Translator's Note: I have labored now for many months rendering the original manuscript into our modern tongue for the benefit of all, but I feel some disclaimers and warnings are necessary. Markis writes with complete and often graphic honesty, depicting mature themes and vividly describing adult situations between himself and others. While these encounters are always integrally related to the overall arc of his journey, those wishing to avoid such content or too young to deal responsibily with it are therefore forewarned. The work of the translation is mine alone, and I will object strenuously to any reproduction of it in its whole or in any part without my express permission.
THE EXILE A Gay Fantasy Experiment
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I fled.
Each step haunted me. I felt I could hear the laughter of the men I left behind far after the room itself had disappeared from view. My hands still shook uncontrollably, and my breath was shallow. It was warm in the tunnels, but I dripped with a sweat that was not born entirely from the heat.
I am not inhuman. I had not gone a hundred paces before I called out to Damon in desperation, who appeared at once. He was nude, anticipating my desires as always, and set about to relieve me of the pressure the sight of the Veruvian rites had roused within me. It did not take long -- I had never in my relatively sheltered life seen anything so overwhelmingly erotic. Within moments I was gasping with frantic pleasure, my moans echoing in perfect rhythm with my servant's. My physical need was sated, but my heart still yearned. Even then I almost returned to the room beyond the blue curtain. I could feel my feet twitching to do so.
But I did not return. Instead, Damon, glowing with fresh power from his feeding, guided me to the surface. I cursed my foolishness for not calling to him for help when I had lost my way before, but I had been so lost in thought and confusion, determined to solve a thousand problems at once, that I did not think of him. If I had, I would perhaps never have met the Veruvian woman and never seen the activities of her followers -- but I could not bring myself to wish it had never happened, not with any real conviction.
"You only come when I call you lately, Damon," I said to him, trying to distract my thoughts. "Before, you were at my side whenever there was no one about."
He frowned at me. "That was when you still desired my company."
"I desire your company still," I said, but knew it wasn't completely true. He unsettled me, and the companionship I had once delighted in with him I now had found with Alek.
Damon, I think, could sense the falsehood. His tone was hurt and angry. "I am always nearby, should you need me. I am your servant, Master, and I will continue to obey your commands willingly."
"I appreciate that," I said, "But if you see that I could use your help, there's no need to wait for me to call upon you."
"I do not wish to intrude where I am not wanted," he pouted. He was angry, clearly, and lashing out at me in the guise of being subservient. I sighed to myself in frustration. He was often childish in this way.
"You seem remarkably human at times, Damon," I said. "You clearly experience human emotions. Is that an inherent part of your nature, or do you mimic our feelings as well as our form?"
"It is an essential part of human relationships," he replied, "Or so I have observed. A man who comes to a foreign kingdom and who wishes to blend in with its inhabitants must learn all the local customs in addition to the language. Without feelings, I would be alien to you."
"I suppose that answers my question," I said. In truth, I was barely thinking of Damon at all. My mind kept wandering back to the Veruvians and the handsome young boy I had seen amongst them. "But must you be so petulant and moody?"
Damon sniffed, offended. "A servant only desires his Master's love," he said, "and to further his Master's glory."
I could not think how to respond to that, so I said diplomatically, "Thank you. Perhaps I have not been sufficiently grateful for your service lately."
"Never mind, Master," he replied ominously, "There will soon come a time when you will realize how much I mean to you, and all these other distractions shall fade away."
I shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing. What could I say?
At last we reached the surface. Once outside, and once Damon helped me to get my bearings, it was simple enough to return to the Consulate. It was dark and quiet in the city, though there were still a surprising number of windows that glowed with light, and not a few people still walked hurriedly in the streets. I guessed from the position of the moon that the night was more than half-way spent, and for the first time realized how weary I was. There was much to do, but I required sleep before I could do any of it. I sighed deeply to myself, thinking of Errold and the amulet, of poor kidnapped Stepan, of Valessa and her evil plots, and a thousand other things that I felt I should be able to set right but did not know how.
As I neared the Consulate, I was shocked to smell smoke and hear the commotion of men moving about frantically and shouting to each other in near panic. Fearing for Alek, I broke into a run, but soon I could make out that the building itself seemed perfectly intact. The signs of trouble were coming from the nearby stables, and at once I guessed at the cause. The amulet that had hung about my neck for many days was now suddenly conspicuously absent, and my mind raced with worry.
There had been a fire, that much was certain. The horses had been removed, it seemed, though several were still panicked and gave the grooms a lot of trouble. A section of the stables had collapsed into an ashy grey pile. A group of men were pouring buckets of water onto the ashes, killing any lingering ember or flame. There was so much chaos and movement that nobody seemed to notice my arrival, so I grabbed a servant who was scuttling past and tried to ask what had happened.
"There was a fire, what do you think?" he said disdainfully, turning to look at me. In the lamplight that trickled from the windows of the Consulate, he must have seen my bald head. At once his demeanor changed. "Sorry, my lord. I didn't know it was you."
I brushed his apology aside and repeated my question.
"The giant man, my lord," he said, scratching his arm nervously, "The one that arrived with you? He had been sitting all quiet like the whole evening, even snoring now and then. Then suddenly he jumped up, all excited, and tried to leave. He frightened the horses, he did, and then me and the others came running. We tried to stop him, my lord, but he grew angry and started breaking things. He knocked Niko over, only Niko was holding the lamp, see, and it broke--"
I cut him off. "Was anybody hurt?"
"Well, Niko's arm might be broke, they say, and one of the horses got burned too bad to save."
I nodded and brushed the man away. Golmeir was well on his way to Errold and his masters by now, of course. I felt guilty, like I had betrayed the giant man. It was strange -- I had feared and despised the creature's ugliness for so long that I could not tell at what point I had begun to think of him with... well, not affection exactly, but with a sense of obligation. I felt like I had let down a friend, and I resolved to find him and fulfill my promise to set him free. By now my list of tasks that I had promised myself and others that I would do was rapidly getting longer, and it made my head dizzy to think of them all.
I often take on more than I can really handle. All my ministers and advisors tell me so.
The room that Alek, Cedrik, and I had been assigned was dark -- indeed, the entire wing of the Consulate in which it was located seemed completely unaware of the disturbance that had raged in the stables. If it hadn't been for the quick work of the servants and grooms, the fire might have spread and the whole building burned to the ground before any of its sleeping inhabitants had realized something was wrong. Pushing open the door softly, I could hear Cedrik breathing heavily in his sleep and see the darken shape of his sleeping form. My eye was drawn to the second bed to the other dark figure resting there. I was so exhausted I could have easily thrown myself on the empty bed and been asleep in moments, but after all I had endured I was lonely too. I went instead to the second bed and reached out to touch the sleeping figure gently.
"Alek?" I whispered, being careful not to disturb Cedrik.
The figure shifted, then sat up slowly. She was brushing her long hair out of her face before I realized I was mistaken.
"Did you find him?" Jelena mumbled, still waking up.
"Find who?" I asked, annoyed.
She blinked and peered at me in the dark. "Markis? Is that you? I thought you were Alek."
"I thought YOU were Alek," I replied, smiling mirthlessly, "Where is he?"
"He went to look for you, I'm not sure how long ago," she said, "Where were you?"
I did not feel like I had to explain anything to her. "I went for a walk, and got sidetracked. What are you still doing here?"
She tossed her hair in annoyance and rose from the bed, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I was taking care of Cedrik, of course."
"By sleeping in Alek's bed?" I asked, as coolly as possible. Doubts and jealousies were creeping into my mind.
"Suspicious, are we? Don't be. I did what I could for Cedrik -- he's doing much better, by the way, so nice of you to ask -- and I was going to leave only... when you didn't return, Alek grew worried," she explained, "He asked if I would wait here with his brother while he went searching for you. I must have fallen asleep a few hours after that."
"Thank you," I forced myself to say, "And I'm sorry if my tone was in any way offensive. I am very tired."
She nodded, but did not acknowledge my apology further. "Alek will be relieved to find you are well," she said, "He was convinced something terrible had happened to you. He cares about you very much, doesn't he?"
It was a simple, practical question. "I think he does," I responded, trying to sound casual despite the fact that I was growing dizzy with a sudden rush of joy. "We haven't known each other long, but we've been through a lot together."
"He told me," she said. I blinked and asked what she meant. "He told me about how he was a slave, and how you rescued him. It's really quite incredible."
I scratched my head and blushed, thankful the room was so dark. How much did Alek tell her?
"You care for him too," she said, "You love him."
We sat in the darkness for a long moment, listening to Cedrik's breathing, while I considered what I should tell her.
"What does it matter to you?" I asked at last.
Jelena sighed softly. "I just needed to know. I'll be leaving now."
But she didn't leave, not directly. She stood framed in the doorway, hesitating. The light from the hallway beyond left her in shadow, obscuring my view of her face but casting her silhouette into sharp relief. She was a dark statue, a picture of both elegance and confusion. It did not seem remarkable then, but it certainly seems so now. I have never seen her hesitate about anything since, nor ever again sensed in her the slightest trace of doubt.
At last she was gone. I must have waited up for Alek, but I did not last long. I was asleep within moments. I had a strange dream that I still remember. I stood on the bank of a river, wide and deep and deadly. On the far side, Alek, Cedrik, and Jelena, and a few others whose faces I could not make out, waved and called out for me to cross. I wanted to join them desperately, but knew I would perish in the icy, cruel water of the river. Still they called, and I summoned my courage and tested the water with one foot. Suddenly I was naked, chilled to the bone. My hairless organ was shriveled and tiny, blue with cold. At the sight of it, Alek and the others began to laugh openly. I wanted to flee in shame, but Golmeir had snuck up behind me, only he had Errold's face. Laughing, he pushed me into the river where I was swept out of sight.
Who can say what such a dream might portend? I have never been one to place much stock in such things. Some months ago an old man forced his way into an audience with me, telling me he had the power to see the future in dreams and, obviously, hoping his gift would place him in favor with his King. But I, who have seen much of the mysteries of time, and even witnessed true soothsaying on occasion (Valessa's Seeress, notably) knew him at once to be a fraud. Dreams tell less about the future, I think, and more about the workings of our own mind. This dream, then, was not prophetic but revelatory -- it exposed much that I had been keeping buried and hidden. I mention it here primarily so that you will understand that when I awoke suddenly, escaping from the dream eagerly, I was at first panicked and then relieved to find that I was no longer the only occupant of my bed. A figure sat next to me, examining me.
"Alek," I said, tenderly. His face was an unreadable mask of agony.
"Don't speak," he said, "Don't say anything."
I thought he was angry with me, so I tried to explain. "I got sidetracked--"
"It doesn't matter," he said, his voice breaking almost imperceptibly with emotion. "You are here. You're still here."
I took him into my arms, and he held me so tightly I began to think he would leave bruises. He made no sound, no sobs or groans, but I felt the warmth of his tears as they slid off of his face. I murmured to him comfortingly, touched.
"I thought I had lost you," he said, "It scared me -- and it scared me how much it scared me."
I kissed his forehead and held him close, listening to him breathe. At last I could hear him relaxing, slowly but surely falling into the sweet peace of sleep. I was not long behind him. _____________________________________________________________________________________
The next morning I met Pasha. Or rather, I should say, I encountered him again and learned his name, and actually spoke to him. The circumstances were these: when the first light of dawn spread over the city, I went at once to the Ambassador. It was difficult to pull myself away from the warmth of Alek's body, and I knew I had slept too little, but I was afraid that I might miss Hollis before he left for the Assembly to beg for our audience. I kissed Alek's cheek gently before I left, and he stirred slightly but did not awake. Turning to leave, I saw Cedrik's eyes were open, and he was staring at me curiously. He said nothing, and soon closed his eyes again. I knocked on Hollis' door several times before it finally opened. On the other side was a young page, looking as weary and worn out as I felt. His eyes had a drooping sadness to them, and his cheeks were rosy with youth. His long hair was as curly as any I had seen. He squeaked when he saw me and cowered behind the door in apparent fear.
"It's alright," I said, wondering if my appearance was really so terrifying. "I need to speak to Hollis, please."
The young page scratched his curly locks nervously. "He's just awoken, my lord," he said, "I'll tell him you are here." He quickly shut the door.
I pondered on the strangeness of the boy's behavior. Why should he be so upset by my presence? This was the same page, I recalled, who Hollis had dispatched to the Assembly the day before when Alek and I had arrived, but there was nothing in that brief meeting that would prompt such a strong reaction of fear as now plagued him. It was only then that I placed him, remembering the previous night's ordeals as one suddenly remembers a strange dream. His nervous manner suddenly made a great deal of sense. I stood and waited in wonder.
When the page opened the door again, I could see Hollis sitting at his desk beyond, eating his morning meal from a large bowl. I cast a long look at his young servant, making sure I was right. There was no doubt. My stare lasted long enough to be uncomfortable, and he blushed and looked away. I restrained my curiosity and brushed past the young man to face the Ambassador.
"I'm afraid there's nothing new to tell you yet, Markis," Hollis said between bites as I sat down in front of him. "There has been little response from the official channels. I'm going to try calling in some favors today."
"Thank you, Ambassador," I replied.
"Sit down, sit down," he said, and turned to the page. "Pavel, get Markis something to drink."
The young man nodded and began filling a cup for me.
"Your giant caused a bit of a stir last night," Hollis said dryly. "I assumed you had him under control."
"I did," I said, "But something went wrong. The amulet which controls him was taken by the Broxbourneans, and he behaved the way he did under their compulsion."
Hollis paused. "The Broxbourneans?"
"Yes," I continued, "They attacked the Tharonites while I was among them, and I lost the amulet."
The boy Hollis had called Pavel approached me slowly, offering a full cup.
"The Tharonites!" Hollis said, and his eyes shifted to his page for a fraction of a second, "What are you talking about? What do they have to do with anything? Why would the Broxbourneans target them?"
"They captured a wise Tharonite scholar - a man named Stepan," I explained.
With a squeak, Pavel dropped the cup, spilling its contents across my lap. I blinked in surprise, and saw the boy turn red in embarrassment. He sputtered a weak apology, looking like he might weep.
"Damn you, boy!" Hollis said, losing his temper and rising to his feet. "Why must you always be so clumsy? Don't stand there gaping, go fetch something to clean this up with!"
The boy ran from the room in a panic. I sniffed at the liquid that now covered me.
"Wine?" I asked, puzzled. "It's a bit early for that, isn't it?" I don't know why I asked that. I suppose I didn't know what else to say.
Hollis sighed and handed me a kerchief. "Can't be helped," he said, "There's a shortage of clean water this deep into the city. My apologies about my servant. He's been sloppy lately. Claims he has trouble sleeping."
I smiled wryly, knowingly. "I'm sure he does," I said. I said nothing more about it.
I told the Ambassador that I wanted to set off at once in search of Golmeir and Stepan, which I was convinced had to be undertaken immediately if there was any chance of them being rescued, but he argued against it.
"The opportunity to speak to the Council on behalf of Fermanagh may come at any moment," he said, "and may only last for a short time. We have to be ready -- Liana, Valessa's Ambassador, could return to the city at any moment, and then our work will much more difficult. I need you ready to speak to them at a moment's notice."
"Surely you could argue our case more eloquently than I," I protested.
"But you are Valen's representative in this matter," he said, "Or at least Cedrik is, and you have inherited the burden from him. And you are a stranger from a strange land -- you will provoke curiosity, and this will work to our advantage. The Council may heed you where they might dismiss a more ordinary man."
I was annoyed with his argument, though I could not but see the sense in it. I was an exotic attraction, and for this reason I was a valuable commodity, as Gavril and Stepan had said. I could not dwell long on this fact without feeling a little lonely and very far from home. In the end, I consented to delay my search until after we spoke before the Council, and to remain near the Consulate in case the First Minister deigned at the last moment to grant us a few minutes of time at the Assembly. I was not at all happy about these necessities, and left Hollis' chambers in a rather unpleasant mood that, in retrospect, might have been a result of lack of sleep and food as much as anything else.
I had guessed that the boy called Pavel would do everything in his power to avoid me out of embarassment, so you will understand my surprise when he confronted me almost immediately after I left the Ambassador. His demeanor had quite transformed from the nervous subservience he had exhibited while in his master's presence.
"Tell me what happened to Stepan," he said at once, as though commanding a servant of his own.
I was momentarily stunned. It was not at all what I had expected him to say.
"He was taken by the Broxbourneans," I said, "You heard me say as much to the Ambassador."
"And where is he now?" Pavel asked. His cherubic young face was tense with worry.
"If I knew I would not be here," I said, "I would be trying to rescue him."
Pavel wrinkled his brow. "Why? What's he to you?"
"Nothing much," I said, "Though I found him pleasant and likeable enough. But I confess my motives are not exactly pure. He is full of information that I may need, information that may be dangerous in the hands of my enemies. Why, what's he to you?"
The page sighed. "Nothing much," he said, echoing me. "But I want to help you find him, all the same."
The depth of his obvious concern betrayed him.
"You're his son, aren't you?" I said, and knew I was right when I saw him blink at me in amazement.
"Adopted son," Pavel corrected, "Tharonites don't make their own children. How did you know?"
"Lucky guess. Gavril mentioned you. How did you come to work as a page for the Ambassador of Fermanagh?"
He shrugged. "Gavril and Hollis are friends," he said, which surprised me. "He wrote a letter asking the Ambassador to take me in, after Stepan disowned me." He looked at me sadly for a moment and added, "No, I don't want to talk about why. It's a long story."
"I already know why," I said, as casually as possible, "I saw you among the Veruvians last night."
I did not know it was possible for a human face to turn as red as Pavel's did at that moment. He looked as though wanted to bury himself ten feet under the earth.
"I... I hoped you wouldn't recognize me," he stammered.
"I didn't at first," I confessed, half-smiling, "You look different fully dressed." I don't know what prompted me to tease the boy so much. Perhaps it was envy. He had enjoyed all the delights that had tempted me so painfully. It did not seem fair, and some part of me must have resented him for it. Besides, it was great fun to make him blush.
However, I had pushed too far. In sheer mortification, he turned to flee the room. I called out to him and he stopped, though he kept his back to me and refused for some time to look at my face.
"I really thought you were going to join us," he murmured at last, "Last night, I mean."
"So did I," I replied honestly.
"You wanted to?"
"More than anything." Now it was my turn to blush.
"Then...why?" he asked.
"It's complicated," I struggled to explain, "I... I knew, I knew... that if I went into that room, I'd never leave it again. Even if I did leave it, I wouldn't really leave it. And... that scared me."
"You think its bad?" he asked, "Evil?"
"It isn't that at all," I replied at once, "It is madness. Beautiful, intense, intoxicating madness, but madness all the same. I can`t afford such a distraction... not now. Perhaps not ever."
He bit his lip, staring at the floor. "I think I understand," he said. He shook his head, sending his curls bouncing back and forth, a look of guilt on his innocent face.
"I don't blame you for being drawn to it," I said, reassuringly.
"Stepan did," Pavel replied, "And I couldn't make him understand why I do it. I... I guess more than anything else, I just wanted to be around other people like me."
"I understand that," I said, my heart breaking for him, "I want that too."
"I thought for so long I was some kind of freak," he confessed, "I thought I was the only one."
"I know exactly what you mean," I replied, and something passed between us, something beyond words or conscious thought. I believe it was an energy of mutual understanding, and profound sensation of recognition.
He met my eyes cautiously. "Will you help me find my father?"
His voice was pure - the voice of a child. I had seen him in the midst of depravities even Damon would find impressive, and yet I suddenly thought of him as a younger version of myself, a sibling whose innocence I must protect at all costs. Perhaps this was only because he was the first of my kind I had ever truly known - a man who desired only other men. Or perhaps it was because his youthful beauty worked its magic on my senses; he was not as shockingly beautiful as Damon or as fascinating as Alek, but his boyish face and curly locks brought a smile to my face and made me want to pat his cheek affectionately. And, of course, I cannot discount the possibility that the same Fate that had brought me to Carmathen now drew us together and stirred up my affection for him. Whatever the reason, we were joined by invisible bonds now, for we had recognized the sameness that we shared.
"I swear I will do everything my power to free him, Pavel," I said, with all sincerity.
He smiled sheepishly. "My friends call me Pasha," he said.
"Pasha it is then." And I smiled back. ___________________________________________________________________________________
I cannot sleep tonight. It is strange -- at the time in Carmathen of which I write I was desperate for sleep. After my chat with Pasha, I returned to Alek's bed and slept almost to mid-day. But now I am restless and that sweet peace escapes me. Perhaps its because I do not now have Alek's warmth with which to share my bed -- but I will dwell no longer on that. There are only so many tears a man may shed.
I have spent the night, instead, pondering over how best to proceed with my tale. If I continue to include every event that is available in my memory, and to recreate as much as possible each relevant conversation in which I engaged, I fear my work will go on indefinitely. That cannot be allowed, and where possible I must abridge various events and even, I fear, omit details I might otherwise wish to include, despite all my promises. To do so will be a shame and a crime, but it would be far greater shame to leave my story unfinished. I must therefore pass over the next several days in Carmathen fairly quickly. It was some time (just over a week) before I was finally permitted to speak to the Council, and then only under the most unexpected and unfortunate circumstances. But I will get to that in a moment.
I had been more or less constantly on the move since I had begun my exile, and thus to be locked in a state of perpetual waiting and stagnation was a jarring change. I was forced to fill the empty hours as best I could to keep from going mad. I divided my time in three ways: trying to get Alek's attention, getting to know Pasha, and, perhaps most importantly, doing everything in my limited power to gather information on the Broxbourneans and the force that had attacked the Tharonites. At Hollis' instruction, I was forced to remain close by the Consulate at all times, in case a providential moment presented itself, and so I employed Damon to scour the city in search of clues. He spent several days exploring the labyrinthine city streets in various innocuous shapes, returning in the evening exhausted and drained. Within a day he had located the Broxbournean Consulate, but had little luck finding any information on Stepan or Golmeir.
My other agent in this search was Pasha. He was kept busy by his chores throughout the day, but after the evening meal he would visit me and we would chat of many things. He told me of his father, Stepan, and how it had been to grow up as an orphan in the care of an old Tharonite scholar. There had been much strife and quarreling between them, but the deep affection that Pasha clearly felt for his guardian was obvious. He spoke of him often, and longed to join in the effort to find him. He knew of an older gentleman who could often be found amongst the Veruvians who he suspected was an official of no small importance among the Broxbournean diplomats stationed in the city, and volunteered to attempt to draw information out of this man. He did not say by what means, but it required little imagination on my part to guess at his intention. I refused at first, unwilling both to send him into possible danger and to encourage such behavior in one who I was rapidly beginning to think of as a younger brother. In the end, however, he argued so passionately and confidently for this course of action that I gave my consent on the condition that he would flee at the first sign of trouble.
It strikes me now as peculiar that Pasha asked for my support in this action, when he could easily have done as he pleased without my permission. It suggests, I suppose, how much he valued my good opinion. At any rate, I agreed to his plan, and he spent the next several nights attempting to wiggle into the man's trust, returning the next day with reports on his progress that were so devoid of detail that I felt he must be protecting me from many of the sordid realities. I was both anxious and jealous when I thought of Pasha amongst the men in that room beyond the blue curtain, and several times came near to suggesting that I accompany him there. However, I had already spoken against it, and were I to give in now I would feel ashamed and undoubtedly lose all the respect that Pasha was starting to develop for me. Is this integrity? I cannot tell.
While Damon was away searching, and Pasha busy with his work or doing who knows what amongst the Veruvians, I was free to focus all my attention on wooing Alek. Certainly, the first day or two after my adventures in the caves beneath the city, he was constantly at my side as though afraid I might disappear again at any moment. But as time passed he grew more relaxed, held on to me less tightly, and I was forced to compete for his attention. His brother was slowly recovering, and during the times where Cedrik felt strong enough to speak, the two of them conversed for hours. This I could understand, for they had not seen or spoken to each other for many years. Alek seemed to have reclaimed some small measure of his brother's trust, and it made him so happy to be in Cedrik's good graces again that I could not begrudge him the time they spent together.
But what drove me to utter frustration was the amount of time Alek spent in inane conversation with Jelena whenever she visited to check on Cedrik's progress, which was at least once a day. They spoke of nothing of interest, but wasted hours in the most banal and generic conversation I have ever heard, while I waited with growing impatience for her to finally leave the two of us alone. One day, towards the end of the week, when Jelena had at last departed and Cedrik had fallen back into sleep, Alek sat down next to me and, in a distracted sort of voice, asked: "What do you think of her, Markis?"
I furrowed my brow. "Who? The physician?"
"Yes," he nodded, "She's certainly interesting, don't you think?"
"Interesting in what way?" I asked, doing my best to sound uninterested.
"There aren't any women in Fermanagh like her," he said, "She doesn't play games with words. She's as plain-spoken and direct as a man, and talented in her craft."
"I'm surprised to hear you express a good opinion of any member of their sex," I said, "Given what we've gone through."
"She's different," Alek said, concerned. He rubbed his hand across my back persuasively. "I'm not suggesting... look, I'm just saying we should be grateful for her. Look what she did for Cedrik. We owe her much."
"But not TOO much," I muttered, unable to meet his eyes. We lapsed into uncomfortable silence after that.
What a peculiar thing is jealousy. It defies logic. We know, intellectually, that we cannot and should not own another human being nor lay total claim to their bodies and passions. The objects of our devotion are free agents, and if they were to belong to us completely they would no longer be the thing we love. Commitment in love is mutual – we assume our beloved stays with us because they want to, and if there were a shred of force or compulsion keeping them near us against some deeper will, the arrangement would lose all its magic. Also, we know from our own experience that love we feel towards one in no way diminishes or invalidates the love we feel for another – therefore, why should we be threatened by the possibility that our loved one loves someone other than ourselves?
It is not a rational thing, but it is real and it is powerful. I had foolishly believed I would be immune to it, especially in regard to Alek. There was no understanding between us, no commitment, no whispered promises of faithfulness, no formal or even informal recognition of our bond. I had not yet even known him for a month, and he himself had told me from almost the moment we began traveling together that his heart had always belonged to women. Certainly he had shown me signs of affection, but never had he implied that his affection would be reserved for me alone. I do not deny that he had given me confusing and self-contradictory signals regarding the depth of his feelings and commitment, but I had to admit that he had never crossed the line to the point of consciously misleading me. In the face of all these facts, how could my jealous passion possibly find a rational foothold in which to assert itself? It seemed impossible. A man cannot feel slighted where there has been no wrong.
But it is a creature of instinct, this jealousy. It will not listen to reason. It burns with a pain that is almost pleasurable in its selfishness, and it will not be ignored. I had lost everything I had ever known and loved, and in the weeks that had followed I had found only two things to replace them with -- two things that gave some semblance of structure to my fractured identity: the silver blade of Anatheria, and Alek. In such circumstances it may be understandable, then, that I had come unconsciously to think of Alek as mine, belonging to me as much as my sword. My suspicions were painful, and yet I could not shake them. I came to think of Jelena with contempt and fear, and I grew even more desperate to fulfill my promise to Cedrik and go, leaving behind this terrible city and its wretched inhabitants. Once we were on our journey, Alek would be mine alone once more.
Wrapped in these thoughts and plagued by these fears, the week in Carmathen drug on with painful slowness. Despite this, matters eventually came to a head abruptly, so quickly that I was woefully unprepared. It began the evening that Damon returned from his day of spying with important news. Disguised as a fly, he had infiltrated the Broxbournean Consulate, as he had done on several previous occasions, and overheard a particularly interesting conversation which he promptly relayed to me. His shape-shifting abilities, fully powered by a hefty meal I had provided for him earlier that morning, were used to full-effect, for he mimicked the form and voice of the men he had overheard.
"What else was I to do?" Damon said, his voice a deep basso and in the shape of a hefty man in military dress, "I could hardly keep the giant here in the city!"
"It was here that I began to listen carefully, Master," Damon added in his own voice, "The mention of the giant caught my attention."
I nodded. "Go on," I instructed.
"Someplace else, then," Damon said, in the form of a tall, reedy man with a trembling tenor voice, "His Excellency had good reason to keep that particular monster as far from the excavation as possible. Its presence troubles the others there, and impedes our progress."
"It is bound, and cannot act of its own free will," the larger man said dismissively.
"It is a rallying symbol by its mere presence! We fear a riot amongst the workers -- this is why the beast was handed over to that babbling idiot of yours in the first place, to keep it safely out of the way."
"How was I to know of this? I sent His Grace the old man, as was requested -- there were no instructions regarding any giant. So I sent them together. What would you have done in my place?"
The reedy man sighed. "The same, no doubt. The damage is done -- and the Archbishop is not happy. He insists that you send your full force as reinforcements to the dig site."
"My full force?" the big man roared, "That will leave my garrison here completely empty!"
"It doesn't matter anymore," the other replied, "We are abandoning this city. Soon there will be war - and you know how important it is we finish our work in the mountains before that happens."
"I know the legends as well as you." The big man huffed.
"You are to remain here with a few aides, to quell any suspicion. Keep our plans in motion. Chaos in Carmathen will only work to our advantage. Fortunately, the lunatic Council are doing most of our work for us."
"Indeed. Will you sup, my lord?"
"I must return to the Archbishop without delay. Send your men as soon as possible."
Damon returned to his usual form. "They said nothing of interest after that, Master."
My mind reeled with what I had seen. I actually made Damon re-enact the entire conversation to me again so that I could take it all in.
"I must take this information to Hollis at once," I said, once he had finished. I headed for the door with some urgency.
"Master, wait!" Damon said, materializing in my path and blocking me. "How will you explain where you received this information?"
I stopped and considered. I had not thought of that. "I will have to tell him about you."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" he said, frowning.
"I have no choice. This is too important to keep to myself." I tried to step past Damon, but he moved to block my path again.
"I really don't think you should tell anyone about me," he said, "for your own good."
I sighed impatiently. "Damon, we can trust Hollis," I said, "Move aside, I've decided. I'm going to tell him."
He didn`t budge. "I must strongly object to that, Master," Damon said, and his voice was dark and ominous.
Despite myself, I felt a tinge of fear. Damon, I reminded myself, could not harm me, could not harm anyone really. He could no nothing beyond what I as his Master commanded him. And yet he troubled me more and more, and I felt a sudden rush of anxiety at this new attitude. It drew near to open rebellion.
"I don't know that I like your tone," I replied, keeping my voice as authoritative as possible, "I will tell anyone anything that I like, Damon, and as my servant you will accept that fact. You need me -- we both know it. It would be unfortunate if I were suddenly too busy and weary to feed you."
His eyes widened and he bowed at my feet. "Master, you wouldn't!"
"That depends entirely on you and your faithful service," I said. I was convinced a firm hand now would stamp out any possible rebellion in the future.
Damon's eyes flashed fire, but he bowed demurely and spoke humbly. "Of course, Master. I apologize. I was simply trying to protect you, but certainly you know best."
I wasn't sure if he meant it, but it was good enough for the moment. I hurried past him, shrugging off any remaining disease about the strange encounter. There was too much to deal with. I would turn my attention to Damon when there was time. I would draw out his secrets and his mysteries -- later.
I often put important and potentially dangerous tasks off until later. My ministers and advisers tell me that too. ___________________________________________________________________________________
I went to Hollis then, and we spoke until well into the night. If I were to write here all that we said and discussed, I would fill many pages. I will instead summarize.
The Ambassador had shown me such compassion, so much patience and understanding, that I found I could not hold much back from him. I began from the beginning, telling him how I had freed Damon from his prison deep within the tomb and how he drew his sustenance from my body (in what way, exactly, I did not describe out of modesty). I explained how my servant had proved invaluable several times since, and told him what he had discovered for me that very night.
It was a relief to speak to someone at last about Damon. The secret of my invisible servant had weighed on me, my own private madness that now seemed real and bearable that someone else shared it. To his credit, Hollis merely sat and listened, taking in my entire story before passing judgment or asking questions until I was finished. In the end, he admitted that though my tale was somewhat far-fetched, he trusted my honesty.
"After all," he said, "There are many things in this world that cannot be understood by logic alone, that have no rational explanation. A wise man taught me that."
"You speak of Gavril," I guessed, and Hollis shook his head.
"No," he said, "his predecessor, another Tharonite, though I know Gavril well. We became friends soon after I arrived in the city, before the sect became stigmatized by the Council."
"Are you one of them?" I asked, rather bluntly.
He smiled faintly, "Not at all. I haven't the will or depth of conviction. But I am what you might call a sympathizer - I feel they are unfairly persecuted. I help them whenever I can."
"Like taking in Pasha?"
"Certainly, though I'm surprised he told you about that. I do what I can for him. Jelena, too."
I blinked. "Jelena? She's a Tharonite?"
He shook his head. "No, no. Some relative of hers. A brother or cousin, I think. The Council cracks down on all relatives of known members, even if they have nothing to do with the sect themselves. That's how Jelena lost her medical license."
I shook my head in confusion. "They fear them so much?"
Hollis smiled. "The Council rules by manipulating the desires of the masses, with false promises and distractions. Men who ignore and despise desire are naturally a threat to them."
It was a relief to hear him speak openly of the corruption of the Council, and we continued to speak of it for many hours. He gave me much advice - for example, he told me that though could not deny that Damon had proved very useful, I should not trust him too much. He spoke with such genuine concern and true compassion that I was very moved. I cannot express fully here how that evening of conversation mad me feel. I was unburdened, lighter, more at peace. I let the Ambassador's wisdom and age soothe me.
He was indeed wise, and I wish he were here now to advise me. He would have made a most capable minister -- indeed, I would have turned all of Carmathen over to his governance the moment it came into my hands, if I could have.
We talked for hours. By the time I left his office that evening, I had gained a mentor and a friend. ____________________________________________________________________________________
I was returning to my room and looking forward to climbing into bed when I felt a presence behind me. I whirled quickly, putting a hand to my sword, only to find Pasha standing before me. He wore nothing but small clothes about his loins, and looked disheveled and weary as though he had been sleeping. His skin was dotted with freckles in such an adorable way that I couldn't help but smile.
"I thought you would be with the Veruvians tonight," I whispered.
"Not tonight," he said, grinning strangely. He slid closer to me. "I thought I'd stay here with you."
I caught a whiff of his breath. "Have you been drinking?"
He blushed again. "I was passing the time until you were done speaking to Hollis. You certainly took your time!"
"I think you had too much," I said, growing concerned.
"I had to drink," he explained, "how else could I have gotten the courage to do this?"
His hand grabbed at my groin and he brought his lips up toward mine to kiss me. I grabbed his hand and turned my face away.
"Pasha, don't."
"Please, Markis," he said, and tears formed in his drunken eyes, "I want you."
"I can't," I stammered, blushing with embarrassment for us both, "It wouldn't be right."
"Is it me?" he asked, "You think I'm too young? Too ugly?"
"Too drunk," I insisted, "You're not yourself."
"I've never met anyone like you, Markis," he said, "I want you. I want to be you."
I sighed in annoyance. "Pasha, go to sleep. We'll pretend this didn't happen."
He turned, his shoulders slumped in exaggerated disappointment, and shuffled down the hallway. He turned and said, "It's that Alek, isn't it? You love him."
"Go to bed, Pasha!" I said, firmly but affectionately. I said a silent prayer that he would forget about this in the morning. The last thing he needed was something else to be mortified about.
I watched him go, shuffling and sniffling into the dark back to his room and smiled to myself. He was sweet, really, just a little mixed up about things. Who wouldn't be? I pushed open the door to my room and went to bed.
I awoke early in the morning to a furious knocking. As the fog of sleep slowly lifted, I stumbled to my feet and crossed to the door.
"Who is it?" Alek mumbled, still asleep, "Tell them to go away."
It was Pasha, looking hung-over and pale. "Markis," he said, his breath coming in short gasps.
"Yes?" I said, still waking up. "Look, Pasha, about last night - its fine. Really, forget about it."
"Markis!" he said, cutting me off urgently. "It's not that. It's Hollis."
I could hear the fear in his voice now, and my senses came fully alert. "What about him?"
"He's dead," Pasha squeaked, then turned his back to me and vomited into the hallway.
I apologize for the delay between chapters. I'll try to keep it more reasonable in the future! As always feel free to e-mail questions or comments to thephallocrat@gmail.com. Thanks for reading!