Demon of the Black Gate

Cerra was so relieved to have Kamir back with her. The little companion had been inseparable to her, his catalog of sounds and mewls another language. She sat against a wall and absorbed the purrs as Kamir butted his head continually to force her pets and strokes.

The longer she sat, the more her temper and anxiety disappated. She couldn’t say that any kind of serenity passed over her. She imagined her cell to be dark and gloomy. She laughed to herself. They didn’t know what dark and gloomy was and shuddered when the image of the void passed her memory. Even Kamir seemed to freeze in her grip and she shed the image as quickly as she could. The cell in which she sat had the same feel as the caves, the smell of stone and subtle hint of cool moisture carried within.

She felt fortunate. A bards tale she had heard spoke of a dungeon, a bleak unwholesome place full of fetid straws and rats. She’d already felt the chains that could bind her. At least this was clean, dry stone. The cell didn’t seem to have been used in years. No rancid smells or fetid reminders of recent human misery assailed her nose, and she could not hear any activity. If there were more cells, and she was reasonably sure there was, she was the only occupant. The only live one at any rate.

“It must be where he keeps his honored guests.” she said, scratching the cats ears. “I hope we don’t get demoted to ‘relative’”

Cerra was partially correct in her assessment. The caliph who had built the palace had many enemies, low and high. His accommodations reflected that, and the cell in which she found herself was one reserved for the wealthy unfortunate who waited to be ransomed, one of four on the first level. The low born were cast in the eight lower cells, beneath the level in which Cerra found herself. No windows penetrated those depths and it was hungry for oxygen. The air that settled down there was a thin remnant after having passed through the stagnant halls and guttering torches and lingering in the black molds that crusted the walls.

There were only the twelve cells, for as the caliph reasoned, more would be too costly while murder and assassination were cheap alternatives. However, there was a certain satisfaction in having an enemy incarcerated rather than merely killed. The caliph could, at his leisure, descend to the cell of choice and gloat. There was also a great deal of money to be made in ransom, and so some accommodation was to be made for the dignitary. Air from a vented slot above and even a couple of benches. There were irons embedded into the stone walls for the more obdurate guests. Many had to be subdued while strongly in their cups.

Cerra had found the manacles, but had yet to discover the benches. She was still sitting against the wall where she had helped Kamir make his descent, gaining energy from the reunion. Little attention had been given yet to her environment. The cell left little for her imagination to work with. The stone was cold and laden with sorrowful memories. She feared that was all she would find.

Kamir finally let his petting frenzy go and she could hear him nosing at her bag. It was a good motivation for her. She reached for the bag and eased back to the wall to rifle through it. She was hungry, if nothing else. There was an orange from the ship’s stores and a little bag of dried kippers that she’d cached for Kamir. Her pipe and tobacco. Her small cache of medicines and tinctures was still there.

She tore off some scraps of kipper for Kamir and devoured the orange. She used the peel to scrub her face, the oils cutting the grime and onion smell of the bag they had cast over her head in capture. She arranged her hair somewhat, making a few turns and skewering it with the polished pins that Luskin had fabricated.

Cerra could hear the occasional throaty mewl of Kamir as he explored the corners of the cell. She weighed her options and wondered what would happen to her. She had been followed since she left her home in the stands. Only one person would have any interest at all in her and that was the wizard who brought forth the demon. The demon was gone. Or was he? If he was indeed gone from this world, there would be little reason in her capture. She knew who her next visitor would be. The wizard behind this all. She didn’t have long to wait.

Rovinkar descended the narrow stone staircase that led to the ‘cellars of the estate’. He felt gruff and impatient. He had little time to spare for this woman. He had to prepare himself to lead the demon into its cage. One of Rovinkar’s personal guards met him at the landing, leading him down the final flight of stairs and along the ill-lit corridor to the cell door containing his captive.

Before the guard could raise the bar, Rovinkar handed him a black hood. The bar was lifted and the guard entered, Rovinkar waiting in the shadows beyond the door.

Cerra heard the dull resonance of the footsteps coming down the steps, and pushed Kamir away with a ‘pfft … pfft’ sound. She heard him scamper away to her left, what she hoped was a dark corner. She stood, keeping her back to the wall. There had been two sets of footfalls, and no conversation. One of them was likely important. It would be the wizard.

Metal slid against metal, the sound of a small port opening and shutting.There was a tired sound of hinge and iron as the door was unbarred. The door creaked open and she heard a big man, judging by the stride, rush forward directly at her. A bolt of fear shot through her. A bag fashioned of rough jute was thrown over her head and she was manhandled over to a corner. It was in the same direction she had heard Kamir scamper to. She was forced down. Expecting to go as far as the floor, the slam into a stone bench was far too abrupt. It was like taking stairs and anticipating one more.

The moment knocked her breath away and the bag cast confusion into her thoughts. She heard a second pair of feet finally enter, and the sound of a torch being set into the wall. She felt Kamir press against her ankle, lying tense on his haunches. She knew her robes would cover him, and she started breathing easier. She heard the second man sit across from her.

“I wish I’d found these benches myself.” she thought. Aloud she wasn’t so agreeable.

“This … hat … is hardly necessary.” she said, with a little more vehemence than she’d intended. The musty cloth fouled her nose. She even growled.

“A bit of food or a cup of kafi is more the manners that I am used to.”

“I have no wish to identify myself. And if you want food,” Rovinkar added dismissively. “I really wouldn’t worry about it.”

She snorted, an ironic laugh.

“You don’t want me to see you? Hah!”

She tried to stifle the deriding note her voice, but in all her life, this was too much.

“I haven’t seen anything except my imagination since I was seven. I’m blind!” Idiot went unspoken.

Rovinkar started. “Blind?! Hah! he jeered not bothering to hide his incredulous disbelief. There was no intelligence from Sinjin on this. He edged forward.

“You’re telling me you traveled from the Stands to here … blind? Bah!” Rovinkar felt insulted by her ridiculous claim.

“I had a good horse!” Cerra threw back.

Rovinkar settled back on the bench as he let this turn in his mind. He didn’t believe her. If she was lying, then … he voiced his thoughts

“I won’t have any problem killing you if you lie.”

“Kill me if you must, just let me get this ... fouling bag off of my head!” Cerra felt her face flush with anger. “Calm down.” she told herself, “... or you’ll not hear a thing”. She didn’t wait for an answer, but eased the bag off and threw it aside.

“Potatoes … past their prime too.” she sniffed. “Your man used an onion bag on the way over. He should be commended for his courtesy. Onion bags are by far the best.”

Rovinkar watched her carefully, wary for any move. His mind was reciting an incantation for protections against witchcrafts. Sinjin had claimed she had abnormal powers, and the actions of the demon were further proof.

She was as he’d seen in his sighting through the demon. The flickering glow of the torch in the dark stone crypt accentuated the tangled flame of her curly red hair, and cast a lively glint of life in her luminous brown eyes. They weren’t so luminous now. ‘Fired’ was a better word. Yet the eyes didn’t look at him, but through him. It was Cerra’s habit was to face the sound of the voice or turn an ear slightly.

“Fey girl. She doesn’t look me in the eye.” Rovinkar thought. He felt as though she was gazing at his throat. He didn’t feel safe and was glad he had warded himself.

He appraised her body, the full breasts and shapely hips apparent under the light robe. Not a tall woman, but still, she had a commanding presence. The rampant red gold curls framed a face that had recently seen too much sun. Her skin was not burned, but rosy, and her cheeks and nose spattered with freckles. He looked at her eyes, prepared for any ensorcelment. Her irises were deep brown, chocolate flecked with roan. The pupils were forever contracted, black pinpricks centered in a deep brown pool. Rays of thin gold marked the edges, a dark galaxy with no light at the center.

Rovinkar knew the white scales that fell across the blind Oracles of Zara. There was no cataract disturbing her vision. In the dim torchlight of the cell, any eye would be dilated widely. Hers remained unchanged.

Cerra was not one to remain silent for long. She sat back against the wall.

“So why am I here?” She knew full well where she was. There could be no where else save with the wizard who had released the demon.

“I would ask you the same thing.” Rovinkar reposted. “Why are YOU here? A woman … a blind woman … leaves her home and travels all the way to Abbysin.”

“A friend of mine needs help.” she replied. “and of course, there is the shopping.” She was still feeling peevish. “And I’m studying hospitality customs of other countries. Is everyone in Abbysin like this or did I just get lucky?”

Rovinkar ignored the remark and looked at her with growing impatience. She was toying with him.

“This ‘friend’ belongs to me. You are interfering ... controlling it … I want to know how.”

Cerra had felt herself cooling as soon as the bag was off her head. If any one thing was going to incite her to quick-temper, she now knew what it was. She saw little point in dissembling. It may be the very reason she was here. This was the opportunity to talk.

“I control nothing,” returned Cerra, “except my choices.” She let out a little guffaw. “and I wonder about some of them too. As far as your … your demon? … is concerned, he is in no control of mine.”

“You are lying.” fumed Rovinkar. “I have attempted to return it to its rightful ... cage. Three times. Yet inSTEAD … instead it returns … to you! What matter of witch are you?”

“Witch!” laughed Cerra. “The most magnificent thing I can conjure up is a wicked cup of kafi. Which reminds me … ”

“Don’t toy with me, woman.” Rovinkar hissed. “You have no idea what you are dealing with.”

“Apparently neither do you.” she shot back too quickly. Cerra felt his tension rising. There would be no easy solution with this man. She pressed forward before he could interrupt.

“There is a person inside. I may be blind, but I can see that. As a matter of fact, it is the only thing my eyes can see. No. I don’t control him. I let him be and I do not fear him. If you could see him you would … ”

“How does it obey your commands. How does it fear you?” Rovinkar insisted.

“Fear?” Cerra shook her head in wonderment. “Is that all you have? It would be ill to live under your roof.”

She opted for another tact.

“If the … your demon … responds to me, it is because he desires to. I’ve asked nothing of him … well ... except a fire to warm me … oh, and a rock wall, which he hasn’t gotten to yet. But understand this. The demon, this being you claim is yours, does not wish to return to his prison. I have seen that void. There is no life there, no hope of rebirth. Of anything. There is nothing. It is a blackness that scares away my very mind. If your intent is to return him to that, than I am happy to have thwarted your efforts.”

“That demon is more more powerful than you can imagine. It has no place in this time. It is far too dangerous.”

“Yet you brought him forth.” countered Cerra.

“That was part of a military endeavor. It is no concern of yours.”

Cerra pieced together what she had heard of the army amassed at the Black Gate,waiting to invade.

“I believe my homeland is of a concern to me. There is nothing there that cannot already be gained by honest trade. It seems your intent is to steal and subjugate. If that is the case, then I am glad the demon failed you.”

“That remains to be seen. There is always tomorrow.” Rovinkar said. “But today you are here and you can help me return the demon to its rightful place.”

“I will do no such thing!” exclaimed Cerra. She tried another plea. “I want to help. That is why I am here. To stay your hand. Release whatever magic you possess that binds it.”

“I cannot do that while I live.” Rovinkar admitted quietly. “I am not released from the incantation that brought it here until it is back in its cage. If you will not help, you will become incentive.”

“How?” she asked, though she felt a cord of fear trying to knot itself about her.

“I trade for your life, of course.” said Rovinkar easily. “I will see what kind of power you truly possess.”

Rovinkar got up to leave.

“Pray it has the same concern for your life as you do for it.”

Cerra felt herself getting hot again.

“It doesn’t matter what he does. It is what I do. And I will not help you contain him. What I perceive talking with you is that my life is immaterial one way or the other. That many lives are immaterial. Do what you will, I refuse to lift one finger for your benefit.”

“As you wish. You will have a little time to change your mind.” Rovinkar went to the door, and she heard the hinges groan as the heavy door swung open.

“Very little.” he added grimly.

“Some food would be nice.” was all she said.

The woman looked small and powerless in the dim light. She hadn’t followed his movement to the door. Her eyes were still cast to where he had sat. Rovinkar said nothing further as the guard swung the door shut and let the bar drop into place.

For Cerra, everything had turned dark. She had failed. There was nothing left for her to do.