1840 06-100 Hong’s empathy, Esmeray’s truth
1842 06-100 What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger
PREVIOUSLY: At Channah’s command, Hong has shackled Esmeray by the ankles overlooking the sea of devils and demons. Now she stands close behind her, challenging Esmeray to take her hand, wanting something from Esmeray. NOW:
Esmeray slowly put her hand into Hong’s, felt the dry warmth of her hand, and then, as a test, rolled her fingers around Hong’s fingertips, her palm wrapping around Hong’s knuckles.
Neither woman moved, not their hand, not their eyes, Hong encouragingly, Esmeray suspiciously, until Hong nodded reassuringly again, showing Esmeray her right hand and then shifting behind Esmeray until the younger woman could look over her other shoulder and see it. Steeling herself to patience, she took hold of it, the same as the other. A stupid test.
Perhaps sensing that anything that could be construed as smartassery by Esmeray, would be construed that way, Hong was very careful, simply making a soothing, approving noise, before explaining: “I’m going to step closer behind you if that’s all right.”
“Why? What do you want from me?” Esmeray demanded sharply, and Hong stopped, considering her answer.
“Two things. My Domina has commanded me to train you for something that I would have thought you were totally unsuited for.”
Esmeray snorted, shaking her head wryly and even managing a hint of amusement. “Oh, you noticed, did you?”
“I thrive by serving my Domina successfully. To do that, I have to understand you better—your feelings, your motives, your limits, and, yes, your clear but strange potential. Then…” she considered “I felt it too, as strongly as you, the reaction when we met. Very fierce and competitive. On the surface, we have been given the same job, even the same title. Obviously it is a test. Obviously it is a competition. And if it is a competition, I mean to win, as surely as you do. But…” Hong shrugged. “Competing with me, at least on my terms, in the way I understand… I think this is impossible for you.”
“You noticed,” Esmeray repeated, unable to keep the insecurity out of her voice entirely.
“Here my thoughts follow two paths. The first is that if we cannot compete directly with one another, we could become allies. Not friends. But allies. Every member of the Coven has, or will have, a qahramanah. So we each have at least 12 rivals, and very little chance to get to know any of the 11 others. You are obviously a lone wolf, and if you will forgive me,” she tittered carefully, “A crazy one.”
Yes, Esmeray conceded, thinking how mad her situation was, and that she felt quite sane by comparison. She was only mad by the standards of people who were privileged to live sane lives. But she responded: “Who’s crazier, the madwoman or her tormentor?” Almost, she let loose of Hong’s hands—almost, she threw them away.
Seeming to sense it, Hong squeezed back very gently and compellingly. “I don’t want to be your tormentor. It doesn’t benefit me at all, or give me any pleasure, because you don’t know how to enjoy being tormented by others.”
“No one enjoys being tormented.”
“You are wrong. Some people live in torment. Even if not of their own making, then they accept them, or simply cannot escape them. Some—maybe you, maybe your memories—even torment themselves. All my little boys-who-are-girls live in that dark palace. All jawari—even yours—are chosen for this potential, and raised to fulfill it. If you can understand this, you can master them better, faster, and more effectively. The fact you do not know this yet is more proof, if you are willing to see it, that I have a lot to teach you. But the job I have been given—we both have been given, me to teach, you to learn—Do you at least understand this is your job, to learn from me, whether you want to or not?”
“Yes,” Esmeray spat.
Hong huffed, whether from concern, arousal, frustration, or success, Esmeray wasn’t quite sure. Hong chose her words with even more care than usual, balancing loyalty to her Dominas with candor to her putative future ally. “This job I have been given—at first, it almost feels the job I was given is intended to provoke you.”
Esmeray relaxed slightly, ever so slightly, but it was there, and Hong sensed it, nodding with satisfaction behind her back. “You speak truly. I think we are enemies, but—”
“Unfair!” Hong protested, smiling at the long, lustrous, wild hair in front of her. It was beautiful hair. “You think everyone is an enemy.”
“Everyone is!”
“You, too, speak truly.” And, Hong thought, you seem to enjoy this sparring as much as I do, in your own tormented way.
“But I also understand the advantages of alliances. The necessity for them. In a world of enemies, allies are valuable. And your second path?”
“I ask myself: What is our real job?”
“To entertain our masters by clashing with one another, like harem gladiators?” Esmeray guessed dryly.
Hong laughed merrily. “Ooh la la, so cynical. I adore it. Again, you are probably right. And I think we can give them a good show. Don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“But… there is more. And I think, if I’m right, we are meant to teach one another. Our Masters’ minds work that way, layers hidden under layers, wheels working within wheels. But for me to explain it, you need to understand what this place is for, and what a qahramanah’s real job is.”
Hong bent her head, a slight sign of deference, and asked again, thrilling Esmeray with the unaccustomed sound of her own name: “Please, Esmeray. I ask again, can you bear to have me step closer to you?”
And after a beat, Esmeray nodded sharply, steeling herself and trying not to be obvious about it.
She felt Hong’s proximity before Hong actually touched her back. It was an electricity, a low buzz from her buttocks up through the arch of her back to her shoulders, sensing Hong’s field of energy before, with a gentle, accepting sigh, the perfectly-formed woman made contact with Esmeray’s scarred back. The deepest pressure was of her breasts against Esmeray’s shoulders; followed by her pelvis against Esmeray’s haunches. Esmeray kept reminding herself that, although deep, the touch was and had been soft, slow, and consensual. And although she couldn’t see Hong, she still held the woman’s hands, perhaps simply to prove to one or both of them that she could; or perhaps to reassure herself the hands were accounted for and therefore, not up to any mischief. Of course, Hong could bite her, her crazy brain reminded her unhelpfully—but she refused to think about that now, shaking her head to herself to dismiss the idea so she could learn whatever it was Hong was up to.
As if to prove she had no such intention, Hong asked softly: “Is this tolerable?”
“Yes,” Esmeray answered, almost but not quite entirely able to keep the edge of irritation out of her voice. So she forced herself to repeat herself, not wanting to actually feel Hong’s flesh—she couldn’t think about it, so she focused on trying to learn what Hong meant to teach her, telling herself this would be worthwhile, and that simply earning Hong’s trust would be worthwhile, ignoring all her contrary urges and feelings—the ravenous, dark ones—as best she could.
Then Hong pushed it by whispering: “Can you abide… more?”
Literature Section “06-100 Edging Esmeray”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 100 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—1212 words—Accompanying Images: 1840-1843—Published 2025-05-25—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.
