“What! When?” I jumped to my feet. Immediately all my blood drained to my feet, making them throb worse than ever. I felt sick. “Where is he?”
“Here. He was brought to the city yesterday, straight to Petru’s palace. I heard about it only an hour before you returned.”
I knew he would be tortured until anything he knew came out. Petru had no mercy for spies. Look what had happened to Sigrun and her family.
It was already too late for us to run. And I didn’t want to. Immediately my mind began to churn with schemes to rescue Eneko, each more ridiculous than the last. Petru Dominus had the weight of centuries behind him, and the massed wiles of rulers determined to punish rebels.
I said, my voice quavering, “If only Papa were here. He could buy Eneko’s freedom, couldn’t he? Couldn’t he do something?” Something miraculous. He was my father.
“You should thank all the Gods that he isn’t here, Vara. He’d be in chains beside Eneko right now.”
*
Three interminable days later, we got news that Eneko Saratxaga was to be tried within the week, along with other suspected criminals, in the coliseum, in front of the usual crowds that came to watch the spectacle of justice being meted out. The term justice meant little. To gain the notoriety of the coliseum you had already been convicted.
This was terribly quick. Usually interest in a public trial was whipped up over weeks, the better to generate profit for the sponsors. Lord Petru must have wrung as much information from him as he wanted and was now ready to make an example of him. What if Eneko was in a tub of bloody water right now, eels sucking out his innards? He’d only have to keep him alive until the trial, the better to set an example with his public death.
I cried myself into sickness, and had to be dosed with herbs to calm me. But the horrid images would not leave my mind.
My mother had managed to send off a cryptically-worded warning to my father, using some convoluted path of messengers. Whether it would get to him was up to the fates. As was what he chose to do with the information. I was forced to accept the very real possibility that we might never see Papa again, for he would be insane to return home now.
At last I remembered I had been invited to visit Miss Marsh, up in her scientific aerie among her precious specimens. To distract myself, I decided to go. Besides, it was time I made a proper thank-you to Akil, and perhaps to worm my way into his affection… The thought that he might help us somehow lurked in my mind. He was a magical being, after all. It was possible he could somehow free Eneko…
I needed to give him a present. What might a resura want? Jewels? Inappropriate for me to give him, no matter who or what he was. I owned some very nice pieces of amber and carved ivory, given me by Mama’s side of the family, but they were too big, also they were locked away for me to claim upon my wedding day. Which I would never have. Useless, to me as well as to Akil.
Fine clothing? A length of the very best silk for a new turban? Which he rarely wore, preferring to let his wavy black hair be looked upon directly by the gods.
Every boy or man I’d ever encountered loved sweets. Eneko had loved sweets. I bit my lip to force back the tears. I dispatched Kai to Sigrun’s and my favourite old sweet-shop, instructing her to buy the most expensive items there.
That afternoon, carrying a beautifully carved box layered with delicacies, I made my way to Miss Marsh’s special area, with the thick, sweet scent of vanilla—a spice so new and exotic that hardly anyone had it—filling my nostrils. Akil would love this. He should be somewhere nearby.
Miss Marsh, when I found her, was lying flat on her back with a damp cloth on her forehead. I started to quietly creep away, but she opened her eyes.
“Vara, my dear girl! Do come in.” Her eyes were dark-shadowed and sad.
Shyness and a weight of depression overwhelmed me, and I wished now that I hadn’t come. “You asked me to come talk with you. Is this a good time?”
“Never mind me, I have only a headache.”
I wondered if that was true. Perhaps she was as worried as I. Her position in Perpignan was worse now that our family was in disgrace. If we escaped death or prison, we would be banished, all our remaining wealth confiscated. She’d be wise to escape now.
“May I send for some tea?” I asked politely. “Or some of the medicine that Kai makes? It helps the headache.”
She shook her head. “No, no. I wanted to talk with you about Akil.”
I felt my eyelashes flutter a bit. Akil. His image popped to mind: homely, aloof, supercilious. Our friendship had gone no further since my return home. The box and its luscious contents seemed like a waste of money. I put it on the floor, and longed for Eneko Saratxaga’s brilliant smile, and the gusto with which he would devour the treats. He might even have kissed me, his dark eyes glowing. But he was locked in irons underground. That’s why I was here. My sweet-smelling bribe made guilt war with need.
“I… I wanted to thank Akil,” I stammered. “And you, Miss Marsh.” But did I really? I might be leagues away in another land by now but for Akil’s interference, free of my past and my future.
Or I might be dead at the filthy hands of rapists. I wasn’t ready to die, I knew that now, though the time of my vision was coming close.
“I will to tell you about how we came to be… partners.”
I took a breath. “Akil told me that it was you who killed him. Is that so?”
She held very still for a moment. “Ah. So you know what he is.” Her face wore a look of intense misery. “He must trust you very much. And yes, I killed him. But I didn’t mean to.”
I waited while she blinked back tears, suddenly regretting my harsh question.
“It has been a long time. Akil and I have been together for… it is now more than eight years. When we met, he was but a child, the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. Strong limbs, auburn curls, a face that was so perfect he could have been a cherub. The family I was lodging with owned him, and they were training him to be a Catamite.”
“A Catamite? What’s that?” I was still trying to accept the idea of the homely boy I knew having once been beautiful.
“Gods forgive me,” she muttered, running her fingers over her scars. “I didn’t realize for many months what they were doing to him, nor did I give thought for what might be inside that pretty head of his.” She looked up and smiled grimly. “What is a Catamite? Why, nothing more than a young boy trained for sex with men. Many men. A Catamite is a plaything, a slave of the most degraded sort.
“I finally understand when I see my host give him wine, then bring him into the baths with other men. Being small, he soon became tipsy and pliant. I will spare you the details, my dear Vara Svobodová, but he told me years later that he was passed among these men for hours. The worst thing? That often the boy becomes a shameful panderer, seeking gifts and attention in exchange for his body. Worse than any whore.”
My hand had gone to my lips. I didn’t know what to feel. Horror. Confusion. And revulsion. How could I look Akil in the eye again?
Tears suddenly spilled down Miss Marsh’s weathered cheeks. “But that was not the worst.”
I didn’t want to hear it, but just then we heard irregular footsteps approaching. Akil, the poor cripple boy with the heart of an eagle. Miss Marsh shut up at last.
He must have seen the guilty looks on our faces. I blushed hotly and looked at the floor. Akil stood for a moment, assessing the situation. Did he and Miss Marsh have secret signals to share information? Perhaps he’d simply been listening from the next room, for he gave a deep sigh and sat himself down cross-legged on his pallet of blankets, the place the orange cat usually occupied. His place.
Finally I was able to meet his eyes, but it took a real effort of will. After what he had done for me, was I about to shun him for his shameful past? What choice did he have, back then? I felt my chin tremble. Miss Marsh found my hand with hers and squeezed it.
“Vara,” she murmured, “Akil is a person of many shades. And much light. It is my dear wish that you and he might become friends.”
It was my wish too, but were my motives pure? No. I wanted him to save Eneko for me. If Akil could do that, I would love him forever.
Akil, who had met my gaze with a look of shuttered defiance, abruptly turned away. “I don’t know if that’s possible,” he said flatly. “We are too different.”
I wanted to claim an equal heritage to his: soon I would be brutally thrust into the same spirit world he inhabited. But I kept my mouth shut. Should I reach for his hand?
No. He would only pull his away.
Remembering, I reached down and handed him the sweets. “I brought you this. A gift of thanks.” Politely he opened it and sniffed the box’s contents, his nostrils flaring. He shrugged noncommittally, and put it back on the floor.
His tawny eyes drilled into mine. “Shall I tell you what they had planned for me, the little da resu boy?”
I shook my head no, though I had the horribly prurient desire to find out. I also knew he was going to tell me no matter what. He wanted me to understand the very worst of him, and this, strangely, gave me heart. It was a sign of respect, I thought, a sign that he desired my approval. So much so that he dared jeopardize it with the truth.
“Miss Carolina Marsh is more than a mother to me. Certainly more than the woman who bore and then sold me. My parents couldn’t resist the money offered for a da resu.
“Can you possibly imagine what was in store for me? I hope not. I would be trained as the fantasy plaything of the depraved. Think of it—after death, as resura, I could be male or female, or a combination of both. I could be any sort of animal. There are men who prefer animals, you know.” His voice was clipped, harsh. I could barely breathe. “The possibilities were disgusting and varied, and I was trained to set upon the most outrageous forms my masters could think of for my three shapes. I would be auctioned off to the richest, most degenerate man this side of hell.”
Miss Marsh spoke up at last. “You see, Vara? Worse than being an ordinary, run-of-the-mill sex slave.” She had to stop and blow her nose. “Finally I understood what sort of being he was. In my travels I studied with mystics and scholars, and listened around the campfires of ancient tribes.” She touched the scars on her cheek. “There is more strangeliness in this world than you can imagine. But this… to use such a treasure this way… it was evil.”
She took a deep breath. “So I stole him. I walked right into the slave quarters where he was being held, past the eunuchs, the women, the ordinary boys and girls, took him by the hand and led him away. I was known as sometime teacher of the brighter servants. It was how I earned a living. I planted, like seed, the idea that the boy would bring more price if he had more to offer besides his body. How to read erotic tales, perhaps.
“I pretended to scolding him because shirk his studies, and led him quickly to my own cubbyhole. No one interfered. No one imagined that I, a small plain woman, might be up to not good. I hushed him, wiped his tears…”
Akil snorted. “You slapped me a few times to shut me up. I was a snivelling brat.” He hugged his knees and grinned at her—a frightening sight, with his snaggle teeth and angry eyes.
“You had been trained as brat. A spoiled, frightened, miserable little being. Kept drunk most of the time, you could barely think.” She crumpled her sodden handkerchief and looked at me. “I undress him out of his silken robes and find him simple garments of a servant boy. I cut off his long curls and rub ashes onto his pretty skin. And then we walk away.”
She had started to look quite sick, and couldn’t meet my eyes. “I… I didn’t know what would happen next. I swear I didn’t know.”
“I pray that you would have stolen me anyway,” growled Akil.
I had been sitting so still that my feet had gone to sleep. “What happened?” I got up and stamped around to stop the tingling, but kept my eyes on Miss Marsh. “Did… did you kill him then?”
She doubled over and began to weep anew. “Yes. It took three days. I didn’t know!”
Appalled, I looked from one to the other. “Three days! What do you mean?”
Akil said, “I’d been fed poison for years, along with the wine. And also the poison’s cure. I was told this when I was seven, so I knew what would happen to me if I ran away.”
Miss Marsh wailed, “You knew it all along, and never told me.”
Akil looked down, frowning.
“He was barely more than child,” she continued at last. “When he was deprived of the…” She waved her hand, searching for the word.
“Antidote,” I provided.
“Antidote. When he didn’t get antidote, he began to die. I didn’t know what to do, though we found an empty shepherd hut where to hide. Then I must to watch him suffer, and only could give him water, hold his head. Akil, you never blamed me. Never.”
“But,” he said, “I could have told you what was happening. I could have returned to that hell-hole and become a freak, degraded beyond sense or redemption. You saved me. I am yours.”
His words sent a shiver down my arms. They weren’t just dear friends and partners—she was his alanbir, the owner of his soul.
She shook off the last of her tears. “And I am yours, as if I were your mother.”
Akil’s eyes held a dark hurt that even I couldn’t miss. Was it because he would never be free? Having a good and kind master still meant that you were a slave. He said, “Perhaps now you understand why I chose this crippled, ugly form, Vara. That at least I managed to do before I died—choose, of my own free will, the three forms I will have forevermore. Miss Marsh counselled me, when she understood what was happening. Those last days of my life were well used. I get no more covetous stares, no more groping hands and lewd suggestions. I am almost completely invisible. And I like it this way.”
“You… you aren’t invisible to me.” I bowed my head and felt my throat closing up. Why had I said that? I felt as though my heart would break. Akil was so strange and so sad. But I could never pity him. He was too strong.
I looked up. Did his eyes look a little warmer?
It was Eneko I loved, of course. Akil was much too aloof and cold. Much too strange. What could I give him? He needed nothing from me, wanted nothing.
And Eneko would soon be dragged before Petru Dominus, the Scorpion of Askain. His glib tongue and charming ways wouldn’t get him out of trouble this time.
Akil’s fate had been sealed when his soul was captured by a small, kind, weather-beaten woman from far Britannia.
It was Eneko Saratxaga whose fate was in the balance now.