Silk and Sand – Chapter 6
Kahlan stood in the center of the room; the floor was covered in padded cushions. Cameron sat cross-legged on the floor, a ceramic bowl in her lap as she mixed dried pigments with some oil and water to create a silver-colored body paint. Across from them, standing by the curtain door, was Necor, the only guard present. Kahlan was thankful when he had told Esser, Traken, and the other guards to leave. Not having them around would make it easier to prepare for what was to come. Besides Cameron, there were also maidservants who attended her, helping her out of the scantily silk nightgown, so that the body paint that Cameron was mixing could be applied.
She was to play the part of the Creator in a sick performance for the amusement of the rich and powerful of Septor, and the friends of the Consul Aulus Vintell. Once the silk nightgown was removed, Cameron stood with a crestfallen expression plastered on her face. Kahlan swallowed past the lump in her throat.
"It's all right, Cameron," Kahlan told the blonde haired girl. "Do it."
Cameron nodded. "Yes, Kaya."
She dipped her hand into the bowl and began to rub the silver body paint over Kahlan's skin. The other women in the room assisted, running their hands along Kahlan's long legs, chest, flat stomach, back, and bottom, working the silver paint into her flesh, covering up her pale skin. Her entire body was covered in the stuff, including her inner thighs. Kahlan was allowed to apply the paint to the spot between her legs herself, and to rub it against her cheeks and forehead. As Kahlan closed her eyes, the maidservants and Cameron worked at ensuring it covered all her skin.
When they were done, Kahlan took a deep breath and opened her eyes, turning to look at her reflection in the mirror. She looked like a creature of quicksilver. Her bright blue eyes seemed to stand out amongst the silver, staring back at her from her reflection. And her dark hair, watered and oil, seemed to be sleek and shiny.
"Is it done?" Cameron asked, turning to Necor.
The guard took a deep breath and shook his head. "Just as Rook has a mask of the Keeper, so shall Kaya wear a mask of the Creator," Necor explained, stepping over to a chest along side the opposite wall. He knelt before it and raised the lid. He retrieved an object covered in white linens. "This mask has not been used in many years." He looked up at Kahlan, his cerulean eyes watery. "I pray that it was not my jest that made the Master offer this performance to the Consul."
Kahlan bit her lower lip, tasting the silver paint on her tongue as she did so. "It… it is not your fault, Necor," she said, firmly believing it. "This is Betto and Vintell's doing, not yours."
Necor nodded and began unwrapping the white linens. Once the wrappings were removed, Kahlan gasped at the beautiful golden mask they had been concealing. The features of the sculpted face were definitely divine and breathtaking. When she put it on, the mask would cover her entire face, only leaving gaps for her eyes to see and two holes in the nose, where the nostrils would be, for her to breathe. A silver ribbon was attached to the edges of the mask.
Stepping forward, Necor handed the mask to Kahlan, who held it in her hands for a moment, mesmerized by the artisan's depiction of the Creator. The only other face she had seen that was as beautiful as this sculptured face was that of her mother's. Kahlan closed her eyes and pursed her lips, taking a long inhale through her nose, mentally preparing herself for what was to come. Once she put this mask on, she would be giving herself over to the fact that in just a few moments she would be sacrificing her virtue to the arena champion in front of an audience of politicians and their sycophants.
Kahlan opened her eyes and exhaled slowly, raising the mask up to properly position it to her face. Cameron stepped behind her and tied the silver ribbons together, securing the mask to her head. Turning back to the mirror, Kahlan looked at herself, watching as the maidservants set to the task of dressing her in a scantily silk gold nightgown that did little to cover her, making sure not to smudge any of the silver paint. They did not bother to tie the waist string, knowing that it would only be a hindrance once she got out into the display room, where the performance would take place.
"Do I look like the Creator?" Kahlan asked absently, not really caring, yet needing to say something to help calm her nerves.
"Yes," Necor said, stepping up behind her, staring not at her body, but at her eyes. He lowered his head and spoke in a whisper. "Please, forgive me."
Inclining her head slightly, Kahlan looked away from her reflection. She swallowed the cliché reply that it was not his fault and gave him what he wanted. "I forgive you, Necor," she said softly.
He took a slow breath and nodded. "Thank you, Kaya." Necor straightened and turned, stepping over to the curtained door. He parted the fabric and spoke in a hushed voice to the guard outside.
They waited for him to return. Kahlan noticed that Cameron's green eyes were transfixed on her. "What is it, Cameron?" Kahlan questioned quietly.
"I'm sorry, Kaya," Cameron replied, averting her eyes. "But, just for a moment, you resembled the statue of a confessor from the sanctuary in my hometown."
"A confessor?" Kahlan squeaked out, her heart immediately beginning to pound in worry. What was about to happen was already horrible, but to be found out for being a confessor now of all times, would only make the entire thing all the more worse. Betto and Vintell would no doubt have Rook do much more than just take her virtue.
Cameron nodded nervously, holding her hands in front of her. "Some people believe that confessors are blessed by the Creator with a power over men, just like the Creator had power over the Keeper," she explained. "Maybe the Creator will look after you and protect you during…" her voice trailed off.
Kahlan let out a sigh of relief, realizing that Cameron had not recognized her bearing and presence as that of a confessor, and had only been trying to reassure and comfort her. She gave a nod of her head. "Thank you, Cameron," she spoke up, and sucked in a breath. "I hope you're right. I could use some of the Creator's strength right now."
Necor returned, his brow lowered and his mouth a thin line. "They are ready, Kaya… it… it is time."
Kahlan raised her head up high, determined to meet her fate with as much dignity as she could under the present circumstances. She glanced at her reflection one last time, seeing a sparkling goddess of silver. The gold on the mask glimmered like the rays of the sun. "I am ready," she declared and followed Necor out of the room.
XXX
The display room was packed. That was the first thing Kahlan noticed as she followed Necor through the door. She peered through the iron latticework that separated her from the audience. Peering through the gaps, she saw Betto and Vintell chatting and sipping wine with two women dressed in sumptuous gowns. Kahlan knitted her eyebrows together and scanned the rest of the crowd. It was not what she had expected. It appeared that all of the social elite of Septor, husbands and wives included, had come to attend this party. This was much more than just some men's retreat for some debauched behavior and activities. From the way Vintell, and apparently his wife, were conversing with the other guests, it looked more like a political fundraiser.
Taking in a slow breath, she listened to the pleasant voices and light laughter that drifted across the room. "Disgusting," Kahlan muttered under her breath, utterly appalled at the politicking going on in this house of flesh. Had this people no decency?
Shifting behind the latticework, Kahlan looked over to the center of the room, where, under the hanging braziers, a little stage had been erected. On top of the wooden platform was a backless bench with cushions, draped in a white cloth. She watched as a couple of slaves worked around it, preparing the stage for the "performance." Two of them had burlap sacks in their arms. They kept bending down, seemingly pouring the contents down on the stage. As the crowd parted, Kahlan saw that they were pouring sand onto the platform. As they continued surrounding the padded bench with the small tan grains, they stepped down and began making their way towards the latticework that she was hiding behind, the sand still pouring. It was like they were making a pathway for her to walk towards her doom.
Necor appeared beside her and tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder. His touch was soft and light, not wanting to smudge the paint. "Are you ready, Kaya?" he asked.
"I… I didn't know there were going to be so many," Kahlan mumbled, peering out at the crowd of men and women. "I thought it was just going to be Vintell and his colleagues. I… I did not expect to see their wives with them."
"The elite of Septor are very decadent and perverse," Necor answered. "I believe the Consul and his wife are going to engage in some debauchery with that friend of yours, Alissia."
"Really?"
"While you were being prepared," Necor explained, "the clients inspected the girls and made their selections. The Consul's wife picked Alissia out of the brunettes. According to Traken, she looked very eager to test Alissia's skill with her tongue."
Kahlan looked over at the man's wife. She was definitely on the more attractive side than her husband, but she seemed to genuinely love him, judging by the manner in which she wrapped her arm around his as they gossiped with the other revelers. Though, Kahlan admitted, she could not really judge these people by appearances, because they looked to be the same as any other rich or elite people she had encountered throughout the Midlands, and she had never once suspected that any of them were so perverse. But then again, she could be wrong.
It was frightening, knowing that she might be wrong about people. That one thing scared her more than anything else. This would not be the first time she had judge things differently than they really were. Kahlan could still not forgive herself for confessing an innocent man. Richard and Zedd had tried to reassure her that it wasn't her fault that the town's sheriff had used that magical object to kill of members of the resistance. He was the guilty party, not her… but Kahlan could still not forgive herself, especially when two people had died as a result of what she had done, not to mention having put Richard in jeopardy. For weeks she had been telling him how confessors were the instruments of fair and righteous justice in the Midlands, and that one day almost shattered her self-confidence.
She had also been terrified that discovering she could be wrong about things would somehow diminish the obvious love that radiated from Richard's eyes when he looked at her. Though, she knew now that that fear had been unjustified. Richard did love her, and he said he always would. There trip back to Hartland to help Chase had proved that to her. Richard had been reunited with Anna, his former sweetheart. Kahlan had bit back her own feelings of losing him to another women, and suggested that when they defeated Darken Rahl he could then come back to Hartland and start a family with Anna.
Richard had looked at her oddly for a moment and shook his head, smiling slyly. "I couldn't do that," he had said. "It wouldn't be fair to Anna."
"Why?" Kahlan had asked, secretly eager to hear his answer.
He looked at her with his warm brown eyes as they slowly filled with the love he held for her. "Because," he had replied. "My heart belongs to another."
Kahlan shuddered and a small sad smile formed on her lips as she came back to reality. Her heart pounded fiercely with the love she had for her Seeker. Oh, how she missed Richard! His presence and the unconditional love that radiated off from him was a source of comfort for her. She was in need of that comfort in this place, a place she did not like one bit. Kahlan found the entire region—Septor, Tartum, and the whole Angrass Valley, disgusting in both their decadence and perversion. If she ever managed to escape this place, she would never wish to return, unless it was at the head of an army. It was painfully obvious that these people had been without the supervision of the Midlands Council for some time. Though, with the negative field surrounding the region, Kahlan could understand why the council would let the valley govern itself, because the confessors could not deal out justice in an area where their powers were useless.
A bell sounded, and Kahlan blinked, peeking through the latticework to watch Betto depart from a group of women, who had all been fawning over him, as he stepped up onto the platform.
"Guests and friends," Betto said, opening his arms wide with a smile that could match any politician's with false promises. "Thanks to the generosity of the noble Aulus Vintell, you, my dear ladies and gentlemen, are about to witness an extraordinary reenactment of one of the most sacred acts of all time… the union between the Creator and the Keeper… the very pious act that created mankind!"
A wave of applause made its way around the room. Betto grinned widely and his dark eyes sparkled. "You've all seen his skill and talent in the Pit," Betto said, stepping aside. "Now, witness his prowess in another field. I present, as the Keeper, champion of the arena… ROOK!"
The audience all cheered and applauded. Smiling wildly, Betto stepped down off the platform and waited for the uproar of approval to diminish. Two horns sounded and Betto cleared his throat.
"In a time before remembering, the Keeper, born into darkness becomes awake and aware. Lonely, he comes out of his solitude seeking companionship," Kahlan listened to the myth she had heard so many times, but now saw it in another light, tainted by the fact that the words were being twisted to satisfy the depraved need of these select few.
Somewhere musicians began to beat drums and the crowd parted. From the other side of the room, coming out from behind an identical set of latticework was Rook, wearing the iron snarling face of the Keeper. His muscled form was smeared with mud and dried sand. Blood had been splattered across his chest, and he looked the epitome of the Keeper of the Underworld. Kahlan's eyes grew wide when he stepped up onto the platform and she noticed that he was completely naked. He was definitely very impressive. She felt her heart flutter at the sight and she wanted to vomit from the fact that she was becoming aroused by the sight of him. Even though she had never made love with Richard, just being physically attracted to another man, a man who was about to be her first, felt like a betrayal of the love she had for her Seeker.
Betto appeared pleased by the audience's reaction, because he stopped his tale, allowing the women to blush, giggle, and gawk at Rook in all his glory. After a minute or two, he cleared his throat and continued. When he began speaking, Necor gestured for Kahlan to walk out from behind the latticework, and down the sand path that had been created for her, towards the raised platform and the waiting Keeper.
"Be strong, Kaya," he murmured softly, his eyes big and sorrowful.
Kahlan inclined her head and stiffened her back and shoulders, wanting to walk down this path that fate had created for her with courage and dignity. As she walked down the sandy path, seeing the leering looks from both men and women alike, Kahlan listened to Betto's words.
"Seeing the Keeper in all his glory, moved the Creator's heart," Betto spoke, notes from a harp playing a tune behind him. "Craving companionship of her own, needing to feel the love of the masculine, the feminine goddess, and creator of all life, descended from the heavens to meet the Keeper."
Kahlan's silvery form glided down the aisle created for her, either side marked by the grinning faces of the politicians, their wives, and the nameless sycophants of Septor. Kahlan reached the raised platform sooner than she had wished. She blinked and looked up through the eyeholes in her mask and saw Rook standing before her, offering a hand to help her up. Taking a quick breath, Kahlan willed herself to accept his hand. He was strong and his touch gentler than she had expected. As she climbed up onto the platform, the harp made a flurry of noise, joined in by the flutes, bells, and drums.
"Awed by the sight before her, the Creator reaches out and touches the Keeper!" Betto continued on in his narration.
Kahlan gulped, well aware that his narration was a hidden way of instructing her what to do. She stood there for a moment, Rook still holding her hand. The room remained silent for a while, and out of the corner of her eye, Kahlan could see a frown forming on Betto's regal face. Then, as if sensing her nervousness, Rook took the hand he was holding and pulled it to his chest.
She let out a soft gasp at how hard and firm his muscles were. And she hated how her stomach seemed to be doing flips. Closing her eyes and swallowing past her pride and guilt at what she was going to have to do, Kahlan flowed her hand along his chiseled chest, feeling the strength of his muscles. The flutes and harp continued, playing a slow lullaby kind of melody. Flirting her eyes opened, Kahlan stared at his chest, noticing all the cuts, scars, and bruises hidden beneath the plaster of mud. She tentatively looked up at the snarling face, seeing dark eyes look down at her. Looking away, Kahlan continued running her hand over his muscles.
"Pleased with what she sees, the Creator seeks to arouse this perfect specimen of masculinity," Betto narrated, telling her what to do.
Kahlan prayed to the good spirits, asking them to give her the strength to do this. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine that Rook was Richard, and that the male member she was about to touch with her hand was that of her Seeker, not some arena fighter. Opening her eyes, Kahlan stared blankly at Rook's chest as she slowly danced her fingers down past his hard abdomen, feeling his muscle flex as she reached out and grabbed him in her hand. Slowly, biting her tongue, she began to massage and stroke him, seeking to arouse him as quickly as possible. Kahlan knew that this sick display was meant to last a while, but she wanted it over.
The musicians played their instruments, giving her a rhythm to work with. "A pity that mask covers her mouth, Gaius," Kahlan heard Vintell mutter to Betto. "I should have liked to see her suck his cock."
"It could be arranged," Betto remarked offhandedly.
"No, that is all right," a woman's voice spoke up. "I had requested the deflowering of the Creator, and if she takes that mask off, she would just be some whore."
"Ah, my wife is correct," Vintell said. "Pay it no mind, Gaius. Though, for a virgin, she seems to be doing quite well at stimulating the arena champion." Kahlan caught her breath, feeling Rook grow firmer in her hand.
"Are you sure she's a virgin?" Vintell's wife asked. "She seems far to familiar with what she is doing."
"Her virtue and purity is guaranteed," purred Betto.
Kahlan could hardly believe what she was hearing. Was she going to have to endure this all with them constantly making commentary during the whole thing? But Vintell's wife was correct. Rook was now very firm and hard in her hand. His chest was slowly rising and falling, his breathing having grown heavier. Her cheeks flushed as she looked down through the eyeholes of her mask, seeing his aroused state. Oh, how she wished he were Richard!
It would make what was too come all the more bearable, knowing that it was him, instead of someone else. She could handle the audience. Her training as a confessor had given her the ability to block out her surroundings. But with the knowledge that the man to take her maidenhood was not Richard, Kahlan did not know if she had the willpower, not to mention the unwelcome arousal she was feeling at seeing and feeling Rook's arousal was making her feel guilty and ashamed.
She did not know why it did. Richard and her were not a couple. They loved each other, yes, but it could never be. And if Kahlan could not have Richard, she at least wanted him to be happy, even if she could never be happy. Eventually, she would have to take a mate and conceive a confessor. She would not blame Richard if he left her then. Kahlan thought that would be best. Neither one would want to see the other with someone else. Not with how they felt about each other. Yes, Kahlan nodded absently, lost in her thoughts. Richard would be better without her around. His love for her was only holding him back from having a happy life, and Kahlan, no matter how she felt about him, was not going to stand in the way of Richard having a happy life.
"The Keeper, now fully aroused, tears the veil separating him from the Creator," Betto spoke up, his voice evidently higher with enjoyment of the spectacle.
Rook brushed her hand away and gripped the hem of the gold silk nightgown she wore. Kahlan looked up, biting her lower lip, tasting the silver paint. With one swift movement, Rook tore her nightgown from her and flung it out into the audience. Kahlan heard women squeal and scamper for it.
"Seeing the Creator in all of her glory drives the Keeper mad!" Betto continued on with the story, the flutes and drums going wild.
His hands were around her waist and he was lifting her up into the air. Kahlan involuntarily let out a cry as he pulled her off her feet, depositing her on the padded bench.
"He has to have her! He has to have her… NOW!" Betto continued.
Rook grabbed her legs and pulled them apart. Kahlan shuddered, both terrified and aroused. She hated herself for being aroused. The man looming over her was impressive, yes, but he was not Richard. As Rook's hands ran over her silver-painted legs, Kahlan squirmed, trying to get up. She heard laughter from the audience, as she kicked and threw her hands up at Rook.
"She fights back!" chortled Betto. "But the Keeper is too strong. He pins her down, holding her hands above her head."
Rook grabbed her wrists with one hand, pinning them both above her head. As Betto continued with the hidden instructions, Rook obeyed, groping Kahlan's breasts and pushing her legs apart with his knee. Kahlan thrashed beneath him, tears pouring out of her eyes, smearing the paint hidden beneath the mask. She saw dark eyes looking down at her through the snarling iron mask. They looked sorrowful and regretful, but determined. However, no lust or desire was in them. She shivered, at least he was not taking any pleasure in what he was being forced to do. Kahlan let out a gasp, feeling his free hand touch her between her legs, pushing apart her folds, preparing her for him to enter. And then their eyes locked.
"I'm sorry," Rook whispered. "Please, forgive me. But I… I must do this… to… to survive."
Kahlan's mind snapped, her jaw freezing shut. She stared up at those dark eyes, seeing their true color reflected in the glow cast by the hanging braziers. Brown. His eyes were a warm brown. And his voice. Spirits, Kahlan knew that voice! It was music to her ears. Her heart began to flutter with hope, hope that she was right, and that her mind was not playing some wicked trick on her. As the music from the flutes and drums rose up to a crescendo, in anticipation of the moment the Keeper entered the Creator, Kahlan Amnell opened her mouth and spoke in a soft whimper, filled with all the hope she had left.
"Richard?"