by L. K. Rigel
His face turned purple.
"I thought so."
"It was an accident!"
She burst out laughing. Jake had said the one thing that could make her feel better. She kissed him. "Very good, my love. And now we have a lifetime to practice the techniques Faina used on you."
Red Dagger
Durga looked down on the dirigidock from her bedroom window. What had she expected to see? The Luxor airship had disembarked a week ago, the day after it brought her home. It was good to be in Corcovado again. The truth was, she didn't like Luxor. Too hot. Too dry. Too much gold.
She missed Khai.
She put her hand on her abdomen. It felt so strange to be empty. She was used to having a little life in there, kicking at inappropriate times, making her run for the bathroom. A convenient place to put a plate of food, when it wasn't churning about.
She wouldn't do it again, despite Asherah's command. Shibadeh, weren't humans given free will? It was enough to make her think of converting to Samael.
She froze at the blasphemous thought, half expecting Asherah to smite her right there. But she didn't. Maybe Asherah was finished with her. Maybe it didn't matter what she did now.
Matter or not, Asherah or not, she would never accept a contract from Garrick.
When Durga had returned to Sanguibahd, a gift had been waiting from Prince Garrick. A thousand beeswax candles from Allel. He meant to bid on her as soon as her recovery period was up. This time there would be no Khai to come to her rescue with a better bid. For the good of Sanguibahd, she wouldn't be able to refuse.
She had taken all the candles down to a table in the bistro court. In Asherah's name, she gave a candle to anyone who asked for one. It took a long time to hand out a thousand candles, one at a time. Of course each person had to thank her profusely.
She'd never do anything like that again.
The only solution was to take herself out of the bidding altogether. Emissary's prerogative. Or something. There would be consequences. Asherah would make her pay -- but what could be worse than being Garrick's chalice? Death? The thought of Prince Garrick kissing her made her want to die.
More than ever, she was convinced of the soundness of her edict that chalices have no emotional relationship with the scions. Too bad it was too late for her.
"Good morning, my sister." Faina was out in the antechamber with her breakfast.
Durga wasn't hungry, but she wanted some company.
"I just wanted to ask if you needed anything." Faina arranged fruit and bread and cheese on the table in front of the sofa as she had done every morning since Durga's return. Durga had once accused Faina of making a fetish out of duty. Now she realized it was simply in Faina's nature to be kind.
Faina was doing well. She had adapted to her chalice role with what Durga could only call gusto. At the end of the contract with Allel, she'd tattooed a honeybee on her left arm below her lotus totem. A mark of service, she called it.
They were developing all sorts of little rituals to make the work bearable. Pleasant. To keep it holy. Like sending a dagger to the firstborn, the service marks had been an instant favorite with the other chalices.
She realized that Faina was trying desperately not to stare at her face. Every few minutes the struggle was lost, and Faina cast a furtive glance at Durga's eye.
"It's all right." She still wasn't used to the effect of her tattoo. "Just look at it until you don't see it anymore."
"I doubt that will ever happen, Emissary."
Durga hadn't realized how shocking the red dagger would be, plunging through her left eye to her jaw line. It was the symbol of Khai's city. The symbol of Durga's completion. The tattoo seemed like a good idea at the time.
She poured out coffee for herself and tea for Faina. "When I was pregnant, I hated coffee. I'm so happy to be able to drink it again." She added cream.
"I am the same way." Faina accepted the green tea. She was in the fifth month of the second gestation of her new contract.
"Your soul ceremony will be soon," Durga said.
"The Triune Contract is sacred." Faina laughed. "I do believe the soul ceremony -- or its legend -- has brought more cities into the Concords than any other single benefit."
The Triune Contract. Another marketing device from Khai. The three-way contract among a city, a chalice, and Sanguibahd. Sacred in its elements and execution.
Khai! He'd become so much a part of her life, a part of her thinking. She might live another hundred and thirty years and never see him again.
That's why she'd had the dagger seared onto her face. Let no one look at Durga without seeing Khai. Every shocked reaction was a reminder of her secret: she once had loved and was loved in return.
She still loved.
"You established a soothing tradition, sending the dagger to Ranigita in Allel," she said. "I sent one to the female I bore for Luxor, with the same sentiments in my letter to her. The other chalices are doing the same, decorating the handles with their totem symbols. Though I think your lotus blossom will be better received than my black widow spider."
Faina smiled, as serene as ever.
"With this tattoo," Durga tapped the skin under her left eye, "I hope to begin a new tradition. It was inspired by Rani."
Faina frowned. "Ranigita? She's not four years old."
"Rani, Jake's sister. Jordana's mother. Rani died saving my life during the DOG war. A lifetime ago. She had a tattoo on her left cheek. She told me once that it was the mark of her commitment. That when she served that commitment, she needed nothing else to feel complete."
Durga carelessly picked up a piece of candy from a dish on the table. As the taste filled her mouth, she felt a twinge of love. Khai had imported honey from Allel to Luxor to make these sweets that she loved. Oh, Khai!
This was not good, this hole in her heart.
"That's what this mark signifies. The completion of my service. I won't accept any more bids for contracts."
"Emissary." The struggle between Faina's alarm and her desire to be supportive played out over her face.
"I am the bridge to the goddess ... and all that. I made the mistake that I tried to protect you from, Faina. I fell in love."
"Oh, Emissary. I had suspected something like that. I'm sorry. But aren't you afraid of what Asherah will do to you?"
"I'm ruined for chalice work." Who would have thought that Faina would be the only one she could talk to this way? She loved Jordana, but there was a reserve between them. "We'll see if Asherah smites me."
"She will," Faina said without emotion. "Somehow. Sometime."
Faina was surely right, and still it didn't matter. "I'm going down to the orientation to scare the shib out of the new girls."
-oOo-
"Very funny."
When Durga got back to her room, the Empani was sitting on her bed in the form of Khai, strumming his guitar. The new chalices had been duly frightened by her tattoo. The older ones weren't so enamored of it either. It was rather satisfying, causing so much discomfort. It took her mind off other things.
"What's funny?" the Empani said. "That tattoo is impressive. Looks like it hurt."
"It did. But that pain will end," she said melodramatically. "My heart will ache forever." The Empani reacted with feigned melodramatic sympathy, just the way Khai would have done.
One nice thing about the Empani's visits was that she could always tell it the truth. It would know the truth anyway, since it could read her mind.
The Khai Empani kept strumming the guitar. It was an excellent manifestation, down to the muscle tone and expressive eyebrows. Her body responded to his presence, as if it really were Khai. She'd heard of humans having sex with an Empani, but that just seemed wrong.
Exgusting. Stop that, Durga.
It began to sing, mimicking Khai's gorgeous baritone to perfection.
It's hard to be a man when the gods are changing.
How do you hold your sword? Where do you place your lance?
What do
you tell your heart when the gods are raging?
What would you suffer for romance?
What would you forfeit for romance?
Why would you even take a chance?
Wait. She didn't remember that song. Had she even heard it before?
He doesn't know what he wants; he only knows that he wants
And women these days are so strange. It's a new age.
He doesn't even wonder now.
He doesn't know what he needs; he only knows that he needs
And this old malaise holds him so strong, has held him so long
He doesn't even wonder now.
Khai. It was Khai. He'd come to Corcovado, come to her room, come to her.
Then there was a day when he loved a woman
And was received into her gentle grace
And it was good then to be human
Lingering in her warm embrace, lingering just to watch her face
Lingering for one more taste.
And if the old world has died, then let a new world arise
He'll live out his days, and hold her so long, hold her so strong
He doesn't even wonder now.
And he'll remain a man though the gods are changing.
He put the guitar aside on the bed.
"You're not wearing your circlet or your armbands."
"I'm not, my love."
"You're not an Empani."
He laughed and opened his arms to her. "I most certainly am not, my love."
She ran to his embrace.
"I've completed my commitment to Luxor." He wrapped his arms around her. "The city has its ensouled heirs. That's all they needed me for. I have abdicated my crown, and my brother will serve as regent until my son is of age."
"You gave up a kingdom for me."
"I gave up Luxor for you. You are my kingdom. I told you once, my lady. I already have a queen."
Epilogue -- The Spiderwork
The princes were beginning to arrive for the Rites of May.
Durga, Matriarch of Sanguibahd, looked down on the dirigidock from her penthouse bedroom in the admin tower. A sky blue airship with brass fittings and a white caduceus, symbol of Versailles, floated serenely over the sailing ships in the bay and into the dirigidock for a perfect tie-down.
Hmph. That city had become quite the elegant vanguard since it received the charter for the College of the Kings' Physicians. How many years ago was that?
"Matriarch," the page behind her said. "You wanted to know when we heard from the Emissary."
"And?" She turned around, and the page jumped. New girl. Not used to the dagger tattoo.
"A message just came in. She's bringing two bleeders, one from Allel and one from Settlement 20 of Garrick." The page barely hid her sneer at the word settlement. Durga didn't blame her. Jordana was so desperate to prove a legend true. But one doesn't find treasure sifting through settlement trash.
"And? That hardly seems worth my time."
"Sister Jordana said to tell you that she believes the settlement bleeder is the one she's been looking for."
Durga sighed. "Sister Jordana always believes she's found the one. Very well, you may go."
"Yes, Matriarch." The page disappeared in a flash. Durga chuckled. They were all afraid of her now.
Poor Jordana. Such a romantic, believing in legends and princesses. And where did it get her? Instead of chasing after the whisperings of wildlings, she should have followed Durga's lead and found a good man to love her and care for her heart.
Durga had suffered no repercussions. Asherah had done nothing to her.
She whirled around. Was something there?
Quickly, she lit a beeswax candle. Such hubris was dangerous, even in the form of a thought. She should be grateful, not gloating, that Asherah had let her step away from the Triune Contract with no damage.
But had she? She went back to the window, a niggling idea finding a nest in her brain. This new settlement trash of Jordana's might be a problem.
But that was ludicrous. Durga had built an empire here in Corcovado. The world's most powerful families hoped for a daughter who bled. The Concord Cities looked to Sanguibahd -- Red City, they called it now -- for the last word on every matter.
It couldn't be undone by one little uneducated settlement girl.
Jordana should quit chasing fairy tales and take a lover. A man like Khai. He had been gone years now, and still every time Durga turned around she expected to see him ogling her, smiling with that male hunger she tolerated only in her Khai.
Loved in him.
She'd loved him through the whole thing. When he turned forty and wasn't as fast as he used to be. When he was fifty and started to forget little things. The name of a flower. Sixty, slowing down, but still wonderful in bed. She loved him.
He lived to seventy-two. Not long enough! His body was buried on Corcovado next to Rani. She used to visit them once or twice a year. Now, not so much. Now she rarely left this room.
Pish! She had to shake herself out of this ridiculous melancholy. Call up the mean Durga. Cruel Durga. Love-is-not-the-mission Durga. Get out of this isolated aerie. Go down and frighten the white tops with her dagger tattoo.
Or leave Jordana to do it with the snake winding around her bald head. Ha. She'd topped them all with that one.
Love was not the mission. That was the paradox of Durga's life. Without their knowledge she had loved them all. Rani, Jake, Char. Faina. Jordana. Khai most of all. And in the end, she'd kept Khai for herself.
And if Asherah doesn't like it, as Char used to say, she can smite me.
"You always were a warrior."
The voice was as rich as honey. Durga turned around to Khai – young Khai, bold Khai, his raised eyebrow and brilliant smile. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested against his chest. He lifted her chin and looked into her soul with true affection. He kissed the dagger tattoo below her eye.
"It's so good to see you again."
The End
-oOo-
Spiderwork (Apocalypto 2)
Bleeder
Part 1 – Blue Amber
The Ptery and the Peregrine
Since King Garrick made Samael the province’s official god, Sundays in the saloon were always busy. For hours the line had spilled outside onto the porch. Mal barely had a chance to clear a table’s dirty dishes and wipe it clean before more settlers sat down.
With this last group the tables were all still taken, but the line had finally disappeared.
Mal didn’t mind the hard work. It was being so close to the food that drove her crazy. The last of today’s protein supplement was already gone. The daily allotment hadn’t been enough since she turned thirteen. Except on days when she and Pala caught something outside the wall, she’d gone to bed famished every night the last few months.
Especially since the bleeding started.
A settler yelled at the waitress across the room for another round of settlement gin with his table’s textured stew and water allotment.
“Praise Samael!” another settler said, laughing.
When the Samaeli priests took over, they’d demanded all Garrickers set aside a full day once a week for the official Samaeli day of rest. Their mistake.
According to settlement gossip, King Garrick had raged at the priests. Told them nobody makes demands on Garrick. Then he gave the priests a watered-down version of what they wanted – and with a sting on the end of it.
King Garrick declared a full day of rest for citizens, and noncitizen Garrickers got a half day. Settlement workers got no day off of any kind – that would be ridiculous; crops don’t take days off – but the king ordered a four-hour shift bonus for them, to be paid out of Samaeli credits every Sunday morning.
Which they were happy to spend on textured stew and settlement gin at Ma’s saloon, and pay extra if Mal and Pala caught a rabbit to throw in the pot.
Ma ran the saloon at Crop Settlement 20. Mal was the general laborer, bus girl, and h
ostess. Palama was the waitress, and her husband Palada was the cook. Pala, their sixteen-year-old son and Mal’s friend, kept the peace and hauled supplies in from the back.
They took their time off on Mondays. The settlement priest didn’t like it, Ma being a citizen, but Ma had laughed in his face when he suggested she walk away from so much business.
He didn’t mind taking the free meal Ma was required to give Samaeli priests on Sundays, though. He was at the bar now, eating and drinking, again wheedling her to remove the carved wooden Asherah the old priest had given her.
“When will you take down that abomination?” He held his cup out for more gin as Mal came by with the bus tray. She put down the tray and took the cup behind the bar to pour him a refill.
The god was displayed prominently in a nook shrine inset behind the bar. It wasn’t very good. Palada could have made a much better one. Ma kept it for the sheer joy of perturbing the Samaeli priest.
When it was busy like this she was in her glory, dispensing water and settlement gin from behind the bar. In a nod to Samael – or to the Samaeli credits the settlers brought in – she did try on Sundays to look presentable. She’d washed her face and twisted her coarse gray hair into a tight bun at the nape of her neck.
“I know which god is on my side.” She was old and ugly but tough as a rock. Her tiny black eyes gleamed as she baited the priest. “I know who’ll smite me if I abandon her. What did Samael ever do for me?”
“That’s not how it works. We mere humans don’t get to judge the gods.”
Ma shook her head and clucked at him. “I know what I know.” Her unmoving serenity surprised even Mal.
She rested her hand on Mal’s shoulder, and for once her fingers didn’t dig into the flesh. Ma didn’t hit, but she did like to pinch and claw. It was best just to stay out of her range, even on Sundays. The priest let it go for the day, but when Mal gave him his gin he grumbled abomination into the cup.
Ma gave Mal a good-natured shove. “Put some speed into it, girl.”
Mal emptied the bus tray into the kitchen sink. She wiped the sweat off her forehead and went back to the saloon and another dirty table, new customers already sitting there and waiting for her to clean it. She might only be thirteen, but she still got tired, and she hadn’t had a break in hours.
