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
Acknowledgement: Thanks to Richard for editing this.
The Gift of Ys
By
Jae Monroe
Chapter 11
"I'm starving," Isidore informed Kerim at the end of the day. They had spent it together, in the bed-chamber, making up for lost time, Isidore supposed and he had no complaints.
"You should be," Kerim said, as they sat before the dinner tray that had been brought up for them. "You slept through lunch."
"Did you go down to the mealhall for it?" Isidore wondered aloud.
"No, a tray was brought here, but you stayed asleep until after I'd eaten all the food on it," Kerim admitted.
"You might have saved me some," Isidore accused, but with no real heart, for he had not been hungry for food until now.
"I did, but you stayed asleep until the servants came back to collect the tray," Kerim told him. "So I finished what was left on it."
"So this is to be the way of it, then?" Isidore mused to the Daja who sat opposite him. "We are to get along now?"
"I should hope so," Kerim said. "After all, I've lost nearly all of my weapons against you. I can no longer threaten you with kisses, since you seem not to mind them, and now you will consider the bed a reward, not a punishment, am I right?"
"That is rather a presumption on your skills," Isidore commented, his brows raised.
Kerim smiled. "Shall I remind you of how loudly and fervently you have praised my skills this day?" he asked.
"If you wish to," Isidore replied nonchalantly. "Bragging and gloating are two of your most favoured pastimes; far be it from me to deny them to you."
Kerim smiled and went back to his dinner.
"Will not your absence have been noticed this day?" Isidore asked curiously.
"I suppose, but none will have wondered what has kept me cooped up in my chambers for an entire day," Kerim replied with a suggestive smile. "News of our race through the castle will have spread rather quickly I imagine."
Though it was not exactly what he needed to hear, Isidore shrugged. "'Tis no matter," he said, sipping his wine. Then he put the goblet down and forced himself to ask the question that had been pricking at him for some time. "Am I to have continued attendance, on the morrow?"
"Ah, since you are prone to wandering off without it?" Kerim said, his brow crooked.
Isidore swallowed, deciding now was the best time to get this over with. "It will not happen again," he said earnestly.
"Aye, but it did happen, and so there should be repercussions," Kerim replied seriously.
Isidore regarded him stoically. "If you wish to undo all the good that has been achieved this day, then might you quit beating about the bush and beat me instead."
"You liken a spanking to a beating?" Kerim asked, and he could not help the grin that pulled at his lips. "At the risk of arousing your temper, you don't know the first thing about what it is to receive a beating."
"Spanking is abuse nonetheless, and at least after a beating a man might still call himself a man; a spanking reduces a man to the status of a child," Isidore said seriously.
"You have seen but seventeen years. Perhaps you are too old to be called a child; but you are too young to be called a man."
"All the same, I will not accept a spanking, no matter the indifferent nature of my age," Isidore said calmly.
Kerim took a long draught of ale, sitting back afterwards. "'Tis not a matter of what you will or will not accept." His voice was soft.
Isidore took pause at that statement. His eyes rose to meet Kerim's and much passed between them, until he said finally, and in a whisper: "You cannot, verily, you cannot."
"Did you think there would be no punishment for your behaviour?" Kerim asked. "Did you think if I had your body, I would not worry about your discipline?"
"You were not going to discipline me ere I came to you in your office," Isidore said, trying to keep the beating of his heart out of his voice.
"That was when I thought you would be returning to Sheq-Kis-Ra in a twelve-month. As a guest, your discipline would not fall to me; therefore I was only to place a guard on you and let your father sort you out when you were returned to him. Now, since you have given yourself into my care, you are my responsibility, and do you misbehave, I must see to your discipline."
"I will not be disciplined!" Isidore burst out. "I am not a child! I can see that my actions were foolish and I shall not repeat them. I do not need to be bent over your knee to learn my lesson."
"You misbehaved. Whether or not you have learned not to repeat your actions, you should be punished for those already undertaken. Now, you have a choice; since you brought it up, I see no reason not to administer the punishment right now. So you may come here, bend yourself over my knee, and take your punishment as a man, or you can make me come over there and get you."
"It is no man who gets a spanking," Isidore said, jumping to his feet but keeping his distance from the Svarya. "'Tis a boy's punishment and I am no boy!"
"Come you here, Isidore; do not make me come and get you." Isidore gulped to see a scowl darken considerably Kerim's already black expression. Still, if he could get to his chamber, and lock the door...but he could see such was impossible. Better to stand here and fight than to be caught running away.
"I tell you, I shall not accept a spanking from you. If you would impose one on me by force, you shall regret it from the moment thereafter."
"We shall see," Kerim said. Then he rose, and pounced. Isidore had no time to even consider ducking out of the way as he was swept up in the man's great arms and no matter that he pushed and struggled against their hard embrace, he could not gain his release from it.
Presently he was bent over the man's knee, his head down and the blood rushing to it as his behind was up in the air. One large hand was pressed into the small of his back, the other resting on the backs of his thighs, ready to come slamming down on his backside just as soon as Kerim was ready. Shamefully, Isidore felt his throat choke up and tears slide from his eyes, falling to the rug along with his hair-binder which slid off his braid to land with a soft thud. And Kerim continued to torture him, just holding him there, waiting, with a hand resting gently on his thigh.
"I know you have said you do not accept this," Kerim said, his hand lingering just below one firm mound. "But I would feel better if you did demonstrate some acceptance of your punishment; it would inform me that you have repented of your actions."
Isidore opened his mouth to reply that he had repented of naught but his decision to remain here, but he choked on his own tears and so all that came out were several great sobs. Kerim gave a heavy sigh and lifted his hand off Isidore's thigh, then Isidore jumped as it landed back on his buttocks, a light tap, more an affectionate pat, before he was being lifted up, to sit on the lap across which he had previously been laid.
"Now, why are you crying?" Kerim asked.
Isidore shut his eyes, palming the tears off his cheek while he endeavoured to keep his face hidden. His attempts to remove himself from Kerim's lap, given their futility, only added to his distress so eventually he gave up and remained there; though when he felt the large hands rub over him reassuringly, he pushed them away.
"Do not," he said after he had calmed himself enough so that his voice was no longer choked up. "Do not comfort me, my abuser cannot comfort me."
"Are you not in need of comforting?" Kerim asked.
"Not from you," Isidore said, his voice low and hurt.
"Who else will comfort you?" Kerim asked, kissing the top of Isidore's head. "Because if you think I'd let anyone else hold you this way..."
Isidore pushed the hands away once more. "Do not speak of me as your possession," he said disgustedly. "I do not belong to you."
Once again, the hands refused to be moved. "Yes, you do," Kerim said calmly. "Tell yourself what you like, but you do belong to me, first by your father's will and then by your own."
"What does my will matter?" Isidore gave a mirthless laugh, though it was spoiled by a sniffle.
"It matters to me," Kerim replied.
"How can you say that? I asked you, and then I told you not to punish me in such a humiliating fashion. In that, my will mattered not a scrap!"
"When it comes to your discipline, my will is more important than yours," Kerim replied, ignoring Isidore's shocked expression. "And you know that. You know what it is to live in Sherim-Ra, you know how things are here. And you choose to remain nonetheless; and that pleases me, Darima; you cannot know how that pleases me. But naught has changed; if you disobey, you must still be chastised for it. And I believe I did once say to you that if you escaped, I would make you wish it had been Mol-Hotep that found you instead of me."
Isidore tensed further. "You did," he admitted. He barely remembered the time when he had stood, shivering with cold and faint from exhaustion and lack of food, before what had to be the hugest man in creation, thinking he would be subjected to all manner of vile cruelties. "But that was some time ago; when I was just a pretty gift you had seen fit to extract from your brother Svarya, and whom you mistakenly thought did attempt escape."
Kerim thought for a moment. They were two different people back then; but he did not foreswearing himself. "All the same," he said seriously, "I did promise it."
"But I did not escape! You know that now," Isidore argued, then he leaned back, regarding Kerim thoughtfully. "In fact, as I see it, 'tis only on my second attempt to escape that I must be made to wish I had met with the Punisher."
Kerim regarded him sternly for a drawn-out moment. "Very well," he said finally. It was not as though he was itching for the opportunity to punish Isidore. The more he came to know the boy, the less desirous he was of visiting chastisement on him; but the more he felt compelled to, to ensure the boy's safety. "I will not punish you THIS day."
Isidore's expression was wary. "You are not playing with me?" he asked tightly.
"I am not," Kerim replied honestly. "Anyway, you have already cried more than I would have expected had I actually taken a hand to you."
Isidore did not relax, still not trusting Kerim not to be fooling with him.
"So," Kerim mused as he ran his fingers through Isidore's hair, unweaving the braid until the silky midnight strands were completely unbound, "what am I to assign as punishment for your misdemeanour?
"You could treat me as a child," Isidore said sullenly. "You could sit me atop your lap, pat my hair and enunciate each one of your thoughts to me."
Kerim laughed, pulling Isidore's rigidly held body against his chest and kissing the top of his head several times. "I do not think you're a child; if I did, what we have done today would make me feel quite ill."
Isidore's eyes flicked up to Kerim's, then back down again. "I suppose you believe 'tis because I am Daran that I must endure such indignities then."
"And because you are so small, even for one who is Daran;" Kerim replied, ignoring Isidore's sucked in breath, "and you fit so well atop my lap."
"I am not that small," Isidore hissed. "Five-and-a-half-feet is a reasonable height for a Dara."
At this Kerim snorted. "Oh, five-and-a-half feet is a most reasonable height for a Dara, he agreed. 'Tis a pity you fall some several inches short of it."
Isidore looked ahead of him, at the corner of the couch. He knew he fell an inch or two shy of a full five-and-a-half feet, but he had always rounded up somewhat generously, figuring he would make up the inches in the next year or so.
"'Tis not so bad, being little," Kerim said, seeing Isidore's morose expression. "And 'tis not so great to be so tall, let me tell you. I've smacked my forehead into more than my share of low-hanging beams."
Isidore continued to stare at the corner of the couch, feeling a grin turn his lips up at the picture his mind evoked of that particular event.
"Well, you shouldn't have grown so tall then," he murmured, attempting to hold on to his disgruntlement.
"And you should just grow taller," Kerim replied, rolling his eyes.
"I fully intend to," Isidore informed him.
"That is good. Now, returning to the matter of your punishment, since you failed to man-up enough to take a spanking," Kerim said, ignoring Isidore's derisive snort. They had already discussed the boy's thoughts on just how manly it was to receive such a punishment. "You shall instead write a letter to your father and make a full accounting to him of your actions and beg his advice for your future behaviour in your new home."
"Very well," Isidore murmured, not really liking the idea of writing to his father about his foolish actions, knowing how well Kenit da Jornn would take to hearing of his behaviour. "But do I recount my actions, I must explain their motivations, and in that you shall get raked over the coals along with me."
"You shall speak only the truth," Kerim warned.
"I had no intention of lying," Isidore said, affronted. "But you will find my father will not be so complacent about the way you attempted to claim your bed-rights."
"He knows things are different here," Kerim replied. "And he sent you here."
"So he did," Isidore replied, looking down once more in silence.
"'Tis not such a bad thing, is it?" Kerim asked after a moment, seeing Isidore's sober expression.
"No, 'tis not," Isidore admitted. "But if it was, I'd have had as much choice about it."
"Ah, is that what upsets you?" Kerim said with a knowing look. "'Twas your brother's mistake, yet you were made to pay for it."
Isidore looked up sharply. "I love my brother, and would have paid for his mistake of my own volition," he informed Kerim, his brow low. "But 'twas not my volition that had me do so. I was informed that I would be given for my brother's return, not asked, and the reason, though unspoken, was abundantly clear."
"Would you have preferred your brother remain here and not you?" Kerim asked curiously.
"No!" Isidore said, surprised. "Of course not."
"Then what matters the way you came here? You came nonetheless," Kerim responded.
"I disbelieve that the means do not matter. I believe there is inherent merit in choice."
Kerim sighed. "Well then you shall frequently be disappointed, for we among the noblest do have the least choice."
Isidore looked up at him in surprise. This was the first time Kerim had referred to Isidore as occupying a similar status as him, and the first Kerim had mentioned the rulership that he had come to, not of his own volition.
"My father did tell Barik and me that we were slaves to our House, and slaves to Sheq-Kis-Ra," he commented.
Kerim nodded, resting his chin on the top of Isidore's head, away with his thoughts.
"It was said, in Sheq-Kis-Ra, that you did not want to come to the throne," Isidore said softly.
Kerim leaned back to regard him, piercing him with his black eyes. "Insofar as that was not my intended role as second son, I did not have aspirations to the throne," he answered guardedly.
"And do you find it to have its merits?" Isidore asked.
"I do," Kerim replied suggestively, and Isidore looked up in surprise, before he caught on to the man's meaning. "And would you like it if I convinced you of the merits of your coming here, and choosing to remain?"
In spite of himself, Isidore laughed, but before he could vocalise his agreement, it was extracted from him by way of a heady kiss, and then he no longer had any doubts that, whether or not he found it always to his liking, his fate was not without merit.
My dearest Father, It is the belief of your brother-Svarya that I would be aided by relating to you some actions I recently undertook that, while soundly motivated, were not terribly sensible, and so I shall duly make report, and leave it up to your judgment as to whether they much signify. Things in my new home, you might imagine, have not always gone smoothly. Recently I sought to avoid being forced to perform bed-duties by making my escape from the castle. I intended to go through the woods and eventually seek sanctuary, first in the towns as fugitive, and then in Lodur's temple as His greatest-grandchild. In doing so I appropriated a horse, a makeshift headstall and a rope from the stables, to which items I had no right. I got no further than the lawns surrounding the castle, however, before I was apprehended by one of the Svarya's men and was duly brought back to face his wrath. Such turned out to be far less dire than ever I had thought when I was prompted to make my desperate escape, and I found that I was not to face being forced, which was to my great relief. The Svarya and I have come to a truce, recently, which I find agreeable, and so I cannot imagine that I will be prompted to claim sanctuary anywhere but in the home of my protector. My punishment, however, was to write this exposition of my actions and beg your advice regarding appropriate behaviour in my new home. If you wouldst offer it, your brother-Svarya would have his mind much relieved that I am receiving wise council, and since I have always treasured your words, I would be grateful for any you care to bestow upon me. Your loving son, Isidore no Jaal.
It felt strange to sign his name thus, but such was the case here; and to continue to sign his name Isidore da Jornn was to insult the Sherim-Ran Svarya by refusing his name. Now that he looked over his letter, seeing his actual misdemeanour was somewhat shrouded in the surrounding text, he felt not so bad about having to write it. He looked over the second paragraph. Gods, how he had cringed to write 'bed-duties' for his father to read. But his father had known that was part of the price, so he could not be so squeamish about reading it.
"This is the letter you requested be sent to my father," Isidore said when Kerim entered the library where he had passed the morning.
Kerim read it, his face changing slightly as he did so. "It does paint me rather badly, does it not?" he asked, folding it in half. "And you as somewhat unrepentant."
"I thought I gave it a rather detached air," Isidore commented.
Kerim said nothing; he would seal it and send it with a messenger later. Isidore thought that he was making him across to be rather callous but his brother-Svarya could not take offence, for bed-rights were part of the bargain. That Isidore had managed to delay them until such time as he saw fit was between them. Legally, morally, and in every other way, Kerim had been in no way required to restrain himself from using Isidore.
"Will you come to lunch now?" Kerim asked, holding out his hand.
Isidore got up from his seat, coming around to stand before the desk. "You would have me serve you?" he asked, not taking the hand.
Kerim looked insulted. "Of course not," he said, wrapping one arm around Isidore's shoulders. "When first you came here, I felt 'twas well you served me at the table, to at least give the appearance that you were doing so somewhere," he smiled slightly as he said this. "But 'twould not feel right now, and so we shall eat together as we did yesterday."
Isidore shook his head. "You are right that appearances must be kept," he said. "And the Svarya must eat with those of his castle. One day is understandable, two in a row would raise questions."
"Then you will eat with us," Kerim replied firmly.
"No," Isidore denied him again. "'Twould raise too many eyebrows and too much controversy."
"Who is to gainsay me in my own household?" Kerim demanded. "To challenge my decision is to challenge me, and they are most welcome to."
"You will likely hear no naysayers, not in your presence; but rumour and innuendo are the weapons of cowardly men and you may doubt not that these will be used against you," Isidore said earnestly. "They will say you have been tamed by me, that you are led by your prick and are controlled by lust. You will be adjudged weak without the benefit of challenge to redeem yourself."
Kerim looked at him for several moments. "So you have become my advisor now?" he asked.
"I give you benefit of such courtly skills as I have picked up in Sheq-Kis-Ra," Isidore said. "No more, no less."
"Certainly no less," Kerim mused. "For you have spent fifteen years at court. Yet you were able to be duped so easily when first you arrived here."
Isidore flushed. "I know little of duplicity and vice," he admitted. "But I learned much of the appearance of court, including diplomacy and behaving as one's status dictates. The benefits of these I might give you, advice as regards deception and scheming I will be sadly lacking."
"'Tis well, my little advisor," Kerim said, sweeping him up for a hug. "I don't want you scheming and full of vice."
"If I had been, I might have pretended I liked you at first," Isidore told him.
Kerim shook his head. "That would have disgusted me, and that I had enough of ere you came. Besides, you were so entertaining in your dislike of me."
"I was entertaining?" Isidore asked, running his hand along the dip of the man's collarbone. "Then it behooves me to warn you that I may continue to entertain you, for we will butt heads sooner or later."
"Aye, but we have found such excellent means of resolving our disputes," Kerim said, kissing Isidore's full lips.
Isidore pulled back. "If you should infuriate me to the point of disliking you, be assured you shall not get within ten feet of me without suffering for it."
A challenge! Kerim itched to take the bait, but he wished to preserve their bliss a little longer, so he said honestly, "That was why you were given your own chamber; so that you might be apart from me on such occasions."
Isidore could not help but give into a kiss after that, letting it linger somewhat, but when he felt Kerim's hands slide over his thighs, which were wrapped around his waist, then cupping his buttocks, caressing their supple flesh, he pulled back.
"You ought to get to luncheon," he whispered, climbing off his perch and coming to stand before Kerim.
"I would go with you," Kerim said, placing Isidore's hand over his throbbing member which strained against his trousers.
"So that I might tame you?" Isidore reminded him.
Before the Daja could change his mind, Isidore ducked out of the library, heading up to the Svarya's chambers where he was to eat alone, at his request. It really was for the best; appearances must be kept. Though it would seem Kerim was unused to appeasing anyone's sensibilities but his own.
Once inside the Svarya's chambers, Isidore had to wait a little while for his luncheon to be delivered. It was not as he would have wished, eating alone, but he had spoken true to Kerim. It was not the right time to force change, when none had been prepared for it. What he had not mentioned, however, was that had he placed himself at the Svarya's table in the mealhall, most of the resentment that would have grown would have been directed against him.
When the doors opened, he looked up and saw it was Laien, whom he had not seen for a while, and he was reminded of the other Daran servant he had seen in the library. Laien had called him highness at one stage and he wondered if the boy still felt the title was deserved.
"Laien," he said and the boy looked up in surprise while he laid down the breakfast tray. "I like not to eat alone, you will join me."
Isidore had grown up in court as a Svaraya, so he knew how to give orders.
"I do not think that is appropriate," Laien mumbled, edging towards the door.
"Do you fear me, Laien?" Isidore asked, walking towards the tray and pouring a goblet of wine, then stepping across to Laien and handing it to him. "I see I have been given a meal for two, therefore I would share it."
"It was thought you were to be joined by the Svarya," Laien said, his hands clasping the goblet unwillingly, as though he itched to cast it away and run. "'Tis not appropriate that I join you."
"Aye, but things have changed, and he is to dine in the meal hall; therefore I will dine with you. Would you have me ask you a third time?"
At this Laien flushed, embarrassed that he had refused Isidore's invitation twice already. Reluctantly he walked to the couches where the meal could be had in the lightest part of the parlour.
"I'm sorry to have twisted your arm, but I get dreadfully lonely up here by myself," Isidore said, taking his seat opposite Laien and placing the tray in between them.
"You have the library now," Laien pointed out. "We were told you did spend your days in such a place, ere you came here. And 'tis good that it does not go to waste."
Isidore frowned. "Do you tell me there are no scholars here?"
"Amongst the Svarya's council there are those who are trained in scholarly things, but in general 'tis not considered a worthy undertaking for Dajani," Laien replied.
"And what about Darani?" Isidore asked, sipping his wine and fixing Laien with his darkest-blue gaze.
Laien frowned, still not having relaxed enough to take a sip of his own wine. "There are no Daran scholars here," he said uncomfortably.
It was as Isidore was about to ask why that the answer came to him, and his cheeks flushed. Of course, the serving class would never be taught how to read, so however would they become scholars? "You cannot read, can you?" he asked nonetheless. "None of you can, is that right?"
"'Tis not a gift of our god," Laien said tensely.
Isidore decided not to refute him, as he had not yet found any evidence corroborating that which he had found in Sheq-Kis-Ra. He had not been searching so avidly, having been kept distracted by the immediate challenges of his new home so well that he managed to ignore all else that was glaringly wrong with it.
"The gods give many gifts that are used by those who are not specifically dedicated to them. Regardless of who gave the gift of written word, all should partake of it," he said irritably.
Laien bit his lip, looking distinctly uncomfortable and casting his eyes towards the door longingly.
"Ah." Isidore felt a stab of guilt for upsetting this servant who had no recourse and could only leave at his behest. "Do not listen to me, things are different here, 'tis I who must grow used to them."
Laien flushed, finally taking a sip of his wine.
"I am sorry," Isidore said suddenly. "I have made you uncomfortable; you may go."
Laien shook his head. "No," he said, "'tis just that you speak of different things, dangerous things. You should watch your words around here; there are those ever watching, ever listening."
"You mean the Clan?" Isidore asked and saw a crease flicker across Laien's brow.
"How do you know of them?" Laien asked curiously.
"Who are they, Laien?" Isidore pressed.
Laien's brow furrowed and his fingers danced a jittery pattern over the goblet, until finally he leaned forward, and his tone was serious as he said: "Here, 'tis fine that you might speak of them, but elsewhere, do you keep quiet on the subject. If I were you, I would simply serve my time here and be done with it. They have watched you; from the start they have watched you, and that you remain would indicate that they have figured you serve their ends, or have yet to decide."
"But who are they?" Isidore asked, his voice equally earnest.
"Those who linger from the old ways, from the rule of Kaan da Jaal, though 'tis not a thing we generally speak of to the Dajani, for Darani are discouraged from taking an interest in politics."
"So the Svarya knows about them?" Isidore asked.
"Of course," Laien replied, "they are his father's men and are charged with serving him as they did his father. They are among his advisors and deal with the day-to-day issues that press a sovereign and...they do not pose any danger to Dajani, for 'tis these they serve, but around them, Darani must watch their step."
"I was told things have got better since Kerim-ya did lift Lodur's sceptre," he commented to Laien. "At least within the castle, it was said."
The boy nodded. "Aye, that is correct. Svarya Kaan was fair enough to the Darani, but he believed as his father did; that we must be kept firmly in hand. And to that end, we would be physically punished if we were perceived to be disobedient. After Svarya Kerim was ordained he pronounced that he liked not seeing marks on the Darani in his household and so we were not to be physically punished with any worse than a spanking."
Isidore sat back in surprise. "Have you any idea why?" he asked.
Laien shrugged. "You would perhaps know better than I..." he looked up at the ceiling, thinking on it. "I overheard a conversation once at his table, however. He believes weak men beat those who are much weaker, and that there is no honour in claiming victory over one who never had a hope of it in the first place, and certainly no challenge in it, so why bother? So, after his first month in the castle, he stipulated that no Dara was to be beaten, and that any Daja who wanted something to stop his fist might come to him for challenge, instead. There were no takers, though there were dissenters; for not all Dajani were so eager to lose their right to bash us into submission, I can imagine."
"Indeed," Isidore replied. "What of his brother? Did he not endeavour to improve things during his short tenure of rule here?"
Laien looked uncomfortable. "Janiyar had other...worries," he said haltingly. "His rule was questioned from the first, and eventually he lost his right to it."
This Isidore knew, and the two of them sat for a while, in their own thoughts. Isidore did not miss that Laien closed up on the subject of Kerim's brother, much as had Kylar, and he debated pressing the boy, thinking he might be more forthcoming than the Daja had been. But he had unnerved and discomfited Laien enough this day, and decided that to continue to do so would be more than uncharitable, so he changed the subject. And after the discomfort of the conversation had dissipated between them, he and Laien passed the luncheon fairly contently.
"You will not get in any trouble for having stayed an hour with me will you?" he asked the boy as he made to leave the parlour with the empty tray.
"No," Laien flushed. "Though 'twas mere happenstance that I was nearest to the Svarya when he had to pick a servant to primarily attend you. Since all did witness it, you were made my priority."
"And you do not mind this too greatly?" Isidore asked.
"I think at first 'twas thought that you were to be punished with me as servant, for I was not believed to be of a pleasant demeanour," Laien admitted.
"And now?" Isidore questioned, not missing how the boy had spoken in the past tense.
"Now that Liwah has gone, and I have not received a single punishment since he stepped from the Svarya's grace, all have found my demeanour to have improved beyond sight," Laien related to Isidore, the consensus among those in the castle.
"Why did he target you?" Isidore asked curiously. Laien was pleasant enough to look at, but certainly had not the angelic features that Liwah had boasted.
"I think 'twas merely that I was the favourite of Janiyar; 'twas natural that I would sink or swim by his successor. Liwah, and others, wanted to ensure that 'twas the former," Laien admitted. He leaned forward, embracing Isidore, and kissing each cheek. Then, his breath warm in Isidore's ear, he whispered, "remember to keep your eyes and ears out for those who likewise watch and listen."
"Now what have I done?" Kerim asked as he entered the chamber he had given to Isidore that evening.
"Why are not Darani taught to read?" Isidore asked, his expression dark as he sat on his bed, a large book opened before him.
Kerim ran a hand over his chin that was roughened with the day's growth, feeling it scrape over his fingers as he considered how to quickly dispense with the question that had been thrown at him.
"'Tis not a gift of your god," he answered.
"Do not give me that," Isidore said irritably. "Is every man who uses the blade dedicated to Aegis? Does every man who goes to war follow Kodos? Is every farmer a disciple of Aoeren? Do you tell me how ever that is a justification?"
"This is not the time to be discussing such issues," Kerim said shortly. "Do you cease pouting and come with me."
"I do not pout!" Isidore sat up, his cheeks flaming. "And such issues are not to be swept aside. You have denied my people the right to read and write!" He held off accusing Kerim's kind of stealing the very gift the Dara-ya would bestow. "If 'tis the case that in this, little brother does follow then so be it, but the brothers give their gifts to one another, how can you sanction withholding them?"
"The choice over which gifts little brother receives is up to big brother," Kerim replied.
"Then if little brother gives himself to big brother, it should be his choice also," Isidore pointed out.
"No, that is also the choice of big brother, such is the way of things in Sherim-Ra," Kerim informed him. "Interpretation of the tomes is up to the Svaryani, you have it differently in Sheq-Kis-Ra and that is your right. We have it the way we have it in Sherim-Ra. Will you question that because you disagree?"
"Why would you withhold such a gift?" Isidore asked, appalled.
"'Twas the will of my predecessors; I will not question it," Kerim answered shortly.
"No, you would sweep it under the rug, is that right?" Isidore retorted. "And none dare question you. After all, who would challenge the Svarya? Certainly not those who have neither the means nor the capacity to do so. How brave of you and your predecessors." His expression was disgusted as he went back to his books, dismissing the Svarya from his attention.
He looked up, however, when he sensed the man walking towards him. "Can you not look at me when you insult me?" Kerim asked with a scowl.
Isidore's eyes met those of the Svarya unflinchingly. "'Tis no victory to oppress those who cannot fight back, my lord. I wonder why your grandfather, the model warrior, expended so much effort on conquest of the weakest of his own nation."
"It was his interpretation of the tomes, and that of the clerics at the time. Such interpretation is not in dispute; 'tis only because you disagree with it that you would have me overhaul a century of tradition."
"If such tradition is wrong, it matters not whether I agree or disagree with it; it should be revised," Isidore pointed out.
Kerim shook his head. "'Tis merely your interpretation that it is wrong, and I will not change things on the strength of your opinion."
Isidore decided not to bring up the writings he had found in Sheq-Kis-Ra which showed that, at one time, the chief-priest of the Daja-yan order had shared his opinion, since he had not yet found any corroboration in that which he had examined in the library or coming from the archives in the City so far. But he was now cemented in his resolve to find that missing information, even if it meant turning that library upside-down and translating every line of Ancient Pasian and its derivatives in order to do so.
Kerim, seeing that Isidore had ceased arguing, held out his hand.
"And now that you have accepted that, will you come with me?" Kerim asked.
"I think not," Isidore replied, ignoring the hand.
"So now you refuse me, because I have not indulged your latest whim," Kerim stated.
"Not at all, though to label my call for the liberation of my kind from ignorance a whim is thickheaded, even for you. I simply wish not to share my body with a man who has so little respect for me or any in my class."
"Because I do not jump when you say so, you see this as my disrespecting you?" Kerim asked incredulously.
"I do not," Isidore replied, affronted. "But you cannot be too surprised that, after this latest revelation about your home, I cannot bear to face a Sherim-Ranian at this time."
"You should not hate a man for what he believes, or what his people believe," Kerim said.
"I do not hate you for what your people believe, Kerim-ya," Isidore said irritably. "Though you are not any man. Any man might be forgiven for being Sherim-Ran and believing as the Sherim-Ranians do. But you are Svarya; you have control over what the Sherim-Ranians believe; you can right your grandfather's wrongs. That you do not makes you accountable where any other Sherim-Ranian may be absolved."
"Do not speak of my grandfather's work as indisputably wrong when 'tis merely your interpretation that 'tis so," Kerim told him. "And do not think that for one night in your arms I shall now be yours to command."
Isidore was appalled. "That was never my expectation," he said, his shock stealing all the volume from his response. "But I have chosen Sherim-Ra as my home, and would see it bearable."
"'Tis bearable for you, is it not?" Kerim asked, his expression softening somewhat. "You may read and write at your leisure, which is what you are accustomed to. The Darani here have been generations without the ability to do so, and are not overburdened by it; rather I imagine there is a kind of freedom in ignorance."
Isidore's expression revealed his incredulity. "Freedom in ignorance?" he asked in amazement. "No, but to keep them ignorant is to oppress them."
"What is it you want then, Isidore?" Kerim asked, passing his hand over his brow.
"To eradicate injustice," Isidore stated baldly.
"And how do you propose to achieve this?" Kerim asked.
"Injustice arises when there is oppression of one group to the benefit of another," Isidore replied. "Therefore I would lift such oppression."
"Equality?" Kerim asked, trying not to look too surprised. "You do not have equality between Darani and Dajani in Sheq-Kis-Ra either, how come you to expect it of Sherim-Ra?"
"'Tis a failing of both our nations," Isidore said, sitting up on his knees, his expression earnest. "I believe there are many kinds of strength and what the Darani lack in stature they make up for elsewhere; in learning and enterprise." At Kerim's doubtful look, Isidore continued. "You have said I am not unintelligent, and betimes I have stretched you to an admission that aught in me might be considered clever. So you know that, with the benefit of learning, a Dara might have just as much of a mind as a Daja, so why deny them that? Why take what could be an asset to your nation and stunt and starve and beat it down till it is but a shadow of what it might have been?"
"We do not crush the Darani in Sherim-Ra," Kerim said with a frown.
"But you do oppress your own," Isidore argued, then at the Daja's sharp look, he continued. "You deny them knowledge and learning, and they are unable to acquire these for themselves since they cannot read. Neither can they make lasting any of their own intelligence since they cannot write. They are kept ignorant of all but that which the Dajani wish them to know, and therein lies the means to suppress thought. And for what? So that you might claim rulership over them without question?"
"'Tis not that," Kerim said with a dark look. "'Tis that Darani have no need of these things..." Even as he said the words, they sounded hollow to his own ears. He looked upon Isidore who surrounded himself with books, who spent hours and hours in the pursuit of that which Kerim was trying to argue was superfluous to his needs.
"Then let them decide," Isidore replied, his voice soft but urgent. "If they choose not to learn to read and write, then so be it, but do not deny them the choice altogether."
"You are different, I think," Kerim tried another tack as he felt his resolve falter under the relentless chipping of the Sheq-Kis-Ranian. "You have a fast mind and one that thirsts for knowledge; but you are also highborn of your land. I think many Darani would not be capable of taking such tools as we could give them and crafting even half so fine a mind."
Isidore flushed with the compliment, which seemed entirely unintentional. He knew Kerim did not endeavour flattery. "Then give them the tools anyway and see what they will craft with them."
"Think you there would be no dissenters?" Kerim asked skeptically.
"There will be dissenters to all you decree, my lord," Isidore pointed out.
"And so you would have me meet them all in challenge?" Kerim asked with a raised brow.
"It has been said that none of your decrees have thus far been challenged and, if they were, that you do not fear such an eventuality."
"So for the liberation of your kind from ignorance, you must call on one of my kind to fight for it," Kerim mused aloud.
Isidore looked at him sharply. "You are Svarya. I cannot issue the edict, and neither can I defend it; such things fall to you, who are..."
"Dajan?" Kerim asked knowingly.
"I was about to say: you who are sovereign," Isidore replied uncomfortably.
"So if we were to have an egalitarian society, a Daran Svarya would not be beyond your comprehension, would it?" Kerim asked curiously.
"It is not an incomprehensible concept," Isidore responded stiffly.
"And how would this Daran Svarya defend his own edicts?" Kerim questioned.
"Why should edicts be defended with challenge? Why should not meaningful debate be engaged in and, when the reasoning behind the edict is shown to be sound and unequivocal, it be adopted?"
"But edicts, and their reasoning, are oft equivocal," Kerim replied. "Whatever is decreed generally meets with controversy. For certain, if I was to decree that Darani be taught to read and write, there will be those who disagree and believe such is not the realm of the little-brothers, and these have no place in it."
"But such a belief is unreasonable!" Isidore replied.
"But such a belief still prevails," Kerim informed him.
"But 'tis groundless, and can be shown to be so," Isidore replied.
"Not to those who hold it," Kerim replied. "You are not stupid Isidore, and are in fact rather clever, so I expect that you can see that what is reasonable, acceptable and grounded, depends very much on the eyes of the beholder. What might be unacceptable to you from your Sheq-Kis-Ran perspective is all Sherim-Ranians have known, and so they may not take kindly to having their social fabric rent at this stage."
"But withholding knowledge is wrong!" Isidore said, his eyes widened.
"That is what you believe as a product of your upbringing. In Sherim-Ra there is naught wrong if knowledge is withheld from a Dara; that is the way we have been brought up."
"But 'tis wrong, and cruel, to keep the Darani steeped in ignorance," Isidore insisted.
Kerim exhaled deeply. They could go around and around in this particular circle, with one saying right and the other claiming wrong, so he changed tack. "Very well, tell me this, then, Isidore: in Sheq-Kis-Ra, are liaisons between Dajani considered wrong?" Kerim asked.
Isidore frowned. "No," he replied.
"In Sherim-Ra, 'tis believed to be deeply shameful for a Daja to get fucked," Kerim replied.
"And so?" Isidore asked, his voice holding a trace of confusion.
"And so, if I was to go to Sheq-Kis-Ra and inform all Dajani that they should not be shamed in that way, what would you say to it?" Kerim asked.
Knowing the point the Daja was trying to prove, Isidore refrained from the rejoinder that any who would do such should be told to mind their own business. "I would ask what was your justification for such a ruling," he replied.
"'Tis shameful," Kerim replied.
"Shameful is a matter of opinion," Isidore responded.
"As is wrong," Kerim replied.
Isidore opened his mouth, but the argument would not come forth. And it was perhaps for the best, since it had thus far escaped him, (he who prided himself on seeing all sides of the argument,) that from the moment he had entered Sherim-Ra he had set about disparaging nearly all about it. Without thinking on what it was like to be on the other side, to be Sherim-Ran, he had told all who would hear that what they had been born to, that which they had spent their life believing as right, was in fact dreadfully wrong. And yet, as Kerim had pointed out, wrong was a matter of opinion. He sighed, cursing that Kerim was not a dim-witted brute. "We shall not resolve this tonight I think," he replied.
Kerim regarded him a moment. It crossed his mind to ask if Isidore still could not bear the thought of a Sherim-Ranian that night, but upon viewing the boy's morose expression, he thought the better of it. So he simply bade him goodnight before quitting the chamber and heading for his own. Isidore stared a long time at the closed door through which the Daja had walked, immersed in his own thoughts.
Isidore should have been pleased with himself the next morning. They had discussed much the previous evening, and contrary to what he had expected, it had not fallen on deaf ears, or at least it did not seem that way. But as to whether progress had been made was dubious, which was the only reason he could think of as to why he felt agitated and a little non-plussed.
Though he couldn't quite figure why, he had wanted to be nowhere near the Svarya's chambers that morning, so he had arisen early, got washed and dressed in the pre-dawn light and was now attempting to enjoy the morning suns in the eastern parlour of the castle, before he went into the library which still had yet to be turned upside down. But instead of enjoying the suns, he stewed as he sipped the wine that had been brought for him without his request. So busy was he in his stewing that he didn't even notice that the castle had largely begun to treat him according to his status; much less did he have the presence of mind to wonder about it.
How long he had spent alone in his somewhat uneasy contemplation he did not know, but it was broken mid-morning by a most unwelcome visitor to the parlour. Isidore's eyes followed Gomar il Barin, the former envoy to Sheq-Kis-Ra (and lover of the horse-master, it would seem,) as he entered the eastern parlour, and walked to the window, ostensibly to take in the view in the morning suns-light. Isidore had no doubts that this man was in the room for any reason other than himself, and he only wondered what the former envoy could think of to bother him about this time.
"How do you enjoy your stay in Sherim-Ra, Dara?" Gomar asked in a bland manner.
Isidore did not answer the question for a moment until the man saw fit to repeat it.
"If you refer to me, you shall have to choose another title, for I have never answered to Dara and never will," Isidore replied, looking to the empty fire-place while the envoy's gaze seemed affixed to the view out the window.
Gomar quelled the urge to slap the Dara, one that he got without fail when he was around this particular one and he sniffed derisively. "I suppose you are under the impression that the Svarya's fleeting favour affords you the right to put on airs," he told Isidore, then turned to the boy with a malicious expression. "Do you think, because his mood has improved these past two days, that his foul temper of the past two weeks would escape us? And none can doubt the reason for it, or refrain from cursing its cause. Foolish boy, will you continue to elevate yourself when your favour is so obviously on the decline? Or are you grasping for what privilege you may still gain ere 'tis all gone and you are thrown to the dogs as were the rest of them?"
Isidore felt his cheeks burn, his body tense, and a sweat prickle on his upper-lip at the very cruelty of this man. But rather than deign to reply to any of his crudely thrown barbs, he simply rose and made to quit the parlour.
Gomar stepped in front of him, blocking his path to the doors and stepping to the side when Isidore tried to do likewise.
"Do you think you will just leave when I have not dismissed you?" he demanded, his voice a hiss.
"I need not your permission to go where I choose," Isidore replied, looking up at the Tanja-born Daja who was still almost a foot taller than he was.
"You, and all your kind, will defer to my kind, and if you are too stupid to have figured that during your stay here, I shall make word of it to your master who will see you are disciplined for your lack of respect."
Isidore sneered. "Your kind," he muttered, attempting to side-step the unpleasant man once more and make it to the closed doors.
He sucked in his breath as the man's hands gripped his upper arms in a bitingly tight grasp. They weren't quite large enough to fit right around as did Kerim's, but they still gripped enough to make him have to smother a wince of pain.
"What do you think you know?" Gomar snarled, shaking Isidore violently by his upper-arms. "Insolent boy, do you think you will smirk and talk back to me? What do you know?" he demanded.
With difficulty, because the pincer-tight grip had made his arms start to tingle and go numb as the blood to them was squeezed off, Isidore pushed out of the grasp and hastened around the envoy, yanking open the door, to which the man smirked, then exited, feeling more than a little bothered by the display.
He kept his head down as he hurried to his library, a space that was his by rights. Once there, he shut the large doors and leaned back against them, only then becoming aware of the furious beating of his heart. Hateful man, he thought, and though safe in what had become his sanctum, it took a long while for his heart to become aware of it as it continued to pound in his chest. He only realised he was shaking when he pushed himself away from the door and felt his step falter. Sitting on one of the couches before the desk, he took a few moments to recover himself, still unable to figure why had had let himself be so affected by such an insignificant man. But then he remembered that this was not the first time that man's venom had driven him to run and hide, only this time it was terror, not tears the wicked man evoked.