Odalisque (8 page)

‘What was I worth to my stepmother?’

Lazar could see it was pointless trying to skirt this issue. ‘Forty karels.’

‘Offer the old woman the difference. I have no sense of value, Lazar, but I think you probably took advantage of Felluj’s desperation to be rid of me—just as the alley cat is taking advantage of the old woman. You could see that our family was penniless and so you could offer what you wanted. What am I truly worth to the palace…twice as much?’

‘Probably,’ he admitted, compelled to be honest with this girl whose harsh words hurt deeply as she held him so painfully in her gaze. He felt the ache all the way to his heart.

‘Then offer her the other forty—you can tell the Valide that I cost that much,’ she begged.

Without giving Lazar another moment to consider, Ana rushed over to where the old woman was about to hand over her jewellery.

‘Wait!’ Ana cried. ‘How much are you selling your gold for?’

The old woman—far older than he had first thought, Lazar noted—turned and smiled gently at Ana. ‘Twenty karels, my girl.’

‘I will give you forty for it!’ Ana exclaimed.

‘Hey!’ the alley cat said angrily. ‘Stay out of it, stupid girl. You don’t look as though you have a zeraf to your name!’

Ana ignored him. ‘Please,’ she asked the old woman. ‘Let me buy it.’

‘Go!’ the man yelled, pushing Ana, which was a mistake, for within a blink he felt his arm enclosed in a grip so hard he squealed.

‘Don’t touch her, scum,’ Lazar said, squeezing harder, watching the man double over slowly. ‘You’re lucky I don’t throw your kind into the pit, or worse.’ He let go of the man.

‘Spur,’ he bowed. ‘Forgive me, sir. But I was doing an honest trade with a customer.’

‘Honest, my arse,’ Lazar sneered. ‘Go on, be glad I don’t take it further.’

The man glared at Ana and the old woman but turned furiously and left without another word.

‘It was honest by his standards anyway,’ the old woman said generously from beneath the hood she seemed to hide under. Her voice was kind, with a soothing singsong quality to it.

Lazar retrieved his money pouch from his belt. ‘Here, forty karels is the agreed price, is that right?’

‘It is, I thank you, Spur Lazar,’ the woman said and rather than holding out a hand, she opened a pocket, encouraging him to drop the coin into it, which he duly did. It occurred to him that this
was odd but the thought was gone almost as soon as it arrived.

She turned to the child. ‘And this is for you, Ana.’ She handed the girl an exquisitely sculpted gold owl.

Lazar took a sharp intake of breath. It was a tiny statue of Iridor. He felt confused. He could have sworn it was a plain gold chain she had been selling, but even to his untrained eye it looked worth more than forty karels. However, something about her manner prevented him from saying so.

‘Are you sure you can bear to part with this sculpture of Iridor?’ Ana asked, stunned by the bird’s beauty.

‘Oh yes, and particularly to you.’

Ana smiled and the old woman reached out to hug her. Then she turned and tottered off. Lazar was still frowning; not only baffled by the gift itself, which had seemed to change shape before his eyes, but by Ana’s knowledge of who it represented.

‘I could have sworn she was selling a bracelet or necklace, not an ornament,’ he said.

‘I agree.’ She hesitated before saying what was on her mind. ‘And I never gave her my name and yet she knew it.’

Lazar swung around but the old woman had disappeared into the darkness of the alleys. ‘She knew my name too, although I suppose I’m known in the city but not you.’ He frowned
again. ‘Ana, how do you know the name of the bird that sculpture represents?’

‘Everyone knows Iridor,’ she said casually.

‘Not everyone. Certainly not people your age.’

She shrugged as if to assure him it was of no importance, then added, ‘I’ve always known him.’

He wanted to press further but Ana pushed the gold bird into his hand, taking him by surprise.

‘It’s yours,’ she said, ‘you paid for it.’

‘Keep it, Ana. It was you who paid for it. You are worth ten times as much.’

She smiled up at him and the connection was true. He was not imagining the feeling of her warmth washing over and through him.

‘They will not permit me to keep it, will they?’ Ana asked.

He shook his head sadly. She was right, of course. ‘I suspect not. It will go into the palace coffers and probably never be seen again or, worse, melted down. Iridor isn’t exactly a friend to our people.’

‘Pity he’s seen that way,’ she said sadly. ‘He’s always been our friend.’

Lazar was taken aback by her words. He felt himself slightly lost for his own.

Ana filled the awkward pause. ‘No, you keep it for me. Let it remind you of me and of our friendship.’

Lazar pushed the bird into his pocket and took her hand. ‘I shall keep it safe for you,’ was all he
would risk saying. ‘Now, it’s time I took you to your new home.’

‘Lazar, don’t just keep it safe. Keep it near.’ She searched his face for some sort of confirmation that he understood her intensity.

All he could do was nod gravely and that seemed to satisfy her.

He hated every moment of the journey that brought them closer to the palace. With each step he felt that former sense of freedom, that release from the weight of his world, dissipate. With each stride he felt his shoulders hunch closer and his insides harden again once more, but this time it combined with a new sadness to ponder: Ana would be gone.

They arrived at the palace gates. He announced himself and his charge at the Moon Courtyard and now he experienced a terrible sense of loss. It was official. Ana had arrived and been registered by name at the palace. There was no turning away now.

She was palace property.

Pez found Boaz alone in his chambers. Joreb had long ago given permission for the dwarf to access all areas of the palace—he was the only person in the entire retinue who had absolute freedom. Thus the guards were used to seeing him come and go as he pleased, whether it be to the Zar’s rooms or even the harem for that matter. He was the only intact male to visit the prized, most viciously protected place in the palace without any threat to his wellbeing.

‘I thought I’d find you here,’ he said. ‘Would you prefer to be alone with your sorrow?’

‘Do you know,’ Boaz said, ‘you’re the only one who has even considered that I might be grieving for my father. Everyone else is treating me as though I should get over it and get on with taking on my new role. My mother’s the worst. For her my grief is akin to a headache: something to sleep off with a mild soporific.’ The last few words were uttered with such disgust that Pez remained quiet. The boy was angry and entitled to be. ‘Don’t they understand? My father
has died! I loved him as any child loves their father.’

Pez moved deeper into the room. ‘So how can we help you?’

‘I just want to be left alone,’ Boaz replied, sullen now. He had seated himself at a window and was gazing out across the harbour.

Pez looked at the Zar and realised suddenly how tall his young friend was, and lean—as his father had been. But that was where the physical similarities ended. In looks Boaz was all Herezah: dark hair and eyes, with smooth olive skin. He possessed her strong, beautiful bone structure, and Pez imagined how hearts must already be fluttering in girls’ breasts at the thought of their new Zar.

‘You know that cannot happen, Boaz,’ Pez said gently. ‘One of the major attributes that everyone will be looking for in you is strength of character—’ He held his hand up to stop the Zar. ‘I know you possess this but you need to show it to all the royal watchers who are waiting to pounce on your weaknesses and prey on them.’

‘I don’t want to be happy yet,’ Boaz replied. His tone was haughty now. ‘It’s obscene to think I should sing and dance with my father’s body barely cold.’

‘I understand, truly I do, but you must demonstrate that you are strong. I don’t suggest you make merry, Boaz, but you must participate in palace life. Don’t withdraw. Be seen, be
noticed. You don’t have to smile or give pretence at happiness. In fact it would be all the more powerful if you were grave. It means you’re taking your father’s death seriously and that you’re anything but a throne-hungry son. But let the palace see you around its halls and let the people know you are going about your duties stoically.’

There was silence for a minute.

‘You’re right, as usual,’ Boaz said eventually. ‘I’ll make an effort.’

‘I’m proud of you. Let your mother know you are equal to the task, and that this is your throne.’

‘And not hers?’ Boaz finished, turning around to regard the dwarf.

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You didn’t have to.’

‘I have no doubt that she can assist you immensely. But she can also undermine you.’ He changed the subject, his voice turning brigh. ‘So, what have you been thinking about all alone in this grand new chamber?’

There was a silence and then Boaz sighed heavily. ‘I’ve been staring out to sea all evening watching Beloch and Ezram.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘Do you know, Pez, it’s the first time I’ve ever really paid attention to them. They’ve always been there so I suppose growing up I didn’t take much notice.’

‘I think most of the city folk suffer the same disease. One of Lazar’s great gripes is that none of
us appreciate the fine art all around us. Do you know their story?’

‘Of the giants? No, we’ve never been taught the old legends—they think it’s sacrilegious.’

‘Of course they would! The priests fear a return to the old ways of worshipping the Mother.’

‘You’ll have to explain that, Pez,’ the boy said, crossing his legs, knowing he was about to be told a story.

‘How about I pour some wine first?’ Pez poured two cups with watered sweet wine and waddled over to the window seat. The dwarf made himself comfortable and then cleared his throat.

Boaz gave a small grin, his first in days, and raised his glass. ‘To a lighter heart,’ he said. The two of them drank.

‘Now, where to begin?’

‘Tell me about the priestesses,’ the young Zar suggested as he settled back into cushions.

‘All right. Centuries ago, Percheron followed the ways of the Great Goddess whom we know simply as Mother, and worshipped female deities. The temples were inhabited by holy women. They were silent places, which is why you’ll see so many of the sculptures in our temples with fingers to their lips.’

‘What does it mean?’

‘Silence represents the soundless womb that gave birth to the first gods. Some of the oldest writings teach that Silence was the mother to the Great Goddess herself.’

‘But now they’re noisy places. I don’t often enjoy a visit to the temple.’

Pez nodded. ‘The priests changed everything. Now the temple is a gathering place. Prayer blends with socialising. Moneylenders, as you know, now set up their stalls outside the temples because these are places where lots of people meet.’

‘So temples were once quiet places of prayer and overseen by women?’

‘Yes, indeed. The holiest of our people were women. Lots of the symbols you see around you, Boaz, have female connotations.’

‘Oh?’

‘Over here.’ Pez pointed to a recurring motif on a painted frieze on one wall of the chamber. ‘You see this. What do we call it?’

‘Wait,’ Boaz said, screwing his eyes tight and concentrating. ‘It’s known as the universal life charm.’

‘Good, your scholars teach you well, even though they don’t explain much. Did they teach you that it’s also known as the Cross of Life and that it represents the union of the female and male?’ Boaz shook his head. ‘The oval shape on the top of the cross is female. The cross itself is male. And there’s more if you look for them.’ The dwarf paused and took a sip of wine. ‘Think of the decoration of the great feasting hall in the palace. What symbol comes to mind first?’

‘Er, the one which looks like a shell that you can hold to your ear and hear the sea in.’

Pez smiled. ‘Right again. That shell is called a cowrie.’

‘I know that.’

‘Do you know what it symbolises though?’

‘No. Tell me.’

‘It’s the female sex and was often used to represent the Goddess.’

Boaz opened his mouth in wonder and Pez grinned at the boy’s eyes sparkling with enlightenment. ‘But the cowrie symbol is everywhere in Percheron—in our homes, our paintings, on our porcelain…’

‘Everywhere,’ Pez echoed. ‘This land celebrated women once; it prayed to the Mother Goddess and it revered its holy priestesses.’

‘But…’

‘But now they are nothing,’ Pez finished for him. ‘Yes, people have forgotten and your generation isn’t even taught Percheron’s spiritual history. It’s the smug priests who run the temples and the few remaining holy women are ridiculed.’

Boaz looked out to sea and digested what he had heard. Minutes passed and Pez sat comfortably in the silence. Finally Boaz turned back to his friend. ‘So, in truth, the Zar’s harem is a mockery of what we formerly worshipped and held dear. Women are no longer revered in the same way; they are slaves to men’s needs and whims.’

Pez had not expected the youngster to make this connection so swiftly. Perhaps there was hope
for Percheron with this intelligent, perceptive young man so quickly growing into his throne.

‘One might look at it that way, Boaz, yes. The women of the harem are powerless, and the luxury and decadence in their lives all but makes them pointless. They have no role to play other than to serve men. The priests of yesteryear encouraged it for that reason and now in a twisted way the palace harem is all but sacred.’

‘When did this happen?’ Boaz asked.

‘Oh, a very long time ago. At some point the holy men became jealous of the power of their female counterparts and decided to do something about it. I simplify it, of course, but only to make it easier to understand. I hadn’t planned on giving you a lecture in history tonight.’ He smiled crookedly.

‘But it’s all so fascinating. My father’s women were happy, of course,’ he said. ‘Well, until the harem was disbanded.’

‘Were they happy, Boaz? Do you think they would choose their bored, decadent, sometimes debauched existence over freedom, the right to choose their mate and have children who won’t be slaughtered simply because they might threaten a throne?’

‘I did not order murder,’ the boy bristled.

‘Nor did I say you did. We come full circle. Your mother did what was right for today’s times. She did the only thing she could to protect the security of the Chosen’s throne. Every one of the other
women would have done the same and yet that doesn’t make it sit any easier in the mind, does it?’

Boaz shook his head. ‘I have nightmares about it. I’m not just grieving for my father, Pez, I’m trying to come to terms with the loss of my brothers…my friends.’

‘I know, child, and we must respect that.’

‘Isn’t the position of Valide Zara a contradiction, then, to the way you say we now live? Surely my mother’s power harks back to the days of the Goddess when a woman was powerful?’

‘Not really. You see, your mother is powerless without you, Boaz. Never overlook that. You are her power; your position nourishes her influence. She has none in her own right. If something were to happen to you her title would be stripped and she would be nothing again…cast to the streets as she cast her rivals not so long ago.’

Boaz frowned. ‘I’ve never looked at it like this.’

Pez said no more about it. Enough seeds had been planted in the boy’s mind tonight. ‘So now, Beloch and Ezram, our magnificent giants you asked me about.’

‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten.’

‘Some people believe, myself included, that giants once roamed the land and that these two were the most powerful warriors amongst their race.’

‘This is a myth, surely?’

‘No myth,’ Pez said gravely. ‘Beloch and Ezram worshipped the Goddess and it is said that the
warlock Maliz—aided by the god Zarab—founded the new movement to dislodge holy women from their pedestal. Through Maliz, Zarab fuelled the jealousies, weaved magicks upon his followers to overthrow the priestesses and install the new era of the priest.’

‘The giants?’

‘They were a threat to Maliz. Not only them but the rest of their kind and all the strange statues you see around the city. They were once beasts who revered the Goddess. They gave her power.’

‘So?’

‘Maliz made a bargain with the god, Zarab, and turned them to stone.’

Boaz clapped his hands, enjoying the tale. ‘What happened to Maliz?’

‘No-one knows. His is a murky history. The old stories say he was turned into a demon. Some believe he works still through others.’

‘What, today?’ the Zar asked, incredulous.

The dwarf nodded. ‘They say he never died. He just moves from one body to another. His spirit lives on.’

Boaz grinned, impressed. ‘That sounds rather terrifying.’

‘Believe me, it is.’

‘How did he do this?’

‘Maliz practised the Art Noir—have you heard of this?’ Boaz shook his head. ‘Well, suffice to say it is an unpleasant pastime. His bargain gave him everlasting life.’

‘And Zarab? What did he get out of the pact?’

‘The destruction of the religion of the Mother Goddess. Now Percheron prays to Zarab.’

‘Oh, I see. How very neat.’

Pez ignored the flippant remark. ‘There’s a catch, though. Zarab knew the Goddess would rise again, so Maliz’s everlasting life was inextricably linked to her.’

Boaz frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Well, it is because of this link that Maliz can continue to live. It is said that he moves through bodies awaiting the coming of the Goddess, watching and studying who it might be. There will be signs of course—Iridor for instance—and then once again they will battle it out.’

‘Iridor?’

‘Surely you’ve seen all the images of the owl around our city?’

‘Of course. And this is Iridor from the old stories?’

‘From Percheron’s history,’ Pez corrected, wondering if his tale was falling on deaf ears.

Boaz’s eyes shone. ‘A brilliant story.’

‘It’s so many centuries old, it feels like folklore,’ Pez cautioned.

‘I still see priestesses, though.’

‘Indeed they exist, but very few. They remain powerless, though always believing that the Mother will rise again. They are tolerated because most in Percheron hardly know the history and don’t care about the women who
keep to themselves and keep the ancient unused temples in good order…for posterity.’

‘So do you believe Maliz exists, Pez?’

The dwarf hesitated. ‘Yes,’ he answered truthfully. ‘I think he is always watching, waiting.’

‘You believe he continues to reincarnate himself so that he can watch for the Goddess?’

‘He doesn’t reincarnate himself, Boaz. He simply claims a fresh body as his old one begins to perish or become too frail for his needs. He is unnecessary as long as she is powerless. As her power increases, so does his.’

‘So they cancel each other out?’

‘Not really. Each has helpers of a sort to assist them to outwit the other.’

‘Oh?’

‘The Goddess, for example, has Iridor. He, too, only comes into fleshly being as a herald of her arrival. He is her messenger, and as Iridor gets closer to incarnation Maliz gains strength and goes looking for his new body, new victims to pull into his web…onto his side, you might say. But he and Lyana are linked to each other.’

The mention of claiming bodies had pricked Boaz’s intrigue further. ‘Can Maliz be anyone, then?’

‘Presumably,’ Pez said carefully.

‘Me?’

The dwarf frowned and it struck Boaz that the question made him uncomfortable. ‘I would know if you were,’ he finally replied.

‘Why?’

Pez shook his head. He began to hum to himself. ‘I just would,’ he said in a singsong voice.

Boaz ignored Pez’s antics. ‘So he’s always alive then. Always looking for the next victim?’