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Experimentally, she tried to clutch her numbed fingers. The jolt through her arm had little effect, but already it was a far cry from the seeming death of the limb minutes ago.
She could see the vague shape of the eunuch carrying one of her cousins off. Another was still lying nearby. Shanvah, she realized when her sight began to sharpen. The eunuch returned and carried her off as well. Ashia was left alone in the centre of the room, twitching and struggling to control her slowly wakening limbs. Every thrash was agony, but so was her feeling of helplessness. And that, she would fight to the death.
The eunuch returned to her, a large blur of dark against the field of gold. She felt him lay his hand flat upon her bare chest, and held her breath.
Enkido pressed hard, compressing her lungs to force that breath free. When Ashia tried to take another breath, she found herself unable. He held her that way for a long time. She jerked and thrashed, trying to get her limbs to obey, to strike at him.
Still he held, and at last Ashia had not the strength or control even to thrash. Her slowly returning vision began to darken again.
Back to sleep, she thought, almost with relief.
But then the eunuch eased his hand slightly. Ashia tried to take a breath, and choked. Her lungs still could not expand fully. But she could take a short breath, and did. It was sweeter than any breath she had ever taken, but it was not enough, and so she took another. And another.
She found a steady rhythm in the short breaths, and again her vision began to return, her limbs to reawaken. But she did not thrash, focused solely on those fluttering, life-giving breaths.
And then Enkido eased his hand once more. She was allowed a half breath, and accepted it greedily, again finding a steady rhythm to compensate for the missing half.
He raised his hand again, laying it gently on her breast. Ashia took a full breath, and knew it was his gift to her. No pleasure of her life could match the perfection of that single breath.
Then he pushed slowly down again. Ashia went limp, letting him force the air from her lungs. He raised his hand a moment later, and Ashia breathed again. For several minutes, she let him guide her breaths. After struggling so mightily for air, this was complete rest, letting Enkido breathe for her.
She thought that she might fall asleep to that soothing feeling, But he took his hand away, and began massaging her temples, tending the very spot he had brought such agony upon.
Ashia’s return to sight increased rapidly now, the haze before her focusing into the eunuch’s muscular form. Ashia had never before seen a man without his robes and knew she should lower her eyes, but the tattoos on his body called to her once more. The Riddle of Enkido.
The eunuch’s skilful fingers moved from her temples to her still-numb arm. There was a tugging feeling as he worked, but she could not feel his touch on her skin. But then there was a stab of pain that made Ashia jerk. She whipped her head around, seeing Enkido massaging a tiny bruise on her shoulder. An almost perfect circle of purple flesh where his fingertip had struck.
The pain faded quickly, spreading out into a gentle feeling of pins and needles as Ashia’s limb came fully alive once more.
He turned slightly, and Ashia caught sight of a tattoo almost identical to her bruise on the eunuch’s shoulder.
There were others on his temples, right where he had squeezed Ashia. Her eyes flickered over his body, following the lines that connected the points. There were many convergences, some great and some small. Enkido next moved to a bruise on her lower back. She twisted to better see, but she had already seen its tattooed mate on Enkido’s back.
She knew even before the eunuch began to work that her legs would soon be full of pins and needles as well.
He’s teaching, she realized. The very lines on his body are the sacred text.
She looked up at Enkido, and his face as he massaged her injury seemed almost one of kindness. She reached out, tentatively touching the convergence point on Enkido’s back. ‘I see it now. I understand, and will tell the others … master.’
Enkido bent towards her. For a moment she thought she was imagining it. But no. He held it too long.
Enkido bowed to her, as a teacher to a pupil, before scooping her up in his arms and carrying her, gentle as a babe, to the warm mass where her cousins slept. He laid her there, and brushed gentle fingertips over her eyelids, closing them for her.
Ashia did not resist, putting her arms protectively about her cousins and falling into a deep sleep.
They woke with a start. Enkido might be mute, but he could still bring thunder from the polished ram’s horn at his lips. It felt like the very walls were shaking. The girls shrieked and covered their ears, but the noise did not cease until they were on their feet. Ashia had no idea what time it was, but they must have slept for hours. She felt refreshed, if still sore.
The eunuch replaced the horn on the wall and handed them each a towel, silently leading the way from his training room to the bath. They walked in a line, but Ashia stole glances back at her cousins. Shanvah’s face was frozen, thoughts far away. Sikvah walked with a limp, drawing sharp breaths as they went down a series of steps.
As before, Enkido waited outside as they entered the dressing chamber. They could hear the trickle of the fountains while they unwove their bidos, but it was otherwise quiet. Indeed, they found the bath empty.
Shanvah and Sikvah looked about nervously, dwarfed by the great chamber. Ashia clapped her hands, drawing their attention. ‘Nie’Damaji’ting Melan said we were to have an hour a day in the bath. Let us not waste it.’ She waded out into the water, leading them to the largest, most central fountain. There were benches of smooth stone at the base where bathers could lie, immersing themselves in the hot flow.
Sikvah groaned as she lay in the steaming water. ‘There, sister,’ Ashia said, coming to her side to inspect the bruise on her thigh, gently massaging as Enkido had done. ‘The bruise is not great. Let the hot water soak the pain, and it will heal quickly.’
‘There will be others,’ Shanvah said, her voice flat and lifeless. ‘He will never stop.’ Sikvah shuddered, her skin pimpling even in the warm air.
‘He will,’ Ashia said, ‘when we solve the riddle.’
‘Riddle?’ Shanvah asked.
Ashia pointed to the bruise on her shoulder. Shanvah had a matching one, as did Sikvah. ‘There is a mark just like this on the master’s flesh. When struck, the arm dies for a time.’
Sikvah began to cry again.
‘But what does it mean?’ Shanvah asked.
‘A dama’ting mystery,’ Ashia said. ‘Melan said we were to learn sharusahk. The Riddle of Enkido is a part of it, I’m sure.’
‘Then why give us a teacher who cannot speak?’ Sikvah demanded. ‘One who … who …’ She sobbed again.
Ashia squeezed her thigh reassuringly. ‘Fear not, cousin. Perhaps this is simply the way. Our brothers all came back from sharaj with sharusahk bruises. Why should we be different?’
‘Because we’re not boys!’ Shanvah shouted.
Just then, the doors opened and the three girls froze. A group of Betrothed entered, led by Amanvah.
‘Perhaps not,’ Ashia said, drawing the other girls’ eyes back to her. ‘But we are blood of the Deliverer, and there is nothing common boys can endure that we cannot.’
‘You’re using our fountain,’ Amanvah called as she and the others strode over. She pointed to a small fountain at the far end of the pool. ‘Black bidos wash over there.’
The other nie’dama’ting laughed at that, squawking like trained birds. Amanvah was only eleven, but girls years her senior, some close to taking the white veil themselves, deferred to her, eager to curry favour.
Sikvah’s leg had gone tense, and Ashia could sense Shanvah, too, was ready to bolt like a hare.
‘Pay the chatter no mind, little cousins,’ Ashia said. ‘But come.’ She took each of them by an arm, pulling them gently to their feet and ushering them away while she glared at Amanvah. ‘A smaller fountain and the laughter of girls is a cheap price for our hour of peace.’
‘Not girls,’ Amanvah said, grabbing Ashia’s arm. ‘Nie’dama’ting. Your betters. Something you’d best learn.’
‘Why are you doing this?’ Ashia demanded. ‘We are cousins. Our blood is your blood. Blood of the Deliverer.’
Amanvah pulled at Ashia’s shoulder, at the same time sliding a leg behind hers. Ashia was thrown into her cousins, the three of them falling to the water with a splash.
‘You are nothing,’ Amanvah said when they came sputtering out of the water. ‘The Deliverer has spoken, sending you here in black. You are the products of his useless, dal’ting sisters, fit for breeding wolves to run the Maze and nothing else. Your blood is not holy, and you are no cousin of mine.’
Ashia felt her sense of calm slip away. She was two years older than Amanvah, bigger and stronger, and she would not be bullied by her younger cousin.
She struck the water, sending a splash that Amanvah instinctively threw a hand up to shield from her face. Quick as an asp, Ashia darted in and struck, fingers bunched and stiffened, for the point on her shoulder where Enkido’s tattoo had been. The place she and all her cousins carried bruises.
Amanvah gave a shrill, satisfying cry as she fell onto her backside in the water. The other girls froze, no one sure how to react.
Amanvah’s eyes were wide as she stared at her numb, lifeless arm. Then she scowled, rubbing at the spot until the numbness faded. She flexed her arm experimentally, and it responded, if slowly.
‘So Enkido has managed to teach you something of sharusahk already,’ Amanvah said, getting to her feet and taking the same stance Enkido had demonstrated the day before. She smiled. ‘Come, then. Show me what you have learned.’
Ashia already knew what was coming, and steeled herself. If the Sharum can endure this, then I can as well.
The thought calmed her a bit, but did nothing to shield her from the pain as Amanvah administered the beating. She flowed around Ashia’s punches as if she were standing still, and her own strikes were quick and precise, twisting and jabbing points meant to deliver maximum pain. When she tired of the game, she easily grappled Ashia to the pool floor, twisting her arm so far Ashia feared she might break it off. She struggled to keep her head above water, and knew, to her shame, that if the younger girl wished to drown her, there was nothing she could do to stop her.
But Amanvah was content with pain, pulling at Ashia’s arm until she had screamed herself hoarse.
At last Amanvah let her go, dropping her with a splash. She pointed to the small fountain. Her eyes taking in all three of her cousins.
‘To your kennel, nie’Sharum’ting dogs.’
The horn sounded, and Ashia was on her feet before her mind was fully awake. She crouched in a defensive stance, presenting as low a profile as possible as she scanned for the threat.
No attack came. Enkido casually replaced the horn on the wall while the girls stood at the ready. There were five of them now, her cousins Micha and Jarvah joining them not long after the Damajah gave them to Enkido. The new girls were years younger, but seemed to adapt to Enkido’s world the faster for it, and for the example Ashia set.
For months, Enkido’s training room had been the centre of their world. They slept and ate there, meals and rest earned only with pain. Lessons always ended with one of the girls nursing numbed limbs or worse maladies. Sometimes they could not smell. Other times deaf for hours. None of the effects was permanent.
If he was pleased with them, Enkido would massage and stretch away their pain, restoring lost limbs and senses, speeding healing.
They learned quickly that hard work pleased him. And stubborn resolve. A willingness to continue even when hurt or in pain. Complaints, begging, and disobedience did not.
They had not been allowed a full sleep since that first night. Twenty minutes here, three hours there. The eunuch would wake them at odd hours and expect them to perform complex sharukin, or even spar. There seemed no pattern to it, so they learned to sleep when they could. The perpetual state of exhaustion made the first weeks seem a blurred dream.
Lessons with the dama’ting came and went like mirages in the desert. They obeyed the Brides of Everam without question. Enkido always knew if they had displeased one of the women in white, and made it known without words why the mistakes should never be repeated.
I would kill for a full sleep, Shanvah’s fingers said.
Most of the lessons the dama’ting gave were of little interest to the girls, but the secret code of the eunuchs, a mixture of hand signs and body language, had been embraced fully. Complex conversations could be had in code as easily as speech.
Enkido gave occasional commands or bits of wisdom in code, but the eunuch still preferred to silently teach by example, forcing them to guess the full meaning for themselves. Sometimes days went by without a word in code.
But while it did little to foster communication with their master, it had become their primary means of communication with one another. Enkido, it turned out, was not deaf. Quite the contrary, the slightest whisper could bring pain and humiliation that kept the girls silent in his presence. Ashia was sure he had caught them speaking in code more than once, but thus far he had chosen to ignore it.
As would I, Ashia’s fingers replied, shocked to find she truly meant it.
I haven’t the strength to kill, Sikvah said. Without sleep, I may die. As usual, Micha and Jarvah said nothing, but they watched the conversation closely.
You won’t die, Ashia replied. As the master taught me to survive on shallow breaths, so too is he teaching us shallow sleep.
Shanvah turned to meet her eyes. How can you know that? her fingers asked.
Trust your elder, little cousins, Ashia replied, and even Shanvah relaxed at that. Ashia could not explain, but she had no doubt of the master’s intent. Sadly, understanding did not give her endurance. That had to be earned.
There was an unexpected reprieve as Enkido made his most beloved gesture, pointing towards the towels. They must have slept longer than they thought. All five girls had a spring in their step as they collected their towels and lined by the door. The eunuch dismissed them with a wave.
Twenty hours a day with Enkido, as the Damajah commanded. Three more studying with the dama’ting. And that one, blessed hour between, when they were in the baths. The one place Enkido could not follow. The one hour they could speak freely, or close their eyes without permission. Showing submission to the nie’dama’ting was a small price for the peace.
The Betrothed sneered at them in the baths, the halls, at lessons, laughing at the nie’Sharum’ting, as Amanvah had dubbed them. The black bidos forever marked Ashia and her cousins from the other girls in the palace. Even the dal’ting girls sent to learn pillow dancing seemed above them. They were allowed to keep their hair, and not beaten for their errors.
Ashia and her little cousins had learned to keep quiet and to themselves, passing unnoticed whenever possible, showing submission when not.
As usual, they were the first to the baths. The nie’dama’ting would not arrive for a quarter hour, but Ashia led them directly to the small fountain at the edge of the pool, even though the water was not as hot, so far from the wards that heated it. There they washed the sweat from their skin, and helped one another massage sore muscles, sand calluses, and treat blistered skin. Enkido’s lessons on massage and healing were invaluable in the baths.
There was a shout as the doors opened. The nie’dama’ting entered in a knot, and clearly a confrontation was going on at their centre.
Ashia was not fool enough to stare, but she casually sat atop the fountain, right by the flow of water, to grant a better view from the side of her eyes. Wordlessly, her cousins did the same, pretending to groom one another as they watched.
This was not the first time they had witnessed the Betrothed fighting. They called one another sister, but there was little love among them, each vying for influence over the others and the favour of Amanvah. Outside, they used debate and logic, but in the privacy of the baths, where the Brides of Everam would not see, they were as apt to use cutting words, or even sharusahk.
The argument was between two older girls, Jaia and Selthe. They seemed ready to come to blows, but both glanced first to Amanvah, seeking favour.
Amanvah turned her back on them, giving them permission to fight. ‘I see nothing.’
The other Betrothed did the same, repeating the words and turning their backs until the older girls faced each other alone.
Who will take the match? Ashia’s fingers asked.
Selthe, Sikvah answered without hesitation. It is said she will soon finish her dice and take the white.
She will lose, and badly, Ashia disagreed.
Her form is strong, Shanvah noted. Micha and Jarvah did not comment, but they followed the conversation with their eyes.
There is fear in her eyes, Ashia said. Indeed, Selthe took a step back as Jaia moved in. A moment later, Selthe’s head was being held under the water. Jaia kept her there until Selthe ceased struggling and slapped her submission on the surface of the pool. Jaia pushed her farther under, then let go and took a step back. Selthe rose with a splash, gasping for air.
Weak lungs, too, Ashia said. She was barely under the water a full minute.
‘I see your fingers chattering, Sharum dogs!’ Amanvah’s cry snapped their heads up. The girl strode angrily their way, several other Betrothed at her back.
‘Behind me, little cousins,’ Ashia said softly as Amanvah approached. ‘Eyes down. This is not your fight.’ The girls complied as Ashia raised her gaze to meet Amanvah’s. The act seemed to double the younger girl’s ire as she pulled up, close enough to reach out and touch.
The kill zone, Enkido’s fingers had called the space between them.
‘You saw nothing,’ Amanvah said. ‘Say it, nie’Sharum’ting.’
Ashia shook her head. ‘The large fountain is not worth fighting over, cousin, but nothing you can do will make me lie to my master, much less the dama’ting. I will not volunteer the information, but if asked, I will tell the truth.’
Amanvah’s nostrils flared. ‘And what is that?’
‘That the nie’dama’ting lack discipline,’ Ashia said. ‘That you call one another sister but do not know the meaning of the word, bickering and fighting like khaffit.’ She spat in the bath, and the other girls gasped. ‘And your sharusahk is pathetic.’
Amanvah’s eyes flicked to her target an instant before she struck, but it was more than enough for Ashia to block and plot her next three blows. The Betrothed spent two hours each day studying sharusahk. Ashia and her cousins spent twenty, and the difference had come to tell.
Ashia could have put Amanvah under the water as easily as Jaia did Selthe, but she wanted the beating to last, as had the one Amanvah delivered on their second day in the palace.
