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The guards moved the struggling slave in front of the gallery, stationing themselves either side of him, pushing him to his knees between them. Hanrah stared across at the slave, his expression woebegone. Mehmet snapped her fingers at him and pointed at the throne. He took his place without saying a further word.
Sibias had observed the whole procedure with amusement, but once Hanrah was seated, he gestured toward the door. A further scurry of activity ensued, and the sound of a horn announced the arrival of Elishiba. Mehmet took her place alongside her son, sitting to observe the entrance of Ramsis’ daughter.
All eyes watched as the figure covered in a voluminous veil slowly entered the room, a hum of high expectation going around the crowd. Several angry shouts issued from the gallery of prisoners, only to be hushed by guards. Mehmet glanced over, saw that blood had been drawn on the warrior Xerxes’ neck. Amshazar, however, seemed strangely still and watchful, as if unperturbed by his situation. It made her curious but she dismissed it, turning her attention to Elishiba, watching with anticipation as she moved into the room.
She expected some amount of resistance from the Empress Elishiba, who had seemed so determined to have her voice heard the day before. Instead, Elishiba was silent. Her outline was strangely contained, apart from her feet as she stepped into room. Was it Sibias's special incense that had made her this way, or something else? Mehmet frowned. The veil she wore obscured her features, which meant she could not read Elishiba's mood. She wished she hadn't insisted on the veil after all, since she had only decided upon it to impress the courtiers who watched on. It was nothing but a nuisance.
Elishiba seemed not to move her head, not even to glance around at her surroundings or to look for her people. On first entrance to the temple visitors were usually shocked, for the effigy of Hurda was frightening, and many disliked the smell of burnt flesh, which sometimes resulted in fear-filled screams, retching and vomiting. There was no such reaction from Elishiba.
"Get on with it,” Mehmet declared to Sibias, uneasily, rising to her feet. She grabbed her son by the shoulder of his wedding coat and hauled him back onto his feet.
"There will be no marriage until the agreed negotiations are fulfilled.” Elishiba's voice rang out across the temple, calm and clear, projected for all to hear.
Several of the courtiers chuckled with amusement at her audacity. Others gasped in astonishment. Mehmet was somewhat startled. She expected screams of indignation, yes. An attempt to run, perhaps, but not this unearthly calm sense of purpose that emanated from the solitary figure before them. She looked at Sibias, who seemed perplexed as well. With her free hand, she reached for the comfort of her pendant, for it always reassured her. Elishiba had made her uneasy, with her self-assured air of control, and she drew strength from the restless jinneyah within.
It helped.
"Sibias, indicate to the Empress Elishiba that she and her people are subject to our will now."
He nodded, shifting his shoulders, lifting his arms in readiness. He began to chant his sorcerer's tongue.
Mehmet leaned forward, licking her lips in anticipation. This was going to be good. Sibias moved his arms, undulating them, and from his fingertips drops of liquid fell to the floor where they shimmered and grew, changing into the shape of serpents. Screams of horror came from the crowd.
Mehmet smiled with pleasure. Sibias's creature of choice was the snake, for he admired its cold power. Soon there were as many as twenty or thirty large serpents at his feet, writhing in amongst each other.
Sibias weaved his arms and pointed them in the direction of the daughter of Ramsis. The serpents moved under his spell, slithering across the floor of the temple toward the lone figure. Mehmet waited for the daughter of Ramsis to scream, cower and beg, but she stood her ground. The snakes were closing on her fast, and shouts of outrage emanated from the gallery area where the prisoners were held.
Mehmet was annoyed at the lack of spectacle. “Sibias, she has been overly drugged by your incense."
The snakes were almost upon her feet when Elishiba finally moved. She pushed back the veil, and put her hands out toward the apparition that Sibias had created. Mehmet stared in dismay as rays of white light poured out from the palms of her hands, creating a barrier around her, which the serpents moved along but apparently could not breach. They slithered around the halo of light she had created but could not break in.
Sibias roared with rage, sending out more serpents, until a pile of them encircled her, as high as her knees, but still she did not falter, her eyes glowing with certainty that she held them at bay.
Mehmet cursed loudly. “She uses sorcery!"
Elishiba slowly lowered her hands and as she did the light dropped and the snakes melted away into the floor.
Sibias roared with fury. His hands fisted in the air and he closed on her. Elishiba lifted one hand an
d pushed him back with a powerful beam of white light centered upon his chest.
Mehmet gritted her teeth with frustration. The daughter of Ramsis had secret powers, how annoying was that? Her hand closed on the amulet at her breast.
Elishiba seemed to notice that and frowned at her. “Negotiate,” she declared, again.
"Never,” seethed Mehmet. Damn the woman, she thought to herself. If Elishiba knew sorcery, she would battle them at every turn. That was not what she wanted. Elishiba could clearly equal Sibias; she would not be forced. Mehmet was thoroughly angered by the turn of events and wanted done with her, this young woman who so blatantly opposed her. She would offer Elishiba as sacrifice, her and her people, and claim her country anyway. There was only one way to do it. She yanked the amulet from its chain, pulling the stopper from it in doing so. A desire akin to lust roared up inside Mehmet as she watched this most longed for moment. “Pretty spells are as nothing compared to the power I own,” she cackled.
Oh yes, there was hesitation and concern in Elishiba's expression now, for the amulet had spun into the air, bursting free of Mehmet's palm. Purple and white vapors poured out into the atmosphere before her. The vapors shot high, almost to the ceiling of the temple, and around her voices lifted in concern. Within the purple mist a figure had begun to form.
Mehmet peered, her eyes narrowing as she tried to see what her jinneyah looked like, this thing that she had held close to her breast for so many years, this powerful thing that she alone owned.
A sound like a great yawn emerged from the mist and, as it evaporated, a tall and mighty woman could be seen standing there. Her breasts were bare, a simple swathe of fabric hung around her hips held in place by knot at the front. Her skin gleamed. It was the color of aged parchment, her eyes almond-shaped and slanted up at the outer edges. Her upper arms were strongly muscled and encased in copper bands, as were her ankles. Her feet were bare, apart from rings on her toes, and her wild black hair spooled down her back to the floor. She grinned at the assembled crowd expectantly, at once fearsome, bawdy, and warrior-like.
"Greetings.” She spoke in a strangely accented voice. “You are my owner,” she added, and pointed down at Mehmet, leaning down to examine her.
Mehmet took a deep breath, a heady thrill running through her as the awesome jinneyah recognized her for what she was. “Yes, I am your owner."
The jinneyah smiled, slyly. “Allow me to grant you three wishes, owner."
