Chasing Mirages by Russandol

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Treason

Eönwë makes a dreadful mistake and must pay the price.

 

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11. Treason

Several weeks later, I knelt nervously with my hands clasped behind my back, waiting for Mairon’s orders. Chakmóol had spilled a few drops of wine over our master's silk tunic, thus incurring his displeasure.

‘Fetch me a whip!’ Mairon commanded me, while he began to adjust the length of the chains from which the king now hung, painfully splayed.

‘Yes, Master,’ I said demurely. On all fours, I crawled to do his bidding.

I was extremely familiar with the contents of every piece of furniture in the room. Opening the right drawer, I surveyed Mairon’s extensive collection and wavered over the tidy line of instruments. Having tasted each and every one of them, I knew which ones Chakmóol favoured, or rather, least objected to. I settled for one of several leather cats with braided tails knotted at the ends, neither the most vicious not the mildest.

I returned to Mairon’s side and presented the whip up to him with both hands, but he did not take it or look at me. He was busy shortening each chain by a few more links. Chakmóol bit his lower lip to stifle a cry at the brutal tug that made him spread his legs even further apart, so that his toes barely touched the floor and the shackles dug cruelly into his wrists.

‘For long you have wished to taste what it feels to master another,’ spoke Mairon, sparing me a fleeting glance. ‘Tonight you have the chance, because this worthless cur does not deserve that I waste my sweat on him. Stand up!’

I hesitated, incredulous.

‘Are you deaf, slave?’ he slapped me harshly across the face. ‘I will deal with your tardiness later, but for now, do as you are told.’

‘Yes, Master.’ I obeyed hastily. My cock leapt up with a sudden surge of excitement as I tightened my grip over the handle of the scourge.

‘But…’ Chakmóol began.

‘Be silent!’ roared Mairon. He stood before the king, wrapped his hand around his groin and twisted it sharply. Chakmóol bravely grasped the chains and withheld his cry of pain. He sobbed when he was released and whimpered a very weak ‘Yes, Master’.

‘This clumsy thrall is to receive fifty lashes,’ Mairon commanded me sternly. ‘You are not allowed to unchain him or to stop the punishment, unless he calls his word of release. Let pain aid him to appreciate the error of his ways.’

I had learnt to dread Chakmóol’s word; he seldom invoked it, but when he did, Mairon forced me to endure the remaining part of his punishment as well as my own share, while the ahaw watched triumphantly from the side. This was, at last, my sweet chance at retribution.

‘Yes, Master,’ I made an effort to mask my glee.

‘Very well. I have business to attend to.’

Mairon had sometimes showed his displeasure with me by leaving Chakmóol in charge of my discipline. I always loathed those occasions. Now the door closed behind our master, and a key turned in the lock.

‘Release me at once!’ cried Chakmóol, rattling the chains. ‘I command you!’

I knew better than to disobey an order from Mairon. Even if he was not watching us, I would not risk his wrath.

Deaf to the ahaw’s threats and pleas, I dutifully shook the whip to straighten its tails, as I had seen Mairon do countless times. The thrill of power fed my arousal, and I felt pleasantly giddy when I slowly ran the handle along Chakmóol’s spine and watched the mighty god-king of Kiinlúum jerk slightly, his muscles clenched in tense anticipation. I savoured his fear, could almost sense it swirling around us. I raised the whip, paused for a short instant, and struck decisively.

Both his moan of pain and the pattern of reddened trails on his back filled me with a deep satisfaction that seemed to be connected straight to my groin. I repeated the motion three more times, and Chakmóol’s cries grew in anguish, until he began to howl. I briefly studied the welts on his back, which had become angry red lines. I was a little surprised, certain that I had not flogged him as hard as Mairon would have.

I feared the dire penalty I would incur if I failed in my task, so I persevered. Two more blows. That made six. The king squirmed and shrieked, begging me with halting words to stop. One more. Seven. He writhed as if fire were searing his skin.

‘Please, no more, please!’ he cried hoarsely. ‘Péepem! Péepem![1]’

His word of release. At that precise time, several of the weals on his back began to blister; in some places the whip had sliced the damaged skin, and droplets of blood were welling up. The blood of the divine ahaw of Kiinlúum.

In panic, I fumbled with the shackles, which fortunately obeyed my command to release their prisoner, and I held Chakmóol’s limp weight in my arms while I lowered him carefully onto the floor. He was unconscious.

Unable to revive him, I began pounding on the locked door, shouting for help; Mairon rushed in shortly afterwards and appraised the scene, horrified at the sight of the bright crimson trails on the ahaw’s back.

‘What have you done, you fool?’ he cried.

I watched dazedly as he inspected the injuries, and then rushed to fetch jars, vials and water. He applied a wet cloth to Chakmóol’s back to clean his welts. Then he urged me to help him get the king into his trousers and tunic, wrapped him in a cloak so that his features were hidden and carried him hastily out of the room.

I waited anxiously. I toyed with one of the gold chains, admiring its perfect links, before I let it drop into the drawer where Mairon kept them. After pacing around the room for a while, I knelt in my usual position, but I could barely stay still.

At last he returned and sat down heavily.

‘Forgive me, Master,’ I offered, risking a penalty for speaking without leave. ‘I did not…’

Wordlessly, he kissed me, passionately, almost desperately. Then he released me of my bindings. I began to get dressed with shaking hands. Mairon picked up the discarded whip from the floor, lightly ran a finger over one of the braided tails and touched it to the tip of his tongue. He immediately wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘Your choice was ill,’ he murmured, his face pinched with worry. ‘The leather was soaked in diluted sak’k’áak’[2] sap and left to dry. You have tasted this punishment, but I have never dared use it on the ahaw.’

Indeed, I recalled the agony wrought by a mere six strokes, in a previous session. Until now, I had not known why the kiss of the lash had scalded my skin so badly that the welts had smarted severely for several days, as if burnt by rivulets of glass etching acid.

I stared at him, dumbstruck.

‘Sak’k’áak’,’ I echoed at last.

After Nikteháa’s rebuke, I had found out that the sak’k’áak’ plant was believed to suck from the earth the spilled malice of the god of the underworld, and its touch was forbidden to all but a few men consecrated to the cult of the sun-god, who were trained to fight its taint. The sting of its furry leaves was far more painful than that of nettles or poison oak found in the western realms. Worse still, its sap was extremely poisonous, and through reticent answers from a fellow counsellor I learnt that it was also rumoured to be the secret ingredient of the trance-inducing draught used during the summer solstice ceremonies.

What had I done? Chakmóol had received seven lashes at my hands. My sacrilege was double: I had used a forbidden, evil plant to shed the ahaw’s divine blood and I had struck at the very source of his people’s strength. I paled at the possible consequences if the poison had entered his body.

‘Why, Mairon? How?’ I cried, dismayed.

‘I found a clump of bushes during one of my trips to the hills. I was keen to know if you would endure its sting,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘I should have been more careful…’

Suddenly, we heard angry shouts and loud knocks, followed by the din of many approaching feet. The door swung open violently. A score of soldiers, led by Síináan, stormed into the room, swords at the ready.

‘What is the reason for this intrusion?’ demanded Mairon.

The captain stepped towards him and struck him across the chest with his staff.

‘Silence, traitor!’ he snarled.

Mairon doubled over in pain. Outraged, I leapt to his aid but was restrained, as was he. My arms were yanked behind me, my wrists and elbows tied tightly with leather cords. The last thing I saw before a thick sackcloth hood was pulled over my head was Mairon suffering the same treatment. Blood was running from his lip and his eyes promised vengeance.

I was dragged out, shoved and cuffed if I did not move quickly enough. I heard Mairon’s irate protest and the loud thud that sent him back into silence. I felt furious and helpless.

‘Do not resist, Eönwë,’ he calmly called out. ‘They are already in a rage and if you provoke them further they may do something stupid.’ I felt mildly reassured by the sneer in his voice.

I was thrown across the back of a horse in front of one of the warriors, and a strong hand kept me from falling during a most uncomfortable journey. I tried to detect changes of direction and guess our destination; soon I heard the shouts of our captors to demand that the city gates be open.

I was not surprised when I realised we were being taken to one of the impregnable hill fortresses, where prisoners of importance or those criminals that were deemed too dangerous to reside in the city gaol were kept. We stopped at last in a cobbled courtyard, where the hooves of the horses clattered loudly. Someone grabbed hold of my tunic and pulled until I slid to the ground. Unable to control my fall, I landed heavily on one foot, and groaned at the burst of pain in my ankle.

Two guards roughly lifted me up and half-pushed me, half-carried me down many uneven steps, until I heard jingling keys and grating metal. I was shoved forward violently, tripped and fell heavily against a stone floor, covered in stinking straw. A door clanged closed behind me, and the steps of those who had escorted me died along what echoed like a long corridor.

I could not rid myself from the suffocating hood, and all my efforts to undo the leather laces failed too. I struggled to sit up against a wall, panting and with my heart in my mouth, bruised and battered from the ride, and wondered whether Mairon was faring any better.

For a long while all was silent, and then I heard scuffles and grunts echoing in the distance, accompanied by the unmistakeable sound of fists pounding against bare flesh and by bursts of coarse laughter. This went on seemingly for ever, but what followed was worse. A whip cracked many times, and after a very long while, a blast of pure fear and undiluted rage swept me, a stray wave of panicked ósanwë, followed by a violent tremor that shook the ground, and the wall against which I leant my weight.

Then followed deep silence, made even more frightening by my blindness. I cried for help, but nobody came. Over the years, I had learnt to bear discomfort patiently, but this time I could not stay idle. I fought my bonds until I felt blood run down my arms and hands. I screamed, demanding, no, begging to see the king.

Terror writhed like a live creature inside my stomach, while I endlessly recalled every instant of my blunder, and cursed myself for picking up the poisonous scourge out of the many I could have chosen. Why did I favour that one? Why, oh Eru, why?

Had my unwise choice condemned both Mairon and myself? There had been no formal accusation, no one to appeal to. I desperately wished to tell Chakmóol that it had all been an error, that the punishment for my crime, however serious, should be mine only, because it had been my mistake that had shed his blood. In the end I was unable to do more than croak and sob my despair, my regret, my fear.

Much later, steps echoed loudly, the door was opened with a horrible screech and I tensed when I heard a group of people enter. Something heavy was dumped on the ground, and a weak groan followed.

My bonds were cut, the hood was pulled away and I blinked in the light of several torches.

‘You may wish to greet your friend, before it is your turn,’ one of the guards said mockingly, ‘and realise the wisdom of speaking the truth.’

Horrified, I beheld the bloodied sight. Mairon lay on the floor, naked, and his whole body was painted with bruises, welts and burns. The door slammed again behind the soldiers leaving us in darkness broken only by the dim beam of light coming from a narrow slit, high on the wall.

When we were alone I rushed to Mairon’s side and took him in my arms. I bent my head next to his, kissing and caressing his hair, his cheeks, his broken lips, inhaling the smell of his sweat and blood, and the faint scent of fire and iron. I whispered halting words of love, those I had never dared speak to him in the past lest he should laugh in my face. Now I did not care about mockery.

‘What did they do to you?’ were his first words, hesitant and hoarse.

‘Nothing, Mairon, I am well. But you…’ I almost sobbed. ‘Why did they torment you?’

‘Síináan has commanded them to obtain our confessions, by any means necessary,’ his voice wavered a little and his eyes glinted with pain and anger.

’Why would Chakmóol do that? He already knows what happened!’ I exclaimed. An ugly suspicion arose in my mind. ‘Unless Síináan is not acting under the king’s orders!’

‘That could be, Eönwë, if Chakmóol is still unwell.’ I shuddered with remorse and fear. Mairon sighed, then shifted in my arms and grimaced fleetingly. ‘I kept repeating that I would only answer for my actions to the king, not to his lackeys. I said I would accept the ahaw’s justice if they took me to him, but they just whipped me harder and tied me to the rack. They threatened to pull my limbs apart one by one if their king were to die as a result of my treason.’

‘But it was me!’ I protested, touched by his attempt to protect me.

‘Was it, really?’ He shook his head. ‘I placed Chakmóol in your hands. I unlawfully picked the sak’k’áak’ and used it sacrilegiously. If the truth comes to light, the ahaw’s priests may even believe that I purposefully ordered you to use that whip in order to inflict an even worse outrage on his divine person.’

‘It was entirely my choice!’ I cried.

‘Promise me you will not incriminate yourself!’ he urged. I shivered at the slight hysteria I could perceive in his voice. ‘They will not be gentle but you must be careful. The king believes that you have replaced him in my affections and have bewitched his daughter. And he would not thank you for blurting to his henchmen the detailed nature of his submission to me.’ His face darkened. ‘I did not help our cause when I slew one of them, a beast who tried to… By law, the king can have us both executed, he has already enough reasons to decree our deaths.’

‘You can escape,’ I insisted. ‘No prison can hold you.’

‘No, not while my strength lasts. But our flight would prove our guilt and destroy the lives we have built here.’ He shook his head weakly. ‘I will only choose that path if all else fails. Just remain silent until Chakmóol summons us and we have our chance to speak to him. I am certain that he will listen to me, and in a few days we will laugh at this unfortunate incident. Believe me, someone will regret this outrage.’

My fears were not wholly dispelled.

‘Eönwë, have faith in me. We are Maiar, stronger than these creatures, even while we are bound to flesh!’ he pleaded. I knew I would obey him, as I had every other time he invoked my trust.

They came for me shortly afterwards. I don’t know how long they questioned me, because with the hood back over my head, day was no different from night, and whenever it was removed, the only light was shed by spluttering torches and red-hot irons. But it was long enough to learn to dread the gruff voice of my interrogator as the precursor of misery well beyond what I had ever experienced.

Pain suffered at Mairon’s hands always had a purpose, and seemed to follow a pattern, a sort of symmetry; mixed with his other touches, it created an exquisite awareness of my hröa. This pain, however, was simply brutal, clumsy, chilling in the prompt indifference with which it was delivered, forever linked in my mind to their endless drone: ‘The truth. Tell us the truth. Tell us who did it, dog! When you tell us, we will stop. Otherwise you will wish you were dead, scum!’

Mairon had instructed me to say nothing, and I was stubbornly determined to endure their mistreatment without a sound. Several times I failed in my resolution, and could not bite back moans or cries when agony flared. At first, I spoke not a single word. However, I gradually grew weaker from thirst and starvation. From the aching hollowness of hunger I guessed I must have been captive for several days at least, but beyond that I did not know.

At some point, they gave up whips, blades and fire and began instead to hold my head under foul water until I choked and thrashed in panic of imminent drowning. My resistance almost cracked, aided by growing dizziness. I held on to Mairon’s words as the only truth in the world, as the bright beacon to guide me through the dark waves of confusion. Gradually, even that faith was fading in my crumbling mind.

‘A mistake,’ I yelled at last, ‘it was a mistake. Wrong one… I chose the wrong one. I did not mean to…’ I babbled and sobbed like a child. ‘I could not know… tell the king…’ I shrieked. ‘It was a mistake!’

After this terrible lapse, my questioners continued with renewed zeal, while I frantically clung to my silence with the last dwindling vestiges of willpower. When they finally stopped, they were heartbeats away from wringing from me the answers they sought, had I been able to speak. They revived me yet another time and then dragged me, stumbling, along endless corridors. I was too cramped and exhausted to hold my weight. The hood was removed and my eyes watered in the brightness of a room with a window, and a door opening to a paved courtyard. I was dazed, almost swooning, weak from pain and lack of water.

They brought Mairon to my side, heavily chained. When I turned towards him, a ringing blow to my head stopped me, but not before I had taken in his sorry state. We were both forced to our knees when Síináan entered the chamber and stood over us. A glance at his tightly-pressed lips and frowning brow quickened my heart.

‘The king… where is the king?’ I queried, tremulous with fear at the possible cause for Chakmóol’s absence.

‘Where you can not hurt him further, cur!’ hissed his cousin. ‘Your cowardly assault makes you both guilty of treason, even if you have refused to supply a confession. The penalty for your crime is death.’

‘No!’ I cried. Mairon urged me to be quiet but I paid him no attention. ‘Yúum Síihbalóob was not even there, you can not…’

Shrieks echoed outside, following by pounding, and sounds of a scuffle. I froze in alarm when Nikteháa, dishevelled and with tears running down her cheeks, almost fell through the door, a long knife gleaming in her hand. The soldiers rushing behind her looked apologetically at their captain, who seemed utterly distraught by her presence.

‘Síináan, no! You cannot do this,’ she screamed.

When she saw me, the blade fell from her hand and clattered loudly on the hewn stone. Horror twisted her beauty and haunted her eyes as she met mine. Her kinsman grasped her arms to bar her from approaching me. At his signal, the guards dragged her out, despite her frantic struggles. The door closed, but her muted cries took a long while to fade away.

‘Save yourself. Flee!’ I urged Mairon in our own language.

‘Do you think I have not tried? My hröa is too weary to snap chains or shift shape, friend,’ he muttered, with a sigh of defeat. ‘Severing the links, by will or by force, is my only…’ One of the soldiers backhanded him brutally across the mouth.

‘Silence, dog!’

Mairon glared at him murderously but obeyed. Blood began to trickle from his split lip.

The death of his hröa would cut him free from both irons and flesh, but at what price? However quickly he could rebuild his shape, and in the past he had hinted it would be no small task, the wealth and respect he had earned in these lands would be lost.

I turned to Síináan.

‘The law of this land rules that the fate of those accused of a capital crime may be spoken by the king alone,’ I argued desperately. ‘I shed the ahaw’s blood, though not out of malice. Justice in Kiinlúum will be ill-served if you slay Yúum Síihbalóob for my crime.’

‘No, Eönwë!’ cried Mairon. ‘Be silent, you fool!’

The captain wavered slightly. I ignored my friend’s frantic command and took the chance to make my plea.

‘The guilt is mine alone. Slay me if the ahaw dies; if he lives… my life or death will be his to command. But you must spare Yúum Síihbalóob’s life.’ I fixed my eyes on his face.

‘You are not in a position to make demands, traitor!’ snarled Síináan.

He came closer, and took a fistful of my hair, twisting it painfully. He slowly ran the thumb of his free hand along my jaw, then down my neck. I held my breath and winced at the loathsome caress; his lips curved into a greedy smile.

‘I may be persuaded to be merciful. Yes, I am sure my cousin may find a good use for you. I hear you have been well trained, slave.’ He looked beyond me to Mairon, a glint of triumph in his eyes. ‘Maybe I should sample your wares first, and decide whether you offer a good bargain, whether you are as keen to submit willingly as you say.’

‘I will serve him,’ I pledged, with a knot in my throat. ‘I will also do anything you wish, Captain, if you give me your word that Yúum Síihbalóob will live.’

‘Tell me, Counsellor,’ continued Síináan, forcing me to turn my head so that I looked at Mairon. ‘Yúum Síihbalóob will in all likelihood resent a ruler who removes all his privileges, locks him in a dungeon and robs him of his precious pet. If your friend was a man, or even one of the Bright Ones like you, the ahaw and I would laugh in the face of his chained wrath. But our secret lore warns us against the foul spawn of envious demons, sent to destroy us. We must vanquish him before he regains his power. Would you advise your king to cage a thunderstorm? Can its lightning ever be tamed?’

My eyes silently asked Mairon for forgiveness.

‘Answer!’ demanded the captain, yanking my hair. ‘Can it be tamed?’

‘No,’ I almost sobbed. ‘It would be foolish to attempt such a deed.’

‘You see, Counsellor?’ Síináan sneered, releasing me at last. ‘From your own mouth I just heard that I have no safe choice but to order his death, lest I be named reckless or unwise by my lord cousin, as I was not long ago.’

He nodded to someone behind us, and a masked man stepped into sight.

‘All is ready, Captain,’ the man said. The soldiers pulled Mairon to his feet with a loud rattle of chains. I looked up at him, proud and beautiful despite the bruises and cuts that marred his skin, despite the tattered rags and the unkempt hair. His starlit eyes locked onto mine for too brief an instant, broken when he was prodded harshly to walk on. Limping, but with his head high, he went out into the courtyard.

I fought wildly, screamed, cursed, wept, but could not escape the many rough hands that pinned me down. From where I knelt, I glimpsed the gleam of steel swinging in the air. The sharp thud that followed stopped my struggles.

Mairon’s presence, the faint radiance that even my dimmed senses had detected since our first encounter, faded away. I gasped, my heart in my throat. Surely it could not be…

‘It is done, Captain,’ a voice announced from the doorway.

‘Move that filth out of the way,’ Síináan ordered curtly. Outside, I heard several soldiers moan, struggling to lift a heavy weight. One of them cracked a crude joke and the rest laughed coarsely.

Closing my eyes, I strained my inner senses, searching. Where Mairon had been, there was now a void. He could not die, but he was gone from Endórë, probably to hide in some dark corner of Eä, away from our kin, his foes, to plan his next move. I bent my head to my knees, curling into myself, racked with sobs.

A hand lifted my chin. Síináan’s eyes held a measure of pity.

‘You will be summoned, Eönwë,’ he said. Releasing me, he stood and turned to one of the men in the room. ‘Come back later to get him cleaned up,’ he commanded.

They left me there on my own, drowning in despair. For a while I remained kneeling, and then I laid myself on the cold stone floor, wishing to die or at least to forget, knowing that both death and oblivion were denied to my kind. Many times I cried Mairon’s name, begging him to return to me, even if I would not be able to touch his unclad form. I pleaded to Námo and to Manwë to release me; I called onto Eru to dissolve my being into Eä, into the mists of stars, to allow me to not be, to lose myself in the deeper, older chords of the Song, empty of memories.

None answered.

 

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Notes:

[1] péepem (Yucatec) butterfly

[2] sak’k’áak’a fictitious plant, which name is a combination of two Yucatec words, “fire” + “itch”