by Emanuel, Ako
Then the Train’Marm stepped on the mounting block beside which they had positioned him and threw her leg over his back...
Varo lost his mind. He bucked so hard that he twisted an ankle and broke half his chains. Fekniri went flying, fortunately for her - if she had not, she would have been crushed beneath him, for he writhed on the ground on his equine back as if a swarm of jak’spanya were stinging beneath the panquin. He trumpeted in inarticulate rage, slithering as if he could rub the panquin off his back. The high polish was marred beyond repair and the strap actually broke, so furious was his temper and gyrations. Had he not hurt his ankle, he would have been up and leaping away, breaking for freedom. He tried it anyway, on three legs, knocking over two handlers and three grooms and getting as far as the high fence of the yard before the shock of a whip felled him...
Gavaron watched with dispassionate fascination. Strange, that Varo would share the fury over the desecration of a memory that he did not possess.
Unfortunately, Fekniri had only been stunned in the fall. He would have preferred that she break her neck. She appeared, walking gingerly, just as the grooms finished cleaning him up again, his little rampage having left him filthy and disheveled. She watched as they strapped on a new panquin and bridle and resecured his arms before him. Varo flexed his arms, testing the bonds. Gavaron went to work immediately, degrading the leather, especially of the hated bit.
He had just begun to work on the new panquin strap when he noticed that they were bypassing the exercise yard.
Not eager to try it again? Gavaron thought with a sneer. I don’t blame you. Next time you might just fly right into a pole.
Abruptly Fekniri stopped and gestured to one of the handlers. The man produced a black velvet bag and approached, clearly intending to place it over his head.
Again, Varo spooked.
He tried to rear up, tossing his head, but the thicker chains on his legs, ones that Gavaron had not had time to weaken, prevented him from reaching full height. He bucked, straining against his tethers, and the ones on his arms snapped. The men gripping the reins and assorted chains on him were jerked off-balance by the sudden vehemence of his reaction, but, wary from his earlier performance, were ready for him. For a moment, Varo had the upper hand. Then they pulled him down by weight alone, handlers converging from all sides to lend a hand. The choke chain pulled tight. Varo struggled mightily, striking out with one fist while grabbing at the choker with the other.
Pain! paralyzed him, freezing him in mid-buck. His muscles spasmed, and then he could no longer stand. Consciousness and breath slipped away with frightening speed...
the light turned...
...Varo floated slowly to awareness. He was on his equine stomach, and rebound tighter than ever. He was also blind-folded and gagged.
He struggled involuntarily. Somehow, he knew he was within walls, that many others were around him, and that at least one was the mistress of the menagerie. Was he back in the audience chamber?
He stopped struggling after a moment, berating himself. If he had kept quiet and listened, he might have learned a bit more about his circumstances. Now they knew he was conscious and he had lost any advantage he might have had.
Gavaron, on the other hand, had taken full advantage of Varo’s inactivity. Carried like baggage into the presence of his captor, he encountered a ‘rito’ka such as he had never felt before - it was not of Av, as sure as silver’s gleam, but nor was it of Lor. It was more like di’rita, the ‘rita of water, but somehow - lighter, more diffuse, dispersed right along the edge of his di’rita awareness. A feathery touch, an airy tickle...
And he almost started as he realized that it was from the spirit of air that the emanations of power originated. Then Varo was awake, and Gavaron receded to observe.
“So,” a silken voice breathed, chilling both Varo’s and Gavaron’s blood. “This is the famous ‘joumbi’ of the unclaimed lons. Now just another mount in your stable. How does he ride?”
“We have not had a chance to ride him yet - his breaking is taking more time than we would like.” Varo recognized the voice of the Queen into whose presence he had been brought before. “We also have not had the time to properly appreciate his - attributes, as you know, since we have had other things to attend to. But it has come to our attention that he might have information that may aid us.”
He found it difficult to breathe, and it had nothing to do with the choke chain.
“Well - Varo, is it? That name will do for now. Well, Varo, tell us about the High Heir.”
Gavaron, safe in the link, suddenly felt sick to both is stomachs. Varo knew nothing of Jeliya - how much to let him know?
The gag was removed. Varo licked his lips, feeling slight abrasions at the corners. He drew a breath, then felt a slight tingling along the choke chain - Fekniri, warning him to watch his tongue.
“Answer her Majesty,” Fekniri hissed.
“Uh - the High Heir, Majesty?” Varo stammered. He shook his head. “Begging your pardon, Majesty, but what would I know of the High Heir?”
The choke chain suddenly tightened, then as suddenly released.
“The High Heir,” the Queen’s voice repeated, her voice still sweet, like cloying venom. “You called her name many times, in your - sleep.”
Comprehension dawned on Gavaron. Memories or perhaps dreams had overcome him in sleep, and in them were memories of Jeliya. Gavaron reluctantly gave Varo knowledge of Jeliya, but not of her being High Heir. He prayed that he had not mentioned Jenikia.
“She - she was High Heir?” Varo was genuinely surprised. “I - I found her - she had fallen into a poisonous plant. She was delirious with fever. I - I know something of the healing arts - herb healing - I treated her as best I could. Then, one turn, when I returned to my home, she was gone.”
Lightning pain raced along the chain and screamed down every nerve. His body arched with the shape of the pain. His voice sang to its theme with an equine scream.
“Why are you lying to us, Varo?” he heard dimly through the pain. It stopped and he slumped, shuddering with agony’s echo. “You were seen, carrying her, going into the Cribeau’Lons. Do you deny this?”
Varo panted, trying to catch his breath. “It - it is true,” he gasped out. “I - I move around a bit to gather food. I - I have a place in the Cribeau’Lons - they let me stay there some times. I was being hunted.” A dangerous note crept into his voice, Gavaron could not keep it out, “I have been hunted before. I am usually safe in the Cribeau’Lons.”
There was silence. Varo waited for the next question.
“This is important, my beautiful mount,” the Queen said, and a tingle of pleasure, obscenely jolted him through the chain. “Was she alone when you found her?”
“Alone? There were others, but they were not near,” Gavaron made Varo lie.
“Were they her escort?” the other voice asked, with an overt intensity that was not usually displayed by Queens. “Why did you not lead them to her?”
“Majesty, she was hurt, in the wilds. They may have been hunting her, as I have been hunted. I - I just wanted to help.”
He waited for another question. When none were forthcoming, he dared to venture one of his own.
“Is she all right?” he murmured.
The first crest of pain sang down the chain and he steeled himself - but nothing more followed, as if the wave of punishment had been aborted.
“You are - concerned for her?” The stranger voice became silkier, like the warning rattle of a viper. Varo’s nerves prickled with that warning. “You - cared for her?”
Gavaron shuddered again, wondering if he had made a mistake, letting Varo ask that.
Varo shrugged as much as he could in the restraints, shaking his head slowly. “She was in my care, Majesty,” he replied, “and very ill. I am concerned for all whom I treat.” Varo’s voice was beautifully steady where Gavaron’s would have quaked with suppressed emotion.
“We are also quite concerned wit
h her state of health. We fear - that she is dead.”
Varo might have been fooled, but Gavaron was not, not for a gran. He had felt Jenikia die – he would know if Jeliya had gone to the hand of the Beloved. They were just trying to elicit a reaction from him. Besides, the only ways that the stranger Queen - he had no doubt that she was a Queen and not just a high ranking noble - could know about him and Jeliya entering the Cribeau’Lons was if her warru or the warru of an ally had been there, hunting them. They had to know she got away. Either way, she was lying about Jeliya.
“We see that our stable mistress has quite a bit of work to do with you, yet, Varo. You and she had best be about it.” That was clearly a dismissal.
His legs were freed, and Fekniri and the handlers led him away, directing his steps. His hoof-falls were muffled by carpet, then rang with clear, dark silver on polished stone, and finally clopped on rough ground. He was stopped and the blindfold was suddenly whipped off, leaving him blinking in the bright light. Fekniri was right in front of him, and she yanked viciously on the choke chain, garroting him and forcing his head down.
“I am going to make you pay for embarrassing me,” she hissed, her violet eyes full of rage. “In ways you’ve never dreamed!”
Varo gagged for breath. He would have shivered if he were not choking. He knew that she would be true to her word.
She was.
the darkness turned...
Gavaron fumed as Varo cried softly at the depredations he had suffered at the hands of Fekniri. But Gavaron’s wrath was directed at himself. He had to get the memories under his control!
I have to get them to come when I want, and in the sequence that I want, he chided himself.
He was still pondering the dilemma when the slight squeak of the bolt to his stall made both him and Varo freeze. Chained as he was, Varo could not see who it was, but he did not need to. Only one person would dare. He felt the riding crop against his flank and he wanted to vomit, but knew he would smother on the bit.
Fekniri rendered him unable to move with a rite, then drew his arms behind his back and chained them there. She released his choke chain, nullified the rite, and urged him to his hoofs with the crop. Varo went reluctantly, tears still leaking shamefully from his eyes.
Fekniri’s face was unreadable in pale light, like shear veils in mist. She looked into his eyes for a long, searching moment, then gestured for him to back out of his stall.
They moved silently through the grounds, to the Train’Marm’s secret place for them. It was thankfully empty, the pallet covered in satin unoccupied. The Train’Marm secured his bonds to the loops anchored in the stone walls, then turned to him and stroked his face. He restrained himself from flinching away - her wrath at such rejection was terrible.
“I know you hate this bit,” she said, tugging at one of the straps that held it in place. He grunted as the whole harness tightened from her pulling. She wiped at a tear, licked the salt moisture from her finger. She gazed at him once more, an enigmatic look in her eyes.
“You are still innocent,” she said, and the longing wistfulness in her voice made Varo’s eyes widen in surprise. Fekniri turned away, bending the crop as if she wished to break it. “The Queen wants your - sexual breaking to start. Her guest’s comments on your performance, and her having to admit that she has not tasted you has angered her. She wants you to start mounting the Fillas on command. But -” she turned to face him, and there was a fierce look in her eyes, “you are mine! I want to taste you first - while you are still - unsullied...”
She came back and tugged on the bit straps again. “I’ll take this off - for a trade.”
He looked at her, brows down. Did she want him to mount her? Surely she was not that stupid, not to put herself in so vulnerable a position.
She laughed at his expression. “Oh, I could have my way with you without fear, if I chose,” she said mockingly, brandishing the crop. “But that is not what I want right now. What I want is - a kiss.” She cocked her head. “That’s not so terrible, is it?”
Gavaron and Varo again felt bile rise. A kiss, so simple a gesture, was also the most complicated. Anyone could copulate - it was not necessary to love to have sex. But to kiss, and mean it, which was what she wanted, he was sure of it... He was not sure he could stomach that.
And more than that, every action was a trap in this place, designed to bind him deeper into his captivity. Perhaps Fekniri had been left vulnerable in certain ways for a reason? Had he played into his enemy’s hands? Could he turn it to his advantage anyway?
He nodded. She smiled and stroked his head, then hooked his choke chain over a ring and looped the trailing end around her hand.
“Just in case, sweetling,” she murmured as she worked on the straps. Finally the whole harness came off, and he sighed in relief. Then he was being drawn down by one of the loops in his collar.
“Kiss me, as you would have kissed your little bathing girl,” she whispered, tilting her face up to his, her lips parting. He went willingly, and he felt her lips touch his. When her tongue slid into his mouth, he bit down as hard as he could, until salt-sweet blood flowed.
Fekniri screamed and pulled away, striking him before he could bite all the way through. He spat out her blood and grinned at her as she danced around, holding her mouth.
“Did you really expect me to make it easy?” he jeered as she fell to her hands and knees, claret pouring from her mouth. She summoned a rite that began healing her tongue as it began to swell.
“Come, cry a hundred tears for me!” Varo taunted her. Fekniri shot him a murderous look and the choker seared red-hot around his neck, freezing his breath almost completely.
“Th-that’s right,” he choked out, “kill me. De -ny the Qu - een her - prize...”
Darkness was a welcome shroud.
CHAPTER V
the darkness, like a jagged splinter slicing deep within her mind, turned...
The next turn brought orders for Jeliya and the egwae to ‘tun to the Acaila Lan’mba. The move was accomplished quickly and efficiently, fifty fresh warru appearing with the messenger to help. They took all the burden off of the over-exhausted travelers. They packed up everything, took charge of the mounts, made the av’tun, and the egwae had merely to limp through - and they were in civilization again, and an egwae no more. The Lan’mba was like paradise, with hot food and baths waiting, soft, deep pallets beckoning, clean clothes and security and true rest, finally.
But Jeliya found no rest. Her heart’s anguish and the troubles before her kept her from the arms of Sleep far into the eve. She found that she was slow in recovering. She felt a never-ending fatigue, and she seemed to have caught, of all things, a cold, as had other members of the former egwae. Jahun’no had hovered over her, until she was ready to scream, but she bore it until he finally asserted that she was on the mend. Now she was about to head into the thick of it. She stared out into the eve, listening to the drowsy beating of the tuku...
the darkness turned...
A tuk’ni drum sounded from the empty air, echoing throughout the Lan’mba, merging with then cutting across the already beating drums within the large laire of lains. The sound broke into Jeliya’s troubled sleep, making her sit up fast. It was the royal fanfare, ending with the High Queen’s signature. Jeliya sat still until the last reverberating tone died away.
Her mother was coming! Anticipation and trepidation welled up inside her as the expected flurry of servants and maddi descended upon her in a virtual hurricane of preparations. They had a whole san’chron to work on her, and they did themselves proud. Jeliya bore their primping and pampering in a daze of absorbed thoughts. It seemed like it had been forever since she had seen her mother. Being in the presence of the High Queen would truly be the mark of her return.
Her brothers appeared, dressed almost identically in de’sikis and kwats that were the deep blue and royal purple of the Tribe Ava’Lona, heavily embroidered with gold thread around the seams. Their guinne had been p
reened till they shone and were secured in an elaborate warru style. Pentuk was radiant in a pale purple and lighter blue silk wrap, white-gold thread embroidered and a crownette made of a royal blue hybiscus pulling all her guinne up beautifully. R’Kyl stood beside Rilantu in all her Katari finery, layer upon layer of necklaces taking the place of a bustiere and a sheer pec’ta girding her hips. A large double comb carved from a single sapphire and hung with terraces of seed pearls adorned her crest, and a matching sapphire blue scarf flowed from the comb to lay across her shoulders. Otaga stood off to the side in her dark purple warru de’siki and kwats with gold trim. And Jeliya looked down at herself. She was dressed in a deep gold top and bottom wrap that had intermingled patterns of blue and royal purple thread adorning it, and her long guinne were done up with gold fastenings and strips of kente cloth in the style of High Heir. A light, sheer mantle of purple flowed from her shoulders and gold bangles and earrings and other jewelry clinked and tinkled all over her. I can’t believe the amount of jewelry and finery they’ve put on me! It’s even more than when Ashmisa had come to visit. Did I really wear all this before I went on Safania?
Rilantu and Staventu came forward and each proffered a hand to her. They helped her rise and slowly walk the short distance to the receiving lain, where a large mosaic depicting a stylized ameda tree covered the floor of the receiving enclosure. They stood behind her in formal array, with Rilantu to the right and Staventu to the left, Otaga behind and to the right of Rilantu, Pentuk behind and to the left of Staventu, and R’Kyl directly behind Jeliya. She took five paces forward alone, her legs trembling a bit from walking and standing without aid, but they were less shaky than they were the turn before and getting stronger. She was definitely on her way to full recovery of her physical strength.
