C. S. Friedman by In Conquest Born

Author:In Conquest Born [Born, In Conquest]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-03-18T08:40:04.126000+00:00

This is my most common dream: I am in a small starship speeding through the Void. The image comes of a knife slicing the substance of that darkness, of myself plunging through the wound. There are instruments all about me, upon which my life depends. An image comes of gold hands over a control board, dancing.

There is a weight over me, and also an exhilarating sense of joy, of coming triumph. I laugh, wildly. Then fire bums about me suddenly—fear envelops me. I have a glimpse of a golden egg, to match the hands, freefloating in the Void. I strive to reach it.

And I awake, screaming.

I'm learning not to scream. When that half-state comes where I am still in the dream but no longer entirely so, I stifle my cries with the terror of my days and the memory of what's done to me when this dream is made public. That's usually enough. The memory is a strong one.

Identity: the mirror, conjured, reveals a human woman with the mark of the foreign-born strong upon her.

Prehensile toes, nails that are better called talons, a broad face splayed out in horizontal features that make a mockery of the cleanly chiseled details of the Braxana, by whom I am surrounded. I am tall—too tall—spare in the chest and hips, and so dark that I could slip unseen from shadow to shadow. When I'm cut, the interior of my flesh is pink-white, like theirs, as if my color were makeup and could be easily removed. Sadly, I observe this often.

Which brings me to the next point of identification: I am a slave in the House of Sechaveh.

Some primitive peoples believe in a variety of afterlives; my Mistress has told me of these things. They're based upon the concept that some god—or goddess—has taken the time and trouble to remain in the human sphere of affairs and oversee the eternity of the immortal soul. I imagine this would be terribly boring, for a being that was truly omnipo-tent. So, for the sake of variety, said deity devises a series of distinct and memorably atmospheric subafterlives. One of these, though it's called by many names, is recognized by all believing peoples as a place of eternal suffering. What that suffering is, no one is quite sure. What they are certain of is that this place has a Master, whose pleasure it is to concoct new varieties of human anguish for the diversion of the creator-god in charge. I have met this man. In fact, I serve him.

They say that Sechaveh's character was formed in his childhood, when he was ruled by women and made to suffer for his parents' arrogance. I don't believe this. The mind freely imagines many terrible things, and none of them, not even in their most fearsome intensity, could turn out the sort of being that Sekav, son of Lurat and M'nisa, became.

Of course, I'm prejudiced. I am a woman. I don't know what men think of him and I imagine I will never find out.

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