Illysra

Set in Nyissa (a land of David Edding's creation), a young girl is taken from her home and forced to train with 20 other girls to become the new Salmissra, queen of the Serpent People.

The air was hot and heavy. The whole jungle seemed to sweat in the heat, and rivers of water exuded from the plants themselves. The ground was damp and swampy, and the whole earth seemed to shift and writhe as snakes squirmed across her breast. This was a typical Nyissan summer, before the dry-spells hit and the jungle floor became hard with baked and cracked mud. Clouds of insects hovered in the air, and the jungle was alive with humming, buzzing, hissing, and the rasping of reptilian scales against each other.

            Illysra was twelve at the time. She lived with her mother in a cozy cottage, out of the way of general civilization. Her father was any one of a dozen men who lived in the capital, selling the curious poisons and narcotics they harvested from the depths of the jungle. She had no contact with him. 

            Their family was not poor, exactly, but they were not rich enough to keep servants. That is why, on that particular summer's day, Illysra was out, sweeping the courtyard. The sweating earth would soon turn the dust layering their patio to mud, and Illysra wanted to make sure she got it all clean before that happened. Mother was normally very sweet tempered and mellow �" a result of the various narcotics swimming around in her bloodstream �" but she became decidedly less docile when her porch was muddy.

            Like Mother, Illysra had tangled black curls and dark, intelligent eyes. While she swept, she kept her mind busy by reviewing the lessons Mother had taught her at lunch; today it was history. Mother's face was always very serious when she was teaching. Illysra tried to imitate her as she summarized her story.

            “Long ago the Gods used to live on the earth with us. Our god, Issa, had been a good man. He was tall and strong, and could control the serpents that share our jungles. He fell in love with a beautiful woman, Salmissra. Then, one day, he couldn't stay anymore, so he left Salmissra in charge of Nyissa, and went to sleep. His sleep lasted a long, long time; in fact, he is still sleeping, in the form of his statue in the palace. He hadn't made Salmissra immortal before he left, so she eventually died. The palace eunuchs simply chose a new Salmissra. That is why all of the Queen's of Nyissa look the same, talk the same, and behave the same; they are all trained extensively to pick up exactly where the last Salmissra left off.”

            At that point, Mother decided she was getting ahead of herself; she couldn't very well start talking about the gods before she got around to explaining their Coming, could she? So, Mother went back thousands of years and started at the beginning, when the Gods created the world. The last thing they made were humans, and after they made them, they stood around and selected their followers. There were seven gods, and -

            “Would this be the house of Lesana?” Illysra looked up sharply. The man before her was short, bald, fat and sweating profusely. He was surrounded by ten or twelve other men, and they all had swords.

            “Lesana's my Mother,” Illysra said.

            “Tell her we're from the palace,” he said. “That's all she needs to know.” His voice was slimy and greasy.

            “Just a moment.” Illysra leaned her broom against the low courtyard wall, and hurried into the house, wiping her hands on her skirt as she did so. She found Mother in the dining room, peeling cucumbers at the table.

            “Mother,” she said hesitantly.

            “What is it, dear?” Mother's voice was sort of slurred. She was wearing a filmy, translucent dress, and her blue-black hair hung long down her back.

            “There are men outside to see you.”

            “Tell them I don't work when its this hot.”

            “They're not here for that, Mother. At least I don't think they are; there's an awful lot of them. They say they're from the palace, and you'd better go talk to them.” Slowly, Mother stood up and peered unsteadily out the window.

            “Its an eunuch,” she told Illysra. “That means he won't be interested in my work. Eunuch's aren't real men. Did you know that?”

            “I didn't.”

            “Well, they're not. You know, I don't think I have enough red-berries to make the salad I want to. Would you get some for me, while I talk to the eunuch?”

            “Of course, Mother.”

            Illysra was sort of weary of leaving Mother by herself with all the men, but she knew Mother could handle it. Mother could handle everything. Basket in hand, Illysra slunk past the eunuch. All the heads of his guards turned slowly towards her, and she could feel their eyes following her as she left.

            Illysra made her way down the meandering path. She pretended she was one of the women from the stories in Mother's library. She skirted the bogs, and ducked under branches with a seriousness that was much to great for her present task of berry-picking.

            The red berries grew near a little stream. It was very narrow, and only about knee-deep, but it ran quickly and it was cool. Mother said it came from a mountain far away, and it ran so fast that it didn't have time to get warm like the other streams and ponds.

            In all Mother's stories, when the hero didn't have a house to live in, they would use ponds as their baths and their mirrors. Illysra peered carefully into the stream, but her reflection was no where to be seen. She could vaguely see the black tangle that was her hair, but that was it. Maybe the river ran too fast to be a mirror.

            Illysra dipped her hand in the stream, putting it half way in. Where the water pooled around her wrist, her reflection was clearer. She could make out her eyes, those familiar orbs of onyx, and the thin line of her lips. She pulled her hand away, and dried it on her skirt. Her reflection was swept downstream with the current.

            Mother said the best way to package berries is in their own leaves. Illysra lined the basket with bits of leaves and grass from the base of the bushes. Then, she tugged the berries off, in little groups of ten or so, and stacked them in the basket. She dunked the whole thing in the river for a moment or two, and a thin, filmy layer of grime went rushing away. She popped a juicy, freshly washed berry into her mouth as she started back home.

            She didn't dawdle too much on her way home. It was maybe a ten minutes to the grove, and another ten minutes back, but she had already been gone a half hour. Mother would be wondering where she went; she wanted to get lunch going, after all.

            It wasn't long until she was in the familiar, low-walled courtyard that opened away from her home. The windows peeked down onto the stone patio; they were all open today because there was a nice breeze blowing. That didn't happen too often in Nyissa, and even though it was only a faint whisper, it was probably being blessed by everyone in the country.

            The men from the palace hadn't left yet. In fact, they were all grouped around the doorway. Illysra wished they had gone; she had been hoping Mother would tell her a story while they ate.

            “Excuse me,” she mumbled, squeezing between them. “Please let me by. Mother needs-” She stepped into the kitchen and froze. She was made of blown glass, and she had just been shattered.

            Mother was slumped across the table, her head resting on her arms. Her body was cold, and pale, and lifeless. The eunuch sat beside her, a smug smile on his face. He directed that smile at Illysra.

            The basket fell from her hands, berries rolling all over the floor. She was petrified, staring at her Mother's body. The world went dead silent, save for the blood rushing in her ears.

            It was terrifying. Not Mother's body, but Illysra's. It would not obey her. It would not move. She just stood there, rooted to the spot, and screamed and screamed while no sound came out of her gaping mouth. The world was laughing at her, as she stood there silently, tears gushing from her eyes and her mouth twisted and open. She could not move or think, but she was forced to stand there and stare in complete horror at Mother's dead body.

            Her heart smashed around wildly in her chest, trying to escape the awful, frozen cage that was her body. It wasn't the men that frightened her; it was herself. It was her inability to do anything about her present situation; she was a rabbit, trapped before the wolf that may look past her the first time, but would inevitably track her down and reduce her to little, bloody pieces of quivering flesh.

            Then, the eunuch pushed back his chair, and stood up. The sound released her, and Illysra shot forward like a coiled spring. She was kneeling beside Mother, holding her, rocking her, stroking her hair, and sobbing like the broken-hearted child that she was.

            Illysra was keenly aware of the faint aroma of almonds, and the blue-ish cast to Mother's lips. She had been poisoned, and Illysra knew by whom. The eunuch's smug stare was seared in the back of her eyelids, and not even her tears washed it away.

            There were hands on her arms and shoulders. She didn't fight them as they pulled her away. The red berries had been trampled into the floor, and they looked for all the world like blood.

            Illysra's tears had run their course. She stared with a strange sort of detachment at her house as the palace guards loaded her into a carriage of some kind. The eunuch himself shut the door.

            “Well, Salmissra,” he sneered, peering with beady eyes through the grate in the door.

            “My name isn't Salmissra,” Illysra told him softly. She couldn't make herself focus on anything; she just stared past the eunuch, the edges of her vision blurring away. Maybe if she couldn't see the world, it couldn't hurt her.

            “It is now.” The eunuch was speaking to her from behind now; his lips were right by her ear. “Let me tell you something, Salmissra, because your life depends on it. Twenty other girls just like you are being brought to the Compound. You will become Salmissra. When the Queen passes on, one of you will be elected in her stead. The other nineteen will be killed. Put your past away, Salmissra, because you'll find that if you hold onto it, it will kill you.”

            The carriage wobbled from side to side, then rose steadily. The palace guards hefted it up, resting it on their shoulders. It dipped and wavered with their every step. Salmissra dug her fingernails into her thighs to keep from crying. At that crucial moment, when everything she knew and loved had been ripped away from her, there was only one thing she knew for sure, and she clung to it as though it were the only rock in a miserable stormy sea. She would never let them see her pain.

 

Salmissra was brought to a stout, walled complex. She didn't pay much attention to her surroundings as the guards marched her along. The hallways she was lead through were squat and dark. There might have been other people there, but she didn't care. She let everything slide by her, as though it was a dream.

            The guards stopped her beside a big door. It was probably wood, but Salmissra didn't really look too hard at it. It was open within seconds, anyway, and she was lead into a wide room with low ceilings.

            The room was filled with baths. They were fanned out across the floor with no particular order to the layout. Beside each bath was a make-up table, and a yellow-robed eunuch perched on s stool, awaiting his first victim. The curtains around the bath Salmissra was lead to were lavender.

            “This is Plir,” the guard rasped. “You better get used to him, 'cause he'll be with you for the next few years. Assumin' you last that long.” He laughed, a wheezing cackle, then turned around and stomped away.

            Plir had beady little eyes, and a round face. There was a little dimple on his chin, and that little channel that runs from the bottom of the nose to the top of the mouth was wide and pronounced. He was clean-shaven, and bald, and his eye-brows were so fine they were barely visible.

            “Hop in the bath, Salmissra,” he said, in a clear, high, boyish tenor. Mechanically, she removed her clothes and sank into the water. It was not particularly hot, but it wasn't cold either. The eunuch passed her a bar of soap.

            “Scrub thoroughly,” he told her. “Do it right; I don't want to have to do it for you.” He was not mean, exactly. His voice was light and cheery but his eyes were sort of sad. His gaze was emotionless; he was just doing his job, and his actions weren't out of any feeling for the girl in his tub. That made the whole thing easier; they weren't required to like each other, so Salmissra didn't spend too much time brooding about it. Instead, she focused on scrubbing the last of the dirt out from under her fingernails.

            “Did you wash your hair, too?” Plir asked. Salmissra nodded. “Good,” he said. “Can you just pick it up for me? Hold it above your head. There.” He wrapped a towel around her hair and arms. “We've got to protect it,” he told her with a sympathetic smile.

            Plir twisted open a bottle of something or other, and carefully measured a cup of it. It was a sort of chalky grey stuff, and it looked disgusting. Salmissra snuck glances when she thought Plir wasn't looking.

            “Don't worry,” he sing-songed, “you don't have to eat it. Okay now, everybody hates this part. Its gonna sting a little bit.” Then he reached out and dumped the grey stuff into her bath.

            It was mere seconds before it got to work. Every nerve in Salmissra's body lit on fire, and the stuff seared her skin. There were audible gasps and shrieks coming from other parts of the bathhouse; clearly this was a standard part of the procedure. Salmissra's body stiffened, and her eyes prickled a bit, but otherwise she bore it without comment. She could not weaken; she could not let them see her pain.

            After a couple of agonizing minutes, Plir told her to stand up. The dank air was a relief to her burning skin. He poured a bucket of plain water over her, and she blew out the breath she had been holding. Then, he invited her out of the bath.

            “Here you are; dry off with these,” he said, handing her lavender linens. “Have a seat when you're done, and we'll see what we can do to make you presentable.”

            Plir set to work immediately on her eyebrows. He had little pincers, and he was pulling the hairs out one by one. Salmissra said nothing, but he chatted to her while he worked.

            “I'm not taking all your eyebrows off; just parts of them. It'll make them look nicer. We'll have to do something about your hair, too; its too curly. Salmissra's hair must be gently wavy, nothing more. Of course, we've already took care of the rest of the hair; that's what that bath-stuff did. It got rid of all the hair on your arms and legs. Now they're smooth.” He paused, and pulled a new implement from one of the drawers. “This is to curl your eyelashes. Your eyes will look bigger when it's done.” Then, Plir moved behind her, and Salmissra had no idea what he was doing. She knew it involved her hair though.

            “Alright, Salmissra, stand up,” he said, “and put these on.” He handed her a green silk mantel, and a necklace of sorts. It read, 'Salmissra VI.'

            “This is so we can distinguish between you all. You're all called Salmissra, of course, but there's twenty of you so its sort of hard. We gave you numbers so its easier. You're number six.” He narrowed his already squinty eyes at her. “What did they tell you about the process?”

            “Nothing,” Salmissra said.

            “Well, there's twenty of you. You'll all do exercises, learning how to be Salmissra. How to walk, how to talk, how to look, how to be a queen. You'll be here for a while, so you might as well make yourself at home.”

            He walked several circles around her, analyzing her with those squinty little eyes of his. Finally, he stepped back and flashed her a quick grin. He handed her a little brass looking-glass.

            “Have a look,” he said with a flourish.

            Salmissra looked nothing like the Illysra she used to be. She had alabaster skin, made even paler by a thin layer of white toner. Her hair pooled around her shoulders in docile waves; not at all like the wild curls she used to have. Her eyes and lips were penciled in, and her eyebrows were slender, slanted curves. She looked cold and hard as a statue. Plir was positively bubbly.

            “What do you think?” he asked, giddily. “You aren't required to like it, but it would make me feel better if you do.”

            “It's very nice,” Salmissra managed, tearing her eyes away from the looking-glass. “Where do I have to go now?”

            “Where must I go, present?” Plir corrected her.

            “Yeah, that.”

            “Yes, of course,” he told her, “or exactly. Its your pick.”

            “Exactly.” It was shorter.

            “Well, presently we must sit in on a speech in the Hall of Divans. Your education begins today.”

            “Will you be joining me?” she asked, adopting a formal manor. “I paid no particular attention to the hallways, for the guards march quickly and the lights are dim. I fear I'll get lost.”

            “Yes,” Plir smiled. “I'll be joining you. You're very quick; don't let them know that. They won't appreciate it.” Salmissra's eyebrows jumped up. Everyone likes people who are smart; that's why Mother worked so hard to make her intelligent and resourceful.

            “Salmissras need to be controlled somehow,” Plir explained, “and they can't be controlled, if they're smarter than the people who control them,” Plir explained.

            “Why do you tell me this?” Salmissra frowned.

            “Because I'm here to protect you,” Plir said. “It is in my best interests that you're the one who's elected, several years down the road, not one of the other nineteen.” Salmissra nodded slowly.

            “This is a complicated game we must play.”

            “Complicated and dangerous,” Plir agreed. “The Hall of Divans is this way.”

            Salmissra VI watched clinically as other girls her age began to file down the low corridor. They had all been done up, with their hair and makeup similar to her's. Their mantels were all the same, except for the colours; they ranged from deep, forest green to honey yellow.

            The floor in the hallway was packed dirt. It crunched under the Salmissras' feet as they walked in a slow procession. They turned left, then right, then left again. All of the hallways were the same; low-ceilings, dark, dingy and poorly lit. They were like underground tunnels.

            They came to a stop in a place where the ceiling angled sharply up to make room for a set of grand double doors. The hinges rasped as two guards swung them open to reveal the Hall of the Divans. Its name was just; at the front of the room was an elevated platform, upon which sat an elegant divan. There was a grand looking glass beside it. Twenty other divans and mirrors were spread around the room, facing the platform.

            “Yours is near the front somewhere,” Plir whispered. “There's a sign on it. It should look the same as the sign on your necklace.” Salmissra nodded. She didn't let on that she could read.

            The divan that read 'Salmissra VI' was in the front row, and off to one side. It was covered with faded embroidery; many other girls and women would have sat on it before the current Salmissra VI. She glanced quickly around the room. The other Salmissras were sitting and sprawling, rather ungracefully, on their divans. Salmissra VI sat down too, with her legs together and her back straight, the way Mother had taught her a long time ago.   

            The room fell silent as the doors opened a second time to admit a full-grown Salmissra. She wove her way between the divans and took her place on the on the platform. As she entered, the eunuchs began to chant.

            “Salmissra enters,” the leader intoned.

            “Rise and greet eternal Salmissra,” the others chanted in unison.

            Salmissra VI got a good look at the woman at the front. Her hair was very long �" she could almost sit on it �" and it was black and wavy. Her eyes were dull and bored looking. Her skin was chalky white.

            “Do as I do,” the woman said, her voice emotionless. Salmissra VI rearranged herself on her divan to match the position of the woman at the front. It did not work as well as she hoped. The Head Salmissra looked elegant, while Salmissra VI was gangly as a new born colt. Her figure was not lush or inviting, it was scrawny with youth. She was all knees and elbows.

            “We will work on position first,” the head Salmissra said. “Once you've mastered that, we shall move to expression, voice and responses. You will learn to be Salmissra; her mannerisms, her behaviors, her emotions will all be yours. Now, let us get to work.”

            They spent the afternoon laying, sitting and sprawling with the characteristic Salmissra grace.At about six hours past noon they moved to the dining hall where they learned to eat and drink and make small talk with the appropriate finesse. There were a few 'how do you do's, but the hall was mostly silent. Then they went back to the 'Hod' �" Hall of Divans �" to practice entrances. About an hour and a half after sundown, they were sent to the bath-house to wash off their make-up powders. They were expected to be in their bed chambers exactly an hour after that; there were absolutely no exceptions.  

            Salmissra VI's bed chamber was nothing if not regal. There was a wide canopy bed on one wall. The sheets were white with green throws. There was an elegant golden-red carpet on the floor, and a rose-wood chest of drawers.

            The adjoining room belonged to Plir. It was smaller, and practically bare. They were separated by drapery, and while one could not see the other, they could hear everything that happened in the other's room.

            Plir lit the sconces that hung on either side of Salmissra VI's bed. While he did so, Salmissra VI rummaged through the chest of drawers. She found a charcoal stump, and some bits of fabric. Carefully she pulled them out, and looked questioningly at Plir.

            “Oh that,” he said. “The top drawer there has a habit of getting stuck. The cloth probably comes from a mantel; it must have torn the last time we had to pry the drawer open.”

            “I'll be careful closing it, then,” she replied.

            “Good idea.” He did a quick survey of the room. “Everything seems to be in order. If you need anything, you know where I am.” With that, he disappeared behind the drapes.       

            Salmissra changed into her bed-clothes, folding her mantel and placing it in one of her drawers. Before she went to bed, she wrote her name on one of the cloth scraps with the charcoal stump. The letters were sooty and wavering, but she could still make it out. Illysra. She was not going to forget, no matter how much they wanted her to.

            When she blew out the sconces, the room plunged into darkness. She lay, curled in her satin sheets, staring up at the ceiling. There was a single candle burning in Plir's room; she could see the glow through the drapes.

            “Plir?” she called softly.

            “Yes?”

            “Am I Salmissra at night, too? I mean, are you judging me right now?”

            “No, I'm not judging you,” he said slowly, his voice sympathetic.

            “Good.” There was a pause, then she burst into tears.           

            Plir could hear her crying softly. Her tears seemed to be more out of remorse than anguish. He could see her silhouette; curled into the feotal position, hugging her sheets protectively to her chest. He wanted to say something to make her feel better, but he knew that any comfort he could offer would be in vain. He could not help her; to her, he was still one of the 'bad guys.' Sighing quietly, he blew out his candle and tried to sleep.

           

Plir woke Salmissra VI sometime before sunrise. She dressed, and he did her hair and makeup. While her worked, he talked to her.

            “I think we'll do something more with your hair today. Maybe a little braiding, or something.” Salmissra didn't protest. No one had ever done her hair before; Mother wouldn't even brush it. It felt sort of nice, actually.

            “Salmissra normally keeps her hair down, and if she ever does anything to it, it is simple. Sometimes the simple things are the prettiest; you know?” He chattered on about pretty things, like birds and flowers. Salmissra didn't mind. He didn't expect her to answer, and she liked to listen. His voice was nice. It let her mind wander.

            After a while, he turned her around and set to work on her makeup. He dipped a sharply angled brush into black paint. He started at the inside tip of her upper eyelid, and moved the brush very slowly to the outside. Then, he lined her lower lid. The line was slender and more graceful than the upper lid line. He touched up her face with a bit of pearly powder, then worked cream into her arms and legs, where the dress didn't cover. He proclaimed her finished and beautiful, and she stood up and looked in the mirror.

            Salmissra VI had a pretty face. Her eyes seemed older than she was, for some reason, and she didn't have too much baby fat left. Her body, on the other hand, was all planes and angles, elbows and knees. Plir told her most girls have that phase, and she should grow out of it. Salmissra hoped the growing would start soon.

            As Salmissra VI made her way to the dining hall for breakfast, there was an unfamiliar hand on her shoulder. She turned around sharply. It was a girl; another Salmissra.

            “I like your hair, Six,” she said quietly.

            “Six?”

            “Its easier than saying Salmissra VI. You can call me Eleven, if you want,” she said, flushing.

            “Alright, El. Do you plan to sit down?”

            Six, as she was now known, made her way to the table with Eleven. She realized immediately that Eleven was not cut out for this sort of thing; she was kind, open and girlish. Six liked her instantly, but she also knew she wouldn't last. El wanted desperately to be liked and have friends, and she talked to everyone. She had the warmest smile.

            Six knew she could not have friends. She could not grow close to anyone. If she did, she would cause a lot of pain. At the end, only one of the people in the dining hall would live; the other nineteen would die. If she was the one that lived, and she had friends, she would be consumed by grief and guilt. If she, however, died while one of her friends lived, they would grieve her loss.

            Six's new goal was to get through life causing as little pain as possible. To do that, she could not get too close to anyone, but she could not push them away either. She had to find the happy medium.

            The twenty Salmissras sat, out of order, at a long oak table. The chairs were stout, solid, and distinctly plain, but they were not uncomfortable. They ate identical meals placed on identical clay plates. Today, breakfast consisted of steamed honey-oats and berries.

            As the Salmissras ate, they talked. The conversations were held in hushed tones, and were stilted at first. Six found out that most of the Salmissras just wanted a friend; wanted their lives back. Some of them were hostile, but for most that was just a defense mechanism. There were only a few who were truly ugly inside.

            Six had great insight. Before her, Illysra, the girl she used to be, could tell a lot about a person by looking them in the eye. Six wondered if she could do it; she wasn't Illysra anymore, but perhaps... It had only been two days, after all.

            Six glanced over at Eleven. No, she would not experiment on her; it would be a betrayal of trust. She reminded herself that they were not truly friends, but it still didn't feel right to betray her. Instead she looked across the table at Salmissra I.

            It was several moments before the girl returned Six's gaze. As soon as their eyes met, Six knew she could still do it. She just got a sense; she didn't know where it came from, but it was there. Sharp, hard, poison green. Salmissra I would be a contender.

            “Excuse me.” The Head Salmissra �" or Matron, as they called her �" stood at the front. “Excuse me!” Her voice was a harsh, angry snarl devoid of any human compassion. Everyone in the room fell silent between one syllable and the next, frozen by surprise.

            “Please direct your attention up here,” she continued sweetly. “As you all know, Nyissa is a dangerous place, full of exotic plants and extracts. Salmissra faces many challenges everyday, and makes enemies as she goes. There are people out there who want our Queen dead. To protect herself, Salmissra takes a variety of antidotes every morning, drugs that counter the effects of most poisons. In your time here, we will gradually introduce you to all aspects of Salmissra's life.

            “Today you will be handed a glass of Rhuemonzine. There is not much there; only a sip or two. It has been mixed with water to make it easier to swallow. You will drink it.

            “In several weeks we will begin your education on substances, plants and extracts. This will include poisons, antidotes, drugs, and tonics. We will explain all you need to know at that point in time. Until then, know that Rhuemonzine is a mere vitamin compound. It makes your immune system work better, and helps ward of many types of ailments. After today, you will be responsible for taking it before you come down to the dining hall. You will not measure your own. The eunuchs are in charge of dosages. Have I made myself clear?”

            The room was silent. Six looked down at the glass infront of her. It was not a large glass, and its walls were thick. It was filled with a vile, rust-coloured liquid. The smell emanating from it was pungent.

            She glanced around at the others. A couple of girls had tried it; the faces they made were ridiculous. A few even spat it back out into their glasses.

            With a sigh, Six tipped back her head and downed it in one mouthful. She kept her face expressionless, even as its sour taste coated her tongue and throat. She fought the urge to cough and gag.

            “Aw, yuck!” Eleven spluttered. “That's vile!”

            “Adequately,” Six agreed. Then she stood up and made her way to the Hall of Divans.

            They practiced sprawling in their divans for an hour or so. Then they practiced the sitting down part, and the standing up part. It had to look graceful, effortless, and entirely natural. Six sat down, sprawled, and stood up several hundred times that morning.

            They were allowed to eat their lunch outside that day. There was a little courtyard in the front of the complex. It was surrounded by stout walls and guards, but it was nice to get some air. The only windows in the compound were small, and often covered in wire grating, probably so the Salmissras couldn't escape. The Matron and her eunuchs wandered around, telling them how they were sitting wrong, and moving them around so as to be more Salmissra-esque.

            Six and Eleven had formed a sort of group. There were four of them scattered on the grass. They couldn't talk about anything important, because a couple of them were miserably unintelligent. Six found their discussions much less satisfying than the ones Illysra had had at home; Mother and her would discuss theory and debate ethics while they ate.

            She was starting to refer to herself as two entirely separate entities �" Salmissra VI, or Six, and Illysra �" to differentiate between her life then and her life now. She didn't want to get confused.

            “What do you suppose the palace looks like?” Eleven asked.

            “Which palace?” Eight wondered.

            “The one Salmissra lives in.”

            “I dunno,” replied Nine. She was actually Salmissra XIX, but nine was easier to say than nineteen, and the actual Nine wasn't there presently, so it was okay.

            “Hopefully it doesn't look too much like this one,” Eight put in. “This one's so dark.”

            “I bet there are great big windows,” Eleven dreamed, falling on her back and closing her eyes. “And there's actual glass in them, not just wood shutters.”

            “And a big stable for horses!” Nine suggested. Six shook her head. What is it with girls and horses? Everyone knows Nyissa is too hot and wet for horses; they can't breathe properly and the swamps are hard on their hooves. She didn't voice her opinions out loud, however; she didn't want to upset her peers.

            “I wonder what the dungeons look like,” she said instead.

            “You think there'll be dungeons?” Eight asked.

            “You have to keep prisoners somewhere,” Six replied.

            “They're gunna be all cold and slimy,” Eleven mused, “with lots of rats.”

            “They'll be hot, not cold,” Six told her.

            “In all the stories, dungeons are cold and dark,” Eleven said defensively.

            “Yes, but dungeons are supposed to be awful. Why should the prisoners get to be cool in the middle of the summer, when the rest of us are sweating? I think the dungeons should be even hotter than the rest of the country.”

            “With fires on all the time!” Eight said, cackling wickedly.

            “And burning coals on the floor,” Nine said.

            “They'll be just like Hell,” Six agreed.

            “Where's Hell?” Eleven asked.

            “Its the place where the devil lives.”

            “So, like the underworld?”

            “Except its only for people who have been bad.”

            “What do you think Hell looks like?” Eight asked.    

            “Its probably night all the time,” Eleven said.

            “But there are no stars in the sky there,” Nine agreed. There was a shrill whistle. Everyone fell silent, swiveling to face the compound door.

            “Pack up!” the Matron shouted. “You have five minutes; meet me in the Hall of Divans. What are you waiting for? Move!” The four girls walked together to the Hall, but then they had to separate to find their respective divans.

            “I bet Hell is just like this compound,” Eleven whispered to Six.

            “I think its different for each person,” she replied as they parted. “I think it makes them burn eternally in their own pain and fear.” It was vicious, and Six knew it. She expected Eleven to be disgusted, but to her surprise, El nodded vigorously.

            “I hope the Matron goes to hell.”

            “Me too,” Six muttered. “And the men who killed my mother.”

            They spent the afternoon walking up and down hallways, swishing their hips, and swiveling their heads. Then, as evening approached, they practiced sitting down, sprawling on their divans, and standing up again, another couple hundred times. Dinner was somber and quiet. Six ate without saying a word. Then, they were back in the Hall, listening to the Matron give a queenly speech.

            Six wanted to scream. The Matron was �" they all were �" so stupid and fake. She hated Salmissra, and she hated the person she was being forced to become. She hated every goddamn minute of pretending to be calm and composed.

             They were dismissed an hour and a half after sunset. Six kept up the facade, the hip swaying and head swiveling, until she was out of sight of the Hall. Then, she took off, half walking, half running to the bath house. Even though they didn't do anything physically demanding, she was exhausted and her composure was crumbling. She wanted to be in bed, in the dark when the tears started.

            The bath water was too hot when Six plunged in. A second later, she was back out, standing there and staring at the tub. Dripping, she paced back and forth until the water was cool enough for her to get in. She scrubbed ferociously until her skin was pink, and practically threw the soap at the table when she was done. Then, she couldn't get the stupid buttons on her stupid night gown done up. She wanted to punch something, but she didn't know why she was so mad. After the fifth try, each more frenzied than the last, she gave up entirely and fled to her room. Plir followed wearily behind. He could see her temper simmering, and he knew she was at a breaking point.

            When he got there, Six was sitting on her bed, night gown only partially done up, the buttons matched with the wrong holes. Her knees were curled up to her chest, and she was clutching a piece of cloth or something to her chest. Rivers of tears ran down her cheeks, but she didn't make a sound.

            She wanted to scream so badly, but her voice wouldn't work. It seemed to be stuck in her chest, just like it was when Mother was killed. She rocked slowly back and forth.

            “Salmissra? Are you okay?” Plir asked. She hid her face from him.  

            “I'm fine.” Her voice was like honey; Plir marveled at her control over it.

            “What can I do to make you feel better?”

            “I said I'm fine!”

            “Can I tell you something?”

            “If you really think its necessary.”

            “I'm on your side. I'm not your enemy. I'm on your side.” She ignored him. Plir sighed, light the stove, and put a kettle on it.  

            “What are you doing?” Six asked softly.

            “I'm making tea.”

            “I don't want any.”

            “I didn't say I was making it for you,” he snapped. “If that is all, Your Majesty, have I permission to excuse myself?” Six stared at him, stricken.

            “Well, Salmissra?”

            “That's all.” Her voice was barely audible. Plir bowed, and retreated to his room, snapping the drapes shut. He didn't even say good night. Six started crying all over again.

            “Plir,” she called, after a while. “Plir. Please come here.”

            “Yes, Salmissra?” he asked, his voice cold and emotionless.

            “Plir,” she whispered. “I'm sorry.” Then, she turned around and buried her face in her pillow.

            Plir carefully poured hot water from the kettle into a cup. He spooned some tea leaves in to steep and set the cup on the rosewood chest of drawers. Silently, he sat down on the edge of Six's bed. He put a hand on her back, and rubbed it around in comforting circles.

            “I know you think you need to be independent. You think you can't open up to anyone. The truth is, you're only twelve. You can't live life by yourself,” he told her gently. Six didn't trust herself to reply. “Take deep breaths,” Plir said, “and focus on making them longer. In... and out... In... and out...” Six did as he said, and after a time she found she wasn't crying anymore.

            “That's it,” Plir smiled. “Let's get you cleaned up. Come on, sit up and drink your tea.” Six sat up, and obediently sipped her tea. It was warm and comforting, and it made her sleepy.

            Plir knelt in front of her, and fixed her night gown. Once all the buttons were done up properly, he smoothed it out, and took a brush off the table. Then, he sat behind her and brushed her hair until she felt like she was going to fall asleep sitting up. He took the empty cup from her hand, and put it and the brush away. He folded back the covers, and she nestled in, looking up at him with big, sleepy eyes.

            “Thank you, Plir,” she whispered. “Good night.”

            “Good night little one,” he said gently, and blew out the candle. He could tell from her breathing that she was asleep within minutes.

 

The days fell into a pattern. There was a time, early each morning, when the world seemed to fall still and the only people in it were Plir and Six. Their chambers took on an easy, domestic air. Those hours were shrouded in a sort of sleepy calm and contentment feeding off of sunny candle light, steamy tea, and the comfort that can be found in order, ritual and repetition. Six found it surprisingly pleasant.

            The first step out of the chambers, however, was a shock of cold, icy water. Six became Salmissra VI, a cold, heartless, statue of a woman. The light in the hallway seemed harder and whiter than the light in her chambers, and even Plir's face became cold and drawn.

            Breakfast was always subdued. Each Salmissra was busy erecting her own impenetrable shield. They practiced expressions of hatred and disdain on each other, and took on the reptilian qualities expected of the Queen of the Snake People. The hallways were perpetually dark and dim, because there were very few windows to let in the light.

            They spent the mornings lounging on their divans, and staring at themselves in the mirror. The Matron trained them until they wore perpetual smirks of disdain, and their eyes were cold as rocks. For an hour or so before lunch, they would practice walking properly. They adopted Salmissra's quirks and mannerisms, and soon the only thing that made one Salmissra different from the next was how fast she picked it up.

            Occasionally they were allowed to eat their lunch outside, but not often because Salmissra's skin was supposed to be pale. Most of the time, they were in the dining hall learning how to properly operate their cutlery, and chew with grace. They didn't have to sit in order at lunch, so little so-called 'cliques' began to emerge. Every day Six sat with Eight, Nineteen �" or, Nine, as they called her �" and Eleven. They weren't very smart, and Six found their discussions primitive, but at least she had someone to talk to. Though she would never admit it, she grew rather fond of El.

            After lunch, they were moved to the Discussion Hall where they learned how to converse with Salmissra's customary attitude. They were taught how to speak formally, and keep their voices emotionless. Six picked it up fast, because she was a lot smarter than the rest of them, but she pretended to have some trouble so as not to draw attention to herself.

            They remained in the Discussion Hall until dinner time, but they learned about other things too. Most of the time, they learned to recognize different types of snakes and reptiles. They learned how to handle them with caution and care, and what each snake was good for.

            Dinner was the ultimate test each day. They had to sit in pairs, conduct themselves with Salmissra-esque dignity, and discuss a topic of the Matron's choice. The eunuchs would come around, watching, listening, and making little notes about their performance.

            For an hour and a half after dinner, they sat in the Discussion Hall and learned about the various exotic substances that grew in the jungles of Nyissa. They talked mainly about poisons and antidotes at first, but then they began to branch out into the narcotics that made up the staple of a good Nyissan's diet. They learned what interesting things the drugs did to people.

            Six knew that the Queen's diet revolved around these drugs. She also knew she didn't want to be made all foggy by their effects, and that one day she would be told to take them. She was only twelve years old, and she hadn't even tasted one of those narcotics, but she was starting to prepare ways to dispose of them without the knowledge of the eunuchs.

            At the end of their discussions, they were sent to the bath-house. They each had a little curtained section of the room, with a claw-foot bath tub and a cupboard full of cosmetics. They had just under an hour to bathe before they were all expected in their rooms. Six learned to enjoy bathing. The hot water relaxed her muscles, and that private time of peace and quiet relaxed her mind also.

            Each night, after Plir retired to his own bed, Six would take time to remember her life before the compound. She would focus on memories of Mother, her house in the jungle, her studies, Mother's story books and the river where the red berries grew. At first it was painful, and prompted silent bursts of salty tears, but as the weeks rolled into months, it didn't hurt as much. It became a time of victory, because as long as she could clearly remember who she was, and as long as she was able to feel pain and sorrow, the compound hadn't corrupted her. She had not yet become Salmissra, and that was all that mattered. The compound believed they had broken and tamed her, but they had not, and it became a wonderful game of deception. After all, she who laughs last laughs the longest.

 

Illysra's birthday came and went unnoticed, but Salmissra's certainly did not. When Six woke up on the morning of her 'birthday,' there was a new satin mantle at the foot of her bed. It was forest green with gold and silver embroidery. Six slid into it, and twirled around in front of the mirror, making a show for Plir's benefit �" he had obviously picked it out.

            “Did you choose this one?” she asked. Plir looked over from the table where he was carefully pouring tea into two little cups.

            “I did. Do you like it?”

            “Don't be insulting,” Six smiled. “I love it!”

            That morning, a special breakfast had been prepared. Instead of the usual oatmeal and berries, there was freshly baked bread, with boiled eggs and roasted ham. Six noted that each girl had received a new mantel. Plir definitely had the best taste in fashion, she decided, as she dug into her meal. Some of the mantels the others wore that were cut surprisingly low would have looked good on a woman but just didn't seem right on the girls that didn't quite fill them up.

            “Good morning, Salmissras,” the Matron cooed. “Happy birthday. You are all thirteen now, and on your way to womanhood.” Unfortunately, any special occasion could not just be left alone; there had to be a  winded speech to go along with it. “One year ago, today, your training began. You have all improved greatly. Glasses will be brought around so we can make a toast to your health.

            “Now that we're on the topic of health, you'll notice the cups to your left. Everyone has three of them; you will drink them all. Like the Rhuemonzine, they are designed to boost your immune system and ward off poison. You will take them each morning before you come downstairs. You should all be able to recognize them; we have talked about them in our classes before. Drink up, Ladies, and meet me in the Hall of Divans.”

            The antidotes didn't all taste bad. In fact, one of them tasted faintly citric. Six downed them one by one without comment, then she and Eleven made their way to their first class.

            “Today we are going to begin to put things together,” the Matron told them. “We will introduce the speaking portion to our morning lessons slowly. Let us begin with commands.

            “Not once will you get off of your divan. You must have the same amount of presence lying down as standing up. You must never leave room for contemplation in your statements; they must be ultimatums. We have worked on the wording of the phrases before; now, you must put them into action. We will do them together at first, but then we will go one by one around the room. You must make even the most steadfast and intelligent man obey you. Let us begin. We will start with, “I would like a drink of water.” Say it together, after me. I want a drink of water.”

            “I want a drink of water,” the Salmissras choroused.

            “I want a drink of water.”

            “I want a drink of water.”

            “Better. You need to add facial expressions. Go.”

            “I want a drink of water.”

            Lunch wasn't too special, but they were allowed to eat outside. Six found a nice spot where they could lean against the outer wall and hide beneath its shadow. They split a bowl of wild berries while they talked.

            It was Eight who spotted the cloud. She had been lounging on her back, staring up at the sky. Suddenly, she grabbed Eleven's arm and pointed directly above them.

            “Look!” she cried. “It's a bird.”

            “There are lots of birds around,” Eleven told her, glancing up.

            “Not a real bird,” Eight said with exasperation. “The cloud is shaped like a bird.”

            “Where?”

            “Up there.”

            “I think its a duck,” Nine put in.

            “Of course its not a duck; ducks live in the water,” Eight said.

            “The sky is blue. It could be a pond.”

            “The sky is the sky! Its not a pond,” Eight told her.

            “If clouds can be birds, the sky can be a pond,” Nine retorted.

            “Where is it?” Eleven demanded. Six pointed at the cloud, directing Eleven's gaze. “Oh!” Eleven exclaimed. “It's not a bird, its a squirrel.”

            “How is it a squirrel?” Eight demanded. “It has wings.”

            “That's its tail.”

            “There are two of them,” Nine said. “Squirrels don't have two tails.”

            “Maybe this one does,” Eleven said defensively. Six chuckled quietly to herself, then leaned back, closed her eyes, and waited for the Matron to call them in again.

            Because they moved the speaking lessons to the morning, they spent the early afternoon learning about the organization of the palace. They hadn't even made it through the hierarchy of command, when they had to move on to their ecology studies. Six feared that Politics would be a very slow class.

            There was a surprise waiting for them in ecology. Six supposed it was another part of the 'birthday' thing. At the front of the room was a big, heavy trunk. Beside it was a stack of wooden boxes. Six wondered what was inside each box.

            “Today you are taking your next step,” the Matron said. She opened the trunk lid. Inside were a bunch of small, squirming green snakes. “These are Khosis snakes. They are one of Salmissra's most useful tools. Though they are small, they are extremely venomous. They serve as a type of self-protection; they can be taught to bite when someone comes too close.

            “Each of you will receive a baby Khosis. Be kind to them, and treat them well. They are loyal creatures, and will become your most valuable servants. They will outlast even you.

            “You will receive a crate for them,” she said, pointing at the little wooden boxes. “Do not keep them in there all the time; be sure to show them sunlight and compassion. They do not eat much, and they will not grow to be longer than your forearm. Be good to them and they will be good to you.”

            First, several eunuchs passed out the crates. There were no snakes in them yet. Six's was pretty. It was made of rosewood, inlaid with cherry. There were slots and holes to filter in air and sunlight, and a strong clasp on the outside. It was big enough to hold a scroll, or a manuscript, or some valuable jewelry, but not much more.

            Then, the Matron handed out the snakes. She had the Salmissras line up, in order, and hold out their hands to receive their snake. Six watched the girls in front of her walk back to their seats with wide eyes, their hands stretched far away from their bodies. Salmissra II was visibly trembling, and Six had to choke back her laughter.

            Salmissra V was receiving her snake; it would be Six's turn next. She peered around Five and into the trunk. The snakes were unmoving, and intertwined like a coil of rope. When the Matron dipped her hand in to untangle a snake for Five, they started wriggling in unison. She snatched one up, and dropped it into Five's hand.

            Six sidled up to the trunk. The Matron did not acknowledge her, but merely scooped up a snake and plopped it into her hand. Cradling it gently, Six stepped away from the trunk and took her seat to take a look at her new pet.

            The little thing was a female; Six could tell immediately because its scales were polished, smooth, and electric green. It had a creamy white underbelly, and little, beady, calculating eyes that were a tawny amber colour. In all, the snake was no bigger than one of Six's fingers.

            The snake's little pink tongue darted out, tasting the air, and tasting Six's skin. Six resisted the urge to jerk her hands away; the little thing wouldn't appreciate being dropped, or flung across the room.

            The snake's scales rasped across Six's skin, and sent shivers up her spine. Nyissans, woshipping the Serpant God as they did, were predisposed to snakes. Six had held hundreds of snakes in her life time, and she could already see that her snake would be a beautiful one. The scary part was having her own snake; having to take care of it, appease it, and sleep in the same room as it. Six hoped her snake would be well behaved.

            Gently, Six stroked the back of the snake's head. It made a purring noise, like a happy cat. It was a gentle sound, and not very reptilian. Six chuckled, and lowered her gently into her crate.

            The little thing needed a name. Six watched as she explored her crate, making that curious purring sound all the while. It only took her two tries to slither over the edge of the crate, and set out across the table. As gently as possible, Six caught her by the tail, and lifted her out of harm's way. Six did not want her snake to go out exploring and never come back. The creature shot an angry look at her, but she stroked the back of its head again, and it melted into a docile coil, purring quietly.

            The little green snake reminded Six of those playful fluff-balls people in other countries kept as pets. Kitten would be the perfect name for her snake; it fit her personality seamlessly. However, Kitten was a very undignified name for a snake, especially one that may become the palace's Chief Poisoner. Six settled on Sthia instead.

            Sthia was a very unusual snake. She was not content to sit in the sun and sleep the day away. She wanted to know what was going on. When she wasn't moving around, her eyes were darting from place to place, watching the Salmissras interact with each other. Eventually, Six coaxed her into her crate, and calmly closed the lid. Then she hurried over to check in on Eleven.

             El had named her snake Ethan. His scales had a brown tinge to them, and his eyes were yellow. He was a little bigger than Sthia. He was a little lathargic, but seemed to be well rounded and normal. He was sleeping, or sun bathing, in his crate with the lid open.

            After a time, Six got tired of sitting with El and staring at Ethan. She went back to her seat, and slowly opened the lid to Sthia's crate. She was all curled up against the side wall, a jumble of bright green and cream. She appeared to be asleep. Smiling to herself, Six closed the lid again. This day was turning out better than she had expected. 

 

The seasons turned as seasons do, though Six didn't see much of them from inside the compound. As she expected, her politics classes were progressing too slow for her taste. She began sneaking books from the library to her chambers to ease her boredom. She was never bored when Sthia was there, though. Every morning she would close the snake in her crate, and every evening she would get back to her chambers and Sthia would be nowhere to be found. It became a sort of game, and Six learned to enjoy it �" even if the first few times it happened nearly stopped her heart.

            It was sometime after her fifteenth birthday, on a hot and sticky morning, when Six woke to find her bed-clothes stained red with blood. Plir was sitting in his chambers that morning, reading a book about chemistry and narcotics, as it happened. He was just coming to the interesting part �" the part that talked about how one can rid oneself of a drug's affects with speed and limited amounts of discomfort �" when Six called for him. Her voice seemed oddly resigned.

            Plir found her laying in bed, propped up by her pillows. She had filled out nicely over the last year or so, and she was now more a beautiful, slender woman than a gangling child. Her curls were strewn around her, and there was a calm smile on her face.

            “I'm dying, Plir,” she told him. He froze, and did a quick scan of the room. There was no sign of any poison. “I'll get to see Mother again, and I won't have to spend my time pretending to be someone I'm not. I won't have to be Salmissra when I'm dead.” Cautiously, Plir walked to her side. What he saw made him laugh with relief.

            “You're not dying,” he told her. She looked at him sharply. “This happens to every girl your age.” She studied him for a moment. Deciding that Plir was, in fact, telling the truth, she sighed wistfully.

            “How disappointing.”

            “I'll run you a quick bath so you can clean yourself up,” Plir told her. “Tie back your hair so it doesn't get wet. We don't have enough time for it to dry again.”

            Six noted that there was a fifth tonic awaiting her that morning. She eyed it with suspicion. Plir smiled at her as he walked by.

            “It will stop the bleeding,” he told her, “and it will make it so it will never come back.” Six looked at him sharply; there was something he wasn't telling her. It was a moment or so before she was able to catch his gaze. A thought flashed before her eyes, filmy and translucent �" a thought that wasn't hers. She drew a sharp breath.

            “What is it?” Plir asked.

            “Its going to make me barren, isn't it?” Plir said nothing. “Look at me,” Six pleaded. As their gaze met, she felt a faint, familiar click. She could sense Plir's entire being; tantalizing wisps of his thought dancing just beyond Six's reach. She felt her way towards them, the wisps becoming clearer, more solid, and �"

            Plir sighed, and broke Six's concentration. His thoughts scattered, and she could no longer sense them. When he spoke, he did not look at her.

            “Salmissra has certain, ah, appetites. They will give you things to make it so. This tonic will make you unable to have children for as long as you continue to take it �" possibly longer. We do not know for sure. The important thing is that it will protect you from the repercussions of these... appetites.” Six said nothing, but she drank the tonic in one gulp. 

            That morning, at breakfast, Six wondered if she could really see other people's thoughts, or if it was just a one-time thing. She focused on her porridge and tried to feel around for other awareness, but she found nothing. Sighing with disappointment, she took sip of juice.

            “This porridge is different,” El said. “Six �" what's wrong?” Six met her friends eye �" all of a sudden, it was there. Docile ribbons of thought wound around, breaking off randomly and interrupting each other.

            “Are you okay, Six?” she was saying. At the same time, she was thinking, nutmeg �" that's it. That's why it tastes different. Six smiled with relief and wonder.

            “I'm fine, El. Don't worry. Do you think they added something to the porridge?”

            “I bet it's nutmeg,” she said gleefully.

            “That's it!” Six exclaimed.

            Six soon found that all she had to do was make eye contact with someone, and she could hear their thoughts. Sometimes she saw them in colours, other times she heard them like they were being spoken in her head, and yet other times she could almost feel them. She spent what time she could practicing, but if she did it for too long it looked kind of odd as she had to be looking directly into the person's eyes while she read their thoughts.

            It wasn't long before she began to wonder whether she could plant thoughts in other peoples heads. She had so many questions, but the only way to answer them was by experimentation. Could she view a person's memories? If so, where were they located? And if she could view them, could she erase them and replace them with knew ones? Quietly, she began to hone her talents.

Author's Note

It's a work in progress... I put it aside for a while and I'm not sure if it's worth finishing. Thoughts?