as the resonance of anger fades, he becomes aware of an echo nearby, so close that he almost failed to notice it. For a moment, it felt like part of himself. Pounding anger, hand-shaking anger, anger that fires the blood and embitters the mouth and screams and screams and screams…
* * *
Someone commands him to stop screaming, and the chains drag him into silence.
* * *
The boy again.
“I did it,” he murmurs in the darkness of the well chamber. His voice is deeper now; time has passed and he is older. “It’s done.”
Nahadoth has no idea what he means and does not care, though the boy’s satisfaction is like a small star radiant within the darkened chamber. A lovely addition to this private universe. Then the boy says:
“How do you stand it? Knowing that no one wants you?”
The words cause Nahadoth unexpected pain. Also, he’s not sure how to answer because he can’t stand it.
The boy—Haan, a name too small to encompass the whole of him—shakes his head, long sleek hair shimmering like a curtain. The tips of that hair brush the surface of Nahadoth’s substance, gold vanishing into blackness. “My father sent me here, you know. Because he was afraid of me. I never did anything to earn that fear, not there. Propriety, and all. Never shit where you sleep. But I think he knew what I was capable of, and I think that’s why he sold me to our illustrious cousins when they came around and ‘suggested’ that all Arameri should live here. He would not give up his life to come, but he offered his only begotten son.”
Haan puts a hand to his face beneath the curtain of gold hair and utters another of those soft, wavering, empty laughs. “Such a sacrifice! How noble it made him seem, and how it raised him in the esteem of the Central Family. He’s a wealthy man now. All his prestige has been bought and paid for with the flesh of his heir.”
Not all parents love their children, Nahadoth thinks. And this child, plainly, loves no one.
“Now I am heir to nothing. A menial servant. I am assigned to Lady Sessara’s chambers. I clean up her messes and I pour her drinks and I fetch her documents when she has visitors. And when the visitors are done, she tells me to go make sure the bed is warm.” Another laugh. “That’s fun, at least. She makes the sweetest little sounds. Then when she’s done, her husband comes. I like his sounds, too. But both of them command me to be silent. I may give pleasure, but I am permitted none of my own.”
Nahadoth is beginning to lose interest. He was the one who gave suffering to mortalkind, after all, and this boy is just another suffering creature. The mortals amaze him sometimes with the creativity of their cruelty. Yet…it is interesting, how little the suffering seems to affect Haan. This boy does not feel pain, or humiliation, or regret—just anger. And glee? Something like.
Still boring. Nahadoth drifts awhile, spinning within a magma bubble somewhere far below while the boy keeps talking. Something about Lady Sessara’s new heir, who of course looks like the boy, because the boy is pretty and breeding is important. That is probably why they brought him here. It’s only been a hundred years since Tempa gave the power of gods to mortals for safekeeping, and Shahar’s descendants number only in the dozens. Not safe, should there ever be a need for them to wield the Stone of Earth; they’d burn through all the unimportant family members in moments and be forced too quickly to kill people who matter. There is no reason for them to need Enefa’s power, no possible reason, but they have it and the possibility intrigues them. They want to be ready—just in case. Eventually they’ll find excuses to attempt it, and they’ll need experimental fodder when the time comes.
“But this thing that I am, it is not harmless,” the boy says, whispering now. The whites of his eyes almost have a glow in the dimness. “That’s all I am to them, a thing. And
* * *
Someone commands him to stop screaming, and the chains drag him into silence.
* * *
The boy again.
“I did it,” he murmurs in the darkness of the well chamber. His voice is deeper now; time has passed and he is older. “It’s done.”
Nahadoth has no idea what he means and does not care, though the boy’s satisfaction is like a small star radiant within the darkened chamber. A lovely addition to this private universe. Then the boy says:
“How do you stand it? Knowing that no one wants you?”
The words cause Nahadoth unexpected pain. Also, he’s not sure how to answer because he can’t stand it.
The boy—Haan, a name too small to encompass the whole of him—shakes his head, long sleek hair shimmering like a curtain. The tips of that hair brush the surface of Nahadoth’s substance, gold vanishing into blackness. “My father sent me here, you know. Because he was afraid of me. I never did anything to earn that fear, not there. Propriety, and all. Never shit where you sleep. But I think he knew what I was capable of, and I think that’s why he sold me to our illustrious cousins when they came around and ‘suggested’ that all Arameri should live here. He would not give up his life to come, but he offered his only begotten son.”
Haan puts a hand to his face beneath the curtain of gold hair and utters another of those soft, wavering, empty laughs. “Such a sacrifice! How noble it made him seem, and how it raised him in the esteem of the Central Family. He’s a wealthy man now. All his prestige has been bought and paid for with the flesh of his heir.”
Not all parents love their children, Nahadoth thinks. And this child, plainly, loves no one.
“Now I am heir to nothing. A menial servant. I am assigned to Lady Sessara’s chambers. I clean up her messes and I pour her drinks and I fetch her documents when she has visitors. And when the visitors are done, she tells me to go make sure the bed is warm.” Another laugh. “That’s fun, at least. She makes the sweetest little sounds. Then when she’s done, her husband comes. I like his sounds, too. But both of them command me to be silent. I may give pleasure, but I am permitted none of my own.”
Nahadoth is beginning to lose interest. He was the one who gave suffering to mortalkind, after all, and this boy is just another suffering creature. The mortals amaze him sometimes with the creativity of their cruelty. Yet…it is interesting, how little the suffering seems to affect Haan. This boy does not feel pain, or humiliation, or regret—just anger. And glee? Something like.
Still boring. Nahadoth drifts awhile, spinning within a magma bubble somewhere far below while the boy keeps talking. Something about Lady Sessara’s new heir, who of course looks like the boy, because the boy is pretty and breeding is important. That is probably why they brought him here. It’s only been a hundred years since Tempa gave the power of gods to mortals for safekeeping, and Shahar’s descendants number only in the dozens. Not safe, should there ever be a need for them to wield the Stone of Earth; they’d burn through all the unimportant family members in moments and be forced too quickly to kill people who matter. There is no reason for them to need Enefa’s power, no possible reason, but they have it and the possibility intrigues them. They want to be ready—just in case. Eventually they’ll find excuses to attempt it, and they’ll need experimental fodder when the time comes.
“But this thing that I am, it is not harmless,” the boy says, whispering now. The whites of his eyes almost have a glow in the dimness. “That’s all I am to them, a thing. And
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