The Skull Throne (9 page)

There were others on his temples, right where he had squeezed Ashia. Her eyes flickered over his body, following the lines that connected the points. There were many convergences, some great and some small. Enkido next moved to a bruise on her lower back. She twisted to better see, but she had already seen its tattooed mate on Enkido’s back.

She knew even before the eunuch began to work that her legs would soon be full of pins and needles as well.

He’s teaching,
she realized.
The very lines on his body are the sacred text.

She looked up at Enkido, and his face as he massaged her injury seemed almost one of kindness. She reached out, tentatively touching the convergence point on Enkido’s back. “I see it now. I understand, and will tell the others … master.”

Enkido bent toward her. For a moment she thought she was imagining it. But no. He held it too long.

Enkido bowed to her, as a teacher to a pupil, before scooping her up in his arms and carrying her, gentle as a babe, to the warm mass where her cousins slept. He laid her there, and brushed gentle fingertips over her eyelids, closing them for her.

Ashia did not resist, putting her arms protectively about her cousins and falling into a deep sleep.

They woke with a start. Enkido might be mute, but he could still bring thunder from the polished ram’s horn at his lips. It felt like the very walls were shaking. The girls shrieked and covered their ears, but the noise did not cease until they were on their feet. Ashia had no idea what time it was, but they must have slept for hours. She felt refreshed, if still sore.

The eunuch replaced the horn on the wall and handed them each a towel, silently leading the way from his training room to the bath. They walked in a line, but Ashia stole glances back at her cousins. Shanvah’s face was frozen, thoughts far away. Sikvah walked with a limp, drawing sharp breaths as they went down a series of steps.

As before, Enkido waited outside as they entered the dressing chamber. They could hear the trickle of the fountains while they unwove their bidos, but it was otherwise quiet. Indeed, they found the bath empty.

Shanvah and Sikvah looked about nervously, dwarfed by the great chamber. Ashia clapped her hands, drawing their attention. “Nie’Damaji’ting Melan said we were to have an hour a day in the bath. Let us not waste it.” She waded out into the water, leading them to the largest, most central fountain. There were benches of smooth stone at the base where bathers could lie, immersing themselves in the hot flow.

Sikvah groaned as she lay in the steaming water. “There, sister,” Ashia said, coming to her side to inspect the bruise on her thigh, gently massaging as Enkido had done. “The bruise is not great. Let the hot water soak the pain, and it will heal quickly.”

“There will be others,” Shanvah said, her voice flat and lifeless. “He will never stop.” Sikvah shuddered, her skin pimpling even in the warm air.

“He will,” Ashia said, “when we solve the riddle.”

“Riddle?” Shanvah asked.

Ashia pointed to the bruise on her shoulder. Shanvah had a matching one, As did Sikvah. “There is a mark just like this on the master’s flesh. When struck, the arm dies for a time.”

Sikvah began to cry again.

“But what does it mean?” Shanvah asked.

“A
dama’ting
mystery,” Ashia said. “Melan said we were to learn
sharusahk.
The Riddle of Enkido is a part of it, I’m sure.”

“Then why give us a teacher who cannot speak?” Sikvah demanded. “One who … who …” She sobbed again.

Ashia squeezed her thigh reassuringly. “Fear not, cousin. Perhaps this is simply the way. Our brothers all came back from
sharaj
with
sharusahk
bruises. Why should we be different?”

“Because we’re not boys!” Shanvah shouted.

Just then, the doors opened and the three girls froze. A group of Betrothed entered, led by Amanvah.

“Perhaps not,” Ashia said, drawing the other girls’ eyes back to her. “But we are blood of the Deliverer, and there is nothing common boys can endure that we cannot.”

“You’re using our fountain,” Amanvah called as she and the others strode over. She pointed to a small fountain at the far end of the pool. “Black bidos wash over there.”

The other
nie’dama’ting
laughed at that, squawking like trained birds. Amanvah was only eleven, but girls years her senior, some close to taking the white veil themselves, deferred to her, eager to curry favor.

Sikvah’s leg had gone tense, and Ashia could sense Shanvah, too, was ready to bolt like a hare.

“Pay the chatter no mind, little cousins,” Ashia said. “But come.” She took each of them by an arm, pulling them gently to their feet and ushering them away while she glared at Amanvah. “A smaller fountain and the laughter of girls is a cheap price for our hour of peace.”

“Not girls,” Amanvah said, grabbing Ashia’s arm. “
Nie’dama’ting.
Your betters. Something you’d best learn.”

“Why are you doing this?” Ashia demanded. “We are cousins. Our blood is your blood. Blood of the Deliverer.”

Amanvah pulled at Ashia’s shoulder, at the same time sliding a leg behind hers. Ashia was thrown into her cousins, the three of them falling to the water with a splash.

“You are nothing,” Amanvah said when they came sputtering out of the water. “The Deliverer has spoken, sending you here in black. You are the products of his useless,
dal’ting
sisters, fit for breeding wolves to run the Maze and nothing else. Your blood is not holy, and you are no cousin of mine.”

Ashia felt her sense of calm slip away. She was two years older than Amanvah, bigger and stronger, and she would not be bullied by her younger cousin.

She struck the water, sending a splash that Amanvah instinctively threw a hand up to shield from her face. Quick as an asp, Ashia darted in and struck, fingers bunched and stiffened, for the point on her shoulder where Enkido’s tattoo had been. The place she and all her cousins carried bruises.

Amanvah gave a shrill, satisfying cry as she fell onto her backside in the water. The other girls froze, no one sure how to react.

Amanvah’s eyes were wide as she stared at her numb, lifeless arm. Then she scowled, rubbing at the spot until the numbness faded. She flexed her arm experimentally, and it responded, if slowly.

“So Enkido has managed to teach you something of
sharusahk
already,” Amanvah said, getting to her feet and taking the same stance Enkido had demonstrated the day before. She smiled. “Come, then. Show me what you have learned.”

Ashia already knew what was coming, and steeled herself.
If the Sharum can endure this, then I can as well.

The thought calmed her a bit, but did nothing to shield her from the pain as Amanvah administered the beating. She flowed around Ashia’s punches as if she were standing still, and her own strikes were quick and precise, twisting and jabbing points meant to deliver maximum pain. When she tired of the game, she easily grappled Ashia to the pool floor, twisting her arm so far Ashia feared she might break it off. She struggled to keep her head above water, and knew, to her shame, that if the younger girl wished to drown her, there was nothing she could to do stop her.

But Amanvah was content with pain, pulling at Ashia’s arm until she had screamed herself hoarse.

At last Amanvah let her go, dropping her with a splash. She pointed to the small fountain. Her eyes taking in all three of her cousins.

“To your kennel,
nie’Sharum’ting
dogs.”

The horn sounded, and Ashia was on her feet before her mind was fully awake. She crouched in a defensive stance, presenting as low a profile as possible as she scanned for the threat.

No attack came. Enkido casually replaced the horn on the wall while the girls stood at the ready. There were five of them now, her cousins Micha and Jarvah joining them not long after the Damajah gave them to Enkido. The new girls were years younger, but seemed to adapt to Enkido’s world the faster for it, and for the example Ashia set.

For months, Enkido’s training room had been the center of their world. They slept and ate there, meals and rest earned only with pain. Lessons always ended with one of the girls nursing numbed limbs or worse maladies. Sometimes they could not smell. Other times deaf for hours. None of the effects was permanent.

If he was pleased with them, Enkido would massage and stretch away their pain, restoring lost limbs and senses, speeding healing.

They learned quickly that hard work pleased him. And stubborn resolve. A willingness to continue even when hurt or in pain. Complaints, begging, and disobedience did not.

They had not been allowed a full sleep since that first night. Twenty minutes here, three hours there. The eunuch would wake them at odd hours and expect them to perform complex
sharukin,
or even spar. There seemed no pattern to it, so they learned to sleep when they could. The perpetual state of exhaustion made the first weeks seem a blurred dream.

Lessons with the
dama’ting
came and went like mirages in the desert. They obeyed the Brides of Everam without question. Enkido always knew if they had displeased one of the women in white, and made it known without words why the mistakes should never be repeated.

I would kill for a full sleep,
Shanvah’s fingers said.

Most of the lessons the
dama’ting
gave were of little interest to the girls, but the secret code of the eunuchs, a mixture of hand signs and body language, had been embraced fully. Complex conversations could be had in code as easily as speech.

Enkido gave occasional commands or bits of wisdom in code, but the eunuch still preferred to silently teach by example, forcing them to guess the full meaning for themselves. Sometimes days went by without a word in code.

But while it did little to foster communication with their master, it had become their primary means of communication with one another. Enkido, it turned out, was not deaf. Quite the contrary, the slightest whisper could bring pain and humiliation that kept the girls silent in his presence. Ashia was sure he had caught them speaking in code more than once, but thus far he had chosen to ignore it.

As would I,
Ashia’s fingers replied, shocked to find she truly meant it.

I haven’t the strength to kill,
Sikvah said.
Without sleep, I may die.
As usual, Micha and Jarvah said nothing, but they watched the conversation closely.

You won’t die,
Ashia replied.
As the master taught me to survive on shallow breaths, so too is he teaching us shallow sleep.

Shanvah turned to meet her eyes.
How can you know that?
her fingers asked.

Trust your elder, little cousins,
Ashia replied, and even Shanvah relaxed at that. Ashia could not explain, but she had no doubt of the master’s intent. Sadly, understanding did not give her endurance. That had to be earned.

There was an unexpected reprieve as Enkido made his most beloved gesture, pointing toward the towels. They must have slept longer than they thought. All five girls had a spring in their step as they collected their towels and lined by the door. The eunuch dismissed them with a wave.

Twenty hours a day with Enkido, as the Damajah commanded. Three more studying with the
dama’ting.
And that one, blessed hour between, when they were in the baths. The one place Enkido could not follow. The one hour they could speak freely, or close their eyes without permission. Showing submission to the
nie’dama’ting
was a small price for the peace.

The Betrothed sneered at them in the baths, the halls, at lessons, laughing at the
nie’Sharum’ting,
as Amanvah had dubbed them
.
The black bidos forever marked Ashia and her cousins from the other girls in the palace. Even the
dal’ting
girls sent to learn pillow dancing seemed above them. They were allowed to keep their hair, and not beaten for their errors.

Ashia and her little cousins had learned to keep quiet and to themselves, passing unnoticed whenever possible, showing submission when not.

As usual, they were the first to the baths. The
nie’dama’ting
would not arrive for a quarter hour, but Ashia led them directly to the small fountain at the edge of the pool, even though the water was not as hot, so far from the wards that heated it. There they washed the sweat from their skin, and helped one another massage sore muscles, sand calluses, and treat blistered skin. Enkido’s lessons on massage and healing were invaluable in the baths.

There was a shout as the doors opened. The
nie’dama’ting
entered in a knot, and clearly a confrontation was going on at their center.

Ashia was not fool enough to stare, but she casually sat atop the fountain, right by the flow of water, to grant a better view from the side of her eyes. Wordlessly, her cousins did the same, pretending to groom one another as they watched.

This was not the first time they had witnessed the Betrothed fighting. They called one another sister, but there was little love among them, each vying for influence over the others and the favor of Amanvah. Outside, they used debate and logic, but in the privacy of the baths, where the Brides of Everam would not see, they were as apt to use cutting words, or even
sharusahk.

The argument was between two older girls, Jaia and Selthe. They seemed ready to come to blows, but both glanced first to Amanvah, seeking favor.

Amanvah turned her back on them, giving them permission to fight. “I see nothing.”

The other Betrothed did the same, repeating the words and turning their backs until the older girls faced each other alone.

Who will take the match?
Ashia’s fingers asked.

Selthe,
Sikvah answered without hesitation.
It is said she will soon finish her dice and take the white.

She will lose, and badly,
Ashia disagreed.