Authors: Chris Williams
Demiourgos
Demiourgos
By Chris Williams
© Copyright 1998 Chris Williams
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
From the journal of Alethia Rose
For most of my young life, I was a slave. Mayhap that is a little off-putting; it would be simpler to say that I was a servant. The ebb and flow of my beginning years was little more than a minor footnote compared to my journey forward. Though in retrospect I have learned by deed and exploit that my time in the Pasha’s service aided me in that I was more prepared for social interaction and the outside world than I might have thought. I was taught how to sing, dance and entertain my former master’s guests and in doing so I learned how to work a crowd and interact with people. My adopted mother, who was my matron while I was indentured, tried to do all she could for me. But for all the things I learned there were dozens more tidbits that I did not know. Such is life; only the wise person knows they can never know enough.
Being a slave, while demeaning, had its benefits: a palatial home, steady food and water, protection and though I could go on that is more than enough for most people. Our world is harsh and unforgiving. To say that there is danger around every corner is an understatement that many have paid with their lives to prove. My first night of freedom was no exception. If anything it taught me that the old saying about keeping enemies and friends close to you never actually helps you define who, among your acquaintances, fits under which moniker. More times than not it is difficult to hide your surprise when someone you thought you knew changes sides without warning.
Those precious few that stand by your side unwavering as the waves of fate crash upon your proverbial shore are the ones you must hold on to with everything you have. Those that have had the misfortune of standing by my side (My waves are significantly larger than most!) have faithfully given me everything they have and more. Ninanthia was the first; the yellow-haired elf girl that initially taught me how to use rudimentary magic and gave me my freedom. I suppose that is the best way to begin our tale.
I intend this recollection to be more of a reflection of the profound effect I have had on this world and vice versa. My life has the proclivity for extremes: so as such I will spare you the boring details. I escaped my former life without warning and from the lavish life of a pampered pet I was thrust into the world in the same manner a newborn baby is. Kicking, screaming and covered with blood.
A candle flickered silently near her head and she glanced at it with a passing interest. It was a hot night in the middle of summer and the desert heat could be felt even through the walls of the palatial manor she called her home. Her short and so
ft fur was meticulously groomed but regardless of the heat it did not hinder her. Her people, being from the hotter climes, had long since gotten used to extreme temperatures. The coat was a tawny golden color which was a rare but not unknown hue among the naarabi. Her eyes were almond-shaped with a blue base tone and gold flecks with a slit down the center. She had a short muzzle and her face was a fine-featured cross somewhere between a jackal and a feline.
Her body was shapely and lithe covered by a thin but fine-trimmed white gown reserved for the master’s concubines. It did little to cover or conceal leaving her stomach open and the skirt showing much of her thighs. Her hair was long and supple, a few shades darker than her coat; a servant groomed it daily because her master enjoyed his girls clean and tidy. Aside from a few rings she wore the only other decoration was a golden chain that went from one ring on her pierced ear to another in her nose. That short but priceless chain dangled across her cheek but never usually got in her way. Over the years her master had given her a few small jewels to hang from the fine-woven golden trinket; it was one of her prized possessions though she had gone through a lot of pain while getting used to it. Her body healed fast and as such it had rejected the metal time and time again until finally she had adjusted properly to the foreign substance.
Alethia Rose sighed softly as she watched the flame of the candle skip and writhe like an exotic dancer in a tavern out in the city, a city she had never seen but had read about over and over again. From the day she was born she had been a slave, sold to her master in exchange for her mother’s own freedom. At least that is the story she had been told. Part of her wanted to scream and thrash lashing out at the nearest person when she thought about her plight but on the other hand she was a pampered slave not an indentured servant. Other than dealing with the master’s needs every now and again she really had nothing else to worry about. She had food, a bed, and roof above her head that was the envy of many.
Of all the girls she was her master’s favorite, she knew this because of the treatment she received. She was his prized treasure. Her master had never shared her with another man, and he would take her to his room instead of using the harem room. After her duties he would fall fast asleep leaving her awake and perusing through the many volumes in his library. She was quite sure he didn’t know she read his books while he was asleep but she was surprised that he trusted her enough to fall asleep at all. It was a vulnerable state that few would show in the harsh world they lived in.
Books were a rare and exotic treasure. The pages within had to be made of skins, bone, or other strange mediums. But to her the books were more than a treasure; they were a means of escape, a source of vast knowledge. A few of the books her master possessed were parchment or paper which could not be had unless one possessed a king’s fortune. The nights she spent in her master’s chambers reading by the light of a single candle were the happiest memories of her simple life. It was easy for her mind to slip away into the great beyond when she was wandering the pages of a fanciful tale or reading about the harsh environment around them. Even daydreaming about losing herself in those pages took her away from the room she sat in for at least a few moments.
The walls around her were cold in nature not in temperature and pale white. The same shadows cast by her candle danced and played against the tapestries and curtains that her master had handpicked himself. The gaudy purple dyes were rare, made from crushed insects and flowers. He seemed to favor anything rare and exotic. Her people were exotic if not unknown in the world and she knew not why. All she had were stories and tall tales told by the people around her, and a good number of those tales were whimsical and hard to believe.
Pillows and expensive blankets lined the floor; her favorite was an old blue pillow by the window where one of the candles was usually placed. She liked having a little bit of light even at night, for some reason she couldn’t fathom she was afraid of the dark. She had been since she was a little girl even though everyone had told her she was silly for fearing something so inane. Another glance at the candle by the whitewashed wall told her that her light source was fast waning. She sighed softly and pursed her thin lips, blowing enough to put it out. Once it was out she was shrouded in the gloom of the night with the only light being the rays of the red moon flowing into the window like a stream cutting through an unlit cavern. It was the hunter’s moon she was told. This moon wasn’t full often, once or twice a year at most but that was a good thing. It was said that awful things happened when the hunter’s moon was full.
A shiver hit her spine and she was thankful that she was inside and away from that red illumination. She couldn’t help but stare out at it though as her mind wandered more. The other girls called her a dreamer, a runaway mind with nowhere to go. She didn’t care though; she had her little moments of freedom when she forgot where she was and the fact that she was a slave. Among the rhythmically breathing bodies around her there was nothing but still, silent, unforgiving darkness. Rose looked on as the candle her master had given her began to recollect and reform itself to its original shape.
The wax was special made from the insides of a resurrection beetle, a large insect that could recover from almost any wound. Rose had also read that the wax was made from the tallow of a creature called a Nokk, dangerous beasts that hid underneath the sand waiting to snatch prey that wandered by. Thinking of the hulking muscles and sharp fangs of the dog-like beast made her shiver involuntarily. She was thankful that by morning she would have a whole candle once more. It would be good to attempt to sleep before the sun began to peer into the windows so she sat up and closed her eyes, folding her arms across her lap.
It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep; it never did as long as she could remember. A familiar blue haze drifted around her as she entered her usual trance. Her people didn’t sleep like humans or dwarves. Once her consciousness began to drift it entered a place that she called the plane of dreams, it was a place of silence and solitude, where she could be alone and free. As usual she was sitting cross-legged with her eyes staring out into the vast nothingness of the cloudy blue expanse. The drifting currents and eddies of the mist hovered around her like sprites at play. People around her showed up as points of light among the vast nothing.
~~~~
Morning came quickly and she opened her eyes to find many of the girls already up and about lounging around on the plush embellishments of the harem room. Blinking a few times in the daybreak light she stood and stretched out languidly working all the unused muscles in her body. Her morning ritual was something she practiced every day obediently; it consisted of several exercises she used to keep herself in shape. The strict diet they were kept on helped all the girls stay healthy but Rose cared enough to try and improve upon that with some exercise. Her muscles, while not visible underneath her fur, were very well maintained and defined. Many of the girls did not like her because they said she was a natural beauty.
Rose had never been vain but she appreciated the fact that she was pretty. Her appearance was what made her the master’s favorite after all. It was strange; he didn’t use her often because he was afraid of marring her in some way, by his own word. Suddenly she remembered something important. Today was her birthday, her eighteenth year in the world by human terms. It felt like another day to her so she shook that out of her mind and sighed softly.
“Rose, be wary love.” A sultry voice from behind her issued forth and caused her to jump. “Some of the girls here have designs against your blood this day.”
“My blood?” She turned around and faced the speaker. She had raven black hair touched with white streaks; her nearly flawless skin was marked with a few wrinkles. Even with that in mind she didn’t think it detracted from the older woman’s appearance. She wore a red shift similar to the one Rose wore. She was the oldest woman in the harem and the current matron of them all. Maudette was skilled in many ways. She had a wonderful singing voice, she could dance with unmatched prowess, and she had a good hand at painting. “I don’t understand matron.”
“Today is your birthday. It is said that if one drinks the blood of a naarabian girl when she reaches her maturity the imbiber will receive long life.” Maudette turned her gaze aside and sighed softly, rubbing her arms as if she had a chill. “Rose, darling I have been trying to keep you out of the politics of our little group but it is becoming harder and harder. There may come a time when I cannot protect you.”
“I am not afraid matron.” Rose said matter-of-factly as she scanned the room and found three familiar pairs of eyes nearly boring a hole in her unclad back. The three girls were Neeshka, Koral and Vishna and they had long since declared war on Rose though the reason still escaped her. They had bullied her since she was a little girl, even going as far as to cut her face once with a knife a servant had brought in. Thankfully for Rose naarabians healed very fast. They were all young and though she resented the incident she had refrained from telling her master, Rose knew the punishment for such actions. She knew the three of them would be put to death for damaging the master’s prize. “They can do nothing to me that I cannot recover from, nor do I think they would try. The master would be very cross if I informed him that they had harmed me in some way.”
“I find it quite odd that anyone would want to drink the blood of another.” Rose made a face that left no speculation on her distaste and clucked her tongue once. “I suppose it would be hard for me to understand since my lifespan far outstrips theirs.”
“That it does.” Maudette’s face hinted at a flash of regret or envy but she quickly wiped it clear and smiled broadly for Rose. She loved the innocent but intelligent girl like she loved her own daughter. Her eyes flicked over to the trio fleetingly and she wondered where she had gone wrong with the dark-minded Neeshka. “Have a care today or you may end up giving Vishna a reason to hurt you.”
“I do not fear her.” Rose said with a shrug.
“I would give of my blood to you if you ask matron.” Rose said softly as she bowed her head to the only woman she could call mother. From the time she had been introduced into the master’s harem to this day Maudette had protected and guided her along the right path. She couldn’t feel a closer connection to anyone.
“Rose.” Maudette said softly as she put a hand over her mouth to stop from bursting into tears. She wrapped the young girl in a tight hug regardless of the evil look she got from her blood-related daughter. “My little desert rose you need not give me anything but your love. I have raised you as I have raised my own daughter yet you are the only one that feels to me as a true daughter should.”
“You honor me.” Rose said softly into the sweet-smelling mane of her mother’s thick black hair. For a moment she felt happy and that sense of freedom came but reality was flung back at her hard as a granite slab when the groomers entered the chamber. Rose didn’t need to have much grooming done; she didn’t sweat as humans did to release heat. Her body actually absorbed little heat and what it did absorb was not enough to cause her discomfort. She usually allowed the servants to undress her and brush and comb her hair and fur without protest anyway. Bathing was a rare treat that she wallowed in when she was allowed. The palace’s water supply was ample but not enough to indulge in full bathing often.
That never stopped her from watching the humans run wet sponges across their body scented with various oils fashioned after flowers and other pleasant odors. Her senses were keen so she always attempted to stay away from the buckets of water because of the strong odor that followed them around. It never bothered the humans but the books she read had told her that the human olfactory system wasn’t as advanced as most animals on the world.
Rose’s time came quicker than usual so she disrobed, letting her thin one-piece clothing spill into a pool of white fabric around her feet. Once she was nude she looked down at her body all the way to her feet. One toe on each foot had a golden ring and on the corresponding fingers she had another, similar golden ring emblazoned with her master’s sigil. Her mind began to wander again as she sat on her favorite pillow and allowed the lower level slaves to brush her hair and body. What could be seen of her skin, which wasn’t much, was a dark almost black color and it stood out as small dusky points as opposed to her golden fur.
The feeling of the brush on her had irritated her at first but she had gotten used to it over time with the encouragement of the Maudette. They had also gotten a brush with fine bristles so it didn’t rub her skin as hard, another gift from the matron. She smiled a little as she thought of Maudette again. She had always been so kind to Rose and had never asked for anything in return. That fact taunted her slightly, she always felt that she owed the matron a debt of gratitude; she had even asked if the older woman had wanted something in return. She had been rebuked time and time again.
After her fur had been brushed and her hair cared for and cleaned properly the old female slave that was taking care of her began styling her hair in a different manner than usual. Arching an eyebrow but obediently keeping her head still she waited for the result. She felt the old lady with the skilled fingers flip and twist her long hair a few times then push it upward and fiddle with one of the decorated bone sticks that she held in her mouth. Once all that was done the slave held up a polished metal mirror and smiled.