The Forbidden City

by Deborah A. Wolf

  Let him be, he prayed. Let him live.

  The serpent closed its mouth, closed its moons-pale eyes, and two enormous nostrils on top of its head quivered as the thing let its breath out in a watery canticle so pure, so weirdly beautiful that tears pricked Leviathus’s eyes, even as he braced for death.

  Moments later the song ended, and the eyes opened once more to stare at Leviathus. The serpent’s mouth gaped open in an enormous, deadly grin.

  Well, little two-legs, it greeted in a familiar voice. I see you have finally figured out who you are.

  Leviathus rolled away from the boy and stood, staring at the serpent, shocked to the marrow of his bones.

  What? he thought. What? Who? What?

  Laughter half-heard, half-felt, rippled through the air.

  I am Azhorus Ssurus az Lluriensos, First Scald, killer of men, poet to the deep, the black waters, the voice crooned. The night sky further receded as that great head loomed close, tongue whipping out, sssst-sssst. Azhorus Ssurus az Lluriensos nudged Leviathus with his snout, very gently so that he only staggered a little bit.

  And you are mine.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  On the first day Ani rested. She ate and drank, fussed over Talieso as his leg healed and he set about cropping every blade of grass in their small oasis, and watched Akari chase his own anger across the sky.

  On the second day she readied herself. She shook the sand out of Askander’s tent, and discovered that he had secreted much of his gear and supplies into her bags before they parted. Cursing him, she sharpened her sword, and became friends with the bow Askander had left her. It was an old bow, one with which she was very familiar but had never shot.

  Ani expected some awkwardness, since the bow was longer than she was used to using and had heavier draw weight. Whatever healing Inna’hael had performed upon her body, though, seemed to have given her arms a new strength. She drew, loosed, drew again as if she held a child’s bow. She smiled at the ease of it, then scowled to think of how she had been manipulated.

  Males, she told herself. Such a pain in the arse. Still, she could not deny that she would have need of these things. She had shelter and food, weapons and a sound horse. Perhaps it would be enough.

  She spent the remainder of that day and most of her strength singing a circle of protection around the small island of dry grass and sour water. Step by slow step she paced, making painfully sure that not so much as a grain of sand might find its way between her footprints as she revealed her intentions to wind and sky and sand. She woke the felldae lord, and felt his song slither and coil through her bones. She called him to this place, but did not intend that he should feed upon her flesh, nor wear her bones.

  On the third day, he came.

  The song of Khoroush-Il-mannech remained with her from the moment she raised him from the long dark, so Ani was not surprised when Talieso tossed his head, nostrils flaring, and screamed. She laid both hands on his neck, feeling his flesh shudder and flinch at the touch, and closed her eyes.

  I am sorry, she told her oldest friend. I am so sorry. Then she did a forbidden thing. Ani sang his bones, his mind, his soul to somnolence. She might have argued that this was necessary, that it was a kindness, even, but such magic was forbidden for a purpose, and she felt stained with shame beneath the gaze of Akari as she drew back from the drowsing stallion.

  So quickly the high are brought low, a laugh gargled in the back of her mind. How easily seduced is the heart of a human.

  Stay back, she warned him, even as she walked to the very edge of the circle she had made. I am no easy meat.

  Oh, but I have feasted upon you already, he mocked. So tender your mind. So sweet your soul.

  Come to me, foul thing. Ani planted her feet in a stance that any of her younglings would have recognized, and heeded. Show yourself. Then the ground trembled at the coming of Khoroush-Il-mannech.

  As you wish, little bonesinger. As you wish.

  She felt him first as an itch beneath the soles of her feet as his vile laughter trembled beneath the earth. Just beyond her circle the earth roiled as the desert turned itself inside out in an effort to disgorge the felldae. A churning hill of sand rose before her eyes, sticks and bones and foul bits of carrion thrust into the sky triumphant as a warrior’s fist. Khoroush Il-mannech shook himself free of the clean sand and let his foul stench roll forth. With his bulk between her and the sun, Ani stood in a dark shadow, and for a heartbeat her world came to an end.

  For a heartbeat only.

  Little meat-bag, Khoroush-Il-mannech crooned. A ripple ran along his length and he swayed back and forth. I have come for you.

  “No,” Ani replied aloud, ignoring his presence in her mind. “You have come to me, at my bidding. You are here by my will, and mine alone.”

  Half-taught youngling, he snarled. Lost child of an insignificant tribe. I will suck the flesh from your bones and wear your ribs as a crown. I will—

  “You will shut the fuck up and do what I say, you ridiculous sack of goat turds,” Ani replied, surprised at how calm she was able to keep her voice. “Or I will sing you all to pieces.”

  Khoroush-Il-mannech howled and reared up, blotting the sun from the sky. His cavernous mouth writhed open wide, wider still, a slick red well lined with teeth and chunks of rotting prey. The vast bulk of him rippled across the sand, closing the distance between them with breathtaking speed and surprising grace.

  Suddenly he stopped short, held back by a magic old and simple as sand and stones. Had she wished, Ani might have reached out and touched the sticky, stinking daemon. She most decidedly did not, however, wish to do so.

  I will have you, meat-sack! Khoroush-Il-mannech began to writhe and howl, beating against her barrier with his bulk, beating against her mind with his red wrath. I will—

  “Enough,” she said, bringing her two hands together in a symbol that would have seen her skinned, drowned, buried alive in any of the four corners of the world. Khoroush-Il-mannech wailed and flinched back at the sight of it and began rapidly burying himself in the sand.

  Noooo…

  Before he could disappear, Ani raised her two hands, still twined together, over her mouth… and blew.

  A whistle, low and thin, breathed from her lips into her cupped hands. It became… more. Bigger, wilder, more. Ani had watched for more years than she cared to count as the people of the prides drew back in fear from Hafsa Azeina and her dream-crafted instruments. Had they known she could do this, using no more than her hands and her breath and the music in her bones, they would have stoned her and set her out to die, friend or no, youthmistress or no.

  Dropping her hands to her sides, Ani took a deep breath and began to sing. Khoroush-Il-mannech shrieked, twitching and dancing upon the sand, caught in the snare of her magic. His vast gray-green hide undulated with her music and even his cries of agony took on the flavor and cadence of her chant.

  Eyes half closed, Ani sang in a language older than rivers, older than flowers, older than fish or beast or man. Zula Din herself might have recognized these words, might have thrown her head back and sung along.

  “Ghar-mah qarc-ap-teh domma’esh et ghar-mah batasoreh,

  Ghar-mah batasoreh domma’esh et ghar-mah kat-pat-a’a!

  Be-me-lath-u’on sa’otani-noa ah-Sajani’oa-e leka’a! Leko’a!

  Ghar-mah kat-pat-a’a domma’esh et ghar-mah bad-rae-a’a…”

  The bonelord’s shrieks reached a fever pitch as bones began to push their way to the surface of his hide. The skull of a giant tortoise emerged and rolled free, and the large clawed foot of some enormous beast—

  Enough! he squealed. No more! I yield! I yield!

  Ani hesitated. The act of destroying a bonelord might balance the debt her soul had incurred by raising him in the first place. She drew another breath… and remembered her need, a need so great she had traded everything she held dear for this hellish moment.

  “I have a boon to ask of you,” she told the weeping, twitchi
ng bulk that loomed before her. “A small enough favor, for one such as yourself.”

  Name it, the bonelord begged. Anything. But even as he pleaded, Ani could see that he was gathering himself to strike.

  “Do not play games with me, daemon,” she warned. “I have no love for you, and less patience. Do I so much as think you are going to try something, I will sing you to pieces here and now, and burn whatever bits are left without the whisper of a song.”

  As you wish, Dzirani. Khoroush-Il-mannech drew in upon himself and became still. Name your price, and I will pay it.

  “Ehuani,” she agreed. “I ask little enough. All I need from you are the bones of an Atualonian male, hale and whole.”

  That is… all? The mass of eyes bobbed in surprise.

  “It is enough for now, bonelord.”

  He twitched. And what do you offer in return?

  Ani smiled. “Your continued, miserable existence. Is that not enough for you?” She raised her hands before her as if she would bring them together again.

  Enough, Bonesinger. Khoroush-Il-mannech burrowed further into the sand. Enough. It will be as you say.

  “Good. You will deliver these bones to me by sunset—”

  Impossible! The bonelord protested. This is no easy—

  “By sunset,” she continued. “Then you will return to Jehannim whence you came, and to the long dark. If you do not…” She brought her hands the rest of the way together. Twice she had done this, now. Once more would seal her fate.

  It will be as you say, the bonelord replied in a petulant voice. On your bones it be. He writhed and twisted, burrowing into the sand until there was no sign that such a thing had ever been.

  Ani sank to her knees upon the sand and let the tears flow freely. On this day she had done the unthinkable. She had turned her back upon Akari, upon the people, upon every promise she had ever made, for one thin chance.

  There was no choice, she wanted to cry. No other way.

  Yet she would not lie to herself, even now.

  FORTY-NINE

  Warm water sluiced down between her breasts, washing away the blood and sand of another day spent killing at her mistress’s command. Salt stung a number of shallow cuts, the worst of which had been stitched and poulticed by her own physician.

  I have my own physician, Hannei thought, to stitch my body back together when it gets too damaged. Girls to wash this body, boys to please it should I so desire. As she stepped out of the bath, the salted water pooled warm and fragrant around her feet, ruining the fur upon which she stood. It was khallas-fur, rare and precious, and would be thrown away after this. She wriggled her toes in it as a breeze rose from the river to dry her own hide, nearly as scarred now as that of Askander Ja’Sajani.

  Thoughts of the First Warden and his lover made her smile. What would Ani say, if she saw me like this? she wondered. These rooms—my rooms—are finer than those of the First Mother. What would she say if she knew every meal I am served here in Min Yaarif is as good as a feast in Aish Kalumm? Her smile faded then. If the youthmistress could see Hannei now, if she knew what had become of her former charge…

  She would kill me, and I would not raise a hand to stop her.

  A terrified squeak from the young girl at the door announced the presence of Sharmutai, who owned them all. Sharmutai crossed the room, chuckling as Hannei pretended to ignore her presence.

  “Fair afternoon, my prize,” she purred. “I see that Talis has done a passable job of keeping you in one piece for me. And look—you did not let them hit your pretty face this time. Well done.” She stopped before Hannei, cupped her face in both hands, and kissed her full on the mouth. Hannei stood stiff and unresponsive as the mistress’s tongue invaded her mouth, as those hated hands caressed her flesh, torn and bathed and torn again for pleasure and profit.

  “You are so beautiful,” Sharmutai murmured against her mouth, “my wild one. So beautiful. Do you have any idea how much I have been offered for one hour in your presence? Women would give me their first-born daughters for a chance to invade this body of yours. Men would pay mountains of salt for a chance to lick your feet. And Ovreh.” She laughed, hands still caressing Hannei’s body. “Ovreh has offered me an asil mare for the opportunity to whip you one more time. He is the laughing-stock of Min Yaarif, for having sold you to me at such a low price.”

  Hannei stiffened, and the breath hissed between her teeth. An asil mare, in the hands of that goat-fucker?

  Sharmutai laughed again, low and throaty, and bit Hannei’s lip. “I could take you now, you know. I could have you any time I wish, but it is more fun to seduce you. One day, you will beg me for this…” her hands slid down Hannei’s throat, to her breasts. “And this.” Her hands slid lower. “You will beg me, and perhaps I will say ‘yes.’ Perhaps. Perhaps not. I would have you wet for me in any case, not dry like your beloved desert.” She gave Hannei a pat between the legs, winked, and stepped away, reaching up to give her left nipple one last pinch.

  “Your breasts are growing, had you realized?”

  Hannei froze.

  “I thought not.” Sharmutai strode to a low table, picked up a linen towel, and tossed it to Hannei. “Surely, I told myself, surely she has been too busy working for me to notice the changes in her body. Those luscious breasts. That adorable little belly. Such pouty, red lips… you had not noticed? Had you noticed that your moons-blood has not flowed once since I bought you? No? No,” she said, staring at Hannei’s face intently. “No. You are a good and faithful pet. I will not punish you for this. You may thank me.” She stepped out onto the balcony.

  Hannei stood on the ruined and sopping fur, clutching the linen towel to her breasts. They had grown, she realized, and they had been sore, come to think of it, though the daily hurts her body suffered had caused her to miss it.

  Tammas, she thought, and tears prickled in her eyes. Tammas.

  “Did Ovreh do this? Because if that pig sold me tarnished goods, after all…” The slavemistress’s voice tapered off, and Hannei shook her head. “No? No. Good, then, because if the spawn was his, I would not be offering you a choice in the matter.” She sighed deeply. “I am a fool, my prize. A soppy, sentimental fool, too softhearted for my own good. Come, pet, sit. Speak with me a bit.” She laughed at her own joke. “Better yet, just sit and listen to me. I know you love the sound of my voice nearly as much as I do.”

  Hannei wrapped herself in the linen and joined Sharmutai on the balcony. The women sat for a while in silence as slaves removed the basins and soaps and the wet fur. More slaves brought plates of meat and cheese, and water, and wine. Children played in the gardens below. Slave children, all of them, born to slave mothers and attended by slave aunts, in a beautiful garden grown of salt and blood and misery.

  At long last, the mistress spoke. Her voice was all hard edges now, without a trace of sultry purr. This was the real Sharmutai, a woman who wanted more than the world had to offer, whose hungers could never be satisfied by meat or wine or soft, warm flesh.

  “You are pregnant. You carry a child in your belly.”

  Hannei took a long draft of wine, and her hands shook so badly that it sloped down her front.

  This will be the end of it all, she thought. I will die today, with a belly full of child.

  “It happens, soon or late, to every slave girl who lives long enough. You had a lover, I suppose, out there in the sand?”

  She nodded. A lover, yes.

  “Does he live?”

  Hannei closed her eyes, and the moons cast a shadow over his face. Opened them again, and met Sharmutai’s gaze.

  “I thought as much. What man, having tasted such a lovely dish, could but love you? And what man, loving you, would let you fall so low, while he yet lived?” She shook her head. “This makes it all the more difficult for me, you know. A lover, and of course you loved him back. I suspect that is the story that led to your… present circumstances.

  “Lovely girl, I am going to give you the choice I
never had. You may bear this child, if you wish.”

  Hannei’s jaw dropped open. For a moment, the whole world stood still. Akari Sun Dragon paused in his flight overhead, Sajani Earth Dragon paused mid-dream, and not a soul in the whole world so much as breathed.

  A child. His child.

  “You may bear the child, if you so choose.” Sharmutai nodded, but she did not smile. “This much I will give you. This much—and no more. The law of the slave is absolute. You may earn your freedom by earning back, in the pit, thrice what I have paid for you. If you earn the price of your freedom before this child is born, you are both free. If your price is earned back even one day after it is born, the child belongs to me… and I do not willingly give up what is mine. Not ever. And, my prize—no pit-slave with a belly full of child has ever earned her salt. Not once.”

  The world started turning again, cruel as it ever was.

  “I was a slave once, did you know that? Of course you did not. Everyone who might remember is dead.” Sharmutai held out her wine glass, and a trembling slave refilled it. “Most of them I killed myself. Oh, I was not a slave like you—I was never talented with the sword—but I had weapons, all the same, and I used them. By the divines, I did. It took a river of blood and a ship made of bones to carry me here, to my little palace by the river.

  “You think your life is over. You think your dreams are dead, long gone to dust and ash and shadow. I tell you now, it does not have to be so. You may yet walk upon the skulls of your enemies, little one, just as I have. Just as I will. Your story is not over yet—and neither is mine.”

  Hannei met Sharmutai’s eyes and was caught, trapped as in a dreamshifter’s web.

  She smiled.

  “Yes,” the slavemistress whispered. “You see it. I knew you would. There is a chance for you, a chance for both of us. It is a slim chance, but I was a slim girl, not yet ten years of age, when I was first sold down by the river. My first master took me there, in front of all those cheering, laughing men, then he sold me over and over… and over again.” She drank. They both drank, washing away the ugly taste of truth.