The Downs

by Kim Fielding

  One particular day, he’d been especially difficult about practicing his spelling and numbers, and then he’d made a fuss when Minna said it was time for him to go to sleep. “I’m not tired!” he’d insisted.

  But Minna somehow managed to get him washed and combed and changed into his nightshirt, and then she’d practically dragged him to his mattress. She covered him to his neck and sat on the blankets, pinning him in place. “I’m not tired,” he whined again.

  “You are. But even if you weren’t, it doesn’t matter. It’s your bedtime.”

  “You don’t have to go to sleep now.”

  “I’m older.”

  He scowled at her. “You always say that. But I’m not a baby anymore. I’m big.”

  “Not big enough.”

  “But when will I be big enough?” Because he felt nearly grown-up. He could read and everything.

  “You’ll be big enough when you have big responsibilities. When you contribute to this family. Help run the household, Enitan, and instead of spending money, earn it. Like Father and I do. Then you’ll be big enough.”

  “I don’t want to. You and Father never have any fun.”

  Up to that point, she’d merely looked tired and perhaps slightly indulgent, but now her face hardened. “Fun is for children. Father and I must act like adults.”

  “I won’t. Not even when I’m old. Not if it means I have to go around looking like this all the time.” He made a comically exaggerated version of Minna’s usual frown.

  “You will. Because it’s your job. Do you know what happens to people who don’t do their job?”

  “What?”

  “If they’re just a little naughty, they get punished. But if they’re very naughty— if the Judge says they’re bad— they get sent across the Reach and banished to the Downs. And do you know what happens to them then?”

  He’d heard about the Downs, of course. Everyone had. But at seven, his knowledge was sketchy at best, mostly the result of vague schoolyard curses. “What?” he whispered, both fascinated and scared.

  “The demons take them. That’s all that lives there— no people, nothing nice. And the demons torture them slowly. They eat them, nibble by nibble. They kick them around like a child kicks a ball. They make them blind and deaf and they tear out their tongues and chop off their arms and legs and drink their blood. And they steal the bad people’s memories until they can’t remember anything but pain.” She stood up and looked regally down at him. “That’s what happens.”

  “But… but… I’m not bad,” he’d whimpered.

  “Not quite. But you’d better listen, Enitan, and you’d better do your job. And when you grow up, you’d better do what you’re supposed to. Otherwise the Judge is going to send you to the Downs.”

  “Father wouldn’t let them take me!”

  She shrugged. “Not now. But he’s old. He won’t always be around to protect you.”

  And she’d marched out of his bedroom, leaving Enitan shivering in his bed. He’d had nightmares for weeks.

  ****

  Chapter Three

  When Enitan floated slowly to consciousness and felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, his first muddled thought was that he’d had a terrible dream like those from his childhood. There had been no murder, no Judge, no trip across the Reach. Now he would awake with a lover beside him, and perhaps they’d enjoy each other’s bodies before finding some breakfast.

  But even as Enitan grasped desperately at those thoughts, pain washed through him, making him cry out. It felt as if every bone was broken and his skin scoured away. He registered the hard ground beneath him and the odors of smoke and something bitter.

  The Downs. Oh gods, the Downs.

  He shouted and tried to move away, but rough hands kept him pinned. “Stay still! You’ll hurt yourself.” The accent was strange to his ears, the vowels recognizable but a twist or two off true. A demon?

  Enitan lurched again, creating a sharp agony despite his captor’s strong grip, and oh gods, he couldn’t see. “My eyes! Don’t eat my eyes!” Panicked, he tried to thrash free but was held fast.

  “Ssh, ssh. You’re safe. Stay still.”

  The voice was calm and deep and somehow reassuring, but Enitan knew it had to be part of the demon’s game: fool the captive into a false sense of security before inflicting more damage. Just as Minna had been unusually kind and attentive shortly before she killed their father. Even knowing it was hopeless, Enitan tried again to get away. But he was too badly hurt and the demon was far too strong, and Enitan eventually stopped struggling. “Go ahead, you bastard,” he whispered.

  But the demon didn’t hurt him. Instead it settled a cool, damp cloth on Enitan’s forehead and traced its fingers gently over his cheekbones. Enitan wanted to flinch away, but the touch felt oddly good, as if each little stroke erased a bit more of his pain. The demon was chanting something very quietly. Enitan couldn’t recognize the words, but the tune was as soft and soothing as a lullaby. A spell of some kind, perhaps, but in his pain and confusion he couldn’t work out the advantage of that. He was already at the demon’s mercy.

  His terrible agony softened at the edges and became slightly less jagged as the creature petted him, and the blessing of unconsciousness settled gradually over him like a blanket. Before he fell asleep completely, though, several droplets of liquid were squeezed between his slack lips. Poison! he thought, mindful of his father’s fate. But the liquid felt good on his parched tissues and tasted sweet, and anyway he hadn’t the strength to fight it.

  The demon crooned an approving sound. “Good. Very good. Sleep now and mend well. I’ll have more for you when you wake.”

  Enitan fell asleep wondering whether that was a promise or a threat.

  ****

  He still couldn’t see when he woke up, and pain continued to wrack his body, but his head was slightly clearer. While he was definitely not on his own comfortable mattress, at least he wasn’t lying on the ground. He was on some kind of thinly padded mat, and he was naked except for the many bandages swathing his body. Including, he realized, a thick strip of cloth across his eyes. Perhaps he was blindfolded instead of blinded. That thought brought a small bit of relief.

  Warm air felt good on his bare skin, and judging by the draft and the slight echoes of his breaths, he guessed that he was indoors. Although sharp medicinal scents pricked his nose, he no longer smelled the mingled reek of blood, shit, vomit, piss, and come. Someone had made the effort to clean him as well as bind his wounds. But why? So he would survive longer in order to amuse the demons?

  He could barely move his arms and legs, and at first he thought he was restrained. But after a few moments he realized that his limbs had been splinted. Again, he didn’t understand.

  He tensed as he heard soft footfalls approaching. Someone settled beside him with a sigh. “Did you rest well?” asked the demon. Enitan thought it was the same one as before.

  Enitan tried to clear his throat. “What are you doing to me?”

  “Healing you. Slowly, I’m afraid.”

  “Why?”

  The demon paused before replying. “It was that or leave you to die. I’m hoping you prefer this option.”

  “But—”

  “I have some tea for you. It tastes awful, but you need to drink it. If you can hold it down for a few minutes, I’ll give you some water after.”

  Water sounded like heaven. And when the demon lifted Enitan’s head so he could drink the tea— which was vile— the creature handled him gently. Paintings of demons showed them with gnarled fingers tipped by vicious claws, but that wasn’t what Enitan felt. He hadn’t felt it earlier either, when the demon stroked his cheeks. Its hands had felt human.

  The demon hummed its lullaby while Enitan drank, and after the tea was gone, the demon settled Enitan’s head back on the mat. Then it got up and moved around a bit, producing quiet homey sounds— the small clatter of dishes and the little thuds of objects being moved from one place to another. Wa
ter gurgled as it was poured. The demon sat beside him and again lifted his head. Nothing had ever tasted as wonderful as the next few sips of cool water.

  “Slowly,” the demon said, more to itself than Enitan. It sighed deeply. “So much hurt.”

  Enitan was sleepy again, but he had so many questions. He fought to stay awake as the demon trailed its fingers rhythmically along his shoulders. “Wh-what—”

  “Just healing. I do all the work. Your job is to relax and let yourself mend. That’s enough.”

  It was tempting to obey. Whatever the demon’s eventual plans for him, thus far it hadn’t hurt him. Much the opposite, in fact— with every touch, the demon eased a bit more of his agony. He should enjoy it while it lasted, even if it meant that eventually his suffering would be increased.

  “What’s your name?” the demon asked after a time.

  Enitan briefly wondered if that knowledge would give the demon more power. But that seemed impossible— it already held all the power over him. “Enitan Javed.”

  “Hello, Enitan Javed. I’m Rig.”

  A strange name that didn’t sound demonic, and Rig’s soft chuckle seemed entirely human. “You’re the type who wants explanations, I can tell. They’ll come. But rest now.” The demon continued the soothing movements of his fingers as he spoke, and Enitan imagined he could feel the broken little bits of himself gradually coming back together.

  “Demon,” Enitan mumbled, trying to remind himself.

  Rig laughed again. “Not really.”

  This time, Enitan fell asleep wondering about that strange denial.

  ****

  He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Rig to turn cruel. But as the days passed, that never happened. Rig’s touches were always gentle, even when he tended to the torn tissues in the most private parts of Enitan’s body. He kept Enitan clean and warm, and he gave him water and tea, then rich broth, and eventually small spoonfuls of buttery mush. Rig hummed nearly all the time, but especially when he stroked Enitan’s skin; and his voice rumbled cheerfully when he spoke. But he answered few of Enitan’s questions. “Later. Now you concentrate on getting better.”

  Rig kept saying that, and after a while, Enitan had to admit he was right. Enitan might have been doing nothing but lying there, yet it took enormous energy to knit shattered bones and ravaged skin. He slept almost all the time, yet when he was awake, he felt as if he’d been at hard labor.

  Only after many days did Enitan realize that Rig slept in the same room, close enough to lay a hand on if Enitan awakened from discomfort or nightmares. And after this happened, Rig held a cup of water to his mouth, then matter-of-factly helped him piss into some kind of container. Finally he’d pet Enitan’s chest or shoulder or hip— singing his lullabies until Enitan fell back asleep.

  Enitan stopped fearing Rig. Foolish, he knew, but a person could hold on to terror only so long, and his wounds were sapping most of his strength. He tried to picture Rig but was largely unsuccessful. He knew the demon was big— his hands were large and his body sounded heavy when he moved— but not inhumanly so. Fancifully, Enitan imagined him as a large cat, perhaps because his voice resembled a deep purr and he seemed capable of sheathing his claws. But beneath their beauty and soft fur, beneath their guise of sleepy contentment, cats were deadly creatures. Enitan would do well to remember that.

  If other demons were nearby, Enitan never heard them. Sometimes Rig left him alone, but never for long. Did demons have jobs as people do? And if so, what was Rig’s? Aside from healing, apparently.

  Although Enitan had never done much actual work, he hadn’t been the type to lie about in bed all day either. He liked to wander the city, to spar with fists or swords, to dance at the Bennu Club until nearly dawn. So as his pains ebbed away, he became restless, and visions of his sister’s mockery danced in front of his unseeing eyes. He tossed fitfully on his mat until Rig scolded him to remain still.

  “I can’t,” Enitan said after Rig admonished him for the hundredth time. This wasn’t the kind of torture he’d expected to endure in the Downs, but it was torture nonetheless. He twitched as his nerves buzzed, vigorously but aimlessly.

  Rig sat beside him with a sigh that had now become familiar. “You’re not an easy patient. You should be thankful you can move at all— and that you’re not just a pile of bones by now.” His words were slightly harsh, but as always, his tone was light. Amused.

  “Gods, I can’t… Just start already.”

  “Start what?”

  “Whatever you’re going to do to me. The maiming and the torment and…” And that sounded faintly ridiculous, really.

  Rig must have thought so too, because he gave his warm chuckle. “After I’ve spent so much time and work putting you back together, do you really think I’m eager to take you apart again?”

  “What do you want, dammit?”

  “For you to get better.” Another of Rig’s noisy sighs. “Would it help if you could see?”

  Enitan had given up on regaining his sight. “Can I?”

  “Not yet. When you fell, you… well, you damaged your eyes very badly. It happens. The fog is caustic. I’ve been trying to heal all your parts at once, but if I concentrate on your eyes today I should be able to remove the bandage by tonight. If I do that, will you promise to stop squirming so much?” Rig sounded so much like the teacher who’d bribed Enitan into learning to read, that Enitan almost smiled.

  “All right,” he said.

  The healing session that followed was intense. Rig rubbed his fingers over and over Enitan’s cheekbones, chanting in rhythm with the strokes. Enitan’s eyes prickled and burned, and he would have had a difficult time remaining still if Rig’s presence hadn’t been so soothing. I shouldn’t be calmed by a demon, he reminded himself. But he was. So much so that he allowed his mind to float loose from his body, wandering over pleasant memories of better times.

  He thought especially about a man named Masozi. Several years earlier, Enitan had seen Masozi perform at the Bennu Club and had been immediately taken by the singer’s beautiful voice and handsome face. Enitan had done his very best to seduce Masozi, and soon he was getting private performances in his bed, Masozi gleaming with sweat as he fucked Enitan. They’d spent several weeks together, good weeks. Eventually Minna’s harsh words eroded Masozi’s patience. But until then, Enitan had learned that Masozi’s tongue was talented at many things besides singing.

  “Well, one part of you is working well,” Rig said with a laugh.

  Enitan was mortified to realize his dick had grown erect as he reminisced. He made a choked sound and tried to move away, but Rig held him in place.

  “Stop. It’s a good thing. If your cock’s waking up, that’s a sign that your healing is progressing well.”

  Not feeling especially appreciative, Enitan groaned. “But I don’t—”

  “Here.” Rig let go of him and stepped away, returning a moment later to drape a large soft cloth over Enitan’s hips. “We’ll both pretend it’s an invisibility cloak. I can’t see a thing.” He resumed his tuneful attention to Enitan’s eyes.

  What kind of demon made accommodations for his prisoner’s modesty? “I’m sorry,” Enitan murmured miserably.

  “No need for it. I’d take it as a compliment, except I’m sure you weren’t thinking of me. Did you have a spouse?”

  “No.”

  “A lover, then?”

  It was Enitan’s turn to sigh. “Not recently. I used to be… active. But I was arrested and…” And of course Rig knew that. They were in the Downs, after all, and Rig was a demon who preyed on condemned humans, who captured them and… and massaged them and sang them lullabies. Enitan sighed again.

  Perhaps mistaking the reason for the sad exhalation, Rig clucked his tongue. “It’s better this way. It’s always harder when people grieve for the spouses they’ll never see again. Or children! That’s even worse.”

  And then a very strange thought occurred to Enitan and he blurted it out befo
re he could stop himself. “Are you married?” Demons probably didn’t marry, and even if they did, what should it matter to Enitan?

  Rig didn’t pause his healing caresses. “Not anymore. I had a husband, but he died.” For the first time since Enitan had been with him, Rig sounded unhappy.

  “I’m sorry,” Enitan said— and he found himself sincere in the statement. It hadn’t occurred to him that demons might mourn.

  “Thank you. But that is my trouble, not yours. You should sleep. And have good dreams.” By the sound of his voice, a smile had returned to his face. “When you wake up, we’ll see if you can see.” Then he began a song that was especially soporific, and Enitan slipped away.

  ****

  Chapter Four

  “The bandage. Please.” Enitan had tried to remove it himself as soon as he woke up, but his splinted arms didn’t allow it.

  Rig had been busily clattering pots and pans, but now he came over and sat. “All right. But don’t expect your eyesight to be perfect right away. Things will be blurry. And if your eyes start hurting, let me know right away. We don’t want to strain them.”

  “Fine, fine.” Enitan had given up wondering about the solicitous demon. He just wanted to see.

  But Rig paused with his hands at Enitan’s temples. “When you see me… don’t be shocked.” He sounded worried, which was strange.

  Enitan would have explored the thread of the conversation more fully, but he didn’t want to delay things. “Please,” he said. “The bandage.”