Date: Wed, 18 Oct 2006 19:57:14 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jae Monroe <jaexmonroe@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Gift of Ys Chapter 9

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 9

When Isidore awoke, he knew himself watched.  Rolling over, and then
wincing as his hair got caught under his shoulder and pulled tight, his
eyes flicked up to those of the Svarya which were watching him intently.
Kerim was sitting on the couch beside the bed, facing Isidore with his chin
in his hand as he had watched the boy sleeping, his expression
contemplative.

"Why do you want to leave my bed, Isidore?" Kerim asked once he saw Isidore
had awoken.

"Many reasons, my lord, but last night 'twas mainly that you were drunk,"
Isidore answered, his tone a little disapproving.

"And?" Kerim asked.

Isidore sighed, seeing that the man's expression was clouding over.  "And I
worried that, in your state of inebriation, you might be hard to rouse if
you...rolled on top of me."

To his surprise, Kerim's expression turned to one of concern.  "You need
not be afraid of that happening, Isidore.  The slightest exclamation from
you would be sufficient to rouse me.  I have learned to sleep lightly, even
when drunk."

"That is comforting to know," Isidore replied, which was somewhat a lie,
for now he had lost that recourse to leave the man's bed.

"So you will not be afraid?" Kerim checked.

"Not of being suffocated, I suppose," Isidore replied.

Kerim chose to ignore the silent part of that statement, merely nodding
before he left his seat on the couch and walked into the bathing room.
Gods, he did not want Isidore to be afraid of him, he thought, as he
splashed cold water on his face and neck.  It was something that he found
to be utterly refreshing in the boy.  Isidore was not in the slightest bit
intimidated by his size, at least not when he was angry; which was one
reason why it was so entertaining to bait him.  He was so damnably calm and
reserved when he was in control.  But, when Kerim managed to say just the
right thing to get his blood boiling, his whole expression lit up, his
darkest-blue eyes glittered furiously, and his cheeks flushed most
becomingly.  Not only did he look utterly delectable, but he would say the
most entertaining things; things that men twice Isidore's size would never
dream of saying to Kerim.

Perhaps he was being a little hard on him, though; likely Isidore was not
aware that it was the thrill of pitting wills against one-another that
Kerim enjoyed so much.  It was quite possible that the boy thought it was
because he was a heartless bastard that he said most of the things he did.
Ah well; regardless of what Isidore thought of him, now that the
Sheq-Kis-Ranian belonged to him, he would just have to get used to it.

It was not just for enjoyment that Kerim said what he did, though.  He knew
Isidore had grown up to have his own way more often than not in
Sheq-Kis-Ra, and so bucked at authority; especially when his views
conflicted with those of the one to whom he was supposed to be in
subjection.  Well, Kerim was his authority figure now and whether or not
Isidore agreed with his views, he was required to defer to him in all
things.  And whilst the boy did not hesitate to do so in the presence of
others, in private he still frequently and flat-out refused to obey Kerim's
rule.  So, then and there, the Svarya decided that if Isidore would not
bend, from now on he would be made to do so.

It was not as though he himself had any more choice in the matter, Kerim
thought irritably.  Isidore needed to learn to accept his rule; it would do
neither of them any good if he let the boy believe that things were any
different.  Whilst he enjoyed their fiery arguments, up to a point,
disobedience from the boy he did not like one bit.  Aye, he thought to
himself, Isidore would learn to be obedient; he would learn to behave as a
Dara in Sherim-Ra.  And, if he did not, Kerim would see that the boy was
taught the folly of not submitting to his mastery in one way or another.

Isidore was sitting up, still in the bed mulling over his own thoughts,
when Kerim re-entered the chamber, but he looked up at the sound of the
door to the bathing chamber slamming, his eyes following the Svarya warily.

Kerim ignored the boy's guarded expression.  All business, now that he had
decided on how best to deal with Isidore, he said: "Your escort today will
be Jalen, and I'll not have you skulking about these chambers to avoid his
company.  Behave cordially towards him, and use this opportunity to learn
more of your new home, so that you may come to accept it more readily."

"I shall be most cordial, my lord," Isidore replied.  And this was no lie.
He got the feeling that Jalen liked nothing more than to think of his being
utterly miserable in his new home.  So he once again decided to be
relentlessly cheerful, even to the point where the Daja would wonder that
he had not sipped too much of the breakfast wine.  Anything was preferable
to that look of condescension, mixed with smug satisfaction, which Jalen
got from thinking that it was all Isidore's doing that he was chafing so at
the confines of his new home.

It was while Isidore was dressing that he heard Jalen greet Kerim in the
parlour outside the closed door to the bed-chamber.

"Kerim-ya."  Jalen's voice was gruff, but there was respect in his tone,
"Kylar wishes to know if you could stop fucking for five minutes to answer
the challenge you promised him this morning."

"Five minutes?"  Isidore heard Kerim reply, safely avoiding an admission as
to whether or not he was fucking his newest charge.  "It will take me but
two to smack the sword from his hand."

Jalen sniffed.  "Aye," he agreed to the exaggeration.  "Is he decently
attired?"

"Wait until he comes out," Kerim replied in a low voice, but Isidore still
heard it.  "He is modest."

"'Tis a rarity," Jalen commented, "for a Dara."

There was no reply from Kerim but Isidore had no doubt that he was nodding
in acceptance of his friend's usual dislike for Darani.

Then he heard a grunt.  "Be nice to him today," Kerim ordered and Isidore
had the supreme, and unexpected, pleasure of hearing Jalen's acquiescence
given in a rather pained voice.  He sounded winded which made Isidore guess
that it had been a punch in the gut Jalen had been delivered.

Once modestly and starkly attired in black, Isidore stepped out of the
bed-chamber to see Jalen waiting for him by the door.  Jalen was a fine
looking man; tall, tanned, well built, with very pale blue eyes and very
dark brown hair.  Isidore imagined that many Darani would find him
attractive, until they met with his cruel demeanour and saw how ugly he was
on the inside.  Vaguely, he recalled that he had set his task to find out
why the man insisted on behaving in such an ugly manner; but now he was
beginning to think it was merely his personality which he made no attempt
to hide.

"Where do you wish to go, Isidore."  The Daja made no attempt to frame that
as a question.

"I wish to ride, Lord Jalen," Isidore replied.  "Just see around and about.
Maybe you can point out things of interest along the way."

Jalen had his arms folded across his chest with one of his frequent scowls.
"Fine," he replied then turned, pushing the door open and waiting for
Isidore to walk through it before he followed.

Once atop the horse, and after riding a few miles in silence, Isidore grew
bored with the endless countryside and took to making conversation with
Jalen, since he thought it would have been a little too pointed if he had
taken to conversing with the horse.

"Do you dislike this task, Lord Jalen?" Isidore asked him, keeping his tone
lightly curious.

"'Tis not my role to question my orders," Jalen replied curtly.

"Well if it matters not in the slightest to you, I rather enjoy being taken
about to look at the countryside," Isidore told him.

"Then you should be thanking your master for that, not I, for 'tis by his
choice that we do this," Jalen informed him.

"Not yours?" Isidore asked.

"You have been warned about raising inflammatory questions," Jalen reminded
him.

"Ah, so 'tis definitely not by your choice," Isidore replied.  "Since it
inflames you to be reminded of such."

"Do you enjoy punishment?" Jalen asked him curtly.

"What if I do?" Isidore asked suddenly.  "Perhaps I am of the sect of
Jadinites."

Jadinites were in fact a sect of Osian followers who practiced the art of
giving pleasure through pain.

Jalen sniffed.  "I am told you follow Ys," he replied.

"So you troubled yourself to learn that much about me, did you?" Isidore
asked cheekily.

"I must know about my friend and Svarya, including his latest piece of
arse," Jalen replied unkindly.

Isidore stiffened.  "I see," he replied and then slumped back in the
saddle.

"So you do, finally," Jalen said.

"Why do you dislike Darani?" Isidore asked suddenly, abandoning all attempt
to direct the conversation subtly to that question since Jalen was so
unsubtle as to make such impossible.

"I do not dislike Darani," Jalen replied, his voice having just the
slightest tinge of exasperation.  Isidore guessed it was a question Jalen
had to answer a lot.

"You make every attempt to convince us that you do," he pressed.

"'Tis not that," Jalen replied irritably.  "Merely 'tis that your kind has
few uses but to serve and fuck, therefore you need not attempt to extend
yourselves beyond that mandate."

"Do you really think that, Lord Jalen?" Isidore asked.

"I have said it, have I not?" Jalen replied shortly.

"A man will say many things that he doesn't truly believe," Isidore said
dismissively.

"No, Darani will say a lot of little substance; Dajani do not," Jalen
replied.

"That is a pile of horseshit," Isidore replied calmly.

Jalen stiffened.  "Do you continue to be inflammatory?"

"This is the problem, Lord Jalen; you do tell me that my kind speak much of
little substance, that what we say is not what we mean, but then when we do
speak our minds, you tell us not to, lest it inflame you."  He sighed.  "It
occurs to me that much of what you find reprehensible about Daran nature is
entirely of your own creation.  'Tis planting a tree on barren soil then
cursing it for failing to grow."

To his surprise, Jalen sighed and when he spoke, his voice lacked all its
usual surliness.  "Sometimes you cannot speak your mind if 'tis
inflammatory, because you might so anger a Daja as to make him beat you to
silence you."

Isidore frowned.  "Do you worry that I will so anger you?" he asked.

"No!"  The vehemence of that response surprised Isidore even more.

"Do you disagree with beating Darani?" he asked casually.

"Aye," Jalen responded, his voice prickly.

"Why?" Isidore asked.  "Is it not an effective manner of silencing us?
Demonstrate once and for all your strength over us, then might we ever be
submissive and cower before your presence, ready to fuck and serve as you
will it?"

"Do you cease speaking on this, Isidore," Jalen told him coldly.

"Fine, do you tell me why you dislike Darani, then," Isidore replied
obstinately.

"I do not dislike them; I have told you this already," Jalen said, his
voice dark.

"If you believe all Darani are stupid, then why do you grow vexed that I
have forgotten already your vain protestations on the matter?" Isidore
asked archly.

"I do not believe that Darani are stupid," Jalen said curtly.

"Mindless then," Isidore said.

"I did not say that," Jalen argued.

Isidore tapped his temple.  "You said there was nothing up here for any
Daja to worry about."

"It does not mean you are mindless to say that a Daja cares not for what
goes on in your mind," Jalen growled.

"But why would you want to think that?" Isidore asked contemplatively.  "I
did tell you I would plumb the depth of your nature to find the source of
your hatred toward my kind."

"You are incapable of doing such," Jalen said dismissively.

Isidore ignored him.  "I would say it might be something as simple as a
general malicious disposition.  But a malicious man wouldn't care a whit
about whether or not Darani suffer the odd beating now and then.  So I am
beginning to wonder if you are not motivated by somewhat else..."

"Do you drop this, Isidore," Jalen warned.

"'Tis hurt or guilt; one of these motivates you.  You have either been hurt
by a Dara, or have hurt one yourself," Isidore surmised.  "But which one?"
He was patently aware how vexed the man was growing with his continued
commentary, so he figured he was approaching the truth.  "Did you get
slighted, Lord Jalen?"

"Aye, 'tis that," Jalen replied irritably, hoping to shut the boy up.

"Ah, so 'twas you who did the hurting," Isidore replied at the casual
confession.  "What did you do, Lord Jalen?  Did you--"

"Do you be quiet on this, Isidore," Jalen warned in what was approaching a
raised voice.

"I don't understand why, 'tis an interesting topic, and one--" He couldn't
finish that sentence as a large hand came up to cover his mouth and he was
forcibly silenced.  He yanked at the hand but it did not budge in the
slightest and thus was the subject closed by the autocratic Daja.

After riding like that with the enforced silence for a while, Jalen looked
down at his mute passenger.  "Do you promise not to speak on subjects that
I have deemed inflammatory?" he asked, his blue eyes warning.

Isidore nodded and then was his mouth given release from the hand.

"'Tis a nice countryside," he commented.

"Aye it is," Jalen replied.

"Did you grow up in the city?" Isidore asked casually, then upon feeling
the stiffening behind him and knowing Jalen hated personal questions, he
felt compelled to act as though he cared little for the answer.  "I did.  I
lived all my life in the castle in Sheq-Kis-Ra City and did often wonder
what it would be like to grow up in the provinces."

"The air is different there," Jalen replied and Isidore's eyes widened as
he leaned against the man's chest.  Fancy such a normal answer; it made him
feel as though he was actually having a normal conversation.

"My friend in the castle was from the province of Nom-Tomik, east of the
city in Sheq-Kis-Ra.  Eiren is Daran like me.  He was sent to the castle to
foster there because I needed a companion of my own class.  My father
worried that I was becoming too interested in my brother's weaponry and
would cut myself open with his overlong sword or some such.  Also I think
he didn't want me to be lonely when Barik was out training for months on
end with the various provincial Svaren."

"Why would he care?" Jalen asked, true curiosity preventing him from
phrasing that even in the slightest bit tactfully.

"My father loved me very much; he loved both of us," Isidore replied
somewhat hotly.  "Darani are not slaves in Sheq-Kis-Ra; there we are
considered human beings."

"'Tis the same here," Jalen replied.

"It hardly seems like it," Isidore muttered.

"'Tis just that you must get used to the way of things," Jalen told him.

"Aye, like a cankerous sore will I get used to it," Isidore replied
stubbornly.

"'Twill be you who suffers most if you don't," Jalen replied.

"I thought you cared too little for the suffering of Darani to admonish
them not to increase it," Isidore said.

"I am not so heartless," Jalen replied irritably.

"You make every attempt to convince all that you are exactly so heartless,"
Isidore argued.

"Because I am not filled with charm and platitudes, does not mean I am
cruel," Jalen replied.

"Heartlessness and cruelty are not the same thing," Isidore told him.  "The
latter implies active attempts to treat others badly, the former means that
one will stand idly by in the face of another's suffering, and care not a
whit as they undergo it."

Jalen stiffened, his hand gripping tight around the reins of the horse and
unwittingly halting it.  He flicked the reins to urge the horse on.  They
continued like that for a distance while Isidore thought on the man's
incongruous reactions.

"But a heartless man would feel no guilt," he said into the silence, "so
now we are back to the subject of the Dara you hurt.  What did you do, Lord
Jalen?" he cajoled.  "What could you have done to so hurt a Dara that you
must pretend they feel nothing lest you be eaten up with guilt?"  He
gasped.  "You beat one, didn't you?"  Patently aware he was entering into
dangerous territory when he felt Jalen go rigid behind him, he still would
not let go of this bone.  "You beat one really badly, is that so?"

Jalen reined in the horse so that she came to a sudden stop, nickering
irritably to be halted a second time for what seemed to her to be no
reason.  Jumping down from the saddle, he led the horse over to the side of
the road and affixed her reins to a fence post.  All the while, Isidore
remained in the saddle, his heart beating wildly as he wondered what was on
the Daja's mind.  He stiffened when he felt Jalen's hands around his waist
and instinctively twisted in the man's grasp as he was forcibly dismounted
from the horse and then stood before the Daja who loomed over him
furiously.

"You," Jalen gritted out, his blue eyes turned to ice, "have to be the most
ill-graced, disobedient Dara in creation.  And stupid, also, for I told you
several times to cease your line of questioning; that it was inflammatory
and would lead to punishment.  And all of these admonitions you were too
dimwitted to pay attention to.  So now it occurs to me that I must show you
the price of your irrational persistence.  Kerim-ya is too kind to you."
At this Isidore's eyes flared.  "He indulges your loose tongue and allows
you all manner of liberties, which will see the both of you made miserable
for it.  And whilst I care not a scrap for your misery, I care for my
friend; and so you will learn the cost of your misplaced tenacity, on the
journey home."

Isidore was too terrified to move.  He debated running, but where would he
go?  His mouth seemed gummed up with fear, but he managed to utter a plea
to Jalen when he returned with a rope.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, but was ignored as the Daja grabbed him with one
arm around his shoulders, using his free hand to capture and hold together
both his wrists.  Once he was held secure by the wrists Jalen let go of his
shoulders and, struggle as he might, he was held still while the rope was
wrapped securely around his wrists and forearms, binding them in large,
inescapable loops.  After affixing the end of the rope to the horse's
saddle, Jalen then remounted and spurred the mare in her sides.

Isidore looked in amazement along the length of rope, several feet
separating him from the horse, before he felt it pull taut and he was
jerked along behind it.  It was a sedate pace, so Isidore was able to walk,
even meander at times.  But he had lost the benefit of a mount, which was
the point Jalen was obviously trying to make.  Just in case Isidore failed
to grasp this, however, Jalen saw fit to point it out, turning around in
the saddle to address him with a superior look and paternalistic tone.

"I do this so that you will understand that being availed of a mount is a
privilege and not a right, as are the numerous other things your lord is
kind enough to bestow upon you; including his own advisors as attendants.
Hopefully, you will take this lesson to heart that, upon your continued
churlishness, you will find yourself stripped of all those privileges you
are right now too ungrateful to appreciate."

Isidore said nothing, though he could spit on such minor benefits that
Jalen would term 'privilege'.  Grateful?  They thought he should feel
gratitude for the crumbs they dropped from their table?  Though he could
say this to the Daja up ahead of him, he refrained, for Jalen wouldn't give
a damn about what he said, except to store it up in his ledger of the
Sheq-Kis-Ranian's misdemeanours.  Jalen thought he should take this as a
lesson; that he would rather be up there on the horse with the Daja than
walking along behind it.  He debated whether to inform him that he
preferred the smell of horse's arse to Sherim-Ran dog any day.  About this
Jalen would certainly give a damn, but only to be offended and promptly go
running to Kerim to inform him of Isidore's latest transgression.

Jalen cast his eye back to the boy on occasion, and periodically he
received a steely glare if Isidore's eyes happened to be looking in his
direction.  Upon those occasions, he schooled his expression to reveal
naught but superiority.  But, when Isidore was looking away he let his eyes
linger and, unbeknownst to him, his expression revealed his regret.



Isidore sank into the bath in blissful relief.  The unexpected walk had
been longer than he first thought it would be.  The Sherim-Ran dog had
forced him to walk the entire distance back to the castle from where he had
begun the lesson, which was far longer on foot than it had felt on
horseback.

"So, little one."  Isidore stiffened at that voice, his bliss dissipating
somewhat as he opened his eyes.

There stood Kerim, the picture of Dajan manhood.  Isidore found his gaze
traveling up the length of the man and felt his groin stir in response,
hotter than the heat of the water.  So finely was this man put together,
standing above him in his buck-skin trousers, tight on his thickly muscled
legs, and outlining every bulge.  And, whilst Isidore knew better than to
look at THAT bulge, he couldn't prevent his eyes from tracing over the
rock-hard thighs.  Isidore remembered when he had felt those thighs in
between his own and had rubbed up against them as they had writhed around
upon that large bed.  Gods!  What was he doing?  The heat of the bath must
really be getting to him if he was looking upon Kerim as a man might his
lover, and he blinked his eyes rapidly, recovering himself.

"I see you have no attendant," Kerim said, keeping most of the amusement
from his voice in response to that blatant perusal.  All was not lost then,
he thought, though the boy managed to keep his desire under the sturdiest
of wraps for the most part.

"I have no need of one, my lord," Isidore managed to reply in a calm voice,
then he couldn't help adding: "as I am capable of washing myself."

"Ah, but I am here," Kerim replied, walking to the bath and kneeling down
beside it, regarding Isidore with his black eyes.  "And so I will attend
you."

Isidore tried to be as surreptitious as possible in his shrinking away from
the man who sat beside the bath, his arms resting on the rim, regarding him
intently.  "That will not be necessary, my lord," he said somewhat
breathlessly, "and it seems rather inappropriate that my Svarya scrubs my
back."

"Perhaps, but you are naked, so your Svarya will not pass up the
opportunity to scrub your back, along with the rest of you," Kerim replied
with a grin.

Isidore ceased pretending that he was not entirely discomfited by their
proximity and tried to rise from the bath.

"Stay where you are," Kerim ordered him in a bored voice, but it held a
note of warning.

"The water grows cold, my lord."  Isidore tried another line of escape.

Kerim dipped his hand in the water.  "It is very warm, and you will not
waste a fresh-drawn bath for fear of me; I will not touch you."

"Is that a promise, my lord?" Isidore wondered aloud.

"I will tell you merely that my patience has not yet entirely evaporated
under the duress of your company," Kerim replied.

"I would be only too happy to take my company as far away from my lord as
he would please," Isidore replied.

"Would you indeed?" Kerim asked, and Isidore jumped slightly as he felt one
large arm slide around his shoulders and he closed his eyes as he felt the
man's roughened cheek rub against his own.  Now he was distinctly shivering
from the embrace, though he couldn't say what prompted it.  "And so, little
one, since this is how far from me I would like you, are you now only too
happy?"

"My lord knows that I am not in the least bit happy with this proximity,"
Isidore managed to answer through the strange, shivery sensations that
washed over him in response to their closeness.  "Not to mention it being
rather impractical."

Kerim laughed, tightening his arm around Isidore's shoulders briefly before
letting go.  "Quite right," he answered, lifting the washcloth and sliding
it across his shoulder; only the thin, soaked fabric the separator between
the man's hand and his skin, but infinitely preferable to the proximity of
their previous embrace.

Isidore noticed that he examined closely his forearms and wrists, holding
them up to the light to see if there were any markings.  There were none;
for after Isidore had been tied to the horse for half an hour, Jalen had
dismounted, untied the bonds, and told Isidore it was his job to hold the
rope.  A test, obviously, to see if he could carry out the instruction and,
since he could not see what positive outcome might result from defiance of
that mandate, he had done as the Daja had bid so his skin had been spared
any chafing.

"Jalen will not be joining us for dinner, I imagine," Kerim commented,
drawing the washcloth along one small arm.

"Why is that my lord?" Isidore was truly curious.

"We had a fight and he lost," Kerim replied.

"What was the fight about?" Isidore asked.

"It is not his place to punish you, and so I challenged him for it," Kerim
replied nonchalantly.  "Though I must admit, I did so before I found out
the extent of your punishment.  Now I feel I must make amends to him on the
morrow."

"And punish me instead, I suppose," Isidore muttered.

"No, I won't be doing that," Kerim replied, drawing the washcloth back over
the boy's shoulders.  "Unless you want me to."

"My lord knows I do not wish to be subjected to punishment," Isidore
replied, sucking in his breath as the washcloth made its way over his chest
and belly, tracing a gentle, caressing path over his taut skin.

"I thought you said you were of the sect of Jadinites," Kerim remarked
casually, sounding preoccupied with his task.  "AND I thought you did not
say things you did not mean."

"I was jesting," Isidore replied, sucking in his breath again and shifting
to avoid the roaming cloth.  "An honest man may jest, may he not?"

"I suppose an honest MAN might," Kerim replied, "but dishonesty in boys,
for the sake of jest or not, is not something we wish to encourage here."

"I am no boy," Isidore replied, sitting up and pushing the large hand away
from him as he looked seriously into the man's dark eyes.  "I am but four
years younger than you."

"But Dara-born and oh-so-much smaller than I," Kerim answered with a grin.

"How does that make any difference?" Isidore asked incredulously.

"You should know that," Kerim answered, regarding him intently.  "Even I
know enough of the sun-brothers to know that little-brother submits to
big-brother's mastery."

Isidore scowled blackly.  It was true; nowhere in the sun-legends had he
been able to find anything refuting that.  Though little brother had led in
the area of written word, according to the oldest scrolls in Sheq-Kis-Ra,
the legends still held that He was in willing subjection to big-brother.
And Isidore would bet Kerim had just lapped that up; of all the things he
learned about the sun-brothers, Isidore would wager that Kerim thought that
was the most important.

"Physically, maybe," Isidore conceded finally.

"Physically definitely and, argumentative as you are, Darima, you shall
have trouble debating that.  Yet you will not submit to me," Kerim noted.
"Why is that, Isidore?"

"I suppose I will submit to no man," Isidore replied after a pause.  "I
have tasted sex and find it to be like candies; very sweet and pleasant at
the time of consumption, but leaving one feeling empty and dissatisfied
shortly thereafter."

"Well."  Kerim looked a little insulted.  "You have had but the one time.
Perhaps you need more experience to make such a judgment."

"I have had sufficient experience, my lord," Isidore replied coolly.
"Allow me the knowledge of my own body if nothing else.  I know what I
need, and I do not need that."

"Then 'tis good that neither your needs nor your wishes matter in this,"
Kerim replied, getting to his feet.

Isidore did not wait until Kerim had left the bathing chamber before he
muttered a dozen oaths and expletives to describe to himself just what he
thought of that man's wishes and needs.  Though they were mainly under his
breath, he guessed Kerim picked up on a few of them because he heard the
damned man chuckle in response to them.  To spite him, he decided to
continue washing all those places Kerim had seen fit to wash which,
mercifully, didn't include anywhere intimate.  And so it was after ten more
minutes, and as the water was getting quite cold, that he got out of the
bath.  Stepping on to the small cloth beside the tub, he looked about for a
drying cloth, turning in a circle, and then another.

Be damned!  His heart sped up in his chest as he realised that the damned
bastard, while he had been muttering and cursing his name, had taken every
item of his clothing and every drying cloth, so that the only things
Isidore could use to cover himself were the tiny square of washcloth or the
ever-so-slightly larger square of bath mat.  Damn him!  He meant for
Isidore to have no coverings when he came out of his bath.  Just another
way he demonstrates his power, Isidore railed inwardly, to keep him
completely naked until he saw fit to put clothes on him.

It was several minutes that he stood by the door, unable to open it,
gathering up his courage and collecting about him the shreds of his
dignity, so that he might enter the man's bed-chamber without a scrap of
clothing on him.  Eventually it was the chill that got to him, the minor
draughts coming from the very high windows and underneath the doors to the
bathing chamber.  He wouldn't even have noticed had he not been standing,
dripping wet, which began to make him shiver.  Eventually, he knew, he had
to enter the man's bed-chamber and face that smug self-satisfied smile.

Kerim was lying on the bed when Isidore entered, dewy wet from his bath and
looking good enough to eat with his soft, creamy skin lit by the candles.

"Close the door, Isidore," Kerim instructed.

Isidore stiffened.  He turned and pushed the door closed behind him,
knowing it would give the man a perfect view of his trim behind.  About
this, he had no doubts, and knew that this was the reason for the
unnecessary instruction.  When he turned back, he saw the man standing
before him with a towel which he wrapped around Isidore's shoulders.

"Have I displeased my lord?" Isidore asked, shifting the towel down to wrap
around his waist and pleased that he finally had a scrap of covering.  He
wanted to find out if this was why he had lost his clothes.

"No more than usual," Kerim replied.

"Then why my enforced nudity?" Isidore gritted out, feeling the skin of his
upper-body prickle up with the breeze from the open balcony doors.

"So that I might enjoy it," Kerim replied unrepentantly.

"Lecher," Isidore muttered as he walked across the room to the chests where
his clothing was kept.

"Better to be lecherous than prudish," Kerim replied.

"I'm sure it is, for you," Isidore replied coldly.  "But I am not a little
boy who will, but for the price of some sweets and trinkets, submit to your
lechery."

"No; your price was considerably higher," Kerim answered, lying back to
regard Isidore as he was dressing.  "But a whole nation is the price,
nonetheless, and now that you have become my Diya, I cannot imagine why I
am not making use of you."

"If my lord is waiting for my invitation to do so, he will be waiting a
long time," Isidore retorted disdainfully, not caring any more if he was
displeasing the man.  For it seemed that his punishments depended far more
on the whim of the horrible brute than any behaviour on this part.

"Careful, my prudish little Sheq-Kis-Ranian, do not bend my patience too
greatly or I shall be induced to prove to you just how little I need your
invitation to take that which is mine," Kerim replied.

"'Tis all about your patience, Kerim-ya, but I am beginning to think you
have none and merely are toying with me, waiting for the opportunity to
strike and effect your second rape of me."

"It shall be no rape," Kerim responded with a scowl.  "As with the one you
would deem the first, I shall have you moaning and writhing around under
me.  I've no doubt of that.  Prude that you attempt to be, you also play
the whore rather well, or so I have seen."

Isidore could not hide his aghast expression, closing his mouth on any
retort he might have made.  After a moment's hesitation, he took his seat
on the chair by the dressing table, looking absently at its gleaming wooden
surface for a number of moments before he remembered that he had sat down
to brush his hair.

Kerim swallowed uncomfortably, realising that he had gone somewhat too far
in order to obtain victory in their latest battle of words.  "Have I hurt
your feelings?" he offered after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

"Would it matter if you had?" Isidore asked in a tight voice.

"It might," Kerim answered after a pause.

"Then you may rest easy, my lord, for I am learning to harden myself to
your barbs," Isidore replied, turning to the mirror and lifting the
hairbrush to his hair.

"I don't know why you disdain the bed, Isidore," Kerim said as he watched
the boy brush out his midnight locks.  "You who are so concerned with
equality will disdain the only place where we might be equals."

"There is no equality in your bed; 'tis I who get fucked and you who do the
fucking," Isidore replied caustically.

"Is that what you think?" Kerim asked, coming up behind Isidore and
capturing his hand, removing the hairbrush from it so that he could take
over the task for him.

Since it did not matter too greatly to Isidore that the man brushed his
hair, he sat by while the Daja performed the task.  He did prefer that
Kerim be anywhere but this close to him, smelling of his heady Dajan scent,
and merely said: "I have said it, and so have you."

"I have?" Kerim asked, then he smiled slightly.  "Ah, when I said you would
play the whore."  He sighed, wondering whether he should show his hand to
the boy on this particular occasion.  Deciding that if it was this standing
in Isidore's way to enjoying the bed then he would do well to eradicate it,
Kerim told him, "I only play on your own fears and prejudices in this,
Isidore.  I do not believe that a man who enjoys sex, Dajan or Daran, is in
any way a whore.  It is that YOU believe so which allows me to use this as
a weapon against you.  If you had no such weakness, I would not be able to
exploit it."

"'Tis all about fighting with you, isn't it, Kerim-ya?" Isidore said
disgustedly, wincing slightly as the hairbrush hit a snag.  "Are you so
eager for challenge that you would make even the bedroom a battle?"

"I am a warrior and lived many years a hunter also," Kerim admitted.  "And
I most enjoy feisty prey."

"So I am prey to you then?" Isidore asked incredulously.  "Some Geshian
animal for you to fell and tear to pieces."

"Perhaps 'twas a poor illustration," Kerim said with a sigh.  "But I cannot
deny that I enjoy a challenge and so, I believe, do you, my little
Sheq-Kis-Ranian."

"I enjoy no such thing," Isidore muttered.

"You very much do enjoy it," Kerim said with a grin.  "You love arguing,
you love pitting your wits against others'; only I think, until now, you
had yet to find out what it was like to come out the loser."

"You fight unfairly," Isidore stated.  "If I say aught to which you cannot
make answer, you then use your strength and position to muscle me into
submission.  How many of our battles of wits, as you would label them, have
ended by your threatening me with a lesson in your bed?"

"I will use all the weapons at my disposal," Kerim replied unrepentantly.
"And I have told you: 'tis only your response to that particular weapon
which renders it effective, yet you still have not told me why you disdain
the bed."

"'Tis not an equal place," Isidore muttered.  "'Tis where a Daja dominates
a Dara."

"Do all Sheq-Kis-Ranians think that way?" Kerim asked curiously.

Isidore frowned.  "Of a partnership that is equal, two men who consider one
another to be equivalent in status, mutually deserving of one-another's
respect, then no, 'tis not considered that way.  For you and me, it most
definitely would be that way."

"It is sad you think that," Kerim replied with a sigh that sounded
altogether real.  "There is no shame in being fucked.  There is no shame in
enjoying the body of another man.  If there is little enough joy you get
from my company, you might as well enjoy that which I can give you."

"If you perceive that I do not enjoy your company, my lord, perhaps you
might endeavour to improve your conduct towards me," Isidore replied.

Kerim leaned down, drawing the hair away from Isidore's ear so that he
could whisper into it.  "Perhaps I can just fuck you instead."

Isidore jerked away from him, turning to look at him incredulously.
"Perhaps you leave me be, or better yet, send me back to Sheq-Kis-Ra."

"So we are back to that?" Kerim asked, finishing the brushing and then
braiding the boy's hair.  "If I am so spiteful and contrary as you were
muttering that I was back in the bathing chamber, oughtn't you suggest that
you would rather remain here?  To constantly inform me of your desire to go
back to Sheq-Kis-Ra might induce me to keep you here just to confound you."

Isidore yanked his braid out of the man's hands, finishing the job of
binding it himself.  "Why do you hate me?" he asked furiously.

"I don't hate you," Kerim told him easily.  "I only want to fuck you.  And,
for some bizarre reason, in this land over which my rule is absolute you
who are my closest possession do refuse to be ruled.  So you frustrate me,
Isidore, but I do not hate you."

"If you would but be decent to me," Isidore said softly, fiddling with the
binder on his braid as though he were preoccupied with affixing it.

"Did you want a fool to dote on you, little one?" Kerim asked.

"A doting man need not be foolish, my lord, and neither is a cruel man
wise.  In fact, I think wanton cruelty is closely aligned with stupidity,"
Isidore said pointedly.

"I will ignore your unsubtle insults, Isidore, since I know I am not
stupid.  And though you'd like to consider yourself excessively clever, you
mustn't be too astute if you cannot see that I am kind to you, albeit
probably not in the way to which you have become accustomed."

Isidore turned around in his seat, looking up at the man in shock.  "How
can you call your treatment - no, your mistreatment - of me, 'kindness'?"

"I have given you such things as you've asked for, and more," Kerim
replied.  "You do not work in the castle; rather you sit and read and do as
you please all day.  I have spared my friends to escort you around so that
you might get to know your new home and grow more comfortable in it.  I
have indulged your fits of pique with naught more than like replies which,
when delivered back to you, you find to be unpleasant, though you will take
this as no lesson in curbing your own acerbity--"

"Why should I curb my opinions?" Isidore interrupted furiously.  "'Tis only
because you find my barbs to sting bitterly, when they lodge true to their
mark, that you would deny me the freedom to speak my mind."

"I tell you, you were given far too many freedoms in your former home and
developed a tongue that is sharp and unpleasant and a demeanour which is
sour and supercilious.  You fancy yourself put upon, thinking your
suffering is greater than anyone else's.  But you are privileged, though
you refuse to see it, and 'tis merely upon the receipt of less privilege
than that to which you are accustomed that you imagine yourself some kind
of victim."

"I AM a victim!" Isidore yelled, jumping to his feet and meeting the Daja's
eyes even though they were far above his own.  "All Darani are victims in
this land!  So, contrary to the thoughts my lord was so kind to indulge me
with, I DO appreciate that my position is privileged compared with the rest
of the Darani, both within the castle and without.  But that is saying
pitifully little, for Darani here are little more than slaves.  In fact,
less than slaves, for slaves may have a hope of purchasing their freedom,
whereas Darani will be born and will die here under the suffocating and
oppressive hand of the Dajani and can scarce breathe, let alone hope."

"What do you do?" Kerim asked, quite casual in the face of Isidore's
tirade, merely folding his arms across his chest.

Isidore frowned.  "What do you mean: 'what do I do'?" he asked.

"I mean: 'what do Darani do'?" Kerim repeated.

"What kind of question is that?" Isidore asked.

"A valid one, for the answer is: precious little," Kerim replied.  "Dajani
built the cities, therefore Dajani rule them.  Dajani won the lands in
battle and continue to defend them in battle; therefore Dajani rule the
wider plains and provinces.  Darani enjoy the fruits of that which they did
nothing to create and do but little to maintain.  Is it any surprise,
therefore, that they do not occupy the upper echelons in society?"

"Well I ask you: against whom do the Dajani defend our lands?" Isidore
asked, paying scant attention to the man's Dajan reasoning.

"Invaders," Kerim answered with a frown.

"Dajani," Isidore answered for him.  "Dajani must defend the lands against
other Dajani; for it is the Dajani who create war and destroy life and land
so that they may rule what's left of it.  So I will not be thankful for
being 'protected' by one bunch of brutish louts against another bunch of
brutish louts, all of whom are not happy lest they are fighting amongst
each other."

To his consternation, Kerim grinned.  "I think," he said, taking a step
towards Isidore, who instinctively stepped back, edging around the chair to
maintain his distance, "that you have just worn out the very last shred of
my patience.  Do you get on the bed now."

"No!" Isidore yelled, resisting the urge to stamp his foot.  That would
truly render his outburst a tantrum.  "You will NOT escape making answer
with that threat!  Be damned, you WILL answer for the brutish and wantonly
destructive nature of your own kind."

"You will not give me orders," Kerim replied calmly.

"Very well," Isidore managed to calm himself some, "I ask you to make reply
to it then, my lord."  He folded his arms across his chest, reserving his
smug smile for the silence he expected to follow.

"The answer," Kerim gritted out, "is that your definition of the
equilibrium wrong.  War is the way of the world; war is the equilibrium.
You yourself said that even the peace-god thrives on war.  Therefore an
unendingly peaceful world is impossible.  If war is not currently being
engaged in, it is not far off.  So the warriors, far from being a bunch of
fighting, scrapping, and brutish louts are simply those best equipped to
deal with the constant war the world throws at us.  Your kind, who are not
equipped for warfare, must defer to us in return for our protection."

"I don't believe that, my lord," Isidore said earnestly.  "I believe we are
intelligent enough to realise that more is to be gained with enterprise
than bloodshed."

"Aye, perhaps, and between the brother cities we have seen this.  So we do
not engage one another in war; but there are the nations to the north and
east to contend with and these would seek to take that which we have
created if we were incapable of defending it.  The more one has, the more
attractive does one's property become to those who have less.  You can
expend all your energies on enterprise but, eventually, the time will come
to defend it from those who will not engage in like activities and will
instead covet what you have created.  At such a time, you will need to know
aught of warfare and have strength to back up that knowledge.  Those things
do the Dajani provide, little one, and for those things, will the Darani
serve."  He stepped towards Isidore again, who backed up against the wall.
"And for those things will you also serve," he said gently.

Isidore looked away and he swallowed uncomfortably.  "I take back what I
said," he told the Daja.  "'Twas my folly to argue with you and for that I
am sorry."

"'Tis too late for that," Kerim said softly.

"You cannot," Isidore said, though his voice lacked the conviction that it
would have had if he had known that he had any choice in the matter.

"I can," Kerim replied reaching for Isidore who moved to the side, avoiding
his hand.

"Then I cannot," Isidore admitted.  "Please, desist in this.  I'll not say
another word to vex you, I promise."

"It pleases me that you are willing to cease being vexatious," Kerim said.
"But I will still have you, for I have said it and so it will be."

"I'll fight you," Isidore said, his eyes wide, and there was no lack of
conviction in that statement.

"You'll lose," Kerim replied calmly.

"So you would force me?" Isidore asked, his heart beating wildly as he
dared not think of the prospect.

Kerim reached out, capturing Isidore's jaw in his hand, looking down at the
boy's wide midnight-blue eyes within which fear warred with fury.  "We will
see, won't we?"

"You cannot," Isidore repeated, reaching up to pull the man's hand off his
jaw.  "To force me would render me heretic and bring unknown destruction
upon yourself."

Kerim frowned.  "Do you threaten me with the wrath of the gods now?"

"I mean to do no such thing, my lord," Isidore said, trying to calm the
beating of his heart so that he could make his case.  "'Tis merely that to
force one who is follower to the god of pure love is not considered to
stand you in good stead with Lodur's first-born.  Likewise, if you force me
and I despise you because of it, you render me heretic and bring as much
punishment upon my head as you call forth on your own."

"That seems a convenient way to avoid the bed, Isidore," Kerim said, his
voice revealing his disbelief.

Isidore looked at him aghast.  "Distasteful as I might find that service, I
would not lie about my own god to spare myself from performing it.  'Tis
merely that you should know the cost of proving your latest point, my
lord."

Kerim regarded the boy for several moments, hoping to find some trace of
duplicity in his expression.  Eventually he sighed irritably.  "One day,"
he said curtly.

"I beg your pardon?" Isidore asked.

"One day for you to go to the temple or whatever it is you must do to
reconcile yourself to serving in that capacity for which your father sold
you, and then you WILL serve in my bed Isidore, and 'twill be your choice
if you suffer everlasting destruction for it."

Though it was not the best outcome he could hope for, Isidore nodded after
a time.  "That is...tolerable, my lord," he said.

Kerim nodded.  "Aye, and 'tis most reasonable," he said, his voice prickly,
resisting the urge to add that it was far more reasonable than the boy
deserved.  What he did do, however, was lift Isidore up, ignoring the boy's
protestations and carry him over to the bed, dumping him heavily on top of
it.

"You said you would give me a day!" Isidore gasped once he had regained his
breath.

Kerim stood over him, his expression dark.  "And I will, Isidore, but you
were given an order ere I made you that promise; this is to lesson you
that, do you not follow an order when 'tis given, you will be made to
follow it."

Isidore stared up at him, agape.  This was to lesson him for not getting on
the man's bed when he'd been ordered to?  If he had not been so relieved to
be receiving a day's reprieve from that man's touch, he would have prickled
up with fury at the clear demonstration of power of him.

Kerim prickled up with his fair share of irritation at seeing the boy's
affronted expression.  Nonetheless, he schooled his voice to calmness to
address Isidore.

"You have been given a day," he said coldly.  "Until then, you need not
serve me.  I will have your dinner sent up to you tonight so you might
remain here to think on your own unwillingness to bend, and just how far it
has got you."

Then he turned and quit the bed-chamber, leaving Isidore staring after him,
subdued by the pronouncement.  Ah, gods, tomorrow he would serve that man's
pleasure and but one day to fortify himself for it.  Then why, by the gods,
did he feel that strange buzzing sensation in his belly, like the locusts
had come back to haunt him, fluttering around and making him feel tight and
flushed at the thought?  Nervousness was what it was, and dread.  Yes, he
was dreading the morrow, and the more he thought about it, the more he
talked himself into fearing rather than relishing the promise to be taken
to Kerim's bed tomorrow night.

He could have taken solace in the fact that Kerim was not feeling much
better as he strode towards the mealhall.  For all that the boy belonged to
him and he had spoken truly when he said Isidore's father had sold him into
his brother-Svarya's bed, he did not feel nearly so pleased as he thought
he would, now that he had finally set a time for the boy to resume serving
him appropriately.  But he felt he had given Isidore the choice; he had
allowed the boy to choose him of his own accord and instead he had
consistently responded with cold disdain.  And so he had learned that his
frigid attitude would avail him of nothing but misery for himself.  But, if
such were true, then why did Kerim feel a good measure of that misery
settle on his own shoulders?

As he entered the mealhall he saw, contrary to his predictions, that Jalen
was at dinner that evening, bruises and all.

Jalen very quickly noticed his friend's dolorous expression and cursed
silently.  It was the Sheq-Kis-Ranian; he knew it and he shook his head,
swigging back more wine.

"Aye, I know what you are thinking," Kylar commented to him as Kerim
approached.  "But you give up too easily.  I still say he is good for him."

"And I still say you're an idealistic fool," Jalen muttered into his wine.

"You are late," Kylar told Kerim as he took his seat between them.  "Jalen
has drunk all the wine, which is not surprising given the beating he has
taken."

"Aye," Kerim turned to Jalen.  "I should admit to having challenged you
before I knew the extent of the damage done."

"'Tis no matter," Jalen murmured.

Kerim inclined his head and Jalen nodded in reply, and so the matter was
put at rest.

"So where is your attendant?" Kylar asked after a time, ignoring Jalen's
pointed glare.  "I miss having something especially pretty to look at."

"He is unwell," Kerim answered.  The typical excuse presented when a man
was having difficulties with another man.

Kylar snorted.  "'Tis a pity you and he refuse to get on."

"He will not bend and neither will I," Kerim replied, feeling little in the
mood for the food that a serving boy presented to him, given it would
merely soak up the wine he was at present downing.

"Perhaps you might be kind to him?" Kylar suggested.

Kerim sighed exasperatedly.  "That's what he says, and 'tis a source of
much consternation for me, because I thought I was being kind to him.  I
have given him all that he might desire.  I know he was no servant back in
Sheq-Kis-Ra so he does not serve.  He may do as he pleases all day.  I have
had the library cleaned and aired for him and was planning to give him the
key in a week's time.  I would give it to him now but I do not want him
using it as an excuse not to continue his explorations of our home.  And
for these he has you and Jalen as attendants.  By the gods, I can think of
nothing more I can do to show him I want him to be happy here."

Kylar sighed.  If he did point out that words as well as actions spoke of a
man's caring, it would just make his friend feel all the more inadequate,
for he knew little of how to say kind things.

"Perhaps 'tis just that he has not finished adjusting," Kylar finally said.
"It has been but a few days he has spent in Sherim-Ra.  'Tis little
surprise that he is not yet comfortable in his new home.  But if 'twould
please you to know, he does seem to enjoy that which he has seen of it so
far, barring the Temple of the Dara-ya, that is."

"Aye, well I shut that down, did I not?" Kerim muttered irritably.

"Have you told him thus?" Kylar asked curiously.

"No," Kerim answered, and he wasn't about to.  It was enough that he had
acted in accordance with the boy's wishes; he need not tell Isidore of it.
His father had always told him of the dangers of letting one's Diya think
he had too great an influence over him.

"Perhaps you should," Kylar said.  "If you hide from him your kindnesses
and only expose him to your harsh words, necessary though they might be, he
will have trouble crediting you with any kindness at all."

"I am not a kind man," Kerim said irritably.  "But 'tis not just me that he
despises about our home; of that we are all well aware.  So best he gets
used to the way of things in Sherim-Ra, as well as getting used to me, and
learns to be happy in spite of it."

It was as Kylar was about to speak that Jalen spoke up in his place, having
had enough wine not to scruple his words overmuch.

"You never should have asked for him, Kerim-ya," Jalen's voice was
toneless.

"You have been playing that tune a long time, Jalen," Kerim said irritably.
"I thought now that he has been asked for and delivered here, you would
stop."

"That you brought him here changes not the fact that you never should have
done so," Jalen argued, but his tone was utterly respectful.

"Well he is here now, and to send him back would be not only a source of
much annoyance to me, but also a grave insult to the Sheq-Kis-Ranians.  So
even if I agreed with you, I would still not be able to return him," Kerim
said curtly.  "Therefore 'tis best you and he accept that he will be here
and, since he'll never be returning to Sheq-Kis-Ra, best he learns to be
content with his new home."

Jalen shook his head, looking into his ale.  "He will never be happy here,"
he said softly.  "Sherim-Ra is no place for a Dara who thinks."