Halqu Ulu

Chapter 1

The sun sets fat and aflame into the plains of the west, dying a slow death. Leagues of scrub brush, rocks, and dust stretch to the horizon, beyond which lie the cities of Ekron and Joppa. To the north is Geba, and to the south is Bethlehem, those two perched upon the hilly ridges of the Judean Mountains just like I am, here, imprisoned in this city of Jerusalem.

"Helel?"

The cool winds of this winter month send the voice upwards to where I sit, and I frown, then tilt my head. The sound of footsteps far below catches my ear, and I lean upon my left hand, peering over the edge of the temple roof. A young man in white and red acolyte robes looks around in confusion, carrying a covered basket. His short brown hair is curly and kept neat with a ribbon in black. He's slender and elegant, one of the sons of the elite in this city.

He also happens to be my personal handler.

"Helel?" he calls again, clearly growing frustrated. The basket is set down by his sandaled feet, and he presses his palm to his brow, looking all around at the temple's promenade. The trailing plumes of smoke from the offering pyres weave through the breezes, making him narrow his eyes.

Very quietly I climb down the side of the building, choosing handholds that I've learned by heart. Within moments I've landed quietly in a crouch, my black robes hiding the sight of my completely white skin and golden adornments. He's still not looking in my direction, and with a grin I silently rise to my bare feet, padding over as quietly as I can, until I'm right behind him and tap him on the shoulder.

The young man stiffens and whips around, startling when he sees me so very close. "Helel! You nearly scared me to

death

!" he fumes, balling up his fists. "And all to bring you your dinner!" That makes him stamp one of those sandals on the smooth stone, looking adorable and flustered. A flush heats up his cheeks. He's so beautiful when he's angry - I'd imagine that's why I make it a game to annoy him all the time.

"And what have you brought me to eat tonight, Daniel?" I muse, sauntering over to the basket and crouching next to it, nudging the cloth aside to look beneath it.

My handler gasps and marches over, scooping up the bundle possessively. "I'm supposed to bring this inside. You're

only

supposed to be fed in your quarters," he insists.

I roll my eyes and sigh, rising once more to my feet. "This again?"

Daniel looks torn but remains firm, walking down the broad stone steps that descend from the Temple of Solomon and lead into the city proper. Without much choice I follow along, pulling up beside him. He's frowning - clearly he's unhappy about this, too. "King Jehoiakim made it very clear - you are to take your meals in your quarters, keep yourself covered, and to stay within the city walls."

As we pass by other people preparing for nightfall, I notice the bitter looks I'm getting and the wide berth we're being granted. Even with my hood and robes, the citizens and their slaves know what I am, or have an inkling. We walk in silence back to the palace, and only once we're past the fine arched hallways, the hanging tapestries, the painted urns, and the potted plants that decorate the wing leading to the treasury (where my room happens to be near), do I pull back my hood in annoyance. My ruby eyes are narrowed beneath strong black eyebrows, my beautiful androgynous features framed by my black, wavy locks that I wear long in spite of the king's commands to keep them short. Daniel stands as tall as I do, though he isn't as slender as I am.

No human ever is.

The robe is taken off and cast onto my bed, revealing the clothing I truly wear - a wrap skirt in black silk and anklets, bracelets, and a collar, all made of heavy gold and all locked into place with keys that the king keeps around his neck at all times. These weighty adornments are my bondage, allowing me access to my true shape, but always at the command of the key holder. I rub at the spot on my left wrist that chafes from the cuff, and I look out my window upon the metropolis below as it prepares for nightfall.

Daniel sets the basket down on a table by the door, then moves over to the bed to take up my robe and neatly fold it. "The king is still upset about Pharoah Necho the Second's theft and execution of his brother Shallum five years ago. He believes you to be loyal to Egypt."

"He forgets that Egypt sent me here to protect his forebear Hezekiah from the Assyrian Sennecherib. If not for me, king Jehoiakim would have a pile of ashes to rule." The frustration in my voice is thick, and I clear my throat to work the tension from it. "This isn't your fault, Daniel. I'm sorry if I snarl at you - you've only ever treated me with kindness and respect."

The young man comes to stand next to me, looking out at the city as the rays of the setting sun bathe it in gold. Fitting, given how much wealth is stored here. I feel his hand caress along my arm, his slender fingers sliding over the wrist cuff, embossed with hieroglyphics. His fingers lace with mine, and I look at him from the corners of my ruby eyes. "They will think ill of you if you keep doing this," I caution him with a whisper, but he only smiles at me, taking one step back, then two, towards my bed, leading me there with him.

"And why should that be?" he asks airily, taking a seat on the mattress and drawing me up slowly to straddle his lap. "Because I spend too much time with you?" My hands come to rest on his shoulders, slowly pushing the folds of his robe away to reveal the slender body beneath it. His touch moves to the tie at my hip and pulls, the knot coming looser and looser until the fabric falls away. He has never cared that I am not built like a man or a woman. There is nothing on my groin but smooth, featureless flesh where a human man's or woman's genitals would be.

My hands move to cup his warm cheeks, and I look down into his dark brown eyes. "There is spending time with me, and then there's

this

," I urge softly, both warning him and egging him on as my lips press to his. His hands move from my hips to slide over the black images of wings on my back, where the silken texture of feathers greets his palms. When his fingers slowly press down along my spine to my lower back in just the way I like, I give in with a moan. Those large, black-feathered pinions manifest from the images, grow, and spread, looming over us both.

I'm a fallen angel. Indeed, I am

the

fallen angel.

Truly, I know how much the man's faith matters to him, and much as I'd like to push things farther than a simple kiss, I know he couldn't bear it. Even so, it's clear how ready he is to break one of the major rules that all of my handlers seem to break - no tarrying with the guardian of the treasury. And still, over the course of the century I've been here, all of them give in. Daniel isn't the first, and he won't be the last, though I do like him far more than any of the others. He longs for intimacy but avoids sex - there are lines he will never cross, not with me, and, I suspect not with anyone. Still, he does his best to please me, kissing along my neck, caressing me softly, holding me close. Daniel moans into my skin, biting down on it to muffle himself and suckling at the pinking flesh there. Such a feeling makes me gasp and flush, the feathers of my wings ruffling with pleasure. I can't easily find sexual release in the way human bodies do, but little thrills of pain help urge me there.

Necessity has made a masochist of me.

One of his hands moves, sliding around to cup at my backside. Being touched so boldly like that makes me wonder if today will be the day he goes further. If today will be the day that digit sinks inside of me, taking me there in a way no other part of him has. I want him to - for me it's only pleasure. For him, though, it's a trial of his faith. I don't understand why, but I respect him too much to argue about it. Daniel tenses, fighting against the urges he feels. I hold my breath, urging him silently to fail just this once, but he doesn't. This time, like every time, he's successfully walked the knife's edge without falling. He shivers, resting his forehead against my collarbone, the slight dampness of sweat soon drying off from the cool breeze trickling in from the window.

"I'm keeping you from your dinner," he murmurs, nuzzling against my ear.

I laugh, easing away from his lap to sit beside him. "You're a terrible handler - starving me, taking advantage of my innocence..."

Daniel slaps my thigh. "Innocent - psh." He gets up and stretches, rinsing away the sweat from his face at the wash basin. A few moments are spent making sure his vestments are neat and proper, half out of devotion to what the acolyte robes represent and half because his fussy nature demands perfection. "I made that dinner a special one, you know."

That piques my curiosity, and I move out of bed as well. The slight ache on my neck is pleasant, and I can feel the flush in my cheeks and the tingles lingering in my fingertips. I move over to the basket and take away the cloth entirely. "You, specifically, made this?" I ask him, lifting a single brow in disbelief.

The man huffs. "Well... I was there when the servants made it. I told them exactly what to include - I worked very hard to make sure it was all correct."

I smirk and slap my ass cheek. "This is the only hard work you do." That just makes him blush, roll his eyes, and wander over to my small collection of palm-sized clay tablets, poking through them before selecting one to sit down with and read. There's a tenacious hot flush on his cheeks, which makes me smile.

His sulk allows me the time to pluck out this item and that from the basket and set it upon my table, and soon I have copper bowls with flat bread, dates, dried fish, cheese, and... "Honey cake." I smile, taking up the dense, circular treat and nibbling on it.

Daniel looks up from his seat, smiling a little. "You see?"

My meal is taken standing and in silence, my wings folded up primly behind me, and for quite some time my quarters are quiet and peaceful. I'm just finishing off the last of the dates when I turn my head, hearing footsteps approaching the door. I quickly unmanifest my wings back beneath my skin, and Daniel is on his feet, helping me get my robe back on.

I just manage to draw it closed about the middle when the door opens. It's highly improper to barge into anyone's quarters in the palace, but when I see that the intruder is Esau, one of the king's brutish advisers, I realize that expecting tact would have been a waste of time. The man looks around my chambers as if searching for any hint of impropriety, and when his gaze lingers on something and he smiles with disgusting satisfaction, I dread what's coming next.

"The king is summoning you, Creature. Best not keep him waiting."

The perverted anticipation in the man's voice feels like tainted oil in my ears. My shudder is stamped down as well as it can be, my red eyes watching Esau exit my chambers. I quickly turn to look at what he'd focused on, and I see my wrap skirt, still puddled on the floor by the foot of the bed. My eyes close and I breathe out slowly, gritting my teeth. Damn. Daniel catches my attention as I hurriedly put the skirt back on and make my way to the door, but I hold up a hand, ordering him to stay here.

Whatever awaits me is going to be... unpleasant.

Chapter 2

The palace itself is grand and resplendent, gleaming with gold and silver and fine marble. In the great hall lined with potted palms and hanging tapestries sits King Jehoiakim, brooding on his throne. Despite being dressed in sumptuous silks and wools and pelts, rings and chains and finery, he still looks shabby and unworthy. His bloodshot eyes lift as Esau enters, stops, and bows. "Your Highness, I've brought the creature, as you've requested."

Jehoiakim grunts and nods, gesturing for me to come closer, and my bare feet close the distance quietly. The throne room feels achingly empty - his forebears used to keep a lively court, full of laughing and music and visiting dignitaries from the surrounding cities. Now the hall is dead like a tomb, with only the king perched upon his seat of power, seething at the injustices of the world.

Once I'm near enough, I stop and bow, holding my robes closed with my hands. From this distance I can see that the fingers of his left hand caress the keys hanging from a chain around his neck, and he looks longingly at the gold cuffs on my wrists, then the collar on my neck. "Esau, leave us." There's a moment's hesitation from the other man, and the king looks over at him, glaring hatefully. I don't follow his gaze, but I listen as the king's assistant takes his leave, heading back down the hallway.

"You little Egyptian

whore

..." the king hisses, rising from his throne slowly.

I widen my eyes, taking a step back. "My lord, I..." I begin, thinking he's going to accuse me of impropriety with my handler. But then he reaches out and grabs a fist full of my robes, tugging me up against him. He's a large man, gruff, a bully, and not used to being refused anything. He knows I can't fight back or even defend myself - in a flash of cleverness, his first command to me upon ascending the throne was to never resist his will, spoken or otherwise. So long as he holds my keys, that compulsion will never release its grip on me.

"The Egyptians killed my father. They killed my brother. They demand heavy tribute every year - blood money, wrung from the land in exchange for not killing all of us. And for what?" The stink of beer heats his breath, inescapable at this distance, and I close my eyes, gripping at his wrists as he bellows, "FOR WHAT?!"

"Your majesty?" I ask nervously. There are times when he doesn't seem fully lucid, and this is one of them. There was a reason why his young brother had been given the throne, and not him.

"I hate you so much," he says with shocking flatness, moving his free hand to my throat and squeezing. "I hate that I am nothing more than a pet to my father's murderers." The hand that had been gripping my cloak suddenly tugs at it, pulling it from my body, and he pulls the wrap skirt away as well. It falls to the floor by my feet to reveal my nudity, and his hand slides over my ass, fingers dipping between my tense cheeks.

His touch there feels filthy and is unwanted, and I grit my teeth, urging desperately, "Your majesty, what about your wife!"

My bare feet squeak on the polished floor as I'm dragged to a private chamber linked to the throne room. The room's meant for attendants and advisers to take a break when working on rotation, but with the tiny compliment of staff the king keeps about him, the room is almost never used. He closes the door, then abruptly shoves me to the ground, my cuffs clinking heavily on the marble as I painfully try to catch myself in a half-sprawl. With dread I watch as he unfastens his robe, tossing it aside to stand in just his tunic and sandals, and his hand lifts to gather up the keys, palming them as he growls, "Kneel before me."

The hieroglyphics on the gold I wear glow softly and I suck in a breath, my body moving as instructed beyond my ability to stop it. I crawl over to him like an animal, then take to my knees, my head lifting until I'm looking up at him again, perhaps half an arm's length from him now. My muscles tense, my breathing thready as I fight against the compulsion of the spell.

"God punishes us for keeping you here, Creature. We cannot be clean in the sight of his majesty, but neither can we survive without you." His palm cracks across my face, leaving a stinging welt on my left cheek. "Open your mouth."

As I obey, my hands twitch where they rest on my thighs, then clench into tight fists, shaking, the nails biting into my palms as he uses me. It gets easier as the seconds pass. It's always easier if I just let it happen. Perhaps it's better that this falls to me and not his wife; she suffers enough in his bed chamber. I close my eyes and let time pass, only barely noticing how my throat works to clear away what's left when it's all over, until at last I'm pushed aside as he neatens his clothing and pulls on his robes once more. My fingers touch at the swelling on my face as I remain on the floor, wishing he would send me away or leave me here alone, when without warning he asks, "Did you hear about Karchemis?"

My eyes lift to meet his, and I can see an almost mad giddiness in them. Cautiously I reply, "I heard that the king of Babylon defeated the armies of Egypt there." My voice is hoarse and I wince, rubbing at my throat.

Jehoiakim grins and claps his hands, lacing his fingers. "Indeed! That was just before Yom Teru'ah. I've heard nothing since." He laughs, shaking his finger at me, as if I've been the one doubting him all this time. "But I keep listening. Always listening."

I know about his spies. Disguised as traveling merchants, they circle around the kingdoms, dipping into the regions of Egypt and Babylon and Medes, and then return with the seasons to bring back news. Many never return - found out for what they are, the other kings have them killed. It's a dangerous assignment, but it isn't possible to refuse Jehoiakim anything and survive it. "Egypt is losing its touch if it falls to such decadence," I grumble, and suddenly I'm kicked in the chest. It forces the air from my lungs and I curl up like an insect, coughing desperately.

"FOOL! Do not speak ill of our saviors! They will come! Babylon will come and save us from your masters!" He strides over and places his sandaled foot on my throat, pressing down harder and harder until my eyes bulge and I grip at his ankle desperately. "And when we're freed from that golden yoke, I will cut that white skin from your living body and hang it upon the great gate of the city, as you so kindly kept the Assyrians from doing to us."

At last, just before my vision completely tunnels to black, he storms out of the room, leaving me to splutter and gasp for air. My heart thunders in my ears, but even so I can hear raised voices, then a sudden, sharp cry of pain. The king laughs and leaves his throne room, calling to Esau to get his dinner started as he leaves, and soon after that Daniel walks shakily into the salon.

"Oh Helel," he says sadly, coming to kneel by where I lie on my back. I'm sure he can see how swollen and red the left side of my face is, and the purple bruising around my neck and at my ribs. He, too, bears a red mark around his left eye which will likely turn into an unsightly bruise. It's that part that's going to bother him the most in the days to come.

My handler gives me my robes and my skirt, and I sit up with a grimace, accepting my clothing. "It's not as bad as it looks," I demure past a raw throat.

Daniel breathes out and takes a seat next to me. "You always say that, every time he hurts you."

Sitting, I tie the skirt around my hips, then pull my robes on over my shoulders. I wish I could recall the lovely dinner Daniel had brought me at sunset, but all I can taste now is the sweaty, musky flavor of the king.

"Is it true, what he was saying? About the Egyptian defeat at Karchemis?" He wraps his arms around his slender knees, one sandal rubbing over top the other foot. "Is it true that the Babylonian king will march upon the city and destroy us?"

All I can do is rest my hand on his knee, and he places his hand over mine, holding it. "Daniel, my beloved friend, I'm here to make sure that everyone in these walls is safe." He looks at me, unsure, and I smile a little. "When it comes to it, this isn't the form I'll be in."

He rubs his nose a little with his free hand, turning his head to discretely wipe the wetness from his eyes. "Oh? The stories from Hezekiah's time didn't say much."