***Sometimes what you've got to do is go back to your roots. She'd tell you that. If you asked, that is.
She's old, but her kind doesn't measure age the way that we would. If you asked, she'd answer honestly that she feels the same as she did at twenty-four or so.
What were you doing at twenty-four, assuming that you've reached that age?
If you asked, she'd say that she didn't plan it, but she ruled absolutely then, and perhaps the greatest joy to her was to hear that there were foreign troops near her border. She'd also answer honestly that she's feeling a little lost at the moment at finding that she has no purpose any longer - or maybe it's that she's searching for one. She really wouldn't be able to answer - if you asked.
So she's taking her own advice and going back.
Just to make it easy on the tongue, the name of main character in this is Dakhete, and it's pronounced "Dak-HET-eh", not "Dak-heat." 0_o
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Book of the Djinn Part 1
Dakhete walked through the streets as silently as death, though there was no need for her to be still. The streets were filled with expectant people who chattered nervously among themselves. Some of them stared at her for a moment or two, but most were thinking of something other than the strangely-dressed warrior in their midst.
She wore a mail shirt with long sleeves. It was composed of small plates and was long enough to cover her hips. Over her shoulders, she wore a dark cloak, held on by a long studded leather strap which ran from where it was fastened to the cloak on the front of one shoulder down between her breasts to cross around her back, emerging from under the other breast to cross itself between them on its way up to where it held the other side of the cloak. Below her bosom, she wore a leather girdle to which was fastened the scabbard of her short sword -- well, one of her swords. On her left hip, there was an extension of that girdle which hung down and held several more blades.
The haft of a longer, heavier, and finely honed sword was visible over her shoulder from the front.
Over her hips, there was a short sort of Roman-style kilt of leather strips, and the mail shirt rode over this. Below that was where the mail pants began which ran down her legs to her boots. On her head, she carried a rather conical headpiece with more thin ringed mail draped over her head, from her eyes down.
Any who had a concern were not too unsettled by this one's appearance in their midst. They knew that the town guards would be along shortly on their rounds and would either take this one into their custody or kill the stranger for the affront of carrying blades openly, since it was forbidden here. She ignored them for the most part, knowing that no guards would be forthcoming, not from this sector, anyway. She was listening to her own inner voices as she walked.
She'd come here to seek for someone. As yet, she didn't know who it was that she sought, only that she was needed for some reason. This was as strange to her as her other thoughts, because this time, there was nobody summoning her at all. The only thing that she knew was that --
She was bumped and jostled in the throng and it took a bit of her will to avoid her first tendency to retaliate in a definitive and permanent way. She'd killed many times for far less than this, but she allowed herself to be led by the crowd to a section of the old city where the edge of the souq or marketplace gave way to the border of the section known for its brothels. It was near to a broad-topped wall and there was an open area which gave Dakhete a rather foreboding feeling to see it.
The noises of the throngs died away for a moment as an ass was led through the streets. On the back of the donkey was a naked young girl, who sat weeping in chains as she rode. From her dark skin, Dakhete could see that this one likely had no clothing at all to her name. All that she wore was her deep tan. Her hands were chained in manacles and the chain was looped under the donkey's throat. Her ankles were chained in a similar manner and the chain passed underneath the animal. At once Dakhete realized the purpose of the restraints.
Dakhete was astounded. She hadn't seen anyone like this in, ... well, it was a long time.
This girl was not human -- not completely, anyway, from what Dakhete felt, and obviously was to be stoned to death at the wall. The chains were charmed to restrain her from using her abilities. Dakhete wondered if she knew much about herself. She rather doubted it, since she was in this predicament.
She took a moment to look at the unfortunate as the prisoner cried quietly. The girl looked to be only developing in her abilities, and appeared to be a little diminutive in stature, though it was a little difficult to tell since she was seated and of course, she was not human, so that yardstick was of little use. The donkey seemed to help the illusion, not being a large example of the breed. Dakhete thought that perhaps she might know only a little of what she might be able to do for herself.
She looked to maybe stand a little over five feet, and Dakhete thought that she looked to be about eighteen or so, from the sense that came to her. But without at least touching her to sense it, there was no definitive way to tell. She saw little in the way of breasts there, almost nothing. She really couldn't tell much by looking, and it often happened that when one had latent ability, the physical side was a little delayed as well.
They do not know what they do here, Dakhete thought as she noted the leonine features as well as the tail drooping forlornly over the back of the beast. She knew they were there, but she was the only one with the ability to see past the natural illusion which she doubted the girl was even aware that she had. To all eyes but the armed stranger dressed as a male warrior, and to likely even herself, this was an unfortunate and miserable human girl. The sight stirred a distant memory in her, but nothing came of it, only the inkling of something that she knew. She just didn't know what it was, other than the sense of familiarity which came to her and was gone.
"Why is she chained?" she asked a woman nearby.
"They are to keep her still," the woman said, "and they prevent her from harming anyone else. She is wicked and evil, as all of them are," she said.
"You mean, they are to prevent her from defending herself, so that she may be put to death by the crowd with ease, and the people can enjoy their murder and not fear her retribution," the warrior said, "What is her crime?"
"Crime?" the woman laughed, "she is a demon. What more is needed? She is a minion of Hell, and she tried to seduce my pious daughter, if you need to hear of her depravity. I saw them in the bed myself. They were naked and, ... " Her voice trailed off from the obvious stress of it.
The stranger shook her head, "I have traveled widely and seen many things -- even demons. That girl is no demon. You are about to participate in a murder. There is no other word for it. I just thought that you ought to know that.
And if they were together and naked, as you say," Dakhete smiled, "this one here looks as though she is too poor to even own any clothing, and I suppose that your pure daughter was thrashing against the chains which held her in that bed against her will? Or was she thrashing for another reason altogether and you only caught them at it?"
The woman huffed and pretended that Dakhete was not even there anymore.
The mother and daughter walked on at that point, looking over the ground with a lot of others, seeking the best rocks to throw. Dakhete stole a glance at the offspring of the woman, a soft and very toothy young woman who looked to be well on her way to replicating the homeliness of her mother any day now. She thought that the girl ought to have been happy that someone cared enough to try seduction, in her opinion, if that was really what had happened.
From the nervous way that the girl looked at Dakhete, there was little doubt that whatever had been told, it was plainly not what had been happening, yet the chained girl and the donkey were here to pay the price.
The ass was led to stand near the wall and was tethered there as someone who appeared to be a local holyman began to bray and drone with a holy book of some sort in one hand and a stone which Dakhete presumed to be the first one to be cast in the other.
He wasn't even finished as the first rock hurtled at the girl from the woman's daughter at the front of the crowd. It hit the prisoner in the shoulder and she cried out, but then she saw that a second stone was on its way, and would likely hit her donkey. She leaned forward as far as she could to try to shield the animal and almost fell off when everything stopped in mid-breath.
The ass shifted under the load and the girl looked up and almost jumped to find an armored warrior next to her. She stared, trying to see, but could only make out a pair of eyes.
She peered for a moment. The eyes there didn't look very threatening and the irises were amber and not brown.
She was the only person that she knew of who had amber irises.
"Who are -- " she stopped as she looked around. "Why has everyone stopped? What is that ticking sound?"
"I hold them," Dakhete replied in Hassaniya Arabic, the language of the local Bedouin in this part of Morocco through her mask, "the sound is their voices. Really, I only slow time. If we stand and speak for a time, the stones which were thrown will arrive."
The girl wondered at the voice, "You speak like me, but you are not from this place. What do you do here? What does that mean?"
"I will free you," Dakhete said, "only do not waste more time in talking or your ass here will get a slow stone in her head. Do you not see this? Hold up your hands."
The girl held her hands up as far as she was able. Dakhete took hold of the chain and pulled it apart in one motion. She bent down and repeated this with the leg irons and lifted the startled girl from her seat on the back of the ass. Dakhete was startled herself, learning much of what had happened from their touch.
"Lead her off to the side and out of harm's way," she said.
The girl nodded and as she walked, the irons fell off. When she turned to come back, she stooped and picked up one of them, swinging it by the short length of chain which remained.
She walked along the line of the crowd, looking closely for the ones who had either thrown a stone or had been about to. When she found one, she hit them once with the flailed manacle as hard as she could. The ones which had been hit only remained standing.
She was out of breath by the time that she stood near the end of the line, sniffling a little as she looked at one person for a long moment.
