Read Online Song of the Beast by Carol Berg - Free Book Online

open and became more so once a spoonful of something sticky-sweet slid down my throat. So I let myself continue the dream that rather than fouled straw, I lay on cool, clean linen sheets, and not on a stone floor, but on pillows as soft and embracing as a new bride. And I dreamed that it was not Goryx, but a gentleman minister of Tjasse, the goddess of love, who tended my wretched body.
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    Moonlight teased at my eyelids, peeking through a tall window beside the bed. By the way my limbs were tangled in the pillows and the way my stomach rumbled in hollow annoyance, I surmised that this night was not the same as the one on which I’d been brought to this delightful place. A candle gleamed softly from a silver holder sitting on a carved wood mantelpiece. The light revealed a large bedchamber furnished with comfort and elegance to match the delicious bed. Across an expanse of shining wood floor, a white-haired gentleman sat in a cushioned chair, snoring softly, his head resting on his hand.
    I shifted my position carefully in preparation for sitting up, pleased to feel a noticeable improvement in my overall well-being. I was attired in a fine linen nightshirt, loose at the neck, no sign anywhere of the torn and muddy clothing I’d been wearing by the riverside.
    About the time my legs dangled off the edge of the bed, the gentleman woke with a jerk and promptly knocked off his spectacles. “Bother,” he mumbled as he picked them out of his lap, gave them a wipe with a handkerchief clutched in his left hand as if left there for exactly such a purpose, jammed them back on his nose, and looked up to find me watching him. “Oh! I say ... good. Good, good, good. How are you then?”
    â€œBetter,” I said, managing to get the word out without my stupid stammering, though my voice was still hoarse and harsh, scarcely more than a whisper. The sound clearly bothered him, for he jumped up, grabbed a flat wooden stick from a tray of physician’s implements, and stuck it down my throat to take a look, setting off my lingering cough. Then he felt around my neck with his fingers and peered at me closely.
    â€œThey didn’t ... cut you ... damage your throat on purpose when they did these other things?” His lip curled as he said it.
    I shook my head, a cold sweat rippling over my skin. Such mutilation had been a looming horror in the darkness, and, practically speaking, if someone wanted me silent, it would have been far simpler than what they’d done. But Goryx always said that if he damaged my throat, I could not demonstrate my obedience sufficiently. Of course, by the end it didn’t matter.
    â€œThere’s some redness, a little swelling. This cough most likely. I’ve given you something for that. But this other ... the sound of it ...” Without knowing more, I wasn’t going to help him. He peered over the top of his spectacles. “Lack of use. That’s it, isn’t it? They’ve had you locked up and forced you silent. He said something about that.”
    I acknowledged his guess, though it seemed based on real information and not just insight, like the Elhim. The Elhim ... The physician was certainly not one of the strange pale race, but I wondered. “Narim?” I said.
    â€œWhat’s that?” The old man poured red wine from a crystal decanter and handed me the glass.
    â€œDo you know Narim?”
    â€œI know no one by that name. Was it the girl? A girl was found dead beside you.”
    I ignored his question and gazed at the wineglass, envisioning Callia’s face as she relished her wine, just like she relished everything her impoverished life had brought her.
    â€œYou knew the poor dead girl?” He spoke respectfully. Didn’t call her a whore, though it had been written all over her for anyone to see.
    â€œShe was my kind rescuer. As are you. Thank you.” I raised the glass to him ... and to Callia ... and drank deep,