is why I partake far from the city.” He sipped the last from his own chalice, then poured another measure. “But you did not come here to debate mage law with me.”

  “No.” I took another sip, rolling the beverage on my tongue before swallowing. It burned, but did not hurt.

  “Come here.” Piero patted the green blanket next to him. “It is not a binding; just a soft place away from the ants.”

  I watched his face: he spoke the truth. Besides, he would surely have already noted the aroma of my spilt blood, even from where I sat. I risked no further harm in coming closer to him.

  Except for the lure of his sweet flesh, the thrilling of his musk-and-lavender breath, the black song of his eyes.

  “No,” I said, even as I moved onto the blanket beside him. “No.”

  Fain quivered against me, mewling and cooing. The breeze blew overhead, and the sun caressed my own dark hair, and the skin at my ankles. Far below us, the river Arno passed along its own path.

  ~o0o~

  Back in my room, I cursed myself for such terrible weakness. Then I poured icy water from the basin onto the dried blood on my belly, not even permitting myself to gasp with the shock of it. I abluted my body thoroughly, until the porcelain vessel was red with my essence.

  And still I could not sleep.

  I would have liked to blame the noise from the street, for the crowds roiled and shouted below with the strength of madness and god-blinded passion and rebellion, but in truth, this was no different than so many recent nights. It would end badly for the priest, this much I knew. Whatever the Lady’s game with him, I hoped she would bring it to bear soon. This tension would not hold for long before breaking.

  Nor would my own.

  Sighing, I rolled onto my side, gently so that Fain moved with me. The small comfort of his feathers and quick-beating heart did nothing for me.

  I wanted Piero.

  “No,” I whispered to the darkness.

  Yes, the darkness whispered back. Yes.

  ~o0o~

  “Again you did not bind him.”

  “I am sorry, my Lady.”

  “In fact, it rather appears that he has bound you, in a manner of speaking.”

  That I could not argue with. I hung my head.

  When I finally met her eye, I saw that she was smiling. And I recognized the look she wore.

  Handing her a shade of a smile in return, I said, “I understand.”

  She nodded. “But hurry. We gather tomorrow at midnight.”

  ~o0o~

  I lay naked in the moonlight upon the softest bed in which I had ever rested my unworthy bones. Not my bed, to be sure; it belonged to a cadet daughter of the Medici family. She was on an extended holiday, taking the healthful waters in a small convent outside of Trieste, in an attempt to cure herself of an inconvenient swelling about the mid-section. Given enough time—she wouldn’t need nine months, not this far along—the problem would resolve itself, and she would return to Firenze.

  By then, my work would be long done.

  Fain perched on the footboard, curling his clawed feet around the ornately carved wood. He held his head so as to keep one eye on the open window and one on me. I settled even more comfortably among the many silk-covered pillows and allowed myself a small sigh of pleasure. The feeling of the young Medici’s linens against my skin made me question my very path in this life.

  A gentle breeze sent me a breath of the night air and stirred the gauzy magenta fabric with which the girl had adorned the marges of her window. Queens’ coronation gowns had been made with less fine stuff. But even this marvelous cloth could not keep out the smell of the street below: mud, horse shit, sour cooking oil ... as well as lavender and musk.

  Piero was at the window, and then he was in the room.

  And then he was in the bed.

  “I knew you would fall to me,” he whispered as he covered my traitorous, willing body with desperate kisses. “I knew you would come here.”

  No matter that the note had been mine. I do possess some small magic, you know.

  I writhed and turned beneath him, welcoming him to me, luxuriating in the feel of his leanness against my body. He had been in the fields recently; his skin smelled of grass, tasted of crushed sage and a hint of dust. I bit his arm, gently, savoring the lushness of him. Seeking to know him.

  He growled and tumbled me over onto my belly, then clutched my thighs, moving his hands slowly and deliberately up to my rear. Cupping its roundness, he leaned in and returned my bite: first on the flesh, then dipping a quick tongue to my nether eye.

  The mark of a sorcerer.

  But then, I already knew that.

  “Not so fast,” I murmured even as the pleasure threatened to blind me. I allowed him one more sip at my pot of dark honey before I twisted around. In one swift motion, I turned him over and climbed up to top him, holding him down with strong hands.

  Piero grinned up at me, even as he tried to hide the flash of shock in his eyes. He hadn’t known me to have such strength.

  I leaned down and kissed him, filling his mouth with my own tongue. He tasted of me, of course, but beneath that he was fresh-baked bread and more of that cursed coffee. I could get used to kissing this man.

  Pulling away, I reached down to untie his pants. “We are at an imbalance,” I said. “I am bare and you are clothed.”

  “We can fix that.” He wriggled out of his trousers and linen drawers beneath, while his shirts fell away almost of their own accord. The dark hairs of his chest were even lusher than I had imagined. I buried my nose in them, then kissed his ruby nipples, one after the other.

  I still sat astride him, holding his hips with my knees. His eagerness strained up to meet my sweetpocket, which I kept just out of reach, smiling down at him as though I was playing a game.

  Finally, I lowered myself a fraction of a measure. “Join with me.”

  “Oh yes,” he whispered.

  And I lowered further. “Join with us.” Then I took him into me, with the oldest binding magic of them all.

  In the corner, Fain cooed and put his head under a wing.

  ~o0o~

  The morning light found me alone in the tangled blankets and crushed pillows. I smiled as I allowed myself to remember our night, moment by moment, a slow, savoring retelling. After I’d bound him, he was my plaything for many hours, rough and tender both. And even though he had escaped with the dawn, I knew he would appear at midnight.

  The Lady would be pleased.

  With reluctance, I got out of the Medici daughter’s bed and found my clothes and my familiar. Fain slipped into my robes, clucking at the love-bites and bruises on my satisfied flesh before he settled into place.

  Then I left the room as it was. Maids would tell stories of witches and sorcerers haunting the night, and they would not be wrong.

  I spent the day sleeping in my hidden chamber, conserving my strength for the ritual to come. So I missed the commotion in the Piazza della Signoria—the shouts of the crowd, the nailing together of the giant cross, the dragging of the chains. The sickening, mouth-watering smell of roasting flesh finally woke me.

>   Rushing down to the piazza, Fain fluttering about my head, I arrived in time to see Savonarola and two of his acolytes fall to the flames.

  On the far side of the fire, Piero’s gaze caught mine—a cruel and fiery echo of our first meeting across the Arno. He shook his head, gentle and sad, before he vanished. Such an audacious working...

  ~o0o~

  “He was bound,” I said.

  “Yes.” The Lady gazed at me, her face even paler under the moonlight. “I have to think on this.”

  “He cannot loose his magic in the world.” I paced the small circle we had built with the stones of Fiesole, looking down on the valley of the Arno and the sleeping farms, each with their wary watchlight guttering to keep the likes of us at bay. The rest of the order would be here soon, and what would we tell them?

  “I think he shall not,” she answered, speaking slowly. “To pull himself from your call—he had to undo all his bindings. Not just the most recent one. And he was forced to unleash a great terror upon the entire city in order to do even that much.”

  I stared at her. The flames, the mad priest brought down, the vanities of piety burning brighter than even gilt and paste jewels. “Of course.” Excitement and relief flooded through me. “So we have defeated him!”

  The Lady chuckled. “Oh, no, Lucrezia—I am afraid we have done no such thing. Set him back a bit, perhaps; bought ourselves more time. But he will return.”

  At the bottom of the hill, I could see a small group of women beginning their climb. “What can we do?” I asked. “What happens next?”

  “Be patient,” she whispered. “Be vigilant. Wait and watch.” Then she turned to greet the others.

  ~o0o~

  I stood below the Medici girl’s window. The bells of Lauds had rung not long past; dawn would invade the world soon.

  It was dark within. The shutters were drawn. I could see no tender fabric, no welcoming bed. Fain slept unknowing against my aching breast.

  One more glimpse. Just one more scent of lavender, and his sweet, sweet musk. That’s all I ask.

  The night air returned to me only mud and offal and the faraway reek of the Ponte Vecchio butchers.

  If this was defeat, I feared victory. I turned and walked slowly back to my room, my feet heavy on the rough cobblestones.

  Gil, After All

  This story is the only one in this collection appearing for the first time. It was commissioned in 2009 for an as-yet-unpublished Gilgamesh anthology from Morrigan Books (publishers of my novel Eel River). I imagined Gilgamesh transported to modern times, trying to make sense of everything that happened to him. I’m quite proud of the results, and happy that, at last, I get to share this story with an audience.

  _______________

  Gil gazed across the table at Esther. The light from the candles flickered on her pale cheeks as she reached for her wine glass. Gil wanted to see the effect as lovely, but Esther’s face was hard and closed. Even the soft glow of the flames was helpless against the flood of her anger.

  “I can’t believe you.” She put the glass down hard, the wine untasted as she raised her brown eyes to his. “You really are completely worthless.”

  “I...” He paused, waiting to see if she would leap to her feet and storm out again. When she stayed, he went on. “I’m sorry. I apologized already, a thousand times. What more do you want me to say?”

  “It’s not what I want you to say,” she spat. “You’ve said enough. Now you need to do. Did you even find a job yet?”

  Gil smiled. At least she was talking. The job stuff—that wasn’t important. If he could get her talking, the battle was half won. Now he could ease his way into her heart again. She’d wanted him before, but he had been following another. He’d never expected it would end the way it had ... but no matter. That was all behind him.

  Now it was over and he had returned home, and Esther would put out all the raging infernos in his heart. She would light a new flame there, one that burnt low and steady, not searing the hillsides and leaving none alive. One that a man could live a long and happy life by. He understood this now.

  He just had to get through this dinner.

  ~o0o~

  In fact he had to do more than that. He’d been sore disappointed, when he’d first returned and found he wasn’t treated as the conquering hero he’d expected to be. He had done his best, against mighty odds, yet his welcome home had been... Well, it had been a real kick in the teeth.

  But he wasn’t going to hold it against Esther. She had every right to her feelings. And now Gil was more than happy to let her go through whatever she needed to make it right. He would help her, even.

  She wasn’t all that interested in hearing about his adventures, though. She wasn’t all that interested in hearing what he had to say at all. Half the time, it was as if she didn’t even believe him, and the rest of the time, she just didn’t seem to care. But what did she want him to do?

  ~o0o~

  Gil excused himself to go to the men’s room. The restaurant had grown crowded, hopping with dressed-up diners laughing over their pomegranate margaritas and seven-dollar beers, and he had to wait in the narrow hallway for the one-holer to free up. While he stood there, leaning against a bus table, he could smell the spices swarming in the steamy kitchen. Better than inhaling the putrid odor of the john, he thought.

  There were cinnamon and cardamom, those he was sure of. But what was the astringent undertone? He closed his eyes and breathed more deeply, searching, traveling back...

  It was a crowded spice bazaar, every flavor known to man and then some, jumbled with the rank smell of unwashed humans and never-washed animals from the farms up the coast; plus monkeys, green papayas, tall sugarcane stalks, and the salt of the ocean.

  There was a pull on his garments, a tugging, followed by a sharp pain just below the back of the knee. He whipped around, then looked down.

  A small hairy thing crouched at his heels. Matted seal-dark fur, really, covering the creature head to toe. It was shaggier on the boy’s head—was it a boy? Yes, had to be—but did not let up anywhere, did not show any skin.

  More to the point, the thing was jabbing a long knife into Gil’s leg.

  “Stop that!” Gil reached down and snatched the weapon from the boy, who began to wail, his voice deep and rich with the agony of the ages. Shopkeepers up and down the aisle looked up at the other-worldly shrieks of the creature, and a burly spice dealer reeking of star anise began to step forward. Without a thought, Gil picked up the surprisingly solid youngster and sprinted off in the opposite direction.

  “Dude? You’re up.”

  Gil snapped back to the present as the guy behind him in line nudged him in the back. “Oh, sorry.” He stepped into the foul john and closed the door behind him. The lock wouldn’t slide; the bar sat too high to enter the loop on the facing. Why did these things never work? Well, the fellow outside knew he was in here; he’d keep others away.

  He unbuttoned the fly of his Levi’s, bumping his elbow on the greasy wall as he adjusted himself to pee. For such an expensive restaurant, their facilities were, well, crappy. The toilet looked like it hadn’t been scrubbed in a month, and there were no paper towels. He’d have to warn Esther. He hoped she could hold it till after dinner.

  In fact, he hoped she’d come back to his place, where his bathroom was fiercely clean, as were the sheets on his bed; and a bottle of pricey champagne waited in the fridge.

  Gil finished his business, buttoned up, and contemplated washing his hands despite the lack of towels. He could dry them on his napkin, back at the table. But what about the door handle? No, he was clean. This would have to do.

  He nodded at the guy waiting—was it the same guy?—then hurried back to the table.

  Esther was gone.

  ~o0o~

  Gil ran with the monkey-creature in his arms until his lungs stung with the effort, until his legs felt as though they would fly from his body, until the spice bazaar was miles behind them. Then h
e collapsed by the bank of a river, arms and legs splayed, insensible.

  The creature, now tall as a man, sat watching him while he recovered, his black eyes revealing nothing.

  Gil had dropped the knife some ways back, but his companion did not clamor for it. Nor did he try to run away. He seemed to sense that he was in the presence of something more powerful than himself. As if he knew he had been taken up by a hero.

  After the moon had inched its way across the sky towards the far horizon and Gil’s breath had returned to him, he sat up and looked back at the creature.

  “Well?”

  The strange child-man stared back at him, sitting poker-straight, eyes unblinking. Gil looked into that gaze, and knew he had found a brother.

  ~o0o~

  “I suppose you thought that was very funny, leaving me with the check.”

  It had taken him three days to get Esther to answer his calls. He stood in the doorway to his kitchen and squirmed, holding the tiny cell phone to his ear. “I didn’t leave. I told you. There was a line.”

  “For thirty-five minutes?” Her voice dripped acid. “That’s when you come back and tell a person. That’s when you give up. That’s when you alert management that someone’s died in there. You don’t just wait.”

  He had no response to that. She was right.

  “Can we try again? Come over here, I’ll cook.”

  She sighed, heavy, almost liquid. “I don’t know why I bother.”

  I do, he thought, hope rising in his breast once more. “Come tonight. I’ll make…” But then he couldn’t think of anything he knew how to cook. “A surprise. I’ll make a surprise, something special.”

  “No,” she said. “No more meals. I’ll tell you what: meet me after work tomorrow. Bring a gift that shows me you’re sorry, and you want to make it right. Bring me something that shows me you’ve listened to me, that you know me.”

  “What do you mean?” He hated the shrill panic that crept into his voice. A gift! He had no idea what she might want! Well, jewelry, sure, but he wasn’t about to spend money on jewelry unless…