by S E Turner
'We will see about that,' muttered Clebe. 'The gods will decide, that's what is certain. For now, though, we have to remain as civil as possible.'
'Ha,' retorted Targ. 'Just watch your backs, that's all I can say.'
The boys looked at each other. They were all thinking the same thing: wouldn't it be simpler just to finish them off now? It would be so easy. There were eighteen boys much stronger than these two malnourished misfits. Where would they go to and what depths would they sink to if they got out of there: roaming the mountains, living in caves, destroying everything and everyone in their paths? Collecting vagrants from the depths of humanity as they trailed their path breeding further hostility and hatred?
Suma sensed the unrest creeping amongst the clans and spoke out. 'Brother, stop. We must try and get along with our comrades.'
'What?' came the shocked reply, but a look from the older brother told Targ what could happen if they disobeyed orders.
'Yes, you are right Suma. We must all try to get along.'
But Lyall didn't trust them. He noticed the subtle nods and facial gestures that conveyed other meanings. ' Yes, we must all get on, but watch your backs,' he muttered to himself.
And with the renewed declaration, Suma delivered the next process. 'We will have to shave your heads now. It's all part of the arrangements. It shows that we are beneath them. Even the guards are allowed to have some hair.'
With this declared truce, Dainn responded to them again. 'How come the two of you were allowed to survive the games?'
'Perhaps the General and the Emperor see something in us,' responded Targ. 'They like people with no morals. We've already been allowed to shave your hair.'
'Why don't you attack a guard with the shaving instrument if you've got no morals?' queried Lyall scathingly. 'Get yourselves out of here.'
'Because that would be stupid. We quite like it here… killing people.'
Suma threw a deathly glare to his out-of-control brother while Namir had to hold his sibling back.
'I won't be able to control myself much longer,' snarled Lyall. 'I can finish them both off right now. Look how scrawny they are, and that gobby one who can't keep his mouth shut already has a deep gash to the head thanks to Ronu.'
'Leave it, brother. Like Clebe says, this isn't the place right here and now with so many little ones. They are scared half to death as it is. We must set an example, remember?'
While the other boys were getting their heads shaved with the bluntest, cruellest blade imaginable, they tried to come to terms with their plight. Lyall returned to peer out of the bars at the towering white building ahead of him. He was sure he could see the glint of a telescope from a high oval window. 'Evil barbarians,' he thought to himself.
The sun had set, and the first star had appeared far off and bright in the southern sky—it was the only light source in this cold, brutal place. He stood there for a long time watching the illumination, and his thoughts turned to Skyrah.
Chapter Fourteen
She had sat quietly in front of the General the whole journey, hardly daring to move. Initially, she chastised herself for being so stupid and shrouded herself in misery. What would Namir think of her? What would they all think of her? She had ruined their triumph over the General and his army. No wonder girls weren't allowed to hunt or take part in the clan's games. She berated herself constantly and felt she had let them all down. While here she sat, with their arch enemy breathing down her neck and constantly nibbling at her ears. She couldn't stand it and tried to blank it out—that murderous self-important General, with a girly ponytail and pure white gloves.
'What purpose do they serve?' she thought to herself. 'Hide his blood-stained hands?' She clarified her own question.
When they stopped for rest at night, he had sat her so she couldn't see her friends. He could keep her under control that way. She had managed to sleep a little and had been given better food than the boys, but still she kept her eyes down and never once looked at him. As the days rolled by, her initial thoughts of failure turned to something a little more positive. If she could somehow get the trust of the General, and somehow find her way around wherever they were going, she just might be able to help the captives more than she had realised. She could turn this hopeless scenario around. So, with that in mind, she didn't jerk her neck away when he breathed down her neck, and she didn't pull aside when he nibbled her ears. As revolting as it was, it was the start of her redemption and proving herself to the boys. She was the only one who could help them escape.
When the General had taken her into the palace, she was met with a place she had never imagined. Even in her wildest dreams, splendour like this didn't exist. The walls were made from precious polychrome marbles, with frescoed ceilings enriched with gold glass paste and lapis lazuli. There were water features that gleamed bright orange from the well-stocked carp. There were fountains, whirlpools, and deep wells made entirely from mosaics. One ornamental statue was so exquisitely carved, it looked like a flock of white birds hovering in flight in a fountain, with their wings beating fast against the rapids—but it was the work of an expert who had created the illusion.
Every wall and ceiling and pillar was inlaid with gold, ivory and mother of pearl. There were sunken gardens inside vast rooms, complete with exotic ornaments adorned with playful golden cherubs. Two more rooms full of art depicted magnificent epic scenes, and the most celebrated artists of the day were commissioned to display their fine works for the Emperor. She saw the enormous dining room that had a revolving domed ceiling that constantly moved day and night like the heavens. When the Emperor was entertaining, the ceiling would expose the effect of a rotating celestial sky complete with stars, moons and planets, and he would release hundreds of rose petals and lashings of perfume to the unsuspecting guests below.
Treading lightly on the carved staircase and along the corridor to her room, she passed vast guest chambers with magnificent marble bathrooms, painted ceilings and jewel encrusted chandeliers. The east wing looked out to a lake that was surrounded by ornate buildings, vineyards, pastures and woods. The west wing looked out to the stable block that housed the horses, wagons and cages.
'The Emperor has been very gracious and has said you can have this room,' the General mused.
She looked ahead at the magnificent arched window, framed with pale blue curtains that matched the colour of the deep pile carpet. She scrunched her toes into the warm wool that peeped through and separated each appendage as she played with it.
'Exquisite, isn't it? It overlooks the arena, so when the games begin, you can watch your savage friends perform.' He then hissed into her neck. 'Remember, you are my property now, and I am right down the hallway; so don't try anything foolish.' He stood behind her and ran his fingers through her hair. She shuddered as he reached her shoulders, fearing what he would do next. He lightly skimmed the top of her spine with a fingernail and breathed heavily onto her skin. 'For a savage, you are incredibly beautiful.' A pause held her rigid with fear. He stopped as abruptly as he had started and moved towards the door. 'Shame you are a clan girl.'
She still had her back to him and closed her eyes with relief. A sigh escaped from her lips and she could breathe once again. But her ordeal still wasn't over.
'I will send for you when I am ready.' With that he turned and left.
A clatter of locks and latches sounded, and the door closed her in. She looked wildly about her huge, overly-grand room. How was she going to orchestrate this? How on earth could she help her friends? The guards were everywhere, her captor was a stone's throw away, and he had now locked her in.
To her left was a huge bed complete with a canopy on posts and blue and yellow damask silk covers. Opposite the bed was a dressing table and large ornate gilt-edged mirror. A beautifully carved mahogany chair slid nicely under the vanity unit. Along the same wall stood a chaise longue, covered in identical dusty blue and primrose yellow material. Beside the door was a wardrobe on one side and a chest of
drawers on the other. She looked out of the window and faced a carefully laid out central garden full of shrubs and herbaceous borders. There were bird statues everywhere. Narrow paved paths wound around flowerbeds, and miniature ornamental trees with dangling bird cages led down to another terrace. And beyond that was the arena and the dormitory .
'They must be in there now,' she thought. She tried to open the window to make herself known to her friends, but that too was locked and shut tight. She gasped, shocked. Her task was an impossible one. She fell on to the bed, buried her head in the pillows, and sobbed.
She awoke much later with the tears dried to her face. First of all, she didn't recognise the room. She nervously looked around in her sleep-induced state. The ceiling was too high, the walls were too far away, and the light wasn't from the sun. The smell was different and there was furniture in the room.
But from somewhere down below came the sounds of vibrant jaunty melodies and fiddles accompanied by the sweet lament of pipes. A coral of harmonies vibrated up the stairs and filtered into her room, and she found herself smiling. She had never heard anything so beautiful. The engaging sounds encouraged her to sit upright on the bed where she found fresh clothes hanging on the wardrobe and a plate of neatly cut sandwiches and a fresh glass of milk placed atop the chest of drawers. A porcelain bowl of water sat waiting on the dressing table, accessorised with a light blue flannel and a light blue towel. The flickering lamp by her bedside concealed the fact that the curtains were closed, and it was now night time.
Suddenly she remembered where she was, but worse than that, she remembered her captor. 'Has he been in?' she frantically thought.
Instantly, she discarded her old clothes and washed herself almost raw with the warm, soapy water. She took ages wiping away his breath from her neck, scrubbing her hair where his fingers had touched, and polishing her ear lobes where his tongue had licked. There was not one part of her body that was left unclean, and only then did she put on the freshly laundered garments that felt stiff and awkward on her skin.
She looked at the food on the tray for a long time. The hunger pangs in her stomach started to grumble, and saliva drooled around a starving mouth. She just couldn't be sure that he hadn't put something in the food to drug her, to render her unconscious. If she was his captive, that meant that he was capable of anything.
Then there was a knock outside her room that instantly took her famished appetite away. She froze with terror. A key in the lock turned. The door edged open. A hand curled round the frame and a shadowy figure entered.
'Did you not like the food I gave you?'
And as Skyrah's eyes fell on the young girl, she found her appetite again and the answer to her plight.
Chapter Fifteen
The boys heard the music too, the huge double doors that led out to the terraces also filtered the delightful sounds into their prison. They had shared the stale remains of the courtesan's food, swallowing it down with mugs of freezing cold water from the well, then crowded round the barred windows to get closer to the carolling songs. While their ears gorged on the music, their eyes fell on the glows from the palace. The soft lamp light split a rainbow of colours across the terrace and the glass windows shone like jewels. As they looked closer, they could also see the green and blue embroidery of peacocks strutting rhythmically with wide fanned tails and albino peahens that looked like mythical white goddesses as they glided around the manicured lawns.
'The Emperor arranges that twice a week,' said Suma. 'He likes to surround himself with music, instruments, and choristers.'
'To drown out the screams of boys in his nightmares,' suggested Dainn .
'Perhaps it is,' agreed Suma. 'It's happened every week since we arrived.'
'There is nothing more satisfying to the troubled soul than music and dance,' lamented Bagwa.
'And the birds?' asked Hali.
'He seems to like birds, as well,' answered Targ. 'They represent the freedom he yearns for, I expect—cooped up in that palace all day, no wonder he has gone mad. A bit like us, really.'
Those words hung heavily amongst the cold grey walls. Most of the captured boys secretly wished that Ronu had been left to finish the savage off, and that Lyall would have attacked the other one. And in thinking that, they were already horrified at what they were turning into.
'I suggest we get an early night. I am sure the guards will get us up at the crack of dawn for our first practice session,' Clebe said warily.
'We will share one bed,' said Suma, looking at his brother.
'And we will share another,' said Namir, nodding at Lyall.
'Yes, I'll watch your back and you watch mine, eh, brother,' warned Lyall.
Rufus fell on his bed sobbing—he was way too young to be here, wrenched from the loving heart of his family at such a young age. Dainn sat with him, trying to comfort him, trying to make him strong. 'Do you remember saying to me, 'Never give up' on the day I lost the boxing match, and then you said, 'Dainn you have to come back and fight next year. '
Rufus nodded his head.
'And I came back the next year and I won it. Because you made me strong and you made me win. You made me believe in myself, and that's what you've got to do now. You've got to be strong and never give up. Because if you do, you will never know what you are capable of.'
The youngster spoke between sobs. 'Will I die?'
'No, Rufus, you will not die. I promise you that. I will get you safely back to your mother and your father, and Ajeya, and Hagen and Jena, and you can tell them how strong and brave you were. Despite feeling so very frightened and thinking that you might die, but you rose above it and you never gave in to the monsters.'
Dainn stretched out on the bed and held him close and wondered how on earth he was going to keep his promise.
'You don't know how pleased I am to see you,' she said to the young maid. 'My name is Skyrah.'
'Hello, Skyrah, I am Roma and my instructions are to look after you. My master is the General. and he is even more fearsome than the Emperor.' And then she whispered very quietly against a raised hand. 'We girls love it when he is away and dread it when he comes back.'
'Why, what does he do?' asked a stricken Skyrah.
'Oh, nothing improper. He just has no patience with us girls and treats us like savages.' The maid blushed awkwardly at her reference.
'I am not a savage, but I can understand why you think I am.' Skyrah remembered how Lyall thought they were a pack of wild animals at first.
'He thinks you are beneath him. But he won't hurt you. He just wants to dance with you.'
'What?' exclaimed Skyrah.
'That's all he wants you for. He might smell you and taste your feminine sweat, but he won't hurt you. His kingdom is so brutal as it is. He just likes to dance with a beautiful girl.'
'Why doesn't he dance with you? You are pretty.'
'Yes, I am pretty, but not beautiful like you or the last girl that was here.'
'What girl?' Her anxious words were cut short as the General burst in.
'Did I tell you to come in here and have a cosy little chat?' he boomed so ferociously, everything around him seemed to rattle.
'No, sir, I am sorry, sir. It won't happen again sir.' The maid scurried out with her head held low.
'Come with me!'
A huge hand took hold of Skyrah's own and dragged her out of the room, past a disgraced Roma, and left a gust of disturbance in its wake. He pulled her downstairs into the ballroom from where the music was coming from. She stopped in her tracks as all manner of birds flew in and out of the open double doors to the tune of the harmonies. Pink flamingos, white doves, blue peacocks, turquoise kingfishers, yellow canaries, green parrots… there were so many exquisite varieties; she couldn't believe such beauty existed .
'Dance with me!' he barked, forcing her to look at him and away from the incredible menagerie.
'What?' she implored.
'Don't ask what, just do it!'
He pulled her
close to him and began to move her around the floor in time to the music. He closed his eyes the whole time. He didn't look at her, just breathed deeply through his wide nostrils. This soldier—this tyrant, this destroyer of lives—liked to dance. It was all too surreal.
But it changed him. He was no longer the General with an army of soldiers at his command, now he was Domitrius Corbulo who loved music and waltzing. She could feel him relax. She felt his love for the dance and the movement flowing through his body. He was totally absorbed. She copied his stance and closed her eyes. She imagined she was free like the wind: her heart was pounding, her cheeks were flushed, and yet she felt enormous power. She moved her feet lightly and rhythmically in time to the music. She began to hum the same tune sweetly to herself, keeping her movements fluid with the drumbeat and the strings. She arched her back and pointed her toes as she was twirled through the air by her partner. She felt like one of the birds she had just seen with all their beauty, grace and majesty.
The General was surprised. He moved and she moved with him, she was a natural.
'You see. Savages can dance as well,' he whispered into her ear.
He could feel her beating heart against him and the vibrations from her vocal cords as she hummed quietly. That made him feel good. He smelled her hair and licked the sweat from her glowing brow. Nothing else existed but them and the music.
'What a strange man you are,' she thought to herself. 'Why don't you just find a nice wife and settle down instead of trawling the lands, instilling fear at the very mention of your name. Surely even you must have a core of decency and are capable of changing.'
He was actually a very handsome man. His long ponytail somehow suited his tall muscular frame as it hung halfway down his back. His dark eyes were enhanced by symmetrical, almost manicured, eyebrows and his features sat proud on a healthy dark skin. She studied the colours around him. He exuded mostly yellow which promoted self-absorption and arrogance. It also showed that he didn't suffer fools and that he didn't mind his solitary life. Around that was a red hue which was to be expected with his strong body and mind, the adventurer in him and the leadership in him, though he was quick to anger and would easily lose his temper. But most worryingly was the wide aura of black that surrounded all those colours and slowly filtered into the whole of his body like a poison, for that indicated hatred, death, and a burning negativity towards anything good and pure. She shook herself free from analysing him. She was worried that he would feel her tension and fear, so she focused on her steps and concentrated on the dance. Eventually the music began to slow, and her thoughts and humming muted to a stop. He held her small white hand gracefully, and with a gaze that held her own, he bowed to her. She felt the need to curtsey before him and lowered her face as she did so. He didn't say any words. Without letting go of her hand, he led her back up to her room. Only his eyes thanked her as she bid him good night. It could have been so much worse—he could have demanded so much more, things that only lovers did and wedded couples engaged in. But now, she was deeply troubled by the beautiful dancing partner who preceded her.
