by Jane Baskin
This, the tableau encountered by his soldiers, then Innask and Scell, as they rushed from the staircase. Soon followed by Iskar. Innask, stopping at the door. Motioning for the others to stay back. Stating, mostly to himself, “Thank all the gods. And thank you too, Noar.”
The aftermath of battle. Men in shock – of which they were unaware. Drinking large amounts of gell tea. Very large amounts. Even before starting on the ale and brandy, many: feeling unique effects from the uniquely strong dose of gell.
Noar, not used to taking strong amounts of gell. Carefully measured in the North. Gell: dangerous stuff, if overused. But the southern lords, seemingly uncaring about this. Many of them, indulging to excess.
Iskar to Noar: “Don’t worry. Sometimes we overindulge after a big battle. But we clean up in a day or two.”
Noar, paying more attention to Iskaya-te than the revelries. She, tended now by a legion of maids as well as the castle’s chief physician. The doctor’s report: physically unharmed, but has had a terrible fright. Prescribed particularly strong gell tea.
So that when Noar was finally allowed to visit her in her rooms – closely chaperoned of course – Iskaya-te was high.
Noar noticing: the rooms, cleaned and cleared of any evidence of the terrible goings on. The floor, scrubbed of blood so hard the stone appeared to be the color of bleach. The bed, cleaned and refreshed. Iskaya-te, in a ruffled white dressing gown, propped up on multiple layers of pillows. Her gold hair, loose and flowing around her shoulders like another garment.
Just staring.
Noar, approaching softly. A maid, quick to provide him with a chair. Sat down; took Iskay-te’s hand. Kissed it softly. She, finally seeming to notice him. A soft smile.
“Noar.”
“I’m here, Iskaya. How are you?”
Her voice, oddly musical. Her eyes, seeming slightly out of focus. “I’m well, thank you.” Then her brow, seeming to furrow, darken. Looking quickly at Noar. Then at some undefinable point in the distance. “Oh, Noar. I remember … ”
“Shh. Don’t think about it. It’s over. You’re safe now.”
“Noar!” Her voice a desperate small scream. Her eyes, staring straight ahead. Noar, standing. Reaching over the massive bed to take her into a somewhat awkward embrace. Trying to stroke her hair. Holding her.
His efforts to calm her: effective. Noar: feeling her body relax. Hearing her sigh. Watching her lay back upon the mountain of pillows. Stood back from her. Watched her comb her lovely hair with her fingers. Staring into space. Mutter softly to herself, “Safe now. Safe now.”
Noar, rejoining the others at the behest of the maids. She must rest.
Immediately given a mug of tea by Iskar. “Try it. You may be surprised.”
The tea, not tasting much different from what he was used to. A little sweeter, perhaps; but … southerners liked to sugar their tea.
Which may have been why he was unaware of its strength until he too, fell massively under its influence.
Could not recall ever feeling this way. Light on his feet, almost as if he could jump to the high ceiling – if he so chose. Happy, in a profound way. Aware of the room as he had never seen it. As if all were brighter, more focused.
Laughing along with the other lords.
And oh. So full of sexual desire that he ached all over his body.
Finally able to pick Iskar out of the crowd. Approached him. “Iskar. Where’s that maid? The one you sent to me before.”
Iskar, a wide grin. “Ah, so you’re feeling the effects of the tea. Well enjoy, my friend. You’ve earned it. This is your right and your privilege. Especially you. All gods, Noar, you deserve – gods alive, there’s no limit to what you deserve. Whatever you want, you shall have.”
“Right now, I’d like that maid.”
Iskar, laughing. “By all the gods, you shall have her. Use her to the fullest, my dear friend.”
Which he did. The maid, hesitant at first. Approached him cowering. But Noar, too desperate to permit her reticence. “Look, I won’t hit you again. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I never hit women except in battle.”
Did she believe him? Probably not. Girls like her: often beaten if gentlemen were dissatisfied for one reason or another. Sometimes, merely for sport. Noar, not waiting for her to make up her mind. Pushing her to the bed, lifting the dress. Undoing his pants just enough to plunge into her, to experience love as he had never experienced it before. Gell love. Frantic desire, so hot as to burn the skin all over him. Wild, raging; culminating in explosions he had never imagined.
After. Getting the girl to disrobe fully. Disrobing himself. And then again. And again.
Thinking, just before he passed out, that perhaps the North should reconsider its temperate use of gell.
30.Deserved Fruits
After the Battle of Selshay, as it came to be known, the peasant army: finished. Rumor, probably fact: some survivors. Maybe many. Some who fled the wood in different directions. But these, an unknown number. Probably just remnants. Scattered. Whereabouts unknown.
The aristocrats, once again solidified in their position. Southern culture, returning to its time honored (and blood spattered) class traditions. Peasants who had not joined the rebellion: now having to make up for the absence (death) of those who had.
To that end, the breeding program that had followed the last rebellion two hundred years before: resurrected. Innask, addressing lords assembled in his planning room: “The aftermath of war is a hard time. War, as you know, is expensive. In both financial and human capital. So, we’re faced with solutions from two hundred years ago, that while hard, were successful. We must see the peasant population restored.”
One of the younger lords, in response: “What exactly is our role, Lord Selshay?”
Not even a hint of a smile: “Your role is to make sure your own peasants breed as fruitfully as possible. As there is a drop in the number of males, you personally will see to extra peasant females. It is your duty to bed and impregnate as many of them as possible.” Innask, making eye contact with every lord in the room. “It is the duty of every one of us, young and old.”
Not a snicker in the room.
Noar, calling to himself the pretty maid he had been bedding during his stay at the castle. Making sure he was with her every night until, per the head housemaid, she missed her cycle.
Then, oh; wondering. Had never impregnated anyone. In the North, women had ways of avoiding such unplanned events. Methods given to them by modern medical research. Nearly infallible, these methods. So. Noar, certain he had never fathered a child on anyone.
This event: a disaster or, as the lords believed, a blessing?
Unplanned pregnancy: considered a highly unfortunate event, in the North. Shameful, even. Children: to be planned for, expected. So they could be provided for in a harsh climate. Population control, already a fact of life in the North. Where excess population would be a guarantee of starvation.
The North: having achieved population stability hundreds of years ago.
But in the South … the opposite. Especially now. And Noar, unprepared.
Somewhat taken aback at the thought that he had sired a child. A child that would be born into slavery, a child that would be of no account to anyone but the work drivers. A child that might one day grow up to raid at Cha-ning. But still, a child sired by him. Not sure whether to feel proud or ashamed. Whether to feel powerful and potent … or like a barn animal, kept for breeding livestock. Whether to feel anything at all.
Then another young maid brought to him. After her, another.
On throughout the next month, while marriage negotiations went on and on with Innask.
This, his greatest disappointment. Had asked Iskaya-te to marry him as soon as she was well enough to appear at dinners. She, in happy agreement. So Noar had gone, as was proper, to her older brother and Lord, Innask. Had thought it would be a relatively simple matter. After all, he was equal to her station. And … he was
a hero of Selshay.
But other lords … maybe not so much in agreement. Lords of the South, many of whom had been present at Nayan’s wedding. Who had watched the Lady of Vel, the last survivor of her family, essentially give away the biggest and richest southern province to a northern lord, out of love. Who had watched this event, powerless to stop it; and had promised a reckoning.
Now: another northern lord, trying to stake out part ownership of another southern province. The younger brother of the first usurper, no less. And Selshay: a smaller province, but almost as rich. Just as critical to the functioning of the South. Across provincial assemblies, and now here at Selshay Castle itself, southern lords discussing the matter … ad nauseum.
The wishes of the young lady, of course: irrelevant. She, as any aristocrat, having a duty to perform. Her marriage, a matter of state. And this marriage: benefit, or threat?
“We already have one northern usurper amongst us.”
“And this petitioner is his brother. His brother!”
“Cha-ning Province may as well move into the South and take up seats in our Assemblies.”
Through it all, Innask, looking bored. Sometimes frustrated. The older lords: annoying. They were happy enough to have Noar lead our forces – finally – to victory in a war that had cost them dearly in every way possible. But when he wants his reward … all they can do is blather. Why do they go on so? If we wait much longer, the bird may fly away. Innask, feeling like he wanted to spit. Or yawn in their faces. Or both.
Finally rising to his feet in one of the interminable meetings: “This just goes on and on. What do you need to reach a conclusion?”
Old Scell, speaking for the group: “What does the young northern lord bring to us, that would be of enough benefit to permit such a match?”
“I’ll find out.”
So Innask, walking with Noar in one of the castle’s private gardens, now silky with frost. The day: bright. Both young men, wearing light winter cloaks that reminded Noar of the North. Watching their breath rise in steamy drafts as they spoke.
Innask: “You know the southern dilemma. Your brother is regarded as an infiltrator, as you know. As women do not hold land and titles here, he is technically the Lord of Vel now, as well as the Lord of Cha-ning. This is an embarrassment to the South. Some say, intolerable. To have a northerner, become Lord of one of our most powerful provinces.”
“He’ll never exercise that option.”
“How do you know?”
Noar, a sigh. “My brother doesn’t like the South. Doesn’t approve. His – lady – “ (Noar almost choked on the word) “ – wants to never go home.” Wanted to say, ‘she fired the place herself,’ but held the words back. “She’s content to stay in the North. As I’ve been told, she prefers it there.”
A wry smile from Innask. “Yes, she was always a misfit in her own land. Some rather radical ideas, I believe. And far too indulged by her father.”
“Besides, the keep is destroyed, so I’m given to understand. There’s nothing to go home to.”
“I hear some of the relatives are rebuilding. A more modern building, with central heating and electric lighting. If your brother wanted, he could let the relatives build it, then claim the place. He’d be fully within his rights.”
Noar, a sudden twist in his gut.
A sweep of rage toward Nayan. Rage he hadn’t been tormented by … for months. Overshadowed by the war, his growing stature among the lords of Selshay and others, his enchantment with Iskaya-te. But now. To think even for a moment that he would lose his prize – again – to his brother … intolerable. Simply unimaginable. I took Zoren-te. She should have been mine, if anyone’s. But Nayan had to have her. Took her. Then married her! She was a hostage. Just a hostage! And now, the Lady of Cha-ning. If he keeps me from having Iskaya-te … Noar’s cheeks, growing red with rage. Redder than the cold had made them.
Innask: “You seem bothered, Noar. What is it?”
“I want to marry your sister. We’re equals; I have money. Why is there all this – opposition?”
“You’re an intelligent man, Noar. Surely you must see our position.”
Noar, wanting to spit. To scream. To walk into the conference room and shoot dead every southern lord keeping him from Iskaya-te. Finally turning to Innask: “Innask, what would it take to convince them? Tell me honestly.”
Innask, pausing. Then: “I have given it some thought, Noar. What you need to do is give the lords some added incentive. Something that would make them see the match as beneficial to the South. Something they couldn’t refuse.”
Noar, not stupid. Impulsive perhaps; but not stupid. Of course, understood what Innask was alluding to. Noar, staring away for a few moments. Scanning the garden. Like some magical thing would suddenly arise from amid the dead roses; somehow save him. No such thing happening, of course. Finally turned back to Innask. A sigh, a slight head shake. Then: “Very well then. Tell them that in spring, they’ll have their gell seeds.”
Innask, a broad smile. “I have no doubt that will seal the bargain, Noar. And … you know I would always have approved, seeds or no seeds. You do know that, right? Welcome to the family, brother.”
Of course, the southern lords: agreeing at once to the match. Much time spent, happily crafting a marriage contract that could have confounded every legal mind in the North, including those in the cities. A boring time for Innask; but he, accustomed to doing his duty. Really, would have preferred to celebrate with his younger brother.
Finally. Able to do just that. “You’ve heard, my dear boy?”
Iskar: “I have. Excellent work.”
“Me? The glory goes to you, Iskar. I did nothing but sign papers. It was your assessment. You did all the hard work.”
“Well … ” A grin. “I guess we could say that honor goes to our lovely sister.”
“Yes, yes … of course. But I will always thank all the gods for that line message from you, so many months ago.”
“Well, I thought it wouldn’t hurt. I mean, he was ripe for the plucking, as far as I could tell. A northern second son, off by himself in Sauran City … had to have been sulking.”
“So it must have been. And not only did we get the seeds, he settled this gods forsaken war for us. What a find, Iskar!”
“Are you actually going to let him marry her before we have the seeds?”
“I think if we keep him out of her bed much longer, he’ll explode.”
Noar, that night partaking once again of the strong gell tea. Thought only once that perhaps he shouldn’t. But …
So bothered, him. Would he really go through with it?
A complete, total, absolute betrayal of his people. Of everything with which he had been raised. And yes, of Nayan.
Do I really hate him that much?
Betrayal of Colwen. Who would never betray him. Of his parents. Of his wonderful mother, who often preferred him over Nayan. Of Colwen’s mother. I will betray everyone. Can I really do this?
But then the thought of Iskaya-te … shook his head. Hard to do, but … struggled to evict from his mind, the faces of all those who had loved him, that he loved, that he had just betrayed. Maybe there’ll be a way around it, when the time comes.
All gods, there’ll be a way around it. There’ll have to be.
Drank the tea.
Watched, with some strange inner eye, the faces of all those he had loved before … turn into mist.
Lying back on his bed, dreaming with his eyes open. Seeing the candlelight as brilliant, the old stone walls as fluid as water. Seeing in his mind’s eye, Iskaya-te, moaning beneath him. Nearly exploded at the thought, but … interrupted by a knock at the door.
Another young maid, presenting herself. Noar, smiling. Opening the door wide to let her in. Perfect timing. Beginning to take off his clothes, motioning for her to disrobe. Which she did, obediently. A moment later she: in his bed. He: mounting her at once. And once again, the mystery and magic of gell infused love. Noar, ex
ploding into far ranges of delight that he had never imagined. That he had never thought could be real. Off and on until he passed out cold.
His last thought, once again: To think we’ve possessed the stuff all these years, farmed it, controlled it … and never understood what it could do.
Noar’s wedding: almost as grand as Nayan’s, but for the distinct lack of northern representatives. None of them, even knowing where he was.
Only thought of them once. Almost crippling, that one thought. Bent him over double, as he was getting dressed … causing the manservant assisting him to rush forward, wondering if he were all right.
Managed to squeak out to the servant, “I’m all right. Just nerves, I suppose.” Causing the manservant to smile, help him straighten up. Causing the snakes inside his head to retreat – a little – the ones spitting the word traitor over and over into his mind, his heart. Causing them to back off, fade into mist.
Then, the great hall.
Whatever remaining doubts, whatever tiny misgivings … quickly obliterated by the pomp of the South. Lords and Ladies of Selshay, present in force. Along with Lords and Ladies from most of the other southern provinces – even a few distant relatives from Darleigh and Vel, still recovering from depradations.
The hall, brightly lit. The guests as well, no doubt; the gell tea: exceptionally strong. This, Noar was given to believe, customary at southern weddings. Ladies’ gowns rivaling each other for jewels woven into the threads. Men’s chests bursting with medals and emblems of rank and honor. Noar himself, resplendent in the finest uniform. His thick ashy blond hair, flowing to his shoulders. His blue eyes brighter than the torches. Every bit the warrior lord.
While Iskaya-te, oh. Her golden tresses woven into an almost incomprehensible nest of hair, ribbons and jewels. Her gown of the finest ivory velvet, with gold threads and jewels interwoven with the cloth. On her head, a garland of white winter flowers.
The ceremony, far too long, in Noar’s opinion. Bellicose speeches from every provincial representative, in addition to endless chanting by the priest. Choirs of children, singing lovely melodies … but … wished they would stop. Finally, the thin gold bands of wedlock, fastened around the necks of bride and groom. Noar, invited to kiss the bride. This, a rare thrill for him. Hadn’t ever kissed her before (not proper in southern culture).
