by CA Morgan
It was then, as Maissa bustled around the room, that Eris realized what a large woman she really was. He was sure she would burst from her veils and thin-strapped sandals at any moment. Yet she carried herself gracefully and the beauty of her youth still shone on her plump face as a sunset before the dark.
The girls of the harem, who had remained in the room, suddenly swarmed around their new sisters again, but kept a respectful distance from Eris; except for one, who also appeared older than the rest, but not as old as Maissa.
She was a tall woman with auburn hair and green eyes that paled next to Eris’. She spoke with a trace of a lingering accent and Eris guessed her to have come from Kiyarvaard, a place in the Night Vale that lay in the north and east of his homeland.
“I’m Tivar. I will be your handmaid, gracious Lady,” she said and bowed before Eris. “Whatever your wish, I will see to it. And later, Maissa, first chosen of the Sultan, will teach you all you need to know about our life here.”
“Ah, I see the two of you are getting acquainted,” Maissa said, coming toward them. “Now, tell me, child, what is your name?”
“Erisa, my Lady,” Eris answered, with a respectful nod of his head.
Maissa quickly put a soft hand over his mouth.
“No, Erisa, you must not call any of us by any title. That is for you alone. You will simply call us by our names,” she corrected. Her eyes looked him over top to bottom so many times while she spoke that he lost count. Her eyes suddenly locked onto his. Great tears welled up and her lips trembled.
“Such a beautiful girl. What a horrid shame. We must all pray to the gods for her, we must,” she cried, clutching one of the girls to her as if she needed support. In a flurry of color and a swish of fabric, she turned and headed for the inner rooms.
Eris heard the words she sobbed as she fled the room. Some of the others took themselves away from their play and followed after her. Eris felt confused by all the fussing and wondered if he had somehow offended the woman. And what was a ‘horrid shame?’ The warrior within stirred at the sound of threatening words.
Seeing Eris’ confusion, Tivar said, “You mustn’t let her worry you, Lady Erisa. Sometimes she worries about silly things.”
“She said, ‘horrid shame.’ That doesn’t sound silly or trivial to me. What does she mean?” Eris asked.
“I’m not the one who should be telling you about such things.”
“You are now. I want to know,” Eris said too sharply, too demanding as the woman took a step back from him.
Tivar glanced at him uneasily, and then looked over her shoulder. She eased him away from the small group that went back to chattering happily again and led him to a velvet-covered chair. It was the only chair in the room, he noticed, as he saw the walls lined with large, colorful pillows and small tables spaced every few paces.
Tivar removed the golden circlet from Eris’ head and brushed his long, ebony tresses.
“I will tell you this, but you must promise never to tell how you found out,” Tivar said in a low voice that only he could hear. Eris nodded that he understood and she continued. “You see, you are really the seventh ‘official’ wife the Sultan has had in as many years.”
“What?” Eris whispered loudly. This plan of theirs was rapidly spinning out of control.
“Shh, don’t say anything, just listen,” she warned, then didn’t say anything.
“Go on, please, Tivar, I want to know,” Eris urged quietly.
“Oh, my Lady, I really don’t think you want to know these things,” she said and Eris heard the waver in her voice. “The others will hear me and I will be punished.”
“Speak quietly and I promise not to move or make a sound,” Eris assured her.
Tivar glanced again at the others and brushed through several strokes to calm her nerves.
“You see, every wife the Sultan has proclaimed to be his official wife has come to a bad end. Either they die, along with the child in childbirth, or they are put to death for having borne him a daughter. That is why Maissa is so upset. You are extraordinarily beautiful and the thought of your death, as well as all of the others’, weighs heavily upon her heart. She is a very gentle, caring woman. We all love her dearly,” Tivar explained.
Appalled by what she told him, Eris struggled to remain calm and motionless as she spoke. He knew other countries quite often looked to Reshan as a place of elegance and refinement, but hearing this, they were no more civilized than the barbarian tribes he sometimes chanced across. A pack of wolves treated their mates and young with more respect. He should have realized this sooner and looked down at his wrists bound in the golden manacles.
“Surely some of you have had sons by the Sultan. Why does he not choose one of them as his heir?” Eris whispered.
He glanced up and discovered he could see Tivar’s face reflected in a small mirror sitting on the table next to him. He saw her sad smile.
“But naturally, Lady Erisa, many of us have had children. However, most of us are merely concubines. Nothing more than desirable animals locked up in a gilded cage. There are some women here, the odalisques, who are more educated than we are, and their children receive somewhat better treatment if you want to call it that. A daughter of a concubine is often given over to the cooks, the launderers, or perhaps the gardeners to raise as their own and learn to work. The daughters of the odalisques, when they are old enough, are given as prizes to the chieftains of the nomadic tribes that roam the desert. It is one way of assuring a certain amount of peace out there where life can be hard,” Tivar explained.
“That must be difficult for them having been raised within the palace walls.”
“I’m sure it is. I’m also sure that many of them die, or take their own lives. We rarely hear anything about them after they leave. None are ever permitted to return.”
“And your sons?”
Tivar leaned closer to Eris’ ear and whispered.
“You have already met Maissa’s son. It’s Hofa.”
The woman within Eris felt overcome by the horror of all he had just heard. He wondered if Hofa knew who his mother was, or what story had been told to him about his origin. Almost instinctively, he covered his mouth with his hand lest he utter a sound and betray himself and Tivar.
He wondered what other perverse practices he would discover lurking beneath the façade of gleaming gold and marble. What sort of man was this to permit, to order, such atrocities to take place? Or allow them to happen to the progeny of his loins?
When Eris finally found his voice, it was but a whisper.
“And your son, Tivar? I see the sadness in your face.”
“He is dead, my Lady. I chose that he would be put to death rather than suffer life as half a man.”
“How well I understand,” Eris mumbled. Under the bane of his curse, he realized he was not all that different from the primped peacocks that guarded the women.
“Pardon, my Lady,” Tivar said. She put the brush back on the table. Her fingers began to gently massage the back of his neck and shoulders.
“I said that I’m very sorry for you”
He wondered if all the finery these women were surrounded by could ever take the place of lost children, lost freedom and a slow, living death for themselves. Perhaps that was why the other girls were so excited about having new faces to look at. They brought news of the outside world, and then they would listen to the life experiences of all the girls who joined them. Lives that, perhaps, had been full and exciting compared to the same ordered existence that went on between colorfully painted walls.
“Don’t feel sorry for me, Lady Erisa,” Tivar said. Her fingers gently worked at his temples, which he realized had a dull ache from pent up tension. “At least I know where my child is unlike the others who know their children are lost in the vast desert around us, or work like dogs for their adoptive parents.”
Eris didn’t miss the sound of bitterness in her words, but said nothing. What was there to say?
An odd feeling crept over him as Tivar worked again at the tense knots of muscle in his shoulders. Women had only ever touched him like this when his favor was sought, not as a matter of course, which seemed to be the way of life for these women. Out of the corner of his eye he saw several of the other new girls receiving the same treatment, as well as touches and caresses that hinted that something more was desired. Eris shivered in spite of himself.
Thinking Eris was disturbed by her words, Tivar continued with her quiet explanation.
“You must understand, Lady Erisa, the Sultan cannot have ten or twenty recognized sons all vying with each other, or their father, for the power of Reshan. The plotting, the schemes, the fratricide that would ensue would be dangerous for everyone,” Tivar explained. “Our Master was himself spared death, but was forced to live much of his early life the way we do. Locked behind doors and concealed from the world. He was the second legitimate son of his father, and to ensure not only his safety, but to keep him from, perhaps, killing his older brother, he was locked away for many years.”
“That would explain this, then,” Eris surmised. He raised his bound hands slightly from his lap as Tivar walked in front of him. He saw her cheeks flush as she knelt in front of him and began to undo the straps of his sandals.
“Yes, it does, and other things,” she whispered, but would not look up at him.
A sharp clapping of hands startled both of them as Maissa came sweeping back into the room. Her smile and composure back in force, she was once again in charge of her household.
“Come along, girls. There will be plenty of time for stories later. Our new sisters must sleep now,” she said, helping as many as she could to their feet. Quickly, the harem girls disappeared into the honeycomb of rooms that Eris saw just beyond the open doors.
“Maissa will take you to your room, Lady Erisa,” Tivar said. She made a quick bow and left with the others.
“My Lady, this way, if you please,” Maissa said, holding out her hand for Eris to join her. “The rest of you will please follow us.”
Maissa led them away from the splendid rooms and down a corridor he hadn’t noticed when he entered the room. The plaster on the walls was dull and cracked and opened into a room of rough-hewn granite walls. The ceiling and walls behind the torchlights were dirty with black soot. The air smelled stale and was heavy on the chest. In the center of the room was a large pallet stuffed with straw that poked through the ratty fabric. A crude drape was pulled back at the far end of the room to reveal a traveling cot with no blanket or pillow.
“You will sleep here for tonight until you are properly prepared for entrance into the other rooms,” she said.
“Maissa,” Eris said and hoped he wasn’t about to do something that would earn him or the others punishment. “Might we please have these chains removed? I see that some of the girls are bleeding from cuts made by burrs on the metal.”
Maissa smiled maternally at him and patted his arm.
“You have much to learn, my dear. Those chains will remain where they are until the Sultan has taken the girl for the night. If she is pleasant and pleasing to him, only then will they come off,” she said.
“But why—"
Maissa cut him off by holding up her own wrists in the light of the flickering torch. He saw thin, white lines of scar circling her skin.
“You will understand all in time. Please, you must sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day,” she said. Taking him by the elbow, she propelled him toward the back of the grim, gray room.
The other girls followed silently and settled themselves on the pallet. There was no laughing now and a mood as somber as the gray walls settled over them.
Knowing the cot was for him, Eris pulled the drape and sat down on the crude bed with his back against the wall. He drew his legs up and rested his chin on his knees. He shuddered inwardly knowing that the girls with him would spend the rest of their lives behind these walls. The thought of such a thing felt suffocating and almost put him into a panic. It was a disquieting sensation that offended the unruly side of his nature and the freeness of his spirit. It was made worse yet as the torchlight faded from the room and they were left in utter darkness.
He let go a tiny sigh and closed his eyes. The events of the day raced through his mind and would not give him peace. He suddenly wondered what sort of mischief Raga was about. He stretched out his mind, but couldn’t easily find the wily sorcerer. With effort, Eris pushed all the disturbing sights and sounds from his mind and concentrated on finding the silver path that lead to his safe place within Raga’s mind.
There, a little to the right, his mind’s eye caught sight of the first of the silver markers. Slowly, careful not to fall into the maelstrom of Raga’s thoughts, he followed the path alone as a child taking his first steps. He reached the valley and discovered it colored with shades of purple. This wasn’t how it looked the first time he had come here and felt puzzled. It was then he thought he heard a voice. He paused and realized he heard singing, faint, but nevertheless a song that echoed through the valley. Eris imagined he was smiling just a bit and slowly withdrew from the valley. He knew the song well. It always sounded better and made more sense when one sang it drunk.
Eris wished he had a flagon of wine as well. He wished it even more when, in the room’s intense darkness, he heard muffled cries and knew with certainty that those tears would be followed by many more. He knew they were afraid and thought to try to comfort them, but what was the use? They would be empty words swallowed by harsh reality. One of the girls, seeking revenge that she was not the chosen one, would tell on him and bring retribution down on them all. The sound of crying increased as others fell to their fears.
Thinking of the women of his homeland, his grandmother’s constant toil, he wondered whether or not she would keep her life of freedom, hard though it sometimes was, over this beautiful prison. The woman within Eris suddenly wanted to cry out with rage against the unfairness of it all, for lives lost to such a useless existence, lost to one man’s preservation of his power.
In the darkness, his anger pulsed through him and the man who was Eris swore the name of every god he knew for allowing him to fall into such degrading humiliation and to know the plague of unruly, emotional fear. The coldness of the massive walls closed in on him. His rage and frustration came forth in the only way it knew how. Large, salty tears rolled down his unblemished cheeks, but the sound of crying caught in his throat. For the first, and hopefully the last time in his life, Eris Pann cried himself to sleep.
Eris was awakened the next morning by the sound of voices echoing down the plaster-lined corridor. No sunlight reached the rock-walled room and through the thin fabric of the curtain he saw the torches’ flickering light.
His body felt cramped and stiff when he realized he’d slept the night sitting. He stretched out his legs and his hands rubbed his face. His eyes burned and felt swollen from his shameful outburst.
The sound of soft footsteps approached and Hofa’s face peered around the drape.
“If you are ready, my Lady, I will take you to the baths,” he said kindly.
Eris wondered again if he knew who his mother was. He doubted it and nodded to the eunuch that he was ready.
“Very well,” Hofa said and turned back to the others. “Come, girls, time to get up. Mistress Maissa is waiting for you at the baths. You will feel much better when you are clean and have new clothing to wear.”
Eris stood stiffly and stretched. He was sure a bath would do his humor little good, yet the dank gray room had made him feel dirty and he wanted to wash it from his skin. That was an odd thought he mused as he stepped around the curtain. Many times prior he had spent weeks huddled with mercenary forces or riding escort for the caravans with little thought of such niceties, taking dust, rain and mud as it came, yet here, in one night, he was ready for a lukewarm tub at best.
As he followed Hofa through the room, he felt the eyes of the other girls on him. From the corner of his e
ye, he saw the spiteful glares of several of them. Once he was gone from this hellish place, they would be more than welcome to vie with each other for the Sultan’s attention. Others, he noticed, looked relieved if not a little apprehensive. They were the ones, he was sure, who suspected or knew the truth of this place.
The small group shuffled along behind Hofa and hadn’t gone far down yet another passageway in the women’s quarters when they heard water splashing and the sound of laughter. Six more eunuchs stood near the door and followed them into the bath.
As if they shared a sudden, common thought, Eris and the others took only a few steps into the wondrous hall and stopped. Eris was astounded. Not even the palatial homes he had frequented by night could compare in beauty, or the extravagance of such a luxury.
Gold shimmered on walls illuminated by hundreds of tiny candles. Water poured from a multitude of fountains in the shape of women and mythical beasts. Small fires burned in pedestal braziers throughout the cavernous room filling it with warmth and a comforting orange glow. A rushing waterfall cascaded down one wall and the two adjoining walls were a maze of fountains, dripping basins and short water slides. The bath was immense, and nearly the size of a small pond, Eris thought. This was obviously where the seventh spring of Reshan was hidden.
Thinking he had seen movement, Eris looked toward one of the side walls and realized he had actually seen a girl splashing in a great, deep basin about halfway up the wall. Nearer the cascade, where the water plunged into the deepest part of the pool, he watched another girl, likely more adventurous than the rest, dive into the white, foamy water below.
Eris was enthralled. He wondered if any man, other than the Sultan and his eunuchs, even knew that such a place existed. He knew next to nothing about Reshan, but this was sure to be a topic of speculation if anything at all was spoken. If there was such a place as paradise, he was sure it must look something like this.
“Does her Ladyship find her new surroundings pleasing?” Hofa inquired politely.
Eris suddenly realized he was smiling perhaps a little more enthusiastically than he should have.
