This work is a product of the author's imagination, places, events and people are either fictitious or used fictitiously and any resemblance to real events, places, or people, living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author retains full copyright to the material, and sincerely hopes you like it! If you have something to say about it that isn't flaming me then email me at: jae.monroe@yahoo.com
Acknowledgment: Thanks so much to Richard for all his editing.
The Gift of Ys
By
Jae Monroe
Chapter 4
What cruel land had he been sold into, Isidore wondered desperately, as he was led to where he would be quartered. What cruel fate had his father bonded him to? Purest Is give his heart strength he prayed, as he felt it clench over with fear. All along the trip he had managed to put that fear aside; to ignore the prickle of trepidation; to think what his new home and his new master would be like, even as it had intensified unbearably the closer he had got to finding out. Now he knew; and had the worst of his fears confirmed. His new home was a cold, stark, rock on a hill; his new master equally stony and as tyrannical as all accounts of him had led Isidore to believe.
Laien turned a corner and led him through a set of double doors into a huge chamber that was part of a larger suite of rooms and, with a sinking feeling, Isidore realised that these were the Svarya's chambers.
"Is this where I am to stay permanently, Laien?" he asked the serving boy who had led him to the rooms.
Laien turned to him, giving his person a thoroughly appraising look. "I don't know. Usually it is where the favourite stays until he is favoured no longer; but since 'tis you, who knows?"
There were so many questions Isidore wanted to raise in response to that, but he asked the one that most recently came to mind. "Since 'tis me?"
"Aye; well I have heard that, in Sheq-Kis-Ra, Darani might hold title, and you are the brother-Svarya's son, which makes you slightly different from any other Dara," Laien replied shortly.
"What do you think he'll do when he wants to replace me with another?" Isidore asked.
"Send you back to Sheq-Kis-Ra I suppose," Laien sighed, "but ask him."
Isidore's heart leapt and fell in one movement; to go back to Sheq-Kis-Ra and his beloved family was too wonderful to contemplate, but to ask that man for it? The less contact he had with that cold Daja the better, he thought, and wondered how he might orchestrate his underfoot disappearance when he had been lodged in the Svarya's chambers.
"I will, thank you, Laien," Isidore replied, watching as his trunks were brought into the front-room of the chambers.
"You're welcome," Laien replied shortly, going over to the first trunk and throwing open the lid, then taking out bundles of the clothes and arranging them in the chests in the room. "You might help me," he said after a time, his tone irritable.
"I beg your pardon?" Isidore asked.
"I said you might want to do more than stand there and watch," Laien said, slamming the lid down on the trunk. "You might be Svaraya where you come from, but here no Dara is Svaraya; here you are just a Dara so you will have to accustom yourself to lifting a finger or two in the castle."
"I see." Isidore gulped, walking to the trunks and lifting out a pile of his clothing, all the while his mind reeling with the realisation. No wonder his father had not allowed him to take Alan; he would be servant here, not have one.
He walked to the chests in the room, placing the clothing in them and wondering how in Mol-Hotep's name he was supposed to suddenly learn to do all those things that he had taken for granted; he didn't even know how to fold clothes. While he was considering this dilemma, something bright in the bottom of the chest caught his eye and he reached in to lift it out. Holding it up before him he saw it was a sort of filmy scarf woven through with gold threads and made of a deep magenta silk; it looked like something a Diya would wear.
"You may have my scarf if you like." A voice from the door interrupted their activities and both Isidore and Laien turned in its direction. There stood a pretty boy with white- blonde hair and very light blue eyes, dressed in skin-tight trousers and an over-short vest; the same as that in which Laien was attired. Only, on this boy, the clothing was far more revealing and, Isidore imagined, provocative. Upon catching their attention, he sashayed into the room, coming up to where they were standing. "Forgive me, but it looks as though you need some colour to brighten your wardrobe."
Isidore balked; the boy was trying to be nice but he wouldn't be caught dead in something so gaudy. "I thank you..."
"Liwah," the boy answered with a pleasant smile.
"I thank you, Liwah," Isidore replied politely, smiling in return, "but I feel this colour does far better suit your complexion than mine." He held the scarf up next to the boy's bare shoulder. "And so I would have it worn by one who can do far more justice to it."
Liwah looked at him a little strangely, cocking his head to the side as though he was trying to figure his motives; but he shrugged in response and Isidore relaxed when he realised the boy had accepted his lame excuse for refusing the gift; he wouldn't be forced to wear it himself just to appease him.
"As you wish." Liwah threw the scarf casually about his neck, letting the long tails trail down his back. "I say, 'tis terribly sad you were unable to see your brother before he goes back to the brother-city," Liwah commiserated.
"Such was ordered by the Svarya," Laien interjected in the same surly tone he had used on Isidore, glaring at the blonde boy in much the same way as he had previously glared at Isidore.
"Indeed it was, Laien, but do not be wroth with me for questioning the Svarya's judgment in denying this poor boy the last sight of his family for Lodur only knows how long." Liwah's voice was slightly admonishing and he turned to Isidore with an apologetic smile. "Laien misleads you if he behaves in such a way as to indicate that he has never disobeyed the rule of this household. If you ask any and all about here, he is the greatest recipient of punishments for his disobedience, naughty boy," he giggled.
From what Isidore had seen of Laien, he could verily imagine, with his brusque and surly demeanour, that he would be more likely to chafe at the rule of such an autocratic man as Svarya Kerim. Laien himself looked distinctly discomfited by having his disobedience discussed; so Isidore guessed it was more likely a case of having an ill-temper than any deliberateness on the part of the boy.
"But silly me," Liwah giggled again. "I did come up here for a reason. Your help has been asked for in the kitchen, Laien; I will help our Sheq-Kis-Ran guest unpack."
Laien looked at him sharply, his expression one of disgruntlement.
"Quick now, Laien, ere you earn yourself another punishment for your tardiness," Liwah said, his tone playful. It seemed Laien was rather disgruntled by this change of duties and it was after some moments of inward debate that he quit the room in what seemed a rather irritable manner.
"Oh he is not pleased with me for taking him away from an easy job, done in your pleasant company, to the nasty one they likely have lined up in the kitchen," Liwah told him with a regretful smile. "Poor Laien, he does have a penchant for disobedience, you..." Here Liwah appeared to debate with himself over the next words. "You would do well to...make yourself scarce, as we all do, when he happens to be in line for the latest lot of discipline for his bad behaviour."
"I see," Isidore replied, and he planned to take Liwah's advice whole-heartedly; it would be no difficult task to stay away from that particular boy.
"I'm glad," Liwah told him with a relieved grin. "Now, do you sit down," he ordered Isidore. "I will unpack your trunks, 'tis fair cruel to make you do so when you have been so long on the road and must be dreadfully weary from it."
"Oh..." Isidore was horribly tired, the more so from having stood for a good hour after his day of traveling through the city so that the unpleasant envoy could make his lengthy report. "But I think 'twould be best I get used to my lot sooner rather than later."
"Nonsense!" Liwah pushed him on to a couch. "Sit. Argh, Laien told you that you'd be worked to the bone, did he?" The boy's fine white-blonde brows drew together. "Poor boy, he means well..."
Liwah dealt amazingly quickly with his clothes, lifting each item out and folding it expertly before placing it into the chest. The boy chattered to him on and off about this and that in the castle, and asked him about his trip, which Isidore did his best to represent in the most pleasant light.
"You will not find it so bad here." Liwah assured him. "I know things are different in Sheq-Kis-Ra but it is not so bad here in Sherim-Ra; rules are only cumbersome if you chafe at them."
"Indeed," Isidore agreed. "Does...do many chafe overmuch at the rules here?" he asked.
Liwah flashed him a look. "Do you mean does Laien chafe overmuch at the rules here?"
"Gossip is a dangerous thing," Isidore replied, flushing as Liwah gave him another pointed look.
"Oh come now, everyone enjoys gossip," he giggled. "But no, we all chafe at the rules now and again, only Laien more than most," Liwah told him. Then he paused and appeared to debate with himself about something. Isidore was about to ask him what troubled him, when the boy looked up at him with a slightly embarrassed expression. "But now I feel I am to appear a great hypocrite."
"Why is that?" Isidore asked.
"Well, 'tis not that I am, and I wasn't going to tell you. I am of the belief that much can be gained by a fair word and quiet persistence, but, well..." Liwah looked terribly uncomfortable to be discussing such things.
"Well what?" Isidore asked.
"Well, 'tis just that sometimes there may not be time to be so patient, and sometimes the matter is one of grave importance. Argh..." He covered his mouth, his light brow creasing earnestly as his aquamarine eyes regarded Isidore contemplatively.
"What ever is this subject you are deliberating over, it looks to have you quite perturbed," Isidore told him, wondering at the level of dilly-dallying. "So either you drop it or speak it ere you grow any more vexed by it."
"So right you are." Liwah sighed. "'Tis just that, do I tell you this, you did not hear it from me; is that clear?" The boy regarded him most earnestly.
"Very well," Isidore replied.
"Aye; well, you are right, I should spit it out." He took a deep breath. "I know how you might see your brother ere he leaves the city."
Isidore's heart leapt in his chest. "Are you serious?" he asked, his fingers flying to his mouth. "Do you know where he is?"
"Aye, I do." Liwah told him, looking a little confused at the question. "The whole household does. I'm surprised Laien didn't tell you. He is kept right here in the castle, but I happen to know where, for as you know, I was...close...to the Svarya."
Isidore felt a surge of excitement, tempered only by the sympathy he felt for poor Liwah who had to have been anywhere near that awful man in whose charge he now was. Barik was so close! And the miserably cruel Svarya; to have his brother right here underfoot and not allow him the boon of seeing him. Liwah was right; there was a right and a wrong time to practice patient obedience.
"Where is he? Might you take me to him?" Isidore asked, his midnight-blue eyes imploring.
Liwah looked at him sympathetically. "I cannot do so myself; it has been the order of the Svarya that you not see him, but...you are yet new here and can be forgiven getting 'lost' in your wanderings." Liwah winked and grinned. "I shall take you as far as I may; then I will give you directions beyond there so as to find your brother. If you are caught wandering a little too close by where he is kept...well you are new to the castle and it is a confusing place, you simply got hopelessly lost!"
Isidore smiled brightly, thinking of nothing but seeing his brother once more and not sparing a single thought for any possible reprimand he might earn for disobeying the Svarya's callous order. "Of course, and I would be eternally grateful for your help in this, Liwah, I want you to know that."
"Oh...how can I refuse such a lovely smile?" Liwah grinned back, and then he turned. "Well then, upon what do we wait?" he asked with an excited laugh. "'Tis best that you go 'exploring' now rather than later, for then we will be all about serving dinner and you will find that after that whole affair, you will be so exhausted that you can think of naught but sleep."
"Of course." Isidore trotted after Liwah as he led him out of the Svarya's chambers, taking him around a different set of passages than those through which Laien had led him.
"These are in less use," Liwah explained. "If you want to do anything where you wish to be beneath the notice of the Dajani, then you will use this set of passages."
"I see," Isidore replied, "but I plan on being disobedient just this once."
"Of course," Liwah agreed, flashing him a wicked grin.
Isidore smiled back, knowing the boy thought he was probably intent on flouting the rule of his new master whenever he didn't entirely agree with it, but that was not how Isidore had been brought up; neither was he given to disobedience just for the fun of it. But, in matters of the family, he would make an exception.
"Now, through this door go down the flights of steps; there are...eighteen of them." He rolled his eyes up in sympathy at this. "They are all kept in the farthest under-chambers, but you will find them with not too much difficulty once you go down eighteen flights. There are a number of passages you have to walk through, but it is all straight through, and leads in a circle so, if you get lost, just keep walking and you'll be back at the steps where you started from." Liwah gave him a reassuring pat on his shoulder and a grin. "Lodur be with you, and your brother."
Isidore clasped his hand in gratitude. "I won't forget this," he said earnestly.
"See that you don't," he called after Isidore as he walked through the door and began the first of eighteen flights of steps.
He really should have brought some provisions for this great trek, Isidore thought to himself as he ran down flight after flight of steps. The first five flights he had barely noticed because he was so intent on seeing his brother; but after his breathing had begun to grow laboured from his pounding down the stone steps he realized just how many eighteen flights were. Still, he would run ten times as many to see his brother before Barik left this Lodur-cursed place. He guessed that his brother would be guarded by the Svarya's officers, so he planned to tell them that he had permission to speak to his brother before he left, knowing that it would invariably get back to Kerim. And then he would be in some trouble, but he wasn't going to let that knowledge quell his excitement at seeing his brother. No, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
When he had counted sixteen flights he felt his heart leap in his chest, even though it was already pumping hard from the physical exertion. His heart had had a lot to cope with this day, he thought to himself; a lot of ups and downs of feeling, but now it was only an excited fluttering he felt in his chest when he reached the end of the eighteenth flight of steps and came to a small landing.
Liwah had said that from here the passages circled right around, so if he started walking he would find them. He retrieved a torch from the landing, deciding that it would be best did he have his own light source, since it looked as though some of the torches had gone out in the passage ahead as it was pitch black as far as he could see.
It was only his torch which lit the passages as he walked along them, looking out for doors as he did so, but there were none just yet and he began to notice the cloying coldness of this underground place. Even through his fairly sturdy velvet camic he felt his skin goose-pimple up with the cold. His brother would be staying here, he thought worriedly, but Barik was most sturdily built; likely he wouldn't even realize it was cold, Isidore thought with a wry laugh. The sound echoed around the passage and somehow it sounded far more eerie when it echoed back to him from being reverberated over the stone walls. He sucked in his breath, continuing to walk; and even though he had thought it would be far preferable that he came upon no one during this expedition, he began to long for the sound of someone's voice. But, he would find his brother soon enough, he thought to himself, and then the sound of his boisterous voice would ring in his ears and he would never have been more grateful for it.
He continued walking, swinging his torch around to either side of him to illuminate the stark grey stone and in the hope of seeing a door finally come into view, or a grate, anywhere that he might find his brother, but it seemed as though he had been walking an age and come across nothing but stone; cold, hard and unending stone.
Where were they? He had tried not to wonder that too early in this expedition, but the question began to gnaw at him more and more as he was sure he had been walking a full hour. Turning a full circle on his heel, he shone the torch all around him, his eyes taking in every detail; but the view fore and aft of him was the same. How far could he keep walking until, as Liwah had said, he found himself back where he started?
Had he passed the landing by accident and resumed his route, he wondered? That would explain why he had been walking and walking and found nothing but the same endless stone. Perhaps Liwah had been misinformed about where his brother was kept, he thought; then Lodur help him, where was he? He turned around in another circle, his heartbeat growing rapid, especially as he had become aware that his torch was burning low. He stood for a moment, gathering his bearings, and deciding that the best course of action would be to go back the way he had come, for this endless walking was getting him nowhere. He would have to get back to the landing and reclimb the eighteen flights of stone steps and put this down to a fruitless endeavour.
Resolutely, he turned around and marched in the opposite direction, even now fighting the urge to go back and see if just one more turn would take him to his brother. He sighed miserably. What a disappointment; his heart had sunk deep into his belly after all its ups and downs, now singly depressed. At least he would return to the landing where he knew there were mounted torches and then he would stop cringing every time his torch sputtered or dimmed. It was also coldly comforting knowledge that he hadn't been caught 'exploring' where he was not permitted to go.
His breathing began to quicken, however, when the torch started to give out and then he began to run. He had to get to the landing before his torch was completely extinguished, but he had to slow his pace when he kept outrunning the tiny radius of light that was given by the near-finished torch. He was in the middle of cursing the torch when it rewarded him by going out completely. Isidore gasped and shook the torch, but it was finished; the last of the red embers that curled around the tip fading into black. Reaching out, he touched the cold stone of the wall to get his bearings, and immediately snatched his hand back. It was so cold; he hadn't realised how cold it was down here while his body had been kept warm from the exertion and excitement; but now he was standing still and the cold began to make itself known to him. Though he was exhausted, he decided he had to keep walking in the direction he had been taking for eventually he would reach the landing; whereas, if he remained where he was, he would freeze to death.
Salvation at the landing did not come to him before the aching coldness of the passages through which he was walking began to overcome him, however. Already his hand felt like ice as he had been feeling along the cold stone wall with it; now he dropped it to his side, and leaned against the wall instead. He was exhausted; his chest ached from all the exertion of the day; his legs were starting to grow tired from all the walking and he felt lightheaded from the fact that he couldn't count the number of hours since his last meal. How much time had passed since he had been down here, he wondered; were they wondering where he was? What if they weren't? What if they thought he had got occupied doing somewhat and no one came to look for him? No, for the Svarya wouldn't let his newest charge go missing for hours on end. Surely not. But then he remembered how the man had looked upon him without the slightest scrap of interest; said his attractiveness had been exaggerated then sent him from his presence after the briefest of appraisals. Svarya Kerim probably wouldn't notice if he was gone for days on end.
Oh blessed Lodur help him! He slid down the wall, coming to sit on the hard stone floor; the coldness seeping very quickly through the thick fabric of his trousers, setting him to shivering and rubbing his arms. He should keep walking; he knew he should; but he was so cold and tired. He just needed to rest a while; to get his breath back and calm his breathing; to let the blood return to his head since he was so lightheaded from lack of food. Just a few moments to rest.
"Well, well, the Dara-Svaraya lasts not half a day before he tries to break his father's promise." Isidore stirred at the words and looked up, his eyes adjusting.
Before him stood a Daja with a torch, bless him, life and light. Isidore had despaired of seeing either ever again. The man wore the clothing common to the warriors of Sherim-Ra; a sleeveless vest that opened wide down his muscular chest and tight tan trousers of the same butter-soft animal hide that they all wore. He was hugely built, as were all Dajani, but this one larger than most; about the same size as his brother, with a similar build. He had shoulder-length, very dark brown hair, like his brother, but this man's eyes were like ice, and not just in colour, his expression was frosty too as he looked down on the lost Dara.
"Can you walk?" the Daja asked him curtly.
Isidore tried to form an answer but the Daja did not wait for it, merely rolling his eyes then leaning down to scoop Isidore up with one arm and toss him across his shoulder.
"I got lost," Isidore whispered as he shifted down so that he could hold on to the man around his thick neck.
"'Tis not surprising," the Daja replied with a derisive snort, "since you chose the most stupid place through which to effect your escape."
"I was not trying to escape," Isidore said as the man turned very suddenly and then, by his movements, Isidore knew he was mounting steps. The landing; he had been so close!
"Save your excuses for your master," the Daja replied as he took the steps two at a time, barely noticing that he was encumbered by the weight of his small passenger. "Or not." He seemed to consider carefully his next words. "Though you don't deserve the benefit of advice, it occurs to me that in giving it to you I might make my friend's life easier, so I will tell you not to make excuses with him, he will not take to your lies kindly."
"It is no lie," Isidore replied but got no answer; the Daja didn't care what he thought or said, he realised. He had made up his own mind on the matter and would not deign to have it swayed by a Dara. Just as he had been told about Sherim-Ranians; at best they thought that Darani were like children, but most often they thought of them as slaves who, though they had the benefit of speech, were not to be listened to.
After not too long a climb, the Daja had reached the door and flung this open with his free hand. Isidore scrambled to get down, not wanting to be seen being carried like a child, but the steely arm around his waist did not give in the slightest, so he remained held aloft, hiding his face in the large shoulder which was about all he could do as he was carried past everyone in the household. Some search must have been mounted for his missing person, he realised, since they all were set to whispering that the lost Dara had been found as the Daja marched along the hall passages.
"I have found your baggage," the Daja who carried him announced loudly and Isidore looked up, realizing they had entered a mid-sized room that looked to be an office of sorts. Before he knew it, he was thrust out of the arms of the man who held him but, instead of tumbling to the floor, he was caught by other arms.
"I thank you, Jalen, 'tis good you returned when you did; there is no better scout than you," Kerim told his friend Jalen dal Camron who took the compliment with a nod.
Isidore meanwhile was still held aloft by the Svarya; the man to whom he belonged; held against the man's side as he would hold a sack of meal or some other baggage; in the crook of his arm. He kept himself perfectly still as he looked at the floor and the man's huge boot, wanting desperately to get out of his grasp, but knowing he could only do so when the man chose to release him; especially since he did not want to anger him any further than he likely had already.
His release was given to him presently when Kerim dropped him to his feet and then took a seat in a large chair. Isidore stood before his regard, keeping his eyes deferentially trained on the man's shoulder, knowing that he could not speak until spoken to, so he waited, feeling flushed and nervous, despite his exhaustion as he stood under the man's gaze.
"Is this the gift Svarya Kenit da Jornn would give me, then? A disobedient Dara who tries to escape on his very first day here?" Kerim asked, his voice deceptively calm.
Isidore hesitated, wondering how to answer that.
"Answer me, boy!"
Isidore flinched at that bellowed instruction which was in such stark contrast to the calmness of his previous statement.
"No, majesty, my father has given you no disobedient gift; it is I who have shamed my family with my own stupidity," Isidore replied truthfully.
"It would seem so," Kerim replied, slightly placated.
"But I did not try to escape, majesty," Isidore told him quietly.
"Since all Darani are filled with lies, I will not slap you for telling that one, but I give no second warning; lie to me again and I will make you regret it," Kerim told him in an ominous tone.
"I do not wish to lie to your majesty," Isidore replied, "which is why I would be lying if I told you I was trying to escape--"
Isidore gasped as the man got to his feet and stood before him; so enormous that he had to step back so as not to feel completely overwhelmed. A large hand on his shoulder halted his retreat.
"I have warned you that do you lie to me it will earn you a slap," Kerim replied, lifting back his hand.
Isidore stiffened. He had never been slapped before; he had never been physically punished in his life, and this man's hands were so huge they were like to take his head off with even a slap. Though every instinct in his body would have him cowering and begging for mercy, he remembered his heritage and whom he represented so he stood his ground, waiting for the pain.
The hand flew through the air and he shut his eyes waiting for it to strike, but when it did, it was a light tap, on his cheek, and Isidore's eyes flew open, meeting those of the man before him. The Svarya was grinning down at him, loving the boy's reaction to the trick he had played on him, while Isidore stood there, fuming at the man for playing it.
"Majesty, I was looking for my brother," Isidore replied, his fear turning to indignation and exhaustion rendering his deference absent. "Though it would behoove my every selfish instinct to leave here and never come back, my honour behooves me to remain here much as I dislike it; but I wanted to see my brother before he left."
Kerim frowned. "Darani have no honour," he said matter-of-factly, completely ignoring anything else in the boy's statement to focus on that fact.
Isidore's eyes flared. "This is not so, and you insult my family to accuse the Sheq-Kis-Ran Svarya's son of being dishonourable."
"Quite aside from the fact that today you proved yourself to have not a scrap of honour; it is no insult to say the Svarya's Dara-son has none," Kerim told him, then he frowned. "And you will not use your heritage as a threat to me."
"As it pleases your majesty," Isidore replied. "But regardless of my heritage, I am not without honour and you may therefore be guaranteed that I will never escape no matter how much I may wish to."
"You shall not escape because you will know that upon your capture I will make you wish Mol-Hotep had found you first," Kerim told him menacingly, "and thus do I not need to prevail upon your false honour."
Isidore had never been so insulted. To have it denied that he had any honour was a grave insult to the Svarya's son; even to an ordinary man, Daja or Dara, it was an insult. "Does it please your majesty to remain steeped in ignorance?" he asked.
Kerim's eyes flared and his hand gripped the firm chin of the boy before him, lifting his face to regard him, his own expression unkind. "Are you so stupid as to insult your master?"
"If pointing out his misapprehension is insulting to my master then I apologise for it. But I mean no disrespect in telling you that you have been misinformed about me; I am not without honour," Isidore told him, his heart beating double time as his eyes regarded those of the man who stood so far above him.
Kerim let go of his chin. "If the Dara thinks he has honour then it is he who remains steeped in ignorance. Darani have no honour; but I will admit a few of them are not smart enough to realise this is so."
"If it pleases your majesty to believe this is so, far be it from me to shed light on the matter," Isidore replied.
"Will you always be this ungracious?" Kerim asked him, grasping his jaw once more and searching his face as though that would give him the answer.
"Forgive me, majesty, I am tired and have gone a long time without a meal," Isidore conceded.
"Hmm, well typically as part of your punishment you would be denied your dinner. But that seems like an inappropriate punishment for such a wisp of a boy, so I shall have some dinner prepared for you. Then we shall resume this discussion in my chambers."
As part of his punishment? Isidore wondered what he meant by that as his wrist was snatched up by the man.
"Are you going to beat me?" he asked as he was pulled along out of the study and down toward the kitchen, which would probably be empty of all but the sweepers, since the evening's meal was long over.
Kerim looked down at him, insulted. "We do not beat our Darani here."
Isidore nodded, slightly comforted, but what punishment might he then get? He had rarely been punished, and only when he was a very small child; even then he had not been more than denied a toy or a favoured dessert for those few times he had been disobedient. He had never been given to misbehaviour. What a pity that, when he arrived at his new home in Sherim-Ra, the first thing he had done was flout the Svarya's direct instructions.
In the kitchen a meal was fetched for him, all cold but fairly pleasing fare; meats that could be considered delicacies and dried fruits, but far more than he would need to fill him completely. Kerim sat opposite him and watched as he ate; somewhat disconcerting since the man was mostly silent as he did so.
"Why do you pick at your food?" he asked Isidore who looked up at him in surprise.
"I...I guess I am nervous," he admitted.
"And what would be making you nervous?" Kerim sat back regarding him in amusement since he had no doubt of just what had him tied up in knots.
"This you know, Majesty," Isidore replied.
"You may call me your lord, for you serve in my household and I am lord of that, Svarya of all outside it," Kerim told him, growing tired of hearing that title accorded to himself, even if it was said so prettily.
"As it pleases you, my lord," Isidore answered, sitting back in his seat.
"Keep eating, I do not want to be here all night," Kerim instructed him.
"I have finished, my lord," Isidore replied, his belly completely full.
"Rubbish; you ate not a quarter of the food set before you. Finish your plate," Kerim instructed him.
"I am completely filled, my lord," Isidore told him honestly, "do I eat any more I may bring it all up." Nervous as he was, that was not an altogether idle threat.
"Aye; well for tonight I shall take your word at it; but for whatever reason they let you remain stunted and starved in Sheq-Kis-Ra, we shall put some meat on those bones here in Sherim-Ra."
"I am not bony, my lord," Isidore said with some heat, "nor am I stunted and starved."
"From where I sit you are indeed that," Kerim replied casually, "else you are just the runt of the litter."
Isidore looked horrified. "I am no runt," he gritted out through his indignation.
"You are smaller than most. For certain you would not have survived in Sherim-Ra, not with your pitiful stature; but they coddle their Darani in Sheq-Kis-Ra, or so I have heard," Kerim replied carelessly, completely oblivious to the hurt he was creating by his thoughtless words. He got to his feet while Isidore sat back in his chair, stunned and staring absently at the plate. "Rise boy, do you not know better than to sit in my presence?"
Isidore was yanked back to the situation at hand and he rose quickly, aware that one did not sit in the Svarya's presence, no matter how uncouth or thoughtless happened to be the man who held that title. Kerim grasped his wrist as he led him from the kitchens. Along the way he lifted it in his hand to examine it a little more closely, shucking up the sleeve of Isidore's camic a little as he did so.
"You do not seem so bony," he commented, seeing the lean and supple muscles on the boy's forearm, "it must just be that you are tiny."
Isidore said nothing as he was led along with his arm held above his head.
"Ah well, though I prefer my Darani a little sturdier, I will have to make do with you, runt that you are," Kerim sighed.
Isidore dearly wished he would shut up; every word out of his mouth told him more and more plainly that he did not meet with the man's approval and, for some reason, that made him feel all the more awful. All this time he had chosen to remain celibate, and it seemed that if he now lifted the ban on his body, it would be enforced involuntarily, if this man's reaction was anything to go by.
He was dragged into a room which he recognised to be the parlour of the Svarya's suite of chambers, and through another door that led them to the Svarya's chamber in which he had been much earlier in the day, packing his possessions with Laien and then with Liwah. As he remembered the day, a realisation that he had been either too tired, cold, hungry or, Lodur help him, stupid to come to hit him suddenly. Lodur help him indeed! Though he had grown up in court his entire life, Isidore had never been exposed to intrigue. In a warrior's court such was not common among the Dajani and, being one of only two titled Darani in the entire castle, Eiren being the other, Isidore had never encountered deceit or trickery and so was slow to pick up on it; but was that in fact what had happened? Had Liwah lied to him?
"My lord, is my brother kept in the castle?" he asked once he stood inside the man's chamber.
"You will cease thinking of your brother," Kerim ordered him.
Absurd! As if he could stop thinking on a subject, yet the Daja seemed convinced that was exactly what he could order him to do and that Isidore would comply. Though such deserved further discussion he had first to find out if his suspicions were correct.
"My lord, I was told my brother was kept beneath the castle and so I want to know if I have been lied to," Isidore answered.
Kerim frowned. "Who told you this?" he asked.
"I'd rather not say, it is simply that--" He gasped as his upper-arms were encircled by the man's huge hands in a bitingly tight grip.
"Answer the question, Dara," Kerim commanded, his voice raised.
"It was the boy...Liwah." Isidore felt there was something inherently wrong in speaking the boy's name which would likely get him in trouble, but the grip on his upper-arms had grown crushingly tight so he did it lest the man snap his bones. "Did he speak true?" Isidore asked.
Kerim walked to the bed and sat down on it, yanking his dark hair free of its binding and shaking it out so that it fell across his shoulders and the top of his chest. It should have made him look softer, but his expression was so fierce that Isidore could see not a scrap of softness about the man.
"My lord?" Isidore prompted.
"It matters not if he spoke true or not, boy," Kerim replied.
Indeed, to this boy it mattered not; but to the other one, Liwah, his former favourite, it would matter significantly and he would severely regret his foolish lies that had precipitated a castle-wide search and wasted the hours of every Daja in his household.
"Very well, my lord," Isidore responded softly, turning slightly away; hating the autocratic manner in which this man behaved, even if he was Svarya.
Kerim regarded him a moment. "No, your brother is not kept in the castle; he never was. After I had been assured of your safe arrival in the receiving room I sent the message that he and his company were to be released from the Tower, where we keep our prisoners, and they were given escort out of the city limits."
Isidore's mouth dropped. "He lied to me?" he asked.
"Obviously you were too stupid to realise that such a one speaks nothing but falsehoods."
Kerim was not impressed; Kylar was of the opinion that this boy was relatively intelligent but it would appear not.
"But he seemed so nice and...sincere," Isidore breathed, thinking back on his duplicity.
"You grew up in your Svarya's castle did you not? It would have been full of Darani scheming to improve their lot; how can you be so naïve?" Kerim asked and Isidore raised his midnight-blue eyes to those of the seated man before him.
"I have never been subjected to such scheming," Isidore replied. "In our household there was only one other titled Dara, a Svar's son who was my best friend; he would never lie to me."
Kerim sat back on the bed, regarding the boy curiously. Had he lived such a sheltered life that he knew so little about the nature of his kind; that he could not even see duplicity when it was revealed in this most obvious way?
"Best you learn of duplicity, boy; how to identify it and how to avoid it, because it is to be the way of your life from now on," Kerim replied.
"Do you tell me everyone in your castle is full of lies?" Isidore asked.
"Only the Darani, and 'tis not as though it is encouraged; merely 'tis impossible to eradicate," Kerim replied.
"But why would I have been lied to?" Isidore asked. "What would I have done to merit it? I have nothing that another might covet."
Kerim raised a brow; he knew how to identify duplicity and could see none in this boy's demeanour, so he wondered how the boy had remained so naïve. "Did you live in a hole all your life? How come you not to know aught about Daran nature?"
Isidore's eyes flew to his in surprise. A hole? Not really; but he had spent most of his time in the library, around books, and only those few people who he knew had his best interests at heart: his father, his brother, Eiren, and their other friends.
"Eiren did always say I buried myself away with books and scrolls," he murmured. "He did always call me painfully naïve."
"The other titled Dara?" Kerim asked.
Isidore nodded. "But even so, Darani are not duplicitous, at least not where I came from, 'tis..." Here he thought the better of what he was going to say.
"'Tis what?" Kerim asked, frowning.
Isidore looked reluctant, but he knew this man's temper was shortened already by his own actions so he did not want to encourage it. "It occurs to me that those who have little might grow inconsiderate in their desire to improve their conditions."
"A prettily framed statement to tell me that in my land we have made rods for our own backs." Kerim sat back, leaning on one arm and regarding Isidore who did not drop his eyes, refusing to retract that statement.
"Perhaps you might tell me why Liwah so duped me, then," he said quietly.
"Liwah was favourite; to him you usurped his position, though `twas not going to remain his for much longer as I had grown tired of him," Kerim replied casually.
"Did he perhaps love you?" Isidore asked suddenly; such would enable him to forgive the boy's actions toward him, though he wondered how any could love such an unpleasant man. "Perhaps he was prompted by his own hurt."
Kerim frowned at the boy's expression that was filled with sympathy, entirely misplaced since the boy Liwah had loved none but himself. "No, he did not," he told Isidore curtly. "Cease your concern for him, he does not merit it."
"So you did not love him back," Isidore surmised.
"There was no love to return; Liwah cares for nothing but his own comfort," Kerim told him. "I daresay he might have loved those gifts and trinkets I gave him, but love for me? I know by his own words that he quite hated me."
"He told you thus?" Isidore asked knowingly. "Betimes a man will say he does hate another when the feeling is in fact quite the opposite."
Kerim grinned. "You must indeed have lived in a hole all your life if you are so slow to see the poison in people," he replied. "And yes, he did say he hated me to my face, but he also confided to others that it was so, and 'tis not surprising; I am not a loveable person. In fact I would say I'm quite the opposite." He said this quite unabashedly.
Isidore regarded him from his position several feet away in the centre of the chamber, his arms wrapped around his chest. "I am sorry to hear that," he told him.
"Why, had you plans to love me?" This Kerim said with a smirk.
Isidore frowned. "No, I had and continue to have plans only to serve you so that you might find me a pleasing gift from my father for, as I said before, 'twas costly for him to give me. But 'tis sad to hear that you have resigned yourself to loving no one and remaining unloved by all."
"Why should you care?" Kerim asked, unmoved.
Isidore sighed. "Call it the curse of he for whom I am named. I have spent far too long studying Ys and his precepts: my thoughts in this area tend to be dominated by them." In Sherim-Ra, his god was called according to his Ancient Pasian name, Ys.
"Aye, you are named for the god of pure love. Tell me Isidore, do you love purely?" Kerim asked with a wicked grin.
"I cannot say, my lord," Isidore replied, feeling distinctly uncomfortable under the man's predatory regard.
"Come you here and we shall see then," Kerim replied, his eyes traveling up and down Isidore's small form.
"I...I thought you did not want me, since I am a runt." Isidore stalled for time, now feeling distinctly afraid when he saw the wanting in the Daja's expression.
"A pretty runt," Kerim replied, holding out his hand and gesturing for Isidore to come to him. "So come you here and we shall see if 'tis all skin and bones under that cumbersome travel attire."
Isidore felt as though his feet were weighted with heavy stones, they dragged so as he made his way to the huge man; so huge; larger than any Daja Isidore had come across before. Why did he have to be so enormous? No wonder he thought Isidore was a runt.
He stood a foot away from the man's knees, feeling distinctly uncomfortable and he gasped when he was grabbed about the waist and lifted on to the man's lap. He sat there, stiff as a board, and wanting desperately to jump off and race out the door. For some reason this man made him feel so awful and strange to be around him; his heart beat much more rapidly; his skin tingled; his breathing quickened and he felt this strange swirling sensation in his belly, like a hundred locusts were buzzing about in there.
"Why are you so discomfited?" Kerim asked him, reaching around his shoulder to remove the binding on his hair. Isidore made no move or reply as the man unbraided his hair, shaking out its tresses and running them through his fingers.
"This at least is thick and full in body," he commented.
Isidore flushed, even his attempt at being complementary was back-handed.
"If I am not to my lord's liking then might I leave his presence so that he may find one who is?" Isidore asked respectfully and Kerim looked at him curiously.
"So the Dara is fishing for a compliment?" he asked, his brow quirked.
Isidore stiffened; if such was possible, since he already held himself utterly rigid.
"Nothing of the sort, my lord; I care not if you find me ugly as Mol-Hotep's guard-dogs. Only that, if you do, might we both be spared the ignominy of your making use of me in that way when you can find another whom you find more pleasing."
Kerim took in the rigid way the boy held himself and his tight-lipped demeanour. "I have insulted you, haven't I?" he asked, leaning back with his arms about the boy who remained rigidly held atop his lap, waiting for the opportunity to quit it as soon as possible.
"Was that not your intention, my lord? You did fulfill it most adequately," Isidore replied quietly.
"Ahh. Do you wish to hear that you are beautiful, is that it?" Kerim asked with a tolerant smile. "Have you found yourself so starved of your usual adoration?"
"I seek no adoration!" Isidore turned to him in amazement. "'Tis only that I am perfectly aware that my stature is smaller than most, and I do not need to be reminded every moment of how great is my failing."
Kerim shut his eyes a moment. "Did I hurt your feelings?" he asked quietly.
"Does it matter if you did?" Isidore asked in reply.
"No," Kerim replied out of habit.
"Well then, I am glad neither of us suffer under any compunction," Isidore said with a sniff, not knowing why he was being so provoking but not caring either at this point.
"Oh, and what have you to be sorry about, or not sorry as the case may be?" Kerim asked.
"I feel no regret that you are dissatisfied with my stature; in fact I hope you are so displeased with it that you cannot be roused by it," Isidore replied, shifting so as to get out of the man's lap.
Kerim grinned. "Shall we see then?" he asked, ignoring Isidore's attempts to rise from his lap.
"I'd rather not, my lord. I'd rather you take my word that I am gaunt as Mol-Hotep's wraiths under all these clothes." He began to struggle in earnest, pulling at the hands that reached for the ties on his camic, but it was to no avail; they were pulled open. When he tried to rise from the man's lap again, Kerim took the opportunity to lift him up and lay him on the bed instead, shoving off his camic as he did so. Isidore groaned to be so exposed for they were modest in Sheq-Kis-Ra; the Dajani might bare their chests and more besides as they pleased, but the Darani generally kept their entire bodies from neck to ankles covered.
"It appears your word is worth nothing, little one, for you are not gaunt at all," Kerim told him as he regarded the boy's naked chest, admiring the soft skin over taut, supple musculature. There was not a scrap of fat but neither was there a single rib or bone poking through.
Isidore said nothing, hating that every impression he was making on this man seemed to be a poor one, and he was about to say something when he was suddenly assailed by a wonderful sensation as the man's lips closed around one of his nipples, sucking it hard, making the sensitive flesh shrivel up to form a hard nub within the warmth of the mouth and sending a shiver right down his middle, straight to his groin, stirring there.
"Stop!" he cried, the word wrenched from him almost beyond his volition.
Kerim raised himself from where he was exploring the sensitive skin to regard him curiously. "What ails you, boy?" he asked, thinking it must be something genuine that troubled the boy.
"You can't...I can't." Isidore was reduced to stammering, something he was entirely unfamiliar with. "I mean, have you forgotten my punishment?" In his desperation it was the only thing he could think of to distract the man from the direction he had clearly been intent on taking.
Kerim frowned down at him. "What Dara takes a punishment over this?" he asked, then his frown turned very dark. "Do tell me why you would do so."
Isidore flushed. "If I did, you would not believe me," he said.
"Do you tell me anyway," Kerim replied.
"I..." He sucked in his breath, wondering how to continue and blushing furiously to do so. "I...have had no man." This was said in a rush and then his eyes were suddenly interested in all in the room but the man who was leaning above him.
"You are right, I do not believe you," Kerim said, his expression revealing his disbelief.
"In this I do not lie," Isidore replied, his eyes still looking at the painted ceiling, the candle-light in the room too dim to make out what was on it. "Do you think I would reveal to you how unpracticed I am at this if I was not? You already think my father's gift to you is salted beyond redemption; now you will find it even more so."
Kerim sat back, regarding the boy thoughtfully. There were two ways he could see if the boy spoke true, call his bluff if he was lying, or simply check manually his veracity by rendering him virgin no longer. He decided that since the former would likely lead to the latter, he would try it.
"Fine, if you will not fuck, then may we get on with the punishment?" Kerim said, sitting up and moving so that he was seated on the edge of the bed. Isidore sat up also, pulling on his camic and retying it, which caused Kerim to frown wondering just how modest they were in Sheq-Kis-Ra. When the boy was finished redonning his camic, Kerim patted his lap.
"Come here, little one," Kerim instructed him and Isidore complied, looking nervous but not nearly so terrified as he had at the prospect of fucking. He gulped when Kerim grasped him around the waist and pulled him to lie across his lap with a firm hand placed on the small of his back, the other running over the fabric of his trousers, caressing the firm mounds of his buttocks through it.
Isidore had never received a spanking before so he had no idea of how much it would hurt. He was presently wondering when the man would stop rubbing and cupping his buttocks and get on with it when he was shocked out of his impatience.
The first smack was so hard and painful it had him crying out before he knew what he was about, much less did he have the time or presence of mind to cover his mouth. Such was the same for the second smack which had him howling in pain and holding himself stiff as a board upon the man's lap. Upon the third he managed to cover his mouth and stifle his scream, but the fourth was so painful his hands flew from his mouth and he let out a yowl of torment. Tears had begun to stream from his eyes and he lost count of how many times his buttocks were battered by that man's huge hand, all he knew was that his throat was hoarse from screaming and his cheeks were soaked with tears afterwards.
"Stand up." The instruction filtered through his pain-clouded brain and he obeyed for lack of a better recourse for action; getting to his feet and wincing as his bruised buttocks informed him of the damage done to them with his every movement.
His eyes, still tear-filled, flew to those of the man before him as he began to undo the ties of his camic.
Kerim smiled ruefully. "Do not worry little one; I will do no more than undress you."
The assurance was a small one, since Isidore had known this man for a bare few hours and now he was being stripped naked before him. Though he wanted to be brave and he felt horrified that he was doing so appalling a job of it, he began sobbing afresh at this embarrassment.
"Ah, come here." Kerim's voice was amazingly soft as he gathered the boy into his arms, so solicitous after the punishment, Isidore could do no more than accept the unexpected tenderness as he was pulled into the bed beside the Daja, his master; one and the same in Sherim-Ra, the land into which he had been sold. He was enveloped in strong arms, and held tight to the huge body. Amid his misery he had the presence of mind to hope he would not be crushed beneath it some time during the night; but for now he was grateful for the warmth and comfort it offered and curled against it even as sleep overtook him, exhausted as he was after only his first day in his new home.