Tempests of the Soul

Rama'eh's spirit was disturbed within him, but a specific cause eluded his rational efforts to discern. He left his compulsive pacing of the marble antechamber adjoining the stateroom, refusing to acknowledge the salute of the chief steward, and grasped a golden brazier from its bracket on the wall. The flame of the torch within cast his silhouette in sharp relief onto the columns and walls of the antechamber; in shadow he seemed to climb to the arched ceiling far above and brush against the painted frescoes.

The chief steward, skin black as polished ebony, recognised his master's mood and thought it best to deliver news of the latest campaign later in the evening. After Rama'eh had supped and wined he would more fully appreciate the absolute defeat of the Calaxuatls to the east, but now he was not to be disturbed.

Rama'eh threw open the door to the verandah, half-absorbed in thought. As befitted a ruler in a time of war, he yet wore the black tunic of the overlord - ultimate commander of forces in the field. His semitic heritage was betrayed in the proud aquiline nose and keenly chiseled features. Broad shoulders bore the silver-trimmed epaulettes of a general and their reflection of the torch's light bathed him in a metallic brilliance. The women of his harem marvelled privately at his masculine beauty, his was such a primal attraction.

He thrust the brazier into a waiting bracket on the railing which separated the verandah from the plunging, dark depths of the hill on which the fort was built. Rama'eh surveyed the twinkling lights of the hearth below, hypnotic in their multiplicity and orderly confinement to the city's grid of streets and avenues.

Falling away from his vantage point the city unfurled before him like a scroll. Pyrae had been a home to many peoples and countless generations. This incarnation of the 'holy metropolis', house of the Temple to Anaphim and to Rama'eh, Overlord of the eastern empire, was its most magnificent to date. The broadest avenue (it was called 'Grand' in the Common Tongue), running roughly north/south, was studded along its sides with gently murmuring fountains. Its cobbled pavingstones had borne the hooves of many a victory parade, and the bare feet of countless captured slaves; but never yet had they suffered the passage of an invading army.

Graceful palms lined the Grand avenue. Like perpetual ladies-at-wait, they clustered around the dome of the Temple just off the city center. Most of those strolling the main promenades - lovers hand in hand, sons of noblemen gathered in knots to pronounce philosophy - wore white cotton robes, denoting them of the [ed.: ???] caste. Cotton raiment was forbidden to slaves or members of the lowest caste, on punishment of death.

Less visible from his perch, but nonetheless known to Rama'eh, the temple prostitutes sat in their colored robes on the temple steps, beckoning to the white-robed passerby.

"Rama, son of man - what do you see ?"

The disembodied voice issued from the air next to Rama'eh, though no human stood with him in the night air. He did not turn. He knew that it was for his ears alone.

"My lord, my lord. I am glad that you have come."

Rama'eh swept his hand out into space, encompassing the great city below with its twinkling lights.

"All this I have gained, with your help, yet I find resistance to the east. The empire is not yet complete. This bloody people thwart my best warriors, again and again !".

"Their end is near. Calaxuatl has already fallen."

Rama'eh's head jerked upward imperceptibly. The change in his demeanour was immediate ! A sly grin of satisfaction spread across his fine features, marring his beauty but somehow increasing his intrigue, his appeal to the onlooker (were there to be any so foolhardy as to risk swift death by spying upon the overlord in his private quarters).

"Your warriors, led by Asakin son of Nor, have exacted the revenge you demanded for acts of resistance. The men of the city, even now, are being flayed alive. Their heads will be posted, every man of them, along the walls. Before day breaks it will be done as a testament to those who dare oppose Anaphim."

Rama'eh's smile grew, but froze slightly in its progress at Anaphim's last words.

"Indeed. I will utterly spoil that wretched haven of harlots." He spat, emphatically, over the railing. "My power will be unchecked, now, in the East. For this, I thank you, lord."

There was no reply.

The movement of light caught Rama'eh's peripheral vision and he turned his head to the left, away from the city proper, to seek its source. The hill on which the fort stood was ringed at its base by the whitewashed villas of some of the city's most privileged. It was one of these that provoked his scrutiny now, fifty yards downhill with only two treetops interrupting his line of sight. The door to the roof had been opened, spilling golden light from the fire of many torches onto the patio.

Into this pool of liquid brilliance stepped what might have been a mermaid of the light. The beauty of her face was so devastating as to limit comparison. Her chin was elfin, her symmetry was perfect; her flaxen hair shone like beaten gold. Her skin was pale and absorbed the golden hues of the diffracted torchlight. She wore a diaphanous blue gown which at this distance teased to be transparent. Oh, how he wished it could be !

The goddess afar soon made clear her intent: half hidden beyond the pool of light which had announced her arrival lay a tub of water, probably of the clawfooted kind which rich men could afford to keep on their patios. Her back to the fort above, she let the blue garment slide from her shoulders. He imagined he could hear the rustle it made as it gathered around her ankles. He was imagining, was he not ?

She presented a brief profile as she lifted long slender leg after leg to step into the tub. What proud, beautiful breasts, defying gravity with upturned nipples !

Rama'eh could scarcely breathe, and his loins were aflame before he realised that he was being... entered. Anaphim swept with power into his body, submerging his spirit and grasping control of his physical being. His spirit did not cry out, did not resist - the feeling was unfamiliar but strangely, not unpleasant.

Ramah'eh whirled and in a hoarse voice cried for the chief steward.

"Inesus ! Inesus ! Attangae immediae !"

And again: "Inesus !"

Inesus rushed to the verandah doors. His dark brow betrayed a few drops of moisture. One never knew what capricious whim of the master might end in bad report for a chief steward, and he feared every urgent call to service might be his last.

"My lord."

Ramah'eh seized Inesus by the shoulder and so superhuman was his strength that he actually lifted both sandled feet from the marble as he strode back to the railing. He pointed to the villa below, its roof still lit by torches.

"Bring me that woman ! It must be done now !"

"Y-yes, master........ Master !"

"Yes !"

"I beg of you to release me that I may do your bidding !"

Inesus' feet propelled him back into the antechamber as soon as they regained sweet communion with the floor, as fast as they could carry him. He clutched his crushed shoulder as he gathered the lord's armed men, all the way down the hill on his mission to fulfil Anaphim's lust.