Charlotte Boyett-Compo - Desires Sirocco

DESIRES SIROCCO

An Elloras Cave Publication, September 2004

Elloras Cave Publishing, Inc.

Hudson , OH 44236-0787

ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-4199-0034-X

Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

DESIRES SIROCCO 2004 CHARLOTTE BOYETT-COMPO

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors imagination and used fictitiously.

Edited by Mary Moran.

Cover art by Syneca.

Desires Sirocco

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Chapter One

Jameela sat with her hands clenched in her lap, eyes on the floor, knees pressed tightly together. Every movement, every sound intensified the fear invading her body and renewed the trembling she could not control. With her heart beating wildly and sweat forming in her armpits, she was one shallow breath from fainting.

You signed the consent form, did you not? the Masters chancellor asked. His words were spoken in a monotone, falling out of his mouth as though by memory.

Without lifting her gaze from the sleek hardwood floor, Jameela nodded silently.

Papers rattled. And you brought the proper documentation from the physician?

Another slow nod came from the young woman who knew better than to make eye contact with the chancellor or speak unless given express permission to do so.

The door at the far end of the sparsely furnished room opened and Jameela flinched. She desperately wanted to look up, but exercising every ounce of restraint she possessed she managed to keep her head down. Dagan had trained her well over the last few weeks.

They are ready for her now, a man with an oddly inflected, deep, bass voice said.

Very well, the chancellor acknowledged. His staccato words scraping like a rasp across Jameelas nerves.

Scraping his chair back from the ornate desk behind which he had been sitting, Brother Qutaybah came to stand in front of Jameela. Rise and follow me, he ordered.

A small whimper she could not prevent escaped Jameelas throat as she quickly came to her feet. She clutched her hands demurely at her waist as she had been instructed to do. Her gaze transferred from the plank flooring to the heels of Brother Qutaybahs highly polished boot heels as she kept the required five-foot distance between them as she followed. From the corner of her eye, she saw the toes of another pair of dark brown boots as they passed the man with the deep voice.

The room will be dark when we enter, Brother Qutaybah stated as he continued through the opened doorway and into the chill corridor. You remember what is required?

Jameela knew a moment of sheer panic as she wondered if he would see her nod. Was he looking back over his shoulder or was his back still to her as he walked briskly along? She dared not risk looking up to find out.

Well? Brother Qutaybah snapped. He stopped so suddenly she almost plowed into his thin as a rail body.

Jameela jumped back, her clenched hands tightening painfully around one another. Had she accidentally touched the person of the Masters chancellor, she would surely have fainted dead away. As it was her heart was beating so fast, she feared it would explode in her chest.

Answer me, woman!

Yes, Sir, she answered quickly, quaking like a leaf in the storm of his annoyance.

Yes, Sir, what? Brother Qutaybah asked impatiently.

Yes, Sir, I know what is expected of me in the Chamber, she said, her voice breaking.

For a long moment, Brother Qutaybah stood there, staring at her. She could feel the disapproval in his silent gaze; hear the harsh expulsion of breath before he clucked his tongue in what sounded like disgust to her ears.

I see nothing at all in you that will suit the needs of the Conclave, Brother Qutaybah said, but I suppose Lord Dagan is privy to attributes he feels warrant your admission.

Tears formed in Jameelas eyes and her lower lip quivered. Though Dagan had berated her often during training he had not used insults.

Even hags have some use, I suppose, Brother Qutaybah said with a snort. He turned around and continued down the corridor.

Her throat clogging with hurt, Jameela was having a hard time keeping up with his long-legged stride. Keeping her attention locked on those shiny boot heels, she tried to ignore the fear his words had caused. With a self-esteem that was as fragile as a snowflake, she wondered if the Conclave would reject her and cast her back to the Outside world. The thought of such a thing happening sent the tears down her ashen cheeks.

The corridor grew colder the farther they traversed its length. The bare floor began to slant downward and the walls to narrow, seeming to close in around her. Where there had been brightly burning torches every ten feet or so, the lights now were ranged further apart and were dimmer, sputtering in the ever-increasing cold that had set Jameelas teeth to chattering. Growing claustrophobic in the narrowing tunnel, unnerved by the decreasing warmth and illumination, the young woman moaned when the wooden plank flooring turned to thinly crushed gravel for she was barefoot and the stones were uncomfortableif not actually painfulbeneath the soles of her feet.

Useless, Brother Qutaybah proclaimed. No stamina whatsoever, more timid than a mouse and far less attractive.

Jameela bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from whimpering. Her fear of the Masters chancellor had turned her spine to jelly. Yet, had she been able to see his face, her terror would have increased threefold for the brutal gleam in his slanted eyes and the sneer on his cadaverously thin face might well have stopped her pounding heart.

What seemed like an hour passed before Brother Qutaybah slacked his rapid pace. The tunnel had narrowed to a thin sliver of rock-hewn wall, glistening damply within the light cast from a lone torch.

Lifting her gaze a few inches, Jameela could see a narrow wooden door banded with rusted metal framed in the fieldstone. When Brother Qutaybah knocked sharply upon the door, Jameela squeezed her eyes shut, her terror escalating with every shallow breath.

From behind the door a command was barked, giving them permission to enter. Jameela opened her eyes, recognizing that authoritative voice. She did not know whether to be relieved or heartsick that Dagan would be privy to her examination by the Conclave.

Brother Qutaybah turned to face her. Look at me, he ordered.

Jameela lifted her head. Staring into the cadaverous face of the Masters chancellor brought hot bile to the young womans throat. She feared the one who would purchase herif, indeed, one of the men didwould look like this horrid, ugly man. She dared not hope he would resemble in any way her trainer, Dagan Kiel, for fear the disappointment would be more than she could bear.

Brother Qutaybah pursed his lips tightly as his hawk-like gaze roamed over Jameelas trembling form. The look on his face gave mute evidence that he found her lacking in some important way for his eyes rolled before he spoke.

Explain to me what happens from this moment on, he said.

Jameela had to swallow the lump in her throat before she could speak. Though she held his stony stare, she longed to look away, to rid her sight of his dreadful countenance.

You will open the door, she said, paraphrasing Dagans tutorial, and I will enter alone. I am to walk straightforward fifteen standard paces into the room and stop. I will lower my hands to my sides and wait until I am bidden to remove mmy robe.

Thank Zi Dingir I shall not be there to witness that repulsive sight, Brother Qutaybah muttered. What then?