The Belromanticum

Chapter 2

While the ironwood staff was the most obviously impressive and practical of the treasures I found on my first adventure, the lamp was by far the most alluring. Such lamps were famous, and assumed to be lost or spent centuries ago when the vultures picked the carcass of Old Qammuz clean. The lamps were among the greatest treasures of that once great empire, the marks of their mastery over the world.

On the tarnished surface of the lamp's brass skin was an inscription. I was pleased when I was able to determine that the language was in fact that of Old Qammuz, the tongue long dead like the empire where it had been spoken. Translation took more time and would have been impossible if not for the expansive library at Thunderhead. For all his faults, Rhadoviel was ruthless when it came to the acquisition of books, and I reaped the benefits.

The inscription read, to the best of my knowledge:Mighty King, this lamp is the prison of Zhahllaia the Enlightened. Call her forth and she must obey.

The lamp carried but a thin aura of magic. A true lamp, one containing a djinn, should carry an aura like a great storm. An aura Lavinia would not have missed. Though I believed my first companions had treated me fairly, I bore no illusions. Had this been a lamp with a proper aura, I would not have been allowed to have it.

The question the aura, flickering like a guttering candle, demanded was simple. A truly inert lamp, one without its djinn, should have no magical aura at all. I was faced with a conundrum and I was jealous enough that I wasn't going to share it with the old man. This was my treasure and thus my mystery. I would solve it and whatever secrets the lamp held would be mine and mine alone.

Some of my obsession with the lamp was sentimental as it reminded me of Mira. I stayed with her in my mind often, ruminating over the delicious things she had done to me. Self-pleasure had never been a stranger, but after Mira, it became a close companion.

Most of the books on the Qammuzi were unsurprisingly in their language and my command was limited to painstaking translation. Luckily, there was one in Elven, and the wizard who couldn't read Elven was a piss poor excuse for a conjurer, according to Rhadoviel. I used this as my primary resource in my hunt for information on the lamp. Inside I found a single reference to a Zhahllaia, identifying her as some kind of counselor to the king, but I had no way of knowing it was the same one. For all I knew, Zhahllaia was a common Qammuzi name.

My mind finally came to the decision that my heart had made the instant the lamp had been handed to by my companions. I would attempt to summon forth this Zhahllaia. I'd need to be careful, of course. The aura implied something was in the lamp and it might no longer be the djinn. I might have a fight on my hands. Fortunately, I was blooded in a barrow, and so the lamp held no dread for me. I prepared a suite of combat spells and when the day came that I could delay no longer, I was ready to do battle with whatever emerged.

I was cautious enough that I wouldn't invoke whatever remained in the lamp inside Thunderhead itself. The danger would be too great and if I did somehow release a true threat, Rhadoviel would have my hide.

A steep pathway ran from the northern side of the tower down the western-facing cliff to the rocky shore below. A high tide would swallow nearly the entire beach, but at low tide, the area was dotted with pools filled with all manner of creatures. Rhadoviel shunned this beach, despite his familiar taking the form of a cyclopus. It made this area perfect whenever I wanted privacy.

My familiar Oddrin knew something was happening the second we left the tower. He spread his wings, catching the wind, floating gracefully on the chilly gusts that blew in from the ocean. There is something about the way night efts fly, as though slithering through the air itself, that called to mind the soft breeze through the window deep in the night. Though many of the creatures of my youth are extinct today, the night efts are a glorious exception. Great flocks light the night skies thanks in no small part to my efforts. But that story, like so many, comes later.

I worked my way to the shore, picking my way down the stone steps that were surely older than Rhadoviel himself. I was alone in both directions. If I followed the beach to the south, half a day of walking would get me to Burley Shoal. To the north, there was nothing save a dark forest that occasionally spat out ravening tribes of orcs and trolls.

I made my way to a flat rock where a fold in the cliff blocked even the top of Thunderhead. I was being overly cautious, even superstitious, but it paid to be wary when dealing with wizards. Waves thundered against the rocks while frigid salt mist tickled my face. I set the lamp down in front of me and readied my staff. "Zhahllaia the Enlightened?" I ventured. Nothing happened. I tried again. The lamp was perversely still. Inspiration hit, and I tried the invocation in my terrible Old Qammuzi.

The lamp shivered, threads of white smoke spilling from the spout. The smoke collected, growing and thickening in a cloud that was untouched by the wind coming off the water. What had been threads turned into a stream, then a river of smoke. Soon, the cloud was larger than a human being, looming over me but resolutely keeping its distance. A shadow moved within, growing, as though approaching from a long corridor.

Shestepped from the smoke and my voice fled.

Zhahllaia the Enlightened, for that was the only person who it could possibly be, appeared as a young woman, no older than me. Her hair, a deep brown that was nearly black, fell to the small of her back. Her fine-boned features and soft, petite figure spoke to a life spent at court, but the formidable wisdom in her wide, gold-flecked eyes suggested that life was far from idle. Her supple, olive skin carried a bronzeish metallic tint, a reminder that though she appeared human, she was not.

She stood before me wearing only elaborately-engraved bronze bracers with turquoise adornments on her wrists and ankles, and a web of delicate golden chains radiating from a golden ring resting over her flat belly. Her sex, modest and neat, sat at the apex of her lissome thighs. It was the first I had seen in the light of day and I tried not to stare, though it was the loveliest thing I had ever beheld.

She regarded me with a bored expression, speaking in a language I had never heard. Then it dawned on me. "Of course, you speak Old Qammuzi. I should have prepared." A conversation in Old Qammuzi would be impossible, but I could at least write something out and read it all in one go, explaining who I was and that I was new to the language.

Then, in a lovely liquid accent, she said, "This is your language? Very well. I am Zhahllaia the Enlightened."

"You speak my language?"

"I speak every language," she said mildly. "If I am not mistaken, yours is related to the barbarous tongue of the savage northern tribes. This fact does not fill me with confidence, nor does the fact that you summon me to this barren shore."

"You're in the northwesternmost part of Rhandonia," I informed her.

"I have never heard of such a place, but I have never journeyed into the land of the barbarian." Her eyes flicked to Oddrin, who landed on my shoulder. My familiar let out a confused trill. "A familiar. Then you are a wizard?"

"An apprentice."

"Unfortunate. Despite your savage origins, you should be able to understand this. My power is exhausted, my final wish granted. You may return me to my prison."

"Prison?"

"The lamp from which you summoned me," she said, like she was talking to the village idiot.

"Why do you want to return to a prison?"

"I am useless. As I said."

"Do youwantto be in prison?"

"I have no choice. Absent of favors, your kind has no use for mine."

"Then I'm giving you a choice."

She cocked her head, for the first time studying me. I had the distinct sensation I imagined one of Rhadoviel's alchemical reactions might have. "Do you have the power to break a curse?"

"I can try. You can help."

"I cannot. A condition of the curse."

"That's how they compel your people? The djinn?"

She held up her bracers and nodded to the ones on her ankles. "Enchanted, binding us even past the time we have power to remake the world. Our wishes are used up and then we are left to languish. Forever."

"That's awful."

"That is the way of things."

I only noticed then that the smoke was gone, having vanished at some point during our conversation. I had been too fascinated by her loveliness. I stuck a hand out. "I'm Belromanazar."

She looked at my hand, an amused smile quirking her lips. "You truly know nothing of djinn."

"Your people are more legend than reality these days."

She stuck a hand out to touch mine, and it passed through. It felt like a cool breeze brushing over my skin, the secret, subtle pleasure of the caress of breath over the nape of my neck. "Our kind cannot touch," she said.

I deflated, but mentally, I was already promising to figure out a way around that. I was besotted with her. I do not believe any other reaction to Zhahllaia is possible, but those are the words of a man in love. "Would you teach me Old Qammuzi?"

"You keep calling itOldQammuzi. Our language is Abbih, 'the civilized tongue.'"

"It hasn't been spoken in a millennium."

She frowned. "A mill...that is impossible. Have I been in prison so long?"

"I'm afraid so. Qammuz fell long ago. I found your lamp in a barrow not far from here."

"I suppose I have been to the barbaric lands after all," she mused. "Yes, Belromanazar, I will teach you to speak like a civilized man."

"Thank you. One thing...I don't think I want my master knowing about you."

"You are a slave?"

"Apprentice, like I said."

"In my experience, there is little difference."

"I wish I could argue."

She watched me with blooming curiosity. "If you wish to imprison me, you do not have to lie. The curse means that if I am so ordered, I will return to the lamp and I cannot emerge without being invited."

"Tell me something, Zhahllaia. In Qammuz, what was your purpose? Beyond the wishes you granted?"

"I was trusted advisor to ten generations of Shahs. My council guided the empire from glory to glory."

"Now you are trusted advisor to me. I can think of worse things for a wizard than having access to the wisdom of an immortal."

She inclined her head. "I will serve. Though you are a barbarian, you have at least some measure of wisdom."

"One of my better qualities. Please, return to your lamp."

The light in her eyes died and I hated myself in that moment. I sprinted across the rocky beach, never stopping even when I rolled my ankle in a tidepool. I took the stairs up the cliff two at a time and I was out of breath when I burst into my chamber. I didn't want her in that lamp an instant longer than she had to be.

"Zhahllaia the Enlightened," I said, and this time, though I didn't speak in Old Qammuzi, she responded, smoke billowing out of the lamp, as her shape strode through it.

"That was scarcely the blink of an eye," she said, emerging from the gray tendrils.

"I wasn't lying to you. Just be sure to hide if my master gets close. I might hide you in the lamp from time to time, but you have my word that I will not leave you imprisoned."

"As you wish." She looked around. "These are ruder accommodations than I am accustomed to."

"Do you want to be in the lamp?"

"No!" she said quickly. "There is charm to these barbaric surroundings. Would you like to start your lessons?"

"Please." We worked until nightfall when I returned her to the lamp. That night, when sleep came over me, I didn't dream of Mira. I dreamt of the djinn.

***

***

I left her out of the lamp when I went for my daily lessons, inviting her to roam as she wished, as long as she stayed out of the old man's sight. Rhadoviel spent his afternoons and evenings in the laboratory, freeing the library for our use. After mornings spent learning from my master, we went to the library. The energies of magic were exhausted in my tissues, but working with Zhahllaia revitalized me.

Rhadoviel's library took up the entirety of its floor, accessible by the spiral staircase that spanned the tower. As Zhahllaia descended behind me, I wondered how she was interacting with the world. She was not tangible, but she treated the floor as solid enough and she never walked through walls. It provided a parameter to her intangibility that I filed away for later use. Solving a problem always meant first understanding it.

The library was a riot of shelves filled with books, codices, scrolls, and odds and ends from Rhadoviel's own time as an adventurer centuries ago. Everything leaned up against everything else, as though weary from the wisdom it was forced to hold. In a thousand years adventurers would come to these ruins, slay whatever wights Rhadoviel's residual magic had left behind, and this library would be a trove worthy of a king.

As we passed a board covered in sculpted pieces set on a table, Zhahllaia clapped her hands in delight. "Alishum!" she exclaimed. Then, to me, her gold-flecked eyes bright. "Do you play?"

"I don't think anyone has for a thousand years."

She bent over, inspecting the pieces with wide eyes. "This is a complete set! Old and dusty, but complete!"

"You obviously loved this game," I said, both charmed by her eagerness and aroused by her body. The urge to please her, body and soul, filled me.

"This was one of my purposes. My favorite of them. I would require one of the Shah's slaves to move my side of course. I spent many happy hours playing against the finest opponents in the empire." She fixed me with her gaze and a delicious shiver ran up my spine. "Would you like to learn?"

"If it would make you happy, it would be my pleasure."

Zhahllaia beamed, tenting her fingers. She was such an odd sight, still nude, and yet preternaturally self-possessed. "I have missed Alishum, Belromanazar. Perhaps we will begin our lessons with this game. Yes, I think that will be best."

We started on my lesson, with Zhahllaia naming the pieces, the board itself, and outlining the rules. Abbih was a complicated tongue, every word carrying layers of meaning and implication. Thanks to the staggering span of time, Zhahllaia was able to trace the evolution of meaning of every word. I realized that if I truly was going to delve into Qammuzi ruins, I would need decades of practice with their language. Zhahllaia seemed pleased with my progress, often praising my abilities as remarkable for a barbarian.

I glowed every time she had a kind word for me. It was hard to separate the desire to please a beautiful woman with the drive to impress an immortal being known for her wisdom. And then there was the burgeoning affection I felt for my first true friend. I stopped trying to separate one from another. She was lovely, fascinating, and beautiful. That was all that mattered.

I was in the middle of a lesson, trying not to stare at the way one of the delicate chains followed the line of her breasts when suddenly the old man's voice boomed up from below, his heavy tread on the stair. "Where are you, useless boy?"

"Hide!" I hissed to Zhahllaia. She sprang up and after a breathless moment of casting about, slipped behind a bookcase.

"There you are," said the old man as he climbed into the room, stinking of brimstone from his lab. "Worse places for you than the library, I suppose. What are you doing?"

"Learning Old Qammuzi."

"Got a taste for ruins, have you? Yes, you'll be out of my tower and lining a wight's belly soon enough."

"Is there something I can do for you?"

He frowned at me. I think he sensed something amiss but couldn't put his finger on what. "You'll keep a civil tongue for one thing. I was merely going to demand an evocation, but now, you will go through your paces you are. Top to bottom, everything you know."

I had to obey, and it took the rest of the evening to prove to the old man that I had in fact absorbed his lessons and could satisfactorily demonstrate my abilities. Judging by the grouchyhmphas he left me in the library, he had been hoping I'd slip up along the way, but I had kept my head while facing down wights. I could handle the old man's jaundiced gaze.

Wearily I made my way back to my chamber. Zhahllaia emerged from hiding and followed, a smirk on her lips. "He is a charming fellow."

"Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if another wizard had found me."

"Wizards are notoriously cantankerous. Even in Qammuz, the court-bred ones could be short of temper."

I undressed. Without realizing what I had done, I was nude before her. I suppose my thought process was along the lines ofWhen in Qammuz...but the truth was nudity felt natural with Zhahllaia. At least partly because she was so unashamed. I climbed into bed, pulling the furs about me, and I turned to the djinn, catching a speculative look on her face as she watched me.

"Do you want your lamp?" I yawned.

She nodded. "Please, Master Wizard."

"Please, return to your lamp."

She vanished into smoke and I fell into a deep sleep, the clean lightning scent of her in my nose.

We fell into a routine. We spent the bulk of our time in the library, learning Old Qammuzi and playing Alishum. She hid when Rhadoviel came around, though she never strayed far. At night, she told me stories of the great empire of Qammuz, taking delight in relaying the court intrigue involving people who had been dead for over a thousand years. In return, I told her of the tiny spit of northern land she'd somehow ended up in. Before I closed my eyes, I would return her to her lamp.

Except for one night. I opened my eyes in the blue light of morning and found Zhahllaia sitting in my room, eyes amber and soft as tree sap as she watched me. "Zhahllaia. I'm sorry," I yawned. "You should have reminded me."

"You drifted off between sentences. Then you were at peace."

"If Rhadoviel came in..."

"I would have hidden. Master Wizard, if you would...I prefer to spend nights outside of my lamp. I will watch over you."

"As you wish," I said.

***

***

One day, months into our friendship, we were working in the library. When she sat, the chains around her hips would draw tight and dimple her smooth bronze flesh. I found this impossibly alluring, and while I was supposed to learn the hundred different synonyms the Qammuzi had for "conquest," I was actually staring at her hip, the little fold where her leg met her body and the fetching pathways the chains made over her form.

"...when you speak yourRs, tap the tip of your...are you listening?" she demanded.

I broke my gaze with difficulty. "Sorry, I yes, let me try again."

"You are staring at me," she said.

"I'm sorry."

"Iambeautiful. Along with my other duties, I served as ornamentation for the Shah's court. Would you like to watch me dance?"

"We're working."

"Iam working. You are distracted."

"We don't really have any music." While I had the technical ability to make some with an illusion, I didn't have the skill to make anything worth dancing to.

"Would you rather watch me pleasure myself?"

I coughed. "Pleasure yourself?"

"Shah Sehat XII...no, it was his son, yes. His son. Sehat XIII did not care for music or dance. I could not dance for him, but one does not need music to find bliss at the ends of one's fingertips."

"Do you do that often?"

"I have been in a lamp for a millennium. What do you think I do to pass the time?"

"You've been touching yourself for a thousand years?"