Mother of Daemons

by David Hair

  But half a million men enslaved . . .

  He suddenly felt completely overwhelmed. Tomorrow Xoredh was going to start sending his men to Cadearvo, but he might already be too late to find Jehana.

  Deal with what’s in front of you, he decided. ‘We have to warn the Shihad.’

  He half-expected a fight, but Tarita sighed and said, ‘I think that’s the right choice too – but how?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet, but I do know a few people who might listen. Some of Rashid’s commanders like Admiral Valphath, who’s been brought south in readiness for the next assault. And my own roc-riders, of course . . . and the men who’ve been sheltering me these last few days.’ It sounded a paltry group for a prince. ‘In any case, I have to try. But are we safe here for tonight?’

  ‘Safe as anywhere. I have blankets, cooking gear and a little food and there’s a fire set in the kitchen.’ She gave a sudden grin. ‘There’s no servants here, my Prince. We have to cook our own meals.’

  ‘Just set me to work,’ he told her.

  ‘What, and let you cook? I don’t think so! We’ll do it together. You’ll find a bucket by the door there and there’s a stream right outside.’

  While they worked companionably together, lighting the fire, fetching water, soaking lentils and dried meat, almost the last of Tarita’s rations, he filled in the gaps in his story, pleased to be able to bring a smile to Tarita’s eyes when she heard that Latif was still alive; in turn, she told Waqar how she’d helped Latif escape the slaughter of Sultan Salim’s household in Sagostabad.

  They shared a welcome meal, but conversation petered out as the night loomed before them. Waqar couldn’t stop himself wondering what happened next. I’ve kissed her. She offered herself before and I turned her down . . . But that had been at the fortress at Trachen Pass, when he’d not long lost Bashara, his most recent lover, and it had felt all wrong that night.

  But life goes on . . .

  If she sensed the change in mood, she didn’t show it, and she’d laid out the blankets with the fireplace between them. In any case, he still wasn’t sure he wanted her. He’d been popular with the gold-digging ladies of the courts but had found only infatuations, never love.

  But when he stripped down to his smallclothes and turned, he saw she’d gone further. Standing on the far side of the fire, the flames basted her skin red-gold. She had a voluptuous bosom, shapely and high, and she knew how to hold herself for maximum effect. Desire rose despite his misgivings and goaded by her eyes, he walked around the fire to her, only then noticing a mass of scars running down her spine.

  ‘I haven’t been laid in a year,’ Tarita said calmly, ‘so whatever you’ve got, I can take. Whatever you want, I can give.’ She sank to her haunches.

  He peeled his clothing off silently and sat beside her. For a moment or two they didn’t move, then Tarita reached out to explore his face with her fingers. He bent down and kissed her, tasting her, and as the embrace deepened, their hands explored each other until impatience took over and he lay down and pulled her onto him. She settled herself, planting a hand on his chest, and then lowering herself onto him, groaning as she was pierced then grinding her hips onto him, one hand planted on his chest and the other stroking her own breasts, a sight which enflamed him, until he rolled her onto her back and rode her, both panting wildly. Finally he expended himself and they subsided into soft gasps of appreciation. Their sweaty bodies still locked together, they shuddered into stillness.

  Almost as an afterthought, they kissed again, then disentangled wordlessly and rolled onto their sides, facing each other.

  ‘Shukran,’ she murmured. ‘It’d been too long.’

  ‘Am I going to find you knocking on my door carrying a child in a year?’ he blurted, as it suddenly occurred to him that she might just be that calculating.

  She pulled a sour face. ‘I’m barren, my Prince, so you’ve nothing to worry about.’ Then she added sadly, ‘I’d hoped you had a higher opinion of me than that.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, ashamed. ‘It’s just . . . well, friends of mine have been entrapped so.’ He stroked her shoulder until she seemed to accept his apology, then said, ‘You once told me you’d never make love to a friend or befriend a lover. So what was this?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. Staying warm? What’s it to you? You’re the Keshi prince here – I’m just dirt-caste. Isn’t it my duty to give you whatever you want?’

  ‘It’s not like that. You’re a mage. Though that doesn’t matter . . .’

  . . . if you’re barren . . .

  She heard his unthinking meaning and her face turned sullen, then she shrugged. ‘Well, perhaps as an outcast prince you’re not such a catch either. But maybe we might end up friends.’

  Her summation of his status rankled, but he couldn’t fault it. ‘If we can’t bring Xoredh down then yes, I’m an outcast.’ He wondered if her pricklish words were meant to re-establish distance between them again. ‘Anyway . . .’

  ‘Ai,’ she murmured, yawning, ‘I don’t want to talk about it now.’ She patted his cheek. ‘Thanks for the fuck.’ She rolled over and wriggled backwards into the crook of his body. ‘Hold me while we sleep – it’s damned cold on this frigid continent.’

  Conversation over. Is that making friends, in her world? Mind you, after what I said to her, can I blame her?

  Whatever the reason, she clearly didn’t want to talk. Her breathing slowed and he too found himself fading into slumber.

  *

  Tarita woke and knew instantly that Waqar was awake as well. The air was frigid around her face and exposed shoulders but the fragments of sky she could see through the broken windows were beginning to lighten. She squirmed backwards, pushing against Waqar’s body, felt his arousal, then grunted in discomfort until he worked through her dry outer lips and found the slickness inside. His arms enfolded her and pulled her even closer as he filled her and for a few minutes they moved as one, his breath hot on her neck and his fingers pinching at her nipples. She was building nicely toward release, but all too soon he gasped, thrusting harder and faster, and came.

  Feeling somewhat unfulfilled, she murmured, ‘Good morning.’

  He slid his hand down her belly to her mound, still speared, and teased her nub, making an enquiring, ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Shush,’ she said, putting a hand over his, ‘we’ve got all day – we can’t move during the daylight.’

  He returned his hand to her breast, while his cock slipped out wetly. ‘Did you . . . climax?’

  ‘Ai,’ she lied, snuggling back into the blanket. ‘Let’s get some more sleep.’

  He was awake, though. ‘About our . . . um, arrangement,’ he said tentatively. ‘I couldn’t offer you a title, but if you wished, I could make you a concubine. You’d live in luxury.’

  ‘I’m a known Jhafi spy,’ she reminded him. ‘Not to mention a dirt-caste girl with no manners.’ She rolled over to face him – it was definitely lighter outside now and she could dimly make out his face. ‘I’d be an embarrassment at court.’

  ‘Manners can be learned, and you’re smart – renounce Javon and pledge to me. I can offer you palaces, silks and jewels. Comfort, safety . . .’ He flashed his teeth. ‘Regular bedding.’

  She found herself teetering on the edge of saying ‘yes’, then wondered why she wasn’t feeling grateful for his offer. What more could she hope for? This was a chance to swap a life of danger for pleasure with a decent man whose future was glittering.

  But royal households were large and he’d marry, several times. There’d be other concubines as well, all vying for supremacy, and she’d be outranked and despised by the rest, who would inevitably be high-born and beautiful. And despite the problems, there was a lot she loved about her current life – the travel, the moments of triumph, the stolen pleasures . . . and yes, even the danger . . .

  It was strange to examine a dream and find it so empty.

  ‘I’d be just another harem girl,’ she mused alo
ud. ‘A caged bird.’

  ‘No, I’d not waste your talents,’ he promised her, stroking her thigh. You’re a warrior-mage – you’d be your own mistress, answering only to me.’ He looked at her seriously. ‘Such an alliance offers us both something.’

  He sounded in earnest and perhaps it was possible, even if their liaison felt tenuous right now; he was still more stranger than lover. She wasn’t feeling any leap of joy, though, for the riddle that had plagued her so long – could she have both friendship and love? – remained unanswered.

  But an alliance? People spoke of dynastic marriages as ‘alliances’, so perhaps that might work? ‘I will think about it,’ she told him, and pressed her lips to his.

  The day passed in a languid blur of sleeping and screwing, which was exactly what she needed after the hardships she’d endured.

  I could get used to him, she decided much later, watching him sleep. And my mistress will welcome having a spy in a Keshi prince’s bed – if he lives long enough to be useful.

  No one came near and at dusk they rose, washed and dressed, then sent Ajniha out with instructions to hunt and find shelter, before setting out on foot towards Norostein.

  Rym, Rimoni

  Jehana stared along the starkly furnished table, feeling utterly wretched. Tears welled again from her eyes and spilled through the eye-holes of her mask to splatter on the wood.

  Through the barred window, cold sunlight revealed the ruined expanse of Rym, reflecting off slabs of pale stone to make the shadows deepen. There was no warmth in the sterile air – she felt perpetually cold. For days on end she had been drifting from room to room like a wraith, unable to reach either gnosis or dwyma and unable to leave her suite. There were no books or musical instruments, nothing to distract her from her plight, and no company but despair – and Ervyn Naxius.

  Black-eyed men and women came and went silently, bringing hot water and drink, making her eat, taking away her waste. She was paralysed in their presence, dreading them, though none had harmed her.

  Mostly she paced her cage, pausing only at the mirror to stare at herself. They’d left her no clothes, not even smallclothes, except for a silken shift, the flimsy white fabric displaying her body in ways she didn’t like, revealing her shape by the way the silk clung to her curves. But it was the skull mask and the shimmering white hair that frightened her most. She hadn’t been able to get it off and her skin still bled around the copper edges where she’d tried to rip it away.

  The door swung silently open to admit Ervyn Naxius, in his favoured guise of a slim, sharp-faced redhead. Immediately Jehana’s pulse quickened, fear and tension making her throat tighten. She stood petrified as he glided towards her, all smooth confidence.

  ‘Lady Jehana,’ he greeted her, running his eyes over her. ‘Are you in good heart this morning?’

  She didn’t dignify that with a response but stared straight ahead as he circled her, murmuring appreciatively, ‘Eternity will be a far finer thing with such as you beside me.’

  ‘Such as you’ . . . as if I’m nothing but an object.

  ‘You’ll be spending eternity in the Pit,’ she retorted, mustering a brief spurt of defiance.

  He smiled as if she’d made a witty remark. ‘Of course, once we’ve broken down the walls of the world, Urte will effectively become Shaitan’s Pit. But I will be Shaitan.’

  ‘You already are.’

  ‘Not yet,’ he said lightly. ‘Have you ever read the Book of Kore? No, of course not, a Keshi princess has far better things to do, eh? But you should: it’s a masterpiece in social conditioning, training every generation of Yurosi in how to be good compliant Kore worshippers. I wrote some of it myself, did you know that?’

  She stared, caught off-guard by the boast. ‘You helped write the Yurosi holy book?’

  ‘Indeed. It wasn’t dictated by Kore or Corineus, as the text proclaims, just by priests, and for a time I was one. It gave me something to do while hiding from my enemies. Emperor Sertain wished to anoint his dynasty as demigods, effectively, so we produced a “holy book” designed specifically to turn subjects into worshippers.’ He made an elegant gesture and added, ‘His line rules still, after all – even little Lyra is of Sertain’s blood, for all she is a disgrace to it.’

  ‘We Keshi have always known it to be lies.’

  ‘Oh, the Kalistham is no less a work of fiction, I assure you,’ Naxius countered, then changed the subject back. ‘But we digress, Princess. My point is that you are part of the Book of Kore. Your fate is foretold there.’

  Jehana had no idea what he was talking about, but she did know that prophecy using the gnosis was impossible. Only gods could see through time, and only the Kalistham foretold truly.

  Naxius’ voice changed to one of recital as he started, ‘Glamortha, Skull-faced Queen of Death, she of the lustrous white hair and untouched body, shall lie with Lucian, the Lord of Hel, and in so doing, shall end time. The Kingdom of Daemons shall arise on Urte, and eternity will begin.’

  Jehana swallowed. ‘You think you are this Lucian?’

  ‘I shall be, for the name simply means “Prince of Daemons”.’

  ‘I will never lie with you.’

  ‘Ah, but my dear, nowhere does it say that it must be consensual.’ He smiled cruelly, stopped circling her and reaching out a cold hand, fondled her breast through the silk. She tried to slap him away, but he caught her wrist. His eyes gleamed golden and she knew that rape was coming.

  Then he laughed and dropped his hand. ‘The thing is, there is a need for consent: not in acts of copulation, but in what I want of you: to destroy this world and enable daemonic rule – my rule – to begin.’

  That he expected the impossible gave her the courage to say, ‘I would never do a single thing you wanted of me.’

  But he just laughed. ‘Perhaps. It’s easy to say so now. And indeed, it is a conundrum.’ He wandered to the window. ‘Did you see the great tree – the Elétfa, the manifestation of the dwyma – when you went to the volcano? It is the embodiment of all the energies of life, self-sustaining and infinite, for it is a circle: pure life, rooted in the earth, the water, even the air. It’s both a by-product of Urte and the pillar that sustains our world. When we die, our bodies become part of the Elétfa while our spirits are cast out into the void. Some say we journey on to some god’s realm; others know that our souls are fed on, swallowed and absorbed, by the beings floating outside the Tree – the daemons.’

  ‘That’s heresy,’ Jehana retorted.

  ‘But no less a fact for that. Heresies, like laws, are just points of view.’ He chuckled to himself as if he’d just won some great debate. ‘The problem I face with you, my dear, is that I need you to decide, of your own free will, to use the dwyma to destroy the Elétfa, because once you’re a fully-fledged dwymancer I can’t make you do it. But the Elétfa sustains the dwyma, so why would you?’

  ‘I’m not a dwymancer,’ she said dismissively.

  ‘No, but you have the potential – that’s why you’re here. I can arrange the rest.’

  Jehana found her gaze drawn to the mirror, where a skull-faced woman with albino hair was conversing with a charismatic red-headed man. Just speaking with Naxius felt dangerous, but every time she did, she learned something important. ‘I’m not the only one.’

  ‘No, but you’re the one I need. It’s really all about timing, my dear. When I realised there were dwymancers among the Ordo Costruo – your mother and her three pupils – I was still finalising my plans and my ambitions were limited to ruling Urte as it is. I didn’t then understand that the daemonic and the dwyma – death and life – were inimical energies, so I infected all four dwymancers and used them to destroy the Midpoint Tower, to test their powers as well as to permit the Shihad to begin. But that massive drawing on the dwyma caused the ichor in their blood to combust. They were destroyed in their own act of destruction.’

  ‘That’s my mother you forced to destroy herself,’ she snarled.

  �
��Regrettably, yes,’ he admitted, not sounding in the least bit sorry. ‘Especially as at that moment the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Part of my intention in unleashing the ichor was to create a threat that the dwyma must react to – and it did: Lyra Vereinen was revealed, as was Valdyr Sarkany – and you, my darling. I needed just one of you to bend to my will.’

  Jehana was almost speechless. ‘Lyra Vereinen? The Rondian Empress?’

  ‘Even so. I was as stunned as you.’

  Valdyr spoke of someone called ‘Nara’ – is that really Lyra, or is it someone else? But she also remembered what her mother had told her. ‘The dwyma chooses us. None of us would betray it.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Naxius agreed. ‘What I found I needed was someone with unfulfilled potential and Lyra and Valdyr had already gained their power before I knew what I was dealing with. They’re no use to me now. But you . . .’ He sauntered languidly back to her. ‘You’re exactly what I need. The question is how to persuade you of the same.’

  She lifted her chin. ‘You’re wasting your time.’

  ‘Am I? So seduction is out of the question?’ He cocked an eyebrow at her suggestively.

  ‘I’d rather die,’ she vowed.

  He smiled wryly. ‘Oh, I’m not that hideous, am I? And I come with quite a grand throne: you could be Queen of Hel alongside my King, no?’

  ‘Go there and burn.’

  ‘Dear, dear. A shame. Perhaps torture? Suffering is a great persuader.’

  She swallowed, took a step away and repeated, ‘I will die before doing your will.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ he said laconically, then admitted, ‘but giving you to the Elétfa when you hate me isn’t going to make you do as I want. You’ll be doubly my enemy. No, it needs to be of your own volition – a conundrum, you see, as I said.’

  ‘You’ll never solve it,’ she told him. ‘Now leave me alone.’

  ‘And then it came to me,’ Naxius went on, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘“Life is suffering”, a poet once wrote. You strike me as a creature of empathy, girl: the suffering of others upsets you – and Alyssa reported that too. And if there is one thing this world is full of, it’s suffering: especially now that I’ve unleashed war, starvation and a master daemon on it. Every living soul in this world is suffering, Jehana, and I can show it all to you through the shared intellect of Abraxas. We’re going torture, maim, starve, rape, mutilate and burn every unpolluted human in Yuros – and then we’ll start on Ahmedhassa.’