The Skull Throne

No attack came. Enkido casually replaced the horn on the wall while the girls stood at the ready. There were five of them now, her cousins Micha and Jarvah joining them not long after the Damajah gave them to Enkido. The new girls were years younger, but seemed to adapt to Enkido’s world the faster for it, and for the example Ashia set.

For months, Enkido’s training room had been the center of their world. They slept and ate there, meals and rest earned only with pain. Lessons always ended with one of the girls nursing numbed limbs or worse maladies. Sometimes they could not smell. Other times deaf for hours. None of the effects was permanent.

If he was pleased with them, Enkido would massage and stretch away their pain, restoring lost limbs and senses, speeding healing.

They learned quickly that hard work pleased him. And stubborn resolve. A willingness to continue even when hurt or in pain. Complaints, begging, and disobedience did not.

They had not been allowed a full sleep since that first night. Twenty minutes here, three hours there. The eunuch would wake them at odd hours and expect them to perform complex sharukin, or even spar. There seemed no pattern to it, so they learned to sleep when they could. The perpetual state of exhaustion made the first weeks seem a blurred dream.

Lessons with the dama’ting came and went like mirages in the desert. They obeyed the Brides of Everam without question. Enkido always knew if they had displeased one of the women in white, and made it known without words why the mistakes should never be repeated.

I would kill for a full sleep, Shanvah’s fingers said.

Most of the lessons the dama’ting gave were of little interest to the girls, but the secret code of the eunuchs, a mixture of hand signs and body language, had been embraced fully. Complex conversations could be had in code as easily as speech.

Enkido gave occasional commands or bits of wisdom in code, but the eunuch still preferred to silently teach by example, forcing them to guess the full meaning for themselves. Sometimes days went by without a word in code.

But while it did little to foster communication with their master, it had become their primary means of communication with one another. Enkido, it turned out, was not deaf. Quite the contrary, the slightest whisper could bring pain and humiliation that kept the girls silent in his presence. Ashia was sure he had caught them speaking in code more than once, but thus far he had chosen to ignore it.

As would I, Ashia’s fingers replied, shocked to find she truly meant it.

I haven’t the strength to kill, Sikvah said. Without sleep, I may die. As usual, Micha and Jarvah said nothing, but they watched the conversation closely.

You won’t die, Ashia replied. As the master taught me to survive on shallow breaths, so too is he teaching us shallow sleep.

Shanvah turned to meet her eyes. How can you know that? her fingers asked.

Trust your elder, little cousins, Ashia replied, and even Shanvah relaxed at that. Ashia could not explain, but she had no doubt of the master’s intent. Sadly, understanding did not give her endurance. That had to be earned.

There was an unexpected reprieve as Enkido made his most beloved gesture, pointing toward the towels. They must have slept longer than they thought. All five girls had a spring in their step as they collected their towels and lined by the door. The eunuch dismissed them with a wave.

Twenty hours a day with Enkido, as the Damajah commanded. Three more studying with the dama’ting. And that one, blessed hour between, when they were in the baths. The one place Enkido could not follow. The one hour they could speak freely, or close their eyes without permission. Showing submission to the nie’dama’ting was a small price for the peace.

The Betrothed sneered at them in the baths, the halls, at lessons, laughing at the nie’Sharum’ting, as Amanvah had dubbed them. The black bidos forever marked Ashia and her cousins from the other girls in the palace. Even the dal’ting girls sent to learn pillow dancing seemed above them. They were allowed to keep their hair, and not beaten for their errors.

Ashia and her little cousins had learned to keep quiet and to themselves, passing unnoticed whenever possible, showing submission when not.

As usual, they were the first to the baths. The nie’dama’ting would not arrive for a quarter hour, but Ashia led them directly to the small fountain at the edge of the pool, even though the water was not as hot, so far from the wards that heated it. There they washed the sweat from their skin, and helped one another massage sore muscles, sand calluses, and treat blistered skin. Enkido’s lessons on massage and healing were invaluable in the baths.

There was a shout as the doors opened. The nie’dama’ting entered in a knot, and clearly a confrontation was going on at their center.

Ashia was not fool enough to stare, but she casually sat atop the fountain, right by the flow of water, to grant a better view from the side of her eyes. Wordlessly, her cousins did the same, pretending to groom one another as they watched.

This was not the first time they had witnessed the Betrothed fighting. They called one another sister, but there was little love among them, each vying for influence over the others and the favor of Amanvah. Outside, they used debate and logic, but in the privacy of the baths, where the Brides of Everam would not see, they were as apt to use cutting words, or even sharusahk.

The argument was between two older girls, Jaia and Selthe. They seemed ready to come to blows, but both glanced first to Amanvah, seeking favor.

Amanvah turned her back on them, giving them permission to fight. “I see nothing.”

The other Betrothed did the same, repeating the words and turning their backs until the older girls faced each other alone.

Who will take the match? Ashia’s fingers asked.

Selthe, Sikvah answered without hesitation. It is said she will soon finish her dice and take the white.

She will lose, and badly, Ashia disagreed.

Her form is strong, Shanvah noted. Micha and Jarvah did not comment, but they followed the conversation with their eyes.

There is fear in her eyes, Ashia said. Indeed, Selthe took a step back as Jaia moved in. A moment later, Selthe’s head was being held under the water. Jaia kept her there until Selthe ceased struggling and slapped her submission on the surface of the pool. Jaia pushed her farther under, then let go and took a step back. Selthe rose with a splash, gasping for air.

Weak lungs, too, Ashia said. She was barely under the water a full minute.

“I see your fingers chattering, Sharum dogs!” Amanvah’s cry snapped their heads up. The girl strode angrily their way, several other Betrothed at her back.

“Behind me, little cousins,” Ashia said softly as Amanvah approached. “Eyes down. This is not your fight.” The girls complied as Ashia raised her gaze to meet Amanvah’s. The act seemed to double the younger girl’s ire as she pulled up, close enough to reach out and touch.

The kill zone, Enkido’s fingers had called the space between them.

“You saw nothing,” Amanvah said. “Say it, nie’Sharum’ting.”

Ashia shook her head. “The large fountain is not worth fighting over, cousin, but nothing you can do will make me lie to my master, much less the dama’ting. I will not volunteer the information, but if asked, I will tell the truth.”

Amanvah’s nostrils flared. “And what is that?”

“That the nie’dama’ting lack discipline,” Ashia said. “That you call one another sister but do not know the meaning of the word, bickering and fighting like khaffit.” She spat in the bath, and the other girls gasped. “And your sharusahk is pathetic.”