Six Words [January Short Story]

Hey peeps!

This is a little more adult than my other works. Hopefully you enjoy!

Shami

Six Words

With my ankle chained to the bed, I knew this was going to be another unforgiving night.

I had been picked to entertain one of the Ring Warlocks, the most powerful and influential magic wielders in all the world. Some would have felt honored to share a bed with one of these “gods,” but anyone who thought that was just inanely innocent and naïve.

The Ring Warlocks were the worst to entertain. Their power knew no equal, and the laws of the magicless had no sway over them. Whatever my Ring Warlock wanted to do tonight, we would do. Period.

I ran an unsteady hand over the satin sheets that covered the gigantic bed. This was the best room in the Scarlet Lantern, reserved for only the highest paying clients. I wondered if the Ring Warlock had actually paid the owner to have me for the night. A promise not to burn this place to the ground could have easily been the only thing offered for my services.

“Everything will be fine, Fietta,” I whispered to myself. It was my mantra to chase away the nerves. It usually worked. “Everything will be fine.”

The light from the hanging lanterns, dim and sultry, created a romantic glow that concealed any evidence of wear and tear—or anything else, for that matter. I tried not to glance around at the cheap paintings on the wall, or all the toys on the far nightstand.

Banging in the hallway told me it was almost time for me to perform.

I sat up a little straighter and rubbed my bare slender legs. It was warm in the Scarlet Lantern, and a musky aroma wafted on the air like smoke. I wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t awful.

I had been in worse places.

The door flew open, and I nearly jumped out of my thin nightgown. No one had offered me any more clothes for the evening. I assumed the Ring Warlock wanted something that could be easily torn away.

A man stumbled inside. He straightened himself halfway to the bed, but his unfocused eyes betrayed his thorough inebriation.

He wore a black ring on his right hand, the band snug over his thumb. That was the source of all his power—a magical artifact that could only be removed from him upon death.

He had other clothing clumsily draped over his body. His robe, sash belt, and silky shirt were all stained with liquor, but most of my focus remained on his ring as he wandered over to the side of the bed.

“Good evening, Master,” I said as seductively as possible. “My name is Fietta.”

In my experience, if the people liked me, they were typically a little gentler. I would say anything to get on their good side before the action happened.

The man struck me across the face with the back of his ring hand.

“Shut up, whore.”

The black ring had hit my jaw, and my teeth hurt from the force of his blow. I shuddered, held back the tears, and decided I wouldn’t speak again.

With all the grace of a three-legged hippo, the man crawled onto the bed, and then on top of me. He held my arms down on either side of my head, and his weight semi-crushed my smaller body.

His breath reeked of so much alcohol, I would be drunk after a few more whiffs.

The Ring Warlock sloppily kissed my neck and then trailed his cold lips lower on my body. His tongue snaked over my collarbone, his saliva leaving a snail trail over my skin.

I just…

Closed my eyes.

It would be over soon.

I prayed it would be over soon.

Perhaps, if I just lied here, the man would have his fun and then pass out.

He aggressively slid his hands over my body, fumbling with the nightgown.

I thought about this morning, and how the bread all the girls were given had butter. We rarely ever got butter. The owner of the Scarlet Lantern—the owner of all the girls—didn’t want us to have anything too oily, because that would cause pimples, but the baker had been kind to us. He gave the butter to us in secret, tucked away at the bottom of the bread basket with a letter that told us to stay strong.

That kindness…

The mere thought of it felt warm and comforting. I held the memory at the forefront of my thoughts, using it as a shield against reality.

The butter had been so flavorful and smooth. Even as the Ring Warlock struggled to remove his robe, I pictured the creaminess, and imagined the baker as he wrote us that note.

Reality slipped away as I pictured our pleasant breakfast.

Then the Ring Warlock started wheezing.

At first, I didn’t hear much of it, since I had drowned myself in layers of my own imaginings, trying hard to disassociate myself from all reality. But the man coughed for a straight minute, his hoarse croaking growing louder and louder.

Spittle from his coughing covered my cheeks.

I finally forced myself to exit my thoughts. I opened my eyes and stared up at the Ring Warlock.

His face was purple, his eyes bulging. The man clawed at his throat, his fingernails digging into his flesh.

“M-Master?” I asked. “Are you okay?” A silly question, but I didn’t know what else to say. Didn’t he have powerful magic? Couldn’t he stop himself from choking?

Or was he too drunk to use any of his amazing abilities?

The Ring Warlock slid off me and fumbled across the satin sheets, heading toward the edge of the bed like he wanted to escape the room. His gross motor skills were abysmal. An infant could’ve gotten off the bed with more haste.

I sat up and awkwardly tugged the sleeves of my nightgown back over my shoulders. I had been trained to handle minor emergencies like this. I knew how to dislodge a piece of food from someone’s throat, or help them regain the ability to breathe if they were struggling.

But I said nothing.

“W-Wa… Water…” the man managed to choke out.

Water? He wanted a drink?

“I have some here, Master.”

I leaned over to the nightstand and opened the drawer. I kept some water here to clean up after messy events. It was in a little tin canister with a twist top, ready for use. Next to it, in a similar silver canister, was a type of slick clove oil I kept handy in case there was a need for lubricant.

In a fraction of a second, my mind filled with a dark thought.

Instead of grabbing the water, I picked up the other canister. It wasn’t labeled, and the tin sparkled under the dim lantern light.

The Ring Warlock rushed over the bed and snatched the canister from my hand. He twisted the top off and threw back the contents. Oil rushed into his mouth, and that clearly startled him. His eyes attempted to escape his face as he wheezed harder than ever.

The man spilled the oil all over the bed and the sheets, and then in one last burst of energy, he threw himself onto the floor. He hit with a loud thud, his flesh so purple, he was practically a giant plum.

Then he stopped moving.

Drool trickled out of his mouth and pooled around his head.

I watched, unblinking, as his eyes grew dull and his fingers twitched.

After several prolonged minutes, the ring on the man’s right hand slid off—all on its own. The ring rolled across the wood floor, slowly traveling in a circle arch, before falling over with a clink.

The Ring Warlock was dead.

“Everything will be f-fine, Fietta,” I whispered. “Everything will be fine.”

But I knew it wouldn’t be.

The moment they found a dead Ring Warlock in my room, they would have my head. This was it. The end of the line. Even though it wasn’t my fault he was drunk and stupid, I would pay the price with my life.

What had he choked on? His own spit?

I ran both my hands through my long, auburn hair, my fingernails digging into my scalp. What was I going to do?

I gulped down air, my head spinning.

“Everything will be fine.”

My eyes drifted over to the black ring on the floor. It was so… shiny. And beautiful. On the inside, where no one could ever see, there were tiny red gemstones that caught the light just right. The gems practically glowed.

I wrung my hands together as I stared at the ring.

Could I just… take it?

I glanced around. It was just me and this corpse. No one else.

And even though the man had fallen to the floor, creating a mild racket, I knew no one was going to come to investigate. Girls got thrown to the floor quite often. The sounds of thumps and bashes were commonplace—nothing out of the ordinary.

I scooted to the edge of the bed. The chain attached to my ankle wasn’t long, but I had enough length to reach the black ring.

“Everything will be fine,” I just kept telling myself.

Then I got off the bed, knelt down close, and reached for the circle band of mysterious metal. But I stopped, inches from the ring, my hand shaking.

Magical power radiated from the ring like heat from a fire. I felt the potential of the ring, as though it were cooking my fingers with its unimaginable capacity.

The rings couldn’t be removed unless the holder died. If I took this ring, I would become a target. They would kill me to take it back.

I pressed both my hands to my chest.

Then I nervously chuckled. “Dead if I do, dead if I don’t.”

So without any more overthinking, I snatched the ring from the floor. It was hot. Powerful. I shoved it onto my right thumb, hoping it wouldn’t hurt to wear.

A surge of magic shot through my hand, then my wrist, up my arm, and straight to my head. I cried out, but quickly stifled my agonized yelp. My head spun as I stood, stumbled backward, and then collapsed onto the oil-covered bed.

With gritted teeth, I closed my eyes.

My thoughts…

I…

“Who do you wish to bind yourself to?” someone whispered into my ear.

“What?”

I opened my eyes and wildly glanced around. It was still just me and the corpse. No one else was here.

“Who said that?” I asked the empty space in the room.

“Who do you wish to bind yourself to?” the strange voice repeated, its words clearer, its tone sinister.

I took in quick and shallow breaths. “Wh-What do you mean?” I glanced behind me. Nothing.

But when the voice spoke, it was like someone’s mouth was inches from my ear. “Warlocks gain their power by binding themselves to ancient titans that dwell in the darkness—they are known as shaheen. That’s what a warlock is. An extension of powerful beast that slumbers beneath us.”

“I… I didn’t know that,” I said, breathless. With wide eyes, I continued to look about. But still—there was nothing.

It felt as though sharp teeth were scraping across the shell of my right ear as the voice asked, “You have Garrain Wilder’s ring? You managed to take it from him? How interesting. I can’t wait to see which being you tie yourself to.”

I shook my head, my hands trembling. “I… I don’t know how to do any of that.” I yanked on the ring, trying to take it off.

But it was fused to my skin, the little red gemstones pulsing with power.

“Who are you?” I asked, trying not to sound so panicked.

“I am the Warden, here to help you bind your soul to an ancient shaheen.”

I took a deep breath.

Then exhaled.

“What if I don’t want to?” I asked. “What if I say no? What if I don’t want to bind myself to anything?”

“Then the ring will consume you from the inside out,” the voice said with a laugh.

My tiny brothel room seemed smaller than ever. I shivered and then rubbed my arms, the weight of the ring heavy.

“And if I do bind myself with one of these ancient beings, I’ll gain magic?” I asked.

“Of course. So much magic you won’t know what to do with it all. The shaheen are the mightiest of all beings, and while they sleep, they are happy to provide you a fraction of their power. It is the only way for them to see the world. Your eyes become their window. That is the trade you make.”

That didn’t sound terrible, but my inexperience with this process worried me. The Ring Warlock bond themselves to ancient creatures in order to gain their power? This was news to me. How would I go about doing this?

“Okay,” I said with an exhale. “I’ll do it. I’ll bind myself to a shaheen.”

“Pick one,” the Warden said, a smile in his tone. “Pick the shaheen you want to bind yourself to.”

I shook my head, my eyebrows knitted. “I… I don’t know. Any of them?”

“You must pick one. You can name the shaheen you want to bind yourself to, or you can call out for one, summoning the beast’s consciousness from the void.”

Thumping in the hallway almost caused me to jump from my skin.

It was the owner of the Scarlet Lantern. He did his rounds every night, making sure all was well. I listened for the stomp of his heavy boots until he was far beyond my door. I swallowed hard after he left.

“How do I summon one?” I whispered as I glanced over to the dead man.

“In order to call into the void, simply pick six words to identify the shaheen you would find the most suitable.”

“Six… words?”

“Think of it like a wish list. You will say six words to describe the ideal shaheen and only one who matches the combination of characteristics will answer your call.”

A wish list?

I was still confused.

“Can you tell me the name of the shaheen Garrain Wilder was bonded to?” I asked.

“No.” Another sinister chuckle. “But I can tell you the six words he used.”

“F-Fine.”

“Garrain Wilder called into the void and said: cunning, fiendish, poisonous, poisonous, deadly, clandestine.”

Those sounded like terrible words for a vile creature. A shiver ran down my spine.

“Garrain called forth a shaheen who was assassin-like, and granted him powers of strength, stealth, future visions, venom—and the magical ability to know a person’s weakness. He saw whenever enemies were lurking in the shadows, and he was immune to all poisons.”

“But not choking,” I morbidly quipped.

The Warden laughed, and his mirth almost had me doing the same thing.

“Why did he say poisonous twice?” I asked.

“If you speak the word more than once, you will emphasize the importance of it. If you say loyal three times, the shaheen who answers your call would grant you magic to control the loyalties of all men—but if you only said it once, perhaps just magic to influence one man. Think of it as a multiplier. The more times you say it, the stronger the magics in that area you will receive.”

“The magic I gain is related to the shaheen I call,” I said, more to myself than the Warden. “And I can only do this once?”

“You only ever bind yourself to one shaheen, human. Pick wisely.”

My heart beat so loud it echoed in my ears.

I stared down at the ring on my thumb. I was a Ring Warlock now. I had seen the powers they wielded. One of them controlled the weather, the tide, and the sands of any island. Had his six words been maritime, sailing, wind, water, weather, land?

No. Garrain had used words like clandestine and cunning. He had magic that allowed him to see his enemies and even visions of the future. I only had six words. There was obviously an art to picking the correct combination, like writing a beautiful poem.

I closed my eyes, my thoughts on the Scarlet Lantern.

What kind of magic did I want?

I wanted to escape this place.

And…

I never wanted to be trapped again. I wanted to fight against people like the owner of the Scarlet Lantern. I wanted control of my life. What kind of magic would give me everything I desired? What kind of abilities would make sure I was always free? I was always capable? I was always in control of my own destiny?

I needed something strong—something so devastating in strength I could deal with any threat to my person, including other Ring Wardens. They would come for me and my new ring, no doubt in my mind. How could I make sure that I had the ability to deal with them? Especially with fewer words than an average sentence?

Which six words could I use?

“Be confident,” the Warden whispered to me.

I scrunched my eyes shut, hating every moment of indecision. I didn’t want to be weak. I didn’t want to be at anyone’s mercy. I rubbed my jaw where Garrain had backhanded me.

I didn’t want to be anyone’s plaything.

Was deadly a good word to use? Or simply free?

No. I wanted something better.

After a deep breath, I opened my eyes. “I’m ready.”

“Are you? Good. Say your six words aloud, and then allow the magic to flow into you. The shaheen are ready.”

Right before I spoke my summons, the temperature in the room dropped five degrees. It was as if the ancient shaheen who dwelled in the darkness already knew what I was about to say—and it excited them.

With confidence, I said, “Powerful, powerful, powerful, powerful, powerful, powerful.”