by Aja James
I shrug in answer to his question. This is the most accommodating prison I’ve ever been in. And these are the gentlest shackles I’ve ever worn.
Still, he frowns at my bound wrists.
“I wish you don’t have to be tied like that. It seems really unnecessary.”
“My dear boy,” I say, before he doles out much more sympathy, “I’m a dangerous, nefarious man. Thing. Whatever.”
His frown turns ferocious.
“You’re not a thing.”
“Says you,” I quip. “You obviously don’t recognize a monster even when it’s staring you right in the face.”
“Why are you referring to yourself as an ‘it’? I’ve heard my friends, mom and dad do the same. You’re a ‘he.’”
“I wasn’t precisely referring to myself,” I argue for the sake of argument, even though I was. “I was talking about the hypothetical monster.”
“No,” he shakes his head determinedly. “If you were being hypothetical, you would have said ‘you obviously wouldn’t recognize a monster’ not ‘you don’t’.”
“Semantics,” I wave away.
The devil!
When was the last time I lost an argument? And against a boy of all people. Never mind that he’s the most precocious, brilliant, unnerving boy in the universe. It’s just so lowering, and humbling, and…rather frightening to meet my match in this manner. Benjamin doesn’t let me get away with anything. It’s like he sees right through me.
Or into me. Like he can see straight into my black, ugly, twisted soul.
“It’s not semantics,” he retorts.
Gah! He’s like a dog with a bone!
“Why are you afraid to be who you are?”
The things he says! I can’t take much more of this.
I bare my teeth at him in a gruesome sneer, letting my fangs shoot down from my gums, dripping with saliva. My eyes swirl malevolently with burning red centers, and my forked tongue slithers past my lips to flick the air right in front of Benjamin’s nose.
“You don’t know me, boy,” I hiss out. “Stop being so fucking naïve. I’m not a wounded dog you take in who gives you undying devotion just because you fed me. I’m a demon, don’t you know. An abomination. A—”
He suddenly grabs one of my fists with both of his small hands, silencing me with the unexpected action.
The kitten bestirs herself to raise her head and open her eyes, watching our interaction with mild, sleepy curiosity.
“You’re just a male,” the boy states stubbornly. “One who likes kittens and éclairs just like me. I know you’re not a wounded dog. But you’re not a demon or an abo-abo-”
“Abomination,” I mutter rather deflatedly, all the hot air hissing out of my balloon.
“Right. Abomination,” he beams when he gets the word out correctly. “That’s an awesome word to add to my vocabulary. I’ll have to practice it so I don’t forget.”
Truly, it’s impossible to talk any sense into this boy. You see what I have to deal with?
“Anyway,” he pushes on, “you’re not that either. You’re my friend. I like you. And I hope you like me too.”
He grins beatifically, blindingly, at me to emphasize the sentiment.
The kitten lowers her head again and goes back to dozing, as if satisfied that we’re “playing nice.”
I unleash a beleaguered, defeated sigh, my inner monster soundly trounced by Benjamin’s beaming, angelic joy.
Damn me to Tartarus and back. This kid is going to be the death of me.
Chapter Six: The Illusion of Hope
At some time during the day, or night (I can’t tell, because my chamber has no windows, the better to prevent me from leaping off ledges I suppose), I end up asleep on the luxurious, gigantic bed in the middle of the room.
I suppose I toddled there after stuffing myself to bursting with all of the food Benjamin brought. I don’t recall the details. I just know I’ve never felt this full before.
Nor this…peaceful.
It might have something to do with the warm ball of fur tucked against my chest, vibrating with physical comfort and affection like my own little love-heater.
Stupid, I know. The things that go through my head these days. Just ridiculous. But I’m too exhausted and full and happy to care.
The most adorable kitten in the world is tucked up against me in the most comfortable bed with the most heavenly-smelling pillows. Who am I to be un-happy? I can’t think of one morbid, devious, pessimistic thought if I tried.
Lick, lick. Purr, purr. Purrrrrrrrrrrrr.
I sigh, giving up my evil machinations for the time being, hugging the kitten closer. Even nefarious villains need a break…
Third millennium BC. Silver Mountains Colony, hinterlands of the Akkadian Empire.
After Ninsa and I…parted ways, I executed my contingency plan—seeking out the Pure rebels’ stronghold in the Silver Mountains. And volunteering myself for the suicide mission of being a soldier.
I’d found a hiding place close to the barley fields that night so that my body could heal somewhat before I started my journey and left everything I knew behind.
As I huddled inside an abandoned mud house, the tears flowed freely.
I gave myself permission to bawl and blubber, but not too loudly, lest I attract more unwanted attention. I wallowed in self-pity and heartbreak for many hours before I finally gave myself the kick in the pants I needed to get up and move on.
I didn’t blame Ninsa for seeing me as a monster, for rejecting me after she discovered the truth. How could I? I was a monster. I was Anzillu. I’d deceived her all this time. I deceived myself. She must have felt betrayed and bewildered. I didn’t deserve her friendship. I was a liar and a thief for stealing her trust.
Death by suicide it was, then. Hopefully I could take one or more enemy soldiers with me when I went.
Now that I was away from the orphanage, I was free to use my Gift without fear of exposure. I changed my form as needed to gather what information I could about the secret base of the Pure rebels. Meanwhile, I honed my Gift. I became adept at not only changing into various humanoid forms, but also emulating their mannerisms and personalities so that I could impersonate whoever I needed to without risk of suspicion and discovery.
As I made my way to the Silver Mountains, I rather enjoyed living other people’s lives, if only for a short while.
When I wandered through a small village market, I noticed that the apple seller was enamored of a particular milkmaid. I then transformed myself into the milkmaid so that I could finagle an apple from the young man (successfully). But even sweeter than the fruit was the way the man stole shy, affectionate glances at me, then smiling to himself with deep blushes and dimples when he caught me looking. I kissed his cheek for giving me the apple before I left his stall. The surprised and wondrous look on his face made me want to smile for the first time in days.
Then, there was a mother with five boys on a farm. As I observed from a distance, one of the younger boys was giving her trouble, appearing to be neglecting his chores, then running off when she began to scold him for his misbehavior. I saw how defeated and exhausted she looked after her fierce demonstration of temper. There did not appear to be a man in the house. Or, at least, he must have been away for the duration.
The young mother sat down on a stool and put her face in her hands, weeping quietly. That was when I approached in the form of her youngest son. I told her that I’d be good now and do my chores. She’d given me a hard look but stopped crying, as if she didn’t want me to see her weak. I spent the rest of the morning helping her in the vegetable garden. The older boys tended to the farm and animals. When I was done, thinking I should leave before the real boy came back, she stopped me with a brief, tight hug.
She smelled like sweat, grease and dirt. She smelled like someone’s mother.
I hugged her back just as tightly. She bussed my forehead with an efficien
t kiss and gave me a slice of meat pie for being good. It was one of the best mornings of my life.
But none of these stolen moments could last. Because these lives were not my own. I was always an imposter. Always an outsider. Always the oddity that didn’t belong.
After several weeks, I finally trudged to the end of a winding, narrow path between a range of jagged mountains. There was a mostly flat clearing beyond, in the basin surrounded on all sides by rocky cliffs, with even a small stream and lake. A stone fortress was situated on the far side, on top of a steep hill, close to what appeared to be the only other path that led out of the mountains. Below it were small straw and mud huts and makeshift tents dotting a surprisingly fertile terrain, with acres of wheat and barley fields, farms and other husbandry.
It looked as if the Pure Ones wanted to “settle” here in this protected and secluded land. But they were always aware of the ever-present dangers of invasion and battle. So their abodes were mostly temporary, made for easy packing if they ever had to flee.
I disguised myself in the form of a younger, handsome boy with dark eyes and raven hair as I walked cautiously through the fields and villages. All immortals were beautiful, both Pure and Dark. They were taller, stronger, their skin unblemished, unaffected by disease. Strength, perfection and youth were really all that was required to appear “beautiful” to the average eye.
But I had always preferred the imperfect allure of humans.
I donned the disguise because my real form was emaciated from prolonged starvation, not exactly immortal beauty material. I was an ugly monster besides. An aberration to all Kinds.
No one seemed to notice the cuckoo in their midst, however, as I walked on, keeping my eyes to myself and my head down. I acted like I knew where I was going (I didn’t), and I tried to keep my ears perked so I could catch clues that might help me ascertain where I should go, now that I was finally here amongst “my people.”
“The General should be back soon. I hear he won three battles but lost two. He’s coming back with only half of the warriors he left with,” one villager said to another in the small dirt square.
His companion shook his head and sighed.
“I don’t see how we can keep up the rebellion much longer. There are rumors of the Dark Queen amassing more forces from far and wide, making alliances to surround us from all sides and crush us when the time is right.”
“We’re no match in terms of numbers,” the first villager agreed. “Our warriors are barely trained to take on the Dark legions. But you mustn’t contemplate such defeated thoughts. We have the General, Tal-Telal. He pulls off miracles every day. They say he can anticipate all of our enemies’ moves. And, too, we are forging our own network of allies.”
“I am not being defeated,” the other male argued. “I am simply stating facts. Regardless, we have to fight to the end. We can’t go back.”
His face suddenly contorted in a mask of pain.
“My Mate was taken from me centuries ago, made into a Blood Slave to serve some Dark noble’s needs. My daughter as well, just last summer. It’s not like I have anything else to live for. I’m signing up for training and battle tomorrow.”
“You’re needed on the farm, in the fields. We can’t have the women and children do all the work.”
“Our warrior numbers are cut in half, you say. We need soldiers. I might not be much of a fighter, but I have enough hate in me to kill. And if our front lines fall, there will be no farming and no more fields. You know that the Dark Queen will show no mercy. She will make an example of us all…”
I gulped with apprehension. That last bit sounded especially bloodthirsty.
Queen Ashlu had already ordered severe punishments and torturous deaths for Pure Ones, Dark Ones, and humans whom she identified as traitors. How much further would she go to “make examples”? It didn’t bear thinking.
I walked on after sipping some water at the village well and washing the dirt from my face.
“Alad, wait!”
A blur of long golden waves and lithe girlish form rushed past me, sprinting to catch up to a tall, broad-shouldered male who was a few yards ahead.
The male was obviously a warrior, with his leanly muscular build, the militaristic way he held himself, and the general air of command and competence he exuded so effortlessly. His chest rose and fell as he gave a hefty sigh of exasperation, but his face remained neutral, his expression slightly indulgent.
“Libbu, you know you cannot come with me to training. We have had this conversation before. You are neglecting your duties again with the weavers.”
Libbu. He called her “heart.” As exasperated as he seemed, he was obviously very fond of her.
I walked a little faster so I could trail after the warrior and the beautiful golden-haired girl and hear their banter. Besides, it sounded like the male was headed toward “training.” Perhaps he could take me to the place to sign up to be a soldier.
“Why not? I’ve seen other females volunteer to be warriors too. It’s never too early to start. I’m really good with the spear and the bow. You saw me with Sargon, didn’t you?”
The warrior scowled.
“He shouldn’t have been teaching you in the first place. I will speak with him again—”
“Don’t you dare!” the girl said, planting her hands on hips and scowling right back.
“I need to learn how to defend myself. I want to be a warrior just like you. I’m not a little girl anymore.”
The male’s chest moved in that suppressed sigh again before he spoke.
“You will only distract your papa and me if you ever went into battle, Libbu. You know that.”
“If you trained me properly, I wouldn’t be a distraction. I’d be by yours and papa’s side, fighting to protect you. I’d—”
The warrior’s full lips tilted in an affectionate smile as he crossed his arms over a wide, intimidatingly large chest. Probably the span of three of mine. I wondered if I’d ever grow so big and tall.
“Is that right? You’d protect us.”
“That’s right. Quit laughing at me. I am serious.”
“You are too young to train in any case, but I will give this some further consideration.”
Her whole face lit up like the brightest sun.
“Promise, Alad?”
“Promise,” he said solemnly. Then, cajolingly, “When have I ever broken my word to you?”
“Never,” she chirped happily, her hero-worship of the warrior shining like a beacon in her eyes.
“Go back to the weavers and do your duty, Libbu,” he instructed. “We all have a role to play in this war. Your role is just as important as mine. Without the cloths the womenfolk make, our soldiers wouldn’t have tunics to wear. We—”
“I wouldn’t mind if you wore nothing at all, Alad. You’re so beautiful.”
The male gaped at her in stunned silence before his entire body, especially his face and neck, flushed a deep, hot red.
“What did I say?” she asked with innocent confusion. “Why are you looking like you just choked on a beetroot?”
There went that big, wide chest again, lifting in a deep, defeated sigh.
“Go, Inanna,” he muttered beneath his breath, not looking at her. “I’ll see you later.”
Inanna. The Sumerian goddess of love, fertility and warfare. It seemed to fit her.
The warrior turned and strode quickly away on long, long legs, as if he couldn’t put distance between them fast enough.
The girl watched him go with a wistful, worshipful look on her face. Then, she turned around so suddenly, she bumped right into me, knocking me to the ground.
(It was humiliating, but nevertheless a fact—I was slight and weak enough to be knocked to the ground by a slip of a girl).
“Oh! I didn’t see you, I’m so sorry.”
“My fault,” I mumbled from my inelegant sprawl on the ground. “I should have moved out of the
way.”
“Don’t be silly,” she stated firmly with a wrinkle of her perfect nose. “It’s my fault. Here, give me your hand.”
Unbidden, I recalled being in a similar situation, sprawled on the ground, reaching for a helping hand. Only to be rejected by the one person I ever trusted to be my friend.
At the thought, I almost snatched back the hand I was raising to slip into hers, but the girl was faster, grasping my palm in a surprisingly strong hold and pulling me to my feet.
“Hullo,” she said once we stood toe to toe, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. Are you new?”
“Do you know everyone in the village, then?” I retorted defensively.
“Of course I do,” she answered immediately. “It’s my job to know.”
What sort of “job” did she have? She seemed so young, probably my age, but so strong and confident.
“I just got here,” I muttered, deciding to go with a version of the truth. “I ran away from my orphanage to join the Pure Ones’ cause.”
She nodded, as if that’s a story she often heard.
“Glad to have you. What’s your name?”
I didn’t have a name. And I couldn’t make one up fast enough, so I just shrugged.
“You can call me whatever you want.”
She looked at me closely, too shrewdly for comfort.
“You’ll be safe here, you know,” she murmured with frightening insight.
“Alad Da-an-nim, the mightiest warrior that ever was, besides my papa that is, protects this stronghold with a well-trained militia,” she announced proudly, her chest puffing as she spoke. “Are you looking for anyone in particular? It’s all right if you’re not. I can help you get settled.”
I’d never encountered such welcome and ready kindness before, so I was momentarily speechless.
