Date: Fri, 29 Sep 2006 03:35:58 -0700 (PDT) From: Jae Monroe Subject: The Gift of Ys Chapter 7 Author's note: sorry this installment has taken so long; I confess to having been lying in wait, licking my wounds so to speak, after receiving some unexpectedly severe criticism. Then I must admit to a certain fear of subjecting myself to the same vilification lest this chapter offend some readers by not being in strict accordance with their various expectations and diverse desires. If it does suffer from a like 'failing', I make no apology. If certain readers find the content and creative direction of my work to blatantly disregard that which they would dictate; and the level of dissonance between that which is in their mind and that which is in mine constitutes such a source of consternation that these must write to inform me of my transgression, then allow me to spare them the bother. Instead, I would like to draw their attention to the 'Back' button at the top left corner of their browsers: press it and find something else to read. If you want to give me constructive pointers or advice on how to improve my story-telling, be my guest! Uncharitable and/or vicious criticism I will not accept. Now, to all those readers who allowed me to take the creative direction I chose in the story that I had spent some considerable time and effort developing; and who gave me encouragement and constructive feedback: thank you! Your feedback has been much appreciated; your encouragement has made this all worthwhile. MB>MC => I will continue. This work is a product of the author's imagination, places, events and people are either fictitious or used fictitiously and any resemblance to real events, places, or people, living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author retains full copyright to the material, and sincerely hopes you like it! If you have something to say about it that isn't flaming me then email me at: jae.monroe@yahoo.com Acknowledgment: Thanks so much to Richard for all his editing. The Gift of Ys By Jae Monroe Chapter 7 After Kerim left, it was only dawn of the Daja-sun that Isidore could see through the windows, so he flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Now he saw what it contained; a scene of battle, what else? It was a depiction of one of the ancient Svaryani of Sherim-Ra defeating the people of the low-lands. These people no longer existed, or so the legends went; they had all either migrated from Pasia across the water, or they had been enslaved by the Dajani and thus lost their right to continue their seed line. Rolling over, he looked at the closed doors to the balcony. He did not like that scene, now that he could see it in the light of the Daja-sun. It was not pleasant to look at the extinguishment of an entire nation. Stifling his sigh, he tried to expel the real source of troublement from his thoughts. Last night was going to happen; he'd had no illusions about that. He knew he was going to be used by the Svarya in that manner and had expected it. But what he had never expected was his body's reaction to it; that had taken him completely by surprise. He had been prepared to endure it, had gone to the temple of his god and made supplication so that he could bear it, and had set himself to loving the Svarya, as was appropriate for an Ysian disciple who was going to partake of the carnal acts. But he had never expected to have the total and unsolicited aid of his body in accepting them. Ah, traitorous flesh! he thought sullenly, his breath coming heavily in his chest as he fought away the self-loathing tears that threatened. He looked at his outstretched arm as he lay on his side, scowling at it as a representation of the rest of him. His body had betrayed him last night; forsaking his mind and leaving his pride and dignity behind while it reveled in that man's touch. His weak, weak flesh had sundered his dignity and reserve from him, and offered each up to that man with whom, until last night, he had managed to unfailingly maintain them. It was humiliating to have his control stripped from him by his body's wanton reactions; completely unexpected and utterly unwanted as they had been. But what was he to do? he wondered desperately. He had been given as a gift of appeasement to that man, and he had little doubt that he had appeased him last night. But, to do so in such a way, to debase himself so greatly; he had not counted on that. Why had he liked it? He could not answer. It had hurt, at first, but then the pain had receded and there had been something else, something delicious. This coiling sensation had started from deep inside him, inside the love-passage in response to the stroking of the love-instrument. And it had kept going, obliterating reason and thought, negating any pain of first penetration and then he had loved it; despite everything else, he had loved it. But it was not to be borne, for there was no love between them! He was, by his principles, bound to love Kerim, as long as he shared his bed, but it was indubitably obvious that the man felt not the slightest scrap of love for him. Rather, he seemed to do little more than amuse and vex Kerim by turns. Oh, gods, did he amuse him last night? Did Kerim find his wantonness, the pleasure that he took in his phallus, amusing? No, no, it was not to be borne! But, alas, though he could desire to wallow in his own self-recrimination for the rest of the day, the pragmatic side of his mind could be suppressed for only so long. Taking a deep breath, and regaining his composure, he forced himself to acknowledge the events of the previous night. He had behaved wantonly, he had...climaxed...under the man's touch, and clung to him and writhed about in a most whorish manner, for which he felt every measure of shame and self-loathing. But, he supposed he should allow for the fact that his body's reaction to love-making had been completely unexpected and then, during the act, he had not had the presence of mind to restrain it. A lack of mental acuity that had been aided, in part, by exhaustion and light-headedness from lack of food for he had eaten but little that day. So, he would eat properly from now on, and retain the presence of mind to restrain his bodily reactions. Whilst it would be in violation of his principles to lie frigid and cold during the act, directing steely glares at the man above him and telling him to have done with it, he would nonetheless assert control over his weak flesh; restrain his wantonness, and put last night down to a lesson in the dangers of incaution. A thorough wash and dressing in one of his more sober outfits; a thick velvet camic and plain black trousers with no embellishment at all, made him feel far more solemn and pious. He set from his mind the events of the previous night, for, as he had resolved not to mourn his lot, neither would he lament his mistakes any longer than was necessary to ensure that he did not repeat them. Calming himself, he brushed out his hair and then braided it tightly so that he looked even more severe. Unfortunately, since his hair was very silky, even the tightest braid soon started to loosen and get flyaway wisps of hair around it. The door opened as he was retying his braid before the mirror, and his jaw dropped to see it was Jalen. The Daja nodded curtly. "Dara," he said gruffly. "Isidore," Isidore replied. "I choose what to call you," Jalen told him shortly. "As it pleases you," Isidore replied, turning back to the mirror; but he planned not to answer to anything but Isidore. Jalen made no reply; merely leaning against the door-frame with his arms folded across his chest, his expression surly as he watched Isidore finish tying back his hair, as though every extra second he took was a source of much vexation to him. Isidore hid his own vexation and schooled his countenance show naught but sanguinity. Though he would wager that, today, he had far more reason to be surly and sullen than this Daja, he wouldn't let Jalen have the satisfaction of thinking that it was his own sourness affecting Isidore's brightness. So he resolved to be relentlessly cheerful to the man and see if he could condescend to see any example, or even take simple pleasure, in his vivacity. To that end, he asked politely, "Where do we go today?" "I'm to take you...where you please." Jalen's expression clearly revealed how he hated having to admit that his every movement would be at the behest of a Dara. "I would like to go to the libraries then," Isidore told him. "Aye," Jalen replied. "Thank you, Jalen." Isidore nodded politely. "You will not call me by my first name," Jalen told him. "What would you have me call you?" Isidore asked with a slight frown. "I am titled, you will call me your lord," Jalen replied gruffly. "Kerim-ya is my lord and I call him thus. Would you lay claim to the same title as your Svarya?" Isidore asked, walking past Jalen's stiffly held form to go to his chest and find another hair binder. "You will not call me by my first name," Jalen repeated. Isidore turned to him. "Very well, if you will call me Isidore, I will call you Lord Jalen, how is that?" "You don't make conditions," Jalen told him, his scowl deepening. "What will you do, Jalen? Will you discipline me yourself? Will you tell my rightful lord that you stinted over a name?" Isidore asked, his eyes narrowing. "For I tell you I will be called Dara by no one, and especially not by you for whom that word is clearly pejorative." "Fine, Isidore." Jalen managed to inject an exceptional amount of derision into that name. "It is quite fine, Lord Jalen," Isidore replied easily. "And do not think you are the only one making concessions; 'twas not so long ago I was a Sheq-Kis-Ran Svaraya, and now 'tis I who accord you title while you accord me none." "You are in Sherim-Ra now; your birth matters for nothing," Jalen pointed out. "Of this I am patently aware," Isidore sighed. Jalen scowled. He hated this supercilious scrap of a Dara already, and wondered how he would handle an entire day with him. "At least you dress appropriately," Jalen commented, but more to himself, to try and make dealing with the boy a little more bearable. "Thank you; your friend suggested that we could discuss our views on modest dress." Isidore offered him a smile then rolled his eyes when he got no response but a wary scowl. He walked out into the parlour where his breakfast was laid out for him. "You'll eat all of it," Jalen instructed him. "I'll endeavour to," Isidore conceded; but as he looked at the food on the platter he realized that, hungry from the previous day as he might be, there was no way he was going to get through all of it and still be able to move afterwards. Halfway through, he sat back, full. "Finish your breakfast," Jalen ordered, pointing to the tray. "I am sated, Lord Jalen. I have eaten half. Do I consume any more I will bring it up and waste the lot," Isidore replied. It was not true; he did not have a weak stomach, but he had found that most did not want to call his bluff and risk it being so. "If you do, I will merely have more ordered and you will eat it until you can keep it down," Jalen replied curtly. "Why would you do something so cruel?" Isidore asked, sitting back and regarding him with a horrified expression. Jalen flushed slightly at the admonition. "So that you might learn to eat a proper breakfast," he replied shortly. "Obviously, back in Sheq-Kis-Ra you were allowed to get away with just picking at your food. 'Twould not have been the case were you brought up in Sherim-Ra; here you would have been made to eat." "Would you make every meal a battle?" Isidore asked. "As it stands, I very much enjoy mealtimes; but I imagine if I'd been force-fed more than I desired at every one, I should have come to a fierce hatred of them." "Yet would you have become well-fed," Jalen replied. "But at what cost?" Isidore asked. "Better to like a single bite of food than to have ten bites and hate each one." "No. Better to have you well-fed so that a Daja does not need to worry about you," Jalen replied matter-of-factly. "Physically maybe, but what about up here?" Isidore tapped his temple. "There is nothing up there to worry about," Jalen replied in the same no-budging tone. "Is that what you really think, Lord Jalen?" Isidore regarded him skeptically. "Aye," he replied without even needing to consider it. Isidore continued to regard him contemplatively. "I think that's what you want to think; but I have yet to figure the reason for it," he said, his eyes narrowed as he continued to consider the warrior before him. "I will though; I will figure out why you hate Darani so greatly, or at least why you want to." Jalen stood suddenly. "If you will not eat then do let us leave," he said. Isidore stood at that instruction also, his thoughts turning to the day's activities. Though he still wondered about Jalen. What made him so fiercely hateful toward Darani? His sentiment was borne with a strange air of tolerant silence by his friends; they made jokes about this and that reason for it, but Isidore had to wonder if they even knew the true reason. If they did, of course, they wouldn't tell him; so it was up to him to try and figure it out. It would be a challenge; although enduring the man's company was challenge enough. At the stables, they again had only one mount prepared, and Isidore frowned at it. "Am I never to have my own mount?" he asked. "Darani do not ride on their own," Jalen told him, grasping him about the waist and lifting him atop the horse much as Kylar had done the previous day; only his grip was far less familiar and lingered not a bit. He mounted in one smooth movement and Isidore had to wonder what it would be like, just once, to be a Daja; to walk with their height, to have their strength and power of movement. It was a musing he often engaged in, though a fruitless and not too healthy one, he imagined. His back was pressed against Jalen's hard chest in much the same way as he had been sitting with Kylar the previous day. But the arms around him on the reins were perfunctory, and there seemed to be, not only no attempt to make the most of the familiar grasp, but a distinct discomfort from the warrior as he was forced to ride with his small charge up close. "Why not get me a mount, Lord Jalen?" Isidore asked as they waited for the gate to be opened. "I have been riding since I was six years old; I will have no trouble handling whatever horse you give me." "You will not have your own mount," Jalen told him, spurring the horse along to the road once the gate was fully ajar. "But I know this makes you uncomfortable," Isidore pressed. "Why not get me my own horse and then you can even ride so far apart from me that you cannot hear my voice?" "Have you not learned never to ask twice?" Jalen asked sharply. "I believe in the right of insistence," Isidore replied in just as cutting a tone. "You were given far too many rights in your former home; now you see the folly of the Sheq-Kis-Ran way as you suffer to have these taken away," Jalen informed him. "'Tis not my former home whose folly I question upon their removal," Isidore replied curtly. Jalen said nothing as they continued along the road. "Will you be telling Kerim-ya that I did question Sherim-Ra?" Isidore asked as it occurred to him that what he said would most definitely get reported back to his master; especially those things which put him in a bad light, he thought cynically. "I will tell him all that you say," Jalen answered brusquely. "That must bother you," Isidore commented. "For what reason would reporting to my friend bother me?" Jalen asked, surprised out of his usual brusqueness for he truly didn't know what the Dara was driving at. "Well, since you care so little for the words of Darani, it must bother you something vicious that you will have to store up every one of mine to report back to your Svarya." Isidore told him. "You seek to cause ire in me with your words; this shall be reported back to my Svarya," Jalen replied. "As you will," Isidore answered nonchalantly. "I will," Jalen replied. "Good, and tell your Svarya also that you did seek to cause nothing but ire and upset in me with your every word," Isidore answered curtly. "Tell him as well that I did question your hatred of Darani; that I do wonder why you would expend so much energy on not only disliking a fairly innocuous group of people, but in ensuring that they are utterly aware of how greatly their presence plagues you. And tell him that I don't understand it, and I wonder why anyone would seek companionship from such an unpleasant man as yourself." "Are you quite finished?" Jalen asked in a low voice. "I believe for the moment that is enough for you to commit to memory," Isidore said icily, caring not for how infuriated he was making this man, as his every rigidly held muscle was an indication. He folded his arms and then perversely leaned back against the man's chest and got comfortable, which made Jalen even less so, though he didn't make any attempt to push Isidore away. "Are you wondering how best to punish me without leaving a mark?" Isidore felt compelled to ask, after they had ridden in stony silence for some minutes, tipping his head back to look up at Jalen. The man did not look down. "It is not my place to punish you." "Lodur be praised," Isidore replied, looking forward again. "I rather like being alive." If such was possible, Jalen stiffened even more. "I would not beat you," he said quietly. "Is such legislated against here?" Isidore asked curiously. "No," Jalen answered. "Do you think it should be?" Isidore asked. "It is not my place to speak on such things," Jalen replied curtly. "Are you not one of the Svarya's advisors?" Isidore pressed. "Do not continue to raise inflammatory questions," Jalen said sharply. "I can see nothing wrong with these questions," Isidore replied. "These are political questions; Darani have no role in politics. Therefore do keep yourself quiet on such matters," Jalen replied. "Very well," Isidore replied. "But you can tell the Svarya, for what it is worth, that I believe beating Darani should be legislated against." "I need not your permission to tell the Svarya aught," Jalen replied. "All the same, I am giving it," Isidore told him. "Are you in the habit of making redundant statements?" Jalen asked in a growl. "Are you in the habit of avoiding all that's important in a statement, to focus on some asinine point of Sherim-Ran etiquette?" Isidore asked in reply and then sighed. "And yes, you can tell the Svarya I called Sherim-Ran etiquette thus." "I need not your permission to do so," Jalen replied. "Yet have I given it to you," Isidore said, suppressing his smile: Jalen hated being given permission to do something which was already his right and especially when that permission was given by a Dara. However, it would probably be advisable to keep quiet for the rest of the ride, he decided, because he could feel Jalen holding himself utterly rigid. He most certainly would be reporting all of his ire back to Kerim, Isidore thought, his heart beating a little faster. But then he calmed it, for surely Kerim couldn't punish him for his friend's opinion of him...surely? He decided that, for the rest of the trip, he would keep his head down so that the effects of the ride into the city would be diminished when it came time for Jalen to make his report to Kerim. The library was everything he had imagined it would be; dusty, unused and managed by a rather uninterested librarian who, Isidore supposed, felt he got the short straw when it came to selecting a public service job. Since he cared so little for his job, Isidore was able to search through all the books without interference. And so he found several tomes on the Dara-ya that looked blessedly ancient; hopefully old enough to have not been amended. These he chose, and returned to where the man sat talking to Jalen at the desk. Upon his request to make use of these tomes, the librarian waved his hand, not even paying attention to what Isidore had selected. "Do the librarians not record what is borrowed from their archives?" Isidore asked Jalen politely as he was placed in the saddle, the books being stored in the saddle-packs. "Not if the request is coming from the Svarya's household," Jalen replied, "for that is where the books originated." Isidore nodded; he wanted to ask if there was a library in the castle but decided, since anyone could tell him that, he would not trouble Jalen about it. Isidore sat back in wonder. Upon arriving back at the castle he had gone right up to the Svarya's chambers to read his newfound books and, after making his way through the three he had got on the Dara-ya, he was amazed. In Sheq-Kis-Ra what he had discovered was that, from a period around eight decades ago, they had begun to amend the writings of the sun-brothers. They presented the Dara-ya as having always followed the Daja-ya in all pursuits, from the warrior activities that were recognized to be the domain of the big-brother god to those activities of the mind which were thought to have been given by the Daja-ya to his little brother. The oldest tomes that Isidore had found in the Sheq-Kis-Ran archives had presented an alternative view; that the Dara-ya had not always followed and, in fact, in the area of written language and scientific pursuits he had led his big-brother. All subsequent transcriptions, however, had altered this legend and presented it according to the prevailing view. In Sherim-Ra they had not been so careful; the tomes of the Dara-ya had clearly been over-written so that where it said the Dara-ya had undertaken some activity believed to be the domain of the Daja-ya, such was replaced with his name. Other parts just had large sections or pages missing, possibly where the legends got too difficult to overwrite and, instead, the whole thing was simply pulled out. But, where had they gone? Isidore wondered, tapping the pages. If these tomes originated from the castle libraries, then had their missing sections remained behind? Or, were there perhaps like volumes that had not been so tampered with? "So, yesterday it was a statue; today it is the books. Should Ys be growing jealous?" Isidore jumped and turned in the direction of that voice, seeing Kerim standing just inside the door of the parlour where he was doing his reading. "Ys does not feel jealousy," Isidore answered, sitting up on the couch to regard the man who strode towards him. "Is that so?" Kerim asked. "Jealousy taints love." Isidore cited what he had learned from his studies. "And what might Ys feel, then?" Kerim asked, wrapping his arms around Isidore's waist and lifting him up so that he might take his seat on the couch and pull the boy onto his lap. "All those sentiments that do not diminish love," Isidore replied, feeling distinctly unnerved by the overly-familiar embrace which he couldn't, as the Svarya's possession, easily escape. As he was forming the words to ask if he could quit the man's embrace he was suddenly assailed by his scent, enveloped as he was in the large arms, and his mind completely absented itself, clouding over with unbidden desire. "Such as?" Kerim asked. "Joy, sadness, frustration..." He gasped as he felt warm lips wander across his neck. Pulling back, he tried to summon his will, which was quickly being eroded by all the utterly unwanted desire in response to the man's touch. "Tell me more," Kerim pressed, and then leaned back down to suck at the creamy skin. "'Tis easier to list the things Ys cannot feel," Isidore replied, his voice somewhat strained, as he tried desperately to quell his body's reaction to the sensation of those warm lips wandering across his skin. "And what are they?" Kerim asked, licking and kissing up the smooth jaw to behind one small ear which caused Isidore to shudder at the delicious sensations. "Jealousy, anger, indifference, pride..." His mind drew a blank and he let out a breathy sigh as the scent of the man, having spent all day out in training, got to him. "Pride?" Kerim asked curiously, leaning back to regard him. "I perceive that you may have some of that; some fair bit in fact." "Not pride in love," Isidore clarified, grateful beyond measure that the man had ceased his unnerving caresses. "For pride may destroy love between two men, which is an even greater sin than to not have love at all." "Is that so?" Kerim raised a brow. "It is, my lord. In the eyes of Ys, to crush love is worse than to turn love aside, which is worse than to never have felt it in the first place." Isidore was growing somewhat uncomfortable with all this talking of Ys; for he gathered it might soon lead to his own Ysian principles. And then, though he had just renounced pride from an Ysian point of view, he would have his own fairly destroyed if he had to admit to Kerim the truth. He would have to admit that, in accordance with his Ysian principles, he was indeed bound to love this man; something in which he imagined Kerim would take great, and undue, pleasure. "Well indeed, and so, if I perceive you are growing too prideful, I may point to your Ysian principles to admonish you to humble yourself?" Kerim asked with a quirked brow. Isidore looked at him very seriously. "If you perceive that my pride is interfering with my service to you who are my Svarya, then, upon Lodur's name, you may admonish me to humble myself. You may be sure that I will feel doubly ashamed, for it is to Lodur that my House is dedicated. But, in Ys's name, I feel you may find little occasion to admonish me to be humble..." for I may never be prideful in your bed. Isidore finished the rest of his sentence in his head. "It pleases me, Isidore, that you are so well aware of decorum," Kerim replied, and Isidore took the compliment with a nod. "Think you any less of one who grew up in court, cloistered away with his books though he might have been for the most part?" Isidore asked. "I suppose I should not," Kerim said, one arm still wrapped around Isidore's shoulders, the other playing with his silky hair that he had left unbound while he read. "And so, my decorous little Sheq-Kis-Ranian, how did you find your day with Jalen?" Isidore stiffened at the question, which was asked in a casual tone, as Kerim continued to run his fingers though Isidore's silky tresses. "Well enough," Isidore replied. "He will have told you the most of it." "And what do you think he told me?" Kerim asked, lifting a lock of hair and letting it drop back down on to Isidore's back strand by strand. Isidore looked up at him. "I like not this cat and mouse game," he said seriously. "If there is something I said to which you took exception, do you tell me now." "Did you ask inflammatory questions?" Kerim asked calmly. "Were you deliberately provoking with your statements? Did you call the etiquette of your new home asinine?" Isidore sighed. "Did he tell you how unpleasant he is to deal with?" "The way my friend behaves is known to me, but he did not force those words from your mouth," Kerim informed him. "If you continue to poke a dog will you be surprised if you get bitten?" Isidore asked, trying to rise from the man's lap but he was held there by large arms which tightened around him. "You are not a dog," Kerim answered. "Don't be obtuse," Isidore replied, trying once more to rise but he remained held still. "So now you will bite me?" Kerim asked him. "Now I want to go." Isidore tried to get off the man's lap once more but it was impossible. "Do you agree that your behaviour was inappropriate?" Kerim asked him. Isidore looked up at him. "No, I do not; I merely responded to his brusque nature as would any reasonable person. Do not tell me you would have behaved any differently." He was given his reprieve from the man's grasp only long enough for him to be turned around so that he was forced to stand and face Kerim, who remained seated. "Do you know how I would have behaved in the face of my friend's brusque nature, Darima?" he asked. Isidore regarded him warily. "I suppose you would have punched him," he replied. "Aye," Kerim answered. "That is how warriors settle their problems with one another. How do you think, then, that you should deal with your problem with a warrior?" "I do not speak with my fists, so I should use words," Isidore replied, frowning. "No. You simply have no dispute; for how would your words stand up against their fists?" Kerim asked, and Isidore was reminded of a similar conversation in Sheq-Kis-Ra where he had prevailed upon his birth to win that argument. Now he had no such recourse for Darani in Sherim-Ra had no birth. "Are you telling me that I can expect to be punched if I decide to argue with Jalen again?" Isidore asked with a frown. "We do not beat Darani here," Kerim told him calmly. "This you have told me already," Isidore said, frowning at him for a number of moments during which the Daja continued to watch him intently and then, suddenly, his frown turned to an incredulous look. "No...no you cannot, not over a difference of opinion." "Did you not think that would be the outcome of your behaviour?" Kerim asked. "No; I did not think you would be so unreasonable as to punish me for disagreeing with him," Isidore said. "'Tis that you were deliberately disagreeable even to the point where you suggested that he should want to give you punishment that earned it for you," Kerim told him. "No!" Isidore cried, infuriated and terrified at the same time. "He was the one being deliberately disagreeable. All I did was respond in kind to his rude behaviour towards me; I gave back what I was dished out and no more!" He took a deep breath, to recover his composure. "If you ask me, it is about time someone made that man aware of just what an ogre he really is, and I will not be made to repent of doing so." Kerim smiled coldly. "But no one is asking you, Darima." Isidore sucked in his breath. "If you do this I shall despise you," he told him. "We shall see," was all Kerim said as he got to his feet, sweeping Isidore up in his arms and then calmly walking into his bed-chamber. "No, do you put me down, Kerim-ya," Isidore said, struggling to escape the grasp of the arm that held on to him. The Daja said nothing as he sat down on one of the low couches beside the bed, calmly pulling Isidore across his lap, despite the boy's best attempts to resist him. The spanking was all the worse for his knowing what to expect. Every smack sounded as bad as it felt; not that Isidore could hear the sound of the huge hand coming down relentlessly on his buttocks, because he was screaming so loudly that this was all that reverberated in his ears. Once more he lost count of the number of times he was spanked and, even worse, this one he was certain was far more painful than the last. It was only when he was sure there was no skin left on his buttocks that the punishment ended, and he was allowed to rise from the man's lap. He immediately ran to the bed and buried himself beneath the covers but was drawn out by a large hand wrapped around his arm. "The mealtime draws near; you must prepare yourself for it," Kerim said. "You cannot expect me to serve you at dinner, not after..." Isidore was incredulous. "I most certainly expect you to serve at dinner," Kerim said. "So do you dress for it, and waste no time doing so, unless you would like to go out there naked so all may see you were punished, if they have not already heard it." Isidore sucked in his breath and regarded the barbarous Daja in amazement. Were his behind not in such pain, he would have felt the awful stabbing in his heart at the man's callousness far worse. As it was, the two sources of pain vied with each other for his attention. He snapped his head around and walked to his chest, lifting out some fresh clothing, the most somber he could find, for he felt somber this night. At some point, while he was dressing, the horrible brute must have felt the vaguest prickle of guilt for he came up to hug Isidore and act as though all should be well. But Isidore was set to shivering at his embrace so much that he gave up and let him go. In the hall, everyone stared at him, and he realized that all there would know that he had been punished by the Svarya less than half an hour ago. Such an awareness would usually have set him to blushing, but not even that could he summon; he felt so numb that even his bruised dignity could not prompt such a reaction. He served in a daze, the pain in his buttocks keeping his attention alert; otherwise he wouldn't have heard half the time when Kerim snapped his fingers for more wine. As the final course was beginning, he was drawn onto his master's lap; Kerim having had enough wine to make him unaware that such was even less desired this night than it had been the previous one. "Ah, do not be wroth with me, Darima," Kerim said, stroking the silken hair at the boy's temple, "'tis best you learn these things earlier rather than later." Isidore held himself rigid on the man's lap; his buttocks aching so soon after his punishment. "Aye," Jalen turned to him with a superior expression, "has the Dara learned the error of his ways yet?" Isidore turned to him in amazement, his pain temporarily forgotten. "Do you take such pleasure in the suffering of others?" Jalen sat back. "He has learned nothing Kerim-ya," he told his friend. "So it would seem," Kerim replied, looking at Isidore. "Forgive my ignorance," Isidore murmured, trying to remain calm while his heart pounded in his chest at the thought that he might have earned himself another punishment so soon on top of the first. "'Twas not ignorance that earned you your punishment," Kerim said sternly. "Do you remember what it was?" Isidore hated how he was being talked to as a child, but he shut it from his mind. "It was speaking my mind, my lord." "To be deliberately disagreeable," Kerim reminded him. Though it was not, Isidore nodded. "Yes," he said quietly. "And so will you learn not to do so?" Kerim asked. "I will learn not to think, my lord," Isidore replied, his eyes trained on the man's shoulder as was properly respectful. Jalen seemed pleased with the promise, but Kerim felt an uncomfortable sensation in response to it. "Get you to my chambers, Dara," was all he said, pushing Isidore off his lap, his expression unfathomable. Isidore obeyed with alacrity, bounding out of the dining hall in all haste. "Is that really what you want?" Kylar asked Kerim, for he had watched the conversation in silence. Kerim said nothing as he looked across at the empty doorway through which the boy had gone. Isidore sat on the balcony corner facing west. He imagined that if he looked really hard he might see Sheq-Kis-Ra or, at least if he faced in that direction, he would receive some comfort from its presence. His behind was too painful to sit on directly, but he found that kneeling hurt ever so slightly less so it was this he did now; kneeling on the balcony bench in the western corner, his forearms folded on the railing and his chin resting on these so that his eyes were trained on the western-most point in his vision. Perhaps it was a pathetic piece of defiance on his part, but he needed some scrap of his pride to cling to and he had always been proud to be of Sheq-Kis-Ra. Pride. Gods; he could have no pride in love; that's what he had told Kerim yesterday, and now he was to find he could have pride nowhere else either. Yesterday, before the cruel and undeserved spanking, he had resolved himself to serving willingly but not wantonly in the man's bed. Now he could do no such thing; for was Kerim to touch him ever again, it would be to render him heretic; as Isidore would certainly hate him. He must avoid the Svarya's bed; he must find a way, though he had shared it last night and had not been touched, which he could only suppose was because he had received punishment. A mirthless laugh bubbled its way up his throat. Perhaps he should get himself punished every day, since the man did not touch him on the night of it. For his faith, if not his pride, he might just do that; for he could little endure the man's touch after his latest cruel ministrations. A cough interrupted his grim musings and he twisted around to look in its direction and saw Jalen standing in the balcony door-frame. "I am to take you where you please, Isidore." The man's tone was no less surly than it had been the previous day. "I wish to go nowhere after my punishment, my lord; I would rather remain here." That this was said in a quietly respectful tone, and that Isidore had accorded Jalen the title over which he had stinted the previous day surprised Jalen. Somehow it felt wrong, as the boy had suggested it would be the previous day, to be accorded the same title that Isidore used to address the Svarya. "Well, if you change your mind, you may send for me. I shall remain on the grounds this day," Jalen told him curtly. "I will, my lord," Isidore said, turning back to his view toward the west and laying his cheek on his forearms with a small sigh, his thoughts drifting back to the unpleasant quandary of how to avoid performing the service for which he had been sold. Jalen, meanwhile, watched him for several moments, outside the boy's awareness. Where was the fight of yesterday? Where was the sparkle and charm? Though Darani needed none of such, he still wondered where it had all disappeared to. "I don't take pleasure in others' suffering." Before he knew it the words had tumbled from his mouth and Isidore turned to him, regarding him without any expression. "I don't," Jalen repeated, sounding somewhat disconcerted. "If that is what my lord wishes me to believe, then I do," Isidore replied softly before turning back to the west, the Daja and his vain protestations which contradicted all Isidore had seen of Sherim-Ran Dajani forgotten. Jalen watched him for a few moments before turning and walking back through the chambers to the rest of the castle, his expression revealing his dismay that he was actually bothered so much over what a Dara might think of him and that he had tried to amend it. He was not called that day, so he spent it training on the grounds with those warriors who remained in the castle. He tried to think it was a foolish slip of the mind that distracted him long enough to have his sword almost downed at one point; but though he managed to counter the blow at the last minute, the distraction remained. Kerim returned that evening to find Isidore in the same position that Jalen had found him many hours before; though Isidore had only returned there half an hour previously to contemplate that which he had read during the day. He had decided to read of Ys; the untampered with book he had retrieved from the library the previous day. Contemplating Ysian principles would hopefully help him deal with the lack of love he had to endure daily. "Come you inside, boy," Kerim ordered, and Isidore obeyed, walking inside the door and coming to stand before him. He kept his eyes on the top of Kerim's boots, as was respectful. "Jalen said you did not want to further your explorations of Sherim-Ra today." "I didn't," Isidore answered quietly. "Why." It was not a question. "I thought the after-effects of my punishment might diminish my enjoyment of any such explorations," Isidore gave half the truth with his eyes still on Kerim's boots. Since his tone was wooden and his eyes were cast down, Kerim could not tell if he was lying with that statement so he merely nodded. "Very well, but you will make use of your escort in future. 'Tis not so long that I can spare them to take you around." "I will, my lord," Isidore replied. "I know what you are doing," Kerim said irritably, and Isidore looked up at him in surprise, his deference forgotten a moment. "I beg your pardon?" he asked. "You think to punish me for punishing you, giving me this cold servitude," Kerim told him, his hand reaching out to keep Isidore's chin tilted upwards when he tried to lower it back down. "No, my lord; I only seek to protect myself from further hurt," Isidore replied. "How have I hurt you?" Kerim asked. "By behaving so callously," Isidore replied, his voice rising slightly. "And since I am unable to shut myself away from you, I must needs harden myself so that I may withstand your treatment, or mistreatment as the case may be." "I thought your precepts prevented indifference," Kerim commented. "I am not Ys!" Isidore cried. "Lodur knows I am not perfect; the whole castle knows that. To have earned two punishments in three days, I must be most imperfect. But now I am trying to behave as is appropriate for one of my class. Forgive me if I wonder why my lord questions even that." "If I hadn't punished you..." Kerim said, looking upon him with an expression that Isidore couldn't quite read. "If you hadn't punished me what?" he asked. Kerim lifted the boy up in his arms, careful to avoid putting pressure on his bruised buttocks and then Isidore had no trouble reading his expression. "If I hadn't punished you, I'd fuck you right now, looking as delightfully furious as you do." "If you touched me, I'd run you through with your own sword," Isidore told him, his fury no less diminished. "If you could lift it, which I doubt." Kerim was not in the least perturbed by that mortal threat. "Put me down," Isidore said softly, looking pointedly away from the man. "Do you give me orders, Darima?" Kerim asked in amusement. Isidore flushed slightly. One did not order one's Svarya about. "Would you put me down, please?" he asked, letting his eyes flick to the man's and then away again. He was given his feet back and took several paces backwards, regarding the man warily through his darkest-blue eyes. "What?" Kerim asked, amused upon seeing Isidore's suspicious look. "Are you surprised that I have done as you asked when it was asked of me nicely?" "It has not worked in the past," Isidore pointed out. "If the request is unreasonable it will not be granted, no matter how pleasantly it is presented," Kerim replied. "So if I request not to be touched, will that be considered unreasonable?" Isidore forced himself to ask the question that had been playing upon his mind all this day, feeling his heart beat almost in his throat as he awaited the answer. "Not to be touched?" Kerim repeated with a frown. "If I wish not to serve in your bed," Isidore clarified, his cheeks burning up. "You wish not to serve in my bed?" Kerim's voice held a note of amusement. "You seemed not to mind doing so when last we joined." "That was a mistake," Isidore muttered, feeling his whole body prickle with humiliation to be reminded that it was not just himself who had witnessed his shame that night. "Is that what you think?" Kerim asked with a raised brow. "I have said it, my lord, and I am not given to saying things I do not mean." Isidore regarded him with calm midnight-blue eyes. "Do you care to tell me why?" Kerim folded his arms across his chest, regarding Isidore with amused curiosity. "I...no, my lord; I'd prefer to keep my reasons to myself." There was no way Isidore would spell out to the Daja how humiliated he'd been by his own wanton reactions. Kerim would take it as being some great testimony to his prowess; that he could bring the reluctant Sheq-Kis-Ranian to pleasure; and he could never bear to hear the crowing and bragging that would ensue. "I think I know why," Kerim said with a grin. "I care not what you think, my lord; so please do you just tell me if you will accept my request as a reasonable one?" Isidore asked uncomfortably. "You," Kerim continued, regarding Isidore with amusement, "are upset that you liked it." Isidore looked away. He could not deny it, but damned if he was going to witness that man's smugness in response to his body's weakness. "Why are you ashamed?" Kerim asked curiously. "What is wrong with enjoying your body; what is wrong with enjoying mine?" "Everything, when it is under those circumstances!" Isidore cried suddenly, his eyes flying to the Svarya's in his fury. "I will not enjoy being forced!" Kerim looked thoroughly affronted. "You were not forced," he said with not some little indignation. "I had no choice; such constitutes force to me." Isidore stood with his arms wrapped around his chest as he regarded the man, his expression earnest. To his surprise, Kerim looked a little uncomfortable. "The first time is...different," he tried to explain, holding up a hand when he saw Isidore's aghast expression. "Most Darani wish to stop upon the first taste of the pain, the fact that you had so much fear, even before the act, only made it all the more necessary to coax you a little more fervently." "Coax me fervently!" Isidore's eyes flared incredulously. "That's a fine euphemism you have coined for what you did." "Oh?" Kerim asked with a raised brow. "And 'mistake'; that's a fairly interesting euphemism you have coined for your own wantonness." "Which I shall not be repeating," Isidore said with a cold look. "I have been told that Darani have a choice, they may say yes or no. Well I am saying no; I wish not to be touched." Isidore repeated his earlier request. "Very well," Kerim answered easily. "I am in earnest, my lord," Isidore said when he perceived that the man was merely toying with him. "As am I," Kerim replied seriously and, at Isidore's further incredulous look, he smiled suddenly. "What is it?" he asked. "Are you looking for a fight, Isidore? Are you itching for an opportunity to climb up on your high-horse and pour forth more vitriol on all things Sherim-Ran?" "Vitriol, my lord?" Isidore asked. "I speak of things only as I see them. That you find my comments to leave a bitter taste in your mouth might allude more to the failings of Sherim-Ra than to my own." "Because you are yet new here, and because we are in private, I shall forgive you for casting your usual aspersion on my land. But be warned; my tolerance of your spiteful comments shall not last indefinitely." "Do you not think my asperity is deserved?" Isidore asked. "Not in the least," Kerim replied. "You say it is deserved because you are a Dara and so you perceive that any oppression of Darani to the benefit of Dajani is wrong. Were you a Daja I imagine you would be far more complacent." "I dislike inequality, my lord, no matter into which group, favoured or unfavoured, I happen to fall." "Is that so?" Kerim asked curiously. "Tell me then, do you dislike being stripped of your status?" "My lord knows that I do," Isidore answered truthfully, for he knew such would have filtered back to Kerim as he had mentioned it to both Kylar and Jalen on occasion. "And so then may I ask why? If you dislike inequality, why is it that you wish for others to be deferential to you, to nod and bow and accord you such esteem as befits one who occupies a status above their own?" "Such is my birthright," Isidore gritted out. "And so it is, in Sheq-Kis-Ra. Such is not your birthright in Sherim-Ra. Here, it is the birthright of the Dajani to be accorded deference by the Darani, and now that you find yourself in that unfavoured group, now that you find others' birthright preferable to your own, you claim to be an egalitarian." Isidore looked away. He could argue against that reasoning; they could argue right into the darkness but, when it was with one so intractable as this man, he knew it would do little good. And the truth was, in some ways he had felt when back in Sheq-Kis-Ra, that the wealth of his family had, the lands they owned, the privilege in which they lived, was obscene compared to the way others were forced to eke out an existence; mere accidents of nature separating his position from theirs. So, since he would not suffer becoming a hypocrite to obtain this fleeting victory, he conceded the point. "Very well, my lord, but..." Isidore took his eyes from the balcony where they had been affixed and looked up into the hard black ones of the man who stood not two paces away from him. "But I still wish not to be touched." "And I have agreed to that, though you will continue to sleep here," Kerim informed him. Isidore's eyes widened. "Why?" "Allow me some pride, Isidore," Kerim said with a laugh. "The castle will wonder whether I am a Daja, do they discover I have turned you from my bed." "Perhaps, instead, they will mock me for having been spurned?" Isidore offered uncomfortably. Kerim grinned. "No, little one, for there is not one man who would turn you from his bed, no matter how greatly you nettle him with your vitriol and acerbity." "I wonder, given you like not a thorny companion, why you asked for a Sheq-Kis-Ranian, my lord?" Isidore asked, his hackles further raised by that comment. "Are you saying all Sheq-Kis-Ran Darani are prickly and unyielding as yourself, Isidore?" Kerim asked. "I am saying that did you want a yielding and pliant arse to fuck, why did you not select from your own pool of Sherim-Ran Darani? A nice simple village boy would do the trick, I would say, and as Svarya you would have the pick." "Perhaps I was told you were surpassingly fair," Kerim suggested, his expression darkening in response to Isidore's condescension. "And yet you find me to be only passingly so," Isidore reminded him coldly. "Indeed, but even had you been as delicate and fine of feature as your brother, I would still have asked for you," Kerim answered, "for I felt 'twould be good to have somewhat of the House of Jornn among my possessions." Isidore was unable to hide his incredulity. Among his possessions? The beast had ripped him from his home and all he loved so that he might add him to his possessions! He knew they were trading scarcely veiled insults, but this was still too much. "I hope my lord is pleased with his acquisition." He recovered himself enough to give this answer in a wooden voice, for he was beaten. "I am and, though I know you will each day hope just the opposite, I am in a forgiving mood this evening, so I will choose not to reprimand you for your sarcasm." Kerim said this as though Isidore should be pleased to have been favoured with his indulgence. "Now, we have the meal in a short while, do dress yourself for it; I like to show off my newest acquisition at least once a day." So he was paraded before all in the meal hall; dragged along, in fact, by his wrist that remained in the grasp of the large man so that all might know to whom he was bonded. He was sat atop his lap; the thoughtless bastard giving up all pretense that he was there to serve wine during the first course; held in a proprietary manner on his knee so that all might see who could take liberties with the son of the Sheq-Kis-Ran Svarya. This was what he was here for; he was a trinket, symbolising that what belonged to the House of Jornn was now firmly in the possession of Kerim da Jaal. That night he prayed by the statuette of the Dara-ya after Kerim had fallen asleep, recalling an incantation that asked Him to help those in His image to be submissive to those in the image of His big brother. Having no stones to hold, no priest to guide his supplication to the little-brother god, he had to go with what he knew. It saddened him to realize that if those priests at the temple of the Dara-ya had known so little as to not know that what they were doing was sacrilege, then he was really the best equipped to guide his own supplication. Oh for the quiet reverence of the Sheq-Kis-Ran Temple Quarter, he thought miserably, his head bowed before the icon. "What do you do in the corner, boy? Now is not the time to practice religion," Kerim said sleepily as he flung an arm above his head, stretching out beneath the sheets. "Supplication may be made when the supplicant's heart is ready," Isidore replied calmly. "You Darani and your religious superstitions." Kerim let out an irritable sigh. "Those who have little will cling all the more tightly to that which they do have," Isidore replied, turning, still on his knees, to regard the man who stretched out in the bed. "Fine; cling all you want; just don't wake me with it," Kerim told him casually then rolled over and went back to sleep. When Isidore was certain the man was asleep, he took one of the heavy pelts from the foot of the bed and walked with it into the parlour. There he went to sleep alone on the low couch.