Unveiling the Sorceress

The subtle reference he made to desire and the suggested intimacy between them caused another wave of tremulous anticipation to wash over Elishiba. What was he trying to imply? And he said he was a normal man. Everything about him seemed to contradict the simple statement. The atmosphere crackled with his intensity.

"That is not what they say about you,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat; again she was surprised at her own provocative remark.

"I am what you see before you.” His hand rested against his chest, his eyes flashing dark, challenging her.

How could she believe him when every fiber of her being suggested he was something much more powerful? Moreover, what was it in her that recognized that in him?

"Are you what they say?” Her words came of their own accord, her voice barely audible. Had she even wanted to, she felt sure she could not halt and return along the path they were traveling.

"A sorcerer, is that what they say?” His tone had a certain weary irony to it.

She nodded.

He lifted a brass platter and rested it on its edge, his fingers rolling it back and forth while he contemplated her.

In his eyes she saw a gleaming light shifting, restless and powerful.

"The soul is a very powerful thing, Elishiba. When one fully comprehends its abilities to evoke change, its power is within reach of even the simplest of men.” He spun the platter from his fingers.

Elishiba watched, breathless, as it rolled across the floor away from him. He never took his eyes from her face, but lifted one hand toward the platter, a faint gleaming light emanating from his palm toward the heavy object. She looked from it back to him, mesmerized by the rolling light she saw in his eyes. The platter spun on its axis, then suddenly stopped.

Elishiba stared.

It did not, as expected, clatter to the floor, but began to spin again, in the opposite direction. Building speed, it began to roll back toward them, into his waiting hand.

Despite herself, she hunched back into her cushions. “Hail the gods what is this, if not sorcery?"

Amshazar lifted the platter into his hand, turning it over before putting it to one side. “Simple sorcery is within your reach too, Elishiba, that and much, much more. The power is there for you to channel."

She shook her head in response to his remark, and hastily reminded herself she had seen trickery such as this before. Why, she was sure the urchins in the Souk would do as much for a coin. But their ways were indeed trickery, made from pieces of thread and slight of hand. What she had just witnessed here was of a different league of sorcery. That light in his eyes, and in his palm, had given out a sense of restrained power. The atmosphere in the room had shifted in tune with him.

He smiled gently at her, unfazed by her disbelief, but quite willing to go along with the more dangerous game that persistently emerged from their conversation. He eyed her openly, and the strange rolling sense of power was there, tenfold.

Elishiba's senses began to roar.

She felt moved, compelled to look beyond the surface of this. As she did, she thought she saw an image of their bodies entwined, emerging from the deep well within his eyes. A dark and invisible sirocco surged up around them.

She whimpered.

He sat silent and controlled within its dominion, resisting its force. His lips were tensely chiseled, the expression in his eyes brooding as their spirits lifted from their physical selves, and merged.

Elishiba felt buffeted by it, and her hands lifted, opening to him, ready to take him in. Sensation raced over her body, and deep within—it was as if his spirit was moving against her most intimate flesh. She became aware of the sudden heat in the air as she drew it over her tongue when her lips parted.

Then, suddenly, and without warning, Amshazar lifted his hands and closed his eyes, breaking them free of the spell and releasing her from its grip.

"Elishiba ... remember, whatever happens, immense possibility for change is yours.” His voice was hoarse. “Even though it often appears we are but man and woman in this,” he added.

It was almost as if he spoke to himself, but the way he had whispered her name stroked her whole body with its caress, implied a much deeper meaning.

"We are also enemies, are we not?” She got the words out quickly, unbidden questions once again escaping her in a moment of pure frustration.

"Enemies? Are we?” His expression was serious. There was an aura of extreme concentration, of meditation, about his posture.

"Sibias approaches.” He nodded toward the door, his expression growing guarded.

Her own expression was not so well disguised. She had felt his powers and had wanted to submit herself to them. She wanted him, that fact was undeniable now. The elements of passion had come upon her with a force that was all consuming. She felt stripped bare, and could only stare at him, willing him not to break the strange contact he'd made. Her innermost flesh throbbed with longing. She wanted to tell him but had no idea where to search for the words.

There wasn't long to contemplate her inclination to speak her desires aloud, for the door flew open and the young nubile, Patrino, entered the room at that very moment.