That was where the goddess staged her executions. She could burn anything to ash with her mind and frequently did so, especially those who had displeased her. Sometimes it was a limb or an eye, sometimes the whole of them, depending on the depth of her displeasure.
The hall was high but narrow, and nobles crowded back to make an aisle for Hisshah, the daughter of the goddess.
Hisshah stood, nervously waiting for her name to be called, controlling the impulse to flick her tongue over her fangs and thin narrow lips. The dry, musky scent of the packed nobles made her heart beat faster, but her face was calm. She did not think the ultimate punishment would be hers today. She was, after all, her mother’s only heir.
“Let Hisshah approach the Divinity!”
She walked carefully towards the throne, keeping her stride slow and long and the sway of her head and tail regular. All of the high Liskash of the court were gathered and she would not show weakness before them. Hard enough to do as she was shorn of all the jewels that marked her rank, save those embedded in the scales of her forehead in a sigil that marked her as her mother’s.
She’d been proud of the mark at five summers; now at twenty it infuriated her to be claimed, like a piss-pot or a rug.
Her mother wore no jewelry at all; instead her whole body glittered with tiny embedded gems, one to a scale, a privilege she reserved for herself alone. Ashala sat on her carved throne of ebony and gold still as a statue, her yellow eyes cold and the pupils narrowed to an S-slit.
At her mother’s orders it had been two weeks since Hisshah had fed or, more importantly, drunk. Only a people as strong as the Liskash could endure such deprivation. Now she was to be humiliated as the final, and to her, the worst, phase of her punishment. But she would not stumble, she would not weave drunkenly down the aisle; though her head was swimming. She would show herself to be a proper heir to the throne. Knowing that one day she would be sitting there meting out rewards…and punishments…made it possible to endure this.
Ashala watched her daughter’s slow but steady advance and grudgingly respected her for it.
The the weakest and last of my clutch and very disappointing since the moment she broke the shell, which she barely managed to do without dying of exhaustion. Still, mine, which is to judge by high standards .
Hisshah could move small objects with her mind and perform some basic magic, but her powers were trifling and no training had been able to discover much more. The one thing she could do well was ward her mind. She’d gotten that from her father.
The impossibility of reading his mind was what had made Ashala kill him in the end. There was just no telling what he might be plotting. And unlike his last daughter his powers had been formidable.
It’s time I had another clutch, she thought. Try again for something better while time enough remains for the hatchlings to reach maturity while I can guard them.
But she dreaded the negotiations, as well as the proximity of a powerful male and his entourage.
The last one’s minions had spied on everything and then they’d all refused to leave.
No wonder I killed him, Ashala thought with satisfaction.
It had been cleverly done, too, if she did say so herself. They suspected, naturally, but they couldn’t prove anything, which meant less chance of a feud. Of course, those suspicions might make it difficult to find a new mate. But not impossible. Her domain was rich and she had much to offer in the way of favors. It was always a balance, of course; you wanted a strong heredity for your offspring, but not strong enough to make it likely they’d succeed in killing you, and not from a mate so strong that he’d succeed in doing so himself.
If anything her disappointing remaining offspring might be the sticking point. How her children had all managed to kill themselves or each other, except for Hisshah, was a source of amazement. Perhaps she’d erred on the side of recklessness when selecting the sire. Certainly she had always showed an adequate degree of patience.
Yes, she would set things in motion. It was her duty, and duty was not to be shirked.
At last Hisshah was crouched before her in the posture of submission. It wouldn’t have taken any longer if she’d crawled, Ashala thought in contempt.
She waited until she sensed the court getting restless. Her people were still by nature, but their eyes had begun to move, and nictitating membranes to flicker.
“Why, Daughter, do you make me punish you?” Ashala asked.
Hisshah went from crouching to completely prone, plastered to the floor from snout-tip to tail-tip in one long exclamation point of submission.
“I beg your forgiveness, great goddess, it was never my intention to insult you.”
“And yet, you did. By suggesting that I might bring food and drink to you and your cohorts as though I were a mere slave.”
“It was only meant to be a small joke, great one.” Hisshah writhed in humiliation. “No one could ever take such a thing seriously.”
“My dignity,” Ashala snapped, “and your loyalty should never be the subject of jokes! I am tempted to have you flogged for your insolent tongue!”
There were a few shocked, involuntary hisses at that. She would not, of course. Hisshah was, at the moment, her only heir. And there were some things that underlings did not forget; too much disgrace would make it impossible for the heir to reign securely. Again she waited, until the moment was almost too stretched.
“Tomorrow you may drink. The day after you may have food,” she said at last.
“The goddess is gracious,” Hissah said to the floor.
“Rise up!” Ashala snapped. She’d thought of a way to punish her daughter and perhaps help to thwart the danger that marched towards them.
When Hissah was on her knees once more she continued, “Perhaps you have time for jokes because you haven’t enough to do. I have decided that some of the Mrem require training as soldiers. I shall give that task to you.”
“Thank you, great one,” Hisshah said, her voice clear and firm.
Inside Hisshah’s third stomach had clenched. Make the Mrem slaves into soldiers… Clearly impossible!
If it were possible it would also be dangerous. What is my mother thinking?
She knew of nothing that could prompt such a mad idea. Her mother had soldiers enough to make any ambitious neighbor wary, and as much territory as could be dominated from a single holding. It must be a scheme to further humiliate her with an inevitable failure.
“You may return to your chamber,” her mother said. “My steward will attend you to answer any questions you may have concerning the Mrem and whatever weapons are available to arm them.” She waved her hand in dismissal.
Hisshah rose and bowed, then backed away for ten steps until she could turn and leave the hall. When she was gone it would be prepared for feasting as hers was the last business of the day.
Tomorrow I will drink. And the next day I will eat and I will eat well, Hisshah promised herself.
A pleasant thought occurred to her. If she was to make Mrem into soldiers, she would have to discipline and punish them. Perhaps she could eat a few.
I always was partial to mammals, she thought.
Two days later, Ranowr squatted in a circle of friends and fellow slaves, together in the dust outside the low opening of the barracks entrance. There was a sort of familial resemblance amongst most of them. Their short, downy fur was grey with darker grey stripes and most had white bellies and hands. Two were yellow with darker stripes and one was a solid grey.