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 9
When Isidore awoke, he knew himself watched. Rolling over, and then wincing as his hair got caught under his shoulder and pulled tight, his eyes flicked up to those of the Svarya which were watching him intently. Kerim was sitting on the couch beside the bed, facing Isidore with his chin in his hand as he had watched the boy sleeping, his expression contemplative.
"Why do you want to leave my bed, Isidore?" Kerim asked once he saw Isidore had awoken.
"Many reasons, my lord, but last night 'twas mainly that you were drunk," Isidore answered, his tone a little disapproving.
"And?" Kerim asked.
Isidore sighed, seeing that the man's expression was clouding over. "And I worried that, in your state of inebriation, you might be hard to rouse if you...rolled on top of me."
To his surprise, Kerim's expression turned to one of concern. "You need not be afraid of that happening, Isidore. The slightest exclamation from you would be sufficient to rouse me. I have learned to sleep lightly, even when drunk."
"That is comforting to know," Isidore replied, which was somewhat a lie, for now he had lost that recourse to leave the man's bed.
"So you will not be afraid?" Kerim checked.
"Not of being suffocated, I suppose," Isidore replied.
Kerim chose to ignore the silent part of that statement, merely nodding before he left his seat on the couch and walked into the bathing room. Gods, he did not want Isidore to be afraid of him, he thought, as he splashed cold water on his face and neck. It was something that he found to be utterly refreshing in the boy. Isidore was not in the slightest bit intimidated by his size, at least not when he was angry; which was one reason why it was so entertaining to bait him. He was so damnably calm and reserved when he was in control. But, when Kerim managed to say just the right thing to get his blood boiling, his whole expression lit up, his darkest-blue eyes glittered furiously, and his cheeks flushed most becomingly. Not only did he look utterly delectable, but he would say the most entertaining things; things that men twice Isidore's size would never dream of saying to Kerim.
Perhaps he was being a little hard on him, though; likely Isidore was not aware that it was the thrill of pitting wills against one-another that Kerim enjoyed so much. It was quite possible that the boy thought it was because he was a heartless bastard that he said most of the things he did. Ah well; regardless of what Isidore thought of him, now that the Sheq-Kis-Ranian belonged to him, he would just have to get used to it.
It was not just for enjoyment that Kerim said what he did, though. He knew Isidore had grown up to have his own way more often than not in Sheq-Kis-Ra, and so bucked at authority; especially when his views conflicted with those of the one to whom he was supposed to be in subjection. Well, Kerim was his authority figure now and whether or not Isidore agreed with his views, he was required to defer to him in all things. And whilst the boy did not hesitate to do so in the presence of others, in private he still frequently and flat-out refused to obey Kerim's rule. So, then and there, the Svarya decided that if Isidore would not bend, from now on he would be made to do so.
It was not as though he himself had any more choice in the matter, Kerim thought irritably. Isidore needed to learn to accept his rule; it would do neither of them any good if he let the boy believe that things were any different. Whilst he enjoyed their fiery arguments, up to a point, disobedience from the boy he did not like one bit. Aye, he thought to himself, Isidore would learn to be obedient; he would learn to behave as a Dara in Sherim-Ra. And, if he did not, Kerim would see that the boy was taught the folly of not submitting to his mastery in one way or another.
Isidore was sitting up, still in the bed mulling over his own thoughts, when Kerim re-entered the chamber, but he looked up at the sound of the door to the bathing chamber slamming, his eyes following the Svarya warily.
Kerim ignored the boy's guarded expression. All business, now that he had decided on how best to deal with Isidore, he said: "Your escort today will be Jalen, and I'll not have you skulking about these chambers to avoid his company. Behave cordially towards him, and use this opportunity to learn more of your new home, so that you may come to accept it more readily."
"I shall be most cordial, my lord," Isidore replied. And this was no lie. He got the feeling that Jalen liked nothing more than to think of his being utterly miserable in his new home. So he once again decided to be relentlessly cheerful, even to the point where the Daja would wonder that he had not sipped too much of the breakfast wine. Anything was preferable to that look of condescension, mixed with smug satisfaction, which Jalen got from thinking that it was all Isidore's doing that he was chafing so at the confines of his new home.
It was while Isidore was dressing that he heard Jalen greet Kerim in the parlour outside the closed door to the bed-chamber.
"Kerim-ya." Jalen's voice was gruff, but there was respect in his tone, "Kylar wishes to know if you could stop fucking for five minutes to answer the challenge you promised him this morning."
"Five minutes?" Isidore heard Kerim reply, safely avoiding an admission as to whether or not he was fucking his newest charge. "It will take me but two to smack the sword from his hand."
Jalen sniffed. "Aye," he agreed to the exaggeration. "Is he decently attired?"
"Wait until he comes out," Kerim replied in a low voice, but Isidore still heard it. "He is modest."
"'Tis a rarity," Jalen commented, "for a Dara."
There was no reply from Kerim but Isidore had no doubt that he was nodding in acceptance of his friend's usual dislike for Darani.
Then he heard a grunt. "Be nice to him today," Kerim ordered and Isidore had the supreme, and unexpected, pleasure of hearing Jalen's acquiescence given in a rather pained voice. He sounded winded which made Isidore guess that it had been a punch in the gut Jalen had been delivered.
Once modestly and starkly attired in black, Isidore stepped out of the bed-chamber to see Jalen waiting for him by the door. Jalen was a fine looking man; tall, tanned, well built, with very pale blue eyes and very dark brown hair. Isidore imagined that many Darani would find him attractive, until they met with his cruel demeanour and saw how ugly he was on the inside. Vaguely, he recalled that he had set his task to find out why the man insisted on behaving in such an ugly manner; but now he was beginning to think it was merely his personality which he made no attempt to hide.
"Where do you wish to go, Isidore." The Daja made no attempt to frame that as a question.
"I wish to ride, Lord Jalen," Isidore replied. "Just see around and about. Maybe you can point out things of interest along the way."
Jalen had his arms folded across his chest with one of his frequent scowls. "Fine," he replied then turned, pushing the door open and waiting for Isidore to walk through it before he followed.
Once atop the horse, and after riding a few miles in silence, Isidore grew bored with the endless countryside and took to making conversation with Jalen, since he thought it would have been a little too pointed if he had taken to conversing with the horse.
"Do you dislike this task, Lord Jalen?" Isidore asked him, keeping his tone lightly curious.
"'Tis not my role to question my orders," Jalen replied curtly.
"Well if it matters not in the slightest to you, I rather enjoy being taken about to look at the countryside," Isidore told him.
"Then you should be thanking your master for that, not I, for 'tis by his choice that we do this," Jalen informed him.
"Not yours?" Isidore asked.
"You have been warned about raising inflammatory questions," Jalen reminded him.
"Ah, so 'tis definitely not by your choice," Isidore replied. "Since it inflames you to be reminded of such."
"Do you enjoy punishment?" Jalen asked him curtly.
"What if I do?" Isidore asked suddenly. "Perhaps I am of the sect of Jadinites."
Jadinites were in fact a sect of Osian followers who practiced the art of giving pleasure through pain.
Jalen sniffed. "I am told you follow Ys," he replied.
"So you troubled yourself to learn that much about me, did you?" Isidore asked cheekily.
"I must know about my friend and Svarya, including his latest piece of arse," Jalen replied unkindly.
Isidore stiffened. "I see," he replied and then slumped back in the saddle.
"So you do, finally," Jalen said.
"Why do you dislike Darani?" Isidore asked suddenly, abandoning all attempt to direct the conversation subtly to that question since Jalen was so unsubtle as to make such impossible.
"I do not dislike Darani," Jalen replied, his voice having just the slightest tinge of exasperation. Isidore guessed it was a question Jalen had to answer a lot.
"You make every attempt to convince us that you do," he pressed.
"'Tis not that," Jalen replied irritably. "Merely 'tis that your kind has few uses but to serve and fuck, therefore you need not attempt to extend yourselves beyond that mandate."
"Do you really think that, Lord Jalen?" Isidore asked.
"I have said it, have I not?" Jalen replied shortly.
"A man will say many things that he doesn't truly believe," Isidore said dismissively.
"No, Darani will say a lot of little substance; Dajani do not," Jalen replied.
"That is a pile of horseshit," Isidore replied calmly.
Jalen stiffened. "Do you continue to be inflammatory?"
"This is the problem, Lord Jalen; you do tell me that my kind speak much of little substance, that what we say is not what we mean, but then when we do speak our minds, you tell us not to, lest it inflame you." He sighed. "It occurs to me that much of what you find reprehensible about Daran nature is entirely of your own creation. 'Tis planting a tree on barren soil then cursing it for failing to grow."
To his surprise, Jalen sighed and when he spoke, his voice lacked all its usual surliness. "Sometimes you cannot speak your mind if 'tis inflammatory, because you might so anger a Daja as to make him beat you to silence you."
Isidore frowned. "Do you worry that I will so anger you?" he asked.
"No!" The vehemence of that response surprised Isidore even more.
"Do you disagree with beating Darani?" he asked casually.
"Aye," Jalen responded, his voice prickly.
"Why?" Isidore asked. "Is it not an effective manner of silencing us? Demonstrate once and for all your strength over us, then might we ever be submissive and cower before your presence, ready to fuck and serve as you will it?"
"Do you cease speaking on this, Isidore," Jalen told him coldly.
"Fine, do you tell me why you dislike Darani, then," Isidore replied obstinately.
"I do not dislike them; I have told you this already," Jalen said, his voice dark.
"If you believe all Darani are stupid, then why do you grow vexed that I have forgotten already your vain protestations on the matter?" Isidore asked archly.
"I do not believe that Darani are stupid," Jalen said curtly.
"Mindless then," Isidore said.
"I did not say that," Jalen argued.
Isidore tapped his temple. "You said there was nothing up here for any Daja to worry about."
"It does not mean you are mindless to say that a Daja cares not for what goes on in your mind," Jalen growled.
"But why would you want to think that?" Isidore asked contemplatively. "I did tell you I would plumb the depth of your nature to find the source of your hatred toward my kind."
"You are incapable of doing such," Jalen said dismissively.
Isidore ignored him. "I would say it might be something as simple as a general malicious disposition. But a malicious man wouldn't care a whit about whether or not Darani suffer the odd beating now and then. So I am beginning to wonder if you are not motivated by somewhat else..."
"Do you drop this, Isidore," Jalen warned.
"'Tis hurt or guilt; one of these motivates you. You have either been hurt by a Dara, or have hurt one yourself," Isidore surmised. "But which one?" He was patently aware how vexed the man was growing with his continued commentary, so he figured he was approaching the truth. "Did you get slighted, Lord Jalen?"
"Aye, 'tis that," Jalen replied irritably, hoping to shut the boy up.
"Ah, so 'twas you who did the hurting," Isidore replied at the casual confession. "What did you do, Lord Jalen? Did you--"
"Do you be quiet on this, Isidore," Jalen warned in what was approaching a raised voice.
"I don't understand why, 'tis an interesting topic, and one--" He couldn't finish that sentence as a large hand came up to cover his mouth and he was forcibly silenced. He yanked at the hand but it did not budge in the slightest and thus was the subject closed by the autocratic Daja.
After riding like that with the enforced silence for a while, Jalen looked down at his mute passenger. "Do you promise not to speak on subjects that I have deemed inflammatory?" he asked, his blue eyes warning.
Isidore nodded and then was his mouth given release from the hand.
"'Tis a nice countryside," he commented.
"Aye it is," Jalen replied.
"Did you grow up in the city?" Isidore asked casually, then upon feeling the stiffening behind him and knowing Jalen hated personal questions, he felt compelled to act as though he cared little for the answer. "I did. I lived all my life in the castle in Sheq-Kis-Ra City and did often wonder what it would be like to grow up in the provinces."
"The air is different there," Jalen replied and Isidore's eyes widened as he leaned against the man's chest. Fancy such a normal answer; it made him feel as though he was actually having a normal conversation.
"My friend in the castle was from the province of Nom-Tomik, east of the city in Sheq-Kis-Ra. Eiren is Daran like me. He was sent to the castle to foster there because I needed a companion of my own class. My father worried that I was becoming too interested in my brother's weaponry and would cut myself open with his overlong sword or some such. Also I think he didn't want me to be lonely when Barik was out training for months on end with the various provincial Svaren."
"Why would he care?" Jalen asked, true curiosity preventing him from phrasing that even in the slightest bit tactfully.
"My father loved me very much; he loved both of us," Isidore replied somewhat hotly. "Darani are not slaves in Sheq-Kis-Ra; there we are considered human beings."
"'Tis the same here," Jalen replied.
"It hardly seems like it," Isidore muttered.
"'Tis just that you must get used to the way of things," Jalen told him.
"Aye, like a cankerous sore will I get used to it," Isidore replied stubbornly.
"'Twill be you who suffers most if you don't," Jalen replied.
"I thought you cared too little for the suffering of Darani to admonish them not to increase it," Isidore said.
"I am not so heartless," Jalen replied irritably.
"You make every attempt to convince all that you are exactly so heartless," Isidore argued.
"Because I am not filled with charm and platitudes, does not mean I am cruel," Jalen replied.
"Heartlessness and cruelty are not the same thing," Isidore told him. "The latter implies active attempts to treat others badly, the former means that one will stand idly by in the face of another's suffering, and care not a whit as they undergo it."
Jalen stiffened, his hand gripping tight around the reins of the horse and unwittingly halting it. He flicked the reins to urge the horse on. They continued like that for a distance while Isidore thought on the man's incongruous reactions.
"But a heartless man would feel no guilt," he said into the silence, "so now we are back to the subject of the Dara you hurt. What did you do, Lord Jalen?" he cajoled. "What could you have done to so hurt a Dara that you must pretend they feel nothing lest you be eaten up with guilt?" He gasped. "You beat one, didn't you?" Patently aware he was entering into dangerous territory when he felt Jalen go rigid behind him, he still would not let go of this bone. "You beat one really badly, is that so?"
Jalen reined in the horse so that she came to a sudden stop, nickering irritably to be halted a second time for what seemed to her to be no reason. Jumping down from the saddle, he led the horse over to the side of the road and affixed her reins to a fence post. All the while, Isidore remained in the saddle, his heart beating wildly as he wondered what was on the Daja's mind. He stiffened when he felt Jalen's hands around his waist and instinctively twisted in the man's grasp as he was forcibly dismounted from the horse and then stood before the Daja who loomed over him furiously.
"You," Jalen gritted out, his blue eyes turned to ice, "have to be the most ill-graced, disobedient Dara in creation. And stupid, also, for I told you several times to cease your line of questioning; that it was inflammatory and would lead to punishment. And all of these admonitions you were too dimwitted to pay attention to. So now it occurs to me that I must show you the price of your irrational persistence. Kerim-ya is too kind to you." At this Isidore's eyes flared. "He indulges your loose tongue and allows you all manner of liberties, which will see the both of you made miserable for it. And whilst I care not a scrap for your misery, I care for my friend; and so you will learn the cost of your misplaced tenacity, on the journey home."
Isidore was too terrified to move. He debated running, but where would he go? His mouth seemed gummed up with fear, but he managed to utter a plea to Jalen when he returned with a rope.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, but was ignored as the Daja grabbed him with one arm around his shoulders, using his free hand to capture and hold together both his wrists. Once he was held secure by the wrists Jalen let go of his shoulders and, struggle as he might, he was held still while the rope was wrapped securely around his wrists and forearms, binding them in large, inescapable loops. After affixing the end of the rope to the horse's saddle, Jalen then remounted and spurred the mare in her sides.
Isidore looked in amazement along the length of rope, several feet separating him from the horse, before he felt it pull taut and he was jerked along behind it. It was a sedate pace, so Isidore was able to walk, even meander at times. But he had lost the benefit of a mount, which was the point Jalen was obviously trying to make. Just in case Isidore failed to grasp this, however, Jalen saw fit to point it out, turning around in the saddle to address him with a superior look and paternalistic tone.
"I do this so that you will understand that being availed of a mount is a privilege and not a right, as are the numerous other things your lord is kind enough to bestow upon you; including his own advisors as attendants. Hopefully, you will take this lesson to heart that, upon your continued churlishness, you will find yourself stripped of all those privileges you are right now too ungrateful to appreciate."
Isidore said nothing, though he could spit on such minor benefits that Jalen would term 'privilege'. Grateful? They thought he should feel gratitude for the crumbs they dropped from their table? Though he could say this to the Daja up ahead of him, he refrained, for Jalen wouldn't give a damn about what he said, except to store it up in his ledger of the Sheq-Kis-Ranian's misdemeanours. Jalen thought he should take this as a lesson; that he would rather be up there on the horse with the Daja than walking along behind it. He debated whether to inform him that he preferred the smell of horse's arse to Sherim-Ran dog any day. About this Jalen would certainly give a damn, but only to be offended and promptly go running to Kerim to inform him of Isidore's latest transgression.
Jalen cast his eye back to the boy on occasion, and periodically he received a steely glare if Isidore's eyes happened to be looking in his direction. Upon those occasions, he schooled his expression to reveal naught but superiority. But, when Isidore was looking away he let his eyes linger and, unbeknownst to him, his expression revealed his regret.
Isidore sank into the bath in blissful relief. The unexpected walk had been longer than he first thought it would be. The Sherim-Ran dog had forced him to walk the entire distance back to the castle from where he had begun the lesson, which was far longer on foot than it had felt on horseback.
"So, little one." Isidore stiffened at that voice, his bliss dissipating somewhat as he opened his eyes.
There stood Kerim, the picture of Dajan manhood. Isidore found his gaze traveling up the length of the man and felt his groin stir in response, hotter than the heat of the water. So finely was this man put together, standing above him in his buck-skin trousers, tight on his thickly muscled legs, and outlining every bulge. And, whilst Isidore knew better than to look at THAT bulge, he couldn't prevent his eyes from tracing over the rock-hard thighs. Isidore remembered when he had felt those thighs in between his own and had rubbed up against them as they had writhed around upon that large bed. Gods! What was he doing? The heat of the bath must really be getting to him if he was looking upon Kerim as a man might his lover, and he blinked his eyes rapidly, recovering himself.
"I see you have no attendant," Kerim said, keeping most of the amusement from his voice in response to that blatant perusal. All was not lost then, he thought, though the boy managed to keep his desire under the sturdiest of wraps for the most part.
"I have no need of one, my lord," Isidore managed to reply in a calm voice, then he couldn't help adding: "as I am capable of washing myself."
"Ah, but I am here," Kerim replied, walking to the bath and kneeling down beside it, regarding Isidore with his black eyes. "And so I will attend you."
Isidore tried to be as surreptitious as possible in his shrinking away from the man who sat beside the bath, his arms resting on the rim, regarding him intently. "That will not be necessary, my lord," he said somewhat breathlessly, "and it seems rather inappropriate that my Svarya scrubs my back."
"Perhaps, but you are naked, so your Svarya will not pass up the opportunity to scrub your back, along with the rest of you," Kerim replied with a grin.
Isidore ceased pretending that he was not entirely discomfited by their proximity and tried to rise from the bath.
"Stay where you are," Kerim ordered him in a bored voice, but it held a note of warning.
"The water grows cold, my lord." Isidore tried another line of escape.
Kerim dipped his hand in the water. "It is very warm, and you will not waste a fresh-drawn bath for fear of me; I will not touch you."
"Is that a promise, my lord?" Isidore wondered aloud.
"I will tell you merely that my patience has not yet entirely evaporated under the duress of your company," Kerim replied.
"I would be only too happy to take my company as far away from my lord as he would please," Isidore replied.
"Would you indeed?" Kerim asked, and Isidore jumped slightly as he felt one large arm slide around his shoulders and he closed his eyes as he felt the man's roughened cheek rub against his own. Now he was distinctly shivering from the embrace, though he couldn't say what prompted it. "And so, little one, since this is how far from me I would like you, are you now only too happy?"
"My lord knows that I am not in the least bit happy with this proximity," Isidore managed to answer through the strange, shivery sensations that washed over him in response to their closeness. "Not to mention it being rather impractical."
Kerim laughed, tightening his arm around Isidore's shoulders briefly before letting go. "Quite right," he answered, lifting the washcloth and sliding it across his shoulder; only the thin, soaked fabric the separator between the man's hand and his skin, but infinitely preferable to the proximity of their previous embrace.
Isidore noticed that he examined closely his forearms and wrists, holding them up to the light to see if there were any markings. There were none; for after Isidore had been tied to the horse for half an hour, Jalen had dismounted, untied the bonds, and told Isidore it was his job to hold the rope. A test, obviously, to see if he could carry out the instruction and, since he could not see what positive outcome might result from defiance of that mandate, he had done as the Daja had bid so his skin had been spared any chafing.
"Jalen will not be joining us for dinner, I imagine," Kerim commented, drawing the washcloth along one small arm.
"Why is that my lord?" Isidore was truly curious.
"We had a fight and he lost," Kerim replied.
"What was the fight about?" Isidore asked.
"It is not his place to punish you, and so I challenged him for it," Kerim replied nonchalantly. "Though I must admit, I did so before I found out the extent of your punishment. Now I feel I must make amends to him on the morrow."
"And punish me instead, I suppose," Isidore muttered.
"No, I won't be doing that," Kerim replied, drawing the washcloth back over the boy's shoulders. "Unless you want me to."
"My lord knows I do not wish to be subjected to punishment," Isidore replied, sucking in his breath as the washcloth made its way over his chest and belly, tracing a gentle, caressing path over his taut skin.
"I thought you said you were of the sect of Jadinites," Kerim remarked casually, sounding preoccupied with his task. "AND I thought you did not say things you did not mean."
"I was jesting," Isidore replied, sucking in his breath again and shifting to avoid the roaming cloth. "An honest man may jest, may he not?"
"I suppose an honest MAN might," Kerim replied, "but dishonesty in boys, for the sake of jest or not, is not something we wish to encourage here."
"I am no boy," Isidore replied, sitting up and pushing the large hand away from him as he looked seriously into the man's dark eyes. "I am but four years younger than you."
"But Dara-born and oh-so-much smaller than I," Kerim answered with a grin.
"How does that make any difference?" Isidore asked incredulously.
"You should know that," Kerim answered, regarding him intently. "Even I know enough of the sun-brothers to know that little-brother submits to big-brother's mastery."
Isidore scowled blackly. It was true; nowhere in the sun-legends had he been able to find anything refuting that. Though little brother had led in the area of written word, according to the oldest scrolls in Sheq-Kis-Ra, the legends still held that He was in willing subjection to big-brother. And Isidore would bet Kerim had just lapped that up; of all the things he learned about the sun-brothers, Isidore would wager that Kerim thought that was the most important.
"Physically, maybe," Isidore conceded finally.
"Physically definitely and, argumentative as you are, Darima, you shall have trouble debating that. Yet you will not submit to me," Kerim noted. "Why is that, Isidore?"
"I suppose I will submit to no man," Isidore replied after a pause. "I have tasted sex and find it to be like candies; very sweet and pleasant at the time of consumption, but leaving one feeling empty and dissatisfied shortly thereafter."
"Well." Kerim looked a little insulted. "You have had but the one time. Perhaps you need more experience to make such a judgment."
"I have had sufficient experience, my lord," Isidore replied coolly. "Allow me the knowledge of my own body if nothing else. I know what I need, and I do not need that."
"Then 'tis good that neither your needs nor your wishes matter in this," Kerim replied, getting to his feet.
Isidore did not wait until Kerim had left the bathing chamber before he muttered a dozen oaths and expletives to describe to himself just what he thought of that man's wishes and needs. Though they were mainly under his breath, he guessed Kerim picked up on a few of them because he heard the damned man chuckle in response to them. To spite him, he decided to continue washing all those places Kerim had seen fit to wash which, mercifully, didn't include anywhere intimate. And so it was after ten more minutes, and as the water was getting quite cold, that he got out of the bath. Stepping on to the small cloth beside the tub, he looked about for a drying cloth, turning in a circle, and then another.
Be damned! His heart sped up in his chest as he realised that the damned bastard, while he had been muttering and cursing his name, had taken every item of his clothing and every drying cloth, so that the only things Isidore could use to cover himself were the tiny square of washcloth or the ever-so-slightly larger square of bath mat. Damn him! He meant for Isidore to have no coverings when he came out of his bath. Just another way he demonstrates his power, Isidore railed inwardly, to keep him completely naked until he saw fit to put clothes on him.
It was several minutes that he stood by the door, unable to open it, gathering up his courage and collecting about him the shreds of his dignity, so that he might enter the man's bed-chamber without a scrap of clothing on him. Eventually it was the chill that got to him, the minor draughts coming from the very high windows and underneath the doors to the bathing chamber. He wouldn't even have noticed had he not been standing, dripping wet, which began to make him shiver. Eventually, he knew, he had to enter the man's bed-chamber and face that smug self-satisfied smile.
Kerim was lying on the bed when Isidore entered, dewy wet from his bath and looking good enough to eat with his soft, creamy skin lit by the candles.
"Close the door, Isidore," Kerim instructed.
Isidore stiffened. He turned and pushed the door closed behind him, knowing it would give the man a perfect view of his trim behind. About this, he had no doubts, and knew that this was the reason for the unnecessary instruction. When he turned back, he saw the man standing before him with a towel which he wrapped around Isidore's shoulders.
"Have I displeased my lord?" Isidore asked, shifting the towel down to wrap around his waist and pleased that he finally had a scrap of covering. He wanted to find out if this was why he had lost his clothes.
"No more than usual," Kerim replied.
"Then why my enforced nudity?" Isidore gritted out, feeling the skin of his upper-body prickle up with the breeze from the open balcony doors.
"So that I might enjoy it," Kerim replied unrepentantly.
"Lecher," Isidore muttered as he walked across the room to the chests where his clothing was kept.
"Better to be lecherous than prudish," Kerim replied.
"I'm sure it is, for you," Isidore replied coldly. "But I am not a little boy who will, but for the price of some sweets and trinkets, submit to your lechery."
"No; your price was considerably higher," Kerim answered, lying back to regard Isidore as he was dressing. "But a whole nation is the price, nonetheless, and now that you have become my Diya, I cannot imagine why I am not making use of you."
"If my lord is waiting for my invitation to do so, he will be waiting a long time," Isidore retorted disdainfully, not caring any more if he was displeasing the man. For it seemed that his punishments depended far more on the whim of the horrible brute than any behaviour on this part.
"Careful, my prudish little Sheq-Kis-Ranian, do not bend my patience too greatly or I shall be induced to prove to you just how little I need your invitation to take that which is mine," Kerim replied.
"'Tis all about your patience, Kerim-ya, but I am beginning to think you have none and merely are toying with me, waiting for the opportunity to strike and effect your second rape of me."
"It shall be no rape," Kerim responded with a scowl. "As with the one you would deem the first, I shall have you moaning and writhing around under me. I've no doubt of that. Prude that you attempt to be, you also play the whore rather well, or so I have seen."
Isidore could not hide his aghast expression, closing his mouth on any retort he might have made. After a moment's hesitation, he took his seat on the chair by the dressing table, looking absently at its gleaming wooden surface for a number of moments before he remembered that he had sat down to brush his hair.
Kerim swallowed uncomfortably, realising that he had gone somewhat too far in order to obtain victory in their latest battle of words. "Have I hurt your feelings?" he offered after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.
"Would it matter if you had?" Isidore asked in a tight voice.
"It might," Kerim answered after a pause.
"Then you may rest easy, my lord, for I am learning to harden myself to your barbs," Isidore replied, turning to the mirror and lifting the hairbrush to his hair.
"I don't know why you disdain the bed, Isidore," Kerim said as he watched the boy brush out his midnight locks. "You who are so concerned with equality will disdain the only place where we might be equals."
"There is no equality in your bed; 'tis I who get fucked and you who do the fucking," Isidore replied caustically.
"Is that what you think?" Kerim asked, coming up behind Isidore and capturing his hand, removing the hairbrush from it so that he could take over the task for him.
Since it did not matter too greatly to Isidore that the man brushed his hair, he sat by while the Daja performed the task. He did prefer that Kerim be anywhere but this close to him, smelling of his heady Dajan scent, and merely said: "I have said it, and so have you."
"I have?" Kerim asked, then he smiled slightly. "Ah, when I said you would play the whore." He sighed, wondering whether he should show his hand to the boy on this particular occasion. Deciding that if it was this standing in Isidore's way to enjoying the bed then he would do well to eradicate it, Kerim told him, "I only play on your own fears and prejudices in this, Isidore. I do not believe that a man who enjoys sex, Dajan or Daran, is in any way a whore. It is that YOU believe so which allows me to use this as a weapon against you. If you had no such weakness, I would not be able to exploit it."
"'Tis all about fighting with you, isn't it, Kerim-ya?" Isidore said disgustedly, wincing slightly as the hairbrush hit a snag. "Are you so eager for challenge that you would make even the bedroom a battle?"
"I am a warrior and lived many years a hunter also," Kerim admitted. "And I most enjoy feisty prey."
"So I am prey to you then?" Isidore asked incredulously. "Some Geshian animal for you to fell and tear to pieces."
"Perhaps 'twas a poor illustration," Kerim said with a sigh. "But I cannot deny that I enjoy a challenge and so, I believe, do you, my little Sheq-Kis-Ranian."
"I enjoy no such thing," Isidore muttered.
"You very much do enjoy it," Kerim said with a grin. "You love arguing, you love pitting your wits against others'; only I think, until now, you had yet to find out what it was like to come out the loser."
"You fight unfairly," Isidore stated. "If I say aught to which you cannot make answer, you then use your strength and position to muscle me into submission. How many of our battles of wits, as you would label them, have ended by your threatening me with a lesson in your bed?"
"I will use all the weapons at my disposal," Kerim replied unrepentantly. "And I have told you: 'tis only your response to that particular weapon which renders it effective, yet you still have not told me why you disdain the bed."
"'Tis not an equal place," Isidore muttered. "'Tis where a Daja dominates a Dara."
"Do all Sheq-Kis-Ranians think that way?" Kerim asked curiously.
Isidore frowned. "Of a partnership that is equal, two men who consider one another to be equivalent in status, mutually deserving of one-another's respect, then no, 'tis not considered that way. For you and me, it most definitely would be that way."
"It is sad you think that," Kerim replied with a sigh that sounded altogether real. "There is no shame in being fucked. There is no shame in enjoying the body of another man. If there is little enough joy you get from my company, you might as well enjoy that which I can give you."
"If you perceive that I do not enjoy your company, my lord, perhaps you might endeavour to improve your conduct towards me," Isidore replied.
Kerim leaned down, drawing the hair away from Isidore's ear so that he could whisper into it. "Perhaps I can just fuck you instead."
Isidore jerked away from him, turning to look at him incredulously. "Perhaps you leave me be, or better yet, send me back to Sheq-Kis-Ra."
"So we are back to that?" Kerim asked, finishing the brushing and then braiding the boy's hair. "If I am so spiteful and contrary as you were muttering that I was back in the bathing chamber, oughtn't you suggest that you would rather remain here? To constantly inform me of your desire to go back to Sheq-Kis-Ra might induce me to keep you here just to confound you."
Isidore yanked his braid out of the man's hands, finishing the job of binding it himself. "Why do you hate me?" he asked furiously.
"I don't hate you," Kerim told him easily. "I only want to fuck you. And, for some bizarre reason, in this land over which my rule is absolute you who are my closest possession do refuse to be ruled. So you frustrate me, Isidore, but I do not hate you."
"If you would but be decent to me," Isidore said softly, fiddling with the binder on his braid as though he were preoccupied with affixing it.
"Did you want a fool to dote on you, little one?" Kerim asked.
"A doting man need not be foolish, my lord, and neither is a cruel man wise. In fact, I think wanton cruelty is closely aligned with stupidity," Isidore said pointedly.
"I will ignore your unsubtle insults, Isidore, since I know I am not stupid. And though you'd like to consider yourself excessively clever, you mustn't be too astute if you cannot see that I am kind to you, albeit probably not in the way to which you have become accustomed."
Isidore turned around in his seat, looking up at the man in shock. "How can you call your treatment - no, your mistreatment - of me, 'kindness'?"
"I have given you such things as you've asked for, and more," Kerim replied. "You do not work in the castle; rather you sit and read and do as you please all day. I have spared my friends to escort you around so that you might get to know your new home and grow more comfortable in it. I have indulged your fits of pique with naught more than like replies which, when delivered back to you, you find to be unpleasant, though you will take this as no lesson in curbing your own acerbity--"
"Why should I curb my opinions?" Isidore interrupted furiously. "'Tis only because you find my barbs to sting bitterly, when they lodge true to their mark, that you would deny me the freedom to speak my mind."
"I tell you, you were given far too many freedoms in your former home and developed a tongue that is sharp and unpleasant and a demeanour which is sour and supercilious. You fancy yourself put upon, thinking your suffering is greater than anyone else's. But you are privileged, though you refuse to see it, and 'tis merely upon the receipt of less privilege than that to which you are accustomed that you imagine yourself some kind of victim."
"I AM a victim!" Isidore yelled, jumping to his feet and meeting the Daja's eyes even though they were far above his own. "All Darani are victims in this land! So, contrary to the thoughts my lord was so kind to indulge me with, I DO appreciate that my position is privileged compared with the rest of the Darani, both within the castle and without. But that is saying pitifully little, for Darani here are little more than slaves. In fact, less than slaves, for slaves may have a hope of purchasing their freedom, whereas Darani will be born and will die here under the suffocating and oppressive hand of the Dajani and can scarce breathe, let alone hope."
"What do you do?" Kerim asked, quite casual in the face of Isidore's tirade, merely folding his arms across his chest.
Isidore frowned. "What do you mean: 'what do I do'?" he asked.
"I mean: 'what do Darani do'?" Kerim repeated.
"What kind of question is that?" Isidore asked.
"A valid one, for the answer is: precious little," Kerim replied. "Dajani built the cities, therefore Dajani rule them. Dajani won the lands in battle and continue to defend them in battle; therefore Dajani rule the wider plains and provinces. Darani enjoy the fruits of that which they did nothing to create and do but little to maintain. Is it any surprise, therefore, that they do not occupy the upper echelons in society?"
"Well I ask you: against whom do the Dajani defend our lands?" Isidore asked, paying scant attention to the man's Dajan reasoning.
"Invaders," Kerim answered with a frown.
"Dajani," Isidore answered for him. "Dajani must defend the lands against other Dajani; for it is the Dajani who create war and destroy life and land so that they may rule what's left of it. So I will not be thankful for being 'protected' by one bunch of brutish louts against another bunch of brutish louts, all of whom are not happy lest they are fighting amongst each other."
To his consternation, Kerim grinned. "I think," he said, taking a step towards Isidore, who instinctively stepped back, edging around the chair to maintain his distance, "that you have just worn out the very last shred of my patience. Do you get on the bed now."
"No!" Isidore yelled, resisting the urge to stamp his foot. That would truly render his outburst a tantrum. "You will NOT escape making answer with that threat! Be damned, you WILL answer for the brutish and wantonly destructive nature of your own kind."
"You will not give me orders," Kerim replied calmly.
"Very well," Isidore managed to calm himself some, "I ask you to make reply to it then, my lord." He folded his arms across his chest, reserving his smug smile for the silence he expected to follow.
"The answer," Kerim gritted out, "is that your definition of the equilibrium wrong. War is the way of the world; war is the equilibrium. You yourself said that even the peace-god thrives on war. Therefore an unendingly peaceful world is impossible. If war is not currently being engaged in, it is not far off. So the warriors, far from being a bunch of fighting, scrapping, and brutish louts are simply those best equipped to deal with the constant war the world throws at us. Your kind, who are not equipped for warfare, must defer to us in return for our protection."
"I don't believe that, my lord," Isidore said earnestly. "I believe we are intelligent enough to realise that more is to be gained with enterprise than bloodshed."
"Aye, perhaps, and between the brother cities we have seen this. So we do not engage one another in war; but there are the nations to the north and east to contend with and these would seek to take that which we have created if we were incapable of defending it. The more one has, the more attractive does one's property become to those who have less. You can expend all your energies on enterprise but, eventually, the time will come to defend it from those who will not engage in like activities and will instead covet what you have created. At such a time, you will need to know aught of warfare and have strength to back up that knowledge. Those things do the Dajani provide, little one, and for those things, will the Darani serve." He stepped towards Isidore again, who backed up against the wall. "And for those things will you also serve," he said gently.
Isidore looked away and he swallowed uncomfortably. "I take back what I said," he told the Daja. "'Twas my folly to argue with you and for that I am sorry."
"'Tis too late for that," Kerim said softly.
"You cannot," Isidore said, though his voice lacked the conviction that it would have had if he had known that he had any choice in the matter.
"I can," Kerim replied reaching for Isidore who moved to the side, avoiding his hand.
"Then I cannot," Isidore admitted. "Please, desist in this. I'll not say another word to vex you, I promise."
"It pleases me that you are willing to cease being vexatious," Kerim said. "But I will still have you, for I have said it and so it will be."
"I'll fight you," Isidore said, his eyes wide, and there was no lack of conviction in that statement.
"You'll lose," Kerim replied calmly.
"So you would force me?" Isidore asked, his heart beating wildly as he dared not think of the prospect.
Kerim reached out, capturing Isidore's jaw in his hand, looking down at the boy's wide midnight-blue eyes within which fear warred with fury. "We will see, won't we?"
"You cannot," Isidore repeated, reaching up to pull the man's hand off his jaw. "To force me would render me heretic and bring unknown destruction upon yourself."
Kerim frowned. "Do you threaten me with the wrath of the gods now?"
"I mean to do no such thing, my lord," Isidore said, trying to calm the beating of his heart so that he could make his case. "'Tis merely that to force one who is follower to the god of pure love is not considered to stand you in good stead with Lodur's first-born. Likewise, if you force me and I despise you because of it, you render me heretic and bring as much punishment upon my head as you call forth on your own."
"That seems a convenient way to avoid the bed, Isidore," Kerim said, his voice revealing his disbelief.
Isidore looked at him aghast. "Distasteful as I might find that service, I would not lie about my own god to spare myself from performing it. 'Tis merely that you should know the cost of proving your latest point, my lord."
Kerim regarded the boy for several moments, hoping to find some trace of duplicity in his expression. Eventually he sighed irritably. "One day," he said curtly.
"I beg your pardon?" Isidore asked.
"One day for you to go to the temple or whatever it is you must do to reconcile yourself to serving in that capacity for which your father sold you, and then you WILL serve in my bed Isidore, and 'twill be your choice if you suffer everlasting destruction for it."
Though it was not the best outcome he could hope for, Isidore nodded after a time. "That is...tolerable, my lord," he said.
Kerim nodded. "Aye, and 'tis most reasonable," he said, his voice prickly, resisting the urge to add that it was far more reasonable than the boy deserved. What he did do, however, was lift Isidore up, ignoring the boy's protestations and carry him over to the bed, dumping him heavily on top of it.
"You said you would give me a day!" Isidore gasped once he had regained his breath.
Kerim stood over him, his expression dark. "And I will, Isidore, but you were given an order ere I made you that promise; this is to lesson you that, do you not follow an order when 'tis given, you will be made to follow it."
Isidore stared up at him, agape. This was to lesson him for not getting on the man's bed when he'd been ordered to? If he had not been so relieved to be receiving a day's reprieve from that man's touch, he would have prickled up with fury at the clear demonstration of power of him.
Kerim prickled up with his fair share of irritation at seeing the boy's affronted expression. Nonetheless, he schooled his voice to calmness to address Isidore.
"You have been given a day," he said coldly. "Until then, you need not serve me. I will have your dinner sent up to you tonight so you might remain here to think on your own unwillingness to bend, and just how far it has got you."
Then he turned and quit the bed-chamber, leaving Isidore staring after him, subdued by the pronouncement. Ah, gods, tomorrow he would serve that man's pleasure and but one day to fortify himself for it. Then why, by the gods, did he feel that strange buzzing sensation in his belly, like the locusts had come back to haunt him, fluttering around and making him feel tight and flushed at the thought? Nervousness was what it was, and dread. Yes, he was dreading the morrow, and the more he thought about it, the more he talked himself into fearing rather than relishing the promise to be taken to Kerim's bed tomorrow night.
He could have taken solace in the fact that Kerim was not feeling much better as he strode towards the mealhall. For all that the boy belonged to him and he had spoken truly when he said Isidore's father had sold him into his brother-Svarya's bed, he did not feel nearly so pleased as he thought he would, now that he had finally set a time for the boy to resume serving him appropriately. But he felt he had given Isidore the choice; he had allowed the boy to choose him of his own accord and instead he had consistently responded with cold disdain. And so he had learned that his frigid attitude would avail him of nothing but misery for himself. But, if such were true, then why did Kerim feel a good measure of that misery settle on his own shoulders?
As he entered the mealhall he saw, contrary to his predictions, that Jalen was at dinner that evening, bruises and all.
Jalen very quickly noticed his friend's dolorous expression and cursed silently. It was the Sheq-Kis-Ranian; he knew it and he shook his head, swigging back more wine.
"Aye, I know what you are thinking," Kylar commented to him as Kerim approached. "But you give up too easily. I still say he is good for him."
"And I still say you're an idealistic fool," Jalen muttered into his wine.
"You are late," Kylar told Kerim as he took his seat between them. "Jalen has drunk all the wine, which is not surprising given the beating he has taken."
"Aye," Kerim turned to Jalen. "I should admit to having challenged you before I knew the extent of the damage done."
"'Tis no matter," Jalen murmured.
Kerim inclined his head and Jalen nodded in reply, and so the matter was put at rest.
"So where is your attendant?" Kylar asked after a time, ignoring Jalen's pointed glare. "I miss having something especially pretty to look at."
"He is unwell," Kerim answered. The typical excuse presented when a man was having difficulties with another man.
Kylar snorted. "'Tis a pity you and he refuse to get on."
"He will not bend and neither will I," Kerim replied, feeling little in the mood for the food that a serving boy presented to him, given it would merely soak up the wine he was at present downing.
"Perhaps you might be kind to him?" Kylar suggested.
Kerim sighed exasperatedly. "That's what he says, and 'tis a source of much consternation for me, because I thought I was being kind to him. I have given him all that he might desire. I know he was no servant back in Sheq-Kis-Ra so he does not serve. He may do as he pleases all day. I have had the library cleaned and aired for him and was planning to give him the key in a week's time. I would give it to him now but I do not want him using it as an excuse not to continue his explorations of our home. And for these he has you and Jalen as attendants. By the gods, I can think of nothing more I can do to show him I want him to be happy here."
Kylar sighed. If he did point out that words as well as actions spoke of a man's caring, it would just make his friend feel all the more inadequate, for he knew little of how to say kind things.
"Perhaps 'tis just that he has not finished adjusting," Kylar finally said. "It has been but a few days he has spent in Sherim-Ra. 'Tis little surprise that he is not yet comfortable in his new home. But if 'twould please you to know, he does seem to enjoy that which he has seen of it so far, barring the Temple of the Dara-ya, that is."
"Aye, well I shut that down, did I not?" Kerim muttered irritably.
"Have you told him thus?" Kylar asked curiously.
"No," Kerim answered, and he wasn't about to. It was enough that he had acted in accordance with the boy's wishes; he need not tell Isidore of it. His father had always told him of the dangers of letting one's Diya think he had too great an influence over him.
"Perhaps you should," Kylar said. "If you hide from him your kindnesses and only expose him to your harsh words, necessary though they might be, he will have trouble crediting you with any kindness at all."
"I am not a kind man," Kerim said irritably. "But 'tis not just me that he despises about our home; of that we are all well aware. So best he gets used to the way of things in Sherim-Ra, as well as getting used to me, and learns to be happy in spite of it."
It was as Kylar was about to speak that Jalen spoke up in his place, having had enough wine not to scruple his words overmuch.
"You never should have asked for him, Kerim-ya," Jalen's voice was toneless.
"You have been playing that tune a long time, Jalen," Kerim said irritably. "I thought now that he has been asked for and delivered here, you would stop."
"That you brought him here changes not the fact that you never should have done so," Jalen argued, but his tone was utterly respectful.
"Well he is here now, and to send him back would be not only a source of much annoyance to me, but also a grave insult to the Sheq-Kis-Ranians. So even if I agreed with you, I would still not be able to return him," Kerim said curtly. "Therefore 'tis best you and he accept that he will be here and, since he'll never be returning to Sheq-Kis-Ra, best he learns to be content with his new home."
Jalen shook his head, looking into his ale. "He will never be happy here," he said softly. "Sherim-Ra is no place for a Dara who thinks."