sanpit, chapter 2
Nov. 6th, 2007 04:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wellownedbkupChapter 2:
The first sun rises closer to the eye than any other, fiery red painted across sand dunes and buildings. The ball of fire tends to take up the entire horizon, miles across and all encompassing. She has woken before the sun every morning, watching it color her world vivid and stark. She wonders if, after all this time, the barracks she sleeps in with the others of her caste were chosen specifically by the Noi for that effect. She breathes in deeply, dark eyes slowly clearing from the last of sleep and her body coming alive with each inch of heat that crosses her skin.
She rolls her shoulders, her hand clenching lightly on the knife beneath her pillow before relaxing. After so many years, the exhaustion that should come from being on alert all night for threats against her life is merely an afterthought, a feeling that disappears as soon as she’s thought it. She is never unaware of her surroundings, not since she was accomplice to that type of attack. She closes her eyes against the view, pinching tight the abjad on the web of skin between her left thumb and first finger. It is yet another reminder of what she is, who she belongs to. It’s a reinforcement of the litany she repeats every morning in the inspection grounds with the others like her.
She stands, sheets falling away from a body hardened by training to allow her leave for her morning ablutions. She leaves as quickly as she dares, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before anyone else decides to intrude on her solitude. She moves quickly down to the lower levels, naked feet silent on the worn stone. A hand presses lightly and briefly against hers and she smiles at the feel of that familiar warm palm.
“Would you have some company?”
“Yes, Dannaii. From where have you come wandering?” she asks him, gripping his fingers tightly before moving steadily onward and downward to the bath pits.
“From roving about in the city. But, that is neither here nor there.” He gives a quicksilver smile, sharp in the torchlight. “Might I suggest we leave that topic for some other time? The pools are warm and we have only a short time until inspections.”
She nods and they hurry along the passages. Some nights, when they aren’t desired, they have the joy of swimming in one of the underground springs. The water there is cooler that their skin, cooler than the heated and humid air of evening. The caverns host a myriad pools like these: cool, dark and still. At least two dozen assassins know of this respite, with a hundred or so other slaves who make the time to bathe in the springs.
They end up on opposing sides of a bigger pool this morning, eyes catching one another with understanding in their depths. She shakes her head and resolutely begins to float on her back, water filling her ears and deadening sounds. She lets the water hold her, each tense muscle group slowly releasing one at a time.
She knows he’s there, not entirely watching her so much as providing himself as a lookout. She appreciates the sentiment enough to only allow herself a moment to linger so exposed before surfacing. It’s the least she can do for him, to offer him the same courtesy as herself, to wash away the night before true dawn.
He nods and sets about some ritual only he knows, pouring water over his head through cupped palms. With each pass, he grows more and more pensive, pausing with each dip to murmur a few words. She doesn’t know what he’s saying, only that it seems a request to the Gods for a blessing, or perhaps forgiveness, a thought which she refuses to give much thought to.
An hour passes with them alternating their rest in the spring before they leave it again, returning to duty and a life that doesn’t belong to them. She presses her hand warm in his, just as quickly as she dares as they furtively enter the conspicuous halls of the upper floors. He tugs her into the barracks finally with a hiss of near-relief and a rough pat to her shoulder, devoid of any expression. She schools her face immediately, never doubting for a moment that they were being watched and internally cursing herself for letting her guard down as long as she did.
“Greetings, brothers.” A soft chorus of voices rings out the simultaneous greeting to the new entrants to the room. She and Dannaii quickly bat their wrist and fist to their chest in a salute and bow in respect to the occupants of the room.
“May the Noi show you favor, brothers. Greetings,” they reply, the rote words tumbling mindlessly from their lips in synchronization. Her eyes quickly skate around the room, noting the placement of her ‘brothers,’ her fellow slaves that have been blessed with the privilege of serving as the Noi’s special force.
“Inspections are near.” She gives them all a look, tamping down a wave of triumph followed by revulsion as she sees certain ones flinch. She can recall why, and wishes she didn’t.
She doesn't remember life before the Noi. She can remember something green and lush like the Noi's personal gardens. She thinks that's why he never gives her his latest instructions there. When she is in that place, she can almost remember the sound of a brook gurgling by while she rests her head in a plush lap. She can almost taste the greenness on her tongue, deformed as it has become here, the heady flavor of a flower she cannot remember.
The Noi told her about one task there, and hasn't deigned to audience her there since. She was young; she knows it must've been the first time she'd come into the Noi's presence. That heavy scent suited the powerful man, lounging in luxurious robes and surrounded by natural splendor unlike the rest of his arid empire. In her awe, she heard the word 'kill;' 'safety.’ In her fear, she heard him whisper of dark nights filled with nothing but his whims, his pleasures.
“Prove your worth to me. Prove that you are deserving of my mercies and my kindnesses. Kill one of your brothers. Show me you wish to be a tool of my pleasures, and not a receptacle. Kill one of your brothers, and you will have your safety.”
She sealed her fate with obeying that order. She reflects on that time when she allows herself the weakness, and remembers what he said. How, when given the choice between the unforgivable sin of murder, or serving his carnal pleasures at whim, what was one more dead slave? She'd secured herself something more than an empty existence as a bed slave.
There are times when the memories of before and of the meeting with the Noi become the same memory. Her head is on his lap, and she's nearly choking on the aromatic flora around them as he tells her precisely how she can be safe. How she can best please her master. She shudders and wakes in a cold sweat when she dreams thus, though the room is stifling against her skin. She can see against the inky black of a moonless sky, the dark expanse to the north and west of the walls of the city. She's privileged with the knowledge of the citadel, the ins and the outs of the labyrinthine roads. She could run, she thinks, back to somewhere that jogs her memory. Back to the grasslands she can almost recall as home.
She takes a deep breath, lungs catching as the dusty air rattles around her ribcage. She closes her eyes after a moment. Her lips move, forming words she doesn't even realize she's saying. "He is Master, and I am his tool. Whatever he commands, I obey. I serve at his pleasure. To serve means life. He is Master. I am a tool of his pleasure."
She comes to herself a moment after noticing the silence of the room, the exodus of her brothers a distant sense memory. She raises her eyes to Dannaii and nods her head sharply.
He returns the look, eyes wary but calm. “Come, brother. Dress to meet the day.” He gestures to the flat shelves beneath her bunk, and she nods, quietly refusing to speak anymore. She instead kneels at the side of her bed, hands finding the cloths of her station, the thin golden slippers that both exhibited and inhibited her walking. Each piece is a disguise, a mask for the day. A piece of costumery she is forced to wear as her insubstantial armor, her insufficient protection.
The tunic and short pants are soft and rough against her skin, the weave of fibers necessary for keeping her cool during the heat of the day. She can feel it catching against unseen rough patches, crude garments unseen by anyone else. She doesn’t halt, strapping on knives at her thighs, her waist, crosswise on her torso and back. The roughened areas of her undergarments chafe the skin beneath it, giving her cause to grimace as she stoops down again to gather the lengths of fabric she has to wrap around her.
The loose lengths wrapped around and between her legs, forming a sort of baggy pant around the short underwear and a loose cover for her weaponry. The material worked the same too, for her top, wrapping it around and over to lie loosely and delicately over the blades she kept hidden. For certainty, she whipped out blades from any number of places on her body, never catching the delicate and gauzy fabric on the sharp blades.
She paused a moment when it came to the slippers for her feet. She knows custom is that others would place them on her feet, twisting the golden fibers round and round until the bindings are nearly a piece of her foot. But as she sits there, she can’t bring herself to ask Dannaii to perform that service for her. She wonders what’s wrong with her, today of all days, that she cannot follow the rules.
She shakes her head and musters up the courage to look at Dannaii, who is just finishing wrapping his lower body in a similar fashion to her. “I would that you would help me, brother.” With his mercurial smile, he kneels before her, knotting and twisting her sandals with blessings for the Noi and charms for her life.
“You are precious, brother. The special possession of the Noi.” He bows the lowest bow of a slave, bent small on hands and knees. The heavy knot of hair at the midst of his back falls forward over his shoulder, tip barely dusting the floor. “I would that you should offer the same service towards your brother, brother mine.” She nods, setting about the task in a mirror of what he had done. She repeats the blessings with fervent zeal, the charms with utmost care. She returns his bow to him, her rank and his symbolized by the heavy fall of knotted hair over their shoulder.
She arises, her mind still in disorder, but steadied by the repetition, the routine of life here. What actions are between the dawns are solely hers and Dannaii’s, for they are from the same pod. She bites down on the tattooed web of skin on her left palm, a forcible reminder of what is happening.
“Come, brother. The others will return shortly. It is nearly time for inspections.”
She bobs her head in recognition and leaves her bunk in complete composure, the perfection of her bed a reflection of herself, in honor of the Noi.
The first sun rises closer to the eye than any other, fiery red painted across sand dunes and buildings. The ball of fire tends to take up the entire horizon, miles across and all encompassing. She has woken before the sun every morning, watching it color her world vivid and stark. She wonders if, after all this time, the barracks she sleeps in with the others of her caste were chosen specifically by the Noi for that effect. She breathes in deeply, dark eyes slowly clearing from the last of sleep and her body coming alive with each inch of heat that crosses her skin.
She rolls her shoulders, her hand clenching lightly on the knife beneath her pillow before relaxing. After so many years, the exhaustion that should come from being on alert all night for threats against her life is merely an afterthought, a feeling that disappears as soon as she’s thought it. She is never unaware of her surroundings, not since she was accomplice to that type of attack. She closes her eyes against the view, pinching tight the abjad on the web of skin between her left thumb and first finger. It is yet another reminder of what she is, who she belongs to. It’s a reinforcement of the litany she repeats every morning in the inspection grounds with the others like her.
She stands, sheets falling away from a body hardened by training to allow her leave for her morning ablutions. She leaves as quickly as she dares, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before anyone else decides to intrude on her solitude. She moves quickly down to the lower levels, naked feet silent on the worn stone. A hand presses lightly and briefly against hers and she smiles at the feel of that familiar warm palm.
“Would you have some company?”
“Yes, Dannaii. From where have you come wandering?” she asks him, gripping his fingers tightly before moving steadily onward and downward to the bath pits.
“From roving about in the city. But, that is neither here nor there.” He gives a quicksilver smile, sharp in the torchlight. “Might I suggest we leave that topic for some other time? The pools are warm and we have only a short time until inspections.”
She nods and they hurry along the passages. Some nights, when they aren’t desired, they have the joy of swimming in one of the underground springs. The water there is cooler that their skin, cooler than the heated and humid air of evening. The caverns host a myriad pools like these: cool, dark and still. At least two dozen assassins know of this respite, with a hundred or so other slaves who make the time to bathe in the springs.
They end up on opposing sides of a bigger pool this morning, eyes catching one another with understanding in their depths. She shakes her head and resolutely begins to float on her back, water filling her ears and deadening sounds. She lets the water hold her, each tense muscle group slowly releasing one at a time.
She knows he’s there, not entirely watching her so much as providing himself as a lookout. She appreciates the sentiment enough to only allow herself a moment to linger so exposed before surfacing. It’s the least she can do for him, to offer him the same courtesy as herself, to wash away the night before true dawn.
He nods and sets about some ritual only he knows, pouring water over his head through cupped palms. With each pass, he grows more and more pensive, pausing with each dip to murmur a few words. She doesn’t know what he’s saying, only that it seems a request to the Gods for a blessing, or perhaps forgiveness, a thought which she refuses to give much thought to.
An hour passes with them alternating their rest in the spring before they leave it again, returning to duty and a life that doesn’t belong to them. She presses her hand warm in his, just as quickly as she dares as they furtively enter the conspicuous halls of the upper floors. He tugs her into the barracks finally with a hiss of near-relief and a rough pat to her shoulder, devoid of any expression. She schools her face immediately, never doubting for a moment that they were being watched and internally cursing herself for letting her guard down as long as she did.
“Greetings, brothers.” A soft chorus of voices rings out the simultaneous greeting to the new entrants to the room. She and Dannaii quickly bat their wrist and fist to their chest in a salute and bow in respect to the occupants of the room.
“May the Noi show you favor, brothers. Greetings,” they reply, the rote words tumbling mindlessly from their lips in synchronization. Her eyes quickly skate around the room, noting the placement of her ‘brothers,’ her fellow slaves that have been blessed with the privilege of serving as the Noi’s special force.
“Inspections are near.” She gives them all a look, tamping down a wave of triumph followed by revulsion as she sees certain ones flinch. She can recall why, and wishes she didn’t.
She doesn't remember life before the Noi. She can remember something green and lush like the Noi's personal gardens. She thinks that's why he never gives her his latest instructions there. When she is in that place, she can almost remember the sound of a brook gurgling by while she rests her head in a plush lap. She can almost taste the greenness on her tongue, deformed as it has become here, the heady flavor of a flower she cannot remember.
The Noi told her about one task there, and hasn't deigned to audience her there since. She was young; she knows it must've been the first time she'd come into the Noi's presence. That heavy scent suited the powerful man, lounging in luxurious robes and surrounded by natural splendor unlike the rest of his arid empire. In her awe, she heard the word 'kill;' 'safety.’ In her fear, she heard him whisper of dark nights filled with nothing but his whims, his pleasures.
“Prove your worth to me. Prove that you are deserving of my mercies and my kindnesses. Kill one of your brothers. Show me you wish to be a tool of my pleasures, and not a receptacle. Kill one of your brothers, and you will have your safety.”
She sealed her fate with obeying that order. She reflects on that time when she allows herself the weakness, and remembers what he said. How, when given the choice between the unforgivable sin of murder, or serving his carnal pleasures at whim, what was one more dead slave? She'd secured herself something more than an empty existence as a bed slave.
There are times when the memories of before and of the meeting with the Noi become the same memory. Her head is on his lap, and she's nearly choking on the aromatic flora around them as he tells her precisely how she can be safe. How she can best please her master. She shudders and wakes in a cold sweat when she dreams thus, though the room is stifling against her skin. She can see against the inky black of a moonless sky, the dark expanse to the north and west of the walls of the city. She's privileged with the knowledge of the citadel, the ins and the outs of the labyrinthine roads. She could run, she thinks, back to somewhere that jogs her memory. Back to the grasslands she can almost recall as home.
She takes a deep breath, lungs catching as the dusty air rattles around her ribcage. She closes her eyes after a moment. Her lips move, forming words she doesn't even realize she's saying. "He is Master, and I am his tool. Whatever he commands, I obey. I serve at his pleasure. To serve means life. He is Master. I am a tool of his pleasure."
She comes to herself a moment after noticing the silence of the room, the exodus of her brothers a distant sense memory. She raises her eyes to Dannaii and nods her head sharply.
He returns the look, eyes wary but calm. “Come, brother. Dress to meet the day.” He gestures to the flat shelves beneath her bunk, and she nods, quietly refusing to speak anymore. She instead kneels at the side of her bed, hands finding the cloths of her station, the thin golden slippers that both exhibited and inhibited her walking. Each piece is a disguise, a mask for the day. A piece of costumery she is forced to wear as her insubstantial armor, her insufficient protection.
The tunic and short pants are soft and rough against her skin, the weave of fibers necessary for keeping her cool during the heat of the day. She can feel it catching against unseen rough patches, crude garments unseen by anyone else. She doesn’t halt, strapping on knives at her thighs, her waist, crosswise on her torso and back. The roughened areas of her undergarments chafe the skin beneath it, giving her cause to grimace as she stoops down again to gather the lengths of fabric she has to wrap around her.
The loose lengths wrapped around and between her legs, forming a sort of baggy pant around the short underwear and a loose cover for her weaponry. The material worked the same too, for her top, wrapping it around and over to lie loosely and delicately over the blades she kept hidden. For certainty, she whipped out blades from any number of places on her body, never catching the delicate and gauzy fabric on the sharp blades.
She paused a moment when it came to the slippers for her feet. She knows custom is that others would place them on her feet, twisting the golden fibers round and round until the bindings are nearly a piece of her foot. But as she sits there, she can’t bring herself to ask Dannaii to perform that service for her. She wonders what’s wrong with her, today of all days, that she cannot follow the rules.
She shakes her head and musters up the courage to look at Dannaii, who is just finishing wrapping his lower body in a similar fashion to her. “I would that you would help me, brother.” With his mercurial smile, he kneels before her, knotting and twisting her sandals with blessings for the Noi and charms for her life.
“You are precious, brother. The special possession of the Noi.” He bows the lowest bow of a slave, bent small on hands and knees. The heavy knot of hair at the midst of his back falls forward over his shoulder, tip barely dusting the floor. “I would that you should offer the same service towards your brother, brother mine.” She nods, setting about the task in a mirror of what he had done. She repeats the blessings with fervent zeal, the charms with utmost care. She returns his bow to him, her rank and his symbolized by the heavy fall of knotted hair over their shoulder.
She arises, her mind still in disorder, but steadied by the repetition, the routine of life here. What actions are between the dawns are solely hers and Dannaii’s, for they are from the same pod. She bites down on the tattooed web of skin on her left palm, a forcible reminder of what is happening.
“Come, brother. The others will return shortly. It is nearly time for inspections.”
She bobs her head in recognition and leaves her bunk in complete composure, the perfection of her bed a reflection of herself, in honor of the Noi.
