Fallen City

By Leona R Wisoker

Dekstakheiq (Deiq) is worshiped as a demigod, immune to human laws, largely indifferent to human wants and needs. He seeks only to amuse himself--usually by stirring up trouble amongst the humans.

But being all-powerful becomes boring, and spending so much time around the humans has changed Deiq's view on the insignificance of these fragile, short-lived creatures.

Ignoring the disapproval of his kin, Deiq pursues a new challenge: to breed a stronger, more telepathically sensitive line of humans that can bear his children without dying.

He should have stuck with being an arrogant demigod....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leona R Wisoker
• Release date: Jan 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9780991317103

Leona R Wisoker

Leona R. Wisoker, author of the Children of the Desert series, writes strange and eclectic fiction that often veers into the horror lane.

Book preview

The Fallen City

Adapted from an excerpt in Guardians of the Desert,

at Scratha Fortress, KY 1161:

W ell, it’s a standard in every desert story, isn’t it? Idisio seemed to be watching a great red-tailed eagle soar on the rising dawn breeze. The ancient city, buried under the sands. And then there’s a wanderer who stumbles into it, and finds a trapped spirit, and talks to it… and there’s usually some sort of treasure involved. Or a quest. Or something.

Deiq stared, speechless. At last he managed, It is? Really?

Idisio laughed. Dawn light edged his smooth, fair skin with a golden tint and caught greenish highlights from his grey eyes. You never heard any of those tales?

Deiq shook his head slowly, fascinated. Tell me one.…

In The City of the Godspeakers, before the Split

Gauzy white curtains shimmied and writhed in a light evening breeze. Jine looked through them wistfully, thinking of standing in the face of that cool wind, but stayed obediently on her low stool. Evening was a time of demons and danger. She wouldn’t be permitted to step out onto the balcony until full night had fallen, by which time the breeze would have subsided.

Her guardian, Beni, seemed oblivious to the implicit promise of the breeze as she continued working scented oil over Jine’s bald scalp and down her neck. The older woman’s fingers moved with steady confidence; the oil eased dry skin and muscle tension as well as protecting Jine from the night-bugs and any residual air-demons.

Chitters, grackles, and craws echoed through the cooling air as nocturnal wildlife stirred into activity throughout and around the palace. Beni worked oil along Jine’s shoulders and arms, as silent as the bugs had become noisy. Not for the first time Jine found that an annoying trait, but there was no helping it. Beni was intin: servant to royalty. To keep her from speaking any words that might anger the gods or her earthly masters, her tongue had been removed, her hearing destroyed. Her dark ears, ritually notched like an inverted set of wheel spokes, bore no jewelry which might inadvertently mask her status.

Jine sighed and stared out through the curtains again as Beni begin smoothing the sacred oil down her bare back. This daily ritual was beginning to lose its comfortable feel; Jine found herself growing increasingly restless each time she endured it.

The breeze stirred the curtains, bringing a whisper of sound along with the motion this time: a sigh, almost a word. Almost….

Jine tilted her head and leaned forward slightly, half-closing her eyes to listen.

Intin, the breeze said.

Beni’s hands stilled. Glancing at her, Jine saw the woman’s thick features caught in an expression of awed wonder.

Intin… The whisper hung heavy with indefinable promise, with a tantalizing near-vision of something indescribably beautiful.

Beni stood, her gaze hazy. The oil pot tipped from her hand, spilling its contents across the floor.

Beni, no, Jine blurted, leaning forward to catch at the woman’s sleeve. Panic washed through her, a sense of dreadful wrongness.

Shhhhh…the wind whispered.

Jine dropped her hand slowly, reluctantly. Something was wrong…still, she felt powerless to do anything but sit, half-oiled and wholly naked, on the stool, and watch Beni walking steadily towards the curtains.

Beni passed through the curtains and became, briefly, a thick, dark outline against the pale linen: then vanished from sight.

A faint thump sounded from the stone-inlaid patio far below.

Jine sat frozen with something more than horror; her body simply refused to move. A wave of dizziness swirled over her.

A dark form appeared against the pale line of curtains. It stood looking through for a moment, then pushed the fabric aside and stepped into the room.

Tall and darkly handsome, with eyes blacker than midnight and a narrow, fine face: still, there was no doubt in Jine’s mind that little if any human blood ran in this man’s veins. Hakinn, she whispered, dropping her gaze to the ground, and felt an entirely new fear shivering through her.

She could feel him studying her, and fought the urge to cover herself against his gaze. As representative of the gods, he saw her most intimate thoughts. What use to cover her flesh, then?

She wanted to die, but was too afraid to take the step towards that wish, the hakrakha said, remaining where he stood. She could hear the curtains fluttering against his back as another breeze swept by. I gave her what she dared not reach for herself.

Jine stayed still, breathing evenly, her gaze resolutely on the floor. I had no idea, she said.

Of course not. She couldn’t very well tell anyone, could she? His voice was deep with amusement. "Do you know, ska-kaensa, what is involved in making your precious intins?"

Yes. Of course I do.

Tell me, then. Tell me what’s involved.

Jine swallowed back a protest that women weren’t supposed to speak of such things: this was a representative of the gods. If he asked it, she must obey.

Their tongues and ears are sealed to silence, she said in a low voice.

"How is this done, ska-kaensa?"

Acidic drops are put into their ears; their tongues are… are cut out. Somehow, when the priests had explained the process, it hadn’t seemed odd; but now, hearing the words in her own voice, she felt her stomach lurch.

The hakrakha said, And their ears are notched. Don’t forget that part. The mild neutrality of his tone carried more mockery than outright contempt.

I have not forgotten, Jine said. They are also no longer able to bear children. I remember it all. I was there when Beni took her oath. Her brother Edin had warned her that this one liked to play games, and that she was not to back down or show weakness if he ever chanced to visit.

Did you watch the mutilations?

No–

"No, that wouldn’t be