‘Everam, Creator of Heaven and Ala, Giver of Light and Life, your children are dying. We fight among ourselves when we should band together, throw away lives when we should succour them. How can we return to your favour and be saved from passing from this world?’
As she whispered the words, she shook the dice gently in her cupped hands, feeling them warm to her touch as the magic activated. Light peeked through her fingers, making her hands glow red and sending thin beams to dance along the walls of the chamber.
It was forbidden to test the dice alone. The law was clear that she ring the chime for a testing before trusting in her dice, but Inevera did not care. She felt the power building in her hands, and could wait no longer.
She threw.
The dice scattered on the floor, flaring with magic. Inevera watched as they turned unnaturally, the pattern dictated by the wards rather than laws of physics and geometry. Then they lay still, some symbols throbbing dully, others glowing brightly, and still more dark. Reading them was an art as much as a science, but to Inevera, their meaning was as clear as words on parchment.
— A boy will weep in the Maze on the 1,077th dawn. Make him a man to start the path to Shar’Dama Ka.-
Inevera felt her face flush, and breathed deeply to find her centre. She was to find the Shar’Dama Ka reborn? Did this mean she truly was the Damajah, as Qeva had scoffed? She would never know, for the dice could read the fortunes of others, but never the thrower.
‘Make him a man,’ she whispered. The symbols here were vague. Did they represent the traditional veiling ceremony all Sharum went through? Sexual deflowering? Education and training? Marriage? The dice did not say.
She shook again. ‘Everam, Creator of Heaven and Ala, Giver of Light and Life, what must I do to make this boy a man?’
Again the symbols spoke to her, though their answer was no clearer, and only filled her with new dread.
— Sharak Ka is near. The Deliverer must have every advantage.-
Sharak Ka. The First War. Without the Deliverer, the well of humanity would dry out for good, the last of Everam’s light extinguished from the Ala.
The Deliverer must have every advantage.
Quickly she gathered the bones, holding them aloft. Using her fingers to manipulate the symbols, she cast bright light over a chamber she had spent countless hours in, yet never truly seen. The light reflected off a tiny nook cut into the rock wall where the silver chimes lay.
Gone were her days of living in darkness. From now on, the dice would light her way.
The test for the veil came and went in moments. Inevera had no doubts, and answered instantly, even though Kenevah asked far more questions of her than she had of Melan, or indeed any of the girls who had taken the veil since.
The Damaji’ting threaded her questions with tricks and half-truths, trying again and again to confound Inevera. Around the chamber Bride and Betrothed alike began to murmur at this, wondering if Inevera had made an error early on that Kenevah was testing against. The dice were subjective, and errors did occur. One might be permitted, but never two.
But though she sensed the speculation, to Inevera it was only wind. She felt Everam’s wisdom flowing through the dice, and spoke with the assurance of His voice. There were no wrong answers, and both she and Kenevah knew it. At last the aged woman nodded. ‘Welcome, sister.’
The true dama’ting held their composure, though their quiet chatter halted instantly. There was a cheer from some of the nie’dama’ting, but not all. Inevera’s eyes passed over them, meeting Melan’s, staring back hard.
The girl gave an almost imperceptible nod of respect, but her eyes were hard. It was difficult to tell if she was humbled or vengeful. Inevera supposed it did not matter.
Right there in the Chamber of Shadows, with all watching, Inevera was stripped from her robes and bido wrap, making her oaths to Everam.
‘I, Inevera vah Kasaad am’Damaj am’Kaji, Betrothed of Everam, take Him as my first husband, His wishes above all others, His love my greatest desire, His will my greatest command, for He is the Creator of all things great and true, and all other men are but pale shadows of His perfection. I do this for now and all eternity, for on my death I will join my sister-wives in the Celestial Harem, and there know His sacred touch.’
‘I hear this oath, and hold you to it,’ Kenevah said, lifting her dice in the air and causing them to flare with magic.
‘I hear,’ Qeva said, lifting her own brightly glowing dice.
‘I hear,’ the other dama’ting echoed one by one, each lifting her dice in turn.
‘I hear. I hear.’
Inevera was led to a marble table and made to kneel, putting her hands down flat in front of her and pressing her forehead down. Worn depressions in the stone marked where countless knees, hands, and foreheads had been placed before her.
Kenevah produced a large piece of marble that looked as if it had once been shaped like a man’s organ, but centuries of use had worn the bulbous head down to little different from the shaft.
Qeva took a chalice of blessed water, pouring it over the phallus, whispering prayers as she did. Then she produced a vial of sacred kanis oil, dribbling it over the marble and stroking it in a circular pumping motion as if pleasuring a man. All seven sacred strokes were used, spreading the oil evenly over every inch.
Kenevah took the shaft from her, moving behind Inevera, who clenched her thighs in spite of herself, knowing it was the worst thing she could do.
‘Fear and pain …’ Kenevah said.
‘… are only wind,’ Inevera finished. She followed her breath, finding her centre, and let her thighs relax, opening herself.
‘With this, I consummate your union to Everam,’ Kenevah said, and did not hesitate as she thrust the phallus into Inevera, making her gasp. Kenevah pumped repeatedly, twisting it as she did. Pain blew over Inevera, but she bent as the palm, revelling instead in the elation of her wedding to Everam. He was her true husband, and spoke to her through the hora. Finally, she understood what it meant to be one of Everam’s Brides. She would never be alone again. Always, He would guide her.
At last Kenevah withdrew. ‘It is over, Bride of Everam.’
Inevera nodded, getting slowly to her feet, cognizant of the pain and the blood running down her thighs. Her legs buckled as she stood, but she kept her feet as she turned to Kenevah, who produced a cloth of smooth white silk, tying it around Inevera’s face.
She bowed. ‘Thank you, Damaji’ting.’ Kenevah bowed in return, and Inevera turned and strode, nude save for the hora pouch about her waist, past the other women and out of the chamber. Her back was straight. Her bearing proud.
She was given her own chambers in both the palace and the underpalace. They were huge, opulent things full of expensive carpets, silk bedclothes, and thick, velvet curtains; with services of silver, gold, and delicate porcelain. Lit by wardlights she could brighten or dim, there was a private marble bath, surrounded by heat wards that could warm or chill the water or her rooms as needed. A Damaji’s ransom in magic for her simple comfort, all controlled by one of the stone pedestals she had learned to manipulate while still in the bido.
As soon as she was alone, Inevera went to the closet where a dozen sets of pure white silk robes hung. She selected two. The first she laid out on the wide, four-poster bed. The second she took her knife to.
The eunuchs had already warmed the bath. She slipped into the deliciously hot water and scrubbed herself carefully. She felt the barest stubble on her bald head and smiled. She would never need to shave it again, but continued her daily shaving of her legs and nethers.