Woman of Silk and Stone (9 page)

He matched my glare for a moment, and I
could feel the tension in the room rise to an almost unbearable
level as the crowd waited to see if Efrim would push the matter,
but after a subtle nod in my direction, he turned his corkscrew
smile on the king.

"As you wish,
Ensi
Tam. I am certain your judgment is perfect in this case." Efrim
turned and waved a dismissal at the gawking nobles, seemingly
oblivious to the complacent smirks on several faces. Clearly not
everyone was an Efrim fan.

"Honey Sullivan, we will speak again soon. I
look forward to educating you in the ways of the court," Efrim
gritted out, a saccharine smile twisting his long, skinny face.

"And I look forward to discussing my role
here in Solis,
Sukkall
Efrim. I have no
doubt we will have many things to say to one another." An answering
smile stretched my face and my nerves to the tipping point. With a
final glare of irritation, Efrim swept away down the hall, his
opulent robes trailing behind him.

Just like Jafar. Uncanny.

I could feel Tam relax at my side and in
that moment, despite my exhaustion and the need to sob hysterically
for several hours, I determined what my role in Solis would be. I
was clearly brought here to help this poor boy-king and keep
Jafar's evil twin from taking over the throne. For the first time I
could see a glimmer of hope in my new situation. I might not have
gotten to be a campaign manager for the next president back home,
but I could be a powerful force of change for a fledgling king in
this world.

"Honey, you are staying in the
Halqu
chambers, just down the hall from my own. Hili
will help you adjust to court life, and will oversee the servants
in getting you proper attire. I'm...I'm glad you're here, Honey,"
Tam said, blushing.

I smiled warmly at him, feeling comforted by
his honest statement of welcome, and gave a little bow. "Thank you
Ensi
Tam. I hope we speak again soon."

With that, hesitant little Hali straightened
her shoulders, bearing the importance of her new position with
grace, and she gestured for me to follow her. The crowd parted,
nodding heads at me in greeting as I passed by. I managed to return
the nods and keep my head held high, though all my bravado was
beginning to bleed away, leaving me feeling hollow and exposed. I
followed Hali through one of the many doors in the honeycomb room
and down a hallway, up some stairs, and down another hallway,
listening to her chatter nervously the whole way, pointing out
various rooms and their uses. I hoped she was going to show me
around again when I was more aware, or I would never find my way
again.

At long last we paused at door and Hali
bowed her head respectfully. "These are the chambers reserved for
the resident
Halqu
. They were prepared for
you the moment your presence was reported, Honey Sullivan of
Earth," my guide said proudly.

"Call me Honey," I said absently as she
opened the door.

Now this was worth waiting for.

I sat on the edge of the bed, running my
hands over the glossy strands of the blanket beneath me. It was
made out of something similar to angora; most likely a product of
the silky grass on which I had landed upon my arrival. Closing my
eyes, I sank my fingers into the luxurious fabric, allowing the
lavishness of my surroundings to ease some of my stress.

The room was gorgeous. It was twice the size
of my tiny apartment back in D.C., with a tiled mosaic fireplace;
giant, couch-sized pillows huddled together before the inviting
warmth. Thick, sumptuous rugs were scattered about the room, and
glimpses of warm mahogany floors made the bright colors of the
rugs' weaving stand out. The entire room followed a color scheme
reminiscent of the landscape; stunning blues and purples were
countered by gold and green accents, and tapestries depicting Halqu
being welcomed to Solis adorned soft butter-hued walls.

Bookshelves covered one entire wall, and to
my delight, I was able to read the few books I had picked up as
though they were written in English. Some of the phrasing was
unfamiliar, and there were words I didn't understand, but I could
read enough to appreciate the books' subject material. They seemed
to be journals written by previous Halqu, many of the spines worn
and pages turned down. It was kind of reassuring to think that I
was only one in a line of many individuals who had been dropped
unceremoniously into this world, who had sat on this very bed,
feeling the same overwhelming sense of displacement as I did now.
Some of the entries I had glanced through detailed months of
painful recovery from the journey between worlds, so I counted
myself lucky that, for whatever reason, I had been healed from the
trauma so quickly.

There was a small pantry-like room off on
the far side of the bookshelves, and I was delighted to find a
store of crackers and pale, thin cookies that reminded me of
rice-cakes, as well as jugs of wine and water. Clearly I wasn't to
eat my meals in this room, but I wouldn't starve if I didn't come
out either. The bathroom was glorious, carved out of what seemed to
be one great cave of sand-colored marble. Strains of glimmering
amber wove through the stone, catching the firelight from a second,
smaller fireplace, encasing the room in a jeweled glow. A toilet
similar to the one in Damki's spa waited behind a blue wooden
partition painted with images of thin, tan people bathing.
Stretched along one wall, a long mahogany table was covered with
perfume bottles, scented oils, soaps, lotions, and other toiletries
I couldn't wait to get my hands on.

A bathtub that seemed to be carved out of
the same piece of marble as the rest of the room took up a good
quarter of the space; it was big enough for three or four people at
once, and was deep enough to cover my hips while standing. A short
staircase led in and out of the tub so I wouldn't have to employ
any gymnastics to maneuver it, and a soft glow seemed to emanate
from the stone, as though it were lit from within.

I had noticed that there didn't seem to be
any signs of electricity in use here, but Solis apparently utilized
a different means of lighting. There were torches and candles
aplently, but placed strategically around the rooms were fist-sized
stones that shone without heat and emitted a gentle ambient light
that was rather soothing. I wasn't sure if it was a natural
property of the stone or some kind of magic, but I was glad I
wouldn't be dependent on candles for light.

Hali had shown me the splendor in which I
was to live, her voice gaining strength and confidence as she
observed my wide-eyed awe. I barely took any of it in initially,
longing for the moment when I might be alone to try and regain some
of my equilibrium.

By the time Hali left, promising to return
for me in a few hours for the evening meal, my level of
functionality resembled that of a twenty-four year old zombie. She
seemed a bit worried to leave me, asking if I wanted a servant to
help me bathe or just generally hover around getting in the way,
but I declined. I knew there was an explosion of emotion coming
soon, and I really didn't want some poor innocent getting caught in
the blast.

So there I sat, running my fingers along the
softest coverlet on the biggest, fluffiest bed I could imagine, in
the middle of my own "special" chambers in a spectacular palace in
an enchanted kingdom, and all I could think of was my tiny desk in
my microscopic cubicle in a cramped office in D.C.

With a great shuddering sigh, I finally, and
for the last time, allowed myself to acknowledge that life as I
knew it was over. Everything started anew here; I couldn't carry my
old insecurities with me into this brave new world, or expect
things to work the same, or to even understand the motivations of
those around me.

And I gave myself a moment to realize that
despite my mostly aloof relationship with my parents, I would never
see them again, and they would never know what happened to me.

The tears came swiftly then, a rising tide
of grief and resignation that far overwhelmed any antipathy I
usually felt towards my mother and father. They had been a
predominately indifferent presence in my life, not cruel or
abusive, but detached, and perversely, the times they actually paid
attention to me, I wished for them to leave me alone. Still, for a
moment I permitted myself to remember the trip to Jekyll Island
when I was twelve, the only time I ever travelled with my
parents.

Mom and Dad were, if such a thing is
possible, aristocratic hippies. The offspring of two prominent
political activists from the 1960s, my parents had an inherited
sense of responsibility for the progression of mankind, the
environment, wheatgrass, and a number of other worthy causes, none
of which included hands-on parenting.

They used to do community building workshops
all across the country and, oddly enough, in India, but they never
took me along. I was always a distraction because I wasn't
enthusiastic about the role of pamphlet passer-outer; silly me, I
was more interested in playing with other kids or trying to find
some structure to mold my life around. Usually I was left behind
with one of Dad's interns as a nanny, but for this one week in
Jekyll Island, my parents couldn't find anyone to watch me. So I
went along.

It was the best week of my life.

There was a hurricane warning, so the
workshop was cancelled and we were stranded on the island for
almost the entire week. The weather was insane, the winds flinging
debris all over the island, making it virtually impossible to leave
the hotel. And so my parents, who probably only saw me a few days
out of every month, were forced to spend six straight days alone
with me.

For the first time in my memory, we laughed
together. We played stupid board games and Charades and made up
songs. Mom showed me how to weave friendship bracelets, while Dad
showed me how to play guitar. It was the only time in my life where
I really felt part of a family, and despite the disappointment that
nearly shattered me when we returned home and everything went back
to normal, that week always stood out as a shining example that
somewhere, buried deep beneath their casual absenteeism, my parents
loved me.

So I wept for that twelve year old child who
would never have a chance to find out if that magic time could be
resurrected. I wept for the girl who would never show them that she
could accomplish something of worth, something to be proud of. I
wept for the woman who would never have a chance to reconcile,
never have the chance to introduce them to what a real family
should be like.

And I wept for the part of me that would
never recover from losing my only family, no matter how distant, as
surely as though a great tidal wave had risen up and swept them
away.

What a beautiful room I had now.

What a beautiful room.

In a day of incredibly disturbing events,
the most unsettling yet came while I was getting ready for
dinner.

I had just washed my face, getting rid of
most of the makeup Damki and her helpers had worked so hard on.
Some part of me was hoping that my changed appearance was due to
their ministrations, that when I wiped away the lip stain and eye
shadow, my familiar be-freckled skin would be hiding there
underneath.

I hardly looked any different; perhaps less
dramatic without the enhancements the makeup provided, but if
anything, my naked skin seemed more porcelain, the hue delicate and
pearl-toned. My eyes still carried what seemed to me an unnatural
energy, a luminescence that was both appealing and unnerving.

Suddenly I was so angry at the turn of
events, at the fact that I couldn't even keep my plain old green
eyes that I struck out at the stone wall by the mirror, smashing
the fist of my right hand into the marble with enough force to
break bone.

To my utter astonishment, instead of
unbearable pain in my hand, there was a mild vibration that
traveled up my arm and a hairline fracture radiated in the stone
where I struck, spreading out vein-like up the wall. I stared in
numb confusion as the implications set in and then began gasping
air in and out of my lungs as though I had just run a marathon.

Trembling violently, I examined my right
hand, expecting to see the bones shattered, the skin red and
bruised, some sign that I had just driven my fragile hand into a
wall.

The skin was red and angry, the knuckles
scraped raw from the force of the blow. I could feel the sting, but
it was no worse than if I had road-burn. I could still feel a faint
vibration running up my arm, as though I had swung a bat or a
hollow pipe at the wall rather than my own hand, but there was no
indescribable pain, no sense that I had done major trauma to the
small bones of my hand.

It was hard to tell, but I thought as I
pressed on the skin of my right arm, it seemed as though there were
something hard beneath it; rather than the yield of soft muscle, my
skin was stretched over something firm all the way up to my
shoulder. My left arm felt as it always had, even if the skin was
smoother than it ever had been, despite the small fortune I spent
on moisturizer.

As I stood staring, waiting for pain to set
in, incapable of believing the damage was as mild as it appeared,
the faint traces of bloody scrapes on my knuckles dwindled and
scabbed over. My breath came in shallow gasps as I saw every trace
of injury fade from my hand, leaving behind only what small amount
of blood I had shed. Within minutes, the skin was whole and
perfect, and a faint, dull ache in my arm that I hadn't really
registered dissolved into nothing.