Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels

by Daniel Arenson

  “Girl.”

  The voice was soft and smooth, the sound of silk rustling against silk. And yet it floated across the street and into her ears, rising above all other sounds. She turned and saw the colorful man staring at her.

  “Girl,” he repeated. “You play well.”

  She paused, her body still facing the tavern, her head looking over her shoulder at him.

  “I’m awful,” she said. “But I’m also hungry, so I play.”

  He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. When he reached her, he thrust his face close and tilted his head.

  “You have scars on your face,” he said.

  She looked away. His words cut her and her eyes burned. Fire seemed to fill her throat. She did not mind her scars—she had never cared for beauty—but how dare he so casually mention them?

  “What concern of yours is my face?” she said and began walking away. “Farewell, stranger.”

  He walked alongside her, hands folded into his flowing sleeves. “I beg your pardon, young woman. Please forgive me. Allow me to buy you a meal. I would very much like to speak with you.”

  She snorted. “I am scarred, I am filthy, and I am thinner than a rail. If you seek a female friend, I suggest you go uptown where they wear silks and jewels.”

  He kept walking alongside her, nodding. “Would you like to play uptown? You too could wear silks and jewels.”

  She stopped and spun toward him. “What do you want? Who are you?”

  He bowed his head. “My name is Nukari. I am a purveyor of beauty. I seek beauty in song and in form.”

  “Then keep walking, Nukari, for my playing is awful and my face is worse.”

  He smiled, revealing very small and sharp-looking teeth. “Both can be improved, my child. Your technique is clumsy, but your soul shines. Your face is scarred, but it’s still fair, young, and fresh, and your eyes are large and bright.”

  She rolled those eyes. “Thank you for your compliments, Master. Goodbye.”

  She left him there, entered the Fat Philosopher, and sat at her table. Nukari followed her inside and sat at a table of his own. Glowering, Koyee ordered a bowl of reishi mushrooms and ate silently, ignoring him.

  “Don’t look at him, Eelani,” she muttered between mouthfuls. “That man is no good. I don’t trust his snakelike voice.”

  Delicious scents filled her nostrils, and the cook approached, carrying a tray with a small feast. He began to place dishes down on Koyee’s table—a bowl of fried fish, a goblet of gravy, a slab of fowl, and a pile of steamed clams. She stared at him, frowning.

  “What are these?” she asked. “You know I cannot pay for more than stew.”

  The cook gestured at the far table. “The master in green ordered them you, Koyee Mai. Enjoy them.”

  She glanced across the room and saw Nukari there. He was busy sipping from a laquerware bowl, not looking her way. Koyee pushed the plates aside.

  “I don’t—” she began, but the cook had already left.

  Koyee glanced at the food. She didn’t want this gift. Not from this strange man. But her belly growled, her mouth watered, and before she could stop herself, she was feasting. Fish crunched in her mouth, juices ran down her chin, and warmth spread through her belly. She had needed this—badly. She didn’t even pause from eating when Nukari approached, pulled back a chair, and sat across from her.

  “The Fat Philosopher,” he said, looking around. “The walls are humble clay. There is no music to entertain the guests. The cook is fat and slovenly. This is no place for folk to eat.”

  Koyee scarfed down a clam. “The food is cheap here, and it’s hot and filling.”

  He lifted a greasy mushroom then placed it down, lips curling in disgust. “There is more to life than that, my child. Life is about beauty. About savoring every note, every flavor, every smile of a pretty woman. I own an establishment myself, but not a humble tavern like this. Do you know what a pleasure den is?”

  She swallowed, wiped the back of her mouth, and glared across her plate.

  “So you sell hintan to its addicts,” she said. She remembered Snaggletooth—frail, mad, with but a single tooth left—and shuddered. “I’ve seen the spicers on the streets, their teeth purple, their eyes wild. How many of them did you create?”

  He leaned back and smiled. “Ah, but the sweet pipe spice is only one pleasure I sell. I own the Green Geode, a place of fine food, fine companionship, and fine entertainment. Do you know who the yezyani are?”

  She gulped wine, holding the mug with both hands, then slammed it down onto the table.

  “I’ve seen their painted faces,” she said. “They look like dolls to me. Nothing but painted clay dolls.”

  He nodded. “And I pull their strings. They dance for my guests. They sing. They flirt and laugh and tell tales of long ago. And they live a life of comfort. I give them silks and jewels and warm beds. Young child, come with me to my Green Geode. I will bathe you, clothe you in finery, and give you a room and a bed and hot meals. Play your flute for my guests. Be one of my yezyani.”

  She snorted and reached for a fried fish. “Did you not hear me play? Did you not say I was ugly and scarred?”

  He reached for a fish himself. While Koyee bolted down hers, he only nibbled.

  “I am as a gemcutter. I seek gems in the rough. And I polish them. You sit here, covered in dirt, skinny and clad in rags. But I see your shine. I want to polish you. I want to make you my jewel. Become my yezyana, and you will eat fine, warm meals—meals more lavish and delectable than this place serves.”

  Koyee finished the last clam, raised the plate to her mouth, and began licking the sauce.

  “I’m not going to dance for anyone like a doll,” she said between licks. “And I’m not serving spice to anyone. And I’m not singing.”

  He reached over, lowered the plate, and smiled at her.

  “You will only play your flute, I promise. Come with me. You will glow like a gem.”

  She wiped gravy off her chin, stared at him, and narrowed her eyes. He was serious. He truly wanted her to work for him.

  Koyee swallowed and her insides trembled. She stared at her plate. After so long … so many miles walked, seeking work in smithies, butcher shops, smelters, and a hundred other workshops, she was offered a job?

  We can have a roof over our heads, Eelani, she thought, transferring the words silently to her friend. She knew Eelani could hear. We can have a warm bed every night. And most importantly, we’ll have safety. We’ll have a place to store our coins without fearing the Dust Face Ghosts, Snaggletooth, or anyone else.

  She looked back at Nukari.

  “How much will you pay me?”

  “How much do you earn now?” he asked pleasantly.

  “Twenty copper coins every standard hourglass turn,” she lied, doubling the true amount.

  “Then I will pay you thirty,” he said.

  Koyee struggled not to gasp. Thirty copper coins a turn! It was a fortune. It was more money than she had ever imagined earning. It took all her will to keep her voice steady.

  “And I want free room and board,” she said. “Three meals a turn. A room of my own; no other yezyani sharing it.”

  He smiled thinly. “These things will be yours.”

  She nearly lost her breath. Her heart fluttered. She’d have enough coins by the new moon. She tilted her head, squinted, and examined Nukari. A small voice inside her cried out that this was too good to be true, that she couldn’t trust this man with the painted nails and gaudy silks. Her weariness, homesickness, and the rancid smell of her old tunic drowned that voice.

  “Take me to the Green Geode,” she said, rising from her seat. “You have a new yezyana.”

  They left the tavern. They walked along the streets, a man wearing finery and a woman clad in rags and filth. They walked for a long time.

  For moons now Koyee had lived in the squalor of Pahmey’s lower streets, the hive of beggars, buskers, and bottom feeders that nestled against the city
walls. For the first time since the elders had spurned her, Koyee found herself climbing the city’s hill, heading into the wide streets of the wealthy.

  No dirt covered the cobblestones of these boulevards. Poles lined them, bearing lanterns that cast green, golden, and blue lights. Houses were not built of opaque glass, but of crystals that shone, reflecting the city lights. Steeples soared toward the moon, chanting rose from temples, and gardens of mushrooms flourished on balconies. Just as many people walked the streets, but they were cleaner, better dressed, and better fed than the folk of the city dregs. Powder and paint covered their faces, not grime. Well-fed bellies pressed against their silks rather than ribs pressing against naked skin. They wandered the streets, laughed in crystal pleasure dens, and gossiped in public bathhouses. Music rose from a columned theater, and Koyee glimpsed dancers and acrobats before Nukari walked onward, leading her by the hand.

  “Come quickly, child,” he said.

  Koyee dragged behind him, eyes wide. She wanted to gaze through so many windows—to see how the wealthy lived, how they laughed, bathed, applauded dancers and singers, how they lived with joy and cleanliness and full bellies. But Nukari kept pulling her along, allowing her only glimpses of each building they passed.

  “Slow down!” she said. “Let go of my hand.”

  He only smiled and led her along faster. “You’ll have time to explore these streets, child, but not like this. Not clad in rags and covered in filth. You do not wish to embarrass me, do you? First I will polish you. When you are a shining gem, you may accompany me—and other men—to all the dens, theaters, and bathhouses of these streets.”

  Koyee grumbled as they went along. Embarrass him? She looked down at her body. Sticking out from her tattered tunic, her legs were thin as sticks. Grime covered her feet, so thick it looked like shoes. She was used to her own smell now, but she imagined it wasn’t too pleasant to those accustomed to soaps and perfumes. She sighed and walked on.

  If Timandrians attack this city too, no fineries will matter, she thought, gazing around at the wealth of Pahmey’s hilltop. If we cannot stop their threat, all the singers, jewels, and perfumes in Pahmey will fall into the fire.

  They walked past a towering jewelry store, three stories tall, whose glass windows revealed dozens of people moving up and down coiling staircases, examining the jewels, each one worth more than all in Oshy. By a bronze statue of a dancer, Koyee saw a humble stone building. Nukari turned toward it.

  Koyee tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. All other buildings here were grand, their large windows proudly displaying their wares, be it jewels, dancers, singers, or wine. This place was different. Its windows were small and round, the glass smoky and green, hiding the insides. Aside from the bronze statue outside, nothing here denoted wealth or welcome. Had Nukari not been guiding her, Koyee would have walked past the building, not even seeing it through the shadows.

  “Welcome,” Nukari said, “to the Green Geode.”

  Koyee squinted at the squat building. “I don’t even see a sign.”

  Nukari smiled thinly. “My patrons do not need a sign. We do not proclaim our wares in the light. My patrons prefer shadows. Come now, child. Enter your new home.”

  As she walked toward the door, Koyee tightened her lips.

  This will not become my home, she thought. This will only be a place to stay until I earn enough money to leave Pahmey. My home is Oshy, and it always will be. I will return.

  Nukari opened a bronze door, gestured into the shadows, and let her enter first. Koyee stepped into the Green Geode … and gasped.

  She now understood the pleasure den’s name. While the building’s outward facade was craggy stone, its insides gleamed with crystals and green light. Koyee squinted, nearly blinded. Candles burned upon a score of stone tables. A hundred lanterns hung from the ceiling, glowing all shades of green. Crystals grew along the walls, ceilings, and floor.

  But more than its lanterns and crystals, Koyee gasped to see the people who filled the Green Geode. Several young women stood upon stages, clad in flowing silks, their faces painted green and silver. Two women were dancing upon one stage, swaying like spirits of the sky, their scarves billowing like clouds. A tall, beautiful woman stood on a second stage, playing a harp and singing a sad tune; a tiara topped her head, shaped as Shenlai the dragon, and her eyes gleamed like molten gold. Upon a third stage, a short, slim woman was performing with marionettes; she had an impish face with large ears, winking green eyes, and a crooked smile, and as her puppets performed, she supplied voices in alternating falsetto and grumbles.

  Koyee blushed to see these stages. She had never seen women like these, their faces painted, their jewels glowing blue and white, their flimsy outfits showing more skin than they hid. Even the impish puppeteer wore only scanty silks that Koyee would feel naked in.

  “They’re yezyani,” she whispered to Eelani. “They’re trained to pleasure—to sing, to dance, to giggle at jokes.”

  She had sometimes seen old, wealthy men wandering the streets of Pahmey, their hair thinning and their wrinkles deepening, while pure and young yezyani—beautiful spirits wearing jewels—accompanied them to theaters and balls. Koyee swallowed. Was this her fate now?

  She lowered her gaze. While the yezyani made her blush, the patrons of the Green Geode made her heart sink. They lay upon beds, watching the performers and smoking hookahs. The spice bubbled inside the glass containers, a deep purple, while green smoke swirled from the pipes. The scents filled the air, thick as syrup. The smokers didn’t even turn to see Koyee enter; they barely seemed able to focus on the yezyani. Their eyes were narrowed to crescent slits, and their mouths mimicked the shape, curved into half-smiles of pleasure and stupor.

  I left the dregs of Pahmey, Koyee thought, and entered a den of debauchery and spice. These patrons are no better than Snaggletooth.

  She turned to leave.

  “This is not a place for me,” she said. “Goodbye, Nukari.”

  She stepped toward the doorway, meaning to exit, but he blocked her way.

  “Move!” she told him.

  He only smiled pleasantly and bowed his head. “Forgive me, my child. I perhaps did not prepare you for the lights, the smoke, and the scents. Please. Stay with us here.”

  He closed the door behind him and locked it.

  Koyee placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I will not wear those silks.” She gestured at the dancing women. “I demand something more … proper.”

  He played with one of his many rings, spinning it around his finger. “I have closets full of robes and gowns. You may choose the dress you like.”

  She stared at the smoking, languorous men upon the beds. “And I will not serve hintan. I will not step near these men. I will not accompany them to balls, or giggle at their jokes, or flirt with them, or do anything else they might want. I will play my flute, same as I did on the street, and that is all.” She narrowed her eyes and glared at Nukari. “If you refuse, you better move away from that door, or I will carve my way out with my sword.”

  For a heartbeat, his eyes narrowed and his lips twisted into a snarl. His expression softened so fast Koyee wondered if she’d imagined it, and again he smiled pleasantly.

  “It will be as you wish. Now come upstairs; we will scrub you clean and dress you in whatever fashion you desire. Unless, of course, you wish to keep your fur tunic. That I must insist you change out of.” He gave a short, brittle laugh.

  He took her up a stone stairway, and they entered a hallway lined with doors. Candles burned on the walls, and those doors that were open revealed beds topped with fur.

  “Every yezyana at the Green Geode has her own room,” Nukari said. “No other pleasure den treats its yezyani so well. Here you will be as a princess.”

  He led her into a tiled chamber. A bath stood here upon clawed feet. Soaps, towels, and brushes stood on several tables. At the back of the room, a closet stood open, revealing a hundred silken gowns. Hot and cold wa
ter filled cauldrons, and a mirror hung from a wall.

  “I will be downstairs entertaining my patrons,” Nukari said. “Take your time here. Come downstairs a polished gem. Scrub your skin until it’s red. Remove the smell of the dregs. Toss your fur tunic into the fire and choose a new dress. Brush all the tangles from your hair and splash perfume onto your body. When you come back down, if I can recognize you, I will send you back up. You walked upstairs a filthy urchin. Step downstairs a yezyana.”

  With that, he left her in the chamber.

  As soon as he was gone, Koyee let out a groan, rolled her eyes, and raised her hands in exasperation.

  “By the moonlight, Eelani! That man is like some … some garish cockroach. I don’t trust him. Do you?” She shuddered. “And I don’t trust those men downstairs. But then again … the dregs had Snaggletooth and other thieves. Here we’ll get our own room.” She looked around her and sighed. “What do you think, Eelani? Should we stay here? Just for a little bit? Or should we flee out the window and run back to our old corner?”

  She looked at the window; it was ajar, revealing a view of the city towers. She looked back at the bath, the fine silks, and the soaps and brushes. A long sigh ran through her.

  “Oh, all right, Eelani. We’ll stay long enough to bathe and find new clothes.” She covered her nose. “You stink and you need the bath. But once we’re clean and fed and clothed, if Nukari tries anything funny, we run.”

  She reached out her hand, letting Eelani crawl down her arm and nestle in her palm. Biting her lip, she stripped off her tunic, stepped toward the tub, and placed a single toe in. The water was warm and soapy. Koyee placed one foot in, then the other, and finally sank into the tub. She let out a long sigh.

  “Eelani, finally you’ll smell nice,” she said, the water turning gray around her.

  She scrubbed herself until her skin turned red, leaving the tub a muddy mess, then stepped toward the closet. A few moments later, she looked into the mirror and barely recognized herself.