13.

Pez, feeling unsettled, had left a perplexed young Zar on the pretext that he was fatigued and feeling ill. He roamed the palace, imagining he was on some sort of slippery slope, grabbing for purchase but failing, falling fast into an abyss. He couldn't pinpoint what it was that was disturbing him, and he needed quiet to think it through. People were used to seeing the dwarf moving through the hallways at all hours, often giggling to himself or sliding down the banister of a staircase. He almost always appeared distracted, but tonight he needed no artfulness; his mind was working overtime. What was giving him this premonition? Was it Kett? The young black slave had been the first surprise, he had to admit, and the girl had been the second.

But even though he had been surprised by both Kett's behavior, and Ana's impulsive reaction, Pez realized he had not been surprised by the disturbance. The sense of destiny had been niggling at him for a while now. The first inclination that danger was headed his way had been the arrival of the old woman. He frowned. Was that it? Yes, it had all begun there.

Pushing aside heavy curtains, Pez entered a darkened room. Moonlight filtered through the shutters, and as his eyes adjusted to the depths, he could see that he was in a reception chamber. It looked as though it hadn't been used in an age. No one would come in here tonight. Still, he took the precaution of hiding in the inky shadows before he allowed his memories of that strange event to filter back into his consciousness.

It had been almost four moons ago, when Joreb was still healthy on his throne and the harem had been bustling with the activities of women and their idle chatter. It had been an ordinary day, nothing different about it; no omens or warnings. He had been in the harem at the time, awaiting the Bundle Women who brought goods into the protected place. Each had been handpicked by Salmeo and was required to show proof of his authoritya"his seal on a small parchmenta"permitting each to trade within the harem. The Bundle Women's arrival always caused a stir; anything to break the tedium of another day of bathing, dressing, resting, and eating. The women of the harem wanted for nothinga"except freedoma"but still they bartered furiously for the cheap, gaudy fabrics and silly trinkets these purveyors brought to them. Serious purchases of silks and jewelry were all handled by Salmeo. The Bundle Women were a diversion, nothing more.

One particular woman, younger and sweeter than most, had arrived to peddle ribbons. No one had seemed at all interested in her goods that morning. And so she had turned to Pez, a simple bystandera"there for amusement and not much elsea"and offered him a red ribbon. He had looped it around his ear and danced energetically, weaving among the wives and odalisques who were rummaging through the displayed goods, making a few laugh, and then, shaking his head sadly, had returned the ribbon to the woman.

As their fingers touched, she had grabbed his hand. "I must speak with you, Pez," she had whispered.

Pez had been taken aback, not just by the nature of her message but by the fact that she had named hima"and spoken to him as though he were of sound mind.

"Come" was all he had said, leading her to the back of the room. No one paid any attention but he had been glad that Salmeo was not present, for the Grand Master Eunuch missed very little.

The young woman had followed, bringing with her several ribbons. "Look as though you're considering them," she had suggested, although it had sounded to him more of a command.

And when he looked up in response he saw before him not a young woman but a crone. This use of magic terrified him. He remembered now, as he sat in the dark, how some of the women had glanced over and he had seen their gazes slide back to their own negotiations. No one else could see the truth. The crone had looked young and desperate to them, trying to get a fool to buy her wares. He saw differently; could see skin stretched as thin as a veil across her skull. He could see the marks of age on it and the tiny veins beneath. Although he had stared at her features, he could not readily bring her face to mind now. Her coloring had been ghostly pale and he recalled how he had found himself breathing shallowly from the fright of discovery.

"Don't be frightened of me, Pez," she had said kindly, handing him a green ribbon. "Forgive my guile. I am your friend. We have always been friends."

"Who are you?"

"That is not important. What is important is who you are."

His expression had turned to one of confused query. Had she not just named him, known who he was?

She had seemed to read his thoughts. "You are Pez for this battle, yes. But you must know who you truly are. There is so little time. We must gather ourselves. It begins. He is remaking himself."

"What begins?"

"Listen to me," she had said, her urgency infectious. She had looked over and seen that the Bundle Women were packing up their wares. "They are leaving and I with them. You must discover yourself."

She had turned to leave but he had grabbed her arm, confusion warring with irritation. "Who is remaking himself?"

The crone had said only one word but it had been enough to freeze him to the spot.

He had still not moved even minutes after the departure of the Bundle Women and the harem atmosphere had died back to one of bored quiet. Some of the girls had called for their pipes. Soon they would be in an opium haze of oblivion. No one had taken any took notice of Pez, probably thinking he was off on one of his fanciful voyages in his head.

Finally he had found the courage to repeat in his mind the word she had spoken.

Maliz.

Since that day Pez had committed himself to learning all that he could of the demon, once a warlock, who had given Percheron its famous stone creatures. And he had learned much.

He had learned nothing about himself, though, and that bothered him. Why had the crone told him to go in search of himself? Kett's appearance and the beautiful girl presented before Herezah had for some strange reason prompted him to recall the old woman's warning. But why?

He sat in the dark and teased at his problem. What did he know? He had spent many hours in secret wandering through the great library of the palace, which had some of the oldest tomes in Percheron. No one else seemed to visit the library, although an old fellow by the name of Habib seemed to know his way around and didn't appear to mind that the Zar's jester was wandering through the silent rows of books.

And so over the past months he had learned that Maliz, originally a mortal and a warlock, had supposedly begun the campaign to topple the might of the Goddess to ensure that the priestesses of Percherona"who had held such quiet powera"were reduced to nothing more than a memory. His jealousy regarding the power of the priestesses over their male counterparts had known no bounds and his efforts were noticed by the god Zarab, who also wanted to see his nemesis, Lyana, fall from grace. Zarab offered Maliz a reward in exchange for his continuing enmity against all who supported Lyana, not just the female spiritualists. Maliz had agreed to the dark bargain, for his reward was immortality as a demona"perhaps the most powerful demon. Now the priestesses, like Zafira, practiced their faith very privately and humbly. Today they were no longer persecuted, for it had all happened so many centuries ago that those who pursued the faith of the Mother Goddess were so few and scattered they were considered harmless, reclusive. The Goddess's followers had been rendered so impotent that most of today's parents, ignorant of the history, believed the Sisterhood of Lyana was only a good place to send wayward girls and unencumber themselves of ugly daughters who might never make a good marriage. More as a place to rid themselves of these children than as one to offer them to a goddess and a faith they believed in.

Pez had been surprised to learn that Maliz was inextricably linked with the Goddess. His antipathy to her was not just a passing whim. She was his nemesis. And, so the writing told, he remade himselfa"whatever that meanta"when all the signs were right for her to rise again.

It was written in the tales of legend that Maliz had beaten back the Goddess thrice, but on each occasion, over many centuries, she rose stronger. It was predicted privately by those in the faith that her next return would be her final one and that Percheron would once again worship Lyana.

Pez thought about that now. The crone's visit suggested that he was being somehow drawn into that struggle. Why? Why was he important? So far nothing had surfaced to give him a clue. It was intriguing but unsettling. Perhaps the crone had sensed his magicks? But until this evening with Boaz he had not wielded them. Nor would he again, he hoped. Once was dangerous enough and now Boaz appeared mistrustful and even hurt that his friend had kept this secret from him.

Thinking of Boaz gave Pez a prick of regret for the young black boy.

He had felt an instant connection to Kett but no inclination as to why. He did not know the family; had never come across the child before. Perhaps that was a good place to start. Pez stirred from his shadowy spot, fixed a vacant expression on his face, and emerged into the corridor of the harem. He knew they would still be walking Kett, keeping him conscious, and he went in search of the knifers who he hoped would save the boy's life.

FOLLOWING THE SPUR'S DISMISSAL by Herezah, Ana had been removed to a waiting chamber. She had had to be carried from the Choosing Room after witnessing Kett's savaging but she had noticed the Valide's intent gaze following her and she had intuitively sensed the despair raging within Lazar, even though his stony-faced expression betrayed nothing. She wondered if he would ever forgive her.

As she sat, feeling guilty and saddened, Salmeo had entered the chamber. The Choosing Ceremony had obviously concluded. "Are you recovered, child?"

She nodded. "I am well but not recovered. Never will I recover from what I witnessed."

His scar moved in tandem with his knowledgeable smile. "Come, my dear," he said, taking her hand, his voice gentle. "There is something we must do together."

Ana instantly recoiled. The huge eunuch was frightening, but not because of his appearance. It was his manner; her instincts suggested that intimidation was always his intention despite his avuncular tone. She had seen enough in the Choosing Room to know that within this man lay power, driven by a hunger she was not mature enough to understand but could certainly detect.

"Ana, you must do as we say now," he continued, more firmly, not perturbed by her reluctance. He had seen it many times, knew the reaction he could provoke simply by his presence. He loved the reaction he could inspire and it mattered not to him that his victim was so young. Fear was power.

"I don't want to," she answered.

Brave, he thought. Most would not challenge me again. No doubt that courage would manifest itself as feistiness in future years. She was just another in an endless line of rebellious youngsters who believed they could fight the system in the harem. Herezah had been one herself. But soon enough they learned the way. There could be no resistance. His word was law.

"Must I have you carried?" He spoke in a patrician tone but his words were all threat.

"No," she fired back, "I shall walk."

He smiled at her. Yes, indeed, this one would be a challenge. "Good. Walking will help you orient yourself inside the harem. It is important that you become familiar with your new home."

"This is not my home. This is my prison."

He made a soft sound of admonishment. "That attitude will not help you, child. You must work hard and learn your duties and then perhaps you will come to the notice of the right people."

"I already have," she said.

He knew she was right and felt a brief flicker of annoyance. But her arrogance meant that this one's spirit would be fun to break. The feisty ones always were. For now he would be content to continue with the charade of kindness. By tomorrow she would understand that he was never to be challenged again.

"You are now in a part of the harem where no man may trespass, Ana. Eunuch slaves alone are permitted to walk these hallways amongst the women." He watched as she touched a painted frieze. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"It is the mark of the Goddess."

"Hush, we do not speak of that here," Salmeo chided, though he wondered how a peasant girl might know of such ancient stories. He had no idea whether or not it was the mark of the Goddess she had touched but it irritated him that she sounded so confident of the fact.

"Why? Does it frighten you?"

"No. It is irrelevant, that's all."

"Not at all, Grand Master Eunuch. It is extremely relevant, considering that you only move amongst women and men who are more feminine than male."

He recognized the direct insult, quietly again admired such composure in one so young. It would desert her shortly, of course, when she understood what was about to occur. He had the patience of a crocodile, and he would punish her in oh so many ways for her provocation.

They moved in silence through a series of dim hallways, Salmeo relishing the knowledge that the silent walk would aid in building tension in this youngster. He would teach her a second lesson tonight. Her first had been visceral and collective, but she had been an observer. Tonight's would be far more personal.

They reached an arched opening, and as they stepped through, two eunuchs straightened at the sight of their chief. Both reached to push open the double doors that led Salmeo and Ana into a sparsely furnished room warmed gently by a small brazier. Arched windows were latticed and only two candles burned, flickering in a soft draft.

"This room is very private, Ana. It is attached to my suite." The girl did not respond. "We are surrounded by a walled garden; all eyes are turned away, child. It is just us now."

She found her voice. "I thought I was being taken to my sleeping quarters."

"No."

"But it is so late."

"This will not take long."

"You have told me where I am. Why am I here?"

"You have been chosen by the Valide Zara as a suitable mate for her son, Zar Boaz." He watched carefully as her gaze darkened slightly. Good, she was nervous. He waited, and when she said no more but instead fixed him with a stare, he continued, "I must check that you are a virgin, Ana."

"Reminding you of my young age is not enough, presumably."

He almost clapped at that. He did appreciate her spirit. Most of the girls usually broke down at this point.

"No," he answered. "It is not enough. I must personally verify it."

"Or what?"

"Or you cannot join the harem."

"That's perfectly acceptable to me."

Now Salmeo did allow the broad smile to break across his wide face, revealing the cavernous gap in his front teeth. His tongue flicked into and out of the hole like a snake tasting vibrations in the air. He saw the girl's flinch of disgust, fed on it. "Ana, pay attention," he warned softly. "You cannot break the promise that has been made to the Valide. Money has exchanged hands, agreements have been reached, and you yourself have made a bargain with the Zar's mother. There is no higher commitment you could make."

"Other than with the Zar himself," she qualified.

He nodded, continually impressed by her steadfast manner. "Yes," he agreed. "But this means you cannot leave the harema""

"You just said that unless you affirm my virginity I cannot join the harem, which suggests there is a lawful way to leave it," she interrupted.

He put his meaty hand to his lips to stifle the chuckle. "You did not let me finish, child. There is most certainly a legitimate waya"as you describea"to leave the harem before you join it." He paused before saying quietly: "You may leave it dead. Your throat slit or your head severed, or perhaps you prefer drowning, which is certainly the least messy but presumably a more uncomfortable method than the others, available for our use on the women. You may most definitely leave the harem in a velvet death sack."

"I see," she answered, holding his gaze. "Then proceed."

"Good." He clapped his hands and seated himself behind an ornate desk. A side door opened and a small man entered, carrying a salver of water. Another followed, bearing a tiny jar of oil, a pot of soap paste, and linens. In silence the Grand Master Eunuch allowed his hands to be washed by the first slave after the second had tipped some oil into the water. His hands were then lathered with the soap paste and rinsed before Salmeo held them out to be meticulously dried.

The slaves bowed and departed, having not uttered a word. To their backs the chief said, "Send in the ferris."

Now Ana watched a third person enter, a tall slave bearing a tray set with a small clay bowl.

"Undress now, Ana," Salmeo began, saw her open her mouth to contradict, and added, nodding at the slave, "or he will do it for you."

She didn't look at the man but regarded Salmeo instead, their glares locking. "Assist her!" the Grand Master Eunuch barked, feeling disquieted that it was he who had capitulated first.

"Don't touch me," Ana snapped. "I shall do it."

She lifted the sheath over her head and stood naked before Salmeo, defiance in her eyes, hate in her heart, and fear tingling through her body as she watched him dig into the pot. When he withdrew his finger she noticed that it contained a thick, sticky substance.

"This sap of ferris will make it easier on you," he said, taking his time smearing the gluey white paste over two of his pudgy fingers.

Fright took hold within Ana. She could guess where those hideous fingers would probe. She glanced at the hand with the long nail painted red and wondered what it signified.

The Grand Master Eunuch sighed and slowly lifted himself to his full, intimidating height.

"Ana," he began, noting by her scowl how she despised hearing him utter her name. "I know this sounds difficult but you will make it far easier on yourself if you can relax."

She could not. Her body began to shiver as he approached.

At last he could see her fear, and although it made him gloat inside, he masked his expression into one of concern, ignoring the pulsating sensation that rushed through his body to his groin and lay there an angry, bitter, unanswered need. "You must trust me. It will be over quickly if you do not struggle."

Ana backed away, only to feel the unyielding body of the slave behind her. There was nowhere to flee.

The Grand Master Eunuch often had the girls held down by another but he wanted Ana all to himself. Wanted to feel the heat of her through his silks, experience her fear as her trembling body touched his, see the anger in those clear, bright eyes. He wanted her humiliation to be complete and provoked by his touch alone.

He arranged himself opposite her on a cushioned bench, his glistening fingers held in the air. "Lay her across me," he ordered the slave, who effortlessly liften the frozen girl.

Salmeo expected the usual screams and pleas, wanted them, but all he got was a groan, deep and angry but resigned. He smiled inwardly. This girl would be a match for Herezah. He couldn't wait for the sparks that would fly when these two spirited personalities clashed.

The long-limbed girl was laid across his expansive lap. "Go now." He dismissed the slave and turned his attention back to the girl. "Now remember what I said. This goes much easier if you find a way to loosen all the tension in your body, especially here." He touched the rise of her pubis. "Open your legs, child," he added firmly.

"I hate you, Salmeo."

"Everyone does," he said, grinning as he pushed his finger into Ana, feeling for the hymen that he already knew would be intact.

PEZ FOUND THE KNIFERS with Kett's seemingly limp body hung between them. The boy's toes trailed now and then, but with their whispered encouragement he found the wherewithal to stagger in a slow circle.

Pez skipped into the room and circled the strange trio. He cackled, pointing toward the bulk of bandage between the boy's legs, and then held his own crotch in mock sympathy. Continuing his merry way around the perimeter of the room, he burst suddenly into song and turned a somersault before arriving to stare deeply into Kett's stricken, exhausted face. As Kett and his handlers moved rhythmically forward, Pez skipped back, keeping pace.

"Will he die?" he chirped in a singsong voice.

One of the men shook his head. "Now that he's endured this long, he will survive, I'm sure."