Ahead sat whom she assumed was the God-King in an iron throne atop a staircase. He stood and descended toward them.
Adah glanced at her companion. The girl was sweating and shaking. Her skin sallow. Mucus dribbling from her nose. “Are you all right?” Adah said and reached for her.
The girl shifted away, lips shaking over crooked teeth. “Don’t touch me.”
Enormous horns adorned the God-King’s head and twisted two entire revolutions before ending in black spines that pointed toward the ceiling. She wondered at how such unnatural protrusions could seem so normal paired with his full, balanced lips, strong nose, and dark skin devoid of blemishes.
He moved nimbly in his leather tunic and silk gown embroidered with concentric patterns. From his neck to midway down his chest lay bare skin, more than enough to make a spectacle of his physique. A gold chain clutched a teardrop emerald against his skin, and his black hair flowed long past his shoulders—though his most striking feature was his set of luminous, silver eyes.
Her pulse hastened as he neared and stopped, and the knowledge of her nakedness warmed her skin like the flames in the chandeliers above. She fought the impulse to cover herself as she stared at his feet, bare on the granite, wanting to look up but fearing what she might feel.
I hate this man. I want nothing to do with him.
But she could not deny that he was beautiful. In fact, if her mind weren’t so muddled, she would be confident he was more beautiful and terrible than any man she had seen.
“What is your name?” the God-King said, his voice thick and low.
“Nalla,” the sickly girl said.
Adah glanced at her companion, whose eyes glowed with fever.
“Not you,” the God-King said.
Adah flicked her gaze toward him. Her face rushed with heat as he stepped close and she looked toward the floor, fists clenched, lips tight against her teeth.
He touched her neck. “Tell me your name.”
She dug her fingernails into her palms. “Adah.”
He caressed her cheek, and sweat dripped down her forehead. “A beautiful name. Certainly not because you deserve it.”
Her face warmed as he stepped to Nalla and kissed her full on the lips. Nalla clutched him to keep from falling, and Adah grimaced and looked toward the windows, feeling another rush of heat. How had she allowed this man to affect her? All she wanted was to be taken from this place.
But why would he favor Nalla over Adah? As much as she desired to be gone, the idea rankled her. Was she really so ugly? Nalla had scabs around her mouth. Her skin was pale and thin as cracked vellum. Her body smelled foul. Her features unattractive even without the layers of grime and sickness.
Others had found Adah beautiful. Even now, the memory of the way the young men in the village looked at her seemed proof enough.
“Pick me,” Nalla said.
“You?” The God-King eyed the sickly girl.
“You know I’m better than her.”
Adah bit her tongue to stifle a bitter laugh and rolled on the balls of her feet, for she knew the girl was only terrified, wanting anything but to go back to the endless dark of that dungeon.
“Hmm . . . Eunuch!”
The boyish eunuch returned and bowed.
“I have made my choice,” the God-King said. “Take this one back to the labyrinth. And don’t let me ever see her disgusting figure again.”
The eunuch bowed again. “Understood.” He grabbed Adah by the arm and pulled.
She jerked out of his grasp. “Wait, what are you doing?”
The eunuch bowed and said in a low voice, “Come now, the God-King has chosen.”
The God-King whispered into Nalla’s ear. She shivered, and he braced her to keep her from collapsing as they walked toward his throne, their feet brushing the dusty floor.
“No,” Adah said. “That’s not right. Disgusting figure?”
“Come,” the eunuch said. “Follow me.”
The thought of returning to her cold black cell made smashing her head on the stone sound more attractive. “How could he choose her over me?” Everything was wrong. She was in a foreign place, stolen from her family, stripped of all possessions, beaten by strangers, and now rejected by a demon.
Now, before her, stood a eunuch whose face was both lined with age and populated with a boy’s facial hair. “Come, I must take you back to the labyrinth,” he said with the voice of a woman.
She bent to one knee and fought back tears, nausea rising like a certain tide. She retched, and tears sprang from her eyes, for the pain in her ribs was excruciating. The eunuch brushed her hair from her face and whispered, “Quiet yourself. Do you want the others to hear? And look at the mess you’ve made.”
On the night she had been brought to the city, all had been bright. Her home had become a cage when it should have been tilled fields. And now the eunuch’s soft hand rubbed circles on her back when all she had been shown was brutality. He cooed to her and fixed her hair, then called for servants to mop the mess while he led her in a new direction.
The thought struck her weakened mind that he was taking her back a new way because the entrance had changed. Then she realized she must stall him to gain time to discover a way to escape. She looked at his soft features and realized he hadn’t chastised her for talking like the others. “What is your name?” she said.
The eunuch stopped to let a cart pass. “I am a nameless servant of the God-King.” He urged her faster forward.
She felt a moment of panic and scrambled for more words to delay him. “I came to this city once when I was a little girl, long before the God-King came.”
The eunuch said nothing, only continued rushing her, and she resisted as much as the pain would allow.
“My father was a man of influence. He led a group of farmers whose lands stretched for miles, and together they fed half this city.”
The eunuch nodded absently.
“I am no maid spinning tales.”
“I believe you,” he said. “But we must hurry. We took longer than we should have in the throne room. Tubal will not be happy.”
Adah dug her feet in so that he had to pull her forward. She searched the alleyways. “The king brought my father and me to the tower. Back then I thought it was beautiful in the sunlight.” Sentries stood atop buildings with bows in hand, scanning the alleyways. She frowned. Escape during daytime would be much more difficult. “But that was before it was turned into a haven for devils. What have you done to our king?”
The eunuch stopped and glanced at her, his expression hardening. “He is dead. Along with the kings of the other kingdoms my master now rules.”
Adah nodded and searched the eunuch’s eyes. “Do you enjoy it?”
“You hate me,” the eunuch said. “But if you don’t stop trying to distract me so you can find a way to escape, you will taste pain like you’ve never imagined.” He turned and led her harshly through a narrow alleyway partially blocked by a broken cart.
“Why do you threaten me?”
“It’s not a threat,” the eunuch said. “It’s a warning that not all the God-King’s servants are like me. A different law governs those who find themselves trapped in the labyrinth.”
“Who built the labyrinth?”
“Tubal oversaw its construction over the last eight years,” he said. “You might think you can escape from it, but you will only die if you try.”
“Ah,” she said. “I see. Offer help to neighboring kingdoms. Build for them. Share with them. Then kill their king and rule them with fear.”
“Fear keeps all of us in place,” he said in a low voice. “Even those who think themselves free.” A dark shape moved in the alley beside the tower, and the eunuch’s face hardened as he shoved her along. Fear spread its fingers down her scalp as the eunuch glanced around and whispered without moving his lips, “Do not speak. Do not move. Do nothing but follow my lead without hesitation.”
She stared at him and breathed quicker t
o douse the cinders in her chest. He opened the door in the side of the tower and the blackness repelled her. She thought of bolting. Of striking him in the throat and sprinting away. But it was too late to sprint for freedom; too late to do anything but follow the eunuch back into the labyrinth.
He jerked her forward, and she stumbled inside the cool, dark chamber. He closed the door behind them and slid her into a side corridor. After several turns, he opened a wooden door and began pulling her up a narrow, dimly lit staircase.
“Where are we going?”
“Hush!” He turned, and the flames of the torches seemed to burn behind his lamp-like eyes. “Do you wish to die?”
“Of course not,” she said.
“Then listen to me, and do what I tell you.”
“Why?” Adah steadied herself against the stone wall to lessen the discomfort in her wounded torso.
“Because you have no other choice. If the God-King had ordered me to slit your throat in the throne room, I wouldn’t have hesitated.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because you have found favor in the eyes of the God-King.”
“He rejected me.”
“Fool! If he had chosen you as tribute, you would have had your heart cut out of your chest while it was still beating.”
The breath in Adah’s lungs congealed. “But Nala, she was . . .”
“She is dead. And unless you want to join her, after we exit the labyrinth, you will listen to every word I say. There are many ears amidst the servants of the God-King, and not all of them hold similar allegiance. There has been a secret uprising among the God-King’s servants. A select few seek to usurp him, and they would kill you on sight if allowed. Obey me and you may yet live.”
Chapter 10
Ten months after Lamech and Adah married, Adah’s pregnant belly grew so large that she spent most of her days lying in their hut while Lamech worked to prepare the way for their soon-to-be-born child. Adah’s energy level had decreased the past two weeks, and her hips began to ache, keeping both of them awake through the night. Though it was midday, Adah needed rest, so Lamech let her sleep while he left to milk the goats.
Lamech was finishing when Father approached and said, “Did you dream last night?”
Lamech glanced up. “I dream every night.”
Father shifted. “Tell me what you dreamed.”
“Something bothering you?” Lamech lifted the pale of milk and patted the goat on the behind.
“Just tell me what you dreamed, and in as much detail as possible,” Father said.
Lamech searched Father’s eyes, noting his serious expression. “All right.” He searched his memory. “I remember being high in the branches of a tree, guiding clouds between mountains with a shepherd’s hook so the jagged peaks didn’t gouge them open and drown the villagers below.”
Father paled visibly, grabbing at his beard.
“What’s wrong?”
“Come quickly,” Father said. “And say nothing to Adah.”
“She’s asleep,” Lamech said as he followed Father into his thatched hut. After entering, Father fiddled with the door covering and peered out suspiciously. Lamech set down the milk and said, “She laid down not half an hour ago. I’d be surprised if she awoke so soon.”
“Good. I don’t think it would be healthy for her to hear what I have to tell you. It might make the baby come early.”
Lamech’s eyes narrowed. “Well? Get on with it, then, if it’s so serious.”
Father faced him, took a deep breath, and said, “I dreamed the same dream as you.”
Lamech waited for more, but when none was offered, he shrugged. “Certainly that must be common enough.”
Father shook his head. “You don’t understand. I dreamed of you shepherding the clouds, but that’s not all. Afterward, when I thought I had awoken, I found myself lying on the ground peering up at the stars.”
“Again, how is that significant?”
Father pointed at the thatched roof. “How could I wake to stars if I fell asleep in my hut?”
“By walking outside in your sleep, I suppose.”
Father shook his head. “If only that could be true!” He paced, his feet sweeping the woven bed coverings, the whip of his cloak setting the candle flames fluttering. “Afterward, I awoke here. I am certain that I was lying here the whole time.”
“Fine. What was wrong with the stars?”
“Nothing,” Father said. “However, as I was studying their alignment, a dark shape bent close, blocking those to the east. At that moment I felt the most profound sense of foreboding—the same sense I felt the day you brought Adah home, only ten-fold stronger. And the shadow said, ‘Ask your son what he dreamed last night.’ Immediately I awoke, sweating.”
Lamech remembered the dreams Adah had confided to him just before they had bound themselves to each other, and shivered as if a cup of stream water had been poured down his back.
“Has Adah ever told you where she came from?” Father’s eyes seemed to bulge as he crept toward Lamech. “How she came to be in the mountains?”
Lamech took a step back. “Never in much detail. It is difficult for her to speak of it, and I never felt it appropriate to pressure her for more information. I do know she was held captive and beaten.”
Father nodded. “Did you really dream about the clouds?”
Lamech felt impatience lodge in the base of his throat. “I am no liar.”
Father chewed his cheek. “Yes . . . I believe you. Only, it feels as though pieces of the world are falling into position, though for what purpose I cannot foretell. I think—I fear—that your grandfather is a part of it.”
“Enoch?” Lamech remembered his grandfather’s voice, and the shimmering left in the air after he disappeared . . .
If the dreams and Enoch’s prophecy of coming judgment were connected to Adah’s past . . . but how could they be? Lamech, too, could feel something changing, but along with it came a cold anxiety, a swelling pressure.
It felt like mother’s lifeless skin.
He turned away.
“I know, son,” Father said. “But what of the dreams?”
“We must have talked of clouds and mountains the night before.” The lump in Lamech’s throat burned hotter and hotter.
“We didn’t.”
“You just don’t remember it.” Lamech turned to leave, but Father grabbed his shoulder and twisted him back. Lamech pushed him away, fingertips prickling. “You’re mad. You’re mad like Grandfather.”
Father’s left eye twitched, and his voice fell to a whisper as his tangled hair fell forward. “Maybe. Maybe, son.”
Lamech gritted his teeth.
“Have you never dreamed that you woke to the stars?”
“No,” Lamech said, and turned to leave. This time Father did nothing to stop him.
After Lamech brought the goat milk to the larder, he returned to Adah and shook her. She moaned and turned away.
“I need to ask you a question. Just promise you won’t grow alarmed.”
“I promise,” she mumbled, and pulled the covers over her head.
“Do you still dream of the stars?”
A pause. The covers slid down. “What did you say?”
“Do you still dream about the stars?” Lamech deliberately watched the dust flecks floating through the sunlit doorway to avoid her stare.
“Why do you ask?” Suspicion marked her voice.
He nodded. He was a fool for waking her. For asking at all. He patted her leg. “Just try to get more sleep. You need it.”
He rose and left to walk the mountain paths alone.
Chapter 11
The eunuch brought Adah to a richly furnished room with wooden cabinets filled with silk gowns. Red, blue, black, and white, embroidered with intricate designs, glittering with beads and overlaid with gold. Incense burned, sending fragrant breath to the ceiling, for the first time illuminating just how foul Adah’s body smelled after so many day
s of captivity.
The eunuch rushed ahead and opened a door, allowing richly dressed servants to enter. Adah grabbed at the gowns to cover herself, but the eunuch said, “They are going to bathe you.”
They ushered her dazed into the next room, where a tub sat filled with steaming water. They helped her inside, and despite her fear, she let the water lap her skin. As they scrubbed her with jasmine petals dipped in lye, she shivered and gazed at their stolid expressions. They brushed soft fingers through her hair and treated her with startling gentleness.
The eunuch smiled that boyish, innocent smile. “Enjoying yourself?”
She narrowed her eyes, wondering how to respond.
In the pause, the eunuch’s expression shifted to something like horror, and he rushed to the tub and backhanded one of the servants. “Make her comfortable!”
He raised his hand to strike again, but Adah caught his arm, and cried out at the pain in her injured abdomen. “No. They are treating me well.”
The smile returned. “What troubles you, then?”
She chewed her lip. “Why are you doing this?”
He gripped her shoulder and dug a fingernail into her skin. She almost cried out, but saw his smile and the meaningful tip of his head.
“We treat all our guests with such honor,” he said.
He wants me to play along, to avoid letting on to the servants that I have no idea why I’m here.
She glanced at the servants to make sure they weren’t looking. They bustled about mixing soaps and mopping the excess water they had spilled. She met the eunuch’s gaze and nodded, then sank into the water and let the servants finish.
Afterward, they helped her out, and the eunuch guided her back to the dressing room and shut the door.
The eunuch opened cabinets and showed her hundreds of dresses. He babbled incessantly, explaining each dress’s design and purpose. “This purple—see how it is dark enough to be the color of clotted blood? The God-King’s chemists have raised a species of sea snail and daily stick a needle in their flesh.” He smiled at her disgusted expression. “When the sea snails feel threatened, they secrete a protective mucus from within their fist-shaped shell. The purple is so deep it is said to be blood drawn from the heart of the God-King himself. Here, try it on, feel how light and cool the material is.”
Flood Page 5
