84 - Aitza, We Dare Not

Slavery diminishes everyone. I could hear his voice in my head. He’d said it more than once. It not only devalues the worth of the person owned, but belittles the person owning them. Father’s frantic need to own and control Shefenkas was shrinking Him smaller and meaner all the time. I looked at Him, suddenly surprised I couldn’t see the rot inside.

I kept quiet hoping to fade into the background but Father waved me forward beside Him. “Would you have thought there were so many who looked like that barbarian my son? Yeolis do have a particular look, even with indiscriminate and uncontrolled breeding.”

“No, Divine Sire.” I studied the patterned marble at their little bare feet. Their heads hadn’t been shaved like most slaves, probably because it would lessen their resemblance to Shefenkas. Father put out His hand to have me be the one honoured to help Him to His feet.

His hand, the eagle seal ring embedded in the thick fleshed finger, the chains connecting it to the bracelet sliding, was hot and dry. He showed a smile but His hand quivered in mine. I was certain He did not realize how much He revealed of Himself in His touch.

He laid that arm across my shoulders and perforce I was forced to go with Him, to support Him as He strolled along the coffles of boys. Most stared, transfixed, at His bulk, dressed in a scarlet and gold tunic and gold kilt. His fleshy arms, in the loose sleeves were bigger around than some of the little boy’s legs. He reached to take one boy’s chin in His hand and turned his head to examine his profile.

“As commanded, You Whose Dreams are the World’s Obedience.”

“Hmm, yes.” Father shoved one little boy’s feet further apart with a nudge of His foot, to see his genitals more clearly. His foot was like a giant’s or an ogre’s next to the soft toes of the little boy.

They had all been cleaned up before being presented to Father and smelled strongly of His favourite heliotrope. Some were weeping, already in Mahid control long enough to know to do it quietly. Father touched none of those, whose noses or eyes were running.

“Are there any of these boys, my miniature, that remind you particularly of Shefenkas?” Oh, no. I couldn’t just refuse to answer.

I made a thoughtful sound, rather than answer immediately, trying to think. “Not really, Father. They’re just little boys, not grown warriors.”

“Yes, well that can be modified. Slaves can be sculpted to order somewhat, especially young ones. I remember how eagerly you used the original. Pick one for yourself.” I was seething sick, light-headed as Father pushed me back into that memory. No. No, he’s healing. He’s alive and escaped no matter what we did to him.

I swallowed and chose one, almost blindly. “He looks very close.”

“Very good. Excellent discernment my son, just like your Father.”

One of the older boys, perhaps ten, stared. Not bemused or frightened, but defiantly. No, don’t do that. Don’t defy him. You look more like Shefenkas that way. Father ran a finger along that boy’s cheek, then slapped him. “This one.” He indicated another angry boy in the second coffle. “That one.”

He pulled me around with Him as he turned to Meras, leaning enough weight on me to make me want to grunt. I held my breath instead. “Take those three. Give them the appropriate training to be like my slave who was lost. I want them to be as close as possible to his appearance, even to the disfiguring scar on the face... make that tidier, less hard to look at.” He turned back to His chair.

“I want their teeth done, the brand... everything. Find a Mezem boy to teach them to speak equal-to equal. They should sound right if I allow them to speak.” He settled down, sleeves billowing, taking His weight off me. “And prepare those four,” He indicated them. “As well, for replacements should the first three not be strong enough.”

He turned to the watching court, running His eyes over His current favourites. “Temonen, Liren, Kallen, I gift you each with a new slave... Pick one.” As they hid their eyes in gratitude, I saw Sarinen and Limen glance at one another, wondering why they were not graced with Father’s largesse. Then He turned to Meras again. “In fact, modify all of them so they more perfectly resemble that slave. Keep the remainder. I have other Aitzas to gift.”

**

I had sword practice afterwards, to make up for my attendance on Father . It felt as though the whole palace somehow ached for the amount of torment suddenly thrust into its stones.

The Mahid would have every room filled with little boys having the scars of a warrior and marks of torture cut and burned into their skin. It wouldn’t be as bad as if they were being fully wounded, more superficial cuts to the skin but... but... I kept having to try and think of something else.

I tried to read, or write, or do something to draw my mind away from what I knew was going on... Shefenkas’s torture and breaking in miniature, twenty times over. I read the same page eight times and could not remember a single word. My ash salver was full of katzeriks that I had lit and put down without remembering to smoke them, burned to the butt ends, like odd incense.

I had dismissed my companions after sword practice, wanting to be alone. One thing I did and could do, was swim. I found that I could push hard now and I might not be as good as I thought but the water was something I could take my jittery energy out on. I never had to put a toe down anymore and didn’t even think about when I was in the deepest part of the big pool anymore. But that distraction was short lived. The moment I was dry my mind circled around to what was happening in the Mahid quarters.

I suppose it was my evil, my fascination with their pain, that I couldn’t stop thinking about it, like a dog returning to devour its own vomit. I was forzak so wouldn’t I be fascinated? I checked my body when I came out of the water and found it was finally beginning to behave itself. I didn’t have to strike it.

I couldn’t pray to Muunas... since that night I’d promised myself I wouldn’t approach the High God, so as not to offend Him, but Selinae might not be too insulted if I petitioned Her, for the boys’ sake. She was a protector of children. Perhaps I could petition Her from the Nurturer’s Hall, where her statue bulked as large as Her Husband Muunas’s in the Great Hall, almost three levels high. The nurseries and children’s rooms and the Imperatrix’s wing were guarded by Her. I’d have to try and love him, for us both to be safe, no matter what I felt.

That decided, I threw on my Ten Ten’s clothes. I would do Selinae’s portion of the Ten Tens before her statue. I was required to do the Ritual's practice every day, so it didn’t feel as blasphemous as an informal prayer.

In the hallway from my suites, running my hand along the vein in the marble, I stopped when I heard voices in the Hall ahead of me. The panic in Kaita’s voice frightened me.

“Captain! Please! I cannot! Save him!”

“Aitza, I’m sorry... we dare not. Filias, Damas, Tadas, stretch out that cloak in case the Coronet falls!” What in Hayel was going on? I ran into the hall to see Kaita standing under Selinae’s statue, wringing her gloves and guards milling about at the Goddess’s feet, spreading out a cloak like a net.

“Gods’ Splendor, please come down! Don’t fall! Oh my serene Goddess, help me! Solas... please!”

“Aitza, my apologies, my men dare not. We dare not lay a hand on the Lady. It would be blasphemy for a man to climb Her!”

My little brother, just a year old, sat in a marble fold of Selinae’s hair, cuddled against her neck, where he’d apparently climbed. If he slipped, and the guards missed him with their make-shift net – my heart clenched hard. He’d die. He was so high above the stone floor he’d... I couldn’t imagine it. It was too horrible to contemplate.

He sat, one chubby hand holding onto the Goddess’s ear, reaching out to pat the enormous, pale marble cheek, his little bare feet dangling out over the deadly fall, swinging as he kicked, and yelled down at everyone so far below.