9 comments/ 67222 views/ 42 favorites Demon Child Ch. 01 By: Xantu An unexpected visitor stirs up memories of times almost forgotten. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> She sensed his presence, but there was no threat in his heart. Her voice was a cracked dry rustle, "You are not here to kill me. What brings a man into the high priestess's quarter's uninvited and unaccompanied by the official escorts?" The voice was young, "How did you know I was here?" Her laughter was the sinister rattle of a snake's tail, "Never underestimate the magic of a demon boy." She looked at the image in the polished bronze mirror. In the background she could see his furtive movement in the alcove. As she reached for the red wig to cover her sparse white hair she asked again, "So I ask you again, what brings you to my quarters. It has been decades since a Bak warrior has visited my bedchamber." She cackled at this witticism, the toothless gums showing pink against her ancient wrinkles. "You were once the Aga Khan's demon truth sayer. You were once high priestess of the temple of Pan'Shash'Sha'Am, mother to us all. You have great magic in you. I have question to put to you." "I was once many things but now I am an impatient old woman waiting for death. If you have a question of me, stop skulking in doorways and present yourself brave and proud like a true Bak warrior. I was ha'akh to the Twisted Dagger since before your father was in sucking at his mother's teat. If a Bak warrior has use of me, it was once and will always be my duty to serve." She peered at the tall form of the boy as he slipped on cat's feet into her room. A toothless smile creased her face as her almost colorless gray eyes took in the unscarred torso of a boy who has yet to face his manhood. "Tell me your name boy." He stood tall and brave, "I am Jhim'kah, second son of Hanna, first daughter of Jhardron Aga Kahn." The mention of the name of Jhardron made the old woman pause, a wave of nostalgia clouding her mind. Again she was a wild colored girl, a simple ha'akh to the regiment, riding a red mare across the grasslands. "Ah yes my first love. Jhardron was my first Khan and brought me to this city. I stood at his side and used my magic to help him become the greatest Aga Khan that ever led the Bak. I remember your mother. She was a charming child but was always afraid of me. Most children are afraid of me." She cackled again. "I cannot blame them. Look at me now. I am a horror. I have none of the beauty of my youth. And I was once a beautiful woman. The warriors would ride for miles just to lie between my legs." The boy stood uncertainly looking at her; she could see the disbelief in his eyes. Her voice was bitter, "How typical for youth to forget that their elders could have been young once." She scowled impatiently at him. "Well boy you had a question. Spit it out and then leave before the guards find you sniffing about the women's quarters. Even without the scars of a man you would still be suspect of wanting to dip your jhambar where is does not belong." "Winter is almost over. Soon it will be time for me to go to join a regiment. My father was Broken Spear but I want to join the Twisted Dagger. By birthright I can choose either. They say you can see the future. Which pathway will lead me to greatness?" "Foolish child I have no magic to see the future. But if the blood of your grandfather flows in your veins, you will find greatness no matter what path you choose. There is honor in both clans, but I must confess a strong loyalty to the Twisted Dagger." Unconsciously her fingers stroked the faded and almost indecipherable scar on her arm, again memory taking her back to when the cherry red branding iron had been pressed to her flesh. "Go then Jhim'kah, grandson of Jhardron, go and find your destiny among the warriors. Perhaps you will find a demon for your own like your grandfather did all those many years ago. If you do, she will bring you luck like I did to the Twisted Dagger." The boy was gone as silently as he came, but she did not notice his leaving. Her mind was spiraling back to a younger time, to a story she had not thought of for untold years, a story of how a demon came to lands of the Bak and found her own greatness there. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Prologue: A demon is conceived. A demon is marooned a strange land and seeks his death, but before he dies he sows his seed and leaves a child behind to find her destiny among the Bak. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Their ship had struck a hidden reef on the northern coast of this unknown land. Only four had survived the wreck of their ship on this distant coast of this unknown desert land. The land was harsh and they knew little of survival on the land. He was the last one alive. He had no goal to his wanderings beyond his death. He just knew he did not want to die alone and forgotten. His gods demanded he die in battle. He longed to join his ancestors. An honorable death would please his gods. He would have a seat at the table of heroes. This godforsaken land offered little in the way of food or warmth. Few animals lived on the windswept plains. Fewer people wandered under the endless sky. He had found the signs of villages; old tracks and abandoned fire pits. He traveled south seeking his fate. He first smelled the smoke from their cook fires, the stink of burning dung, tangy and sharp, carried on the endless wind. Grinning with eagerness and cold determination, he turned and followed his nose. Moving carefully, always hidden, he began to stalk his prey. It was a small clump of leather tents. Some youngsters were standing guard over a herd of goats and some larger four legged beasts unlike anything that lived in his homeland. He lay on the ridge overlooking the village for a whole day. The people were unusually small; the tallest man would stand only as high as his chest. He counted maybe twelve adult males and maybe another twenty or thirty women and children. The sun was dropping into the west when he observed a female walking alone. She was moving toward the area he had observed them using for a latrine. He grinned, if he was going to find his death tomorrow, he would have a woman one more time before going to meet his ancestors. She was working at a small object in her hands, braiding some red strings into a small net as she walked. Her attention on her task, she did not even see the red haired giant move up behind her on cat's feet. Her first awareness was a hand the size of her face, covering her mouth and being lifted off her feet. The red strings on the ground were all the people from the village found when they went to look for her. He carried her for a long distance. He wanted to take his time to use this woman's body. As a warrior he had little opportunity to mate and his experiences were all with the taking of women as booty of battle. He had never had a willing partner. Rape was the only act he knew. She could not make much noise, but she screamed through her nose and struggled fruitlessly against his massive strength. When he was satisfied that they were well hidden and her loudest cries of protest would only reach the ears of the birds and the spirits of the sky, he dropped her hard on the ground. As soon as his hand was off her mouth, she began to shriek and call loudly. Reaching down he grasped the front of her dress, he pulled her to stand. He leaned down, his face inches from hers', and screamed back, a deliberate mocking screech. Shocked into silence she looked up at him, her eyes suddenly huge and terrified. Suddenly in a total panic she bolted. Laughing he pounded after her, easily running her down in just a few yards. He grabbed her shoulder and spun her to face him. His huge hand reaching almost all the way around her neck, he lifted her up. Her feet dangled inches off the ground. She hung, her legs kicking, her hands on his around her neck, trying to breath. He roughly grasped the front of her dress and ripped it, neck to hem. It took only a few more forceful jerks at the material of her dress and loincloth and she was completely bare in his hands. He lowered her feet to the ground. She staggered, coughing trying to force air into her lungs. He looked at this tiny female. She was small, her head barely as high as his chest, but she had all the parts of an adult woman. Black haired and dark skinned, she had small breasts with dark brown nipples and a thick patch of black fur covering her sex. He could feel the heat gathering in his loins. She felt his eyes on her and suddenly aware of her nakedness tried to cover herself with her hands. She began to back away, babbling in her strange language. He roughly told her to lie down, and pointed at the ground. She wailed and turned, running away one more time. Once again he caught her easily. Casually grasping an arm, he pulled her to face him. Carefully gauging his strength to her smaller stature, he slapped her across the face, once, twice and a third time. He was careful not to hit her too hard, but the blows still rocked her. She hung from the hand holding her arm, limp and sobbing. Giving her an impatient shake, he again pointed to the ground. Abruptly releasing her arm, he let her drop to the dirt. She huddled in a tiny ball at his feet, weeping softly. Satisfied that she was not going to run away again soon, he began prepare himself. He unbuckled his sword belt and laid his scabbard with his long sword to one side. Next he pulled off his chain shirt. Pulling aside his long tunic, he unlaced his leather breeches and freed his manhood. Already hard and ready, he cast a silent prayer of thanks to the sky and knelt down. She fought hard, twisting and pushing at his hands as they roughly turned her onto her back and spread her legs. He grinned wolfishly as he looked between her spread thighs seeing his prize for the first time. Looking down at the hard erection rising between his legs and back at the small writhing woman he knew it would be hard to force his manhood into that narrow slit. A struggle he was looking forward to. "Be still." He raised his big hand, threatening to slap her again. She froze and he nodded, tapping her firmly with his hand instead of the hard blow she had feared. He worked up a mouthful of saliva and leaning over he spat on the narrow dark slit between her legs. She flinched and whimpered. Reaching up he began to work the spit into her opening, pushing one and then two fingers into her, sawing them roughly in and out. Her legs clamped around his fingers and she tried to push his hands away. Lifting the same hand, damp from her slit, he slapped her hard. This blow shook her and she went limp, sobs shaking her tiny frame. Forcing her legs wide, he looked at her, his eyes daring her to close them again. Spitting a second mouthful of spit on his hand he again began to work his fingers into her tight opening. First two and then three fingers he twisted and plunged them into her, spreading her, opening her wide. He spit a third mouthful onto his hand and rubbed it over his weapon and kneeling close he placed the hard red tip against her wet opening. Gripping her waist firmly, he began to force himself into her. Her sobs turned to shrieks as he wedged himself deeper into her center. She was tight, tighter than any woman he had ever had before. He groaned and shuddered as he worked himself into her all the way to the hilt. Once he had her fully impaled, he stopped, savoring the heat and pressure of her tight little hole. She lay still under him gasping in pain and terror. Slowly he pulled out and then, almost free, he stopped and again forced himself into her again. She was dry and tight, the friction almost painful around his raging erection. The feeling was beginning to fog his mind, he began to thrust harder more quickly. She was squealing in pain, mindlessly trying to push him off, her hands weak against his massive chest. He finished quickly. Lunging and growling, he grunted and pumped her full of his essence. The woman under him lay sobbing, her hands still trying to push off the heavy body crushing her to the ground. He eased a portion of his weight off her, keeping her pinned with his manhood still lodged deep in her. He began to move, sliding his softening flesh in and out, enjoying the slippery feel of her now copiously lubricated opening. Soon he was rising again and began to thrust against her. She wailed as she felt him hardening inside her and began to strike at his chest with her small fist. He raised his hand once more and she cowered, covering her face with her hands. Kneeling upright, he grasped her thighs and spread them wide, lifting them high to her chest. She lay quieter under him, her hands hiding her face, soft sobs and whimpers rising from her lips. Moving steadily in and out, he took his time, slowly building the heat and pressure in his loins. Her tight sex had stretched and accommodated his invasion, but she was still amazingly tight and the slickness from his essence providing more freedom to move quickly. He began to lunge into her hot wet opening hard and fast, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs. He plunged deep as he pumped his seed deep into her womb. He knelt between her legs and became aware of how the muscular sheath around his easing maleness was clenching and releasing, the hips of the woman under him trembling and jerking. Rearing back he looked at the woman lying on the ground. She still had her face covered with her hands, but her chest was heaving with more than panic, and the tiny nipples on her chest were hard and erect. He pulled her hands away from her face and looked down at her. Her dark eyes, red with weeping, stared up at his. She flinched, closing her eyes and turning her face away. He chuckled and reaching down between her legs, he roughly fingered her slit. Her hips jerked and surged toward his touch and long tremor shook her. He had never had a woman respond to his assaults with anything other than terror and shame. But he was familiar with stories around the campfire of women who gained pleasure from the act of mating. Curious, he continued to rub his fingers along her opening. Her hands reached down to his, but instead of pushing him away she pushed him to herself harder, crushing his fingers against the wet slippery flesh, her hips rocking and jerking furiously. Her eyes still closed and her face turned away from him, she began to make soft mewling sounds and then she froze and jerked convulsively. Suddenly limp against his hands she began to sob, pressing her slimed fingers against her mouth, trying to stifle the sound of her shame and defeat. Pulling away from her he began to methodically tear her dress into strips and tying them together he fashioned makeshift rope. He tied it around her neck, forming a crude leash. He donned his chain shirt and sword belt, and strode off toward where he had last camped. He had little food but there was water and he had no reason to ration what little he had left. He planned to die tomorrow. The tiny woman staggered along behind him, her shorter legs having to move twice for each of his long strides. He stopped at a small spring. Drinking his fill, he gestured for her to do the same. He filled a small water skin he carried on his belt. It was long after dark when they arrived where he had left his meager store of food and a few rank hides he used for a sleeping pad. He pulled off his chain shirt and sword belt again and pointed to the skins. She sank down to her knees and looked up at him with terrified eyes. Getting out the little amount of dried animal flesh he had, he offered half to her and began to chew on the hard rank food. He ignored the taste, forcing the sustenance down. She sniffed the meat and looking fearfully up at him; put it down on the skin. He shrugged and ate her share. Once he had finished eating he pushed her down on her back and taking her hand pushed it down between her legs. Her eyes huge and terrified, she began to reluctantly rub her fingers against the red swollen flesh of her cleft. He nodded and began to unlace the opening of his breeches. As his manhood raised its head, he ran his hand up and down the shaft. She whimpered in fear. He knelt before her and pulling her face to him, he jabbed his hard member at her mouth. She reared back, looking up at him in alarm. Taking his fingers he forced her jaws open and pushed himself deep between her lips. She gagged and began to try to say something, her words muffled and confused by the gag of hot flesh filling her mouth. He raised his hand threateningly and she instantly stilled. Her mouth passively opened, stretched around him. Holding her head he began to lunge against this new place of pleasure. She gagged and coughed but did not fight, tears running down her face. He noticed her hand still rubbed against her loins. He could feel the heat of his finish approaching and he pushed her away and down onto her back. Spreading her legs wide he forced his aching manhood deep into her. Her legs spread wide and he slid into her tight hole with one long stroke. She squealed and arched, her little hand still rubbing. He lunged into her over and over, with each thrust into her hot depths, her hips would surge against him and she would moan deeply in her chest. The muscles of her sheath clenching and pulling him, wanting him to fill her. She began to squirm and her legs tried to clasp around his hips, her moans turning to babbling words, her head thrashing back and forth. Suddenly her whole body went rigid, and then she arched her back and groaned a loud wail and began to convulse under him. He could feel her muscles squeeze rhythmically around his plunging manhood. He slammed deep and exploded into her. She lay under him gasping and shuddering for many seconds. She opened her eyes and said something, and began to push against him, her words becoming more urgent. He rolled to one side and let her up. She stood and staggered a step and then stepping to the end of the rope around her neck she crouched and released her water, turning her face away from his in shame. She stood and returned to the makeshift bed and curled up with her back to him. He used her twice more in the night, her cries of pleasure and shame blending with his grunts and growls. In the morning he carefully sharpened his great sword, and the pair of short swords. He carefully braided his long red hair and beard. He turned and sent a prayer to the rising sun, sending a message to his ancestors and dead comrades that he would be joining them soon. He took the rope around the woman's neck and pulled her to feet. He lifted her face to look up at him and smiled down at her. She had pleased him greatly. He felt no need to take her life. There was no honor in killing a defenseless female. Gesturing for her to follow, he led her back toward her village. As they crested the hill overlooking the little huddle of tents, he untied the rope around her neck and pushed her down the hill. She looked up at him fearfully and then darted away toward her home. Halfway down the hill she began to scream and yell. People looked up and seeing the naked figure running toward them, began to call and shout. Soon the whole village looked a like a kicked anthill. He grinned and pulled out the great sword. He swung the six foot long steel blade in a blinding spinning circle over his head and began to sing the battle chant of his ancestors. Still swinging the shining blade he began to advance on the small cluster of tents. A small group of dark men were hastily gathering their weapons and yelling at panic at the sight of this red haired giant advancing on their village. The weapon he was swinging was longer than most of them were tall. He roared in defiance and charged. His first swing completely decapitated the first man that did not flee. He began to methodically chop his way through the few men who did stand up to him. He was disgusted. This was not battle, this was slaughter. Neither mercy nor surrender were in his heart. If they would not fight back, he would kill them all. Battle madness took him, roaring in mindless rage, he chased down and killed every man in the village. Demon Child Ch. 01 As the rage of left him, he stood looking at the carnage around him. The small rag doll bodies of the men and the few women who got in his way, lay strewn on the hard ground. He was covered in their blood. Dropping to his knees, he began to weep in dry soft sobs. He stayed on his knees until the sun was high in the sky, singing softly the battle songs of his people. He sang a lament for the deaths of his comrades and his enemies. He hardly noticed when she approached and softly touched his face. She was no longer naked, but he recognized her. In her hands was a bowl of food, a rich mixture of meat, grain and herbs. He looked up at her and nodded. Sitting back, he ate, relishing his first cooked food in months. It was rich and well cooked, with unfamiliar herbs. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Sa'amdi watched as he ate. This demon had stolen her and forced his demon member deep into her womb. He had filled her with his demon seed and forced her to shame herself with wanton responses. Then this demon, this animal, had come to her village and killed every man in her family. She watched, her face carefully calm, as he ate the food she brought him. She waited for the drug to take effect. Soon his limbs grew heavy and he shook his head weakly. He lurched to his feet but it was too late. He fell heavily to his knees and then to his side. He turned and looked to her, his expression one of peaceful acceptance. Her bitter rage flared and she kicked him in his face. The herb she had put in his food was one well known to the witches of her people. It would make his muscles weak and then limp, but his mind would stay awake. He would feel every minute of torment the women would wreak upon him. Soon a swarm of angry women surrounded him. They took his weapons and wrapped him in many layers of iron chains. It took nearly all the women of the village to pull him upright against the pole in the middle of the village, and bind him standing there. Sa'amdi approached him and spat in his face. Taking a knife she cut laces of his breeches and pulling out his manhood, she looked up at him. Taking a length of the same lacing, she tied it agonizingly tight around his balls and shaft. He did not scream, only began to softly sing a song looking up at the sky. With the same knife, she slowly sawed off the demon's manhood. He clenched his teeth and shrieked a single scream, but his strange gray demon eyes never strayed from their skyward gaze. She held it up before his face and shrieked a mocking scream back at him, shaking his blood into his face. The leather lace cut off the worst of the bleeding. He would suffer worse. She dropped the piece of meat into a fire and walked away, leaving him in the hands of the other women of the village. He lived for two days. He did scream again until the second day. In the end Sa'amdi came back and climbed up the pole. She had another woman hand her the long sword he had used to kill all their fathers, husbands and sons. Taking the six foot long weapon she carefully slowly drove it down through the top of his head, beating it with a rock, forcing it deeper through his throat, into his chest and out between his legs. Looking at this giant red haired corpse with the sword handle projecting from the top of its head, she sneered in satisfaction. If this demon was not dead before, he was definitely dead now. They built a small smoky fire at the feet of the corpse and smoked him until he was dried and hard, a mummy standing in warning to other demons that may come to their land. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The eldest woman of the tribe stood before the women. "The demon is dead. Our tribe has no men. We must travel south and try to find a tribe that will take us in." The women packed up their tents and children. They loaded them on the sturdy ponies and began make their way south into the lands of the Ramaldi. If they were lucky they would be accepted, if they were unlucky they would be enslaved. It was two moons later when Sa'amdi knew she carried the child of the demon under her heart. She tried all the remedies that the old women had taught her. No abortive would dislodge this intruder in her womb. The women had whispered that she had brought the demon to the village, that she carried another one in her belly. They increasingly avoided her, whispering that she was cursed, unclean, unlucky. She was heavily pregnant when they drove her out. She followed the angry group of women as they traveled south; traveling a few days behind, cursing the demon with every step she took. When she approached the Ramaldi village, some of the women of her village pointed at her and whispered to the Ramaldi people. She could feel their eyes on her filled with suspicion. She sought out their medicine man. His name was Kharthmah. In a tiny smoky hut, distant from village, the filthy man was stirring a small clay vessel of stinking liquid. He looked up and cackled insanely, his single eye looking at her distended belly. Kneeling before him she pled her case. "A demon has sewn his seed in me. Help me cast it out." "There are no demons in this land, you are obviously a whore. Go use the usual herbs. But it would be dangerous for you now. The bastard in your gut is nearly big enough to leave on its own." Sa'amdi threw herself at his feet. "Please sir, I have used all the herbs. Please sir, it was a demon. It stood tall. It had hair like fire and eyes like smoke." The filthy wrinkled old man leaned down and roughly prodded her stomach. He began to chant and mumble, his fingers tracing the shape of the baby filling her. "Interesting, a demon you say. There have been no demons in this land since before my father was a child. Did this demon fuck you?" She nodded. Her rage and shame blazed in her eyes. "He was strong. He forced his demon seed deep into me. He bewitched me with his magic. He came to our village and killed all the men. But I tricked him. I drugged him with the weakening herbs. All the women of my village took his life slowly over two days." "Ah, that is why you carry this demon in your womb. Its spirit has a destiny unfulfilled. The fate of this thing in your belly is not yours to choose." The little old man looked at the woman appraisingly. "You have some knowledge of herbs then and the uses of poison?" She nodded. He quizzed her about some of the more common herbs. She answered correctly most of the time. "If you would like a place to live, you may stay as servant of my household. It has been many years since I have had a servant. I feel the ache in my bones. I am getting too old to fetch my own water and tend my own fires." Sa'amdi nodded her willingness to stay. The filthy old witch doctor cackled. "I am curious to see a demon. I would be there when it claws its way out of your womb." Thank you for taking the time to read my story. Please do me the kindness of rating and leaving me feedback. Constructive and/or critical, public or private, raving or troll; I love to hear from you. This story I one I have been working on for a while. It contains many words from the language of the Bak culture that I have created. The meaning of most of these words is easily inferred from their context. The only one word in this chapter that may be confusing is ha'akh. A ha'akh is the lowest rank of female slave assigned to serve a regiment of warriors. I do not think I need to explain a jhambar. To those who leave anonymous feedback, I regret I cannot respond to you individually. Please accept my appreciation in advance. xantu Demon Child Ch. 02 Demon Child Chapter 2 A demon is born. Enjoy xantu )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The child was born much like any other, forced out amid blood and tears. Born naked and helpless, it wailed its protest at the injustice of being forced out of its refuge. The witch doctor held the little thing up and took note of its strange appearance. Its eyes were an odd milky blue; its skin was white as the face of the moon. Strangest of all a thin coating of orange hair covered its head. Kharthmah was surprised to see it was a female. He had not sensed that when he had traced its outline in its mothers belly. After its first squall of rage during the birth, the child was silent, hanging still and passive in his hands. He could feel its eyes looking at him, focusing with awareness impossible for a newborn. A strong premonition of danger shook him. Kharthmah hastily laid it on the ground and burned some herbs, inhaling the smoke. He broke an egg that had been buried under the mother's sleeping mat the last weeks of her pregnancy. As the pungent smell of the rotten egg filled the hut, he studied its contents. The old man began to keen and screech, "This demon child has omens swirling around her. She carries within her great powers. She will bring of doom or luck to all around her. Any who would cause her death will be cursed." Kharthmah picked up the tiny baby and pressed it to Sa'amdi's breast. The woman turned and tried to thrust the baby away. He grabbed her hair and shook her. "Servant, you will suckle this demon. I will not have its spirit haunting this village because you refused to feed it." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The infant was fed and cleaned only when absolutely necessary. Thin and neglected, she learned to survive on little from the first days of her life. The milky blue of her infant eyes changed to the light gray of the demon that had spawned her. Free to crawl about in the dirt of the dark and smoky hut, she learned quickly that the smallest noise or irritation would earn her a blow or a kick sooner than a scrap of food or a mother's attention. She developed an uncanny ability to sense the moods of those around her. She learned to be silent and wary. Sa'amdi left the tribe of the Ramaldi when the demon was only three summers old, eager to leave behind the child and the memories it carried with it. The girl remembered little of her mother beyond the tones of hate in her voice. She could remember the echo of her bitterness as Sa'amdi spoke of the demon that had destroyed her life, her family and burdened her with this child she hated. She remembered, word for word, the story of the demon's death at her mother's hands. The orphan lived in the hut of the medicine man. Having a demon for a pet greatly increased his status among the other medicine men of the Ramaldi tribes. Kharthmah was a poor parent to the small red haired girl. He only called her 'demon' and frequently forgot to feed her or provide the simplest clothing. She learned the arts of healing and poisons at his side. The old witch doctor refused to teach her magic; saying, "You must find your own magic." Every time she left the hut to gather herbs or to do any of the many chores that needed doing, the people of the village would point and whisper. Her pale coloration stood out against the dark skinned people of the Ramaldi tribe. She could feel their fear and hate on her skin as they would stare. She was the target of curses and thrown filth. If she complained to Kharthmah about her treatment by the villagers he would laugh and say, "You are a demon, girl, curse them." Kharthmah never washed. His filthy appearance enhanced his reputation as a witch. It did not occur to him to teach her to wash. Her skin was layered with dirt. She covered her head with dirty rags, hating her red demon hair. She learned to keep her eyes downcast to hide her demon eyes. The villagers called her Neekah, dirty one, more of a description than a name. It was the only name she knew. Neekah had her first woman's blood at twelve years. It was when she had the first dreams of flying. Not high, just skimming along the surface of the ground at amazing speed, a loud pounding in her ears. The dreams filled her nights. As Kharthmah grew older he spent more and more of his time drowsing, his spirit traveling in the world of the ancestors. She was fourteen summers when Kharthmah failed to wake from one of his journeys. The village people came and chased her away from the hut. They burned the body of the old man, singing the songs to guide his spirit away from their world. They stole what little there was of value. Neekah was alone for the first time in her life. She stayed alone in the hut, but the villagers no longer sought out medicine and prophecy, bringing payments of food. Hunger drove her out at night seeking food, sneaking and milking the goats in the field for the sweet milk, stealing from the meat drying racks. She had knowledge of wild plants and their uses from assisting Kharthmah. She learned to hide and move silently in the dark. She could find enough to survive. Living as an outcast, Neekah grew to be a woman. Any Ramaldi girl would have been married and a mother twice over by her age. She was tall, standing a hand's span taller than the tallest man of the village. She had developed the custom of cutting her demon hair as close to her scalp as she could with a knife and keeping a rag tied around her head. But she could not hide her demon's grace. She had a whip lean body, hardened by starvation and work, and a lithe movement that drew men's eyes. Neekah had no protector. She held no status among the Ramaldi. There were no rules of conduct for the men of the village. It was rumored that to lie with a demon was bad luck; but forbidden and dangerous fruit can be the most tempting. Neekah was first attacked and raped by a group of young men, recent graduates of the manhood ceremony. They cornered her in her in the little hut of the dead witch doctor. She tried to fight but there were too many. Dragging her from the hut they surrounded her, hooting their war cries and laughing at her terror. They jabbed at her with their spears. They pushed her down and jabbed at her with their bodies. They were young and inexperienced; taking turns holding her down and rutting upon her, cheering each other to greater lengths of brutality. Worse than the assault on her body was the assault on her senses, the excited violence in their hearts battered at Neekah's sanity. Her only refuge from madness was hatred, hatred and the promise of revenge. She focused on her mother's story of revenge, repeating the story of the demon's death in her mind. Neekah gritted her teeth and silently cursed them. After that, there was not a time she did not contend with the pursuit of men. They made a sport of hunting her. She learned to hide and run, but no matter how careful she was, not a moon passed when she wasn't cornered by the young gangs of men who ran loose during the first years after their manhood ceremonies. Once caught she learned not to fight, if she fought, they just hurt her worse. She learned to send her mind far away from her body as they thrust into her. She would lick her wounds and nurse her hate once she could escape. Neekah knew what herbs to take to cast an infant from a womb. She knew that to take the abortive too often would cause a woman to become barren. She wanted nothing more. Her mother's story of hate resonated in her heart. She refused to become the vessel for a child thrust upon her against her will. She ate the plant whenever she could find it. Once when she had been caught by a particularly persistent group of young men she began to experience a sensation of softness and warmth. As they took their turns, each rutting upon her endlessly, she felt a soft explosion of sweet pleasure, her loins throbbing and shuddering in soft jerks of unfamiliar feelings. In a world of loneliness and neglect this was the first taste of pleasure she had ever had. Neekah still hid and fled from her pursuers, for she hated the people of the village, but she had learned to steal small moments of pleasure for herself when she was caught. She still cursed her tormenters, praying they would all perish like the demon that spawned her. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> It was spring when rumors of Bak raiders reached the Ramaldi tribes. The people spoke of horror stories of whole villages decimated; every man, woman and child put to death, all livestock and valuables carried off. Too young to appreciate life, Neekah was not particularly afraid of death. She had a sense of a destiny beyond her miserable existence here in the Ramaldi village. She added the wish that the Bak raiders would come to her curses she silently sent out at her tormentors. It was a midsummer afternoon when they came. The sound of pounding hooves and shrill war cries panicked the village. A few men raced to fight, everyone else ran. A strange curiosity drew Neekah back to a vantage point. She hid and exulted as she watched. The tall black men on long legged horses rode through the village. The few men who stood their ground were cut down with short brutal scimitars. Those that fled were shot down by arrows fired from the backs of the plunging horses. Each and every one she had cursed and more, many more fell screaming. She watched as those who were captured were herded into a group in the center of the village. Then the Bak raiders began to scour the village for loot. She chose that time to try and sneak out through a patch of brush that led to a narrow path, an escape route she had used many times in the past. Her heart lurched as a tall figure loomed behind her and barked in surprise. She burst into a run but this was no short legged Ramaldi boy, this was a tall warrior and he caught her easily. His hand snatched at the back of her ragged dress. She gasped, jerked and the ragged cloth shredded. She kept running, her pursuer pounding fast behind her. An iron hand grasped her shoulder and spun her around. She froze as a scimitar flashed toward her throat and stopped just touching her flesh. She hissed as she felt the edge slice her skin and a small trickle of blood ran down her chest. The blade slowly traced down to her bare and heaving breasts. The man said something and jerked on her arm, dragging her back to the center of the village. Neekah knew when she had been caught. She knew that fighting now would do little good and probably get her killed. She chose to wait for an opportunity to escape. She looked at the man gripping her arm in a vice like grip, for the first time looking closely at a Bak raider. He was tall, taller than any man she had seen before, with deep ebony skin. His skin was marked with ridges of ritual scarring, stretching down his lean muscular chest and back. Black hair stood up in a crest along the top of his shaved head. He wore a great deal of gold ornaments, gold in his hair, heavy bands on his arms, a thick rope of gold coiled around his neck. He exuded arrogant strength and confidence. Neekah stood proud and defiant wearing nothing but a rag tied around her hips and another rag tied around her head. Her breasts stood high on her thin chest, her skin creamy white where it had been covered by her tattered dress. The Bak raider shoved her into a group of wailing women. She faded to the back of the crowd, carefully looking for a route to escape. Several younger raiders glared at her and raised their wicked curved swords. Neekah's attention was drawn to animal like screams. Looking up she saw three Bak raiders cutting open the stomach of the Ramaldi chieftain. She flinched back as one of the raiders reached into the body cavity and pulled out ropes of steaming guts. A wail rose from the group of women. The village was maelstrom of panic and terror. She allowed herself a small tight grin of hate. It was not long before all the men were dead upon the ground. The raiders turned to the group of women. One of the tall men, heavily scarred and wearing a many pieces of gold, walked to the group of women and reaching in he grasped the arm of a woman. He began to drag her to the center of the village. She shrieked and struggled. He ignored her and threw her down on the ground. He pushed up her dress and pulling aside his loin cloth he drew out his large black organ. Kneeling between her legs he began to thrust rapidly, ignoring her cries of protest. This seemed to be a signal because suddenly many more of the tall dark men approached the group of women and began to select women for their use. Shrieks of hysteria rang through the group of panicked women. They all seemed to try to hide behind each other, or worse falling down in screaming fits on the ground. Neekah was damned if she was going to act like any of these crazy Ramaldi women, screaming and weeping at a simple thing as a man wanting to push his thing into them. Discarding the rag around her hips, she pushed her way to the front of the group of milling women. Picking a particularly tall raider with more decorations than the others, she walked up to him and stood before him, challenging him with her eyes. She knew she stood out, standing nude and proud. She took a deep breath, reached down and took his hand and raised a questioning brow, tipping her head toward the ground. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Jhardron was startled. This was not what he expected. This naked pale skinned woman standing before him, bravely facing death and worse. He looked at her and was unnerved by her eyes, they were the color of water reflecting the sky, her skin was light, almost white in places, and strangely the patch of fur above her venya was not black, but red as fire. As he pushed her down, he wondered who this girl was and how she came to live among these little dark mud people. She went easily to the ground, still grasping his hand pulling him down on top of her. She lay back with her legs apart, her knees bent slightly, her venya open and exposed. He could not help but notice that the lips of her opening were rich and red in contrast the dark shades he had always seen before. The sight of this fiery red slit sent a sudden heat to his jhambar, swelling it, making it rear its head in lust. Pulling aside his loincloth he pulled out his tall proud flesh, and ran his hand along its length, a shining silver drop stood at the tip. Staring into the strange gray eyes of the woman looking up at him from the ground, he placed himself against her. He began to force himself into her. She was dry and unready but still pressed herself up against him, assisting his entry rather than fighting it, her lower lip clenched in her teeth, her brow furrowing in pain and concentration. Deep within her, he felt her moisture forming and as he pulled out and plunged in again she was slicker. He slid in smoothly. She breathed a soft sighing moan and surged to meet him, urging his thrusts into her. Jhardron marveled, this was not the rape he had expected. Like a priestess of the goddess she seemed to wish to bless the act of joining, to consecrate it with the goddess's gift of pleasure. She began to squirm under him, soft whimpers creeping from her lips, her hips tipping and plunging. He matched her rhythms, thrusting deep and fast, heat building in his loins, his balls pulling tight, as he plunged deep and began to pump his gift of seed deep into her she arched and let out a long vibrating moan, not unlike the soft whinny of a mare. Jhardron was awed; this one had chosen to consecrate his offering to the goddess with the act of panshasham. Jhardron became aware of the men standing around him, softly repeating, "panshasham" to each other. To have a woman bless a warrior's offering was good luck and rare outside the temples of the city. As he pulled away from the woman on the ground, she shivered. Her hips raised and followed his departure as if she regretted his leaving. His second in command, Jhu'kresh, caught his eye and glanced at the woman on the ground, his eyes asked his khan what his intentions for this captive were. Jhardron nodded, "Do not kill this one. Use her if you wish, but I want her alive in the morning." Jhu'kresh grinned, his white teeth contrasting against his dark skin, and knelt down over the woman and filled her with his jhambar, thrusting hard and fast, cheered on by the growing group of men standing around. The woman under him wrapped her long white legs around him and began to writhe against him. A soft groan rose up among the bystanders. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah dimly wondered why she was still alive. Death was all around her, the screams of the last to die still echoed in her ears. She remembered her sudden terror as the raiders cut the throats of the women one by one as they finished with them. Yet somehow she did not sense that they were going to hurt her. She sensed their lust but there was something else something she had never felt before. It was like they needed her or needed something from her, something she had to give, that they couldn't take from her. She lay in the dirt. Her legs splayed wide in a grotesque split, her womanhood bare and exposed to the stars, shining with the fluids of the men who had used her. Another Bak raider knelt between her legs. He grunted something and suddenly many hands were on her, lifting her and positioning her as they had innumerable times through the night. She found herself on her hands and knees swaying in exhaustion. She felt his hands on her hips and grunted as she was mounted from behind. He leaned down and bit her on her shoulders, sharp painful nips. He made a harsh snorting sound. His rough hands gripped her small breasts and then moved between her legs, stroking roughly, demanding another response from her. Neekah began to groan and shake as waves of ecstasy took her mind. Once more the voices raised around her chanting, "panshasham, panshasham, panshasham." Neekah sagged under his weight, falling to the ground as he pushed himself into her, her mind slowly leaving her body. Looking down from a great height, she could see her convulsing body laying on the ground under the lunging body of the raider, surrounding her, a circle of men, surrounding them the ruins of the village. Burning huts lit the scene, revealing the dozens of dead bodies littering the ground. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Jhardron stood in the circle of men. He had watched as the whole regiment had used this woman. He had joined them in their chants to the goddess as she had repeatedly blessed their offerings with panshasham. This one had the will to live and the endurance to make a fine ha'akh for his regiment, the Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger. They had not had a servant for many weeks and the men had been restless. That this woman had the capacity to attain panshasham meant she was blessed by the goddess. Her ability to transform the male act of Jha to Jha'sham, an act blessed by the goddess would bring good luck and status to the Twisted Dagger. Jhardron sent a silent prayer of thanks to his war god, Jha'Mak'Tah for sending this fine reward for their victory. He sent a second prayer to Pan'Shash'Sha'Am, the goddess of sex and fertility that this ha'akh live longer than the last one. Jhardron moved between this woman laying in the dirt and the crowd of men. "I claim this woman for ha'akh Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger." Looking at Jhu'kresh he ordered. "Mark her and tie her." Once she was claimed as ha'akh for his regiment he would have the right to protect her from abuse and the ritual sacrifice that had taken the lives of all the women from her village. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah had not lost consciousness throughout the long afternoon and night of her ordeal. Her mind had become numb, far away from her body, only dimly aware as each raider had used her body and moved aside for the next, hardly noticing as she convulsed in the pleasure she had learned to steal for herself. Demon Child Ch. 02 Once again she lay in the dirt waiting for the next one or whatever fate brought her. A tall shadow loomed over her and barked out guttural words in the language she did not understand. Strong hands gripped her, holding her strongly down to the earth, pulling her right arm out in an iron grip. Watching from high above, she felt a detached sense of alarm as a raider took an iron rod, glowing red with heat from a nearby fire. She shrieked in agony as he pressed the hot iron to the skin of her lower right arm. No longer able to detach, she was back in her body, struggling against the torture in her arm. Finally darkness took her. It was still dark when Neekah woke. Her whole body hurt, but she was used to pain, she pushed the complaints of her body to a far corner of her mind. There had been too many days of pain in her life for it to command too much of her attention. She could see the tall forms of a group of raiders standing around a fire many strides away from her. Carefully looking around she could not see any raiders standing near her. Slowly she gathered her strength, winding up like a spring. Suddenly leaping to her feet, she darted for the darkness surrounding the decimated village. The rope tied around her ankle snapped short and she fell hard. She heard rough laughter from the fire and to her horror she felt the rope tighten and begin to drag her back towards the fire. Neekah tried to stand but the rope was tight and kept pulling her leg out from under her. Determined not to be dragged through the dirt she reached down and grabbed the rope and used it to pull herself to her feet and walked toward the fire, following the rope to the man who held it. Standing boldly, ignoring the quivering fatigue in her legs, she faced him. It was the one she had chosen when she had walked from the group of screaming Ramaldi women, wishing to choose her fate rather than to be dragged to it. He said something harsh and short and pointed at the ground. Neekah's silver gray eyes flashed at his face and smiling a bitter smile she once more lay down upon the ground and spread her legs. He barked in laughter and bending down to her feet he pulled them together and tied a short hobble between her ankles. He pulled out a long knife. He pointed at the roped between her ankles and then laid the knife across her throat. He made it clear if she tried to take the ropes off her legs he would kill her. Lifting her to stand, he barked "Ha'akh tet." He began to push her along in front of him. Neekah tried to hurry but the hobble on her ankles was too short and she tripped, falling heavily to her knees. He made a soft exasperated sound and picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. He walked a long distance from the carnage of the village. He greeted a raider as he entered a camp. Stopping before a tent, he unceremoniously dumped her to the ground, wiping his hands on his loin cloth, his nose wrinkled in apparent disgust. He pointed at the open door of the tent and once again said, "Ha'akh tet." Neekah scrambled into the dark tent and huddled against the back wall. Exhaustion and confusion were making it hard for Neekah to think. For some reason she was alive. Everyone she had ever known was dead. She suspected that this raider had something to do with this, but too tired to wonder why, she put her head on her knees and slept. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Thank you for taking the time to read Demon Child. If you wish to be notified of when a new chapter is posted please contact me privately. Be sure to give me a correct email address and I will be glad to send you a message when a new chapter is up. Please do me the kindness of rating and leaving me your comments. Constructive and/or critical, public or private, raving or troll; I love to hear from you. To those who leave anonymous feedback, I regret I cannot respond to you individually. Please accept my appreciation in advance. xantu Demon Child Ch. 03 Chapter 3: A new way of life. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Jhardron woke in the dim morning light with the sour smell of the girl in his nostrils. He looked over at the girl huddled asleep at the back of his tent. He debated his wisdom in acquiring a ha'akh now. The Twisted Dagger was only half way through their conquest of the remote Northern provinces. Dealing with an untrained girl on campaign could slow them down. But the regiment had been working hard and to have a ha'akh to offer as a reward would be good for morale. This one could bring them luck as well. Jhardron jerked on the rope attached to her ankle. She lifted her head, blinking, disoriented. He jerked again, "Tet." She scooted out the opening of the tent and stood awkwardly, the hobbles on her ankles shortening her strides to short mincing steps. In the early morning light he looked her over. She was completely nude except for a filthy rag still tied tightly around her head and the thick layers of grime coating her skin. He reached over and plucked the rag from her head. She wailed and reached for the cloth but he pushed her hands away. She then tried to cover her head with her hands. He stared at the short tufts of scarlet hair peeking between her fingers. She stood frozen, her head bowed, the skin of her face strangely changing color, turning red, tears in her odd pale eyes. Jhardron was struck that this woman was far more concerned that her head was bare than her venya. He pushed her hands down to her sides and looked at the odd hair covering her head. It was the same red shade as the fur of her venya. It had been cut as closely to her head as possible but who ever had down it had just chopped it off unevenly. He could see her scalp almost black with dirt in between the clumps of hair. He could not help but think to himself, 'a wild-color mare', a common phrase to describe an unusually colored horse. She was thin, almost starved looking, with prominent ribs and hip bones, but he could see whipcord muscles in her legs and arms, the ripples of muscles in her belly. He could see the marks of the hands of the men who had used her too roughly the night before, but he also noted that they were over older, yellower bruises of injuries from days earlier. This one was had been mistreated before, possibly a slave, certainly an outcast. Jhardron stepped to cooking pot filled with morning stew, a thick mush of grains, nuts and dried fruit. Picking up a wooden bowl he filled it with a generous serving, he handed it to her. The girl looked startled and flashed a puzzled look at the food. Ignoring the spoon in his hand, she dipped a finger into it she tasted it and then began to eat, rapidly scooping the food into her mouth with her fingers, as if she expected to have it taken away at any moment. She carefully cleaned the bowl, repeatedly running her fingers around the bottom and licking them off carefully. She looked up at him, gratitude clear in her eyes, and taking the bowl she made a drinking movement and made a soft pleading sound. He nodded and walked to a bucket sitting near his tent door, he pointed at the water filling it. She carefully shuffled to the bucket and dipped the bowl and drank. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah was quivering with confused feelings. She sensed this warrior's patience and curiosity. To be around so many people and not feel their fear and loathing was a new experience. No one had given her food in so long she had forgotten it was possible. It had tasted wonderful. She stood over the bucket of water and filled the wooden bowl and drank. She was so thirsty; she dipped and drank twice more, sighing as the cool water seemed to flow directly into her veins. Neekah flinched back toward the opening of the tent as a group of five riders galloped up to the edge of the camp. Dragging their mounts to a sudden stop, kicking up a thick cloud of dust, they vaulted to the ground. An old heavy set warrior shouted a greeting and made a jeering comment. Many of the warriors laughed as the riders busied themselves tying the tall sweat streaked horses to a rope at the edge of camp. She looked around the tents, looking at the camp for the first time. About a dozen tents surrounded some cooking fires. She could see several dozen men going moving about the camp but they seemed to be deliberately avoiding looking toward her or the man standing beside her. Neekah sensed that their manner was not from fear so much as respect. Many tall horses were tied along ropes at one side of the camp, most were black but a few were shades of red, brown and gray. The air was cool and a small shiver shook her. She wrapped her arms around herself. For the first time she noticed the fresh burn on the back of her lower arm. Looking closely at it, she could see it was a circle divided into two halves with a line piercing through it. Below it was some odd lines and dots. The man took her arm and pointed at it, "Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger" Then he pointed at her chest, "Ha'akh Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger". He pointed at himself. "Jhardron Khan Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger." He pointed at her and waited. Neekah pointed at herself and said, "Neekah." He shook his head, "Abak." Pointing at her again he repeated, "Ha'akh Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger." Neekah pointed at herself and hesitantly said, "Hak Bak'Tai...", and paused trying to remember the long string of sounds. He smiled and nodded and repeated, "Ha'akh Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger." She got it correct the second try. Glad that she seemed to be beginning to understand what he wanted from her, he reached to pat her on the head. He frowned when she automatically shied from the hand reaching to touch her. Neekah did not think he was going to hit her, but she had not ever been touched in kindness. Any hand reaching to touch her was alien and frightening. He leaned down and began to untie her ankles and taking the rope he tied it in a careful knot around her neck. "Ha'akh Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger, tet." He strode off giving a small prompting tug on the rope leash around her neck. He strode quickly, stopping to give some orders to some raiders standing on the outskirts of the camp. Once more she was struck that the men were careful to avoid looking at her. Jhardron strode off, his long legs striding quickly. She had to trot to keep up. Soon they were at the edge of the small creek at the base of the Ramaldi valley. He pointed at the water and said something. Neekah looked at the water and then at him, her head tipped to one side in confusion. He shook his head and made a soft exasperated sound. Dropping the rope, he began to undress, pulling off his tunic and loincloth. She looked at him curiously. He was tall even compared to the other raiders, long rows of ridged scars ran down his chest and abdomen and as he turned she could see matching rows on his back. His organ was at rest, nestled neatly between his thighs, with thick black hair growing around it. Neekah idly toyed with the thought of running but somehow she did not feel afraid. He leaned down and picked up the rope and saying firmly, "Tet.", he waded out into the water until he was waist deep. Neekah reluctantly followed him, disliking the sensation of the cold water on her skin. He reached down and picked up a handful of clean sand and began to firmly scrub her skin. She tried to push the cold gritty hand away from her but he jerked the rope around her neck and glared at her. She knew he was in no mood to be thwarted. She stood miserable, shivering as he washed her from head to toe. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Initially Jhardron was angry that this woman seemed to know nothing about washing herself. But soon he was fascinated with the color of the skin that began to appear as the layers of dirt rinsed away, creamy white where her clothing had covered her, soft golden brown on her face, arms and legs. Her skin was quick to show pink as the sand rubbed across it; he had never seen anything like it. If he pressed a finger against her reddened skin a white spot would appear and then the redness would spread back across it. He soon realized that he was seeing her blood beneath her skin. She truly was a wild-color girl. Quickly taking a firm hold of her neck her turned her away from him and bent her over sharply. She yelped and tried to twist from his hand as he forced her to expose her venya. He could see the same redness that had held his attention yesterday but beyond being somewhat swollen he could see no damage from the night before. He pulled her up to standing and went on with his inspection. Her hair was even more fiery red now that it was clean, droplets of water sparkling in the rough clumps scattered across her head. He reached up to touch it and was once more angered when she cringed like a beaten dog, like she expected him to strike her for no reason. He impatiently pulled her to face him and forced her to stand straight. Looking her in the eye he reached up and ran his hand across the strange red hair. It felt strangely soft to his hand. He could feel her tremble under his hand. He felt a stirring in his jhambar. He ignored it. As Khan of the regiment he would use her last. Jhardron dressed quickly and led her back toward the camp. Stopping at a wagon parked outside the circle of tents he dug through a pile of clothing and handed her a long simple soft brown shift. She slipped it over her head and carefully threaded the rope around her neck through the neck hole of the simple dress. Sleeveless it fell to below her knees. It was the finest piece of clothing Neekah had ever worn, she smoothed the clean cloth under her fingers and looked up at Jhardron with a huge smile. His heart lurched, this woman's joy showed through her face like the blood beneath her skin. Her eyes were sparkling, her even white teeth shown against her red lips. This wild-color woman was beautiful. Jhardron called to Tim'kah. The young boy ran up. It was his first season as a Bak'Tai raider, barely fourteen years old; he was showing great promise to become a fine warrior. "Take this new ha'akh. Show her how to do chores around the camp. My orders are clear; no man may use her until after the archery competition tonight. She will be the prize for the winners. Watch her closely. She may try to run away." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah looked at the young boy that Jhardron was talking to. Barely more than a boy, his torso was unscarred and he wore no gold ornaments. At first she was slightly alarmed when Jhardron handed the rope tied around her neck to this youngster. He was much too close in age to the gangs of boys who had made her life hell the last few years. Her fears faded as she sensed nothing more than his youthful pride and eagerness to please. He stood before her and proudly pointed at his chest, "Tim'kah Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger". Swaggering with self importance, his eyes flashing with pride at this new responsibility he pulled firmly on the leash around her neck, "Ha'akh tet." He marched off with her in tow. He led her to a wide meadow with a large herd of horses grazing on the far side. He leaned down and grabbed a filthy stiff hide with a rope tied to it and dragged it out into the field. He pointed at the horses and said, "Marmak." Leaning down he picked up a large handful of horse manure, "Ekh Marmak," and threw it onto the hide. He pointed at another pile of dung, looking at her expectantly. Neekah nodded and repeated, "Ekh Marmak," and picked up the droppings and put it on the skin. Together they gathered horse manure until the hide was loaded. They each took hold of the rope and dragged the heavy load back to the camp. They spread it to dry in the sun. Tim'kah picked up four leather water buckets and giving a gentle tug on her rope he strode towards the creek. Dropping the buckets he knelt hand began to vigorously scrub the layers of shit off his hands, gesturing for her to do the same. She washed her hands and then leaned down to take a long drink. Together Tim'kah and Neekah made many trips to the creek and back filling all the water buckets in the camp. Next Tim'kah led her to the wagon and searching around in a bag he got out a generous handful of dried meat, some nuts, and a melon. He handed her half the meat and nuts, pointing for her to sit on the ground he sat down and began to eat. Neekah ravenously began to wolf down the food, hardly chewing. Tim'kah looked at her somewhat alarmed and tried to say something. Sensing that she had done something wrong, Neekah stopped and looked at him and at the food in his hands, suddenly aware of that she was stuffing the food into her mouth with desperate intensity. She blushed and dropped her hands into her lap. Tim'kah said something, his voice soft and reassuring, and smiled, offering her the food he had reserved for himself. She shook her head and deliberately slowed her movements, taking time to chew and taste as she ate the rest of the meat and nuts. Tim'kah pulled a dagger from his belt and began to cut the melon in slices, laying them out before them. Neekah looked at him waiting for permission and he smiled and nodded. She picked up a slice and forcing herself to eat slowly, she ate the soft sweet flesh, swallowing down the juice, sighing in happiness. Neekah could not remember when she had eaten so much in one day. Her stomach felt wonderfully full. She said, "Thank you," in the Ramaldi language and he looked at her, his head tipped to the side. She pointed at him and said "Tim'kah." He nodded and said, "Ha." She pointed at herself and said, "Ha'akh Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger." "Ha." She pointed toward the tents and said, "Jhardron." He nodded, "Ha, Jhardron Khan Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger." She pointed at the horses, "Marmak." "Ha." Neekah began to point at other objects and quiz Tim'kah about the names of everything, repeating the new words over and over. He told her all the words, nodding in approval as she learned more. Together they did many of the chores around the camp, gathering firewood, replenishing the fires, stirring the thick porridges of grain and nuts as they slowly simmered over the fires. Several carcasses of goats were slowly roasting over fires, the smell of the cooking meat wonderful to Neekah's nose. To have so much food around her was intoxicating. Late in the afternoon the men around the camp began to talk more loudly and Neekah was aware of many covert glances being sent her direction. They were getting out bows and she could hear many loud taunts being tossed back and forth between as they stretched the strings, limbering up their arms. Tim'kah began to talk rapidly, his tone excited and giving a little jerk on her leash he trotted off to the field where they had gathered dung that morning. There was a rowdy group of raiders, joking and laughing on one side. They were all holding bows. They fell suddenly silent when Tim'kah led her up to them. Neekah was happy to see Jhardron standing among the men. Tim'kah handed the rope to Jhardron and went to stand with the men. Several made loud jeering statements to him, but Jhardron barked an order and they fell silent. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Jhardron stood before the men of his regiment and addressed them. "This archery contest will determine who will have use of the ha'akh tonight. The top five will win her. The next five will have her the following night. This order will continue until every man has had his turn. This ha'akh is new to this regiment and I have decided that she shall serve no more than five men a night. I am not going to let you bastards fuck her to death." The men roared in laughter at his sudden coarse language. Jhardron was a new Khan for this regiment, the son of a trusted advisor to the Aga Khan. Initially he had not been welcomed by the veterans. But he had repeatedly demonstrated he was a fine military strategist and had led them with a fair and firm hand. He had led them to victory many times with few casualties. "The boys and the Khan will use her last." The men nodded in approval. His willingness to go last demonstrated great control and commitment to his regiment. A target was set up a hundred paces away from a line marked in the dirt. Two men stepped up and aimed carefully and let fly. Both arrows struck the small black mark the size of a man's heart at the center of the target. Both men shouted in triumph, swaggering back to the group. Nearly all the arrows hit the small black mark with only five of the fifty raiders being eliminated on the first round. The losers laughing with acceptance moved out of the group. They moved the target another twenty paces away. On this round many more of the raiders were eliminated, the growing crowd of losers cheering their friends as the competition progressed. The target was moved further away. When there were five left, Jhardron walked up and stopped the competition. "You have done well. Twisted Dagger has the finest archers of the Bak'Tai. I would wager my finest stallion on any competition you enter." All the men cheered. "We have determined our first five winners. I leave the rest of you to continue the competition to decide the order of the rest of the winners." He turned to the five men. "You will determine amongst you what order you will use her. If there is a dispute, use seniority to decide. I will not tolerate any cruelty or abuse. If she needs punishment, you will report to me and I will decide. Each of you may use her no more than twice. I would urge you to be gentle. She has little understanding of her role of servant to the regiment. I trust you to respect the goddess and the regiment." He handed the rope tied around her neck to the most senior warrior and walked away. Jhardron was not surprised that Harnum was in the first group of five. The archery master was a sure winner in any contest of bows. He was also a senior officer in the regiment. Jhardron had spoken privately to him about his wish that this girl not be traumatized. Harnum had been married for many years, returning to his wife in the temple city during the winter seasons. He had many sons in the Bak'Tai. He would be a good teacher for both the girl and the younger warriors. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah stood watching Jhardron talking to the small group of five men. His words were incomprehensible to her. Her attention wandered and she began to watch the others who were continuing to shoot arrows at the target. Suddenly Jhardron was walking away and when she turned to follow him she realized he no longer had the rope in his hands. Turning, she flinched back to see the rope in the hands of another, a heavy set older warrior, his body heavily scarred and white streaks showing in the crest of hair on his head. The older man smiled and spoke softly like he would to a frightened colt first being trained. Neekah felt a wave of fear; she could feel the sexual tension in the group. She could feel their eyes on her. The five men were whispering amongst themselves and nodding. The older man holding her rope held his hand out to her and said softly, "Ha'akh tet." Neekah looked at this man and craned her head looking for Jhardron or Tim'kah. She looked back warily at this man holding her rope. Neekah knew when she was caught; she sighed and reached out her hand. The older man nodded in approval and gently held her hand not pulling her toward him, letting her stand trembling for many long minutes. Neekah began to wonder what was happening. She could tell they wanted her but she also sensed calmness and restraint. The man holding her hand pointed at his chest, "Harnum Hak Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger." Neekah was beginning to recognize that the phrase 'Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger' was a general term to identify all the people of this camp. Suddenly it struck her that the name they called her, ha'akh Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger, meant she was one of them too. She pointed at herself and repeated "ha'akh Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger." She pointed at him and said, "Harnum Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger." Then she pointed at herself and said "ha'akh." and at him and said "Harnum." Demon Child Ch. 03 Harnum smiled and nodded, "Ha." Gently he pulled her to him and stroked her arm, pointing at the angry red burn on her arm and then pointed to a similar scar, old and faded on his shoulder. "Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger." He kept her close, his hand still stroking her arm. Neekah had been distracted by the language lesson, but once again became aware that the other four men were standing close around her. Her eyes flashed around the faces, seeing the tension and anticipation on them. A shudder of nervousness ran through her. Harnum hissed at them to move back and taking her other hand in his he gently urged her away from the archery range. Leading her toward the tents he continued to speak in a soft reassuring voice, but Neekah was no longer listening. She had seen the faces of the men. She knew that they would take what they wanted from her. A wave of sadness swept over her. She realized that after the kindness of their treatment during her first day with them, she had somehow hoped that everything would be different here with these tall dark men. She clenched her teeth. She swallowed down the disappointment. She knew she could do this. She did not feel anger or fear from them; maybe they would not hurt her so much. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Harnum could sense the sadness and the resigned determination of the girl. He did not expect her to welcome their attentions, especially after her rape the night before. As long as she was not terrified, he would be satisfied with her cooperation. He was confident he could build from that. He led her past the tents to a small clearing. Several of the men had grabbed bedding as they passed the tents and they spread out skins and blankets on the ground. Harnum pulled her close to his chest began to run his hands over her back and arms, careful to avoid the burn on her arm. His hands strong and soothing, he rubbed deep into her muscles. Neekah tried to pull away, to lie down on the skins, but he held her up and pressed her face against his chest. Reaching down he pulled the shift up over her head and handed it to one of the other men. She kept her face hidden in his chest. He continued to run his hands over her skin. Neekah was confused, why was he doing this, why hadn't he just pushed her down like all the times before. A long shudder of nervous tension ran through her body. Gently he moved her to face away from him, leaning her back up against his chest. Neekah kept her eyes closed, still fearful of the lust in the eyes of the men surrounding her. He stroked down her chest and belly, his hands gently tracing the edges of her ribs and then cupping her breasts, rubbing his calloused palms across the hardened nubs. She gasped as a soft shock of pleasure spun through her. Leaning down he rubbed his face along her shoulder and the back of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. He softly nibbled and made a soft rumbling nickering sound. Neekah let out a soft sound in response. Harnum slowly stroked his hand lower on her belly, gently stroking the soft fur over her mound, and dipping lower feeling the moisture and heat of her venya. Neekah's hips jerked and she moaned softly. Harnum picked her up and gently lay her down on the skins and pulled off his loincloth, his jhambar bobbing up. He pulled her to sit up and with a soft direction ordered one of the other men to sit behind her and support her as she leaned back. The man behind her began to softly stroked his hands along her sides and then to softly run his finger tips across her breasts and nipples. She felt his teeth gently nipping at her shoulders. Harnum returned to his gentle touches, running his fingers up and down the cleft of her venya, spreading and opening the folds of the flesh. Moistening his fingers with his spit, he slowly dipped them into her opening, slowly probing deeper, never forcing. Neekah was panting and twisting in the arms of the man holding her, soft pleading whimpers rising from her chest. Harnum leaned down, his face near her venya. He inhaled a deep noisy breath of the rich scent of her arousal. He nipped her along the inside of her shaking thighs, a deep rumbling nicker in his throat. Neekah squealed, her hips surging toward him, her legs spreading wide. He gently pressed the tip of his jhambar against her heated opening, slowly sinking into her depths. Neekah let out a deep groaning sound of satisfaction. Her hands reached down and pulled at his hips, wanting more, to be filled up more. Her mind spinning with the lust of the men kneeling around her, her hips rocked and surged against him. Harnum began to move back and forth, his fingers still softly stroking her cleft. Neekah arched her back, tipping her head back towards the man holding her, her legs lifting around Harnum's back, a loud vibrating moan broke from her lips, Harnum pressed deep and shuddered as he left his offering within her. She heard the voices of the men around her softly chant, "panshasham." Harnum pulled away and moved to replace the man holding her from behind, his arms warm and strong around her. Another moved to kneel between her legs; strong hands lifted her knees wide and high. Neekah became aware that the hands of all the men were on her, touching and stroking. Soft bites on her legs and shoulders sent electric shocks of pleasure through her as the feeling of the hard maleness thrust deep into her over and over. Fingers from three different hands wormed their way through her slippery folds. Mouths were on each of her breasts, pulling and nipping at her nipples. Neekah began to convulse with pleasure, her cries growing louder. She was only dimly aware as each man finished and was replaced with another, the sensations of their hands, mouths, and the endless rhythmic warmth and pressure of the flesh filling her had taken over her whole world. There did not seem to be a beginning or end to each crest of pleasure. Her mind slowly dissolved away as she abandoned herself to the waves of ecstasy. It could have been hours or even days later when she finally came back to herself. Harnum was gently stroking her face, smiling, saying something she could not understand in a soft low voice. He gently pulled her to her feet, she staggered, her legs wobbling. He gently held her steady and urged her to follow him. Together all six of them moved down to the creek and they gently led her out into the water and washed her legs and venya, rubbing the cool water over her arms and shoulders. They led her out and helped her pull her shift down over her wet skin. All five men seemed reluctant to leave her side, their hands straying to touch her arm or waist, gently leading and urging her to move along with them. Neekah was still dazed and pliant from the amazing waves of pleasure she had experienced. All six arrived back at the camp. Harnum gently urged her to sit and brought her some water to drink. She gratefully drank it down, her hands softly trembling. Several of men were whispering with each other. As a group the approached Harnum and spoke softly with him. The old warrior shrugged and nodded. Standing he went into his tent and came back with a piece of dark blue cloth. All five men put a hand on the cloth and then Harnum took the cloth and wrapped it around her head and shoulders. He pointed at the cloth and then to her. Neekah had never been given a gift before. She clutched the cloth around her, stroking the soft fabric. She opened her mouth to say something but no words came from her mouth. The skin of her face colored red and she hid her face in the cloth. Finally Harnum walked to Jhardron and had a quiet conversation with him. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Jhardron had followed the group of warriors and the ha'akh, watching until he was satisfied that she would not be mistreated. The act of mating was not particularly private matter among the Bak. He knew that Harnum had chosen a more isolated area to avoid the normal taunts and teasing that sometimes would be directed at man with a ha'akh. He walked away, telling himself that he had more important things to do than watch this wild-color girl as she lay with these men. He forced his mind away from the image of the red lips of her venya. Now he watched as the small group of satisfied men gently guiding the girl back to the camp. He felt a shudder of lust as he took in the lazy sway of her hips. She had a shocked dreamy eyed expression and easy smile on her face. Harnum approached him, "A piece of advice, watch this one closely. She is very sweet to fuck. It would be easy for any of the men to become too emotionally attached to her. Hell, I feel half in love myself. It could easily lead to conflict between the men." Jhardron realized that he was staring at the girl. He shifted his eyes to the older warrior. "Thank you, do me a favor. Make sure that the men brag a little about how they brought her pleasure, how the goddess blessed them. Let them strut a little about their prowess." He had seen the looks on the faces of the men as they had come back with her. He would have to structure her time with the men, make sure she did not spend more time with any one of them. He stood and walked over and took hold of the rope around her neck. He led her to sit in front of his tent. The message was clear, their time with her was over. She was not to be approached. The girl sat quietly in front of his tent, hugging the soft blue cloth around herself, her eyes soft and sleepy. Soon her head was nodding heavily on her neck. He knew she had little sleep the night before and had a long day. Jhardron pointed into the tent and gestured for her to go in. Neekah found a small sleeping mat at the back of the tent. She carefully folded the blue cloth and curled up and was almost instantly asleep. He dropped the rope tied to her neck in a loose pile beside her sleeping form and walked out to do one last inspection of the camp before turning in. Her stealthy movement woke him in the night. The girl was silently stepping over him and moving noiselessly, she slipped out the opening of the tent. He waited a brief second and was up and after her moving like a shadow in the night. He swore a quick curse, she was moving quickly, a quiet white ghost moving through the night. He ran after her a silent shadow in the darkness. He followed her silently, watching her as she padded quickly out of the camp. She stopped and crouched down, scraping a shallow depression in the dirt. Jhardron could smell the stink of her shit as she relieved herself. Smiling to himself, he wondered how long she had been waiting to find some privacy. She stood and scraped dirt over her waste. Almost ghost like she moved back down toward the tents. He was impressed with her ability to move so silently. If she had not been wearing such a light colored dress he would have had difficulty following her. He crept silently behind her, his black skin invisible in the night. She was at the opening of the tent when he touched her arm. She gasped and froze. He pulled out his knife and pulled her close, raising it to her neck. With a quick slice he cut the rope from her neck. With a soft whimper, she staggered and fell against his him. His arms caught her and pulled her to his chest. She melted against him, long tremors shaking her body. Jhardron felt his whole body tense with need to take this woman. To crush her to him, to tear off her dress and... Jhardron shook his head and pushed her away. He pushed her towards the opening of the tent. He could feel her body shaking under his hands. Jhardron did not trust himself to follow her into the tent. He left to go find out who should have been on guard that she managed to walk out of camp without a challenge. He patrolled the perimeter of the camp, moving on silent feet. The guard on the far side did a fine job, coming behind him and laying a dagger against his back before he sensed the approach from behind. Softly he laughed and whispered his approval and asked who else was on guard. This was a game that had been played out many times, a careful cat and mouse game of him testing his stealth against their vigilance. He did not worry about his safety; they all could recognize each other by their smell and breathing in the dark. It kept them on their toes as they waited here, waiting to hear from his superiors as to what their next objective would be. Jhardron moved on around the camp, managing to sneak up on one guard. Softly he chastised him to be more alert. When he got to the far side where the girl had managed to blithely walk through an area that should have been guarded, he crouched and waited, his eyes alert for any movement. He did not wait long, as a dark shadow moved in and took up its post. He moved on silent feet, and laid his dagger at the throat of the guard. "I have been here for many thousand heartbeats. You have neglected your duty. A guard on watch may never leave his post. It would be an embarrassment to you to learn that the ha'akh came and shit almost on your guard post without your knowledge. I cannot help but wonder if you have the qualities I seek for my regiment." His voice dripped with disdain. Klektor stood statue still. "Kill me then, for the Twisted Dagger is my only home. If I cannot serve, I would choose death." Jhardron knew the young warrior was serious; he came from many generations of warriors. Perhaps you should tell me what would induce a Bak'Tai warrior to leave his post?" "There was a cough of a leopard and the horse herd was restless, I patrolled out and around the grazing field." "Leopard hunting when you should be attending your post... I think you should assist old Kwal'kek in teaching the boys for a few weeks. Perhaps teaching discipline will help you find your own." Every regiment had a squad of five or six first year warriors that attended to the chores of camp and trained in their warrior skills. Kwal'kek, a veteran warrior nearing retirement, was in charge of their training. Jhardron knew that is was a step down in status to teach the boys. It was a job reserved for older warriors past their prime. The first year warriors were never allowed on the first waves of battle. To stay back with the boys would mean Klektor would not be allowed to fight with his fellow warriors. It was a fitting punishment for the misconduct of leaving a guard post. Jhardron hated this waiting. Only just a few days of idleness could wreak havoc on the discipline of a regiment used to action in battle. He knew that Klektor would have never taken such a risk if there had been any threat to the camp itself, but the possible excitement of killing a leopard had lured him away. He cursed the orders that had them wait here after taking out the Ramaldi village. As Jhardron returned to his sleeping mat, he could sense that the girl turning restlessly. He turned his back to the girl and forced his mind to thoughts of the regiment. It took a long time for sleep to take him. Thank you for taking the time to read my story. This story I one I have been working on for a while. It contains many words from the language of the Bak culture that I have created. The meaning of most of these words is easily inferred from their context. A ha'akh is the lowest rank of female slave assigned to serve a regiment of warriors. Tet is come, Ha is yes, Abak is no, venya is a woman's sexual organ, jhambar is a man's. Please do me the kindness of rating and leaving me feedback. Constructive and/or critical, public or private, raving or troll; I love to hear from you. To those who leave anonymous feedback, I regret I cannot respond to you individually. Please accept my appreciation in advance. xantu Demon Child Ch. 04 Chapter 4: Neekah is named a demon. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah opened her eyes. Jhardron was not in the tent. The light was bright coming into the opening of the tent. She had been awake much of the night trying to calm the nervous shakes that cascaded over her body. When Jhardron had stopped her outside the tent he had frightened her terribly. As he put the knife to her neck she had thought he was going to kill her for sure. Then he had removed the rope around her neck, a gesture of trust. She could still feel the warmth of his arms as they had caught her as she stumbled, a warmth that had caused her heart to race. She sensed his flash of hunger for her. Her feelings were in a terrible turmoil. Once she finally fell asleep she dreamed the dream of flying again, flying and the sound of pounding hooves. Her thoughts strayed back to Harnum and the other men. She felt a delicious shudder tremble up from her loins as she thought about the feeling of their hands, mouths, and their hard manhoods filling her endlessly. It had seemed that she had felt their pleasure as well as her own, that there had been no barriers between their senses. The storm of out of control feelings had frightened her in many ways but triggered a powerful curiosity in her as well. She wondered if they would do it to her again. She wondered if Jhardron would touch her like that. She was thirsty and needed to make water. Carefully picking up the precious square of folded blue cloth, she carefully scooted to the opening and looked out. Jhardron was standing in front of his tent talking to a small group of warriors. She crept out and sat in the early morning sun. Unfolding the cloth she laid it over her head and shoulders and tied it in a knot around her head. She saw Jhardron glance at her and she softly put her fingers up to her neck and smiled softly. Jhardron pointed at a pot on the fire and nodded. Neekah carefully scooped a bowl of the morning porridge and offered it to him. He shook his head, pushing the bowl back at her. She carefully ate the food, using a spoon like she had seen others use the day before. Afterward she went and drank from the bucket at the side of the tent, rinsed the bowl and spoon and returned them next to the cooking pot. Neekah stood, her feet moving nervously, wondering what would happen next, wishing she could communicate her need to walk away from camp. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Jhardron was distracted by the appearance of the girl. It seemed her every appearance chased away all thoughts of duty. He had little time to watch over captives. It was below his status of Khan. To have her share his tent was distraction he did not need. He needed to find another place for her to sleep. He was no longer worried that she may try to escape, as much as about finding a safe place for her. He needed to find someone else to be in charge of the training of this new ha'akh. He watched as Kwal'kek came out of his large tent and bellowed for the boys to assemble for inspection. The grizzled warrior marched up and down berating them for their lateness and broadly criticizing them on their posture and hygiene. Jhardron grinned, the loud gruff old warrior acted as both quartermaster and drill Sergeant for the regiment. Jhardron would have been reluctant to give additional responsibilities to him, but Klektor had been assigned to assist him. He would have more time. Nodding to himself, he walked over to where the paunchy old man was marching up and down in front of the row of ramrod straight youths. Once Kwal'kek finished bullying the boys, he gave them their assignments for the morning. Turning to his Khan he nodded, "I am getting soft. Back when I first joined the Twisted Dagger, first years would have been up and drilling before the morning star rose in the sky." His deep rough voice warmed up to tell another long story of his youth. Jhardron smiled and interrupted him. "I trust your judgment in the training of the boys. They are learning quickly. I am especially impressed with Tim'kah. He will make a fine warrior." Tim'kah was Kwal'kek's great nephew and had joined the Twisted Dagger under the sponsorship of his uncle. Kwal'kek swelled with pride, his hands clasped across his fat stomach. Jhardron frowned in frustration, "Kwal'kek, I seek your help. I come to you because of your experience and skills in training the young warriors." The old warrior stood at attention before his Khan, proud that he still had worth even though most of his fighting days were over. "I am proud to serve the Twisted Dagger." "This girl seems to have a lot of potential. I am sure with the right guidance she will bring honor to the regiment. She is exotic looking and the rumor is that she brings great luck to a man when he honors the goddess with her. No other regiment has such a fine ha'akh. Unfortunately she lived among the mud people. She is ignorant of the simplest of ways to behave. I need a good man who can teach her the ways of the Bak and at the same time keep her safe from the warriors sniffing around her." Kwal'kek looked wary. He knew where this was going. He also knew it would be his duty to follow his Khan's orders no matter what they were. Jhardron continued, "I have told Klektor to assist you with the training of the boys so you will have more time to work with the girl. I would expect she will be able to help you with your quartermaster duties. She learns quickly and is very motivated to learn our language." Jhardron was mildly amused as he watched the old man go from puffed up pride to frustrated confusion. "But Khan, I know nothing about the training of girls." "It cannot be so much different than the training of the young warriors." Jhardron added, almost as an afterthought, "She will need a place to stay other than my tent. I cannot be bothered. You seem to have ample room in yours." Jhardron hid his smile as he spun on his heel and walked away. Kwal'kek was practically sputtering in protests. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Kwal'kek was still making protests, mumbling to himself, "My tent? What does he think that I am some kind of auntie?" He walked up to the girl. "Ha'akh tet!" His voice, sharp and harsh, rang with the confidence. He was used to giving orders and more used to having them obeyed. The girl looked at him and then looked at Jhardron's retreating form. Her eyes shifted back to him and she took a hesitant step in his direction, halting just out of reach. Her odd gray eyes flashed up at him warily. Impatient with this slow response to his direction, Kwal'kek growled in irritation and stepped forward, reaching to take her arm. She flinched and taking an involuntary step back, cowered down onto the ground, her arms coming up to protect her head. Kwal'kek hesitated; this was not the response he had anticipated. The young warriors in training were used to his rough orders, in fact they expected it. Obviously this girl would need a different approach. Grumbling to himself, "...not so much different..." He reached down and took hold of her wrist. More softly he once again said, "Ha'akh tet," and firmly but with gentle force, pulled her to stand, Keeping a firm grasp, he walked to the front of his tent and pointed to the ground. The girl looked at the ground and grimaced. She suddenly squirmed and stood on one foot, clenching her knees together. Reaching between her legs she pressed against her venya, soft words of her strange language bursting out of her lips, her face changing to a strange color of red. Kwal'kek had to struggle to not laugh. "This will be like training a baby... by the gods Khan; I know nothing of infants or girls." Gesturing for her to follow, he ordered in this new softer tone, "Ha'akh tet." He set off toward the latrine pits. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah's heart sank as Jhardron turned her over to another of the men of the camp. She looked warily at this one. He was old, much older than any of the other warriors, all the hair of his crest shone silver in the morning light. Heavy lines, etched by years in the sun, creased his face. He was broadly built with heavy shoulders, and a large stomach pushing out the front of his tunic. She could tell he was angry. His harsh tone set off waves of fear coursing through her, almost blanking out her desperate need to pee. The grizzled old warrior made a menacing sound and stepped toward her, his hand reaching for her. Neekah shrank from him, cowering down, ready to protect herself. Looking up at him she could sense the change in him from anger to a kind of impatient understanding. This time, his voice was softer as he pulled her back to her feet and led her toward another tent and pointed for her to sit. Neekah was dismayed, she knew she was about to lose control of her bladder, clutching at herself, pressing hard to stop the flow she knew was about to burst from her, she began to plead in her native language, "Please, please, I have to make water." The corner of his mouth twitched and his eyes dancing, he led her away from the tents. Neekah sighed in relief as she could finally let loose of the water. The old warrior turned her to face the latrine area and pointed, "Stent Ekh." Neekah nodded and repeated and then pointed at him and tipped her head to one side, making a small questioning tone in her throat. "Kwal'kek Hak Bak'Tai Twisted Dagger." Neekah nodded and repeated "Kwal'kek." He nodded, "Ha," and headed back toward the camp. Neekah trotted to keep up. Neekah's morning sped by, the old warrior kept her by his side as he moved around the camp checking on the young warriors in his charge. He frequently pointed out objects and people as he walked, telling her the names and drilling her on the new words. He had her help him with the moving of food supplies from the wagons to the man who busied himself around the cook fires making the food for the warriors. He was a good teacher and soon Neekah found she was able to understand many of the simple phases he used to talk with her. The young warriors came together in the camp in midday. They ate a quick meal of dried meat and porridge left over from the morning. Kwal'kek sat on a sturdy box and spoke at length, his hands waving dramatically. The boys followed his every word, nodding and murmuring as he lectured them. Neekah sat to one side listening carefully, listening for any words she could understand. After they had finished their meal, Kwal'kek barked some orders and one of the boys went into the large tent. He came out carrying an armload of wooden scimitars. All the young warriors stood and moved as a group toward the horse pastures. For the first time Neekah noticed a warrior walking with them. This was not a boy; this was a man in his prime, heavily scarred, carrying the twin scimitars of a full Bak warrior. He held himself rigidly tall, his face impassive, but Neekah could feel rage in his heart. At the horse pasture, Kwal'kek had each of the boys pair off and began to drill them in use to their wooden scimitars. Kwal'kek and the other warrior moved among them, correcting posture, demonstrating attacks and parries. Neekah, accustomed to following Kwal'kek throughout the morning, continued to follow closely. Suddenly the warrior whirled and grabbed her arm in a tight grip. He thrust his face into hers and shouted some words. Just as quickly he released her, thrusting her away from him violently enough for her to stumble and fall to her knees. Neekah huddled on the ground shocked by the unexpected attack, confused as to what she had done wrong. All the movement had stopped. The young warriors' eyes were on the scene of the girl cowering on the ground and the angry warrior looming over her. Kwal'kek marched up and said something in a scathing tone. He then turned and barked some orders at the boys. They hastily returned to their sword practice. Kwal'kek leaned down and pulled Neekah to her feet. He led her to one side and pointed at the ground, telling her to sit. Neekah watched as the warrior returned to his teaching. His orders were sharp and impatient. His demonstrations were harsh and violent. The blows from his wooden sword fell hard on the boys as they attempted to defend themselves. Neekah winced in sympathy as he smashed a particularly brutal slash across Tim'kah's chest, knocking the boy to the ground. Tim'kah was quick to roll back his feet and resume fighting, seemingly unshaken by the blow. Neekah found herself increasingly impressed with the enthusiasm and courage of the young warriors as they faced their exacting teacher. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Finally Kwal'kek called the exercise to a halt and the group moved back to the tents. Kwal'kek had the boys line up and inspected them. He frowned at the signs of the blows on their bodies, their dark skin concealed the marks of the bruises but he could see welts and swelling on nearly every limb. It was normal for a young warrior to be bruised and battered after a training session. Klektor's rough training was harsh but not beyond normal limits. A warrior needed to be able to withstand pain and keep fighting. This training would toughen the boys. Kwal'kek praised the boys for their bravery and stoicism. The old warrior pulled a large box from his tent and began to teach them about first aid for their various scrapes and bruises. The girl crept closer as he opened containers of salves and bandages. Many of the salves had familiar smells, awakening memories of her childhood and the smoky hut of the witchdoctor. She carefully pointed at one of the ointment jars and then pointed at the burn on her arm. Kwal'kek raised his eyebrow and nodded. He handed a small clay jar to her and watched as she sniffed the contents. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. She handed the small jar back and moved over to the box he had taken it out of. Increasingly curious Kwal'kek watched as she carefully opened and sniffed several containers. Suddenly she stopped and nodded with satisfaction. She carefully began to daub light layer of the burn ointment over the crusted burn of her brand. Kwal'kek's had watched in surprise. The girl seemed to have some knowledge of medicine. He held up another small vial holding a strong sleep drug and showed it to her. She sniffed it and then carefully touched a fingertip, tasted and then spat. She gave a thoughtful frown and then laid her head on her hand and closed her eyes, pretending to fall asleep. Kwal'kek smiled. "Someone has taught you something of medicine. It is a good skill for a ha'akh of the Twisted Dagger to have. I will have to add that to your training." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> As the afternoon shadows began to lengthen into evening, the warriors began to congregate in the camp for the evening meal. Jhardron led a group of five tall men to the tent where Neekah sat at the feet of Kwal'kek surrounded by the first year warriors. Kwal'kek was regaling the group about battles of his youth. Jhardron reached and took her hand, lifting her to her feet. He placed her hand in the hand of warrior and said a short phrase to the warrior. Neekah could sense the tension and sexual anticipation among the warriors. She felt a rush of nervous excitement as she was led from the tents. This time their hands were urgent and hurried, but they did not hurt her. Her mind awash with the excitement of the men around her, Neekah surrendered herself to their needs. They held her gently, their warm hands and curious fingers touching, their bodies crowding close around her. Their strong arms supporting her, their hot mouths nipping gently on her skin, as she opened herself to their sweet plunges into her hot depths. Once more she found herself lost in a world of cascading sensations, seeming to feel both her own and the men's around her. Her cries of ecstasy rang in her ears. Neekah came back to herself as she was being carried in the strong arms a warrior, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her head resting gently on his chest. She sighed and burrowed her face into the warm hard muscles. He waded deep into the creek and gently lowered her into the cold water. Neekah gasped and giggled as the sudden chill chased the fog from her mind. There was a definite bounce to her step and a soft smile on her face as she walked back to the camp. Neekah hesitated, and then walked toward her usual place in front of Jhardron's tent when Kwal'kek called to her, gesturing for her to come to him. She stopped and looked toward him confused. He called again, this time pointing at his tent. Neekah recognized the words to come sit. Neekah came to sit next to the box Kwal'kek used for a chair. He had spread a skin on the ground and was arranging the contents of his medicine box carefully counting and sorting the contents. He named each jar and bunch of herbs as he laid them on the skin. After each, he would point to her and Neekah would repeat. One time she when she recognized a common herb for the treatment of loose bowels she pointed at her stomach and giggled, making a soft juicy fart sound. Kwal'kek laughed with her. Neekah was so absorbed in helping with the medicines she did not at first notice the small group of men that had joined with her had returned. Looking up, she smiled at them, still feeling the warm soft connection of the pleasure they had shared together. The oldest stepped forward and held out a small shiny object. Neekah looked at Kwal'kek, unsure of what was expected of her, still unaccustomed to accepting gifts. Kwal'kek nodded in encouragement. Neekah hesitantly held out her hand and the warrior gently placed a length of cord with a carved stone bead into her palm. Her eyes lit up and she tried out one of her new words. "Thank you." The warriors responded with the traditional, "It is a small thing." Neekah looked closely at the necklace in her hand. It was a length of intricately braided horse hair. It was red much like the color of her hair and the bead was a similarly colored stone. Rich reddish orange, the translucent stone was a faceted cylinder with the piercing lengthwise. She slipped the necklace over her head and held the cool stone bead up to her cheek. Kwal'kek returned to naming the herbs and medicines, calling Neekah's attention back to the task. They continued together naming and repeating until the evening shadows made it difficult to see. Neekah helped return the contents back into the medicine box. Kwal'kek stood and carried the box back into his tent, telling her to follow. Kwal'kek's tent was larger than all the other tents. Inside was packed with the boxes and bags of all the items needed to keep a regiment moving: medicine, food, spare weapons, clothing, arrows, and what loot they had been able to glean from the poor villages they had sacked. Neekah could see a drape hanging in the back corner. Kwal'kek pulled aside the curtain and pointed to the small space behind it. A skin and a softly tanned leopard hide made up a sleeping mat. Kwal'kek pointed at the bed and then at Neekah. She made a soft sound in her throat and reached out touching the rich soft fur, her trembling hand gently stroking across the spots. She did not dream that night as she slept cuddled in her blanket. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah woke in the night to the loud pounding of hooves crashing through the camp and the loud shouts of guards. She jumped up and pulled aside her curtain when Kwal'kek's hand pushed her back down on her bed and he sharply told her to stay. She lay listening to the hurried conversations in the dark. Soon all was quiet again and she heard the old man grunting as he lowered himself to his bed once more. When she woke again it was early morning and she could hear a great deal of movement and voices in the camp. The camp was a different place when she came out of the tent. No cooking fires were going, several of the tents were gone and the first year warriors were busy taking down another. Demon Child Ch. 04 Kwal'kek was standing in the middle of camp talking with a Jhardron when Neekah approached. She tried one of her new words. "Greetings." Kwal'kek nodded and held up a hand, signaling her to wait, and turned back to Jhardron. They spoke for many more minutes as Neekah stood watching. The camp was rapidly coming down. All the tents were down except for Kwal'kek's and the boys were busily moving its contents into a wagon. Neekah jumped when Kwal'kek tapped her on the shoulder. "Greetings, ha'akh." She quickly pointed toward the latrine pits and asked leave to go. He nodded and shooed her off, but did not follow. Neekah trotted off, feeling giddy with her independence. As soon she was back, he had her help the boys as they moved the supplies from his tent to the second wagon. As the last of the regiment's supplies were being arranged carefully in the wagon, the tent was coming down and being rolled into a neat package. It was heavy and it took all five young men to pick it up and load it on the wagon. Now that the camp site was completely clear that it was strangely silent. She wondered where the Jhardron and the warriors had gone. Looking around she saw only the young men that Kwal'kek seemed in charge of and the one surly warrior that had been so harsh with the boys the day before. They were harnessing large solidly muscled horses to the two wagons. There was a small group of the tall war horses tethered to one side. "Ha'akh tet!" Kwal'kek's voice was loud but she had gotten used to his tendency to bellow at nearly everyone. Neekah trotted over to him. She squealed in surprise when he wrapped his hands around her waist, picked her up and dumped her into the wagon on top of the folded hides that had been his tent. He pressed a handful of dried meat and fruit into her hand and walked over to the horses. He pulled himself onto the back of a massive warhorse. The two wagons and the riders moved away from the camp site. A wave of excitement swept through the first year warriors. They urged their mounts into a sudden gallop, circling around the slow wagons, their voices raised in the shrill war cries Neekah remembered from the attack on the Ramaldi village only two days before. The wagons moved slowly. Neekah was the only person who was riding on a wagon. The draft horses that were pulling the wagons were led by a young warrior on foot, walking along side. His horse tethered to the back of the wagon as he took his turn leading. Neekah sat up tall and watched as the valley slowly slipped by. The young warriors practiced their riding skills as they escorted the wagons. They had a small leather ball that they threw back and forth between each other as they rode in circles around the wagons. Testing their skills by attempting more and more daring catches, leaning low, galloping at top speeds. If a rider missed his catch, the other players would shout and laugh, but it then became an intense competition to see who could pick up the ball from the ground as they galloped past at top speed. The boys would race by with one foot in a stirrup, holding onto the girth of their saddles, and would reach down and snatch up the ball. The challenge was that the other riders were trying to get the ball too and it seemed totally acceptable to attempt to knock each other out of the saddle. Many times the young men would tumble into the dirt and their horse would canter off. This would start a new game of one rider charging past the one on the ground and they would link hands and the boy on the ground would fly up and mount behind the first. They would ride after the riderless horse and the second rider would slip effortlessly onto its back and the game would resume. Neekah watched as the first year warriors played their endless evolving game of catch. At first it was exciting to ride up high on the wagon and watch as the world slowly went by, but by the time the sun was high in the sky Neekah found riding in the wagon exhausting. The sun burned down hot and the young warriors stopped their games. Every rock and stick made the whole wagon jerk and bang. Her seat high in the wagon was rough, bumpy and choppy. Sitting up made her neck and back ache. They traveled north, following the valley cut by the creek. Kwal'kek brought the small group to a halt near a small pond. Neekah walked with Kwal'kek as he walked down to the pond. She pointed at the water and asked, "Bath?" Kwal'kek nodded. She pulled off her shift and her head scarf and waded out into the water. She eagerly began to scrub off the dust of the long ride. She was quickly developing a preference for being clean. As she came out of the water she became aware of the warrior that had ridden throughout the day at the edge of the group. He was standing at the edge of the water. His eyes were sweeping across her form, his eyes predatory. She could feel his anger and lust. Neekah felt a wave of nervous dread. She looked for Kwal'kek but he had returned to the camp. "Ha'akh tet." The warrior's voice was loud and angry. Neekah reluctantly walked up to him. He reached out and gripped her upper arms, his fingertips digging deep into her flesh. He pulled her close, forcing her up on her tip toes as he stared into her face. His rage flowed over her. "Klektor!" Kwal'kek's voice cracked loud. The warrior turned, still gripping her arm and calmly spoke to the old warrior. The spoke back and forth for a while but Neekah could not catch many of the words. She heard 'ha'akh' several times and then Kwal'kek said Jhardron's name and suddenly the warrior released her arm and spun on his heel and walked away. They did not put up any tents, spreading their sleeping mats on the ground around the fire and slept beneath the stars. No warriors came to take her and Neekah found herself wondering wistfully where they had gone, when they would come back. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The small group of riders and the two wagons moved up and out the Ramaldi valley and onto the wide clear plains of the nomadic herders. Neekah watched as the rocky red stones of the valley fell behind. The thought that she was leaving the only home she had ever known did not even enter her heart. A deep sense of correctness filled her. This was something that was meant to be, she wasn't leaving a place so much as going toward another. The sight of the wide open sky above the rolling grasslands filled her mind. A soft humming seemed to fill Neekah, numbing thought. It seemed that the soft movements of the wind in the grass pulled at the corners of her vision. She found she was listening to the wind, listening for something she could not name. Neekah shook her head trying to chase these clouds from her mind, but try as she might the sense that something was hovering at the edge of her consciousness would not go away. The wide grassland was easier for the wagons to move along and the ride became smoother. Fatigued she lay down upon the skins of the tents and let the rocking of the wagon lull her into a trance. Her awareness was spinning in wider and wider circles. She found herself looking down at the sea of grass from a great height, looking down at the group of riders and wagons as they traveled. She turned her vision to the north. Something was there, something she needed to see. Neekah was dimly aware of hands roughly shaking her. Kwal'kek's voice seemed to be coming from a long distance, calling her back. Neekah fought against waking. If she could just fly a little further she would see... A hard hand slapped her face and her eyes flew open. She was not in the wagon. She was on her feet, the horizon spinning sickeningly. The only thing that kept her from crumbling to the ground was Kwal'kek's strong hands on her arms, his eyes dark with worry. An overwhelming wave of nausea swept over her. Pulling loose from his hands she fell to her knees and vomited into the grass. Neekah stayed on her knees until the world stopped moving. She sat up and wiped the tears from her eyes. She was suddenly aware that all the young warriors were standing in a circle, looking down at her. She felt a wave of heat sweep across her face. Staggering to her feet she stumbled to the wagon and reached for a water skin. She could hear Kwal'kek barking some orders and the boys moved off to complete their evening assignments. She felt his hands gentle on her shoulders and he turned her around. He looked carefully into her eyes and his hard calloused hand touched the skin of her forehead. Then he reached down and firmly pressed on her stomach and then down lower over her bladder. Neekah stood still and passive under his hands. She could feel his worry and concern. She looked at him and smiled a shaky smile and patted his hands trying to communicate to him that she no longer felt sick. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Kwal'kek looked carefully at the girl that Jhardron had placed in his care. She had been laying still in the wagon for many miles. He had assumed she was sleeping. She had not woken when he called the wagons to a halt at the end of the day. He had gone to her, but she did not respond to his call. He had pulled her from the wagon, shaking her to wake her. She had opened her eyes and stood before him but there was no awareness in her eyes. She had opened her mouth to speak but the voice that came out from her lips was deep and hoarse, the language unfamiliar. Kwal'kek slapped her; desperate to free her from this waking dream she seemed trapped in. She woke suddenly and had gone limp in his hands. Her sickness was alarming. It was common for a ha'akh to die in the first days of their training. The terror of being taken captive would weaken their spirits. But this girl had not seemed unhappy or terrified. She had not even tried to run away, something nearly all ha'akh did in the first weeks of training. Jhardron would be very displeased if this ha'akh did not survive. He examined her carefully but she did not seem to have any symptoms other than possibly being a little weakened by thirst. He urged her to drink again. All evening she appeared tired and distracted, frequently stopping and looking toward the horizon to the north, tipping her head as if to listen. She would rub her eyes and blink. She had little appetite and ate only a few bites of the cold trail rations that were normal traveling food for the Bak. Kwal'kek regretted not being able to question the girl about what she was feeling. Once again they made a simple camp, sleeping on skins under the stars. He was careful to keep the ha'akh's bed near his, wanting to keep her close so he may observe her health. The girl was restless through the night, turning in her sleep. At one point she sat up and called out in the odd mud people language, but lay down and slept soundly after he had placed a hand on her arm and hushed her. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah was plagued by the sense of visions just outside the edge of her awareness all evening. She could almost hear words on the wind, words in a language she could not understand. She felt like she was trapped between worlds. The real world with Kwal'kek and the young warriors seemed distant and hazy, but she could not reach the other side. Sleep came quickly but brought no rest. Dreams crowded around her. Kharthmah loomed over her like a giant, his toothless mouth cackling, "Find your own magic, Demon." A small dark woman reached out and struck her, hissing in hatred. Suddenly all vanished and the dream of flying swept over her, only this time she could see around her. Dozens and then hundreds of horses surrounded her, racing across the grass. She could sense the pounding of her hooves as they beat against the ground. She realized she was one of the horses too. Suddenly she was outside of herself looking down and she marveled the sight of a perfectly white mare, racing at the head of an endless tide of galloping horses. Looking ahead she could see a figure standing alone in sea of grass. It was too far away to recognize but she knew it was Jhardron. She tried to call, to warn him that the horses were coming, but words would not come. As the herd of horses swept closer, the horror grew until she could not bear it. Screaming she ripped herself from sleep and called to the sky to make it stop. Half awake she felt a hand on her arm and Kwal'kek's familiar voice soothing her to sleep. The minimal camp made for a quick start in the morning. Neekah had little chance to listen to the wind. When Kwal'kek motioned for her to climb into the wagon she looked up at her place high atop the wagon and felt a strange reluctance. She took a step away from the wagon. "Walk please." She hoped she had the right words. Kwal'kek frowned and shrugged. He pointed at the boy leading the team and said, "Walk there." Neekah grinned and skipped up, happy to see Tim'kah was taking first turn at the horses' heads. "Greetings, Tim'kah." The young warrior returned her smile and responded, "Greetings ha'akh." The massive horse loomed next to her as she stood next to the young warrior. Neekah realized that this was the first time she had been so close to one of the horses of the Bak warriors. She looked up at the huge animal fearlessly and the massive draft horse returned her gaze. Neekah respectfully said, "Greetings Marmak." Then the horse lowered his head and pressed his nose against Neekah's shoulder and blew a long low breath against her and let out a soft rumbling nicker. Neekah slowly reached up a hand and touched the warm soft nose in a brief caress. Tim'kah spoke sharply and pushed the big horse's head away. Neekah sensed he was worried that the horse might hurt her but she wondered why. She knew that this horse was her friend. Walking in the tall grass was more difficult than Neekah had anticipated. The grass was knee high and hid many pits and hummocks that could trip her up if she did not keep a vigilant eye on the ground. The team moved along much faster than she had thought it would. She found the demands of walking helped keep her mind busy. She had no time to be distracted by the wind and the grass. Neekah soon found herself learning how to step high and long. Her eyes pulled toward the horizon of grass and the endless domed sky above her. The young warriors continued to play their horseback games through the morning. Every hour or so a new boy would take a turn leading the horses; and Neekah quickly learned their names. As the sun passed overhead and began to sink in the afternoon Neekah began to stumble and have trouble keeping up. Kwal'kek rode up beside her and pointed at the back of his horse. He said something new but she heard the word, "marmak". She nodded eagerly and held up her arms to him. He kicked his foot out of the stirrup and pointed at it. Neekah had seen the riders mount many times. She knew that he meant for her to put her foot there to help herself up. She mimicked what she remembered, grabbing the stirrup with one hand and holding it still, she put her left toe on the cross piece and reaching up she took his hand. He gave a quick jerk and she flew up to sit behind him. She squealed in excitement and wrapped her arms around him as he suddenly kicked the sturdy horse into a quick trot to catch up with the group. Kwal'kek caught up to Klektor and pulled his horse up to ride along side. The warrior glowered at her. Neekah cringed from the rage that seemed to emanate from him, turning her face away. His voice was cold as he made a comment to Kwal'kek. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Klektor watched as the fat old warrior dropped back and allowed the ha'akh to mount behind him. He felt his anger at the girl rise. It seemed the mere sight of her clouded his mind with rage. He knew that it wasn't reasonable to blame her for his error in leaving his post but her presence was a painful reminder of his failure. She was constantly in the way, always following Kwal'kek around like a puppy. When he had corrected her for getting in the way during the sword drills, she had cringed down to the ground and Kwal'kek's sarcastic remark about his 'seduction technique' in front of the boys had only added to his loathing. The final insult was when he had caught her sneaking away from camp, frolicking naked in the water, her nudity taunting him. He hated that he wanted her so much. His mind filled with the images of her under his hands, her venya tight on his jhambar. He had been among the first to share her. It would be long before he would have her again. "You spoil the ha'akh. A true warrior should not have a girl share his saddle. If she cannot keep up, put her in the wagon." Kwal'kek shrugged, "It is a good thing that I am just an old man. Jhardron put this girl in my care. Riding in the wagon made her sick. I will not risk her health. I would not want to bring a sick ha'akh to the gathering." Klektor grunted, "You make a fine auntie old man. I will ride ahead. The gathering is not far." Abruptly kicking his mount into a sudden canter he quickly left the group behind. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah was relieved when the angry man moved away. She had no idea why he hated her so much. Soon her attention was drawn back to the sensation of the strong horse moving between her legs. The warmth and strength of the animal under her was thrilling. She was beginning to understand the sense of joy and enthusiasm she felt as the young men vaulted onto the backs of their mounts. She wondered what it would be like to ride like they did, like they were one with the animal under them, to ride like the wind. They did not stop in the afternoon like the previous two days. Neekah could tell the young warriors were getting excited. Neekah was startled when they came to a crest of a tall hill and looked down on a broad valley with a lake in the center. The young warriors began to whoop and shrill war cries and kicked their horses into a furious gallop, charging toward the dozens of tents and fires that spread below them. More war cries rose up from the camp below. Neekah was startled. At first she thought that they were attacking but soon it was apparent that the rest of the Twisted Dagger was down there and that they were just putting on a show of a mock attack. There were many times more tents than at the last camp and she could see at least six wagons parked. Neekah had never seen so many people in one place. She strained to peek around Kwal'kek as they rode down. A rush of emotion startled Neekah as she saw Jhardron. She had not realized how much she missed this tall man. He walked up to the horse and reached up, taking her by the waist and lifted her down to the ground. "Greetings Jhardron". "No ha'akh, say 'Greetings Khan Jhardron." Kwal'kek's voice was gentle and firm. "Greetings Khan Jhardron." "Greetings ha'akh." Neekah was intensely aware of his eyes on her. She could feel his fascination. She felt her face heat and she turned her eyes to the ground. She was unnerved by how her heart was racing in her chest. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> He had not been aware of what he was looking for as he looked over the wagons and riders but when he spied the girl peaking around from behind Kwal'kek he knew he had been looking for her. He moved to the horse she was on, telling himself he needed to talk with Kwal'kek about the placement of the camp. He helped her dismount and stood gazing down at her. She looked different; already he could see that she was gaining weight, her gaunt cheeks seemed smoother, her arms rounder. Jhardron realized that he had been standing gawking at this girl for many seconds. He tore his eyes from her. He nodded at Kwal'kek as he dismounted. "You made good time. Were there any problems on the trip?" Demon Child Ch. 04 "It was an easy trip. It is good to be back with the regiment. Where are we to make camp?" "We are last to arrive so we are furthest down the edge of the lake. The horse herds are being kept on the far side of the lake." Kwal'kek nodded and barked orders at the young warriors and the wagons moved out toward the end of the encampment. Kwal'kek reached up and pulled a length of rope from his saddle bag. He gently tied a loose circle around Neekah's neck, the loop big enough to fit easily over her head and then tied the end to his belt. Jhardron watched as the girl froze and put her hand up to the rope. A look of confusion and rebellion flashed across her face. He knew that Kwal'kek was being careful to communicate her ownership by the Twisted Dagger. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah was shocked when Kwal'kek tied the rope around her neck. She wasn't going to run away. In fact she was keenly aware of feeling very shy of all these strangers. She had no intention of straying from his side. The loop around her neck was loose. Obviously the rope was not a restraint as much as a message for her to stay close. He coiled the extra length up and handed it to her to carry so it would not drag on the ground. Kwal'kek did not pull on the rope, he simple said for her to follow and turned to follow the wagons. Neekah noticed that her muscles were stiff from riding the horse and appreciated the chance to stretch her legs. Neekah was keenly aware of the eyes of the strangers on her as she walked through the busy camp. She nervously kept her eyes turned down, staring at Kwal'kek's heels. She heard him greet many people as he moved along. At one point he stopped and vigorously pounded on the shoulder of another old warrior, roaring in laughter as they joked between themselves. She was relieved when no one spoke to her and Kwal'kek seemed to ignore her presence. She relaxed and began to look around a little as they moved through the camp. "Demon!" The Ramaldi word rang sharp. Neekah froze; her shoulders came up tight around her ears. The coils of rope fell from her hand. A small Ramaldi woman stood in front of her, her hand raised, an accusing finger pointing at Neekah's face. Once more she screeched, "Demon!" )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Kwal'kek felt the rope tighten as he continued to walk. He turned and saw Neekah staring at the little woman pointing at her. He tugged on the rope and called for her to follow. She jumped and hurried to catch up to him. The little dark woman sped after them and said to him, "She is a demon. Beware a demon will bring evil down on you." Kwal'kek reached down and took the woman's arm. She was branded with the mark of the Broken Spear regiment. "What do you know of demons." "This girl was the demon pet of the witch Kharthmah. She is the bastard of a demon and a whore from the grasslands. She brought evil luck to that village." Kwal'kek had had enough of the evil screeches of this woman. "Ha'akh of the Broken Spear, go back to your duties. This girl is Twisted Dagger. We will make our own luck." He walked away, aware of how his ha'akh's back was straight and proud as she marched behind him. The boys had all the tents up and most of the supplies moved into Kwal'kek's tent when they arrived. Several fires were already burning and meat was roasting. Several warriors called out greetings as they entered into the camp. Neekah smiled, happy to see familiar faces. Kwal'kek removed the rope from her neck and pointed at the place in front of his tent. "Stay here." Neekah looked uncomfortable. "Stent Ekh?" Kwal'kek nodded and called to one of the young warriors. He handed the rope to her and motioned for her to put the rope around her neck. He handed the end of the rope to the boy. "Take her to the latrines. Don't leave her alone." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah followed the boy to the trenches. There were several people there and she felt self conscious. She could feel their curious stares. She hurried to finish. She practically ran back to the camp, the boy hurrying along behind her. She moved to her place and removed the rope around her neck. Her stomach growled with hunger. The rations on the trip had been plentiful but were cold and bland. The roasting meat and stews smelled delicious. Neekah looked around the camp. She watched as one warrior was carefully shaving the sides of the scalp of another warrior. Then they exchanged places and the newly shaved warrior returned the favor. They carefully rubbed a thick liquid into the crest of hair running down the centers of their heads, making the hair stand up stiff and shiny. One clipped a golden arching comb along of the crest of his hair. Neekah notice most of the warriors were doing something to enhance their appearance; putting on clean garments, shaving, polishing their weapons, oiling their skins. She looked down at herself. Her shift was dusty and had a few stains. Her hands and feet were dirty. She turned to Kwal'kek who was moving some things around his tent, talking to himself in grumbling tones. She approached him and asked, "Bath please," pointing toward the lake. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> He looked up frowning at being interrupted. He could see she was looking at her dress, scraping at a stain with a fingernail. He sighed, thinking girls can be as vain as young warriors. He dug through a box and held up a dress, not just a simple shift but a pretty cascade of patterned greens and yellows, with a complex yellow sash stitched in a crossing pattern across the bodice. She gasped audibly at the sight of the pretty fabric. He held it up to measure it against her frame. It would be short on her, reaching only to her knees but seemed like it would fit around her. He laid it carefully down and said, "Yes, bath now." He stopped and picked up the rope and handed it to her, she nodded and dropped the loop over her head and followed him as he led her to the water. He removed her rope and showed her how to pick a handful of the coarse reeds growing along the edge to scrub with. She carefully pulled off her shift and waded out into the water. The bottom of the lake was soft and muddy. Kwal'kek pulled off his tunic and loin cloth and joined her in the water. There were several other warriors from the Twisted Dagger bathing in the water as well as some others from other regiments. Kwal'kek heard them commenting to each other about her strange appearance. One of the warriors said that he had heard she was a demon. One of the Twisted Dagger warriors responded sharply that she was ha'akh of the Twisted Dagger and he expected that the Broken Spear warrior should be more careful about making such insulting comments. Kwal'kek was becoming increasingly disturbed by this talk of demons. He did not believe much in demons and this girl had not done anything to cause him to think she was evil or bad luck. His thoughts drifted back to her odd behavior when she went into some kind of a trance in the wagon, her voice had not been her own when she spoke. He shuddered and made a sign against evil. He decided he should talk to Jhardron about this. The ha'akh seemed very aware of the eyes of the strangers on her as she walked from the water. She quickly pulled on her shift, covered her head and pulled the loop of rope over her neck. She fidgeted as he pulled on his clothes. Kwal'kek wasn't sure if she was nervous around strangers or excited to get back to the pretty dress. He laughed as she grabbed his hand and dragged him to the tent, her eyes big and round as she looked at the pretty garment. He picked it up and handed it to her. She squealed with delight and quickly stripped off the old shift and slipped the new dress over her head. It fit smoothly along her frame, the cross tied bodice emphasized her small breasts; the skirt clung to her hips and legs. She started to wrap the blue cloth back around her head but then stopped. She had a thoughtful look in her eye. She reached up and touched the shaved part of his head and then ran her hand over her head. She made a shaving motion along her scalp. Kwal'kek laughed and shook his head, "No, girls cannot have the crest of a warrior." She sighed and tied the cloth around her head. She carefully picked up her old shift and folded it and placed it back in her sleeping area. Kwal'kek watched the reactions of the warriors as Neekah came out and took her usual seat on the mat next to his chair. Several of the warriors stopped and stood still, their eyes measuring. Many of the warriors were eating and Kwal'kek directed her to get him some food. She brought him a bowl of steamed grains and a piece of meat. She helped herself to a similar meal and came back to join him. She ate carefully, neatly spooning up the grains to avoid spilling anything on her new dress, taking small bites of the meat. She carefully washed her hands in a small amount of water as she rinsed their bowls. Kwal'kek stood and approached Jhardron. "Khan, I would speak to you about the ha'akh." Jhardron looked up from his meal and nodded. "Sit" "Twice now people from the Broken Spear regiment have made statements about our ha'akh. They have said she is a demon. They have a ha'akh from the same tribe and that woman has said that this girl is a demon. She named her and accused her of being bad luck." Jhardron looked at the girl across the camp. She was seated quietly but he could tell her eyes were on him. "I know little of demons but I know a wild color mare can bring luck to a herd. This wild color girl will bring good luck to the Twisted Dagger." Jhardron stood and spoke to the camp. "The Broken Spear say that this girl is a demon. What say you warriors of the Twisted Dagger, you have all lain with this ha'akh. Is it a venya of a demon or a human woman?" The warriors all roared with laughter. Harnum spoke up. "Khan I have fucked a lot of women and not a few I thought were demons. This girl is no demon. I have had her twice and I walked away thinking she was a gift sent by the goddess. If this girl be a demon I would beg my Khan to find ten more like her so that I would not have to wait so long to dip my jhombar in that little piece of heaven again." Jhardron was surprised to see Tim'kah stand up. First years usually keep a low profile. "She works hard. She is nice." Not a few warriors jeered, one even calling out, "Tim'kah, are you in love? You will have to wait a long time to feel her legs around you." Jhardron spoke up, "Well said, Tim'kah. You are a hard worker. I appreciate your opinion. Warriors of the Twisted Dagger are we going to let the Broken Spear speak evil of our ha'akh?" "No!" They roared in unison. Several drew their swords held them in the air. "I remind you that any fighting outside the games and formal challenges are strictly against the rules. Do not dishonor the name of the Twisted Dagger." "Let the five who are next to lie with this girl come forward." Five warriors stood and stepped forward. "This ha'akh is blessed by the goddess. Her cries of panshasham ring loud as a mare's whinny seeking her stallion. I want you to serenade the Broken Spear with her calls to the goddess." Laughter roared across the camp again. Jhardron called to the girl. "Ha'akh, come here." She stood and walked across the camp. He could see a definite sway to her hips as she approached. He took her hand and placed it in the hand of the most senior officer. Her eyes flashed from his face to the man who held her hand. She nodded and smiled a soft smile, her eyes bright with excitement. He picked her up and carried her from the camp. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah had watched as Jhardron had spoken to the camp. She did not understand a lot of what he said but she could tell he was talking about her. She could feel the eyes of the warriors of the camp on her. She could sense their approval. When he called up the warriors she heard him clearly use the word 'panshasham'. She knew that he was speaking of her and the ecstasy she felt when she lay with the warriors. A rush of excitement made her heart race. When Jhardron called to her she knew that she was being called to lay with the five warriors standing in the center of the camp. She could feel their lust and a heat of her own rose to meet it. Already she craved to have their hands on her. As the warrior carried her she leaned close and inhaled deeply the rich smell of his skin. She gave in to an impulse and gently bit his neck, reveling in the shudder she felt course through his frame. When he put her down they were on the hill overlooking the camp, she could see the fires and people moving below. She looked up into the faces of the men around her and pulled her dress off and carefully folded it. She wrapped it carefully in the blue head cloth. Carefully placing the small bundle on one side of the sleeping skins the warriors had spread in the grass. She stood nude and proud. The warriors closed around her. She sighed and leaned back against the chest of the one behind her. She gave herself to their hands, letting them lower her down to the skins. She shuddered and squealed in pleasure as they slowly explored her body, their hands and mouths touching, probing, their teeth sending small shocks of sensation though her. One warrior seemed to be obsessed with her venya. Kneeling between her legs, he lifted her hips to his face. His fingers probing deeply, his breath hot on her flesh as he nibbled and sucked endlessly on the scarlet lips of her opening. She squealed and moaned, her hips twisting and jerking. She began to wail as he gently bit into the soft petals of her venya and pulled in a long soft tug, stretching her tender flesh. Neekah arched and opened herself as these new sensations tore through her sanity. She began to plead softly, "Please, Please, Please." Releasing her he moved up and entered her with his jhombar, his hands gripping her hips and pulling her tight against the very root of his manhood. Neekah let out a loud keening call as she began to convulse in panshasham, her hips lunging and surging to meet his thrusts. Her mind echoing with the growing lust of the warriors she surrendered to the waves of sensation cascading over her. Each warrior pushed her to higher planes of ecstasy. Her cries rang loud out over the grass and the camps below. Neekah gradually became aware of the men around her. She was cuddled to the chest of one of the warriors, his arms around her warm and safe. She sighed and turned her head and stiffened as she noticed large number of men standing in a circle around her and the warrior that held her. These were not the warriors that had come up the hill with her. They were not Twisted Dagger. They were making loud comments and laughing raucously. One or two even had their jhombars out and in their hands, shaking them in some sort of taunting gesture. At first she was afraid that these men were here to use her and somehow she did not want them. They seemed threatening and strange to her. A Twisted Dagger warrior laughed and pointed at one of the men's exposed jhombars and made some disparaging comment. The Twisted Dagger warriors stood and made a safe circle around her. Together they walked to the lake and helped her wash. She pulled her dress over her head. As she entered into the camp, all the warriors of the Twisted Dagger stood up and shrilled a long triumphant war cry. They laughed and slapped the five warriors in rowdy congratulations. Harnum stepped in front of her and bowed low. She grinned from ear to ear, and began to laugh along with the warriors. Neekah wasn't sure why they were so happy with her. But she knew she was one of them. The five warriors that lay with her that night gave her a simple gift of two small amber beads. She strung them proudly on her necklace, one on each side of the carved agate in the center. Neekah did not wear her new dress to sleep in. She changed into her shift, carefully folding the dress and wrapping it in the blue scarf. She ran her fingers over the necklace around her neck and then touched the half healed burn on her arm. For the first time in her life she felt wanted and valued. She was Twisted Dagger. Thank you for taking the time to read my story. This story I one I have been working on for a while. It contains many words from the language of the Bak culture that I have created. The meaning of most of these words is easily inferred from their context. A ha'akh is the lowest rank of female slave assigned to serve a regiment of warriors. Tet is come, Ha is yes, Abak is no, venya is a woman's sexual organ, jhambar is a man's. Please do me the kindness of rating and leaving me feedback. Constructive and/or critical, public or private, raving or troll; I love to hear from you. To those who leave anonymous feedback, I regret I cannot respond to you individually. Please accept my appreciation in advance. xantu Demon Child Ch. 05 Chapter 5: Neekah finds her magic. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah woke early in the morning. Kwal'kek still snored loudly in his blankets. She pulled on her new dress and wrapped the scarf around her head. Few warriors were up and about. Tim'kah was hauling water from the lake. She reached for the rope and asked him to take her to the latrines. He looked around and nodded. Neekah quickly emptied her bladder and they were walking back when a large warrior approached them. He blocked their way and made a low comment to Tim'kah and tried to move past him, his eyes on her. The young warrior stood tall and refused to move aside. Tim'kah said something she did not quite catch but she heard 'Bak Tai Twisted Dagger'. The warrior snorted and moved toward him, his hand raised. Tim'kah stood ready and as the big warrior reached toward him, he dodged quickly under the outstretched arm. In a move almost blindingly fast, he hooked his foot under the big warriors foot and shoved him hard, making him stagger and lose his balance. "Run!" Neekah did not need any encouragement. They flew down the path toward their encampment. Neekah could hear a shout of anger and then heavy feet pounding close behind. She shrieked when she felt a heavy hand grasp the rope around her neck. The pull of the rope made her feet fly out from under her and she fell hard. For the first time in years she found herself fighting in blind panic as a heavy hand reached for her. She found herself struggling as the far larger man lifted her to her feet and pulled her head covering off and stared curiously at her hair. Neekah twisted and struggled to escape from his hand clenched like steel around her arm. Suddenly Tim'kah was there. He launched himself at the warrior almost half again bigger than he was, shrilling a long war cry as he came to her defense. The larger warrior had difficulty defending himself from the faster youngster and holding the twisting thrashing woman at the same time. He seemed a bit nervous, like he had gotten into something he wished he hadn't. He did the best he could to block the blows that Tim'kah repeatedly struck at him, and held Neekah out at arm's length to avoid the worst of her flailing arms and legs. Suddenly all was still. Jhardron's voice was sharp calling all movement to a halt. Tim'kah stepped back instantly, his chest heaving. The warrior released Neekah's arm and she fled to stand behind Jhardron. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Jhardron had been just coming from his tent when he heard the shrill war cry of the Twisted Dagger. Early in the morning he was puzzled, no games should have started yet. Striding to the edge of camp he spied the little group. A large warrior held the ha'akh as she squealed and struggled to get free. Tim'kah was circling and feinting trying to find an opening to strike, as the larger man tried to block his blows. "Halt!" Jhardron was pleased to see Tim'kah instantly stand down. The large warrior released his grip on the struggling girl and she scurried to hide behind him. Jhardron turned to the girl and looked at her quickly. She stood trembling, tears on her face. He pointed at the camp, "Go to Kwal'kek." She nodded and dashed off. Jhardron looked over the warrior. He had the mark of the Broken Spear on his arm. "I cannot help but wonder why a warrior of the Broken Spear would be trifling with a ha'akh of the Twisted Dagger." "This pup attacked me. It is against the rules of the gathering to fight." "He is young. His orders were to protect the girl. His inexperience led him to make a poor choice. He will be punished for his error. It is also against the rules to assault a ha'akh of another regiment." "I was not assaulting her. I just wanted to look at her. I wanted to see the demon's hair. They said it was red as fire." Jhardron felt a wave of irritation. "Go back to your Khan. It would be wise to speak to him of your actions. I do not want to be troubled with going over this with him when I speak to him." Jhardron turned on his heel and walked back to camp. Tim'kah hastily picked up the square of blue cloth that lay discarded in the grass and hurried after him. Once in the camp Jhardron turned to the boy. "It is forbidden to fight in a gathering." "Yes sir." "Tell me what happened to lead you to make such an error." "He told me to get out of the way. He said he wanted to see the demon close up, really close up. I didn't like the way he was looking at the ha'akh. We ran to get back to the camp but he caught her. When she screamed I thought he was hurting her. I called for help and tried to distract him until someone came. I was wrong to strike at him." The young warrior stood proud and ready to accept his Khan's judgment. "You were correct to go to her defense. The warrior was wrong to touch her. Still, any fighting at a gathering is a serious offense and I cannot ignore your actions. For this gathering you will not participate in any games. You may watch the competitions from the sidelines." Jhardron saw his words sink in and the dismay in the boy's eyes. To be barred from competing was harsh. There would not be another gathering for many months. Tim'kah nodded and turned away, carrying the blue cloth to where the ha'akh sat in front of Kwal'kek's tent. Jhardron carefully donned his finest armor and took out his scimitars. He sharpened them carefully. He did not expect this to go so far as a formal challenge but he knew he should be prepared. He called for Jhu'kresh to join him as second in command. He strode into the Broken Spear camp and approached their Khan. He greeted him formally, "Drantham Khan Bak Tai Broken Spear." The heavily scarred older man stood, "Jhardron Khan Bak Tai Twisted Dagger." Jhardron sized up this man. He had heard many good things about his leadership of the Broken Spear. He was a veteran that had worked his way up the ranks. "We have the beginning of a rift between our regiments. I would regret losing so many friends. This is a small thing best dealt with now." "My warrior informed me about his rudeness to your ha'akh. He will be busy tending the latrine pits for the duration of the gathering. I must apologize on his behalf." "Apology accepted. The boy was impetuous. He has the impulsiveness of youth. He will watch the games from the sidelines to allow him time to contemplate the rules of the gathering." The older Khan nodded. "A boy will suffer greatly watching his friends as they compete. Perhaps you have been harsh. Defending a ha'akh is the duty of a warrior." "I expect my warriors to follow my orders. I had cautioned them to refrain from fighting. Let's set that aside. This talk about the ha'akh of my camp is disturbing. To accuse someone of being a demon could be interpreted as an insult. The warriors of the Twisted Dagger are proud of their ha'akh. She sings sweetly as she gives them the blessing of the goddess. Their loyalty could lead them to make poor choices." The older warrior's eyes sparkled with humor. "Yes she does sing sweetly. Her songs called to many around the lake last night." "I would speak with this ha'akh of your camp that names this girl a demon." The Broken Spear Khan spoke to another warrior and shortly a small dark mud person girl was cowering at his feet. Jhardron spoke sharply. "Ha'akh Bak Tai Broken Spear, I would speak with you regarding your words, naming the girl of my camp demon." "She is a demon. I was a child in her village before I married. She lived with the witch doctor. He conjured her from the belly of a grass lands woman. She is evil. She had great magic to bring curses down on the heads of those around her. She killed her mother. She killed Kharthmah the witch doctor. She probably brought the doom of your warriors down on her village." Jhardron frowned. He did not believe this ranting little mud woman and her stories of magic. He had fought many people. He had heard tales of powers but never seen anything that could beat cold steel. "You speak the language of the mud people. This girl you call a demon is new to the Bak Tai and knows little of our language. I would have you translate for me as I ask her about these supposed magic powers." Jhardron negotiated to bring the little mud woman with him back to his camp. Drantham nodded and said, "I agree that this is a small thing. A squabble among women should not cause conflict between the Broken Spear and the Twisted Dagger. Take this woman; let your warriors use her if you wish. She is nothing." Jhardron moved back toward the Twisted Dagger, the little woman trotting behind him. He moved to the front of Kwal'kek's tent and sat down on the box the old man used as a chair. He called to the wild color girl and pointed to the skin she used as her place to sit. "Come sit." "You are not here to accuse this girl. I am not interested in what you say she did to mud people. You will translate my questions and tell me her answers. If I feel you lie or fail to follow my instructions I will see that your Khan makes you suffer." The little woman flinched and cowered. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah was nervous. This was the woman that called her demon. She watched as Jhardron spoke to her at length, catching words here and there. The woman turned and spoke to her. "I am ha'akh Bak Tai Broken Spear, once named Madi. I remember you from the village of Kharthmah. Your Khan wishes me to ask you some questions in this language of the mud people and translate into the warrior talk." Neekah nodded. "I do not remember you." "I left when I was young. I was betrothed as a child to a village far down the river valleys." Jhardron spoke sharply and the little woman spoke quickly back, cringing in fear. "He wants to know why you look different than the people of the Ramaldi, he calls us mud people." "Kharthmah said I was a demon. He said I am the daughter of a demon that came to the grasslands." Neekah told the story of her mother Sa'amdi. She recited word for word the tale of the demon forcing his seed into her mother's womb and then killing all the men of the village. She told how Sa'amdi had tricked the demon with magic herbs. She spoke of the demons slow death at the hands of the women. The little woman spoke her words to Jhardron. Jhardron listened carefully. "That is a tale to be told around a campfire at night." The little woman repeated this back to Neekah. "Ask her if she has magic powers." "He wants to know if you have magic powers." Neekah looked confused. "Kharthmah said I did but I never knew what he spoke about. When the young men of the village would hurt me I would try to curse them but they never stopped hurting me. The only thing that ever came true was when I wished that the raiders would come and kill them all." "Did you kill your mother or the old witch doctor?" "Oh no, my mother just went away. I think she hated me. The old witch doctor just didn't wake up one day. I was sad when he died. When he was gone I was alone." "Will you use magic against the Bak Tai?" "I am ha'akh Bak Tai Twisted Dagger." Neekah spoke this in the Bak language. She held her arm up and displayed the brand on her arm, her eyes blazed with pride. Jhardron looked at her, his eyes approving. He sent the little mud person ha'akh back to the Broken Spear untouched. If he had let his warriors use this ha'akh, it would have obligated him to share this wild colored girl with the Broken Spear warriors. Jhardron was not inclined to make such a gesture. He told himself that she was too new in her training. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah stood close to Kwal'kek, holding the extra loops of the rope that tied her to his belt in her hand. She stood tall and proud her short red hair gleaming in the sun. Jhardron had told her to leave her head uncovered. Neekah still basked in his words as the ha'akh Bak Tai Broken Spear had translated them. "The Twisted Dagger is lucky to have a demon for a ha'akh. Her wild color is fair to look upon. If the Broken Spear warriors want to look upon our demon, let them." Neekah stood close to Kwal'kek. They were standing watching as two very large warriors battled furiously in the center of a circle defined by a rope lying on the grass. They were nude and unarmed, it seemed like they were striving to push each other out of the circle. Beyond that there were no rules that Neekah could determine. They fought with a deliberate violence that seemed to infect the minds of the mob of men watching. It was very confusing for Neekah. It was crowded and deafening with the shrill war calls and shouts of the spectators. Her mind pummeled by the emotions of those around her. Over and over she shied back nervously as she was jostled by someone in the crowd. Tim'kah stood close to her but his eyes were glued on the spectacle of the battle. Neekah could not see any other ha'akh. She wondered why she was brought along instead of being left in camp. Her attention was drawn back to the warriors in the circle when a roar rose up from audience. One of the warriors had pushed the other close to the rope and seemed about to win. At the last minute, the one closest to the rope appeared to weaken, he grinned and laughed and seemed to falter. But just as he fell, he lunged low and grabbed the other, and using his opponent's momentum, lifted and tossed the him over his head and out into the crowd. The mob of warriors around the circle converged on the victor and lifted him to their shoulders, chanting and yelling. Neekah noticed that one of the warriors lifting him was the loser. All feelings of violence were gone. She watched as several warriors approached Kwal'kek and handed him coins. They laughed and blustered as they did it, but Neekah could tell they were angry to have lost this wager. Kwal'kek had a satisfied look on his face as he dropped the coins into a bag and tied it to his loin cloth. "Ha'akh tet." He strode off with Neekah trotting obediently behind him. She could hear him speaking with Tim'kah as they left the crowd. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Kwal'kek was swaggering with confidence. "Always bet on the smarter man, Tim'kah. Wits are what win the battle in the end." Kwal'kek was very satisfied with his winnings. He had seen that Ghost Rider warrior fight in the ring before, a fighter filled with tricks and devious moves, he had repeatedly triumphed over larger foes. He was irritated that he had to drag the ha'akh around with him as he watched the games. Ha'akh were expected to stay in the camp. He knew this was to display their new exotic pet to the other clans, to allay their curiosity and to demonstrate that the Twisted Dagger were proud of her differences rather than frightened by them. But to have a puppy on a leash was interfering with his gambling. "If we hurry we will be able to watch the last half of the archery. Harnum is the best archer here at the gathering; if the gods smile I will win again." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The watchers at the archery competition were much more spread out and it seemed that they spoke more softly. Neekah was very aware of the tension of all the watchers. She recognized several Twisted Dagger warriors lined up with their bows; Harnum was with them and he was speaking softly and rapidly to them. She also recognized Klektor carefully stretching his bow, warming and preparing his arms. He had a very determined look on his face. The archery competition went much like the one she had watched on her first day with the Twisted Dagger. Every warrior had one chance to hit the target. If they missed they left the field. The target was a long distance away; Neekah wondered that any could strike such a tiny target. On this round almost half of the archers were eliminated. Two of the Twisted Dagger warriors left the field leaving Harnum, Klektor, and one other, the only regiment members still on the field. The Twisted Dagger warriors that left the field joined Kwal'kek's small group. They clasped hands with Kwal'kek and then turned to watch. Neekah turned as she heard a horse gallop up. Turning she saw Jhardron seated high on his tall black stallion. He was elaborately decorated with a shining black leather breast plate, bracers, and grieves. All were heavily gilded. The stallion reared and danced as he was brought to a stop. Tim'kah stepped up and took hold of the bridle. Jhardron jumped down and joined the group, his eyes locked on the archers. The target was moved another two paces away. Neekah could feel the tension building in the spectators. When Harnum's and then Klektor's arrows struck true Neekah could hear the release of the held breaths of those around her. The last Twisted Dagger warrior missed, as did most of the other archers. Only five competitors stood on the field and two were from her camp. Neekah felt a rush of excitement. Again the target was moved back. As Klektor stepped up, Neekah felt herself vibrating with tension, willing the air to be still, praying that the arrow would fly straight. He turned and saluted the group of Twisted Dagger warriors and slowly pulled back the string of his bow. When he hit the target Neekah squealed in excitement. Kwal'kek softly put his fingers to her lips. "Silence, ha'akh, Harnum shoots next." Neekah put her hand to her lips and nodded her eyes shining with excitement. Harnum slapped Klektor on the shoulder, clearly proud of his success. "Well done. Now watch a master." He stepped up and almost casually put an arrow in the center of the target. All the Twisted Dagger warriors nodded and murmured in excitement. Only one of the other three archers managed to hit the target. Only three were left. Again the target was moved back. Neekah was startled when Harnum walked off the field and approached the group of Twisted Dagger warriors. He held up two arrows. "Let our little demon touch these arrows. She is lucky." Kwal'kek pushed her forward, "Touch the arrows ha'akh." Neekah reached out her hands and gently touched each one in turn. The warriors muttered and made gestures at the sky. As Harnum returned to the field he handed one of the arrows to Klektor, "Shoot straight, if we both win, we will bring great honor to the Twisted Dagger." Again Klektor saluted his Khan and aimed carefully. Neekah kept her hands sealed over her mouth as she practically danced in her nervous tension. Again he hit center. The emotions of the men around her were a storm in her mind, their lips were silent but their inner screams of celebration shook her like a wind shakes the grass. Harnum laughed in delight and stepped up, again he did not aim, and he just turned and shot like the target was just steps away. He did not even look to see if he had struck true. He knew. The Twisted Dagger warriors went mad, silently pounding each other on the back. Neekah staggered back almost overwhelmed by the intensity of the emotions swirling around her. The third archer stepped up and raised his eyes to the sky. Neekah suddenly was aware that there was another group of spectators across the field that was watching him with equal pent up excitement. He looked to them and saluted. He looked at the distant target and Neekah could see him force himself to relax and focus. He pulled and aimed. His arrow was so close the center that at first the whole field was still. An old warrior approached and peered at the target and stood shaking his head, signaling a miss. The field erupted in a roar. The Twisted Dagger warriors converged on Harnum and Klektor, pounding on their backs lifting them to their shoulders. Neekah found herself being dragged forward by the rope on her neck, her mind confused and dizzy with the chaos of emotion. She stumbled along trying to keep her balance, when she felt a strong hand on her arm steadying her and plucking the rope from over her head. Jhardron pulled her back out of the mob of excited warriors. He stepped back to where Tim'kah held the bridle of the stallion and took hold of the horse. "Go boy. Join them. It is time to celebrate." Demon Child Ch. 05 Tim'kah grinned and charged toward the group of riotous warriors. Neekah stood with Jhardron as he watched his men celebrate their victory. Neekah sensed a change in his feelings and turned toward him. He was standing up more stiffly, his eyes on a group of approaching warriors. A heavily decorated warrior walked at the head of the delegation. A first year walked at the rear leading a tall red stallion that pranced and cavorted with spirit, repeatedly almost dragging the boy off his feet. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Jhardron watched as the Broken Spear Khan approached. The older veteran warrior stopped before him. "Jhardron Khan Bak Tai Twisted Dagger." "Drantham Khan Bak Tai Broken Spear." Jhardron returned the formal greeting. "Your archers are the pride of the Bak Tai." "I have the finest archery master in the Bak Tai. His skills in training my warriors are unmatched." "It would seem that one of his pupils may soon surpass him in skill." "It is the way of the warrior to pass on his skill and to be bettered by those he teaches. There is no greater honor than to be defeated by your student. It is a tribute to your duty; a well trained warrior is finer than a son." "Well said. And I have a wager with you to pay." Drantham raised his hand and the young warrior led up the red stallion. "He is a beauty. His spirit is strong. He will carry a warrior to victory." "He requires a firm hand. His spirit may be strong but it is also rebellious. But he flies across the grass like an arrow from a bow." Jhardron turned to the Twisted Dagger warriors that had gathered watching the exchange. Harnum and Klektor stood at the front swelled with pride at bringing such honor to their regiment. Jhardron addressed his men. "It is rare that we have two winners." It was tradition that if two or more warriors from the same regiment were last in the elimination that they would not compete against the other. The competitions at the gathering were between regiments not among individuals. "You both have brought great honor to the Twisted Dagger. The Twisted Dagger archers are legend among the Bak Tai. You have enhanced that legend." "And through your fine victory I have won a fine prize. I had intended on giving this prize to the victor, but now I have a dilemma. It seems I will be walking back to camp today." Jhardron handed the reins of both the stallions to each of the winners. The warriors all erupted in shrill ululating war cries. The red stallion fought the reins in Klektor's hands and reared dragging the warrior along the ground as the rest of the men spread out. Harnum mounted the black and laughed. "That one will need a strong hand Klektor. Let's see if you ride as well as you shoot." Harnum pulled out his bow and kicking the better trained black stallion into a gallop, he raced past the target and fired three arrows in fast succession each striking the target. Klektor got the big red stallion under control and was immediately in the saddle. The horse was off like a shot. He flew over the field with a speed and beauty that took Neekah's breath away. Klektor pulled out his bow and urging the stallion to even greater speed, fired four arrows in quick succession, all of them landing among Harnum's. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Kwal'kek dropped the rope around Neekah's neck. "Let's go back to camp and eat something, before the race this afternoon." Neekah had to struggle to keep up with the old man. Her head throbbed with a dull ache and her thinking was dull and foggy. Her feet stumbled over and over. Finally Kwal'kek stopped and looked at her with a mixture of irritation and concern. "Ha'akh step up." Neekah nodded and rubbed her eyes, swaying on her feet. Kwal'kek looked closely at her face and asked carefully, "Ha'akh are you sick?" Neekah tried to find the words, "Too much warriors, too much noises in head, head hurt, head tired." Kwal'kek looked at her puzzled and shrugged. He slowed his pace and walked beside her his eyes watching her carefully. Harnum and Klektor were already back at camp. Klektor was standing next to the tall red stallion talking with a small group of animated warriors. Neekah could see him reenacting the archery competition. Then he looked over the heads of the warriors and their eyes met. Neekah looked down and away, frightened of this warrior who was always angry at her. She tried to busy herself with stirring a pot of boiling grain near Kwal'kek's tent but she could still feel his eyes on her. It seemed like the camp got quiet and she looked up and found him standing before her. She did not sense the rage from him, he seemed confused. "Ha'akh, I thank you for your luck. I have named the stallion Demon." He turned on his heel and walked back to the stallion, vaulted onto his back. The tall horse fought the bit, reared and was gone in a thunder of hooves. Neekah stood frozen. She had not understood everything that Klektor had said, but she knew he had thanked her and she sensed a softening in his attitude toward her. The feelings of fatigue and disorientation she had brought away from the archery contest were completely gone after she had eaten. Kwal'kek looked at her closely. "Sick?" "No sick." Neekah wondered why he did not understand that it was the crowd and the excitement that disturbed her thinking. All her life she had sensed emotions of those close to her and, to some extent, she was also aware of the physical sensations of others if she was touching them. To Neekah it was normal; she thought everyone could do the same. She looked at him and tried to say it again. "Not sick, too much noises in head." She put her hands up to her head and banged her hands on the top several times. The old man looked at her and looked concerned. Neekah shrugged and giggled. She sensed he did not understand and could also tell he was beginning to get worried. Kwal'kek looked at her. "Talking noises?" "Not talking noise, happy noise." Kwal'kek looked at her and shook his head. "Ha'akh it is time for the horse races and this is crazy talk." He had never heard of anything like this and wondered if it was part of her being a demon. He made another gesture to ward against evil and then shook himself. This woman was not evil, that was one thing he knew was true. He handed her the rope and marched off. "Ha'akh hurry. I have many bets to place before the races start. If Klektor can tame that new Demon horse of his, we will make some money today." A large number of spectators were arranging themselves along the start line. It seemed every warrior at the gathering had come to the races. Dozens of warriors on spirited horses were milling at one end of the field. Kwal'kek left her with Tim'kah and several of the older Twisted Dagger warriors that were gathered. He pulled out his coin pouch and swaggered over to another group. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah looked about at the huge group of warriors. She could even see some women, some ha'akh, carefully tethered to a warrior's belt. Her mind was buzzed with anticipation. Everyone was strung tight with pent up excitement. Neekah struggled to close her mind to the emotions swirling around her. A crash of hooves shook the ground and she turned to see the tall red stallion carrying Klektor plunge to stop near their group. He vaulted to the ground and without a word he had her wrist in his hand. "Ha'akh, demon, lay your hands on my Demon horse. Give us your luck." He pulled her to the side of the prancing horse. Neekah looked up at him and cautiously reached up to touch the horse that was rearing and trying to fight free from the reins holding it back. The instant her hand touched his neck the horse stilled, standing perfectly still, all its muscles trembling. He turned his head, touched her face with his nose, and snuffled loudly, his breath warm and sweet. "Fly Demon horse." Neekah breathed the words back into the nostrils of the tall stallion whose color so matched her own. The Twisted Dagger warriors watched and muttered. This was clearly magic. Klektor vaulted onto the suddenly more manageable stallion, looking down at her with an awed look on his face. He raised his fist in salute, "Victory to the Twisted Dagger." All the warriors roared back, "Victory." The stallion reared and Klektor urged him toward the mass of assembling competitors. Neekah felt a hand on her. Jhardron was there, his face close to hers, "What magic did you do, demon?" Neekah looked at him, her head ringing with the shouts of the group. For the briefest instant as she had touched the big horse all the sounds in her head had silenced and she had seen the world through the eyes of the animal under her hand. The horse and she had been one. She felt its wildness, its fear, its desperate need to run and be far away from the noise and chaos of the race ground. She had spoken, no not spoken, but shared, "Soon, soon you will fly away. Trust the one on your back to set you free to run." Neekah looked at the face of Jhardron and tried to put into words an experience that had no words. At that moment a horn blared, and the ground shook with the roar of pounding hooves. Every person on the race grounds began to scream. Her mind spun and she reeled with her hands over her head. She staggered and then fell, the world going black and silent. Neekah woke lying on a skin in the camp. Kwal'kek was sitting next to her talking with Jhardron. "She speaks of noises in her head. She calls them happy noises." "Is this sickness or magic?" "I know nothing of magic. I know that if this is sickness it is not one I have seen before." Neekah spoke up. "Not sick." And she tried to sit up and fell back dizzy. She rubbed her head. Kwal'kek laughed, a relieved soft chuckle, and lifted her eyelid and looked at her eyes. Neekah pushed his hand away and shook her head. "Not sick." This time she sat up and the dizziness was gone. Jhardron asked again. "Ha'akh what magic did you do?" "Magic? Is talk horse magic?" "Talk to the horse? Is that what you did?" Neekah nodded. "He fear, he want run away. I say he run soon." Kwal'kek spoke up. "I have heard stories about people who can talk with horses. Jha'Mak'Tah gave the horse to the Bak and those blessed by him share their spirit." Jhardron shook his head. "They are just stories for the fire side. Even if it were true, the war god would not bless a woman, certainly not a woman not born of the Bak. If this is magic, it is not from Jha'Mak'Tah." Neekah was looking at the two men as they spoke. She was able to understand most of what they had to say. "It demon magic Kharthmah say. He say I have magic. He say I find it." Jhardron stood. "Come ha'akh. Show me this magic." He led her to where a single tall stallion was tethered. "Talk to this horse." Neekah looked up at the tall warrior and then at the horse. She reached up a cautious hand and touched the neck of the horse. The dark brown eyes of the horse seemed to stare into hers. This time she did not lose herself into the mind of the horse but she had a deep sense of the animal. "He want other horses. He lonely." She stopped and looked up at the horse and then looked back at Jhardron. "He foot hurt." She ran her hand down the front leg. "This foot hurt." Kwal'kek muttered a ward against magic. "It is true. This one is tethered because he came up lame this morning." Jhardron turned the girl to face him. "Ha'akh, do not speak of this with others. Do not practice this magic here in this camp." Neekah nodded. Even among the Ramaldi it was common for witches to inspire fear. They were rarely welcome. Even Kharthmah had to live outside the group of huts that made up the village. Magic was seen as much of a curse as a gift. "Yes, Khan Jhardron. I not make magic." Neekah was lying on the skin again, still tired and drained when the Twisted Dagger warriors returned. Their manner was subdued. Klektor had not won the race, he had not even finished. The tall red stallion had run fast, much faster than all the other horses, leading the race by many lengths but when Klektor tried to guide him to the finish line, he had shied at the roar of the crowd. The tall red stallion went wild, rearing and fighting, rather than come close to the mob of screaming spectators. Jhardron decided that because Neekah had fainted at the race track she was too sick to serve any warriors that night. Neekah felt a sharp pang of sadness and frustration. She had pouted and sat in front of Kwal'kek's tent following the movements of the warriors about the camp with longing eyes. Harnum had joked, "Our demon is beginning to crave our jhombars." Neekah commented softly to Kwal'kek as she settled down to sleep in the night. "The Demon horse was afraid of the noise." "Do not speak of that. Go to sleep." Thank you for taking the time to read my story. This story contains many words from the language of the Bak culture that I have created. The meaning of most of these words is easily inferred from their context. A ha'akh is the lowest rank of female slave assigned to serve a regiment of warriors. Tet is come, Ha is yes, Abak is no, venya is a woman's sexual organ, jhambar is a man's. Please do me the kindness of rating and leaving me feedback. Constructive and/or critical, public or private, raving or troll; I love to hear from you. To those who leave anonymous feedback, I regret I cannot respond to you individually. Please accept my appreciation in advance. I would like to express my absolute delight to announce I have found the most wonderful of editors. I would like to acknowledge and thank Dani for all her help. She is a treasure. xantu Demon Child Ch. 06 Chapter 6: A new mission, myths and mounts. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Her night was filled with dreams, dreams of flying across the land, the roar of hooves pounding. She galloped across the grass once more in the form of the white mare, but now she flew over the grass alone, her head high, alert. There was something she was looking for, something beyond the horizon. The wind in the grass spoke to her, calling her, promising her that what she sought was there, far to the north. Neekah woke her head still echoing with the rhythms of hooves in the grass. She tipped her head and tried to hear the wind, but all she heard were the sounds of the camp waking. Warrior's voices speaking softly, Kwal'kek loudly ordering the first years about, chastising them about their appearance and something called Jhang Mak. Neekah carefully pulled on her pretty dress and looked longingly at the blue scarf. Jhardron told her to not cover her hair, but it was difficult. Her hair had always been a symbol of her difference. And now, the events of yesterday had once more proved that she was different. She was a demon and the magic she found in herself made her afraid. She wanted to hide the thing inside her as much as she wanted to hide her flaming hair. Once more she looked at the scarf, but Jhardron was Khan and she shared the sense of the obedience and respect that the Twisted Dagger warriors felt toward him. She left the blue cloth folded neatly on her sleeping mat. Kwal'kek had all the first years lined up and was marching back and forth in front of them. "Jhang Mak is a game of speed and brains. It is a game of youth. I am confident that the Twisted Dagger first year warriors will represent their regiment with honor and courage." Neekah could see that one of the first years was holding a leather ball, the same ball they played catch with as they traveled with the wagons. "You will be playing against the Ghost Rider Regiment this morning. Do not be eliminated in the first round. I did not bet in the loser's bracket and I have some money to make back after losing so much at the race yesterday." The boys laughed and one asked how much Kwal'kek had bet on them winning. "Too much, you pup. If you lose, you will work hard to ease my sadness over my empty coin purse." Neekah could tell the boys were proud that their teacher had the confidence to bet on them. She sensed their resolve. Kwal'kek turned to her. "Ha'akh, you are to stay in camp. Your sickness is too recent for you to walk about." Neekah was relieved, the crowds around the games were bewildering and the stress of their emotions preyed on her mind. He pulled her to one side and spoke in a low voice. "Do not speak of the magic. Do not use magic. Obey Jhardron." Neekah nodded solemnly as he continued, "Tim'kah will stay in the camp. Come with me to the latrines. I do not want you to leave camp without a full warrior carrying your rope." Neekah followed him to the latrines and quickly finished her business. She tensed when she recognized the warrior that had put his hands on her the morning before, but he very carefully kept his eyes averted as he dug a new trench, carefully covering the offal in a filled trench. Kwal'kek chuckled and spoke to her softly, "The Broken Spear Khan is a harsh man. Not only is this a lowly duty for a warrior, but his shame is displayed for all to see." The camp was deserted except for Tim'kah and Neekah. Neekah could feel the desolation that flooded the boy's heart. The last place he wanted to be was here with her. She tried to talk to him, "Ha'akh sorry for fighting." He looked at her and shrugged, his face stoic, revealing nothing of the pain in his heart. "It is nothing." Neekah did not speak of it again, wanting to leave him with his pride. Neekah busied herself washing her stained shift in a bucket of water. Not wanting to soil her new dress, she changed into the wet garment so it could dry as she worked around the camp. The damp cloth made the hot sun of the day less oppressive. She watched over the food that cooked over low fires for the midday meal. She shook out and aired both her and Kwal'kek's bedding and swept the hard packed earth around the tents. The returning group of warriors and first years tore apart the peace of the camp. Their war cries and shouts of jubilation made it clear that they had been victorious. Tim'kah joined their celebration, beating his friends on the back and ululating along with them. Kwal'kek was strutting around like a proud father. The mood of the camp was loud and raucous throughout the midday meal. There was a lot of talk about the next match, where the Twisted Dagger would compete against the Broken Spear. As the time for the next match approached, the whole camp was practically vibrating with excitement. Neekah wondered why it seemed like she was having more trouble shielding her mind from the emotions around her. It had never been like this when she had been at the camp in the Ramaldi valley. She wondered if it was this place or maybe the games. Neekah watched with relief as the first years and warriors mounted and rode away. It wasn't until they were gone that she realized that Tim'kah had gone with them and that Klektor was left in camp. He sat in front of one of the warrior tents, his eyes on the tall red stallion that stood tethered next to the lame stallion. Neekah busied herself cleaning the bowls from the noon meal and then, picking up her rope, she approached him. "Please walk water. Please, want fill buckets?" He looked up and nodded. Neekah put the rope over her head and he tied the other end to his belt. Neekah picked up two buckets and headed to the lake, a small thought in her head that it seemed she was leading him rather than the opposite. She sensed little from him, just a feeling of watchfulness. She made a lot of trips before all the buckets of the camp were filled with fresh water. Neekah was hot and sweating. On the last trip she turned and asked, "Bath?" He just shrugged and nodded. She quickly waded out, not bothering to take off the shift. It was very hot and the wet cloth would help keep her cool in the still air of the afternoon. As she carried the last two buckets of water to the camp, Klektor spoke to her for the first time. "Ha'akh, you cast a magic spell on my horse." Neekah looked at him warily. "No talk magic." "But you did. I saw him. He was tame under your hand." Neekah shook her head vigorously, "Jhardron say no talk magic." She tried to turn and walk away from him but he held her rope short in his hand. She stood with her back to him, her head down, holding the two heavy buckets in her hands, her wet shift clinging to her skin. "Please walk camp." Her voice was soft and pleading. Klektor did not speak again, walking with her to the camp. Neekah could sense his frustration. She went and moved a skin into the shade on one side of Kwal'kek's tent and sat down. She could feel his eyes on her. She was careful to avoid his eyes. It was not long before she could see his feet before her. The rope dangled in his hand. "Ha'akh, come." Neekah looked up, her eyes wary. She stood and he dropped the rope over her head. She looked up nervously. Kwal'kek had said for her to stay in camp, but she also knew she should obey the man left in charge of her. Klektor turned on his heel and strode toward the horses. Klektor untethered the stallion and, as the horse began to dance and sidestep, vaulted into the saddle. He looked down at her and held out his hand. "No talk, ride." Neekah was electrified. All thought of staying in camp gone from her mind. She held out her hand and was up behind Klektor in an instant, her arms tight around his waist. She could feel the tension and terror radiating up through the skin of the stallion at this new experience. She struggled to pull her mind away from the stallion's and then they were flying. A soft cry of excitement broke from her lips. She was one with the horse. She could see through the horse's eyes, feel its heart beating like her own. The sheer joy of the run intoxicated her. It drained away the fear. Neekah was simultaneously aware of riding and being ridden, she sent her thoughts of joy and gratitude to the stallion. "This is what you are for. This is your destiny." Neekah was so immersed in the experience she was not even aware she was talking to the horse, making magic. Neekah was dizzy with excitement as they flew over the grass. They were on the hill overlooking the camps below. Far in the distance, she could see the crowds around the Jhang Mak competition. The red stallion ran like the wind. The big horse was breathing hard and covered with sweat when they returned to the empty camp. Klektor lowered her to the ground and then slipped to stand beside her. The stallion stood still, his deep breaths the only sound. Klektor was looking intensely at her. Neekah could tell he was aroused, but she also could tell he was struggling with himself. She looked at him with sadness in her eyes and in a soft voice repeated, "No talk magic." Neekah touched the neck of the big stallion. She turned and walked to a bucket of water. She handed it to Klektor. "He thirsty." She turned and walked to the skin she had moved to the shade and sat down, looking out across the lake. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Klektor held the bucket to the horse and as the horse sucked the water up he ran his hand up the side of its neck. For the first time, the skittish red stallion did not shy from his touch. The Demon horse curiously stretched its nose to him and blew softly, then turned its large brown eyes and gazed at the girl sitting still with her back to them. Klektor returned to his seat, his eyes shifting between the girl and the sweat stained stallion. He wondered what power this woman had over him and this stallion that had resisted each time he rode him. He could feel between his knees the change in the horse as soon as the girl was seated behind him. The horse had not fought his hand, he responded to his knee and touch like a horse long trained. The big animal's sudden composure was a sharp contrast to his own feelings of confusion and lust. He could still feel the imprint of her lithe form pressed against his back. The Bak warrior cults only grudgingly acknowledged the existence of magic. Those that openly spoke of it were considered superstitious and possibly even daft. Never before had Klektor believed in magic. He still did not know if this was magic, but this strange looking girl certainly had power over his horse and he wondered if she had a power over him as well. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The wild exultation of the first year warriors, as the rode up from the Jhang Mak final, shook Neekah's mind. She remained seated and watched the celebrating boys with a wide smile. They busied themselves, caring for their exhausted horses, talking in loud excited voices, reliving the spectacular catches and saves that led them to their victory. Even as they carefully groomed their mounts, they still tossed the leather ball, the jhang, back and forth amongst themselves. Casually catching and throwing the jhang, their hands reaching and grabbing the ball from the air with thoughtless automatic grace of long practice. The main bulk of the warriors arrived at the camp after the boys, walking around the lake. Neekah found herself watching them as they approached, her eyes unconsciously searching for Jhardron, a sense of nervous guilt over her having used magic making her lips quiver. Both Kwal'kek and Jhardron were conspicuously absent. Neekah busied herself helping serve the evening meal, her eyes down, focused on her task. Enjoying the banter between the warriors and the first years, there seemed to be something they were teasing the boys about, but Neekah did not understand. She did sense that the jubilation of the victory was quickly being overshadowed with dread, determination, and an eager anticipation. Something was going to happen, something the boys both feared and were wildly excited about. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The camp fell silent when Jhardron and Kwal'kek approached. Kwal'kek carried a large leather bag the let out a loud metallic clash as he dropped it in front of the Khan's tent. Jhardron stood before his men. "These first year warriors have brought another victory to the Twisted Dagger. Come forward and stand before me." As the group of six teenagers stood at attention before him, he raised his fist in salute to them. The warriors standing in a semicircle around the boys and their Khan raised their fists and saluted as well. "You each have proven you have the heart of a Twisted Dagger warrior. You have earned your warrior's scimitars today." The surrounding warriors began to move closer to the youths in the middle of the circle. Neekah watched in confusion as the warriors took the boys in their hands, holding their arms wide. "A warrior's scimitar needs to be washed in his blood. It must become bonded to him. Let your blades taste your blood." Neekah's eyes were locked on Tim'kah. He was being held up and off his feet by three warriors. One stood behind with his arms under Tim'kah's, pinning the boys shoulders back, forcing him to thrust out his chest, lifting him up and off his toes. Two more held his arms, their legs pinning his legs back. Neekah could see all first years were gripped in the same manner. The whole camp sizzled with tension. Neekah felt like she could not breathe, that the air she pulled into her lungs held no life for her; she found herself gasping. Kwal'kek lifted the bag he had carried to the camp and up turned it over the skin in front of the Khan's tent. A confusion of flashing scimitars cascaded out. Jhardron spoke one last time. "This will not be the last time you will face pain. You are Twisted Dagger. You will prove yourselves brave today. I will be proud to have you fight by my side." Kwal'kek picked up two shining scimitars and approached Tim'kah. "Nephew you will become a man today. I am proud to see this day." He uncorked a vial of liquid and rubbed a generous handful over the chest and stomach of the boy and, lifting one of the scimitars, made a careful cut high on Tim'kah's chest and then another below it and then another further down. Each slice about two inches long and evenly spaced, he continued down, making a row of parallel bleeding gashes down the length of the boys chest. Neekah reeled back. Tim'kah had not moved or made a sound. The only evidence that he was in pain was a tightening around his eyes and his lips pressed together. But Neekah could hear the screams echoing in his head, his and the other boys'. Not one of the boys made a sound as they endured their initiation. Neekah knew of initiations, the Ramaldi boys went through a time of testing, but it did not include this cutting, this blood. She could see that this was the source of the scarring that decorated every warrior of the Bak Tai. The agony of the boys swirled through her. She knew, if she could not block it out, she would faint or go mad. She staggered back and found herself leaning against the tall red stallion, Klektor's Demon horse. Instantly, she found an island of peace. She did not lose herself in the horse's mind, but she could sense him clearly and, at the same time, the waves of pain she sensed from the young men were somehow muted. From her refuge she watched. Kwal'kek finished one row and taking the liquid he rubbed it over the open, bleeding cuts. The liquid seemed to staunch the bleeding. He nodded in approval of Tim'kah's bravery and picked up the second scimitar and began to make a new row on the opposite side of the boy's chest. He was very careful to make the cuts an exact mirror image of those already done. The warrior doing the cutting worked quickly. It was not long before the warriors holding the young warriors released them and the boys staggered on their feet trying to stand at attention. One boy sagged to his knees, but he was helped to stand. Neekah was proud that Tim'kah did not fall. They stood swaying on weak legs, facing Jhardron, each grasping in their hands the bloody swords that had so recently inflicted dozens of wounds upon their body. Jhardron had pride in his voice. "You are boys no longer. You are full warriors of the Bak Tai Twisted Dagger. Serve your regiment and serve your Khans. Great honor will be yours. I welcome you, warriors of the Twisted Dagger." Neekah could sense the overwhelming sense of pride that radiated from Tim'kah and the other young men. She shyly approached and looked at the cuts on his chest. All the bleeding had stopped. Neekah looked at the vial of liquid that Kwal'kek had used. "What this medicine?" Kwal'kek was always eager to teach her about the medicines he used. "We call it Warrior's Blood. It is a mixture of herbs. I do not know the names of them. I am not an alchemist. It stems bleeding, numbs pain, and will cause the scars to stand up from the skin. It also makes the wounds heal without fever and stink. It is invaluable for wounds of battle, for those can fester easily." Neekah nodded and sniffed the oily liquid and then tasted it carefully, spitting the bitter flavor from her mouth once she became familiar with it. The mood of the camp was joyful, but slightly subdued. The boys did none of their normal duties, but lay resting quietly on their backs. As the sun sank in the evening sky, Neekah looked up and smiled happily as she recognized a group of five warriors approaching her, smiles of anticipation making their faces light up. Neekah laughed in delight and held her hands out to them, already feeling their needs adding to her own. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The next morning, Neekah softly touched the two tiny gold beads that added to her necklace, thinking that each addition was a memory. All she needed to do was touch the necklace and remember the feelings of ecstasy, but it was more than ecstasy, it was connection. Not once, since her capture by the Twisted Dagger, had she felt the horrible ache of aloneness that had been central to her existence in the Ramaldi camp. The warriors were taking down the tents and packing them on the wagons, but there was none of the urgency of the last time the camp was moved. Tim'kah and the other new initiates were helping, but Neekah could tell they moved slowly and carefully to avoid opening their freshly scabbed wounds. Kwal'kek moved among them doling out a fresh coating of the Warrior's Blood, to soften the scabs and ease their pain. "Where we go now?" Neekah asked Kwal'kek. "It is not a ha'akh's business to wonder where we go. It is her duty to follow and obey." Neekah thought that Kwal'kek probably did not know; it was too much his nature to share information and teach for him to be secretive. As the last wagons were loaded, Jhardron rode up on his new stallion. He had traded much to replace the black he had given as a prize to Harnum. It was a tall gray with a black mane and tail, and showed promise to be a fine war horse. On a rope, he led a small red mare behind him. "Kwal'kek it is time for the ha'akh to learn to ride. You say she does not like to ride in the wagon. I got this little horse in my trade for my new stallion. Like Klektor's Demon horse, she has the same red color as our wild color girl, but none of its wild spirit. It will be a good mount for her to learn with. Our ha'akh seems to have a way with horses. I suspect she will learn quickly." Neekah watched and listened to this exchange. Her heart raced with excitement, a horse of her own to ride. She looked at Jhardron with huge eyes and a tremulous smile and then looked at the red horse standing patiently at the end of the rope, looking curiously around the camp with large brown eyes. The red mare was wearing a simple saddle and bridle. It was rare for a horse to be traded or gifted without tack. Demon Child Ch. 06 Kwal'kek nodded and handed the rope into Neekah's hands. "Tim'kah, come show this ha'akh how to tether her mare." As Tim'kah led them to the tie rope, the mare followed calmly. Neekah reached up and gently stroked her neck. The mare turned her head to Neekah, acutely aware of the woman next to her. Her mind flowed gently into the horse. She sensed the horse's mild surprise and wonder at this new experience. Neekah let love and reassurance flow into the mare as she whispered, "Greetings, marmak." Neekah became aware that the life force of the mare was not alone; there was a tiny spark of life flickering deep in the heart of the mare. Silently she congratulated the mare. 'You carry a life within you little mother.' She turned to Tim'kah. "I will call her Xin'sha, the Bak word for happiness." "A good name for such a pretty mare." Neekah had carefully folded her green and yellow dress into her bed roll and wore her shift and her blue scarf knotted around her head and hanging over her shoulders. She stayed by the mare's side, stroking Xin'sha's neck and nose, as she watched the last of the camp being loaded into the wagons. When the wagons were loaded, Jhardron stood before the assembled encampment. "Our orders are to head north and then west. Our duties are to scout the land. The mud people of the herding tribes have formally acknowledged their fealty to the Aga Khan and so are under our dominion. "Our challenge is that not all of these nomadic herdsmen are loyal to, or even aware of, the surrender of their leaders. It is part of the truce that the Bak Tai will only do battle with those that attempt to resist us. Only those that attack us will have the same fate as the Ramaldi of the river valleys." The warriors mounted and rode out behind their Khan. Kwal'kek walked up. "Ha'akh, you will ride with me." He took the long lead rope of the mare and turned to her. "Let me see you mount." Neekah put her foot in the stirrup and had no difficulty pushing herself up and onto the back of the mare. She was grinning excitedly, delighting in the first time on the back of a horse without being behind a large warrior. Kwal'kek tied the reins together, looping them loosely around the mare's neck, "Do not use the reins, I will hold the lead rope. Learn to keep your balance, with your head and back straight. Do not grip too tightly with your knees; she will think you are trying to guide her." Neekah nodded and sat tall and straight. She could sense the calm accepting spirit of the mare, so different from the fear and rebellion of the red stallion. Kwal'kek never let her take the lead throughout the day, but Neekah did not mind. To sit tall and feel the easy movement of the horse under her was enough. The young warriors still practiced with the Jhang, tossing it casually among them, but there was none of the careless abandon. Neekah not only sensed a caution borne of pain, but also recognized they had a new dignity in their hearts. The initiates now carried the reserve of a warrior. Once the group was up from the valley of the lake and onto the wide grass plains, Neekah was once more disturbed by the hints of movement and sound at the edge of her senses. She could tell Xin'sha felt it too, but the horse seemed to accept this as a natural part of the grasslands. Her ears swiveling to listen to the wind, her eyes looked to the horizon, but the calmness in her heart was undisturbed. Neekah let her mood match the mare's. No longer straining to see and hear what was out of her reach, just letting the mare carry her over the sea of undulating grass. As the sun sank toward the horizon, Kwal'kek called the wagons to a halt. He pulled Neekah to stand on the ground and laughed as she grimaced and rubbed her bottom. "You will grow the calluses of a true Bak horse warrior." He showed her how to take off the bridle and saddle and hobble the mare, turning her loose to graze. Neekah stoked the neck of the red horse, and whispered in her ear. "Thank you, Xin'sha; you have pleased me greatly." As she turned, Kwal'kek was frowning at her, "You must obey Jhardron. You must not speak to the horses." Neekah knew she had been talking to the horse almost all day, an almost unconscious sharing of trust and senses. To turn it off was as impossible to her as turning off her ears. Neekah's lips turned down in sadness. She nodded, "I will try, but I don't know how to stop the horses from talking to me." Kwal'kek looked at her, his eyes angry, "Do not speak of it." Neekah was still standing, watching the mare greedily tear up mouthfuls of grass, as the warriors returned to the wagons in a thundering rush. The mare raised her head and whinnied a ringing greeting to the stallions, an echo of Neekah's surprise and joy at seeing the warriors approach. Kwal'kek called to her, "A ha'akh should not forget her duties." His voice was sharp and impatient. Neekah hurried to help with the evening meal. It was the normal trail rations, dried meats, dried fruit and nuts, and stale water from the water skins. Jhardron mentioned that there was a spring, a half-day's travel further north, and they would stop there tomorrow to fill the barrels on the wagon. After the evening meal, Neekah was almost impatient with waiting. Soon, she would be taken away by a group of warriors, transported to the mindless place of pleasure she was learning to call sharing blessings. She could feel the need growing in her, an ache in her loins, wetness in her mouth and between her legs. Her eyes felt hot as they followed the warriors as they moved about the camp. Jhardron felt his eyes drawn to the ha'akh, sensing the change in her manner. He thought to himself about the words that Kwal'kek had whispered to him about her continuing to speak to the horses. This girl may have magic, but it did not seem evil and she seemed to be adjusting to her role in the regiment with an enthusiasm that was rare among ha'akh. He stood and called out. "Our demon seems to be looking for her worshipers. It would be cruel to make her wait." Many of the warriors laughed. Neekah rose to her feet as he spoke. Her eyes sought for who it was to be. Each night it was a different group, but they all came to her in the same manner. She knew their names, but in many ways the warriors all seemed so alike in their dress and emotions. It did not matter which of the warriors came to share with her; she loved them all. As her suitors gathered around her, she laughed out loud with delight and held out her hands to them. As the little group made its way to a place sheltered from the wind, Neekah found her hands wandering across the hard bodies of the men walking with her. She was becoming increasingly bold, sensing the pleasure she was capable of giving in the echoes reflected back to her. Neekah eagerly stripped off her simple shift and ran her hands down the length of her slender frame. She was rapidly losing her starved look, her ribs were no longer prominent and her breasts were fuller. Eagerly she surrendered to their hands, arching and spreading herself, open and eager for their touch. She knelt and then went down on her hands and knees, tossing her head and looking provocatively over her shoulder, her eyes smoky with passion. One of the warriors exclaimed, "This wild color mare seeks her stallion." And he knelt behind her and let out a long sharp whinny, and mounted her, leaning down and nipping her shoulders. The other warriors moved closer, their hands on her cupping and pulling at her breasts, reaching down and caressing her cleft. Neekah arched and squealed, lunging back against the thrusts of the warrior plunging into her. As the warrior's heat built so did hers and she let out a long vibrating wail as she lost herself in panshasham. Again, the warriors blended one into the next, her awareness of them collective rather than of any one man. Her sense of herself dissolved, riding the waves of pleasure, her cries rose on the wind. The warriors gently washed her, with the water from a water skin, and helped her pull her shift over her head. Neekah used the water skin and gently washed the jhombars of the warriors, kneeling and smiling up at her lovers, her heart full of happiness. At camp, one of the warriors brought her several yards of fabric, natural soft cotton, commonly used in making loin cloths. No tents were set up. All the regiment slept under the stars. As she lay under her fur blanket, Neekah saw a particularly bright and long tailed falling star that almost reached the ground and made a soft happy sound. Kwal'kek chuckled, "Jha'Mak'Tah is firing his arrows in the air again." Neekah still looking up at the sky asked, "Who Jha'Mak'Tah?" "His is our father, ha'akh; he is the father of all the Bak Tai, just like Pan'Shash'Sha'Am is the mother of all the Bak Am." "Bak Am?" Kwal'kek's voice was warming to tell a tale, "Bak Am, our women of the city, ha'akh. We are the Bak Tai, the warriors. We roam the land of the Bak. The Bak Am are the priestesses, the mothers of the Bak, and they keep the cities and the temple to the goddess Pan'Shash'Sha'Am. Let me tell you the story of Jha'Mak'Tah and Pan'Shash'Sha'Am." "Long ago, before men ruled, the world was the home of demons and gods. In a great battle, the gods drove the demons out and across the sea to the north." "In the land of the Bak, there was only our mother, Pan'Shash'Sha'Am, and she wandered the land alone. But still she felt alone, empty. She built herself a beautiful city, with red walls and tall buildings and gilded temples. But the city was empty. She changed herself into a white bird and flew over her land and it was empty." "Jha'Mak'Tah was a god who had a restless spirit and roamed the world. He had been a great hero in the battle against the demons. He searched for adventure and dreamed of conquest and honor. He changed himself into a tall black stallion and ran across the empty land." "Pan'Shash'Sha'Am saw Jha'Mak'Tah and was taken by his form and his brave spirit. She changed herself into a white mare and ran beside him, asking him where he was going. Jha'Mak'Tah replied that he sought honor and victory in battle. Pan'Shash'Sha'Am responded that the gods had driven all the demons from the land, and asked what he would battle with." "And the war god answered that, if could not find a worthy foe, he would go to the northern sea and travel across it and do battle with the demons there. Pan'Shash'Sha'Am laughed and told him that the demons were strong in their land to the north. And he would have no power there so far from their own lands. She challenged him to chase her, if he could catch her she would do battle with him for she eyed the great spear he carried between his legs and wished he would pierce her with it." "Jha'Mak'Tah looked at Pan'Shash'Sha'Am in her form of a perfectly white mare and thought that he had no desire to kill such a lovely creature. He told her that he did not want to cause her death. Pan'Shash'Sha'Am told him that the weapon he carried between his legs would not kill her, perhaps he should do battle with that. And with that she ran away her tail in the air, her venya rich with her scent. Jha'Mak'Tah wrinkled his nose and sniffed great snorts of the magical fragrance, his mind clouding with lust. His jhombar ready for battle, he galloped after the fleeing goddess." "Jha'Mak'Tah caught the goddess and, when he mounted her and pierced her with his jhombar, Pan'Shash'Sha'Am squealed and whinnied in pleasure. And as the war god spilled his seed into her, she blessed it with panshasham, her body vibrating with her magic. Pan'Shash'Sha'Am became great with life and gave birth to the marmak, our older brothers." "Next they mated as man and woman and Pan'Shash'Sha'Am gave birth to the Bak. When Pan'Shash'Sha'Am lay upon the land, some of the seed of Jha'Mak'Tah fell from her venya. It fell to the earth, mixing with the dirt, and the mud people were born." "Pan'Shash'Sha'Am was happy; the land was empty no longer. The Bak Am went with their mother and filled the cities. The Bak Tai and their brothers, the marmak, roam the land seeking honor and victory in battle, like Jha'Mak'Tah. The mud people spread across the land and exist to serve the Bak." "Sometimes, in the summer sky, you will see the arrows of Jha'Mak'Tah doing battle with demons in the sky. Sometimes they fall to the ground." Neekah said in a thoughtful voice, "I am the child of a demon, like you are the children of the gods?" Jhardron spoke from across the fire, his voice soft and amused, "Perhaps, or perhaps this is a story to tell children when they sleep around the campfire. Time to go to sleep, we have many miles to ride tomorrow." Neekah snuggled down into her blankets and thought about her dreams of the white mare and always seeking something in the north. The demons had gone north. She thought that it had to be true. She wondered, if she was the child of a demon, did that make her all demon or only part? She was still turning the thoughts around in her head as she fell asleep. Thank you for taking the time to read my story. This story contains many words from the language of the Bak culture that I have created. The meaning of most of these words is easily inferred from their context. A ha'akh is the lowest rank of female slave assigned to serve a regiment of warriors. Please do me the kindness of rating and leaving me feedback. Constructive and/or critical, public or private, raving or troll; I love to hear from you. To those who leave anonymous feedback, I regret I cannot respond to you individually. Please accept my appreciation in advance. I would like to express my absolute delight to be able to announce that I have found the most wonderful of editors. I would like to acknowledge and thank Dani for all her help. She is a treasure. xantu Demon Child Ch. 07 Chapter 8: A visit with a Grasslands Tribe. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> In the bright cool morning air, Neekah gasped and giggled a rueful laugh as she had to fight the stiff muscles of her thighs and buttocks to get them to stretch and move. A passing warrior joked with her, "Your thighs will grow strong, ha'akh. Your legs will embrace your mount with an iron grip. Soon I will mount you." Neekah laughed and eyed him boldly, tossed her head and whinnied, a soft clear imitation of her mare's call to the stallions. Klektor helped Neekah put her saddle and bridle on Xin'sha. As they led the red mare to the picket rope, she repeatedly tried to pull away and snatch big mouthfuls of grass. Klektor growled with impatience, pulling sharply on the mare's reins. Neekah softly protested, "She is hungry, the life within her demands food." Klektor looked at her strangely, "This mare is carrying a foal? How do you know that?" Neekah blanched and shook her head, whispering nervously, "No talk magic. Please, please, no talk magic." Her eyes frantically looked around her hoping that no one heard. Klektor looked at the mare and the suddenly frightened girl, he nodded cautiously. Neekah could sense his curiosity and frustration. Once again Kwal'kek kept the mare on a lead rope, cautioning Neekah to practice keeping her balance, learning to be one with the mare. This time as they followed the slow wagons he would unexpectedly kick his heavy old stallion into a quick trot and lead the mare along at a faster pace, swinging in a big circle around the wagons. The changes in speed and direction were a challenge to Neekah, and she had to grab the saddle or Xin'sha's mane to keep her balance. Kwal'kek would correct her, "Only a baby holds onto her horse with her hands, use your stirrups, keep your heart over the heart of your mount." The wagons rolled over a brink of a hill and below Neekah could see the warriors moving around, their horses already loose and grazing. There was a patch of low brush and even a couple of stunted trees growing along the bottom of the little sheltered valley. They had come to the spring that Jhardron had spoken of. Neekah was kept very busy along with the initiates, filling the barrels from the spring and helping with cooking a hot meal. After eating she filled a bucket with water from the small spring and thoroughly washed herself and her shift. As she squeezed out the extra water from her light dress she looked up and saw Klektor looking at her, his expression thoughtful. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Klektor watched as the ha'akh bathed herself, his eyes tracing the length of her lithe figure. Her body was still slender, but her arms and legs were rounder and smoother, her small round breasts resting high and proud on her chest. Her strange white skin was a sharp contrast to the rich dark pink of her nipples. The red curls above her venya pulled at his eye. He could feel his jhombar stir, wanting to mate with this ha'akh. The girl turned and saw him watching and looked at him curiously. Klektor tore his gaze from her. Her mysterious powers intrigued him almost as much as her exotic body. She had some power over the horses. He desperately wanted to ask her about this, but her obvious fear and her invoking his Khan's name in her resistance to his questions kept him in check. But he found himself watching her almost obsessively, his mind a turmoil of frustrated curiosity. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The sharp whistle of a guard pierced through the camp. High and sharp, it was an alert that a stranger approached the camp. Instantly, noiselessly, all the warriors were in motion. In seconds a dozen were mounted and armed, awaiting their Khan's orders. The rest were armed and on their way to the horse herd. Jhardron was speaking with a guard, "A small group of the mud people brings their goats to the spring. They have not seen us. Remember, do not kill them unless they raise their hands to you in violence. Do not force them to defend themselves." He turned to Neekah, "Ha'akh, I will need you to talk to these herding people, their language is not much different from the mud people of the river valley." Kwal'kek pushed her forward and Jhardron put out his hand, "Mount behind me." Neekah reached up and was instantly mounted behind the Khan. The tall gray stallion jumped and began to side step, tossing his head and looking around at the girl. Neekah could tell that her smell was unfamiliar to the stallion. She struggled to close her mind to the horse, desperately blocking her thoughts from the nervous horse. Jhardron laughed, "He protests at the legs of a woman." "Let us go greet these herders. Stay behind me, let me approach and speak with them. If they flee, round them up." Jhardron urged his mount into a quick trot. At the brink of the valley the stallion surged into a quick gallop. Neekah could see very little seated behind the taller warrior and she wrapped her arms around his waist, and peered around under his arm. She could see a herd of goats and ponies scattering in all directions as the horsemen circled them. About a dozen teenage boys, small and dark, stood frozen in terror at the sight of almost over thirty mounted Bak warriors sweeping down onto them. The warriors were curiously silent; the only sound was the pounding of the horse's hooves and the bleats of the fleeing goats. The boys huddled in a small group together. Jhardron rode close and turned so she could speak to them. "Tell them that we come in peace." "Don't be afraid. These warriors will not hurt you, they come in peace." Jhardron called to the warriors, "Herd the beasts toward the spring, and try not to stampede the things." Jhu'kresh laughed, "Warriors make poor goat herders." But he ordered the warriors to circle around and guide the panicked animals down toward the spring. Jhardron looked over the boys; they were only carrying slings and herder's staffs. He lowered Neekah to the ground and dismounted. "Tell them that the Bak is not at war with their people. If they are peaceful, no one will get hurt. Tell them that their beasts are being herded to the spring and that they should hurry to guide them home." Neekah stood tall and addressed the group; she could clearly sense their fear and confusion. "These warriors will not hurt you. They are not at war with you. Your goats and ponies are being herded to the spring, but you should attend to them. These warriors are not herders and will need your help to keep them from straying. Then you should take your herd to your camp. The warriors are camped by the spring and will be tempted to have goat for dinner if they stray too close. Come follow me." One boy stood tall, clearly distrustful. "How do we know you are not tricking us?" "If these warriors wished you harm you would have died before you could have taken a second breath. They are Bak Tai Twisted Dagger, the most fearsome warriors in the land." Still not convinced the boy looked at her, "You are not like them." "I am like no one else. I am a demon. I am ha'akh Bak Tai Twisted Dagger. You would be wise to obey this man, the Khan, and me his voice." Neekah stood proud and pulled off her blue scarf; her scarlet hair gleamed in the afternoon sun. "Go attend to your goats, and then run home." The herder boys turned and ran as one to gather their goats. Jhardron was watching impatiently, "What are you saying?" "I tell him that we are Twisted Dagger and it is a foolish thing to doubt the word of a demon. I urged them to fetch their goats and run home before the warriors got too hungry and decided they wanted meat for dinner." Jhardron roared with laughter. "You are proving your worth to the regiment every day. You have done well. You have learned to speak the language of the Bak well in just a short time." A bright happy smile lit up Neekah's face, and she looked up at Jhardron with measuring eyes. Why had this man, the Khan, never joined the groups of men who came to her in the evenings? She could tell he wanted her. She had felt his eyes on her. She stepped closer and touched his chest, running her hands over the ridges of his scars. Jhardron caught her hand, looked down at her, and laughed shaking his head. "Ha'akh, it is not my turn to lay with you. I will wait my turn like all the warriors do." Neekah looked at him. "When will you come to me, my Khan? I can tell you want me. I can feel your blood hot under my hands." "Last, I will come to you last. It is the Khan's duty to see to the needs of his warriors before his own. You must obey the order as well. It is a strong magic, sharing pleasures. It can weaken a warrior or even cause madness if taken too often. Do not tempt any of the warriors as you have just tempted me." Neekah nodded, she had sensed the power in the act of mating, even in the brutal rapes of her childhood. And in these sharings with the warriors the magic sang in her blood. "I will obey, my Khan." "Good, let's follow these little mud people and find their camp. I wish to speak with their leader." He mounted and held out his hand to her to mount behind him. As they rode, Neekah spoke softly in his ear. "Khan, you say not make magic, not talk to horses. This girl try, but all the time the horses to talk to her, hard to not to talk." "What do the horses say?" "Horses not talk with words. They talk with feelings. They tell me if they are afraid, hungry, and happy. Your stallion is impatient. He wants to run. My Xin'sha says she is happy. She has a baby growing inside her." "What do you say to them?" "I do not talk to your stallion. You say not to do magic. This ha'akh try hard to obey. I send feeling to Xin'sha that I am happy too. I tell Klektor Demon horse that he must surrender and trust the man on his back. That Klektor will be a good master. I not talk about magic to anyone but you." "You are good to obey me in that. Continue to keep your magic a secret. If the horses talk to you, it is permitted you speak back to them. You say your mare is with foal? You can tell that?" "I can feel the life within her. It is very small." "Well, it will be almost a year before we need to worry about a foal. It will avoid us having to deal with her coming into heat and making the stallions misbehave. The mating magic is strong among horses as well." Jhardron was walking the gray stallion slowly behind the herd of goats as the boys herded them. About a dozen warriors flanked them. "Ask the boys how much further to their camp." Neekah called, "How much further to your camp?" The boy who spoke as the leader looked very unhappy to be leading these warriors to his camp. He looked at the sun, "The sun will be close to the horizon when we arrive." "He says that it will be almost sunset by the time we get there." Jhardron frowned in impatience, and muttered, "Are these boys leading us away from their camp or to it I wonder?" Neekah looked at his back, her voice puzzled. "He is not lying. He is afraid." Jhardron stiffened. "You can tell this?" "Can't everyone?" "No, ha'akh, everyone cannot do that. We will speak of this later." She was very aware of his frustration and curiosity. It was very similar to what she sensed from Klektor. Was this magic too? Jhardron called Jhu'kresh to him. "Get that herder boy that is talking, have him ride with you. I am tired of this. Leave two warriors to ride with these that herd. We will ride ahead." Neekah called to the boy, "My Khan grows tired of this slow pace, you will ride with a warrior and show the way. Do not fight and he will not hurt you." Jhu'kresh rode to the boy and held out his hand. When the boy looked up in terror and did not reach to meet his hand, he growled in impatience and lifted the boy up by the back of his tunic and draped him across his saddle. Jhu'kresh made a disgusted face. "It smells of goats." All the other warriors laughed. Jhardron kicked the stallion into a canter and soon the warriors were flying over the grass. Every once in a while they would stop and Neekah would have the boy point the direction. It was not long before they were looking down on a large group of odd round tents and smoky fires. "Pick up the boy. Have him sit in front of you so they can see his face and that he is unharmed." The warriors rode up in a slow walk to give the camp time to prepare. Neekah could see the men arming themselves. "Ha'akh, talk to them. Tell them we come in peace but if they attack us, they will all die. Tell them that I would speak to their leader about treaties." Neekah nodded uncertainly. She whispered, "What treaties?" "Just tell them I want to talk about peace." Neekah called out. "Put down your weapons, these warriors come in peace. If you fight them, you will die. Let your leader come forth and speak." A heavily built small man came out, he still held his bow, but he did not have an arrow in his hand. "You have my son. Free him and we will talk." Neekah spoke to Klektor, "This boy is the son of that man. He asks that you free him." Jhardron turned to Jhu'kresh, "Set the boy down." Jhu'kresh laughed, "Gladly, I am tired of the smell of goat." He let the boy slide to the ground and laughed again as the youngster darted to stand behind his father, talking fast into his father's ear. Jhardron spoke to Neekah, "Tell him that his son was brave. Tell him that the Bak have a promise of peace with the herding people of the plains. We will leave them in peace, but they must give us safe passage." "Your son was brave. He was calm and helped the other boys stay safe. These warriors have made promises to leave the herding people of the grasslands unharmed. They wish for peace between the Bak and all the herding people. All they ask is that you not attack them." The leader spoke solemnly, "We will honor the peace. We will not raise our weapons against these warriors." He looked at her curiously. "My boy says that you name yourself a demon." Neekah nodded proudly and pulled the scarf from her hair, the scarlet hair gleamed in the late afternoon sun. "I am the child of a demon." "We have many stories of the demons that fled across the northern sea. But my manners are lacking. If there will be peace between us, we should offer you the hospitality of our camp. Come join us." He turned and barked some orders. The little dark women scurried to pull skins out and lay them around the fire. He went and sat, his hands gesturing for them to sit. Neekah turned to Jhardron. "He invites us to sit and share a meal with him." Jhardron nodded and dismounted from his tall stallion. He handed the reins to another warrior. "Send back a rider to the spring. Tell them that we will return after dark." Jhu'kresh quickly spoke to the remaining warriors, giving assignments of guarding the horses and deciding who should ride back. Jhardron moved to the fireside and sat opposite of the leader. He spoke to Neekah, "Sit on my left and serve me my meal." Jhu'kresh sat on his right and the other warriors spread out around the fire. Jhardron looked up at the man facing him. "I am called Jhardron Khan Bak Tai Twisted Dagger. It is the will of my Aga Khan that there be peace and trade with the people of the northern plains. The Ramaldi of the river valleys resisted this will and are no more." Neekah quickly spoke the words in the Ramaldi people's language. The camp leader nodded. "My name is Lachram; the Grass Walker Tribe has chosen me as speaker. It is my wish that the peace between us last long. We would trade, but we are poor herders and have little to offer." A small group of small women brought trays and large wooden bowls and laid them around the fire. The rich aroma of roasted meat and herbs made Neekah's mouth water. The story her mother had told of bringing food to trick and poison the demon that had fathered her came unbidden to her mind, but she sensed no deceit among the women bringing the food, only curiosity mixed with fear. One of the women took an empty trencher and filled it with some food and offered it to Jhardron. Neekah stood and took the wooden tray of food and thanked her. Surreptitiously she smelled the herbs seasoning the stewed meats and vegetables. She turned and knelt at Jhardron's feet and offered him the food. He nodded in approval and took the food from her. Lachram looked at her and then at Jhardron. "How is it you have a demon to serve you?" Neekah spoke softly to Jhardron, "He asks how you have a demon to serve you?" "Tell him your story. It is a good entertainment for the meal." Neekah turned to Lachram and spoke. "My story is long and starts here in the grassy plains of your people. Many summers ago a woman of the plains herders, her name was Sa'amdi, was taken captive by a demon. He was tall and had hair like fire and eyes like smoke. He forced himself upon Sa'amdi, forced his seed deep into her womb." There were several gasps and suddenly the buzz of conversations rose around the fire. An older woman began to talk, "I had a cousin named Sa'amdi, she was given in marriage to another tribe, the Wind Singers. The Wind Singers were all killed by a monster, save the few that escaped and fled to the river valleys long ago." Lachram waved his hand impatiently, "Let the demon speak." The voices around the fire instantly stilled. "The demon came upon the village and used his sword to kill all the men in the village. Sa'amdi hated the demon for forcing his seed into her and killing her husband. She fed the demon the poison that made his limbs weak and then all the women of the village fell upon him and took his life slowly over many days." "Sa'amdi and the women of the village moved south to the Ramaldi River people. She tried to cast out the life that the demon had pushed into her womb, but my spirit was strong and I lived. I was born in the hut of a witch named Kharthmah." "Sa'amdi left me there. The only legacy she left me was the story of the demon. I lived among the Ramaldi as an outcast until the Bak Tai Twisted Dagger came and took me as ha'akh. Now I exist to serve the Twisted Dagger." All the people around the fire erupted into excited speech; Neekah reeled back from the wave of excited emotions that seemed to explode around her. She fell against Jhardron, her hands over her ears. He supported her, his eyes on her, suddenly concerned. Lachram stood and shouted, "Silence. I am speaker for the Grass Walkers. Silence." Once more the camp fell quiet, but the camp still vibrated with tension and excitement. Lachram held his hands up. "You add to a story already known to us. It is a story told around our campfires many times. We did not know that Sa'amdi gave birth to a demon, to you. You are a daughter of the grasslands and by matriarchal right, a member of our tribe." Jhardron interrupted, "What is happening? Are you sick again?" Neekah shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "It is the people; they have strong feelings, too many, too strong. Hard to think, hard to hear. He say he know about the demon that made me. He say Sa'amdi, the woman who gave birth to me, was a woman of this tribe. He say I am member this tribe." Lachram spoke directly to her. "All of us have seen this demon. What is left of his bones stand still bound by chains facing the north, a warning to other demons that may come to the grasslands." "Where?" The word was ripped from her lips. "Many days travel to the west." Neekah turned to Jhardron, "He say the body of the demon still stands bound to the post. He say it is there many days travel to the west." Jhardron looked thoughtful, "I had found it hard to believe this story until now. I do not easily believe in demons or magic. Our orders have us travel west and north. If fortune wills it I would look upon this demon." Demon Child Ch. 07 Jhardron stood, "Your people have made promises of peace to the Bak Tai. You are free to roam your lands and rule your people as you wish. You must not aid our enemies. If any Ramaldi have hidden among you, it will be your duty to turn them out." As Neekah spoke the words, Lachram looked uncomfortable, "The grasslands tribes have many ties with the Ramaldi. Many of the tribes are related by marriage to the Ramaldi. One of my wives is Ramaldi." Neekah turned to Jhardron and translated this. Jhardron shook his head, "I do not speak of Ramaldi that are now grasslands people by marriage or adoption. I speak of any warriors of the Ramaldi that may have taken refuge or come seeking allies to mount resistance to our victory over their land." Neekah could sense the easing in Lachram's spirit as she reassured him. He nodded, "No Ramaldi warriors have come to the grasslands to my knowledge. If any seek shelter among my people, I will refuse them hospitality." "Your people were wise to accept offers of peace. The lands of the Ramaldi lie empty. It is time for us to return to our camp. We will travel by moonlight. We will return tomorrow." Lachram stood and nodded. "We look forward to your return." Jhardron stood and Neekah followed him to the horses. She had been so busy speaking that she had not eaten. Her stomach rumbled softly in complaint, but missing a meal was a small thing. She wrapped her arms around Jhardron's waist and leaned her head against his back, her long legs hugging the warm flanks of the gray stallion in the cool night air. She yawned sleepily and wondered if she would share pleasures with the warriors under the bright moon hanging low in the sky. She felt her body relax, her mind filled with images of a figure bound with chains, facing north, a figure with fiery red hair and smoke in its eyes. She was almost asleep as they rode into the camp. She slipped into the arms of the warrior who pulled her down into his arms. She sensed his urgency. "Ha'akh, you have kept us waiting." She laughed, "I have so many masters to serve, and I cannot refuse my Khan when he commands me to ride with him. I am here now." As she woke in the morning, Neekah felt the heaviness and pain in her womb that heralded her woman's bleeding. She knew her monthly time would start soon. Neekah carefully tore several wide strips from the cotton fabric and fashioned several short loin cloths. She wondered to herself about her woman's blood. How would she keep herself apart from the warriors at this time? Among the Ramaldi it was customary for the women to be isolated from the village during their bleeding time, staying in a special hut where their blood would not contaminate the village. While Neekah was not welcome there and had never been, she knew it was forbidden for a woman who was bleeding to couple or even speak to a man during that time. Neekah nervously approached Kwal'kek as he supervised the loading of the wagons, her face flushing with shame. Her voice low and whispering, "This ha'akh is soon to start her woman's blood. I will be unclean. I must go to a place away from the warriors." He looked at her irritated at being interrupted. "It is not our way to keep a ha'akh isolated during her moon blood. We will not share pleasures with you and you must keep yourself clean with cloths. Use some of the wound bandages from the boxes. When your moon blood ceases you may resume your mating with the warriors. In the city the Bak Am use this time to make sacrifices at the temple to wish for a child. I am sure you will carry a Bak Warrior in your womb soon enough." He turned back to his task muttering about not being an auntie. Neekah chose not to speak of the herbs she had eaten that made her unable to conceive. She sensed no life growing inside her, she was sure it was unlikely to happen. She did not want a baby in her belly. She thought to herself that a demon's womb is no place for a Bak warrior's seed. Jhardron told Kwal'kek that he would need the ha'akh to ride with him again today. He took the lead rope to Xin'sha as they rode slowly toward the grassland herder camp. This time the majority of the warriors rode with their Khan. Neekah was struck with the order of the group as they rode as a regiment. Most rode in a double row behind the Khan, but there were many that rode ahead and to the side, scouting for possible danger. A scout rode up with the message that a small herd of wild plain gazelle were spotted. Jhardron ordered that a group of warriors go and kill them for a gift to the grassland people. The warriors startled the small herd of wild antelope and just as quickly a half dozen bows were up and arrows in the air, and six of the medium sized grazers dropped in their tracks. Just as quickly the dead animals were slung across the flanks of the warrior's mounts and the group moved on toward the camp. The warriors moved quickly over the grass, Neekah was challenged to keep her seat without using her hands. She was determined not to ride like a baby. She focused on sitting tall and balanced; her hands free. She knew from watching that the warriors rarely used their horse's reins to guide them, they used their legs and their balance to communicate. She had learned if she gripped too tightly with her knee or heel, Xin'sha would turn that way. She gently experimented with this as much as the long lead rope would permit. Neekah knew the grasslands were deceptive, as she sat on Xin'sha's back it looked like they were featureless, but she knew that the endless waves of grass hid myriad sheltered valleys. The herder's camp was hidden in such a valley, the riders had to be almost on top of it before they could see it, one minute endless sky and grass, a few steps, and below stretched a valley filled with the round tents of the herders. Jhardron directed the main body of the warriors to dismount and keep back with their horses. "Bring the antelope and leave them on the grass." Jhardron dismounted and pulled Neekah down to stand beside him. Lachram stood before a small group of men. "How may the grassland herders serve the Bak Tai Twisted Dagger?" Jhardron nodded, "We bring a gift of meat. We would share your hospitality one last time before we ride west." Lachram smiled warily and spoke to a man to his right. Soon a small group of women came and carried away the animals. With Neekah translating the two men spoke. Jhardron looked to the west. "What grasslands tribes have their camps to the west?" Lachram spoke, "To the west are the traditional herding grounds of the Wind Singers, but their tribe was lost. The tribes of the Bitter Grass Eaters and the Sand Dancers are further west, but I know not the locations of their camps." "Tell me of the sea to the north." "The grasslands tribes do not travel to the sea, it is a haunted place. The spirits of the demons that died in the Great War still roam there. The wind that howls through their empty stone cities can steal your soul. A band of low forest grows along the cliffs to the north. The Grass Walkers do not travel beyond that boundary." Jhardron frowned at the words about magic and demons. "You speak about the body of the demon that stands to the west. Have any other demons been seen in the grasslands?" "That is the only demon that has been seen in our lands in our memory. It may have had some powers, but it could die. The story of this demon," he tipped his head at Neekah, "shows that they can be killed by mortals." Jhardron laughed grimly and patted his sword. "I have heard many fireside stories about magic, but I have never seen anything that can withstand a steel blade." Lachram nodded. "The blade that the demon carried is still buried in its body. I have never seen its like. Its length is longer than the tallest man of my village. The demon who wielded it was a giant." Jhardron raised his brow, "I am increasingly curious to see this marvel. Our wagons will arrive at the noon sun. We will share meat with you then and discuss trade. We will stay the night and leave in the morning." Lachram looked relieved to learn that the warriors planned to move on in the next day. The little tribe did not have the resources to feed the large number of men and had no defenses against such an armed force. The survival of his little tribe was completely on the whim of Jhardron. "The Bak Tai are men of honor. You are welcome to our camp." Thank you for taking the time to read my story. This story contains many words from the language of the Bak culture that I have created. The meaning of most of these words is easily inferred from their context. A ha'akh is the lowest rank of female slave assigned to serve a regiment of warriors. Please do me the kindness of rating and leaving me feedback. Constructive and/or critical, public or private, raving or troll; I love to hear from you. To those who leave anonymous feedback, I regret I cannot respond to you individually. Please accept my appreciation in advance. I would like to express my absolute delight to announce that I have found the most wonderful of editors. I would like to acknowledge and thank Dani for all her help. xantu Demon Child Ch. 08 Chapter 8: A new name and a new ha'akh. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Neekah felt the first flow of her woman's blood as she translated his words to the grasslands leader. A wave of embarrassment and fear flooded over her. Kwal'kek's words that it was not the Bak way to isolate a woman at this time did little to assuage her sense of being unclean. Even if it may be the Bak way, she was certain that the grasslands people would not share that opinion. A woman who broke this taboo could be punished, even killed if it was determined that she had brought bad luck to a tribe. Many times she had witnessed as Kharthmah had performed purification rituals to cleanse a contamination caused by a woman's blood. Almost all these rituals had involved inflicting a great deal of pain upon the woman who had caused this to happen. Even though she was never welcome in the women's hut, she had always kept herself carefully apart from the village during her moon times. Neekah squirmed in fear that her condition would be discovered and she could feel her face heat. Finally unable to contain herself anymore she pulled impatiently at the Khan's arm and whispered frantically in his ear. "My Khan, this girl is unclean. This ha'akh must go to the women's hut." Jhardron looked at her, his confusion clear in his eyes. Again she tried to say the embarrassing words, "It is forbidden among these people for a woman to speak to a man, to freely walk about the camp at this time. I must go be apart." This time understanding lit up Jhardron's eyes. "You say that you fear offending the customs of this tribe? That you suffer Jha'Mak'Tah's wound?" Neekah blinked and looked puzzled and then remembered the story of Pan'Shash'Sha'Am challenging Jha'Mak'Tah to do battle with the spear between his legs. She suppressed a smile at the euphemism. "Yes, I have been vanquished and I must hide away. It is the way of my people to stay apart. I cannot wander the village now." Jhardron frowned at this inconvenience, but he could see that the ha'akh was clearly distressed. She seemed genuinely fearful of breaking some taboo of this grasslands tribe. The last thing he wanted to do was upset the carefully balanced peace of the northern territories. The Aga Khan had been clear in his wishes that the grasslands people be left alive if at all possible. "If it is the custom of these people then you must follow that custom." Neekah looked relieved and hurried to a woman and whispered furtively. The woman pointed away south. She returned, "The women's hut is south of the village, near the little stream. I will be there." She turned and almost ran from the village. The hut was actually a small tent made up of skins and Neekah looked cautiously inside. There was only one mature woman sitting inside. She looked up from spinning thread with a little bobbin and looked surprised to see a stranger. Then she stared at Neekah, "You are the demon that came with the warriors. My sister was full of the news of the demon who was the daughter of Sa'amdi." Neekah nodded shyly, "Yes, I suffer my woman's blood and my Khan has allowed me to come here." "I could use some company. The bleeding time is past for the other women. My name is Tollarra." Neekah nodded, it was common in a small village for the moon blood of the women to all fall near the same time. She looked curiously at the spinning bobbins and asked, "My name is Neekah. Is there a task I can assist you with?" Tollarra looked at her and frowned, 'neekah' meant 'dirty thing' in both the Ramaldi and Grasslands languages. She had never met anyone whose name was that before. "Why do you name yourself that? It is an insult thrown at the most miserable of things." "It is the only name I have known. The people of my village called me that. The warriors call me ha'akh, which means servant." Tollarra picked up a bobbin and handed it to Neekah, but the girl just looked at it in confusion. "Don't you know how to spin?" Neekah shook her head. "I saw the women of my village spin, but I never tried it. The witch doctor did not have need of spinning." Tollarra shook her head in consternation at the idea of a grown woman who had not learned the simplest task taught to girls almost as soon as they could hold the bobbin. "Here let me show you. But I will not call you that insult name. I will call you ha'akh. Being a servant is a worthy task for a woman. How do you serve the warriors?" "I help with camp chores; cooking, cleaning, and filling the water buckets. I share the blessings of the goddess with them each night." Tollarra laughed, "Ah yes, so they are men after all. We grasslands women name it something else but it is the same across the land." The Grass Walker woman nodded knowingly, "I have heard how the Bak warriors carry off women to serve them in this way. Is it a hard life?" Neekah shook her head vigorously, "All my life I was alone and felt nothing but hate in the hearts of the Ramaldi. The Twisted Dagger have welcomed me into their regiment. They value what I have to give. They value me." "I wish I had a husband or even a man to value what I have to give. All I am blessed with is work. I live at the hearth of my dead husband's brother. But he does not care for me. He has taken me to his hearth as a family duty. I am just an old auntie to their children." It was obvious that Tollarra was lonely and very talkative. Neekah sensed a carefully guarded sea of sadness filling Tollarra. She was no longer young, her body thickened and her face weathered by the constant wind of the plains. "You have no children of your first hearth?" Tollarra's constant smile wavered and then slipped from her face. "I carried a child beneath my heart once, but it was not to be." She looked down at the bobbin in her hands and resumed spinning. "My first husband was old. He had many children from his first wives. He told me that it was of little matter to him that I could not carry the baby. He said he had paid my bride price to warm his bed, not to rock a cradle." Neekah knew that the women of the grasslands rarely had a say in who their husband would be and that it was not uncommon for a marriage to be a pragmatic arrangement between tribes and families. A woman could refuse, or even could leave a husband who was abusive, but a woman without a husband or family had little status. "Don't you have any other family here?" "I was young when I was married to the Grass Walker tribe. I came from the Bitter Grass Eater tribe to the west. I still have uncles and cousins there, but it is rare that anyone travels across the empty Wind Singer lands anymore." Tollarra forced herself to smile, "But what is, is what will be. It is not an old woman's place to dream, that is for young women like you." She gently corrected Neekah's clumsy attempt to spin and asked, "Did your woman's blood just start today?" Neekah nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to make the little stone weight spin and twist the wool fibers into a lumpy bit of string. "Yes, just today." "Then you will be here for a few days. Good, I miss someone to listen to my busy tongue." Neekah shook her head, "When the warriors leave in the morning they will take me with them. I must go when they come for me." Tollarra looked puzzled, "But you are unclean." Neekah shook her head, "It is not the warrior way to wait for a ha'akh. Kwal'kek says I must keep myself clean and refrain from sharing blessings until it is over." Tollarra looked around the tiny shelter and sighed, "I wish I could go. There seems nothing for me here." It was late in the day when a small dark woman poked her head into the tent. Her words were terse, "Tollarra, I bring your meal." The woman's voice was sharp and tired. Tollarra flinched and quickly responded, "Thank you, sister." "You have been over long in the women's hut. I am beginning to think you are hiding in here to avoid your obligations." Tollarra looked uncomfortable, but did not speak back. She just dropped her head. The small dark woman looked around the tent and for the first time seemed to notice Neekah sitting motionless in the shadows. Her manner changed from acid, irritability to cautious curiosity. "Hello." Neekah nodded, "Greetings." The woman was staring at Neekah, her eyes measuring and curious. "You are the one that speaks for the warriors, the one that names herself the child of Sa'amdi and a demon." "I am." "What is your name?" Before Neekah could answer, Tollarra interrupted, "She is called ha'akh by her masters." Neekah looked at Tollarra and did not contradict her. Tollarra continued, her voice hurried and overly loud, "This is my sister, Nahalem." Tollarra began to prattle, "I don't know why my bleeding lasts so long this time. I am sure it will be over tomorrow." She picked up the bowl, "Sister, you brought me meat. It must be a special day in the village." The small woman looked distracted, "Yes, the warriors brought a gift of meat to the village. There was enough for all. I must go back and watch the children." She backed out of the tent. Neekah could sense Tollarra's relief as her sister walked away. "That one has a tongue like a viper. She can cut flesh with it." Tollarra gave a sly smile, "She is right to think that I hide in the women's tent over long. It is dull here, but at least I can find a moment's peace." Neekah suppressed a sympathetic smile, "Tollarra, is my name that much of a bad thing?" "It is not a name. It is an insult." Neekah thought about that as she fought with the bobbin. Kharthmah had never called her by that name. He had just referred to her as 'demon'. She had no memory of her mother ever calling her by any name. The only people she had ever heard call her by that name had been the people of the village. She had very clear memories of the boys who had raped her, taunting her with that name as they forced themselves on her. She wondered why she had ever thought of that as her name. She dropped the bobbin and sat staring at her hands. "I really was dirty you know. I never washed. The dirt hid the unnatural color of my skin." "Well you are not dirty now and you need to find a new name." Neekah looked up and shook her head, "I do not need a name. I am ha'akh Bak Tai Twisted Dagger. That is all I need." Almost as she said the words she heard the voice of Tim'kah calling for her. She stepped out of the tent and answered, "I am here." Tim'kah looked curiously into the tent, "Kwal'kek says for you to come back to the wagons." She turned to Tollarra and shrugged apologetically, "If they call, I must go." Tollarra laughed bitterly, "You have a better life than mine, ha'akh." At the wagon she looked curiously at a small tent standing alone. Kwal'kek pointed at it proudly, "Ha'akh, Jhardron has traded for a tent of your own. If you must stay apart from the mud people, he says you should remain here in our camp." She looked inside and smiled to see her sleeping mat with the leopard fur. Her voice was almost inaudible, "Thank you." Kwal'kek blustered, "Do not thank me. Thank your Khan. Now that you have a tent of your own, you must be responsible to take it down and put it into the wagon. We will be leaving early in the morning, be ready." As he moved away he threw back over his shoulder, "It is a good thing for you to have your own tent. It was crowded enough in my tent with all the supplies." She stayed close to her tent all afternoon, eating alone and walking to the latrine pit alone. She washed herself in a bucket and washed the rags that she wore between her legs. She found her eyes following the forms of the warriors as they moved about the camp. As the shadows grew long in the evening, most of the warriors left the wagons and she could hear the sounds of laughter and music from the village. There were only a few of the younger warriors who remained with the wagons and the staked horses. She slept poorly and woke early. She carefully folded her tent around her sleeping furs and loaded it next to Kwal'kek's in the wagon. She huddled close to Xin'sha's warm side to keep warm in the early morning chill. As the goose bumps stood out on her bare arms, she told herself that soon the sun would be high and hot and she would be thinking wistfully of this cool air then. As Kwal'kek and the younger warriors were loading the last of the cooking pots and things into the wagon, Tollarra trotted into the camp, carrying a small bundle clutched in her arms. She looked fearfully around the camp and seeing the ha'akh standing to one side leaning against her red mare, she rushed up and stood uncertainly next to her. Tollarra had a fresh bruise on her face, her eye promising to turn black and she was tenderly licking at a swollen lip. Her voice vibrated with tension, "Ask if I can come too." Neekah looked at Tollarra in confusion, "You wish to come with the warriors?" "I have no home here now. Nahalem was not pleased with me last night. She had to stay with her baby because I was still in the woman's tent. She struck me when I returned to the hearth, accusing me of deliberately making her miss the feast. Her tongue is evil enough; I refuse to be beaten like a dog. I will work hard. I want to be a ha'akh like you." Kwal'kek was standing close looking at the small grasslands woman in consternation, when he growled, demanding an explanation, Neekah spoke, "This grasslands woman asks to become a ha'akh. She has no husband." The old warrior looked at the slender young ha'akh and the stout shorter grassland woman and shook his head in confusion. He threw his hands up and marched away, muttering that he was wondering what was wrong with this world. "This is a decision for the Khan to make." Jhardron blinked at Kwal'kek's words and frowned at the distraction. He handed the reins of his gray stallion to Tim'kah and strode over to where the ha'akh stood. "This woman asks to become a ha'akh?" Neekah nodded, "Yes, my Khan." "Is she permitted to leave her tribe?" "She has no husband or children. She is allowed to make that decision. A grasslands woman can decide to leave a hearth if she chooses." Jhardron looked critically at the little woman standing gripping a small bundle of personal items. It was not unheard of for a woman to volunteer to join a regiment as a servant, but usually they did not last long. Yet he was aware that the single ha'akh they had was not enough to keep the men happy. A second woman to share the chores and to serve the regiment would be helpful. He spoke briskly, "A ha'akh is a slave taken in battle." He reached out and grasped the younger woman's arm and pointed at the freshly healed brand. "This ha'akh belongs to the Twisted Dagger and must obey all Twisted Dagger warriors from the lowest to the highest in all things." Neekah translated the words to Tollarra and Tollarra stammered out, "I am a good worker. I promise to obey." "Once you carry the brand on your arm you will not be permitted to make the decision to leave our service. The only way a ha'akh leaves the service of a regiment is by death." Neekah blinked and swallowed and the repeated the words to Tollarra. The older woman looked frightened and then looked back towards the village. She looked at Neekah, "Do they beat you? Are they cruel?" Neekah shook her head, "No." "Then I will do it." The little woman tried to keep the fear from her voice, "Tell him that I will do it." Jhardron pointed at the wagon. "Ride there." He turned to Neekah, "You must help her learn the Bak language and her duties. She will sleep in your tent with you." When Neekah turned to Tollarra, her eyes were sparkling with excitement. "He says yes. Get on the wagon. I will ride close by." As the wagons began to roll away from the village Nahalem ran out and screeched at Tollarra, "Where do you think you are going?" As she ran, the infant she carried in her arms began to wail. Tollarra called out, "I am leaving. I have decided if I am going to be treated like a slave, I will at least do it somewhere far from you and your sharp tongue." Tollarra deliberately turned and faced forward on the wagon, turning her back on the shrill angry woman. A man came to stand behind Nahalem. He grabbed her arm and tried to pull her back, but the angry woman jerked her arm free and then turned on him, her face filled with rage and frustration. Tollarra shook her head, "That is my brother. Without me to vent her bile upon she will turn upon him or the children. I do not envy him." Kwal'kek had tied the lead of Xin'sha to the wagon. Tollarra was unusually quiet for several hours as they traveled west. Neekah could sense her feelings of fear and sadness, but chose to leave her to her thoughts. At one point Jhu'kresh rode up and looked curiously at the woman perched high on the wagon. "Our Khan wishes to ask if this woman is familiar with this territory. The speaker of the grasslands spoke of a spring to the west, but without a translator it was not clear exactly where." Neekah spoke softly to Tollarra and the little woman rubbed her eyes and looked around. She pointed a little to the north, "There is a little spring that way, but it is far yet." Neekah looked at the featureless waves of grass and wondered how anyone could find their way, but relayed her words to Jhu'kresh. After that Tollarra began to talk more. "Who was that?" "That was Jhu'kresh. He is second in command to the Khan." "They look all the same to me. They are all so tall and dark," Tollarra looked shyly at her hands, "...and handsome." She whispered nervously, "It has been many seasons since I have lain with a man." Neekah could sense that Tollarra was seething with curiosity and that her fears did not extend to this possible use. She laughed, "You will not have to wait much longer. Like you said earlier, they are men after all." Tollarra's next words were filled with fear, "They branded you?" It was common for a member to carry some mark of their tribe and status and it was common for the scarification to be a painful ritual. Grassland males wore extensive tattoos, but the women had only small series of dots along their hairline. Neekah held out her arm, proudly displaying her scar. "Yes, but it was over quickly. All Twisted Dagger carry the scar, from the Khan to the lowest ha'akh. It is an honor to carry the mark upon my arm. A Twisted Dagger does not fear pain." Neekah's voice turned soft, "We have not come so far that you could not walk back. It is not too late to change your mind." Tollarra shook her head and made a sour face, "I am sure the pain of a single brand to be small in comparison to the endless lash of my sister's tongue. She crossed a line when she struck my face. I could tolerate the pinches, the hair pulls, even the thrown objects, but when she struck my face I knew it would be only a matter of time before I struck her back. I would have no hearth then and at least now I get to do something I have dreamed of since I married. I get to travel west to the lands of my childhood. Perhaps I will see my family." The small woman smiled bravely, "You have so much pride in your voice when you say that. Say those words, 'Twisted Dagger.' I have not felt pride of place for many years." Neekah smiled, "It is the only place I have felt valued. They are proud that I am a demon. They say that I am lucky." "What is the Bak word for luck?" "Aylan." "Then you should name yourself Aylanna." Neekah's voice was soft and confused, "I can name myself?" "It is a good name. It has a beautiful sound. It is a name I would be proud to call you. I want to think that meeting you brought me luck." Neekah said the name, "Aylanna, lucky one." Then she smiled, "Tollarra, you bring me a great gift, a new name." She sat a little taller in the saddle and turned to look back, almost expecting to see something left behind, lying in the grass. Demon Child Ch. 08 "Well, I needed something to call you that did not leave a bad taste in my mouth." "One of the things that my Khan told me to do was to teach you the Bak language. You are ha'akh, which means servant, to the Bak Tai Twisted Dagger. Tai means warrior regiment. So this is the Twisted Dagger warrior regiment. We are called ha'akh Bak Tai Twisted Dagger. Titles are important. You must remember yours. Repeat it after me." As the wagon slowly bumped over the grass, Aylanna taught Tollarra the words she would need to get by; yes, no, please, thank you, water, food, horse, tent... Tollarra was slow to learn, but had an irrepressible self deprecating sense of humor. Always willing to laugh at her errors, she did not once begin to feel discouraged. When Aylanna began to talk about body parts she giggled to learn the words jhambar and venya, but she seemed a little shocked at the open discussion of panshasham. Tollarra's voice was hushed, "It is unseemly for a woman to respond with undo eagerness to a man's attentions. It is a woman's place to submit in silence." Aylanna looked confused, "But it is a blessing. The Bak Tai warriors say it is good luck for them when I give them this, when I bless their offering with my passion. Do you not feel pleasure when a man mounts you?" Tollarra giggled again, looking about nervously, "Oh yes, it is pleasurable, very pleasurable. It was just an embarrassment to be seen as wanton, incapable of controlling one's responses. The tents of the grasslands tribes are small and the walls are thin. There are few secrets and a woman who cries out is shamed." Aylanna shrugged, "You and I are leaving many things behind. I leave behind a name. You leave behind many things as well." As the sun sank into the west, Tollarra spoke up, carefully enunciating the few Bak words, "Tell the warriors that this new ha'akh Bak Tai Twisted Dagger says the spring in close by." Tollarra pointed ahead, "It is small, but enough for one night." At the spring, Tollarra helped Aylanna set up their tent and put her small bundle of belongings inside. Then they worked together to fill the water buckets and help with the cooking fires. Both women were very aware of the eyes of the warriors watching the new member of their camp curiously. When Jhu'kresh put an iron into the fire, Aylanna saw Tollarra's eyes get big and her hands began to tremble with fear. Aylanna looked up in surprise when Kwal'kek called her over and began to dig around in the medicine box. He pushed some herbs into her hands and gruffly said, "Brew this into a tea, it will calm her spirit and ease her pain." Aylanna smelled the leaves and recognized a mild sedative; it would not put Tollarra asleep, but would take the edge off her fear. At Aylanna's gentle whisper, "Drink this, it will dull the pain." Tollarra gratefully drank down the tea. Aylanna watched as the smaller woman's pupils dilated and her movements began to slow and become clumsy. Jhardron stood up and addressed the camp, "This grasslands woman asks to become ha'akh to the Twisted Dagger." He turned to Tollarra, "Your village is one day's walk to the East. You are still in lands you are familiar with. I give you this one chance to return to your home. After you have accepted the brand, you will belong to the Twisted Dagger, the only escape is death." Aylanna translated the words and Tollarra pulled herself to her feet and pushed up the sleeve to her tunic and held out her arm. "I have no home back there." "Then you give yourself to the Twisted Dagger?" Tollarra's voice shook with nervousness, "Yes." Jhardron reached for her hand, pulled her to stand in front of him, and then spoke sharply. "Take off your clothing, ha'akh. Give to us what is ours. A ha'akh has no shame." Tollarra looked around the camp at the dozens of warriors that were watching. Hesitantly she began to pull her dress off. Aylanna could sense her profound embarrassment, but at the same time there was a surprising rush of sexual excitement. Aylanna suppressed a smile; obviously Tollarra found the idea of being exposed very exciting. Soon she was standing before the Khan nude, her shoulders curved protectively around her plump breasts and her hands modestly covering her venya. Jhardron nodded to Jhu'kresh and instantly several warriors had Tollarra in their hands and just as quickly laid her on the ground before their Khan. Tollarra made a soft yelp of surprise and then fell silent. Jhardron knelt and pulled aside his loin cloth and pressed against Tollarra. Aylanna could sense a kind of detachment in his spirit, like this was a ritual rather than a sharing. There was no cruelty in his spirit, but neither was there any tenderness. Tollarra laid still and silent under him, her hands covering her mouth as if to stifle any cries of pain or fear. As soon as Jhardron rose, Jhu'kresh took his place. Only then did Tollarra make a soft sound behind her hands, a whimper of surprise and dismay. Without thought, Aylanna knelt by her head and began to stroke her hair, murmuring to her new friend in the language of the plains tribes. "Do not fear. They are claiming you for their own." Aylanna could sense that, with the embarrassment and the confusion, Tollarra also seemed to be struggling to contain her growing excitement. Her murmurs were gentle and soft, "Do not be afraid. Pleasure is good. They will love you for your blessing of their offerings." Aylanna could feel her own body responding to the feelings of those around her, her heart beating faster, her mouth and loins growing wet with excitement. Even in the midst of her woman's flow she could feel the swelling and throb of need. One after another according to rank, each warrior from the Khan to the youngest fledgling knelt between the spread legs of the new ha'akh. After a while Tollarra could not contain her cries, soft whimpers and nervous yelps turning to groans and sobs. Eventually her soft tentative movements became tense frantic lunges of her hips to meet the thrusts of the jhambars filling her venya. Aylanna whispered in her ear, "Do not hold your magic inside. Bless them." And Tollarra made a small strangled squeal as she began to convulse with cascades of pleasure. Aylanna felt a small echo of pleasure course through her own venya and sighed softly into Tollarra's ear, "Thank you for your blessing." The voices of the warriors chanted softly, "Panshasham." Only after the last warrior rose up did Jhu'kresh lift the glowing iron and quickly press it against the carefully restrained arm of the exhausted Tollarra. Her whole body thrashed and she let out a deep scream of pain, but choked it off the instant the iron was removed. Jhardron's voice was loud in the suddenly quiet encampment, "I claim this ha'akh for the Twisted Dagger. She shall not be used for pleasures until the brand on her arm is healed. Then she will be used in the same manner as the first ha'akh, in the same order." Aylanna helped Tollarra to their tent and dabbed some numbing burn ointment onto the brand and then washed her tenderly and helped her back into her dress. Tollarra seemed dazed and a little in shock. Aylanna urged her to drink a second cup of the tea, knowing it would send the little woman into a deep sleep and then carefully covered her with the leopard skin and cuddled up to her to keep her warm. As Tollarra slowly relaxed, she mumbled sleepily, "Will they do that every night?" Aylanna held her close and crooned softly, "No, the Khan says you shall serve only five a night and not until your arm is healed." Tollarra gave a tiny drunken giggle, "Darn." Aylanna joined her, "See it is not so bad. They were pleased with your gift. Be proud of your magic." Tollarra groaned when she woke in the morning and Aylanna had to assist her to her feet and help her to walk out to urinate in the grass behind their tent. As she released her water, she hissed in pain. At Aylanna's questions Tollarra admitted that her whole venya was sore and it felt like the skin had been scraped inside her. But then she stopped and asked shyly, "Was that panshasham, that thing that happened?" Aylanna helped Tollarra to sit and brought her a bowl of grains and dried fruit. "Have you not experienced that before?" "No. I did not know that such a feeling could happen inside my body." Tollarra seemed a little nervous, "You say it is magic?" "It is a blessing. It is mating magic, a gift from the goddess, nothing to be frightened of." Aylanna wondered how she knew this, but she knew it was true. Again Aylanna rode Xin'sha next to the wagon and spoke to Tollarra, teaching her the Bak words. They reviewed the words she had learned the day before and Aylanna added more. Tollarra seemed quieter than usual, frequently looking at the brand on her arm and then in the afternoon curling up in a small ball and sleeping as the sun beat down on the small group of traveling wagons. Aylanna let her mind wander, riding half asleep, her body swayed relaxed and loose in the saddle. It seemed like the wind was filled with words, but they were not in any language she had heard before. Oddly she sensed a soft sad urgency to the murmuring voices, like they were pleading for something. Aylanna did not strain to listen, but she did not try to shut the sound from her mind. She could see Xin'sha's ears swivel and turn listening to the wind. Somehow the knowledge that the horse was hearing the same sounds was reassuring to Aylanna. And the mare's apparent lack of fear helped keep her from thinking too much about it. When they made camp next, Tollarra moved painfully as she assisted Aylanna with their chores. Aylanna gave her some ointment for her burn and whispered gently, "Put a little on the sore places on your venya. It will ease the pain." Tollarra smiled gratefully and whispered softly, "It is mostly stiff muscles. I worked parts of my body that had been sitting idle entirely too long and then sat all day in the wagon. I should have walked instead of slept. But this will help as well." Then Tollarra giggled softly and murmured, making a point to use as many Bak words as possible, "It had been so long since I had felt a jhambar in my venya, I had almost become a virgin again. It did not hurt this much after my husband took me for the first time." Tollarra's eyes sparkled with sudden wit, "But he was many years my senior. His jhambar was shy and retiring. The weapons of the warriors reached places his never did. Perhaps I was a virgin still." The two ha'akhs were both laughing as they went about their duties. Jhardron looked curiously at the pair. It was unusual for a new ha'akh to exhibit such spirit so soon after her initiation. He had not expected this from the small grasslands woman. It seemed like the wild color girl had eased her fears and, while it was clear that the little woman was in some pain, she was facing it with the spirit of a warrior. It seemed like the demon was happy to have the company of another woman, her happy smile and soft laugh were a pleasant addition to the camp. Jhardron nodded to himself. The addition of the grasslands woman strengthened the Twisted Dagger. He could see the looks of approval in the eyes of the warriors. She did not hold the beauty of the demon, but she had a busy happy spirit and was already quick to joke and laugh with the members of the camp, taking every opportunity to practice the new language she was learning. The Twisted Dagger traveled slowly, during the day the horse warriors ranging out from the wagons and returning to the camp in the evenings. The days were endlessly dry and hot, with a steady relentless wind that turned the grass into a rippling sea. At night the air turned chill, in the morning their breath turned to smoke that was torn from their lips by the constant wind. The new ha'akh was moving without pain and the brand on her arm was healing cleanly when Aylanna moved to stand before Jhardron. Her face was the curious red shade that he was learning to associate with her feeling nervous or excited. Her voice was soft whisper, "This ha'akh is recovered from her wound and is ready to resume her duties of sharing pleasure with her warriors." Jhardron suppressed the smile the rose up at the possessive tone of her words. He could see the pride in her eyes as she looked upon the Twisted Dagger warriors. This wild color girl clearly felt a strong connection to all the warriors and embraced her role with an eagerness and enthusiasm that was unusual for a ha'akh. Her attitude had seemed to have a strong influence on the new woman as well. He nodded curtly, "Then the warriors shall come for you tonight." Then he paused and commented, "Ha'akh, you have done well in helping the new ha'akh learn her place. I am pleased." Aylanna's eyes grew big. Her voice was breathless with excitement, "I exist to serve." He waved her away dismissively and she darted back to help with filling the water buckets and start the fires. Jhardron allowed himself a moment for his eyes to linger on the slender form of the girl. He almost began to count the number of days until it was his allotted time to have her, but he stopped himself and forced his mind to turn to other things. It was rare for the Khan to say such positive things. He did not believe in holding one warrior's accomplishments over another's, it was his practice to praise the regiment as a whole. He held himself apart and spoke only formally with his subordinates, mostly giving orders or listening to reports. He spent most of his time just observing the smooth workings of his regiment. The only real game he engaged in was his nightly testing of the guard's alertness, sneaking silently through the night. Only then did he let his guard down and really treat them as equals. He was young for a Khan and knew that he was still being judged for his worthiness by many of the veterans. His father had wished for him to experience leadership in the field, but it was a given that eventually he would follow in his father's footsteps and serve at the court of the Aga Khan. He truly loved this life, being Khan to a regiment, but he could not allow himself to become too comfortable in this life. He knew he existed to serve just as surely as the wild color girl did. Soon it would be the winter season and the regiment would return to the city. He would spend the time there at court, once more dancing the careful dance of intrigue, currying favor, learning about his enemies, and creating alliances. It was not a life he had much patience for, but it was another skill his father wished him to acquire, especially now that the Aga Khan had no sons and was getting long in years. But there was spring to look forward to and he hoped he had at least one more campaign to complete before his father felt he was seasoned enough. Jhardron blinked and shook his head, inwardly chastising himself for woolgathering. He went to Jhu'kresh, "Tonight the ha'akhs will both resume their duties to the warriors. Make it clear to them that I expect the new ha'akh to be treated with the same manner as the first. Do not treat her roughly and if she is in need of punishment, bring her to me and I will pass judgment." Jhardron did not really believe that the warriors would mistreat either woman. There were very strict rules to the behavior of a Bak warrior towards a ha'akh. A ha'akh belonged to the regiment just like a mount; in fact the rules for the care of both were very similar. Abuse towards either was a violation of regimental responsibilities and was taken very seriously. Aylanna could sense a building tension and excitement in her body. She whispered to Tollarra, "Tonight we will serve the warriors." Tollarra had giggled nervously and looked about at the men, "Which ones?" Aylanna shrugged, "It matters not. They are all the same in my eyes." Tollarra chuckled a deep little laugh, "In your 'eyes'? I was thinking about them being 'in' some other part of my body. I seem to have developed an itch deep inside that needs scratching." Aylanna was still laughing at her new friend's joke when the warriors came to collect them. Two groups of five came to them and Aylanna recognized the first group of five with Harnum and Klektor as the first men who had taken her the night of the archery competition. She smiled in memory, "Good, they were my first five. Harnum was very gentle. Go with them. Do what they say." Aylanna turned to the others; her mind already filled with the echoes of their lust and eagerly held out her hands. She noticed that Tollarra was being led off in a similar direction and when the groups stopped they were not far from one another. She impatiently pulled off her shift and leaned against the chest of one of the warriors, running her hands across the texture of the scars on his back, inhaling the fragrance of his skin. She could feel the hands of another on her tracing down the curve of her spine making her quiver and hum with anticipation. As she felt their hands pulling her back and down she closed her eyes and let the feelings fill her mind. Each touch seemed to echo and resound through her and she found herself twisting and writhing in response to each new sensation. When she felt the first sweet thrust filling her, she cried out and arched, pulling mindlessly at the hips of the one between her legs, soft pleading whines breaking from her lips, begging to be filled, wanting more. As she felt the warrior press deep and shudder with his finish, she cried out and joined him. She quickly lost all awareness of anything other than the crescendo of pleasure that built within her with each warrior that filled her with his offering. Tollarra was already in the tent when Aylanna came in. She was fingering a necklace around her neck made of braided horse's hair and looking at a small white shell that had been strung upon it. Aylanna sat and pulled her necklace over her head, carefully untied the knot and slipped another small gold bead onto it. She held up the necklace and showed it to Tollarra. "Each bead is a memory." Tollarra looked at her necklace again, "Let us hope for many such memories." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Thank you for taking the time to read my story. This story contains many words from the language of the Bak culture that I have created. The meaning of most of these words is easily inferred from their context. A ha'akh is the lowest rank of female slave assigned to serve a regiment of warriors. Please do me the kindness of rating and leaving me feedback. Constructive and/or critical, public or private, raving or troll; I love to hear from you. To those who leave anonymous feedback, I regret I cannot respond to you individually. Please accept my appreciation in advance. I would like to express my absolute delight to announce that I have found the most wonderful of editors. I would like to acknowledge and thank Dani for all her help. xantu Demon Child Ch. 09 Chapter 9: Magic is a sword with two edges. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Each day followed another in its own sweet rhythm. Tollarra perched on the wagon, Aylanna riding beside it on her red mare. The two ha'akhs would talk or just travel alongside each other in comfortable silence. Just like the endless sea of grassland surrounding them, featureless and seemingly limitless, it seemed like the same words, the same rituals of service and blessings filled their nights. Aylanna's mind seemed to fall into almost a thoughtless trance of travel and duty. Sometimes Kwal'kek would take the little mare's lead rope and take Aylanna out for a riding lesson. He would lead them at a faster pace, his gruff voice prompting Aylanna to keep a firm seat and always keep her hands free. When he finally removed the lead rope completely, the little red mare, so accustomed to following his heavy old stallion, continued to the habit as if the lead rope was still there. But Aylanna was exhilarated at the sense of freedom that suddenly filled her heart. Almost instantly the little red mare began to vibrate with the same sense of excited energy and began to sidestep and prance. When Xin'sha broke into a stiff legged trot, her head up and her eyes rolling nervously, Kwal'kek looked surprised and barked, "Do not let your mount ride you. You must be in control at all times." Aylanna firmly brought her emotions in check and picked up the reins for the first time, gently pulling the mare to a more sedate pace and at the same time sending a message that is was a time to be calm and walk. She could feel the tension drain out of the horse almost instantly and Xin'sha once again began to walk following Kwal'kek, her ears flickering back, as if listening intently to the girl on her back. Aylanna lifted her eyes to the uniform horizon and without thinking, the image of flying across the grass, like in her dreams, flooded up and filled her head. Almost instantly the little mare bolted. Aylanna found herself spinning in the air, falling before she even realized she had lost her seat and then crashed hard onto the dry ground under the grass. She lay there flat on her back, gasping, the wind knocked out of her, struggling to fill her empty lungs. The sound of the mare's hooves made a drumming sound, an echo of the pounding rhythms of her dreams as she cantered away. A shadow blocked out the sun above her and she looked up to see Kwal'kek looking down at her from the back of his stallion. At first she sensed his concern, and then when he saw she was uninjured, his worry changed to puzzlement, "Ha'akh, what did you do?" Aylanna coughed and muttered, "I thought about running." At first Kwal'kek looked angry and then he shrugged and shook his head, "Your little mare is very in tune with your wishes. I suggest next time you think about running, you be prepared." Again there was the drumming of hooves and Aylanna was surprised to find the soft red nose of her mare sniffing curiously at her face. Clearly the little mare was amazed to find her rider missing from her back. Aylanna laughed and pulled herself back up to her feet and remounted. She leaned down and gave the mare a gentle approving pat. She spoke aloud, "I am sorry. I will try not to fall off next time." Kwal'kek frowned at the sight of the girl openly speaking to the horse and shook his head again, "It is a ha'akh's duty to obey her Khan. Instead you ignore his commands." His voice was harsh and lecturing. A wave of protest rose up in Aylanna. She looked wounded and her brow furrowed in frustration, "But Jhardron said if the horses spoke to me, I could answer. All he said was not do around others." Kwal'kek harrumphed at being defied and having his authority undermined by the girl's invoking the words of his superior, "Well, I am one of those others and you flaunt your magic before me." This time Aylanna's eyes flashed with temper and she began to argue in earnest, "But you already knew. That's not fair!" Xin'sha's ears laid back and the little mare squealed in rage and whirled, kicking sharply at the big old stallion. Aylanna gasped in horror and pulled at the reins, almost screaming in her head for the little mare to stop. Kwal'kek was looking at the pair in shock and then his eyes turned to Aylanna's terrified face as she struggled to control the increasingly reactive mare. Kwal'kek made an automatic gesture warding against evil. Aylanna wailed in frustration and almost threw herself from the back of the mare. Wanting nothing more than to escape this ever descending maelstrom of confusion, she bolted into the grass, blindly running from this madness that seemed to pervade every action. Her feet led her blindly through the tall golden grass, futilely running from the magic inside her. When Aylanna staggered to a stop, she was breathing hard and for the first time looking around. All she saw around her was grass, almost as tall as her head. The horizon seemed closer but every direction she turned; all she saw was grass, an endless undulating sea of grass. Slowly she spun around and around, trying to figure out what direction she had come in, what direction was the way back to her warriors. Finally she sank to the ground sobbing. Eventually she lay numb listening to the words in the wind lull her and then she fell asleep with the hot sun beating down on her. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna woke to the sweet warm breath of Xin'sha in her face. Almost without thought she spoke to the mare, "Oh, you found me." Jhardron's voice was bemused, "Your little horse followed your scent like a hunting hound." Aylanna jumped to her feet to see Jhardron on his grey stallion with Jhu'kresh behind him. She stammered, "I... I... am sorry. I didn't mean to do it. I... I... just can't stop it. I didn't mean to run away, I was just running and then I could not find my way back." Aware that she was pleading and fearful Aylanna spun around and buried her face in her mare's neck. Again the little mare reacted to the girl's emotional turmoil, her ears laying back and starting to sidestep nervously. Aylanna froze and then gripped the Xin'sha's bridle and fiercely thought at her, "Stop now!" The mare froze and stood trembling, her ears up and intently listening once more. Jhardron's voice penetrated her awareness. He was speaking to Jhu'kresh, "Go and let them know we have found her. I will bring her back." Still standing with her back to him, Aylanna spoke. Her voice was soft and sad, "Sometimes I can't make it stop happening." She heard the creak of leather as Jhardron dismounted and she felt his hand on her shoulder slowly, firmly turning her to face him. He looked down at the wild color girl, taking in her swollen red eyes and trembling lips. "You speak of your magic?" The girl nodded jerkily, her eyes turning away from his, "It seems if I just think the thought and she is off and running. If I become angry; she is angry. If I begin to feel fear; her mind clouds with panic. I first thought I could just listen to them, they were talking to me, but now it is clear that she sees into my heart at all times." Jhardron nodded, "Let us talk of this as we walk back to camp." He began to walk, leading his stallion and Aylanna trotted to catch up. He did not look at her, keeping his eyes on the horizon. "You have been riding many days. Has this happened before?" "No, not like this, sometimes when I would practice turning, I would think it, almost make the picture in my mind of her turning and I found she would do it without the touch of my knee or heel. But it always felt natural and it felt like I was controlling it. Today it was like my mind was a flock of birds, flying in all directions." Aylanna's voice dropped, "And I could tell I was confusing her, her spirit still is in turmoil." "And how is your spirit?" "I feel like the wind is inside my head, pushing me around like leaves in the dry season." They walked in silence for many minutes and then Jhardron spoke again. "A young warrior trains many months before he is allowed to even touch a metal sword. More than anything else he is learning discipline. He is learning to control his emotions. He must put the impetuousness of youth behind him. When a warrior earns his swords, he carries in his hand a weapon. If he is careless, he may cut himself or his comrades. If he is impetuous or impulsive he can forget his responsibilities. A Bak warrior must always be in control of his body, his heart, and his mind." "And magic is a sword in my hand." "A sword with two edges, it is doubly dangerous. But it can be a valuable asset. A Bak who can speak with his mount would be a formidable horseman. Already you have a bond with this red mare that is beyond any of the Twisted Dagger warriors, but like any dangerous weapon you must be in control of your body, heart, and mind in order to wield it safely." Aylanna nodded and sighed, unable to find the words to express how easy it was for her Khan to say and so hard for her to do. Jhardron continued, "You once said that you could feel if the boy was telling the truth. Tell me about that." Aylanna looked puzzled, "It was not in his heart, fear was there and anger, but I sensed no deceit." "You could read his thoughts?" "Oh no, I cannot hear what another thinks, just the feelings. It is not always the same for some people. I have a great deal more difficulty feeling what is in your heart. And Kwal'kek is very hard for me to... um... feel." Aylanna was groping for words to describe an experience that was almost purely sensory and wordless. "When I share blessings with the warriors, it is like they are open. You and Kwal'kek are... um... closed?" Aylanna smiled softly, "Sometimes I feel your eyes on me, looking at me. I can tell you want me then. It wakes up something in me... a wanting too." Jhardron's next question startled Aylanna, "Ha'akh, what was your name?" Aylanna swallowed and shrugged, "I was given no name. The village people called me Neekah, dirty thing. The other ha'akh suggested I call myself Aylanna, lucky one. It would be my name if I could choose." She paused and took a deep breath, "But a ha'akh has little need of a name." Jhardron's voice was soft, "Aylanna ha'akh Bak Tai Twisted Dagger is a good name. Wear it well." Aylanna felt something, an echo of warmth and then it was gone. Again they walked without speaking until Jhardron spoke again. Aylanna could feel a grim resolve in his spirit, "A ha'akh that runs away is a poor servant. A ha'akh that runs away must be prepared to accept her Khan's judgment." Sensing that Jhardron was fighting a reluctance in his spirit, Aylanna looked toward him with large eyes and responded, "A ha'akh must always accept her Khan's judgment." Jhardron's voice was cool and neutral. "It is your Khan's judgment that until he is satisfied you are in control of your body, heart, and mind, you will not ride your mare." In some way this came almost as a relief to Aylanna. The spiraling negative feedback of her panic and the little mare's agitated response had frightened her. She nodded, "As my Khan commands." "It is your Khan's judgment that a ha'akh that becomes so frightened by her magic that she runs away into the tall grass and becomes lost should wear hobbles like a poorly trained mare that flees from shadows." Aylanna's steps faltered and she pressed her lips together. She could see the wisdom in his words, but the vision of being tied and shuffling about the camp was painful to think of. "It is decreed that a ha'akh that runs away from a regiment should be beaten." Aylanna stumbled and fell to her knees. She could sense the struggle in Jhardron's spirit. A sob rose up in her chest, but she did not protest. Her only words were a plea, "Please Khan, Sir, do not do it around Xin'sha, it will frighten her." Already the mare was fighting the reins, rearing and struggling to back away. Jhardron pulled the reins from Aylanna's nerveless fingers and tied a lead rope to the mare's bridle. Aylanna did not watch but listened as he led the horses away. When he returned she could see a short heavy horse whip hanging from his hand. His fingers were white knuckled around the handle and she could sense a strong turmoil in his spirit. But just as quickly she felt a closing in his spirit, like he had forced the feelings away. His voice was neutral, "It is customary for the Khan to determine the severity of the beating. It is clear that you were not running away because you wished to escape your servitude. Yet your actions disrupted the entire regiment. Like your little mare, the warriors feel a strong bond to you. Each one felt your absence. Your thoughtless actions put your life at risk. You could have easily been lost forever in the tall grass." It seemed like each statement was a lash, Aylanna was sobbing with remorse. Still Jhardron stood before her and she could see that he was fingering the handle of the whip in apparent indecision. She choked out, "A ha'akh must always accept her Khan's judgment." Still on her knees she pulled her dress off her shoulders. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> It was late evening when Jhardron rode into the camp. Aylanna lay prone over the pommel of his saddle, her ankles hobbled with a short rope tied between them. Xin'sha followed along placidly on a lead rope, her saddle glaringly empty. Aylanna hid her face against the flank of the grey stallion. All movement in the camp stopped and she could feel the eyes of the warriors following her and Jhardron. He held her hands steady as she slipped down and landed on her feet. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading for something, acknowledgement, forgiveness, guidance but he just wheeled his mount and led the little red mare away. Aylanna stood sadly looking around at the camp, wanting somehow to beg all their forgiveness, but not able to speak. She could see Kwal'kek standing looking at her, his face stormy with angry judgment. Slowly, painfully she shuffled to face him, her face a mask of sadness. Her voice was raw with tears, "This ha'akh behaved very badly. This ha'akh ran away." Her voice quivered with her struggle to control her tears. "This ha'akh is sorry." Kwal'kek stood glowering at the girl, his anger and disappointment clear on his face. He had contended all day with a growing sense of dread and guilt after he had let the girl run away. He had sat on the back of his heavy old stallion and watched the girl disappear into the grass, and had not even called to her to stop. It was only after she had vanished that he had realized that he had let his superstitions interfere with his judgment. Even then he had just turned the big old horse and gone to report her disobedience and escape to his Khan. It was only when he had told Jhardron that the girl had run away, that he had fully realized his failure. He was not prepared for the censure in the younger man's eyes. He had tried to protest that she had bewitched him, but the words rang hollow and empty. Jhardron had just looked at him and said, "The Twisted Dagger will not leave behind the demon. Go back to the wagons. Make camp." When Jhu'kresh came into camp with the news that the girl had been found, Kwal'kek had felt the easing of tension in camp, and as much as he had wanted to deny it, a relief that was echoed in his own heart. He stood looking down at the girl's strange gray eyes and as he looked, a tear slipped out and she impatiently raised her hand to wipe it away. The old man caught her hand and stopped her before it reached her face and then gently wiped the tear away with a callused thumb. Gruffly he grunted, "A ha'akh should not forget her duties. It is late. Your warriors await your blessing." Aylanna took a deep shuddering breath, and nodded briskly, "This ha'akh hears and obeys." She turned and could not help but smile to see that the group of five was Tim'kah and four of the most youthful warriors standing in a group looking at her nervously. One of them held a bed roll under his arm. Kwal'kek's voice rumbled behind her, "I have spoken to them about their duties to you, but they are young and inexperienced. They will need your guidance." Aylanna's steps were short and slow as she walked to Tim'kah. She stood before him, a soft embarrassed smile on her face. "If this ha'akh had known that five such handsome and strong warriors were waiting my return, I would not have been so late." She looked down at the ropes that kept her ankles only about her shoulders width apart. "It is customary for a warrior to remove the hobbles from his mount before riding." It was clear the Tim'kah was acting as the leader of the young warriors. His lips twitched at the image of trying to ride a horse that was still hobbled and knelt at her feet to untie her ankles. Once her feet were unfettered, Aylanna spoke softly, "You must retie me when we return to camp. It is our Khan's judgment." The young man's hand was warm on her ankle, and slowly slid up her leg as he stood and took her hand. She could sense his nervous excitement and uncertainty. Aylanna could feel her heart lurch and her breath caught. As they walked from camp, Aylanna let her hands stray, touching their arms, running her fingers across the ridges of the fresh scars on their chests. She could sense their excitement, but also felt layers of uncertainty and confusion overlaying their eagerness. When the small group stopped, she helped spread out the sleeping skin and then pulled her simple dress over her head and folded it carefully. Almost instantly she could feel the tension and, to her surprise, anger coming from the young men. She twisted around trying to peer at her back. She ran her fingers across the welts crisscrossing her shoulders and back. She looked at them sadly and repeated the words, "A ha'akh and a warrior of the Twisted Dagger must always accept their Khan's judgment." Again she tenderly touched the raised ridges on her back and forced herself to shrug, ignoring the twinge of pain that accompanied the movement of her shoulders. Aylanna schooled her face into her eager smile, running her hand down the length of her slender body, and then taking Tim'kah's hands and pulling them to touch her, tracing the same path her hands hand taken. Instantly she could sense his rush of excitement. She murmured in a soft vibrant voice, "The touch of your hands light the fire of the goddess in my heart." She reached her hands out to the other young warriors standing close by, "I crave the heat of your hands to feed the flames." As each of them joined, she whispered soft encouragement, gently guiding their touches. It was clear that they were oddly shy and unsure of themselves and Aylanna naturally stepped into the role of guide and teacher. When she pulled Tim'kah between her thighs, impatient to be filled, she was mildly disappointed when he left his offering only moments after his entry into her. But soon another took his place. None of them lay long between her legs but there was always another. Aylanna never sank beneath the waves of sensation, never losing her awareness to the fugue of ecstasy. Instead the pleasure built slowly, gently and when she finally found her release, it was a soft gentle surge of joy, her cries soft and vibrant. She showed them the ritual of bathing and afterwards they brought her back and tied her ankles once more. Tim'kah pressed into her hands two striped red jasper beads and mumbled softly, "I am glad you came back." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna got some ointment from the medicine box and asked Tollarra to help put it on her back. When Tollarra fussed over the welts, Aylanna spoke sharply, "I disobeyed. I ran away. I could have been lost. It was necessary. If our Khan had not punished me, he would have been failing in his duty to the regiment." Demon Child Ch. 09 Tollarra made a sympathetic sound as she carefully spread the ointment, "Sister, why did you do it?" Aylanna lay still, "My Khan forbids me to speak of this." Tollarra did not speak of it again, but Aylanna could sense her concern. When Tollarra was finished with the ointment, Aylanna turned to her and impulsively wrapped her arms around the older woman, "I am sorry. One thing I can say is that I will not run away again." As she lay uneasy and sleepless in her blankets, Aylanna thought back to the scene in the grass. She had knelt before him, forcing herself to remain silent as Jhardron had wielded the whip. She had not even allowed the sobs to leak from her sealed lips. Almost more painful than the lash striking her skin had been the turmoil in Jhardron's mind. She could sense the reluctance that seethed under his resolve. It seemed like with each blow of the whip his reluctance grew until he could no longer lift his hand. They had stayed frozen in that position with her on her knees before him, the whip dangling from his nerveless fingers for what seemed an eternity. Jhardron had not spoken again, wordlessly picking up her shift and pushing it into her hands, tying the ropes around her ankles and lifting her to lie across the pommel of his saddle. Throughout the ride back to the camp, Aylanna had been battered and confused by the intensity of his feelings. Normally remote and closed from her, for a brief time he was naked to her senses. Rage, grief, and something else, something softer warmer and somehow ultimately frightening seemed to surge and eddy through him. When the camp had appeared before them, it had been like a veil had been pulled across his face and he was gone from her again. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> It seemed like Aylanna's courage had evaporated in the night. Her mood was subdued and sad as she awkwardly climbed into the wagon. She looked longingly at the sight of Tim'kah taking his turn walking at the head of the draft horse pulling the wagon, but the hobbles around her ankles made even walking beside the wagon impossible. Aylanna rode beside Tollarra seated high on the wagon. She hated riding in the wagon. She struggled against the impulse to retreat into self pity. Over and over, she silently repeated the words inside her head, "A ha'akh must always accept her Khan's judgment." As usual the wagon was slow, the ride bumpy and hot. Aylanna tried to sit up, watching the grass and the sky. Tollarra tried to talk with her, but Aylanna seemed distracted, only responding with soft single words. Finally Aylanna lay back on the swaying wagon and listlessly looked up at the endless sky with heavy half closed eyes. High above she could see a raptor, slowly whirling in wide circles, its wings perfectly motionless. Slowly she began to feel weightless, her spirit slowly loosening in its bond to her body. Almost imperceptively the rocking and bumps of the wagon were replaced by a swinging drifting movement up and away, soaring higher and higher to look down upon her body limp and empty. Oddly her mood seemed to lighten without the weight of her body. She felt an electric thrill with the sensation of flight, turning and spinning in the air like the eagle above her. As the circle of the horizon expanded the wagons shrank smaller. She could see the horse herd moving along to one side. Several warriors rode along, guiding them parallel with the path of the wagons. A soft sparkle of amusement shot through Aylanna as she saw Xin'sha repeatedly try to break away from the group of stallions, angling back toward the wagons, only to be turned back by the herders. The little mare whirled and raced back across the grass, shaking her head and kicking up her heels in defiance. Almost without thought Aylanna drifted down to look more closely, swooping lower and to her sudden surprise, slipped right into the cantering mare. Instantly she was one with the cantering horse, her hooves pounding on the ground, wildly exhilarated and filled with joyful freedom. Xin'sha stumbled and then locked all four feet, skidding to an abrupt stiff legged halt. Her ears were sharply pricked and quivering with curiosity. Aylanna was completely immersed in the duality of the experience, sensing the mare's amazement as well as her own. The little mare craned her neck around to look for Aylanna on her back, her nostrils flared and sniffing the air. Clearly the mare sensed her presence and was actively searching for her. Cautiously, experimentally Aylanna urged the Xin'sha back toward the herd and was pleased when Xin'sha calmly trotted back. It took a concerted effort to pull free from the little horse, but Aylanna instinctively knew she had to go back; she had to return to her body. There was a distinct slipping, almost ripping, sensation as she pulled out and away from Xin'sha. There was a building sense of fear that it would be easy to lose herself: weightless, bodiless, blown away like a puff of smoke on the wind. But with the fear was the temptation to fly away, perfectly free, the horizon beckoning, the voices on the wind suddenly louder. Aylanna could almost hear the words, they were calling to her. She flew up and up again, gaining height until she could see the wagons again. Briefly she hovered over the form of her sleeping body and then almost like putting on an old and familiar garment, she slipped back into herself. The headache was almost blinding and she barely made it to the edge of the wagon before she was retching convulsively. She could feel Tollarra's hand holding her, supporting her. The second ha'akh's voice was calm and solicitous, but Aylanna could sense her fear and confusion. Once Aylanna collapsed exhausted back into the wagon, Tollarra questioned her, "Sister, tell me what afflicts you." Aylanna blinked and coughed, "It is the motion of the wagon. It sickens me." Instinctively she did not speak of her journey away from her sleeping body. Weakly pulling herself up to sit, she reached for the water skin and drank, greedily sucking down the water. Tollarra gently pulled the skin away from her lips, cautioning her, "Slowly, you will make yourself sick again." Aylanna nodded shakily and took a smaller swallow and swished the water around, rinsing the sour taste of vomit from her mouth. Aylanna knew exactly what she had done. Spirit journeys were common among the witch doctors of the Ramaldi. Many times she had sat vigil as Kharthmah had lain as if dead. She knew too well that her sickness was her body's rebellion at having been abandoned. She also knew the longer she stayed apart, the worse her body's protest. And too long could be fatal. An unbidden memory of the old witch doctor's frail and aged body, with the spark of life slowly fading and finally flickering out rose up in her mind. His spirit had never returned. She wondered if it wandered still. A shudder shook through her whole body. The realization chilled her to the bone. The voices in the wind, calling to her, she knew what they were. Aylanna forced herself to ride in the wagon sitting up, uneasy with the thought that the wind was filled with spirits. Just the sensation of the air pushing and tugging at her, cooling the sweat on her face made her shiver with more than cold. It frightened her how effortless it had been to slip free from her physical bonds. For Kharthmah it had always been a laborious process of fasting, meditation, and a bewildering variety of hallucinogenic plants and mushrooms. It seemed to Aylanna like the voices on the wind wanted something, like they pulled at her spirit. She resolved to fight them, resisting the mind numbing trance that came from the ceaseless soft hum in her mind. She took another swallow of water and then carefully tipped some into her palm and rubbed it on her face. Tollarra clucked and took a rag from her pocket and dampened it. "Tie this around your neck. It will help keep you cool." Sighing gratefully, Aylanna wrapped the cooling cloth around her neck. "That feels good. Thank you. Let's talk. I want to try and stay awake. Sleeping seems to make it worse." Tollarra nodded sympathetically, "Of course. Talking is one thing I can do." She grinned, "Endlessly, if you were to believe my sister." True to her word for the rest of the day Tollarra kept up a steady stream of nonsensical prattle, funny stories and wry jokes about life. Aylanna could sense her friend's ongoing concern and made an effort to appear in better spirits than her heart truly contained. And to her relief just the continued charade seemed to lighten her mood. Eventually her laughter and smiles began to feel genuine. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Setting up camp in the afternoon was painfully awkward. Aylanna hated having to move slowly; often taking short hopping skips when she became frustrated with the restriction of the short mincing steps that the hobble allowed. Repeatedly her impatience made her stumble and trip, falling to her knees. Finally when Aylanna crashed down for what seemed like the tenth time, she stayed on her knees fighting the tears of shame and frustration at her predicament. A strong warm hand gripped her arm, lifting her to her feet. Jhardron's voice was soft and admonishing, "If you did not rush about, if you did not fight your bonds, you would not fall." Aylanna blinked away her tears and nodded, but did not trust her voice to speak. Jhardron continued, his voice pitched low for her ears alone, "A Bak warrior must learn to keep his emotions in check. A warrior does not rush from one task to another. A warrior that falls is little use in battle and a dangerous ally." Aylanna stared in confusion at the ropes on her ankles, "But..." Jhardron held up his hand and repeated, "A warrior must learn to keep his emotions in check." Aylanna took a deep breath and nodded again. The rest of the evening Aylanna resisted the urge to hurry, restricting her gait to slow tiny steps. Each time the impulse to hop along arose she would force herself to stand still and silently mouthed the words, "Keep your emotions in check." The sun had sunk below the horizon when Jhardron come to stand before Aylanna. "A warrior must master many skills, patience not the least." Aylanna froze and stood quivering as he knelt at her feet and began to remove the hobbles. When he stood and took her hand, he smiled and murmured, "It was a lesson I had to remind myself of many times." Aylanna hesitated, looking up at him with puzzled eyes. She could sense his need for her, but lately that craving had been a constant undercurrent to the few, guarded emotions she sensed from him. Uncertainly she nodded, and mumbled, "Patience is hard." Jhardron smiled, "Tonight has been slow in coming." Suddenly aware, Aylanna looked at him and smiled in excitement, her eyes looking past him searching for the others. Jhardron shook his head, "There will be no others tonight. A Khan must wait until last, but tonight you will serve me alone." The idea of sharing blessings with only one man was a novel idea to Aylanna. Not once was there only one man with her. Even when the young men of the Ramaldi had hunted her down, they came as a gang, their excited brutality battering at her body and mind. Sharing blessings with the Bak Warriors was gentler, healing, and even transcendent. Always it had been a chorus of sensations and emotions that blended and sang in her heart. Almost without thought Aylanna stepped closer and reached out to him, placing her hand over his heart, tipping her head to one side. Not only could she feel the drumming of his heart, but she could sense his excitement. Instantly she could feel her body soften and warm. Her words were soft and filled with trembling excitement, "A ha'akh must always accept her Khan's judgment." As they walked together out into the growing darkness, Aylanna found herself leaning against the tall warrior's side, her hands pressed almost obsessively against his hot skin. When their steps slowed and finally stopped, she pressed her face against his chest, inhaling his scent. Impatiently she tugged at his loincloth and as it fell away she fell to her knees pressing her face to the fur of his belly, greedily inhaling, and filling her chest with the heady scent of his jhambar. A wild rush of heat filled her body, she could feel her venya swell and ache with emptiness. Pulling back she stripped her dress off and lay back on the ground, spreading herself, wanting to be filled. She could see him look down at her, his eyes drawn to the ruby cleft. Aylanna whimpered and lifted her hips, begging to feel his entry. Jhardron dropped to his knees beside her; his hand gently pressing her down, "Patience, my little wild colored mare, patience. Let me teach you." He lay beside her, pulling her close, but when she tried to pull him on top of her, he whispered, "Slowly, slowly, first let me touch you, look at you." Aylanna could sense that he was strictly holding himself in check, and lay back, her eyes locked on his, blinking and gasping as his fingers trailed across her skin. Each touch seemed to leave a fire ignited in her skin. When his callused palms slowly sensually began to rub in slow circles over her breasts, she cried out a soft bird's cry rising up to the wind as the sensation shot through her body, making her venya suddenly clench and throb. Slowly the revolving palm moved down her body and stopped over the mound of scarlet curls that mantled her cleft. He pressed down and Aylanna moaned as the slow circling massage of his palm seemed to fan the flames in her body. A tiny whimper of protest rose up in her chest when she felt him shift and move away from her, moving so he could look more closely at the object of his fascination. But the whimper caught and changed to a choking cry as she felt his fingers curious and exploring, spreading out the slippery petals of her sex. Aylanna tensed and fell silent when she felt him bend closer, his nose and lips grazing her as he inhaled her fragrance. When she felt the warm soft sensation of his tongue touching her, a long shudder shook through her, making her hips surge and rock. For the first time she spoke, soft babbling words of need and pleasure, "Please, oh my Khan, please, I need... please... I need..." And then his lips and teeth slowly sensually pressed down, biting firmly gently on the flesh under his mouth. Aylanna convulsed and began to spasm with panshasham, her words blending into one long ululating wail. Mindlessly her hands tangled in the stiff coarse crest of his hair, pressing his face closer as she writhed with passion. She was still shaking as he rose up and slid deep into her. The slow deep rush of emotion that accompanied that entry erased all thought as she was transported by another wave of sweet pleasure. Her body rocked and undulated beneath him, surging to meet each thrust to her depths. Her awareness expanded, joining him in his building heat and tension, seeking his pleasure with him. As his peak approached he crushed her tightly to his chest and Aylanna ascending that same pinnacle, pulled at his hips, wrapping her legs tightly around him, trying to somehow pull him completely inside her, to envelop him in her passion. As his climax scorched through his body, Aylanna arched and joined him, her cries blended with his soft growling groan. Aylanna lay looking up at his face, blinking in surprise as the last echoes of her panshasham made her loins clench and tighten around him. Her legs were still wrapped possessively around his hips, holding him trapped inside her. A long shuddering sigh shook through her and she deliberately tightened the sheath of her venya around him, reveling in the way he reflexively ground against her at the sensation. Aylanna reached up and idly straightened out part of his hair that had been disturbed by her grasp, a lazy smile crossing her features. Slowly, she let her fingers trail down the side of his face, caressing his lips. His voice was husky as he murmured under her touch, "This humble warrior thanks you for your blessings." His fingers matched the path of hers on her face, "Your blessings have a sweetness rivaling the priestesses of the city. You are truly chosen by the goddess." As his fingers caressed her lips, Aylanna caught them playfully in her teeth, and then moved under him, sinuously grinding her hips. Her voice turning dark and smoky, "I have much to give." Jhardron's voice was amused, "Even the courtesans of the court know that a man must rest." Aylanna tipped her head in confusion at his references to people and things beyond her experience. "What is courtesan?" Jhardron gently pushed her legs down off his hips and slid from her venya. Aylanna frowned at his departure, hating even the few inches that now separated their bodies. Jhardron lay back and pulled her to lie on top of him, his hands stroking the length of her back. His voice was distant and she could sense a distaste in his tone. "Court is a very curious place, filled with dozens, even hundreds of seekers of the favor of the Khan. Friendships and loyalties are bartered like fresh meat and horse herds. Everything is ruled by complex rules of secrecy, ritual, and exaggerated etiquette. There are many women at court, ha'akh to the court are called courtesans. They are trained in the arts of jha'sham, sexual pleasure. While he spoke his hands were growing more insistent, pressing her down more tightly to his body, pressing down on her buttocks, grinding her against him. She picked up the rhythm on her own, pressing the slippery folds of her venya against his hardness growing between them. Her voice trembled and jerked as she savored the sensation, "My Khan, I sense that you do not like this court thing you speak of." "It is ultimately a place of distrust, lies, and betrayal. It has none of the loyalties of a Bak regiment. But let us forget this and focus on our night together." He lifted her to sit straddling him and then sat up to hold her in his lap. His hands were strong as he lifted her and slowly lowered her down onto his jhambar, "Wrap your legs around me again, pretty demon." As she curled her legs around him, he crossed his legs under her, his arms pulling her to press against his chest once more. Slowly he began to rock back and forth. This new position put pressure on her venya, sending waves of sensation through her but there was none of the abandoned movement that Aylanna was accustomed to. She squirmed and tried to move up and down, a nervous pent up whimper of distress rising up in her throat. Jhardron leaned down and pressed his lips to the corner where her neck and shoulder met and murmured into her ear, his voice was filled with gentle laughter, "Patience, pretty demon, a warrior does not rush from one task to another. The courtesans call this the Serpent's Nest. It is a diabolical tangle." Slowly with gentle firmness he pressed his teeth to her and bit down, sending a sharp tingle through her body, and continued to rock back and forth. His hands gripped her hips, pressing her down and around, subtly making her gyrate in his lap. When Aylanna began to move with him, he sighed and murmured, "Very good." Aylanna felt a matching rush of sensation and moaned, "Yes." Slowly sinuously she writhed in his lap, each movement making her tense and shiver with building tension. When her whole frame was rigid and vibrating with pent up excitement, Jhardron slowly bent her over backwards, arching her back, leaning down and pressing his lips and teeth to her breasts. Aylanna squealed and continued to rock and squirm in his lap, her hips rotating in a rapid frenzy. Gripping his shoulders she let her head hang back, throwing it back and forth as her passion expanded and then crashed over her. A long whinnying cry broke free of her lips. Demon Child Ch. 09 Jhardron called to her in triumphant delight, "Yes, my demon, give me your gifts." When Aylanna subsided, and huddled soft and trembling in his arms, he whispered, "Let us untangle this knot." And gently began to unwind her arms and legs from around his torso. Gently he turned her over and positioned her malleable and swaying on her hands and knees. As he mounted her from behind, his voice was hoarse, "This is the Stallions Embrace," and he began to plunge into her, his jhambar plunging deep and fast. Aylanna found herself leaning back against him, responding to his sudden blinding heat. Each lunge shook her and sent scorching flames of passion through her, wave after wave of ecstasy tossed her higher and higher. As he filled her with his offering, their cries wild and unrestrained rang across the grass. As they washed and then slowly walked back toward camp, Aylanna thought to herself how this time with Jhardron had been so different from all the other times. When there had been many men using her, the blending of their minds and sensations had in many ways overpowered her own sense of herself. Here, alone with Jhardron, she had been much more aware of her own body and its responses. There had been no loss of her consciousness and at the same time his emotions and sensations were clearer to her than anyone's had been ever before. Not only had Aylanna felt every touch and sensation as it coursed through his body, but she had also felt his emotions; his determination, his drive, his joy and curiosity, and deeper underneath, his sense of isolation and reserve. It surprised her to realize that Jhardron felt a separateness from the regiment, harbored feelings of being an outsider, feelings that had been central to her existence her entire life. As the lights of the fires at the camp grew closer, Aylanna felt him somehow grow stiffer, more serious, distant, his emotions closing down. It was like a cloud moving in front of the face of the moon. Reaching down and taking his hand she pulled him to stop. "This ha'akh thanks you for this night, for the gift of yourself." Jhardron tipped his head and looked at her puzzled. "It is I that must thank you. There is a magic around you, pretty demon, which sets me free, if for only a while." He looked toward the camp, "But now it is time to remember our duties." As they entered into the camp, Jhardron spoke in his more formal tones, "It is my judgment that the hobbles are no longer required." Then without words he pressed a cool metal disc into her palm. Aylanna stood watching him walk away wondering at the storm of feelings that seemed to fill her mind. She looked down at the object in her hand, the dull gleam of gold shining in the fire light. It was a flat circular pendant with the symbol of the Twisted Dagger deeply engraved on the surface. She remembered seeing it hanging around his neck many times before. Her fingers trembled as she strung it on her necklace. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Thank you for taking the time to read my story. This story contains many words from the language of the Bak culture that I have created. The meaning of most of these words is easily inferred from their context. A ha'akh is the lowest rank of female slave assigned to serve a regiment of warriors. Please do me the kindness of rating and leaving me feedback. Constructive and/or critical, public or private, raving or troll; I love to hear from you. To those who leave anonymous feedback, I regret I cannot respond to you individually. Please accept my appreciation in advance. I would like to express my absolute delight to announce that I have found the most wonderful of editors. I would like to acknowledge and thank Dani for all her help. xantu Demon Child Ch. 10 Chapter 10: Seeking Destiny. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna woke in a strangely introspective mood. She paused frequently, a quiet private smile lighting her features as she went about her morning tasks, her stride slow and measured, keeping much of the deliberate pace that she had learned from wearing the hobbles. Many times she could feel his eyes following her, sensing in his spirit echoes of their sharing of the night before, awakening a matching warm resonance in her own heart. Oddly, she avoided meeting his gaze, only sneaking surreptitious glances in his direction and then her eyes sliding away. Somehow the feelings were too fresh, too intense, and in many ways too fragile to bear open acknowledgement. Aylanna wondered if this was what love was. She knew she felt a bond, a loyalty to all the warriors of the Twisted Dagger. She knew she loved them, but this new feeling was blinding and terrifying. She told herself that Jhardron was not for her; that he was the Khan and she was merely a ha'akh, and that her fate lay with the regiment and that was her only duty, that this was the destiny she had sensed her whole life. And yet she could still feel his eyes on her. She reached up and touched the golden medallion hanging in the center of her beaded necklace, her fingertip tracing the symbol of the Twisted Dagger. She thought how this reminder of their night together was so fitting, a reminder of her fealty, her allegiance. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> When the wagons rolled out of the campsite, Aylanna chose to walk alongside. Her long legs striding out, she giggled as Tollarra taught her some of the walking songs of the grasslands tribes. The tribes rarely rode their small ponies, primarily using them as pack animals. Traveling across the seemingly endless northern plains meant many long days walking. Songs made the trek less arduous. It was tradition for the women to make up impromptu words to the tune, and Tollarra was making up some pretty bawdy lyrics, celebrating her newfound joy in serving the warriors. Aylanna found that her feet picked up the rhythms of the music and tentatively hummed along as she walked. It was almost midday when the sound of thundering hooves made them turn to see the form of Aylanna's red mare bearing down on the wagons at breakneck speed with a warrior close behind trying to catch her and turn her back. Xin'sha ran with her head high and her ears up. Aylanna stepped away from the wagon, moving out into clear view of the rapidly approaching mare, holding up her hands and thinking hard, "Stop!" Xin'sha stiffened all four legs and skidded to a halt so close to Aylanna that her nose almost touched her outstretched hands. The mare was breathing hard; her breath blew across Aylanna's face. Aylanna could not help but laugh in delight at the happiness that the little mare exuded at finding the girl that she had grown so attached to. Aylanna recognized the herdsman as Jaylon, a warrior she had only a few interactions with; he crowded his stallion close to Xin'sha and struck her sharply on the haunch with his whip. Aylanna gasped with surprise as the sharp pain and sudden terror from the mare shot through her consciousness. Just as quickly a hot tide of rage rose up in her heart. The little red mare's ears flattened down to her skull and she squealed and kicked out at the man and horse behind her. As the arm holding the whip rose to strike again, Aylanna was already there between them, launching herself at the mare's attacker, grabbing at the whip and the arm wielding it, screaming, "Stop!" Kwal'kek's voice was a bellowing roar, "What in the four faces of the goddess is going on here?" And it seemed like everything stood still, even the horses froze. Both the warrior and Aylanna began to speak at once. "He was hitting her!" "...mare won't stay with the herd..." "...hurting her..." "...trouble..." "...cruel..." "...rebellious..." Again Kwal'kek's voice roared, "Silence!" He pointed his finger at Aylanna, "Let go of his arm this instant." Instantly she let go and moved away, eying the warrior suspiciously. Kwal'kek growled at the herdsman, "Since when do you need a whip to herd horses?" Jaylon glared at Xin'sha, "This one runs away all the time. She is playing with me. It is like she knows when I look away. I have run my mount almost into the ground trying to keep her with the main herd. She needs to learn there is a price to pay for her little games." Aylanna protested, "She is not running away. She is trying to come to me." A deep chuckle rose up in the old warrior, "And she seems to have found you. I have to agree that this mare is not running away and she is clearly too much trouble to keep with the main herd. Leave her here with the demon. Go back to the horse herd. I will deal with this." Once the herdsman was gone, he turned to Aylanna, his voice gruff but cautious, "What magic is this?" Aylanna made a pained face, "I don't know. I did not call her, she just came. She misses me." Then Aylanna stopped and blinked in surprise, "She loves me." This time Kwal'kek's laugh was loud, "As do we all, demon child. You have woven a spell of magic around this regiment and we are all caught in your web. Hopefully, it will continue to bring us luck." The old warrior looked at the wagons getting further and further away and pointed, "You must hurry to catch up, ha'akh. Soon they will be out of sight and the tracks will disappear in the wind. You would not want to be lost in the grass again." Aylanna shook her head, turned, and ran to catch up. Kwal'kek watched in bemusement as the girl's mare trotted along behind her like a colt following its mother. He thought about his words, spoken on impulse, and sensed the truth in them. This demon had indeed captured all their hearts. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Again the travel fell into its daily rhythms, and again Aylanna found herself falling into an almost mindless trance as one day blended into another. Xin'sha followed along with the wagons, staying as close and calm as if she was tethered. Aylanna did not even need to tether the little red mare in the night, just silently communicating to her when it was time to eat or time to wait by the little tent that was the ha'akh's shelter at night. The only time Aylanna found she needed to tie the mare was when she was sharing pleasures, the little mare would grow restive and tended to kick out or suddenly begin to canter about the camp. When Aylanna had to stop and catch the red mare as she charged around in frantic bursts, she was surprised to sense that the mare was frightened and confused. That the little horse did not understand the sensations that she was feeling. After that she was careful to tie her on the far side of the camp, and apart from any other horses. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna was walking beside the wagon, humming a walking song, listening to Tollarra prattle when the sound of riders interrupted their slow steady progress across the plains. Aylanna looked up to see Jhardron and a small group of warriors approaching rapidly. The Khan stopped and looked down at Aylanna and then at Xin'sha not far off, "Saddle your mare, I have need of you." The prospect of riding again was both exhilarating and alarming; Aylanna's hands trembled nervously as she put the tack on Xin'sha. When the mare began to quiver under her hands, picking up and reflecting some of her anxiety, Aylanna had to sternly remind herself that a warrior and a ha'akh of the Twisted Dagger kept their emotions in check. Jhardron's voice cut through her thoughts. "Put a lead rope on her." The knowledge that another would have control of the mare helped to calm Aylanna's mind. As soon as Aylanna was in her saddle, Jhardron took the lead rope, and sharply kicked his grey stallion into a canter. Aylanna focused on keeping her balance as they flew across the grass. The wind swept across her arms and face, making the ends of her blue scarf flutter. On impulse Aylanna spread her arms out and closed her eyes, savoring the sensation of flight. Jhardron's voice, curious and sharp, made her jump and open her eyes. "Ha'akh, what are you doing?" Aylanna grinned and laughed with joy, "I am flying." "One misstep of that mare and you will be flying through the air until you land upon the ground. You will break your neck." Aylanna frowned at his thought that she could fall, she felt so closely linked to Xin'sha that she almost saw the world through the mare's eyes. It was her hooves pounding on the grass. She would know if the mare stumbled almost before it happened. But she obediently lowered her arms and rode with her eyes open. They rode for over an hour, alternately cantering and then trotting to spell the horses. To Aylanna it seemed like the voices on the wind began to grow louder and more intrusive. There was more than the usual sense of being called to, now there was a note of distress, like someone or something was in pain and calling for help. Aylanna tried not to listen, but it seemed like there was a distant screaming, nearly animal-like howling, that refused to be ignored. Even Xin'sha's ears flickered nervously. And every step brought them closer. When Jhardron finally brought the group of riders to a halt at the brink a small valley, filled with a copse of stunted trees, the howling on the wind was the only thing in Aylanna's mind. She shook her head in a feeble attempt to push it away. Blinking in misery she looked at Jhardron, "Can't you hear that?" Jhardron looked at the obviously suffering girl, and briefly questioned his wisdom in bringing her here to see this thing. He looked around, listening carefully. There was something here, a tension in the air; it made his skin prickle with apprehension. "What do you hear, ha'akh?" "Someone in pain, someone screaming, they need help." "I hear nothing." Jhardron spoke to the others, "Wait here," and dismounted. Aylanna sat on Xin'sha's back swaying, barely able to hear his words. He reached up and pulled her down, "Ha'akh, come with me, there is something here you must see." Aylanna let his hands guide her, stumbling blindly beside him. She could hear Jhardron speak but it was as if his words held no meaning, like he was speaking in a confusing language she had never heard before. It was only when his hands shook her and physically turned her to face it, did she see the tall figure bound by chains. Aylanna's eyes bulged out in terror and her mouth gaped wide in an endless silent scream. In a small clearing, in the center of bare patch of earth, the mummy stood facing north. Only a few scraps of flesh and cloth still adhered here and there on the bones. A long rusty chain was wrapped dozens of times around the decaying corpse, winding around the bones from shoulder to ankles, binding it to a tall stake that tilted drunkenly to one side. The hilt of a giant sword protruded from the top of the naked skull. She stood, gasping deep shuddering breaths through her open mouth. The shrieks in her head deafened all thought. She could not even feel Jhardron's hands on her trying to pull her back. Then all was a blur of motion. She twisted away from the tall warriors grasp and threw herself at the body of the bound demon. The whole stake and figure swayed and shook, an ominous rattling sound coming up as she feverishly tore at the chains, pulling at them in a blind frenzy. Jhardron grabbed her arms, trying to pull her away. Aylanna spun around suddenly focused on the tall warrior, gazing up at him, her eyes filled with madness. Her voice was deep and hoarse, filled with compulsion, "No! Don't! Help me! I have to set him free!" Her last words dropped to a grating plea, "Help me, please." The Khan looked down at the girl, sensing her urgency, and something else inside himself, a growing compulsion to release this thing from its bonds. He let go of her arms and began to look at the tangle of chains with clearer, saner eyes. Aylanna once more mindlessly yanked and jerked at the bindings holding the bones of the demon. Jhardron had found one end of the chain and was working at freeing the knot when the stake tipped further and then snapped, the mummy and girl crashing to the ground with a sickening, crunching thud. The whole skeleton seemed to sag and collapse as the rib cage shattered. Aylanna grabbed the handle of the sword and gave it a mighty heave, wrenching it free from the bones it was lodged in. Instantly the screaming stopped, it all stopped. Aylanna felt a sickening lurch as the world spun and darkness swirled around her, pulling her down and down. A voice rang through her head, the words at first incomprehensible, but somehow familiar. Aylanna strained to listen, to force herself to understand. A vision slowly formed in her mind. She was standing alone in the darkness, spinning around, trying to find the source of the words, and then he was there. A giant of a man stood standing, staring at her, his lips moving, speaking, and speaking to her. Aylanna could see herself in his face, the fiery hair, and the pale eyes that stared so intently at her. Again he spoke and to Aylanna's surprise the words were no longer foreign. "...free, finally free." His huge hands reached out toward her, grabbing her arms, "Who are you?" For some reason the sensation of touch was ultimately terrifying, and Aylanna twisted and fought to be free. She gasped and cried out, "You are my father." "My daughter? I thank you, daughter. You have set me free. I can go home now. I can finally go to join my gods." The demon's face loomed close, "Come with me." Aylanna shook her head, straining to be free, "No! I can't! I have to stay here!" Again the voice thundered through her mind, battering at her spirit, "Come with me." And somehow Aylanna could feel him pull at her, tearing at the bonds binding her spirit to her heart, "You do not belong here in this distant land. You are not of this world. Come home with me." Aylanna struggled in mindless panic, shrieking, "No! This is my world! I am Aylanna! I am ha'akh Bak Tai Twisted Dagger." And then the thought of Jhardron filled her mind, "No! I cannot leave him, I love him!" Then she stopped fighting and looked at the demon, this ghost from her past, her voice suddenly calm and determined, "Go now, go to your gods. I have found new gods and a new destiny and it is here. I will not go with you." She spoke again, "Go, go now." And the demon slowly dissolved into fragments of smoke and blew away on the wind. As the darkness in her mind faded, she heard one last murmur on the wind, "Luck be with you, daughter." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> After the stake fell to the ground, Jhardron stood and watched in confusion as Aylanna ripped the giant sword free and then appeared to fall into a trance. She lay in the dirt, her body convulsing, strange voices speaking in an incomprehensible babble coming from her lips, alternating between a strange deep voice and then her own. She seemed to be fighting with something or someone, arguing. He reached down and tore the sword from her fingers, tossing the massive length of steel to one side and then gripping her arms trying to hold her still. It seemed like his touch made the thrashing of her body even more violent. Her eyes were wide open, staring up at him, but there was no awareness in them. She seemed to be staring at something behind him, terror in her eyes, shaking her head violently. Jhardron could not help but glance nervously over his shoulder, but nothing was there for his eyes to see. She shrieked something, and Jhardron heard the words, "Aylanna," and then, "...ha'akh Bak Tai Twisted Dagger," mixed in with the strange demon language. Finally the girl's body stopped its struggles, and her voice calmed, but the words continue to poor forth, the tone soft and sure. Then she went limp, her eyes sagging closed. Jhardron felt a wave of panic and he shook her, calling to her using her name, "Aylanna! Aylanna!" )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> She could hear him calling her, his voice filled with panic. She was so tired, but the fear in his spirit forced her to open her eyes. Again he said her name, his voice softer, relieved, "Aylanna?" She tried to speak, but her throat was raw, torn by screams. She coughed and tried to work up a mouthful of saliva to moisten her vocal chords. She reached up with a trembling hand and touched his face, trying to smile. Finally she whispered, "Jhardron." He scooped her up into his arms and crushed her to his chest, all reserve was gone. She sensed his overwhelming relief, and underneath it his need for her, his love. His voice shook with emotion, "My demon, I had thought I had lost you." It felt like every part of her body was drained of all strength, it was everything she could do to slip her arms around his neck. Her voice was a weak rasp, "I would never leave you." When he stood and began to carry her from the little valley, she stiffened in his arms, "No, wait, there is one last thing I must do." Jhardron stopped, wanting nothing more than to leave this haunted place far behind. "I should never have brought you to this place." Aylanna shook her head, "No, this was my destiny. It is why my fate brought me here. I had to set him free." She twisted in his arms, "Please, put me down. Help me build a fire." When she sensed his uncertainty, she gently patted his chest, "It will be all right. He is gone. All the magic is gone from this place. I just want to burn the bones. It is the respectful thing to do. After all, he was my father." Jhardron looked suspiciously around the little clearing and holding her close, loathe to let her out of his arms. Again Aylanna asked softly, "Please, my Khan, it is what I need to do to put this place behind me." When he gently put her down on her feet, Aylanna staggered, fighting a wave of weakness. Jhardron reached out and caught her; worry once more clouding his mind. "You are sick." "No, not sick; I am just fatigued and very thirsty." "Let us go to the other riders, if we are going to do this, it will mean we will be delayed returning. I will need to send a rider to inform Jhu'kresh. There is a spring not far down the valley; I will have the water skins filled." As he slowly helped her walk toward where the riders waited, Jhardron mused, "You say all the magic is gone from this place?" "Yes, he is gone." "Would it be safe for the wagons to come here to fill the water barrels?" Aylanna blinked and thought about how he seemed to speak to her much as an equal when they were alone, but in camp his words were always stiff and formal. But in camp, he spoke in that manner to everyone. "Yes, it would be safe. It would have been safe before. The magic was only for me." Then she paused, "Could you keep this place sacred? Somehow, I do not want it to become a thing of curiosity and what happened here, I think it would be best if it was not widely spoken of." Jhardron looked down at the wild colored girl, "I am not sure if I even know what happened here." Aylanna tried to laugh but began to cough, her throat too dry and hoarse from screaming. "Let me get a drink and perhaps I can explain. But first, I think I should think about it a little to find the words." Two riders had been dispatched back to the main regiment and Jhardron told the remaining riders to set up a makeshift camp down by the spring. Aylanna got a water skin and had to carefully limit herself to careful sips, fighting the urge to drain it in convulsive gulps. Jhardron gathered wood and started a fire; Aylanna worked at loosening the remaining loops of chain from the massive skeleton of the demon. As she worked, many of the bones fell free, the thick long bones of the arms and legs coming loose, the skull rolling to one side with a hollow rattle. Jhardron shuddered and focused on adding more fuel to the fire as Aylanna casually dropped the dry bones into the flames. Under the loops of chain was a huge armored shirt made from rusted steel rings, Aylanna pulled at it, marveling at the construction and size. "He truly was a giant." And as Aylanna pulled it free, shaking the few remaining bones inside, a small leather bag with a long string fell free, landing at her feet with a soft thump. Carefully she set the ring shirt aside with the few other salvageable items and leaned down picking up the little purse. Demon Child Ch. 10 The bag was just a little larger than her hand and weighty. The leather was stiff and as she tried to untie the knot holding the pouch closed the leather broke apart in her hands, a number of strange looking tarnished silver coins spilled out, and then the glimmer of gold as a long complex filigreed chain dropped into her palm. Hanging from the chain was a large gem, set in gold. The gem seemed to glow with a rainbow of fire. Aylanna held it up to the fading sun and marveled at the way the light caught and glimmered. Her breath caught and she made a soft wondering sound. Jhardron looked up, his eye catching glimmer of gold. "What have you found?" Aylanna held out the coins and the necklace and he looked at them curiously. "The demon has left you a legacy." "I can keep it?" "I cannot see a reason to deny you that. The armor and the sword I will take back to court to present the Khan. He will find them a curiosity. He has an interest in the demons of myth." Then Aylanna sensed a fleeting chill in Jhardron's spirit, but then it was gone, "He will be very interested in you." Aylanna carefully tied the coins and necklace up in a corner of her blue scarf. As the bones gradually burned away, Aylanna sat huddled close to the warmth of the fire, wrapping her arms around her long naked legs, the cool night air making her shiver. She began to speak softly, staring into the flames. "His spirit was trapped here, held prisoner by iron and hate. All he had wanted was to go to the lands of his gods." Jhardron pulled her to lean against him, wrapping his arms around her body, trying to keep her warm. "You were screaming in a language I did not know, but you said your name and then screamed out the name of the regiment." "The dead are always jealous of the living. He wanted me to go with him. He said I did not belong here. I told him that I was Twisted Dagger. I said that my destiny was here among the Bak. I told him to go and he did." Aylanna snuggled up inside the protection of his arms. "I am thankful that you brought me here to do this thing. It was part of my destiny. A long time ago Kharthmah told my mother that the reason she could not abort me was because I had a destiny unfulfilled." Aylanna's voice dropped to almost a whisper. "She hated him so much. Her hate is all that I remember about her. I wonder why I do not share her ill will. I hated the Ramaldi, in some ways I hated her for abandoning me, but for this demon I held no hate. Perhaps he needed that to be freed." She shrugged and poked a little at the fire, "I guess that is not my destiny." "Do you know your destiny?" "The future is beyond the vision of any witch. It is a cloudy shifting thing, each time you look at it, the path has changed." Aylanna felt a prickle of premonition, "But I do see that my path follows in the footsteps of another." She felt a chill and shrank closer to the warmth of his chest and yawned, letting her head fall against his chest. She only woke briefly when he stood and carried her from the clearing to the camp the other warriors had made further down the valley. They had built several small fires and Jhardron carefully scraped the fired to one side and lay down with her on the warmed earth, holding her close to his body, seeking to share each other's warmth as the night grew colder. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The next morning was still and frosty cold; Aylanna was shivering violently and hugging up close to Xin'sha to keep warm, her breath turning to smoke in the icy air as she chewed a small handful of dried meat. She thought to herself that it seemed that the further they traveled north the colder the nights grew. The days still grew hot as the midday sun beat down but the endless wind came with the heat. Finally she pulled away from her mare's warm body and slipped away from camp, whispering to one of the guards that she was going to relieve herself. Aylanna hurried the short distance to the little clearing and stood looking at it in the harsh morning light. The only reminder that the demon had ever stood there was the small patch of unnaturally bare earth, the broken stub of the stake he had been bound to, and the cold remains of the fire. Carefully, she kicked the ashes about, spreading them across the ground. Softly she spoke aloud to the silent glade, "Now my destiny is my own." When she returned, the warriors were mounted and waiting. Aylanna blushed and mumbled an apology for making them wait. This time as they rode, Jhardron dropped back and rode beside Aylanna. To her surprise he untied the lead rope, carefully reminding her in formal tones that a warrior must be in control of his emotions at all times. Aylanna nodded gravely and cautiously picked up the reins determined to keep a calm and focused mind. As Jhardron moved his stallion to the head of the small group, it was natural for the ha'akh to move to the rear and follow at the back of the warriors. The pace was not so swift this morning as Jhardron was setting a much more sedate pace. Aylanna could see that one of the warriors had the huge sword lashed behind his saddle along with a mass of rusted chain links that Aylanna knew was the metal ring shirt and the chain that had bound the demon. The sword stuck out a distance on either of side of the horse and the demon girl wondered to herself how the demon had wielded such a massive weapon. Thoughtfully, she fingered the heavy lump in the corner of her scarf, an idle thought crossing her mind that she wished for some warmer clothing and some pockets or perhaps a belt and purse and that she had the means to trade for such things now. It was midday when they met the wagons. And to her surprise, Aylanna found herself wishing for nothing more than to sleep and she climbed into the wagon beside Tollarra, mumbling and yawning, "I am so tired." Tollarra clucked and reached out her arms, "Come here, little girl. I was worried that something bad had happened to you again." Aylanna smiled and shook her head, "No, it was nothing bad, just something that needed to be done. But now that it is finished, I need to rest." Somehow she knew that while there were still voices on the wind, they were powerless over her now. Sleep held no fear for her. She lay down and sighed happily as the older ha'akh pulled her head over into her soft and ample lap, gently stroking the younger woman's short hair, crooning a soft lullaby. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Once more in the dream she was flying across the grass, the thunder of hooves ringing in her ears. She could feel the stretch and pull of her legs as they reached for each next long stride. There was no question, she was the horse. There was no odd duality as she sensed both her and the horse's body, this time she was the horse. Curiously, she slowed and looked around, realizing she was alone in a sea of grass. She called out and was surprised to hear a high clear whinny pour forth from her chest and throat. Arching her neck and prancing in a circle she tipped her head catching glimpses of the horse's body, her body, as she cast her gaze about. She was surprised to see that she was not the red of Xin'sha, but her coat was a perfect shining white. The wind was full of voices, murmuring voices and more than that, full of scent. Snorting deeply she pulled the smells into her nose and chest, savoring them. They spoke to her as eloquently as the voices, drawing pictures in her mind of the world around her. And there was one scent in particular, rich and musky, that was irresistible, electrifying. Again she was flying across the grass, her hooves drumming in time with her heartbeat, seeking out the source of this intoxicating aroma. The black stallion stood on the brink of the horizon, tall and handsome. She stopped and called a long ringing neigh that spoke in the eternal language, calling to him, challenging him, begging to be pursued, conquered, and possessed. His answering bray made her heart lurch; and as he approached with a stiff legged trot, his neck arched, his weapon unsheathed, hanging heavy beneath his belly, she squealed in defiance and fled. The sound of his heavy hooves beating the ground close behind her was a delicious mixture of terror and wild exhilarated excitement. She knew he would catch her, there was no question, but the chase was part of it, she needed to be captured before she could surrender. She ran with her tail up, well aware that her scent was intoxicating him, driving him mad with the single-minded need to make her his. When he overtook her and sank his teeth in her hindquarter, she kicked out and dodged to the side, allowing herself to be driven in a wide circle. Finally she slowed and stopped, standing on rigid, trembling legs, her head down, blowing hard. He trotted in a slow proud circle around her, a triumphant dance of victory. When she felt him nuzzle her, sniffing at her venya, she arched her back and raised her tail, instinctively assuming the posture of submission. His weight upon her back was almost crushing, and as his weapon pierced deep into her belly, he sank his teeth into her shoulder, holding her prisoner. She screamed as she felt his seed pour forth into her, filling her with life. And then he was gone. The dream changed. She was no longer alone, now she ran at the head of a vast and countless herd. Hundreds, maybe thousands of horses poured across the grasslands, the sound of their hooves a deep and endless thunder. She ran at the head of them, a shining white figure leading them, guiding them. Ahead she saw a figure of a man. He was mounted on a black stallion, the same black stallion, and Aylanna knew she was bringing the horses to him, giving them to him. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna woke to Tollarra's gentle shake and soft words, "Wake up, Sister, it is time to make camp." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Thank you for taking the time to read my story. This story contains many words from the language of the Bak culture that I have created. The meaning of most of these words is easily inferred from their context. A ha'akh is the lowest rank of female slave assigned to serve a regiment of warriors. Please do me the kindness of rating and leaving me feedback. Constructive and/or critical, public or private, raving or troll; I love to hear from you. To those who leave anonymous feedback, I regret I cannot respond to you individually. Please accept my appreciation in advance. I would like to express my absolute delight to announce that I have the most wonderful of editors. I would like to acknowledge and thank Dani for all her help. xantu Demon Child Ch. 11 Chapter 11: The demon city. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna woke slowly, the images and sensations of her dream still echoing around in her mind. She yawned and rubbed her eyes, blinking. Tollarra cooed softly and smoothed the tendrils of red hair that had fallen down over her forehead. "Sister, you slept for most of the afternoon. Are you sure you are well?" Aylanna thought back to the day before, facing the ghost of her father. It had only lasted a few moments at most, but it had left her drained and exhausted. Yet she felt calmer, clearer now than she had ever felt before. It felt as though she had finished one chapter of her life and now was facing a whole new destiny and she held no question where that path lay, she was Aylanna Ha'akh Bak Tai Twisted Dagger. Where they led, she would follow. She took Tollarra's hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze, "Sister, I am well. I just needed to sleep." She looked around the wagons, seeing for the first time that they had come back to the little valley where she had spent the night before. "Now it is time for us go about our duties." Later in the evening, after the water barrels were filled, the fires built and fresh wood gathered from the rare little copse of stunted trees, Aylanna looked up at the sun rapidly dropping to the horizon, turning the sky into a riot of oranges and gold. She wrapped her bare arms around her chest and shivered, thinking of the cold night before. Normally, the cold held little concern for her but here, in the northern plains, it seemed like the heat of the day disappeared with the sun. And each day's travel further north made the nights even colder. She cast an envious eye on Tollarra's layered clothing. The older ha'akh's outfit was made up of several layers: a loose long sleeved overdress covered a sleeveless knee length tunic and a set of leggings that tied to an inner belt that supported her loincloth. The outer dress was crisscrossed with a complex set of decorative bands that wrapped around and crossed across her chest and belly. But most of all, Aylanna was intrigued by the numerous pockets that Tollarra was always reaching into, producing rags, string, spinning bobbins, even little snacks. Aylanna looked down at the simple little sleeveless shift that hung just below her knees. Other than the blue cloth tied around her head, she wore little else, not even a loin cloth unless her bleeding time was upon her. Shyly, she reached out to touch the cloth of Tollarra's dress, feeling the soft wool of the grasslands' goats. Tollarra paused and looked at her with curious eyes, "Yes, Sister?" Aylanna shrugged, "Your dress, I was looking at your dress. It is nice." Tollarra looked down at her traditional garb and then at the girls simple garment. "It is a woman's dress. She touched Aylanna's shift, "This is a child's summer dress." Aylanna looked down at the stained and worn cloth, "I have a prettier dress but it is even thinner. Kwal'kek gave it to me to wear at the gathering." Again, she stroked the natural brown wool of Tollarra's dress, "Yours looks warm." She paused and smiled, "And you have pockets. Sometimes I wish I had pockets." The older ha'akh looked puzzled, "If you want a new dress, why don't you just make one for yourself? I am sure that I saw some bolts of fabric among the loot in that wagon we ride on. Just ask Kwal'kek for some cloth." Aylanna looked confused and embarrassed, "I don't know how." Tollarra laughed gently, "Little sister, you continually surprise me. You cannot spin, your skills at the cook fire are those of a toddler, and now you say you cannot sew; you are fortunate that fate has made you a ha'akh. You would make a poor wife." Aylanna froze, a shiver of premonition made the skin on her neck and scalp tingle. Her voice was soft and distant, and curiously an octave lower, "But I am a wife, a wife and mother to the Bak." Tollarra blinked and suddenly uncomfortable with the odd tone and expression on the demon's face, changed the subject, "Well, little sister, I will help you make your dress. It is about time to start dressing like an adult woman. Come, let us petition that old tight-fist Kwal'kek and see if we cannot get him to part with a few measures of cloth." Aylanna appeared completely unaware of her previous words and smiled happily at Tollarra's offer, "Really? Will you help me make a dress? I want pockets, lots of pockets." Tollarra nodded and whispered to Aylanna conspiratorially, "Now don't argue with me, just follow my lead." She led Aylanna near to where Kwal'kek was sitting on a box, speaking at length to a couple of the younger warriors, taking advantage of his role as teacher to tell another long story of his youth. Tollarra began to speak loudly enough for her words to carry, "Sister, you really must be braver. It is not wrong to speak to him about this." Aylanna blinked and looked at Tollarra in confusion. Carefully keeping her back to Kwal'kek, the older ha'akh grinned and winked and continued. "Sister, I have seen you shivering in the mornings. If he is neglecting you, you should plead with him for what you need. It would be a bad thing if you should fall sick from exposure." Then, Tollarra sniffed and spoke up a little louder, "It is shameful that he keeps you in such an inadequate garment." Beyond Tollarra, Aylanna could see that Kwal'kek had stopped his speech and was looking at the two women with a curious frown on his face. Abruptly, the older woman grabbed Aylanna's hand and pulled her to stand before Kwal'kek, her voice lecturing and a not a little shrill, "Sister, you must beg him to treat you better." Then Tollarra gave her a little shove toward the older warrior who acted as the quartermaster for the regiment. Aylanna was so shocked; she looked up at the old warrior wordlessly, her arms naturally coming around her body in embarrassment. Kwal'kek peered up at her from his seat and gruffly spoke. "Well, what is this about?" Aylanna shot an outraged look at Tollarra and mumbled, "Could I please get some cloth for making a dress?" Tollarra spoke up, still carefully keeping her words directed toward Aylanna rather than the gruff old soldier, "Sister, don't be afraid of him. There is nothing wrong with asking for what you deserve." Kwal'kek harrumphed and stood up, "If you need some cloth, just get what you need from the wagon. Let it not be said that any ha'akh of the Twisted Dagger is not properly cared for." Instantly, Tollarra was all gratitude. "Of course, of course, we are grateful for your generosity." At the same time, she pulled Aylanna away before she could speak, dragging her to the wagons. Once out of earshot, Aylanna whispered furiously, "What was that?" "It was us getting free access to the wagons without that old coin pincher looking over our shoulders. I was deliberately challenging his ego by putting his care of you in question. This way, we avoid having him extract any payment from us." "Payment?" "Of course, most of the items in the wagons are loot taken from the Ramaldi villages. The warriors have already been given their share. What is left is the Khan's share of the loot. It is being brought back as tribute. If any of the warriors want something now, they are expected to trade for it. And that old man is a hard trader." Aylanna fingered her little hoard of strange silver coins that had dropped at her feet when she burned the mummy's remains. "I have some money. I could have paid." Tollarra looked at Aylanna in surprise and then shrugged, "Well, you will have use for that money in the future, I am sure." "I need a purse too." Tollarra chuckled, "It is a good thing that we have free access to the wagon. There is leather in there as well. Come along, we do not have much time before our warriors will seek us out for the night or Kwal'kek will come to his senses and realize he has given us free access to his treasures." It was clear that Tollarra was very familiar with the contents of the wagon as she quickly pulled out two different lengths of fabric, one rich dark brown and a lighter piece of creamy light tan. She added a piece of rich red tanned hide, commenting, "We can use some of this for a belt and a little purse for you." Both ha'aks were busy for the next few days, cutting and sewing. Tollarra was adamant that Aylanna help with each step, cutting and sewing the cloth and leather. More than one of the warriors would stop and stand, watching the women working on their task, smiling at Aylanna's childlike enthusiasm as she learned new things and donned her new clothing. At Tollarra's suggestion, they left the front seam open so that the dress could fall on either side when she rode. This made the dress flare open as Aylanna walked, exposing her leggings and the flash of bare skin above her knees. Somehow, this tantalizing glimpse of her thighs drew the eyes of the warriors even more than her light summer dress had. Tollarra helped Aylanna sew a small pouch style leather purse that could be tied to her belt or slipped into one of many deep pockets that Aylanna had insisted on. When Aylanna carefully put her treasure into the purse, Tollarra had exclaimed at the beauty of the gem on the golden chain, holding it up and letting the light shine on the opalescent stone. "Sister, the sunset is trapped within this stone." Aylanna looked at the stone again; it was a smooth oval, almost as long as her finger, caught inside delicate gold filigree. When she went to put it into the purse, Tollarra stopped her, and handed her a scrap of fabric, "Wrap it in cloth first, it will protect it from rubbing against the coins." It went unsaid that this was a treasure too precious, or perhaps, too magical to be worn. Aylanna took one of the dark tarnished silver coins and pressed it into Tollarra's hand. "Sister, please take this gift as a gesture of my gratitude for all you have taught to me." Tollarra looked at the coin curiously, spitting on it and rubbing it vigorously with the hem of her skirt, and peering at the strange markings on it. There was a picture of two straight swords crossed on one side and some symbols on the other. Actual money was rare among the grasslands tribes. Tollarra looked at Aylanna, "What is this?" "It is my legacy from my father." The older woman's eyes widened, "The demon?" Aylanna's eyes shifted, "Yes, when we took the sword from his bones, this fell out from under his shirt of iron links. Our Khan said I should keep it." Tollarra automatically made a sign against evil, but did not return the coin. She quickly pulled a small purse from her pocket and slipped it inside and then unconsciously wiped her palm on her dress. She smiled suddenly and said in an over-bright voice, "I thank you for your gift." Aylanna looked at Tollarra with confused eyes, "Sister, did I do wrong to give you that?" Tollarra's eyes softened, "No, nothing wrong. It is just said that things stolen from the dead can bring the angry spirit to curse you with bad luck." Again the older ha'akh made a warding gesture, "But I am sure that it is just a superstition." Aylanna shrugged and spoke with a conviction that could not be questioned. "Oh to be sure, you would be wise to fear provoking a spirit's wrath." Frowning thoughtfully, she continued, "But I cannot help but believe that these things fell at my feet for a reason. This demon had no more use for his treasures. His spirit wanted nothing more than to leave this land." The girl gestured broadly around her, "He is not here now." Tollarra gave the girl a sidelong look and then looked nervously around. Her voice was fearful. "Can you see them, spirits?" Aylanna laughed at the idea, "Oh no, I can't see them." As Tollarra visibly relaxed, the younger girl hid the smile on her face thinking that it would not be wise to say that while she could not see them, if she chose to listen, she could hear them whispering on the wind. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The Twisted Dagger regiment made their way west and north. As they went north is was as if they were leaving summer behind. To be sure, the sun brought warmth, but it seemed the wind stole it away. The nights grew increasingly bitter. Even the normally stoic warriors were taking the time to set up their tents every night. The grassland plains were changing too, the endless grass growing shorter and patches of low brush appearing here and there. Nearly every little valley was choked with low growing trees, twisted and bent by wind and winter storms. Within another day's travel, the low contorted pines began to dominate the land. Their long bent branches all seemed to point south, away from the direction they traveled, silent sentinels warning them to turn back. Aylanna remembered the words of Lachram, the leader of the Grass Walker tribe, that there was a band of forest that divided the cliffs that overlooked the great northern ocean from the grasslands to the south. He had said that the grasslands tribes did not venture beyond the forest, that the wind that howled through the empty stone cities of the defeated demons could steal your soul. She looked at the trees and shivered with foreboding. Jhardron had said that their mission would take them as far north as the sea and he seemed eager to see what lay along the coast. That night, as they made camp, he spoke to Kwal'kek of having the wagons and the warriors part ways for a time, the wagons traveling west along the edge of the forest, the rest of the regiment riding north and exploring the coast, Aylanna felt a mixture of regret and relief. She did not like the idea that her warriors would be gone but somehow she was nervous about this place. The tortured trees, the chill that never quite left the air and a general sense of unease about this strange northern land that had her listening to the wind once again. She wanted nothing more than to leave this place. The next morning, as the younger warriors began to pack up the tents, the warriors began to tie their bed rolls and bags of trail rations behind their saddles. Jhardron lead Xin'sha up to Aylanna, "You should bring your bedroll too, ha'akh." The girl looked surprised, and realizing that she was to ride with the warriors, hurried to attach her bedding behind her saddle. A wide excited smile lit up her face. The prospect of accompanying the warriors eclipsed any reservations she harbored. She hugged Tollarra and murmured a quick farewell and mounted Xin'sha. The little red mare was restless, sidestepping nervously, her ears flickering back and forth. Aylanna, sensing that the little horse was reacting to her own inner turmoil, clamped down on her surging excitement and reined the mare to the back of the column. The regiment traveled due north, alternately moving at a trot and a walk. The terrain became increasingly forested, and the wind that whistled through the tangled branches of the trees had an unfamiliar bitter tang. As always, there was the almost imperceptible murmur of voices in Aylanna's ears, but they were soft and distant, demanding nothing. The advance scouts came back with reports of the remains of some ancient stone ruins, and the remnants of what may have been a road in ages past. There was a perceptible ripple of interest among the warriors at the thought that these had perhaps been the dwellings of demons. It was as if they were venturing into myth. The ancient stone buildings were little more than piles of hewn stone, covered in moss, leaves, and pine needles but the road was a wide, mostly treeless avenue that beckoned north. The warriors wandered among the stones, curiously scraping the dirt and moss away here and there but finding little beyond a worked corner or a few fragments of pottery. Aylanna idly kicked at a pile of damp leaves and was rewarded by the glimmer of white marble, stained now with the tannin of rotting vegetation. Crouching down, she slowly wiped the accumulation of endless years of falling leaves from a worn and chipped visage. Almost unrecognizable as being once a human face, the remains of a shattered statue lay staring up at her. The ha'akh remained huddled low, held transfixed by the sight, when the strong hand of Jhardron woke her from her reverie. "What have you found?" The demon girl did not speak, only moved aside, her eyes still trapped by the hollow pits that had once been eyes. Jhardron curiously kicked more of the soil away and the cracked sculpture rolled free and then crumbled into fragments. He pulled Aylanna up to face him, peering into her eyes. "What do you sense, ha'akh? What does your magic tell you of this place?" Aylanna paused looking at him and the other warriors watching curiously. "I sense nothing, my Khan. Whoever was here, whoever made this place, they are gone." Her voice was curiously soft and pensive, "They left here so long ago that even the stone goes back to the earth." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The ancient roadway was not easily negotiated. Once paved with wide stones, now the surface was buckled and broken. Innumerable trees had fallen down and blocked the way. And in many places, trees had force their way up through the cracks, their roots ripping up the pavement. The regiment was forced to ride single file, picking their way along, following the meandering trail made by the feet of wild animals. Aylanna rode last, her little red mare treading lightly, her head up, alert and watchful. Aylanna could sense a tense alertness that permeated the whole regiment. It was a warrior's preparedness, a readiness to face anything that this unfamiliar place might challenge them with. Yet she sensed no fear in their hearts, and she found comfort in their calm resolve. Her spirit held no reservations as she followed in their footsteps. The roadway led north and the hills rose on either side as the grade began to fall in a steep slope. The single file of mounted warriors came to a halt and Aylanna peered ahead at the wide clear sky. The wind was sharp and cold, funneled into narrow divide between steep hills, and it was strong with that same strange bitter smell. Aylanna licked her lips and marveled at the taste of salt, almost as if she had blood in her mouth. The warrior closest to her turned and spoke in a low voice, relaying the order that they should dismount and proceed on foot, leading their mounts. Aylanna slid down to stand beside Xin'sha, holding her reins. The path narrowed to barely the width of a single horse where the steep slope above the road had slid down. As she urged the little red mare between the fallen rocks, the vista before her opened up and she froze in wonder. The road fell away before her feet, the incline dropping even more sharply and far below, stretching to the sky was the grey and restless sea. It looked endless and churned in the wind. Huge waves crashed against the shore, the dull pounding roar an angry rumble in the distance. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of white birds swirled above them, seeming to play in the wind, tipping and sliding through the torrents of air like arrows, their haunting calls carried up on the rising air. Aylanna wondered if the high, piercing calls were a welcome or a warning. The warriors were moving further away, carefully picking their way down the narrow road that led down and down to the sea. Xin'sha nudged Aylanna's shoulder gently, wanting to follow the stallions that were leaving them behind. Nodding almost numbly in agreement with the little horse's wish to stay close to the other horses, Aylanna began to work her way down the narrow and precarious path. The wind seemed to tear at them as they worked their way down and down and Aylanna had to squint her eyes and bend all her attention to the path. Once in the shelter at the base of the looming cliff, the wind seemed to be less fierce and Aylanna paused and looked around curiously, craning her head back staring up at the steep face they had just descended. Demon Child Ch. 11 A sudden shock of astonishment shook through her as she realized that the cliff face was sculpted and shaped as if by some huge hand. In many places vast arches curved over massive dark openings, and she blinked in amazement as she peered at huge shapes of fantastic beasts and monsters that seemed to be perched on the face, their weathered eyes staring down at her. To her own surprise, she found her own hand making the warding gestures against magic and danger. She sensed no magic, no malevolent spirits, but whatever had created these gargoyles had to have had a power beyond her comprehension. But she could see that even here, millennia and the wind had taken their toll. In many places raw scars of natural stone spoke of decay and descent into ruin. Those stone carvings that remained were stained white with the guano of the thousands of bird that had made their nests among the niches and ledges. At the foot of the cliff, the tumbled broken stones and the broken corpses of carved mythic beasts were mounded high. The warriors were clearly astounded by the sight of the carvings on the cliff face, speaking to one another in fast low voices, pointing out various wonders, but Aylanna remained silent, leaning back against Xin'sha's warm reassuring flank, her eyes wide and awe struck. But it was not the ancient cliff that held the Khan's attention. He looked only briefly at the carvings and the rubble at the base of the cliff and then turned to face the sea. Handing the reins of his gray stallion to another, he slowly walked to the place where the waves reached up with hungry fingers and grasped at the wet, polished stones before sinking back. It was as if the sea were in constant battle with the land, struggling to climb up that impossible slope and then dragging defeated claws through the rocks as it retreated only to throw itself once more against its eternal enemy. When one attack surged higher, sweeping up around Jhardron's feet, he did not step back, just looked impassively at the icy water that swirled around his ankles and tugged at the very stones he stood upon. Even in the face of this endless and tireless assailant, it did not occur to him to retreat in fear. Leaning down he dipped his fingers into the sea and brought the briny flavor to his mouth. Only then, on his own terms, did he turn his back on this turbulent mystery that he had only heard of in myth. They made camp there at the bottom of the cliff, huddled against the rock wall, their camp fires reflecting off the strangely shaped fragments of the ruined sculptures. Aylanna sat huddled close to the fire, the leopard skin from her bedding wrapped protectively around her shoulders. She wondered how anyone could sleep in such a place, the sea surged and growled like a wild beast, the crash and roar amplified by the tall monster laden cliff behind them. The constant cries of the white birds sounded like the voices of lost children. She thought to herself that if this was the land of demons, she wanted none of it. Aylanna was not called upon to serve or give blessings and she wondered why Jhardron had chosen to bring her to this place, but the Khan spoke little, spending almost all the remaining daylight staring out across the constantly changing sea. While the temperatures here seemed less bitter, the air was damp and the wind swirled about them, making the fires crackle and flicker, blowing the smoke in all directions. Jhardron laid his sleeping furs close to hers and pulled her to lay close to him sharing his warmth with her, letting her rest her head on his arm as he lay close to her back. Huddling in the shelter of his strength, Aylanna found her body slowly surrendering to a long day's exhaustion and slipping away into a restless slumber. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Suddenly, she was surrounded by chaos, screams and shouts in that same foreign speech. She was surrounded by battle, fleeing for her life. She was running through long wide hallway, the sounds of fighting, the screams of the dying filling her ears. She was hunting for something, someone, and then she heard the wail of an infant and the rush of emotion was almost beyond bearing. The room was alien, square, filled with odd objects and hanging tapestries but she only had eyes for the cradle and the crying baby. Scooping it up and cradling it to her breast she turned and ran again. Now there were others around her, strangely unfamiliar and yet familiar faces and clothing. Long fair hair, braids, steel, and beards, the faces of the demons were like looking into a thousand mirrors. All seemed to be fleeing the danger behind them, salvaging only the most precious belongings. They poured out onto the beach and upon the heaving gray water floated an armada of wooden ships. Instantly, she knew them for what they were. She had nothing to reference them to, but she knew they were the steeds of the sea, the escape route she sought. Still clutching the squalling infant and holding it high above the icy water, she waded deep into the swirling waves, fighting her way to the side of the bucking and bouncing boats, she thrust the baby up towards the outstretched hands and then when she finally knew he was safe, she turned back. Facing the beach she watched as the battle poured out of the dark opening in the stone. She watched as demon fought demon, huge men with even huger swords locked in mortal combat. Her eyes were searching, hoping against hope, when she spotted him surrounded by a half dozen assailants. Her heart lurched and she screamed out to him to flee, to join her at the ships, but she knew it was too late. He fought with the frenzy of a berserker, his eyes wild and glazed with madness, his lips peeled back in a ravening grin as he laid about with his weapon. In despair, she watched him defeat those around him and instead of judicious retreat, he roared and charged back into battle. Treading water, ignoring the outstretched hands of those already aboard the ship, she watched as he was besieged and then cut down, teetering and falling under the combined assault of a dozen opponents like a tall tree cut off at the base, crashing down and disappearing into the fray. A deep grieving scream was torn from her lips and the salty sea poured in, filling her lungs. Only then did she let go and let the sea pull her under, letting the cold soothing brine pull her down and down into the dim grey green depths, preferring to join him in death than to live without him. Aylanna's face was wet with tears when she woke, her lips salty, her mouth seemingly filled with the brine of her dream. She was alone under the blankets, blinking back the tears. She huddled there thinking about the dream, knowing it had been an echo of a memory and that perhaps not all the spirits had fled this place. At least this one woman had chosen to stay here, next to the man whom she had loved. Most of the warriors were up, moving silently around the now cold fires. Aylanna sat up, marveling that the world was covered in a thick fog, turning the warriors into misty ethereal figures. The wind was gone and the constant crash and roar of the sea had eased to a constant bubbling gurgle that somehow seemed more distant. Even the high constant calls of the sea birds were quieter, muted by the heavy mist that lay over the beach. The morning sun burned away the fog and Aylanna looked in amazement at how the beach had changed in the night. Last night, the waves had roared and crashed in wild abandon only a hundred strides away, now the shining stones extended almost three times that far and the waves seemed calmer. It was almost like a truce had been called between the land and the sea. Jhardron was once again standing, staring at the waves and she walked down and stood beside him, gazing out at the endless waves. Her voice was soft, "What is it that you look for, my Khan?" His voice was almost irritated as he voiced his frustrated question, "Where did they go? If it is true that their lands lie north beyond the sea, how did they go there?" For many minutes Aylanna did not speak. When she did, her voice was tentative, "They flew across the water, like the Bak fly across the land. They ride the waves in great floating crafts, capturing the wind." Carefully enunciating a word she had never heard spoken aloud, she spoke, "Ships, they rode across the sea in ships." Jhardron turned to her, his eyes both curious and cautious, "You have seen this?" "In a dream, last night." He did not question this, just turned to look at the sea again. "Your body seemed to tremble in the night, and then you cried out, just once, a sad despairing cry, like the birds above." Slipping a small cold hand into his, she spoke of the visions in her dream, the lingering haunting memory of the woman who had watched her man cut down and then drowned. "Not much lingers here, even the spirits are gone, all that remains is the few and fading memories they left behind." Suddenly he turned to her, pulling her to face him, "Demon, you bring me gifts of magic and visions. You show me things that I once would have denied. You bring me power." His dark eyes were blazing, "Demon, together, we will go far." Then his voice was soft and determined, "Demon, I will not let him take you from me." Aylanna looked up at him bewildered, wondering, "Who?" Jhardron shook his head and muttered, "It is not a thing to think about now. Just be assured that it is in my footsteps that you follow in, mine and no one else's." He smoothed the fiery red hair out of her eyes, thinking to himself that these stormy grey eyes were the same color as the restless sea. He stared at her possessively, "This is one treasure that will not be claimed by the Aga Khan. You are mine." The ha'akh could sense a fierce resolve in his spirit at those words, but there was also a shadow of something else. It was not quite fear, more that same state of preparedness she so often sensed from the warriors. It was as if he knew that he must be ready for any threat and she nodded, "My Khan, where you go, I will follow." His voice was low, "Ha'akh, I know not where that path may lead." Aylanna stood transfixed staring up at is determined face and repeated the words that had begun to symbolize the growing love she sensed in her heart, "A ha'akh must always accept her Khan's judgment, wherever that may be." Finally now understanding why she was brought along with the warriors to this place, it was her place to follow wherever he led. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Tim'kah was scaling the cliff face, working his way up carefully to the lowest of the dark openings as the rest watched from below. The white seabirds wheeled and complained as their nests were disturbed. Aylanna frowned, looking up at him. An unbidden thought intruded. This was not the way in. Thinking back to her dream, she cast her gaze up and down the cliff base. She tried to resolve the images left in her head with this broken and rubble covered beach. Slowly, she picked her way along the base of the cliff, stopping, closing her eyes, returning over and over again to the visions. The broken stones were mounded high, mixed in with the skeletons of trees tossed high by winter storms. Immediately against the cliff, the layers of bird guano were thick and there was a thick growth of brush and tall grass thriving on the rich soil. It looked so different from the memories that were not her own, but she could not quite let go of the feeling that there had to be an easier way. Turning one last time she faced the ocean, unconsciously she wrapped her arms once more around the tiny bundle that had been the crying infant, the sounds of the crying birds flocking in the sky an echo of the sounds in her head. Then a rush of certainty shot through her and she whirled and pushed through the vegetation and found herself standing, looking down into a small dark opening. The portal was almost completely blocked by fallen stones and debris but she knew that she was looking at the door that so long ago the woman had used to deliver the baby to the rescue boat. Turning again, she stared back toward the place where the man had finally fallen and the grief roared through her. The sound of the waves pulled at her mind, she found herself taking an involuntary step toward the ocean, feeling a sudden sharp compulsion to end her pain, to once more seek the calm of the water, to seek the peace of the cool grey green depths. Shaking her head and rubbing her face, Aylanna fought to keep the emotions separate from the memories. Instinctively she knew that she was letting the dream gain too much strength in her mind. It seemed the more she tried to remember, the more she opened her spirit to the experience, the greater its influence was growing on her. This was a dangerous exercise. It seemed like it fed on her spirit, gaining strength, threatening to take root and possess her. Pressing her lips together with fierce determination, she pushed the emotions away and muttered, "A Bak warrior must always be in control of her body, her heart, and her mind." Turning, she walked back to the where Jhardron was watching Tim'kah inching along the cliff face. His face was tense; this was not a task any of his warriors were trained for. Aylanna moved to stand before him, "My Khan, I have found another way in, down low." His eyes shifted to her face in surprise and his voice was eager, "Where?" Turning, Aylanna pointed toward where she had found the nearly covered opening. Leaving the rest of the warriors looking up, he took her hand, urging her to lead the way, "Show me." When Aylanna pulled aside the grass, he exclaimed in surprise, "How did you find this?" "I just knew there had to be an easier way. In the dream they came out of an opening directly onto the beach. I let the dream guide my feet." "What is in there?" Aylanna hesitated, her voice distant almost not her own, "Darkness, stone, rooms," and then shook her head as a sense of terror rose up, there was danger coming, she must escape. The images of the dream seemed to swim in front of her eyes and her whole body vibrated with fear and the urge to run. Again, her arms came up to clutch the baby to her chest. Shaking her head violently, she pushed it away again. Each time it seemed more difficult. Her voice vibrated with fear, "My Khan, I cannot, must not... It is beginning to..." She hesitated, trying to find words, "um, trying to..." She frowned and took a deep breath, "It is becoming dangerous for me. The memory is gaining strength, her spirit is stirring. She will wake soon and the dead are always jealous of the living. If she cannot steal my spirit, she will try to destroy it." She did not know exactly how she knew this, but as she said them she sensed the truth in her words. Jhardron watched the girl closely, his eyes filled with concern. He nodded, not truly understanding but accepting her answer. "Then you must not." He lifted her chin and stared into her eyes. "Pretty demon, I do not understand this thing that you have within you but you must tread carefully. Keep yourself safe. Your value to me increases with each day." He touched the wisp of the red hair that continually escaped from her blue head scarf, "Pretty demon, my demon, promise me to keep your spirit safe." Impulsively, she threw her arms around his waist and pressed her face against his chest. Her voice was soft and choked with emotion, "My Khan, it is my love for you that keeps the magic at bay. Each time it threatens to sweep me away, I think of your words and how I must stay here with you and I find my strength." His arms came up around her, crushing her to his chest. They stood like that for only a moment when there was a cheer from the watching warriors. Tim'kah had finally attained his goal, and stood upon the lip of the opening, his arms raised in triumph. Jhardron's voice held rare humor, "The boy climbs like a spider. I will not steal away any of his triumph. We will enter through his window first." Soon ropes were being lowered down and more warriors were working their way up, making faster progress with the aid of ropes. Jhardron smoothed the hair that blew around Aylanna's eyes once more, "So, my pretty demon, I will leave up to you. Would it be dangerous for you to enter into that darkness?" A small shudder shook through her frame and again she felt the memory push at her fragile boundaries, like shadows flickering in the corners of her vision. Again, the high pitched cries of the sea birds echoed the screams of battle. Her voice was tense, "My Khan, I cannot. Already I have reached too far." His eyes narrowed, again looking closely at her face. "Do you need to leave this place?" Aylanna shook her head, "No, not yet. But I must rest and focus on controlling my thoughts." She smiled with trembling lips and repeated his words, "A Bak warrior must always be in control of her body, her heart, and her mind." Her Khan's eyes looked briefly surprised and then approving, a rare smile warmed his eyes. "You remember your lessons well. You will make a fine warrior." Then he released her, leaving her to watch as he gripped the ropes and began to climb. Most of the warriors remained on the beach and Aylanna busied herself in helping build fires and care for the horses. She found herself spending time with Xin'sha, just leaning against the mare's flank, stroking her smooth warm red neck, drinking in the calm emotions emanating from the horse. The flicker of life growing deep inside the mare was even more evident, a small warm spark of dawning awareness that floated in an endless warm darkness. Aylanna gently reached out and delicately touched the new spirit with the lightest caress of love and welcome. Over and over, she would look up the cliff face to the dark opening that the exploring warriors had disappeared into. But each time her curiosity would intrude, trying to imagine what they were doing, what they were seeing and she had to force her eyes away, force her thoughts to duty and safety. She was not alone in her interest. The warriors that remained on the beach watched the cliff face almost obsessively, their emotions tense and pent up. Aylanna could tell there was not a single one that would have not preferred to be up there, seeing with their own eyes the mysteries that lay within the dark opening. When the figures of the warriors came to the opening and began to work their way down the ropes, there was a sharp peak in the tension and Aylanna was caught up in the almost unbearable anticipation. She was practically dancing with the energy that ebbed and flowed around her, her eyes over bright and her heart racing. The warriors were covered in dirt and seemed happy to be out in the daylight and fresh air. They carried a few bags of items gleaned from the darkness. The curious warriors that had been left behind barraged the explorers with questions, asking what lay inside the strange tunnels, and Klektor spoke up as he vigorously scrubbed at the dirt that had turned his normally ebony skin grey and dusty. "It is a cesspool of shit. Where the birds have not nested, bats, rats and insects have made their home. The very air is poison." He coughed and cleared his throat, and then spat, his expression filled with distaste. "The passages are narrow and choked with fallen debris. The stone hung heavy over my head. I for one will be glad to sit once more on the back of a horse, to ride free and breathe in some clean air." Jhardron's voice was calmer, informative, "There is little left of the demons that once lived there. Anything left behind has turned to rust or crumbled away ages ago. All that is left is what cannot rot away." Jhardron's next words took Aylanna by surprise, "Our little ha'akh has found another opening. Most likely it will hold little more than Tim'kah's venture, but I want to look there before we leave." His eyes glinted at Klektor, "Who would like to venture back into the tunnels?" Demon Child Ch. 11 Klektor shook his head, stepping back, trying to joke, "I just washed the dirt of that place from my skin. Let another go in my place." Yet Aylanna could sense a wavering in Klektor's spirit. He had found something in the dark tunnels that he did not want to face again. To Aylanna's surprise, it was once more Tim'kah that led the way into the darkness. Without hesitation, he dropped to his belly and wormed his way into the dark crevice. Soon, he backed out and reported, "Rubble fills the passage almost to the ceiling, and the way is narrow but seems to extend far into the rock. I will need a lamp," the young warrior looked thoughtful, "and a length of rope." A shallow stone bowl was filled with oil and a wick lit, the tiny yellow flame guttering in the restless wind. The young warrior tied the rope to his belt and dived back into the darkness. Slowly, the length of rope uncoiled a few feet at a time. When nearly all of the coils had disappeared, Tim'kah shouted back, his excited voice echoing out of the tunnel, "It opens up, and there is a large room. There are images upon the walls, fantastic images." Jhardron was the second to crawl into the darkness, quickly followed by a carefully chosen cadre of a half dozen eager volunteers. Aylanna sat watching the opening, listening to the faint echoes of voices filtering back. It seemed like the assault on her mind had weakened and the feelings of fatigue and disorientation had disappeared. Yet she was careful to avoid the temptation to recreate the images of her dream in her head again, choosing patience over magic. The corner of her mouth twisted up wryly, imagining tying the rope hobbles around this part of her spirit, forcing it to learn to take the small measured steps. One of the lessons she had learned while the ropes had been around her ankles, she was forced to think ahead, to take the time to plan her every movement. She had become calmer in spirit, more graceful and deliberate in motion, and to her surprise in many ways more productive. Softly, she repeated the words of her Khan, "A warrior must learn to keep her emotions in check. A warrior must be patient." She sat waiting, her ears listening intently for any clue of the returning warriors. The camp fires crackled and hissed, flickering in the wind. The crashing waves had once again resumed their pounding assault on the land, surging closer to the cliff. As she listened, Aylanna wondered at this ebb and flow of the sea, retreating and then advancing, harboring a small fear that perhaps this time it would not stop in its invasion, surging up and finally conquering this empty, abandoned place, pulling it down into its grey green depths. She thought about the spirits on the wind and contemplated the possibility that the spirits of the drowned might drift lost in the dim light under the restless waves. Sometimes, the murmur of the water carried the same tones of the whispers she heard on the wind. It was nearly dark when the warriors began to emerge from the hole she had found at the base of the cliff, dragging along with them several bags of objects. Their scramble through the narrow passage had smeared them with mud. Again, the explorers were met with curious questions. Jhardron held up a hand, "We will speak of this around the fire tonight." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Jhardron spoke to the gathered warriors around the fires, "The entry was narrow, but the rooms beyond were less fouled and more artifacts were strewn about." "The first room was large and appeared to be a gathering room of some sort. There were many images engraved and painted upon the walls of this room. They showed demons in battle with other demons. There was much broken crockery but we did manage to find many intact pieces. They are decorated with the same images as those upon the walls. They tell a tale of the people that once lived here. We did find many other small things, stone figurines, and beads." Opening one bag, he pulled out a few pieces of the pottery, the smooth black surfaces of the bowls and cups heavily decorated with stylized images of warriors and what Aylanna instantly recognized as ships. At the bottom of another bag were several handfuls of faceted iridescent stone beads. The Khan spoke in a very definite voice, "The pottery will be the Aga's share. The beads are small payment for our time, but this mission was never about finding riches." His words made Aylanna tip her head in confusion, not sure exactly what he was speaking of, but then each warrior stepped forward in turn, from highest to lowest rank and took a few beads from the pile. When they had finished, only about a dozen beads lay loose in the bottom of one of the ancient pottery bowls. It seemed like all the warriors were looking toward her, and then Bow Master Harnum gave her a sharp nudge between her shoulder blades. "All riders have a right to a share, meager as it is. Step up girl." As Aylanna quickly leaned down and without really looking took one of the beads, she realized that there was an aura of disappointment among the warriors. They had been hoping for something richer, a treasure. Carefully gripping her bead in her hand, she stepped back. Jhardron addressed the group again, "Our Khan has always been curious about stories of the sea and demon cities of the north. He will be pleased with our discoveries. The Twisted Dagger has stepped into the myth and brings back to him evidence of the truth behind the legends. Each of you will have tales to tell around the campfire for a lifetime." Raising a brow he joked, "I think this might even surpass some of Kwal'kek's fairy tales." A roar of laughter rose up around the fire. Aylanna sat up late staring into the coals of the camp fire, listening to the roar of the waves, avoiding sleep, and Jhardron pulled her to one side and once again peered into her face, gauging her state. "Ha'akh, how are you feeling?" Well aware that he was speaking of disturbance she was experiencing earlier, Aylanna gazed up at him seriously, "I feel better, my Khan. No longer do the images of my dream push at me." She swallowed, her mouth suddenly going dry as she put into words her fears. "But I feel some fear of falling asleep again. When I sleep, it seems like I have no defense." Once again smoothing the wayward strands of her hair, he pulled her toward his sleeping pad, "Come lay with me again. If you are disturbed in the night I will wake you and do battle with your assailant." Aylanna could not help but smile at his words and yawning, she let him pull her close, turning her on her side facing away from him, pressing against her backside. She let her head rest on his arm and closed her eyes. Aylanna did not know how long she had slept when the images of dark tunnels and the frightening sounds of approaching battle began to intrude. The compulsion to flee rose up and then Jhardron's hands on her body pulled her awareness to other things. Her skirts were up around her waist and his fingers were caressing her belly, stroking and tugging gently at the curls between her legs. A tiny soft moan of surprise rose up and his breath in her ear was a soft hushing murmur, "A warrior who fights in the night must learn the skill of engaging in battle silently." As his fingers delved deeper, spreading her tender lower lips, setting her loins aflame, Aylanna covered her mouth with her hands, trembling and jerking in silence. Her eyes were wide and she stared into the fading embers of the fire. All the forms laying about the camp were still but she could see the form of one warrior seated, facing out, alert and listening to the night. The teasing fingers slowed and then became still, still lodged in their warm damp nest and to her surprise, Aylanna felt the need for sleep drag her down into the darkness again. Twice more in the night, she found herself pulled awake by his touch, stirring up the goddess magic within her. The third and final time, she sighed as she felt his jhambar, awake and insistent, insinuating its way into her from behind. A stifled gurgle of pent up excitement rose up in her throat and she trapped it behind her sealed lips. His fingers persisted in their slow sinuous dance, worming deep in the cleft of her venya, his jhambar lodged deep and subtly grinding in the shuddering and contracting embrace of her venya. Jhardron's voice was the softest rumble in her ear, "The courtesans call this 'the lazy man's embrace' or sometimes just the 'lazy snake'". He chuckled softly as she trembled and jerked in response to his touches, "Little demon, you are pierced to the heart by my snake, but I think he is not so much lazy as perhaps a stealthy beast seeking out his lair." Aylanna's whole body was tense and trembling with pent up magic and as she began to convulse with panshasham his hand come up and covered her mouth, filling her nostrils with the pungent scent of her passion. She could feel the sheath of her venya flutter around his hard shaft and then sensed his rush of sensation as he pressed deep and left his offering. She lay still, trapped in the warmth of his embrace, his jhambar still hiding in the dark lair it had found between her legs, savoring the sweet tingles that the traveled through her body. Jhardron had indeed chased away the ghosts that had haunted the night. She felt ultimately safe and curiously weightless. A long satisfied sigh, so deep that it made her shudder a little shook through her. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Thank you for taking the time to read my story. This story contains many words from the language of the Bak culture that I have created. The meaning of most of these words is easily inferred from their context. A ha'akh is the lowest rank of female slave assigned to serve a regiment of warriors. Please do me the kindness of rating and leaving me feedback. Constructive and/or critical, public or private, raving or troll; I love to hear from you. To those who leave anonymous feedback, I regret I cannot respond to you individually. Please accept my appreciation in advance. I would like to join my friend Dweaver999 in asking for your good thoughts for our missing editor Dani. I would like to thank my good friend who prefers to remain anonymous for volunteering to help me with editing this chapter. xantu Demon Child Ch. 12 Demon Child: Chapter 12 Ramaldi Gold )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> At first light the warriors led their horses up the steep winding path and made their way further west following the highlands looking out over the sea. It was slow going through the twisted forest and they did not find another way down the tall cliffs. Each day Aylanna rode at the back of the column listening to the wind swirl and whistle through the tree branches. Each night she resumed her duties of serving the warriors, blessing them with her magic and then would return to sleep at Jhardron's side. No more dreams haunted her nights and the Khan did nothing more than hold her close to share his warmth with her in the night. There was a subdued mood pervading the regiment. It was like the trees pressing close on either side of the riders, shutting out the horizon, were wearing on their spirits. Finally Jhardron took one last long look out across the ocean from the lip of the tall cliff and then gave the order to head south. The further they traveled from the sea, the forest became less dense and the more quickly they could travel, and the more their spirits seemed to expand. Aylanna could sense that her warriors were creatures of the wide open spaces. Once the regiment was free to move quickly, Jhardron pushed them to move faster, impatient to reunite with the wagons. The warriors pushed their mounts to a ground eating trot and Aylanna soon found that fatigue was her greatest enemy. It was exhausting to ride at that bone jarring rhythm and each night she almost staggered through her duties. Several times the scouts returned reporting finding the signs of human passage. A large party, the scouts estimated easily over a hundred, had moved across the grasslands on foot, leaving behind abandoned camps, odd discarded objects like clothing, household items, latrines, and on one occasion an abandoned wagon with a broken wheel and the remains of a carcass of a horse that had been butchered for its flesh. This news had made Jhardron frown and speak rapidly, quietly with Jhu'kresh and his other lieutenants about something that Aylanna could not quite hear, but their mood was clear. This was not something they feared, their mood was that of a hunting hound, finally scenting his prey. Then the scouts returned, with disturbing news. They had found the track of wagons, the Bak wagons, but there were other tracks with them as well. A number of tracks of men on foot had followed along with Kwal'kek and the boys herding the horse herd. The scout said that the footsteps of the men were mixed with the Bak horsemen so that they were clearly traveling together. The ominous news was that the wagons had turned south and were no longer on a path toward the original rendezvous point. Jhardron's face had turned grim and the regiment had mounted up. If Aylanna had thought the pace was punishing before, she learned what true speed was now. The warriors flew across the grass, leaning low over their mounts. Xin'sha was hard pressed to keep up, but Aylanna had caught the fevered tension of the warriors, and leaned low, communicating with the little mare, pleading with her to do her best. And the little mare had shown her heart, straining to keep up the pace of the taller, stronger stallions. When the little mare finally began to falter and fall behind, Klektor had pulled alongside on his big red stallion. He looked at the sweat streaked little mare and reached for Aylanna pulling her to sit behind him on the faster, stronger stallion, easing the mare's burden. As he kicked the stallion back into a canter, Aylanna wrapped her arms around his waist and yelled into his ear. "What is it that has happened?" His voice carried back to her over the pounding of the hooves, "Only the gods know for sure, but there was rumor of bandits and Ramaldi refugees at the gathering. Kwal'kek would not have turned south without the Khan's orders. He would never have done that voluntarily, there is something wrong. Now hold tight, ha'akh, there will be no respite until we have our quarry in our grasp." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> As the regiment came over the crest of a low hill, Kwal'kek, Tollarra and the youths were not alone. Nearly two dozen adult men and youths in grasslands herders garb were walking alongside the wagons. At the sound of the pounding hooves they turned to face the charging regiment, gripping spears and bows in their hands. The regiment swept down, the hooves of the sweat streaked horses thundering. Klektor moved his mount close beside Xin'sha and Aylanna made the shift back to the mare's saddle with an alacrity that made her grin in surprise. She turned to him to exclaim her triumph at her success performing the tricky rider's move that she had watched the boys do repeatedly as they had practiced for the games, but he was already gone. Tim'kah was there instead, his face grim with determination. He reached for the little mare's reins and held her back. Aylanna looked around and realized that he was holding back, waiting on the crest next to Jhardron. The rest of the riders never slowed in their advance, charging down toward the wagon and at the last minute, veering to one side, swirling around and surrounding the wagons and the strangers. Only then did Jhardron advance and Tim'kah followed close behind leading Aylanna on her mare. Kwal'kek raised his hand in greeting, his old voice bellowing that they were late, that he had expected them days ago. He shouted out that he had thought maybe the demons had eaten them for a snack or stolen them across the sea. He kicked his heavy old stallion into a canter and came up to meet his Khan. As he approached, he gestured broadly at the strangers, this time his voice pitch low for his Khan's ears only, "You can see we've picked up a bit of an escort. So far they haven't made a move and your orders are not to attack unless provoked, but there is a bad smell about them." Jhardron nodded, never taking his eyes off the strangers, riding closer. Aylanna could sense a tension among these men, a wary, almost angry watchfulness. A foreboding made the hair on her neck prickle. The strangers had gathered into a knot and were talking rapidly to one another in furtive whispers. Jhardron's voice was wary, "Do they have a leader?" Kwal'kek cleared his throat and spat, "There is one that does most of the talking. He says they are hunters from the Bitter Grass Eaters tribe," the old warrior nodded toward the wagons and Tollarra perched there, watching, "...but the ha'akh says they are not really from that tribe. She says they do not have the right tattoo marks on their faces. She thinks they may be from some stragglers from the Ramaldi but she says they speak the grasslands dialect so she is not sure." The old warrior gripped the handle of one of his scimitars, "I think they thought they had found a fat bird for the taking, a horse herd and wagons guarded only by a half dozen youths an old man and a woman. They would have been sorely surprised. The only reason they live now is your orders." The corner of Jhardron's mouth twitched but his eyes were serious, "Without question. And now the fat bird has grown many heads." He cast a sharp eye on the group, "And yet, I still have my orders. Perhaps we will let these hunters snare themselves. Have the demon come and speak for me." Aylanna rode beside Jhardron as he reined his grey stallion closer to the group of supposed grassland hunters. Jhardron never once took his eyes off the men as he spoke, "Tell them to have their leader come forth and speak for them." As she translated the words, a heavyset man with a lazy eye spoke up. "I am leader." His words reeked of falsehood. Aylanna wrinkled up her nose in distaste. She spoke clearly, "You lie." Casting her eyes around the group, she pointed a quivering finger at another, tall slender man. "You are the leader. Why do you hide?" There was a visible stir among the men. One even went so far as to pull a rusty blade from his belt. Instantly, nearly thirty arrows were knocked and trained on his chest. The tall man stared hard at Aylanna and then hissed at the foolish man who had drawn his blade. All bows remained targeted and tense as the man began to casually scrape at his thumbnail and then sheathed his blade as if it were the most normal of actions. Aylanna whispered furiously at Jhardron, still pointing, "That one there, he is the one, the leader." She pointed at the man who had claimed leadership, "That one lies." The squint-eyed man who had lied shrugged and laughed, "And who are you to call me liar? Are you leader here?" He stepped closer reaching for Xin'sha's bridle. Before his hand touched, a scimitar was at his wrist. Jhardron's eyes were dark with warning and he forced his stallion between the man and the ha'akh. The horse's shoulder knocked the man back and off balance. Jhardron's voice was sharp, "Move back!" And Aylanna knew the words were for her. Xin'sha was already backing up, her hooves dancing, her ears pinned back, and her eyes rolling with nervous temper. Simultaneously, the warriors surrounding the men, moved closer. Jhardron's voice was clear and commanding, "Tell them to throw down their weapons or die. Tell their leader to step forward. And tell that one that pretends to be leader, that I will carve his liver out if he lies again!" Aylanna's voice was shrill as she repeated his words. Facing drawn bows on all sides, the group of men drew into a tighter knot. They did not lay down their weapons but the tall man stepped up to the front, a wide disarming smile on his face. He held up empty hands, "There clearly has been a misunderstanding. We are peaceful hunters. We want no trouble." Again clouds of deceit obscured the truth. Clearly they were not hunters and, like hers, his grasslands speech was thick with the tones of the Ramaldi valley tribes. Aylanna's eyes narrowed, "You are not grasslander. You are Ramaldi." He stared boldly back at her, "Your ears are sharp, demon, or should I call you neekah?" Aylanna stiffened at that word, the epithet she had once used for a name, her grey eyes widening in shock. Memories of the Ramaldi village, times of terror, humiliation, and pain clouded her mind. Hands holding her down, the bodies of the Ramaldi youths swarming over her, jostling against one another in their eagerness to mount her, to thrust themselves into her, their faces crazed and cruel, their coarse hooting war cries ringing in her ears as they raped her. Aylanna swayed in her saddle. Xin'sha squealed in panic as she began to fight the reins, backing up, rearing and kicking out at some unseen assailant. And then one by one stallions under the warriors seemed to catch the madness, sidling, fighting their rider's control. Then just as quickly all was still. The horses stood motionless. It was almost as if it hadn't happened. The only clue was the puzzled looks on the warrior's faces. Aylanna's voice was shaking with remembered rage and revulsion, "How do you know that name?" "We are from the same village. I am surprised you don't remember me. I certainly remember you." He leered at her and to Aylanna, his spirit felt somehow filthy, poisoned, even diseased. Again the ha'akh recoiled but this time she kept control. She stared back, her eyes narrow and steady. She raised up her hand and could not help but notice that it no longer quivered. When she spoke her words were for her Khan, "That one is Ramaldi, from my village." His voice rang out sharp and clear, "Kill him." Instantly a dozen arrows flew and buried themselves feathers deep in the tall man's chest. His eyes bulged and then rolled up in his head as he fell to his knees and then face down into the grass. There was a sudden movement and another was dead just as quickly. After that the brief slaughter was too quick for Aylanna to follow. Tim'kah was there, his mount jostling Xin'sha back and away. The sudden violence made the ha'akh flinch and reel in her saddle, grasping at Xin'sha's mane to keep her seat. She could see little as her mare seemed to lurch and prance in response to each scream, yell and the dull thuds of arrows striking bodies. When she looked again, only a few remained alive, on their knees, their hands passively clasped over their heads in the traditional posture of surrender. They were all youths, barely more than boys, painfully thin, their eyes staring out from deep hollows in their skulls. Clearly terrorized, more than one had burst into tears, sure that they too were going to be killed. Not a single one carried a weapon of any kind. Ignoring the bodies littering the grass, some still twitching in their death throes, Jhardron spoke, "Speak to them, find out who they are." Soon it was clear that they were grasslands youths that had been taken captive. They reported that the men were only part of a larger party of Ramaldi refugees that had fled north after the Bak invasion. They were basically functioning as bandits, preying on the few travelers and the grasslands tribes that they could locate. One of the boys, a little older spoke up, "But our tribe, the Bitter Grass Eaters, they moved north, hid among the forests. My father is speaker. He will reward you for our rescue." Then he looked hopefully around, "Please, could we have some food? They had little food and would not let us eat. My friends and I have not had food for some days." Jhardron listened to their tale, his face twisted with distaste at the boy's tale of abduction and neglect. He gestured abruptly to Kwal'kek, his voice terse, "Give them some traveling rations and let us move on from this place. It stinks of the blood of cowards." The wagons resumed their slow passage across the plains. As they traveled, Jhardron had Aylanna speak at length with the one boy who seemed to speak for the others. He was more than happy to tell all that he knew about the men who had taken them captive, mumbling the words around the mouthful of dried meat that he gnawed on as he walked. "They spoke of another group, a larger group that they were trying to catch up to. They acted a little afraid to attack the wagon driver and his guards until there were more of them. They wanted the food in the wagon, the woman and the horses. They had eaten all their horses." Jhardron's eyes sharpened at the mention of a larger group, "Do you know where this other group may be?" "No, Sir, not exactly but I know that Kraddin, the one you killed first, he said that they were that way," The youngster pointed south, "but I do not know how far." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The wagons continued south. Now that the armed strangers were gone, Tollarra slipped down off the wagon, talking at length with the grasslands boys as they walked along. It was clear that while the boys were far too young to remember her, they were familiar with people who were in Tollarra's family. She looked up at Aylanna, "Yes, these boys are Bitter Grass. That one there is a cousin by marriage to me." Tollarra's face twisted in anger, "Those men treated these boys very cruelly. Three of their friends died at the hands of those monsters, apparently killed for little more than begging for food." Aylanna suppressed a smile, nodding solemnly. "I will tell our Khan what you have discovered," choosing to avoid explaining to the older ha'akh how she already knew that the boys were telling the truth about their ordeal. Jhardron was busy speaking with Kwal'kek, Jhu'kresh, and the other senior officers of the regiment. Scouting parties were dispatched to locate the larger group of bandits and to report their exact location and status. He was eager to find these Ramaldi refugees. At the gathering, on the last night, all the regimental Khans had met and discussed the mystery of the missing Ramaldi gold. The Ramaldi king had disappeared with his treasury. One of the directions that he was suspected of fleeing to was the northern plains, perhaps even clear to the ocean. But none of the Ramaldi village leaders had revealed any knowledge of his whereabouts, even under extreme torture. If their king was not there, perhaps these stragglers would have information that would lead to his capture. To enter into the Bak Pan, the holiest of cities, with the king of the Ramaldi in a cage, the Ramaldi treasury on display, that would very much enhance his status in court. Such a triumph would perhaps establish his reputation as a warrior, a regimental leader, someone too valuable to waste in a court position. Jhardron stopped himself, clearing his throat and spitting. Such thoughts were a waste of time. He knew he had little control over his future. His father was First Lieutenant to the Aga Khan, an old friend from childhood. Jhardron knew that tradition would require him to follow in his father's footsteps, to serve in court as a guard and an advisor. Though now, the future was much less clear. Only a year ago, the last son of the Khan, a boy six years of age had died under suspicious circumstances. With no heir, when the Aga Khan left this world to join the gods, chaos was sure to rein. And rumor was that the Khan suffered from a mysterious malady. He was weak and suffered from fits. Once again clearing his throat and spitting, Jhardron turned his thoughts back to the present. His eyes fell on Aylanna, leaning down from her perch atop her mare, speaking with the older ha'akh. Jhardron felt again the warming of his heart at the vision of her, the blue scarf tied around her head and then falling over her shoulders. As he watched, she tucked some stray tendrils of her strange red hair back up under the cloth. She sat on her horse in an easy comfortable manner that spoke of a lifetime of being in the saddle, rather than mere weeks. She was one with her mount in a manner that few Bak warriors have ever attained. The girl turned casting her gaze around, like she sensed someone's eyes upon her and meeting his regard returned it openly. Her strange grey eyes, wide, guileless, trusting. Finally she smiled, a soft uncertain fleeting smile, and turned her eyes back to the other ha'akh. Jhardron wondered how just the sight of her banished all thoughts of duty from his head. And at the same time, wondered how she would fare at the court of the Khan. The thought of her small, exotic, alien, at the mercy and sway of the various factions that vied for power made him blink, clear his throat and spit again, trying to clear his mouth of the bad taste that seemed to fill it. He kicked his stallion, urging him closer and spoke clearly, "Ha'akh, ride by me a while. Tell me of this man from your village." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna had been talking with Tollarra when she felt his eyes on her. She had turned looking for him, knowing he was nearby, knowing he was thinking of her. He sat on his grey stallion, looking at her, his black fathomless eyes unreadable and she had sat motionless meeting that gaze until her heart swelled and filled her throat and she had to look away. When he had ordered her to ride with him to speak, she had felt her heart lurch and felt the skin of her face heat. Almost without thinking she said the word that filled her heart. "My Khan, wherever you go, I will follow." Jhardron turned and looked at her sharply. His mouth opened to say something but then he stopped. Aylanna could sense the turmoil in his spirit and then it was gone, like a hand coming up to cover her eyes. His voice was calm, neutral as he walked his stallion beside Xin'sha. "This man, the Ramaldi you said was from your village. Who was he?" Aylanna shrugged, "I do not know. I did not recognize him. But he said he remembered me. He named me with the name they gave me in the village, Neekah, dirty thing." She paused, almost reluctant to go on. "There in the village, after Kharthmah died, I had no family, no status. The boys, after they went through the manhood initiation, were free to run loose in undisciplined gangs for a period of time before they formally took on the responsibility of adulthood. There was no one to protect me from them. They would catch me, force me to share blessings with them, but it was not a blessing. It was hate, and fear, and pain. It was a curse." Aylanna's voice shook and then broke. She swallowed and took a deep breath. "The goddess was not there and the magic was evil." She spoke her voice low and savage, "That one, the one you killed; he was one of them. I am glad he is dead. It is what I wished for all of them." Demon Child Ch. 12 Jhardron had not spoken the entire time. He sat quietly, riding beside her. He turned to look at her, and saw that she had twisted her reins into a knot, wrapping them in a tangle around her fist. Her face was that curious red shade that signaled strong emotions surging through her. Her lips were pressed together into a tight line, so tight that the red shade of her skin was blanched about them. The little red mare was walking, but her gait was stiff, her ears pinned back, her eyes rolling in her head. Pulling his stallion to a halt he reached and grasped the halter of her mare. Speaking softly, his tone normal, "A Bak warrior never tangles his hands in his reins. If he should fall, he could be dragged." He reached and began to gently untangle the leather straps from her hands. Aylanna looked up at him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, her voice quivered, "A Bak warrior is in control of her body, her heart and her mind." Jhardron touched her face, "Little demon, I see your struggle. You are a fine warrior." The girl leaned toward his touch, her voice still shaking with pent up emotion, "There is so much in my heart, my Khan." Gently he covered her lips. "Little demon, my demon, do not reveal your heart. Never reveal your heart. There is too much uncertainty in this world, too much danger. You must learn to keep your secrets and guard your heart. Soon we will be in Bak Pan and there the wolves and the vultures that follow them circle to feed on secrets and hearts." Aylanna frowned and blinked, confused by his words. Mumbling against his hand she asked, "Bak Pan? What is that?" "Bak Pan is the holiest of cities. It is the city built by our mother Pan'Shash'Sha'Am, the place of the temple and the home of the high priestess of our mother. It is there that the Aga Khan keeps his court. It is where we are going." Jhardron paused and looked up at the sound of drumming hoof beats. A scout was coming in at top speed. He spoke again, one last time as he wheeled his stallion around, "That is, the place we are going after I deal with this band of Ramaldi bandits." He kicked the tall grey and sped off to meet the scout. Aylanna sat and watched him go. She could still feel the touch of his fingers on her lips. She turned over the words he had spoken, about wolves and vultures, and secrets. She sensed he was trying to protect her, to warn her about something but exactly what she was not sure. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> This time Aylanna was left at the wagons, with Tollarra and the youngest warriors. Every other warrior was gone with Jhardron. It was difficult to be left behind but it was not once even mentioned that she should accompany the warriors on what was clearly going to be a battle. Kwal'kek urged the heavy draught horses pulling the wagons to a faster pace, hurrying them south. He spoke seriously with Aylanna. "There may be wounded, we will need to be ready. I may need your assistance." Aylanna spoke nervously, "I know little of wounds. Kharthmah rarely dealt with wounds of battle. The medicine he taught me was village medicine, illness, complications of birth, poisons, and potions. The only time a villager would come with a wound if it was putrefying, stinking." Kwal'kek nodded, "Well if Jha'Mak'Tah watches over us, you will have little to learn today." He made a reverent gesture and raised his fist to the sky. "We will travel through the night if necessary." It was late evening when a rider came to meet them. Tim'kah's mount was sweat stained and sagging with exhaustion. "Come quickly, Jhardron says to bring medicines." Aylanna felt a lance of terror, "Who?" Tim'kah's face was grim, "Two dead, Klektor is gravely wounded, and many others need care." He swayed in the saddle, and Aylanna noticed his hands were stained with blood. Her voice was choked, "Are you hurt?" The young warrior blinked and shook his head. "No, I am uninjured. Come quickly. Klektor he is asking for the demon. Jhardron sent me to fetch her. There is little time." Kwal'kek had been rapidly filling some bags with medicines and fresh bandages. He handed two to Aylanna and heaved himself up on his heavy stallion. He spoke rapidly to the boys still guarding the wagon, "Keep traveling south and keep the demon's star at your back. Make haste." Then he kicked his mount into a lumbering gallop, Xin'sha easily keeping pace with the massive stallion. Aylanna rode with her heart in her throat. Visions of battle, like those from her dreams of demons battling in the stone corridors, filled her head. She knew that there was no glory in battle, just chaos, terror and death. She wondered at a god that glorified battle, this Jha'Mak'Tah that Kwal'kek spoke of. She thought about Klektor and his confusing ways, his anger and then his frustrated curiosity, how he had taken her to ride that day above the gathering. The thought that he lay dying was beyond comprehension. And two dead, which two, which of her warriors had she lost? Impatiently she urged Xin'sha to run faster. Slowly Tim'kah and Aylanna outpaced Kwal'kek and were leaving him behind. The sky was turning lavender in the east when the first guards hailed them. "Where is Kwal'kek?" Tim'kah's voice was hoarse with fatigue, "He is close behind." Aylanna's voice was shrill with worry, "Where is Klektor?" Jhardron's hand on her arm, his voice firm and in control brought her back to herself. "This way." Harnum was there, holding Klektor in his arms, his face was bleak with grief. An arrow stood out from the younger man's chest and bloody froth dripped down from the wound. Klektor's breath wheezed and gurgled in his throat. He coughed weakly and spat out a mouthful of blood. His voice was weak and babbling, "Give my horse to one of the boys. And tell the demon, tell the demon..." Aylanna stood frozen, completely unsure of what to do. Jhardron spoke up. "You are far from dead, warrior. You will have need of that horse in the future. And the demon is here, but it is not your turn to lay with her. You have many days to wait for that." His words were jovial but his eyes were grim. At his Khan's voice, Klektor seemed to calm. He grinned a ghastly bloodstained smile, "I just wanted to look upon her. She is such a pretty thing, and she has cast a spell on my heart." Jhardron pushed her forward, speaking low. "Let him look upon you. It is a simple thing to give a warrior as he goes to join his gods." Aylanna stumbled forward, and sank to her knees. "I am here, my warrior." Klektor's eyes were bright, and he spoke in a soft hoarse gurgling whisper, "Do you remember... remember when you touched my... my arrow?" Gently Aylanna touched his lips, flinching as she felt the arrow deep in her own chest. Almost falling down in agony, she took a sharp inward gasp and then choked out, "How could I forget? You were wonderful. You brought such honor to all the Twisted Dagger. And then you rode that wild Demon stallion, so tall, so proud. You could have won; you should have won. You were faster than all of them. And the next day, when you took me for that ride, running free for the first time. It was beautiful. I will never forget." Under her hands she felt the struggle to breathe cease and his spirit pull free from his heart. She stayed there on her knees, a soft cry of protest rising up in her chest and then a sob. "I promise, I will never forget." The sensation of his pain, the feeling of the arrow in his chest was nothing compared to the stabbing grief. It felt like her heart was being torn from her chest. She looked up and met Harnum's eyes and realized that the grief she felt was not hers alone. She was feeling all the sadness of all the warriors huddled around their comrade. Their faces were grim, even stoic, but each of them felt endless agony at this loss of a fellow warrior, their friend. It was too much to bear and she lurched to her feet and stumbled away from them, choking on her tears. Jhardron found her huddled close to Xin'sha, seeking comfort in her little mare's calmer heart. His voice was soft, "Little demon, a warrior keeps his grief hidden in his heart." Softly she choked out, "My Khan, I cannot. For I carry all your grief in my heart. Each and every one of you, I sense your pain and it is too much. I cannot keep it in or my heart will burst." His hand on her turning her to face him, pulling her into his arms seemed to break down a wall and she burst into deep wracking sobs. He held her close, "Then, little demon, you must cry for us all." The other two Bak warriors that had died were Jaylon, the warrior she had argued with when Xin'sha had refused to stay with the horse herd, and another she had only known briefly as she had shared her blessings with him. Aylanna had looked down at them, carefully laid out next to Klektor, their faces strangely peaceful in death, and felt each of their losses keenly. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The morning light seemed harsh and too bright. It seemed to stab at her eyes as she helped Kwal'kek anoint and bandage the wounds of the dozen or so warriors that had been cut or shot with arrows. None of these wounds were life-threatening and Kwal'kek showed her how to be generous with the Warrior's Blood medicine to staunch any bleeding. He showed her how to take a hair from a horse's tail and stitch together the worst of the cuts, how to pack the arrow wounds with cloth saturated with more of the medicine and how to wrap the wounds with clean cloths. His voice was gruff, "Any wound can putrefy. We will need to keep close watch." Tollarra was tending pots of rich meat broth and special herbs known to help strengthen the blood of the casualties and bolster the spirits of the survivors. Aylanna sensed little joy or glory in this victory. In the cold light of day she could see the Bak warriors working quickly, grimly as they piled dozens of dead enemy corpses up in the center of what seemed the ruins of a small tent camp. Nearly three dozen strangers, men, women and youths, were huddled in a small group on the ground to one side, being guarded by more Bak warriors. Jhardron came to her, "Demon, I have need of your magic. Soon I will need to tell the difference between truth and lies." And Aylanna had followed in his steps her mind numb with exhaustion and grief. As they approached the little group of survivors they all stood up. Aylanna blinked and shook her head at the waves of terror emanating from the group. Jhardron spoke to a guard, and then pointed at one of the adult men, standing in the back of the group, a bloody rag around his head, "We will start with that one." As he pointed the rest of the captives shrank away from the man, leaving him standing alone, his face pale but his eyes brave. One of the guards grabbed his arm and drug him forward and then forced him to his knees. Jhardron spoke to Aylanna, "Ask him if there were any members of the Ramaldi royalty hiding here in this camp." Aylanna blinked at the odd question but repeated it in Ramaldi. The man looked up, his eyes narrowed, "I know nothing of any Ramaldi royalty. I thought they were all dead." His words were very guarded, and Aylanna sensed that there was a mixture of truth and lies in them. She spoke directly to him. "I am a witch, Ramaldi scum, I can tell when you lie. It is truth that they are dead. But you know more than you say." The strange man's eyes widened and he turned even paler but he did not speak. She turned to Jhardron, "This man tells the truth when he says that the Ramaldi Royalty are all dead. But I sense he is not telling me all the truth." Jhardron smiled a wolf's grin. "Ask him if he knows where the gold is?" Aylanna's eyes widened at the mention of gold and when she repeated the question to the man he spoke quickly. "Is it the truth that you can tell truth from lies?" Aylanna pulled off her head scarf exposing her exotic coloration to his eyes. "I am a demon, with demon's magic. I can see into your heart. Do not lie to me." He nodded, "Then you will know when I tell you the truth?" Her voice was wary, "Yes." "Then tell your leader there, whatever his name is, that I do know where gold is; lots and lots of gold. Tell him I would trade that gold for my life." When Aylanna repeated the words to Jhardron his smile grew even more wolfish. "And is he telling you the truth?" "There was no lie in his heart when he said he knew where the gold was." "Ask him who he is. And ask him what happened to the Ramaldi king and his family and how he comes to know about this gold." The Ramaldi on his knees answered rapidly, almost desperately, to convince Aylanna of his sincerity, "My name is Tollekai. I was a hired mercenary for the Ramaldi royal court. When word came of the Bak raiders they packed up the treasury and fled north. As we came north, a large group of refugees joined us or we joined them. It does not matter. They were poor, starving. We had little food to share. Many of the palace guards deserted, leaving to find food. And then a fight broke out because the others wanted to eat the horses pulling the wagons. The king and his family were killed. I took the gold and buried it." Aylanna listened carefully and then spoke softly to him, "You killed them. You killed the king and his family for the gold." The man reared back and looked at her, his eyes suddenly angry now that he had been trapped by his words. "Damn you, yes, I killed them, cowards that they were, running away, abandoning their people, trying to keep the gold for themselves. If they had given the gold in tribute to the Aga Khan like he had demanded, then there would have been peace. And my family would still be alive instead of dead at the hands of these Bak murderers." His voice was low and filled with hate. His eyes blazed with impotent rage, "But you are wrong, I did not even want the gold. I buried it there. All I have now is my life and I would trade the gold for it." Jhardron made an impatient sound and Aylanna turned and told him the man's story. Jhardron made an impatient sound, "Tell him that he stole a precious thing from me when he took the life of the king. But I will spare him if he leads me to the treasure." The rest of the survivors were a mixture of grasslands captive women and Ramaldi refugees that had become savage and primitive as their existence had become tenuous. Jhardron separated the groups telling each that they were free to return to their lands but if they lifted a hand against the Bak they would face worse than death. Three horses had been killed in the battle and the carcasses were butchered for meat, the grasslands women quickly setting up drying racks preparing for a long march home. The Ramaldi hung around eyeing the more self sufficient herding women and boys until Jhardron told some of the warriors to hurry them on their way south. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The following day Aylanna stood with the warriors as they said farewell to their comrades. As was the Bak tradition, they were burned, sending their spirits up to the sky on a column of greasy black smoke. Their belongings were placed in a pile and from the highest rank to the lowest each approached the pile and selected an item and made a brief statement about one or another of the warriors. Jhardron selected a small narrow gold armband, decorated with a stylized running horse, his words were simple. "They were fine warriors." Harnum picked up some arrows, "Klektor was like a son to me." Each warrior selected something that seemed to have some meaning and spoke aloud a simple statement. There did not seem to be any kind of greed. Many of the older, most senior officers took hardly anything, a length of twine, a knife, a vial of oil. The tall red stallion stood unclaimed until Tim'kah approached the dwindling pile of personal affects. He turned and looked at the group with wide eyes, apparently aware that they expected him to take the stallion, a mount rivaling any in the regiment. Harnum gruffly grunted, "Go ahead, boy, it was his last wish. When Aylanna looked down at the pile, suddenly unsure what to do, she blindly picked up a small shining object and looked puzzled at her own reflection in the surface. She had never held a mirror before and looked up at the group of watching warriors. Her words were simple, "I loved them." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> A small group, Jhardron, Jhu'kresh, Aylanna and the traitor, Tollekai, set out in the morning. They retraced the path that the Bak Warriors had followed as they trailed first the tracks of the bandits and then the tracks of the wagons. They traveled quickly, starting early and riding late. On the second day, Tollekai, called for them to stop by the broken wagon they had found so many days before. "Here, it is here." He paused and looked at Aylanna, "How do I know you will let me go?" Aylanna stared at him, her eyes sharp. "My Khan does not lie. He says he will spare you." Her smile was bitter, "Now all you have to do is trust the word of a demon. Or you can let my friend Jhu'kresh carve the location of the gold out of your liver. Either will do." The Ramaldi man gasped and looked at Jhu'kresh, looking about curiously, oblivious to the conversation, with wide eyes. "I will show you. It is not far." He led them about a hundred yards to a little dry creek bed with low brush growing along the sides. He scraped aside some leaves and branches, revealing a large patch of freshly turned up earth. "I buried the bodies here too, with their cursed gold." When Aylanna relayed this grisly information to Jhardron, he made a distasteful face. He handed the shovel to the Ramaldi man. "Dig." Tollekai backed away from the shovel, his face twisted with revulsion. He was shaking his head; protesting that he had brought them there and that should be enough when he felt the prick of Jhu'kresh's scimitar in his back. He froze and reluctantly took the shovel and began to dig. He had not gone far when the smell of decay began to fill the little clearing. Aylanna backed away, moving upwind, but even there the smell seemed to creep into her nostrils. She found herself breathing shallowly through her open mouth. Finally she turned and walked away and spying a clump of low growing weeds, commonly called flea bane, she picked a big handful of the strong smelling plants and crushed them holding them closely to her nose. The pungent odor was strong, stinging her sinuses and making her eyes water but at least it smelled clean. She gathered some more and walked to where Jhardron and Jhu'kresh stood guard, their faces stoic but their lips twisted in revulsion. "This will help. Hold it to your nose." Jhardron sniffed curiously at the plants, "What is it?" Aylanna spoke from behind the handful of herbs, "Common herb, flea bane, you can use it to repel insects, like fleas and lice in your bedding." Jhu'kresh held the plants up to his nose, inhaling gratefully, "Thank you, ha'akh. It will get worse before it gets better." He gestured at the grisly sight of Tollekai pulling a bloated corpse of an adult sized person out of the hole and staggering to one side and retching. Aylanna flinched and turned her back, shuddering in horror. She kept her back to the scene until she sensed a sudden shift in the mood of the warriors. Before there had been disgust, now there was shock. She turned to stagger back at the sight of the traitor, lifting out a small corpse, hardly more than an infant and laying it down beside the three adults he had exhumed. Tollekai looked up and sneered at her expression. "How many children did your Bak warriors kill in the Ramaldi valleys? Think about that before you judge me." He nudged at the tiny corpse with his toe. "It would have starved to death without its mother anyway. Killing it was a mercy." Aylanna frowned wondering about that. The Bak had killed everyone, even the children, and she wondered why and how Jhardron could have done such a thing. Demon Child Ch. 12 Jhardron spoke sharply, "What does he say?" Her words were reluctant but an exact translation of what Tollekai had said. Then she asked, "It is true, isn't it? The Bak did kill the children of the villages. Why did you do that?" Jhardron turned and watched as the Ramaldi traitor and murderer began to pull weighty bag after bag of what had to be gold from the hole and dumped it to one side. "A Bak regimental Khan must obey the orders of the Aga Khan. I had my orders. I did not like them, but it is not my place to question them. I have had to do worse things in the name of duty. I am sure I will again." Aylanna felt the rigid angry control filling his heart, his carefully guarded grief and revulsion for things he had done, and things he might yet have to do again. Tollekai stood back and gestured broadly at the pile of bags. "It is all there. I never took a coin." Jhardron spoke sharply to Aylanna, "Tell him to put the bodies back into the hole. Tell him to bury them again." Tollekai shrugged and began the horrific task of manhandling the half rotted corpses back into the hole and shoveling the dirt over them. Once he was finished he turned and began to walk toward the horse he had ridden here. Jhardron spoke in a cool icy tone, "Tell him we will be using that horse to carry the gold back." As Aylanna said the words, Tollekai turned on her, rage in his face. "You said you would spare me." Jhardron's laugh was harsh and humorless, "I did not say I would give him a horse. Tell him to get out of my sight. He has a short time to live if he remains here." At her words Tollekai made an inarticulate squawk and bolted out of the little valley. Jhu'kresh was packing the bags of gold into a pack saddle, his face wrinkling in disgust. "My Khan, this gold will always stink of death and betrayal. I think I may pass up my share." Jhardron answered, "So many have died for this treasure. Perhaps it is cursed." The smell coming from the pack animal was so strong and disgusting the Aylanna and Jhardron ended up riding on the upwind side. Jhu'kresh kept a handful of flea bane and sniffed at it often. But still the smell seemed to follow them like an evil cloud. Finally Aylanna began to weave back and forth searching for more flea bane and other strong smelling herbs. As she slipped off Xin'sha's back and gathered the herbs she called up to Jhardron. "Maybe we can put this in the bags, to cover the stink?" Jhardron shrugged, "I doubt anything will ever completely cover that smell, but it couldn't hurt." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> As the trio arrived at the camp, one of the guards spoke up, his manner hurried. "Kwal'kek asks for the demon. The other ha'akh is sick." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please do me the kindness of rating and leaving me feedback. Constructive and/or critical, public or private, raving or troll; I love to hear from you. To those who leave anonymous feedback, I regret I cannot respond to you individually. Please accept my appreciation in advance. I would like to acknowledge and thank my editor Dani for all her help. She is a treasure. xantu Demon Child Ch. 13 Chapter 13: Forebodings )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> At the words that Tollarra was sick, Aylanna felt a lurching sense of fear and threw herself off Xin'sha and rushed to the little tent they had shared these last two moons. The older woman was huddled in her blankets, her face pale and her hair soaked with sweat. Kwal'kek spoke from behind her, "I have no idea what afflicts her. She is sick, morning, noon and night. She cannot keep down even broth or water." Aylanna crawled into the little tent, peering into Tollarra's eyes in the dim light. "Sister, what is the matter?" Tollarra swallowed, and spoke, her voice puzzled and frightened. "I don't feel sick, until I eat or stand up and move around. But I can't keep anything down." With those words she gurgled and gagged and rolled over, suddenly retching up a small mouthful of liquid into a basin. Her eyes were apologetic, "Like that." Aylanna frowned, touching her friends forehead and found it cool and damp. "How long?" Kwal'kek spoke up, "Two days." Aylanna frowned and looked at Tollarra, "Any flux of the bowels? Pain in your stomach?" "No, none of that." "And your woman's blood, how long since you bled last?" Tollarra looked thoughtful and shrugged, "You were there. You know as well as me." Aylanna frowned; she had had a blood time while on the road back from the demon city, more than ten days ago. She pulled the blankets off Tollarra and began to undress her. Pressing her hands against the older ha'akh's belly, she let her awareness sink in and was rewarded by a flickering spark of life. Her eyes lit up, "Sister, you carry a warrior in your belly." Kwal'kek made a loud exasperated sound and withdrew from the mouth of tent, exclaiming that he had known all along. Tollarra was staring at her speechless, "A... a baby? How?" Aylanna laughed, "Sister, I think perhaps in the regular way. You have been filled with warrior offerings nightly for weeks." Tollarra looked dubious, "I thought I was too old." Aylanna looked serious for a moment. "Sister, you are old for a first child. It rests uneasy in your womb. Only time will tell if this pregnancy comes to term." Gripping Tollarra's hand, "Now come out of this tent, breathe some fresh air. I suspect a great deal of your illness stemmed from fear. I will get you some tea that will settle your stomach and thicken your blood." As she brewed the tea, Aylanna spoke privately with Kwal'kek. "Her illness does not bode well for the baby. She is past child bearing age and has never carried to term before. She may lose this one as well." She looked at Tollarra sitting dazed, looking down at her belly like she could not quite believe what was happening. "And if she miscarries, it would be dangerous for her as well." Kwal'kek looked at her speculatively, "How is it you know this?" Aylanna looked vaguely smug, "Kharthmah, the witch doctor who fostered me as a child, he had a thriving practice with dealing with difficult pregnancies and births. He was renowned for his ability to cast out an unwanted child, to cure infertility, or to predict the future of the unborn. He taught me the herbs to prevent morning sickness, miscarriage, and pregnancy." The old warrior looked at Aylanna, "And yet you do not conceive." His eyes were sharp questioning, "How is that?" Somehow Jhardron's words for her to keep her secrets rose up in her memory and she spoke evasively. "There is little room in a demon's womb for a Bak warrior's child. Perhaps our blood is not meant to mix." Aylanna turned and pressed a cup of tea into Tollarra's hand. "Sip this slowly. It will settle your stomach and after that we will get you some soup. You must eat." Kwal'kek kept staring at her, and then shrugged. "A ha'akh that is barren is not a bad thing. Many ha'akh die in child birth, and then there is the baby to foster out." Tollarra made a small distressed sound, "Foster?" Kwal'kek looked suddenly uncomfortable and made a loud harrumphing sound, muttering something about checking on the first year warriors and marched off. Again Tollarra spoke, her voice panicked, "Sister, what did he mean, foster?" Aylanna hushed her gently, "Drink the tea, sister, we will find out about this later. You mustn't distress yourself. It is widely known that calm and happy babies are born of mothers of the same temperament, so show me a smile." Tollarra looked at her, her eyes frightened but her lips curving tentatively up. "I've always prayed for a child, a daughter of my own." Gently Aylanna stroked her friend's hair back from her face, "It is too early to tell if this will be a son or a daughter but you must focus on staying healthy and happy for this baby, promise me?" Dutifully Tollarra nodded and drank down a swallow of tea. Her face wrinkled in distaste at the bitter unfamiliar flavor but she took another swallow, her eyes large and wondering. Aylanna set off to find Kwal'kek. He was standing to one side, watching as Jhu'kresh dumped out bag after bag of gold coins, chains, jewelry and other gleaming trinkets out onto a large sheet of cloth. The smell of rotting corpses was strong in the air. Aylanna wrinkled her nose and sidled over to the upwind side. Pulling at his arm she spoke clearly, "Please explain to this ha'akh, the fate of a baby such as hers." Kwal'kek frowned, "Offspring born of a ha'akh serving a regiment are generally fostered to families of the warriors. They grow up with the children of the warrior's families and once they are old enough, they are apprenticed to learn a craft. If their mother is not Bak then they are not truly Bak so they cannot hold any true status as citizens. They cannot own property or serve as warriors. But many have risen to respected stations as craftsmen, artists and even teachers. It is not a bad life." "But she cannot keep the child?" "A warrior regiment cannot be overrun with children." Aylanna frowned at this statement. She understood the logic, and yet the idea of forcing Tollarra to give up this child was beyond imagining. She spoke thoughtfully, "For now, please do not speak of this with her. She is not well and this worry may make her worse. For the time being, she must rest and calm her mind. And she must refrain from sharing pleasures until she is much better. I will take her share of the chores and other duties until she is better." Kwal'kek nodded absent mindedly, his eyes on the growing pile of gold. The rank leather bags were buried and bucket after bucket of clean water was poured over the hoard, but the smell of death still lingered about the pile of treasure. Kwal'kek seemed unconcerned as he sat down and began to sort and count the vast number of coins and other trinkets. Aylanna avoided the place, the smell bringing back visions of the rotting corpses of the people who had been interred with their stolen gold. But she could see that nearly all the other warriors found frequent excuses to walk past and pause, their eyes lingering on the pile of wealth. Aylanna heard a couple of them speculating how much their share would be. She paused and looked thoughtful, fingering her purse in her pocket. Did that mean she would have a share as well? She made a distasteful face, remembering the stink, wondering if she would want to have such a thing near her, in her pocket or in her bedroll. She cleared her throat and spat in the Bak way, a ritual manner of casting out an evil thought or premonition. Tollarra was drowsing in the sun, her hand protectively cradled around her already round belly. Her face looked lined and tired. Aylanna felt a chill of worry about her friend, pregnancy was always dangerous, and her friend was no longer young. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> That evening Jhardron approached Aylanna, "Kwal'kek tells me that the other ha'akh is sick. That she is carrying a child and is not well." Aylanna nodded, "She is not young. She told me she was pregnant only once before and that she lost that baby before it was born. Her sickness does not bode well for this child. But she must rest; a miscarriage can be as dangerous as a birth." She looked determined, "I will assume all her duties until she is well enough to work again." Jhardron smiled gently and shook his head. "You are a good friend to your sister, ha'akh. Do not worry about her duties. What needs to get done will get done. A warrior regiment does not always have a ha'akh and can manage just fine with just one." He spoke soberly, "The life of a ha'akh is not easy. The constant travel and work can be too much. Many die. Do what you can for your friend but do not make yourself sick with worry." Aylanna heard the warning in his voice. She knew he was warning her to not hold out too much hope, to not base her happiness upon this goal. Refusing to accept defeat, she pressed her lips together, "She will be just fine if she can just rest." Jhardron's smile disappeared, "She will need to ride in the wagon. We leave in the morning. We have tarried too long in the northern plains. We must make haste back to the lands of the Bak." Aylanna flinched at the thought of the wagons, lurching, bouncing, exhausting. Her lips turned down and her shoulders sagged. "As my Khan commands." Late that night, Kwal'kek finished his inventory of the gold and had counted out a generous pile of coins for each warrior, the amount determined by rank and number of year's service. He distributed it carefully noting down in a book, with a pen and ink, a bunch of lines and dots that caught Aylanna's attention. "What is that?" "Writing." Aylanna had seen some writing; signs and proclamations posted in the village, but had never been able to read them. She had never met anyone who could read or write. And these marks looked nothing like the Ramaldi writing. "You can write?" Kwal'kek looked up in surprise, "Yes, I am quartermaster. I must keep tally of the valuables gathered on campaign. The treasury of the Aga Khan is very exacting in keeping tally of the Khan's share of all the profits of the campaign." He carefully wiped the nib of the pen and capped the bottle of ink. He carefully reached into a bag and pulled out a handful of gold coins, and carefully counted eight out and then another eight. "And this was a very profitable campaign. These are yours and the other ha'akh's share." His eyes sparkled, "I will be able to retire a rich man, if I do not lose it all at the horse races this winter." Aylanna eyed the gold coins and sniffed at them dubiously, "Is it very much?" Kwal'kek laughed, "Little demon, you hold enough in your hand to buy your freedom three times over." Aylanna's eyes flashed up to his face. "Buy my freedom? What do you mean? I thought that the only way a ha'akh could leave service was to die." Kwal'kek looked suddenly serious, "Well that is generally true. But it is not uncommon for a ha'akh to pay off the right bureaucrat in the city and suddenly find herself with a change in status. Many a wealthy courtesan was once a lowly ha'akh. And not a few have managed to become close to very powerful men, very powerful..." But Aylanna was not listening anymore. She was turning the gold coins over in her hand, looking toward Tollarra sitting in front of their little tent, forcing herself to eat bite after bite of rich broth. She crouched down before Tollarra and placed all sixteen coins in her hand. "Sister, this is your share of the Ramaldi treasure. Kwal'kek says we are rich now. It will go far to help make a fine home for you and your child." Tollarra looked at the gold gleaming in her palm and looked confused. But before she could voice her questions Aylanna hushed her, "Do not worry about that. Everything will be fine. I have seen it." When the wagons pulled out in the morning Tollarra was carefully situated in a soft nest of blankets. She protested to Aylanna that she was feeling much better, much stronger. That she had not vomited once since she had started drinking the tea. "Sister, I even feel hungry again. You do not need to fuss over me so." Aylanna had smiled and deliberately forced her voice to be more cheerful. "Yes, you are doing fine. But you are just regaining your strength. You might as well be comfortable up here." Tollarra had slept nearly all the day, waking only to drink the cold tea that Aylanna held to her lips. She had blinked sleepily, "I don't know why I am so tired." Aylanna had gently smiled and stroked her hair. "It is normal to feel tired when you first conceive. Just sleep, you will be fine in a few days." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> True to Aylanna's prediction Tollarra did improve, regaining her strength and her appetite. Her normal happy talkative mood returned. And at the older ha'akhs repeated insistence, after another week, Aylanna cautiously approved her for resumption of her duties. Tollarra had smiled happily, "Oh good, I was about to become a virgin again." Aylanna had laughed but cautioned her to be careful, calm, and gentle with her body. "And if you have any pain or bleeding at all, come to me at once." Tollarra had hugged her and told her she was a worse worrier than her sister. "There is no reason that a pregnant woman cannot continue to lie with her husband and I am sure it will be all right for me to lie with the warriors." Tollarra's eyes sparkled with good humor, naming one warrior with a notoriously large jhambar, "I will tell Jothan to be careful where he pokes that thing." Aylanna had frowned but could find no reason for her worries. Things went well for almost two weeks, belying many of her anxieties. The regiment traveled as quickly as the wagons could travel. The warriors stayed close to the wagons, guarding a king's ransom in gold. Jhardron seemed to be distant, distracted by some distant worry. Tollarra's pregnancy seemed to be progressing normally. Once again the rhythm of the travel and the routine seemed to lull Aylanna into trance. Her blood time came and went once more. When Jhardron approached her again, she almost blinked and wondered why. It was not evening, it was still early in the afternoon, but sensing the warmth in his heart, she had smiled and reached out and touched him reveling at the heat in his blood. Her voice was low, "This ha'akh is eager to learn what her Khan has to teach her tonight." Jhardron's voice was low and amused, "I am far from an accomplished lover, my little demon. I am being groomed for other uses." He lifted her up onto the back of his grey stallion, "But come with me, I have a place I want to show you." And he mounted behind her this time. Aylanna made a small surprised sound to find herself seated in front of him but as his arms came around her, she sighed and leaned back against him. He kicked the stallion into a canter and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her tight against him. His hand roamed across her body as they flew across the grass, stroking her breasts, her belly and slipping lower to tease at her folds. Aylanna closed her eyes and let the sensations of flying and pleasure merge until she felt one with both the horse and the man behind her. The sound of hooves splashing in water pulled her eyes open again, watching from under heavy lids as Jhardron guided the stallion up a narrow valley that had a small stream flowing down the center. Her breath caught in her throat and she made a soft, joyful, "Oh," when the little canyon opened up into a little hidden oasis of green and falling water. She said, "Oh," once again as she drank in the scene of a small pond, its surface endlessly dimpled with the droplets dripping down from a red rock cliff reaching up from the far side of the dark deep water. The very stone seemed to weep continually from the myriad fissures and trembling ferns. She tried to twist to look in Jhardron's face, her voice awestruck, "Oh, it is so beautiful." Jhardron pulled the stallion to a halt and slipped off, and then pulled Aylanna down into his arms. "Do you know how to swim, little demon?" "No." "Well, it is time to learn." He began to pull off her layers of clothing. "I would not be surprised if the water was very cold." He eyed her nude body boldly as he undressed, "We might have to find some way to warm each other up afterward." He lifted her in his arms and walked out into the water. Aylanna gasped and squealed as the icy water came up around her. Jhardron did not stop until he was almost neck deep in the water, the ha'akh floating almost weightless in his arms. Her little white arms were locked around his neck, her pale eyes wide with apprehension and trust. Gently he pulled her arms off his neck, "If your spirit is light, if you do not let fear weigh you down, the water will let you float. Relax, trust the water." He stared deep into her eyes, "Little demon, trust me; I will not let you drown." Aylanna let herself sink into his eyes, and slowly let her body soften. She could sense the truth in his words; almost feel the way the water made her weightless. Slowly she released her grip on his neck and smiled tremulously. She could feel his hand on the small of her back helping to keep her body up on the surface of water, the lightest of touches that kept her balanced and safe. Only her face and the sweet tips of her breasts showed above the water, the rest of her a white ghost hanging, floating just below the surface. His voice was barely a whisper, "Yes, see the water will hold you up. Keep your back arched and if you move your hands, thus, " He made a rhythmic undulating movement with his hand above her face, "like the wing of a bird in flight, it will aid in keeping your body up." And as she began to move her hands vigorously, splashing and struggling, he laughed and let her sink below the surface. But then, when she began to thrash violently, he clasped her to his chest, holding her tight as she clutched at him in a spasm of fear. "Little warrior, you forgot to relax and trust the water. You let fear drag you down. Come, let's try again." Aylanna coughed and bit her lip but allowed him to pull her arms off his neck once again. This time as she gently paddled with her hands he nodded, "Yes, see? It is a matter of cooperating with the water. You fly; your hands are your wings." Gently, almost imperceptibly he pulled his supporting hand away from under her. "See? If you know this, if you can do this, float, you cannot drown." He grinned, "At least you cannot drown in still water. Floating in flowing water is not so simple." He looked down at her, his eyes drinking in the image of her white skin contrasting with the dark water, her strange demon hair spreading out around her head in the water like a corona of fire. Her delicate pink nipples shrunken to tiny hard knots by the cold water, stood up above the water so close to his lips. She was shivering now, her body shaking, covered with infinite tiny bumps, her breasts quivering, making ripples in the water. Her face creased with concentration as she focused on keeping her face above the water. He put his hand under her back once more, lifting her up and leaned down taking one of her nipples between his lips. At his touch she had stilled, her face smoothing, trusting but as he touched her with his lips she convulsed in the water. Her voice was wondering, "Your mouth, it feels so hot." When he pulled away, his voice was low, "Are you cold?" She giggled softly and whispered, "Freezing." He lifted her in his arms holding her close, turning and walking from the water, "Come and let me warm you." The sun was low in the sky, the shadows from the surrounding trees long, but he found a small circle of sun and lay down his bedroll there. He pulled her to sit close, his hands once again roaming on her skin. Aylanna could not help but run her hands over his dark skin. Now, in the daylight, she began to indulge her curiosity, examining him closely, pushing him down and leaning over him, looking at his chest with its ridges of ritual scarring, his neck, his ears and hair, even his eyes, nose, and lips. Jhardron seemed to be patient with her exploration. "What are you looking for, pretty demon?" Demon Child Ch. 13 Aylanna giggled, "I am not looking for, I am looking at. I am looking at you." Smiling up at her, his white teeth gleaming against his black skin, "And what are you seeing?" Her eyes sparkled and she moved to straddle him, her long slender white legs on either side of his chest, looking down at his face. "I see a warrior, my warrior, my Khan." She leaned down grasping his wrists holding them up trapped in her white hands. "You will always be my warrior." Her eyes turned solemn, "You will always be my Khan, won't you?" Jhardron's smile faded and vanished. His spirit was filled with the echoes of doubt and uncertainty and then again she sensed him close the door. He lifted his arms, ignoring her attempt to hold him down, lifting them up until he could touch her face, "Little demon, I cannot predict the future. I do not know my own; I cannot guess at yours. All we have is now. Do not try to look ahead; it will pull you under just as surely as your fear pulled you down in the water." Still gripping his wrists, Aylanna looked down at him, for just an instant hating his control, his wisdom, wanting nothing more than lies. She looked down at him fiercely, her nails digging into his flesh, "I will not let you go!" Then she turned her head quickly and caught his hand in her teeth, biting down and holding. Her eyes blazed with challenge. Jhardron flinched and then laughed, "Oh ho, my little demon has grown fangs." Then with a casual twist and push she was the one on the bottom before she had even realized he was moving. Now it was her turn to be pinned, her hands trapped in his, his knees on either side of her. Aylanna strained against his restraint, struggling to escape. She grinned and panted as she fought him, playfully snapping her teeth and growling at him. He looked down at her, his eyes hot. Slowly he bent down to her, his eyes barely a hand's span from hers, his breath warm in her face. His voice was low, compelling, "All we have is now. Be here with me now." And then as she stilled and lay staring up at him, mesmerized by his eyes, he pressed his cheek to hers, pressing his lips and teeth against that sweet corner of her neck and shoulder, tasting her flesh, savoring the way her breath caught in her throat and a soft moan rose up in her chest at the heat of his mouth. He did not release her or relent in his lover's bite until his jhambar was deep within her, her long white legs wrapped around his hips, and even then he kept returning to that one place, almost feeding upon her as he rode her endlessly, listening to her calls to the goddess. As he tensed and shuddered, spilling his seed deep within her, his passion tearing away the last shreds of his reserve, he could taste her blood in his mouth. The sun had dropped below the horizon when he lifted her to her feet and led her back to the pool to wash. She was silent, watching him with thoughtful eyes. Her fingers returned over and over to tenderly touch the bruised and bitten flesh on her neck. Jhardron pulled her head to one side and stared down at the marks his teeth had left in her flesh. His voice was soft and amused, "The courtesans call that the 'stallions bite' or the 'stallions mark'. If you watch a stallion take a mare, he will frequently hold her with his teeth. Aylanna nodded, "Yes, I know. I have felt it before, in a dream." This time as they rode back to the camp, she rode behind him, her arms around his waist. Aylanna felt somehow relieved to be able to hide her face against his warm skin. "My Khan, this ha'akh is sorry if she asked for too much. This ha'akh is grateful for what you have given her. It was wrong for her to press you with foolish questions." She could feel Jhardron tense and sensed his inner turmoil. She could tell he was fighting something in his heart, but she was not sure if it was hope or resignation. "Little demon, there is nothing I want more than to ride like this, as Khan of the Twisted Dagger, with you close by my side, forever. But I have other duties and my duty pulls me back to the city and the court of the Aga Khan. Once there the water is not still and deep like the pool we just visited. There the waters are turbulent and hide terrible dangers. Once there I will not always be there to keep you from drowning. You must learn to swim in such waters." Her voice shook, "What will happen to me there?" "You will be presented to the Khan as part of the trophies and treasure of our campaign. After that, I cannot say for sure. Most ha'aks find a place in a warrior's home for the winter, working as servant, but I am sure you will create quite a stir at court with your demon looks. I suspect the Aga Khan may want to keep you. But listen carefully, pretty demon, be very, very careful who you reveal your magic to. The court is riddled with falsity and many of the worst deceivers will not welcome one such as you, one who will see into their heart of their tangled plots and know them for the liars that they are. And many others would seek to exploit you, use you for their own purposes, just like I do." Aylanna tightened her arms around his waist, "Keep me? What would that mean? Will you be there?" Jhardron did not answer for a while and then when he spoke his words did little to reassure her. "If the gods will it." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> As they rode into camp, Kwal'kek pulled Aylanna down off the back of the grey. "Ha'akh, attend your sister, she has come to me and said she is too sick to fulfill her duties. When I questioned her she would not say why. She sits in your tent, weeping." His voice was gruff but his spirit vibrated with concern. With a sinking heart Aylanna hurried to the tent and when she touched the huddled weeping woman, Tollarra choked out, "I am sorry. Oh, sister, I am sorry." Aylanna pulled her to face her, "What has happened?" Tollarra spoke with a stricken voice, "There is blood, from my venya." The older ha'akh wailed, "I killed it, didn't I? I shouldn't have lain with the warriors." Closing her eyes briefly and taking a deep breath to push back the wave a worry, Aylanna spoke in a firm voice. "Show me." Aylanna stared critically at the small amount of blood that stained the rags of Tollarra's loincloth. Then she pressed the woman back and felt her belly, tracing the outlines of the growing womb and, to her relief, sensing the pulse of life growing within. She was so relieved to find the baby yet living that she let her awareness expand, reaching out to touch the spirit under her hands and was rewarded with the tiniest of responses, a flicker, an awareness that trembled under the touch of her mind, like the shimmer of a light reflected on rippling water. When she pulled away, she was very sure of one thing, Tollarra carried a girl child in her womb. "Your daughter lives yet. Her life force is strong. It is not unheard of for a woman to bleed a few drops in the first moons of her pregnancy. It is not a good sign but do not give up hope. You were wise to avoid sharing blessings. You must stay down, off your feet as much as possible." As she exited the tent to brew some more tea she caught Kwal'kek staring at her, his face full of questions. Aylanna felt her eyes fill with tears and she shook her head. "She has not lost the baby but the pregnancy is not progressing well. She will not be able to perform her duties until after the child is born." Kwal'kek looked disturbed and began to speak and then turned away. Aylanna sensed something, something frightening, in his heart. She looked up sharply at the old quartermaster, her eyes filled with questions. He stared back at her his old tired eyes meeting hers, sad and resolved. His words stabbed her to the heart, "A warrior regiment keeps no horses in its herd that cannot be ridden." Aylanna felt a blinding flash of rage. Her voice was shrill, raging, "What do you mean? Are you saying that you will go in and cut her throat like you do the mount with a broken leg? And will you harvest her flesh to make soup, like you did with the fallen stallions at the battle? Is that all she is? Something to ride in the night and then to be put out of her misery once she is no longer fit for your jhambar!" Kwal'kek seemed to stagger back, his hands on his head, his eyes bulging in confusion as he fell to the ground. Then Jhardron's hands were on her, spinning her around, shaking her, his face in hers, his lips moving but she could not hear his words. He slapped her once hard across the face and she went limp in his hands. Finally she could hear his words, "You will not use magic in this camp!" He turned her to face the form of the old man, lying on the dirt like one dead. "Demon, did you kill him?" Twisting from his grasp, Aylanna rushed to Kwal'kek, sobbing in horror. Kneeling next to him she took hold of his shoulders and shook him, calling his name in hysterical panic. Kwal'kek opened his eyes suddenly, and sat up, looking around at the sight of a dozen warriors looking down at him and the sobbing ha'akh calling his name. He had no memory of how he came to be lying on the ground. He pushed the girl back, "Get off me, girl." He pulled himself up to his feet and glared at the warriors, speaking gruffly, as he brushed the dirt off his hands, "What are you staring at? I must have tripped or something." Jhardron gripped Aylanna's arm in an iron hard fist and dragged her from the camp, almost lifting her from the ground as he rushed her along. Finally far from the light of the fires he turned her to face him, holding both her arms, lifting her up onto her toes. His face was stormy, his words a hiss, "Demon, what did you do?" Aylanna felt battered by the seething rage in his heart, her voice vibrated with fear. "I don't know. I don't know. All I know is that he said that he was going to kill the other ha'akh and then I was yelling at him. Then he fell down." Jhardron looked down her, frowning in confusion. "What? He said what?" Aylanna took a deep shaky breath, "Um... um... when I said that the other ha'akh's pregnancy was progressing poorly and she must not share blessings until after the baby was born. He said... he said that a warrior regiment does not keep horses that cannot be ridden." Jhardron's face twitched, then became granite again, "And you thought that meant he was going to kill her?" "Isn't that what you do with lame horses? If they cannot get well, you cut their throats and eat their flesh." Aylanna's voice began to take on notes of hysteria again. Jhardron shook her sharply, his voice a sharp growl, "A warrior is in control of his body, heart and mind! You will calm yourself and answer." Aylanna froze and choked out, "Are you going to kill her?" Jhardron's answer took her by surprise, "Is she suffering in endless agony, like a horse with a shattered leg?" Aylanna froze as she fully realized her mistake, "Oh no, oh no." Jhardron spoke sharply, his fingers digging deep into the flesh of her arms, crushing her flesh to the bone, "I ask you again, ha'akh, what did you do to Kwal'kek?" Aylanna went limp in his grasp, "I don't know. All I remember was that I was so worried about her, and then when he said that thing, I just flew into a rage. I just remember thinking I was not going to let him hurt her." She looked up at him with beseeching eyes, "I wasn't trying to hurt him. I would never hurt him. I love him." Jhardron took a deep shuddering breath, "The fact that he is uninjured is the only thing that keeps me from cutting your throat this instant, ha'akh." His grip still punishing, he lifted her up and stared into her eyes, "Demon, you must know that my love for you will never stand in the way of my duty. If you cannot control your magic, if you harm a single warrior in my regiment, I will cut your heart out." Aylanna looked at him in shock, his words reverberating in her heart. Softly she spoke it aloud, "Love?" Again Jhardron's stony expression twitched and he narrowed his eyes. "There is no room for love in a warrior's life, only duty. Heed my words, demon, your life hangs by a thread." But the grip on her arms eased and she could sense his rage slowly draining from his heart, in its place grim, agonizing resolve. Aylanna took several deep breaths, literally taking hold of her emotions and swallowing them down, her voice quivered with the effort to hold herself in check. "My Khan, this demon is ha'akh Bak Tai Twisted Dagger. She understands her duty. If she ever does such a thing again, she would wish that you would give her your own blade so that she may cut her own throat." His voice was just as calm as hers, "Let us pray that is a thing you will never have to do, little demon. Let us return to the camp, you should check on your sister and perhaps Kwal'kek as well. When he fell, it was like someone had cut the strings of a puppet." Jhardron looked at her strangely, speculatively, "Demon, you have powers that you are only beginning to realize. Your magic is a fearsome thing, but if you learn to control it, you will go far." A prickle of premonition or perhaps horror ran up Aylanna's spine. "It scares me so. I wish I didn't have it. I wish I could just be a simple ha'akh." Jhardron's voice was musing, "And I wish I was just a simple warrior, but it was not our destiny, demon. It is a fool's game to wish for what cannot be. Come along, ha'akh, we must remember our duty." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Thank you for taking the time to read my story. For those of you new to this story, I have included many words of the Bak language. The meanings of most are easy to determine from context. A ha'akh is the lowest rank of servant to a warrior regiment. Please do me the kindness of leaving me feedback and comments. Special thanks to Dani for her wonderful editing help. Enjoy, xantu Demon Child Ch. 14 Chapter 14: The North Gate )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna walked behind Jhardron as they walked the short distance back into the camp. Somehow to her, the fact that it was unchanged, the same guards greeting them as they entered, the same flickering fires, the tents and the warriors going about their same routine tasks, seemed jarring, wrong. The events of their afternoon together, so tender, poignant, even playful contrasted harshly with this very real threat of his rage. Her spirit felt battered and raw. And yet she felt strangely calm, even oddly exhilarated, and profoundly transformed. His unguarded words acknowledging his love for her still hung in her heart like the shining light of the full moon. Her eyes sought out Kwal'kek finding him seated on his usual box, speaking to a small group of younger warriors. He was in his usual element, using stories of his youth to teach and reinforce the tenants of the Bak and their devotion to duty. Tollarra was sitting out in front of her tent, sipping on a cup of tea, her expression still haunted with worry. Like the very first time she had looked around a Bak camp as a newly claimed ha'akh, Aylanna was struck how none of the warriors stared at her when she was with the Khan. Now she understood that the life in the camp held little privacy and that custom necessitated at least the respect of averted eyes. She also knew that each and every warrior was intently aware of even the smallest of actions of all the others. There were no secrets in the Twisted Dagger. Knowing that none would ever speak of it, confront her with her actions, or openly censure her, she stepped into the light of the fires. Stopping briefly, Aylanna crouched down and touched the sick ha'akh's cheek looking into her eyes. Her voice was low, "Has the bleeding continued?" Tollarra's eyes were wide, "No." "Any pain in your belly, cramping?" Again the older woman shook her head. Aylanna smiled encouragingly. "That is good. I am sure it was nothing. But just in case, I want you to rest." Then glancing up at the camp, realizing that she still was not sure what fate lay in store for the older and now pregnant ha'akh her eyes sought out Jhardron but he was not to be seen. Again her eyes fell on Kwal'kek, the old veteran's voice vibrant with the excitement of his youth, his hands weaving the images in the air as he spoke of battles won, lessons learned. Looking at him she remembered all the lessons he had taught her, his gruff ways, his duty demonstrated daily in his care and guidance for her and each and every warrior in the camp. Her heart quailed at the thought that she might have hurt him, somehow attacking directly at his spirit with her anger. Again she wished that somehow she did not have this magic in her, that she was not what she was. Silently she mouthed the words, "It is a fool's game to wish for what cannot be." And she cleared her throat and spat out the bitterness the words left in her mouth. Slipping to sit at his feet like she had so many nights as the regiment moved across these northern plains, she gazed up at his lined face and his hands scarred and gnarled with decades of service. His eyes fell on her as he held forth, and she could feel the warmth of his acceptance. Again she wondered what she had done. Whatever it had been he did not even seem to remember that she had raised her voice to him. Swallowing down her guilt, she smiled up at him, giving him the one gift she knew he valued most, an avid listener, someone to travel with him to his glory days. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Again Aylanna made a carefully padded nest of blankets to cushion Tollarra as she rode in the wagon. And this time the pregnant ha'akh did not protest at being fussed over. Her only words were a soft apology for being such a bother. For two days, Aylanna threw herself into her duties, doing her chores and Tollarra's both, watching her pregnant friend carefully, guarding her from engaging in any strenuous activity, feeding her teas and rich soups to strengthen her. Repeatedly she felt Jhardron's eyes following her as she bustled about the camp and each time she would pause in her duties and meet his eyes. On the third day the regiment had halted for the day. The fires had been built and Aylanna was filling the water buckets from a nearby stream. Tollarra had even tentatively risen to help cook the evening meal, when a scout rode in, reporting that a group of grasslands nomads had been sighted as they traveled. Jhardron called for her to come to speak for him once more. At the first sight of the horsemen coming over the plains, the column of grasslands people seemed to dissolve into panic, turning and fleeing in all directions, leaving loaded pack ponies to gallop off in random directions, goats scattering off into the tall grass. It seemed like the people had vanished into the tall grass but then a voice called out, and a boy came forth, calling a greeting and words of reassurance to his people. Aylanna recognized one of the boys that had been captured by the Ramaldi bandits and it was apparent he recognized them as well. Soon a small group of adult men were standing, holding their bows but no arrows, looking fearfully at the tall dark skinned warriors on their long legged mounts. Finally a sturdy, weather beaten man of middle years stepped forward. "I am Tottanta, speaker for the Bitter Grass Eaters. My nephew says you are the ones that freed him from his captors." He gestured around at the grass, "We have suffered many attacks from the bandits. My people have come to fear the sight of strangers." Aylanna relayed his statements to Jhardron and he nodded grimly. "Tell him that the main camp of the Ramaldi bandits is no more. They will not be sending out raiding parties any more. Ask him where they travel to." "Your news is good. The bandits have been a plague upon this land. Too many of my people have died this season. My tribe returns to its traditional winter camp, only one more day's travel to the east." As he spoke more and more of the people who had hidden in the grass came out to gaze fearfully at the group of warriors and Aylanna suppressed a smile as she watched a group of women and children rushing to collect the scattered animals. Once the goats and ponies had been retrieved, Jhardron told Aylanna, "Tell them we are camped not far from here. They are welcome to join us." After Aylanna had relayed the invitation, Tottanta frowned and appeared to chew on the inside of his lip as he debated. "My people are tired from their journey and eager to see it end." He turned and called to his gathered tribe, "We will make camp here." Then he turned back to Aylanna and Jhardron, "But it would be impolite to refuse your generous offer of hospitality. I will visit your camp. The boys spoke of a woman from the Bitter Grass Eaters who travels with you, a Tollarra, she is a relative by marriage. It would be good to see her." There were shadows of concealment in Tottanta's words. Aylanna could tell his interest in Tollarra went beyond a mere family reunion or sharing of news. But she did not feel a threat or any outright deceit so she chose to relay the Bitter Grass speaker's acceptance as it stood. To Aylanna's dismay Tollarra was still up on her feet, bustling about the camp, talking with the warriors, helping with the food when they arrived. The younger ha'akh stared reproachfully at the older woman, fighting the urge to scold her, to tell her to sit, rest, take care. But it was clear that Tollarra was peering excitedly beyond the riders, looking for her people. She looked curiously toward Tottanta, clearly wanting to approach and speak but Kwal'kek was ordering her to sit and tend the roasting meat in his usual loud voice. Aylanna sensed the grasslands leader tense and glance back and forth quickly between Tollarra and the warrior who seemed to be berating her. He looked quickly at Aylanna and again she felt his concealment. It was clear that the man was aware of her abilities, and she remembered that the boys had witnessed her question the Ramaldi raiders. It was obvious that the boy had told his uncle about the demon that traveled with the Bak warriors. The grasslands leader was uncomfortable, even fearful, but at the same time resolved. Aylanna could tell he wanted or was planning something but what she did not know. Again, just as clearly, Tottanta did not seem angry or aggressive. She whispered to Jhardron, "This man conceals something. His words are mostly true but his heart is filled with shadows." Jhardron's face was impassive and his words were unworried, "He is one man." The two leaders sat and discussed the news of the high plains. Tottanta told how numerous raids from the Ramaldi had resulted in many of his men being killed, women and children carried off for a life of slavery. His tribe had lost one in three. Finally he had his entire people move completely off their traditional lands, traveling into the northern forests. His eyes were on Tollarra, "Many of my people are lost, taken by the invaders. The Bitter Grass Eaters are diminished." When the meal was prepared, Tollarra brought bowls of food, serving the guest first and then Jhardron. Tottanta thanked her formally, "Greetings, sister, my nephew spoke of you." Tollarra smiled and nodded eagerly, "Yes, yes, I am Tollarra, daughter of Koffanda." Tottanta nodded solemnly, "We are kindred by marriage. You are aunt to my son. His spirit walks with his mother in the land of our forefathers. They were killed by bandits." Tollarra's smile vanished and she made a quick gesture to the four corners of the sky, "May they find peace." Tottanta looked carefully toward Aylanna and she could tell he was choosing his words carefully, "Too many of our people have been killed or taken captive by the invaders." His eyes looked nervously around the camp, taking in the warriors seated and standing around, "Sister, are you... well?" Aylanna frowned; his words rang false. He did not mean that. Suddenly she understood and spoke directly to him. "Tollarra became servant to the Bak of her own free will." Tottanta looked sharply at Aylanna, "Then she can leave, return to us?" Aylanna blinked, "Once she swore to join, that choice was no longer hers to make. She cannot forsake her duty." Tottanta stood up and faced Jhardron, speaking directly to him. Aylanna could sense his fear but also his courage. His voice was stiff and formal, "You speak of peace and treaties, yet you enslave my people." Tollarra tried to interrupt, protesting that she was not a slave, that she was a servant, that she wanted this. Jhardron stood and made a sharp silencing gesture, "Ha'akh, what does this man speak of?" When Aylanna had explained and relayed the grasslands leader's challenging words, Jhardron shrugged and waved his hand, "If he wants the woman, he may have her." Aylanna nearly choked on the word, "What?" She was about to argue back when Tollarra interrupted almost laughing with delight, "Wait, sister, can't you see the wisdom in our Khan's words? I am a poor servant to the regiment. I am too old; my strength is taken up by this child that grows within me. This way he can cement the treaty with this grassland tribe and dispose of me in one simple decision. Our Khan is a wise leader." Then the older ha'akh turned to Jhardron who was struggling to keep a smile from his face, "But, my Khan, you will gain greater advantage in this transaction if you present me as having more value to you than a sick old woman. Do not sell me cheaply. A grasslands woman who carries a child is twice valuable in bride negotiations. Demand a husband for me." Tollarra's eyes sparkled, "A handsome, rich husband would be very welcome." Both Aylanna and Jhardron were gazing at Tollarra in amazement. And she stared back at them and whispered, "Please, this way, if the gods smile upon me and my baby lives, I would be able to keep her, to raise her as my own. Please." Her dark eyes filled with tears, "Do not think that I do not know the fate of my child if I continue with you to the Bak cities. Here we would have status and freedom." Tollarra held out the handful of gold coins that had been her and Aylanna's share of the Ramaldi treasure, "Please, if there need be payment made to gain my freedom..." Jhardron frowned and waved her hand away. He spoke to Aylanna, "Tell this man that this ha'akh had promised herself to the Bak, but if she chooses, she may return to his tribe. Tell him that she has been a good servant to us and we would miss her company. Tell him she carries a warrior's child in her belly and is of great worth. Tell him that I cannot in good conscience allow her to return unless I know that she will have a place of honor among her people." Aylanna nodded and turned to Tottanta speaking rapidly, relaying all of Jhardron's words. As soon as he realized that Tollarra was free to return, that it was just a matter of negotiating a fair price, he relaxed his angry posture. He had seen the gold in Tollarra's hand and the knowledge that she carried a child only enhanced her value to him. And he had heard her speak the stranger's language fluently; such knowledge could only benefit his tribe in the years to come, now that these tall dark warriors seemed intent on treaties and trade. He stood up and squared his shoulders. "My hearth is empty, my wife was taken by the Ramaldi bandits and did not return. I can only pray her spirit finds its way to join our ancestors with my son. I would take this woman as my wife and raise the child as my own. I promise that she will be treated with honor as wife of the speaker for the Bitter Grass Eater tribe." Tollarra eyed the man offering to be her husband. He was young for a speaker, only a few years older than she was. He was strong looking and she could not help but be impressed by his courage. He has stood up and challenged Jhardron in the Bak camp alone. And he was not so bad looking. And wife of the speaker was a position of greater status than she had ever dreamed of before. She nudged Aylanna and whispered in her ear, "Yes, tell him that the Khan will agree to this." And after the words were relayed, she smiled shyly and spoke directly to Tottanta, "I would be honored to become your wife." After that Aylanna was caught up in the whirlwind of saying good bye and packing up herbs and medicines for Tollarra, trying to tell her a thousand things at once; how much she had learned from her friend, how much she would miss her, how to take care of herself and the baby in the months to come, cautioning her to be careful, wishing she could be there to see the baby when it was born. Tollarra hugged her fiercely and spoke with a determined voice, "You told me once that this child would be fine, that you had seen it. I know that your words are true. I will name her Aylanna after my friend and the luck she brought me. She will grow up with stories of my adventure as a ha'akh Bak Tai Twisted Dagger." Then the older ha'akh pressed a spinning bobbin into Aylanna's palm, her smile quivering with a mix of tears and laughter, "Don't forget to practice, never forget you are a daughter of the grasslands." Aylanna laughed and hugged her friend, "Sister, I will never forget. But my fate lies south, with the Bak and my Khan." But she carefully put the bobbin into her pocket, resolving to keep it with her always to remind her of this time on the high northern grassland plains and her first friend. Kwal'kek cleared his throat and pointed to the scar on Tollarra's arm, protesting gruffly, "You will always be ha'akh Bak Tai Twisted Dagger. Our Khan spoke the truth when he said you were a good servant and will be missed." Tollarra smiled softly and pressed her hand to her belly, "This child is the child of all of you. Each time I look into her face I will remember." Many of the warriors, especially the older veterans, spoke with Tollarra, formally taking their farewells. More than one of them pressed a coin or another small token into her hand. It was late and the grassland leader seemed impatient to return to his people. Now that he had secured Tollarra's rescue from what he still perceived as her captors, he was clearly eager to put some distance between himself and the Bak warriors. His eyes widened in surprise when Jhardron had two stallions brought forward, handing over the reins. "It is a tradition of the Bak that a bride brings a mount with her to her husband's hearth. Our myths say that our brothers, the horses, were born here in the northern lands." Tottanta's eyes did not leave the tall horses, "This is a fine bride price. No other tribes have such fine horses. If it is true that such horses were born upon these plains, then perhaps this gift will herald their return." He helped Tollarra to mount; the short, plump, grasslands woman clutched at the saddle and mane of the horse with a squeak of alarm at being so high from the ground. Aylanna smiled, she could tell that Jhardron had chosen two sedate older stallions that were well past their prime, calm and easy to manage. Aylanna watched through eyes swimming with tears as Tottanta led the horses out of the firelight and vanished into the darkness. She drew in a deep shaky breath telling herself that this was a good thing for both Tollarra and the baby she carried. Turning, she quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around the camp. Jhardron met her eyes and she nodded briskly to him, speaking softly under her breath, "a wise leader indeed." When the warriors came to share the blessings of the goddess with her, she clung to them with a new awareness of the tenuousness of human relationships, how easy it was to lose someone you loved. She spoke to them more, using her words as well as her cries to tell them how she loved them. Gently touching their faces, stroking their skin, she spoke their names reverently, thanking them for being her warriors, for making the magic with her. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> In the morning the camp seemed empty without Tollarra's happy spirit and constant banter. Aylanna rushed about, trying to somehow fill the void with a brittle smile and forced cheerfulness. Finally it was Kwal'kek who put a gentle hand on her arm, speaking low, "Little ha'akh, we all miss her. But it is better for her to stay with her own people. Take comfort in that knowledge." Aylanna took a deep shaky breath and nodded, blinking back tears, and whispering, "I know. It is just that she was my only friend and there is pain in my heart." Kwal'kek stroked back the wisps of her fiery red hair, his brow rising, "Only?" Looking around the camp at the dozens of warriors, Aylanna could not help but laugh ruefully, "Well, only ha'akh friend. Somehow with you, with all the warriors, it is different. I know you care. But we are not the same." Then looking at the grizzled old warrior with love in her eyes, she took his hand in hers, "But then I am not the same as anyone, and if you would be my friend, that would be wonderful." The old man laughed, "Friends then, but don't expect me to know anything about sewing or women's magic." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The next day the regiment came upon a stream running south and turned to follow it, following for the first time a well marked road. Kwal'kek, always eager to teach with his stories, spoke from the broad back of his old stallion, "This is the river road that leads through the center of the world. Many say it was made when Pan'Shash'Sha'Am fled before Jha'Mak'Tah, their hooves tore rents in the land, creating the roads and rivers. The Bak call it the Great Road, or sometimes the Mother's Way. If you follow it, it will lead straight to Bak Pan Amara, the heart of the world." Demon Child Ch. 14 Aylanna listened closely, repeating his words, "The heart?" "Our capital city, the place of the temple of our mother and the palace of the Aga Khan, it is our destination." Nodding her understanding, Aylanna looked to the horizon wondering what fate lay there for her. Remembering Jhardron's apprehension each time he spoke of the court of the Aga Khan, she swallowed. "How far is it?" "At least a month's travel, we will arrive late. The Ramaldi bandits delayed us. At least the last regiment to arrive will arrive in a grand triumph. The Khan will be very pleased to learn of the recovery of the gold. Hopefully it will appease his rage to learn the king is dead." "If this ha'akh may ask about the business of the Khan, why was he so angry? Why did he have to kill so many?" Kwal'kek frowned and cleared his throat, spitting in the Bak way to indicate a wish to be rid of a negative feeling or foreboding. "The Ramaldi king was a corrupt and evil man. The gold made him greedy. It was part of the treaty that an annual tribute is paid in gold. In exchange, the Ramaldi kingdom could remain independent and all trade with the northern grasslands would be their sole domain. The king betrayed that treaty in the most devious of ways. He paid the tribute, but then the regiment charged with the transport of the gold, disappeared. Fifty warriors, gone, vanished along with a year's tribute in gold. He swore he had no knowledge of their fate, and had the temerity to suggest perhaps the warriors themselves had stolen it. A special investigator accompanied by another regiment could find no trace of either the gold or the missing warriors." "Then the following year it happened a second time. Again the Ramaldi king swore he had no knowledge, protesting that no one could defeat a Bak regiment in battle. Again the investigator was dispatched, but this time the atrocity was discovered. All the warriors dead, their bodies heaped in a hidden canyon along with the corpses of their horses, rotting in the sun, food for the vultures." Again Kwal'kek cleared his throat and spat, "All dead by poison. Not one had the chance to defend himself in honorable battle. Poison is a coward's weapon, most dishonorable." Aylanna shuddered at the distaste and horror in the old man's voice, remembering how her own mother had resorted to such means to vanquish the demon that had defiled her and murdered her husband. "Is that why the Khan ordered all the people killed?" Kwal'kek shook his head, "The Aga Khan was angry yes, but not yet ready to declare the entire Ramaldi people forfeit for their king's deeds. It was the murder of his son. Just as the news of the discovery of the poisoned regiment was brought to light; the news came that his son, his last surviving son, a child of only seven years had been poisoned as well." Aylanna was completely absorbed by this tale of treachery, "By the Ramaldi king?" "There is no other explanation. And our Khan declared it so. His word is law. It was his judgment that 7 of 10 Ramaldi would be put to the knife, that the entire Ramaldi kingdom is forfeit, a province of the Bak Empire, and that all surviving Ramaldi citizens are now 'lann'akh'." "Lann'akh?" "Servants bound to the land. Only a Bak citizen can own land in the land of Bak. Those who work upon the land are bound there. They may not leave without the permission of the owners of that land. At this time the entire Ramaldi kingdom has been claimed forfeit by the Aga Khan, so all Ramaldi citizens are technically lann'akh subservient to the Aga Khan. There has been a general decree that all surviving Ramaldi are to return to their home village for a census. The new Ramaldi province will be divided up among the houses of the Bak ruling class, the Bak Lann'amattah." All this was a lot to think about and Aylanna nodded absently her mind whirling with new words, annex, forfeit, lann'akh, lann'amattah. At the camp that night she asked the old warrior that seemed ready to teach her all he knew, "Am I a Ramaldi citizen?" Kwal'kek shook his head, "No, once you were branded ha'akh Bak Tai Twisted Dagger you were no longer a citizen of any land. You are bonded to the Twisted Dagger, which is Tai, regiment, for the house Twisted Dagger. But even before, you yourself said you had no status in the Ramaldi lands. In order to claim citizenship you must be able to claim lineage, or be adopted by someone who is a citizen in order to claim citizenship." Aylanna shook her head in confusion, "This is all too complicated. You say that once I am branded ha'akh to the Twisted Dagger, I am that forever?" Kwal'kek laughed, "Nothing is forever, little one. But it is not easy to change. It takes bribing the right officials or the decree of a high official. But you will always be Twisted Dagger." He pointed to the scar on her arm, "You cannot change that." "What will happen to me once we are at Bak Pan Amara?" Aylanna carefully enunciated the name of the city that she had only heard once. Kwal'kek looked past her shoulder and spoke more circumspectly, "That is for our Khan to decide." Standing very still Aylanna could sense him behind her. His feelings swirled with the same confusion and ambivalence that she had sensed many times before. Jhardron's voice was dry and controlled. "All ha'akh taken in battle are presented to the Aga Khan along with his portion of the treasure. Most often a ha'akh remains bound to her regiment and the regimental Khan will find a place for her during the winter season. As to your fate, that will be up to the gods and our Khan." Aylanna was struck by the sudden surge of emotion in Jhardron, a jumble of fear and anger that was instantly extinguished under a veil of rigid control. She could tell he did not believe she would be returned to him. She did not question him or Kwal'kek further. The answers were too disturbing. Jhardron called the warriors to attend his words, speaking to the whole camp. "Tomorrow we will camp at the North Gate. Our mission was to make contact with the grasslands tribes, spreading news of the treaty, and to explore as far north as the northern sea. No one knows of our recovery of the Ramaldi gold. Do not tell the warriors there of our battle with the bandits or the recovery of the gold. I do not want the news of our triumph to spread across the lands. Gold attracts the attention of vultures. I want our travel across what was once the Ramaldi kingdom to be quick and uneventful. Once we are safely back in our homelands, then we may speak of our victory and bask in our triumph." As they rose in the morning Kwal'kek mentioned that if they made good time, they would arrive at the North Gate that evening, urging the boys to keep the draught horses moving at a steady pace. They did not stop at the usual time, pushing on into the growing dusk, with the setting sun at their back. Aylanna peered forward curious to see this place, eager to see something new after the weeks of grass and sky. It was almost dark when the shadows of the buildings of the small outpost rose up against the purple sky. Kwal'kek called the regiment to a halt, telling the boys to set up the tents, saying they would be staying here a day to restock supplies. Jhardron and Jhu'kresh rode ahead, and she could hear the recognition calls from sentries greeting them. She peered toward the moving shadows, sitting distracted on Xin'sha's back until Kwal'kek's impatient call reminded her of her duties. Camp that night started out much the same as many others, but soon strangers began to filter through the camp, greeting old acquaintances, asking of news of the northern lands. Aylanna could feel the weight of curious eyes on her, and overheard more than a few discreet questions about who and what she was. She was careful to keep the long sleeve of her overdress rolled up, exposing the scar of her brand. She kept her hair covered, meticulously tucking in all the stray strands of her strange demon hair under her old blue headscarf. She tried to keep her eyes lowered, suddenly very aware of how different she looked, how truly strange she must seem in the eyes of these strangers. A sudden awareness that she was going to face many more times like this, facing the curious stares of unfamiliar eyes, made her heart ache. That night, again as she served her warriors she was assailed with the foreboding that her time with them was soon to come to an end, that destiny was going to pull her away. Again she pressed herself against them in almost a frenzy to imprint their faces, their voices, and their touch indelibly into her memory. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The morning sun revealed the first square buildings that Aylanna had seen in her life. Two single story timber frame buildings with square corners stood on either side of the dusty road. All the huts of the Ramaldi village had been round mud thatch, only slightly more permanent than the round tents of the grasslands tribes. Aylanna stared at the structures, a strange memory of a dream stirring; the rooms of the stone demon city had these unfamiliar corners. There was little movement, the air was chill, her breath hung like smoke in the air. As she went to the small stream to wash and refill the camp's water buckets, she saw the shape of another person, a woman of small stature and traditional Ramaldi skirts staggering under the weight of two large water buckets making her way back toward the buildings. Aylanna stood and watched her until she disappeared around behind one of the structures, wondering if she was a ha'akh too. Briefly she felt a pang of loneliness wondering how her friend Tollarra was faring in her new home. The warriors took advantage of the day of rest to clean themselves and their gear; washing their clothing and airing out their bedding, washing and oiling their skin, even shaving the stubble from the sides of their scalps. Aylanna was kept busy helping them. When Kwal'kek had the first year warriors take the supply wagon to the town, he did not tell her to come along and she chose to stay back, suddenly shy of stranger's eyes. She stayed in camp as small groups of warriors would walk into the town and disappear into one of the buildings, coming out with objects. Finally she cautiously whispered to Tim'kah, "What is it they are doing?" He looked at her, initially confused by her question. "Who?" "The warriors, they go into the box building, they come out. What is it they are doing in there?" Tim'kah laughed and shook his head. "It is a trading post. They are buying things like oil and sweets. It has been a long time since we have had an opportunity to buy the things we need." "With money?" Tim'kah laughed and grabbed her hand. "Come see for yourself." Aylanna nervously allowed him to drag her along, her eyes wide, looking about the outpost. On the far side of the buildings were some more familiar round Ramaldi style huts and for a second Aylanna saw some movement of people around them, but Tim'kah's grip on her hand was insistent and he did not pause as he moved rapidly toward a dark rectangular opening in the side of the building. Aylanna hesitated in that opening, fighting his grasp for an instant, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. Several Bak warriors moved about the room, talking to one another and a man standing behind a table. No one seemed to notice her and she shyly entered, hiding behind Tim'kah. The room was rich with the smells of smoke, leather, spices, and many other things she could not identify. A bewildering variety of objects were piled on tables, shelves along the walls, and barrels lined the walls; tools, weapons, clothing, saddles and other tack, blankets, rope, food, medicines and dozens of other things she had no idea what they could be. Aylanna gazed about her in wonder. The man behind the table called in a jovial voice, "Greetings, young warrior." Tim'kah let go of her hand and moved away, toward the man. "Greetings, Kandor, how is business?" Aylanna almost squeaked at suddenly being abandoned and scurried to follow him closely. "Bah, do not speak to me of business. I am the proud proprietor of a rat's nest. The fool of a Ramaldi that ran this store had no sense of order and did not know the difference between a treasure and a turd. And now I am assigned here, with nothing but a long dull winter, and poor grasslands tribesmen with nothing to trade." He cleared his throat and spat, "Do not speak to me of business. Is there something you have need of? Please do this old warrior the favor of relieving him of some of his treasure." Tim'kah shrugged, "I guess I could use some oil, and perhaps something sweet." Aylanna peeked at the man who had spoken from behind Tim'kah, seeing the old Bak man, wearing a strange mix of a Bak tunic and grasslands leggings. He had a scar across his forehead and cheek, and a patch over his right eye. She flinched back, hiding her face when his one good eye met hers appraisingly. "Ahhh... this is the demon that the others spoke of. She does not seem a monster, more like a child, and she seems easily frightened." He laughed and spoke gently, "Little girl, there is no reason to fear this old warrior." He reached into a pocket and held out a small object to her. Aylanna shrank back, unsure what his intention was, but she could sense there was no animosity in this old man, just curiosity. Tim'kah nudged her, "Ha'akh, take Kandor's gift. It is candy." Shyly she held out a hand, and when he dropped the small black object in her hand, she stared at it, unsure what it was or what she should do with it. Her voice was barely a whisper, "This ha'akh thanks you for your gift." The man looked at her expectantly, and then reached into his pocket and took out another black object and popped it into his mouth, "Eat it, it's good." He opened his mouth and showed her the black lozenge on his tongue, smiling around the few stained and rotted teeth he had left in his mouth. Aylanna stared at candy in her hand. It was small, not much bigger than a small bead, black and shiny. Cautiously she sniffed it and then slipped it into her mouth. Her eyes widened as the strong spicy sweetness exploded in her mouth. The man laughed and commented to Tim'kah, "She is like a wild thing. The oil is over that way," pointing toward the back. Aylanna followed Tim'kah closely, sucking on the candy, still blinking in surprise at the unfamiliar flavors. The air in back of the store was strong with the scents of body oils. Several large objects shining like large glimmering jewels stood on a table. They seemed to be clear like water but stood upright and she could see that they were half filled with some liquid. Aylanna watched fascinated as Tim'kah took out an empty carved stone vial from a pocket and refilled it, carefully pouring out the scented oil from the strange translucent container. Very carefully she reached out a curious finger to touch the surface of one of the containers, wondering what it was. Just as her fingertip touched the cool, smooth and surprisingly hard surface, Kandor called to Tim'kah in a cautioning voice, "You keep a close eye on that girl. If she breaks anything, you will pay for it." Aylanna snatched her hand back and whispered to Tim'kah, "What is it?" A game they had played endlessly as she had learned the Bak language. "It is a bottle, a glass bottle. Do not be alarmed, it will not break if you touch it. Only if you drop it or strike it, it will break like crockery." Aylanna did not reach to touch it again but repeated the words under her breath, 'bottle, glass bottle'. Tim'kah picked out a small cloth bag of green mint scented candies and brought them and the vial to the shopkeeper. Sniffing and weighing the vial in his hand Kandor frowned seriously, "This is very fine oil, squeezed from the seeds of the Banban Trees far to the south of Pan Amara. It is very costly to transport it so far to the northern frontier." He gestured at the bag of candy, "And I am running low on candy. I will not see another delivery until after the end of the rainy season. But for such a fine young warrior such as you, I will give you a special price, only ten mando." Tim'kah laughed and shook his head, "Ten mando?" He moved to put back the candy, "It was a poor campaign. I am sorry to have wasted your time. I cannot spend more than five." Aylanna listened, initially confused. Neither man was speaking the truth. Just as clearly, they both were aware of that fact. Then she smiled as she realized that they were negotiating the price. She watched amused as the shop keeper protested, calling Tim'kah back, "No, no, my friend, perhaps I was too hasty. But five is giving away my goods. Let an old man make a small profit. I could not go lower than eight." Back and forth the two men argued until they agreed on six mando and Tim'kah counted out the coins. Kandor turned his one eye on Aylanna, "And you, little wild girl, has anything here caught your eye?" He reached up and pulled down a shimmering length of midnight blue fabric with gold threads running through it. Perhaps a new scarf to replace your old faded one?" Deliberately he trailed the cloth across her arm, "Feel how soft it is, silk from the southern provinces, and nearly new." Aylanna's eyes grew large but she shook her head, "I have no money." The store owner laughed and pointed at the necklace of gold and carved stone beads around her neck, "You could trade. I could let you have this scarf for only five of the gold beads." Thoughtfully she fingered the scarf, spreading it out and looking at it closely. It was not new. In several places the gold threads were snagged and frayed. There was a dark stain on one end that Aylanna suspected was blood. Pursing her lips in dissatisfaction she pushed the scarf away and abruptly changed the subject. "My old scarf will do for now, but do you have a comb?" She had not owned a comb and Tollarra had taken hers away with her. Her hair was growing long enough to tangle easily in the incessant wind. "A comb? I have a very fine comb, carved from a ram's horn." He began to rummage around in another box and pulled out a comb. "Very fine, from a Ramaldi noble house surely." He handed the comb to her. Turning over the heavy comb, she realized that many of the things he was eager to trade were the loot from the plundered Ramaldi villages. "How much for this?" She lifted her necklace from her neck acting like she would pay whatever price he asked. Kandor licked his lips greedily staring down at her necklace. "It is a very fine comb, the only one of its quality to be found in the entire northern plain, five gold beads." Aylanna could tell he was lying, and she shook her head, "Five is too much, I will give you one gold and one of these rare beads taken from the depths of the demon city." Realizing she was not going to be so easily taken advantage of, the old shop keeper grinned and raised his one unbroken brow, "Oh ho, the little girl wants to haggle prices with this old trader. But he scratched his chin, "From the demon city you say?" Holding up the white translucent beads so they caught the light streaming in from the doorway and flashed with a rainbow of fire, Aylanna spoke confidently, "Yes, each one carved from rare stone brought clear across the Northern Sea from the demon lands. See how each one has the colors of the sunset trapped within. They must be rarer and more precious than gold." Lifting up the necklace looking at the light refracting through them, the shopkeeper protested, "They are unique. But what could I do with just one? There is little market for a single bead, not matter how rare. I would need two beads." Aylanna paused, putting on a show of thinking, slowly fingering the necklace, "True, a pair of beads would be easier to sell, and all the more valuable. I would trade another of the demon city beads for the torn and stained scarf you showed me earlier." The trader protested but Aylanna could tell he would eventually agree and stuck to her offer. As they left the store with both the scarf and the comb, Aylanna commented to Tim'kah, "So that is what a store is." Tim'kah laughed and handed her a piece of the green mint candy. Demon Child Ch. 14 )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna washed the stain out of the scarf and hung it to dry over the doorway to her tent. Sitting in the afternoon sun she ruthlessly yanked the comb through the tangles in her hair. Finally she stopped and got out the little bronze mirror and peered at the face staring back at her. Clean from washing this morning, her strange demon red hair floated around her face like tongues of flame dancing in the wind. Running her hand across the strange curling tendrils, Aylanna was struck by how soft it was. She repeated one of the new words she had learned today, "Silk." As usual Kwal'kek was busy about the camp. Aylanna gradually became aware that a contingent of the first year warriors was being assembled under the command of the horse master. The horse herd was being sent ahead. "Move quickly; take them clear through the mountains. We will meet at the Twisted Dagger horse meadows." The youths were clearly excited to be able to travel quickly, to leave behind the lumbering wagons and ride free and fast across the land. As they vaulted into their saddles, shrilling their ululating war cry, the premonition that their time together was ending, that soon everything was going to change rose up in Aylanna, bringing her to her feet. For just an instant she had this irrational urge to run after them, to somehow delay this parting. Taking a deep breath and firmly taking her emotions under control, she forced herself to smile and wave farewell, thinking to herself that this was not the first or the last of many painful partings she would have in her future. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Thank you for taking the time to read my story. For those of you new to this story, I have included many words of the Bak language. The meanings of most are easy to determine from context. A ha'akh is the lowest rank of servant to a warrior regiment. Please do me the kindness of leaving me feedback and comments. Special thanks to Dani for her wonderful editing help. Enjoy, xantu Demon Child Ch. 15 Chapter 15: A New Land )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The regiment rode down the center of the road, through the middle of the North Gate Outpost, past the small cluster of Ramaldi huts and the few survivors of the Khan's savage justice. A small group of women and children watched as they rode past. Aylanna stared back, taking in the thin bony faces, ragged clothing and defeated eyes. She wondered to herself about hate, revenge and Bak justice. She had hated the Ramaldi of her village, had wished for their destruction, and had watched in exultation as they had been slaughtered. But this destruction of an entire people, it made her question that hate. When did justice end and madness begin? Once past the small village the road began to slope sharply downward, Aylanna looked forward curiously, where was this gate they spoke of? She heard the roar of falling water and then the ground seemed to fall away, the road appearing to leap from the edge of a high precipice. The warriors dismounted, one reaching for Xin'sha's reins, somewhat uncomfortable with this task of assisting her now that Tim'kah had gone ahead with the horse herd. "The road is too steep. We will walk behind the wagons." Aylanna dismounted and crept forward, peering down. Carved into the stone cliff was a dizzying series of steep narrow switch backs. A short distance away the stream cascaded down the red face, crashing and leaping down into the depths below. A heavy post sunk directly into the rock stood at the top and at each corner of the precipitous road. The warriors removed the harnesses from the draught horses and tied massive ropes to the wagons. Wrapping the ropes around and around the posts, the warriors began to lower the wagons a few feet at a time, paying out the ropes slowly, carefully controlling the wagon as they rolled down the steep incline. As soon as it reached a hairpin turn, a new rope was attached and the wagon began its next descent. The movement was torturously slow and Aylanna was frustrated with the slow shuffle step until she overheard one of the warriors comment to another that he was just happy that they were going down instead of up. Aylanna looked up and blinked at the thought of trying to drag a wagon up that grade. Gradually the canyon walls rose up and up. Aylanna's nostrils twitched as she inhaled the old familiar smell of rock baking in the sun. At the bottom, Kwal'kek called for the whole regiment to move out as quickly as possible. "I care not for this narrow canyon. If there is rain to the north, this road will become a deathtrap." The sky was just a narrow band high above their heads, but Aylanna could tell it had taken the better part of the day to lower the wagons to the canyon floor. The massive draught horses were quickly harnessed and whipped into lumbering trot. The canyon was indeed narrow, the wheels of the wagons often splashing through the stream itself, in many places skirting huge boulders that had been torn loose and tumbled by floods. The shadows were deep and the first evening stars were showing in the band of sky above their heads when the canyon opened up into a wider valley and Kwal'kek finally called for a halt. There was little to do beyond filling the water buckets. They did not even build a fire. When her warriors came for her, Aylanna repeated her ritual of pausing, touching their faces, and repeating their names. She wondered how many more times she would share with them, receiving their offerings and blessing them with her magic. She surrendered herself to their hands, arching against their touch, their entry into her, freely giving her passion to them, her cries rising up to the goddess. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The sun was not yet up when the regiment moved out again. Long streamers of cloud raced across the pale sky. The morning light did nothing to ease the brutal image of the burned out village beside the road. Aylanna stared curiously at the remains of the village, wondering why this village and not the one at the top of the cliff. As she watched she could see signs that some people had survived. One or two huts had been rebuilt; the face of someone peeked out and then quickly pulled back. She thought to herself that this was no longer their land, these were not their homes. They were lann'akh, servants bonded to the land. She wondered at their fate. Both the days and nights were cool, the clouds gathering thicker and lower, threatening rain. Kwal'kek urged the regiment to move quickly, growling that he had no wish to travel through Ramaldi mud. Nearly every day the Twisted Dagger would pass some sign of the devastation, burned out villages, fearful groups of refugees moving furtively back as they traveled the same road, and once an ugly spectacle of dozens of skulls displayed on stakes along the road. Not once did the Bak warriors acknowledge the presence of the vanquished people, ignoring their existence, riding past tall and arrogant. The road wound through steep canyons and hills, the rocks changing from the familiar red to twisted and broken layers of red, orange and purple. In more than one place Aylanna saw where the earth had been shifted and moved, deep pits dug, raw piles of fresh earth scarring the land. Kwal'kek pointed, "Mines, the Ramaldi province is rich in minerals; copper, silver, gold, lead and iron, great riches to be plucked from the ground. Many of the most powerful houses are vying for ownership. Such riches can mean great influence in court." He cleared his throat and spat, "With so much wealth to divide, the wolves will be at each other's throats as they vie for power." Aylanna looked at the old faded scar on the old man's arm. "Is Twisted Dagger a house?" "Yes, an old, very respected house. Not as powerful as they once were, but perhaps with our victory and recovery of the Ramaldi gold, the gods will smile upon us." "And we are Twisted Dagger?" Kwal'kek frowned, "In some ways, yes. You are not a citizen, so you are a servant of the Twisted Dagger. I am not of the lineage of the Twisted Dagger, but my family has been under the protection of the Twisted Dagger for many generations. I owe allegiance and loyalty to the house." The old man pointed with his chin toward where Jhardron was speaking with Jhu'kresh. "Those two are of the house, Jhardron is the fifth son of a younger brother of the head of house Twisted Dagger. Jhu'kresh is a distant cousin; I am not sure of the exact lineage. Jhardron's father is Jhar'drakon, a close friend and advisor to the Aga Khan. They grew up together." "Is the Aga Khan Twisted Dagger?" "No the Aga Khan is House Broken Spear, but the two houses are closely aligned and they share sons." "Share sons?" "Their children are shared, exchanged. They go to live with the family of the other house. It is a gesture of allegiance and trust. It keeps the bond strong between houses. Jhardron's father was sent to live with the family of the Aga Khan. The two boys grew up as brothers, a friendship that has boded well for Twisted Dagger fortunes." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna sat on Xin'sha, wrinkling her nose at the pervasive stink of old ashes and death. The capital Rama'dahlma was a ghost city of burned buildings. Here and there stone buildings stood, stained with smoke. Jhardron was speaking with a tall Bak man who stood before one of these stone buildings. At first Aylanna did not at first listen to their words but something in Jhardron's tone made her prick up her ears. "And what news of home?" "Have you not heard? Your wife sent messengers north, your first son was born healthy and thrives at his mother's breast. He awaits his name." There was a general stir among the warriors close enough to hear, a few exclaimed their congratulations. Jhardron had a wide smile on his face as he waved them to silence. "That is fine news, a son after so many daughters. I will make a sacrifice at the temple to thank the goddess for this gift and pray for his protection." Aylanna felt a strange lurch in her heart beat. A wife, he has a wife. For an instant her eyes fogged with tears, her stomach churned but then she ruthlessly suppressed the emotions. Coldly, intensely she whispered the words silently to herself, "A warrior is always in control of her body, her heart and her mind." Yet she wondered at the rush of emotion, wondered that somehow she had thought she had some ownership, some right of expectation over this man who was her Khan. She was a lowly ha'akh. The mere fact that he cared for her was more than she had a right to. They did not tarry in the ruins of Rama'dahlma. It was clear that Jhardron was very impatient to return to the homelands of the Bak. The news of a son only seemed to add to his hurry. But he would not leave the regiment or the precious secret cargo they carried in the wagons. That night as she helped dole out the cold trail rations that were the main form of subsistence as they traveled from before light to after dark, Aylanna stiffly, formally spoke to him, "This ha'akh wishes to express her happiness at the news of the birth of your son." Jhardron did not seem to notice her rigid demeanor, smiling broadly, "Thank you for your good wishes. It is said a daughter is like a rainbow, beautiful to behold but with one foot in your house and the other already reaching for the house of her husband. Sons are the foundation stones of a family, without them a house will crumble and fall. The goddess has smiled upon me." His eyes fell on her, softening, "You have brought me luck, little demon." Aylanna bit her lip and spoke almost soundlessly, "I will send a prayer to the goddess that your wife bears you many more sons." Jhardron laughed, "Wives, pretty demon, wives, all three of them. And a warrior must be home to sow his seed in order to reap a harvest." Aylanna blinked at the news that he did not have one wife but three, but did not respond, swallowing down her questions, saving them for the more talkative Kwal'kek. It was not many more days travel before she managed to ask, "Is it customary for Bak men to marry many wives?" Kwal'kek barked with laughter, "Oh no, not usually. I myself have just the one." The old warrior's eyes softened and then he joked, "Though she is so fat, it is like lying with two. But she is a good woman, a fine mother to my sons." He cleared his throat, generally a sign that he was warming up to a long lesson. "Generally, it is only among the Bak Lann'amattah, the ruling class, that a man may have more than on wife. Marriage among the ruling class is as much a function of political and economic alliances as for the breeding of children." Kwal'kek looked about a bit furtively, "Though the birth of children to the ruling class is not quite as common as it once was. It is said that their blood is growing thin." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> They camped at the top of a high cliff, preparing for their descent into the Bak homelands. The Middle Gate was much like the North Gate. A seemingly endless series of cliffs lay between the Ramaldi highlands and the rolling misty green hills below. The precipice was higher, river was wider, the falls were an incessant roar and the switch backs cut into the cliff face perhaps not quite so narrow or steep. Aylanna had learned that these torturous passages cut into the cliffs that divided the layers of the earth had always been called gates. Kwal'kek told her that the war between the gods and the demons had broken the land, dividing the peoples from one another. It had taken men many generations to find a way to scale the cliffs, and many more to cut the gates between. Aylanna found herself wondering how the demon men that had populated her visions would have ever had the power to do battle with a god or to break the world. They had appeared strange, tall and barbaric, but they had been mortal. The demon that had forced his seed into her mother had died like any other man. How could mortal men battle an army of gods and how could they break the earth? Jhardron approached Aylanna, "Ha'akh, once we enter the Bak homelands, you will travel on the wagon. You will keep your demon eyes, hair and skin covered. I want to keep your appearance hidden." At Aylanna's puzzled frown, he pointed down the cliff toward the land below. "In the kingdom, there is little that is kept secret for long. Information is gathered and traded like precious jewels. It is inevitable that the news of the Ramaldi gold will reach ahead of us. It is likely that the court already knows that the Twisted Dagger acquired a demon, but they will not look upon you until the treasure is presented before the Khan." Again it took the better part of a day to lower the wagons, but this time, as she walked behind the wagons, Aylanna stared out fascinated at the land spread out before her. The Bak homeland seemed as ordered and disciplined as the regiment. As far as she could see all was carefully groomed fields with neat stone fences, straight wide roads, and in the distance a wide blue expanse that must be a lake. At the base of the cliff was a cluster of square stone buildings and many Bak men moved about, apparently occupied with duties. Aylanna kept her new scarf wrapped around her head and across her face, casually standing to one side and behind a group of waiting warriors. It was an old habit to hide, one that was easy to renew. She peeked out from below lowered lids as one man came up with a scroll and pen and began talking at length with Kwal'kek regarding the content of the wagons, where they had come from and their destination. "Your herd master came through here seven days ago. He left word that their trip was uneventful and they would await you at the horse meadows." When the fact was stated that they brought with them the Ramaldi treasury, his eyes widened, looking with new respect at the regiment. Aylanna could clearly sense his sudden pent up excitement. "This is news indeed." Kwal'kek's voice was dry, "News that will undoubtedly travel ahead of us." The bureaucrat licked the point of his pen, staining his already blackened tongue as he carefully noted down the inventory and the names of the warriors traveling with the regiment, "It is said that news of good fortune travels on the wings of birds." Kwal'kek spat, "The only thing that moves across the land faster is ill news." The record keeper barked a short harsh laugh, "Too true, my friend, too true." He gazed at the papers and then at the assembled warriors, speaking aloud as he carefully made notes on the papers in his hand, "Four casualties and the acquisition of a single ha'akh." He gestured toward where Aylanna stood. She stood very still, somehow fearful that he would demand to know her name, to look at her, but he just made a few more marks on the papers. Aylanna peered with curiousity as both Kwal'kek and Jhardron approached him and then made some marks of their own upon the papers. He handed them some of the papers, keeping others and pointed down the road, "You are the last regiment to return. You will have your choice of camps." It was not much longer before the regiment was mounted and moving along a very smooth road. Aylanna looked over the edge of the wagon at the paving stones; they were rectangular and perfectly smooth. Sitting up she peered ahead, the road was straight and wide enough for two wagons to pass easily. The fields were well watered green rows of some cultivated green leafy plant. Here and there, men and women worked in the fields, most of them from the smaller brown skinned races. Soon they stopped at a well established camping area. Carefully defined rectangles of bare sand and trimmed grass surrounded a stone lined fire pit. A large rectangular stone trough was filled with fresh water. Even the white painted pole corral was a square. Aylanna looked around herself at the rigid order. She was not sure if she liked all these straight lines and square corners. It was sterile, stiff, as if even the trees, shrubs and grass had been harnessed and trained to their duties. They did not put up the tents and, in the night, Aylanna was awakened by the distant rumble of thunder and splattering of heavy cold raindrops. Shivering she had pulled herself into a smaller ball and covered her head with her fur. Morning dawned wet and grey, the cliff behind them obscured by the low clouds. Riding in the wagon was cold. She huddled with her damp blankets around her, keeping her scarf around her head and face. At first they were the only travelers on the road but after only one day's travel, wagons filled with the last harvests of the season began to appear. Ranging from two wheeled carts to large wheeled freight haulers, all of them would instantly pull off to one side to give the whole road to the advancing regiment. The workers would stand respectfully, one hand across their chest in a gesture of respect, their heads lowered. The warriors rode past, ignoring the people beside the road, except perhaps to sit a little taller, prouder in their saddles. The first small community they passed was a curious grouping of square white stone buildings some distance from the road. Each one was exactly the same as the other, exactly the same distance from the other. The few people moving about seemed to hurry with some goal in mind. Once they passed a man herding a group of small fat goats grazing them along the side of the road. Again the regiment did not pause, riding straight through the flock of bleating animals. Aylanna looked back and as soon as they had passed and the shepherd relaxed his respectful posture he quickly approached a fresh steaming pile of manure, dropped by one of the stallions and efficiently scooped it up and dropped it into a small cart he pulled along behind him. Each night they stayed in a designated camping area, designed exactly the same as the one before. She wondered that the troughs were always filled with fresh water; fodder was there, waiting and ready for the stallions, and wood neatly stacked by the fire pit. She did not see anyone nearby who did these things, but clearly it was done. Finally one night when Kwal'kek had sat down to eat his evening meal she asked, "Who puts back the wood that we burn, the water?" Kwal'kek looked about the camp as if he was seeing it for the first time, "Road keepers, they tend the camps and maintain the roadways. We will pay for our use once we arrive at our stated destination. The road fees pay for the roads, camps and bridges." "Road keepers?" "You saw one, the man with the goats. The goats keep the grass grazed short and the herder then has a fattened herd to sell at market. He cleans the road of offal, keeps inventory of repairs that need to be made and generally keeps things ready for travelers. All travelers register to use the roads, carry a permit and pay a set fee once they arrive. No one travels without a permit." The only time the regiment acknowledged the presence of another on the road was when they overtook a slower moving, covered wagon, escorted by a number of tall Bak men. The wagon continued its way, but the Bak men called to one another, loud jovial calls of greeting, wishes for luck and fertility. Aylanna stared curiously from behind the concealment of her scarf; the wagon was brightly painted with complex designs of interwoven lines and flowers. Two horses, a stallion and a mare, wearing very fine gilded saddles with their manes twined with golden threads and flowers, were tethered to the back of the wagon. Once they were past, Aylanna could not help but ask, "Who was that?" Kwal'kek smiled broadly, "A daughter of the House White Crane travels to her new home. The riders were of the House Ghost Rider. The two houses are closely allied. She will marry one of their sons once she reaches marriageable age." Demon Child Ch. 15 "She is just a child then?" "Girl children are promised to another house almost before they are born. They go to live in their new home when they reach five years. Girl children do not really belong to the house they are born into. They are marked with the brand of their new house when they marry. Boys are marked when they leave the women's quarters at the age of five. A man may claim his mother's family, especially if it is a very honored or powerful house. That is rare though. It has been many generations since a man has worn the mark of two houses upon his arm." Aylanna turned and stared back at the wagon, thinking of the little girl hidden within, wondering if she was happy or afraid. It was becoming very clear that this society was ruled by a bewildering set of laws and customs. She wondered if she would ever learn or understand them all. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna could not help but notice the change in the mood of the warriors as they crested a low hill and looked out across the land before them. One of them exclaimed, "Home, the very air smells sweeter here." Another joked crudely, "You sniff for the venya of your wife." There was a general laugh but the first gave back, "Better than sniffing at the gates of the temple, wondering if a priestess may take pity on a poor warrior." That night many of the warriors were absent, choosing to ride ahead through the night to their own homes. Aylanna watched with large eyes as Jhardron took his leave, kicking his stallion into a faster pace, clearly eager to look upon the face of his son. Kwal'kek stayed behind, "My wife can wait another day. She will be as warm tomorrow as she is today." In the morning Aylanna's heart rejoiced as the first year warriors that had gone ahead with the horse herd rode up, ululating the regimental war cry in greeting. Tim'kah reported to Kwal'kek, "Our Khan has sent us to escort you." Many of the fields on either side of the road were grazing lands. Herds of horses grazed sedately or lifted their heads and whinnied their horse greetings at the returning stallions. It was late afternoon when they turned off the main highway and rolled up an equally straight, if not so wide, road to another carefully laid out community of square white buildings. As they drew closer, dozens of people poured out to greet their returning family members. Aylanna stared curiously as she looked upon Bak women for the first time. Their skin was the same ebon black as the warriors, but their hair bound up in complex braids. Many wore gold decorations in their hair and, to Aylanna's fascination, ornaments attached to their noses and ears. They wore ankle length flowing dresses of various light colors that came up over one shoulder, covering one breast and leaving the other exposed. Dozens of children, both boys and girls, shrilled their high pitched greetings and ran about, dodging between the legs of the stallions, reaching to touch the feet of the warriors, looking for their fathers. More than one young boy was pulled up to ride behind his father. The entire scene was filled with chaos and excitement. Aylanna was so caught up in the cascade of emotion that she forgot and let her scarf fall away from her face, looking around with wide excited eyes. But then she felt the weight of eyes and she turned to meet the wide black eyes of a girl. Almost as tall as a grown woman, she was all angles and lines, at that awkward age between childhood and her first bloom of womanhood; she stared with wide, shocked eyes. Strangely there was no joy in her face; instead she seemed filled with rage and sadness. Remembering Jhardron's instruction to remain covered; Aylanna winced and quickly pulled her scarf over her face. Soon the regiment seemed to dissolve and merge with the jovial crowd of family and friends. Proud young boys led the warrior's stallions away, leaving the wagons parked in the square in the center of the central square. Aylanna sat, hiding behind her scarf, wondering what was going to happen next when a tall old man on a magnificent stallion rode into the square, Jhardron walking by his side. Almost instantly the entire scene fell silent, each and every person, from warrior to small child standing, their hands held across their chests in obeisance. Uncertain of her place, Aylanna shrank smaller in the wagon trying to disappear. From his vantage point he spoke, his voice warm and happy, "The Bak Tai Twisted Dagger has returned to us triumphant. They have traveled far and seen wondrous things. They have been triumphant in battle and brought back with them many treasures to present to our Aga Khan. They bring great honor to our house." His voice fell, "There is grief in our hearts for those who fell in honorable battle. Four families look out upon this reunion with nothing but ashes in their mouths and darkness in their hearts. Let them come forth." A small group of subdued women, followed by a cluster of children, stepped forward. The crowd of people moved back, creating a circle around them. Aylanna recognized the form of the angular girl, this time holding a small squirming toddler. The man on the horse looked down upon them, his eyes compassionate. "Your warriors have fulfilled their greatest duty, giving their lives for the glory of our people. You suffer great sadness but you also have gained honor. You have made a great sacrifice; take solace in the knowledge that their spirits ride with Jha'Mak'Tah." The old man's face was stoic and he held his fist against his chest, saluting the women and children. For an instant all was still, then the toddler in the girl's arms kicked to be free and protested loudly to be put down. And once the silence was broken, a large, heavyset woman with silver braids moved to stand before the group of mourners and held her fist to her chest in an eloquent gesture of respect and honor. One by one, each and every person from warrior to child moved to stand and made the same gesture. Even toddlers and babies were held up and their small arms and hands held by their caretakers. Again Aylanna found herself huddling alone on the wagon, feeling completely separate from these people, an outsider, alien and perhaps not even human. The feeling that she was just an object, a trophy of war rose up inside her. As the last people made their salute, the old man on the horse cleared his throat, "Our warriors will ride on to Bak Pan Amara tomorrow to present a great treasure to our Aga Khan. Tonight let us celebrate their achievement." He pulled at his stallion's reins and turned back, riding away from the square, further up the road. Aylanna stared after him. When the wagon moved under her she briefly lost her balance and clutched at the folded tents she was sitting on. One of the first year warriors was at the head of the draught horse, leading him and the wagon he was pulling out of the village. They followed up the road and it wound around a low hill covered in a grove of carefully pruned fruit trees and down to another large compound. Almost as many square stone buildings as was in the original village surrounded another empty square. But this time the buildings varied in size and shape. A large house, larger than any she had seen so far, stood taller by half than any of the other buildings. A small lake shimmered in the afternoon sun behind it all. The old man was there, his stallion being led away by a smaller brown skinned man of one of the northern races. The two wagons rolled up and stopped before a building that had a wide opening. About a dozen strange men approached and began to unload the wagon that Aylanna was not sitting on. Nervously looking around for a familiar face, she scanned the sea of unfamiliar faces, seeking out anyone she knew. To her relief she heard Kwal'kek's familiar brusque voice from inside the building, barking orders about what things went where. Aylanna slipped down off the wagon, keeping her hair and face covered with the scarf. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she flinched to feel a hand on her shoulder, spinning her around and she found herself staring up into the face of the old man who had made the speech to the people. He was frowning, his eyes meeting hers. She sensed no animosity, no intentions beyond curiosity and an overwhelming confidence. Blinking, Aylanna tried to shrink back, nervously turning her eyes away, tugging at her scarf to cover her face even more, but his hand was firmly gripping her. His voice was firm, "And this is the demon my nephew has spoken of." He reached for the scarf and Aylanna found herself cowering back, fearfully trying to avoid his hand. Her voice shook, "Please, sir, my Khan has commanded me to keep the scarf, to cover my face." His hand stilled but he did not release his grip upon her shoulder. "Your Khan? And who might that be?" Aylanna was rapidly growing aware that almost all movement had ceased around them. The workers were standing, watching with open curiosity. She could still hear Kwal'kek inside the storage barn, barking out orders. She swallowed, "My Khan, Jhardron Khan Bak Tai Twisted Dagger." The regal old man's lips twitched and Aylanna sensed a brief flash of humor, "Ah yes, my nephew. And you are wise to remember his commands. But you are here now. I am Jha'hamatla Khan Bak Lann Twisted Dagger, his uncle and head of House Twisted Dagger long before your Khan was a cub playing around my ankles. Here you must obey my commands. And I am commanding you to reveal yourself to me. I will not ask twice." There was an implacable hint of steel in the last sentence. Aylanna quickly unwound the scarf and stood tall, the only sign of her nervous fear was the way she was twisting the blue fabric around and around her fist. Her voice was soft and controlled, "This ha'akh apologizes. She did not mean any disrespect." "Well they have managed to teach you some amount of good manners." He gazed at her with open interest, "A demon indeed, your appearance in Bak Pan Amara will create quite a stir. My nephew was wise to keep you hidden. But here, here in the heart of House Twisted Dagger, you do not need to wear the scarf. The few spies that speak of your strange appearance will only fire the imaginations of the plotters in court." Aylanna listened to his words, trying to understand his intentions. His mention of spies confused her and she looked around the square nervously. It was crowded with people, all rushing about, busy with some duty or another. When the old man spoke with another and turned to leave her standing there beside the wagon Aylanna spoke up, "Please, sir, I... I don't know where I am supposed to go." The old Khan, paused and looked back at her, "Stay where you are. Someone will come for you soon." Aylanna stood still, her eyes avoiding the curious stares of the workers. For the first time she noticed that Xin'sha, her little red mare that had followed beside her wagon like a foal follows its mother had disappeared. She wondered who had taken her. There was no way that the little horse would have left her side voluntarily. She watched as the workers unloaded the heavy tents from the wagon. It seemed like most of the servants were either from the smaller, lighter skinned northern races but here and there was a taller, darker individual that seemed neither one nor the other. Aylanna wondered if these were the children of ha'akhs. Her thoughts spun back to Tollarra and she wondered how the baby faired and if it would be like these men, neither one thing nor another. A voice penetrated her thoughts, "Ha'akh, come with me." A mature woman only a few inches shorter than her stood looking at her impatiently. This woman was clearly of the mixed races, her skin a rich brown, her hair, streaked with white braided in the fashion of the Bak women but she wore a simple shift of creamy white fabric that reached her feet. The woman cleared her throat and spoke again, "Come along, the day grows short and we have much to do." Aylanna nodded uncertainly and stepped forward. The strange woman turned and hurried off. Aylanna had to trot a few steps to catch up. In just a few minutes they were at the door of a building next to the main house and the woman disappeared within. Aylanna hesitated at the door, blinking trying to adjust her vision to the dim interior. Again the woman spoke, "Ha'akh, come along. I have orders to bathe you and get you some appropriate clothing." The building smelled of moisture and there was the distinctive sound of falling water. Aylanna stepped inside and stared at the strange spectacle of a stream of water pouring forth from the mouth of a carved face mounted on the wall. The water arched out and fell into a large square pool cut right into the rock of the floor. The woman was muttering to herself, "As if I don't have enough to do with the feast to see to, now our father sends me on this foolish errand." Aylanna looked around in wonder, her voice bemused, "Our father?" "The old Khan, the head of the house, it is common for us to refer to him as our father. He is the father of the house, patriarch. Though, when you speak to him, you should call him sir or khan. Only a child of his loins has the right to call him father to his face. Enough of this talk. Take off those dirty things." Aylanna nodded, "And if I may ask, what should I call you?" The woman spoke as she filled a basin with water, "I am Sindalla lann'akh Twisted Dagger. You may call me Sin or Sindalla. Do you have a name ha'akh?" "Aylanna." "Lucky one, interesting name, not one I have heard before." The woman turned and looked at Aylanna standing nude, her pale skin glowing in the dim light of the bathing house. Her eyes widened, "You are truly strange looking, pale, like the white mares promised to the temple. Are all demons colored so?" Remembering Jhardron's words of caution to keep her magic secret, Aylanna shrugged, "I do not know." Sindalla poured some sweet smelling oil into the basin and dipped a brush into the water. She handed the brush to Aylanna, "Wash yourself with this." Obediently Aylanna took the brush and began to rub it across her skin. To her surprise it was soft and the oil began to work into lather, the smell of lavender and something sharper filled her nostrils. Sindalla stepped around behind her and poured some more of the oil into her hair and began to work it in, carefully inspecting Aylanna's head. "At least you are not infested with lice. So many of the little savages the warriors bring back are crawling with the things." When Sindalla said the word savages, her tone was condescending. Aylanna tensed but said nothing. Sindalla's hands were efficient, even a little rough as she scrubbed at Aylanna's scalp. "And such strange hair, you are a strange little creature indeed." Aylanna winced and did not respond, standing still, shivering a little as the air chilled her wet skin. She was rapidly starting to dislike this woman who seemed to care little about her feelings. Sindalla filled the basin with fresh water and poured it over Aylanna's head, rinsing her thoroughly. The water was cold and Aylanna stood shivering, her arms wrapped around her chest. Sindalla put down the basin and spoke curtly, "Come along." Aylanna went to her discarded dress and began to pull it on. Sindalla's voice was sharp, "What are you doing?" Aylanna looked at her with puzzled eyes. "Um, getting dressed?" "Not in those filthy, savage clothes. They will not do at all. They are most likely infested. I will have the bath house attendant burn them." She picked up a long white garment much like the one she was wearing and held it out." For the first time a flash of anger rose up in Aylanna. She scooped up the layered grasslands dress that Tollarra had helped her make. Her eyes narrowed, "No." Sindalla paused, her eyes surprised, "Do not be ridiculous. I do not have time for this foolishness. Put those down and put this on." Again Aylanna stood her ground, "No, these are mine. I will not let you burn them up." Sindalla stepped forward, her eyes blazing with anger, "It is not for you to decide what I will do or not do. I am Sindalla Lann'akh, a respected house servant of long standing. You are only a ha'akh, a dirty little savage for the warriors to use." Her hand came up as if to grab at the dress or perhaps even strike at the young stranger that had the temerity to defy her. Aylanna's hand came up as well; her voice was a deadly hiss, "Do not touch me. I may be just ha'akh, a dirty savage in your world. But I am also Aylanna, a demon's child. Do not anger me. You will regret it. I will keep this dress and you will allow it." Then her voice lowered to a soft growl, "Sindalla, this is all I own, it is filled with memories. I will wear your clothing, but I will keep this dress." Her voice softened marginally, "It might be in need a good washing, but I promise that there are no little beasts living in it. I may be a strange looking little savage, but I am a clean one when travel and my duties allow it." The darker skinned woman stood staring at her with measuring eyes, the anger in her slowly subsiding to a simmering resentment, "I underestimated you, ha'akh. You have spirit. If the dress is so important to you, keep it. But we waste time. I have much more important things to do than battle with a savage little... what did you say you were? ...a demon's child?" Again her voice was slightly condescending. "So come along with me. I must help with overseeing the serving of food. The whole village will be here for the warrior's homecoming feast." Aylanna slipped the white dress over her head and still holding her old clothing clutched to her chest, Aylanna followed Sindalla out of the bathhouse and into another strange square building. Sindalla led her to a small cubical, almost a stall, pointing at a mat on the floor, "This will be your sleeping place tonight. You can leave your precious dress here." Aylanna nodded putting her bundle down and she forced her face to a calm, neutral expression, "Thank you." "Wait here." She did not know how long she stood there, waiting, looking curiously around the strange room. The room was divided into about twenty little cubicles, divided from one another by low wooden walls. Most of the cubicles were empty, but a few had some clothing hanging from hooks. Aylanna turned and pulled her comb from one of the pockets of her Grasslands dress. She pulled the teeth through her tangled curls. As it dried, her hair was amazingly slick and soft, cleaner than she had ever felt before. She shook her head and tossed her hair back. Shining, soft and light, it danced in a soft cloud around her face like a living thing. Sindalla walked in, wiping her hands on a cloth, looking at Aylanna critically. She sniffed, "There is no time to train you to help with anything. Come with me, we will find a place for you to sit out of the way." In the short time she had waited the square had been transformed, long tables and benches had been set up. Her heart lurched when she saw Jhardron standing talking to the older man. For an instant she thought to rush up to him, to find something familiar in the chaos of strangers, but she pressed her lips together and followed the woman who had commanded her to follow. As she stepped out of the square, she sensed his eyes on her for just an instant and blinked back tears. She was still blinking away tears, when they entered into a busy kitchen. The rich smells of simmering sauces, roasting meats and baking grains made her mouth fill with saliva. Sindalla pointed at a marginally quiet corner and grunted, "Try to stay out of the way." Aylanna nodded, not sure if she was offended by the busy woman's dismissal or grateful to be left alone. She stood watching as at least a dozen men and women, wearing similar white tunics and dresses rapidly began to assemble large dishes of food. Complicated layers of grains, vegetables, simmered meats and sauces filled bowls, whole roasted carcasses of goats, improbably large birds, and some other kind of animal that Aylanna had never seen before were stuffed with a mixture of grains and spices. Nearby an old woman mixed some powder with water and dropped handfuls of the thick mixture into a large pot of boiling oil. Each time the moist dough fell into the oil, it would hiss and bubble, then swell and bob to the top, golden brown and the woman would lift it out with a ladle and drop it on a platter already laden with warm brown balls. Aylanna watched fascinated and the old woman met her eyes and smiled a toothless grin. Deftly she picked up one of the unfamiliar objects and tossed it to Aylanna. Demon Child Ch. 15 Surprised, Aylanna reflexively caught if and after a curious sniff, bit into it. Her eyes widened as the crisp bun crumbled in her mouth. The outside was rich and crunchy, but the inside was light and airy. It was totally new, and wonderful. She rapidly ate the whole thing and licked off her fingers. Shyly she smiled at the old woman and mouthed the words of thanks. The grandmotherly woman cackled and nodded in acknowledgement, her aged and knobby hands surprisingly nimble as she kneaded the dough and dropped another batch to fry in the hot oil. The general movement and energy in the room seemed to be building into a crescendo. Aylanna noticed that there seemed to be one man in charge, bustling about, looking in pots, tasting, directing others. He was old and heavy, and his loud voice reminded Aylanna of Kwal'kek. She tried to shrink back up against the wall when he marched past, picking up one of the warm brown fried things, breaking it open and taking a bite. He smiled and spoke with a full mouth, "Momma Deena, no one can fry a dumpling like you. The warriors will know they are truly home when they bite into these." As he turned to move on, he seemed to see Aylanna for the first time, pausing for a second, frowning slightly to see a stranger in his kitchen. But he did not speak, just moved on to his next task. It was not much longer when he began to direct various large bowls and platters begin to be carried out to the square. The cooking area seemed even more chaotic with everyone transporting the food out the door leading to the square. Even the old woman painfully pulled herself to her feet and began to hobble toward the door, carrying one of the platters of fried dumplings. Aylanna's trained eyes could see that the old woman suffered from what Kharthmah had called 'stubborn knees'. The old witch doctor who had raised her asserted that after a lifetime of too much work, the joints had accumulated a lifetime of rage at being used too hard and were punishing their owners. There was no thought of being told to stay out of the way, Aylanna was instantly by the old woman's side, trying to take the large tray of food from her hands, "Please let me help." With surprising strength the old woman kept her grip on the heavy dish, "Girl, if you want to be of assistance, go and get the other platter of dumplings." Her eyes were narrowed and stubborn. Sensing the wounded pride of the grandmotherly woman, Aylanna nodded quickly and hurried back, lifting the second platter of fried dumplings and joined the parade of workers carrying food out to the party. It was dark outside, the square lit with dozens of lanterns and fires flickering in stone braziers. Aylanna froze for an instant, confused by the huge crowd of people milling about. Here and there she could see a knot of people around the familiar form of one of her warriors. She could see the kitchen workers carrying the food in a steady stream to a long row of tables and she followed quickly, putting down her platter and turning to hurry back to her quiet corner in the kitchen. Suddenly, the mass of people around the serving tables was so thick that Aylanna had to squeeze between the unexpected crush of hungry diners. The plaza wasn't only crowded with bodies, Aylanna fought to keep her mind clear as she sensed so many different emotions swirling around her. Still unused to crowds and strangers she struggled to close her mind to the confusion of feelings. Over and over she found herself bumped and jostled. More than once a helping hand reached and steadied her as she reeled, then a steel hard hand gripped her arm, supporting her, steering her away from the thick of the crowd. Blinking she looked up into Jhardron's face. He had a happy grin on his face and a fried dumpling in his hand. His eyes danced and he spoke over the noise of the crowd, "Pretty demon, dumplings are most popular. They disappear almost as quickly as they arrive. It is a dangerous place to stand; you could easily become trampled by the stampede as we fight for a share." Still a little disoriented, Aylanna nodded and tried to find the door that led back to her refuge in the kitchen. "My Khan, I was told to stay in the kitchen but I forget where it is." He laughed softly, pulling her out and around the crowd, "You have found yourself in a strange world, little demon. And you have already lost your way." As they left the lighted square, the buffeting winds of too many people, too many feelings eased and Aylanna found her mind calming. Completely malleable in his hands she let him lead her off into the darkness. Her only protest was a soft, "I was told to stay in the kitchen, to stay out of the way." "So that is why I could not find you. You were hidden." A soft rush of emotion made her feet pause and stumble, "You were looking for me?" Jhardron's voice was neutral, "You are ha'akh to my regiment. It is my duty to know where all my people are." But Aylanna sensed that was not all, behind the screen of duty there was more and she remembered his unguarded words of love spoken so long ago, words of love and warning that love would never supersede duty. Swallowing down her own emotion, she spoke carefully, "I cannot help but wonder what my duties are in this strange place. Here everyone has a name, a rank and a place. Here everyone is busy with their duties and I stand and watch with nothing to do. I feel very much like a stranger here." "Have you been treated well?" "It has all happened so quickly, so many strangers, too many curious eyes. I miss my warriors. I fear I will never see them again." Jhardron's hand smoothed back her riot of scarlet curls, "Little demon, you will see your warriors once more. The regiment will be proceeding to Bak Pan Amara in the morning. It will be another week of travel before we enter into the city. We will present the Khan with his share of the loot taken on campaign and the Ramaldi treasure. Only then will the regiment disband for the winter." Aylanna leaned against him, breathing in his scent, forgetting for an instant all the uncertainty of the future. His arms tightened around her but then there was a swell of noise from the party, a blare of horns and then all fell silent. Jhardron quickly released her, "My uncle, Khan Lann is going to speak. I must be there." He quickly gripped her hand and ran back toward the party. Taking a short cut through the kitchen, he released her and disappeared through the door without a farewell. It was much less crowded in the kitchen; almost all the workers were gone. Aylanna smiled to see the old woman back at her place still frying dumplings. She made her way over to the sit beside her, "Greetings, I am Aylanna ha'akh Bak Tai Twisted Dagger." The old woman's voice was warm and good humored, "I know who you are. There is little that happens in our house that I do not know of. I am Deena, everyone calls me Momma Deena." "The dumplings are good. I have never tasted anything like them." "They are a favorite." Sitting with Deena was warm and comfortable, and it seemed that, now that the party was well underway, it was customary for people to sneak back into the kitchen and beg for fried dumplings fresh and hot from the oil. Aylanna found herself smiling a happy welcome at the familiar faces as her warriors would come in and beg a dumpling from Deena. Tiny and brown skinned, the old woman was clearly a member of the northern races, but just as clearly she held a special place here in House Twisted Dagger. Everyone treated her with love and respect. Even Sindalla seemed to speak to her with deference when she came to retrieve Aylanna and bring her back to her sleeping cubical. Several people were moving around the room, tired workers grateful to finally finish a long day. Sindalla spoke briskly, "The regiment will leave at first light, be ready." Someone had put a sleeping mat and blanket in her space, and Aylanna nodded silently. She was tired. Too many strangers, new sights and sounds, the repeated sense of confusion had worn her out. She wrapped up in the blanket and curled up on the thin mat. She lay there, intensely aware of the other people around her, low voices in conversation, the sounds of sleep, snoring, coughs and movement intruding on her thoughts. She realized she hated this, surrounded by strangers, yet so alone. Softly she swallowed down her tears, and reminded herself she would be on the road again, away from this strange place and once again with her warriors. Deliberately she turned her thoughts away from the fact that this might be her last time with them. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Thank you for taking the time to read my story. For those of you new to this story, I have included many words of the Bak language. The meanings of most are easy to determine from context Please do me the kindness of leaving me feedback and comments. Special thanks to Dani for her wonderful editing help. Enjoy, xantu Demon Child Ch. 16 Chapter 16: Farewells )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna did not sleep. She huddled on the mat, in the anonymous cubical in the sleeping room, listening to the sounds of all the strangers around her sleeping. Someone in the back coughed and others snored, on man mumbled in his sleep. As tired as she was, there was no way she could calm her mind enough to sleep, too many strange faces; strange places. Her mind spun trying to understand it all. Most of all, she was lonely... deeply, sadly lonely. She knew her warriors were home with their families, lying with their wives, holding their babies and telling tales of their adventures to wide eyed youngsters. She almost smiled as she thought of Kwal'kek, surrounded by the generations of his family telling his new stories, but her heart was too heavy, pulling down the corners of her mouth. Her warriors may have come home, but that joyful thought only served to remind her that her time with them was drawing to an end. There was no way to predict what lay ahead for her. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> She was up, dressed in her old grasslands dress, the shift they had provided to her folded and forgotten in the anonymous cubical. She stood waiting in the silent courtyard, in the darkness before sunrise, eager to be away from this place, wanting nothing more than to be moving again. She stood in a quiet corner as the community began to wake up. Workers, shuffling and yawning, walked out, blinking at the sky and then headed off to start their duties. The murmured greetings and routine wishes for a 'productive day' and 'may the goddess watch over you' sounded loud in the quiet morning air. A pair of thick bodied old women paused to look at the sky. "My bones tell me it will rain today." "The rains seem to come later every year." "Perhaps the goddess held back her blessings until our warriors returned home." "It is as the goddess wills." Aylanna stared up at the leaden sky, wondering about the women's words. Not a day in the last week had passed without some rain. She started at the familiar sound of Kwal'kek's loud voice echoing inside the barn and hurried forward. She paused, watching as the workers rolled a highly decorated wagon. It was decorated with black with scrolling designs, the spokes of the wheels gleamed like rods of solid gold. A team of six prancing stallions were quickly harnessed. Kwal'kek looked at her expectantly, "The regiment awaits in the village," and he held out his hand to help her climb up. A rider rode beside the lead stallions, kicking his horse into a trot. The wagon lurched and began to roll along quickly. Aylanna clutched at the boxes and bales in the wagon to keep her balance. Gone were the tents and supplies necessary for a regiment on campaign. All that was left was the Ramaldi treasure, the boxes of pottery taken from the demon ruins and things looted from the ransacked Ramaldi countryside. On one side, wrapped in oiled skins was the long shape of the demon sword of her father. Pushing a box to one side, she made a marginally comfortable place to sit on a bale of skins and textiles. The regiment was mounted and fell into a double column formation, half in front and the other half behind. It was several miles before Aylanna noticed that Xin'sha was not in her usual place trailing close behind. A sharp pang of sadness shot through her as she realized she was leaving another friend behind. The road was smooth and the wagon rolled along with few bumps. Tired from her sleepless night, Aylanna curled up on the skins letting the rhythm of the wheels and the trotting hooves lull her into a stupor. Her body felt heavy, boneless and as she felt her spirit slipping lose she did not fight it, seeking the freedom and weightlessness. She looked down briefly at her form, tiny and empty, and then with a rush of wild exhilaration took flight. Turning back, she flew faster than the wings of swifts, rushing back, seeking something, something left behind. She found Xin'sha galloping along a fence, whinnying in frantic panicked cries and she would have laughed in triumph if she had lungs and lips. Joining with the little mare, she urged her back; her thoughts infused with joy and determination, and then turned her toward the gate and with a wild surge of speed, goaded her up and over. Xin'sha's hooves banged hard against the top bar, and she stumbled as she landed but then she was flying down the road. Well aware that her time was limited, Aylanna freed herself and flew ahead of the galloping mare. As she slipped back inside her body, the exultation mixed with the sickness. She fought to keep control of her stomach, grateful that she had not eaten yet that day. Her heart was racing with excitement. Deliberately leaving her body and controlling it was wildly exciting and the temptation to fly again was a siren's call. Firmly she shook her head, to travel outside of herself too often or too long was to risk losing her way and her life. As she shook her head she reeled and swallowed hard as salty liquid flooded her mouth and she fought down a second wave of nausea. It was an hour later when the rapid beat of hooves heralded Xin'sha's approach. She was sweat streaked and blowing hard as she charged through the ranks of the regiment, her high ringing whinny rising up as she sought out Aylanna. Several of the warriors exclaimed in surprise and then laughed and yelled a greeting at the little red mare that had become such a familiar mascot for the regiment. Aylanna stood, swaying dangerously, and reached for the mare, trying to touch her soft nose, laughing with giddy excitement. A strong hand reached out and gripped her arm, pushing her back. Jhardron's voice was sharp, "Ha'akh, sit before you fall. The wagon moves quickly and the stones are hard." He called sharply ahead, "Halt!" Soon all was still, Aylanna still seated, an irrepressible smile on her face until Jhardron spoke again, "The mare will remain at the Twisted Dagger horse pastures." He gestured toward a first year warrior, "Take her back." Aylanna's smile vanished and her eyes narrowed, "She will only follow again. Her destiny is tangled with mine. You have said it yourself, we are bonded and she will not be parted from me." She slipped down from the wagon and wrapped her arms around the little red mare's neck, burying her face in the warm sweat soaked hide. The voice of the Twisted Dagger head of house, Jha'hamatla, was soft and penetrating, "Nephew, you spoke of the destiny of this demon ha'akh, how she brought luck and guidance to you in the northern lands. There is room in the stables of our enclave near the city for this little mare." Aylanna lifted her face and gazed up at the aged face of the Khan Lann Twisted Dagger, her voice low and hoarse, not her own, "Yes, you know. You can tell. She must come too." The aged leader stared down at her for some seconds and then looked at Jhardron, "A strange creature, this one," and reined his stallion around; calling to the regiment, "Form up." Xin'sha fell into her familiar place, trotting along behind the wagon. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The words of the old women this morning proved too true as the intermittent drizzle gradually changed to a steady downpour by afternoon, falling straight down in a relentless pounding roar that showed no signs of waning. Aylanna huddled in a sodden ball, shivering, her arms wrapped around her knees. The air was not particularly cold, but the rate that the wagon moved made the air move across her skin and chilled her. Not even the wool of her northern dress did much to warm her. It was past sunset when the regiment turned up a side road. Instead of a camp, there was a large roofed open walled building. The team pulled the wagon in under the shelter and Aylanna climbed down, stiff and cold. Again, there was a neat pile of dry firewood and she stood close, rubbing her arms as a warrior quickly built a large roaring fire. The smoke rose up and through an ingeniously designed chimney that kept the constant rain out. An older woman trundled up out of the rain, wheeling a cart laden with covered cooking pots. She greeted Kwal'kek respectfully, "Your meal, sir. Just leave the bowls and pots here; I will fetch them when I replenish the fire wood." The food was plentiful, hot and filling, the same mix of steamed grains, vegetables and meats that made up the daily meal of Bak Tai. Aylanna ate several bowls, relishing the warmth they brought to her belly, and savoring the old familiar flavors. As she helped gather the empty dishes at the end of the meal, she asked Kwal'kek, "Is it going to keep raining like this?" She peered out of the shelter at the relentless deluge. Kwal'kek cleared his throat, warming up for a lesson, "It is said that the goddess weeps in the winter, her tears falling like the falls of the Mother River as it throws itself off the edge of the world. It is said she weeps because she misses her lover, Jha'Mak'Tah. She will weep until hope springs anew with the beginning of a new year. Then she will go forth to search for him once again." Aylanna listened carefully, "Where did he go, Jha'Mak'Tah?" Kwal'kek shrugged, waving at the sky, "Where all warriors go, seeking worthy foes to vanquish to gain honor and glory." Aylanna looked dubiously out at the oppressive downpour, "Well he ought to know enough to come in out of the rain." Kwal'kek looked mildly shocked, "It is not wise to speak lightly of the gods." That night, when Aylanna lay with her warriors, they did not take her away from the warmth of the fire. Instead, she found herself sharing in open sight of all the regiment and the awareness of all those eyes on her seemed to lend impetus to her passion. She could see herself reflected in their dark eyes, her white skin glowing in the flickering firelight. She sensed the heat rising in their blood as her cries to the goddess rose up with the wood smoke. In many ways, it felt like she was sharing her blessings with all of them. Before all awareness vanished, she met Jhardron's eyes for a single instant and without thought reached a trembling hand toward him, but then the magic pulled her under, taking control of her mind and body. When she regained her senses, she felt a damp cloth washing her body and she stared up at the faces of the warriors as they bathed her, repeating the rituals of cleansing that marked the ending of sharing. Aylanna could still sense the swirling lust in the hearts of the warriors that had observed the sharing and she found herself looking toward them longingly, the compulsion to be with them one last time rising up in her. She rose on shaky legs, basking in the warmth of the fire, reluctant to put on her damp dress. Her eyes met Jhardron's again and she stared at him provocatively, but he turned and spoke to the older Khan. The moment passed and she drew the clammy wet dress over her head, remembering her duty, her place. The next morning, Kwal'kek handed her a heavy cloak of oiled skin with a hood to shed the endless rain. The rate of movement was fast, the team trotting at a brisk pace. The country side rolled by, hidden by the sheets of falling water, straight stone roads bordered with fences and hedgerows. Identical white stone buildings huddled in predictable squares. Even the people they passed began to look the same, most wearing heavy cloaks to shed the rain. The covered campsites were all the same. Yet, Aylanna was keenly aware of the distance traveled, the passage of time. Aylanna was working, adding wood to the fire, helping serve the nightly meal to the warriors when Jhardron called her to come and listen. As usual he was seated with the older Khan and he spoke to her formally, "Ha'akh, in two days we will arrive at the court of the Aga Khan, supreme leader of all the Bak Royal Houses. You will be presented. You must know how to conduct yourself in the presence of the Aga Khan." Aylanna's grey eyes flashed up to his face, and he held his hand up warningly. "A lowly ha'akh would never look upon the face of the Khan." Instantly, she dropped her eyes, her face burning with embarrassment and as her mouth opened to plead that she did not know, his voice continued, "And a lowly ha'akh must keep her words and opinions to herself. The less you speak the better. When you are presented to the Khan you will be brought forward and you will prostrate yourself, your body flat on the floor, your forehead pressed down in obeisance until you are summoned forward or sent away." Staring down at his feet, Aylanna swallowed and nodded. The older Khan spoke softly to Jhardron, "It is difficult to predict how he will react to your tributes. His condition continues to deteriorate. He is afflicted with fits of rage and madness. Your father's communications say that the court seers whisper that he is cursed." While Jhardron did not respond, Aylanna could sense the conflict within his heart, he continued his instructions to her, "If he chooses to claim you as part of the treasure, you will stay there in court. You will be instructed as to your duties." Aylanna could not help the words, "And if he does not?" The older Khan spoke up again, "Then you will be taken to the Twisted Dagger enclave in the city. I will decide your fate then." Aylanna's eyes flashed up to his face, a pleading look in her eyes and then she pressed her lips together and took a deep shuddering breath. Softly she spoke the words. "I am Aylanna ha'akh Bak Tai Twisted Dagger. I hear and I obey." Her voice was strangled, "But, sir, if he chooses to keep me, will I still be Twisted Dagger?" "If he claims you, you will become property of House Broken Spear and will wear their mark." At Aylanna's stricken look, his voice softened, "But you will always carry the mark of Twisted Dagger on your arm as well, and as such your actions will always reflect on our house. Do you understand the gravity of that?" Somehow, she knew that there was no question that once she was presented to the Aga Khan, her destiny was going to change. She felt it like a brooding storm on the horizon. But try as she might, she could not foresee the outcome. It felt like her heart was breaking, "Yes, my Khan, I understand." As she lay beside the fire, as each of her five warriors took his turn with her, her eyes were locked on both Khans as they sat watching, her mind somehow separate from her body. She was only partially aware of the soft swelling crescendo of her passion. Each time the ecstasy would scorch through her, she would hear her cries like it was the voice of another calling out. Already the future was in upheaval. The last night they stayed in what Kwal'kek called an inn, a large building beside the main road with a cluster of smaller buildings surrounding it. It was past sunset, and the low clouds and relentless downpour banished the twilight. Jhardron gripped her arm and hurried her directly into a big empty room, "The regiment will be sleep here after they finish their meal. I do not want you eating in the common room. Your meal will be brought to you here." Aylanna looked around the room; it was dimly lit with shutters over openings. She could hear the rain beating on the roof over her head and people moving about, muffled conversations and laughter. She sat down on the floor to wait. The regiment spread their bed rolls on the floor. It was crowded but warm and dry, a pleasant change from the incessant rain and chill. Jhardron and the older Khan were not in evidence. Aylanna thought that they must be staying in some other place. She was just happy that she was allowed to stay with her warriors on this last night. When she gave herself to her allotted five warriors, the shared excitement seemed to fill the room, intoxicating her. She felt herself open to all of them. She could reach out and touch those closest to her, pulling them toward her, feeling the heat in their spirits. She could feel the magic building, filled with power and portent she crawled from one group of warriors to another, touching them, urging them to mount her, hungering for their touch, the heat of their entry. She wanted them all and to her delight, none moved to stop her. Each warrior seemed caught up in her spell, giving her his passion, his essence, and receiving her blessing and her love. Each time the magic began to subside, each time she felt the madness wane she would reach for another, pleading for more, demanding their offerings. One after another, she lay with all of them, and still yearned for more. Finally, she felt a strong hand shaking her, a voice calling to her and she opened fogged eyes and looked upon the face of Jhardron. His words seemed to come from far away, but she could not understand his words. Her voice was hoarse and low, an almost hysterical babble, "Can't you feel it? The sunrise will mark a time of change. The sun has fallen and I am one thing, its rising will mark a time of change. I do not know what lies ahead. Let me be this one thing tonight. My spirit tells me I will never be this again." She reached up and touched his face with trembling fingers, "The world is changing. I had to love them this one last time." Jhardron lifted her in his arms, carrying her away from the room of warriors, to a smaller room. Aylanna wrapped her arms around his neck and burrowed her face into his neck. Away from the crowded room her spirit seemed to calm and the sense of wild exhilaration began to fade, her body finally able to speak of its fatigue. Jhardron pried her face up and peered down at her, his expression wary but curious, "You say the world is changing. You have seen what lies ahead?" Aylanna frowned shaking her head. Her voice was weak, "No, I cannot see ahead. I see upheaval, a time of change. All is confusion. But I know one truth; I will never lie with my warriors again, not like this, not as ha'akh." The surge of rage and grief in Jhardron's spirit made her almost cry out. His arms tightened around her painfully. "And me? Will I lose you too?" Her voice was choked, "I don't know. Once I saw my path following in the footsteps of another. At the time, I was sure it was your footsteps, your destiny that I would share. But now, now nothing seems sure." Her voice broke and she pressed her face against his chest again. He kept her there with him, holding her close through the night. Neither one slept and no more words were spoken. In the morning Jhardron handed a swath of golden fabric to her, "Put it on." Aylanna's body felt stiff, sore from her night of frenzied sharing, her loins and belly ached. Her hands trembled as she let the shimmering fabric slide down over her nude body. The gold pleats hugged her form like a second skin. She carefully adjusted the one shoulder drape and stared down at her one bared breast, its creamy skin and pale tip trembling with each breath. She tightened the strings that bound it to her waist. Jhardron nodded, "A fine treasure to place before the Khan." Her voice was filled with reluctance, "My Khan, what of my old dress? Back at the Twisted Dagger House, they said they would burn it. I don't want it burned up." Jhardron frowned, "You will have little use for your old dress in the court of the Aga Khan." Aylanna flinched at his acceptance of her vision, his surety that she would be taken from him, "And my other belongings, my comb, my mirror," her hand went to her necklace of beads and offerings, the emblem of the Twisted Dagger on the gold disk displayed proudly in the center, "my necklace?" Jhardron frowned again, "A ha'akh technically belongs to the house she serves and her belongings are property of that house." At her alarmed expression, he smiled, "But traditionally the gifts given to the ha'akh as rewards of her service are hers to do with as she wishes. I will have Kwal'kek find a bag for you to keep your treasures in." He reached up and touched the pendant on her necklace, the reminder of the first time they had lain together, "Your necklace is yours, the only true belonging of a ha'akh and all females that serve the goddess. All ha'akhs and courtesans wear them, their length and richness are a reflection their status. It is the one thing no one can take from you." He looked thoughtful, "Where is the gem that fell from the purse of the mummy?" Demon Child Ch. 16 Aylanna reached into a pocket of her old dress and pulled out the purse. Carefully she unwrapped the delicate links of the gold chain with its strange milky stone, trapped within matching golden filigree. Jhardron held it up and stared into its depths, the subtle glints of the rainbow glimmered in the morning light, "This is a rare treasure, one that may inspire envy or greed. This is yours as well. You should wear it with your necklace so that no one will try to take it from you." He slipped it over her head, carefully arranging it so the palm sized gem obscured the medallion below. It felt heavy on her chest and she stared down at it, slightly nervous to have it so boldly displayed, wondering if this thing taken from the body of her father held any magic. Jhardron wrapped the heavy rain cloak around her, hiding her finery and her demon hair. "Keep yourself covered until you are told otherwise." Aylanna nodded and gathered her old dress into a bundle and followed him out to the wagon, into the rain and the uncertain future. Kwal'kek handed her a leather bag and she gratefully stuffed her dress and other belongings into it. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The last day the countryside changed. The land surrounding Bak Pan Amara was devoted to carefully groomed woodlands and meadows. Herds of strange white deer grazed placidly in the rain. Here and there, a lane would lead off the main road and, obscured by the veil of rain, Aylanna glimpsed ornate buildings surrounded by gardens. Kwal'kek pointed at one, "Ghost Rider enclave," his hand swept along the horizon, "All the major houses of the Bak have residences near the city of our mother. Twisted Dagger is located on the east road." Aylanna nodded absently, hardly heard his words. Her mind seemed crowded with foreboding. She pulled the hood of her cloak down, hiding from his lessons. Hidden under her hood, Aylanna tried to calm her mind, to turn it away from its struggle to see what lay ahead. She repeated her old mantra, 'A Bak warrior must always be in control of her heart, her mind and her body'. She reminded herself no matter what happened she carried the mark of the Twisted Dagger upon her arm and the necklace of a ha'akh upon her neck. No one could take those away from her. The rain fell relentlessly, drumming down on her head through her stiff cloak, drowning out even the sounds of the hooves of the horses on the stone road. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she did not notice the change, the slowing of the wagon, the hum of voices, until she heard a sharp shout to make way. Cautiously peeking from under her hood, she was shocked to see buildings lining the sides of the road as far as she could see ahead, onlookers crowding covered walkways, saluting the parade of warriors as they passed. Craning her neck she stared at the city. The white buildings were heavily decorated with brightly painted frescos of flowers, birds, images of horses and warriors. The city went on and on, the wagon rolling past markets, side streets that showed only more buildings and people hurrying through the rain. Aylanna stared curiously at a finely dressed woman accompanied by a servant holding what looked like a round conical device on a long stick that sheltered her from the incessant rain. The woman paused and saluted the passing warriors, her eyes bold and measuring. Aylanna noticed her neck was weighted down with heavy loops of gold and beads. Softly she repeated the strange word to herself, "courtesan". The further into the city the regiment progressed, the larger the buildings became, taller, more ornate with extensive gardens. The street became wider but the numbers of people diminished. Finally, they went through a tall gate, heavily carved with reliefs of running horses and the forms of armed warriors and Aylanna peered forward. Wide green lawns surrounded a gleaming white edifice. On either side of the wide avenue leading up to the building, brilliantly colored banners decorated with the symbols of the various houses hung down heavy and wet. The regiment rode straight for the tall building, heading directly for a dark opening in one side. As they passed through, Aylanna realized they were entering into a huge covered arena. She flinched as from somewhere, loud horns sounded, heralding their entry. Kwal'kek's words took her by surprise, "Remove the cloak. Reveal yourself." Nervously she pulled off the cloak and sat up straight. The regiment rode in a thundering circle around the oval floor of the huge echoing room and came to a stop, lined up in ranks, facing forward stiffly. The wagon was parked behind them. Jha'hamatla Khan Lann Twisted Dagger faced a tall balcony overlooking the arena and called in a loud ringing voice, "The Twisted Dagger returns to their Aga Khan, supreme ruler of the Bak. We have fulfilled our duties. We bring tribute and await his judgment." A man stood forth, "Your Khan awaits you in his chambers." There was a pause and Aylanna sensed a ripple of confusion among the warriors. She could tell this was unexpected. A line of men and women, many of them from the northern races filed out of a pair of wide doors and approached the wagon. Jhardron called for the warriors to dismount, and the man on the balcony spoke again, "Only the officers will be allowed into the chambers of the Khan." Again, there was a ripple of shock that went through the regiment. Aylanna heard at least one of the younger warriors question why their Khan refused to see them, why he treated them with such dishonor. She heard another warrior hiss at the speaker to hold his tongue. Aylanna shrank back nervously as the strangers began to unload the wagon carrying the boxes and bales back into the opening they had come from. Jhardron's face was rigidly stoic as he spoke rapidly with Jhu'kresh, "Take them to the Twisted Dagger Enclave, await my orders there." He turned to the wagon, reaching for Aylanna without any words, just taking hold of her upper arms and lifting her out and dropping her on her bare feet. As his hands touched her, she could feel the rage seething in his spirit. His words were clipped, "Follow behind me." She found herself stumbling along behind him, contending with the waves of anger she could feel surging through him as he marched through endless confusing corridors that turned and twisted in a bewildering maze. Sometimes they climbed up stairs or passed through large rooms. There seemed to be people everywhere, guards tall and heavily armed were in evidence at every turn. Repeatedly, Aylanna felt the weight of curious eyes as she passed by. More than once, she caught a furtive movement as someone moved back out of sight, hiding themselves behind tapestries or shutters. Jhardron stopped abruptly, Aylanna almost colliding into him as Jha'hamatla spoke in a stiff, formal voice, addressing a guard blocking his path, "We have been summoned to the Khan's chambers." The guard stared at them with dark enigmatic eyes, their heavily decorated spears held up blocking the way. Aylanna could feel the rage in Jhardron building to an explosion. She could see his fingers twitch in an almost involuntary movement toward the hilts of his scimitars. Again Jha'hamatla spoke, his voice pitched loud, but his words still formal, "I am Jha'hamatla Khan Lann Twisted Dagger. We have come to swear allegiance to the Aga Khan. We have been summoned to his chambers; you would be wise to admit us." This time the guard blinked, looking beyond them and Aylanna turned to see an older tall man, still strong and in his prime approaching up the hall, a serious expression on his face. He called out, "My brother, it is good to see you." She watched curiously as Jha'hamatla and the other man, she guessed Jhar'drakon, Jhardron's father embraced and vigorously pounded each other on the back in greeting. Then the new man turned to Jhardron, embracing him as well, his voice warm if somewhat more reserved, "It is good to see you, my son. I hear good things about your leadership." Jhardron nodded, his face still grim, "My father, what is the meaning of this? To have the regiment dismissed like beggars on the doorstep..." Jhar'drakon held up a warning hand, his eyes casting about. His voice was low, "This is not the time. Take some comfort in the knowledge that it is not just the Twisted Dagger who has not been welcomed. The Khan's ears have been filled with the whispers of suspicions, suspicions of an assassin's plot. He has not left his chambers in many months." His eyes met Aylanna's staring at him with open curiosity and he raised a surprised brow at her. "He will see you soon. He is curious to hear of your triumphs. He wants to hear of the Ramaldi kings death; and he has heard rumors of a demon you have tamed." His eyes stared back, boldly assessing her. "I think he will not be disappointed." Aylanna could feel her face heating, her eyes slipping away from his. It was not much longer when the wide doors were pulled back and the guard stepped to one side. The room was large, the wide ceiling held up by a double row of columns, the walls covered in hanging banners and tapestries. The room was so wide that the corners were in shadow and Aylanna could see the furtive movements of people back there. The contents of the wagon was piled in the center of the room, the Ramaldi gold spilled out and strewn across the floor. Her eyes were drawn to the figure sitting on a tall dark wooden chair. He sat ramrod straight, his eyes burning with intensity. Dressed in a warrior's loincloth and a gilded leather breastplate, he was laden in gold ornaments. Knowing he must be close in age to the vital man that was Jhardron's father, Aylanna was shocked at how much older he looked. He was skeletal thin, his head smoothly bald, and his eyes feverish. Something moved behind his chair, bent, crablike, dressed in the deepest black. Aylanna shuddered in sudden dread, something monstrous lurked there. But before she could recoil, she felt herself being propelled forward and pushed hard down onto her face atop the scattered coins and trinkets that had been the Ramaldi treasury. Her nostrils twitched at the faint scent of death that still clung to the cursed treasure and she fought the urge to scramble away from the sensation of the cool metal on her skin. His voice rasped in his throat, "The Twisted Dagger arrives late. The rains have fallen for many days." Jhar'drakon spoke, his voice calm and just slightly proud, "They were burdened with great treasures for you, my old friend." The Aga Khan's chuckle was like dry bones rattling, and Aylanna felt her hair prickle on the back of her neck, "Yes, your son proved himself a fine leader. He led his regiment to many victories and has indeed returned in triumph. Any father would be proud of such a son." There was something in his tone, or perhaps in his heart that resonated strangely to Aylanna and she fought the urge to look up at these two men. The Aga Khan spoke again, "Tell me, son of my friend, where is the head of the Ramaldi king? Why do I not see it among my tribute?" Jhardron's voice was cool and Aylanna was puzzled at how he skirted the truth, his words, "My Khan, there were many dead, decayed beyond recognition. A witness swore the king was among them but I was not going to bring you an anonymous head, making grand statements about how this one piece of rotted meat was the head of your enemy, and not another." There was a trace of madness in the Aga Khan's words, "Then how do you know that the king is dead? Your witness could have lied. The murderer of my son could yet be alive." Jhardron nodded, "That may be true, my Khan. But I am satisfied that he is dead. And if I am in error, than he is lost in the northern lands, a poor wanderer, an outcast from his lands, hated by his people and his gods. I doubt he lives but if he does, he lives with an empty heart." Aylanna wondered at Jhardron's words. They weren't exactly the truth but they weren't exactly a lie either. He seemed to be talking around the facts. A low gurgling voice muttered and then swelled, "The boy speaks the truth. The Ramaldi king died at the hand of an assassin, a betrayer's knife in his heart." There was a moment of silence and then there was a scraping sound of movement, a lurching dragging step that moved closer to where she lay. The sense of wrongness about this person, this thing made Aylanna's skin crawl and she felt herself tensing. The Khan's voice was distracted, confused for a moment, "Assassins, yes, it's fitting. But I have had my vengeance stolen from me by the hand of a betrayer. Who will pay for the life of my son?" The strangely garbled voice spoke smoothly, changing the subject, "My lord, a treasure awaits your pleasure. The Twisted Dagger traveled clear to the northern sea. They bring you many curiosities. They even have captured a living demon." The thing that was speaking was close, too close and when she felt its touch, Aylanna could not remain still. She rolled violently away, a small whimper of revulsion welling up. Her foot struck the long sword in its covering, knocking it over; rolling down off the crate it had been placed upon. It hit the floor with loud clang, and rolled free from its shroud. No longer covered with rust, it had been cleaned, polished and sharpened. It flashed in the light of the torches, drawing the eyes of all in the room. There was a mutter among the watchers in the shadows. Aylanna huddled on the far side of the pile from the strange creature, staring at it with wide frightened eyes. The man was bent, twisted, his crooked spine pulling him down in a perpetual crouch. He had a single black burning eye and his hair was patchy, growing in grotesque clumps down low on his forehead. Between the clumps were strange, light colored, bulbous growths of flesh. He wore a long black cloak that hid his arms and legs, but his body seemed as misshapen as his face. He was staring at her intently with his one eye. A dry little voice in the back of Aylanna's head wondered if all witches seemed to have only one eye; the witchdoctor who had raised her had been blind in one eye, his sightless eye white and frightening. This witch's face was hideously deformed, his second eye socket hidden behind the strange growths that covered the left side of his face. His voice was slurred, wet and hissing when he spoke softly, almost to himself, "Yes, a demon indeed. It seems quite wild." There was a second murmur and Aylanna looked up to see the Aga Khan pulling himself to stand. He seemed to sway for a moment and then moved stiffly toward her. Remembering Jhardron's words, she flattened herself to the floor. From where she lay, she could see the hilt of her father's sword lying near her face and the fingers of the Khan as he reached down and took hold of it. She found her eyes following up the hand as it lifted, her neck turning to watch, her eyes wide, mesmerized. The Aga Khan held the sword, clearly straining to hold it up and refusing to accept his weakness. He swung it experimentally and staggered, almost falling. Again, there was a swell of the sound of whispering. Several people lunged forward to catch him but it was Jhardron who took the sword from his hand. The Aga Khan shook off the hand of Jhar'drakon, clearly frustrated with his weakness. He stared down at the gold, "This gold is cursed. I want none of it. Have it sent to the temple, tell the priestess to pray for the life of my son." This time, the murmuring of the onlookers was clearly audible. Aylanna wondered if she had misunderstood. His son was dead, how can the priestesses pray for his life? Did they have magic to bring back the dead? Or had the Aga Khan slipped into madness. Then she sensed something from Jhar'drakon, Jhardron's father, a rush of fear and something else, something hidden. And at the same time a flash of rage from the twisted wizard. The Aga Khan turned and returned to his chair, almost falling into it, "I claim the ha'akh as my own. Have her taken to the women's quarters. The artifacts shall be put on display in the main dining hall. Let the heralds proclaim that the Twisted Dagger has served well and honorably. They will be rewarded for their loyalty. Now, all of you get out. Leave me." He waved his hand dismissively. One of the guards reached down and took hold of Aylanna's arm, lifting her up and dragging her away. Her eyes met Jhardron's, wide with terror and protest. He blinked, made an almost imperceptible negating shake of his head and turned away. Her legs seemed weak and she could hardly feel the floor beneath her feet. Again there was an endless maze of corridors and then she was deposited before a door. The guards here were women, huge women, dressed as warriors. The guard's words were short, "A new ha'akh." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Thank you for taking the time to read my story. For those of you new to this story, I have included many words of the Bak language. The meanings of most are easy to determine from context. A ha'akh is the lowest rank of servant to a warrior regiment. Please do me the kindness of leaving me feedback and comments. Enjoy, xantu Demon Child Ch. 17 Balla stared at Aylanna's white skin and red hair, "I know the others were trying to make fun of how you look, but if I may ask, why do you look so different?" Aylanna looked down at her pale skin and shrugged, "A demon came to the northern lands. He forced himself on my mother, a plainswoman. She said he had hair like fire and eyes like smoke, like me. They killed him. I was born. I am all that is left of him. They called me a demon and perhaps I am one." Balla stood behind Aylanna and rubbed some more scented creams into her hair, "Your hair is like fire and it has a baby's softness. Why is it so short?" The question sent Aylanna's mind spinning back to when she tried to hide her differences, to disguise her strange alien appearance. Her time with the Twisted Dagger had planted a seed of pride at her differences but here, apart from them she realized she was once again starting to feel the self loathing she had suffered throughout her childhood. Aylanna suppressed a shudder as the old name, 'Neekah', rose up in her memory. In a sudden flash of determination she decided she was not going to let that happen, let any of these strange women make her feel like anything less than them because she looked different, was different. Her voice was low and determined, "It was a mistake, one that I will never make again." Balla's voice was busy, her overactive mind already moving past her questions, "Well, it appears to be growing back." After Aylanna got out and blotted the water from her slim body with an impossibly soft cloth, Balla gave her some more scented oils to rub into her skin. "Miss says a courtesan should be pleasing to all the senses, soft to the touch, music to the ear, sweet to the nose... it's a whole long list but anyway, I like the smell of this oil, spicy and fruity both." Aylanna wrinkled her nose at the strong smelling oil, in her opinion it was far too sweet. Balla picked up the gold dress, and frowned, "Don't worry about dressing. It is permitted to walk to and from the bathing rooms unclothed. Miss encourages us to be comfortable in our skins, saying we should take pride in our beauty, to stand tall and walk proudly." Balla looked up at Aylanna's height, "And you are tall, taller than most of us, tall enough to be a guard, though you are pretty skinny, most guards are sort of big, you know what I mean, built more like a man, you are definitely not built like a man." Balla's voice trailed off. Aylanna realized that the girl was staring at her body, and looked down at her long, slender frame. Unconsciously her hands came up in a hesitant gesture to cover her nudity. Balla's eyes slipped away, "Um... anyway, we can just walk to your room. No reason to put on the... um... formal dress. With recently oiled skin, you could stain it." They met no one else in the hallway. At first Aylanna did not recognize her room. She stepped back and recounted the open archways. Balla did not seem to understand her hesitation, "You don't have to stay in here. We can go back to the commons or the courtyard, but you will need to dress if you want to go to the common room." Aylanna shook her head and stepped in; the room was dimly lit with a small flickering oil lamp. Blankets and pillows covered a raised sleeping platform. A cabinet stood in one corner and a low table with a thick cushion to sit upon. Balla opened the cabinet and pulled out a folded piece of cream colored fabric, "Here, put this on." She carefully hung the shimmering gold dress up on a hook inside the cabinet. She smoothed the fabric carefully, "It is beautiful, in many ways nicer than most of the dresses any of us have, and your necklace," her eyes looked at the large jewel around Aylanna neck, "I have never seen anything like it. Your warriors must have valued you highly." Aylanna pulled the dress over her head, turning her back so Balla could not see the tears filling her eyes. She shook her head, inhaled a sharp breath and held it for moment. When she spoke her voice was flat, emotionless, "Balla, I am tired. Could you leave me alone?" "Oh, oh, of course, I'm sorry, I should have guessed. I will come get you in the morning." Aylanna did not speak as she watched the little, talkative girl, still chirping to herself about the upcoming day, "Miss is probably going to want to spend a lot of time learning more about you, she asked me endless questions when I first got here, about all kinds of..." The girl's voice dwindled as she headed off down the hallway. Letting out a long sigh of pent up tension; again her eyes strayed around the little room. It was small, only a few paces square, but like all the rooms of the courtesan's quarters, it was sumptuously furnished. Even with the open archway leading into the passageway, Aylanna felt trapped, confined in an upholstered cage. Whoever had moved the things into her room, had closed the shutters, and she moved to open them once again. The endless sound of falling rain flooded into the room and she leaned out, inhaling the cool, clean damp air. Across the courtyard she could see lights and movement beyond the open shutters of a room on the second level, the wives quarters. Someone was there, leaning out the window, a silhouette against the brighter light behind. Aylanna thought to herself, 'another bird in a gilded cage'. For an instant she sensed that whoever it was, they were looking at her and she wondered who it was. A movement and the sound of a throat being cleared behind her made her flinch and whirl. A large female guard stood at the open archway of her room, a bag in her hand. Aylanna's eyes widened as she recognized the leather bag Kwal'kek had given her to put her few belongings into that morning. Had it been just a day? The guard's voice was curt, "This was sent." She dropped the leather bag on the floor, turned away and was gone before Aylanna could thank her. Aylanna wondered at the guard's attitude of suspicion and wondered why there were so many guards watching a mere handful women. What were they afraid of? She shrugged and opened the bag; a small pang of memory rose up as she smelled the scent of horse. Slowly she pulled her few belongings out, one by one, her well worn dress that Tollarra had helped her sew, the little yellow and green dress she had worn briefly at the gathering so long ago, the purse with the demon coins, the spinning bobbin, her mirror and comb, her old blue square of cloth she had worn as a scarf for so long and the newer silk one she had recently purchased. Each item she smoothed and fondled, thinking back to the time she had gotten it, the memories and feelings. Finally she held up the old, stained shift that Jhardron had given her that first day with the Twisted Dagger, the first day she had been a ha'akh, thinking how she had no idea then what lay ahead, how she had been both frightened and confused, how the casual gesture of him handing her this simple garment had meant so much. She held the cloth to her face, for the first time letting the tears flow freely, grieving for what she had left behind, and once again facing an uncertain future. She slept curled up on the sleeping platform, her old shift clutched in her hands, resting her cheek on its softness, finding some margin of solace in the faint, familiar scent. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna woke with the first light, looking around her unfamiliar room. Her belongings were still spread across her sleeping platform and she ran her fingertips across the blue silk scarf. Her bladder was full and she pushed herself to stand and wandered out, rubbing her eyes. The passageway was empty except for the omnipresent guards and their watchful eyes. Again Aylanna felt oppressed by the suspicion in their spirits and wondered what they thought she would do. She avoided their eyes as she hurried to the latrine. As she sat down over the strange indoor toilet, she looked at the room more carefully, taking in the extra ventilation and the small basin of continually flowing water for cleaning afterwards. Her lips twitched as she took in a slightly comic sculpture of a fat, female figure, contorting to twist around to look at her huge bottom. As she walked back towards her room, Mallinika approached from the opposite direction. The older woman smiled in greeting, "Good morning, Aylanna." Aylanna stopped and looked at the older woman; once again she was wearing a spotless, cream colored floor length shift. Her white braids were caught up in a complex knot. Swallowing down her resistance, Aylanna forced her voice to match, "Good morning." Mallinika smiled, "Thank you for that. Come along; let me walk you back to your room." As they walked side by side, the older manager of the women's quarters spoke, "You have risen early. I suspected you might. A warrior regiment wakes with the sun and a ha'akh must be ready to serve at any time. You will find we have a very different schedule here. Most, if not all, of the duties of a courtesan are performed after the sun falls. It is customary for us to sleep until the sun is high in the sky. Until you are accustomed to your new schedule, we can take advantage of this quiet time of day to talk." As they entered into Aylanna's room, Mallinika looked around critically. "I will assume you had little opportunity to straighten your room before using the latrine. But I will tell you that it is your responsibility to keep your space neat." She looked at Aylanna's wrinkled shift, "I can see you slept in your dress. It is our custom to sleep without clothing; the walls of the Khan's court are thick. It is rare that you will find yourself cold, even at midwinter, and if you do, we can issue you more blankets. It will keep your clothing cleaner and unwrinkled. Go ahead and put on a fresh dress and hang that one so the creases will fall out." As Aylanna pulled the crumpled fabric off and hung it up, Mallinika spoke softly, "Stop, let me look at you." Aylanna's hands froze, once again looking down at her body to avoid the eyes staring at her. "You have not born a child. Clearly you do not conceive easily. That will be a blessing for you." It was a statement, not a question, and Aylanna did not answer. "When was your last blood?" Aylanna frowned thoughtfully, counting on her fingers, "Nearly ten days ago. I think." "Do they come regularly?" Aylanna shrugged and nodded, "Regularly enough." She glanced up at Mallinika, "Among the Ramaldi, women were required to keep themselves away from the men of the village during that time. When I was with the warriors, they did not require me to stay apart. Is there a place here I should go when my blood time starts?" Mallinika shook her head, "There are no men here. Generally a Bak wife might offer up prayers to the goddess to grant her a child in the coming month, even visit the temple to make sacrifices and offerings. But for a courtesan the conception of a child is a complication. Generally we see the bleeding time as a blessing. Not a few of us send a prayer and a gift to the temple in thanks. You will be instructed in methods to prevent a child from being conceived and how to dislodge one from your womb." Mallinika spoke softly, "It can be very dangerous for a courtesan to carry a child to term. Any child that is born to one of us could be seen as a potential threat to any legitimate heirs to the court, even now that our Khan is ill and has not lain with a woman in many moons, any child born in the courtesan quarters could be seen as rival. Many courtesans have died of complications of pregnancy." Her voice was grim, "But as a novice, you will not need to worry about that. Go ahead and put on a fresh dress." The older woman sat down on the cushion by the table, gesturing at the bed and the tangle of blankets and belongings. "I see you received your bag. Put your things away as we talk." Aylanna began to pick up her things, fold them carefully and put them into the cabinet. When she picked up the comb, Mallinika held out her hand, "Bring that to me." Aylanna reluctantly handed the carved horn comb and she turned it over in her hands, "A fine piece of work, considering the medium. Come, sit at my feet, child, let me comb your hair as we speak." Aylanna hesitated, fighting down an urge to refuse, her eyes scanning the room. Mallinika did not repeat the request, just sat tapping her palm with the comb, her eyes assessing. Finally Aylanna ran her hand over her hair, smoothing it nervously and moved to kneel at Mallinika's feet. For several minutes the older woman did not speak as she meticulously picked out the tangles in Aylanna's curls. Finally when she did speak, her words were oblique, "It is not my intention to rule here through fear. But do not be mistaken, I do rule here. It is my duty to train the courtesans and maintain a harmonious home here for all the women, both courtesan and wife. It is not an easy task, for the wives outrank me and I must use all my wits to convince them that it is in their own best interests to cooperate. Mark my words girl, I have neither the time nor the patience to match wills with you. I do not doubt you are strong willed, but do not underestimate me. I do have the power to punish a courtesan, especially a novice new to her training." "I can order you beaten, locked away, even killed if I felt it necessary, though our Khan would question me at length if I went so far. But I have never once felt the need to resort to such extremes," Mallinika's voice was dry, "but do not think that because I disagree with such cruelty, that such things do not happen. If you offend the wrong person and they whisper your name in the ear of the Khan or his wizard, suggesting that you plot against the Khan. You could find yourself in the dungeons beneath the keep. None have returned from such a visit." Mallinika stood and walked to the open window, speaking with her back to Aylanna, "I tell you this so you will be motivated to learn caution. This is a very dangerous time at court. Our Khan is convinced that there is a conspiracy to assassinate him. His personal wizard has prophesized that he will die at the hand of a woman." "Already, four courtesans and one of the Aga Khan's own wives have been put to the question. As a warning, the last one was put on display before an assembly of all the women of the court. She had been," Mallinika paused and swallowed, "mutilated. I am not sure what her fate was after that. It would have been a mercy if she had been put to death." Mallinika stood up straight and turned looking down at Aylanna as she sat on the floor, "Child, this is a strange and dangerous place in normal times. And with the events of late, that danger has become far worse. I will do my best to teach you how to survive, but you must listen and learn quickly. Your reluctance to speak is not a bad thing. Far too many have spoken and regretted their words, but if our Khan were to ask a question of you, a refusal to speak could mean a slow and painful death." "Always think carefully. Do not share your secrets with anyone. Do not trust anyone, not even me. Here at court, all have their own agenda, first and foremost survival, closely followed by the continual jockeying for power. The power ebbs and flows through these halls like the waters of a river in flood. It is nearly impossible to keep from being sucked into the intrigues. You will be watched to see where your loyalties will lie. It goes without saying you already carry the mark of the Twisted Dagger, but that will not keep others from courting you." "Remember that any offer of friendship comes with a price. Befriend one faction and you will alienate another. At court you cannot make a friend without making an enemy, perhaps many enemies." Mallinika took a deep breath, "Enough of this talk, it is not all darkness and suspicion, we courtesans have many opportunities for joy and pleasure. Now that the warrior regiments have all returned, perhaps we will even have call to entertain once again. Come along to the common room with me. We will eat and I will ask you some questions. Hopefully you will see the wisdom in choosing to answer." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Their low table in the common room was laden with bowls and platters. Mallinika helped herself to a bowl of steamed grains and fruits. She waved a hand at the bewildering variety of foods, "Eat, your body is all angles, like a new born colt. Most men prefer a woman with more flesh on her bones, something solid to grasp and a softness to press against." Aylanna looked up at the ribald comment, her face coloring, and Mallinika chuckled, "Don't delude yourself, child. The role of a courtesan is to provide pleasure, and the gift of the goddess is one of the most powerful of our arts." As they ate, Mallinika began to ply her with questions. "Tell me about your life before you were taken as a ha'akh." Aylanna paused, staring into her bowl of food, thinking of Mallinika's own words about danger and Jhardron's warnings to keep her magic secret. She chose her words carefully. "I was always different. My mother was from a northern plains tribe. She was heavy with me when she arrived in the small Ramaldi village. She told a tale of a demon who forced himself upon her. She went to the local witch doctor and begged him to help her. I was born there and she left." "I was raised by the witch doctor, but never accepted by the people. After the witch doctor died, I lived like a wild animal on the edges of the village, a pariah. The people threw garbage at me, named me 'dirty thing'. The wild gangs of boys hunted me for sport. I was happy when the warriors came and killed them all." Mallinika listened without comment, her head tipped to one side. "And your life as a ha'akh, how was that?" For the first time since she arrived in the courtesans quarters, Aylanna smiled, "The warriors were nice, they fed me, gave me a dress, and they did not hurt me when they shared the blessings of the goddess with me." "My Khan, Jhardron, he said I learned the Bak language quickly and he used me to help him talk to the northern tribes. I felt useful, valued. It was good." A shadow came over Mallinika's face, "A word of caution, the Aga Khan is 'your' khan now. It would be unwise to refer to the Khan Bak Tai Twisted Dagger as 'your' khan. It hints at disloyalty. A poorly chosen word like that could put both you and your former khan at risk." Then she smiled, "But it is good to know that you found joy in serving your warriors. And I am pleased to hear you learn quickly. You mentioned the goddess, what do you know of her?" Aylanna paused, "Just the stories that the warriors would tell. Stories about how she could change into a white bird or mare, how she mated with Jha'Mak'Tah and was the mother of the horses and all the people. They told me stories about how the demons and the gods fought a war and broke the land." Mallinika asked her dozens of questions about things Aylanna had no knowledge of, dance, music, and history but did not seem too surprised when Aylanna had no answers, just responding that she did not know. Mallinika smiled gently, "Do not be distressed. I am sure you will be a quick learner and sometimes it is easier to teach someone who admits they know nothing rather than someone who is convinced they know a great deal. Tell me what things do you know a lot about?" Aylanna paused thinking carefully, "The witch doctor that raised me was widely renowned for his skills in treating issues of impotence, infertility, and the birth. He taught me how to gather the herbs for the medicines he made. He taught me about poisons and..." Her words were cut off abruptly as Mallinika's hand flashed out and slapped her hard. The older woman's words were an almost silent, deadly hiss, "Stop, stop now. Your life hangs on a thread. It is a death sentence to even say that word out loud in the court of the Aga Khan." Mallinika looked carefully around the room, lifting her hand and covering her lips so only Aylanna could see, mouthing silently, "Poison is an assassin's tool." Her spirit was in turmoil with absolute terror. Demon Child Ch. 17 Aylanna blinked and shrank back, "But you don't understand. He taught me how to recognize, treat, heal the victims, not..." Mallinika held up her hand, her eyes fearful, "It does not matter. You must be careful, child, very careful. Have you not heard a word I have said? I am trying to save your life." At that moment a group of chattering women came into the commons, heading for the table of food, calling formal greetings to Mallinika. They helped themselves to some food and came and sat nearby. Aylanna recognized Tindy and one of the others who had been at dinner. Tindy shot her a brief challenging look. Mallinika introduced them but the names were confusing and Aylanna's head was still swimming with the sense of fear and hardly listened. The newcomers felt tense and for some reason, hateful. Aylanna shied away from their eyes, focusing on spooning up the last of her breakfast, ignoring the fact that it had cooled and congealed into a solid lump in the bottom of her bowl. As she ate, several more women filtered in, sitting down. Balla skittered in, smiling a friendly greeting, once again quiet in the presence of the others. Soon all eleven courtesans sat, eating, speaking in soft modulated tones to one another, pointedly not speaking to Aylanna or Balla, but staring openly at the new comer. Mallinika took a deep breath, returning to her questions. The only clue to the fear still echoing inside her spirit, was her overly bright and cheerful tone, "Was there anything else you were good at or loved to do?" Aylanna looked up cautiously at the group of curious faces, "I liked to ride. The Khan Bak Tai Twisted Dagger said that no warrior in his regiment had a closer bond with their mount than I." She could hear the pride in her voice, but her words were met with a chorus of giggles. One of the other women spoke up in a bantering tone, "A ha'akh that would rather ride than be ridden." Mallinika raised her hand, "Enough." She turned to Aylanna, "A courtesan has little opportunity to ride." Again there was a burst of giggles and Mallinika gave the other women a hard look, "In fact, riding is seen as a masculine skill among the Bak. And the term 'ride' is a coarse way to refer to sexual intercourse. It is odd to hear a female say she rides, usually a female is ridden. That being said, a Bak warrior must excel at the art of horsemanship, and for the Khan of the Twisted Dagger to make such a statement was high praise indeed." Aylanna sat silent, her lips pressed together. She could feel her face heating the way it did whenever her emotions ran high and she took a deep shaky breath, silently repeating the calming words in her mind, 'a Bak warrior is in control of his body, his heart, and his mind'. She sat up straighter and forced herself to smile, "Thank you, riding is like flying, it sets your spirit free upon the wind. I pity any who have not felt such freedom." Her uncanny grey eyes stared challengingly at the smirking faces of the other women. Mallinika looked at her with a sudden respect in her eyes. Aylanna could sense a soft surge of admiration and suppressed humor from her new teacher and simultaneously a renewed wave of anger and resentment from the other courtesans. Mallinika held up her hand, "It is time for us to start." Aylanna watched as the other women moved their sitting cushions back into half circle and sat silently. Mallinika glanced at Aylanna, "We will begin with a brief review of history so that our newest novice will have some understanding of the basics, then we will move on to the names of the important family members of the various houses." Mallinika walked over to a chest and after searching for a few minutes pulled out a scroll and began to read. One of the other courtesans made a soft groan of boredom, whispering to the one next to her, "Oh goddess save us, not that old myth again." Someone hissed at her to be quiet. The story Mallinika read was a very formally worded history of the war between the gods and demons. She read in a droning monotone and try as she might, Aylanna found she had great difficulty paying close attention, even when the story described the breaking of the world and then the mating between Pan'Shash'Sha'Am and Jha'Mak'Tah and the population of the world. Her mind kept wandering, hearing Kwal'kek's voice instead of Mallinika's, remembering happier times, sitting around the camp fire, surrounded by her warriors. Mallinika moved on, reading from a new scroll about the history of Bak. It was dull and confusing, just a series of names and dates, one after another, with the courtesans repeating them in bored voices. Finally Mallinika put the scrolls away and the women stood and stretched. There was a general sense of relief and happy anticipation and Aylanna watched as each of them got out a musical instrument, small drums, graceful little stringed lyres, and wooden flutes. Clearly, they enjoyed this portion of their lessons a great deal more than the sitting and listening to Mallinika read histories. There was a general rearrangement of the cushions and soon a soft soothing melody began to fill the room. Mallinika moved to sit close to Aylanna, speaking a low voice into her ear, "They practice traditional folk songs for teaching and entertaining during meals. For now just listen. Soon I will learn where your particular skills lie and find the right instrument for you. But today, I just want you to watch them. Enjoy the music. It is a favorite part of our day, one of the few times they are truly in harmony." Balla was tapping out a complex counter rhythm on a small drum, and then began to sing. Her voice was high and crystal clear. Aylanna found herself swaying in time to music, listening to a ballad of a girl that fell in love with warrior from a house forbidden and how she pined away, never once speaking to him, choosing death over failing in her duty to her family. There was a strict formula to the songs, the cadence and tones measured and the words always about longing and duty. Mallinika clapped her hands twice and the music changed, beat superseding melody, the drums taking the lead, the tempo gaining momentum. One by one, most of the courtesans stood and joined the dance, their bodies and hands moving sensually in time to the music. The dancing caught Aylanna's imagination, the sinuous undulation of hips and arms, hands and feet moving in complex patterns. Faster and faster the drums pounded out the rhythms, the dancers whirling, their feet a blur on the floor, and their faces lit with a kind of fervor. If the music was bound by rules and structure, the spirits of the dancers soared, riding the rhythms, finding a kind of freedom of expression that appealed to Aylanna. She watched closely, her body naturally swaying to the seductive cadences, her fingers tapping out the beat silently on her leg. She noticed Mallinika watching her with an approving smile and she could not help but smile in response. Finally the beat reached a crescendo, the dancers whirling in wild gyrations and, with a crash, stopped abruptly. The dancers collapsed to the floor joining in with the good natured laughter of all involved. Mallinika's voice was approving, "Well done." She walked over and helped one of the giggling women to her feet, "Hopefully, one day soon we will be asked to dance before an audience once again. Let me go over this evening's assignments." She named six of the women, telling them to fulfill their usual duties in the wives' quarters. Turning to the two novices, Mallinika's voice was cool, emotionless, "Aylanna, I want you to fast for the rest of the day, report to the bathing room immediately after the evening meal so that you may be prepared for your formal acceptance as a member of the Khan's house." There was a stir among the women, and Aylanna sensed more than one of them experienced a wave of sympathy. Her eyes widened as she realized not all of the courtesans harbored resentment toward her. Mallinika continued, "Balla, I want you to accompany us for the ceremony. Aylanna will benefit from a familiar face." Aylanna felt a small hand slip into hers and looked down into Balla's wide sympathetic eyes. The girl was so distressed that she did not have the heart to pull her hand away. Aylanna spent the afternoon wandering the halls of her new cage, learning where the other courtesan's rooms were, glancing curiously at the wide stairway that lead up the wives' quarters, and avoiding the accusing stares of the ubiquitous guards. Most of the other women's rooms were clustered at the far end of the passageway from Mallinika's apartments, but Aylanna's room and Balla's were more centrally located. Finally she walked out into the continual rain and stood in the middle of the small courtyard, staring up at the heavy grey clouds. Soon she was drenched, her thin cotton dress clinging to her body, her curls hanging down. A small movement caught her eye and she looked up into the wide dark eyes of a woman of middle years, staring down at her from one of the balconies above. As their gazes met, the woman's lips twisted into a bitter angry sneer and she turned away, disappearing through an open archway. It was precisely after the evening meal when Mallinika summoned Aylanna to the bathing room. Mallinika was already wearing a severe black dress and had heavy lines painted around her eyes. Balla and the one Aylanna remembered as being named Meriam were both in attendance, assisting with scrubbing her from top to toe the same scented abrasive sand mixture. Mallinika spoke briskly. "You will be brought before the Aga Khan. You will prostrate yourself before him. The Khan or a delegate from House Broken Spear will speak and question you. You will not be expected to talk at length, but you will be required to respond in an affirmative manner when asked if you will be loyal to the House Broken Spear and obey the Aga Khan without question." "It is customary for you to be taken as a spoil of battle by the Khan or the one questioning you and some number of other members of the House Broken Spear. Then you will be given the mark of your new house. Balla and I will be there, but we will not be close by. You will be on your own. Answer yes to the questions, do not resist and you will survive to see another day. Do you have any questions?" Aylanna had listened silently, wordlessly shook her head and Mallinika gave her a quick look. Her brow was furrowed with concern. "Your success or failure will reflect upon us all, even upon your former regiment. Remember that. Nothing you choose to do will affect you alone." Aylanna stared back, "I understand. I am to agree and cooperate." She did little to hide the bitterness in her tone. Mallinika sent Balla to dress herself as was fitting to be presented before the Khan. They covered Aylanna in only her shift, Mallinika commenting that she would be displayed before the Khan nude so there was no need for her more ornate dress. There was a bit of a debate over how to dress her hair, Mallinika finally opting to twist it into parallel braids across her head. "We will not bother with makeup; your coloration is part of what makes you unique. It would be foolish to cover any of it." "The time draws close." She smiled teasingly as Balla rushed into the room, wearing a heavily embroidered gown, her little face elaborately painted so her large eyes appeared even larger, directing her words at the breathless girl, "And it would not bode well if we were to keep the Khan and his court waiting. The ritual of taking a new courtesan is a rare diversion. And I would expect there to be many who will be in attendance. Already there are rumors of the strange new creature the Khan has claimed from the Twisted Dagger." They were escorted through the labyrinth of corridors by four huge armed guards. At a huge door, they paused and Mallinika pulled the dress off over Aylanna's head. She frowned and smoothed back a tendril of scarlet hair that had already somehow escaped from its braid. She whispered quickly, "Do not be afraid. Follow my council and you will do fine." Aylanna felt strangely calm, "I am not afraid." Two of the guards took hold of her arms and pushed her through the door. The room beyond was cavernous and crowded with people. There was a continual hum of whispered conversations and movement as people shifted and jostled for positions. Despite her words of courage, Aylanna's heart faltered at the sea of faces that turned to stare as the crowd parted, opening an avenue into the open center of the room. There was no need to remember to lie on the floor, the guards unceremoniously shoved her down and remained standing over her. There were too many people here; the room was awash with unfamiliar emotions. In many ways the level of emotion rivaled anything she had experienced before; the chaos besieged her spirit, confusing her thoughts. Aylanna lay limp, hiding her face against the hard stone floor, struggling to find some way to shut out the clamor. At first she did not even hear the voice of a man speaking in formal words. The sounds of conversation died away, but this did nothing to ease the weight of the pent up emotions that threatened to wash her away. Then the memory of Jhardron teaching her to float, his voice soft and penetrating telling her to relax, to let go of her fear and trust the water to buoy her up, rose up and caught her, lifting her up, just as his hands had held her face above the water. And she felt herself rising over the turbulence, her thoughts calming. A voice penetrated her awareness, "...claims this woman for the House Broken Spear. She will be trained and serve as Courtesan to the Court of the Aga Khan." The guard's hands reached down and lifted her to her feet and Aylanna blinked looking around and seeing the dais before her. The Aga Khan sat on a massive, black stone throne, once again wearing the gilded leather armor of a warrior. His posture was rigid and he stared directly at her, but his eyes were dull and uncomprehending. There was a furtive movement in the shadows behind the chair and Aylanna felt that same sensation of horrified revulsion. Briefly she lost her equilibrium, her fear dragging her down and she swayed and nearly fell as the wave of swirling emotions rose up and surged against her. A face swam into her blurred vision, the lips moving, and the words sounding strange in her ears, "Do you pledge to serve the House Broken Spear, to obey the Aga Khan in all things?" Aylanna blinked and stared bewildered at this new person. He was old but he radiated strength and impatience. He frowned and demanded, "What say you woman?" Gathering her splintered senses, she spoke her voice quivering, "I pledge to serve and obey." His voice was loud, pitched to carry to all corners of the vast room, "Do you swear fealty to the House Broken Spear and loyalty to the Aga Khan above all others?" His last words, 'above all others' slashed through the last of her confusion. Slowly an icy resolve took hold of Aylanna and she stood straight, lifting her head with pride, "I swear to serve, to perform my duties to the House and its Khan. I swear to obey and protect the Aga Khan with my life. I will be a proud servant to the House Broken Spear." And then she paused, staring past the old man questioning her to the Khan sitting on his throne. "I do not speak such words lightly. Once I swear loyalty, I will never betray my pledge." "I would ask, is it possible to be loyal to two houses? For I have given my heart to the Twisted Dagger and once given I cannot take it back. I owe the Bak Tai Twisted Dagger my life and I will never betray them, even if it means that I must disobey you my Khan." There was a hiss as the watching people began to whisper rapidly to one another. The old man speaking seemed taken aback at her unexpected words. His eyes narrowed, and his voice was harsh, "A woman cannot serve two houses. It is not for you to decide where your loyalty will lie. The House Broken Spear has no use for a servant that places conditions upon her obedience!" "Wait!" The word cracked loud in the room, silencing even the sibilant whispers from the watching throng. Aylanna's eyes widened as the Aga Khan stood and almost staggered as he moved toward her. His eyes were feverish, "You said you would protect me with your life?" Aylanna resisted the urge to shrink back. There was a wild kind of mania raging through the Aga Khan, his mind aflame with fears and suspicions. Looking at him with concern, she murmured for his ears alone, "My Khan, I swear that I will never harm you. If it is within my power, I will always stand between you and danger." He reached for her, his hands burning hot on her shoulders, "If you know of a plot against my life, would you tell me?" He shook her with each word as if to wring the words from her. Gently Aylanna reached up, taking his hands, sensing the sickness raging through his body and mind. "My Khan, I swear I know nothing of a plot against you. But if I should learn of such a thing, I would tell you. I swear this." She reached out and placed her hand upon his chest, peering into his eyes. She could tell something was very wrong with him, his heart was racing, his skin felt unnaturally hot, but strangely dry. She let her spirit merge with his, soothing, calming and trying to sense some cause for his illness. His spirit was so profoundly lonely and weak. It was like he was holding himself up by his will alone. Aylanna forgot the rest of the room and stared into his eyes, communicating directly to his shattered heart that he wasn't alone, that she was here with him. Someone gripped her arm, yanking her away; the lisping wet words of the strange black garbed magician rang in her ears, "What secret words do you whisper in his ear? Do you think to cast an enchantment upon your Khan with your demon voice? Your words have already condemned you to death." At the touch Aylanna lunged away, her eyes wide with instinctive fear. But the Aga Khan held up his hand, his voice stronger and clearer than before. "Hold, do not assume to speak for me. I, the Aga Khan of the Bak, declare that I accept this woman as servant and courtesan to my court. She has sworn loyalty to me and the fact she refuses to betray her former house speaks of an integrity and honest spirit that has long been missing from my court." The magician stared at her malevolently, wiping at a string of drool that spilled from one corner of his twisted mouth with the voluminous sleeve of his robe. His lips contorted into a ghastly grin, revealing a disturbing mass of yellow misarranged teeth. He cringed and groveled subserviently, "Of course, my Khan, if you so declare, so it will be." But his single eye did not once leave the form of Aylanna and she shuddered at its touch. Dabbing again at the wetness that oozed from his mouth, he slurred, "So let the Broken Spear claim its share of the Twisted Dagger treasure." The Aga Khan stood swaying staring at her. For an instant Aylanna wondered if he heard the wizard's words, but then he nodded, his eyes going dull once again and turned, his knees almost buckling. The wizard reached quickly taking his arm, supporting and guiding him toward the throne, his voice low as he whispered into the sick leader's ear. The sounds of the court swelled, whispers and here and there the incongruous sound of stifled laughter. The old man who had questioned her stood forth once again. Aylanna could tell he was disturbed, even angry, but his words were loud and clear, "The Broken Spear claims this woman." He held up his hand and a half dozen warriors stepped forward. Aylanna's eyes widened as she recognized the khan of the Bak Tai Broken Spear, the same man that had lost the red stallion in a wager with Jhardron at the gathering so soon after she had been first taken as ha'akh. Demon Child Ch. 17 The guards pushed her down to the floor, this time on her back and the old man moved quickly to push her legs apart and knelt. His brow furrowed with concentration, and Aylanna sensed his anger had disturbed more than his spirit. The buzz from the witnesses grew louder and someone in the back laughed and quickly strangled the sound into a fit of coughing. Aylanna could tell the old head of the house Broken Spear was contending with a growing sense of dread that he would fail before this large group of onlookers and she fought down the urge to smile. Arching her back, she slowly began to move her hips in a sinuous primal dance, inching her way closer and closer to him until she was undulating against him, her eyes never leaving his face. Slowly she could feel the heat rise up in him and she nodded, letting the goddess magic warm her blood, feeling the throb of her heart in her loins. She could sense the relief in the old man's heart as he pulled aside his loincloth and thrust into her. Aylanna smiled again as she pressed back, letting the sensations sweep over her, feeling the heat and tension build in the spirit of the man mating with her, sharing his passion and returning it. This was what she knew. She could feel the eyes of the watchers, the rising tension in the room, but their presence only added to the magic and as the man spilled his offering within her, she did nothing to restrain her cry as she let the waves of panshasham surged through her. There was a low murmur as many of the onlookers chanted the word 'panshasham', acknowledging the presence of the goddess in the room. Another moved to take his place, and then another, and Aylanna opened herself to them, blessing each of their offerings, but she never once lost her sense of herself, her awareness of the room, the throng of witnesses, and the Aga Khan remained clear in her mind. Most of all she tracked the presence of the black clad monster that scuttled around the edges of the room and her consciousness. The ritual of being taken was brief, each of the handful of warriors taking her only once, the unions quick and ritualistic. Soon Aylanna found her nude form held down, pinned to the floor and her arm held out at a stiff angle by the iron hard hands of the Broken Spear Warriors. She did nothing to resist as the ruby red branding iron was lifted from a brazier of glowing coals. Her eyes were wide as the old man who had taken her first, carefully positioned the glowing tip a finger's breadth further up her arm from the Twisted Dagger mark. For an instant his eyes met hers and she nodded a small jerk of her head to show him she was ready. A small surge of admiration rose up in the old man's heart as he pressed the iron down. Not a single sound leaked from her clenched teeth as the heated metal seared into her flesh, and the stink of burning skin filling her nostrils. Several people in the crowd exclaimed and a woman's voice shrieked in a hysterical laugh. At a word from the old man, the warriors lifted Aylanna to her feet. The only indication of her ordeal was her unnatural pallor and a small stagger as she swayed unsteady on her feet. The old man reached for her, steadying her and staring close at her. His voice was low, pitched for her ears alone, "You have performed well tonight. You have courage and strength beyond any woman I have seen before. My name is Kah'Matlah head of House Broken Spear. We will speak again." He turned her to face the Aga Khan, raising his voice to address the room, "The Broken Spear has claimed this one. I present her to my Khan." But the Khan was once again seated on his throne, his fingers nervously running over his hairless scalp, the menacing figure of the wizard hovering over him and whispering in his ear. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Thank you for taking the time to read my story. Please do me the kindness of leaving me feedback and comments. I would like to thank a good friend who prefers to remain nameless for stepping in and helping me with my editing. Enjoy, xantu Demon Child Ch. 18 Chapter 18: A weapon wielded, secrets revealed. Demon Child story about an alien girl, a child conceived in violence, a child of a demon cast adrift among a warrior society. In this chapter Aylanna is called to serve the Aga Khan and uses her magic to loosen the grip of the evil wizard has upon the dying man's mind. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna's hands felt slippery with clammy sweat as she gripped the window sill of her room. The world whirled and spun around her and her stomach churned ominously. She closed her eyes to block out the pool of vomit that she had so recently spewed out the open window. For once the endless rain was a blessing. Its cool touch rinsed the tears from her face, clearing her head and washing away the evidence of her recent sickness. It was the price she had to pay for indulging in the intoxicating sense of freedom that accompanied leaving her body. She knew the dizziness and nausea were not the greatest risk. The primary danger was straying too far and never returning. Without her spirit to feed its flame, the spark of life within her body would flicker, fade and eventually die. But the alternative was worse. To remain trapped in this maze of narrow corridors and square rooms would inevitably extinguish the light of her spirit. So each night she slipped free from the chains of her mortal form and wandered. She craved the wind and the freedom of the sky but the rainclouds were an endless haze of grey and the risk of losing her way was too great, so she explored the labyrinth of the Aga Khan's court. She had learned much from her journeys. While the stone walls remained thick and unassailable, she could move with the speed of thought and pass through the cracks of the window shutters or wooden doors as easily as a puff of air. She watched the four women, the wives of the Aga Khan as they went about endless routine of their confinement. While she could see them all clearly, she could not discern the words that passed between them. When they spoke, she could see their lips move but there was no sound. In fact the only sound she could hear in the spirit form was the endless whisper of other spirits. More than once she found herself whirling about as a whispered word or the strange sensation of movement, just beyond her ability to perceive, sent a pang of warning through her. She was very aware she existed between worlds. Neither alive nor dead, she traveled between the world of the living and the mystery that lay beyond. Following in the footsteps of the patrolling guards she learned her way through the complex. Most of it stood empty. Entire wings saw only the infrequent passage of guards and the accumulation of dust and cobwebs. Tonight she had pushed further, stayed away longer; but returning was becoming increasingly difficult. Each day that passed did nothing to ease Aylanna's loathing of the confined and rigid routines of the courtesan's quarters. To be confined endlessly indoors after a lifetime under the open sky was misery. She could feel the very walls and strangely angled corners of the rooms pressing in upon her. She found the interminable repetition of history, protocol and etiquette lessons dull and meaningless. She was in despair over music, her voice refused to find the notes, wavering and breaking, her fellow singers wincing and making pained faces. Her fingers fumbled at the strings and holes of the instruments, her ears not able to discern one note from another. Finally Mallinika officially declared her hopeless and relegated her to sitting with a small drum, tapping out the simple rhythms of the songs. She avoided talking or playing games with the other courtesans, they were too competitive, and would frequently lie or cheat. It made her feel somehow soiled to feign ignorance of their deceitfulness. The only art that she showed any ability in was dance, but even there she found the postures and movements were strictly choreographed with small chance for any freedom of expression. If it had not been for Mallinika's eventual consent to teach her to read, Aylanna felt like she would have gone mad. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna had been sitting in the common room as far as possible from the small bevy of other courtesans as they gossiped and gambled. She had once again pulled out the scroll of the story about Pan'Shash'Sha'Am and Jha'Mak'Tah and was laboriously tracing the rows of strange marks with a finger tip, her lips moving as she recited the memorized words of the creation myth. Mallinika had caught her there and had stood with her hands on her hips, staring down in irritation. It was not the first time she had found Aylanna looking at the scrolls she used in her lessons. "Why do you persist in this foolishness? A courtesan has as much need for the skill of reading as does a horse or a songbird." Aylanna did not look up from the scroll, "You can read." The old woman's irritation sharpened her voice, her tone acid, "My title of courtesan is one of convenience. As my beauty faded, I was no longer was asked to entertain. I was assigned more and more of the teaching and managerial duties. It was decided that it would be useful to teach me to read and write." "If you are so unfortunate as to outlive your charms, then come and speak to me of learning to read." Mallinika's voice turned thoughtful, suddenly aware of her mortality, "Though I doubt I will still walk among the living." Still refusing to look up from the scroll in her lap, Aylanna's voice was stubborn, "No one requests my company." Mallinika raised a brow, "You are woefully mistaken, girl. After your performance before the court, I have had nothing but inquiries as to the progress of your training, requests to for the chance to spend time with the exotic creature and to taste the fruits of her passion." For the first time Aylanna looked up, her expression puzzled, "I don't understand." "Not only were you bold and outspoken, it was obvious you caught the attention of the Aga Khan and are a potential pathway to his ear. And it was clear you were one with the goddess. It is far more common to see tears and terror as a girl is first claimed. It is a lucky omen when a servant of the goddess blesses a warrior's offering. But do not let this information go to your head, it is not customary for a novice to be assigned duties before she is fully trained. I will not have an ignorant girl making errors, blunders that will reflect poorly upon the house she serves." Aylanna had shrugged; she had little real interest in learning to be a courtesan. The only attraction to being sent out to lay with some man who was curious about her freakish demon appearance was the opportunity to go out, go somewhere, anywhere. She had looked back down at the scroll, frowning with intense concentration, as if she stared hard enough, the confusion of lines and dots would give up their secrets. Mallinika reached down to pull the scroll from her hands, her voice strangely gentle, "Aylanna, you cannot learn to read like that." Her fingers tightened stubbornly, "I can to." She pointed a distinctive series of symbols, "That is Pan'Shash'Sha'Am," and indicating another familiar grouping, "and that is Jha'Mak'Tah. And see there it is again, and there and there." Her finger pointing out the names each place they were written down. Then she went to beginning and began to recite the lesson from the beginning, her fingertip moving from one word to the next. Then she screwed up her brow in confusion, pointing at the scroll, "But I don't know these words, they do not fit in the story. Do you read those?" Mallinika was staring at her in surprise and then she smiled, "No, you are correct. I do not read those words. They say, 'So it was told. So it is written.' It is a common phrase in the stories handed down through the generations by oral tradition and then transcribed. You will see it repeated at the end of each passage." Aylanna nodded, her expression absorbed with the lesson. She repeated the words, "So it was told. So it is written." Her finger carefully counted out the words on the scroll and then found them again and then once more. Then she looked up, her voice determined, "See, I can read." Mallinika's expression turned from surprise to amusement. For the first time this strange new woman had found something that she seemed to care about. She lifted her hands in surrender, "If you must, you may ask now and again for assistance if you find a word or phrase that you cannot decipher. Perhaps this will motivate you to pay more attention during your lessons." At Aylanna's eager smile, she held up a cautioning hand, "But do not let this strange obsession of yours interfere with your other studies." After that, not a day passed, that did not find Aylanna pursuing Mallinika with a scroll in her hand and endless curious questions on her lips. The old teacher was amazed at how quickly Aylanna grasped the concepts and was soon reading nearly every scroll in the women's quarters. To keep the girl's active mind occupied, Mallinika put her to work with a quill and ink learning to write the letters and words over and over, and assigning her tasks of transcribing some of the more tattered scrolls once she was proficient. The only thing that Mallinika regretted about allowing Aylanna to learn to read was that it seemed to only emphasize her isolation from the other courtesans. She rarely sat or spoke with any of them, ignoring their attempts to bait her about her appearance or her odd ways. She tolerated Balla as the talkative girl followed her about, prattling about the various little dramas that were played out among the courtesans and wives or rumors of the health of the Aga Khan. She would nod from time to time, hardly looking up from the reading she held in her hand. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna was in her room, sitting at the table, lit up with the glow of a half dozen small oil lamps borrowed from other rooms. Her fingers were stained with ink and her brow was creased in concentration as she meticulously reproduced each word on the clean white velum of a new scroll. A small black smear stood out on the pale skin of her forehead where she had pushed back the scarlet curls that repeatedly fell into her eyes. Mallinika was clearly upset as she swept into the room. "Put that away. And wash your face, girl." She walked up to the cabinet and pulled out Aylanna's finest dress, pressing the golden fabric into her hands. Her spirit was a confusing mix of fear and rage, "I don't know what this court is coming to. Summoning an untrained novice to attend the Aga Khan... and with no warning... Hurry up, girl, we have no time to bathe or even properly braid your hair." The old teacher stopped and stared hard at Aylanna who was looking at her in confusion, "Did you hear me, girl? You are summoned to attend the Aga Khan at once. We have no time!" Aylanna found herself blinking and moving in what felt like slow motion as Mallinika roughly pulled her shift off over her head and just as quickly slipped the golden dress down over her form. Mallinika scrubbed at the stain on her face with a rag and spit from her own mouth. Her hair was briskly combed and the older woman sighed in frustration as the tendrils resisted all attempts to smooth them down into any kind of order. As they trotted through the endless halls, her voice was breathless, "I have said this a thousand times, but I despair that you will ever take my words to heart. Think before you speak, your words will fall on more ears than just the Khan's. Be alert. Be cautious. You hold your life in your hands. I have come to hold some affection for you, girl. I would be saddened if you do not return to us." And then she was gone. The guard opened a door and pushed Aylanna through, closing the door behind her with an ominous thump. For an instant she was disoriented, the room was not large and dimly lit with only a few small oil lamps. There was a low platform hung about with sumptuous curtains and in the shadows she sensed the presence of more guards. The draperies stirred, a skeletal thin arm groped and pushed them aside and she glimpsed the face of the Aga Khan peering out at her. Instantly she threw herself down, assuming the posture of prostration that had been drilled into her first by Jhardron and lately by Mallinika. His voice was rasping and impatient, "Get up off the floor. I have no time for meaningless groveling. Come here. Let me look upon your face." Instinctively she did not stand, choosing to crawl to his bedside, and fearfully looking up at him. He lay propped up on a mound of pillows, covered in a scarlet coverlet. His legs moved restlessly under the blankets like they were not completely under his control and were trying to escape. But his eyes were alert, watchful. His voice was a hoarse whisper, "I remember you. I remember your promise." His breath was foul, like something within him was decaying. Aylanna was reminded of the smell of rotting corpses. When he licked his cracked and dry lips, his tongue appeared covered with a yellow coating. Aylanna noticed that several dishes of unfamiliar food sat cold and untouched on a table nearby. His hand was trembling with a strange palsy as he reached to touch her strange hair and without thought, she reached to take it in hers. "My Khan, you are ill." His chuckle was dry and ghastly; again like bones rattling, "I am not ill. I am dying." His hand felt hot and dry and she turned it over, gently stroking the taut skin over swollen knuckles. It was the hand of an old man. His nails were strangely ridged and pitted and once again yellowish. She peered into his eyes, seeing the yellow there as well. Her heart sank, all the signs were there. For some reason she felt a welling of sadness and she blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over her lashes. Pressing her cheek against the back of his hand, she hid her face from him but her voice trembled, "What is it my Khan would ask of me?" There was still some strength in his body, she could sense it in the way he lifted her face. "Let me look upon you. Tell me stories that take me away from this sepulcher and the vultures that circle to pick my bones once I am gone." His eyes lifted looking past her into the shadows of the room, "I know you are there. I know you are watching. I am not dead yet." There was a hint of hysteria in his voice, his eyes lighting up with rage and madness. "I am not dead yet!" He pulled himself up to sit erect, his hand pointing accusingly out into the darkness. Aylanna could not help but turn and look to see who or what was the focus of his attention, but she could see nothing. She could sense the guards there and their eternal watchfulness, but they did not react to his words. Wanting nothing more than to calm his spirit, to conserve his waning energy; Aylanna spoke quickly, her voice calm, soothing, "I have a story for you, my Khan, the tale of a demon that stalked the northern plains. Lie back, let me make you comfortable." Crawling up onto the bed, she urged him to lie back down, and arranged the pillows and coverlet. Keeping her voice soft and musical, she began the story she had told so many times, "This is a true story, a story about a demon that stood taller than the tallest warrior, a demon with hair like fire and eyes like smoke. He carried a shining steel blade, a sword as tall as a man, and when he swung it above his head, it was a whirlwind of destruction. How he came to wander alone upon the endless windswept plains of the northern grasslands is a mystery, but he was there. He was there and he stole a woman of the Grass Walker Tribe..." She held his hand as she spoke, looking into his face, and smiled as she watched him fall under the spell of the tale she was telling. She could sense his illness, a sickening pestilence that left no part of his body free from suffering. Aylanna was intensely aware of his pain, a deep constant ache of both body and spirit that once again brought tears to her eyes and made her voice hesitate and crack. Yet beneath the pain was resolve, a strength that refused to surrender and she reached for it, embracing it with her own. "Her name was Sa'amdi, a grasslands girl barely in the first year of her marriage." Again the story took hold and carried them away from the darkened room, traveling together to another place and time. Gradually, she could feel his body relax, the restless movement of his legs slowing, the lines of pain around his mouth and eyes easing. Slowly his eyes drooped and closed and when she could sense his spirit slipping into sleep, she stopped speaking. Yet when she tried to free her hand from his, he stirred and mumbled a soft protest. Aylanna froze, leaving her hand in his. She sat curled up on her hip, watching him as he slept. He lay there motionless; the only sign of life the rhythmic rasp of his breath from his open mouth. Tentatively, she let her spirit slip deeper, seeking the source of his affliction. She could sense a sluggish pulse of life, but it was besieged with corruption. Try as she might she could not discern the source of the toxin. The deeper she sought the more tangled, the more pervasive the blight. Part of her wondered how he survived and marveled at the substance of a man who could persevere in the face of such an assault to his body and mind. But, ultimately it was a horror beyond her ability to endure and she found herself recoiling, both physically and spiritually. It took all her courage to maintain her constant grasp of his hand. Aylanna had little sense of the passage of time. The room remained consistently dark. If the guards moved or changed she had no awareness of it. She flinched in surprise when a figure materialized out of the darkness and silently removed the dishes of uneaten food and replaced them with others. For an instant, their eyes met and the servant instantly looked away, but Aylanna sensed a soft surge of surprise and curiosity, but then he was gone. He awoke suddenly, wracked by a savage fit of coughing. Aylanna found herself supporting him, holding a corner of his coverlet to his lips. Each paroxysm triggered stabbing agony through his chest and Aylanna shared every moment of his suffering with him. Finally he collapsed back, his body limp and broken. Softly he whispered, "Water," and she cast about wildly with her eyes. Next to the untouched food was a tall ewer and she hurried to it, but rather than water, it held some concoction of juice and unfamiliar herbs. Suddenly suspicious she sniffed, touched a fingertip to it and brought some to her lips for a careful taste. It was cloying, heavily sweet and strongly flavored. Frustrated, she called out to the darkness, "He asks for water. Bring us water." Almost instantly the same servant that had approached before, appeared and spoke up in a subservient voice, "This beverage is the only one approved by his physicians. It contains magical herbs to neutralize..." He hesitated and glanced around nervously, finally whispering the forbidden word, "...poison." Aylanna narrowed her eyes and stared hard at the nervous man. Her voice was an angry hiss, "I care not for physicians, magic or poisons, he asks for water. Bring us water." Then she added thoughtfully, "Water is a warrior's drink." She looked at the tray of untouched delicacies and on impulse shoved it over, the bowls and serving dishes falling to the floor in a jarring clatter. "This, this is no meal for a warrior. Bring us food fit for a warrior, cold water, steamed grains, simple meat cooked over a fire with only smoke for flavor." The servant stood aghast for a moment staring at the mess and the strange looking woman that had apparently gone mad right before his eyes. He sent a panicked look around the room, as if he was seeking some avenue of escape. Finally his eyes returned to her, "But..." Demon Child Ch. 18 The rasping voice of the Khan came from the bed, "Do it." The servant's eyes widened and he bowed low, "As my Khan commands," and quickly backed from the room. The Khan stirred restlessly, "Did I sleep?" Aylanna hurried to his side, gently touching his hand and face, peering into his eyes, "Yes, my Khan, you slept." Once again she arranged his bedding so he could recline in some amount of comfort. She did not have to ask him how he was feeling. Sensing a discomfort building in the base of his spine, she carefully lifted his knees and slipped some pillows beneath them. "There, that should be better." His eyes looked surprised and nodded, "Yes, that does feel better." He voice was hoarse and musing, "You are a miracle worker. I cannot remember when I last slept." A small delegation of black clad men, led by the lurching form of the frightening wizard, swept into the room and marched up to the bedside. Aylanna instinctively reached for the Khan's hand, scooting closer to him fearfully. The repulsive wizard stared down at her and the Khan, "I am told you ask for water?" His voice slurred the words. "It is a good sign that your body asks for liquids but it would be unwise to dilute the humors of your body. Water will only weaken you further. Let us concoct a tonic to strengthen you." Aylanna stiffened; every single word that oozed from his twisted lips reeked of falsehood. Gripping the Khan's hand, she glared at the monster and growled out the words, "Water is a warrior's drink. It does not weaken them." The wizard waved his hand at her dismissively, "And my Khan, the presence of this strange savage from the northern lands is a dangerous distraction. We have spoken at length that you must not allow a female to drain your body of its vital fluids." He paused and his voice dropped turning hypnotic and persuasive, "Send her away. Send her back to the women's quarters." Aylanna felt the Khan's mind cloud and weaken, sinking beneath the spell of the wizard's words. Alarmed and angry she pushed back, pushing at the confusion fogging the Khan's resolve, willing him to resist, to see the selfish motivation behind this advice. For many minutes she huddled at his side, glaring at the monster that was trying to somehow gain control of the Khan's thinking. The Khan stirred restlessly, his voice sharp and peevish, "Rhasht, you speak of vital fluids, as if even this exotic creature would have the magic to awaken my jhambar. It has gone before me. It waits for the funeral pyre. Bring me water. Bring me water and the simple food of a warrior. I would taste the food of my youth once more before I die." The deformed wizard stood frowning like he was puzzled that the Khan had done something beyond his comprehension. He glanced at Aylanna and spoke in an obsequious manner, "Of course my Khan, water and simple food. I cannot recommend it. It may cause violent purging and even hasten the inevitable. But if you insist, of course it will be brought to you." He made a quick gesture to the group of men who had followed him into the room. "You heard your Khan, fetch him what he desires. Oversee the preparations of the meal." Aylanna flinched at the malevolence that seethed just under his words. Aylanna rolled his name around silently in her mouth, 'Rhasht'. A fitting name, sounding more like the sound a warrior made when he cleared his throat and spat in response to an evil thought or foreboding than a proper name. She stared at him with open revulsion. His spirit was as bent and tormented as his body. He was filled with carefully concealed hate, hate and an unholy enjoyment of the suffering before his eyes. He sensed the Khan's physical pain as clearly as she did and just as clearly reveled in it. Aylanna could tell he had some kind of magic. But she strongly suspected he did not sense this about her. The only emotion she could detect regarding her was the irritation one would feel for an intrusive insect. He met her eyes and looked back at her with dismissive arrogance. Carefully modulating his voice to its persuasive tones, "But the demon, my Khan, she has no place here. She will only tire you. Send her away." Again Aylanna found herself doing battle within the Khan's spirit, willing him not to fall under the spell of the wizard's words, to keep his wits about him. When the Khan frowned and shook his head, his voice clearer and stronger than it had been before; and Aylanna almost recoiled at the violent surge of anger within the frustrated wizard. She could hardly hear the words the Khan spoke, "No, she will stay here by my side. She will be a companion, a balm to ease my suffering, a guard against bleakness of my heart and, ultimately, a witness to my passing. Let no man presume to part her from me. Heed her words and her needs as if they are my own." If Aylanna had sensed anger from the wizard before, it was nothing compared to the storm of rage that erupted at the Khan's words. He could no longer hide the venom in his voice, "This is madness. Your judgment is clearly impaired. My Khan, it is not fitting, how can you rule with a whore in your bed? The court will snigger and whisper of your depravity." "I care not for the rumors of the court. And Rhasht, you tire me; your voice is like the cawing of the storm crows. Your very appearance sickens me. Go, go down to your lair in the dungeons. Work your magic, peer into the vacant eyes of your latest victim and tell me if you see a future for the likes of you in this court once I am dead." The Khan was sitting upright, his eyes blazing with temper and a vitality that Aylanna had not realized he was still capable of. His voice swelled and rang in the small room, "Go and do not darken my bedside." Rhasht seemed to swell for a moment and then shrank down again, his head lowering, once more his tone turned obsequious, "Of course, my Khan, I will go." His one eye glared at Aylanna. "Do not be seduced by the charms of a mere woman. They are nothing more than a false promise. When you tire of this whimsy, you will return to your senses. I will await your summons." But the Khan had sagged back down onto the pillows, closed his eyes against a new assault of pain and fatigue and did not respond. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The servant sent Aylanna more than one resentful glance as he cleaned shattered dishes and spilled food. She sniffed critically at the water and food he had brought. It appeared nothing more than simple steamed grains and a joint of roasted flesh. Aylanna's voice was cool, penetrating, "Did you prepare these yourself?" The servant cringed, glancing at the Khan as he lay for all appearances unconscious. But Aylanna could sense his spirit, still alert and listening to every word, "No, lady, I am not a cook. I am a simple servant, only suited for the bearing of dishes from one place to another." "And the ones that cook the meal, do they partake from the same dishes they serve to the Khan. You whispered of poison. Are there none that share his meals?" At her words the man shrank back, looking wildly about the room. He made a frightened gesture to ward off evil, whispering furiously, "Lady, you know not of what you speak. It is presumptuous to even taste the food of the Khan, to eat from the same dish, as if to think oneself an equal to the Aga Khan. The wizard has placed magical wards and incantations against poison in every corner of the palace. To even think the word or to speak it aloud is to risk the wrath of demons." At his last word Aylanna laughed out loud, a wide pealing sound of derision that held no humor. "Do not speak to me of the wrath of demons. I am a demon and I fear not the incantations of wizards. They hold no power over me." The servant's eyes bulged with terror and hastily picking up the tray, he fled the room. She poured a generous portion of clear water into a golden cup and deliberately brought it to her lips. She took a large swallow and swirled the cool fluid around in her mouth. Speaking loudly to all in the room and any others who may be listening by other means, she proclaimed, "It is difficult, if not impossible, to conceal the flavor of poison in water." Turning to Khan, she held the cup to his lips, "Water, my Khan, simple, pure water, a warriors drink." He drank a small swallow and then fretfully pushed the cup away. "Is it water, truly just water? It tastes bad, everything tastes bad." Then his hand reached for her, seizing her arm and pulling her close, "Is it poison? Have I been poisoned?" Aylanna did not resist his grip or the question, speaking softly for his ears alone, "My Khan, it is as I said, only water, simple, pure water. What you taste is the poison that already courses through your veins. It is too late. There is little I can do beyond to ease your passage." She could tell she had told him nothing he did not already know for truth. "How long?" Gently placing her palm on his chest, willing him to calm, Aylanna murmured, "My Khan, that is for the goddess to know. It could be only days or you may survive until the rains cease. I sense your strength. Your body still struggles. Your spirit is not vanquished. You have survived what would have slain a dozen common men. You have won battle after battle, but ultimately the blight will prevail. You must make your peace with this world and prepare to join Jha'Mak'Tah." "How do you know this?" Aylanna paused for a moment, debating revealing too much, and then threw caution to the winds. Keeping her voice nearly silent she breathed into his ear, "At my birth, the witchdoctor in attendance declared I had a destiny. I have been seeking that destiny all my life. Perhaps this is it, or at least part of it. I have some small amount of magic. When I touch you I can feel the poison just beneath the skin. When that..." Aylanna shuddered and cleared her throat, "...that, that, thing speaks to you, I can tell it harbors malice in its heart. My Khan, that thing you call Rhasht, it lies, it hates and it has an unholy enjoyment of the suffering of others." "So now you know my secret. Jhardron Khan Bak Tai Twisted Dagger once counseled me to be very careful who I revealed my magic to. He said that many here would either fear me or want to use me for their own purposes. It is now for you to decide which you will do. Will you condemn me or wield me as a weapon against your enemies?" The Aga Khan was staring up at her with a strange quizzical expression. "Jhardron told you to keep this secret from me?" Aylanna could not sense any anger in his heart, only a strange mixture of pride, apprehension and suppressed hope. The tones and nuances of his emotions felt oddly familiar and she looked at him, her eyes narrowing as she tried to remember where she had felt this before. Her voice was distracted, "Tell me? No, my Khan, he did not mention you specifically. He just cautioned me to keep my secrets close to my heart. He said that court is a dangerous place, filled with wolves and the vultures that feed off their prey. I could tell he did not like it here." A bitter smile creased the Khan's lips. "The boy learned his lessons well. He is a son any father would be proud of." For the briefest of instants his emotions stood out clear and unguarded and Aylanna stared at him in amazement. He stared back at her with the truth clear in his eyes, the truth and a very clear warning to not even speak this aloud. His voice was barely a whisper, "Now we each carry the secret of the other. And now it is my turn to ask, will you use this to destroy the last good thing that I have created or will you guard this most precious of things?" Still in shock she breathed back at him, her words so soft that they were almost inaudible, "He does not know." It was a statement and the Khan nodded. She could tell there was no more that could be spoken aloud. The Khan stirred restlessly, his face creasing in discomfort. Carefully she laid her hand on his chest and sensing a growing fatigue from sitting too long, adjusted the pillows, and easing him back into a slightly lower angle. She commented softly, "There, that is better." "It is. You have a gift. You ease my torment. Even your words distract me from the inevitable. Tell me more of your story." Reaching for the cup of water Aylanna took a swallow and then pressed the lip of the cup to his mouth, "My Khan, you should eat and drink a small amount first, just a swallow or two. It will strengthen you. Then I will weave a tale for you to carry with you into your dreams." The Khan nodded, frowning as he chewed and swallowed the three small bites and half a cup of water she urged upon him. Then he smiled at her, his eyes dancing with a sardonic humor. "So, my pretty demon, I have paid the price for a story." A ghost of the man he had once been, handsome and strong, shown briefly on his face. A soft pang shot through Aylanna's heart. Taking a deep breath she pushed down the sudden rush of sadness. Carefully using Jhardron's full formal title she demonstrated that his secret was hers as well, "My Khan, Jhardron Khan Bak Tai Twisted Dagger called me that sometimes too. When you say 'pretty demon,' it takes me back to the plains of the northern lands when I was first learning the language of the Bak and what it meant to be a ha'akh. There were many different regiments all camped together by the shores of a lake for a gathering. I rode on the back of horse for the first time and, with the help of another ha'akh that spoke the Ramaldi language, I told my story to my regiment khan. He said that I would bring luck to the Twisted Dagger and they were proud to have a demon for a servant. It was the first time in my life I felt like I belonged anywhere." "I can still remember the sight of all the tents and warriors spread out by the shores of the lake as we crested the hill. I had never seen so many people in one place before. The chaos of the games was bewildering. The Khan Bak Tai Twisted Dagger wagered his finest mount that the Twisted Dagger archers would win the competition. For the last round, the archery master, Harnum, he told me to touch their arrows. I did not understand then but I know now that he had believed that I would bring them luck. Perhaps I did. Both he and Klektor defeated all the other archers. The Khan won a magnificent red stallion, full of wild spirits. Because there were two victors on the field that day, the Khan awarded both his mount and the new red stallion as prizes to the each of them." "Klektor named the red stallion 'Demon'. Perhaps because it was fiery red like my hair, or because I touched the arrows, or maybe because..." Aylanna hesitated, her voice faltering as she struggled to turn her thoughts away from the memory of Klektor's death, "...or maybe because he was sorry he had yelled at me once." Aylanna looked down at the sleeping face of the Aga Khan and pulled the coverlet up over him. She curled up on the wide bed by his side and murmured, "Sleep my Khan, sleep and travel away from this place. Visit once again the fields of your youth. I will keep guard over you and your secrets." Once again he slept motionless, almost as one dead, but Aylanna could sense his spirit active and alive. She lay with him briefly but her hunger and bodily needs asserted themselves and she slipped away from his side. He stirred briefly, complaining softly in his sleep, but settled down again quickly. She ate standing by the food. The food was cold and bland but the flavors were familiar and welcome. Restless she paced the confines of the room, ignoring the watchful eyes of the guards. Determined she marched up to the nearest, a giant of a Bak warrior, "Direct me to the latrine." He blinked and frowned. Clearly it was not customary to speak or to be spoken to while on guard duty. A devilish rush of humor made Aylanna smile and poke him firmly in the chest with a sharp finger, "There must be a place for someone to relieve themselves. Even a man as elevated as the Aga Khan is still a man and has needs the same as a common warrior. Direct me to the latrine or you will soon find yourself standing guard in a puddle." For an instant she sensed a flash of anger but just as quickly she could tell this massive man was amused. His expression remained granite grim but he pointed toward the wall not far from where he stood and growled, "Behind the drape." To Aylanna's relief the room was well ventilated. A barred window looked out over the roof tops and a fresh rain washed breeze stirred her hair as she leaned out looking at the perennial rainclouds. The facilities were similar to those of the courtesan's quarters, a carved stone bench with an opening over flowing water. In one corner a large cabinet held finely woven towels, smaller washing cloths and a pile of clean tunics. Next to the open window a shallow basin filled with a constant flow of water, with more towels stacked nearby. Grateful for the opportunity, she washed her face and arms. Returning to the bedchamber of the Khan made her realize how oppressive the air of the room was. The smoke from the lamps and the stink of illness combined into a miasma that seemed to stick in the back of her throat. Turning once again to the same guard she had spoken to before she demanded, "The air of this room is foul. Are there no windows to open? The Khan would benefit from some fresh air." The guard did not respond but a voice spoke from the darkness and the serving man materializing from the shadows, "The doctors have ordered the room should remain closed. The vapors of the rainy season carry pestilence." Once again Aylanna's laughter was disdainful and humorless, "Must I remind you of my opinion of doctors? The Khan has decreed that all must heed my words as if they were his own. Open the windows. Let the cool breezes blow away this stagnant air." There was a rush of fear and resentment but the servant turned and pushed aside some heavy drapes and pulled back the shutters. Once again the windows were covered with ornate bars and looked out over the rooftops. Aylanna realized that the Khan's rooms must be among the highest in the sprawling maze of stone that made up the court. Turning around and looking at the freshly lit room she spoke with more determination, "And bring fresh bedding for the Khan and a basin of fresh water for bathing." When the servant returned to refresh the bedding, he stared at her with such a mixture of fear and open resentment that Aylanna could not help but feel an intense dislike for him. She spoke to him abruptly. "How long have you served the Khan?" He answered with an oily superiority, "I have served the court of the Khan my entire life, like my father before me and his father before him." Aylanna sensed the deception in his words, "But you have not personally served the Khan." The servant narrowed his eyes, clearly unnerved at having his falsehood caught out. His answer was unguarded and calculated to impress and frighten. "I recently had the honor of being promoted from serving in the kitchens of the wives of the Khan. My predecessor met with an unfortunate end. It seems to happen more and more commonly of late. The court of the Khan, and all who live here, is cursed. Beware, lady, you have already angered the wizard. No one who has done so has lived long." The Khan muttered and moved restlessly in his sleep and the servant looked about a bit startled, as if he had forgotten exactly where he was. Realizing he was not alone with this woman of unknown status, that the Khan laid mere steps away sent a lightning bolt of pure panic through his being. He did not cry out as he turned and hurried out of the room, but Aylanna could hear the wail of terror resonating in his heart. Chuckling mirthlessly she turned to the Khan's bed. When she touched his hand, he opened his eyes. He looked up at her, and spoke with a dry, rasping voice, "I slept again?" Demon Child Ch. 18 "Yes, my Khan, you slept through the morning." Aylanna held a cup of water to his lips, "Drink, your body cries out for water." He emptied the glass and sighed with satisfaction. "You are truly a gift from the goddess. I have not felt so rested since the rains came." He moved to the edge of the bed and gestured to her, "Help me to rise." Aylanna reached to support him and sensing his need, spoke gently, "It is a good sign that you need to relieve yourself. It shows your body still asserts itself, still battles to wash the poisons from your body. Let me support you." He ignored her offer of help, choosing only to put a hand on her shoulder to pull himself up to stand. She could tell it took a great deal of determination to lift himself to his feet but to his credit he did not make a sound as a fresh rush of pain shot through his limbs. The flesh tightened around his eyes and she could audibly hear him grit his teeth. His fingers dug into her shoulder as he steadied himself and then he turned and strode off, his gait showing none of his weakness. Aylanna followed at his heels, watching in awe and apprehension. She knew how close to failure he was and how he was not going to show his infirmity before anyone. He made it through the door to the latrine before he stopped and grabbed her shoulder again, pausing and balancing himself for a moment before moving toward the opening. Gently Aylanna moved to take his arm and when she sensed his resistance she spoke softly, "My Khan, no one is here to see your weakness. It is only me and I can feel each ache, I share your struggle. You need hide nothing from me." His voice was harsh with effort, "I hide nothing. I refuse to be defeated." But he let her take his arm and leaned against her. He sighed as he released his body's water. Aylanna took note of the dark color of his urine and resolved to urge more water between his lips. His eyes looked out the barred window opening and he sighed again. "I dreamt of riding this morning. I can't remember when I last sat on the back of a stallion. I long for the freedom of horseback." He rubbed at his face with a shaky hand, "I tire of this deathbed. Tell me demon, you speak of your magic; tell me, does your magic tell what lies beyond? Will I ride again once I have joined Jha'Mak'Tah?" Aylanna looked about nervously, "My Khan, is it safe to speak here?" He blinked and shook his head. "Nowhere is safe. But the private latrine of the Aga Khan is as close to safe as you will find here at court. His expression twitched sardonically, nodding toward the continual stream of water bubbling down into the basin, "If we speak softly, the sound of the falling water will disguise our words." "Then I will answer you. My magic tells me nothing of the path of a warrior as he goes to join Jha'Mak'Tah. I hear the warriors speak of joining him in battle and a Bak warrior never walks when he could ride. I am confident that a magnificent stallion awaits your arrival." He looked at her curiously, "Tell me of your magic. What kinds of things can you do? If I am to use you for my own ends, I must know what weapons I have to wield against my enemies." Aylanna frowned, "It is a strange thing. In many ways I am still learning what I can and cannot do. I was raised by an old witch doctor, but he refused to teach me any of his arts. He always said that I was a demon and I had to find my own demon's magic. At first I had no idea what he meant, or if it was true that I had any magic at all." Her words lurched to a stop as he swayed and fought off a wave of dizziness. Gently she urged him to sit and pulled his tunic from his ravaged body. Forcing herself to ignore the wasted muscles, she began to gently wash him, sponging him with a clean cloth she found next to the basin. She sensed how the cool water soothed the heat and burning that plagued is skin. His voice was curious, even demanding, "But you did find your magic. Tell me of that." "The first thing I learned that I could do was to speak with the horses. I would just touch them and I could hear their thoughts. A horse does not think with words. For them, it is all emotion; hunger, fear, joy. I touched the wild red horse and he stopped his struggle to escape his rider. I remember Jhardron asking me what I had done and me thinking that it had felt so easy, so natural that I thought anyone could do the same. It came as a surprise to me that they would even call it magic. When I sit upon a horse, it is like there is no boundary between me and the animal between my legs. Jhardron traded for a mare for me to ride. I named her Xin'sha. She is colored red like my hair. Jhardron said he had never seen such a bond between a horse and its rider. I loved her and I could tell she loved me. She will not be parted from me and she followed me clear to Bak Pan Amara." Her voice turned thoughtful, "I wonder where she is now." He stirred restlessly and pushed her hands away. "If we tarry too long, the guards will become concerned at my absence. It is only a matter of time until they come and check to see if I still live." Aylanna pulled a clean tunic over his head and slipped an arm under his helping him to stand. Once again when they entered his sleeping chamber, he shrugged off her helping hands, and moved stiffly to sit in a chair by the window, resuming his gaze out into the falling rain. Aylanna quickly changed the bedding on his sleeping platform and then moved to stand behind him, gently placing her hand upon his shoulder. She looked out and asked, "Does it never stop?" His voice was musing, "It can but it is rare. It is considered an omen of great portent for the clouds to part during the rainy season. It is said Panshasham thinks of her children and for the moment forgets her sadness." He reached up and touched her hand, his voice low, "Tell me more stories, stories of magic." Aylanna had a sense that more than just the guards were listening to their conversation and answered evasively, "Magic, my Khan? Let me think upon that. Perhaps I heard a story once, about a beautiful girl held captive in a magic castle, a castle where the very stones of the walls could listen and speak. Come, recline upon your bed, eat, drink and I will tell you this story." The Khan allowed her to help him to his bed. After he had consumed some sustenance, he smiled conspiratorially, "Yes, tell me your stories. Come lie, beside me, rest your head upon my pillow so that you can pour your words into my ear." Aylanna spoke loudly enough for her words to carry to any that may be listening, "I cannot remember when I first heard this story, my Khan. It is a simple village tale, a myth filled with wild imaginings." She lay down beside him, his arm encircling her shoulders, pulling her to lie upon his chest. Now that he had her close, he spoke in a voice for her ears only, "I care not for myths and simple tales. I wish to learn more about you and your powers. You said that Rhasht spoke lies. Does your magic tell you this?" Her tone matched his, "It is truth, my Khan, that the walls have ears. I can feel them listening. When we speak like this, too low for them to hear, I can feel their frustration. It is an itch on my skin, a whining in my ears. Just like I can sense the workings of the body beneath my hand and share the sensations that my patients feel, I can sense the emotions of those who are close by. Not their thoughts but emotions like fear, joy, anger and the lust in their hearts. I can clearly sense a lie as it leaves the lips, it has a... a..." Aylanna hesitated, "My Khan, there are not words to describe it, it is not a foul taste in the mouth or a stench rising up to my nostrils but it is very like that. The very words of some, some like that thing you call Rhasht, make my stomach sicken, make me want to clear my throat and spit out the evil." The Khan had turned so that his face was barely a hand's breadth away, his dark eyes boring into hers. He breathed the words, "I can see why Jhardron counseled you to keep this hidden. Such a skill, in the court of the Khan, in the court of any leader would mean the doom of his enemies. Yet, such a power alone would put its wielder in grave peril. Now we need to devise a strategy where I can wield this weapon without the awareness of others." "But my Khan, everyone lies. I find this place a quicksand of deception. No one truly speaks their mind. Even the lady Mallinika counsels me to hide my thoughts, my loyalties, to think about my words, to become like the others. It is against my nature to act like that. To pretend to be something I am not. Even your words, your devising of a strategy, that already leaves the tang of lies in my mouth." As the Khan reached to touch her face Aylanna fought to resist the urge to shy away. She could feel his anger, hidden under a thin veil of condescension and derision. His words only echoed what she could feel, "Your naivety is quite charming, pretty demon. Perhaps, someday, there will be a place in this world for honesty." His spirit hardened, turning implacable, "Someday, once we have rooted out the deception at its heart. And until then, I will hold you to your promise." Swallowing down her abhorrence, she did not speak the words that rose up, words that he was at the heart of this world. He was the Aga Khan and if he could not free himself from the web of lies that was the court of the Khan, that there was little hope for any of them. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna squirmed in the stiff new dress as the gold threads scraped and poked at her skin. Once the Aga Khan had made his decision, he had moved forward quickly, drawing from reserves of strength that seemed fed on pure rage. "I will convene court. It has been many weeks since there has been a gathering. Everyone will come, all the factions, those loyal and those who only mouth the words." He had smiled mirthlessly, "I must offer special recognition to the Twisted Dagger for their successful campaign. They brought me many valuable treasures. I will have them displayed for all to see. Once they are there, each will be required to renew their pledges of allegiance. I have a reputation for paranoia; they will see it as a manifestation of my madness." They were in the huge dining hall, the only room large enough to hold all the members of court and the various house representatives that could be summoned on such short notice. Already Aylanna could sense the growing mass of people waiting just outside the doors, waiting for the final summons into the presence of the Aga Khan. He had ordered her dressed in the finest of robes. "You will stay close, but you will not speak. Sit curled at my feet like a spoiled kitten, do not look as if you even listen or care, but if you sense falsehood in their words, then you will touch me thus." His hand gripped one of her arms suddenly, squeezing cruelly, making her wince. Rubbing at the bruise slowly growing beneath her skin, Aylanna spoke carefully, "My Khan, someone can have reservations in their allegiance and not be your enemy. Even I voiced my devotion to the Twisted Dagger when my loyalty to the Broken Spear was demanded. Other's may hold such loyalties and yet not voice them, fearing retribution. It is not fair to expect anyone to not have mixed feelings especially in such a place as the court of the Aga Khan." This time his anger was clearer and his voice sharp, "I do not have time to debate the finer points of fairness or justice. I am Aga Khan and my judgment is the law. I will question all and you will do as I say and reveal to me who lies." His grip on her arm was cruel and his eyes alight with feverish determination. His voice was tinged with tones of madness, "I have it in my grasp to bring down the winds of vengeance upon my murderers. You will not stand in my way." His gaze softened and his voice turned wheedling, almost begging, "You promised once that if you learned of a plot against me that you would tell me, now I will hold you to that promise." Gently Aylanna freed her arm again from his grasp, "And I will keep my promise, but do not use me blindly. Once a very wise man told me that a Bak warrior is trained to be in control of his body, heart and mind, and only when a warrior has learned those lessons is he trusted to hold a man's weapon in his hands. Please, my khan, do not forget that, for my powers are a weapon of great power, a sword with two edges. If it is not wielded carefully it can come back to harm the very one that tries to hold it in their hand." But the khan was already turning away from her, his mind clouding with plots and thoughts of revenge. Aylanna wondered if he heard her words at all. She sighed and lowered herself to sit at his feet. Arranging her skirts and leaning languorously against his leg, she assumed the apparently mindless sensual posture of a trained courtesan. The Aga Khan spoke rapidly to an attendant, an older man that he had been conferring with ever since he had concocted this plan, "Are they all here?" "My Khan, the apartments of the wizard Rhasht are empty and no one seems to know his whereabouts. The guards are seeking him out as I speak. I am sure he will be here soon." The man's words were quick and filled with deceit. "And one of your wives states she is still in mourning for the loss of your son and refuses to leave her apartments." As Aylanna sensed the falsehood in this man's words and she tensed and then squeezed the Khan's ankle sharply. He grunted and reflexively kicked out. He looked down at her with consternation. It was clear that he had not expected this; that this was one person he had trusted. Aylanna blinked sleepily and curled up even more sinuously, deliberately yawning with apparent boredom. For a few moments she could tell the Khan was struggling with what to do next. The very ones that he was depending upon to enforce his commands were lying to him. If he could not depend upon them, who could he trust? He stared at the man for a moment and then waved his hand impatiently, "Well, we will have to start without them. But once the wizard has been found, have him brought before me. I have some questions for him, questions for him and many others. As for my wife, I will deal with that at another time." The attendant clapped his hands and the doors of the hall were thrown open. A throng of people filed in, rapidly filling the room. Aylanna stared at the mass of people, forgetting his words to appear thoughtless, a forgotten plaything at his feet. She could see many curious eyes meeting hers. The crowd was strangely silent. She could tell many were frightened; others were unnaturally alert and watchful. It was clear that rumor of more than a reward to the Twisted Dagger was in the offering. Again Aylanna felt the weight of too many minds, too many hearts. The room may have been silent but it was a swirling chaos of carefully masked emotions. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breath, to rise up above the surging tide that threatened to pull her under. Again she visualized floating on the surface of the water, letting go of her fears. The Khan pulled himself to his feet, gazing out across the massed throng, "Let the Bak Tai Twisted Dagger stand forth before me." There was a general shifting and Aylanna's heart lurched as she caught sight of Jhardron moving up from the back of the room. He was flanked by his father to the left and Jhu'kresh on the right. Behind him was a group of warriors from the regiment. Aylanna fought the urge to smile with delight at the sight of Tim'kah and Kwal'kek standing stiffly at attention close behind. Somehow the sight of their familiar and beloved faces helped to calm her nerves more than anything else. The Khan remained standing, his posture stiff and straight, hiding his weakness. His voice was hoarse but loud, "I regret that my illness has delayed the just acknowledgement of the loyalty and bravery of the Bak Tai Twisted Dagger. They fulfilled all their duties and brought back great treasures to their Aga Khan. They fought well in the campaign against the Ramaldi betrayers. They discovered great mysteries in the demon cities to the north and they brought back the stolen Ramaldi gold. They brought great honor to their house. They bring great honor to their people. It is fitting that I hereby award dominion over all the northern plains and the northern coasts and the people that dwell there to the house of Twisted Dagger." With those words the Khan seemed to waver, hesitate and finally sat down and waving at the assembled warriors impatiently. Jhar'drakon stood forth, his words loud enough to fill the room, "To entrust the House Twisted Dagger with the governance of the great grasslands to the north is a true honor and a tribute to the achievements of our regiment and their leader Jhardron Bak Tai Twisted Dagger. Our older brothers, the marmak were born there and it is my thought that they should return..." Aylanna could tell he was just beginning, his voice warming to a long speech. But then he faltered. There was a stir in the room, a swirl of shifting bodies. A wave of fear seemed to spread through the room and yet, mysteriously, not a single person moved to stop the ominous black clad figure as he approached. In fact, the press of bodies shrank back, making way, literally pushing and shoving at one another to avoid contact with even the hem of his garment. The slurring syllables of Rhasht's words were not loud and yet they pervaded the room like a dark and menacing fog. "A fine reward indeed, the endless, empty and distant expanses of the northern lands. Perhaps too distant, it is a land beyond your grasp." The Aga Khan lurched back to his feet and ignoring the words of the wizard, pointed a trembling finger, "Wizard, your arrival is ill timed." "Ill timed, my lord? You summoned me to this gathering. Am I too early or too late? My lord, your choice of this day, this time, this place is ill timed. The portents all bode doom. Someone is going to die today. I have seen it." The wizards was slowly inching closer and closer, his voice dropping and his tones turning persuasive, hypnotic. "My lord, danger is all around us. Assassins are in this very room. Send them away. Send them all away before it is your death I foretell." The Aga Khan blinked and swayed, looking around the room uncertainly, fear and suspicion rising up in his mind, "Assassins?" Aylanna could not stop the word that leapt from her lips, "No!" She clutched frantically at the Aga Khan's leg, literally sinking her nails into his flesh as she pushed back at the magic that clouded his thinking. The Khan shook his head drunkenly and stared down at her, then turned back to the wizard, now only an arm's length away. His voice clearer and stronger than ever, "What fear does a dead man have of assassins?" Again there was a rush of rage and frustration from the wizard as his victim eluded him once again, but this time it was mixed with sudden insight. For the first time Aylanna felt the full weight of the wizards awareness. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time. His voice was a murderous hiss, "You! It is you that does this. You have bewitched him with your demon sorcery!" At that same instant Aylanna felt a wave of unreasoning fear, a crushing sensation of absolute panic and horror. It was like a physical blow, literally knocking the air from her lungs as she fell back with a choking cry. Darkness swirled at the edges of her vision as she fought to breathe. Everything seemed to be moving slowly. Yet there was a part of her that stood apart, that did not fear. A spark of anger flared as she realized this was not real, this was an illusion, yet she could not regain control of her muscles. Something flashed in the wizard's hand, a blade emerging from the depths of his cloak. Aylanna could not move or even cry out as she watched the blade move toward her. Then the hand of the Aga Khan was there, catching the blade, a red fount of blood bursting from severed veins and splattering across her face. Demon Child Ch. 19 Chapter 19: Facing the Truth Demon Child story about an alien girl, a child conceived in violence, a child of a demon cast adrift among a warrior society. In this chapter Aylanna is reunited with Jhardron and travels with him as he confronts the truth of his birthright. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> "Wherever you go, my Khan, I will follow." The words echoed and repeated through her heart, a mantra that matched the pounding of the horse hooves on the hard stone road. As soon as she had voiced the words she had known they were the truth, that she would never leave his side again. Never had she such a clear vision of her destiny. She rode behind him, her arms wrapped tightly around his body, not because she was fearful of falling but because she wanted nothing more than to be close to him. The surrounding darkness was impenetrable, the few weak glimmers of light that shown behind tight shutters did nothing to push back the black. The relentless rain seemed to swallow up the feeble sparks just as it muted and dulled the sound of their passage. Aylanna pressed her face against his back, seeking to touch his spirit, to see into his heart. But ever since that first rush of rage and grief at the death of Jhar'drakon he had been icily in control of his emotions. An almost tangible barrier had closed down around his pain. She did not push at this wall, partly because she was still exhausted from her exertions and partially because she was not sure she could push past his defenses, or if she even wanted to. She wondered at that, that he had the ability to do this, to shut her out, to only reveal himself to her on his own terms. Of all the people in her life, he was the only one that could do this. She wondered if this was why she loved him so. The rain fell, it always fell. It had become such a constant that in many ways she had forgotten it. Her elaborate gilded dress clung sodden and cold to her skin; and she was grateful for his warmth and the heat of the horse between her legs. She had no idea where they were going and did not care. She closed her eyes and let the rhythms of the words, "Wherever you go, my Khan, I will follow," blend with the surge and thrum of galloping hooves. The fatigue was there, the dull ache of her spirit having stretched too far, the dullness of senses and emotions that had been assaulted, overtaxed and ultimately drained. She knew she was at the edge of her endurance. As they rode through the darkness, the chill of the rain and the wind of their passage seemed to penetrate deeper and deeper. Aylanna huddled closer to Jhardron's back, trying to find some warmth and shelter. Her thoughts grew slower. She only dimly aware as the troop clattered into a wide torch lit courtyard and the resulting flurry of movement and noise as the buildings seemed to erupt with servants, warriors and endless other people, all crying out in grief as the news of the death of Jhar'drakon was discovered. Jhardron dismounted leaving her sitting alone, shivering and swaying with exhaustion on the back of the stallion. When strange hands reached up and pulled her down, she staggered and tried to force her icy limbs to support her. But to her shame she could no longer prevail against this weakness, this dull irresistible exhaustion that had only seemed to grow in her heart and body, and she found herself crumpling to the ground. Instantly strong arms were there catching her and Jhardron's voice was in her ear, strangely anxious and intrusive. "Ha'akh, what afflicts you?" Aylanna's heart lurched at that word, 'ha'akh'. She smiled in a kind of giddy, drunken exhilaration to hear that beloved rank once again, and strangely she mumbled in the broken, uncertain phrases that she had used so long ago when she had first learned the Bak language, "Not sick... head tired... leg cold..." But he was already not listening, his attention pulled away by a high pitched scream. Still holding her close to his chest he whirled to face the form of a woman, and once again Aylanna was assailed by the surge of hopeless rage and grief that rose up for an unguarded instant as he looked at the form of a silver haired woman who had thrown herself across the dead body of Jhar'drakon. She had pulled away the cloak that enshrouded the corpse and was wailing in heartbreak. She lifted her tear stained face and cried out to the mute and shocked faces surrounding her, "How, how did this happen?" Her eyes fell on Jhardron, "Tell me, my son, whose hand has done this thing? Who has killed your father?" Again the rage and grief thundered through the heart of the man who held her in his arms, but again just as quickly the gates were ruthlessly slammed shut. The only sign that she sensed of his struggle to maintain control was the sudden tensing in his body, the quiver in his muscles as he pulled her even tighter against his chest, somehow drawing strength from the contact of her skin against his, the weight of her body in his arms. His voice was sharp and focused, "Bring the body into the house. Lay it out as befits a warrior who is slain in battle. Summon Jhar'granda. He is the head of house now. I will report to him of the events at the court of the Aga Khan." He turned and marched in through a dark doorway, down a long hallway and into a wide room. He paused and again a shudder shook through his frame and he looked down into Aylanna's face, his voice low, for her ears only, "Little demon, I need you now more than ever. I need your magic and your loyalty." He put her down upon her feet and guided her to sit upon a chair in a corner. "Watch, listen, but do not speak unless I turn to you." And then his attention was pulled away as the entourage bearing the body burst into the room. The still form of Jhar'drakon was laid out upon a black draped table. Servants went about washing the blood from his skin and an elaborate gilded breast plate concealed the horrific wound in his torso. Inside, here in the bare face of death, the movements were slower, voices lower, words more formal. Aylanna sat and watched, her eyes wide taking in the eddying movements of the servants and others whose roles she was not so sure of. The older woman, the one who had called Jhardron son, sat motionless at the side of her husband, her head lowered now, her face concealed by her still rain wet robe but Aylanna could still keenly sense the endless throb of anguish that reverberated through her very being. Jhardron stood near her, but did not speak or touch her. He just stood looking down at her, his face blank. Another mature woman appeared at a doorway and hesitated, staring into the room as if she was not quite sure of her welcome. Her eyes were wide and strangely angry. She narrowed her eyes and marched into the room and took up a place on the far side of the body from the others. Her voice was low, tense and oddly triumphant, "Your brother will be here soon." The shrouded head of Jhardron's mother lifted briefly and the two womens eyes met. Her words were stiffly formal, "Sister wife, our husband lies dead between us. Cannot we, for once, forget our anger?" "And must I forget that you did not even have the decency to come to me yourself with this grievous news, the murder of our husband? Must I learn from the lips of a servant that my husband is dead?" The only response to her accusation was the lowering of the head of the other and Jhardron's soft words of admonition, "Let not the last words that the spirit of your husband hears be the hiss and cackle of your constant bickering." The second woman, turned and smiled in an icy snarl, "Younger brother, your words hold little authority over me." Her words were slightly arrogant, "It is my son who will become head of house." And as if her words were an incantation to summon him, a rain drenched man swept into the room. He stood for a moment, staring down at the serene form of his father's body. Then his eyes sought out Jhardron, "My brother, tell me how this has come to pass!" Jhardron stood at rigid attention, his posture reflecting his struggle for control of his emotions as he related in detail all that had occurred at the court of the Aga Khan. He repeated the words of the Aga Khan and Jhar'drakon precisely, but as the story wound round to the entry of the wizard it was as if he had not seen it, he spoke of confusion, the perception that someone or something was attacking the Aga Khan, not even mentioning the presence of the misshapen black clad form of the wizard. Aylanna stared at him, at first wondering if he was deliberately lying or if for some reason the magic had clouded his memory of the events that had transpired just hours before. Yet, there was no sense of deception, and she could not help but stand and call out, "But the wizard... it was the wizard, Rhasht, he was the one. He was the one that made them attack! Don't you remember?" And she froze, remembering his directive to listen and not speak, but it was too late. All the eyes in the room were trained on her. Jhardron frowned as if struggling to push through some barrier, "Yes, yes, the wizard was there, he was talking to... to..." Aylanna could not bear his confusion and walked up to him, staring intently into his face. "He was talking to the Aga Khan. He was telling him that there were assassins in the room, that he had seen omens of death and the Khan must stop the gathering. He was using his magic to cloud the minds of the people in the room, using fear and confusion to try and control the Khan. He had a knife..." Jhardron nodded, his eyes clearing, "Yes, I do remember that... the knife in his hand. He stabbed the Khan. Then there was fighting, the guards attacked us..." Again he hesitated, "...or did they attack the Khan?" He stared down at her, all others in the room forgotten, "You say that was magic, that the wizard did that, made all the people in the room blind to his actions?" Jhar'granda made an impatient sound, "Magic... I have little use for the superstitious prattling of a... a..." He stared at Aylanna for the first time awareness dawning in his eyes, "You are the demon, the one that my brother captured in the northern lands... the one that the Aga Khan took to his household." He turned to Jhardron, "Little brother, none of this answers my question. Who's hand took the life of our father, and tell me that they no longer draw breath." At the words, 'little brother,' Aylanna sensed again a surge of anger within Jhardron, but his words were calm. "I did not see the blow that felled him, but all that fought against the Twisted Dagger lie dead upon the floor of the grand hall of the Aga Khan, the corpse of the wizard among them. But it was not the hand that held the scimitar that holds the blame for this act. It was, as the demon says, the magic of the wizard, Rhasht. He subverted the guards of the court. Like you, I once dismissed the existence of magic in this world as wild imaginings, but I have seen things... things that have convinced me otherwise." "And the Aga Khan, what news of him?" This time Jhardron's eyes sought out Aylanna's unsure of the answer, "The Khan was stricken down, he lay wounded but I do not know if he still survives." "And you left him there, wounded, unattended? You thought to steal a courtesan from the women's quarters but you neglected to see the health of the Aga Khan?" Jhardron blinked and frowned, he rubbed a hand across his head. "There was no way to know who was enemy or friend. She was there in the room. She was a witness to what transpired. I had only seconds to decide what to do and then there were our father's dying words... I had to come back... I had to speak to you and my mother." "Dying words? Our father left a message for me?" Aylanna could sense that Jhardron's control was slipping, his eyes blazed as he suddenly shouted, "You? No, not for you!" Then he seized the arm of the grieving woman and pulled her to stand, peering down into her face. His voice was grating, filled with pain, "Is it true? Is it true that I am not Twisted Dagger? Are you not my mother? Was it all lies?" Aylanna was close enough to touch both of them, and the woman quailed under his questions, her voice weak and protesting, "Not Twisted Dagger? Did your father say that? Your father never told me where you came from; he just brought you to me in the night, telling me to raise you as if you were a child of my body, and to speak to no one about this. I assumed you were a child of some lover, some..." She hesitated, her tone just slightly bitter, "...some woman of the court. He spent so much of his time there." She cringed at the sadness in Jhardron's eyes, "But my boy, my sweet little boy, I did love you, loved you just the same as if I had carried you under my heart. And I obeyed my husband. I never once revealed this secret to anyone." "I knew... I knew he was not yours." The gloating whisper of her sister wife carried through the silent room. "And it only makes sense that he is not Twisted Dagger. Your son is outcast, fatherless, a bastard without a house to call his own." A flash of rage shot through Aylanna. She whirled and snarled, "Jhardron Khan Bak Tai Twisted Dagger was named the son of the Aga Khan by the dying words of Jhar'drakon. He is neither fatherless nor outcast. He is heir to the Aga Khan and not to be mocked or called bastard by any." Again, it was as if the room stood still. All movement ceased, all eyes staring at her, mouths open in shock. Aylanna was buffeted by the flood of emotions her words had unleashed. Shock, confusion, disbelief and rage surged and crashed up and over her. Aylanna only had eyes for Jhardron. She was intensely aware that her blurted out words of protest had done nothing to ease the crescendo of emotions that he had been struggling to control. And as she watched, as she reached out a hesitant hand to somehow touch him, reach him, he shuddered and jerked as if he had been stabbed to the heart, lurched back and then turning blindly, fled the room. Instinctively she moved to follow but a strange hand gripped her arm, the face of his brother swam into her swirling vision, his lips moving, his voice a dull booming roar in her ears. She stared at him dumbly, struggling to make sense of his words, but her overtaxed heart and mind finally failed her and she crumpled to the floor. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> It was the sound of bird song and the sense of quiet movement that first penetrated her awareness. Aylanna opened her eyes and blinked staring up at unfamiliar walls. She stretched and realized that the ornate court costume that she had worn through the night was gone. She was nude, reclining upon a soft pallet, covered with a warm blanket. As she blinked and yawned, she saw the woman Jhardron once called mother watching her with tired, sad eyes. The older woman's lips turned up briefly, her voice low and hoarse from recent tears. "Ah, little stranger, you finally wake. You have slept long." Aylanna sat up, her eyes casting around, "Where am I?" "When you fainted, I had you brought to my quarters. I was not sure of your safety elsewhere in this household, especially after your wild statements." Aylanna scrambled out of the bed, holding the blanket to cover her nakedness. Her eyes were wide and her voice shrill, "Jhardron, my Khan, he left, he left me. Where did he go? I must follow. I have to follow. I promised..." "Hush, little stranger, calm yourself. Do not fear for my son. I am confident he will return. It is the only course of duty left for him. And if there is one thing that is true about that young man, he will do as duty dictates." Aylanna felt her panic ebb as the older woman gently enfolded her into a calming embrace, holding her, rocking her, her voice low and soothing. "Now tell me, do you have a name? I know of you, the strange looking girl captured by the Twisted Dagger. A demon some say. But no one seems to know your name." And for some strange reason, Aylanna found herself calming in her embrace, letting the low murmur of her voice calm and sooth her. She took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, "Aylanna." "Lucky one? And odd name and I wonder if it will prove true for us. But come, let us find you some clothing and see to your needs. You slept as one dead for a whole day and a night. I am sure you hunger and wish to bathe." "A day and a night? That long?" Again the fear and compulsion to be with Jhardron rose up, "You said he would return, are you sure? He was so angry, so sad, his heart was broken. Where is he, where did he go?" The older woman conspiratorially put a finger beside her ear, and spoke in an innocent voice, "Where did he go? I truly have no idea." Her eyes cast about the room; warning and caution clear in her heart. "Come, Aylanna, walk with me to the bath." As they walked she spoke in a soft voice, "You may call me Magdellyn. I am..." she hesitated and choked out the word, "...was the first wife of Jhar'drakon, once head of the enclave here and once the most trusted councilor to the court of the Aga Khan." They made their way down some stairs and into a small but well lit bathing room, Magdellyn spoke softly, "My sister wife, Marta, and I do not share living quarters. This is one place where we can potentially cross paths, but she is not an early riser. We have an unspoken agreement; I bathe in the mornings to avoid conflict." Magdellyn's lips tightened, "Though, now that our husband is no longer here to maintain order, I suspect it will be only a matter of time before she begins her campaign to force me from this house." Aylanna dropped the blanket and began to wash, "Then there is only the two of you?" "There was a third, a sweet little thing. Jhar'drakon married her late in his years. Sadly she died shortly after the birth of her first baby, a girl." Magdellyn looked around furtively, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I always wondered if perhaps, maybe, Marta might have..." She shook her head, "No, she couldn't have. But still she has always been jealous, and she hated anyone that could threaten her place as the first wife and the mother of the oldest son." Magdellyn shook her head, "It was all long ago, and I had no proof beyond the gleam of satisfaction in that woman's eye..." Magdellyn paused and blinked, swaying and staring at Aylanna strangely, "I cannot imagine what has loosened my tongue so, to prattle about suspicions and imaginings to a complete stranger, but of late secrets have weighed me down and confessing to Jhardron the truth of his birth has unleashed within me a compulsion to be done with it all. I am so tired of holding my tongue." The older woman rubbed a hand across her face and turned to a cabinet. She pulled out a simple dress and handed it to Aylanna, "Or perhaps fatigue and grief have unhinged me. Come, strange one, unlikely confessor, let us return to my rooms before my nemesis appears and casts a deeper shadow upon an already dark and cursed day." Magdellyn's apartments were small and Spartan compared to the courtesan's quarters, merely a sleeping room and only slightly larger sitting room, dominated by a loom and a low couch. Magdellyn absently sat down on the stool and mechanically began to weave the shuttle back and forth. She spoke in a sad voice, "I have had little to occupy my time since my sons have grown. This loom has been my only companion for many years. I find it soothing, it has a rhythm, and I enjoy watching the patterns as they grow. You will have to forgive me if I seek out its comfort now as I wait for nightfall. For tonight they will light the funeral pyre and the spirit of my husband will be freed to travel to Jha'Mak'Tah" Aylanna moved to sit on the couch, watching with curious eyes as the older woman's hands flew almost faster than she could see, feeding threads of various colors, different shades of blues, greens and occasionally the decorative gold thread into the loom, her feet pushing at levers, pressing the new threads down and tight into the warp. There was a rhythm to it, a soft swish and thump and swish again. Demon Child Ch. 19 Magdellyn's voice was soft, "Jhardron liked to watch me weave as well. He would sit where you sit now and watch. Many years after most boys would have forgotten their mothers and turned their back on their childhoods, he would return. It is strange that the one child that was not of my belly would have stayed so close, been the one I loved best. You said his heart was broken and I cannot help but believe it was the revelation that I was not truly his mother that cut so deep, that and the fact that the brand upon his arm was a lie, and he is not who he thought he was. I wonder if this knowledge will change him, harden him? Will he love me still?" Aylanna blinked and did not answer. There was no answer for such a question. Instead she voiced again her question, "Do you know where he went?" This time Magdellyn sighed and answered softly, "The boy I knew as a son, when his emotions would run high, he would never turn to another. If he was angered or sad he would ride, just ride and ride, somehow finding solace and wisdom upon the back of a stallion. And once he had ridden far enough, he would always return. And now, even if his heart is broken, I am confident eventually he will do the same." Duty dictates he report to his next in command, and that person is Jhar'granda, his older brother and heir to this household. Duty dictates he be here to stand witness as Jhar'drakon's spirit goes to meet his god. He will fulfill his duty. I do not know if he will come to me, but he will be there to stand by the funeral pyre as the sun sets." With those words, Magdellyn fell silent, her head bowed over the loom, her hands never faltering in their whir of movement. Aylanna sat for a long time silent, pondering the deeper meanings that lay behind the older woman's words. Finally she asked, "Did you love him, your husband, Jhar'drakon?" "Love?" The older woman's brow creased with thought. "Love? Perhaps once, when I was young and I lay in his arms, but there is little time for love. He was rarely home. He campaigned with the Bak Tai for many seasons, and then he was at court most of his days and many of his nights. I respected him, he treated me fairly as was his duty, and I did my duty. It is all about duty... but love? Sweet strange child, I cannot wonder if there is room in this world for love." "Why is there so much strife in this household? What is the source of this conflict between you and Marta?" "It is complicated; Marta is not one to share anything and is fiercely loyal to and proud of her son. As oldest, Jhar'granda is the natural heir to Jhar'drakon's rank and status. And yet, it was clear from his birth that Jhardron was treated differently, held to a different, a higher standard. Jhar'drakon was stricter and far more involved in his upbringing. I always thought it had something to do with who his mother may have been. It is all clear now, but then, then when the younger son was treated differently, summoned to spend more time at court, it was seen by all as his being favored over his older brother. Then when he was awarded the leadership of the warriors, named Khan Bak Tai Twisted Dagger, Marta saw it as an insult beyond bearing." "We had never been close. She is a naturally bitter and competitive woman. Our husband increasingly did not enjoy the time he spent with her. He began to favor my company. She did not conceive again after the birth of Jhar'granda. As she languished, I gave birth to two sons and two daughters. She became increasingly jealous and soon the conflicts became so continual, so unmanageable that our husband decreed that the women's quarters be divided. Jhardron had already moved his wives to the main compound of the Twisted Dagger." Magdellyn made a sour face, her hands pausing in their continual journey back and forth on the loom, "It was that bad, that they asked to move there, far from their husband, rather than try and live in such an unhappy home. And because it was just me, Marta was granted the greater share of the space because Jhar'granda's wives continue to live here with her in her side." She turned back, her hands resuming their repetitive journey, "It is of no matter, I need little space. And now that I think of it, I think I will move to the Twisted Dagger House Proper as well. There is nothing to hold me here and I have not yet held my grandson." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> A somber dark brown dress with a matching robe with a deep hood was found for Aylanna. She stood shivering, drenched to the skin. The rain poured down seemingly heavier than ever, not pausing or relenting even for such a grievous event. She stood near the back of the press of people that stood around the pile of wood. Her eyes searching for the familiar form of Jhardron and her heart sank when she could not find him. Magdellyn stood next to Marta but neither woman looked at the other. There was no pile of belongings, not sharing out of treasured items, but one by one sons and warriors, wives and servants stood forth and spoke, most brief, some at length. Jhar'granda held forth at length, listing the exploits and accomplishments of his father, speaking in a calm reassuring voice about how the household would continue to prosper under his leadership, and that all that served in his household would continue to have a place there. Magdellyn only said the simple words, "He was a good husband and a good father." Marta stood tall and proud, her voice loud and ringing, "He was the father of my son. He took me for first wife and he valued me above all others." Her eyes cast about as if daring any to disagree with her words. And as if to answer her challenge there was a clatter of hooves as a horse crashed into the courtyard and Jhardron vaulted from its steaming back. He moved to stand next to the small group of his brothers. All eyes were on him and as Marta returned to her place next to Magdellyn he moved to stand forth. Jhar'granda grabbed at his arm, muttering something that Aylanna could not hear, but Jhardron shook off his grip, his voice loud and clear. "He was my father, too. I carry the mark of the Twisted Dagger upon my arm. I have a right to speak." He looked around the gathering, his face grim, holding up his arm for all to see. "I am Twisted Dagger. Jhar'drakon himself pressed the brand to my flesh. He took me for his son and a son of the Twisted Dagger and I will not dishonor his choice. I will respect his wishes and conduct myself as Twisted Dagger. No one and nothing can take that away from me." He turned and looked toward the shrouded figure laid out upon the waiting pyre, "He was a Twisted Dagger warrior, a good father and a loyal friend. He did his duty." He held his clenched fist to his chest, made the traditional salute and then moved back to stand in his place. A few more people moved up, repeating the same words of respect and acknowledgement and then Jhar'granda took a torch and ran it along the base of the pyre. It ignited so quickly that Aylanna guessed that oil or perhaps pitch had soaked the wet wood. Soon tall flames were licking at the shrouded form, the wet wood crackling and hissing. As the heat grew, the press of witnesses could not help but step back, shifting and finding new places as to their rank. Aylanna scooted back, her eyes drawn to the flickering flames and rising smoke and she murmured a simple wish that the spirit quickly find its way to the mythical lands of Jha'Mak'Tah. A hand gripped her arm and she looked warily into the face of Marta. The woman was smiling as if to disarm, but her eyes held nothing but calculating inquisition. "I wish to speak with you." At first Aylanna felt uncertain, unsure of this woman's intentions but she did not sense any particular animosity directed toward her. All she could detect in the woman's heart was a ruthless self serving curiosity. "What is it you wish to know?" Marta glanced about conspiratorially, "Come with me, I know a place we can speak." Aylanna looked toward the tall back of Jhardron as he stood staring at the fire, fearful of being parted from him again. "Only if it is not far." "It is not far, I cannot be gone long from the ceremony. But it will take a long while for the corpse to be burned completely, for the flames to die down. Until then I will not be needed and if I choose to be apart from my sister wife, well... it is what everyone would expect. Come..." Aylanna let herself be guided to an open doorway and found herself once again in the bathing rooms. Marta situated herself in the doorway where she could watch the proceedings and spoke quickly, "He said you were a witness. You saw what happened." It was not a question and Aylanna did not speak. She just watched. "You said that Jhar'drakon named Jhardron the son of the Aga Khan... named him heir?" Aylanna frowned and listened to more than the woman's words. As she uttered the word 'heir', Marta's spirit cried out in futile anger but at the same time the rage was mixed with a kind of greedy speculation, like somehow this information was worth something or meant something that Aylanna did not understand. Rather than answering, Aylanna posed a question of her own, "What would that mean for your son, for Jhar'granda, now that Jhardron is to be elevated to such a position of power?" The woman looked at her with sudden insight, her eyes reflecting the surge of understanding and respect in her heart. She nodded, "Yes, you see the implications. What this could mean for the Twisted Dagger, and what it can mean for Jhar'granda, the eldest brother of such a man. It is a strange thing, Jhar'granda outranks his younger brother and yet... and yet... it seems like the younger may attain things undreamed of. And if he does..." Marta paused, clearly still absorbing the potential of such an outcome, her heart thundering with possibilities, and Aylanna suspected none of her thoughts held a positive outcome for Jhardron. Clearly Marta saw him just as a means to an end, but what that end was Aylanna could not yet discern. Marta shook her head, "But this egg is far from hatching, and if it does, there is no promise that the chick will fledge. There is no question that his words were true. Looking back now at the way he treated the boy differently, teaching him the ways of the court, and keeping him there under the eye of the Aga Khan. It is all now made clear. But a dying statement made only in the presence of Twisted Dagger warriors and a strange foreign creature will do little to convince the council of the boy's birthright." Marta looked out at the tableau, "I have my son's ear. He will listen to my advice. I will suggest to him that it would do well if the boy were to stay away from court for a while until we can perhaps winnow out some more evidence of this. I will have Jhar'granda to order him to report to the house proper, to bring word of Jhar'drakon's death to his older brother, Jha'hamatla Khan Lann Twisted Dagger. Perhaps the old man will have some wisdom to share; and perhaps the old man may have more knowledge of this mystery. And whether or not, it will be a task that takes him far from here before rumor of this reaches court. And mark my words, girl, your words spoken without thought or caution are already on their way there, if they have not arrived already. It is a plum too sweet to not be passed along." The scheming old woman glanced over at Aylanna, standing hidden in shadow, "And what to do with you. Now that is a question. Magdellyn seems to have scooped you up. She seems to think she has found a friend. But I am not one to jump to such quick conclusions. I will watch and see for myself where your loyalties lie." Aylanna spoke from the shadows, "I carry the mark of two houses upon my arm. I swore myself to the Twisted Dagger before..." Marta interrupted, "Yes, yes I know. The story of your refusal to pledge unconditional loyalty to the House Broken Spear was on the tip of every tongue throughout the land. Quite a pretty show, one clearly calculated to catch the ear of the Aga Khan. Half his loyalties already lay with the Twisted Dagger, my darling deceased husband made sure of that. But now you are a fugitive, a runaway from the court. It would not bode well for this house to have you apprehended here." "Then perhaps I should leave." "Oh yes, that goes without question, but once again, what to do, where to send you? The legal thing would be to send you back. But you are the only other witness to Jhar'drakon's confession, and while your word will carry little weight, I would loathe to dispense with it until we have something better. It would be wise to keep you in reserve." A thought came to Aylanna, "Your sister wife expressed a wish to travel to the house proper. Something about seeing her grandson..." Marta laughed a low humorless sound, "How considerate of her, offering up a retreat from the battlefield. She was always the soft one, the gentle one, the weak one. Do not be fooled, she is not as gentle nor as weak as she would like us to think. She one to play her little games from the shadows but her goals are simple and short sighted. I choose to be more direct and I like to think I hold the interests of house Twisted Dagger closer to my heart. We are very different the two of us, oil and water. Our husband was very wise to build a wall down the middle of his house." The scheming woman stiffened and chuckled again, "Now that is a touching scene." Aylanna looked out past her, seeing the form of Jhardron facing Magdellyn. They were speaking and Jhardron gently reached out to touch his mother's face, perhaps to wipe away a tear or to just reassure her. Marta's voice was dry, "It seems the boy does not hold her responsible for her deception. She may still have role to play in this little drama of ours. I think that my sister wife should remain here." The people around the funeral pyre were moving, rearranging themselves and Marta stood taller, straightening her damp clothing, "Well it seems that the next step in this dance is about to unfold. Unfortunately, only family attends this little bit of the drama. I must take my leave of you. You must find some other diversion to pass your time. Jhar'granda may well attempt to exclude the boy. They were never close, and now that there is some possible question as to the boy's status he may feel the urge to assert himself. I must be nearby to catch his ear, to point out the wisdom of not burning any bridges too soon." Marta was still nodding and still speaking softly under her breath of plots and manipulations as she moved back out into the rain. Aylanna stood watching her go, thinking about the conversation. It was clear that Marta's loyalties lay solely with her son. The fact that Jhardron might become Aga Khan was only important to the scheming woman in the context that it would bring higher status and power to her son and through her son, to her. The older woman's greed for power was a palpable, insatiable hunger that seemed to drive all her thinking. Aylanna wasn't too worried about her statements of what to do with her. Somehow she knew that wherever Jhardron went, destiny would send her there as well. A couple of servants were carefully shoveling the dwindling pile of glowing coals into a smaller pile, making sure that all the remains burned away to clean ash. Aylanna approached and once more sent a wish that Jhar'drakon's spirit found its way and as if in some answer a soft swirl of cool wind blew through the courtyard and the driving rain seemed to pause and soften. Reluctant to return to the Magdellyn's cramped compartments, Aylanna turned and looked around the compound. Like all other Bak buildings, they were white, decorated with frescos of flowers, animals and people. Restless she began to circle the courtyard, looking about at the various buildings and as she passed by a wide low building that smelled of hay and horses, a sudden excited whinny made her stop in her tracks. There was no mistaking the call of the little red mare that had been her constant companion for so many months. She could not help the sudden cry of discovery that broke from her lips, "Xin'sha!" And in response to her voice there was a loud crashing thump of hooves striking wood and another even more frantic whinny. Aylanna found herself running around the building, searching for a way in and darted into the first open door she found. A long, dimly lit passageway ran the length of the building, roomy stalls along each side. Again she heard Xin'sha whinny and now the beloved head was stretching out, the little red mare's nostrils were wide, snorting in the air deeply. Aylanna was bubbling over with tears and joyous laughter as she wrapped her arms around her horse friend's neck and buried her face in the warm red mane. "Oh my friend, I cannot begin to say how happy I am to see you. I have thought of you often, wondered how you were, where you were." Just touching the mare sent a wave of comfort and calmness through her spirit. It made Aylanna realize how tense she had been, how anxious and on edge. She had been hovering about the edges of strife, listening to other people's lies, other people's pain and self serving ambitions for far too long. Here, in touch with the simpler spirit of her horse friend Aylanna found a solace and connection she had not felt since she had last shared with the warriors of the Twisted Dagger so many months ago. She slipped into the stall, sliding her hands along the mare's smooth sides, noting the changes. She was fatter, her flanks swelling with the growing foal. "You grow heavy, little mother." She let her awareness sink deeper, seeking out the little spirit the floated in warmth. She chuckled at the fuzzy sense of surprise she found, and to her delight she felt a flutter of movement under her hands as the foal kicked and turned in the womb. Softly she whispered, "Greetings, daughter horse." The stall was dry and warm, the hay piled deep in the corners and Aylanna felt no urge to return to the oppressive and cloying atmosphere of the women's quarters. Too many people wanted to tell their stories, wanted to involve her in their machinations. She sat down and giggled with giddy happiness as Xin'sha repeatedly nudged at her and nibbled at her hair and garments. When sleep began to push and pull at her mind, she did not resist its call. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> "I should have thought to look for you here." Jhardron's voice pulled her awake and she blinked and looked up at his face looking down at her from a height. "I had almost begun to wonder if they were right, that you might have run away." Aylanna yawned, "Run away? But, my Khan, this ha'akh does not crave another lesson at the hands of her Khan. Long ago she swore to him that she would never run away again. Who said I had run away?" Jhardron reached down and grasped her hand, pulling her up to stand and began to brush the hay from her garments. "It is of little matter. And perhaps it will be better if Marta continues to believe that you have slipped from her clutches. I am commanded to travel to the main Twisted Dagger holdings and present my case to my uncle Jha'hamatla and accept his judgment. My brother is wise to sidestep this particular responsibility. I am a bit of an enigma now. Either I am an outcast or I am Aga Khan and either way I am either beneath him or above him. He does not know how to proceed. It will be a long ride, pretty demon, one with few opportunities for rest. Are you prepared to leave?" A sense of serene confidence rose up, "My Khan, I came here with nothing. All I ask is that Xin'sha may be my mount." Jhardron tipped his head, staring at the mare. "We will bring a spare stallion in case she tires." Jhardron lifted an oiled cloak from a hook and wrapped it around her. "The stable master will have to find another." They left by the back entrance, riding out into the rain and darkness. As soon as they reached the road Jhardron kicked his stallion into a distance eating lope. Aylanna found herself sitting tall and proud, lifting her arms up and reveling in the sense of flight and freedom that had echoed through her dreams her entire life. Demon Child Ch. 19 They rode through the day, stopping only to pull a handful of trail rations from their saddle bags and stretch their legs for a few moments before resuming the relentless pace. They saw few people on the road. Aylanna kept her hood up over her head to hide her appearance as much as to keep warm. They kept up a fast pace only slowing once the little mare began to show signs of fatigue. The first night they stopped in a cold, unstocked campsite. Jhardron commented that few people travel this close to the end of the rainy season and Aylanna looked out at the rain, marveling at the concept of a dry day. It had been so long since she had felt the warmth of the sun upon her face. Aylanna stood warming herself on the tiny fire built of a few branches she had managed to gather, staring at Jhardron's face. She whispered softly, "When you left, left me there at your mother's house, I was afraid you weren't going to come back." His dark eyes met hers, "Perhaps that was my hope, to ride far enough and fast enough to somehow leave all this behind. But there is no escaping duty." Jhardron busied himself with the horses and then lay out his bed roll. For many minutes he stood still, staring down at the bed and for a moment Aylanna could sense a lowering of his defenses. He seemed uncertain. He started to speak and then hesitated. Aylanna spoke, her voice just slightly tense, trying to fill the silence between them, "How long will it take for us to get there?" "One more day, but we will arrive very late. But that is only if we rise early. Come, lie down. We must get some sleep." Aylanna nodded and stripped her still damp dress off and hung it near the dying fire. She could feel his eyes on her, sense the spark of heat that rose up and as her eyes met his, she slowly, sensually smiled. A small shiver that had nothing to do with the cold air made her shudder and jerk. She reached out and gently lay her palm over his heart, "My Khan, it has been too long since I have served a warrior. My body cries out to yours." His arms came up around her, pulling her tight against him, pressing her so sharply that she was arched back, staring up into his dark eyes. His voice was low, "Pretty demon, you hold the magic of the goddess in you. Just the sight of you, one touch of your hand, inflames me like no other woman." "Then, my Khan, come lie with me. Share the blessing of the goddess with me." Their mating was simple and swift. They did not speak. His jhambar found its way into her almost before she was completely prone and as she felt him strike deep, she cried out, a soft call of joy and triumph at this merging of their bodies. She pulled impatiently at his body, wanting nothing more than for him to press harder, deeper, to share his wild mindless passion. Their hands gripped, their fingers enmeshed, her arms pinned over her head and she stared up at his face, his lips pulled back in a snarl over clenched teeth. Each thrust was deep, almost violent, his body crashing into hers. Aylanna met and matched his passion, arching up against him, her awareness expanding and mingling with his raw, primitive drive to fill her as well as her own endless hunger to be filled. Never had she felt so consumed, so utterly open and one with him. A soft sob of wonder shook through her as the magic of the goddess lifted her and the pleasure swept her away. Aylanna gradually regained awareness, still cradled gently in his arms, their bodies still pressed close, still joined and, to her surprise, she was sobbing softly. His fingers were warm on her face, wiping the tears from her cheeks. He murmured softly, "Why so sad, pretty demon? Did I hurt you?" Strangely she found herself laughing through her tears, "Hurt me? You have vanquished me. You have pierced me to my heart, my Khan. I feel nothing but joy." For the tiniest of instants, he was there with her, as open to her as she was to him. Aylanna was intensely aware of his confusion. There was no question that he shared her joy, but behind that was a seething pool of uncertainty, rage and sadness, barely held at bay by an iron determination. And then just as quickly it was hidden. Again it was like a cloud sweeping across a starlit sky. Aylanna peered up at his face. His expression had not changed. He still smiled gently. His eyes still met hers, seemingly open but it was as if a door had closed between them. "Why do you hide yourself from me?" His smile faded and he tipped his head as if confused by her question. "I know not what you mean, pretty demon. I hold you in my arms." "My Khan, it is true, we could not be closer. Your jhambar lingers still within me, your heart beats only inches from mine, and yet your heart is closed to me. All others, they are open. I can..." She paused groping for words. "I can feel what they feel? But you, only you can shut me out. You hide yourself from me." For an instant she sensed a disturbance in his will, a tangible ripple that was echoed by a tremor in his arms. His voice was distant, thoughtful, "Perhaps, I hide from myself as well. For a Bak warrior there is no place for emotion, they cloud the mind, make the weapon falter in the hand. And for a Khan, a leader of warriors, this lesson, this duty is paramount. He carries the lives of his men in his hand." Aylanna pressed her cheek against his chest, listening to the soothing rhythm deep within. "And yet, my Khan, I have glimpsed what you struggle to deny. You have an intensity and a passion surpassing. I have only felt one other with such fire..." She did not finish her sentence, images of the Aga Khan, his eyes glistening with madness, filling her mind. Jhardron's arms tightened, "Hush, pretty demon, you say nothing I do not know. What you call intensity and passion were the despair of my father and my teachers. I was singularly impetuous and contentious throughout my youth. I was proud and painfully blind to my inexperience. It took endless harsh lessons for me to learn the self control and stoicism of a Bak warrior. Perhaps I learned too well." His voice was calm, almost distant, "And now I face uncertainty. All my life, even when I rebelled and argued with my teachers, I knew exactly who I was, what I was. The pathway of my life was laid out before me a thousand years before I was born. Even when I questioned, I never questioned that. And now, I do not know..." Again his arms tensed and his voice grew firm, clear, as he pulled away from her, to lie upon his back, yet pulling her close to lie against his chest. "This is a fool's path. I still carry the mark of Twisted Dagger upon my arm and as long as that one truth holds true, I will fulfill my duty. I am to report to the head of House Twisted Dagger, to lay my fate in his hands and accept his judgment. Sleep now; we have a long ride tomorrow." They did not speak again, but even in their sleep their arms did not slip away from their embrace. Aylanna woke to a dark predawn, wakened by a stirring in her loins, the delicious sensation of him turning her to face him. He was already there, sliding deep within her venya, pressing hard, grinding against her. His voice was low, husky with sleep and lust, "Something woke me, were you calling to me again?" "Perhaps it was the voice of the goddess." Their union was slower, gentler. This time she did not lose her awareness as she lazily hooked a leg over his hip to anchor him closer, her head cradled upon his outstretched arm. And as she blessed his offering she let out a low, deep sigh of satisfaction. He did not linger within her, his impatience to be on the move forcing him from her arms. He leaned down and took her hand, pulling her to her feet while her limbs still trembled with the sweet echoes of their passion. And as she stood, Aylanna wondered if the pain she felt in her body was from riding or being ridden. The months spent confined in the courtesan's quarters had softened her. She smiled softly to herself as she stretched, forcing the stiff muscles in her back, thighs and buttocks to loosen. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> They had traveled many miles before the sky began to show signs of grey. The rain seemed lighter, less oppressive. Xin'sha moved easily, trotting beside his taller stallion with no difficulty, more than once impulsively bursting into a cantor and fighting the reins while Aylanna gently scolded her to behave. "She shares my joy to be once again moving forward." "Do not allow her to expend all her energy. We will travel further today than yesterday and she carries a double load." Jhardron kept up an exacting pace, urging the horses to alternately trot and walk without any breaks. It was past midday when Aylanna began to feel both her and the little mare's fatigue. She spoke softly, "My Khan, neither Xin'sha nor I have the hardened muscles we once had. A rainy season spent locked in a cage has softened us. I fear we may delay your arrival." Jhardron frowned thoughtfully and held out his hand, "Come ride with me for a time. It will lighten her load and you can rest against me." It was trick she had seen done dozens of times, even accomplishing it once herself once long ago, sliding from the back of one horse to another without slowing. Soon she was up behind him, wrapping her arms around him. She sensed little from him beyond a certain impatient watchfulness. Very briefly she marveled at his ability to focus and turn off all other distractions. It was not long before the rhythms and warmth from his body lulled her into a sleepy trance. She roused briefly when he slowed and moved both of them to the back of the spare stallion and once again set out, keeping up the same driven pace. When she woke fully it was dark and as she stretched and yawned, he spoke briefly. "Can you ride alone?" And when she said yes, he directed her to that back of the other stallion. "Do not be proud; hold on with your hands. It is dark, he may stumble. We only have a short distance to go." He took the lead rope and if anything, set an even more grueling pace. Again Aylanna was reminded of her dreams of flying, this moving through the wind, sightless, the drumming of the hooves and hiss of the rain, the warmth of the steaming horse mixed with the coolness of the rain. This was the very essence of her dreams, the sense of speed and forward movement, hurtling through the dark toward and unknown. It lent a sense of unreality to the night. When they first saw a glimmer of light, the shine of lamplight through an open doorway; it seemed unnaturally bright after the hours of near perfect darkness. Aylanna blinked and could not help but turn her head, looking with wonder at the sight of a silhouetted figure standing, looking out, watching them pass. It was only moments after that that they clattered into a torch lit courtyard and slid to a sudden halt. Almost as soon as Jhardron pulled her down from her perch, a half dozen people were around them. Jhardron was speaking quickly, reporting urgent news for Jha'hamatla, head of House Twisted Dagger. Aylanna staggered to lean again against Xin'sha. The little mare stood on trembling legs, her head down, blowing hard. Aylanna spoke softly, "You did well, little friend." She sent her awareness deeper to see if her baby within was distressed but the little one was deeply asleep. Jhardron's hand on her arm pulled her attention back to the scene. He was urging her to follow him and someone was leading the horses away. His voice was low, "Come with me, but do not speak of anything unless you are directly questioned." His hand was tight on her arm, reflecting the tension that filled his spirit. Jha'hamatla sat in a wide, richly appointed room. A number of other people stood and moved about. Several servants, dressed in the traditional white robes were busy carrying in several dishes of food and placing them down upon a long table. As they entered, he stood and gestured at the food. "My nephew, your arrival was unexpected. Your mounts were close to collapse. Tell me, what news carries such urgency that someone of your rank would come at such a time and with such haste." Jhardron pushed Aylanna to one side and stood tall and rigid, saluting his uncle with the clenched fist. He looked about the room, his eyes taking on the numerous onlookers. "My uncle, I am sure that the facts of my message will soon be common knowledge, but for now, it would be wiser if I could tell them to you privately." Jha'hamatla frowned and nodded, gesturing impatiently around the room. "Leave us." Soon only the three of them stood in the room. Jha'hamatla stared at the wilted form of Aylanna and then looked at Jhardron curiously, "And the demon? She was claimed by the Aga Khan and is property of the Broken Spear and yet she stands in my chambers." He waved his hand impatiently, "But I am sure you will explain that to me. Speak, boy, what calamity has befallen our house. For only ill news can bring you out in this time of the rainy season." Some of Jhardron's rigid posture faded as he seemed to sag. "I wish it were false but it is true I am the bearer of ill tidings. My uncle, I regret to have to inform you of the death of your brother, Jhar'drakon, the man I knew as my father." Jha'hamatla's eyes widened and then narrowed, "Grievous news indeed. He was a good man. His passing will be grieved by many, but that must be set aside for now. Tell me what has happened and how you discovered he is not your father." It was clear from the elderly man's words and tone, this fact of Jhardron's true parentage did not come as a surprise. He gestured toward the food, "I am sure your ride had fatigued you and you must be hungry. Come, eat and let us sit while I listen." Jhardron looked at the food like he had seen it for the first time and took a hesitant step toward the table and then looked back toward Aylanna, as if to find one thing in this room he was sure of. He looked back toward his uncle, "You knew that the Aga Khan was my father?" Again the old man gestured toward the food, "It is a time to speak openly of things long hidden. But we have the whole night before us. Come, sit, eat." He glanced at Aylanna, "You too, girl. Tell me your story and then I will tell you mine." He deliberately walked to the table, filled a plate with food and sat down in his chair. Jhardron followed suit, nodding at Aylanna in an unspoken permission for her to do the same. Soon he was seated on a cushion near his uncle, Aylanna seated at his left. For a few minutes, no one spoke and then Jhardron almost without thought or volition picked up a fried dumpling and mechanically pushed it between his lips and then sighed and began to eat in earnest. Aylanna felt a rush of hunger as well once she took a first bite and was soon rapidly spooning the warm, comforting food rapidly into her mouth. Jha'hamatla only took a few polite bites and then watched patiently as they relaxed and filled their empty bellies. When Jhardron took another deep breath and set his empty plate aside, he nodded and spoke in a calm voice, "Uncle, you are truly a wise man. Thank you for this time to calm and gather my thoughts." He settle back and began to speak, telling everything that had transpired at the court of the Aga Khan from the first summons of the Bak Tai Twisted Dagger for formal recognition and reward for their service in the last campaign, to the interruption of the wizard and the ensuing battle, the mortal wounding of his father and the Aga Khan and the fateful uttering of the words naming the Aga Khan as his father. He spoke of the events at the enclave of the Twisted Dagger and his older brother sending him here to seek the final judgment of the Khan Lann Twisted Dagger. Jha'hamatla spoke little, only asking short clarifying questions. His face was deep in thought once Jhardron finished speaking. He sat still digesting this information for a long time, gazing intently at the floor. Aylanna could tell he was deeply saddened but he was detached from his grief, that he had consciously set it aside as he absorbed and considered all the information. Finally he cleared his throat and spoke, "You speak of the Aga Khan as if he is dead as well. Are you sure of that?" For the first time Jhardron sent a questioning look to Aylanna and then nodded sharply for her to speak. She swallowed and sat up straight. "His body yet lived when we left the room, but, sir, his spirit, it had already left him. He was in a coma. And a body without its spirit cannot live for long. And, sir, he was already sick, profoundly weakened by magic and poison. If the coma did not kill him the poison would." The old man frowned, staring intently at her. "I have little trust of magic, demon. Nothing good comes of it." But it was clear that he did not disbelieve her words and he continued, speaking his thoughts aloud. "But it is true that the Aga Khan was gravely ill. All the land was waiting for the inevitable news of his death, waiting like a cloud of vultures over a battlefield, just waiting to descend and pluck the bones of dead and wounded clean." "Every house must plot its course carefully in such a time and every Khan Lann must be ready to defend their people and also be ready to claim their share of the spoils. It is perhaps fortunate that Jhardron's brother sent him in such haste; our holdings are distant from Bak Pan Amara. We could have learned of this news too late. I had trusted that my brother, Jhar'drakon would be present to defend the Twisted Dagger's interests, but now we have only Jhar'granda, and he is woefully inexperienced and listens to that viper of his mother too closely. Now she is one with a certain talent for the game, but she suffers from ambition, but her motives are too focused on her own grandiose schemes and she mouths the name of the House Twisted Dagger with no true loyalty in her heart." Jha'hamatla shook his head and waved his hand impatiently, "I digress; it is a sign of age. I had hoped to avoid this quagmire, hoped my younger brother would have the fire and wisdom..." The old man looked at Jhardron, who seemed lost in thought. "...and I have to confess, that I also thought that the fact that we had provided a safe and secret refuge for the Aga Khan's only living son would insure that the Twisted Dagger would somehow be immune from danger. I was a foolish old man." Jhardron did not look up. His voice was low, tense with control, "So you knew all along." Jha'hamatla shook his head. "No, not all along; I did not learn of the truth of your parentage until you were made Khan Bak Tai. It is the decision of the Khan Lann, who is appointed to lead the regiment. I had every intention of promoting from within, putting a more seasoned veteran in that position, with Jhar'granda as second in command. Your father," He hesitated, "Jhar'drakon, he came to me and he told me that you were not what you seemed. He told me that the Aga Khan was your father and that you were born to a courtesan. At the time of your birth the Aga Khan had three living sons, there was no question of an heir. He had only wanted this accidental and inconvenient offspring given a good home and a warrior's upbringing. When he gave you to Jhar'drakon, he had no plan of ever acknowledging you. It was an easy secret easy to keep. It is not unheard of for a house to adopt a boy of good background if they do not have sufficient sons to carry on. But then the son's of the Aga Khan began to die. And as each one passed, he began to look at you with different eyes. You no longer were an embarrassment or a complication; you quickly became his only hope. Yet he feared that if he openly acknowledged you that you too would be killed. But he did want you trained and he had been pressuring Jhar'drakon to have you named Khan Bak Tai. In order to do that, Jhar'drakon had to come to me with the request and an explanation." Demon Child Ch. 20 Demon Child: Chapter 20 A new Aga Khan. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The regiment was surrounded by the growing mass of people. As a single being, they moved as if in a trance, their eyes locked upon the scarlet temple in the distance. They raised their voices as one, a boundless, pervading melody that pulsed through Aylanna's body and spirit. It was a call and an exaltation that poured into her heart. The crush and flow of the crowd was irresistible. There was no option but to be swept along as the worshipers surged onward. One by one, the Twisted Dagger warriors became separated from the column, slipping from the backs of their mounts, their faces taking on the rapt expressions and their voices lifting up in the mind consuming chorus. Aylanna fought to stay close to Jhardron, struggled to keep her mind clear but there was no fighting the overwhelming numbers or the hypnotic seduction of the song. There was no fear, no sense of danger. Instead there was a pervasive sense of joy and anticipation. Something was calling her and she was compelled to answer that call. Soon all she was aware of was the sensation of being carried along, her awareness expanding until she lost all sense of herself. She merged and became one with each and every one of the worshipers. There was no memory of slipping from the back of her stallion. Faces would swim into her vision and then disappear. Bodies jostled her, but hands reached out to steady her and she found herself doing the same, instinctively helping the others along, unaware that she too hummed and sang the same song that reverberated through them all. As they drew closer to the temple, the press did nothing but grow tighter until finally at the very base of the temple the crowd could not move forward another inch. The pyramid seemed to reach the sky, a series of wide tiers that rose up and up, forcing her to tip her head back as she looked up. The sense of waiting, of pent up anticipation surged up and over her and the sea of supplicants stopped singing as one. It was as if the entire world was holding its breath. There was a movement, a figure dressed in pristine white appeared in an open archway and then another and another. Dozens of identically dressed priestesses filed out and stood along the lip of the lowest tier. As one they raised their arms up to the sky, their voices in unison, intoning the ancient invocation of Pan'Shash'Sha'Am. Their song celebrated her return to her home, thanked her for the gift of her tears and begged for her love and her gift of fertility for all her children. With each line, their words were repeated and reflected by the throng. Gradually the timbre of the incantations began to change, transforming from joy and welcoming of the goddess's return to something more desperate. A charged, pleading, imploring cry rose up. The priestesses abruptly tore away their white robes and stood proud and nude in the sunlight. They began to call out to Jha'Mak'Tah, begging him to join the goddess. And as they cast their clothing down and their pleas up toward the sky, the mood of the horde transformed, the tension of anticipation reached a crescendo and a wave of palpable sensuality crashed through the press of flesh. Male supplicants began to scramble up the staircases and once they reached the assembled priestesses, they threw themselves upon the waiting women in a mindless mating frenzy. Those that could not reach the stairs turned toward the nearest female form and they were met with willing arms. Within seconds the whole of tableau was a mass of writhing bodies. Aylanna had no memory of pulling her dress from her body or who it was that she pulled down upon her; she was not mating with any single man, any one woman, she was connected to the all. There was no sense of the passage of time. There was no knowing how long the orgiastic trance of the goddess compelled them to reenact the first primal act of mating between god and goddess. It was long after dark when one by one; a spent individual would untangle themselves from the dazed, somnolent carpet of bodies and make their way back home. By morning light only a small number remained, some still limp upon the ground, others sitting watching the new sun rise up and reveal the trampled grass littered with discarded clothing. A few white clad priestesses wandered from one person to another, checking on their health and urging them to go home. When one knelt down and gently touched her forehead with a blessing, Aylanna blinked and shook her head, trying to clear the fog from her mind. Still bemused she blurted out, "What... how..." "It was the Saturnalia, the greeting of the new sun and the first day of a new year. All are caught up in the frenzy of the goddess and her lover. It was a potent omen that the goddess chose to return now at this time of upheaval in our land. And you are the strange being that a certain warrior has been seeking after half the night. Come, let me help you stand." Aylanna blinked and groped clumsily for her crumpled dress lying nearby in the sodden grass. The priestess smiled gently and helped her to pull it over her head. "We should hurry, the young man that seeks you was very anxious, something about the council." Aylanna's legs trembled with weakness as she trotted along behind the priestess. Curious she looked at this new person more closely. Her head was shaved, a short stubble of grey turning her smooth black scalp ashen. She was older, thick through the body, wearing a simple white shift. Her only decoration was her massive bead necklace that showed her long service to the goddess. They did not approach the pyramid, instead the older priestess took off at a determined pace toward the confusing mound of squares and windows that made up the court of the Aga Khan. It was the first time Aylanna had really looked at the court of the Aga Khan in the clear light of day, unobscured by clouds, mist or rain. It looked more like a mound of rubble than a building. She made a pained face; the outside of the despicable place reflected the convoluted plots and machinations that pervaded every action of its devious inhabitants. Without thought she cleared her throat and spat. It was not Jhardron that stood impatiently beside a line of tethered stallions, it was Jhu'kresh. The second in command visibly relaxed as soon as he saw her, beckoning to her urgently. "Ha'akh, you are summoned by the council. We must hurry." His urgency was obvious but as she tried to mount the tall stallion, her weak and wobbly legs failed to lift her up. He grabbed her about the waist and nearly threw her up into the saddle. He grabbed the lead rope and kicked his mount into a headlong gallop toward the court. In minutes they were inside and Aylanna was pulled from the saddle and literally running through the maze of hallways. There was no time to speak, to ask a single question, to even think about what may lay ahead of her. As she was hurried through the meandering corridors, Aylanna could not help but notice the strange absence of guards. The Court of the Aga Khan was deserted, the hallways were strangely empty, no sentries stood at the doorways. There was not even the usual sense of perpetual watchers. The first people she saw were a pair of priestesses that stood beside the entrance of the great meeting chamber but they did not challenge Jhu'kresh or Aylanna as they passed through. The vast great meeting chamber of the Aga Khan stood nearly empty. A semicircle of chairs stood in the center, all but one the chairs were occupied by mature warriors in their finest gilded armor. Aylanna recognized Jha'hamatla and next to him, Kah'matlah head of House Broken Spear. She counted quickly, ten chairs and one larger one obviously reserved for the Aga Khan that stood empty. A few servants hurried to and fro, a small group of guards and warriors stood to one side. Her eyes searched every face but Jhardron was nowhere to be seen. Jhu'kresh pushed her to stand in a corner and moved to whisper rapidly with one of the watching warriors. A withered and remarkably tiny woman in a simple pristine white dress stood in the center of the circle. Aylanna's eyes widened with respect at the mass of gold that hung around the priestess's neck. She was speaking in a hoarse ancient rasp, "We cannot postpone this council for another day. The Saturnalia has already delayed us too long." One of the Khan Lann, a man Aylanna had never seen before, stood up, his voice loud and just slightly belligerent. "And who has called this council? Where is the Aga Khan?" The priestess held up her hand. "I called this council to discuss precisely this subject. Where is the Aga Khan? He lies in his chambers, neither alive nor dead. It is an omen and a mystery. Now I respectfully ask that House Adamant to please sit." Something buzzed in Aylanna's ear and she restlessly waved her hand about her head to chase away the nagging insect, staring with fascination at the scene. The warrior nodded and spoke again in the same loud voice, "Yes, House Adamant will sit but we demand to know what has happened." And as he moved to sit, two other of the seated Khans voiced their unity with his statements with low harrumphing hear-hears. The high priestess slowly turned, looking at each seated Khan in turn. She lifted her arms and began to formally invoke the name of the goddess, "Mother, you chose to come back to us now. You came to lead and protect us at this time of great peril. Please let your loving hand guide us on the correct path, fill my heart with your serene wisdom, let my words be your words." She lowered her arms, her voice low and vibrant, "It is the goddess that calls this council. This land is her land and you are her children." "Without a leader, without an Aga Khan, it is a matter of time before the houses turn upon each other. Come, my children, come look upon your leader. I leave it to you to decide if he lives or if some evil magic prevents his departure to join Jha'Mak'Tah. He lies nearby. Come, join the vigil." Without a backward glance the tiny form of the priestess turned and marched toward a curtained doorway. The assembled Khan Lann stood and after an odd bit of jockeying for position, followed. And as if drawn along by a magnate, Aylanna slipped into the rear of the column. The room was small and crowded. In the center was a narrow platform with the shriveled shape of what was once a man lying under a blood red coverlet. The face of the Aga Khan was slack and empty, his eyes closed, his mouth sagging open. Several priestesses dressed in white stood around the bed, other women, Aylanna recognized the wives of the Aga Khan sat in a row by the head of the bed. Nearly a dozen other figures stood about the room and Aylanna's heart jumped when she spied the figure of Jhardron. After the council entered the room was packed elbow to elbow. Aylanna squeezed into the back, her vision blocked the others. The air in the room was thick, oppressive with the scent of incense and below that the decay Aylanna had come to identify with the Aga Khan. The buzzing of flies was louder here and her skin itched as if something was crawling on her. She swatted impatiently again, wondering why the presence of the insects did not seem to disturb the others. She looked around peevishly but to her frustration the sound faded and she could not find the tiny invaders. One by one the Aga Khans approached the motionless form of the Aga Khan, staring down at him. Again the Khan Lann of the House Adamant spoke up, "He is alive?" "He is not dead. But I leave it to the council to decide if he yet lives." "How can a man not be dead and yet not live?" Aylanna had no intent of speaking; and the words that issued from her lips surprised her almost as much as it did the others, "His spirit refuses to leave this place. It lingers still. Something holds it here, something it has yet to do." The high priestess whirled to seek out who had spoken and the crowd seemed to part like a curtain between the two. As the way cleared, Aylanna felt herself drawn forward, moving without conscious volition to the bedside, her hands reaching out to touch the Aga Khan. Someone hissed and muttered, a hand moved to block her but the high priestess spoke sharply, "No, the goddess moves within her." The spark of life within the Aga Khan was so feeble as to be almost undetectable, but it was there, deep within, a feeble flicker that refused to die. She reached further, sinking deeper and knelt, laid her cheek upon his chest. Gently she reached out to that final fragment of life and cradled it with hers, focusing all her energy on sustaining that spark, fanning it with the warmth of her spirit. She was not conscious of her spirit slipping free but when she stood and looked down, she looked down upon her own form, still huddled over the fragile form of the Aga Khan. For an instant she almost did not recognize herself. Her skin was smeared with mud and grass stains, her hair was a serpentine snarl of dirt, curls and grass, and her dress a sodden, crumpled sack. She did not look quite human. A tiny dry voice, the last rational part of her, wryly observed that she very much did look like a witch or a monster. Slowly she rose up, turning and looking about the room. The watching figures seemed insubstantial, strangely shadowy. The Khan Lann of House Adamant was speaking, waving his arms and pointing, she could see his mouth moving, see others responding but she could not hear their words. In fact the only sound she could hear was the strange buzzing. It seemed to only get louder, but now there was a hissing, whispering modulation, words just beyond her comprehension. A prickle of apprehension made her whirl about as she realized that it was not the hum of insects that had been nagging at the edge of her hearing. Another spirit haunted the room. Without lips or voice she called out, "My Khan, can you hear me?" The room seemed to fade, a dark fog oozing up from the corners of her perception, a miasma that swirled and boiled up like the restless sea. It pushed at her, swept over her and pulled her down into its depths. Fearfully she fought it, struggling, thrashing in panic. She had no awareness of the hands on her convulsing body, lifting it up and away from the still form of the Khan. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Jhardron had been so lost in his thoughts, his eyes locked on the lifeless form of the Aga Khan, that he had been hardly conscious of the entrance of the council. He had not even recognized the demon's voice when she had spoken her fateful words. It had not been her voice; it had been deeper and strangely hoarse. Only when she had moved to the Aga Khan's bedside had he even realized she was in the room. She had been a sight, her crumpled dress and body smeared with dirt and grass, her strange fiery hair somehow transformed to a nest of snake like tendrils. His body tensed when more than one person moved to put hands upon this apparition, this creature that appeared to possibly threaten the vulnerable body of the Aga Khan. Somehow the idea of another touching her, hurting her was intolerable and he lunged forward only to be halted by the high priestess's words. He stood over her, staring down at her. At first she did little, just stood, placing a hand upon the fleshless breast bones over the Aga Khan's heart, but then she seemed to sag, slowly collapsing to her knees, her face falling forward. Jha'hamatla spoke up, his voice solemn and formal, "How long has he lain thus?" The high priestess did not take her eyes from the strange scene before her. "Eight days." "Will he waken?" "The Aga Khan's condition is a mystery. A normal man, so afflicted would not have lived past three days and yet he lingers. I have no knowledge of any disease that would debilitate and yet sustain." The high priestess pointed at the still form of Aylanna. "This creature stated that his spirit lingers because it has a task yet to fulfill. Perhaps she is..." The high priestess stopped staring in sudden shock. No longer still, Aylanna's body tensed and then her arms and legs began to thrash. Her head began to shake and bang against the body of the Aga Khan so violently that a dull thumping from his hollow chest was audible through the room. Instinctively the high priestess reached to hold the girl still, to protect both her and the Aga Khan from the sudden fit of convulsions that wracked her body. Other hands reached and helped pull the two apart, lifting the girl up and away. "Hold her, keep her from hurting herself." The high priestess's eyes met the dark and stormy visage of the boy that rumor had named the bastard son of the Aga Khan. He did not speak, just clutched the mindlessly struggling girl to his chest, his expression warning all others away. And, as he held her, her movements became less violent, her arms and legs twitching rhythmically and her breathing slowing. Her lips were moving, a breathy whisper over and over, "A warrior is in control. A warrior is in control." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The sea of darkness pulled her down and swept her away. Swim, she had to swim. What was it? Jhardron had said it so long ago, a life time ago. 'Don't let your fear weigh you down'. That was it. She had to stay calm. She must not panic, must not surrender. Over and over she repeated the words of a warrior, "A warrior is in control." And as she spoke, she began to still, to feel weightless and to float upon the surface of the maelstrom. As she floated it was as if her calm communicated itself the storm. And as she hung there, weightless, peaceful, the face of the Aga Khan, hollow and jaundiced rose up beside her. His eyes were crazed and terrified, but his words were familiar, "I know you. I remember your promise." Oddly calm, she reached out to him, "My Khan, you are lost, let me help you find your way." Childlike he took her hand, his voice confused, "Where are we going?" "You have left something undone. You have one last task to complete before Jha'Mak'Tah will welcome you on the battlefield. The council has been convened, they await you. Come, come back to us. I will show you the way." Never before had she traveled so far from herself. This was not distance or time; it was as if she had walked too close to the plane of the unliving. It took great focus, great strength and a profound determination to struggle back toward the light. Carrying the spirit of the Aga Khan with her was like dragging a great weight up a steep hill. Their destination was only just out of their reach, a light in the distance but it took a life time to get there. Over and over the Aga Khan seemed to pull away, to forget and question who she was, where they were going and she had to plead with him that he must return, that this was the only path that led to peace and the embrace of his god. To falter or turn back meant an eternity of madness wandering lost in this netherworld of darkness. Slowly the walls of the court seemed to form around them, the shadowy forms of the onlookers imperceptively growing more substantial. They stood together, hand in hand looking down at the scene. Gently, Aylanna urged the Aga Khan forward, but he hesitated, "Am I dead?" "No, my Khan, not yet, but soon, I promise. Soon your suffering will end. Look, your council has gathered to hear your last words, the high priestess and your son. Come, do this one last thing for your god and your people. Give them the gift of your son to lead them. Come, it is easy, as easy as putting on an old familiar robe, just reach out..." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Simultaneously both her and the Aga Khan's eyes opened. Filling her gaze was the worried face of her beloved, but beyond her there was a hiss of sudden surprise as the skeletal figure of the Aga Khan sat bolt upright. One of the dark clad wives shrieked and actually slipped from her seat and fell to the floor. His cracked lips moved and he tried to speak but the only sound was a croak and he coughed weakly. Demon Child Ch. 20 Aylanna tore herself from Jhardron's embrace and was up and by his side, her words sharp and hurried, "Water, he will need water." A cup was pushed into her hand and she held it to his lips. "Just a sip to moisten your mouth and throat, do not try to drink." The water spilled out of his open mouth, wetting the front of his tunic and the coverlet but now he tentatively cleared his throat and licked his lips. She delved deeper and strangely he was not in pain, his body was numb, wooden, no longer his own. The spark of life felt no stronger and it guttered like a candle in the wind. She poured the last vestiges of her own strength into him, willing him to take each breath, urging his tired heart to beat for just a while longer. Slowly a fleshless hand lifted and a quivering claw-like finger pointed at Jhardron. The voice was a harsh creak the pervaded every corner of the room. "I have wronged you, boy. I lived a lie and forced you to live one as well. I let fear hold me back and in doing so, I betrayed you and betrayed my people." His hand jerked and clumsily gestured to the whole room, "I name this boy as my sole surviving son and heir to all that is mine. Speak to the mistress of the courtesans, Mallinika and Jhar'drakon, they and they alone know the truth of the boy's heritage." The Aga Khan nodded and smiled, a strange grimace that twisted his face, but Aylanna could sense the peace that seemed to flow up and fill him. He sagged back to the bed, lying still; the only living thing about him was his feverish eyes. He looked up at her, "Yes, yes, that is what needed doing. The last task is finished. Can I go now?" Aylanna felt her eyes flood with tears, "Yes, my Khan, you have fulfilled your last duty. And now Jha'Mak'Tah awaits, a magnificent stallion at his side for you to ride to the last battlefield." Slowly the light in his eyes faded, the spark of life flickered and winked out. Aylanna's voice cracked as she turned to Jhardron. "He is finally at rest." A choked sob sounded from one of the wives but was choked off. There was a small flurry of movement as two of the veiled women lifted and bore the third from the room. No one seemed to notice their withdrawel. The Khan Lann of House Adamant pushed his way to the front of the massed witnesses and looked down skeptically at the finally lifeless Aga Khan. "Are you sure? He looked just as dead before. How do we know he was not dead all along?" He turned and glared at Aylanna, "And what did you do, witch? How do we know that you did not somehow enchant this corpse to parrot some lies to deceive the council?" He turned to the crowd, "Too many strange things have occurred here. I refuse to mindlessly accept this boy, this younger son of a younger son of a small and inconsequential house as the Aga Khan without more evidence." There was an ominous murmur of dissention, some of the Khan Lann agreeing and others protesting the insult to House Twisted Dagger. Aylanna whirled to face her accuser, his words dripped with falsehood. There was no question that the Khan Lann House Adamant actually held any doubts in his heart or that he believed even a fragment of the uncertainty and suspicion that he acted out before his audience. She tensed, ready to meet his interrogation with questions of her own. The high priestess lifted her hand and to Aylanna's surprise the room instantly fell silent. Her voice was calm and clear, "Are there any here that question that the Aga Khan has finally gone to join Jha'Mak'Tah? Do any of you hold any hope that he may yet still return to us?" There was a shifting of movement, but none spoke up. It was clear that any confusion about the status of the Aga Khan would not serve the goals of any of the houses. The high priestess nodded in satisfaction, "The goddess agrees, the earthly representative of Jha'Mak'Tah no longer lives. Send out the messengers. Let the decrees be posted. The Aga Khan is dead and his funeral pyre will be at sunset on this same day. Soon he will stand at the side of his god." She turned, frowning in irritation at the crowded room, gesturing impatiently at the Aga Khan's body and then toward the larger adjacent meeting chamber. "Now come, let us leave him in peace. Come out to the meeting chamber." And with those words the diminutive figure in white turned and marched from the room, clearly expecting the others to follow. Once again the council shifted and jockeyed for position. The Khan Lann of House Adamant pushed toward the front, intent upon being the first to exit but as he tried to push past Kah'matlah Khan Lann House Broken Spear he was met with an implacable stare. The two men glared at one another, engaging in a wordless battle of wills. Neither moved but Aylanna had the distinct impression that any moment either man could or would reach for the gleaming ceremonial scimitars that hung at their belts. A fact that was not lost on the room as several of the others instinctively stepped back, clearing a space around the two potential combatants. Jha'hamatla Khan House Twisted Dagger stepped closer and when he spoke his voice was loud in the silent room, "I agree with the honorable Khan of the venerable House Adamant. I too wish to see more, hear from these witnesses. And I may be speaking for myself alone, but it has been a long ride and a longer night serving the lusts of the goddess. This old man is tired and hungry and wants nothing more than to find a comfortable chair and if the goddess has any mercy, a warm platter of food." As he spoke, he deftly insinuated himself between the two and taking Kah'matlah's arm, urged him through the door first. "Have mercy on an old man, my back aches from too much riding and fucking and now you ask me to stand? Come my friend, I think better with a full belly." And as he followed his friend into the other larger room, he called loudly to the servants, "The Grand Council hungers. I demand to be fed before I contemplate the fate of the Bak Empire." Somehow Jha'hamatla's deliberate clownishness, poking fun at his infirmities distracted the onlookers from the growing tension in the room. Khan Lann House Adamant stood for a moment, frowning as if he was not sure exactly who had come out on top in this small duel of wits, then blinked and hurried after, third to pass through the door. As they filed into the meeting room, the murmurs of private conversations began to hum as the various factions began to discuss the amazing events that had just transpired and plan what their next moves would be. Two other Khans huddled close the belligerent Khan Lann House Adamant, their posture clearly deferring to his leadership but at the same time urging caution. Eventually the only people remaining were the four priestesses standing at the four corners of the bier, Aylanna and Jhardron. He stood, staring down at the form of his father, with a dark frown on his face. For once his heart open and seething with anger. Buffeted by the intensity of his rage Aylanna could not help but reach out to touch him, to seek a way to soothe his temper. Her voice was soft, for his ears alone, "My Khan..." He whirled, seizing her hand in his, squeezing so hard as to make her wince. His voice was equally low but sharp and bitter, "Heir? He names me heir to this?" His hand swung up in a violent gesture, taking in the entirety of the mound of stone that was the court and Aylanna understood he spoke not just the ancient, decaying fortress but all that it stood for, the intrigue, the politics and the rivalries. He had always hated the court and now... now some horrible twist of fate had made it his and his alone. Gently she placed her other hand over his, carefully loosening his fingers, "My Khan, you are hurting me." And as his grip eased, Aylanna continued, for once grateful for the interminable, mind numbing histories that had been drilled into her head in the courtesan quarters. "And my Khan, I know from my history lessons that it is far from decided who the council will name the Aga Khan. There have been times in the past when son of an Aga Khan was not the choice of the council." Deliberately she avoided the fact that civil war had nearly torn apart the empire each time this had happened. She stared up into his eyes, carefully pushing on, "And if that duty should be laid upon you, I also urge you to remember the stories of the reigns of Aga Khans marked with glory and honor rather than schemes and divisiveness, times of honor and prosperity for all the Bak." Slowly the disturbance in his spirit eased and a small spark of humor ignited. The smallest of smiles turned up the corner of his lips, "Your words are wise, pretty demon, and a fine counselor you will make once we wash the mud from your face." He reached up and picked something from her head. "You have grass in your hair." There was movement behind them, the priestesses starting the task of bathing the body and dressing it in gilded leather armor. He looked at the husk that was once his father. "I held no affection for that man. I resented him, resented his cruelty and unpredictable moods. That man held no value for loyalty and courage. Everyone feared him, and for good reason. Too many were banished or worse for merely speaking the truth. He surrounded himself with pretenders and sycophants. They tried to teach me such skills. There were many in this land who prayed that the illness that afflicted him would take him quickly, me among them. And now I learn that I hoped for the death of my own father?" Once again the feelings of anger, now confused with bitterness and grief began to surge up once again and Aylanna found herself speaking quickly, "My Khan, he was not your father. Jhar'drakon was your true father and you know that in your heart. You yet grieve for the passing of your true father and that is fitting." Aylanna pointed at the form of the Aga Khan. "Do not hate him, my Khan. He was not always an evil man. Once he was a proud warrior, brave and true. It was fear and hate that weakened him, made him vulnerable to the wiles of evil men like the wizard, Rhasht. Honor what he once was, a Bak warrior." There was a swell of noise, someone in the council chamber lifted their voice and Jhardron glanced at the doorway, implacably regaining his grip on his emotions, slamming down the lid on his heart. Once again in control of himself he released her hand and muttered, "We linger too long. They decide my fate and ultimately yours as well. I must be there, if for nothing more to know the names of my enemies." He picked some more grass from Aylanna's hair. "You will be called to speak before the council. It would be wise if you appeared..." He hesitated and once again the tiny smile made the corner of his lip quiver briefly. "...appeared less strange?" "Strange, my Khan? There is little I can do to alter my strange appearance." Aylanna ran her fingers through her tangled curls, "But you are correct. I am beyond outlandish. I must look like a wild thing." Jhardron tipped his head, his eyes growing distant, "I remember once a wild thing coated in layers of filth. A prize looted from a remote and forgotten Ramaldi village. Do you remember that morning when I first scrubbed the dirt from your skin and saw for the first time the treasure I had claimed?" He paused and shook his head, "I find any excuse to delay. Go on with you. Clean up, find for me the pretty demon that I know hides behind this new disguise. Clean up and hurry back to me. It goes without saying that having a truthsayer at my side will be invaluable. Go on now." He gave her a firm push and turned to walk through the door toward the meeting Khan Lann. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna found her way quickly through the empty hallways, wondering where everyone had gone, why the entire fortress of the Aga Khan was apparently unguarded. Even the massive female guards that never left the entry to the women's quarters were ominously missing. Aylanna found herself treading lightly, moving as silently as possible through the quarters. Then she paused and smiled at the familiar sound of musical instruments and singing. The world may have turned upside down, but here in the very depths of the court, some things remained the same. Mallinika was not going to let anything interfere with her daily schedule of classes and practice that she employed to keep the restless courtesans from each other's throats. As Aylanna neared the archway leading to the common room, there was a peevish complaint and Mallinika's voice was sharp and chiding, "I refuse to listen to idle speculation. We sing because there is nothing else to do." When Aylanna first entered the room, Balla leapt to her feet, a whistling shriek of terror cutting through the other courtesan's exclamations of surprise and fear. Only Mallinika seemed to recognize her. "Aylanna, I had given up hope for your return." She turned and spoke sharply to the assemble women, "Calm yourselves. It is only your sister Aylanna, returned to us." She briskly clapped her hands. "Now, singing is over." She pointed to Tindy, "Go, take Balla with you and gather what you can from the kitchens for our evening meal. The remainder of you may rest until dinner." One of the others frowned and blurted out, "Rest? Rest from what?" But Mallinika ignored her and taking Aylanna's arm propelled her from the room. The elderly mistress of the women's quarters vibrated with tension and desperate need to learn what Aylanna knew. "Tell me, girl, what is happening in this benighted place. The last official word was that the Aga Khan had declared that court was to convene. Even the courtesans had been called to entertain for the first time in months. We were in route to the meeting hall when the madness struck. The guards were running one way, and then a stampede of panicked courtiers pushing back the other. I sent the girls back here and then I entered into the room. It was a horror, blood upon the floor, wounded dying as I watched, and... and the Aga Khan. I could not wake him up. No one came to my calls for help. There was no one to turn to. I ran all the way to the temple. The priestess came and told me to attend to my duties here and await her orders. Then all was rumor, the Aga Khan was stricken down, that he was dead, that he was only pretending to be dead in order to entice his enemies to reveal themselves. No one seemed to have any answers and then the guards, they all left, left us alone. Even the kitchens are deserted. We would starve if not for the generosity of the temple." "No one seemed to know what was happening." Mallinika finally ran down, panting slightly, "Please, tell me what you know." Aylanna nodded and moved purposefully toward her room. Her eyes narrowed as she saw that her belongings had been rifled through, but most of the things were still there, scattered across the floor. "I see that my small hoard of treasures held no attraction to my sisters." She reached for a clean, cream colored shift but then thought again and shifting her hand to her beloved old dress that she had worn across the northern grasslands. "Come, accompany me to the baths. I have only a short time. I am called to bear witness to the Grand Council. I will tell you what I know and then I have a question for you." As she quickly washed the mud from her hair and skin, and combed out the tangles from her hair, Aylanna spoke quickly, telling what she knew of the events occurring in the court and the land. But she carefully avoided all mention of the secret of Jhardron's parentage being revealed. Mallinika listened as if starved for information. When she learned of the Aga Khan's final passing she inhaled sharply, a small gasp of apprehension. But her voice was calm, even pragmatic, "It comes as no surprise; it was inevitable I guess. In many ways it is a marvel he lasted this long." She cast a hand across her face, "And now I must pay your price, what is it you wished to know?" "Once, a long time ago, a boy child was born in secret to a courtesan here, an accidental son to the Aga Khan. You were there. Tell me what you know of this." Mallinika froze and shook her head violently, "You ask too much. I swore by the very name of the goddess to never speak of this." "Then perhaps you would be interested to learn that with his last words the Aga Khan revealed this secret before the assembled Grand Council and the high priestess of Pan'Shash'Sha'Am. He named Jhardron Khan Bak Tai Twisted Dagger his son born here in the courtesan's quarters. He named you as a witness to this birth. There is little question that you will be summoned. You will answer or suffer the displeasure of every Khan Lann of the land. I strongly suggest you review the facts in your mind and resolve to speak the truth." Aylanna's voice chilled and grew threatening, "I will know if you lie." Aylanna's voice softened, "Tell me of the woman, the courtesan that gave birth to Jhardron. Who was she? Does she yet live?" "Live? No, she died not long after the birth of the child. She was a young thing; the birth had nearly killed her. There was no doctor or midwife in attendance. It would have been too dangerous for her and the child to reveal the secret to anyone else. I did the best I could but she had lost a great deal of blood. And then he took the baby away and she just lost all will to live. I never knew what had happened to the infant. I was afraid to ask. I think I was afraid that he had ordered it killed. You say that the young man, the son of Jhar'drakon is this child? It warms my heart to learn that the baby survived." Mallinika took a long shuddering breath, "And you say that the Aga Khan told of this to the council, they are going to want to speak to me?" Aylanna quickly transferred her few precious belongings to the numerous pockets of the traditional northern grasslands tribal dress and nodded, "Yes, I am sure that you will be summoned soon. In fact it may bode well if you come back with me now, speak the truth voluntarily rather than forcing them to interrogate you." Aylanna turned to leave, tossing her last words over her shoulder, "You may choose. Either hide here until they come for you or present yourself and petition to speak." She did not look back to see what Mallinika decided. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Jhardron stood not far behind the circle of chairs, strategically placing himself equidistant from Kah'matlah Khan Lann House Broken Spear and his uncle Jha'hamatla. The two men sat side by side, close enough that one could lean over and speak privately into the ear of the other. It was clear to him and the rest of the room that these two had already cast their lot together. The Khan Lann House Adamant glared at them from across the circle and whispered furiously into the ear of the man next to him. Many of the other Khan Lann seemed to hold back, to wait and see exactly where the battle lines would be drawn. The high priestess stood before the unoccupied chair of the Aga Khan. Her face was calm and neutral, but her eyes were alert and more than once Jhardron caught her staring at him and she did not look away when his eyes met hers. She did not nod or smile but he could tell she was acknowledging his presence and on some very profound level, taking his measure. The rules of the council were clear. If a Khan Lann chose to speak he would stand and as long as he stood, none other could speak until he sat. If a decision was required, a poll was taken, a vote was called for by asking all that agreed to stand. If even single Khan Lann remained seated then debate would resume. It was widely acknowledged that anything brought before the council would take days, even weeks to come to a final decision. Khan Lann Jha'hamatla of the Twisted Dagger stood and the room fell silent. "First order of business, my brothers. Our most revered mother and high priestess begged the question but let us formally weigh the decision. Does the High Council of the Bak officially acknowledge that the Aga Khan is dead?" He remained standing and looked around the room expectantly. One by one the others stood until only House Adamant remained seated. Demon Child Ch. 20 One of the others looked askance at the seated man and hesitantly began to sit down again in an abortive attempt to show some kind of unity when last Khan Lann lunged to his feet. Out of order, he protested, "There is no question that he is dead, I just want to know why he is dead. Whose hand killed our Aga Khan? We cannot allow his murderers to remain unpunished." The high priestess spoke directly to the Khan Lann House Adamant, "You speak out of turn. You do not have the floor." His face twisted with rage but he held his words and he took his seat. She lifted her hands. "Let it be noted that the High Council is unanimous in agreeing that the Aga Khan is dead." With her words the khan's as one returned to their seats. As soon as the entire group was back in their chairs, the Khan Lann House Adamant stood again, clearly triumphant to have seized the floor, "Yes, you were correct, I was out of order. My apologies to the council, my grief at our Aga Khan's death clouded my mind. My heart cries out for vengeance. I put to the council this question. Who killed the Aga Khan?" The Khan House Adamant sat down abruptly and almost instantly the Khan seated to his right, sprang to his feet. The new man slowly turned and stared challengingly around the room, his eyes falling on Jhardron. He kept his gaze leveled on this new rival and repeated, "Yes, who killed the Aga Khan? It is a strange thing that so many died here, and how is it that only the warriors of the Twisted Dagger survived and then rather than remain, they fled." He paused and nodded, "Yes, fled like assassins in the night. I submit to this council that only guilty men would have run away." He nodded in satisfaction and sat down among a swell of voices as the whole room began to buzz with comments and questions. Kah'matlah head of House Broken Spear was quick to take the floor. He stood waiting until all eyes were upon him, all conversations done. His right hand rested upon the hilt of his scimitar and his words dripped with disdain. "The Khan of House Standingstone mouths the words of his keeper like a trained bird. He barks out the word murder and makes accusations without evidence." He shook his head and turned, addressing the whole of the council, his voice turning persuasive. "The Khan Lann of House Standingstone says murder, when not a single person, neither witness nor physician nor priestess has even once stated the cause of the Aga Khan's death. The Khan Lann of House Standingstone asks who killed the Aga Khan but no mortal wound was upon his person, no sword or arrow brought our Aga Khan down. His only injury was a small cut to his palm, hardly a nick to a Bak warrior. I have received worse a dozen times over." His voice was low and compelling. "It is appropriate for the Khan Lann of House Standingstone to bring before the council the question regarding the cause of the Aga Khan's death. But I caution him to remember until the entire Grand Council of the Bak Lann'amattah agrees as one as to this cause, it is impetuous and perhaps even dangerous to mouth accusations of murder, assassin or guilt." Kah'matlah sat down and the Khan Lann of House Standingstone stood up. His face was stormy with anger and his very voice quivered with rage, but his words were stiff and rigidly controlled, "Clearly the Aga Khan died under suspicious circumstances. I put forth before the council this question. What was the cause of the Aga Khan's death? Was it natural or at the hands of another?" He glared at the two united houses of Twisted Dagger and Broken Spear and beyond them to Jhardron, standing grim and impassive. This time the venom bled through into his words. "House Standingstone does not fear to say the word murder. House Standingstone is fully committed to law and justice and will face any danger that threatens our nation, no matter where that danger may lie, from without or..." and he paused, his eyes proud and grim, "...within." Nodding with satisfaction he sat down as a low chorus of conversation once again rose up. For many seconds no other Khan Lann took the floor and Kah'matlah and Jha'hamatla sat without consulting. Finally Jha'hamatla stood and began to speak. "It is a fitting thing to speak of law and justice before the Grand Council. I too seek justice. My brother Jhar'drakon was slain in this very meeting hall only eight days ago. You might question the actions of the warriors and representatives of House Twisted Dagger, summoned there by the Aga Khan himself to be honored for their service to their nation. You ask why they left, but I remind you that this hall was filled with the people of the court, crowded with the representatives of all the houses, packed with guards and servants. Many of you..." He paused and looked around the room. "...yes, the you, Khan Lann of the land, were present. And yet only minutes later, the first to discover the carnage, Mallinika Mistress of the Courtesans, found this chamber populated by only the dead and the wounded too gravely injured to crawl away. If by leaving..." Again he paused, gesturing to the Khan Lann of House Standingstone. "I think your precise word was fled; if fleeing is tantamount to a confession of guilt than the whole of the court and many of you carry the blood of not only the Aga Khan but my brother upon their hands as well." The elderly statesman gripped the hilt of his scimitar in his fist, facing the Khan Lann of the House Standingstone, "Come my friend, if that is justice, than you and I have a lot of killing to do." Then he paused and shook his head, "But wait, you were there weren't you? And yet you were not there when the first witnesses arrived and viewed the scene. And you weren't among the dead or wounded. I am confused, perhaps you can enlighten me, explain to me, how so many warriors, so many Khan Lann and their entourages, and even many of the guards fled when the very heart of our nation was in peril. Were they guilty or merely cowards?" As Jha'hamatla sat down but he did not take his hand from his scimitar nor did he take his eyes off the furious face of the Khan Lann Standingstone. The room erupted in cries of protest as nearly half of the Khans stood and began to speak at once, each trying to drown the others out to be heard. Shouts of denial and confusion echoed back and forth, arms were raised and fingers pointing. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> As Aylanna hurried back to the council chamber, she lovingly straightened the layers of her dress, adjusting the worn leather belts that wrapped around her waist and bodice. She smiled as she fingered the little leather purse that had remained hidden in one of the innermost pockets, feeling the shapes of the strange demon coins that she had recovered from the body of her father so many years before. Perhaps the spirit of her father had guided the plundering fingers of her sister courtesans away from this last memory of him. She wrapped the blue scarf around the still wet tendrils of her demon hair, knotting it carefully. Her smile faded and she schooled her face to a calm watchfulness as she neared the room filled with the leaders of the Lann'amattah. The sounds of shouting were already apparent in the hall. The two priestesses that stood at the doorway did nothing to impede her entry, in fact they were staring into the room and seemed to some degree shocked or concerned. Aylanna stopped just inside the door and looked about. Several Khan Lann were standing up inside the circle of chairs shouting at what seemed everyone and no one. The small figure of the High priestess of the Temple was working her way from one angry figure to another, speaking sharply and literally pushing a couple of the most agitated men toward their chairs. As one by one the Khan Lann resumed their seats and the worst of the shouts dwindled to a constant murmur of protests and assertions of integrity and bravery, the priestess's voice was finally audible, "...out of order. Sit! Sit! Each member of this body has sworn to abide by the rules of order. This council cannot stand without order and respect. I entreat you to remember your duty and your pledges." Aylanna skirted the room, noting the statue still figure of Jhardron standing just a few paces behind the seated figures of his uncle and the Khan Lann Broken Spear, and moved to stand at his left. His eyes shifted from the scene before him to her for the briefest of instants and once again she saw the corner of his mouth twitch in strangely incongruous amusement. But then his eyes were forward and his expression rigid and neutral. She could sense little from him beyond the habitual watchfulness and pent up preparedness that was universal for any Bak Warrior ready for battle. Once all the Khan Lann were seated and the room fell marginally quiet, the high priestess lifted her arms, once again speaking to the goddess before the assembled Khan Lann, "Oh great mother, please guide the thoughts and hands of these men to wisdom and peaceful solutions to the challenges that face your people and the land you gave to them." The high priestess lowered her arms but she did not leave the center of the circle of chairs. The tone of her voice changed, the cadence less confident or clear. "Kah'matlah is accurate in his observation that the Aga Khan in fact did not perish as a result of any wound. He seemed to succumb to the illness that had afflicted him throughout the last year. Exactly the nature of this illness is not clear. The court physicians were adamant that he suffered from an imbalance of his life forces. The exact cause of this imbalance was a matter of debate among his caretakers." The high priestess frowned and pursed her lips as if debating her next words. "Not even the goddess seemed able to perceive the source of this sickness. She only spoke to me of danger, great danger to the Aga Khan and the whole of her children. I brought this to the Aga Khan while he yet lived and he seemed to already know of it." Aylanna's voice was loud and hoarse, not her own. "Poison!" The high priestess froze, staring at Aylanna as if she had appeared from nowhere. Aylanna was not aware that she was moving, walking toward the tiny woman that held the floor of the council. She had no memory of dodging away from Jhardron as he moved to grab her arm or almost magically evading the hands of others as they tried to block her way. Once she was within the circle, the men stood uncertain, watching with a strange mixture of shock and curiosity. She halted barely a hands breadth from the high priestess, her eyes wide and glassy. Her words were low, urgent, "This evil place yet reeks of poison. Can you not taste it on your lips; can you not feel the sting and stink of it in your nostrils? Does not your stomach twist and sicken? You say the goddess could not sense this, did not know? She knows all. She speaks to all. Only those that choose not to listen are deceived. Open your heart to the truth. It is there before you even now." For a moment she paused, staring down into the dark and suddenly fearful eyes of the tiny old priestess. She whispered almost inaudibly. "I have been here with you always. Why do you fear to listen?" Gently Aylanna wrapped her arms around the priestess, enfolding her in a loving embrace, rocking her as if she were a child. And to the shocked witness of the assembled council the ancient priestess burst into tears. Slowly she extricated herself from the tight grasp of the priestess. Gently she placed a fingertip under her chin, lifting her tearstained face and whispering, "Daughter, do not be sad. Rejoice. Remember I am in your heart always." And suddenly as if the strings of a puppet had been cut, Aylanna's body went limp and sagged toward the floor. The high priestess gasped and once again wrapped her arms around the girl, easing her fall. She found herself on her knees next to the unconscious girl, staring down at the vacant face with unexpected tenderness. There was no question in her mind what had happened. It was common knowledge that the goddess spoke with the lips of others, though it had seemed to happen less and less in recent history. She sat and pulled the girl to lie with her head in her lap, ignoring the sudden surge in voices around her as once again the entire council seemed to forget all rules and were up and arguing. The blue scarf and slipped back and several coils of the girl's strangely red colored hair had fallen over her face. Gently she smoothed the unruly hair back away from the girl's eyes, waiting calmly for her to waken. The first thing that Aylanna saw was the creased and wrinkled face of the high priestess, her smile of greeting was open and strangely filled with joy. Aylanna returned the smile, intensely aware of the love in the old woman's heart for her. She frowned, more than a little confused about how she had come to be lying on the floor. The high priestess chuckled and gave her a little shake, "It is time to wake up, daughter. Our goddess seems to be finished with you at the moment." Aylanna blinked and looked about. There was a confusion of voices but slowly, one by one the arguments ceased as the Khan Lann became aware that she was there, still smiling as she gazed up at them. More than one of the Khan Lann that was staring down at her smiled as well, seemingly unaware of their expressions. She lifted her head and spoke directly to them. "I do not know if I speak out of turn, or if my words will carry any weight in this council. But it was clear to me from the first time I set eyes on the Aga Khan that he had been poisoned. I have no evidence as to who did this thing, but I do know that the wizard Rhasht was a force of evil. He fed on hatred and suffering. He had great powers to cloud the judgment of all those around him. He is dead, beyond the reach of your questions but it would serve you well to speak to those who were closest to him." Her body tingled strangely and as much as she tried to school her expression to calm neutrality, over and over she caught herself smiling as she spoke. She wondered at that, the improbable contrast of the lightness of her tone and expression with the tone of her message. Portents of poison delivered with a smile. Yet she felt strangely euphoric and suppressed the urge to giggle as she lurched a bit clumsily to her feet and then reached down and pulled the high priestess to stand with her. She found herself face to face with the Khan Lann of House Adamant. He was not smiling. He frowned and glared at her. "You were correct, courtesan. Your do speak out of order. Your words are the raving of a lunatic at best and perhaps the lies at worst. You yourself admit you have no evidence." Aylanna burst out laughing; a soft silvery fount of joyous, triumphant laughter that silenced the belligerent voice of the khan berating her. Still laughing she pointed at him, "And yet you believe. You believed every word I said. Why do you pretend otherwise? What do you hope to gain by this?" Her laughter cut off sharply, her voice turning as sharp as the now angry smile that still lit up her features. "Your lies are written upon your face, they echo in your heart. Was the wizard your creature or were you his?" The Khan Lann of House Adamant stared at her in rage, his eyes literally bulging from his face. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl and, as if in slow motion, he pulled his scimitar from its sheath on his belt. Aylanna was still smiling as she gracefully floated back out of reach. She taunted loudly, "You are slow, my friend. You have not answered my question, was the wizard your creature or were you his? What was the price of your betrayal? Did you think that perhaps you yourself would become Aga Khan?" The khan seemed totally maddened and he roared at her as he lunged, his scimitar slicing through the air where she once stood. "It was foretold. He prophesied it. It is my destiny!" He was fast, but Aylanna was quicker. She could see his movements almost before he thought to make them and she remained just out of his reach. All her awareness focused on him, all the others fading to shadows around her. She was a feather, a gleam of light, a song on the wind and he was ponderous, predictable and burdened by his rage. She called out to him, "You speak of destiny, but you were nothing, only a pawn of the wizard. He paid you with lies and empty promises." Her assailant staggered back like he had been struck, shaking his head in confusion. "No, it was not lies. He promised. Jha'Mak'Tah himself visited him... told him..." He paused and shook himself, a sudden expression of terror turning his face into a mask of horror. Aylanna laughed again, "So you answer my question. You were his creature then, even if you did not know it." Slowly she turned, gazing at the council, her voice turning thoughtful. "And how many others were caught in his web I wonder? How many others were fed this poison of lies and false prophesy? How many of you believed that you would be chosen as the next Aga Khan, if you just looked away, pretended to know nothing and did not move to defend your Aga Khan when he was attacked in this very room eight days ago?" A heavy set man, one that had held his silence up until then began to speak, "Rhasht moved in many ways, not only bribery but blackmail as well. If he could not tempt, he would coerce. House Eternal Sky is old and no longer thrives. No one could have persuaded me that I would become Aga Khan. But, I am ashamed to admit that the wizard had some knowledge of things I choose now not to speak of. He used them to silence me. You are correct, as the Aga Khan grew sickly; I looked away, hoping that others would be braver than I." "But I refuse to believe that what happened in this room eight days ago was a conspiracy. None of us colluded with the others and knowingly, willingly stepped aside. In fact, I have little memory of even being here. I can remember arriving, I can remember some of the speeches but then all becomes turmoil. I am ashamed to admit that I remember fear, great fear and unavoidable panic. I have no memory of running away but I must have. A Bak warrior, running away, it was so shameful that I did not speak of this before. Now I wonder if others may have experienced this same fear and held their silence for similar reasons." He paused and looked around. "House Eternal Sky chooses to speak the truth and accept the judgment of the council." The room was silent as he took his seat. Another voice chimed up, "He promised me the Ramaldi gold fields." Someone laughed, "That is odd, he promised me those as well. And strangely I believed it was within his power to bestow them." Kah'matlah stood, "The wizard used diversion as well. He told half truths. He told me that he knew that the Aga Khan had been poisoned, convinced me that the only reason that the man still lived was through magic and medicines only he could administer. He led me to believe that the Aga Khan would recover. I did not question his loyalty and yet I had no reason to trust him. The girl is accurate in her statement that the wizard had the power to influence the judgment of others. I look back now and realize I acted the fool, but it was as if I was surrounded by fools, the Aga Khan himself not the least of them. Only now do we see how the entire council was duped, how we were played against one another. Few of us are totally innocent, excepting perhaps my brother and ally, Jha'hamatla, and only because he stayed well away from court, leaving intrigue and politics to his younger brother." Jha'hamatla stood up, waving his hand negligibly, "House Twisted Dagger is not untarnished. Bribes were offered and though they were not accepted, they were not reported. Lies went unquestioned. It was clear that the court was decaying from within but I chose to turn a blind eye, trusting my representatives here in the city. I do not know what hold the wizard had over my brother, if he had one at all, but it seems he died as a result." Demon Child Ch. 21 Chapter 21: In the Shadow of the Aga Khan )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> It was early morning, the light of first day barely turning the eastern sky lavender when Aylanna slipped from the rooms of the Aga Khan and made her way to the women's quarters. She knew all the courtesans were still asleep and would be until midday. There was little chance that she would be interrupted in her bath. Bathing was the one thing she had come to value about staying here in the vast court of the Aga Khan, beyond being close to Jhardron. She stripped and washed quickly intending to be gone from him for only minutes. In the days and weeks that had followed the council's naming Jhardron Aga Khan, he had been working himself to exhaustion. The state of the court and the empire was in shambles, the old Aga Khan had not attended to a single issue, no matter how trivial or pressing for months if not years. Jhardron may have been reluctant to assume the mantle of power but as soon as he had taken the seat of the Aga Khan he had thrown himself headlong into the role. He had insisted she be there always, never more than an arm's length away. He never openly consulted her, rarely even spoke with her in the presence of others but she knew he took strength from her presence. And he would listen when she would finally intervene, pulling him away from the business of government back to his rooms, insisting he eat or sleep. Aylanna was so lost in thought that she did not sense the presence of another watching her. "You are an elusive creature." The high priestess stood in the doorway of the bathing rooms. Aylanna continued to wash herself, rinsing her hair. "I know not what you speak of. I have been here in the court." The old woman chuckled, "Oh, there has been little question of your whereabouts. Even the lowliest lann'akh in the furthest corner of the land would know where to seek you out. All one must do is look into the shadow of our new Aga Khan to find the demon witch. It is that very fact, the fact that you never seem more than a step behind the boy, never alone that has presented a challenge to me." "A challenge, Mother?" Aylanna wondered what the old woman's name had once been, if she had ever had a name. It seemed that once someone had assumed a rank, the rank became the identity. Jhardron's name had seemed to evaporate as soon as the council had named him Aga Khan. It was slightly amusing that the people tended to name him the 'new' Aga Khan to somehow separate him from his recently deceased father. The High Priestess of the Temple of Pan'Shash'Sha'Am was known only as 'The High Priestess' and affectionately called 'Mother' or 'Grandmother' to her face. And then there was the mystery of herself. Who was strange looking girl with white skin, hair like fire and eyes like smoke? Her name had never been widely known. And her rank was an enigma. She was female, yet the few times she left the side of Jhardron, she walked independently through the old fortress. She did not dress or behave like a courtesan and she was rarely in the women's quarters. Rumors that she had used magical powers to somehow reanimate the corpse of the old Aga Khan had spread quickly. Without name or rank, the label of 'the demon witch' had become her name. Aylanna had felt no particular motivation to rectify this misconception, if it was an error. The title tended to make people fear her, and that fear meant few approached or spoke to her. Aylanna appreciated that fact. And in truth she was a witch. She did have magic. While the old Aga Khan had not been truly dead and she had not in fact revived the dead even briefly, she did have powers, powers not even she knew the limit of. Aylanna had sensed a seething interest directed toward her from this powerful woman ever since she had become embroiled in the events surrounding the death of the former Aga Khan, ever since she had revealed too many hints of those powers. She knew that the priestess was curious to learn exactly the measure of this strange girl that was the perpetual companion of the new Aga Khan. The priestess made an exasperated sound. "Do not play with me child. You know as well as I that you have avoided me like a mouse hides from the hunting fox." Aylanna could not help but smile, "Are you a hunting fox, mother? Are you going to snap me up, toss me into the air and swallow me like a morsel?" The old woman chuckled, "Perhaps my words were ill chosen. Come, child, all I wish to do is to become your friend, to get to know you. Few people seem to know you and when they do the stories they tell are strange and contradict one another. Anyway, I would prefer to learn from you who you are." The priestess paused and then added firmly, "...what you are." A cool breeze from an open window sent a chill over Aylanna's damp body. She could feel the prickle of goose flesh spread across her skin. She looked around the large bathing room toward the large pool with the noisy fountain in the center. She pointed toward the water. "Mother, do you swim? It was my Khan that taught me to swim. Come, come out to the water and I will tell you that story and perhaps others if the mood strikes me." The old woman frowned and looked at Aylanna like she had lost her mind. "Swim?" Aylanna could not help but laugh, "Yes, swim. It is lovely." She turned, stepped into the water and beckoned. The water was not deep, barely coming up to her breasts, "Do not be afraid. It is neither deep nor cold." She gestured toward the fountain where the falling water made a continual music, "And it is a good place to talk." Finally the old priestess smiled and nodded her understanding. She pulled the perfectly white shift off over and gingerly lowered herself into the water. Her body was a withered bundle of sticks, her breasts only wrinkled empty sacks of skin that hung low over a soft sagging belly. She walked carefully through the water until she stood close to Aylanna and the masking sound of falling water. She frowned thoughtfully and swept her hands through the water experimentally, "I cannot remember the last time I swam; it was many lifetimes ago, in a childhood almost forgotten, long before I was sent to the temple as a novice. Service to the goddess leaves little time for frivolity." "Does the goddess frown upon frivolity?" "You ask a thought provoking question. My first impulse would be to say no, that our mother gave us gifts uncountable, among them pleasure, laughter and joy. I cannot believe that she would give us the capacity and then deny us the opportunity. Yet, she also instilled within us a strong sense of service and duty. Perhaps we have lost our sense of balance." The old woman lifted her hands and let the cascade of falling water trickle through her fingers. Her eyes met Aylanna's. "Perhaps that is why we sometimes have such difficulty hearing her voice in our hearts." The old priestess shrugged and shook her head. "But I came here to see you, to learn about you. You play a role and yet you are a cipher, a mystery to me. Your very presence changes the course of events. When I am close to you, I feel closer to the goddess. It is my hope that we can become friends, that we will find that we have common goals and values." Aylanna frowned and held up her arm, pointing to the twin brands of House Twisted Dagger and House Broken Spear. "Like my Khan, I carry the marks of two houses. I hold no loyalty but to him. You speak of my role. My role is clear; I exist to serve him in every way that is within my abilities. You mentioned that those who know me tell conflicting stories. Who have you spoken to and what do you think you know?" The high priestess paused, debating what to reveal about her sources. It was common practice to spy and collect information, yet to openly admit such practices seemed somehow demeaning. "I must confess that when I could not find a time when you were alone that I tried to learn as much as I could from other sources. Not many would tell me much. Various warriors of the Twisted Dagger told me that you were taken as a prize in the Ramaldi Highlands, but then another said you were a member of the northern herding tribes and yet another said you came from the demon cities of the north. To a man they spoke only of your fulfilling your role as ha'akh in an exemplary manner, how you were quick to learn and from the very beginning demonstrated unquestioning loyalty to the regiment. Not a single one spoke of your being a witch, though one did state 'that the demon brought luck to the regiment'." "The information I gathered from some of your sister courtesans..." Aylanna shook her head violently and interrupted. "You are in error. I was never a courtesan. They may have sent here. They even tried to teach me in their arts." Aylanna cleared her throat and spat into the water. "Tried and failed." The older woman laughed and held up her hand, "And that is very much what I learned. Miss Mallinika was closed mouth about your stay here in the courtesan's quarters beyond a wry comment inferring that perhaps you lacked the guile to make a successful courtesan." Aylanna's face twisted with such an expression of disdain and loathing that the priestess paused and tipped her head in thought. If the girl had made such little effort to hide her disgust in the presence of her sisters, the priestess could well understand the source of much of the enmity she had found among the courtesans. "While it was clear that you made many friends among the warriors of the Twisted Dagger, not a single courtesan showed any friendliness toward you save perhaps that empty headed chatterbox. What was her name? Balla? They said you sang like a crow cawing and danced to music no one else seemed to hear. But then again they also made uncharitable comments about your appearance and that was clearly self serving drivel. I did take some interest in the strange fact that several of the courtesans made reference to the odd fact that you were often seen reading, a strange skill for a courtesan." "Like I said, I was never a courtesan." "So it is the truth, you can read?" "Yes and write for that matter." The priestess tipped her head and pondered that fact. "And what was the truth of your origins? Which tale is true, Ramaldi Highlands, Northern Plains or Demon City?" Aylanna laughed, "Perhaps all three, but that is a question to be answered on another day. I tarry too long. I am sure my Khan will have need of my services. Now that you know my secret habit of coming here to bathe in the mornings, perhaps you would like to join me. Each morning we can swim and share stories. Perhaps we will become friends." The high priestess stood and watched as the demon witch withdrew without a single word of parting. She shook her head. The girl remained a mystery, few of her questions had been answered and in fact, the high priestess realized she had revealed far more about herself than the girl had. But she did have the girl's invitation to return, to swim again. There was little question that she would be there again in the morning. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna walked slowly, reviewing the conversation she had had with the high priestess. There was little to distract her. The corridors of the court were still mostly empty. Jhardron had quickly rejected the idea that he needed more than a handful of personal guards. And he had little patience for anyone that did not have work to do. It took only a few fat courtiers being dispatched on long and arduous assignments to send a clear message to the rest. The kitchens no longer produced elaborate banquets, Jhardron decreeing that until the work of the nation was well in hand that all at the court would be served the daily rations of a warrior on campaign. Without indolence or luxury, it was not long before most of the former members of the old Aga Khan's court found pressing matters that took them far from the city. Aylanna did not know how she felt about having her bath interrupted. She knew it was inevitable that the priestess would eventually corner her. She had little fear of the old woman; she did not sense any malevolence in the priestess's heart, only curiosity and something else, a speculative, even hopeful interest. It went without question that the old woman wanted something, but exactly what that something was would have to wait. She had surprised herself when she had invited the priestess to return, to come to the bathing rooms again tomorrow. Aylanna wondered if she would regret the loss of the one place of solitude she had managed to find for herself. She shrugged as she walked through the maze of halls; she wondered which of them was the hunting fox and which would end up the mouse. The abrupt appearance of a young man, a youth from the Broken Spear dashing down the hallway toward her, pulled her from her reverie. He seemed agitated but his face lit up when he spied her. He skidded to a halt and stood with his mouth half open. Aylanna stared back, wondering what this boy was doing. She recognized him; he was one of the young men that had been sent to assist and learn from the new Aga Khan, boys that ran errands and carried messages. He was gangly, too thin for his height, though his frame promised great strength in his future. His torso was decorated with only the first two rows of scars that accompanied the ritual of receiving his first scimitars. Aylanna noted he had chosen to be branded with the mark of House Twisted Dagger in addition to his own house's mark. It had become a fad among the younger warriors, an act of loyalty to the popular new Aga Khan. She stared at him as he stood, suddenly struck dumb in her presence. She could tell he had been looking for her; his relief to find her was palpable, but once he had found her he seemed at a loss for words. Finally she spoke first, "Why do you seek me?" Her words seemed to wake him and he stammered, "The... the Aga Kan, he... he requests your presence." "Then your gawping serves only to delay me." She swept past him wondering if there had been some new news, some unexpected calamity had necessitated her attendance. Aylanna slipped through a back door into the small room that Jhardron had converted to an office. A wide table sat empty in the center of the room. Jhardron refused to allow any report or petition to sit on its surface for long. If there was some document that needed consultation, one of the young aides would be sent to retrieve it from the archives. There were no chairs, he refused to sit, preferring to pace as he talked or thought and it was unheard of for anyone else to sit if the Aga Khan stood. Aylanna knew that by now nearly a dozen petitioners already waited in a nearby room, biding their time until they were summoned. A tiny smile made her lips twitch, Jhardron had made sure that there were no chairs to loll about on in there as well. Jhardron was alone in the room and his face was stormy and he spoke sharply, "Where have you been?" Aylanna took a deep breath. He had been short tempered of late. "My Khan, I am sorry. As you know, it is my habit to bathe in the women's quarters and the high priestess came to me there. She wished to speak. Our conversation delayed my return to you. Was there some event that required my attendance?" She could sense some easing in his mood, "Event? No, but I find your absence disturbing. You have become my touchstone, my talisman. This task is endless and often distasteful. When I start to lose hope of success I find some solace in just the sight of you." He shook his head, "So it was our mother from the temple that kept you from my side. What did she want?" Aylanna looked at him. He had lost weight and his eyes seemed haggard. "She has questions. She knows that I am different, that I can do things and she wished to learn exactly what I am. She seems to want something from me. She said she wants to be my friend." Jhardron barked a short harsh burst of laughter, "Friend? An interesting word, I wonder what she really wants." "I sensed no deception from her. While she did not reveal all that she felt or knew, she did not seem to wish me or you ill. Mostly she is curious and I am a curiosity. I told her that I would talk with her some more when I bathe again tomorrow." "Why do you go there to bathe? There is a perfectly adequate bathing room attached to my rooms." Aylanna smiled, "But, my Khan, you do not have a pool for swimming. I find swimming soothing to my spirit. Do you remember the time you took me to swim, teaching me to let go of fear and let the water lift me up? I wish we could swim together once again." "I have more pressing matters to attend to." Jhardron's reaction to her words was so like the high priestess's that Aylanna blinked and flushed with temper. "My Khan, the high priestess herself stated that the goddess gave us the capacity for happiness and that she would not have given us the gift if she did not wish for us to make use of it. You let duty and these pressing matters blind you to joy and pleasure. When is the last time you held your son in your arms, felt the rapture of the goddess or even felt the flanks of a stallion between your legs, the rush of wind in your face?" She waved her hands, her gesture taking in the whole of the vast complex that made up the court. "This place conspires to stifle the spirit, to weaken the heart. If you do not take the time to feel happiness, you cannot succeed in bringing happiness to your people." Jhardron found himself smiling as he watched her. Her face was strangely flushed, her hands moving quickly to emphasize her words. She rarely showed such spirit in his presence, choosing to speak softly and move quietly in the background. She stopped suddenly, staring up at him, panting slightly as if she had been running. She tried to glare at him but her lips quivered as she fought the urge to return his smile. His voice was soft, "Pretty demon, once again I remember why I keep you by my side. There is little question that I lose perspective, that the very stones about us lead us to forget that the real world that exists beyond these walls. It is hard to remember what is important when I am besieged with minutiae." "My Khan, you try to do too much yourself. On campaign you are well aware that a Khan Bak Tai must depend upon his officers and his warriors to perform their assigned duties. One man cannot stand sentry for an entire camp. The Bak Tai cannot train the boys and at the same time tend the herd and cook the meals. You have to let others assume responsibility. And I cannot help but believe if left to itself, much of the minutiae will find its own solution." There was a furtive movement at a side door and Jhardron's attention was distracted from her words. He nodded absentmindedly at her advice. It wasn't much different than what she and others had told him many times before. Both his uncle and the Kah'matlah had urged him to delegate more, but Jhardron had stubbornly argued that at least in the beginning the people of the nation needed to sense his hand in all things, needed to trust that he was in charge. He waved the boy in, eying the armload of scrolls that had arrived in the night and sighed, pointing to the empty table. "Let's get through these before we talk to any of those that have come to put their requests before me in person." Aylanna moved to her habitual place, standing motionless against one wall. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Mallinika was standing in the hall, obviously waiting for Aylanna to pass by as she left the bathing room in route back to the Aga Khan's side. Aylanna tried to keep the frown of frustration from her face. Too many people were learning of her morning bathing and swimming habits. On more than one occasion she had seen curious faces peering out from the windows of the wives quarters as she stood and talked with the High Priestess next to the fountain. Aylanna stopped and nodded impatiently, "Yes?" Demon Child Ch. 21 For an instant, Miss Mallinika's eyes narrowed. She was used to being treated with more respect, but now this girl was beyond her influence or any ability to exert control. She swallowed down her pride. "Please, Aylanna, I need to speak to you about the state of the women's quarters." "I do not have time. I am expected back. Come tomorrow, come earlier. Join our mother and me in the swimming pool and speak to me then." Aylanna knew that Mallinika had to know of the rendezvous she had having with the old priestess, that in all likelihood, everyone in the city knew by now of the bizarre meetings, the improbably duo standing naked, out of reach of prying ears. It went without question that many would have given half their wealth to know what they discussed. Aylanna smiled to herself as she quickly made her way back from the women's quarters to the Aga Khan's conference room. Anyone who managed to listen in they would be almost as frustrated as the old priestess. After weeks of talks, she knew hardly more than she had when she first laid eyes upon the enigma that was the demon witch. Aylanna never lied, but she had developed an infuriating skill at diverting the focus of their conversations away from subjects of magic. She had told the high priestess her mother's story of abduction and subsequent revenge, she even told of finding the northern tribe that her mother had been a member of, a tribe that Aylanna was a member of by birthright. She never once mentioned the mummy of her father or how his spirit had been trapped there by the cold iron of chains and hate. She had shared some details of her childhood among the Ramaldi but instinctively shied away from speaking too much about the witch doctor, avoiding his words of destiny or finding her own magic. The old woman was careful never to press too hard, patiently held her frustration in check and listened with both her heart and mind. Aylanna knew that the ancient priestess learned as much from her omissions as she did from her stories. They had developed a wary respect and the seeds of trust had been planted and the beginning of a friendship had begun to germinate. Her days with Jhardron had developed a routine that made one day blend into another, she hardly listened to the dull repetitive reports that had more to do with tariffs and trade, progress on various public construction and maintenance projects and the obsequious appeals of various court rulings. She and Jhardron had almost without any discussion worked out a system of silent communication. If Aylanna sensed that the person speaking was being deceptive, she would stretch and yawn, step away from her position against the wall and sidle to stare out the single window or pour a cup of water. She would not even look toward the Aga Khan or the man who was attempting to lie. Jhardron would deftly delay his decision stating that he needed to "look into the matter further" and the false witness would be exposed and marked as untrustworthy. Word spread quickly that the new Aga Khan seemed to have a sixth sense and would not tolerate deception of any kind. Those that tried to lie soon found themselves busy with mundane and powerless positions at best, or stripped of citizenship and working with their hands and backs at worst. There was no need for jail or torture. One of the first things that Jhardron had done when he was named Aga Khan was to order the cells of the dungeon emptied and the few of surviving political prisoners brought before him. Many had been incarcerated for stubbornly speaking the truth rather than dissembling. Many others had been named by the victims of the wizard, abducted in the night and then tortured into more false confessions, forced to implicate others innocent of any crimes against the state. The wizard had personally conducted the questioning and Aylanna had shuddered and suffered as each of these broken innocents had relived their months in the dark bowels of the court of the Aga Khan, telling tales of torment, torture, mutilation and horrific vivisection, live men and women subjected to bizarre medical experiments, their bodies flayed out, their very hearts beating before their eyes. It was clear that for every one that had survived, tens had died at the hands of monster. Aylanna had tried to go down with Jhardron when he went to view for himself the places where the sadistic wizard had indulged his twisted appetites but the lingering echoes of horror were beyond bearing and she had turned and fled. Jhardron was clearly as repulsed as she had been and had ordered the entrance to the dungeons sealed. Just the awareness that those empty rooms remained there, that the screams of horror and the weight of despair still echoed in the darkness chilled her spirit. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Both Mallinika and the old priestess were waiting in the pool, already talking to each other when Aylanna hurried in to the bathing room. She washed quickly and glanced up at the surrounding windows as she waded out to the two older women. There were so many faces peering out at them from both the wives and courtesans quarters that she could not help but pause and give into the impulse to smile and wave. Many of the faces withdrew, but more than one hesitantly returned her gesture. Aylanna respectfully greeted each of the women, formally touching hands and foreheads. She looked expectantly at the two. "It seems that either I am late or perhaps you are early." She turned to Mallinika. "You wished to speak to me?" The mistress of the women's quarters nodded. "Yes, I was hoping to ask you what you knew of the Aga Khan's intent for the disposition of the women's quarters. He has not visited; he does not send for entertainment, he has not even moved his wives here. And there is the delicate subject of the wives of the old Aga Khan." Aylanna frowned, "I know nothing of the Aga Khan's intent but to be honest, I am not sure if he has devoted much thought to it. This is a subject that I have little knowledge of. What is customary?" Again her eyes lifted to the windows and the watchers there. She understood the curiosity now, clearly everyone in the women's quarters was aware that Mallinika was discussing their fate. Mallinika began to speak but the high priestess interrupted her. "Customary? In the past custom would have had the wives of the Aga Khan join him on his funeral pyre, but mercifully that custom was deemed barbaric many generations ago. Now there are other options; moving in with the family of a daughter or a son, the choice of being given in marriage to another, or joining the temple as a priestess are most common." Aylanna nodded. "And the courtesans?" Mallinika spoke this time. "The courtesans are the property of the new Aga Khan, inherited from the old Aga Khan. But this new Aga Khan has seemed to forgotten our existence." Mallinika's eyes shifted and she chose her words carefully. "The new Aga Khan seems to have little need for the diversions of the women of the court. He seems satisfied with just one." Aylanna laughed and ruefully shook her head. "If it were only so. The new Aga Khan devotes all his energy to the business of state. He exhausts himself with scrolls and numbers and much of the time seems to have forgotten that I am female at all. Since he has taken office, I can count the times he has made use of my venya on the fingers of one hand. But you are correct, the new Aga Khan has forgotten the existence of the courtesans and I suspect that he will continue to do so." Mallinika laughed along with her. "It is true; people speak widely of the industriousness of the new Aga Khan, of how he is devoted to duty. He is a leader that puts the needs of his people before his. But the question remains, what to do with the courtesans? They grow lax and restless. They neither fear the dungeons nor my authority. They bicker and fight among themselves." The high priestess cleared her throat and suggested, "Perhaps the solutions will be much the same as for the former wives." Mallinika shook her head. "You know as well as I that it is widely held that a courtesan makes a poor wife and I wonder if many of them have the depth of character to make the sacrifices required of a priestess. No, I think the only feasible option is to set them free. Give each a reward for their service, enough to establish a household, and establish themselves as independent courtesans." The old woman looked thoughtful, "Though I think that the refuge of the temple may be the only choice for me. If there are not courtesans to teach or chivy from one assignation to another, if the wives are sent away, this will become a lonely place." The high priestess slipped her arm around Mallinika, "Your teaching and management skills would be a welcome addition." Mallinika shook her head, "The skills of a courtesan are those of appearance. We practice to look attentive, to feign enthusiasm, to pretend love. We practice the art of dalliance, to give our bodies without sharing our hearts. There is no error so painful for a courtesan as to lose her heart to another. I wonder what skills I have to teach." She blinked and looked around the courtyard. "This place has been my home for too long. The prospect of leaving fills my heart with sadness." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna placed the dish of food before Jhardron and cleared her throat. "My Khan, I am reluctant to disturb your meal, but you have been busy all the day. I have a bit of minutiae to bring before you." Jhardron looked up from the food he was efficiently shoveling into his mouth. He spoke as he chewed, "You ask little, pretty demon, and yet you attend to my needs and stand at my side when I can tell your spirit wishes to be anywhere but here. What is it that you wish to speak about?" "This morning Mallinika spoke to me in the women's quarters. She wished to know when you were going to attend to the disposition of the widows of the former Aga Khan. She also is of the opinion that if you were not going to make use of the courtesans than perhaps it would be a kindness to set them free to ply their trade on the streets of the city." Jhardron frowned and pushed the bowl of food away, "Ah, the women's quarters. I had all but forgotten about them." He rubbed his hand across his face and yawned. "And I must confess I have no idea as to what to do about this issue. It is not an issue of the state. It is just the daily difficulty of running a household. And truthfully, I have no desire to become embroiled in the drama of women. It just brings to mind the tension and bitterness between the wives of my father." In this unguarded moment, Aylanna knew he spoke of his adopted father, Jhar'drakon. In fact he never referred to the former Aga Khan as his father. Aylanna pushed the bowl back in front of him, "Please, my Khan, eat. Even an Aga Khan must consume sustenance. Let me deal with the issues of the women's quarters. But I do have one further suggestion." Jhardron mechanically began to eat again, nodding absentmindedly. "Yes, you are right. I am hungry. I am just tired too. What else do you wish to disturb me with?" His voice was good humored, if resigned. "Once the widows of the old Aga Khan have been dealt with, I think it would be a good thing if the wives of the new Aga Khan took up residence. Your children grow up with no knowledge of their father. It will not be many more weeks before your second son is born. I also think that it would be a good thing if you mother was to come here to live." The corner of Aylanna's lip turned up. "And I remember once a warrior telling me that he cannot expect to harvest sons if he is not home to till the fields. If you cannot go home, perhaps it would be wise to bring the fields to the farmer." For an instant Jhardron choked on the food in his mouth and as Aylanna rushed and struck him soundly on the back, he coughed and began to laugh aloud. He finally reached for a cup of water and took several deep swallows. "You surprise me once again, pretty demon. A second son you say? You have knowledge that even I am not party to." But then his face darkened and he shook his head, "I have no wish to expose my sons to this place." Aylanna had not lifted her hand from his back and sensing pain in his neck, began to rub at the knots she found in the muscles there. "This place is not longer what it once was. You have purged much of the evil that was once there. I cannot help but believe that the sounds of children's voices, the laughter of happy women will go far to exorcise the last of the poison that once filled these halls. And it will bring balance to your heart." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> To Aylanna's surprise the wives of the former Aga Khan were easier to dispose of than the courtesan's were. They had been expecting to go; though they were more than a little taken back when Aylanna had told them that the choice was theirs. All three had adamantly rejected the suggestion that a new husband might be found for them. It was clear that none had fond memories of marriage. Two had chosen to go to live in a daughter's household and the third had been grateful for the chance to join the priesthood. The bevy of courtesans had not been even a fraction so cooperative. Their reactions when Mallinika gave them a choice between joining the temple as a priestess or being freed were violent. It was clear that the sacrifices that accompanied a priestess's life were regarded as beyond bearable. Balla's hands had swept up to her hair, crying out that she did not want to shave her head. Another had snapped at the hysterical girl that shaving one's head was the least of a priestess's burdens, that a priestess was expected to work from dawn to dark and then to spread their legs to any commoner that stood at the temple door all night. The words 'work' and 'commoner' were met with such expressions of loathing and disdain that Aylanna could not help but shake her head. Not a single courtesan seemed prepared or willing to contemplate a life of service. Mallinika did not seem surprised at all at the response to that proposal. What did astound her was the pure confusion and fear that met the alternative of being freed. Again it was the youngest and most fragile that put voice to the thoughts of all the others. Balla had wailed, "By myself?" and burst into sobs. To Aylanna's surprise the girl had thrown herself into the arms of Tindy, one of the courtesans that had been quickest to express her scorn and belittle the girl. In fact, all of the courtesans had moved to wrap their arms around each other, staring out at Mallinika and Aylanna with frightened and angry eyes. Tindy hugged Balla close and spoke angrily, "So you intend to throw us out into the street?" It was Aylanna's turn to be surprised when Mallinika answered, "No, not alone and not on the street, if that is what you fear. If you wish, you can come with me. I have found a house in the city, a big house large enough for all of us if you choose to join me there. But I must warn you, that it will not be the same life you have led here in the court. It has taken nearly all of my savings to purchase the house." Aylanna's eyes had noted the absence of the heavy gold necklaces that were the mark and pride of every female that served the goddess. "I have no more money to hire servants or to put food in your belly. We will have to work and work hard." Mallinika paused and looked at the faces of the women, "But I am sure that there are many rich businessmen that would pay very well for what was once reserved for the Aga Khan and the aristocracy." Mallinika then laughed, "And for that matter we are among the last to go. There are many former members of court that have taken up residence in the city, men with a pronounced taste for the skills of a trained courtesan. I think that we will be in very much demand." Slowly the expressions of the courtesans changed from wary to curious. Mallinika cautioned, "We will have to work together. Living in my house will be your choice, but it will also be at my discretion. If you do not contribute or if you choose to become a disruptive influence, you will no longer be welcome. You will find yourself once again choosing between the temple or the street." As Mallinika walked with Aylanna out of the women's quarters, she sighed. "The more I thought about the temple, the more I knew I am too old to change. I had thought I could not give my heart to another, not even the goddess, but when I contemplated leaving this place, I realized it was not the place, it was my girls that I could not be parted from. They are my children and they need me." Mallinika paused, "And I need them." Aylanna hugged the older woman, "It is a good choice. And if there is ever a time you need assistance, come to me." "It will be good to have a friend in court." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna made sure that each of the courtesans was given rich gifts to ease their transition, dresses and many strands of gold and precious stones to add to their necklaces. She had encouraged Mallinika to select the finest of furniture, rugs and tapestries from the nearly empty palace of the Aga Khan to adorn their new home. She made sure that no one in the city thought for an instant that the girls had been banished for any transgression or failure to perform their duty. And ultimately, it was seen throughout the land as one more demonstration of the new Aga Khan's fanatical devotion to duty that he eschewed the distractions of the whores of the court. Mallinika had sent word that almost before they had settled into their new home that they had been besieged with requests for a taste of the rare and exclusive favors of a former courtesan trained to serve the court of the Aga Khan. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> "Come, pretty demon, an old friend is here that wishes to see you again." Aylanna had stared at Jhardron in confusion. She had been late arriving to his offices this morning, busy in the women's quarters conferring with Magdellyn, Jhardron's adoptive mother, assisting her in the task of settling of the three young women and their tired children in their new home. It seemed like half the household of the Twisted Dagger had accompanied them; servants, nursemaids, cooks and teachers all had to find places. Jhardron had been there to greet them when the entourage had arrived late the night before, but he had seemed guarded, just slightly uncomfortable with all the noise and confusion. He had held his son briefly but quickly handed off the fussy baby to a nurse maid. He had spoken formal words of approval at Annalla's apparent good health and swollen belly. He seemed to hardly notice Similandra and Aylanna could not help but notice that his middle wife had hung back and avoided his eye. Magdellyn had taken over quickly, leading everyone off to show them their new quarters, ordering the servants to leave the task of unpacking for the morning. It was late in the night when Jhardron slipped from his bed and Aylanna did not question what task took him away. The creation of sons was a duty, especially for an Aga Khan. She sent a brief wish to the goddess that this union bear fruit and was asleep when he returned. Aylanna blinked and shook her head, deliberately casting out the distracting thoughts, "Who?" Jhardron had laughed and held up his hand in admonition. "Let me surprise you for a change." He held out his hand in invitation and she took it. As they walked Aylanna wondered who he could be speaking of. An old friend? Someone from her past, one of the Twisted Dagger warriors? She was reviewing names and faces in her head, Tim'kah? Kwal'kek? But why would they not come to Jhardron's meeting rooms, why did she have to go to them? She kept sending curious glances as Jhardron's face, but he revealed nothing. But then when they approached the stables and the smell of hay and horses began to filter up the hall, she laughed out loud with happy anticipation and began to hurry, pulling him along. "Xin'sha, it is Xin'sha, my happy little horse!" Demon Child Ch. 21 Jhardron laughed along with her. "I cannot surprise you, you clever demon. You can read my mind!" Aylanna shook her head as she rushed forward, "No, I cannot read your mind. I can smell horses! Who else would be here, and your wives have just arrived from the Twisted Dagger." She stopped and turned looking up at him with suddenly serious eyes. "But you remembered to have them bring her back to me. I thank you for that." Then she pulled on his arm, "Now show me where she is. Don't make me run up and down this barn." It was not hard to find her. Xin'sha seemed to have a magical sense for her human friend. As they approached the little mare's head was stretched out from her stable window, her nostrils flared wide and shrill, excited whinnies of greeting rang up the wide earthen corridor. Aylanna started to run forward but she saw a small group of men standing at attention and hesitated, moving to stand behind Jhardron. Several stable workers accompanied an older man of some higher rank, Aylanna guessed the stable master, who greeted Jhardron with stiff formality. "It is an honor to have the Aga Khan to take the time in his busy schedule visit his stable. I have examined the mare as you requested. She is in fine health, the foal within her thrives. I am of the opinion that she will drop it in the next moon." Throughout the stable master's speech Xin'sha had continued to trumpet her impatience. There were a series of sharp thumps as the little mare kicked at the door of her stall. Jhardron laughed, "Fine health and apparently fine voice." He gave Aylanna a quick push forward. "She will not calm down until you are in there with her." When Aylanna slipped into the large box stall, Xin'sha was so excited that she nearly knocked Aylanna down with her first greeting. Aylanna put her hand on the little mare's nose and scolded sharply, "Behave yourself!" Instantly the little mare froze, her whole frame trembling with pent up tension. Someone behind her murmured in amazement. Aylanna stroked the warm smooth neck, sliding her hands down along the swollen flanks. The little filly was wide awake and tried to kick but there was little room to move. Aylanna smiled and murmured, "You will have room to run soon enough little one." She was so absorbed in her reunion with her horse friend that she did not at first notice Jhardron walk away with the group of men and when she peeked out of the stall to see where he had gone, she smiled to see him listening to the stable master as he was being given a tour of the stables. He was nodding and asked a question that she could not hear. Xin'sha gave her a firm shove in the small of her back with her nose, nearly knocking her down once again and Aylanna turned and shook an admonishing finger at the playful mare. "You be good!" The little mare looked so abashed that Aylanna laughed out loud and threw her arms around the warm red neck and buried her face in the red mane. "I missed you too. I know you want out of here, want to run with the wind in your face. And there is nothing I want more than that as well. But first things first, your belly is filled to bursting with your baby. I promise you, once your daughter is born; I will take you out for a ride." Aylanna was still talking with little red mare when she heard the voice of the stable master approaching. He was talking about a proposal for some new breeding plan and the acquisition of some stallion from House White Crane. And when she turned, she met Jhardron's eyes watching her. She could tell that he needed to go. Reluctantly she pulled away from Xin'sha and moved to stand next to him, but she could not help but feel her heart sink at the prospect of another long day of droning voices and scrolls. The stable master cleared his throat and spoke in a confident voice. "I will take care of your mare..." Then he hesitated and stared at Aylanna in confusion, clearly at a loss as to her name or rank. He cleared his throat again and his eyes slipped from her and he directed his words at the Aga Khan, "...my Khan." Again Aylanna was struck with the conundrum she created by just being there. It was unheard of for any female, courtesan, wife or even priestess to accompany an Aga Khan in the manner she did, always at his side, watchful, listening, but never voicing comment or opinion. In many ways, because there were no rules as to how to speak to her, few people even met her eye or acknowledged her presence. She knew that she was the subject of much speculation; that soon the news of this little foray to the stables would soon become common knowledge. She wondered how this new information would be interpreted, how it would add to the myth of the witch that existed in the shadow of the Aga Khan. Jhardron did not seem to notice the stable master's brief bout of bewilderment. He nodded briskly, "Very good. I will take note of your proposals and send down the necessary documents to authorize the expansion of the breeding program." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> That night Aylanna woke to find Jhardron was once again gone from his usual place beside her. She lay alone contemplating his absence. She twisted and turned restlessly, just a little lonely and vaguely dissatisfied. She did not question his absence. But the knowledge that he was with another made her more aware of her own needs, the aching in her loins. Jhardron may have kept her at his side, even insisting she share his bed as he slept but he did not often make use of her body. She could feel his need; that the very presence of her body so close to his was a torment and she had reached out to him. But he had rebuffed her tentative advances, stating that until the needs of the nation were attended to he would not deplete his energy. Aylanna had not quite understood his meaning, but she could also sense his resolve to not be ruled by his passions and she had done her best to turn her mind away from the call of the goddess. The bed clothes seemed to cling to her skin, she was too hot but when she threw off the coverlet the air felt icy on her damp skin. Finally she climbed from the bed, stripped off her clammy shift and stood at the window and stared out through the bars at the stars. The air felt cool and refreshing and she reached back and lifted her thick hair from the nape of her neck. She looked down at her body. Her pale skin gleamed in the starlight. She did not turn when she heard his steps behind her and when his fingertips touched her back she shivered with a cascade of tingling sensations. She sighed and leaned back against him savoring the warmth of his body in the cool air as his arms slipped around her. Aylanna could sense he was tense, even just slightly angry and she wondered that he so unguarded. She turned inside his embrace, tipping her head back to peer into his shadowed face. "My Khan, your spirit is troubled. Is there is anything I can do to soothe you?" His arms tightened and crushed her to his chest and Aylanna could smell the aroma of another woman. His voice was tightly controlled, "How is it that you welcome my touch, even crave it and..." He hesitated and Aylanna felt another wave of anger, "...and another can find it so repulsive?" Aylanna knew that he spoke of Similandra. His first wife still nursed his son and tradition dictated that a woman did not return to the marriage bed for the first year of a male child's life; and Annalla was ripe with child. She pressed her face close to his chest, the scent of his recent union rich in her nostrils. She spoke the name aloud. "Similandra? She resists?" He shook his head, "Resists? No, she is well aware of her duty. She is nothing if not compliant. She lies still beneath me, she opens her legs at my command, yet she does nothing to hide how much she hates me, hates my touch. Her eyes are filled with loathing and disgust. She flinches and shudders at my touch. She cries out in pain as I enter her. Each time is like raping a woman taken in battle." Aylanna could tell that under his anger was frustration and beneath that guilt. It was clear he did not relish the pain and unhappiness he knew he was forcing upon his wife. It was much the same as when he had beaten her for running away all those months ago. He had performed the required duty but each blow had become more difficult than the one before until he could hardly lift the whip. "Has she always been thus?" His voice took on a puzzled tone, "She has always seemed frightened and shy when we lay together. I was gentle, following the teaching of the goddess but she never softened, never seemed to calm. Eventually I began to pass her by, preferring to lay with Annalla. But now, now since they have come here to live, Annalla already carries a child, duty leaves only Similandra who's womb seems as dry and barren as her heart. And Simi's fear and shyness seems to have turned to hatred and disgust. And this task has gotten almost beyond bearing. My jhambar begins to shy away from its duty. I must think of pale flesh and ruby lips to persuade him to lift his head in interest." For the first time Aylanna sensed a spark of humor, an easing of his dark mood. She deliberately writhed sinuously against him. "Perhaps, my Khan, we should reward him for his cooperation, reluctant as it may have been. If he wishes for a more welcome portal, these ruby lips lie within his reach and the blessing of the goddess will wash away the memory of unwelcome and onerous labors." And she smiled as she felt a rush of heat course through his blood and felt her lust rise to meet his. Jhardron's voice was a low growl of passion in her ear as his hands hardened on her hips, pulling her tighter against him, bending her back as his lips and teeth found her neck. "You are truly a witch, pretty demon." Aylanna shuddered as he bit down, intent in leaving the stallion's mark upon her neck. As his jhambar found its mark and began to slide deep, she cried out and her legs swept up and around his waist, her arms clinging to his neck. He lifted her and crushed her against the wall, pressing deeper and deeper into her as if there was no limit to her depths. It seemed like he was intent upon somehow forcing his whole being inside of her. She felt pierced to the heart by the spear within her, the stones felt rough against her back and his teeth clenched down upon the pulse of her throat. They hung there suspended by the passion of their union for what seemed an endless moment and then he growled low in his throat and lifted his head and looked into her face. His voice quivered with pent up passion, "I tire of gentleness, of restraint and rituals. I just want to rut upon you, take you like a wild stallion takes his mare, like the god and the goddess." Aylanna's voice was as low and as hoarse as his, "And I wish to be taken, to feel the passion of the gods." Jhardron laughed low and still gripping her hips with hands that felt like iron straps, pulled slowly out and then with almost brutal strength, slammed back almost deeper than he had been before. Aylanna could feel the pleasure course through him, pleasure not only from the heat and pressure of her flesh on his but the wild sense of freedom that surged through him and she cried out in wordless encouragement, speaking not only her willingness to be used thus, but her wish for more, for more strength, more primitive, wild, unrestrained merging of their bodies and their spirits. Over and over he crashed into her, his mouth and teeth almost savaging her neck. And she found herself responding in kind, her nails and teeth scoring his flesh as she pulled at him, spurring him on. She had no memory of sinking to the floor, no awareness of place or the passage of time beyond the wild insatiable hunger the consumed her. As Jhardron stiffened and groaned with the intensity of his offering, Aylanna was so closely merged with him she felt each pulse of his heart, the rush of air through his lungs and the throbbing of his loins, and she met and matched each sensation with her own, giving all of herself and more as the magic of the goddess lifted her up and away. They lay still entwined, Jhardron lazily tracing the contours of her face with a finger tip, his voice soft now and wondering. "Yes, truly a witch, just your touch eases my spirit." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Magdellyn stood uncertainly at the edge of the water staring out at Aylanna and the high priestess. She seemed hesitant to enter but eventually she marched out into the water with determination. She had an irritated scowl on her face as she approached. "It is ridiculous to have to humiliate myself this manner in order to speak with you." She was looking directly at the high priestess. The ancient priestess looked puzzled. "If you wished to speak with me all you needed to do was send word. I would have come to your apartments." Magdellyn looked a little uncomfortable. "It is a private matter, a family matter. I wish to have as few people aware of this as possible." The priestess gestured toward the noisy fountain not far from them, "Then perhaps this is the best place to speak." Magdellyn stared at Aylanna, her discomfort plain on her face and she repeated, "It is a family matter." Aylanna nodded her understanding and began to withdraw. But the high priestess held up a delaying hand. She spoke directly to Magdellyn, "This girl carries no loyalty to any but the Aga Khan. She is his creature. If I have learned anything in my conversations with her is that she will never to anything to betray the Aga Khan or his family." Magdellyn paused and her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed up. "Yes, but perhaps this is not a thing to disturb the Aga Khan about. I do not particularly want this brought to his attention at this time. It is just an issue with one of his wives. I am worried about the girl. I mostly came to seek advice and perhaps to request a sacrifice to the goddess on her behalf." Aylanna frowned and asked, "You wish for me to keep this secret from the Aga Khan?" Magdellyn nodded, "Yes, for now. I have hopes that I can find a solution and it would become unnecessary for him to know." Aylanna shook her head. "I cannot promise to keep a secret from the Aga Khan. I have sworn my loyalty to him and house Twisted Dagger." She turned to go once again. The high priestess put her hand on her arm, stopping her a second time. "Precisely what I was speaking of; and if you deem that this is a matter requiring his awareness, than I would trust your judgment. But I want you to stay. I want you to become an ally to Magdellyn in her role as mother to this household." Both Magdellyn and Aylanna stared at the ancient high priestess in bewilderment and she laughed and looked down at her withered body. "I sense my mortality. I cannot help but believe that I am not long for this world. It would ease my passing to know that my children in the court of the Aga Khan play well together. Neither of you have many allies in the court, and yet both of you hold the ear of the new Aga Khan." Aylanna raised a brow and turned to Magdellyn, "If it is true that this is an issue that will only disturb the Aga Khan, a matter that can be resolved without his knowledge, than I will agree to keep this a matter between us. But I must warn you, I am not adept at deception. I cannot lie." The old priestess chuckled and shook her head. "Aylanna, I think you underestimate your skills. While you do not lie, never speak an untruth, you excel at the art of evasion. I would like to think of you as a friend. I like you very much, but I also sense that there is much you choose to conceal from me. Perhaps someday you will find it in your heart to trust me with your secrets." She turned to Magdellyn. "But that is for another time. You wished to speak to me about something." Magdellyn back and forth between the two women facing her, clearly not completely convinced but seeing no alternative, she blurted out. "It is Similandra, the second wife of the Aga Khan. She... she is... um... becoming a difficulty. She has always been a nervous child, given to flights of imagination and melancholy. This move to the court seems to have caused her some upset. She was becoming increasingly disruptive to her sister wives. I confronted her and now she won't leave her rooms and refuses to eat or bathe. When I try to speak to her she just cries and talks about how much she hates it here, how she wants to go home. Foolish girl, when I tell her that this is the house of her husband and her home, she just cries some more. I am at my wits end." Aylanna listened, careful not to reveal any awareness of the Aga Khan's similar difficulties with his second wife. "Perhaps she is ill. Has she been examined by a physician?" Magdellyn shook her head. "We did not bring a doctor with us. I did not expect to find this mausoleum devoid of the most basic of staff. And my wish for privacy prevented me from sending for a physician from the city or the temple." Aylanna sent a sidelong glance at the old priestess, choosing her words carefully as she spoke to Magdellyn. "I have some small skill with healing. Would you permit me to visit her?" Magdellyn looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Aylanna, forgive me if my words offend, but your position here at court had raised some questions among the Aga Khan's wives. There is some degree of jealousy that you share his bed. If you wish to see the girl, I have no objection but I must warn you in advance that your reception would be chilly at best." Aylanna shrugged. "My reception is of little matter. I share your concern about this girl." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> As the trio made their way into the women's quarters, the mood of the rooms seemed subdued. The usual bustle and noise of children and servants was gone. Aylanna had a very strong sense of being watched and the very air vibrated with hidden anger. A little girl peeked out from behind a curtained doorway but vanished as they drew closer. Magdellyn paused before a curtained doorway and called out, "Simi, I wish to speak to you." The girl's voice behind the curtain was hoarse and muffled, "Go away." Magdellyn sent a pained glance at Aylanna and the high priestess. "Please forgive the girl. She has lost all sense of respect or propriety." She gripped the curtain and pulled it aside. "Remember your manners, child. You have august visitors. I have invited the high priestess of the temple and the demon witch that serves your husband here to see if there is some illness to explain your strange behavior." The room was deeply shadowed, hot and airless, the window shutters tightly closed. Aylanna's nose twitched as she caught the distinctive scent of urine and fear. The girl was huddled on her bed, hidden under layers of blankets despite the heat. When Magdellyn attempted to pull the coverings off the girl, she clung stubbornly them and once again cried out, "Go away!" Aylanna glanced at the priestess, but she was just standing, her head tipped slightly to one side, watching the scene playing out before her. Aylanna stepped forward and gently placed her hand over Magdellyn's, putting a stop the tug-of-war that was rapidly developing. "Leave her some small sense of shelter. Go open the windows, let us air this room out a bit." Magdellyn froze and shot her an angry look but then turned and marched to the shuttered windows and threw then open with a stiff angry yank. The new light of morning revealed the untidy room; clothing strewn across the floor, trunks and boxes of personal belongs yet to be unpacked. Aylanna carefully sat on the edge of the bed and laid her hand down on top of the jumble of blankets on the bed. The acrid smell of urine was stronger here, the coverlet humid and damp. The girl tensed and tightened her hold on her coverings, clearly expecting a second assault on her last bastion of defense. Simi was a ball of misery, her spirit a confused jumble of pain, fear and stubborn anger. Aylanna sent a small glance toward the priestess, aware that the old woman was watching her with almost triumphant curiosity. She smiled and gestured for the old woman to come closer and then turned back to the girl, letting her awareness sink deeper. Demon Child Ch. 22 Chapter 22: It was a Time of Mystery and Magic )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The grounds that lay between the temple and the court of the Aga Khan were a wide smooth expanse of trimmed grass with a wide paved avenue that lead directly between the two massive buildings, a straight line that connected the seat of government and the spiritual heart of the land. There were no trees or even shrubberies. In the distance Aylanna could see a band of workers raking and tending the grass and a shepherd accompanied by a herd of fat white goats. She walked fast, the two young men escorting her flanked her, strutting a little to be out of the court on what could be construed as a special duty. It took longer to span the distance than she anticipated. The sheer size of this place was deceptive. The temple was tall, she had remembered it looming like a mountain but as she marched closer, the height was staggering. It was many times larger than the court of the Aga Khan and as she looked back at disorganized jumble of squares and rectangles of the citadel, Aylanna could sense the very basic difference between the two buildings. One reaching to the sky, singular in shape and design, the other was low, confused, resembling a pile of rubble as much as a structure. The chaos of the world of men contrasted with the focus and peace of the goddess. Looking up as the blood red ziggurat Aylanna held no doubt that the hand of the goddess built this monument. The high priestess waited for her at an open archway of equally monumental proportions. Aylanna could not help but stare open mouthed at the huge golden doors that opened into a vast entry and a golden statue that filled the far end of the cavern-like room from floor to ceiling. The gigantic nude figure of the goddess seemed illuminated with supernatural light, glowing in the darkness like a summoning beacon. She stood with outstretched, welcoming arms and the worshipers at her feet. Aylanna did not notice that her escorts did not enter into the temple, that they stopped at the doorway and peered in, respectfully touching their foreheads in reverence. The colossal chamber echoes with the voices and footsteps of the women that filed in to make offerings to the goddess. The high priestess spoke in a soft voice, "It is customary to greet the goddess upon entering into her home." But Aylanna was already walking forward, drawn by the spectacle before her. She had a soft wide smile on her face, as if she had spied an old friend and was hurrying to be reunited. She stopped just short of the crush of women that milled about the feet of the goddess and stood staring up, and then looked around curiously. When the high priestess came to stand beside her, Aylanna was still smiling. She turned to her old friend, "Mother, I can sense her here, the goddess, she fills this place but she is not the statue, that is just a thing, a beautiful thing, but you cannot capture her with a sculpture or even a mountain of stone." The high priestess bowed down before the sculpture and then nodded in understanding. "Of course, my daughter, this is just a thing, a thing for her worshipers to see, to bow down to and leave their gifts. Yet for the many who cannot perceive her as acutely as you, this is all we can offer, this and the blessing." Aylanna frowned at the thought of others who could not sense the pervasive joy that filled the room and then bowed down, mimicking the priestess's obeisance. "Of course, mother." She looked about the room, noting that the glow that lit up the statue was sunlight reflecting off the golden doors, strategically angled to catch the afternoon sun. A mound of food and other items was at the feet of the statue and a steady stream of supplicants carried more to present to the goddess. A matching stream of priestesses hurried to and fro transporting the accumulating tribute back through a dozen doorways. Aylanna tipped her head, taking note of the absence of any males and observed, "Men do not come into the temple." The high priestess nodded. "Only on specific holy days are men allowed into the temple. This is a woman's place. Men worship on the battle field and between the legs of a woman." Aylanna smiled at those words, her mind filling with images of the last time she held a man between her legs. The sound of Jhardron's voice and the image of his face sent a pang of sweet memory through her belly. She shook her head as she remembered Jhardron's words to not be gone long. "Mother, you are right, I do need to find the time to tour this home of the goddess, but alas today is not the day. I thank you for taking the time to greet me but I must speak with your healer about the herbs and medicines I need. Time is of the essence, fever of the bladder is easily cured if caught in the first stages. And my khan gave me leave to be gone from his side for only a short time." The high priestess frowned and Aylanna could tell she was puzzled by this last statement, but she did not question it. The old woman just shook her head in an open acknowledgement of her mystification. "Daughter, you always leave me with more questions than you answer. You will need a guide. I will have a priestess take you to the rooms of the healer." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The arms of her escorts were laden with packages as they made their way back to the court. The physician at the temple was a wise and helpful woman who seemed happy to find a kindred spirit in this strange looking girl and Aylanna felt certain she had found a new friend and ally. The store rooms of the temple were well stocked; filled with what seemed years worth of herbs, medicines and other implements of healing. Aylanna had found all she needed and more. Aylanna went straight to the women's quarters, walking directly to Similandra's rooms. The girl was still in bed but her head was uncovered and she sat up at Aylanna's entrance, peering past her as if she was expecting someone else. Aylanna smiled in approval at the nearly empty pitcher. "You have been drinking the juice. Have you voided your bladder?" Simi nodded, frowning painfully. "It burns." "Yes, it will for a time. But the more you drink, the more you will wash away the poison in your body and the less it will hurt. If you do not wash the poison away, you will only get sicker. We do not want that." Similandra bristled. "We? And who do you mean by that?" Aylanna regretted her words almost as soon as she had said them. "I guess that is for us to figure out. I had assumed that you shared my wish for you to feel better. Perhaps I was mistaken." She busied herself with a brazier, heating water and dropping in a handful of powder and several sprigs of other dried plants. Similandra's voice was suspicious. "What are you making?" "Some tea, it will calm the cramps in your bladder and ease the burning as you release your water." Aylanna did not elaborate that the same pain reducing herb was also a soporific and that for the next few days, Similandra would not be doing much beyond drinking, peeing and sleeping. "Do not worry; I have added some sweet herbs to mask the bitterness." Aylanna stained the hot mixture through a grass filter and mixed some the strong tea mixture with some fruit juice to cool it and make it even more palatable. Similandra wrinkled her nose but drank down the slightly warm mixture. She pulled a face, running her tongue around inside her mouth and complained. "It has a strange after taste." Aylanna filled the cup with the last of the fruit juice. "Drink this to clear you palate. I will have someone bring you some more." Simi grimaced. "As long as it is not that old harridan, Magdellyn, I hate her." Aylanna did not confront the girl's words. As she exited, Magdellyn stood in the hall outside the curtained doorway. It was obvious she had heard the girl's words and her face a storm cloud of suppressed anger. Aylanna held a silent finger up to her lips and slipped an arm around the angry woman's waist urging her to walk with her. "Do not let her bait you into another confrontation. Without love, she seeks to feed upon conflict. She did drink nearly all the juice and willingly drank down a cup of the tea I brewed. I left a small pot with some more tea in her room. Have a servant bring her some more juice now and when they bring her supper have them measure out a half cup of the tea and mix it with some more fruit juice. If she refuses her medicine, do not confront her, just send word to me. I will be back before nightfall to check upon her condition." Magdellyn's voice was tired. "She does try my patience. And I have much to do. Annalla will give birth any day and is a little frightened. The temple promises to send a midwife at the first signs of labor." Aylanna gave the woman a small squeeze with her arm. "I too have some skill with midwifery. I want you to know that you can call upon me at any time. I regret I do not have time to visit her now, but I have been gone overlong from the offices of the Aga Khan." Magdellyn looked puzzled, an expression that was so similar to the high priestess's mystification at the Aga Khan's demand that a mere woman be present at his side as he made all the decisions of government that Aylanna shrugged and laughed, giving her new ally another brief hug. "There are times I too wonder what use I can be. It is a duty neither he nor I relish. Perhaps that is it, maybe he just wishes for someone to share his misery." Magdellyn nodded in tentative understanding. "I would never have guessed that my son would display the temperament suited to be a bureaucrat." "He does not relish this duty. He was bred and born to ride at the head of a regiment, to look to the far horizons, not to be trapped by stone walls. His heart is heavy with the foreboding that this is going to be his lot for the rest of his life. Yet he is resolute. If he is to be Aga Khan, he is determined to fulfill this duty without reservation or limit. Privately, between the two of us, he needs to learn moderation, to learn balance, to take time to rest, to feel joy. The rider of even the finest stallion must tighten the reins and ease the pace or he runs the risk of killing his horse, especially if his mount is one with a dedicated heart, one that will give its life for its rider." Aylanna paused and looked into Magdellyn's listening face and smiled with a sudden thought. "My friend, perhaps that is why I need to be at his side, to pull back gently upon the reins, to remind him to slow and breathe so that he will have some strength left at the end of the campaign." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Jhardron was still reviewing written reports when she returned. He stood, leaning over a wide table laden with scrolls, impatiently looking back and forth between three different scrolls. He glanced up and frowned. "Half the morning gone and I stare at these numbers with less understanding than when I started. There is either an error here or the writer has gone to great lengths to conceal some embezzlement and I swear I cannot determine which the answer is." Aylanna moved to his side, looking down at the bewildering columns of numbers. She touched his back and began to work at a knot between his shoulder blades. "I regret my skills do not extend to the words and numbers upon the page. But do not become mired in this matter. Give them to another to read and have them report to you. An Aga Khan cannot read every tax log, every production report. These are tasks for others." Jhardron sighed as she soothed the ache in his back. "You always know exactly where to rub. I had not even noticed the pain until you brought relief." Then he pushed the scrolls aside. "And you are right, I waste time with this. There is another matter I need your help with." "Yes, my Khan?" "My mother has sent word that Similandra is sick and cannot lie with me tonight. I want you to make sure that she is receiving the finest of treatments." "I exist to serve." Jhardron hesitated and Aylanna could tell he was searching for words, trying to find some way to express his guilt and doubts. His voice was neutral. "I wish to learn if her sickness is the result of something I may have done." Aylanna was torn between keeping Magdellyn's secrets and the awareness of Jhardron's concern about this thorny problem that was his middle wife. She kept rubbing at his back, pursuing the lines of tension that stretched up his neck. There was no question in her mind where her loyalty lay. "My Khan, I have already spoken with your mother and at her request I have already visited Similandra. She suffers from a common complaint among young women, a fever of the bladder. That was the need behind my visit to the temple. I went there to consult with the temple healer and to get herbs to brew medicine. I am sure she will recover soon." "Am I responsible?" "My Khan, the cause of illness is rarely clear. This illness is most common among young women who are newly married and is sometimes even named Bride's Fever. Similandra is clearly unhappy and this weakens her spirit. A weak spirit is fertile ground for seeds of sickness." "You will keep me informed." "If that is your command." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Similandra was deeply asleep when Aylanna came to check on her. She had spent the last three days in a sleepy daze, barely waking long enough to drink down the multiple glasses of fluids and soups and void her bladder. Aylanna was pleased to see Annalla sitting quietly by her bedside. The heavily pregnant girl looked at Aylanna with nervous suspicion and her whispered greeting was stiffly formal. Annalla looked desperately uncomfortable and Aylanna noted her ankles seemed swollen. Aylanna spoke in an equally low voice, "Has she been drinking the tea?" Annalla nodded wordlessly. "And is she still drinking lots of juice and water?" Annalla nodded again and then whispered, "Is she going to be okay?" It was Aylanna's turn to nod and whisper. "The illness of her body is a simple thing, yet she is sad, very sad. She chooses to hide this sadness with a mask of anger and rebellion. I can tell you care for your sister wife a great deal." Annalla's tone was defensive, "She is not bad. She is just stubborn and quick to anger. You cannot push her to do what you want. If you try, she will only fight with you. Magdellyn takes her role here as mother too much to heart and has little sympathy or understanding. The two are a poor match." "It is good to know she has a friend and ally in this house. You speak of understanding, what things do you think we need to understand to help your sister wife find some sense of peace and happiness?" Annalla shook her head in confusion, much of her initial shyness and nervous tension melting away in the face of obvious concern for her sister wife. "That is a tangled knot. Simi lives very much in her imagination. She expects too much. She dreams of love and adventure. She chafes at the thought of duty and decorum. But at the same time, I think she is afraid. She is like the child who climbs the tree to see over the courtyard wall and then begins to cry when she looks down and sees the ground so far from her feet." Annalla grimaced and shifted, absent mindedly rubbing her hands across her swollen belly. "It is that and many other things. I don't even know if I am making much sense. All I know is that I love her very much. Back, before we moved here, it was very crowded and we had to share a bed. She would lie beside me and tell me stories, stories where she was free as the goddess, traveling across the land, and finding one true love and how she stole his heart and he would pursue her across the land. Here we have too much room, everyone has their own rooms and I miss her, miss the tales she makes up, her wild imaginings and impulsive jokes." Aylanna gently placed her hands over Annalla's, feeling the vigorous kick of the restless baby. "Your son is impatient to leave his refuge." Annalla tipped her head to one side, questioning. "You say 'son' like you know this for fact." "Trust me; you carry a warrior in your womb." The baby kicked again and Annalla winced. "It kicks like a stallion." "It will not be many more days and you will hold him at your breast." Similandra sighed and shifted in her sleep and for a moment the two of them stared down at the girl. Aylanna asked, "You say she is a dreamer, that she dreams of love. What feelings does she hold for her husband?" Annalla tensed and her eyes shifted away. "Simi tries to be a good wife. She tries to respect and obey her husband." "But she does not love him." "I don't know that she does not love him. She has never said to me that she does not love him." Annalla's voice was once again defensive. "What does she say to you?" Annalla's voice was soft and stubborn, "I will not repeat the words of my friend, words given to me in confidence in the dark of the night, to a stranger. If you wish to know of her feelings, you should ask her yourself." "Well said and I am heartened to learn that Simi inspires such loyalty." An irritable, sleepy voice rose up from the bed. "Annalla?" Annalla jumped and glanced at Simi. "Yes?" Similandra's voice as foggy and there was little heat to her words. "I told you to go away." Annalla made a rueful face and rolled her eyes but her words were patient. "I know, and I will. I just stopped by to see if you needed anything." "I need you to go away. The sight of you makes me sick ...all fat and ugly." It seemed like Simi was just repeating the words, reenacting the old patterns, trying to feed the fading coals of her anger rather than acting out of any real frustration or dislike. And Annalla did not react to the tired venom. She just laughed patiently. "Yes, you are right; I am the size of a house. I will take my big fat ugliness out of here and leave you here with the demon." She levered herself up to her feet and slowly waddled from the room in the characteristic gait of a woman about to give birth. She was rubbing at the small of her back. Aylanna watched her go thinking that the girl was showing all the signs of early labor. Similandra turned over and pulled the covers firmly up over her head. "Tell that whore to go away too." Aylanna spoke softly, "Your sister wife is already gone. You will have to tell me yourself." Simi fell silent and Aylanna did not speak again, just busied herself with the brazier, heating some water and brewing some more tea. Aylanna could tell that Similandra was watching her but she kept her back turned. She kept her voice low and neutral. "Annalla loves you very much." "She is stupid." Aylanna carefully kept her eyes away from the girl on the bed, focusing on slowly stirring the herbs and powder into the simmering water. "I don't think you really believe that. I think perhaps she is very smart, that she sees past your hateful words and sees what you hide from all of us." "Then you are stupid too." Similandra's voice quivered with effort to hold onto her anger and yet Aylanna could sense that the girl was vaguely frustrated with her lack of success, that guilt and sadness kept creeping in like a cooling mist, extinguishing the sparks of rage. Aylanna was happy that she still had her back to the girl, hiding her smile as she added just a pinch less of the herb that eased pain and added a few more leaves of another that calmed the spirit. She added a little more powder of a root that was known to stimulate appetite and thirst. She carefully kept her expression neutral as she brought another cup of the medicine to the girl for her to drink. This time Similandra did not question the contents, she just made a disgusted face, drank it down and held out the cup expectantly waiting for it to be filled with the better tasting juice. Aylanna silently filled the cup and watched as Similandra sipped the sweeter fluid, noting that the girl had combed her hair and her clothing looked clean. Demon Child Ch. 22 Similandra met her eyes and stared back boldly. "Why are you staring at me?" "I look to see if you are feeling better. I am glad to see you feel well enough to bathe and change into fresh clothing." When Simi put the cup down Aylanna reached down and took her hand, turning it over and looking at the palm, tracing the lines with a finger tip. Simi started to jerk her hand away but curiosity won over and she stilled, staring down and grudgingly asked, "What are you doing?" "I seek to read your destiny." Aylanna knew nothing of fortune telling but had watched Kharthmah perform this magic dozens of times. He would look at the hands, touch the head, muttering incantations. She kept her expression serious, frowning in concentration as she reached for the girl's other hand and turned it over holding the two side by side. Softly she began to whisper soft nonsense interspersed with words calculated to stimulate the girl's curiosity, "Interesting, very disturbing..." She reached up and took the girl's head between her hands, noting the fascination in Simi's wide dark eyes and let out a low moan and dramatically lifted her hands and exclaimed, "No wonder you suffer so." Similandra flinched and asked, "What, what do you see?" Aylanna deliberately kept her words vague. "You have strayed from the path. There is a shadow blocking the way." "Shadow, path? What do you mean?" "It is too soon to tell. Something clouds the truth, something haunts your dreams. There are rituals and charms that I must perform to determine the truth. Will you put yourself into my hands; will you let me seek out the cause of your affliction?" Similandra looked enthralled, excited rather than frightened and nodded vigorously. Aylanna rummaged around in her bag of herbs and picked up some carefully selected seeds and a very pungent powder and tied it in a small square of fabric. For many minutes she muttered dramatic if empty phrases of Ramaldi over the little package and then began to touch the girl with it, dabbing it against each of her hands, her forehead and then on her chest and belly. Finally she pressed it firmly into the girl's left hand. "Keep this with you at all times. Especially when you sleep, keep it gripped tightly in your left hand, but never your right. It will guard your dreams and draw out the evil. Do not lose it." Similandra stared at the little bundle and nodded very seriously. She looked at it carefully and lifted it up and sniffed it and her eyes widened at the strong smell. Aylanna could tell her whole being was caught up in the moment. The girl believed completely and Aylanna knew that belief was the greater part of healing magic. "I will return in the morning. You must continue to drink the medicine, a whole cup at each meal and another at sunset. The sickness must be fully banished and you must regain your full strength before I can perform the magic ritual." Simi's voice was eager, "Oh, I will. I am already getting better. It doesn't hurt hardly at all when I go and my fever is gone." "It will take several more days, do not neglect to drink. Each time you void your bladder you should drink two full cups of water or juice. And do not forget to eat. Your body will need to be strong to fight this curse." "Curse? I am cursed?" Instead of fear, the romantic idea of having something as exciting as a curse seemed to feed the girl's hunger for adventure. "I have said it is too soon to tell. You must trust me and follow all my instructions." Again the girl nodded vigorously and reached for the cup of juice and drank it down without taking a breath. Aylanna had to lean against the wall outside the girl's room laughing silently. Annalla was correct in her judgment of Simi's desire for drama. Aylanna wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sent a quick prayer of gratitude to the goddess for the rumors that had spread across the kingdom of her a witch, rumors of magical powers that had already planted the seeds in Simi's fertile imagination. She was still standing there when a servant girl came careening around the corner of the corridor, her eyes wide with fear. The girl skidded to a halt and blurted out, "Please, my mistress Magdellyn sends for you immediately. It is Annalla. Come quickly." Similandra's voice came from her room, "What, Annalla? What is wrong with my Annally?" The servant girl pointed back the direction she had come and gestured urgently. "Hurry, I must go on to the temple and summon the temple healer. Please, my mistress has need of you." Aylanna did not hesitate, the girl's panic lending wings to her feet as she ran. As she rounded corner the sound of a muffled scream of pain guided her steps. Annalla was lying down in the middle of the large common room as if she had fallen, standing around her were nearly a half dozen women and children. The room was a tumult of pain, fear and confusion. Everyone was talking, yelling at the others to do this, to get that, but no one seemed to be in charge. Magdellyn stood frozen in panic. Annalla twisted and cried out again, curling up on her side, holding her arms around her stomach. Her clothing was soaked with the fluids of birth. Aylanna gripped Magdellyn and gave her a shake, "Wake up, send away everyone that is unnecessary." Aylanna pointed at a servant, "You, you get a blanket, now, run. We need to move her to the birthing room." Magdellyn spoke in a frightened tone, "It happened so quickly. She was just fine a minute ago, and then she cried out and fell. It isn't supposed to happen like this. Something is wrong. Oh goddess, please don't let her die." Similandra's voice was sharp and clear, cutting straight through the room. "My Annally is not going to die. You just shut up. If you can't say anything nice, you just shut up." Simi marched right up to the servant that stood still, staring at Aylanna like she had not completely understood and slapped her face. "You heard the witch, go and get that blanket or I will flay your skin from your bones." The girl squeaked and darted from the room. Simi gave Aylanna a sharp look, pointing at Magdellyn, "She is useless. Tell me what must be done." Aylanna sent Magdellyn a frustrated look and turned to Simi, apparently the only calm and sane person in the room. "Anyone that cannot help must go. We will need to have water heated for medicines. When the girl returns with the blanket we will need help to move Annalla onto it and use it as a litter to take her to the birthing room." Simi nodded her understanding and soon was a whirl wind, giving orders and banishing the spectators. Magdellyn continued to stand staring down at Annalla, wringing her hands in helpless confusion. She did not move to follow when they carried Annalla from the room. By the time the temple healer arrived they had Annalla in lying down on a bed in the birthing room, stripped of all but a loose shift. She was gripping Similandra's hands and gasping as another violent contraction made her curl up and strain. The same priestess that had consulted with Aylanna regarding medicines and treatments for Similandra's illness sent her new friend a quick enquiring look. Aylanna frowned and whispered, "Her labor came without warning, her waters broke and her contractions seem very strong and unusually painful. Her body has had little time to adjust. The baby is healthy, but large. He is head down, but he lies upon his back. She will have to work hard. I am brewing a tea to strengthen her." The priestess nodded and moved to Annalla, noting the strength of the contraction and then tracing the shape of the baby, then peering between the girl's legs. Her voice was low, "Yes, I agree. It is a big baby, but her hips are wide. Goddess willing, all will go well." Both Annalla and Similandra stared at the two of them, their eyes wide and filled with apprehension. As she watched, Simi slipped her arm around Annalla's shoulders supporting her. Aylanna smiled encouragingly, "To give birth takes strength and courage. It is good that you are here to support your sister wife. She needs you very much now." Annalla started to say something but another contraction rippled across her belly and made her catch her breath. Wildly she reached out and gripped Similandra's hand and squeezed as she gritted her teeth. Similandra held her and whispered furiously into her friend's ear, soft words of encouragement and promises that she was not going to let anything bad happen to her friend. Similandra refused to move from Annalla's side, kept a constant grip of her sister wife's hand and continually whispered in her ear throughout the labor. By the end, both girls were exhausted and Aylanna had a whole new appreciation for the pure stubborn strength that was at Similandra's core. She had refused to let Annalla weaken, she had encouraged and bullied and in the end she had begged with tears upon her face for her friend to rally and face just one more wracking wave of contractions, pleading for forgiveness and promising anything and everything if Annalla would just find the strength to push one more time. Both the priestess and Aylanna had been kept busy taking turns, monitoring the progress of the baby and mother, brewing teas to stimulate the contractions and ease the pain, applying warm compresses and massaging the tissues between Annalla's legs to soften and encourage the passage to stretch without tearing. Magdellyn had made one brief appearance but had not stayed long, just coming to announce that Jhardron had been told of the pending birth and requesting that word be sent once the baby had arrived. Aylanna could tell that for some reason, the events occurring in the birthing room were somehow disturbing to Magdellyn, as if she suffered from some past trauma but there was no time to question her. Jhardron's second son was born as the sun reached its zenith the following day. It had been a difficult birth; Annalla had lost more blood than Aylanna would have liked to have seen. But the baby boy was lively, howling his outrage at finding himself thrust out of his warm and safe cocoon. Annalla had been barely conscious but when she heard the cry of her son she roused and reached out her arms, sobbing with joy and welcome. Aylanna could not help but note that Similandra's face too was wet with tears, and her expression stricken with wonder. Soon both mother and baby were sound asleep with Simi sitting quietly staring down at the baby and mother with a strangely possessive expression upon her face. Aylanna noted that the girl was absent mindedly turning the small bundle of herbs over and over in her hand but when Annalla shifted and moaned in her sleep, she hurriedly thrust the small packet into a pocket and carefully picked up the new infant, rocking and humming to him, her eyes wet with unshed tears. She murmured to him that his momma had done well, very well. Magdellyn came to the door, her eyes scanning the tableau. Aylanna and the priestess stood in the background, reviewing their plans for monitoring Annalla's condition and what medicines should be prepared and kept ready if the girl began to bleed once more. Magdellyn seemed to have regained some of her composure and her eyes narrowed as she took in the sight of Similandra holding the baby. She swept into the room and boldly reached to take the infant from Simi's arms. For an instant Similandra held onto the tightly swaddled infant, silently glaring at her opponent, but then Jhardron appeared in the doorway. Simi instantly released the baby and fled to the far side of the room, almost literally hiding behind Aylanna and the priestess. Aylanna watched in puzzlement, sensing the confusing mix of emotions just the sight of Jhardron elicited. This was not hate or loathing. It was a strange mix of guilt and shyness, a pervasive sense of failure and hopelessness. On some very basic level, Similandra was intimidated by her husband, was fearful of him, yet beneath it all was a yearning, a sadness, a wish for something. Magdellyn held out the baby to Jhardron and he peered down into the sleeping face with a mix of pride and concern. His eyes went past to the motionless form of Annalla. His voice was low, "How is she?" The priestess spoke first, "My Khan, it was a difficult delivery. The baby was large and there was a great deal of blood lost. Your wife is greatly depleted and will require an extended period of bed rest. But there is no reason to believe that she will not recover. Your servant," she gestured towards Aylanna, "is a gifted healer and knows as much or more than I about complications of birth. I am very impressed with her abilities." The tiniest of smiles tipped up one corner of Jhardron's lip and then vanished. "Yes, my demon has many talents. Please accept my thanks for the assistance of the temple in this matter. I will send a gift to the goddess in thanks for the gift of a son and to beg for the speedy recovery of my wife." Magdellyn's voice seemed over loud. "Yes, thanks be to the goddess. We will take good care of Annalla. I personally will see that Annalla is given the best of care." The baby in her arms startled and the little pink mouth opened with a loud wail. For an instant, Magdellyn stood looking down at the baby as if she did not exactly know what to do, holding him out from her a bit like she was fearful of his contact. Aylanna did not notice that Similandra had moved until she had taken the crying baby from Magdellyn, slipping around the room in a quick circling movement to rescue the baby while attempting to stay as far from Jhardron as possible. Annalla stirred and her eyes opened briefly, looking about in sleepy confusion at the crowded room. Her voice was hoarse, "Simi? Simi?" Similandra turned to her, conveniently turning her back to Magdellyn and her husband. "Shhhh... it's all right. Just go back to sleep. Everything is just fine. Here hold your baby. He wants to suck." Simi placed the baby at Annalla's breast, gently stroking the baby's cheek to trigger him to turn and take the proffered nipple and his cries were instantly silenced. Annalla stared down at her baby, forgetting the whole room. Jhardron moved to stand next to Similandra staring down at his son and Annalla and Simi spoke to him for the first time, her voice coming from her averted face. "Annalla has given you a fine son, my lord. You must be very pleased with her." Jhardron's voice was neutral. "Indeed." And then he spoke directly to Annalla, "Thank you for your gift to me. A husband cannot ask for more than this great sacrifice. I am humbled by your courage." Annalla looked up from her rapt observance of her baby, her face alight with first love. "Oh, my lord, I could never have done it without Simi. I would have given up hours ago if she had not been here by my side." Jhardron looked at his middle wife in surprise and then approval. "I am heartened by this news. It is a husband's greatest wish that there be harmony in his house." Similandra seemed to shrink up in response to his praise, turning her face away from him. Annalla's eyes were drooping and her head sagged back onto the pillows. The priestess spoke up. "Please, my Khan, Annalla needs to rest after her ordeal. Too many people crowd this room and disturb her peace. We should retire to another room if you wish to ask any more questions." Jhardron shook his head, "I have no more questions. Keep me informed of the progress of her recovery and the health of my son." His eyes met Aylanna's and she knew that the command was directed primarily at her, but it was Magdellyn that interrupted. "Of course, my son, I will personally send daily reports." Jhardron nodded absently and turned to go. Magdellyn filed out immediately behind him but then stopped in the doorway and snapped at Similandra. "You heard the priestess, daughter. Annalla needs her rest. You should return to your rooms." Similandra stiffened and shot an outraged look at Magdellyn and then a stricken pleading look at Aylanna, wordlessly shaking her head. For the first time Aylanna spoke. "I think that Similandra should remain. She has been an invaluable support to her sister wife." Magdellyn frowned, looking back at the retreating back of Jhardron and at Aylanna. She whispered, a tense and secretive hiss, "Do you think that is wise?" She sent a distrustful look at Similandra. Simi seemed to swell, rage flooding over her. Her voice was loud, loud enough to carry down the hall to her departing husband. "What are you saying? Do you think I would hurt Annalla, hurt her baby? How dare you!" Annalla's eyes flew open and she stared around the room fearfully clutching her baby and waking him and as the nipple slipped from his lips he began to cry. Simi was instantly at her side, murmuring reassurances and helping calm the baby down. Aylanna moved just as quickly, gripped Magdellyn's arm and pushed her the rest of the way from the room. Her voice was low and reassuring, "Yes, I do think it is a wise thing. Similandra loves Annalla very much and already loves that baby like it was her own. She will not only take very good care of her sister, she would defend the safety of the two of them with her life." Magdellyn was protesting, "You haven't seen the way she talks to Annalla. She is abusive and clearly unbalanced. And it is not customary at all to leave a rival child in the custody of a sister wife. Too many children have died under suspicious circumstances. My son has only two sons, he cannot afford to lose even one." Aylanna repeated firmly, "Similandra will not hurt Annalla or the baby." Magdellyn shook her head and began to protest that there was no way that Aylanna could know that for sure and that she, for one, knew that Similandra was dangerous, when Jhardron's voice cut through her words. "If my demon says that Similandra will not harm her sister wife or my son, it is fact and not subject to debate. Mother, you will listen to her words as if they were my own." Magdellyn stood silent, her mouth opened and closed a couple of times like a dying fish and she threw up her hands and marched away. Jhardron's eyes met Aylanna's. His voice was pitched low, "You are sure about Simi?" "There is no question of her devotion to her sister or the baby." He nodded and turned upon his heel, leaving without another word. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> It was not many hours later that Aylanna found herself sitting in Magdellyn's rooms attempting to heal the rift that occurred between them. Magdellyn sat at her loom, working the pedals and shuttle with silent furious energy. Her lips were sealed shut but Aylanna could sense the seething frustration pent up in the older woman's heart. Aylanna kept her tone neutral and the words formal. "It was unfortunate that my words appeared to undermine your authority." Magdellyn's voice was stiff. "You have not seen what that girl can do. She openly flouts my authority, totally refuses to comply with the simplest of requests. She is rude. She is violent. She has struck me more than once, says the most disrespectful of things to me and her sister wives. She is horrid to the staff, throwing things, stealing. Once at meal, she threw a whole platter of hot food across the table, splattering a small child with hot liquid. I had to restrict her to her rooms to keep everyone safe." Aylanna allowed Magdellyn to finish the long list of Similandra's transgressions. She nodded and gently agreed, "You have good reason to not trust the girl. I have no question that she has behaved very badly in the past and may repeat such bad behavior in the future. But what we must do is try to winnow out the source of the girl's rebelliousness." Magdellyn sniffed, "Source? Source? She is bad and she is useless. I am very inclined to petition Jhardron to send her away." Demon Child Ch. 22 Aylanna grimaced, "Annalla does not think she is bad. Annalla loves her very much. I think that at heart Simi is a very sad girl. I think if we can heal the hurt in her heart, her misbehavior will diminish." Magdellyn sniffed and looked at Aylanna skeptically. "How do you propose we go about healing this hurt?" "I have some ideas, some of which are already in motion. Having her help Annalla is part of it. She needs to feel useful. She needs to practice showing that she can care and in doing that, allow another to care for her. She needs to open her heart to love and there is nothing like an infant to do that for a young woman." Magdellyn's tone continued disbelieving, "Love?" "I think that is the key to her sadness. She needs to feel love and despairs." Magdellyn snorted, "Romantic nonsense." But Aylanna could sense she had touched a similar place of sadness in the depths of Magdellyn's soul. "Perhaps, for some, but for Similandra, I think this romantic nonsense has become central to her existence." "And you think that if you somehow cater to this girl's wild behavior, she will suddenly transform into some kind of perfect wife?" "Perfect? Hardly, Simi will always be who and what she is, impulsive, stubborn, but there is good there as well, she is a bright girl and despite her words, intensely loyal. But the more we accept her as she is, the happier she will become, and the happier she is the more sensitive she will become to the happiness of those around her. And I am not saying we should cater to her wild behavior. If she is violent or even just disruptive, leave her alone. Do not confront, she seeks confrontation." Aylanna tread very carefully, "And for some reason much of her venom seems to be directed primarily at you. Perhaps you react with judgment too quickly, perhaps she senses your antipathy or perhaps she is not one to follow another's lead without question. I did observe that she is very observant, very sensitive to the feelings and actions of others. Yet she is curious and has a strong sense of imagination. I can make use of such qualities." Magdellyn shook her head in confusion. "I am tired of this girl and her tantrums. My son has directed me to do what you say so I leave this all to you." She turned her head and hands back to the loom, muttering to herself, "It is a good thing that I had my loom brought to my rooms." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Without asking permission or even announcing her intentions, Similandra moved herself into Annalla's rooms and appointed herself nurse and guardian all in one. She continued to be acid and defiant to any that questioned her, especially to Magdellyn, but the older woman scrupulously followed Aylanna's advice and avoided any and all contact with the angry girl. To Simi's credit she was patient and calm with both Annalla and her baby and followed all of Aylanna's prescriptions to the letter, for both her and her sister wife. Under her ministrations Annalla was regaining her strength slowly but surely. Aylanna found her repeated visits to the women's quarters were being met with less and less suspicion and resentment. Even Jhardron's first wife, a tall girl who rarely spoke to others and most often kept to her rooms brought her son to Aylanna when he developed a rash under his swaddling clothes. Aylanna quickly diagnosed that the chubby toddler had eaten too many sweet orange segments and prescribed a change in diet as well as a soothing ointment. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Similandra's illness was gone for many days before Aylanna approached her again, intoning in a solemn voice, "It is time." Aylanna gestured for the girl to follow and after a small amount of internal debate Simi had come with her to her now vacant rooms. Aylanna had moved many of Simi's abandoned possessions around, clearing a space in the center of the room, placing a brazier with burning incense in the center of a rug. She had secreted a number of other carefully selected objects about the room, ready to mystify and amaze the girl. She told the girl to sit and moved to kneel before the brazier. For many minutes she did nothing, letting the tension and curiosity build. Then she began to chant and mumble under her breath, rocking and shaking her head in what was calculated to appear bizarre and perhaps even frightening. Finally she stopped and looked at Simi as the girl watched her with nervous apprehension. She deliberately kept her voice low and mysterious. "Have you kept the charm with you?" Simi seemed a little embarrassed and her manner was not totally trusting but she nodded and reached into a pocket and displayed the now slightly tattered packet of herbs. "I did exactly like you said." Aylanna held out her hand and took the packet and once again began to chant and mumble. She carefully unwrapped the powder and seeds, stirring the contents around with a finger tip and peering at them closely. Simi leaned forward trying to see what was there. And then, without warning, Aylanna dumped the entire contents of the packet onto the glowing coals of the brazier. The powder ignited in a whoosh, releasing a cloud of noxious smoke, several of the seeds made sharp snapping sounds as they burst apart at the sudden heat and a shower of sparks were blasted out of the little iron pot, falling all around both Aylanna and the watching girl. Similandra shrieked and fell over backwards. Instantly Aylanna was up and over the top of the girl shouting, "Be gone! Leave this place! You are not welcome here." For an instant Similandra stilled gazing up at Aylanna in abject terror, and then she wailed, "Where will I go?" In a low, clear voice Aylanna spoke urgently, "Silence, I banish the spirit that haunts you!" Simi froze and Aylanna could feel the tangible wave of relief that the words had not been meant for her, that she was not being sent away. Aylanna took note of this fear, this fear of being banished and wondered if Magdellyn had threatened the girl with this. Aylanna reached for a handful of feathers and began to sweep them over the form of the girl, chanting and intoning, "Leave this woman in peace. She is not for you." For many minutes Aylanna continued her little pantomime, sweeping away the spirit, moving around the room, every once in a while stopping and swing the feathers as if they were a weapon doing battle with some unseen opponent, intoning garbled syllables, and finally grabbing another handful of powders from a small hidden bowl and throwing them into the brazier creating an even larger explosion of smelly smoke and sparks. And in the end she dropped the feathers one at a time into the fire, watching them curl up and turn black, the stink of their passage was nauseating. Similandra remained huddled on the floor, her eyes red from the smoke and wide with amazed terror. Next Aylanna halted and bent over the girl once more and ran her fingers over the girl's face and body. Her voice was urgent, "Remove your clothing. I sense the spirit lurks nearby." Simi's hands were trembling but she shed her clothing almost instantly, squirming and looking down at her own nudity as if she were trying to see some mark or difference. Aylanna touched her again, running her hands over the girl, turning this way and that, even spreading her legs and peering between her legs. Surreptitiously Aylanna slipped a small object from the cuff of a sleeve into her palm, an innocuous bundle of hair and bones using a little sleight of hand to make it appear magically and she crowed in triumph, "Yes, I have captured you now." As she spun and dropped the little manikin shaped object into the fire, Aylanna added a handful of mushroom spores that made a bright flash of flame and then she dropped a lid over the coals, casting the room into darkness. Her voice was low and compelling. "Similandra, I have banished the spirit that tormented you. But your spirit is vulnerable. It can return." The girl was breathless, "Return?" "Yes, this particular spirit thrives upon strife. It feeds upon anger and hate. It clouded your mind, tricked you into rages and made you dwell upon the shortcomings of yourself and others. It would not allow you to love, to feel love. It lied to you and told you that ass the ones that love you hated you instead. It told you to hate in return. If you allow yourself to succumb to these negative feelings, the spirit will return and each time it takes possession of you it will become stronger and more difficult to exorcise." Similandra burst into tears, deep wracking sobs and she clung to Aylanna. "What am I to do?" "You must listen to me. Believe in me. I have crafted a second charm to ward it off. But the spirit knows that you can falter, it will try to tempt you from your duty, from time to time this spirit will still whisper to you and try to trick you into dark and loathsome behaviors. It will try to carve a path into your soul once more. You must not listen to its words. You must start to believe that you are a good and useful person and believe that others love and value you. That is the armor you must wear to remain free from its influence." Simi did not question her words. She gulped and sniffed, "How did you know?" Aylanna held her tightly and allowed herself to laugh softly, "Dear child, it is a common demon, one that visits us all from time to time. It is only those who choose to listen to its words that become trapped in its web. He is an old enemy of mine." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna slipped into the stables on silent feet. One of the stable men glanced up and then quickly looked away. The Aga Khan's demon witch was a common sight at this time of day. She came and went without words. They had become accustomed to the sound of one sided conversations emanating from the red mare's stall. Xin'sha was standing in the splayed hind quarters and head down posture of imminent birth. Aylanna rushed to her friend's side, scolding, "So you thought to finish this before I could arrive, little friend?" Xin'sha hardly acknowledged her presence, straining with a deep groaning grunt. Already the amniotic sack and two tiny hooves showed at her vulva. It was not much longer when there was a rush of fluid and the form of the foal slipped out and fell onto the deep straw in a jumble of kicking legs. Aylanna stood looking down at the perfectly white figure in awestruck silence. Xin'sha turned and nosed her baby with flared nostrils, snorting at the scent and then vigorously licking. Aylanna shook her head in amazement and laughed, "Who would have guessed that you kept a slice of the full moon hidden in your belly for so long?" She picked up a handful of straw and began to vigorously rub at the white fur, which only turned paler as the fluids of birth were cleaned away. The little filly turned its head toward her, nuzzling at her curiously with delicate pink lips. Aylanna laughed again, "No little one, I am not your mother." She guided the little head to meet nose to nose with Xin'sha and could not help but laugh with delight at the shock of surprise and instant recognition. "An omen, a wondrous miracle, a child of the goddess is sent to bless these stables!" Aylanna turned to see the stable master at the window of the stall, his face rapt with wonder. Soon other workers were crowding to look at the white filly as she struggled awkwardly to stand on wobbly legs and began to search for a teat to suckle. Their words were a blend of wonder and excitement. Clearly the pristine color of the little foal was seen as some kind of sign from the goddess. Aylanna trembled as she remembered her dreams from so long ago, dreams of a perfectly white mare. And, as she had that thought, the little white filly pulled her head from beneath its mother's red flank and stared at her with wide blue eyes as if it had shared her thoughts. The little white tail flicked and it returned to its meal. Jhardron seemed to take the news of the white foal as an important sign as well. He did not seem to notice Aylanna's frown of protest when he pronounced that the foal, once weaned, would be presented to the temple as a matter of course. Aylanna did not argue; there were many moons before the foal would be weaned and perhaps this was the white filly's destiny. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> In the days and weeks following Similandra's exorcism, she was very subdued, unusually quiet. She was clearly making a determined effort to curb her anger, and after Aylanna enlisted Annalla's help, the other residents of the women's quarters made a point of treating the strangely insecure girl with warmth and patience. There were still occasional tantrums, especially if Magdellyn's manner became too directive, ordering instead of asking, but once again it was Annalla who tended to act as a buffer between the two antagonists that calmed the waters. And Similandra slowly began to adjust to her new home. Similandra often turned to Aylanna, begging for more magic to keep the demon at bay, charms to strengthen her. And when she spoke of the times when her heart weakened, together they explored the doubts and fears that had plagued her from childhood. In many ways, throughout her childhood, Similandra had felt as different internally as Aylanna had been in appearance. The rigor and strict expectations placed upon a wife of a Bak warrior had been daunting, and suddenly being thrust into the role of a wife of the Aga Khan had frightened her half to death. She spoke of her husband with a strange mix of terror and heartbreak, clearly harboring the belief that she would never measure up to his expectations, never quite be good enough and trying with all her might to hide her inadequacies from him. The fact that she had not conceived a child was just one more demonstration of her failure in his eyes. In many ways she found Jhardron as mysterious as Aylanna did. She was convinced he disliked or even perhaps hated her. The prospect of him ever loving her was beyond imagining. But Similandra whole heartedly believed in Aylanna's magical powers and when offered a potent magic charm crafted to compel a husband to fall in love with his wife, she leapt at the opportunity. Aylanna had spent a long afternoon whispering to her about the delights that lay in the marriage bed when a husband was enchanted with such a spell, tales carefully crafted to capture the girl's fertile imagination and inflame the senses. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Jhardron uncorked and sniffed at the vial suspiciously, looking at Aylanna and wrinkling his nose at the unfamiliar smell. "A love potion?" Aylanna nodded seriously, "Oh yes, a very powerful one." "And I am supposed to drink it?" Aylanna laughed, "No my Khan, she is supposed to drink it." "And this will make her..." He hesitated, "...love me?" Aylanna could hear the disbelief in his voice. She touched his face gently. "Similandra is already in love with the idea of love. She dreams of love. She craves love. If she began to believe that you already cared for her, that you desired her love in return, she would give herself to you without reservation just as I have. I have already given her a charm to make you love her. A harmless thing for her to keep, to wish upon but she believes it will work, she hopes to find you completely in her thrall. This potion contains herbs that lower inhibitions, relax and provide a sense of euphoria. You must tell her that it is a love potion, that you want her to drink it for you. Once she is deep under its spell, you must say the words of a magic spell to capture her heart." Jhardron frowned and looked at the little bottle and then at her, "Magic spell?" Aylanna could not help but smile broadly, "Yes, my Khan, you must tell Similandra that you love her. And you must say it like you mean it with all your heart." Jhardron's expression was so pained that she could not help but laugh. "My Khan, you must let down your guard. You must open yourself to her. She is sensitive and she senses your formality and dedication to duty as rejection. In many ways she is as sensitive to your moods as I am and she mistakes your reserve for dislike. She struggles with a sense of inadequacy, feels like she has somehow failed you and this is a barrier to the joys of the goddess. She only feels pain and this pain only reinforces her conviction that you do not care for her. If you relax, if you approach her with an open heart, I am sure you will find a completely different woman in your arms." Jhardron shook his head dubiously, "This is magic?" Aylanna laughed with delight, "That is the beauty of it. There is not an ounce of magic beyond the fact that I can sense that both of you wish for something more from the other. She needs to believe you love her, value her, accept her and you need to feel that she welcomes your touch and is devoted to her duty as your wife. Love is the gift of the goddess and cannot be compelled by any charm or potion." Jhardron joined her laughter, sweeping his arms around her. "Magic or madness, Magdellyn tells me that you have brought some semblance of peace into the women's quarters. I feared I was doomed to relive my childhood. I grew up breathing the venom of strife and had almost come to believe that it was impossible for a man to find peace among his wives. I know my father avoided his home like it was a battlefield. I will do as you say and see if Similandra is as hungry for love as you say." Aylanna rested her head against his chest, "Remember, my Khan, the lessons learned from the courtesans, all the ways to love a woman. Be gentle, take your time, spend the entire night with her. Teach her the joys of the goddess. That is the one magic that guarantees love." Jhardron's voice was low. "Pretty demon, you know I love you?" "The warmth of it fills my heart, my Khan." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Aylanna spent the night in the stables with Xin'sha and the rapidly growing white filly, that the stable men had already named Goddess, despite Aylanna attempts to the otherwise. They were repeatedly disturbed by visitors. Word had spread across the land that a white foal had been born in the stables and it seems half the city had bribed their way to come by to stare at the little miracle. To Aylanna's consternation many chose to leave offerings and beg the little white horse for intercession in any number of concerns as if she were the personification of the goddess herself. The presence of the Aga Khan's demon witch in the stall did not seem to inhibit the little procession of supplicants at all. In fact many of them seemed to treat her as a go between, asking her what the goddess said in response to their entreaties, even offering gold and other valuables if she would just use her powers to persuade the goddess to act in their behalf. Finally she marched to the stable master's quarters and after unceremoniously waking him from a deep sleep, pointed out to him that the goddess needed her sleep as much as he did and that he needed to make sure that she be left in peace at least during the hours of darkness. After that, the numbers of visitors was significantly reduced and those that did peer into the stable box were circumspect and kept their voices low. Soon Aylanna began to see the wisdom in Jhardron's decision to move the white filly to the temple as soon as she was weaned. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> It was early morning when the voice of the high priestess woke her. Her voice was dry but her spirit was filled with humor. "It seems the people have found a new place to worship." Aylanna embraced her friend. "Why are they doing this, mother? They act like this little white horse listens with the ears of the goddess." Demon Child Ch. 22 The old woman shrugged and tipped her head staring at the still sleeping foal. "Perhaps she does. Legend speaks of the goddess taking the form of a white mare. The birth of a perfectly white foal is very rare, once in a hundred years or more. It is seen as a potent omen, a heralding great things. In many ways I am not surprised that this miracle has come to pass in these times and in your presence. You are a catalyst, a key, a thread in the warp and weave of our lives." The priestess lifted her eyes from the little filly and turned to Aylanna, her face serious. "But my friend I do not come to speak to the goddess, I come to speak to you. Last night I dreamed of my death. I feel my days drawing to a close. I came to ask you to come to the temple and to take my place as the voice of the goddess." Aylanna blinked and shuddered at the words. The very echo of them shook through her and she reeled, shaking her head in denial. "I cannot. It is not my fate. There must be another, a priestess, someone trained in the ways of the temple, someone more devout." "It is the role of the high priestess to find the one that is the closest to the goddess, to find her and name her successor. It is not a role earned through length of service or even devotion. As for the workings of the temple, the temple is a living breathing thing, it does not need a head, it needs a heart. I have never met anyone who hears the voice of the goddess more clearly or who has so many omens swirling about them." "Has the goddess spoken to you, told you that I was to be the one?" The high priestess fell silent and mutely shook her head and finally confessed. "You must be the one that tells me what the goddess says." Aylanna felt a great sense of peace and calm suffuse her spirit. "Then I would tell you that the goddess has already spoken to me. She has found me and placed me at the side of the Aga Khan. It is my fate to stand behind and beside, to guide but not lead. I am not meant for the temple. This is my home." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Jhardron was in his rooms when she returned. He held out his hand to her and when she took it he enfolded her into an embrace. Aylanna could smell the scent of another woman upon him. "You are truly a witch, my pretty demon. And I am not sure if all your magic is for the best. That girl nigh on ate me alive." But he had a relaxed, easy manner and his spirit seemed at peace. Aylanna returned his embrace. Her words were muffled against his chest. "My Khan, the high priestess asked me to come to the temple, to take her place there." His arms tightened and she felt a rush of fear and the stubborn anger. "And what was your answer?" "I told her that the goddess had placed me at your side for a reason and that I was not going to question that reason, that this is my place, my home and I was not going to leave it ever." The sudden relief in his heart was a rush of joy. He pulled her back and stared down into her face. "You will always be my goddess, pretty demon and you are correct, your place at my side. Together we will go far." )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Jhardron Aga Khan of the Bak Tai ruled for two generations and was the father of nearly a dozen sons. His reign was the longest period of prosperity and peace between the Bak houses recorded in the annals of the temple. The strange red haired demon witch that stood at his side outlived him for another generation. It was an age of mysteries and magic. )===(>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Thank you for taking the time to read this story. Please take the time to rate it and if the spirit moves you, leave me some feedback. I have loved writing this story and am delighted to announce that it is finally finished. I am between editors so if you find any errors; spelling, grammatical or mechanical... bear with me. I do my best but I really don't have an editor's eye for my own writing. If you find you cannot resist letting me know about my errors, be ready for me to respond to your criticism by asking you to help me edit.