“Tell me, my friend.”
“She has the Sight.”
The man who called himself Aloadin—though surely it was not the Ancient One himself? This man was far too young—cocked his head, a hint of a frown on his brow.
“Interesting” was all he said. Her heart fell. He asked no evidence of this claim, indeed, he asked no further questions except: “Has she kept her virginity?”
“She has, Master.” The childtaker bowed. It was a lie, of course. When one has been sold and sold again throughout one’s life, all innocence is lost, though—funny—the first question most buyers ask about a girl is her virginity.
“Hmmm.” The Master turned to Salah. “And what about the boy? You wish to offer him to me, too?”
“Yes. He will make a strong fighter. Look!” The childtaker reached into the cage and grasped Salah’s wrist, showing off the width of the large boy’s muscular forearm, all the while extolling his charge’s strength and endurance. The master inspected Salah like a man would check a donkey before he bought it, all down to the whiteness of Salah’s teeth. At the end, he flicked his fingers at the bars of the cage, and Salah flinched.
“He’s not a fighter,” the master said, half turning away, as though to leave.
The childtaker pushed himself in front of the master, and then fell to the ground as the two bodyguards drew their weapons. At a flick of the master’s hand, they stood back, and the childtaker dared to raise his head again.
“Master Aloadin, with all due respect, he may not yet be a fighter, but he is strong and enduring. You could train him…”
The master clicked his tongue impatiently. “He’s too old to be trained. There is cowardice in him, not ferocity.”
“Ah, well,” the childtaker lowered his voice, and the master had to bend over to listen, but to Goldie every whispered word rang clear. She remembered the clarity for years thereafter. “Some you need for fighting, Master. But it seems to me that some you’ll need for dying. Still others you need for surviving and trembling in fear. When a man builds a reign on a reputation like you have done, a man must surely have needs for all kinds of servants, not just warriors.”
He paused, and the Master stroked his beard in contemplation, a smugness about him that showed that he saw through the flattery but enjoyed it nonetheless.
“Take him and the girl, Master,” the childtaker continued after a moment. “Her former masters used her ability to foretell the outcome of pit fights, and they grew rich from her power, dogs though they were. And the boy has become her friend. He dotes on her and will do as she says. You have nothing to lose.”
“Nothing to lose?” The Master gave Goldie a glance, amusement sparkling in his dark eyes. “I wonder, if she was so profitable, why did her former masters sell her on to you, old friend?”
“They died,” Goldie whispered, holding the master’s gaze fearlessly. “They all died.”
“By accident, Master.” The childtaker frowned angrily at Goldie’s interruption. “A strange kind of plague swept the pit-fighters, and the crowds they drew fell sick, and so did her masters. When I came by, there was hardly anyone left in the whole village, and the girl was just another plague victim to be nursed. She was half starved when I took her. Couldn’t even remember her name. Eh, Goldie?”
He rapped his knuckles sharply against the bars so that Goldie withdrew from leaning close to the master’s ear.
“Can you dance, little one?” The master asked her directly.
The childtaker gave her a worried glance. When he had bought her, he had scraped her from her filth and had to hammer her chains loose of the wall. What could she possibly know of dancing?
“If you play a tune, I will dance, Master Aloadin,” Goldie said, bowing her head.
“And what about your friend? Will he dance, too?”
There was a heartbeat in which Goldie looked at Salah’s scared face and tried not to see his death in his wide open eyes.
What was the greater kindness, she thought. To take him with her now or to let him die in a few weeks time in the tumble from the mountain path. She gave the childtaker and the forlorn children in the cage a look. She wouldn’t speak a word of what she knew was their fate because the fall was going to happen whether she spoke of it or not. Perhaps she should feel sorry about the loss of life. In the end, though, death was the fate of everyone she had ever laid eyes on. But this one life, this tiny shred of innocence … maybe she could save it. For a while.
“He isn’t my friend, Master, he is my cage brother. And we will dance together.” She took Salah’s hand, and the large boy’s lower lip trembled.
* * *
The master bought them both, and they were led into what was going to be their last home. They were bathed and clothed and fed until their flesh was plump and their skin shiny. Every now and then, Goldie would look into the dark eyes of her friend, and she wouldn’t be able to see his death there, and the knot of anxiety unraveled a little more every day. All mankind must die, of course, and so would Salah. One day. As for herself, her gift stopped short at peering into her own future. All she had was the past and the now, and most days it was absolutely enough.
The cavernous halls of the Ancient of the Mountain were carved out of the red rock, hiding his fortress home deep within the mountain, and with it hundreds of souls belonging to his household. After a week or two of rest and recuperation on the upper levels, close to the entrance, Salah was separated from her, and Goldie was taken in by an old hag who led her deeper into the mountain.
The hag held tight command over a troop of young girls and women, all exceptionally beautiful, and under the tutelage of the hag, all accomplished dancers. They were all resigned to their fate, her sisters of this new cage. And it was there, in the darker rooms inside the mountain, that Goldie learned two lessons. One—learned over time—was how one person could hold the lives of thousands in their hand, and the other was not to look into the other girls’ eyes in order not to see their deaths.
She had been purchased for her gift of foresight, but first, the hag informed her, Master Aloadin wanted to test her service. For a while, until she was summoned, she would share the lives of the other girls the master had similarly bought, some from the childtaker’s cage like herself, others from poor local peasants who offered up their prettiest daughters to their master, and still others who had been bought from brothels as far away as the city of Arrun, capital of the world.
So she learned how to dance in the gardens of delight.
Deep in the bowels of the mountain, corridors of light led upward and opened onto sheltered rooftop gardens, lush and green, a fertile, vibrant paradise that pained the eyes with its beauty after the barren red rock surrounding them. Fruit trees grew there with sweet fruits dangling from their tended limbs, and clear springs of water trickled within earshot, quenching the thirst of any who came into these secured gardens.
In order to make a man loyal, the master told her much later, you cannot overwhelm him. You cannot force him. His loyalty must come from a place deep within him. It must be given freely. There were a number of ways to achieve this, the master said, through fear, through respect, and also through necessary deception.
The master bought boys and young men from the childtaker, he took the sons of the peasants of his lands as tributes instead of coin or grain, and he promised riches and fame for any able-bodied souls who sought him out. He trained them as warriors, he gave them a code to live by, he treated them well, and when they had accomplished their training, the master promised he would show them a glimpse of the paradise that his god Shinar held out to those who loyally did his bidding. The entire mountain fortress had once been a temple of the Fire God, and so their feet were always touching holy ground.
At the end of their training, during their initiation into the Fire God’s rites, the master gave his warriors a concoction to drink that made them fall into a deep sleep. His servants undressed the youths and placed them naked, weaponless, and
vulnerable in the secret gardens. Confused and drugged, the young men woke and thought themselves in paradise.
The beauty of the secluded spots often made them weep with joy, maybe in relief that they need not have doubted their master’s words. That their reward was true. Here in the gardens of delight, with food enough, and clear streams, and beautiful virgin dancers walking naked and innocent among the bushes—there was no room for doubt in their hearts. And they loved their master and praised his fiery god.
And after the young, entranced men had eaten and drunk and fucked their way to bliss, the silent dancing girls were instructed to drug the young men once more. In their sleep, they were taken back out of the gardens and brought back into the initiation chambers, clothed once more, and when they woke, their Master bade them describe the visions their god had given them.
Oh, such visions.
Oh, the paradise where every need and desire was fulfilled and where each man was treated like a god unto himself.
And the master listened with rapt attention and wept with his men at the loss of such paradise. “But Shinar has promised us we can return to it in honorable death, my son.”
For a long time, Goldie served as a paradisiac virgin dancer and learned how to concoct the potions that would send the young men to sleep, how to best administer them, and how to always keep her mouth shut lest she wanted to end like the dumb girl who fell in love with one of the youths and stole away to be with him.
There were secret pathways and tunnels woven throughout the temple that Goldie knew of and could use to meet with Salah on occasion. Sometimes she simply watched him as he worked, a lowly servant to one of the warriors, polishing his armor, buffing it to a shine. It seemed she was not the only one who knew of the passageways. Like the dumb girl and her lover. Goldie also found that there were far deeper levels within the mountain keep, and the farther down you were sent, the less likely it was that you ever came back up again. Especially when the hag destroyed the baby growing within you, and you bled out your life while your legs were broken. Especially when you were thrown into the pit with the wild fighting dogs, your death screams just another amusement to the men in power.
She saw the dumb girl’s death twice—once in foresight, once real as a lesson to be impressed on the minds of all the dancing girls—and she learned her lesson well, to not look into the eyes of the other dancers, to keep silent, to endure. Though in her heart she resented it, she saw there was no escape.
The whole world was a cage. From the small pen where she had grown up amongst the other slave children to the walls where the pit-fighters chained her to watch the outcome of her predictions, to the childtaker’s little wagon, to the paradise gardens and nightmare levels of the Temple of Fire. There was no escape. There was only death. Though her world grew larger and larger, it still held boundaries she could not break. And it seemed to Goldie that this was how it would be even if she fled the temple and found a larger cage. So why bother attempting escape? This was her life.
Until one day the master sent for her.
She stood behind his black throne, in the shadows the flames cast. He was in his aspect of high priest of the Fire God, and a young man before him trembled and shook while recounting the joys of paradise.
“Our god rewards the faithful, my son,” Master Aloadin intoned. “You will be with me in paradise once more. Do you believe it?”
“I do, Lord. I do.”
The master nodded gravely as the youth did obeisance to him, pressing his forehead on the polished obsidian floor.
“I have a mission for you, my son.” Master Aloadin said, his voice soft.
“Anything, my Lord.”
“There is a man, an enemy. He is a heretic, a worshiper of Neeze, who aims to rally his deluded men against our temple and home. His men are many, and his arm grows mightier every day.” The master shook his head wearily. “I fear I cannot muster a force strong enough to go out against this man and meet him in open battle. I fear we will all be killed, and then no true believers of Shinar will remain here, and everything we love and cherish will be defiled. What shall I do?”
“Send me against this man, Lord.” The youth looked up, fervor blazing in his eyes. “I will kill him.”
The master looked surprised.
“You alone, my son? How?”
“I will enter his home under a guise and cut off the head of the snake. Without a leader, his force will scatter, and we shall be safe.”
The master rose and stepped down from his throne, bidding the youth to stand and clasping him in a tight embrace while tears ran down his cheeks.
“You are so brave, my son. So brave. But surely, you would die even as you strike him down. His men will swiftly lay down their vengeance upon you. No. I cannot ask this of you.”
“Even if I should die, let me do this, Ancient One. For if I die, I will return to paradise, will I not?” A lingering flash of doubt. The young man looked up into the sky-gray eyes of his master and saw the struggle there, the need to discourage him from his youthful recklessness, and yet the need to make use of it to protect all.
The master grasped the youth’s shoulder as though he couldn’t hold himself upright under the weight of his responsibility.
“You will! Most certainly our god will reward you. Go in peace, my son. Prepare yourself. I will give you the name and details of this enemy soon.”
The young man left quickly, eager to be on his way and die for his master, his way of life, his god.
For a moment all was silent in the throne room, and the girl hidden in the shadows watched her master dry his tears on his ceremonial sleeve. He turned and met her gaze.
“Tell me his fate, my golden one,” her master commanded. “Tell me what you see in his future.”
She took a deep breath and concentrated, for the fourth time that day.
“I see a fat man dressed in fine purple linen in a courtyard with high walls. It is market day, and the courtyard is filled with people. The fat man walks with four guards around him. The sky is dark with storm clouds, and as he looks up—a drop of rain hits his forehead, he thinks—our youth drops down on him and fells him with a slash to his throat.”
She did not mention the blood that stained the fat man’s robes dark or the gargling noise he made as air escaped through his open windpipe.
“And our youth?”
“Is struck down by a guard. Another runs him through with a curved blade. When he falls to the ground, the first guard chops off his head.”
The master smiled and bade his manservant to step out of the veiled shadows to the side.
“See that this happens as she said.”
The servant bowed low. “Yes, Lord.”
“And Ferth?” the master called him back. “That’s it for today. I don’t want to see any more recruits.”
“Yes, Lord.”
The doors of the throne room opened and closed, making the flames in the torch lights flicker unsteadily.
“My golden maiden.”
The girl stepped down from the dais as her master beckoned her forward, and pressed her forehead against the smooth, cool black stone of the floor.
“Your humble maidservant, Lord.”
“Your gift is truly great, Shuran. If it occurs like you say, you are worth far more than the two gold shekels I paid for you.”
She kept silent, head pressed to the floor, listening to him approach.
“Rise,” he commanded. “Look me in the eyes.”
She did so.
“What do you see? Tell me.” His breath moist against her skin. “Do you see my death?”
“No, Lord.” She shook her head slightly.
He laughed softly and reached to touch her long hair.
“Doesn’t it make you wonder?”
“No, Lord.”
“Why not?”
“You are a master of secrets, Ancient One.”
He laughed again.
“This is true. You are very smart, Shuran
.” He took something from his chest pocket, a necklace with a teardrop pendant. “And beautiful. Perhaps I have need of a consort. Perhaps it will be you?”
She bowed her head and he clasped the necklace around her throat, the thin metal cord chill against her flesh, making her skin rise. He kissed her collarbone, the dark metal of the tear resting in its hollow.
“A shard of the mirror of Neeze, an ancient treasure of old,” the master said. “With it the goddess could see to the ends of the earth. May it expand your Sight, Shuran.”
Another iron collar fastened around her, she thought, her fingers playing with the pendant nervously as she muttered her thanks. She peered down her nose to catch a distorted mirror reflection of her face staring back at her.
“What do you see, Shuran?” She heard her master’s whisper.
All her masters had whispered the same question. An echo throughout her life.
It drew her forward, to the future. She lost herself in her own reflection and saw herself grow, grow like a giant, a woman, a goddess, swallowing the desert sands, eating the wealthy parasites of the merchant cities in the east. And yet still she grew, until the entire crumbling Kandarin Empire was hers, the southern landmass sucked into her hungry, greedy mouth, and still it wasn’t enough. More. She needed more.
She cast her gaze north, dwelling for a moment on the lonely island that had once housed the whole mirror, a shard of which burned coldly in the hollow of her throat, strangling her so that she dragged her sight away from that place, gazing even farther north. And there, beyond the swirling madness, she saw a beam of light, a star brighter than any other, and she desired it with a hunger that made her moan. There she saw a way to escape this cage of a world.
Her lips trembled with ravenous hunger.
“What do you see?” her master asked once more. All of her masters. The Ancient One was just the latest face in a long row of reflections waiting for an answer.
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