Running Wild

by Lucinda Betts

  “But—”

  “We don’t have time to argue. Dawn is coming.”

  “If you faint, we’ll be equally out of time.”

  “If I feel lightheaded, I’ll stop. I promise.”

  “Fine. We’ll both look. I’ve read everything of interest in that book.”

  “I’ll let you take the ladder then,” she said, feeling stronger now but still too nauseated to want to climb. “Look for a vibrant green book that’s about half the size of the Kitabu a Shitani.”

  “Very well.” He climbed the ladder, knocking the demon’s skull against the ladder’s runners. She walked to the bottommost shelves on the opposite side of the room. A row of fat blue books lined the shelf, and a thick layer of dust across the top indicated that they hadn’t been moved in a long time.

  She started to walk away. Obviously, no one had touched these in ages. Except…no other books in the library were dusty, and why should they be? The palace drudges cleaned every nook and cranny on a regular basis.

  With a quick step back, she tore the books off the shelf and let them tumble to the floor with a resounding series of thumps.

  “What is it?” Tahir asked from his perch.

  “I think I’ve found something.”

  “What?” He began climbing down the ladder.

  “Dust,” she said.

  “Dust? I don’t understand.”

  “These are the only dusty books I’ve seen tonight,” she said. “The Thaumutugicon must be hidden here.”

  “I don’t understand this magician’s motives,” Tahir said, allowing the demon’s head to hit the shelf as he climbed. “Why would she go to so much trouble to hide books she wants us to find?”

  She moved a dust-covered book to the side. “Maybe she wanted them hidden from other eyes—perhaps the librarians, or even my father.”

  “I don’t think much is hidden from your father,” Tahir said. “But that’s not the point. The magician could have used magic to put the books in our hands. Why make this difficult?”

  “If her power is waning,” Shahrazad said, pushing brown books, red books, yellow books out of her way, “perhaps teleporting the books into our hands is too costly.”

  “Waning?” He stopped.

  “She’s old. She’s tired. She needs a replacement. Maybe she doesn’t have power to spare.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he said after a moment. “Maybe that’s why the shitani attacked us. Maybe she’s losing control.”

  “But maybe it was a trap,” she said, shoving a faded green book to the floor. The Thaumutugicon was shiny. “Maybe she told us to go to the library not because she wanted us to read anything, but because she wanted the shitani to attack us.”

  “They could have attacked us anywhere,” Tahir countered.

  “I mean—” But she paused midsentence as the last of the blue books fell to the floor. “God’s eyes,” she said, peering toward the back.

  “What?”

  “I found it.” She pulled the green book, less glossy than she remembered, from the back of the shelf. “This is it.” She carried it to the table, and she set it gently next to the Kitabu a Shitani.

  “Well done,” he said, glancing at the window. “Let’s see if we can unravel this mystery before sunrise.”

  She flipped open the front cover. “What’s this?” she asked.

  He walked toward her. “What is what?”

  She looked at the strange coil lying between the pages. “I believe that it’s hair.”

  The glowing mass lay coiled on the book. Prince Tahir walked toward it and fingered the silky strands with his free hand. It was as red as henna paste but iridescent as the throat of a sunchaser.

  He picked up the braid. As the shorn tress left the page and floated between his fingers—invisible save the splattering of blood—the hair turned black. “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t either,” she said. “Not exactly. But hold the tress near the light and watch what happens.”

  The hair turned as yellow as gold in the torchlight, glittering in an oblique way. “How very odd,” Tahir said. “This hair turns colors.” He held it near her orange oraz, and the hair turned brown.

  “Let’s see what the book says about magician,” she said, sitting on the bench. “Perhaps an explanation for the hair lies in these pages as well.”

  “You read,” he said, setting the braid onto the table. “I’m going to wash.”

  As she read the opening paragraph to herself, her heart began to pound. The answers were here! “Listen to this,” she said.

  “I’m listening.” His blood-splattered body stopped mid stride.

  “Once accepting the magician’s mantle,” she said, her finger following the words on the page, “the human—man or woman—accepts immortality. She or he may not be killed, not by any traditional means, although the immortal corpus will experience pain should such be inflicted. This person also accepts full responsibility for the demons, which may be controlled as described in these pages.”

  “So we can’t kill her,” Tahir said. “But can we catch her?”

  She ignored his question and continued reading. “A magician’s powers will last for five to six hundred years, at which time he or she should find a replacement. That replacement should be found while the magician still has his or her powers, otherwise Faruq the Great’s binding spell on the demons will unravel, and the shitani will transform into intractable forces, impossible to harness or control. They will bring an end to mankind.”

  “She waited too long,” Tahir said. “She needed a replacement, and now she’s desperate.”

  “Maybe,” she answered, looking up at him. “I wonder why?”

  “What else does it say? What does the magician do?”

  She found her place then read to him, “As the magician considers various candidates for replacement, several points are imperative. The replacement must have enough intelligence to understand not only this text, and the Kitabu a Shitani, but also the spellbook.”

  “What spellbook?” Tahir asked.

  “I’ve no idea,” she said. “I’ve never seen it. But listen to this.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The replacement must willingly accept the magician’s mantle. No coercion is permitted. Free will is of the utmost importance. Otherwise, the shitani will break through Faruq the Great’s magical working.” She looked up from her book. “So she can’t just ‘zap us into her shoes,’ as you said.”

  “Perhaps she needs our free will,” he said, obviously angry now, “but it appears that she’s doing all she can to give you—us—nowhere to run…except to her.”

  But she wasn’t interested in the injustice of the magician’s motives, not in this moment. The next words in the book had her attention. “Listen,” she said, “This book contains only one spell, and it is to be used in only the most dire of situations—if a magician has not found an appropriate replacement while still in control of his or her full powers.” She paused, reading the text in silence for a moment.

  “What’s the spell?”

  “It lets the magician—or the spell user—see potential replacements—people who are intelligent, potentially willing, and…moral enough to take on the magician’s mantle.” She looked at him, seeing only the bloody outline of him. “Apparently the spell will work for non-magicians too.”

  “Why?”

  “In case the magician becomes incapacitated somehow.”

  “But I thought this paragon was immortal.”

  “Maybe she has no desire to use the last of her energy in casting this spell.” She shrugged. “Maybe she cast it, and already knows the result. She desires that we see the result for some reason? I don’t know.” She flashed him a grin and added, “But I do want to see who might replace Badra. Our lives might become easier if we knew.”

  “Shahrazad, maybe—” he started to say, but she ignored him. Gently pushing the ancient tome away from her, she placed the coiled braid i
n the center of the table. She held her hands above the hair and began to stumble through the words written in the Thaumutugicon.

  “Kuku mgeni hakosi kamba mguuni,” she said. “Mkuki kwa nguruwe, kwa binaadamu mchungu.”

  Immediately, the hair began to glow, and then it floated from the table, hovering between the wood and her hands. Gently, she moved her hands away, but the hair remained floating.

  “God’s eyes,” Tahir said. “I’ve never seen such a thing.”

  But the spell wasn’t complete, not yet. The shafts of the braid began to spread, forming something that reminded her of a spider web, a very complicated spider web. When it formed a sphere, it began to spin, first slowly, then quicker and quicker. Inside the spinning fibers, a face appeared, nebulous at first, but then it began to take shape.

  “My sister!” Tahir gasped. Shahrazad saw the Queen Kalila resembled Tahir with her arching brow and strong nose, but her lips were fuller, her skin a shade lighter.

  Then the face morphed. The softness of the cheeks gave way to something masculine, and the flesh aged. Cheeks sagged to jowls, and light skin gave way to darker flesh. The piercing eyes were familiar, but when the white turban appeared atop the white hair, she knew. “My father?” she said. “He could be the magician?”

  “Apparently, so,” Tahir said.

  But the spinning ball wasn’t finished. The flesh slowly regained its youth, although the dark tone remained. A broad face appeared, crowned by blond hair. “That’s the Raj ir Adham,” she said. “Amazing.”

  “It is,” Tahir agreed. “I thought those people…”

  He didn’t finish the sentence, but she thought she knew what he meant. She barely knew the Raj, but the Sultan hadn’t seemed particularly trustworthy in these last few hours. But perhaps that was the magician’s manipulations, her attempts at tricking good people into abandoning their lands to take over her mantle?

  “The spinning is slowing,” Tahir noted, breaking her musing.

  Raj’s face was melting away, and the amorphous oval where his face had been gave way to Tahir’s—and then quickly to hers.

  “You and I are viable replacements, apparently,” Tahir said. “I suppose we knew that.”

  Individual hairs could now be seen floating above the table. She pushed the braid back toward the page, idly forming it into a circle. The hairs still glowed with residual magic.

  “God’s eyes!” Tahir exclaimed. “Did you see that?”

  She looked up at him, alarmed. “What?”

  He pointed at the circle of hair. “Badra,” he said. “I just saw her face in there.”

  She looked down and saw what he meant. Long blond hair floated down her back and a sultry violet eye winked at her. As they watched, her face morphed into a handsome man, a young man. His eyes were violet.

  “Is she disguised as a man, then?” Tahir asked.

  “She’s done that before.” The image faded away, leaving the room bereft of magic. “His—no, her—touch created the snake tattoo on my back,” Shahrazad said. “She touched me, yes. But her words frightened me almost more than that. She said—”

  “I can grant your heart’s desire.” His words fell right on top of hers.

  “She said the same to me,” Tahir said.

  Something in his voice sounded tight. Shahrazad knew more was going on here than he was telling her.

  “I think we’re ready to hunt down the magician,” Shahrazad said.

  Tahir paused, apparently concentrating. “She’s here. In a chamber above us. And…she’s waiting for us. She also says…”

  “What?”

  “My clothes are here in the library, in a drawer.”

  “Badra told you that?”

  “Yes.” His arms reappeared as he washed, as did his jaw.

  “I’ll look.” Shahrazad opened a small drawer that normally held parchments, ink, and quills. It held parchments, ink and quills. Then she opened the neighboring drawer, one that normally held the catalog of all the books. She found that list, and something else.

  “These may fit you,” she said. “Perhaps they look familiar?”

  “What?”

  She pulled out clothing, then a sword—his—and two daggers. “These are yours, too,” she said.

  “God holds me in his eye,” he said. “Thank you.”

  Holding the demon away from him, he poured the last of the water from the pitcher over his head, then he dried it with the inadequate towel.

  And just then the predawn bell began to sound throughout the palace. The sun would be rising very soon.

  “We are being manipulated again,” Tahir said. “We are being pushed to the Raj’s chambers.”

  She knew he was right. “And yet,” she said, “what choice do we have but to go?”

  “None at all.” In his hand, the shitani began to chuckle.

  “At least this time we know how to stop her from vanishing,” she said.

  “We do?” Tahir asked, his dark eyes visible now, to her delight. “How’s that?”

  “I tell her I’ll take her place.”

  12

  When they reached the guest chamber of the Raj ir Adham—his door painted magenta in celebration—Tahir slid his palm over the knob and turned it silently. “I wish we were both invisible,” he whispered.

  She looked at the demon, raising her eyebrows in question.

  “We don’t have time,” he said. He opened the door and padded quietly into the room.

  Through the door, she noted the layout of his chamber was much the same as the Flower Taker’s: a small foyer giving way to two halls. The same intricate table covered with suggestive carvings graced the dividing wall. All of the figures on his table were male, however, and each of them sucked another’s cock. She wondered if the klerin would remove the table—or even arrest the Raj—if they discovered it.

  “This way,” Prince Tahir whispered, interrupting her thoughts. “We’ll take the back passage.” He entered the left hallway.

  The scent of male sweat filled her nose as the hallway narrowed, and it wasn’t from Tahir. The pungent odor belonged to someone else. The Raj?

  Prince Tahir fiddled with a wooden panel at knee height for a moment, and the wall slid open. Before she could fully wonder how he’d known the secret of the latches, they’d entered an antechamber. And the sound filling the room distracted her from any other thoughts.

  The sound came from a man—no, men—and they were grunting. Prince Tahir shot a quick glance at her. Does this upset you? his gaze seemed to ask. But she just shrugged her shoulders, confused. Why the men were grunting was no concern of hers. She wanted the magician, and she wanted her now. She peeked through the panel.

  But there was no woman in the Raj’s bed.

  She recognized her betrothed immediately, despite the fact she’d never seen him in anything less than the most formal of occasions. Now, he wore nothing. His long blond braid fell between his shoulder blades, and his heavy-lidded eyes were closed. His lips were parted as moans fell from them.

  A slim man was on his hands and knees before the Raj, and the Raj had him from behind, his cock buried to its hilt.

  A bolt of horror rushed through Shahrazad. Men were not permitted to love each other, not like women. Even the word for male lovers, rakeb, was dire. It also meant dead. On the rare occasion when men were discovered pleasuring each other, their heads always ended up on the Pike Wall—unless their neighbors stoned them first.

  But disgust wasn’t the emotion Shahrazad felt while she watched her betrothed and his lover. She felt…fear for them. And appreciation of their beauty.

  A fine sheen of sweat covered both men, making their skin shine like velvet in the pale torchlight. The Raj’s strong fingers gripped the slender man’s hips like his partner could save him—but from what menace, Shahrazad couldn’t begin to guess.

  Will this get them killed? That was Shahrazad’s first thought. But then she saw their expressions.

  Raj was slamming into th
e other man in a way that looked painful, but the expression of ecstasy on the slim man’s face made Shahrazad realize she was wrong. His eyes were rolled back in pleasure, and he wore a half smile of rapture. One of Raj’s hands stroked the slim man’s waist, and he curled into that caress the way a cat does. He yielded his body completely to the Raj, and something in that yielding caught Shahrazad’s heart.

  As an orgasm grabbed hold of the Raj, his broad face screwed into something unrecognizable. His thick blond braid fell over his shoulder and around to his face. Both men were howling now, and the noise was so loud that anyone passing in the hall would’ve been able to hear it, despite the thickness of the walls.

  Shahrazad wanted to shush them, warn them of the danger, but within heartbeats the Raj collapsed onto the slim man, spent. The slim man collapsed onto the bed beneath him, and silence filled the room.

  Their wild passion, the exhausted bliss on both of their faces, filled Shahrazad with longing.

  She looked closely at the Raj’s face now, more closely than she’d ever looked. His broad features were relaxed, something she’d never seen before now. And as his fingers lazily traced the line of the other man’s ribs and hips, devotion filled his eyes. Would he have that look if he enjoyed the Way of Pleasure with her? Could a rakeb even enjoy the Way of Pleasure with a woman?

  As the Raj ran his lips over the slim man’s shoulder, Shahrazad saw an emotion deeper than affection. With a start, she realized her betrothed loved the man with whom he lay.

  Oblivious to her thoughts, to her presence, the Raj hitched himself up to one elbow, the dim torchlight making his blond eyebrows gleam. He’d been caressing the other man with his lips, slowly and deliberately. But now that caress turned into something hungrier. He started kissing the other man. He nipped the other man’s shoulder and side, making him laugh. Even as Shahrazad realized the nips tickled, she recognized the voice.

  It was the Flower Taker’s, the magician. The Raj ir Adham loved Badra.

  With determination, she stepped forward toward the men, but Tahir held her back. “She wants us to wait,” he whispered.

  She looked at the two lovers for a heartbeat, trying to decide if they should obey the magician. Raj flipped his partner onto his back and began nipping his chest, and the torchlight silhouetted the man’s throbbing cock, and Shahrazad realized that this version of the magician possessed no female traits—none at all.