by Paul Heisel
“She probably wouldn’t have come willingly. She isn’t from Pyndira, as you may have guessed by my untimely arrival.”
Paq nodded. Many of the Furies were from Pyndira and had hidden in Malurrion, thus they understood the marking process. Others from Malurrion usually came willingly and were blindfolded for reasons Pearl wouldn't say. Nearly all of Pearl's Furies came and went without incident. He wondered if this one would be sent back as the others had. It was preferred the total number of Furies was kept a secret, as it prevented the Emperor and the other Most Favoreds from buying armies of them. The limited supply had driven up prices, which had made his father happy. The arrangement they had with Pearl, although at first deemed ridiculous, had worked out to their advantage. Basically, Malurrion was serving as a Fury bank for them. Soon, they would be recalled and sold to the families. He knew Pearl wouldn't take that very well, but she didn't have much choice and couldn’t avoid that eventuality.
“Name?”
“Owori.” Pearl spelled it. “She has two tattoos that were begun long ago on her hands.”
Paq waved his hand as if to dismiss it as not being a problem. “We can work around it or work it into the design, or cover it. I’ll take care of it. Not a problem.”
“You’ll have to keep her drugged until you’re done,” Pearl said. “I'm sorry about that.”
“Why? It’s so inconvenient. It’s easier to give them their marks when they’re conscious.”
“I think she would rip your head off.”
Paq gulped. He knew what Furies could do. Angry ones were not to his liking. “Unconscious is good. We have some qatta root that will keep her unconscious but alive.”
“I’ll return later when I can. I need to explain things to her when she wakes. She doesn’t know about Furies, Pyndira, or why she’s here. The circumstances of our departure were not ideal.”
“You should have left her there and not even bothered bringing her here. You know we don’t want violent ones or unwilling ones. Maybe you should take her back.” Paq scratched his skinny thigh and adjusted his white shirt. His black hair dangled into his dark eyes.
“I can’t take her back. In fact, I won’t take her back. This is where she belongs.”
“When my father hears about this, he’ll want an explanation. He’s already not happy about the number of Furies that want to go back to Malurrion. I know it’s been good for business overall, but at some point, we will need to have your Furies back so they can be bound to families. You know that, don't you?”
“Paq, I don’t answer to your father and I never will. This Fury is unique,” Pearl said. “I want her treated as such. If not, I will roast every hair off your body. Would that be explanation enough for your father?”
“No need for threats,” Paq said. “I’m just trying to figure out why this one is here and why you can’t bring her back at another time when she’s ready to receive her marks. Pearl, is there something wrong? I have never seen you agitated like this. What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Part of the answer is with her, but I can’t let her wake until you’ve marked her. You’ll understand when…”
Another man came into the room. He was adjusting his sash and pants, but the pants kept falling. His slivery hair sprouted in all directions. The man was plump with fat spilling out from his waist, neck, and arms. He waddled across the room, his pants swishing as his thighs chaffed against each other. With one last angry cinch and a suck in of his gut, he secured his pants.
“Hello father,” Paq said.
He sighed. “What do we have here?”
“Have to keep her drugged. Dangerous one, right Pearl?”
“Hello Pearl,” Paq’s father said. “We haven’t seen you in a while. If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re avoiding us. The number of Furies that you’ve brought us has decreased. Supply is low. Why do so many go back to Malurrion. Why is that? Why aren't you bringing them back?”
“Good to see you Quin,” she said, ignoring the onslaught of questions. “I’ve given Paq instructions. Don’t let her wake until I return. If you do, you may have more on your hands than you can handle.”
“We have enough soldiers to start our own war,” Quin boasted. “And Furies to protect us. We know what we’re doing.”
“Father,” Paq said, “that’s enough. No one is going to hurt this woman or us. We'll do as Pearl says. She has never led us astray.”
Quin nodded. “Very well. We’ll mark her and wait for your return, as you have requested. I still want answers…”
Pearl spun on her heels and darted through the door and was gone.
“She was in a hurry,” Quin said. “We need to talk business with her soon. I hope it wasn’t me that made her run off. I was only half joking about supply being low. Well, not really. Fewer and fewer Furies are being marked.”
“Apparently there is a problem in Malurrion, but she wouldn’t elaborate. You know father, she gets creepier each time she comes back.” Paq took a deep breath. “She said I would understand eventually, I guess once I start marking the Fury it’ll make sense, but I think she’s lost it. Pearl needs to come back and live on the island.”
“Oh, don’t be so hard on her. Who knows what that other land is like, full of savages probably. Remember, what she does is for the greater good of Pyndira. And for greater profits for our family. Plus, if she were to come back, we would have to send her to one of the families eventually. I would rather keep Pearl for ourselves. No one needs to know that she exists. If she’s in Malurrion, then she doesn’t exist here in Pyndira.”
“I guess you’re right,” Paq muttered.
Quin touched Owori’s face with his meaty hand and brushed her hair to the side. “Do you want to start now? You can wait until morning if you’d like.”
“I’m already up, no sense in delaying.” Paq walked to the other side of the padded table and gazed at Owori. He thought she was beautiful, as engaging as any woman he had seen, well, except for Pearl. No one would ever be as lovely as Pearl. His hands shook.
“Are you nervous?” Quin asked. “Do you need spirits or wine to calm your nerves? That’s what I used to do.”
“I don’t like when they’re unconscious, you know that. It makes me feel dirty, like I’m taking advantage. I’m sorry father. I must deal with it, and I will in my own way. Certainly not with drinks. What employer in Pyndira would let his workers drink all the time and be burdened with poor judgment and dimwittedness?”
“You're right. Just remember you have a job to do, one of the most important in all Pyndira. No one else has the skills our family has. In fact, we are the most powerful family in Pyndira. Belt or no belt, I would match our power and wealth with any of the provinces.”
“Then why do we live in seclusion on an island?”
“For our protection. If anyone knew of our location, they would bring armies here and make us do their bidding. Our profits and heritage would be lost. Long ago when we were given this task, we agreed that we would accept isolation for the greater good of Pyndira.”
“Much of the time we do the Emperor’s bidding. He’s always sending delegations here, searching for the perfect Furies. I don’t like Yan when he comes here. He takes advantage of our generosity and takes too many liberties with, well, you know, the ladies. Why do we have to endure their antics?”
“Boy, you ask too many questions. One day you’ll understand our business as well as I do. The Emperor, if you know, is the primary supplier of blood for our inks. He has been very resourceful.”
“Father, I’m twenty-five. I’m not a boy. I understand what we do; I just don’t understand why we do it or why we do what the Emperor tells us.”
“There is no ‘why’ in this; this is what our family does. We have always marked Furies.”
“Forget it,” Paq said.
“We have this island to ourselves,” Quin continued. “We have friends and families who live with us, others who are sworn to
protect us. There’s an army on this island that would die to the last man to protect us, our business, our wealth, and our heritage. Every once in a while, we get to take a trip off the island to get away to the most exotic places in all of Pyndira. All of the Furies, once discovered, come to us so we can mark them. Do you know how special that is? What more could you want?”
Paq shrugged his shoulders. Paq wasn’t sure why he felt so confused, why at times he felt like his family was no more than slaves to the Emperor despite the material wealth they had accumulated. Yes, he understood that Furies had to be marked. But did they have to sell the Furies? Couldn’t they just be compensated for their work and not for the Fury? There was a difference. Paq cleared his throat. “Father, the only thing I want is for Pearl to come back to the island to live with us.”
#
Lanterns were brought in to augment the pillar candles as Paq went about the preparations. Unlike his father and grandfather, Paq required the entire room illuminated if he was going to work. The lanterns and candles blazed away in the late evening, and would continue far into the night. His two talented assistants were roused and they came without question, standing at the ready. Paq had a journal and took a writing instrument, marking the page ‘OWORI’ in large block letters.
The first part of the process had already been seen to, so Paq was grateful Owori’s skin had been prepared. Normally it would take days and days of salt baths and scrubbing to condition the skin properly for the procedure. It appeared she had been faithfully taking salt baths for many weeks. The skin had a faultless glow, tell tale sign of usage of the mineral salts found only on their island. Hence their name for the island, Salt Island. Pearl had taken thousands of pounds of the salts to Malurrion, and that would last a long time, as a generous pinch of salt was enough for a huge vat of hot water.
“She needs to be washed and cleaned first. We don’t need to prepare the skin,” Paq said to the assistants.
He gave her over to the assistants, two trusted women who were physically strong and never asked questions. During the bath Owori woke, still groggy, and was given additional qatta root to keep her unconscious. By the end of the cleansing she was unconscious again, then they brought her back to Paq. He munched on freshly baked cakes, brushing the crumbs to the wooden floor and kicking them away with his shoes. He removed his shirt and washed his hands to his elbows, scrubbing hard with a horsehair brush and soap. The next part of the procedure was necessary, but not his favorite by any means.
Owori was laid out on the table, towel dried by the assistants and left naked. To the side of the table was a small vat of a thick black liquid that Paq prepared while she was given a bath. First he took shears and carefully cut her hair as short as he could, then with the help of his assistants he turned her over on to her stomach. Paq took the thick liquid and applied it with a wooden spatula, starting at the top of her head and working his way down. It was gooey and sticky with the consistency of honey. It came from the sap of one of the trees on the island, and Paq always wondered who in the Emperor’s name had the crazy idea to take the sap, heat it up, and spread it on their body? It amazed him to this day that centuries ago his ancestor had invented this process. The sap, when heated and applied to the body, would remove all hair, leaving the body bare forever. Only eyebrows and head hair would grow back for the women; eyebrows, facial hair, and head hair for the men – though many male Furies remained bald by choice. This was a necessary step to make sure the tattoo, when finished, would take. Hair, for some reason, interfered.
He waited a short while for the sap to set and cool down, then with a soft wood scraper he removed the excess. He then rolled her over and did the same for her front. His face became flush as he applied the thick liquid to her. In the past, he had done this to conscious women, some bold some shy, and in either case it had been much easier than this. Owori was dead to the world, and he was rubbing her body – a body he had no right to touch. Paq took a break, drank a flagon of water, then returned to complete this part of the procedure. He could hear the assistants snickering and he heard them mention Pearl. He blushed.
Years ago, the first person he performed the procedure on was Pearl. She was an astonishing woman and one of the most formidable Furies, and at the time, he barely finished the job. She wasn’t shy about her body, certainly not bashful either, and she made a comment when he dropped the applicator four times while trying to cover her breasts. Pearl told him, ‘Just use your hands, we’ll both have more fun.’ He of course turned crimson and grinned from ear-to-ear, while the assistants laughed heartily at his expense. The remainder of her hair removal procedure went even worse and he was too embarrassed to finish. She had to help him with the application over the remainder of her body.
As he slathered the gooey liquid over Owori, he wondered when he would be over his shyness. Both his father and grandfather didn’t seem to care or notice who they were working on. To them it was just a job. Was it more than a job to him? He thought the tattoos he created were art. Yes, his father could draw and create, yet his father lacked the detailed touch that he had. Paq practiced drawing the animals daily, perfecting his techniques. The tattoos he created were alive, perfect in every detail.
At last Owori was done. The assistants washed away the sap and every hair on her body went with it. They dried her, put her on another padded table, covered her with a linen cloth, and made her ready for the next stage. She was on her back, arms at her sides, eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell softly. Paq inspected her to make sure her skin was ready. It looked that way. It was flawless except for a bruise along her right arm where it looked like she had been struck. No matter, that wouldn’t affect what he had to do. He took a moment to inspect the small tattoos on her hands. They were tails, faded, probably put on her hands when she was a small child. He guessed she didn’t remember the tattoos or the story behind them. The pattern, strangely, was familiar. He had seen this work before, so Paq told the assistants to take a break and then he went to find his father.
Paq returned to the chamber with his sleepy father in tow. The sun was rising and the temple had lots of activity this morning. There was a celebration later tonight and the servants were busy preparing. Friends from the other side of the island were coming to celebrate a milestone of sorts, which Paq couldn’t remember what. At this point Paq welcomed the arrival of Owori, as it would keep him occupied for the entire day and into the evening. He would have to miss the festivities.
“I know who did these,” Quin said as he held Owori’s hand.
“Who is it?”
“Your grandfather. I remember her. It can’t be…” Quin dropped Owori’s hand and took a step back, as if touching her was like being stung by angry hornets.
“She’s been here before?”
“Yes. She’s the reason your grandfather is a cripple and partially blind.”
#
Min was elderly, his hair white, stringy, and long. His skin was darkened by years spent on the island, wrinkled and spotted both by time and the sun. Two servants ushered him into the chamber where Paq and Quin waited. He was seated in a chair with large wheels in the back, balanced by two smaller wheels in the front. A thin blanket covered his nonexistent legs. He stared ahead with one good eye, the other was milky white. He rarely wore his patch.
“Hello grandfather,” Paq said as he moved toward him. He crossed the entire room and met him at the door. The two servants gave way and let Paq push his grandfather forward. The chair creaked as it went over the smooth worn planks. Paq could hear his grandfather’s quickened breathing.
“What has your father told you?” Min asked.
Paq looked up. The servants were out of earshot. Good. This wasn't information he wanted circulated. “He said she was the reason you have no legs and lost one eye.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“You don’t remember what happened that day?” Min asked.
“I remember the fire and I remember
the storms,” Paq said. “I don't remember much else. I was seven.”
“It's not that I remember, my boy, it's that I can't forget.”
Paq wheeled him forward and scooted him as close to Owori’s hand as he could. Min took the hand and squeezed it. He traced the faded tail with his finger, reliving bad memories.
“Her parents were marked and fell in love on our island,” Min said. “They were sold to the Yokai family as a package and taken away. Years later we found out that they had a child that showed signs of magic at a young age. No child could have magic that strong and survive, not without guidance and supervision. Not without control. The Emperor discovered her existence and asked that she be marked and bound to his family as a child. He wanted her for his own, a Fury to develop from a young age as a protector. They took the little girl away from her parents by force. This nearly killed me, as her parents somehow found the island. I don’t know how they did it or how they crossed the lake, but they did.” Grandfather paused. “They took her away by force, took my legs too. Then they vanished, transported to Malurrion no doubt, never to return to Pyndira. I’m not sure, but I think the Yokai family was involved somehow. They harbored these fugitives.”
“The Emperor is to blame for this,” Quin said. “Clearly you see that it was his doing.”
“Her parents are to blame,” Min said. “They are the ones who came here and nearly destroyed what we have spent centuries creating.”
“Father, you would have done the same thing if I would have been taken away from you,” Quin said. “You would have used all means to protect your child. I would do the same for Paq. The Emperor ordered you to mark this child. Had he not done that, her parents wouldn’t have come to rescue her, and they wouldn’t have injured you. It is the Emperor's fault.”
Min slammed his fist on the padded table. He began to cry. When his fist nearly hit Owori, Quin and Paq restrained him and pulled him away. His struggle against them was feeble. “They took away my legs and my eye! She has twin…” he muttered. “Twins.”
