Ceralt finished with the last of the candles, and then he threw the slim torch to the room’s fireplace before turning to regard me. His regard contained little warmth, therefore did I sit the straighter in my place, my head held high as befitted a warrior of the Midanna. A sound of vexation came from him, and he stepped closer to stand above me.
“I wager you await the punishment Galiose spoke of,” said he, his head bent forward so that he might regard me. “I believe I recognize the fixity of purpose in your eyes, the determination to allow none of the punishment to reach you.”
“A warrior of the Hosta of the Midanna cares nothing for the doings of city males,” I informed him coldly. “Your beatings shall be looked upon as those of Bariose were, and accepted with a similar silence.”
“That remains to be seen,” murmured Ceralt, and then he turned to the pot which he had fetched. He brought it to me with a determined look about him, and easily did the odor of it inform me of its contents. A broth of nilno it contained, and though I wished none of it, nearly all was spilled down my throat by Ceralt. I fought and struggled till the last of it was within me, then did I feel the onset of a great weariness. Ceralt had released me and moved from where he had perched to pour the broth within me, and I attempted to raise myself from the cloth, yet found such simple action difficult. Dizzily did the mists swirl about me, to a lesser extent than upon the trail, though with enough of a strength to drain me of purpose and will. I shook my head in an attempt to rid myself of the mists, yet they clung firmly about me, and Ceralt chuckled.
“The drug is an excellent one,” said he, “much superior to that which you wenches are fond of. It allows for a greater range of activity, which you are now to learn of.”
He stood again before me, and his words came clearly through the mists. I lifted my hand, as though to hold him away, but he bent and took me by the arms, and lifted me easily to my feet.
“The first matter to be attended to is your feeding,” said he, his arms holding me to him, my head upon his chest. With the coming of the mists, my reluctance to be touched by him had departed, and much pleasure was there in being held so. Deep within, I felt it as humiliation, yet was I unable to deny the pleasure. “Lodda shall shortly bring your gruel,” said Ceralt, “and when it arrives, you shall partake of it as a good wench should. Nod your head to show that you shall obey me.”
Sooner would I have professed myself slave, yet, to my horror, my head nodded as though moved by the word of Ceralt! I knew not what was about, for my head had nodded against my will, and a shadow of disturbance crossed my mind.
“My good, obedient Jalav,” Ceralt murmured in approval, his hand stroking my back. “You shall eat your gruel, and then shall you be punished. You have earned a good hiding, have you not? Nod your head to show that you wish to be punished.”
Again my head moved of its own accord, up and down, firmly agreeing to Ceralt’s words. A small moan escaped me then, for deep within the mists, I knew I did not wish Ceralt’s punishment, and again Ceralt chuckled.
“The drug does not allow you your own will, Jalav,” said he quite softly. “In all things you shall obey me, as though you were slave in truth. I have lessened the amount so that you may be well aware of all happenings, for this is to be part of your punishment. Study the happenings well, so that the memory of them may long remain with you. Ah! Lodda comes.”
I was then aware of a sound at the door, and Ceralt turned a bit so that I might see the entrance of the unknown female. She carried a pot of the awful mixture I had been fed so often, and her face wore a smile of contentment. Briskly, she approached us where we stood, and her head nodded.
“Quite nutritious,” said she, raising the pot toward us. “I had not thought it so, yet I now approve. Are you to feed her, or shall I?”
“I shall feed her,” said Ceralt, moving to a yellow-silk covered seat, and placing me therein. “I shall not require your aid till the new light, therefore you may retire to your own quarters.”
“As you wish,” nodded the female, and then handed the pot to him. “Come the new light, she and I shall become, acquainted. Though she appears rather larger than I had imagined, I anticipate little difficulty.”
“I anticipate much difficulty;” said Ceralt, his eyes again upon me, “though perhaps certain of it may be avoided. We shall see.”
The female seemed puzzled by his words, but she shrugged them off and again departed the room. Ceralt took no note of her going, for he had pulled another seat before mine, and had seated himself, the pot held easily in his hands. The mists clouded my thinking, yet clearly did I see and feel, more clearly, perhaps, than usual. Ceralt sat upon the yellow-silk seat, his dark green covering sharp against it, his light eyes filled with an expression I could not read, his broad, dark face softened beneath his wild thatch of hair. Again did I feel for him more than desire, a feeling which filled me with fear as well. To no male might a Hosta belong, yet did I joy in the presence of Ceralt, rage though I did, deep within. Ceralt took a long, flat bit of wood from the pot, and stirred the contents a bit before raising it toward me.
“Open your mouth, Jalav,” said he, “for your gruel is now before you. My good, obedient Jalav shall eat her gruel properly, for she does not wish to disobey Ceralt.”
To my fury, my mouth opened, and Ceralt placed the bit of wood therein, from which I took the gruel as bidden. Though with all of my strength did I attempt to refuse it, little by little was it fed me, Jalav doing naught save swallowing to the urging of Ceralt. Humiliating was his treatment of a Hosta war leader, and degrading through purpose, for continuously did he speak to me as though to a child or slave, and was I able to do nothing save obey. The gruel was given to the very last of it, and then did Ceralt put the pot aside with a smile.
“Such a lovely, obedient wench is Jalav,” said Ceralt, as I frothed within, nearly with madness. “Yet Jalav is not always as obedient, therefore must she now be punished.” His eyes came to me again, and had a stern look. “Jalav shall feel each stroke of her punishment,” said Ceralt quite clearly, “and she shall cry out with the pain of it as would any other wench who is so punished. Nod your head to show that you shall obey me.”
For a third time my head nodded of itself, and a greater horror possessed me. Could it be that by so offhand a manner, I would be made to cry out as any city slavewoman? I could not countenance the thought, yet was the reality an even greater horror. Ceralt fetched a length of leather, the like of which he had used upon me a number of times before, yet never before had the pain been so great. The strokes forced cries of anguish from my lips, and at Ceralt’s command, tears flowed from my eyes as well. More than soundly was I beaten with the leather, cries and tears a constant accompaniment, till Ceralt finally released me, then held me to him for a moment. The beating had been a terrible thing, and my legs refused to carry my weight, therefore did Ceralt raise me in his arms. I wished to beat at him, push from his touch, run from the very sight of him, but the mists closed more tightly about me, holding me still, and thence to the darkness.
Quite slowly did I waken and stretch toward the fire which burned in the fireplace. I remembered the happenings of the fey previous, a memory which would stay till Mida called. Never before had I been made to feel such humiliation, and the rage I felt toward Ceralt was a burning thing, a burning which would best be cooled in blood. Perhaps not a pool of his lifeblood, yet a pool which would give him a taste of the pain I had felt, the pain given me at his hand. No male must be allowed to treat a Hosta so, and the light would come that Ceralt heartily regretted his actions. Jalav was no slave, that she might be treated so!