A/N This is another Kire story. I've been writing him for over 7 years and he always vies for my attention. I'm hoping to finish this and the Giver of Life stories and may go back and clean up A Heart that Waits. Thanks!
Of Persia
Before I ever stepped foot in the desert, there were rumors of my existence—or so I was told. Perhaps it was meant as flattery or means to cajole me into employment, though honestly I had no choice in the matter. Labeled a criminal, I was sold, a man not yet twenty years of age. There was no greater insult than having one's life summed up with an amount of money offered for my head, even if it was a considerable amount of gold.
The One without a Soul, they called me. Even with my hands bound, the guards sent to watch over me kept a careful distance. It took merely a glare on my part and they straightened or backed away, afraid the Devil's Child would unleash unholy fury.
Aside from chains, I was hardly a prisoner at their mercy. They moved with caution in my presence and I gave them reason to fear. With sleight of hand I stole their keys and unlocked my iron handcuffs. Several times I left my cell door wide open merely to watch the mayhem as they ran about frantically. It amused me, and I realized, as we neared the palace in an ocean of sand, that my prison cell would soon by polished stone floors and airy, mosaic rooms scented with jasmine and exotic desert flowers. The salty ocean air melded with sand and the romance of the hot, untamed desert.
I was to become quite useful, I was told.
"Move," the guard said as he nudged me forward with his club.
I obeyed merely because I wanted off the ship. The movements had not agreed with me, the days of rocking back and forth in darkness coupled with the horrid smell more than enough to make my stomach turn.
Bright sunlight and fresh air greeted me at last. Inhaling deeply, I slipped my hands from the iron cuffs and dangled them in front of his stunned face.
"How did you?" he started to ask, though his words trailed off as I stormed past him.
"You cannot contain the devil," I said over my shoulder.
Two very large, dark-skinned men with long, black hair tied back stood on the dock. Their expressions didn't change as I moved toward them, though they stood straighter, sentinels barring my path toward the unknown desert. Behind them, barely visible, stood a woman with her arms crossed over her chest. She wore a veil and long dress that covered every inch of her flesh. Not even her eyes showed.
I paused as I approached and looked them over.
"You bought me?" I said plainly. It was an absurd notion for an individual to buy another's life. Money had been exchanged, though I doubted they knew no cage or binds would hold me, at least not for long.
The woman and her two ogres for bodyguards said nothing. I stared where I expected her eyes would be, my confidence fading as the seconds ticked past. Despite being shielded, I could almost swear she stared into me, through the mask and into whatever passed off as my heart.
"Did you purchase me?" I asked, my patience waning.
She nodded once. "I did," she said, her voice lower than I had an anticipated.
"Do I suit you?" I asked.
She stood perfectly still, though the breeze rustled her long skirt and billowing sleeves. "That has yet to be seen." She lifted her right hand and motioned with a flick of her wrists and at once the men at her side grabbed hold of my arms. The backs of my knees were kicked and I was driven to the ground to submission before her.
Intimidation, I knew, and the suddenness of her actions made me smile. She would challenge me and I was in need of same game to keep me entertained.
Quite suddenly my humor ended as she stepped forward and ripped the mask from my face. She stood over me, bent at the waist, her veiled visage inches from my exposed flesh. Her gloved hand settled on my ruined cheek and I froze, my gaze shamefully averted.
I had expected pain, but not quite like what she offered.
"Torture," she said as she forced my chin up and ran her gloved fingers across the cavern of my sunken cheek. Her silk clad finger made me hold my breath, the sensation of a hand against my skin foreign and alarming. She grunted when I attempted to pull away. "Is that it?"
"No." I hadn't meant to answer, to utter a word, yet I had spoken.
"Then what?"
"Birth," I said.
She chuckled quietly. "That will do, then."
I didn't know what she meant and I had a sneaking suspicion I didn't want to know. Lifted to my feet, I was forced to step forward and follow my purchaser.
"The wire," she said casually. "To allow him some time to think."
I made no reply. The sun set at my back and I hoped darkness was still my friend. With each step closer to the palace I knew I needed to get the hell out of Persia.
oooOooo
My cell was a lavish, deceptive holding place, one with many garish, unnecessary conveniences. I was dragged by my captors and quickly stripped of my clothing by the men who delivered me into the palace. The Sultana, however, abandoned me at the entrance, though I later suspected she watched them force me from my clothes and grunt as they pointed at my new garb.
Every move turned mechanical, precise and calculated as I stood exposed and examined what I had been given to wear. The men stood and watched me, their gazes fixed on my every move as I searched my new wardrobe.
I inhaled perfumed air and searched the dressers, finding shirts in the two upper drawers and trousers in the bottom one. Everything was neatly folded, though I noticed there were no undergarments, which I found strange.
"It's insignificant," one of them said, his voice a whisper that resonated through the room and garnered my attention.
Immediately I froze and turned to fully face them, my anger stoked. The veiled woman who had met me on the dock had kept my mask for herself and I craved its safe return. Somehow I knew it would have made me feel less exposed before them.
"Is it?" I said through my teeth, making no attempt to hide an inch of my flesh from them.
The man chuckled. "I meant the injuries to your face," he said flatly. "The rest of you is of no concern to me or anyone else."
I lifted my chin and smiled thinly at them, studying both men for the first time. They mirrored one another in stature, both thick as trees, with shiny black hair and dark, small eyes. They held my gaze, and I realized something peculiar: neither appeared repulsed by my exposed face. Rather than comforted, I found their acceptance—or indifference—peculiar, almost alarming.
"Holy water," I lied. "Splashed upon me at birth."
The twin on the right threw back his head and laughed. "Our god is different than yours."
I inhaled and pulled a soft, cream-colored shirt over my head. "I have no god," I mumbled.
"Here," he said with a grin, "you will only need the blessing of the Sultan."
I stepped into loose-fitting trousers and tied the drawstring. "And his wife?" I questioned.
The twins exchanged looks. "Daughter," they clarified in unison as they both stepped toward me.
"I am Arden," the one on the left said. "And this is Kamil."
"They call me son of the devil," I replied.
Neither of them smiled.
"Erik," Arden said. "You won't need that name any longer."
I wasn't sure which name he meant; the one I had been given or the one I had earned.
He reached for my left arm and his brother for my right. Once again they wrenched my hands behind my back and I was driven to my knees. I grit my teeth as I hit the marble floor, but I managed to keep silent.
"You will not like this," Kamil said.
Almost immediately, a dozen pin pricks stabbed at my wrists and I inhaled sharply. I faintly heard a metallic click and heard keys jingle.
"What in the hell is that?"
"The wire," he answered.
Even without seeing it, I guessed what bound my wrists together. Spikes dug into my flesh the moment I attempted to move and I immediately ceased my struggles.
"These binds are not easily escaped," Kamil said. "The more you struggle, the more it will tear apart your flesh. Only the most desperate will escape."
Arden grunted. "Though most likely without hands."
For the first time in many years, I was sufficiently trapped.
-0-
That was how they left me; on my knees with my hands bound behind my back and needles piercing my flesh. Once I heard the door closed, I shifted and managed to stand, but not without applying enough pressure to pierce my wrists. I felt warm, sticky blood drip down into my palms and exhaled, frustrated with the situation. I would not sit idle; I wanted answers as to why the Sultan had purchased me.
I stormed toward the door and turned, fitting my fingers around the handle and attempted to pull it down, but my attempt was in vain and the heavy iron refused to budge. Anger flared and I turned, intending to kick it until I realized my feet were dirty and bare and the only attire at my disposal were leather sandals. Unwilling to risk a broken foot, I stood and weighed my options.
Like a caged beast, my chest heaved and once again in my desperation and ignorance and I wrenched my arms behind my back and inhaled sharply at the sensation. Pain stilled me and I grit my teeth, wondering how long the discomfort would last if I tore my hands through the binds. I had no doubt I could free myself, but wasn't sure the expense of shredding my hands was worth it.
From the corner of my eye I noticed my reflection in a long, oval mirror and turned to the side, which gave me a glimpse of myself. The back of my shirt was stained with my own blood, which I had fully expected. I stalked toward my image, my gaze flitting between my own damaged face and my long strides.
For a long moment I stared, eyes unblinking. It was the first time I had seen myself in months, perhaps years. What stared back at me was almost too much to bear.
I had almost been finished, I thought, a near full creation. In every sense of the word I was a man, save for one half of my face. I turned my head to the side and peered at my reflection once the deformity was all but gone from the man staring back at me. A smile eased onto my face as I looked at the person before me from the corner of my eye. I had a vivid imagination, one hinting at wholeness—but one also filled with unfaltering cruelty. I snapped my head back and stared straight into my own light eyes and my smile faded, my visage hardened. Ah, there he was, that beast that could never truly hide. There was no escaping the devil inside.
Like a damned fool I once again began to separate my hands, stalled only by the intense pain that made me ball my hands into fists. I once again turned my body to the side and found barbed wire linking my hands together. Brow furrowed, I squeezed my fingers together and attempted to narrow my hand as I slipped it through the binding. Needles dragged along my flesh, tearing at my skin. I gritted my teeth, but I knew I could escape.
Before I could free myself, the apartment door opened and behind my image stood the veiled woman. She had her hands clasped behind her back as she sauntered in and regarded me a moment. Feeling her gaze on me, I turned instinctively in an attempt to hide my exposed face.
"Only the most desperate animal will bite off its own limb when caught in a vice," she said as she stepped closer. "Are you a desperate animal?"
I made no reply as I watched her near me, wondering what it was she held behind her back as well as what she hid behind her veil. In the back of my mind I knew the Sultan had not paid gold merely to kill me, though judging by the means to contain me, I weighed the possibility of torture.
"You should have sense enough to answer when I speak," she said. "And bow before me."
She stood at arm's length and my gaze dropped in unbidden submission. Without seeing her face, without knowing who she was or what she wanted, she instilled fear within me. Despite my trepidation, I was curious of her—and envious. People shrieked when they saw my face and were indifferent when I went unnoticed. I would have rather had her power.
Without warning, she brandished a thin saber and pointed it at my throat. "Kneel," she demanded.
I stared at her a moment, waiting for her to prick my skin, but she didn't move and I did as I was told, more out of curiosity than obedience. Once I knelt before her, she jabbed me in the throat with the tip of the sword just enough to draw blood.
"My submission is not enough?" I questioned boldly.
"Ah, but you did not submit to me, did you?" The blade had yet to leave my throat.
"No, I did not."
"You are not yet broken," she said. "How is this possible?"
"No one has tried hard enough," I said.
She bent and examined me with her eyes hidden behind her veil. "You challenge me?"
With metal against my neck, I made no attempt to nod or shake my head. "I challenge everything," I said plainly.
She grunted. "You will be my most favorite toy," she mused. "Unlike anything I have had the pleasure of owning before."
She stalked around behind me and I turned my head to the side, but not before she kicked me in the middle of the back and forced me to the ground. The barbs dug into my wrists as I involuntarily pulled my hands apart, though the pain was the least of my concern. She knelt onto my spine, the weight of her drawing a sharp inhale of breath from my lips. The pain against my wrists subsided and she tossed the binds before me, then rose to her feet.
In one hand she held her saber, in the other my mask, which she held out to me. I reached for it, and the edge of her blade rested on my outstretched hand. Giving pause, I waited for her to lob off my fingers.
"Whatever I give you can be removed at any moment, with or without warrant. You are mine to do as I please. In one breath I may hold you in high regard, in the next I may wish to kill you."
I nodded, my eyes fixed on the blade.
"Have you been castrated yet?" she asked.
I hesitated and considered her question. "I have not." Yet.
She stood straighter, and I had suspicion she already knew the answer. I had a feeling she knew more of me than I could comprehend.
"Why have you been allowed your manhood?"
Shame took hold and I couldn't bring myself to look at her. "It would not be easily taken," I said, though my voice quivered as I spoke.
There was no hiding my fear of her question, and the sound of cold laughter made the fine hairs at the nape of my neck stand on end.
"You are quite bold," she said.
Boldness, for once, apparently saved me.
I snatched my mask from her grasp and turned away, peering at her from the mirror. "What is your name?" I asked.
"There are many names for a goddess," she commented smoothly. "What name would you give me?"
"Sultana," I said.
She lowered her blade. "Very well, my toy."
With that she left the apartment I was allowed and locked the door. Left alone, I inhaled sharply, unsure of whether I had somehow succeeded or miserably failed.