The Downs (3 page)

“Slowly,” the demon said, more to itself than Enitan. It sighed deeply. “So much hurt.”

Enitan was sleepy again, but he had so many questions. He fought to stay awake as the demon trailed its fingers rhythmically along his shoulders. “Wh-what—”

“Just healing. I do all the work. Your job is to relax and let yourself mend. That’s enough.”

It was tempting to obey. Whatever the demon’s eventual plans for him, thus far it hadn’t hurt him. Much the opposite, in fact— with every touch, the demon eased a bit more of his agony. He should enjoy it while it lasted, even if it meant that eventually his suffering would be increased.

“What’s your name?” the demon asked after a time.

Enitan briefly wondered if that knowledge would give the demon more power. But that seemed impossible— it already held all the power over him. “Enitan Javed.”

“Hello, Enitan Javed. I’m Rig.”

A strange name that didn’t sound demonic, and Rig’s soft chuckle seemed entirely human. “You’re the type who wants explanations, I can tell. They’ll come. But rest now.” The demon continued the soothing movements of his fingers as he spoke, and Enitan imagined he could feel the broken little bits of himself gradually coming back together.

“Demon,” Enitan mumbled, trying to remind himself.

Rig laughed again. “Not really.”

This time, Enitan fell asleep wondering about that strange denial.

****

He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Rig to turn cruel. But as the days passed, that never happened. Rig’s touches were always gentle, even when he tended to the torn tissues in the most private parts of Enitan’s body. He kept Enitan clean and warm, and he gave him water and tea, then rich broth, and eventually small spoonfuls of buttery mush. Rig hummed nearly all the time, but especially when he stroked Enitan’s skin; and his voice rumbled cheerfully when he spoke. But he answered few of Enitan’s questions. “Later. Now you concentrate on getting better.”

Rig kept saying that, and after a while, Enitan had to admit he was right. Enitan might have been doing nothing but lying there, yet it took enormous energy to knit shattered bones and ravaged skin. He slept almost all the time, yet when he was awake, he felt as if he’d been at hard labor.

Only after many days did Enitan realize that Rig slept in the same room, close enough to lay a hand on if Enitan awakened from discomfort or nightmares. And after this happened, Rig held a cup of water to his mouth, then matter-of-factly helped him piss into some kind of container. Finally he’d pet Enitan’s chest or shoulder or hip— singing his lullabies until Enitan fell back asleep.

Enitan stopped fearing Rig. Foolish, he knew, but a person could hold on to terror only so long, and his wounds were sapping most of his strength. He tried to picture Rig but was largely unsuccessful. He knew the demon was big— his hands were large and his body sounded heavy when he moved— but not inhumanly so. Fancifully, Enitan imagined him as a large cat, perhaps because his voice resembled a deep purr and he seemed capable of sheathing his claws. But beneath their beauty and soft fur, beneath their guise of sleepy contentment, cats were deadly creatures. Enitan would do well to remember that.

If other demons were nearby, Enitan never heard them. Sometimes Rig left him alone, but never for long. Did demons have jobs as people do? And if so, what was Rig’s? Aside from healing, apparently.

Although Enitan had never done much actual work, he hadn’t been the type to lie about in bed all day either. He liked to wander the city, to spar with fists or swords, to dance at the Bennu Club until nearly dawn. So as his pains ebbed away, he became restless, and visions of his sister’s mockery danced in front of his unseeing eyes. He tossed fitfully on his mat until Rig scolded him to remain still.

“I
can’t
,” Enitan said after Rig admonished him for the hundredth time. This wasn’t the kind of torture he’d expected to endure in the Downs, but it was torture nonetheless. He twitched as his nerves buzzed, vigorously but aimlessly.

Rig sat beside him with a sigh that had now become familiar. “You’re not an easy patient. You should be thankful you can move at all— and that you’re not just a pile of bones by now.” His words were slightly harsh, but as always, his tone was light. Amused.

“Gods, I can’t… Just
start
already.”

“Start what?”

“Whatever you’re going to do to me. The maiming and the torment and…” And that sounded faintly ridiculous, really.

Rig must have thought so too, because he gave his warm chuckle. “After I’ve spent so much time and work putting you back together, do you really think I’m eager to take you apart again?”

“What
do
you want, dammit?”

“For you to get better.” Another of Rig’s noisy sighs. “Would it help if you could see?”

Enitan had given up on regaining his sight. “Can I?”

“Not yet. When you fell, you… well, you damaged your eyes very badly. It happens. The fog is caustic. I’ve been trying to heal all your parts at once, but if I concentrate on your eyes today I should be able to remove the bandage by tonight. If I do that, will you promise to stop squirming so much?” Rig sounded so much like the teacher who’d bribed Enitan into learning to read, that Enitan almost smiled.

“All right,” he said.

The healing session that followed was intense. Rig rubbed his fingers over and over Enitan’s cheekbones, chanting in rhythm with the strokes. Enitan’s eyes prickled and burned, and he would have had a difficult time remaining still if Rig’s presence hadn’t been so soothing.
I shouldn’t be calmed by a demon
, he reminded himself. But he was. So much so that he allowed his mind to float loose from his body, wandering over pleasant memories of better times.

He thought especially about a man named Masozi. Several years earlier, Enitan had seen Masozi perform at the Bennu Club and had been immediately taken by the singer’s beautiful voice and handsome face. Enitan had done his very best to seduce Masozi, and soon he was getting private performances in his bed, Masozi gleaming with sweat as he fucked Enitan. They’d spent several weeks together, good weeks. Eventually Minna’s harsh words eroded Masozi’s patience. But until then, Enitan had learned that Masozi’s tongue was talented at many things besides singing.

“Well, one part of you is working well,” Rig said with a laugh.

Enitan was mortified to realize his dick had grown erect as he reminisced. He made a choked sound and tried to move away, but Rig held him in place.

“Stop. It’s a good thing. If your cock’s waking up, that’s a sign that your healing is progressing well.”

Not feeling especially appreciative, Enitan groaned. “But I don’t—”

“Here.” Rig let go of him and stepped away, returning a moment later to drape a large soft cloth over Enitan’s hips. “We’ll both pretend it’s an invisibility cloak. I can’t see a thing.” He resumed his tuneful attention to Enitan’s eyes.

What kind of demon made accommodations for his prisoner’s modesty? “I’m sorry,” Enitan murmured miserably.

“No need for it. I’d take it as a compliment, except I’m sure you weren’t thinking of me. Did you have a spouse?”

“No.”

“A lover, then?”

It was Enitan’s turn to sigh. “Not recently. I used to be… active. But I was arrested and…” And of course Rig
knew
that. They were in the Downs, after all, and Rig was a demon who preyed on condemned humans, who captured them and… and massaged them and sang them lullabies. Enitan sighed again.

Perhaps mistaking the reason for the sad exhalation, Rig clucked his tongue. “It’s better this way. It’s always harder when people grieve for the spouses they’ll never see again. Or children! That’s even worse.”

And then a very strange thought occurred to Enitan and he blurted it out before he could stop himself. “Are you married?” Demons probably didn’t marry, and even if they did, what should it matter to Enitan? 

Rig didn’t pause his healing caresses. “Not anymore. I had a husband, but he died.” For the first time since Enitan had been with him, Rig sounded unhappy.

“I’m sorry,” Enitan said— and he found himself sincere in the statement. It hadn’t occurred to him that demons might mourn.

“Thank you. But that is my trouble, not yours. You should sleep. And have good dreams.” By the sound of his voice, a smile had returned to his face. “When you wake up, we’ll see if you can see.” Then he began a song that was especially soporific, and Enitan slipped away.

****

Chapter Four

“The bandage. Please.” Enitan had tried to remove it himself as soon as he woke up, but his splinted arms didn’t allow it.

Rig had been busily clattering pots and pans, but now he came over and sat. “All right. But don’t expect your eyesight to be perfect right away. Things will be blurry. And if your eyes start hurting, let me know right away. We don’t want to strain them.”

“Fine, fine.” Enitan had given up wondering about the solicitous demon. He just wanted to see.

But Rig paused with his hands at Enitan’s temples. “When you see me… don’t be shocked.” He sounded worried, which was strange.

Enitan would have explored the thread of the conversation more fully, but he didn’t want to delay things. “Please,” he said. “The bandage.”

Moving slowly, Rig peeled the layers of soft cloth away, then removed the thick padding underneath. Enitan kept his eyes closed at first, but even through the lids he could discern light. He shuddered slightly with relief.

“All right?” asked Rig.

“Yes.” As much as he yearned for vision, it took all of Enitan’s will to open his eyes. In part this was because the unaccustomed light hurt, but mostly it was because he feared he’d discover he couldn’t see anything but indistinct light and shadow. Rig was waiting, however, and there was no point in putting off the inevitable. Gradually, Enitan raised his lids.

At first he saw nothing but vague blurs, and that terrified him. Only when they began to resolve into more definite shapes and his heartbeat slowed to more reasonable levels did he notice the heavy palm on his shoulder. Not hurting him, not pinning him in place. Just… there. Gentle but strong.

“Wood,” Enitan said. Because that was what the low ceiling was made of— rough planks traversed by heavy beams— and the walls as well. At home, he’d had a few pieces of furniture carved from the trunks of harpy trees, purchases Minna had thoroughly disapproved of. But he’d never imagined an entire room made of wood. The extravagance made him slightly dizzy. In the city, buildings were made from only stone and metal.

As he continued to look around, he saw that the room was small and sparsely furnished. A few pieces of clothing hung from hooks, while pots and dishes sat on shelves. Two crudely made stools accompanied a small table. There were no windows, but the door was slightly ajar, letting in the dim light of late evening. The rest of the room’s illumination came from some glowing coals nestled in a stone fireplace and from a single flickering lantern hanging from a roof beam.

The space was exotic but not frightening. It was hard to imagine anyone being tortured here. Maybe the demons took people someplace else for that.

Enitan finally screwed up his courage and turned his head to look at Rig. He gasped at what he saw. “You’re—”

“Hideous. I know.”

“—human,” Enitan finished. Because although one side of Rig’s face was badly scarred— the skin looked like wax melted by a fire— and although he was a very large man, broad-shouldered and muscular, there was no question that he was a
man
. He had dark unruly hair that curled a bit near his neck, wide brown eyes, and slightly uneven teeth. He wore coarse clothing in shades of brown, and a thick gold hoop dangled from one ear. Like the room, he was exotic, and his appearance was slightly alarming. But he was not a demon.

When Rig smiled, only the unburned side of his face lifted, but both his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Human.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have believed me?”

Enitan thought about this for a moment. “Probably not,” he admitted. He’d have considered it just another mysterious part of the demon’s diabolical game.

“I figured. And it wasn’t worth arguing over. Besides, I’m ugly enough to be a demon.”

“You’re not,” Enitan said. Rig snorted, but Enitan meant it. Honestly,
any
human face would have been beautiful at the moment— when he’d never expected to encounter another human and had doubted whether he’d see again at all. After so many days of Rig’s tender care, Enitan was inclined to view him as beautiful, scars or not. Besides, his eyes were warm and his crooked smile was endearing.

“Your vision’s obviously still blurry,” Rig said. He removed his hand from Enitan’s shoulder, stood, and walked to the fire. As Enitan watched, Rig added a few logs and poked the coals into flames.

“You’re burning wood!” Enitan exclaimed.

Rig grinned over his shoulder. “I’m making us dinner.”

“But… all that wood. Such an expense!” Usually Minna was the only one to fret over such things, but this was too much even for Enitan.

“Expense?” Rig’s laughter echoed loudly. “If there’s one thing we have here in abundance, it’s wood.”

Enitan licked his lips. “Where’s here?” he asked quietly.

Rig didn’t answer at once. He poured water from a large earthen pitcher into a pot, then hung the pot on a frame over the fire. He tossed some items that might have been vegetables into the water before adding what appeared to be a large chunk of meat still on the bone. Finally he sprinkled some herbs or spices into the mix, wiped his hands on a scrap of cloth, and turned to face Enitan.

“It won’t be ready for a while. You should sleep while you’re waiting.”

“Where’s
here
? And how did you get me out of the Downs? I fell. I know I fell.” He remembered the beginning all too well— the terror and the pain— but not the end.

“Yes, you fell. This
is
the Downs.”

Enitan’s stomach clenched. “So the demons will—”

“There
are
no demons. Just people. Some of us are better than others, and a lot of us are broken, but we’re as human as you are.”