Shownotes
In the Achaemenid Empire, young aristocrat Pantea and her lover Shirin encounter a stranger in an abandoned temple. What could go wrong?
Today’s story is the first of two parts of “The Satrap’s Mark” by Thomas “Faux” Steele, offering a sample piece from the new anthology In the Light of the Dawn by the Furry Historical Fiction Society. More of his stories can be found at his Furaffinity page.
Read for you by Rob MacWolf — werewolf hitchhiker.
thevoice.dog | Apple podcasts | Spotify | Google Podcasts
If you have a story you think would be a good fit, you can check out the requirements, fill out the submission template and get in touch with us.
https://thevoice.dog/episode/the-satraps-mark-by-thomas-faux-steele-part-1-of-2
Transcripts
You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.
Speaker:This is Rob MacWolf, your fellow traveler,
Speaker:and Today’s story is the first of two parts of
Speaker:“The Satrap’s Mark”
Speaker:by Thomas “Faux” Steele,
Speaker:offering a sample piece from the new anthology
Speaker:In the Light of the Dawn
Speaker:by the Furry Historical Fiction Society.
Speaker:More of his stories can be found
Speaker:at his Furaffinity page.
Speaker:Please enjoy “The Satrap’s Mark”
Speaker:by Thomas “Faux” Steele,
Speaker:Part 1 of 2 “Chin up, Pantea. You’ve barely touched your gheymeh nesar.”
Speaker:The elder Persian leopard topped off her clay water cup
Speaker:while glancing at her daughter from across the hornbeam table.
Speaker:Nearby, their servant Niloufar
Speaker:—a lynx in an ankle-length linen robe
Speaker:—busied herself packing a lunch of dimpled sangak
Speaker:and hard cheese. “You should finish your stew.
Speaker:You’ll need your strength for the day ahead.”
Speaker:“You say that every morning, Mother.” Pantea managed another bite of the repast—brilliant yellow and slightly peppery
Speaker:—before shoving her plate away.
Speaker:Her tail flicked back and forth behind her,
Speaker:poking through a narrow slit in the chair’s backrest.
Speaker:Frowning, she noticed that the hackles along the nape of her mother’s neck were standing erect.
Speaker:“What’s got your coat so puffed out?
Speaker:You’re not worried, are you?”
Speaker:“You’re set to be challenged today.”
Speaker:Farva nervously drummed her manicured claws on the edge of the table,
Speaker:near several deep scratches in the otherwise-unmarred surface.
Speaker:Broad shoulders—accentuated by sharply-trimmed fur
Speaker:—rose, then fell as she chose her words carefully.
Speaker:“Need I remind you
Speaker:of the importance of this occasion?
Speaker:It is not every day that a young leopard is challenged
Speaker:to see if she’s worthy of joining the ranks
Speaker:of the Athanatoi.”
Speaker:“I still haven’t been told what this ‘challenge’
Speaker:is.” Pantea rolled her eyes as she glanced at an idol of the god
Speaker:Haoma, set in a place of honor beside the family hearth.
Speaker:He was the god of the harvest, granting strength to those whose labors fed the mighty Persian Empire
Speaker:and bestowing vitality upon those who ruled it.
Speaker:“Can’t the Satrap just tell you?”
Speaker:“It wouldn’t be much of a challenge then, now would it?”
Speaker:Farva turned just enough to showcase the twisting scar
Speaker:running like a flowering tree branch along her bare shoulders. Devoid of fur, it served as a reminder of how she’d earned her place as an Arashshara,
Speaker:one of the nobles that supervised the provincial city of Hamadan.
Speaker:“The Satrap has spoken
Speaker:to your tutors and observed you closely.
Speaker:He will know what challenge to present you with,
Speaker:just as he knew what challenge to present to me when I came of age.”
Speaker:“Will I be marked by a scar like yours?”
Speaker:Pantea knew that every Anhā
Speaker:of noble birth earned their Mark
Speaker:during the challenge, though it came in many forms.
Speaker:“I’d prefer simple fur-paint, if it’s all the same.”
Speaker:“Only the Inner Temple knows where and how you’ll be marked.
Speaker:We leave that secret to the gods alone.” Farva smiled softly.
Speaker:“Once you are marked, the Satrap
Speaker:shall dictate your assignment.
Speaker:This is the way of the King of Kings.”
Speaker:“Such is the way.” Niloufar added.
Speaker:Though she was not from the imperial heartland of Mhedia,
Speaker:the lynx was ceaseless in her devotion to the Empire’s traditions.
Speaker:Once a domestic slave,
Speaker:she had been freed by the arrival of troops under Farva’s command many years ago.
Speaker:“The sundial has passed eight marks, mirza.
Speaker:You should cleanse your spirit before you leave.”
Speaker:“Let us all pray together for good fortune.
Speaker:May the light of Ahura Mazda shine on us all.” Farva rose from her seat, extending her paw out with her index finger pointing downward. At her gesture, Niloufar removed a pair of prayer
Speaker:-rugs woven of rich cashmere from a chiseled alcove beneath the shrine.
Speaker:Each bore a pattern of leopard spots surrounded by delicate fronds of sacred saffron.
Speaker:Pantea took a singular step onto the rug before her mother reprimanded her with a piercing stare.
Speaker:Releasing a grunt of annoyance through her teeth, the teenage leopard turned and joined her mother at the washing basin near the front door.
Speaker:Crisp, cool water flowed across a bed of weathered sandstone stone in a steady stream through a miniature qanat
Speaker:—an underground aqueduct.
Speaker:“See? I didn’t completely forget this time.”
Speaker:“You must do better.
Speaker:A future Athanatoi must strictly honor these traditions,” Niloufar admonished.
Speaker:“They are the adhesive that holds the Anhā together.
Speaker:Though we are diverse in religion and culture, we are united
Speaker:in our reverence
Speaker:for the gods of the Empire.
Speaker:Empire.” Farva bent over to wash her daughter’s feet with a sweet-smelling elixir of ambergris
Speaker:blended with myrrh and catnip.
Speaker:Their pupils dilated in tandem as the divine vapors diffused upward.
Speaker:“We are a cadet branch of the
Speaker:royal family. This means that the Anhā will look to you for leadership.
Speaker:Their piercing gaze will soon lie heavy upon
Speaker:your brow.” “So, I’m not allowed to slip up?”
Speaker:Pantea groaned as her mother began to groom her like a young cub while
Speaker:the lynx washed her feet.
Speaker:Her least favorite of the rites involved her mother stroking her barbed tongue through her cheek ruffs to
Speaker:smooth out any errand tufts of fur.
Speaker:“I’m not imbued with sacred wisdom just because I was born with the right spots.”
Speaker:“You know that’s not what I meant,”
Speaker:Farva replied. Stepping out of the washing basin, she dried her fur
Speaker:by walking across a bed of stones
Speaker:heated by a pipe running from the hearth.
Speaker:“By virtue of your birth, you’ve inherited a certain privilege.
Speaker:There is no escape from the position our blood places us in,
Speaker:and it is our duty to use it
Speaker:to further the public good.”
Speaker:“Shirin is allowed to do what she wants when she’s not at the training arena.”
Speaker:Ears folding flat against her skull, Pantea’s cheeks burned as she dried off before padding over to the hearth.
Speaker:Perching cross-legged on the prayer rug,
Speaker:she used her muscular tail to tilt herself forward
Speaker:until she reached the reverent thirty-degree angle.
Speaker:“Can’t I have a little fun in the morning for once?”
Speaker:“If Shirin ate a bowl of poisonous grapes, would you enjoy them also?”
Speaker:Farva poured a large measure of plum wine into a fine silver cup before
Speaker:placing it on an offering dish before the idol.
Speaker:“Sagaris are commoners
Speaker:—ones of high status, perhaps
Speaker:—but commoners all the same.
Speaker:They live by different rules.”
Speaker:Biting her tongue, Pantea bowed her head.
Speaker:As the youngest, it was her obligation to offer the sacred invocation. “Ahura Mazda, Lord of the Inner Temple. We pray for you to protect the Anhā.
Speaker:May the rivers flow uninterrupted into our fields and may our wheat grow tall.
Speaker:Aid us to sit present with one another, mindful of our purpose.
Speaker:In a world where many beasts are hungry,
Speaker:we give thanks for our full bellies.
Speaker:Remind us of the necessity of good thoughts,
Speaker:good words, and good deeds.
Speaker:Lord of the Inner Temple, hear us now.
Speaker:now.” “Good.” A slight smile peeked at the edge of Farva’s muzzle.
Speaker:“I sense that Shirin is here to escort you
Speaker:to the Pasargadae.
Speaker:The Satrap will see you once you arrive.
Speaker:I want no misbehavior from either of you on the way. Am I clear,
Speaker:young leopard?” Pantea nodded as her gorgeous caracal bodyguard stepped into the hall.
Speaker:Richly oiled leather armor dyed yellow with iron oxide from Hormuz adorned Shirin’s chest and shoulders.
Speaker:Her lower body was covered by a tunic fastened neatly at her knees,
Speaker:patterned with a design that resembled blooming water lilies.
Speaker:“Clear as a sacred pool, Mother,”
Speaker:Pantea said. “Good morning,
Speaker:Arashshara. Good morning Pantea.”
Speaker:After a polite bow,
Speaker:Shirin took the basket from Niloufar,
Speaker:her oilcloth cloak fluttering over well-muscled shoulders.
Speaker:Peeking inside a leather bag tucked into the lunch basket, the caracal grinned
Speaker:before popping a hunk of wild boar jerky into her muzzle.
Speaker:“Let’s get moving, before the heat of the day sets in.
Speaker:Don’t forget your blade…though I doubt you’ll need it.”
Speaker:“I keep one on me at all times,”
Speaker:Pantea replied with a wink.
Speaker:A flirtatious flash of her inner thigh revealed a sheathed dagger bound taut against her fur.
Speaker:Its scabbard was adorned with fine engraving depicting hunters chasing a fallow deer.
Speaker:“But I’ll also take my sword, since you insist.
Speaker:insist.” Pantea grabbed a sayf alsharqa,
Speaker:the short sword with a curved blade that nearly every Athanatoi carried.
Speaker:Wielded by an army ten-thousand strong, there was no enemy
Speaker:from the Balkan Peninsula to the Indus River that could stand against the mighty saber.
Speaker:The leopard’s dexterous fingers secured it around her waist with a length of hemp cord.
Speaker:“Listen, you two: I mean it
Speaker:this time. If I hear from the City Guard that you’ve broken the Satrap’s peace again
Speaker:with your mischievous escapades, so help me,
Speaker:I’ll tan your hides raw like you’re both
Speaker:toddlers still in catch-cloths.
Speaker:Speaking of which, do you remember the time—”
Speaker:“Okay, bye! Love you, Mother!”
Speaker:Pantea ducked out the door before her mother
Speaker:could once again embarrass her in front of Shirin.
Speaker:The young leopard had an inkling her mother had picked up on the simmering attraction
Speaker:and gave a coupling her tacit approval,
Speaker:albeit replete with playful ribbing.
Speaker:Slamming the hunk of beech behind her,
Speaker:Pantea turned to the bemused caracal.
Speaker:“So, straight to the Pasargadae?
Speaker:“I dunno, what do you think?”
Speaker:Shirin said with a sly smile,
Speaker:glancing at the mud-tile rooftops of Hamadan
Speaker:peeking out beyond the walls of the interior courtyard.
Speaker:Sentries in sun-faded leather armor patrolled along the parapets, while
Speaker:a cook slow-roasted several ducks on a rotisserie for the evening feast.
Speaker:“We could, you know…take
Speaker:the scenic route.
Speaker:route.” “B-but—” Pantea’s eyes went wide.
Speaker:“What if my mother finds out?”
Speaker:“There won’t be many eyes on the ancient road. I’m sure we’ll pass unnoticed.
Speaker:unnoticed.” Shirin winked, her ear tufts perking up as she subtly brushed her paw along the leopard’s flank.
Speaker:“What do you say?” “I suppose if you’re leading the way.”
Speaker:Pantea relented, taking Shirin’s paw.
Speaker:The caracal gave her palm a tender squeeze as they passed through the front gate.
Speaker:“Do you have our route planned out?”
Speaker:“I was thinking we could stop at the market first and
Speaker:get a picnic lunch,” she said, licking her lips with anticipation.
Speaker:“I heard Bijan has put barbequed fallow deer back on the menu.
Speaker:He’ll sell out quickly,
Speaker:so we need to use the shortcut to get there in time.”
Speaker:“Do we have to? The abandoned temple gives me the creeps every time we pass by it.” Pantea followed Shirin down a deserted thoroughfare
Speaker:half-overtaken by ferns and sedges.
Speaker:Invasive bullfrogs croaked from the stagnant drainage ditches that ran on their side,
Speaker:each choked to a standstill by fast-growing water weeds.
Speaker:“I feel…watched.” “It’s just stone and mortar.
Speaker:There’s nothing to be afraid
Speaker:of,” Shirin said, pressing confidently ahead.
Speaker:She occasionally used the wicked edge of her shamshir
Speaker:to clear bits of intrusive brush from their path.
Speaker:Formed in the style of one of the Anhā supplicating themselves, an ancient structure of sandstone
Speaker:peeked out from an overgrown clearing off to their right.
Speaker:“See?” “Are…are those beacons lit?”
Speaker:An expression of alarm raced across the leopard’s muzzle
Speaker:as she noticed the temple’s
Speaker:‘eyes’ glowing bright with scarlet fire.
Speaker:Paw darting toward the leather-wrapped hilt of her weapon,
Speaker:Pantea scanned nervously
Speaker:through the foliage around them.
Speaker:“You’re seeing that too, right?”
Speaker:“It’s probably just a few miscreants. Wanna scope it out?”
Speaker:Throwing the full force of her body behind a swing of her shamshir, Shirin slashed through a gnarled tree to clear the descent. The caracal cracked her neck, the outline of her bulging muscles visible beneath her sandy fur.
Speaker:“I doubt it’ll be too dangerous.
Speaker:You trained with one of the Syaf,
Speaker:right?” “Perhaps the best.” Pantea replied.
Speaker:She drew her sayf alsharqa,
Speaker:the oiled blade sliding free from the sheath like a whispered threat.
Speaker:It gleamed bright as polished silver in the dappled patches of sunlight that broke through the heavy clouds above them.
Speaker:“My mother said Syaf Hafez commanded caravans across the South that stretched so far along the horizon
Speaker:the sun would rise and set before you could see their end.
Speaker:Protected by his blade, not a single shekel weight of cargo was lost to bandits.”
Speaker:“Would you ever want to go and see the South for yourself?” Shirin asked. Pantea knew that only a few traders seeking goods for the royal court
Speaker:ventured into the golden sands
Speaker:that separated the Empire from the rich ivory and salt of Nubia.
Speaker:“I’ve heard that out past the end of the rivers, twinkling stars glow bright over an endless sky.
Speaker:sky.” “If you came with me,”
Speaker:Pantea replied.
Speaker:“I’d love to see those stars with you.”
Speaker:By the time the leopard snapped out of a particularly steamy daydream, the pair had reached
Speaker:the barren floodplain
Speaker:that blocked direct access to the temple.
Speaker:Changing seasons had already brought with them a steady flow of water,
Speaker:sweeping across what had once been a bridge
Speaker:—but what was now more of an artfully arranged heap of stones
Speaker:—running through the center of the tributary.
Speaker:“I’m starting to have second thoughts about this,
Speaker:Shirin.” “How about a kiss if you make it to the other side?”
Speaker:Shirin used her natural agility to dance across the slick rocks,
Speaker:her feet landing
Speaker:with the elegance of falling raindrops.
Speaker:She lingered on each for but a moment, using her extended claws to propel herself forward.
Speaker:Pirouetting on the other bank,
Speaker:the caracal gave a bow
Speaker:worthy of a traveling performer.
Speaker:“Just wade across if you
Speaker:can’t manage the rocks.
Speaker:I have a fishing rod in my bag to haul you out if you slip!”
Speaker:she joked. “Hm…I’ll take that deal.”
Speaker:Pantea took a deep breath,
Speaker:gathering her courage before she hurled herself forward like a charging stallion.
Speaker:Less sprightly than the caracal,
Speaker:she used the copper-tipped claws on her feet to find purchase in the crevasses between river stones.
Speaker:Powerful calves held her fast against the raging stream as she took her first arduous step forward against the full strength of the current.
Speaker:“What I’d give to have your acrobatics right about now!”
Speaker:“I wouldn’t mind having strength like yours!”
Speaker:Shirin shouted, cupping her paws around her muzzle.
Speaker:A bullfrog’s piercing mating call cleanly sliced her next sentence in half. “
Speaker:—love you! It’s not that far!”
Speaker:Pantea lacked the spare brainpower to reflect on this newfound advancement in their tacit courtship.
Speaker:Gritting her teeth,
Speaker:the leopard barely managed another step.
Speaker:Her thighs burned as she turned herself sideways to minimize drag.
Speaker:While an adept swimmer,
Speaker:she was almost certain the water would sweep her far downstream before she could paddle to the other bank.
Speaker:“Do you…happen to have that fishing rod handy?
Speaker:I could use it right about now!”
Speaker:“You’re a leopard. Is this the best you’ve
Speaker:got?” Shirin clapped her paws with the sharp intonation of a Syaf
Speaker:demanding she repeat a drill.
Speaker:Fire glowed in her amber eyes, a smoky warmth that radiated outward from her inner pupils.
Speaker:The caracal wasn’t giving up on her.
Speaker:“Faster! Would a self-respecting Athanatoi yield to this turgid trickle?”
Speaker:Shivering from being immersed up to her bust in snowmelt water,
Speaker:Pantea dragged herself slowly to the muddy shore.
Speaker:The last few strides required her to punch her crampon-like claws firmly
Speaker:into the slick riverbed to hold herself fast.
Speaker:Just as her strength began to fail, a warm paw clamped around her wrist. Shirin tugged Pantea upward as though the leopard was Reynosa,
Speaker:the half-drowned god whom the locals once worshiped.
Speaker:Pantea rolled onto her back,
Speaker:every muscle in her body
Speaker:flexing as though she were afflicted by lockjaw.
Speaker:Grabbing her by the scruff of her neck, Shirin dragged her over to a lonely patch of sunlight against the trunk of a date palm.
Speaker:“Mm… world-class suggestion about the river crossing,”
Speaker:the leopard gasped.
Speaker:“Maybe spend a little more time on the field of branchless trees at the training grounds, huh?
Speaker:Leaping between poles does wonders for your agility.”
Speaker:Shirin stripped off the larger pieces of her armor,
Speaker:leaving her in a pair of ankle-length long underwear.
Speaker:“Going across a river takes far less effort than plowing through it.”
Speaker:“Thank you.” Pantea sighed
Speaker:with pleasure as the beating sun
Speaker:fell upon her soaked garments.
Speaker:She was grateful for the warmth, water droplets on her cheeks gleaming like uncut diamonds before
Speaker:evaporating into the parched air.
Speaker:“I’ll have to remember that…for
Speaker:next time.” “Just breathe easy. I don’t want you to strain yourself.”
Speaker:Shirin tilted the spout of a wineskin into her muzzle.
Speaker:Bold and sweet, the unaged tangerine wine quenched the leopard’s raging thirst.
Speaker:“Better?” “Yeah. I should be good to move in a few minutes,” Pantea replied, watching as Shirin downed the remainder in a single gulp. “Aren’t
Speaker:you the brave one?”
Speaker:Brushing aside the mop of water-soaked headfur on Pantea’s forehead, Shirin leaned in close.
Speaker:Hot breath tousled the leopard’s cheek ruffs,
Speaker:remnants of richly spiced jerky blending
Speaker:with alcoholic vapors
Speaker:to form an intoxicating perfume.
Speaker:“Even if you’re not yet an Athanatoi,
Speaker:I think you’re already up there with the best of them.
Speaker:them.” Pantea’s skin prickled
Speaker:as warmth surged through her fingertips.
Speaker:She raised her head and was instantly reassured by Shirin’s tender
Speaker:gaze. A bolt of lightning shot through the leopard’s heart as she tensed up with anticipation. “Gods above,
Speaker:I love you, Shirin,”
Speaker:she confessed. “Do you…share
Speaker:my feelings?”
Speaker:“Of course, ahmaq,” Shirin replied with a chuckle.
Speaker:Suspended in the air between them was a spark of the divine.
Speaker:Somehow familiar yet
Speaker:entirely unknown,
Speaker:Shirin’s lips brushed against hers.
Speaker:Like the curved blade of her shamshir,
Speaker:a smile crept at the edge of the caracal’s jet-black lips.
Speaker:“I love you too, Pantea.”
Speaker:Pantea flushed beneath her fur, paws trembling as they curled around tough iris stems. Any wound to her ego sustained by the river crossing was immediately healed
Speaker:by sharing her first kiss with Shirin. Breathing deeply, she grasped the caracal’s cheeks as they rose with lips entwined.
Speaker:In the distance, an ominous thunderclap reverberated through the clearing
Speaker:as the sky flashed white as purified salt.
Speaker:The sun fully retreated beneath watersmooth-silver clouds
Speaker:while shade overtook them. “Mm…as
Speaker:much as I’d like this to last forever, we should find shelter,”
Speaker:Shirin said. “Your mother would kill me if I let her daughter get struck by lightning.”
Speaker:“Wait just a moment.”
Speaker:Pantea narrowed her eyes as she scanned through the brush.
Speaker:She couldn’t quite shake the pernicious feeling of being watched.
Speaker:“Do you see anything?
Speaker:I swore I just caught glimpse of a goldcloak.”
Speaker:“Damn it! We don’t have time to see if we’re being followed!”
Speaker:Shirin shouted while gathering up Pantea’s armor.
Speaker:As the heavens opened,
Speaker:their fur was violently pounded by pea-sized hail.
Speaker:Drawing her waterproof cloak over their heads like an old woman’s shawl, Shirin escorted Pantea across the open field
Speaker:while lightning bolts danced across the sky.
Speaker:Their feet had barely touched the cold stone of the temple floor before
Speaker:the hail shifted
Speaker:into a torrential downpour.
Speaker:“Looks like we won’t be going anywhere soon,”
Speaker:Pantea said. The leopard inspected a cracked torch mounted haphazardly in a rusted iron sconce while suiting up.
Speaker:Constant background noise assaulted her ears,
Speaker:a mixture of rainfall and the scurrying and scratching of uncountable creatures that had made their homes in the temple’s walls.
Speaker:“Do you still have your spark stones?
Speaker:I think there’s still a little pitch left on this one.”
Speaker:“Of course. How could I forget them?”
Speaker:Ruffling around in an oilcloth case held fast against her thigh by a length of sun-dried oryx intestine,
Speaker:Shirin pulled out a pair of handheld flints.
Speaker:“Here, give me that.
Speaker:I have a little kinnikinnick
Speaker:left if you’d like to pack my pipe.”
Speaker:“I’d rather wait for when we have
Speaker:something to celebrate,”
Speaker:Pantea replied. “Mm, fair enough.”
Speaker:Flames sparkled in Shirin’s eyes as the pitch caught fire.
Speaker:Holding the blazing torch aloft, she threw flickering light onto stone walls
Speaker:covered with intricate drawings,
Speaker:each chiseled by the paw of an expert artisan.
Speaker:Wind-thrashed patches of gold leaf adorned the cloaks of animal-headed figures.
Speaker:“What do you think these are?”
Speaker:“I think they’re pictographs…probably
Speaker:recounting some kind of myth,”
Speaker:Pantea muttered.
Speaker:She was instinctively drawn to a figure of a leopard, standing alone,
Speaker:head raised in a gesture of ecstasy as he grasped a crimson phial.
Speaker:A trace of distinctive Tyrian purple remained around his shoulder pauldrons.
Speaker:She had only seen the color once before
Speaker:—in the inner halls of the Pasargadae.
Speaker:“Perhaps something involving the old gods?”
Speaker:“It is a myth the Satrap has kept hidden from you.”
Speaker:A lynx stepped out from the shadows,
Speaker:the hooded cloak around his shoulders
Speaker:perfectly still in the dead air.
Speaker:Dyed rich crimson, a pattern of dried roses adorned the fringe of the silk garment.
Speaker:“Though it is really less of a myth
Speaker:and more of an…instructive text.”
Speaker:Treating the torch like a fire-club, Shirin angled it downward
Speaker:as she drew up to her full height.
Speaker:Baring her fangs, the Sagaris
Speaker:interposed herself between Pantea and the stranger
Speaker:while a resonant growl danced in her throat.
Speaker:“Let your name be known.
Speaker:You come bearing an unfamiliar scent.”
Speaker:“I am Hashmed. My people once ruled the same city that you now claim as your own.”
Speaker:Slowly coming closer, he pitter-pattered his claws on the stone wall
Speaker:like butcher-cracked bones falling into a rubbish pit.
Speaker:He exposed the sharp edge of his ribs for an instant
Speaker:as he turned to admire the morphemes.
Speaker:With his hooded face concealed, Pantea caught only the reflection of the firelight in his hazel eyes.
Speaker:“You look too young
Speaker:to have seen these lands before the conquest. Am I correct?”
Speaker:“I was born after,”
Speaker:Pantea said. Her paw darted
Speaker:down to grip the handle of her sayf alsharqa,
Speaker:only to touch empty air.
Speaker:Eyes widening with alarm, she cursed herself for not checking for its presence earlier.
Speaker:It was probably a fair distance down the stream by now.
Speaker:“But I was whelped on the soil upon which we stand.
Speaker:I am no stranger to this land.”
Speaker:“You are no stranger,
Speaker:and yet you are no friend.
Speaker:Would a faithful compatriot forget the gods
Speaker:that were once honored here?” Hashmed’s voice was imbued with strange magnetism.
Speaker:Pantea found herself unconsciously matching his strides
Speaker:as he headed toward the depths of the temple.
Speaker:“I can teach you their ways…and
Speaker:bestow upon you the power that comes with their favor. Surely an Athanatoi of your status would desire such a bounty.
Speaker:All I ask for is a little something in exchange.”
Speaker:“What power?” Shirin asked.
Speaker:“There is no force greater than Ahura Mazda.”
Speaker:“I speak of course of an older and more potent force…that of blood magic.” Pantea’s muzzle was suddenly stuffed full of cotton as her tongue turned leaden against her teeth.
Speaker:It was the darkest and most savage of practices,
Speaker:one that the Satrap had almost entirely stamped out.
Speaker:“You’ve heard of it, haven’t you?”
Speaker:“The Satrap wisely guards the secrets of that dark art,”
Speaker:Shirin said, storm clouds rising in her eyes.
Speaker:“One should not deprive Anhā of their lives in the pursuit of temporal power.
Speaker:Above all else, it corrupts the soul. The Satrap forbade its practice outside of the deepest sanctum of the Inner Temple
Speaker:for good reason.” Sloping almost imperceptibly downward,
Speaker:they soon approached the underground heart of the temple.
Speaker:An enormous crystal mounted in the ceiling cast feeble light upon root-studded walls.
Speaker:Carved from a single tree so enormous its shade would darken the White Tower of the Pasargadae,
Speaker:an altar stretched off into pitch black at the other end of the room.
Speaker:“What if I told you that ‘Immortal’
Speaker:could be more than a title?”
Speaker:Hashmed said with a silken tongue.
Speaker:The lynx practically purred with each syllable.
Speaker:“With blood magic, you can have
Speaker:power that even Ahura Mazda cannot bestow…that of eternal life.”
Speaker:“What exactly is the cost
Speaker:to live forever?” Pantea asked skeptically.
Speaker:“Nothing of great importance.”
Speaker:The lynx threw his hood back.
Speaker:His cheeks were dyed with crushed lapis lazuli,
Speaker:while carmine pigment shifted the fur around his eyes
Speaker:to resemble the hue of freshly spilled blood.
Speaker:“The cost is minor compared to the value of such knowledge.
Speaker:It is a sounder investment than taking stake in a trading caravan.
Speaker:caravan.” Pantea and Shirin shared a hesitant glance.
Speaker:“Could you be more specific?”
Speaker:Shirin asked. “No investment ought to be made without first doing one’s due diligence.”
Speaker:“Let me offer my hospitality first.”
Speaker:Drawing an enormous clay jar from beneath the altar,
Speaker:Hashmed filled three bronze tankards with golden liquid.
Speaker:“The fennec foxes of the South call this tarikh alkhumur. It’s a curious drink made from dates that have cured in the sun for thirty days
Speaker:and thirty nights.
Speaker:I find the flavor to be like
Speaker:drinking the spirit
Speaker:of honey wine.” Pantea accepted the tankard,
Speaker:the metal cool against her paw pads.
Speaker:Vapors wafted upward to sting her nostrils,
Speaker:leaving a sickly-sweet odor lingering in her sinuses.
Speaker:It was far more potent than the unaged wine or small beer she usually consumed.
Speaker:“You drink first, stranger.” “Ha
Speaker:—fair enough, young leopard.”
Speaker:Tilting his muzzle sideways, the lynx’s throat bulged and receded while he took a gulp.
Speaker:He wiped his muzzle off with his shirt sleeve before shamelessly belching.
Speaker:“See? Perfectly safe,
Speaker:although I should warn you that the spirit of the desert sun burns all the way down.”
Speaker:“How is it, Shirin?”
Speaker:Pantea nervously drummed her paws against the side of the tankard
Speaker:while she observed the caracal cautiously sip.
Speaker:“You okay?” “Yeah. It’s quite strong.”
Speaker:Shirin’s muzzle twisted as she clenched her paws and exhaled through gritted teeth.
Speaker:Parting her lips, she washed the liquor down with a long quaff of water from a nearby clay bottle.
Speaker:“Far more potent than anything available
Speaker:at the bazaar in Hamadan, that’s for sure.
Speaker:sure.” “Maybe a little too strong…”
Speaker:Moments after taking a sip, Pantea was suddenly overcome with a wave of nausea.
Speaker:She staggered forward,
Speaker:claws scratching the altar as she fell to her knees.
Speaker:Bile scorched her throat as she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor.
Speaker:“Something’s wrong!”
Speaker:“A little henbane. Don’t worry,
Speaker:it’s not fatal,” Hashmed said with a mocking grin,
Speaker:his eyes bulging out of their sockets as he fought the herb’s sedating effects.
Speaker:Shirin collapsed face-first onto the ground,
Speaker:tankard clattering with a metallic brrring.
Speaker:The caracal’s quivering paw reached for her shamshir,
Speaker:only to go limp just as it wrapped around the grip.
Speaker:“That part where you die
Speaker:comes next.” Pantea toppled forward,
Speaker:cheek resting against the cool stone.
Speaker:The world turned dark,
Speaker:echoing footsteps ringing for a moment in her ears as Hashmed approached
Speaker:with a binding cord in his paws.
Speaker:And then, there was nothing at all.
Speaker:This was the first of two parts of “The Satrap’s Mark”
Speaker:by Thomas “Faux” Steele,
Speaker:read for you by READER,
Speaker:with CALLSIGN.
Speaker:Tune in next time to find out how [Pantea and Shirin escape
Speaker:Hashmed’s clutches].
Speaker:As always, you can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog,
Speaker:or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.
Speaker:Thank you for listening
Speaker:to The Voice of Dog.