By K. Olsen
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
…the gods have forsaken us…
…like birds that fly north they have gone…
Fallen were the mighty, obliterated the proud. The oldest city in the world was gone, and with it the rule of Kullah. The ugly dirge of carrion birds echoed through the streets, every vulture within a day’s flight drawn to the bodies baking in the heat of the summer sun. Smoke from torched fields hung reeking in the air, the sharp smell pervading even the temple.
Ilati no longer begged the gods of her city for relief. It was pointless: the goddess of grain and the lord of herds were no longer in attendance. Her grandfather’s tomb stood shattered down to its foundations and her father lay drowned in his own blood. No doubt her brothers’ bodies rotted too under the summer sun.
Trembling and ravaged, the priestess wished in that moment she had the strength of her mother. She wound her arms around that beloved body, forehead pressed against the mortal wound where her mother had driven sharp bronze between her own ribs and pierced her heart. Blood and tears mingled on Ilati’s cheeks as her breathing came in sobs.
Eresh died like a stone. Why could she not do the same?
The halt of the voices nearby sent a shudder of dread down her spine. Were they returning?
She pulled in a deep breath. Weeping could not last forever, not if she was going to survive. They would cut her down if she ran, but only if they found her. She knew the temple better than anyone. Ilati kissed her mother’s cold forehead as she rolled Eresh’s corpse onto its side. Her mother’s copper hair spilled across the blood-covered mosaic on the floor, untended in a way it would have never been in life.
Ilati pushed against the floor to regain her feet. It worked, though she swayed like a reed in the river breezes. She hobbled away from the temple sanctum, away from the men of Nadar who took such pleasure in her torment. Soon she lost count of the bodies, but she knew with dreadful certainty that she was alone.
Another tear dripped from her chin, rolling down her bruised face. Dull bolts of lighting and stinging rips rampaged through her body as she moved, a reminder of all that she had endured.
Footsteps. The priestess took a turn down the smallest passage where servants entered to clean. She caught a curtain by the wall and slipped behind it, breath catching in her throat. Two men entered the hall, judging by the slaps of their sandals against the floor. She didn’t dare look. If they found her, the torture would begin again.
The last survivor closed her eyes tightly, finding a prayer that felt empty. If I am to die, gods of the godless, let it not be today.
A few words in the harsh, biting language of the north and then they were gone. Ilati seized her chance, continuing on her limping path. Her breath died when she reached the northern door of the temple.
The smoke robbed the sky of its blue hue, replacing it with a bleak gray and ash drifted on the wind as though it had swept up the plucked feathers of a dead bird. Every building as far as the eye could see was collapsed or burning. She saw the slain littered across the streets like pot shards, like grass cut by the swinging of some great sickle. Severed limbs and headless torsos strewn across shattered paving stones lay unburied, their souls condemned to a restless eternity.
She heard echoes of Nadaren hounds behind her and turned her eyes to the sacred River Esharra. That would carry her to freedom.
Ilati pushed onward, bare feet catching in the mud where blood and earth mixed. The glassy eyes of the heads that lined Shadi’s streets watched her with silent judgment as she passed. She tried not to think about their screams, the wicked bite of Nadar’s hounds, the fate that lay before them. It was agony, but soon she reached the River Esharra.
The broad, stately flow of the river was as polluted with death as the city it once gave life to. Where Shadi would rot, however, the river would soon run clean.
She heard a sharp bark of command behind her and glanced back over her shoulder as she stumbled towards the water. A dark armored man with a mountain viper engraved into his breastplate pointed at her, his eyes burning like coals beneath thick brows. His other hand gripped a long sickle-sword already drenched with blood.
There was no time for second chances. The priestess plunged into the cold river, letting it scour away the blood and death. It swept her away, but the water soaking her clothes and her sheer exhaustion meant she could barely keep herself from drowning. By the time the man made it to the river, Ilati had slipped beneath the water without even meager strength to save her.
The priestess did not struggle as the river claimed her. No matter the pain, it was a merciful relief to know that the torment was done.
#
Ilati was barely sensible when hands pulled her free of the river’s embrace. “I think this one is alive!” The man’s voice was heavy with a strange accent, neither Kullan nor of the beasts to the north.
She coughed and choked, spitting up water until she was almost vomiting. River weeds curled around her body like hungry snakes. She knew she was unrecognizable, swollen face dark with bruises and her temple robe stained with blood. It was for the best. If the enemy learned who she was, they would visit even fouler evils on her. The wrath of the conquering host was a nightmare breathed to life by gods darker than a starless night.
Arms slipped beneath her, lifting her dripping form with ease. Ilati’s vision slowly cleared, allowing her to see her rescuer.
Mahogany eyes looked down at her with concern. The man had skin like ebony, his face pocked with small scars at regular intervals, forming wave-like patterns across his cheekbones and forehead.
“How fortunate for her. Now let us be gone from here. The Nadaren are still near and that is bad for people as small as us,” another man said. His voice was thin from age, but had no tremor of weakness. His was an accent she recognized, that of Sarru. She had heard it many times from traders and scribes who came from the western kingdom to sit at the birthplace of civilization.
The priestess made no move to resist. She had no strength to, even if she wanted to. These men could be just as dangerous, but her muscles had been pushed until the point of failure just by her escape. When she turned her head, she could see the old man who had spoken. He was a weathered soul, face wrinkled from many years of life. His gray hair was short and thin almost to the point of baldness. One eye was a piercing gold, the other a hollow socket. Currently, his lips were pinched into a frown, but the expression seemed more thoughtful than furious.
She tried to wet her lips a few times with her tongue, to will together a shredded throat. “Who…” A croak, but it was better than nothing.
The old man glanced over, startled by the sudden speech. “True greetings when we are all safe.”
Ilati had no argument.
An olive tree nearby shaded their belongings, a small cart pulled by a single mule. Bolts of cloth lay in the back, carefully packed around traveling supplies.
The dark-skinned man set her down as gently as she could, holding her against his chest so she wouldn’t fall over. “If we cross the paths of their scouts, they will know her by the blood.”
“True enough,” the old man agreed. He reached into the bundle of supplies for a sleeveless tunic of soft wool that would fall a few inches past her knees. “Let her stand upon her own two feet, Menes. I think there is still strength in her.”
The priestess leaned heavily against the man called Menes when he set her down. She shed her robe and used the wet cloth to wipe away the blood where it clotted against her skin. Bruises in great dark blotches marred her flesh, so many that it was hard to find an inch of sienna skin untouched. The dark-skinned man averted his eyes while the old man helped her pull the tunic on. Her flexibility was limited by the swelling around one shoulder.
“What of the bruises?” Menes asked.
“She will veil her face, as a woman of Magan would.” The old man sorted through the cloth in the cart until he found something that would serve their purposes. Ilati had heard of Magan, to the west and across the Parasu. “Should we encounter them, should they ask, we will say that she is your wife.”
Menes nodded. His appearance made sense now. The men of Magan were dark as coals and said to be shy around women, even their own. Why else would their women wear veils? Why else would they not enjoy the embraces of the priestesses of Zu? Granted, the men of Magan were a rare sight so far east and Ilati had never met one to be refused by him. They were not sailors as fearless as the red-bearded Hatti or travelers so wide-ranging as the fortune-tellers of Sebet.
Ilati’s legs quaked, aching and burning for respite. Menes lifted her carefully again, cradling her against his chest as if she was feather-light. Perhaps she seemed so to him, slight in build and not tall. He was built like a bull, with powerful shoulders and arms. His hands were rough, but the warmth of the sun emanated from his skin, warding away the cold of the grave that sought to cling to her limbs.
Her head lolled against his shoulder. “Thank you,” the priestess murmured. She barely felt his footsteps as shocks through her exhausted, beaten body.
“You are most welcome,” Menes said quietly, trudging along beside the cart. It was just large enough to hold the fabrics and supplies, though it could perhaps conceal Ilati if needed. “Eigou and I will keep you safe.”
The old man led the way with one hand on the mule’s lead, humming softly to himself. Ilati watched him from beneath heavy eyelids. He moved with great care and great cunning, taking them across the hardest packed earth he could find so they would be more difficult to track, always keeping his eye on the horizon. The River Esharra carved a deep valley down from the mountains on its way to the sea, a lush green and gold when compared to the barren rocks of the peaks and the dry dust of the deserts.
Shadi now stood as nothing more than a blackened scar on the valley floor.
Eigou led them not towards the sea, where the Nadaren had likely gone, but towards the Desert of Kings. It was an ocean of sand so massive that none knew what might lie on the other side, or even at its heart, broken only by outcroppings of rock slowly obliterated by the wind-blown grit. It demanded awe and dread in the hearts of those who even looked upon it, for it had been the ruin of every soul attempting to cross it.
After a while, Menes set Ilati down and helped her to walk. It slowed their progress, but eased the strain on him. Focus slowly returned to Ilati. Now she could study her rescuers. Eigou walked with a straight back and a lifted chin, like a king, but it was Menes who had the prowl of a warrior. The dark-skinned man wore a curved sword of bronze. The blade was as long as Ilati’s hand and forearm from fingertips to elbow and the scars of use on the hilt added to its menace.
As they walked, Eigou motioned to a goatskin full of liquid attached to the side of the cart. “Take that and drink. We have a ways to go.”
Ilati nodded and unslung the container, lifting it then to her lips. It was beer, the staff of life, and soothed the ache in her throat. The dry heat of summer lost its grip on her tongue, but she had no urge to speak. It was enough to feel vitality slowly trickle back in.
The sun died on the horizon like an ember, consumed by the indigo of the night sky and the bright silver moon. Ilati’s rescuers kept her moving until they were hidden safely in a rock formation that blocked view from the north and east. A trickle of stream was all that remained of the Great Flood that carved the stones. The water quickly drew the mule’s attention.
Eigou mumbled something under his breath and snapped his fingers. A flame flashed into existence, burning in the air above his thumb. He set it down safely into a small pit that would conceal the light from sight of anyone looking from a distance and then swept dust towards it. The flame grew to become the size of a torch, though it consumed none of the dust.
Ilati looked from the fire to Eigou. “You are a sorcerer?”
“Some call me that, though I have little power beyond the glimpses I am given by the gods. A soothsayer more than a sorcerer. Now, for proper greetings: I am Eigou of Ulmanna. Your stalwart guardian is Menes, the finest charioteer of Magan.”
“And yet you are not in Ulmanna, nor you in Magan,” Ilati said softly. “What brings you so far from home?”
“We have our reasons.” Eigou studied her face in the firelight, every now and then casting earth onto the bare stones when the fire flickered down. Something about his stare gave Ilati the sense that he looked at her with two eyes: the living one remaining in his head and the ghost of the other. “I am more interested in you, priestess. It is not every day that the sacred river delivers me young women. Or perhaps it was the gods?”
“The river does as it pleases,” Ilati said quietly. “The gods abandoned Shadi and all its priestesses.”
The sorcerer rubbed along his jaw. “True enough, it seems.” He leaned back and stretched. His spine came back into alignment with a few pops.
Menes rolled out two bedrolls, then set about pulling out their provisions. He stacked stones close around the flame and then set a clay pot upon them, directly above the flame. Apparently the warrior was also something of a cook, as he added chunks of dried meat and grain to the water with a domestic comfort. He used a small bronze work knife to cut a few tubers and added them to the pot as well.
“What is your name, priestess?” Eigou asked.
She took off the veil she had worn as they walked, wiping around oozing bruises with careful fingers. “Ilati.”
Eigou grinned suddenly. “The granddaughter of Ilishu the Conqueror? Woe to the men of Nadar, for they have let a lioness slip between their spears.”
Menes looked up from his cooking, brow furrowing thoughtfully. “She looks like a woman, not a lion. Are you certain that she is the granddaughter of such a warrior?”
“I am certain, Menes. When you reach my age, perhaps you will have a fifth of my wisdom.” Eigou reached out, touching Ilati’s chin. He turned her head to the left and studied her face in profile. Again, he seemed to be looking at her with his empty socket just as much as his good eye. “I see much of him in your face, priestess. I hope there is much of him in your heart.”
A bone-deep stab of pain shot through Ilati’s chest. “My father thought so.”
The warrior considered that before speaking. “He should have given you a spear, then. Gods are only good so far as they can reach, but a weapon is always useful.”
Eigou chuckled. “Spoken like a warrior. What good would your weapons do against Nysra himself, the king of Nadar? You know as well as I that his skin can turn all blades, even gods-blessed bronze, that he may breathe fire if he so wishes and conjure forth lightning.”
Menes shrugged. “Perhaps throwing him off something?” He stirred the stew slowly over the heat. “You should tend to her wounds rather than chatter like a widow in the market, Eigou.”
The old man pulled out a bundle of herbs and a few clean linen rags. “They must not have known who you were,” Eigou said as he tended her wounds, checking over her battered body before starting on her face. It was all deep bruising or shallow lacerations and scrapes. “You are fortunate to have escaped.”
“They had their fill,” Ilati said bitterly. “I do not think they cared after that.”
Eigou knelt down at her side and turned her face so the light shone on the worst of the bruises. “So what do you intend to do, priestess?”
“Where is my temple? I am a priestess no longer.” She didn’t grimace as he worked, well aware it would hurt more.
“Her name could be dangerous to use, if you know her so well by it.” Menes’s voice was soft and cautious.
“You will find me far more knowledgeable of Kullah’s royalty than any hound of Nadar.” Eigou sighed slightly. “Still, you are not wrong. Around others, Ilati, you must wear another name. You are Hedu, a local woman married to Menes, at least until we are far from here. Now answer my question. What will you do?”
“I am a droplet against a dam. I have nothing.” She shuddered slightly as she gave her next thought voice. “Will they hunt me?”
“If there is one thing certain about the Nadaren, it is that their cruelty is only matched by their arrogance.” Menes unbelted his sword so he could take a proper seat by the fire instead of kneeling. “They will be certain that a little woman like you would die, both from wounds and the lack of food, or perhaps from the claws and fangs of beasts coming to feast on the carrion.” He studied Ilati for a long moment. “You could come with us. We were heading back to Sarru.”
Ilati shook her head slightly. “They will attack Sarru now that Kullah is theirs. That is no salvation.”
“In time, yes,” Eigou said as he added salve to her wounds. “Nysra is no fool. He will seek tribute from Sarru first. Perhaps he will even gain it. News of Shadi’s fate will spread like a horde of locusts, and that may bend the south to Nadaren power. Still, the world is a vast place, Ilati. There are many lands you could travel to where Nysra has no reach or influence.”
Resolve slowly crystallized in her heart. “That is not what I wish. No one should have to suffer at the hands of Nadar as I have suffered.”
“Brave words.” Eigou covered each wound with a bandage of cloth soaked in something that smelled like cedar. It had to be sorcery, because it felt as cold as the depths of the River Esharra. “You will need that courage for what comes next.”
“What is that?” Menes asked, frowning deeply.
Eigou’s eye flashed gold in the firelight. “We go into the desert. For what is coming, we will need power, and I know where to find that.”
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru. |
By K. Olsen
The three travelers rose just as the sun’s light peeked into the rock formation, falling across the red stone. Their hiding place was barely more than a gully, a hint of the mountains to the north from whence the River Esharra was born. Ilati felt calmer than the day before, some of the pain eased by Eigou’s medicine. She had cleansed the blood from her skin in a moonlit bath, but the sorrow was a shroud she could not shed.
“Nothing lives in the desert.” Ilati broke apart a piece of flatbread as she spoke, voice soft and hesitant. Hunger gripped her stomach with tight claws. The destruction of Shadi had taken some days, and she had not eaten for any of them. “That is what makes it a desert.”
Menes frowned in agreement. “Nothing more than serpents and scorpions. Besides, without a great store of food or water, how long can we expect to survive out there?”
“I have not lived this long through folly.” Eigou extinguished their magical campfire with a snap of his fingers. “We do not seek a serpent or scorpion, but rest assured that power dwells in the desert beyond sight of Kullah’s green.”
Ilati looked to Menes, whose misgivings seemed untouched by that pronouncement from Eigou. She felt the same doubts gnawing at her—the task the old man seemed set on was not one to be attempted by the wise. “Who are we to argue with a sorcerer?” she said reluctantly. “He must know the answer to many mysteries, even enough to enter the desert.”
Menes grunted at that. “It is the return I think of, not the entrance. The sands have consumed the hopes and bones of many who sought to cross them.” The warrior sighed and ran his hand over his shaved head. “Are you certain of this, Eigou?”
The sorcerer nodded. “If we are cautious, and Ilati brave, we will both reach what we seek and yet return.”
“Then let it be so.” Menes rose to his feet and packed away their bedrolls. He donned the leopard skin that he had slept on the night before, wrapping it around his body and letting the beast’s head cover his own. Such a hide no doubt served well as armor. “What do we seek, old man?”
Eigou stood up and stretched his back. “All will become clear in time.”
For her part, Ilati tried to give Menes a comforting smile as she considered Eigou’s words. “He certainly speaks in mysteries.”
“That he does,” the warrior muttered. “Let’s go, then. What are we to do for the mule, Eigou? He must drink as surely as us.”
“There is an oasis a short way into the desert, just before the great dunes begin. We will camp there and leave the mule to his water and grazing until we are ready to depart.” Eigou wrapped gnarled fingers around a twisted wooden staff. “This is a desolate place. No other traveler will come across our camp.”
The summer sun was brutal even in the morning. Heat distorted the very air around them into shimmers as they trekked away from Kullah’s green, painting mirages ahead in imitation of water. A wind picked up, sharp and abrasive across their skin. Fortunately, their leather sandals kept their feet from burning to cinders against the sand.
Eigou led them onward, never wavering from his eastern path.
None of them were truly strangers to the desert. Shadi was close and granted moisture only because of the sacred river. Magan was said to be desert, if rocky more than sandy, so Menes was untroubled. Ilati had not spent much time out in the sands, but she knew how searing the very air could become. She let the veil fall lower on her face and thanked Eigou silently for the cloth across her dark hair as it shielded her from some of the sun’s rays. The light stung her eyes without more than the smudged remains of the eyeliner her people used to combat it.
In her mind, she weighed the stories of the Desert of Kings. People whispered that powerful spirits dwelt in the desert beyond the reach of men. Some called them demons, howlers of the night winds whose evil eyes brought with them all misfortune suffered by the living. Ilati had never seen a demon, but she knew in every portion of her body that they were real. Only a fool would think otherwise.
She tried not to dwell on it, glancing up towards the azure sky. Without a wisp of cloud in sight, the day would be almost unbearable, but at least they had a soft breeze to cool them ever so slightly. Now if only her whole body would stop aching and burning as she moved.
When the sun reached its zenith in the sky, they stopped to rest under the merciful shade of a gnarled cypress tree, a rare sign of life without water. Its roots ran deep, deep enough below the ground to find some hidden reserve of water. “How much farther?” Menes asked, shading his eyes to look eastward.
“Not far,” Eigou promised. “We will reach it before the sun first touches the horizon.”
Ilati smiled faintly despite the agony of her injuries and the accursed heat. “That is good.”
The mule, no doubt part onager, seemed to share her relief. That said, the beast was not as troubled by the desert as she’d assumed. The ground here was largely flat and solid, easier for the beast to travel than the massive wall of dunes in the distance, stretching as far as the eye could see.
They pushed on, trekking across the burning ground, for what seemed to Ilati to be an eternity. Eigou’s promise was not empty, however: as the sun touched the horizon, a smudge of actual green beckoned to them, only noticeable if one knew it was there. The mirages disguised it well.
Menes sighed with relief as they approached the oasis. “I was beginning to worry you had gone senile, Eigou.”
Eigou grunted, adjusting the cloth covering his own head. None of them were showing more skin than they had to under the sun’s burning gaze. “Have I ever led you astray before, o leopard of Magan?”
“One may always begin.” Menes looked to Ilati, but lowered his eyes so they didn’t meet hers. “How are your feet?”
Ilati was attuned to every bruise her body held after hours of trudging. “They are the least of my woes. I am weary.”
The man of Magan reached out, steadying her with one large hand on her shoulder. His gaze evaded hers again, even when she tried to meet it. “Only a little further. Should you have a need for them, my arms are yours.”
She offered him a small smile, though it was hidden behind her veil. Where once she might have teased a man for such consideration combined with such bashfulness, she now fully appreciated it after the cruelty of Nadar. “Thank you, Menes. I hope not to weigh you down.”
With the promise of future rest at the forefront of their minds, they made good time. Lush grass and trees surrounded a glassy pool, more than enough water for the three of them and the mule for a long time. Eigou tended to the beast while Menes and Ilati lingered at the water’s edge. It was significantly cooler beneath the shade of the swaying branches of the date palms.
Ilati sighed in relief as she sat down among the grass. “So close to Shadi, I am surprised this place is not known to me. Is it cursed?” The idea didn’t bother her much when the alternative was marching through the desert.
“Forgotten.” Eigou released the mule from the cart. “I expect some in Shadi once knew of it, but those who did are dead now. To my knowledge, you are the only survivor of the city.”
The mule seemed content to graze, not even slightly concerned by his surroundings.
Menes was more watchful as he retrieved some dates from the nearest tree. He held them out to his companions before beginning his prowl about the camp. “So what are we here for, old man?”
“We seek a spirit loosed to race here as the wind, long before men were crafted by the gods. A creature of wilderness and passion unchained by civilization: I speak of the one called Ki-sikil-lil by the men of Kullah, but who names herself K’adau.”
Ilati tensed, a knot forming in her stomach. “You speak of the Mother of Demons. Why should we seek a creature so capricious and cruel?”
“Crueler than the gods who abandoned Shadi?” the sorcerer said, his gaze settling heavy on the young woman. “Nysra and his hounds have great magic. Only something so ancient and potent can protect you from those evils.”
“At what price?” she asked.
Eigou shrugged. “That is for you to decide with her, for you will go out into the desert in search of her. Every grain of sand in this place is hers. She will find you.”
Menes looked no more pleased with this idea than Ilati did. “This does not sound wise, Eigou. I have no wish to abandon Ilati in the desert to face a demon.”
“How am I even to sway Ki-sikil-lil to aid me?” Ilati only felt the knot in her stomach growing.
The sorcerer’s expression was as featureless as the desert sands as he studied her, only contours hinting at a nature beneath. “To be a priestess of Zu, you were yielding and gentle as a lamb, offering without ever asking. The Nadaren have taken that world from you. Now you must learn to shed such a nature like a snake leaves its skin and embrace new growth beneath. K’adau and the wilderness have many lessons to teach you, Ilati.”
She hardly felt reassured. “And if I do not convince her?”
“The Mother of Night Winds does as she pleases,” Eigou said with a shrug. “I cannot claim to know her mind. Take tonight and tomorrow to rest, but then you must set forth into the desert.”
Menes frowned. “Can I go with her?”
“No,” Eigou said sharply. “K’adau seeks out only the supplicant alone. Your presence might anger her and certainly will not tell her that Ilati has courage enough to face true danger.”
“This, Eigou,” Menes said bluntly. “This is why I do not like magic.”
“It is the way of things, welcome or not.” The old man settled down into the shade and plucked a reed. He drew his knife and started to whittle the stalk, creating a simple flute as he hummed a tune to himself. Soon he replaced the hum with the trilling of the little whistle.
Ilati found comfort in the music, as she had her entire life. Temple hymns or laborer’s songs were no different in that regard. It carried her to a better place. Eigou was an able player, so it was pleasant against her tired ears.
As soon as her memory turned homeward, carried by the music, her hands began to tremble. Shadi’s destruction burned in her thoughts like a column of flame.
Camp was quiet until almost dusk, even through dinner. Eigou and Menes felt no need to break her silence, giving Ilati space to sort through her words. It was more charitable than she’d expected. Her brothers were always quick to tease her out of her thoughts, whether she wished to speak with them or not. Now she would never hear Kia or Duga call out to her again. She closed her eyes, trying to find a happier memory to comfort herself in.
—Sunlight played across the surface of the water, reflecting the midday sun. “Duga!” she shrieked as her brother sprinted towards the river with her wrapped in his arms. They were just west of Shadi with a group of their friends. The idea of a dangerous world was far from their thoughts.
Duga grinned when she locked her arms around his neck. Now he couldn’t cast her into the water, but that was no difficulty. Her older brother took a running leap into the river with her still in his arms, landing with a huge splash. The water was a sudden shock of cold compared to the heat of the summer sun. He let go now that she was drenched, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips. “You looked heated. You needed the bath.”
Ilati splashed him. “You are a demon,” she said as scathingly as she could. Her anger never stayed for Duga or Kia, even though the twins were so often joined in mischief. She was always glad when they spent any time with her. As sons of a king, they had little time for even a sister.
“What about me?” Kia called from the shore with a grin.
The priestess waded towards him. “You are a beautiful soul.”
“But he’s the one who told me to drench you!” Duga complained. “Why am I the evil one?”
Ilati narrowed her eyes at Duga’s twin, who burst out laughing.
“How terrible her rage!” Kia hooted as she advanced. “Someday the world will tremble at her vengeance!”
Revenge was certainly the first thing on Ilati’s mind. “Shall I tell your wife of your cruelties, Kia? I am certain Damiq will repay yours with her own, may you sleep tonight beside your hounds.”
“It was only a dip in the water,” he said uneasily. Damiq was a beautiful woman, but she could be stern.
Duga chuckled. “And you say I am the demon…”—
Ilati opened her eyes when she heard the music stop. Eigou knelt before her, unrolling his bundle of healing herbs. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Wounds still must be tended, lest they turn foul.” The sorcerer’s lips pinched together for a thoughtful moment before he continued. “Besides, I had hoped that we might speak while Menes explores deeper into the oasis.”
The priestess nodded slightly.
Eigou unwrapped the bandages across her face, revealing livid bruises and broken skin. He moved carefully, but pain came even with care and some fresh blood welled as the scrapes were disturbed. “K’adau is a powerful spirit, Ilati. Perhaps more powerful than Zu herself and certainly more dangerous. You must be wary, and more so, you must be strong.”
“What will she wish of me?” Dread crept out from her stomach, spreading into her limbs. “I have nothing to offer.”
The old man daubed her bruises with that cold salve. It stung and then soothed. “I do not know.” He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed slightly. “I know that it is frightening, but it will only make you wiser. Remember the blood of a conqueror flows through your veins.”
Ilati leaned back as he finished his work with the salve, waiting for the bandages. Gratitude welled in her heart. “You knew my grandfather.”
Eigou nodded. “Better than most.” A hint of an old joy and respect flashed across his face as he wrapped her face with an expert hand. “A creature of pride and fire, fierce as a lion and protective as a hound. Ilishu was a man others did not even dare to hope they might rival. Truly the greatest of Kullah’s kings. For many years, I served him faithfully.”
“Yet I do not know you. How is this so?” Ilati hadn’t expected such a depth of admiration.
A shadow passed over Eigou’s joy and his voice switched to brusqueness. “Something better spoken of another time, perhaps. You should rest.”
Ilati caught his wrist to stop him from turning away. When he frowned at her, Ilati said, “I am sorry, Eigou. I did not mean to offend. You saved my life and for that I will be forever grateful.” She let go of his arm, hoping her expression was read as sincere.
He relaxed slightly. “You gave no offense.” He wrapped up his healer’s bundle. “The hearts of men can be dark. That is all.”
“I understand.” Ilati was bitterly aware of the evils that could be visited on a soul even without the influence of a demon. She felt it in the aches of her body, the bruises and rips that were a part of every inch of her being. The numbness in her chest wouldn’t last forever. Soon, she would shatter, and she doubted there would be anything left after that.
Eigou paused in his work and looked up at her. “Anything you desire of me, simply ask and I will honor your request. Menes would say the same, if he was one to speak.
The priestess leaned back against a date palm. “For a warrior, he seems gentle like a lamb.”
A chuckle tumbled from the old man’s lips. “To you. I have no doubt his foes find him far more ferocious. One can go a great many years and a great many strides without finding a man like him; he is a fast friend, whose affections do not fade as others’ do. Now get some rest, Ilati. Soon you must venture into the desert.”
She nodded, even though she knew her dreams would carry her back to Shadi’s ruin. Ilati moved over and settled into the bedroll laid out for her. It belonged to their warrior, but Menes had taken to sleeping on his leopard hide instead. The chill of the desert at night was considerable. Ilati was grateful for a blanket she could hide herself in.
Menes emerged from the palms and reeds, more relaxed than he had been. “We are the only souls who have been here, or if there were others, their tracks are long since gone. Eigou is right. We are not likely to be disturbed.”
Ilati pulled in a deep breath. “They will not come here?”
“We are safe from the Nadaren.” The warrior shrugged. “I think only of spirits coming upon us now, but I would wager that the old man can keep them at bay. Sleep while you can. On the road to Sarru, there will be bandits and Nadaren alike.”
The priestess nodded, struggling with her urge to shrink back from Menes. Being on the ground while he stood brought flashes of the beasts to her eyes. His dark skin served as a reminder that he was not of the people who had destroyed her life. Even his accent marked him as not such a man…or so she hoped.
Menes spread out his leopard skin near the fire and laid down. He rolled onto his back, looking up at the stars glimmering like dew on a veil. “Sleep well, Ilati. May you dream of better things.”
By K. Olsen
Menes scuffed at the ground like a restless bull as Ilati approached Eigou. The old man seemed intently focused on the clear waters of oasis, stirring them with a palm frond. Without looking up, their sorcerer spoke. “Are you ready to enter the desert?”
Ilati straightened up despite the pain through her body. If this was to be an audience with a god, she should meet it with the calm of a priestess, even though she felt more like a broken reed. “I am.”
“Good.” Eigou stood up and flicked the piece of palm frond into the water. “I will give you a skin that should hold you over for a day, perhaps longer if you are careful. Go into the dunes as far as you dare, Ilati, and see if she will speak to you.”
The priestess nodded. As far as you dare. Would anything short of piercing the heart of the desert itself impress the Mother of Night Winds? “Will you two be here when I finish?”
Menes nodded. “We will stay. Not forever, but long enough for you to enter and return.”
“If you do not die.” Eigou’s reminder sent a pang of fear through Ilati’s stomach. “We have talked away enough time. Go. We will keep our vigil here at the oasis and hope for your return.”
Ilati nodded when the old man handed her the smaller goatskin they had, filled with water. She slung it over one shoulder and tied it in place with a leather cord. It ached against her bruises, but it was the best way to carry it and keep her hands free. “If I do not return, pray for my people. No one else will offer them respite.”
She turned and limped into the desert, the oasis fading into mirage behind her with every step. The fabric she had used as a veil now covered her head as a scarf, worn loose around her shoulders to allow the movement of air. Eigou had given her water for a day, but she knew in her heart of hearts that only deeper would interest the wild goddess she was chasing.
Trudging through the loose sand felt more arduous than walking on packed earth and it did not help that she was climbing dunes, many of which rose like temples worthy of titans before her, almost a thousand cubits at their summits. They would have dwarfed even the greatest ziggurat of Shadi and the mere sight of one from standing at its base sucked the breath from her lungs. Once she reached the crest, she could follow along it to the peak and then along them, like great waves of earth frozen in eerie patterns. There was no sign of a serpent or scorpion, so she considered herself fortunate as she walked.
The heat was almost unbearable here. When she slipped and fell, she scorched her shins and hands, not to mention almost losing her water supply. All around the air shimmered and waved in the heat of the day. She had every intention of pushing as far as she could before resting.
Thirst was a demon that could not be exorcized. It burned in Ilati’s throat and mouth, consuming even her spit until it felt like her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. Only water cured it, and the less she drank, the more the thirst grew and grew, demanding more and more.
Ilati had lived in the temple shade for much of her life, and before her vows had played idly in Shadi’s vibrant gardens. Not once in her life before now had she been forced to contend with privation. She was the treasured daughter, groomed to rule the temple of the patron goddess of the birthplace of civilization. There was no room in that for hunger, thirst, or the punishment of damaged limbs and battered muscles.
The Desert of Kings, as unknowable in its own way as the surface of the moon or the depths of the ocean, was her temple now. With a cloudless, beautiful blue sky above and the temperature of an inferno baking her alive, Ilati still found herself feeling some little thread of hope. If she could just follow it, surely she would find something that would help her, no matter the thirst burning her throat or the hunger gnawing at her stomach. Her body still ached from several brutal beatings, the outline of hands now livid on her wrists and throat.
Her first day in the desert ended without ceremony, the sun sinking slowly behind the desolate dunes. She stopped to rest on the ridge of a true titan of a dune and watched in awe as the light striking the sand turned it red as blood.
A wind picked up after dusk as Ilati sipped at her meager water, racing across the dunes. It whipped sand around her, striking her with a biting chill. She slipped her scarf off her head and wrapped it around her shoulders. Even doing it, she knew that there was no way the fabric would be enough if it continued.
Soon she was lying on the top of the dune, clinging to the heat left in the sand as the desert winds howled, stripping away her comfortable warmth. She tucked the wrap and her goatskin of water under her head as a pillow and tried to sleep beneath a brilliant gibbous moon.
The desert had other ideas.
Eyelids heavy with sleep, it took Ilati a moment to realize that she was not alone here on the peak of the dune. She felt the stirring at her ankle and woke suddenly, twisting to see a scorpion scurrying up her leg.
Whether it was deadly or not, Ilati had no desire to feel its sting. She froze, forcing herself not to flinch or do anything that might provoke the scorpion. It was the size of her hand and the color of the sands around it. If she had been casting about with her vision, she would have been hard pressed to see it, but on her flesh, the eight legs were very apparent. Cold fear coursed through her body. There were many stories of magi who killed their enemies with scorpions just like this, though in the stories they were usually larger and dark colored.
This was in K’adau’s domain, so surely it would be deadly in the fearsome goddess’s image.
The creature paused on her chest with a twitching stinger, a strange collection of eyes evaluating her with a mix of suspicion and indifference. She was not a meal for it and the painfully even breaths she was taking were slow enough not to startle the creature into aggression.
A brief flick of its tail and it went on its way, scurrying down her arm and then down the dune in search of a prey it could actually consume.
For at least an hour afterward, Ilati lay awake with the skin-crawling sensation of its legs across her body. Scorpions were dangerous creatures and apparently not averse to approaching her. She didn’t loathe them, but she held little love for them.
They were so small, yet deadly. How was it that such a delicate looking creature could menace even fully grown men?
Ilati eventually slept, huddled on the dune’s peak. Her dreams ignited Shadi’s destruction all over again.
—“It will be simply done. Our army is twice theirs,” Duga said, his shoulders squared with kingly confidence. The lanky young man was eager to prove himself. Kullah had endured no wars since his father pushed back a roving incursion of Sut Resi barbarians from the south, the steppe nomads that constantly troubled civilized lands.
His twin nodded sharply, raising his chin. “If we break them at Gibil, we need not fear them here.”
“Very well,” the great Amar-Sin said, a slim man with threads of gray appearing in his coal-dark beard. Ilati’s father wore the armor and grandeur of a king well as he leaned back in his throne. A glimmer of uncertainty appeared in his eyes as he looked at his twin sons. “Return to me covered in glory. Return to me alive and unharmed, both of you.”
Duga and Kia both bowed to their father. “Have we ever disappointed you?”
He smiled faintly. “No. I will stay in command of the forces that will hold Shadi.”
Ilati stood quietly to the side, uncertainty knotting her stomach. “Is it wise to send them?” she whispered to her mother.
Queen Eresh stood regal and proud, perhaps more so than even her husband. Amar-Sin’s melancholies often left him ragged, where his wife was the steadying hand. “They are the sons of a king, Ilati. They must prove they are worthy to call themselves the children of Amar-Sin.”
Ilati plucked at the sleeve of her temple robe. “Do I have to prove it?”
Eresh turned to her daughter, exasperation at her lips. “Must I explain to you the difference between men and women, Ilati?”
The comment was so preposterous it almost made Ilati laugh despite her anxiety. She had been a priestess of the goddess of love for six years, and had opened her arms to both. “No, Mother, I know it well.”
“Then be still.” Eresh was legendary for her firmness and every syllable sat like carefully stacked bricks of fired clay, cut and chosen to make the strongest section of a wall.
She wanted to heed her mother, but there were dark, terrible words twisting in her thoughts. She heard more rumors of Nysra than anyone else at court and every insinuation left her dreaming a cold dread. Surely this would not be so easily won as Duga and Kia thought.
When her brothers left the hall, she followed them. She knew better than to try and reason with brash Duga. It was the younger twin who was more thoughtful. She caught Kia by his hand and pulled him back just before he could step into the private complex of the royal family.
“What’s wrong, Ilati?” Kia said, his brow furrowing at the sight of her worry.
“I am afraid for you. I am afraid that Nysra will be more dangerous than you think.”
Her brother put comforting hands on her shoulders. “He has already tried to wheedle a surrender out of us three times. He is no great king.”
Ilati forced herself to smile, but the impression it left was a falseness, an unease. “That was not the tone I would say his messenger took.”
“No. He was the soul of impoliteness.”
The priestess shook her head. “Duga should not have taken his head. Please don’t go, Kia. Your place is here. Who will defend us?”
“Father is here.”
Ilati squeezed her brother’s hand. “He has not been a warrior since he broke his knee hunting. Please stay, Kia. Do not leave me to chase death.”
“He is still a fine general.” Kia kissed her forehead. “Have a little faith, Ilati, and burn offerings for us every day that we are gone. Zu would not abandon her favored princes, no?” —
—the twins clustered closer to the deathbed of the great Ilishu the Conqueror himself, the fevered wreckage of the man who had united all the warring cities of Kullah and used their combined might to conquer the north and west, until on all sides the vast expanse of his kingdom had been bounded only by the sea and the great Desert of Kings.
They said when the gods cast Ilishu, they had broken their mold, for Amar-Sin was nowhere equal to the task of maintaining the great empire. Already grand Kullah was losing its luster like a stone touched by the evil eye, rebellions in various provinces heralding the end of the domination by the land between two rivers.
Age was the one foe Ilishu could not slay, though many suspected he would fall on his blade in the morning to choose the moment of his own death in defiance. Ilati was not old enough to really understand as she stood between her brothers, looking down at the weathered warrior now on his last breaths.
“He who would be my equal, where I have gone, let him go!”
They had. Like all living things would do at their end, the twins had followed their grandfather to the grave—
—Ilati stood at the threshold of the ziggurat with her fingers locked with her mother’s so tightly that their hands were white. Before them unfolded an inferno on all sides, the reeking smoke of torched fields and reed roofs unable to obscure the sight of the enemy’s soldiers flooding into the city on all sides. They had Shadi surrounded. There would be no escape. “Why are they doing this?” she said through numb lips.
“Does it matter?” Like a fresh flint, Eresh’s voice struck sparks. She gripped Ilati’s hand tighter. “They will come here.”
“What do we do?”
“Your father—“
A soldier sprinted through the open doors, wild-eyed and bloody. “The King is dead!” he wailed with a strangled cry, almost catching in his throat.
Ilati felt like she had been stabbed. She grabbed the soldier with her free hand, pulling him over. “Are you sure? How do you know?”
Tears streamed from his eyes. “I was beside him when the spear struck his throat,” the soldier whispered. “I am so sorry, Lady. I tried to stop the bleeding, but it was everywhere.” He raised his hands, still covered in fresh blood.
The light in the Queen’s eyes died. The love of Amar-Sin and Eresh would burn forever in legend, as it had outshone the sun in life. All that remained was the cold stone of the face of the Queen of Kullah.
Ilati pulled her motionless mother back to the sanctum, trying to stir any feeling left in her. “Mother, we have to do something while we can. Father wouldn’t want—“
“They will come for us, Ilati,” Eresh said, her voice hollow. “I will not be taken as some prize of war for Nysra. Neither should you.”
Before Ilati could even react, the gleam of bronze caught her eyes. Then blood, so much blood—
In light of the morning desert sun, Ilati wept. It was not the sweet tears of an overwhelmed lover, but the hacking sobs of those who died alongside their departed loved ones. The horrors of Shadi’s destruction were mocking demons who tormented her with vision and sensation alike. What had her people done to deserve such a fate? Where was Zu? Surely if nothing else, selfishness would have forced the goddess to defend her own temple? Her own priestesses?
When the war started, her father had said many times, Do not involve yourself, Ilati. It is so ugly and you are meant for beautiful things.
Now all Ilati had left to hold was ugliness.
It took her minutes of crying and rocking to realize that the water-skin she clung to in her sleep was empty. She would have to return to Eigou and Menes with nothing to show for her trek.
Ilati struggled up into a sitting position, sweeping away the tears. She looked back towards the west, away from the rising sun. Eigou and Menes were that way. She could struggle back and find them.
She sucked in a deep breath and scrubbed at her face with a dusty sleeve. Then she looked east, deeper into the great dunes. What did it matter if she died alone here? She had already lost everything.
Her only consolation was the feeble hope that K’adau could help her, but the goddess had not shown herself.
Why would she? You have walked a day and wept.
Ilati grit her teeth. If she had to die in the desert, to become just another set of bones consumed by the sands, if that was the best she could do, then she would do it. At least she would die with a purpose in her heart, not out of despair. The desert was her chance to change, to prove she was more than a discarded toy, to purge herself of hated Zu and every trapping of that life. The Nadaren had taken everything from her, but she would not die like a stone.
She turned east towards the heart of K’adau’s domain and strode deeper into the desert with all the confidence she could muster in her injured form.
I will stop Nysra or I will taste oblivion.
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru. |
By K. Olsen
To exist without water for days in the Desert of Kings was a torment beyond that any torturer could devise. She endured it for longer than most, but there was only so much a body could take. Her seconds stretched on, each one its own eternity.
The sands had ended stronger and wiser intruders. They made meek the gods of civilization and devoured armies. Nothing could step across them without paying a cost except those things that were already a part of them.
Forgotten was everything except the desert. Ilati crawled on her hands and knees across the burning sand, too dizzy and weak to stand. She was burned to blistering from the sun on the backs of her hands and her legs, but that was just a whisper of pain against the pounding in her head and the screaming fury of her own thirst. Cramps seized the muscles in her back and legs as she moved, slowing her progress even more. The world around her twisted and shimmered to her eyes as if the very substance of it was coming apart. She knew even through her haze to stay in the shade, but that was not going to save her.
She had no memory of how long she had been in the desert, nor how far she had gone, except that she had gone as far as she could. She barely even knew she was dying. Her throat and mouth burned with an unquenchable drought that robbed her of all sane thought.
All she wanted was for it to stop.
Ilati, daughter of King Amar-Sin, granddaughter of the most powerful king that had ever lived, crawled like a beggar through these titanic ziggurats of sand and wept dry tears. Her lips were cracked and abraded by windblown grit. There were no more brave declarations in her thoughts: oblivion was here, draining her dry one drop at a time.
She had space for only a wordless prayer, a desperate plea inside the pounding confines of her heart to the goddess of this desolate place. An end was all she wanted.
Wind scoured across Ilati’s face with a sudden force, cooling her feverish flesh. She looked up and saw her answer.
There, moving towards her like a cresting ocean wave, was a great wall of churning earth and wind: a sandstorm. Perhaps she wouldn’t die of thirst, but suffocate. What was it like to drown on land, lungs filled with sand? Or would it rip her apart instead?
At the top of the wall, purple-white lightning crackled from cloud to cloud. The stories said that sometimes the storms of the desert could be both sand and thunder. They were said to be the very expression of Ki-sikil-lil’s rage at her most towering.
She had no strength to run, not that it would have saved her anyway. Ilati pressed her face to the sand as if groveling in front of an enraged king as it approached, faster than even the waters of a flood, then covered her face with the scarf she carried. She closed her eyes and continued the only prayer she could manage.
Please, make it stop.
The wind hit her like a falling tower, knocking her back with its force. The sand was everywhere around her, scouring at her eyes and the cloth covering her nose and mouth. She stayed in her position curled up on the ground, aware distantly that the storm could carry things larger than just grains of sand with its howling winds. All sense of direction except the direction of the earth beneath her vanished. She screamed in a hoarse bark as it tore across her already damaged skin, but the storm drowned all hint of it out with the violence of its own roar. Then came the voice of thousands speaking at once, tearing through the sands.
“Hail Ilati of Kullah, Queen of Thorns, Lady of the Floodwaters.
Hail the Devastator, the Destroyer, who breaks chains and kingdoms alike in her teeth.
Hail the Exile who shatters the cages of her people.
Hail the Mother of Havoc who stirs the dead from Ersetu and sets mountains aflame.”
The words hit Ilati like blows, leaving her curled and rocking in the middle of the storm as disjointed visions tormented her at every turn. It would be so easy to die. All she had to do was remove the cloth. Then this would all be over.
Ilati dragged together her thoughts. She couldn’t voice them with the thirst or the brutal sands that blasted across her whole body. Please.
The winds responded like a thing alive, withdrawing from her until a column of clear air surrounded her. Beyond that tiny circle of safety, however, the sandstorm still raged. Ilati hesitated, then lowered her cloth. She spat out sand that had leaked past her imperfect covering. Trembling and weak, she forced herself back up to her knees with all the energy she had left.
The air shifted, a charge building, and she threw up an arm to guard her face. Lightning struck the ground dangerously near her, the after-flash in her mind a silhouette of a woman. Heat sizzled across the molten sand, glowing faintly in the darkness.
Ilati inhaled sharply in fear, but there was no smell of blood as the presence within the storm settled into the area. The bitter, aromatic scent of myrrh filled the air, mingling with something sweeter and alluring, some desert flower’s bloom.
Another bolt of lightning cracked with a thunderous boom, this time arcing purple from cloud to cloud above, and Ilati leaned forward as she knelt, placing her face to the sands in supplication and awe. It was in the silence after the thunder, perfectly audible without the need for Ilati’s ears, that the goddess spoke not with the growl of a beast, but with the midnight softness of owl feathers.
What do we have here?
Ilati could not speak with the dryness in her throat and mouth. She coughed out more sand, digging her fingers in the earth to try and center herself. The goddess’s power burned in her bones, overwhelming even above the howl of the winds.
To the priestess’s surprise, as she struggled to spit the sand so she could answer, moisture suddenly flooded back into her mouth and throat, a revitalizing sensation of drinking cool water without actually drinking. It spread into her stomach and then her limbs, slightly easing even the pounding in her head. She was still dying, but for a moment there was a reprieve, a stay of execution.
Speak, daughter of men. I wish to hear why you have persevered so far into my domain.
It took Ilati a long moment to collect herself. She sensed the goddess’s patience wearing thin, so she hurried as much as she could to speak. “My city is slain, my city destroyed, my body tortured by the evils of men. I came here seeking you.”
Woe such as this is terrible indeed. The presence seemed to flow around her, stalking like a great predator amongst the storm. Here and there, smaller crackles of lightning jumped across the sands or flashed high in the clouds, rumbling as only an omen from a god could. Lament to your own gods, woman of sorrow. I am no consolation.
“The gods of Kullah abandoned my people. Even beloved Zu fled the hounds of Nadar with no thought to those who sang her praises.”
You were such a one. The goddess’s voice curled knowingly around Ilati’s shoulders, brushing against her back like delicate claws. Have you come here to die? Surely you know that such is the fate of those who intrude upon my domain.
Ilati looked up, face crusted with dirt and sand. She had never been further from privilege in her life. “Where I am going, I will need a goddess. One who will not abandon me.”
You do not understand my nature, o daughter of men.
The dying priestess pushed back. “Who might? Ki-sikil-lil is a mystery, known only as wild and wicked.”
As well I am. The voice seemed closer now, echoing inside Ilati’s own beating heart. You truly wish for my aid?
Ilati nodded.
Unseen, sharp nails scraped along Ilati’s cheekbone, just barely short of breaking skin. The next words mixed scorn and a sharp, sardonic humor. Zu’s love is that which tames. She lured the stallion to whip, gave sheep a gratitude for being shorn, and for lions she dug seven and seven pits, all in the name of men. Her love sets husbands and wives in their places and stills mewling children. Her priestesses offer pleasure in the gentle arts and in all things, she is as yielding as the soil of the sacred riverbanks. For this, men sing her praises. The voice paused and then returned even more sarcastic in its mocking tone. How sweet of her.
Ilati went to move and found herself caught by the flash of leonine eyes in the darkness as lightning crackled above, the vision there one moment and gone the next. “What of you?”
I am not Zu, my poet. I am the fire that burns, the lightning of the tempest, the howl of the night winds. I offer not contentment, but power. Is that what you desire?
Ilati looked back in her mind’s eye to the sacking of Shadi before she answered. “Yes.”
If you wish my aid, know that I will offer it in my own way. The suggestion of sharpness stroked her cheek. Accept my love and one day you will sing my praises in the place of Nysra’s gods. On that day, you will belong to me, to anyone, no longer.
“You wish a priestess?” No story had ever claimed Ki-sikil-lil wanted veneration, only the seed of men to birth more monsters, only the outcasts of women to become her daughters.
The storm rumbled like a laugh. I desire you and all that you are. That is my price. Are we agreed?
Ilati took a deep breath. This was no small thing and it would be so drastically different from the distance of Zu. She found her resolve quickly. “My name is Ilati, Mother of Demons, and if that is your price, know all I am is yours.”
Then know my proper name, not that which men have given me. I am K’adau. Lightning cracked when the goddess spoke her name, and the illumination of the after-flash again painted the image of a woman, this time far closer.
Ilati bowed her head deeper.
If this is the bargain you would strike, kiss me and taste what it is to be wild.
Ilati didn’t understand. The presence was still intangible, unknowable. She just nodded foolishly.
A sudden heat hit her lips, searing like the heat across the sand where the lightning had struck. There was a flash behind her eyes and the smell of the storm flared around her body. An unseen force gripped her face with pointed claws, holding her still. You will carry my marks until the end of your days, to remind you of this covenant and to remind you that you are Zu’s no longer. K’adau dragged her claws across the poet’s face, earning a cry from Ilati. The deep gashes dripped blood like tears and the priestess sobbed in pain. When she heard K’adau speak again, the voice was gentle, like the purr of a cat. Shh. I will soothe as I have hurt. The presence enveloped Ilati and her wounds knit closed with a throbbing pain that eased in seconds.
Water pooled in the sands before Ilati, held to the surface by K’adau’s power. She saw her own reflection dimly, bloody and haunted. It was hard to even look at those fresh scars, dark red and angry, marring the beauty Zu had given her at birth. She had to trust that K’adau had her reasons.
Wash.
Ilati obeyed and rinsed her dirty scarf in the water. She tried to remove most of the sand from the fabric before using it to wipe the blood and dirt from her face. As she did, the rest of the filth faded from her body. She was clean and strangely renewed.
So long as you walk the desert sands, you need never fear thirst. Return to your companions with my power slumbering in your chest, with this promise ringing in your ear: I am not Zu. I will not abandon you, so long as you honor my name.
Ilati touched the scars across her face. “I will never forget this.”
A lioness slipping through the spears of men indeed.
K’adau’s power disappeared as quickly as it had come and the storm died around Ilati until it was only a slight stirring across the sands. Even the thunder and lightning subsided and a gentle rain pattered down on the sun-scorched lands around her.
Ilati started her long walk back towards the camp. She could follow the setting sun to the west, her body slowly returning to what it had once been. Each step came with more confidence and strength since the last.
It took her several days to find the oasis, since there were no tracks of hers to follow. The heat was no longer unbearable, only invigorating. The thirst was gone, though hunger still twisted in her stomach. Her bruises and other injuries were as healed as the ones to her face, so she could keep a much faster pace than she had before.
The sign of a fire glowing beneath the trees of the oasis gave her hope. Ilati pressed on as quickly as she thought she could manage for a length, moving more easily as the dunes grew smaller and smaller. Sunset was just beginning as she reached it and she saw two figures stir from the fire. Ilati held still at the edge of the oasis to give them the opportunity to decide if she was real or not. "Eigou! Menes!”
“Ilati? You live?” Menes leaped up in surprise, eyes wide as he took in the figure coming out of the desert. He went to approach, but a weathered hand on his shoulder stopped him.
Eigou tapped his own cheekbone beneath his empty eye socket. “Let me have a look at her first. Even in the day, one must be wary of spirits in the wild places of the world. It could be Ilati, or a demon wearing her form. After so long…”
Ilati froze at those last words. How long had she been gone? She glanced over to see everything neatly packed in the cart. They were prepared to leave, and there was a great deal of earth disturbed by pacing—no doubt Menes in action. The priestess held her arms out from her sides and made no other moves or sound as Eigou advanced.
The sorcerer dipped his fingers in a pouch on his belt as he approached, pulling out a pinch of something. “It certainly looks like her, Menes,” the sorcerer said, gazing at her with his ghost of an eye more than his surviving one. He stopped only a few paces away and cast the contents of his hand at her. Grains of a white crystal struck her over her heart.
Ilati furrowed her brow as she looked down at the grains. She didn’t know what Eigou had just done to her, but he seemed as pleased as a kitten with a belly full of milk. The old man beamed at her.
“I knew it! Welcome back, Ilati.”
“What did you just throw at me?”
He pulled out a few more grains from his pouch and held them out to her. “Pure salt, taken from the sea itself. Such a thing is well known to wound demons. I cannot say that it would deter K’adau, but her children most assuredly.” He looked her up and down. “Those scars…but you are alive!”
Ilati sighed in relief as the reality of her return sank in. Part of her still felt like it was in the desert, in that mystical twilight between life and death, but slowly she was returning to this world. “How long was I gone, Eigou?”
Menes approached with a leopard’s hunting tread. “Twelve days.”
“You stayed?” Ilati blurted out. She knew no one who had lived so long in the desert without water. I should have died four times over, perhaps five. The Mother of Night Winds was most generous when she gave me back my life.
“I insisted,” Eigou said, spreading his hands wide. “I thought you were meant for too great a purpose to die in the desert. It seems I was correct.”
Ilati’s face hardened even as a little kernel of suspicion formed in her chest. It would take time to get Eigou to tell her more, she knew that much. Still, she could think of only one purpose. “The ruin of Nysra.”
The coal-skinned warrior shook his head. “That is no small thing. He wields an army without equal. You know better than most what devastation he can wreak. We would need the hosts of many kings to turn him back.”
She lifted her chin and looked directly into his dark eyes. Menes lowered his gaze almost immediately. “I know perfectly. I will not allow Nysra to wreak more grief, more broken hearts, more corpses. Let the ashes of Kullah choke his fire until it burns no more.”
Eigou squeezed Ilati’s shoulder with one hand. “What did I tell you, Menes?”
Menes bowed his head and directed his gaze towards Ilati’s feet. She had never seen a man so submissive before, a reminder that he was different from Nadar’s hounds. “War is no place for a woman,” he said quietly, “but perhaps it is a place for a desert lion. You have much to learn, Ilati. If you wish, I will teach you what I know of combat.”
“You surprise me,” Ilati said.
“Clearly I cannot keep you from battle.” Menes shrugged slightly. “It would be wrong of me to send you without a spear and shield. Allow me some time to prepare.”
As Menes walked back to the fire, Ilati ran her fingertips across the scars on her face, lingering on the twisted mark across her cheek that tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Eigou shook her shoulder slightly. “I know what you are thinking and I have an answer.”
“Speak, soothsayer,” Ilati said, more a tease than a serious command despite her weighty thoughts.
“Beauty has many forms. Not all of them are as readily apparent as what Zu prizes.”
Ilati let her hand fall away from her scarred face. His accuracy was unsettling. “Perhaps.”
“Some truths grow with time,” Eigou said. “Now, what gifts did K’adau place upon your brow like a wreath of fronds?”
The priestess brushed some of her dark hair back behind one ear. “A question for the ages. She did not say, other than that I would not thirst in the desert.”
“Well, then we had best begin finding out with speed. Nysra will not sit idle.” Eigou put an arm around her, guiding her back to the fire.
Ilati’s thoughts lingered in the desert. “What would be a proper offering to make to the Lady of Tempests? It is better to appease a god and it would only be right to thank her for her blessing.”
“Those who are wise and seek to win her favor use flesh and blood as their offerings, befitting a god whose home is the untamed. She scorns the fruits of civilization and rebukes those who offer thoughtless things so suited to other gods.” Eigou took a seat by the fire and picked up a handful of sand.
Ilati drew a line across the inside of her arm with one finger, thinking hard. “When we have gone to the edge of the desert, I will make my farewell.”
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil |
By K. Olsen
“You took the most difficult step in the path of a warrior, Ilati, though not by choice.” Menes tended to the mule as he spoke. They were back in tamer lands, the sun of the seventh day since her return from the desert just now beginning to set. They had stopped among the sea of thick grasses and mud in the vacant remnants of a farmer’s house. Around the other side of the hut, Eigou performed rough funeral rites for the dead after chasing off the scavengers and digging them proper graves. Both Menes and Eigou insisted that Ilati not go near the dead.
You have seen enough death for a hundred lifetimes and you will see much more before this road is at an end, Eigou had told her quietly. Better that you not see more than you must.
Ilati drew up water from the well, pulling the rope tied to a wide-mouthed clay vessel. Fortunately, the water source seemed untouched. “What step is that?”
Menes’s dark gaze touched her face for a moment and then abruptly moved away. “You saw the face of war. You heard the thunder of crashing hosts and saw the river of blood that is a true battle. That is not something many daughters of a king can say.”
Visions of the horrors of Shadi’s destruction flashed behind her eyes. He could not smell it, but the stench of blood and death filled her senses until she felt she would vomit. “I felt it as the waters of a flood.” The priestess tried not to show how deeply the memories still affected her.
Menes frowned, a hint of confusion in his eyes. “Waters bring life.”
“In Magan, yes.” Ilati lifted the vessel of water. She was not strong after a life in the temple, at least not in her arms, but she knew how to attend to the task. “Stories say your great rivers are slow and sweet even when they swell beyond their banks, that the sacred waters your gods have gathered for you flow through the desert like a queen proceeding through her city’s streets. It is not so in Kullah.”
“The Esharra seems slow enough. You survived its embrace.”
The priestess poured the water into a mud-brick trough for the mule. “It is not always so. The gods often punish mortals, and if they are angered fiercely enough, they open the heavens and devastate the harvest with a flood, beginning at the feet of the great peaks and destroying everything in its path. Whole cities have vanished, even their streets and foundations washed away so completely that one could stand where once there was a ziggurat and see nothing in all directions except mud and grasses.”
Menes glanced towards the east, where the River Esharra coursed. “That explains you.”
Ilati furrowed her brow. “What does that mean?”
The warrior held up his hands. “I mean no offense. It is just that to live in the shadow of such a wrath would take great courage, when any may offend the gods with impiety and cause the destruction of a whole city. It…I can scarcely imagine it.”
Approaching from the direction of freshly dug graves, Eigou brushed soil from his hands. Even stone-stomached as he was, his grim expression made it clear that he had not enjoyed dealing with bodies left exposed beneath the summer sun and savaged by beasts. “The unfortunate are at rest.”
“The follies of the Nadaren are as numberless as the sand grains in the Desert of Kings. To simply abandon the dead to rot invites the attacks of vengeful spirits.” Menes shook his head. “Fools.”
Eigou nodded thoughtfully, a gleam flashing in his eye as some thought occurred to him.
“I do not like that face of yours when it is so, Eigou,” Menes muttered with a deep frown.
The sorcerer shrugged, his faraway look vanishing. “Something spoken of another time. Ilati, are you ready to begin your instruction with me? You may sit at Menes’s feet tomorrow. This evening, I think it would be best to start at the beginning.”
Ilati patted their mule’s neck. She was not used to the company of such animals, but despite his smell and stubborn disposition, she was developing a fondness for Ankhu. “I am ready.”
“Good,” Eigou said, rubbing his hands together. “Menes, we leave the beast in your capable hands.”
“I hope you do not intend to go far.” Menes looked around cautiously as he spoke. “We do not know if the Nadaren remain nearby.
The sorcerer gestured to a lonely date palm just inside the low wall of mud bricks designed to stop livestock from straying, as far away from the graves as one could go while staying within the wall. “Only there. I merely respect your disdain for magic.”
A sigh slipped from the warrior’s lips. “Very well. I will tend to the hearth and Ankhu. There may be supplies in the house to replenish our stores of food, if we are fortunate. I do not know how much the Nadaren might have taken. Be wary.”
Menes’s warning ringing in her mind, Ilati followed Eigou to the solitary palm. Someone had molded the earth around the tree into a small slope with the plant in a hollow, creating a shaded space to sit. It was a wonderful feeling, to sit down after a day of walking at a swift pace. Both Eigou and Menes told her the exertion would teach her strength and endurance. That did not, however, mean she enjoyed it.
“What do you know of magic, Ilati?” Eigou eased himself down onto a seat across the hollow from her.
Ilati considered her answer carefully. “I have seen the blessings of the gods, and many diviners knelt before the throne of my father.” What little good their prophecies did…
“There are many paths to power. Some entreat gods to lend them their heavenly strength, others conjure and bind demons, still others cast oracles and pursue dreams, and even a rare few craft their own. It will be the last of these that we begin with, the mother of all others. Even if you learn to harness K’adau’s power eventually, she will most reward you if your own power makes you worthy.”
The priestess pulled in a deep breath. “How?”
Eigou smiled faintly. He seemed quite pleased to have a pupil. “Perception. Priests do not train such a thing, so they rely upon revelations, scratching in the dust for crumbs of wisdom scattered by their gods. Those of us who stand beyond such circles must learn to rely on ourselves. Gods are only good as far as they can reach.”
“Nadar’s gods reach far,” Ilati said as bitterness welled in her throat.
“But not everywhere. Kullah may be destroyed, but the wilderness remains untouched. I am certain you have an inkling of your mistress’s power. The Nadaren gods are as arrogant as their followers, but even they would not dare trespass into her wilderness.”
Ilati found hope in that, some measure of relief easing the worst of the pain in her chest. “So what does perception gain me?”
Eigou studied her, the gaze of his empty eye socket somehow more unsettling than the piercing gold of his good eye. “If one sees nothing, one learns nothing. Once you have learned how to clear your mind, I will show you what I intend for you to learn and master.”
“How am I to clear my mind, Eigou?” She knew what happened when she tried to sleep. Why would this be any different? Death hounded her like her own shadow. It was a merciful surprise that Eigou hadn’t noticed it and told Menes to drive her out with stones.
Then again, she was certain Eigou was a man with dark shadows of his own. It was one thing to see many deaths in one lifetime, as most did, but Ilati had heard many stories of her grandfather, including from the man himself. In his lifetime, Ilishu had united all the warring cities of Kullah, conquered many lands in the north that were now Nadar’s, and broken three separate invasions of nomadic hordes sweeping up through their neighbors before bringing to heel Sarru and Sebet. Surely Eigou had seen many wars at her grandfather’s side.
In the days of Ilishu, all four corners of the world bowed to the jewel that was Shadi. All stones lost their luster under the erosion of desert sands, however, and theirs had faded even before Nadar’s assault. Kullah withered after Ilishu’s death, though the land between the two rivers stayed strong and connected. Her brothers were meant to be the rising stars destined again to bring the power of the old days…or had been.
No more.
“Deep breaths, Ilati. Take them in slowly and let them go the same.”
She tried to push the thoughts away as she focused on her breathing, but the horrible memories dug in their claws like demons.
I will not be taken as a prize of war for Nysra. Neither should you.
Ilati heard herself weeping for her mother. Her eyes were dry now, but she still knew the animal choking noises. Her breathing stuttered when her thoughts coursed to her brothers. Had they died in battle? Were they captured and tortured until they could take no more, as Nadar so loved to do to their captives? Had Nysra’s soldiers dragged them to the seat of the dark king himself and fed their essences to his magic?
“Ilati, you are shaking. Listen to the sound of my voice. Do not follow this jackal of thoughts into its den.”
The priestess’s throat was closing, suffocating her. Her thoughts rampaged through her mind. She could see them with her eyes closed, in the dark and miserable Ersetu wearing cloaks of feathers, chewing on dust and weeping bitter tears. They were dead, cut down in the prime of their lives, and nothing she could do would ever bring them back.
The gods were cruel, clustering around sweet offerings like flies and drinking in the golden songs of their priests, but when that no longer pleased them…Kullah’s destruction was the end.
“Ilati.” Eigou crushed her hand in his grip. “Look at me.”
She opened her eyes, but the suffocation still wrenched tightly in her chest and throat.
His golden eye glared into her with gimlet focus. “Breathe.”
The tone of voice reminded Ilati of her grandfather, a man who demanded nothing short of perfect obedience from the world around him. She gasped and air flooded into her lungs as a sweet relief.
Eigou commanded her to breathe four more times before she could do it on her own. Once she was better, he sighed. “I know this rules your nights, Ilati. Do not allow it to steal your days too.”
“What choice do I have?” Her rough breathing left her voice ragged.
“There is always a choice. Fear and anger are your greatest foes, not Nysra and his army. Both will rob you of your mind and your power if you let them.”
Ilati took another steadying breath. Eigou had been right about things so far. Surely this too he knew better than her, as one who had lived to the age of gray. “I do not know if I can empty my mind, Eigou.”
“A child does not rise from crawling to walking in a single day. First we will begin by training you to focus on a single task until eventually it becomes all in the world. This too can help hone your perception. That will lay the foundation bricks.”
Ilati resolved to take any task Eigou set her to as seriously as she had taken the duties of priesthood. “What shall I do?”
“A task Menes will approve of: fostering strength in your body. Go to the well. You will haul up as many buckets as you can, lowering them again once they reach the top. Focus on the way it feels in your body, which muscles move, the smell of water and wet earth, the exertion of the motions.” Eigou rose to his feet and helped her up. “Mastery of your heart will come, Ilati. Remember to breathe.”
Ilati nodded. She felt weak as she walked to the well, drained from her thoughts of death. She said nothing as she started her task. Better to just do as Eigou bade her to and hope she could survive it. The rough rope bit into her hand as she pulled again and again. She timed each breath to dwell between pulls and pushed her thoughts towards the burn of exertion in her muscles. The heat of the summer sun bore down on her dark hair and weary shoulders. Soon sweat beaded on her forehead as she worked and made her wish fervently for a cool bath. She did not care for dirt. Still, she kept to her task even when it hurt her hands and strained her back.
She had no idea how long she was there, repeating the motions, her mind following her breath. She stopped when the rope pulled her to the edge of the well and she almost lost the bucket. Ilati tied the rope off and looked down at her stinging hands. Fresh blisters covered her palms and fingers.
“How do you feel?” Eigou asked as he approached with a small jar of salve.
“I endure.” Ilati’s breathing came ragged from exertion more than emotion, which was an improvement. The pain she felt was physical.
“You are not weeping,” Eigou said approvingly. “That is better than most would expect from a temple priestess turned loose to labor.”
She brushed her hair out of her face before he could apply the salve to her hands. “I wept my last tears into the River Esharra.”
Eigou gently applied the salve. It felt cold, but soothed her hands almost immediately. When he looked up from her hands, his expression was so deep with sorrow that she felt she was gazing into the Abyss itself. His words stayed caught behind his teeth, but for a long moment, Ilati saw the troubles in his soul almost pour out. He looked back down at her hands, neatly bandaging them in linen. “The blisters will heal quickly,” he said in his normal, firm tone. “Until then, go carefully around them.” He seemed back to his customary self as he took a step back.
Menes poked his head out of the small house. “It seems the Nadaren were not as careful about their looting as others might be. The beer has been taken and most of the food is gone, but there was a jar of grain hidden behind a loose brick.”
“Well, they are not here to make use of it and I think their ill will towards the living will be laid to rest as their bodies were.” Eigou followed Menes into the house with Ilati at his heels. “We will have enough food to reach the next town.”
“That will be a perilous proposition,” Menes muttered. “Nysra’s edict destroyed Shadi, but it also subjugated all lands of Kullah. Even beyond where the army ran rampant, there will be many Nadaren soldiers.”
“The further we go from Shadi, the less Ilati’s identity will cause alarm. Those scars have done much to change her appearance. The Nadaren are not likely to peer too closely.”
“Where are we stopping?” Ilati asked.
Eigou scratched at his beard. “A place called Aham-Nishi. It is a trade town. I suspect there will be tension with the Nadaren, mostly because the Sut Resi often pass through and have little use for such conquering armies. I suspect Nadar will have its hands full if it tries to subjugate their lands.”
“They are quite the warriors,” Menes muttered. “Sebet is fortunate and unfortunate to have them on their border. Not that Kullah was immune to their raids either.”
Ilati had heard much of the nomad warriors who made their homes in the wild countries, more bonded to their horses than any civilized folk could understand. The stories were not flattering. It was said that the Sut Resi ate raw meat and were forever filthy, coated in mud and the sweat of horses. They spoke in vulgar words and would quarrel to the point of blades over nothing. Her father had warned her brothers that they were extremely dangerous and never to be trusted.
How much of that was true remained to be seen.
“Will we have trouble with them?” Ilati asked.
“With the Sut Resi?” Eigou shook his head slightly. “Not unless we seek it. They are proud, warlike, and vicious, but seldom do they strike below them. There is no honor in defeating the weak. Menes will need to mind his manners more than ever before, but you and I will be safe so long as we do not directly insult them.”
“They might be allies.” Menes stretched as he settled in by the small hearth and set about cooking. It was a woman’s task, but he seemed to enjoy it and had not asked Ilati to do it instead. “Though perhaps as dangerous to us as to the Nadaren.”
Eigou winced. “I think it would be easier to catch seven cats by their tails, lash them to a sledge, and drive them forward a hundred miles.”
“We will see,” Ilati said. She was not going to discard Menes’s suggestion out of hand. “If nothing else, perhaps they can be a shield or shelter from the Nadaren.” She flashed Eigou and the charioteer of Magan a half smile. “They cannot be crueler than the hands that devastated Shadi. I think we should seek them out and speak with them.”
“Very well.” Eigou leaned back in his seat and rolled his shoulders. “Tomorrow, though, we will think more of magic.”
Menes made a grumbling sound, but Ilati nodded. Despite the burning of the blisters on her hands, she wanted to soak up every drop of wisdom the sorcerer had like the rain-starved earth.
She would not be a victim to the Nadaren ever again, not if she had any power at her fingertips.
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil |
By K. Olsen
“We still have some days until we reach Aham-Nishi,” Menes said as he buried the ashes of their fire from the night before. “I think it would be wisest for me to scout the road ahead and then return.”
“Are you certain?” Ilati rubbed her eyes. She was still tired, but Eigou’s lessons had done much to exhaust her into dreaming and thinking of nothing. The blisters on her hands had all but disappeared thanks to the sorcerer’s medicine. So far, Eigou’s efforts to open her perception, that inner eye, had failed. It was hard not to be discouraged, but he insisted that she would need time.
Eigou set a skin of water down beside them. They had made progress away from the River Esharra, but the land between two rivers was full of marsh and creek-threaded landscape. They were never far from water in Kullah, a boon to farmers and hunters alike. Thick green grass crowded around them on all sides, tall as a man’s midsection. It had helped to hide them the night before by concealing both their bodies and their fire. “I think the suggestion is a good one,” the sorcerer said. “Ilati and I will wait here. Do not engage any bandits, Menes. Better we go around than risk injury.”
Menes nodded as he pulled on his leopard skin and then belted on his bronze sword. “I will be careful. Keep your heads down. We are not far from the road and any could come upon our camp if given a hint to search.”
“I assure you that we will be well behaved,” Eigou said, a glint in his golden eye.
The warrior grumbled something under his breath as he turned away. Menes vanished into a copse of small date palms, trying to find a more hidden path.
“Now that he is away, I have a lesson for you.”
Ilati frowned. “Why does he always absent himself when you have a lesson?”
Eigou sighed at that question. “Menes has suffered much at the hands of magic, though the practitioners of his homeland rather than people like you or I. He seldom sees much of a distinction, however.”
“What happened?”
“That is not my secret to tell, Ilati. Let us focus on your own power and trust our leopard to hunt out any sign of trouble.” Eigou steepled his fingers and then tapped them against his lips. “I have a different idea for accessing the world of spirits.”
Curiosity caught Ilati’s tongue. “How?”
His expression kept the same composure that she had seen before going into the desert, unreadable to even her trained eyes. “What do you know of true names, Ilati?”
The priestess ran her fingers through her hair, breath coming out in a sharp sound of something approaching fear. “I know that they are powerful and can be used in spells. Any priestess knows that invoking the name of a god is central to treating with its heavenly might.”
Eigou inclined his head slightly. “This is so. Gods, however, are wise enough to protect their true names. They give those that supplicants can use and keep their nature hidden close to their hearts. For the moment, it is most useful for us to turn our eye to the nature that surrounds us. All things, in the world of the physical and the world of forms, have names that are the summation of everything that they are.” He plucked a blade of grass and twisted it between his fingers. “What is this, Ilati?”
“Grass.”
“And what does such a name tell you about the nature of the thing?”
Ilati considered the question carefully. “It tells me that it is a plant of a particular type with a particular sort of use.”
“A category imposed by men, no different than a birth name given by parents. Both are less than useful, as neither have any true knowledge of the subject.” He flicked the blade of grass at her and then turned his attention to another growing blade of grass, surrounding it with the circle of his thumb and forefinger. He leaned close to it lovingly and parted his lips to speak.
Ilati froze at the sound that issued forth. Eigou made a noise that rippled outwards in the air like a stone cast into a still pool and for a moment, the grass glowed like a comet at the center of her mind, shimmering with life and light.
—her roots digging into soft earth, leaves stretching up to greet the heat of the sun. Within dozens of little segments, endless tiny changes cycling in little pulses, fueling the rise of her body. Fragile, ephemeral, but hardy and growing all the same. She understood every fiber of her being, every unwritten law that guided her to being not a mere piece of grass, but a reflection of a whole vibrant spirit. She was not a blade of grass, but the idea bound to her form, an intersection of divine will and physical space—
The sensations vanished in a second, leaving Ilati stunned into speechlessness. Her eyes fixed on the blade of grass, even as the glow faded away. “What was that?”
Eigou scratched at his beard and smiled. “A taste of the understanding that comes with true names. I am pleased you took to it as well. I suspect all your training as a priestess makes you more sensitive to such incantations.”
Ilati managed to catch her breath and pull her wits together. “But true names are control, not just understanding.”
“Even knowing a name, it takes understanding to use it. You could not, say, manipulate a whole field without knowing the grass well. Invoking a harvest god is much easier, for they might do such a task for you.” Eigou shrugged a little. “Better that you come to appreciate and understand this, as K’adau will intervene only when she wishes and I know little of predicting her whims.”
“How do you learn the names?”
Eigou tapped below his empty eye-socket. “That is where perception comes in. Many names can be unearthed by careful study, though in the case of spirits, one might have to ask or force them to reveal their true nature.”
Ilati sighed. “That is a more difficult task than you think.”
“Nonsense. Simply look.”
“Cheap advice from one with an eye that is already a spirit.” Ilati looked back down at the blade of grass. It seemed as simple a thing as it had been before Eigou spoke its name.
“This is not something that happens immediately, Ilati,” Eigou said. “This will take patience, dedication, and time to develop.”
She knew he was right, but it didn’t help the knot in her stomach. Nysra had already mastered whatever magic it was that he had at his command. Every day she floundered was a day he could further ravage the world without interruption. “What kind of magic does Nysra use?”
“Truthfully?” Eigou asked.
“Yes. Entertaining lies are not helpful.”
Eigou rubbed the back of his neck. “I am not certain if it is a pact with his dark gods or name magic. Perhaps it is both.”
Ilati bit her lower lip as she considered that, running a finger along the deepest of the scars, that stretched down her cheek and pulled at the corner of her mouth. “What do you know about Nysra?”
The sorcerer settled in to sit more comfortably, leaving the blade of grass he had been focused on alone. “That is a mired question. There are many stories about the King of Nadar.”
“But what is the truth?”
Eigou shook his head slightly, smiling. “Who can say? I can tell you the story most popular in Nadar.”
“I will hear it.”
“In the days of Ilishu, Nadar was a captive kingdom, subjugated just as all the other four corners of the world were by the greatest king of Kullah. At the birth of his own son, Ilishu put to death the old royal line that had done their best to spite them and imagined that was the end of it. One of the princesses, heavy with child, fled with hunters on her tracks. She lived just long enough to give birth to a baby boy, but one she could not protect. So she made him a basket of reeds and set him adrift on the Zarkassa River, praying to their gods that he be saved.”
Ilati curled her arms around her knees, pulling them to her chest as she listened. Eigou wasn't the greatest of tale-tellers, too to the point, but she appreciated the story still.
“They say a humble shepherd found the baby and raised him up to a man. He learned how to fight by protecting his flock from dangerous beasts in the foothills of the mountain. One day, though, the shepherd told him of his mysterious origins and the young man set off to follow the river to its source and perhaps an answer. Eventually he learned the truth from a servant woman who had come with the princess and visited his mother’s grave. Her spirit whispered to him in the night that he was the true king, and so he assembled an army through guile and persuasion that beat back Amar-Sin and retook his kingdom.”
“And his magical powers?”
“They say that he was granted such things as a reward for securing Nadar’s independence from the gods of Kullah.” Eigou shrugged a little. “There is another story, though: that Nysra was a cup-bearer of no standing who murdered King Emesu for bowing to your grandfather. He usurped the throne before driving out the invaders with an army he bribed and threatened into cooperation. All this story of the river and the humble origins then serve as a way to seem a true, legitimate king of royal blood chosen by the gods.”
Ilati considered that carefully. “And which is true?”
Eigou smiled faintly. “Which would you trust more, his friends or his foes? There are many who have their reasons to believe one story or the other. Perhaps the truth is somewhere between the two.”
“Someday, I want to know the truth.” Ilati rubbed at her scar again, still livid and fresh. “I want to ask him why he destroyed Shadi.”
“That may never have a satisfying answer,” Eigou said gently. “The hearts of men hold many dark secrets and some make sense only to those who hold them.”
Ilati nodded. After years of holding people and their secrets, she could understand that much. “Then Nysra has many stories about him?”
“As many as there are days in the year. To find the truth is to sift through them all and separate the few grains of wheat from the mountains of chaff. Not easily done, you might say.” Eigou waved a hand dismissively. “All of this is smoke. We should focus on the task ahead, which is training you.”
Ilati was silent for a long moment, considering Eigou’s stories carefully. Then her thoughts turned back to her family. A hard knot formed in her throat, almost choking her again. “I can feel his anger in me,” she finally admitted.
Eigou reached out and gave her shoulder a tight squeeze with one hand. “I thought you might. Anger often follows pain. As much as I would wish to discourage it, I must say: such anger may be necessary. We take on a task that is monumental in scope. The army of Nadar is the best in the world, and to defeat it will take an alliance of many kings. There is no other way, no magic spell that could destroy him. Only the gods turning loose the Great Flood once more would stop him, and that would spell destruction for all.”
Ilati shuddered at the thought. She had survived near misses, floods that had damaged Shadi but not destroyed it. She knew full well how close they had come to disaster at heavenly hands, even protected by the grace of Zu. She could not imagine a flood that consumed the world itself.
“Come, we will focus on the grass. Once you feel a field of it, you will know how small you truly are,” Eigou said. He glanced back at Ankhu, where the mule was steadily chomping away. “Perhaps not so close to our dependable animal companion, however. The chewing distracts me.”
“How long will Menes be gone?”
“No more than a day, gods willing. He only scouts the parts of the path where we are likely to be ambushed, few and far between in this open land.” Eigou gave her shoulder another squeeze. “Have no fear. He is more than the equal of a few bandits.”
The stories stayed in Ilati’s thoughts for the rest of the day and well into the night as she tried to put a face to that hated name.
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil |
By K. Olsen
In the soft farmlands that followed the edges of the marsh, Aham-Nishi was a typical Kullan settlement, halfway between a hamlet and a proper stop along the Long Road. The little town was a collection of homes built of tightly bundled reeds, centered around a mud-brick granary. A labyrinthine city of tents around it gave it a much more raucous life. Many were little better than a lean-to, dyed in patterns that indicated their owner and perhaps whatever wares they carried. Beyond that circle to the south were the hide tents of the Sut Resi, painted in bright ocher symbols.
The sight of a Nadaren banner flying to the north, red as blood, chilled Ilati to the bone. There an encampment of soldiers had settled, though she didn’t dare look closely enough to even pick out figures among those tents. No matter what Eigou said of Ilishu’s conquering fury slumbering in her heart, the pounding in her chest was far more flight than fight. She stepped backwards the moment she realized what those tents were: likely many of the men who had destroyed Shadi.
Menes settled a hand on her shoulder, squeezing with a reassuring promise. “We will be careful.”
Ilati nodded. Her fingertips found one of the healed scars on her face, reminding her that these would be easily visible from a distance. If you can remember the why, you can survive, Ilati told herself. Eigou had grown fond of saying that when there was focus, there could be no fear. His perpetual verbal battery had a ring of truth to it.
The one-eyed sorcerer cleared his throat. “I’d like a drink, and where there is the smell of beer, there is the smell of news.”
Menes frowned. “There will be soldiers there as well.”
“Then we will keep our eyes to our own business.” Eigou draped an arm around Ilati’s shoulders as they walked, leaving the lead for Ankhu in Menes’s hand. “Do you still want to talk to the Sut Resi? We will have to enter their encampment if so. They keep their wealth in herds and weapons, one of which makes them unpopular with soldiers and merchants alike, so they tend to be off on their own.”
Ilati pulled in a deep breath. “It seems strange that the Nadaren would permit anyone who does not bend to their will.”
Eigou chuckled. “The garrison here is likely not large enough to contend with them. The soldiers will do as soldiers do and wait until they are reinforced, by which time at least this tribe of the Sut Resi will likely have moved on. Surely you have heard of the great vexation that is trying to combat them.”
“I heard many curse them for fighting where and when they wished, then vanishing back to their plains whenever it pleased them.” Ilati managed a faint smile. “Quite the raiders.”
The sorcerer bowed his head in an acknowledging nod. “With Ilishu no longer maintaining a strong defense, Sebet has settled upon bribing them to keep their distance while Sarru deters them with farmers turned soldiers and the occasional bit of magic. Neither solution is a good one, and that vulnerability leaves them weak to Nadaren influence as well.”
Ilati’s brow furrowed. “Because they cannot focus on both threats at once or because Nadar may promise them a defense against the Sut Resi?”
Eigou grinned slyly. “Why Ilati, it is almost as though you spent a childhood at court. I imagine you listened more than they gave you credit too. The answer to your question is a simple truth: both. Nysra is no fool and will use the fact that he has proved he can subjugate the mighty. The foolishly optimistic might see him as an antidote to the barbarian hordes, and those too crafty for that game must learn, perhaps the hard way, that they cannot fight both.”
“But if the Sut Resi made peace with them, they could fight Nadar.”
“A tall order, Ilati.” Caution filled Eigou’s every syllable, which now came more slowly, without a merchant’s patter. “The amount of magic needed to collar the Sut Resi would bleed Kullah as dry as the Desert of Kings, and that is the only way I see such a peace lasting more than a single beat of a fly’s wings.”
“Collar?”
Eigou pressed his lips together, but did not answer.
“Are you two finished nattering?” The warmth of a summer sun lingered in Menes’s tone, perhaps because he had not heard the last part of the exchange. “It is like traveling with two fishwives.”
They passed beneath the shadow of a red banner, but Ilati was too focused now to tremble in fear. The brewery lay just ahead, a promise of relief to her aching feet and empty stomach even as her mind spun their problems—and Eigou’s silence—like wool.
Their sorcerer stopped in the street before they could reach the brewery and fished out his coin purse. He pulled out a few copper pieces, rough and irregular, but still valuable. The rest stayed in the pouch, dropped into Menes’s hand. “Get food, drink, and anything else we might need. I will see about finding a place in the caravansary near the Sut Resi. If you don’t bring me back a vessel of beer, I will take it out of your hide, o leopard of Magan.”
Menes bowed his head to the sorcerer, still smiling faintly. “Very well. We will behave.”
“I know one of you is certain to,” Eigou muttered before leading Ankhu and the cart away.
“Will he be alright?” Ilati’s stomach knotted in worry.
“He is safe as an ill-tempered asp surrounded by mice,” the charioteer assured her, his hand gentle on her shoulder as he nudged her to move on. “Even the Nadaren and the Sut Resi will leave him be or face consequences they are woefully unprepared for.”
The answer made sense to Ilati. No story suggested that sorcerers were easy to be rid of, and their ire was legendary. “And us?”
Menes nudged her shoulder with his own. “What do a lioness and a leopard have to fear, ey?”
They rounded the corner before the brewery and came face to face with four Nadaren soldiers. Dark curled beards cut into that stylized square, the foreign men were tall and powerfully built, with flint-hard faces covered in scars. One seized Ilati before she could even react, pulling her into him. “You’ll do, scarred or not,” he growled, hands roving aggressively.
Two of his brothers stepped between him and Menes, their hands falling to their weapons as they grinned. “How much for your harlot?” one asked.
It was a scene that could have come straight out of her nightmares. Ilati sucked in a breath and twisted her wrist to free a hand, cold dread pounding through her veins. She knew she would not escape by just writhing. She grabbed the curved knife stuffed through her assailant’s sash, drawing it in one quick motion. The grip was big for her hand, but would fit well enough.
…a flash of bronze, then so much blood…
Ilati put the point of the blade not against his armored chest, but straight towards his eye, forcing him to recoil backwards and release her. A sudden anger flooded through her. Never again. “My price you cannot afford.” She kept the blade leveled at the one who had grabbed her in an unspoken threat.
Menes stepped in at an angle towards one of the soldiers between him and Ilati, punching hard at the soldier’s face instead of his armored body. The charioteer’s scarred knuckles slammed hard into the chin of the man, a powerful uppercut that cracked the soldier’s jaw shut and sent him spilling to the ground. He wouldn’t be down forever, but it was a brutal hit. The warrior pivoted on the ball of his foot, putting his back against Ilati’s to focus on the other. “I am here!” he roared, more to remind Ilati than frighten the soldiers.
The warriors of Nadar drew their wicked blades, all too familiar to the priestess. They circled like a pack, trying to deceive the pair’s sense of distance, spiraling in closer. Menes kept them at bay with his hands out in a boxer’s stance. Ilati gripped the knife, but its threat was not enough to save her. The tallest of them stepped in close, wrenching the blade out of her hand. He backhanded her across the face and used the force to throw her to the ground, still gripping her wrist. Ilati saw stars for a moment, but the moment her vision cleared, she looked up at Nysra’s hound. Even a blue sky was not enough to tell her that she was far from the temple. Fear left her with trembling limbs, but they were trembling limbs that could still be compelled into motion.
Ilati kicked hard into the side of his knee with all the force she could muster, digging her fingers into the rutted earth for purchase. He twisted, falling to save his knee before it could snap as it tried to bend in a way it wasn’t meant to. He would be limping for days at least.
Behind her, Menes parried his enemy’s blade with one hide-covered arm, the thick leopard’s fur sheltering his dark skin from the hissing cut. He shot in under the man’s sword arm, arms looping around a leg in a quick upset that left the Nadaren soldier slammed down onto his back, gasping for air.
An arrow sprouted out of the ground beside the Nadaren soldier picking himself up from his stumble. The other who was focused on Ilati, the one who had first grabbed her, had to recoil back behind the corner to avoid a warning shot that wasn’t really a warning shot. Both arrows flew nearly in the same instant, but when Ilati turned to look, there was only one archer: a Sut Resi on horseback.
The woman—immediately identifiable as female because the wrap down from one shoulder left her right breast bare—let out the sharp hunting whoop of her people. Blue tattoos decorated the narrow angles of her face and the right half of her head where it was shaved bare along the part line of her hair. A single long braid spilled down her back, woven with owl feathers, almost bleached to gold by the sun. She perched with hawkish intensity on her gray stallion, a vicious grin on her face that barely reached her eyes. “Run little hound pups,” the Sut Resi said in heavily accented Kullan. “Tell your masters that you brave warriors were overcome by two women and a cat.”
Menes spun to face the woman, though he didn’t put his back to the man he had on the ground. He took his moment to assess the situation.
One of the men spat at the horse warrior. “This is not over, bitch.”
The Sut Resi woman laughed. “Save your breath for begging the mercy of your commander. Go, or we will slay you where you stand and all of the People will turn against you.” The way her fingers caressed the fletching of her arrows, it was clear she was hungrily anticipating a brutal end to the Nadaren.
Menes stepped off the one he had pinned and helped Ilati up, still wary.
The four soldiers slunk off like jackals robbed of their kill and their dignity. Joy soared through Ilati’s heart. They could be beaten. She turned to the strange Sut Resi woman. “Thank you for your timely aid.”
“Agreed.” Menes spoke with caution, but not hesitation. “The reputation of your people is no exaggeration.”
The woman shook her head. “You saw nothing. I could have left them all with feathers enough to fly before they could have closed the distance.” For a boast, it sounded dangerously matter-of-fact.
Her horse huffed as if in agreement, stomping his hoof. The beast was regal in his dappled grey, intelligent eyes studying the small group. His neck was a graceful arch, with a sharp-featured head and strange patterns dyed into his hair.
“Settle, Araxa,” the woman said in her own language, swinging down from the saddle. She was less imposing beside her horse, but not by much.
“Your horse is beautiful,” Ilati said in the Sut Resi tongue without thinking.
Both Menes and the woman looked startled. It was well known that the civilized people of Kullah thought the language of such barbarians beneath them. The Sut Resi rider knew nothing of her origin, however, which was perhaps why Menes looked the more surprised out of the two.
“You speak?” the woman said.
“Poets should know many tongues,” Ilati said in Sut Resi. She had never spent any time studying the language, however, or hearing it. This was clearly a gift from K’adau. She picked up the curved bronze knife that the soldier had left, trying not to think about the temple again.
The Sut Resi grinned. “Well done, little sister. Your first battle, clearly, but you showed fire.” Then she looked over at Menes, speaking in Kullan again so he would understand. “You protect your poet decently, cat, but she could use some lessons.”
Menes lowered his eyes. “It would be more polite for you to watch who you call cat.” He adjusted the leopard skin, checking it for damage. “You do not understand what you speak of.”
“I know better than most.” The horse warrior brushed her hand down her mount’s neck.
Ilati cleared her throat. Now she had more questions, but they would likely not be answered for some time. “Do you have a name that you are willing to share, nomad of the Sut Resi?”
The stranger glanced over, her strange eyes meeting Ilati’s. They were almond-shaped and heavily hooded, almost sleepy and of a color seldom seen in the lands of Kullah: lapis lazuli blue. “I do. You may call me Shir Del. My companion is Araxa, bravest and wisest of all his kind.”
Ilati held out her hand. It was Kullan, but the woman clearly understood the gesture and answered in kind, hand rough from a bowstring when it clasped Ilati’s forearm. “My friend is named Menes,” the priestess said. “I am Ilati.” She had promised to use the name Hedu in civilized company while near the Nadaren, but the Sut Resi were very particular about lying if the stories were true.
Shir Del’s gaze seemed to pierce Ilati’s soul. “You’re braver than you look.” She glanced over at Menes. “One of his soft women?”
Menes tensed and spoke with firmness that even a flood would not budge. “No. I am her guardian. That is all.”
Ilati found it immensely comforting. It seemed that everything Eigou had said about the charioteer being a fast friend was true.
Shir Del gestured towards the brewery, grinning slightly. “Drink? You owe me at least one horn for stepping in to save your hides.”
“What about your friend?” Menes motioned to Araxa.
The wild woman smiled, pushing at the beast’s nose with affection. “Go home,” she said in her own tongue. Everything about her seemed softer when she was focused on her animal companion.
Araxa let out an affectionate huff and bumped Shir Del’s shoulder with his nose before trotting back towards the Sut Resi tents. No one was likely to try to steal him with those bold black tribal markings in his fur. His people were wild and savage, as deadly as demons when their blood was fired up. It was not safe to be their enemy.
Ilati had heard the stories. Like a crashing wave, the Sut Resi had struck Kullah and been dashed to pieces, but the rock of her father’s kingdom had partially crumbled under that assault. Nadar would soon learn the dangers the tribes posed, as the new masters of the land between the rivers.
“Do you often intervene in quarrels with the Nadaren?” Menes asked. He seemed unsettled by the woman, though Ilati wasn’t certain if that was caused by Shir Del’s immodesty or her comments earlier. He did give her the same deferential lowering of the eyes that he gave Ilati, however.
The warrior laughed as she swaggered along beside them, the bones in her legs curved after a lifetime spent in the saddle, her feet narrow from never knowing her weight. “There is a certain pleasure in shaming them, but no.”
Ilati wished she had even half the bravery that Shir Del did. “So why intervene now?”
The inside of the reed-built inn was dim, lit only by a number of sesame oil lamps, and mercifully cool. Menes let out a breath of relief as they stepped out of the sunlight.
“Curiosity. Neither of you are what you appear.” Shir Del took a seat at a small corner table wedged in close to the brewing vats. The other people here to buy beer scattered to avoid coming anywhere near one of the feared tribal warriors, creating a fair amount of privacy.
“I suppose that depends on what we appear to be.” Ilati almost froze under Shir Del’s scrutiny. There was something about Shir Del’s gaze that reminded her of Eigou’s. The priestess kept talking to cover her own nerves. “Nadar’s soldiers will come after us. Their pride cannot allow such an obvious slight.”
“It is so. That is why I suggested a drink.” Shir Del grinned. “I have only had beer a few times. I would have it again before departing. Like all flies, the cowards gain strength in numbers. It is better to move on than deal with maggots. One’s arm gets tired of thrashing them eventually.”
Menes sighed almost despairingly. “The charms of your people are not overstated.”
Shir Del shrugged. “Because what I say is true? Let others flap their idle gums hedging and appeasing. Such is a game for jackals and vultures, those too weak to hunt for their own food.”
Ilati took a deep breath. “Could we speak to your leader, Shir Del?”
The horse warrior’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “A dangerous request. Few outsiders are worthy enough of his attention to gain an audience.”
“You were curious,” Menes said. “Perhaps he would find us interesting enough to talk to.”
Shir Del shook her head. “He has not seen you as I have seen you. He would not know that you are what you are, because he has not seen both halves of the whole.”
“What do you mean?” Ilati asked.
The Sut Resi woman’s gaze flicked over to the boy approaching with a clay vessel of beer. “Artakhshathra has not seen your spirits in dreams. I have.”
Menes almost dropped the pouch as he tried to fish out a copper bit for the child, jaw locking up for a moment. Then it relaxed, but he still spoke in a soft and worried tone. “What?”
Ilati understood the concern. For this stranger to have seen them and recognize them as the same as their dreaming selves…that was quite the feat of magic. “Perhaps this would be a conversation better had with Eigou.” She put a comforting hand on Menes’s shoulder to get him to relax.
“Probably,” Menes agreed.
Shir Del grabbed the clay pot of beer and rose to her feet. “Then let us be off in search of this Eigou. I would like answers to your mysteries.”
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior who can walk among dreams. |
By K. Olsen
Eigou studied Shir Del, golden eye gleaming with interest. “A dream-walker? I had heard the Sut Resi had magic, but I hadn’t considered the possibility of such a powerful tradition.”
“Few of the soft folk do.” The horse-warrior shrugged. “Their mistake.” Shir Del seemed quite comfortable by their fire, though her eyes were on the flame rather than those she spoke with.
“I have never heard of such a thing.” Ilati was even more fascinated than Eigou as she spoke. “There were those in my birthplace who could interpret dreams, but this sounds like more.” She knew better than to mention Shadi, at least for now. While Shir Del seemed straightforward enough and honest in her opposition to Nadar, it was still a dangerous secret to be floating around.
Eigou chuckled. “Very much so, Ilati. A dream-walker can leave their physical body and enter the world of spirits, even the dreams of others, and may work much good or harm. I have heard that one with sufficient power can even kill the one they visit.”
“Is it true?” Menes’s question was serious, nowhere near Eigou’s casual curiosity.
They spoke quietly, so any eavesdroppers would struggle and fail to pierce their meaning beyond the noise of caravans settling in. The haggling of merchants in a dozen languages filled the air, hawking cries and quarreling neatly covering the little group’s conversation.
Shir Del settled back into her seat on the low mud-brick wall that allowed her to put her back to her horse’s side. “I have never killed so. I would rather bring down a foe with my bow or strike him with my spear, but yes, I can pass beyond the world of the waking.”
“Far traveler,” Ilati said with eyes wide in amazement. “I cannot imagine simply closing my eyes and stepping into the world of sight beyond sight.”
The horse-warrior’s lips twitched into a smile. “High praise, when one bears the kiss never given to mortals.”
Ilati resisted the urge to touch her lips, remembering the taste of lightning. “What do you know?”
“Only a little.” Shir Del glanced across the three of them, eyes never lingering long. “If you wish to speak to the chieftain, let us go. Though I wonder, if you will listen.”
Eigou smiled pleasantly. “Of course.” He seemed far less concerned than Ilati or Menes, which soothed at least some of the priestess’s nerves. After all, the sorcerer had not led them astray yet.
The Sut Resi woman flicked her bowstring gently, more of a thoughtful gesture than a threat. She kept the weapon in one hand or beside her at all times, an answer to any Nadaren threat that might arise. “What do you hope to gain?”
Ilati considered that. Asking for an alliance now or speaking of her heritage and place in the world, whatever that was now, would be a great risk and unlikely to succeed. She settled on a smaller truth. “We need passage to Sarru by a path where the Nadaren either cannot or dare not follow. Your people are the only ones who could grant that.”
Shir Del leaned back against Araxa’s side. “You would have to travel with us, lest another tribe encounter you with unfriendly intent.”
Menes shook his head, frowning. “I think it unwise. We do not know your people’s intentions. I do not doubt that you are honorable, Shir Del, but treating with the Sut Resi is a risk.”
“As was pulling me from the river’s embrace, as was venturing into the desert,” Ilati reminded him gently.
“It is your safety I think of.” Menes was firm as rock in his disagreement. “It is fine to trade with the nomads, wild and unpredictable, but to rely so heavily on their good wishes would be foolish.”
Shir Del scowled. “We have no love for the Nadaren, a truth even more true for Artakhshathra, and we honor our word.”
Eigou stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Why does he have such distaste for them, aside from their legendarily poor manners?”
“They robbed him of both his sons,” the horse-warrior said, words clearly bitter in her mouth. “It would have been different if they died on the field of battle in honorable combat, but both were butchered after treachery.”
Ilati saw her own pain reflected in Shir Del’s expression, a hint there was more bad blood to the story than their new friend was ready to say. “I’m sorry.”
The Sut Resi woman spat in the dirt and rose to her feet. “Let us speak to Artakhshathra. The seer, Tahmasp, will be there too. He gnashes his teeth often, but he is a danger only to the enemies of our people. He will not like you at first, but I think you can change his mind.”
Menes still frowned. “Why won’t he like us?”
Shir Del ran her hand across her horse’s shoulder, eyes glancing to Ilati. “You bring a power untamed and such things are unpredictable. Dangerous, even. If you wished to work evil, your devastation would be wide and wicked.”
The charioteer crossed his arms. “We mean no harm.”
“Perhaps you do not, cat, but I was not speaking of you.”
Ilati thought of the predatory gleam to K’adau’s eyes, flashing with the light of the storm. “She’s right,” the poet said in a hushed tone. “The night winds bring all manner of dark things into the world.”
Menes’s expression softened. “Perhaps, but you are not them.”
“Yet.” Eigou’s single word was a grim warning.
Ilati shivered at the reminder that her fate was no longer her own, even knowing Shir Del would be unimpressed by her quaking like a reed in a gale. The brash Sut Resi seemed to appreciate action over deliberation and courage over trembling. They needed the woman to approve, because most of the persuasion would have to come from Shir Del. Ilati was grateful that she could assist the horse-warrior through use of her own tongue and ears, but the she was ignorant of Sut Resi customs and knew it.
The path to the Sut Resi tents, decorated in animal symbols of many different colors, was populated by a few brave traders and many horse-warriors. Men and women alike were whipcord lean and leathery from time beneath the sun. They all had Shir Del’s strange gait, legs shaped by riding before they could walk. Many had light-colored hair bleached further by the sun and tattoos were visible anywhere there was bare skin. Piercings were common too, through the ears and lips. Ilati forced herself to walk tall and pretend these warriors were no different than the guards she knew from her life in Shadi.
Nothing could be further from the truth, though. Even in the days of Ilishu, the Sut Resi were combatants almost without equal. She doubted that had changed.
Curious glances followed the little group’s every step. One called out to Shir Del, “Who are these soft folk?”
“They have words for speaking.” Shir Del waved a hand to dismiss the others. They departed reluctantly, but without gainsaying her.
“They listen well to you.” Eigou’s golden eye appraised the wild woman again, this time more sharply. “Are you a daughter of Artakhshathra?”
Shir Del pulled the tent flap open. “I might have been.”
The floor of the tent was mostly flattened grasses, with a few thick furs spread across the ground for seats. A few coals burned in the remains of the central fire, no illumination from it needed with the hole at the center of the roof where the tent’s frame came together casting light downwards. More people sat inside, conversing in low tones, than Ilati expected: six warriors and an aged, weathered man she suspected was Tahmasp all arrayed before the mountain that had to be Artakhshathra.
Shir Del’s chieftain seemed more bear than man, dark hair and beard both long and left wild. He wore no shirt, exposing the blue tattoos and brutal battle scars that covered his chest and arms. Artakhshathra was four cubits tall when he stood, more than any man Ilati had met including the great Ilishu, and he gave the impression of being taller, seated or not. His sapphire eyes focused intently on the newcomers, hard and striking in their color. Despite his feral appearance, however, Ilati was overtaken by a sense of intense calm, a regal control of his bearing. This was no wild man eating his meat raw in his hands and lashing out like a wounded lion.
“Who do you bring to this gathering, Shir Del?” Artakhshathra’s voice rumbled deeply, like a distant thunder.
“The sorcerer Eigou, the warrior Menes, and the poet Ilati. They would speak with you.” Shir Del gestured to them each when she spoke their names.
Thick brows furrowed at that statement. “Why?”
“They seek safe passage to Sarru, for they are foes to the Nadaren.”
The older man to the chieftain’s right tensed, his lips drawn tight in disapproval. “They are not to be trusted, Artakhshathra. They bring a demon with them.”
“Marked by a demon,” Shir Del corrected. “The Mother of Night Winds herself.”
A sudden hush fell over the assembled Sut Resi. Even they knew well the power of Ki-sikil-lil, though Ilati had no doubt the goddess wore some other name amongst these people.
The old Sut Resi warrior stood. “Accursed thing, leave this place! You should not have brought such a creature here, Shir Del.”
Menes kept his hand off his sword’s hilt at the sudden aggressive move, but formed fists and took a half-step forward to more easily protect Ilati.
Shir Del crossed her arms, a scowl forming. “She is not here to cast about the evil eye, Tahmasp. I have told you their reason for coming.”
That comment did nothing to appease Tahmasp. He gripped the horn hilt of a long knife. “Intent matters nothing if she is not strong enough to control her taint!”
Artakhshathra moved with a speed no one expected while Menes had his eyes focused on Tahmasp. The chieftain rose to standing in an instant, towering over everyone present, and drew a curved bone knife from his belt.
Ilati’s life did not flash before her eyes as the knife slashed towards her neck. Instead, anger boiled up in the pit of her stomach. She would not be brutalized with no cause, maimed and abused. She would accept death and nothing else, but not without resistance. She grabbed at the striking wrist even knowing there was no way she had the strength to prevent it from slashing open her throat.
The razor-sharp bone stopped as a deadly whisper just below her ear, the point just barely short of breaking skin. She gripped Artakhshathra’s wrist with the tight clench of death, knuckles turning pale as his sapphire eyes hunted for any trace of fear.
Menes went for his sword, but Shir Del grabbed his arm. “It is a test, cat! Trust your friend.”
“It is not her I mistrust!” Menes snapped.
Artakhshathra’s gaze never flickered from Ilati’s. “Shir Del says you are the enemy of the Nadaren. What would you do if Nysra himself were at your feet?”
Ilati lifted her chin slightly, speaking before the warrior to her left could translate the question. She answered him in his own tongue. “I would send a piece of him to each people he wronged and bury the rotted shreds of his heart beneath the ruins of Shadi.”
Artakhshathra lowered the knife and Ilati released his wrist. “When that day comes, o poet, send me his wretched tongue. I would burn it and every memory of its false promises.”
“We are helping them?” Tahmasp growled out.
The chieftain glanced towards his seer. “The Mother of Demons gave this one her power and it is well known that she favors only the strong. This one is brave enough. I can think of no better end to Nysra’s miserable life than those talons.”
Tahmasp scowled. “She brings a storm with her.”
“Let it rain ruin on Nysra’s vermin and all their workings,” Artakhshathra said bluntly. “She and hers will ride with us.” He took a step back and returned to his seat, focusing his attention on Menes and Eigou before speaking in Kullan. “Be welcome in this place.”
Everyone relaxed except Menes. Tension still coiled in the charioteer’s muscles, even as he put a hand on Ilati’s shoulder and turned her slightly to see where the knife had touched her. Only the sight of her flesh without a scratch seemed to satisfy him. “You have a strange way of welcoming people.”
Artakhshathra grunted at that and looked to Shir Del. “You are their minder while they are with us.”
Shir Del bowed her head. “As you say.”
“They will need to learn to ride, if they are to keep up,” Tahmasp muttered, relaxing like an asp lowering its hood.
“I can ride, though not as well as you.” Eigou seemed utterly unperturbed by the dangerous display. Either he had more confidence in Ilati than she felt was wise or he cared less than she thought. “Menes is a charioteer, so he is familiar with horses.”
A wave of nerves hit Ilati. Again she had just cheated death, or so it felt. “I can learn.”
Shir Del smiled faintly. “We have much to teach, like how to fight.” She glanced over at Artakhshathra and Tahmasp. “If she is going to cut Nysra’s tongue from his mouth, she will need to know a blade.”
Artakhshathra looked over at his adviser. “Teach her.” The blunt force in his tone would have been enough to stun a lesser man, but Tahmasp’s expression didn’t change.
“Shir Del—”
“We all have lessons to impart,” the chieftain overruled with granite certainty. “Shir Del will give hers, as will you. All the wiles and wisdom of experience will be needed.”
Tahmasp considered for a moment and then bowed his head. “As you say.”
Eigou raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That is a great deal of help. What may we do in exchange?”
“I have already set my price.” Artakhshathra leaned back in his seat and picked up his drinking bowl, adding beer from a goatskin hung from the tent pole nearest him. He looked up at Ilati. “Nothing less. That is all I have to say.”
Shir Del looked at the three with a thoughtful expression. “You are welcome to stay in my company. The least we can do is get you settled. Follow.”
Ilati waited until they were out of the tent to suck in a huge breath of relief, earning a laugh from their Sut Resi guide. Menes put a hand on the priestess’s shoulder. “Can we be of an accord to never do that again?” The man of Magan’s dark brow still furrowed with worry.
“It may be necessary to take such risks,” Eigou said. He slung an arm around Ilati’s shoulders and leaned his head down to speak quietly next to her ear. “You will be busy from dawn to dusk, learning from the Sut Resi to ride, to fight, to war. I will have tasks for you too. Your spirit must be as honed and ready as your body.”
“I don’t feel ready.” Ilati’s voice was steady, but her hands shook and her heart still pounded.
“Are we ever?” Eigou gave her a crooked smile. “If you work hard, you will do better than you believe.”
Ilati nodded.
Shir Del’s tent was not far, painted like the others with the added symbol of a teardrop falling from a closed eye marked over the tent flap. A little girl squeal of delight greeted them when Shir Del opened the tent. “Mama!” A seven-year-old child came almost tumbling out in her enthusiasm, clutching a small bow in one hand.
The horse-warrior knelt down in front of her daughter, making soft cooing noises in greeting that were entirely at odds with everything they had seen of her.
Menes gawked at Shir Del. “You have a child?”
“Roshanak, give greetings to the strangers,” Shir Del said, ignoring him. “They will be with us for a time.”
The little girl looked up at them, clinging to Shir Del’s leg. She was small for her age, but already bore blue tattoos across her face and a hunter’s easy grip on the bow that she set aside. She wore the hide clothing that marked the Sut Resi, with an eagle claw necklace looped around her neck. Her hair was a few shades darker than Shir Del’s, but her lapis lazuli eyes were almost identical.
“Welcome,” Roshanak said in her best Kullan. The pronunciation was mangled, but her smile beamed like the sun.
“Thank you, Roshanak,” Ilati said in Sut Resi.
The young girl’s eyes lit up. “You talk!”
Shir Del laughed at her daughter’s enthusiasm. “You will never be free of her now.” She ruffled Roshanak’s hair, earning a tiny squawk of indignation from the girl, and then glanced at Menes. “She is mine, yes, but not as you think.”
Ilati knelt down to be at eye-level with Roshanak and her thousands of burning questions. She was reminded of the children found everywhere in Zu’s temple, born to priestesses.
Menes didn’t seem to follow Shir Del’s meaning. “She has your eyes.”
“She is a…” Shir Del paused, groping for a word. “…a spirit, caught in a body. Not a demon.”
“The body of a stillborn infant,” Eigou said, studying the little girl. He looked up at Shir Del. “That must have pained you greatly.”
The horse-warrior shook her head. “Roshanak is a gift. I have a daughter where I would not have otherwise. Such second-souled children are very rare, but not unheard of among my people.”
Menes absorbed that information with a slow nod, then looked over to where Roshanak was interrogating a laughing Ilati. “It seems they will get along well.”
Eigou chuckled. “And so with you. It is well known that the greatest charioteer of Magan cannot resist the whims of little girls. He must ever bow to their will.”
“Is this so?” Ilati looked up, still smiling.
“I grew alongside five sisters and many nieces,” Menes said solemnly. “It is so.”
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. |
By K. Olsen
In his wisdom, Artakhshathra did not wait for the Nadaren to learn the shame that had befallen their soldiers. By the time the army camp stirred, the fires of the Sut Resi were nothing more than cold ash. Ilati was awed by how quickly every tent was taken down and bundled, carried in many pieces across the herds so that nothing slowed them down. After a lifetime on the move, it was no problem to depart somewhere suddenly.
It was universally agreed that Ilati was too inexperienced to ride a horse alone. She had no argument or even wish to argue on that point: the horses of the Sut Resi, even if they were not the greatest of horses in size, were still large enough to frighten her. Their fiery temperaments and love of the gallop were hardly reassuring either. Menes and Eigou both had much more experience than she did, but they did not have their own horses: Eigou rode their patient, if slower, mule and they trusted Menes to ride Roshanak's horse with the girl in front of him as the true leader holding the reins.
Ilati clung fiercely to Shir Del, arms wrapped around the warrior's waist as she prayed to any god listening that she not be flung from Araxa's back. The stallion was larger and stronger than any of the other horses, save for Artakhshathra's monster of a mount. Ilati glanced over to see the chieftain towards the front, effortlessly commanding from his place on Babak, a red dun stallion with subtle stripes down each leg.
"Araxa and Babak are much bigger than the other stallions," Ilati murmured, trying not to show in her voice all the pain coursing through her with every thump. They had been riding for hours and her thighs and core burned from use. It was not at all like sitting in a chair that could walk.
"They have different parentage," Shir Del explained over her shoulder. "Only their mothers were steppe horses. They share a father, a heaven-touched stallion named Khshayarsha. When Artakhshathra was becoming a man, he followed his dreams to a hidden place on the steppe, a rare crag sacred to Skyfather. There he wrestled and tamed Khshayarsha, who in time added his blood to the herd."
"So why doesn't Artakhshathra ride Khshayarsha?" Ilati stumbled on the strange name. Truth be told, she was only just now confident in how to say the chieftain's.
"He thought no horse would be better than Khshayarsha to carry his son, Mithradatha. They died together at the hands of Nadar, may birds peck the eyes from those who killed them." Shir Del spat to the side, clear in her opinion of the Nadaren. "It was a blow that will not be forgotten."
"I didn't realize horses lived so long."
Shir Del shook her head slightly. "We are happy if they make it to seventeen summers. That is a long, good life. With battles and the dangers of the world, though, we know they may not live so long—just as we lose many children before they grow higher than our knees. Khshayarsha was thirty-six summers old when he died, and he had not shown an inch of his age. We are grateful his blood lives on in our herds."
Ilati nodded. It made sense to her. "How did you come to hold Araxa?"
The warrior woman laughed. "You have more questions than Babak has hairs."
"You should be used to that as a mother to a small girl."
"You are not wrong," Shir Del said, a smile in her voice even at the thought of her daughter, who rode comfortably with Menes up between Artakhshathra and Tahmasp. "When Araxa was a newborn, he caught a sickness and almost died. I volunteered to nurse him, as I had only one other horse to my name then, an old and sickly mare that gave me much practice at finding remedies for illness. Artakhshathra was so pleased when Araxa recovered under my careful tending that he gave the little foal to me. We have not parted ways since." She patted Araxa affectionately. "He has the heart of a lion, but a sweet soul."
Ilati nodded, stifling a yawn as exhaustion crept up on her. She was dead tired and brutally sore after almost a full day of riding. "Do you think Artakhshathra will call a halt soon?"
"Probably. We have made good time and the wind and rain will do much to obscure our tracks."
"Rain?" Ilat said, looking around. There were indeed clouds rolling in from the south, the hint of moisture in the breeze. Kullah seldom had rain. It was the rivers that brought water to the fields and marshes, their tributaries that men channeled for their uses. Rain could mean a flood. Ilati's stomach seized at the thought. "How much rain?"
Shir Del seemed to feel her tension and offered comfort in her own way. "Tahmasp said Skyfather would not drown us, and I trust Tahmasp."
Ilati nodded, letting out a puff of breath. "Does he know much about the weather?"
"Shamans see changes in Skyfather and Earthmother like an archer sees where their arrow will fly. They always know what is coming." Shir Del cleared her throat thoughtfully. "Speaking of archers, we should think about training you. Farhata makes fine bows, and would surely give one to you for the beer that Eigou is carrying."
"If there is some left," Ilati murmured. "He is very fond of his beer."
"For you, I am sure he would part with it."
Something in the certainty of Shir Del's statement opened up an older wonder. "I do not know. Eigou is as mysterious as the depths of the Abyss. I could not even say why he has come to my company. I do not think it was an accident."
Shir Del nodded, rubbing a hand down Araxa's neck. Her horse was tiring as well, bearing the weight of two riders. Neither of them were large, but it was still extra energy expended. "He does not seem like an accidental man."
Ahead came a sharp whistle and the herds of horses came to a stop. Ilati almost fell off Araxa, sagging in relief. Shir Del swung her leg over Araxa's head and slid off his back, waving for Ilati to follow her. Ilati tried the movement and fell, her aching legs now cramped into the shape they had held for hours on Araxa's back.
The warrior woman laughed. "What are you doing in the dirt, little sister?"
Ilati issued forth a string of profanity and then glared balefully up at the all-too-amused Shir Del. "Cursing the ground for striking so hard."
"Perhaps you should not have fallen so quickly."
The priestess grumbled as she got to her unsteady feet. "Where are the others?"
Another horse came to a stop beside them, bearing two riders as well. Menes waved cheerfully from the mare's back, then dismounted and helped Roshanak down. "Eigou was just behind us with the mule," the charioteer said. He moved stiffly, but obviously with far less pain than Ilati. "He will be here soon. Do we pitch a tent here?"
Shir Del shook her head and beckoned, catching Araxa's lead. "Closer to the center. Follow."
It took the Sut Resi little time to put up their hide tents on poles of wood taken from some forest they had traveled through. Soon a small town popped up on the empty plains, crowded around by horses. They kept the young foals and their mothers to the center, while the others found their way around their master's tent. Ilati was constantly watching as she worked, always trying to learn how to help without being left behind.
It was when they had finished Shir Del's tent that the poet saw a lone horse standing far from camp, beyond Tahmasp's tent. "Should that horse be out there alone? Won't a lion get it?"
Shir Del shrugged. "That is Youtab. She does not come close to people, and only permits the spirits of the wind to ride her. Tahmasp has been out of his mind trying to forge a bond, but she is too proud."
"Is she a child of Khshayarsha?"
"Indeed she is, and she has all of his fleetness and wildness. Artakhshathra refused to wrestle her as he had her father, however. Mares are not usually the horses of war, and this way she will be safe to keep the line of sacred blood flowing."
Ilati worried at her lower lip with her teeth for a thoughtful moment. "But isn't she in danger away from the rest of the herd?"
"Perhaps. Tahmasp said to leave her be, and let her decide when she is ready to become part of the herd. I am most surprised that she has not left us."
"Could I go see her?"
Shir Del spread out the bundle of furs she used as a bed. "I suppose. Just be careful. She will bite."
Ilati laid down a thick stag's hide, a gift from Artakhshathra, and then her bedroll on top to help with the moisture that the rain would bring seeping into the soft earth. The others did the same, though Menes still was relying on his leopard skin to keep him warm. Eigou motioned for her to join him for a moment while the charioteer went about cooking with Roshanak practically attached to his leg. The girl was alive with delight, even when tired, blurting out question after question as Menes added a little bit of spice to the stew.
"I think our leopard has been missing his nieces. They get along well," Eigou said casually, motioning to the pair making dinner.
Ilati smiled. "Famously so. Did you have something you wanted to discuss, Eigou?" There wasn't really any privacy in the tent, so it came as no surprise when the old man's remaining eye darted towards the flap of the door. She wrinkled her nose, not interested in being rained on.
Eigou chuckled. "Follow." He rose to his feet and stepped out of the tent.
Ilati sighed and pulled her scarf up to cover her hair before following him out into the rain. It was little more than a sprinkle at the moment, but the lack of stars above at dusk meant the clouds had covered the sky. "What is it?"
"I heard you need a bow." Eigou patted the skin of beer slung over his shoulder. "I would make such a trade. You need some way to defend yourself."
Ilati touched the curved knife she'd taken from the Nadaren soldier, fitted to a leather sheath by Shir Del. It was a strange contradiction: a finely made bronze blade clad in a scrap of hide.
Eigou saw her movement. "You will need more than a toy if you aim to defeat Nysra."
"I know," the priestess said softly. She looked down at her hands, blistered from helping the Sut Resi pack and unpack. Her hands weren't used to manual labor. "I am not very good as a fighter."
"They will teach you. Menes can help as well." Eigou put a hand on her shoulder. "Trust me."
Ilati's jaw worked for a moment as she chewed through that answer in her mind. She couldn't shake the oddity of it, the sudden appearance of a magical stranger in her life. "Eigou, why are you helping me?"
The old man cleared his throat. "Perhaps that is a better question for the River Esharra."
"But you were searching the waters. You were in Kullah as the last days of my people ran out. You must have seen Shadi burn. To be so close was to risk so much." Ilati shook her head. "Do not tell me it was an accident, Eigou. Not when you know so much of my family and yet I know nothing of you. Tell me the truth."
"I tell you what you will understand." Eigou's mouth formed a grim line, that hardness surfacing in his expression. He strode past her, back into the tent.
Ilati sighed, defeated for the moment. She didn't feel quite like entering the tent again, not until things had cooled off. Instead, she walked, letting her feet take her where they willed. She wanted to find Tahmasp, since he was supposed to teach her as well. As cantankerous as the old shaman was, he seemed to think in straighter lines than Eigou.
She ended up on the outskirts of camp towards Tahmasp's tent, rain pattering gently down on her head and shoulders. As in many moments left alone, her thoughts swirled around the devouring fires. She missed her family, her friends. Everyone she knew was dead except for these few companions and now the Sut Resi. How well could she trust them?
At the last moment, her nerves stopped her from going any closer to Tahmasp's tent. After all, he recognized her nature and her pact with K'adau so immediately, and that troubled her. No one had given her an explanation how, except to say, "Well, he is a shaman, and shamans know things." She wasn't quite ready to deal with one more strange magic in her life.
She turned and approached the lone horse, able to see Youtab well in the light of the setting sun. The horse had the same dappled gray coat as Araxa, giving her the impression that the gods crafted Youtab's sculpted head and muscular body of stone, with a dark mane. Black, intelligent eyes watched her approach and ears swiveled to face Ilati as the horse pulled in a deep breath through her nose. A sudden feeling of familiarity swept over the priestess as she neared the wild horse, struck by Youtab's beauty.
She permits only the spirits of the wind to ride her.
The mare flared her nostrils and bared teeth as she started the war dance of Sut Resi horses, stomping and then rearing up in front of Ilati, lashing out with hooves in a dangerous display. It was an awe-inspiring sight, beautiful and undeniably frightening.
The priestess didn't move a muscle. She knew without any awareness of where the knowledge originated that this was a test, a display. Youtab wanted to know if she was any different than the Sut Resi warriors who had approached her.
Youtab landed back on all four hooves, studying Ilati with her sculpted head held high, neck arched. She pawed at the earth, but the priestess suspected it was more of a warning than a promise of a charge.
"I know you." Ilati's tone was smooth as silk as she spoke. She tried to focus her mind as Eigou had taught her.
It wasn't hearing words, not exactly, but Ilati's awareness expanded to include Youtab. The priestess felt the restless energy coursing through the horse, the keen intelligence, and that wild ferocity. Artakhshathra may have thought that mares were not best for battle, but Ilati was certain he was wrong in this case.
Youtab pulled in a deep breath and let out a soft whinny. Ilati understood: you are not like others...
Ilati's thoughts flashed back to her meeting with K'adau. She was a daughter of the night winds now, though she had no idea how much of their power she had. K'adau had been content to leave her gifts a mystery.
The horse responded as if she could see that memory too. Youtab snorted, ears flicking. She lowered her head to look Ilati directly in the eye. The fierce intelligence in the mare seemed so alive and so much more than the men of Kullah attributed to their own horses. Ilati's connection with her burned brightly in the priestess's thoughts, like a thread of gleaming gold between them. She felt Youtab's fire as her own, a kinship she had never before felt with an animal.
Then Youtab retreated abruptly, and the thread snapped, leaving Ilati standing stunned and alone. It took her several minutes to gather her thoughts and then return to Shir Del's tent. As she walked back, she pondered over the interaction. She resolved to learn more about Youtab and her own power.
Menes met her at the flap of the tent with a blanket from her bedroll. "You are soaking, Ilati. What did Eigou say to you, to drive you off so?"
"You assume it was me?" Eigou looked affronted.
Ilati realized she was shivering, wet, and cold. Reading her own body's cues had been much less important than the mystery of Youtab. "I just needed to think."
Shir Del swatted at Menes. "Do not coddle her. She is a priestess of the Mother of Demons. She can take care of herself and indulgence weakens the body."
"She may be Ki-sikil-lil's priestess, but she is our friend," Menes retorted, handing Ilati the woolen blanket.
The priestess smiled faintly at that, taking the blanket. Its warmth seemed two-fold, something more than just the physical comfort alone. "Thank you, Menes." She wrapped the blanket around her body and moved to sit by the fire, beside Roshanak.
"Where did you run off to?" Eigou asked. He seemed back to his normal self, no hint of the hardness in his face.
"To look at the horses," Ilati said, purposely keeping it vague. She doubted that the Sut Resi would like the idea of her around one of their precious heaven-touched horses. "They differ greatly from what I imagined, living in the temple."
"I would wager many things to be very different for you now than what you knew," Menes said, words infused with a kind comfort as he laid down, pulling his leopard skin over his body for its warmth. They had not yet reached summer with all its heat and the combination of wind with rain could make things quite unpleasant.
Ilati nodded and let her gaze rest on the fire until it was only coals and the others were all shifting to their bedrolls to sleep. She laid down reluctantly in hers, praying for something other than a nightmare.
It was a prayer that went unanswered.
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse |
By K. Olsen
Ilati ran her fingers along the bowstring, eager to learn. This recurve bow was so short compared to the bows she'd seen used by the archers of Kullah, a composite of wood and horn with sinew on the front, lacquered together into one solid weapon. It looked broken when Shir Del brought it to her unstrung, curved practically into a C in the wrong direction. Fortunately, she'd been able to string it in what felt like the silliest way possible, sitting on the ground with her feet pressed against the grip. "That was much more challenging than I thought it would be. Isn't there an easier way?"
Shir Del laughed, leaning against Araxa's flanks. "There are a hundred ways to string a bow. Whatever works."
Smoke from the Sut Resi campfires wafted up behind them, far enough away that an errant arrow shot wouldn't harm anyone. Ilati was grateful for the distance. The fewer people saw her fumbling, the better. Tahmasp supervised from his perch on a low mud-brick wall at the edge of the farm they had camped beside, much to the terror of the farmers.
The priestess curled her fingers around the string just like Kia and Duga had showed her once: index, middle, and ring.
"Not like that, little sister," Shir Del said with a sharp shake of her head. "That draw does not work so well on horseback, nor with our bows. Here, Tahmasp made this for you." The warrior woman held out a ring carved of some unknown horn, suited well enough to wear on Ilati's left thumb, since that was her stronger hand. It was strangely shaped, with a curved flat projection. She realized its function when she glanced at Shir Del's hand. The Sut Resi designed their rings so that when one held their hand in a Sut Resi draw, it covered the thumb.
Ilati took the ring and studied it. Tahmasp had scratched symbols into the band and then rubbed over with some kind of dark pigment. After wiping away the excess stain, it left the ring with various symbols in thread-thin lines of black. One was a triangle with a circle through it, another a series of waving lines, and one looked like a hand with a thumb on either side of the palm. "What do these mean?"
Tahmasp scratched his beard as he stood up, moving to join the conversation. "They honor Skyfather and Earthmother, and bring good luck. You'll need all the help you can get, girl."
Ilati wanted to ask Shir Del if what he said was true, but she doubted Tahmasp would take that suspicion well. "Thank you for the gift. It is most thoughtful."
"Thank Artakhshathra. It was he who asked me to make it."
Shir Del snorted. "Asked? Told."
Tahmasp gave the warrior woman a withering glare. "Are we here to teach the girl archery or not?"
Ilati slipped the ring on her left hand. "What do I do now?"
"Hook your thumb around the string. Your first and second fingers will cover the part of your thumb that curls towards your palm," Shir Del instructed. "Then you will draw. To fire, you would simply let go with your thumb and first finger, and then nock the next arrow."
"Nock?"
"There is a groove in the end of the arrow where the fletching is. That is pressed back onto the string to hold the arrow as it is drawn."
Tahmasp held out an arrow. Those learning the craft of fletching had donated their arrows, imperfect and probably inaccurate, but right now hitting things wasn't the point and Ilati was going to go through many arrows before she got better.
Ilati held up the bow, nocking the arrow with care.
"Now, don't lock your shoulder and keep your right arm slightly bent," Shir Del advised, watching her with hawkish intensity, which did nothing to put Ilati at ease.
Still, the priestess tried to do as she was told. She drew the bow back, muscles pulling in her arm and shoulder, deep into her back. The bow resistance was more than she expected, but she fully intended to pull until she had the draw memorized in her muscles. Holding the position was a slight strain, but she stayed still as Tahmasp walked from one side of her to the other, correcting her grip and position.
After a moment that felt like a thousand years, Tahmasp seemed satisfied. "Eye on your target. Be sure you are gazing down the length of the arrow. See the arrowhead and see where it will land. When you are ready, pull the string back to your cheek and then release."
"Watch how you breathe," Shir Del added. "I always inhale with the pull, then exhale as it goes. If you are going to aim, hold your breath."
Ilati nodded. She took a deep breath and then let the arrow fly. Immediately, the priestess let out a yelp as the string snapped against her forearm. Her shot went wide, missing the bush that was her target.
"That will teach you to hold it properly," Tahmasp said, studying the new red spot on Ilati's arm. It would be a fine welt if repeated a few more times.
Shir Del grinned. "Quite the first shot."
The priestess sighed and picked up the next arrow. "At least I have many more to try."
"We will get you through fifty shots a day until you are ready for a hundred and a stronger bow."
Ilati nodded. She knew she would ache by the end, but surely the discomfort would be worth it. This was the easiest she was going to have it, standing on two feet. Tahmasp had already grumbled that she should have been learning while astride a horse, so Ilati was certain that wasn't far away.
Her fear of horses was gradually fading the more she was around them, into a definite respect and almost fondness. She didn't have a Sut Resi's close connection, but she learned quickly that the beasts had their own personalities and preferences. Roshanak's mare didn't seem to mind Ilati on her back, so the girl rode with Ilati now to teach her. Shir Del had loaned Menes a big bay stallion with a friendly temperament and Eigou insisted he was fine on the mule. Over the past three days since their night ride out of Aham-Nishi, Ilati had yet to fall other than on trying to dismount. That was progress, wasn't it?
The priestess picked up her next arrow and tried to keep all of Shir Del's advice straight in her head. Tahmasp was much more direct, simply grabbing her and moving her into the correct position every time she deviated from it. Soon she had a red welt on her right arm and an aching left side from drawing the bow. It pulled in muscles she'd barely realized were connected.
A farmer scurried by on the narrow track on the other side of the wall. Artakhshathra had put the camp far enough out that the horses wouldn't graze on the little village's crops, but the men of Kullah assumed the worst when Sut Resi moved through. They were no more favorable a wind than the Nadaren.
Tahmasp scowled as he watched the man go. "We should head south to the plains. None of these dirt-scratchers want us here."
Shir Del shook her head. "We agreed to give passage to Sarru. What are we if not our word?"
"Artakhshathra risks too much. He dreams only of death now."
Ilati knew Shir Del's temper was alive and well not in her movements, but in her stillness. No longer did the rider shift her weight or her attention. The warrior woman's sharp gaze fixed on Tahmasp with an asp's cold-eyed danger. "His sons deserve to be avenged."
"You are ever of the same opinion as he, yet you do not have the same claim to that pain," Tahmasp said with a tone so sharp it seemed fanged. "What will that bring us, one tribe alone against the Nadaren, except a great sorrow?"
Ilati lowered her bow. Even knowing nothing about Sut Resi custom, she knew ugly feelings when she heard them. The warrior woman stood with her arms crossed, face hard like flint. Tahmasp, dark as a storm-cloud, seemed no more pleased.
Shir Del made a sharp clicking sound with her teeth and tongue, dismissive and angry. "We are finished speaking of this, old man. If you think so little of Artakhshathra's vision, tell him so. Leave us before you say something beyond the bonds of my patience."
"You are not chieftain, Shir Del, nor kin of Artakhshathra," Tahmasp said even as he swung himself up onto his horse by gripping the saddle. "Only that girl of yours may someday speak with his authority."
The warrior woman scowled, but said nothing as Tahmasp rode back to the tribe's encampment. After he vanished from view around a low hill, Shir Del exhaled her anger and hurt. "His words bite worse than horseflies."
Ilati was inclined to agree. "Deeper, from what I see."
"It is his way—sharp and keen as flint. What makes him a fine seer also cuts us with his tongue. He is right that our tribe alone can do nothing to avenge our fallen. A great powerlessness we are all well aware of." Shir Del sighed.
"Do you mind if I ask what connection there is between Roshanak and Artakhshathra?" Ilati said. She had a feeling she knew the answer, but Sut Resi relations were confusing at times.
The warrior woman ran her fingers across the back of her neck, beneath the long braid she wore. "She is the daughter of his son, Mithradatha."
"Then why would you not have the right—?"
"I am ersham, an outsider from another tribe, and Mithridatha and I were only betrothed when he died. Had our hands been bound, things would have been different, but we were foolish youths who felt we could do anything we wished in our own time. It was so important to Mithridatha that everything be perfect." A deep tiredness seemed to sink into Shir Del's shoulders. "Artakhshathra claimed Roshanak as his, and so I am part of the tribe, but not so completely as I might have been. Truthfully, it is mostly just Tahmasp who sees the difference, but I know it is there."
Ilati picked up the quiver from the ground. She had more questions, but recognized that now was not the time. "Would you help me fetch the arrows, Shir Del?"
The request seemed to relax Shir Del's shoulders ever so slightly, bringing her back into the present moment. "Mm."
Retrieving Ilati's arrows, or at least the salvageable ones, took hardly any time at all. She didn't have the strength to send them too far, and she mostly remembered where to look. Araxa followed them like a faithful hound.
Shir Del seemed still so focused on the past, brow furrowed from dark thoughts. She said no word as she plucked arrows from the bush and the surrounding ground, leaving Ilati to check further afield. The warrior woman checked each shaft for straightness and the heads for chips, discarding them when either looked faulty.
"What was he like?" Ilati asked softly. Perhaps happier memories would do something to ease Shir Del's bitterness. "Was he handsome?"
The warrior woman blinked like she was waking from a bad dream, then glanced over at Ilati. "I was to wed him because he was the fiercest of warriors and the only who could best me, because he brought to me the heads of great foes and set them at my feet." Fondness crept into Shir Del's tone. "Mithradatha was a man of greatness, but not like the princes of your people, Ilati. He did not bejewel himself, nor smell of sweet oils, nor preen over the trim of his beard, nor dress in fine silks ill-suited to war."
"He sounds like a fine match for you."
Shir Del smiled faintly. "The only. Though in truth it was I who had to win his proposal."
Ilati cocked her head slightly, retrieving the last of the arrows. "Oh?"
The warrior woman huffed, but fondly. "The troublesome man was too foolish to understand my affections until I stated them plainly to his face and pulled him to bed. He thought it would be impossible that I could love him, so high he held me in his esteem." Shir Del turned the ring on her thumb and then held that hand out to Ilati. Instead of horn, the ring was beautifully worked bronze, engraved with the images of eagles. "His betrothal gift."
"As useful as beautiful," Ilati said with a smile. "He knew you well." She packed the arrows that Shir Del deemed salvageable into the leather quivers Tahmasp brought. "Thank you for telling me about him. It was a sweet story."
"A taste of honey to ease the bitterness of his absence. Have you had such a thing, Ilati?"
Ilati shook her head. "Priestesses of Zu do not marry. They accept any into their arms instead, in honor of the fertility goddess they serve."
"I had heard of the sacred harlots of Shadi."
"As have the whole four corners of the world. They were quite famous." Ilati's heart turned to stone at the thought of Zu, the goddess who had abandoned her people. She lowered her eyes. "A different life. Like Eigou says, I must leave it behind like a snake shedding its skin."
Shir Del tied a quiver to the rough saddle on Araxa's back and slung the other over her shoulder. "Eigou says many things."
The priestess laughed. "You sound so fond of him."
"I think more often than not, he is right, but he thinks in jagged ways...like the cracks of the bones of seeing when they break." Shir Del helped Ilati up onto Araxa's back, then pulled herself up into the saddle. It was little more than a horn frame with leather stretched over the top, but it spread the weight of a rider so it was more comfortable for the horse. It had the added benefit of keeping the archer mounted even at high speeds.
Ilati had been with the Sut Resi long enough to see Tahmasp cast the bones of seeing, so she understood. The Sut Resi took bones from animals and dripped the blood of a sacrifice over them, then smashed the bones with a rock. Life-blood supposedly held good omens, and the cracks of death showed danger and evil. "I don't think Eigou is evil."
Shir Del shrugged. "Who can say if he is a smiling man or a jackal baring its teeth?" She whistled sharply to Araxa and nudged gently with her knees. The Sut Resi did not use reins with their horses the way the men of civilization did. Every horse Ilati met among the wild people seemed keen to listen to its rider through the command of taps and different whistles or calls. Araxa gauged his speed on the pressure Shir Del used, not that he needed much encouragement to burst into his full, impressive gallop.
The priestess wrapped both arms around Shir Del's waist and held tightly when the stallion surged into a canter, too focused on staying on the horse to mull over Shir Del's impression of Eigou.
Camp was alive and bustling despite the growing dusk. Ilati felt eyes on her as they reached the outskirts and turned her head to look. Youtab stood beyond the edges of the herd, her head turned in their direction. Ilati saw the horse's ears prick with that curious air again.
As Araxa slowed to a stop and Shir Del dismounted, Ilati tried to focus again as she had before. It was too chaotic with so many horses and people here for her to maintain anything for more than a split second. The priestess swung down from Shir Del's horse awkwardly, still not used to the movements. She was getting better, but slowly so.
"Ilati, be careful," Shir Del warned.
The priestess turned. Youtab approached from the west, silhouetted by the sunset. This time, the connection from before arose in Ilati's heart without any intentional focus. The mare pawed the ground before stomping and lifting her head. It was a warning again, a more subdued version of the war dance.
Ilati held her ground and her breath, ignoring Shir Del's tug at her shoulder to pull her away. She again met the gaze of a dark, intelligent eye as the horse turned her head to take in her image. Then the mare turned, heading back to the outskirts of the camp.
Shir Del slapped Ilati's arm so hard it hurt. "It is not wise to stare down that horse, Ilati," the warrior woman said sharply. "When they give you the war dance, you give them their space."
The priestess nodded, uncertain how to explain how she knew Youtab was testing her. Shir Del had always held Araxa's love for saving his life, so she never needed to face his temper. Youtab was a wilder soul, one not easy to win over. "I will remember that next time," she said to pacify the Sut Resi woman.
"You had better." Shir Del patted Araxa's neck and then motioned for Ilati to follow. "Tahmasp will want you to learn to shoot from horseback, so perhaps we should find you a mount. There is an older mare in my herd gentle enough for a new rider."
"Do all Sut Resi horses soften with age?" Ilati knew little of horses still, but was ever eager to learn.
"Some become more fierce, others less. Much the same as people. Araxa will probably be a great terror when he is long in the tooth."
Ilati laughed. "With how even your tribe avoids his hooves and teeth, I would say he is fearsome already."
"My fierce boy," Shir Del cooed at her horse, stroking his mane. "Did you know someone tried to steal him once?"
"That poor thief."
"Do not pity him overmuch. He only paid three fingers for the transgression, a far kinder sentence from Araxa than I would have given him." The warrior woman's mood seemed back to normal, the cut to her heart from Tahmasp's words now closed. "It is one thing for the People to steal horses from each other, but we know what comes when the men of brick and mortar take a horse: the brand, the bridle, the whip."
"What happened to the man?" Ilati asked.
Shir Del led the way back to her tent, nudging her way through some of the other horses she kept. The big bay and Ankhu the mule stood beside the hide tent, meaning Menes and Eigou were likely inside the tent. "I found his fingers in the morning. Araxa spit them out after he bit the man. Tahmasp said that the thief had learned a fine lesson, and we left it at that. I imagine he did not try that trick again."
Ilati pulled open the tent flap, greeted by the wafting smell of roasting meat. Her stomach chose that moment to growl with the ferocity of a dragon. Her arm and back ached from drawing the bow, but that was nothing compared to the hunger pangs. She realized she hadn't eaten all day and had barely touched her food the night before. She unstrung her bow carefully and followed Shir Del in, trying to ignore the throbbing and stinging in her right forearm from the strikes of the bowstring.
"You should see what a warrior your priestess is becoming, cat," Shir Del said with a grin of greeting towards Menes as he cooked. "She has nearly slain her own arm and terrorized several bushes."
A sense of comforting familiarity washed over Ilati in that moment. The Sut Resi camp was not her home, but she was grateful for the way it gave her something besides the gnawing emptiness inside.
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse |
By K. Olsen
The hum of a bowstring quickly became as familiar to Ilati as the sound of her own name. As days became weeks, calluses thickened on her hands and the draw of the bow seemed more and more natural. Her accuracy still left something to be desired, but her strength was improving by leaps and bounds. Menes helped in that regard with his lessons on grappling and moving weights. Like a snake shedding its skin, her temple manners too were gradually being discarded. It felt more and more natural to sit around a simple fire under an open sky, eating without a plate or thought of decorum, listening to raucous laughter and outrageous boasting. The only thing she knew she would never develop a taste for was the fermented mare's milk that the Sut Resi drank instead of beer.
Ilati ran a rough comb carved from olive wood through Roshanak's tangled hair. The girl had gone for a swim in a creek that crisscrossed the area, eagerly pursuing a few small frogs. It was comforting to tend to Roshanak, the way she would have looked after an acolyte in Zu's service: a reminder of the good in the past without the pain of its ending.
Roshanak sat patiently while Ilati worked out the tangles, though her delicate fingers were always in motion. They drummed across her thighs or sketched patterns on her forearms, following the lines of blue tattoos. The intricate threading lines formed exquisitely feathered wings, far more elaborate than any henna painting Ilati had ever worn.
Ilati watched Roshanak circle with one finger the stylized wings tattooed around her right forearm. "Did that hurt?"
"A little. The ones on my face hurt more." The Sut Resi girl sat between Ilati's knees in front of the fire, clearly content with her position. "But I wanted them and Artakhshathra said I could have them this year."
"What does it mean?" Even as an outsider, Ilati had learned that the Sut Resi's tattoos had great significance almost immediately. Not having them was perhaps the greatest marker that she was not Sutta, not one of the People.
Roshanak traced over the wings again. "This one is a prayer to Skyfather, that my bow arm be swift as a hunting eagle." Then she moved her hand to brush her tangle-free hair out of the way, touching the concentric circles tattooed onto the back of her neck. "This is a prayer to Earthmother, that my backbone be as proud and strong as the bones of the earth."
Ilati smiled faintly as she finished the last tangle. She set the comb aside and moved to sit beside Roshanak instead of behind her. "What about this one?" The priestess tapped the twisting marking that ran down Roshanak's left cheek from just below her eye. It reminded Ilati of an ink tear that had coursed down her cheek, though the swirling patterns of it were far more elegant than a simple streak.
The Sut Resi girl covered the marking with her hand. "This reminds everyone I am a second soul. I don't like it very much." Roshanak's voice lost its usual chirping energy, as if the thought of it made her tired.
Ilati ran a soothing hand down Roshanak's back when she heard the change in the girl's voice. "Why not?"
Roshanak relaxed slightly at the reassurance, but the twist of her lips was still sorrowful. "People don't like betweens. The world comes in opposites, not mixed up things. Everything natural comes in twos."
The priestess furrowed her brow at that, trying to make sense of that explanation. "What do you mean?"
Her young friend held up two fingers. "Light," she said, touching her index finger. Then she touched the other finger. "Dark." She repeated the gesture. "Sky." Then again she shifted. "Earth." Roshanak pulled in a deep breath. "Alive." She touched her second finger then. "Dead."
"You are very much alive, Roshanak, or this would be a strange conversation. Not everything comes in twos. Things can be not one thing and not another." Ilati rubbed along her jaw, trying to think of a way to explain herself. "I mean, dawn is changing from one to another, dark to light."
Roshanak shook her head. "It doesn't stay between. I was born dead, and death is not a thing you can wake from like a slumber. Instead, I stay in the between. They know I am not like them, that I can never be them." She tapped the tattoo with a sorrowful frown. "This reminds."
Ilati hummed thoughtfully, considering. She hated to see Roshanak downcast. "Tahmasp thinks you will be wise by the time you are all grown up, because you see the world differently. Maybe there is more to the world than twos."
Roshanak looked over at Ilati, combing fingers through her sun-bleached hair. "You think so?"
The priestess laughed. "You are swift with a bow when hunting," she said, tapping the eagle wings on Roshanak's arm. Then she touched the circles on the back of the girl's neck. "You are firm like a mountain when things are scary." Ilati smiled at Roshanak and ran a finger down the line on the girl's cheek. "You will grow to be wise."
A flash of comforted relief played through Roshanak's blue eyes. "I hope so. Tahmasp wants me to follow in Artakhshathra's steps, and he says that is not for foolish people."
"And what do you want to do?" Ilati leaned over to unroll her bedroll. They were outside under the stars rather than in a tent, mostly because Tahmasp said it would be clear skies with the light of benevolent stars.
Roshanak smiled brightly, the shadows disappearing from her expression. "I want to ride Thriti and be the best archer there ever was."
"You are off to a fine start. Thriti is a wonderful horse and you can already take down a bird on wing." Ilati moved over to lie down in her bedroll. The ground here was still marsh-like, but drier than the path ahead. She heard a soft whinny in the distance, some horse calling after their rider.
"You need a horse like Thriti, Ilati."
The priestess laughed. "Your mother is loaning me a fine horse."
Roshanak scrunched up her face. "Vanushe isn't a warrior's horse. She's too old for battle and slower than Ankhu. You need a horse who will carry you through everything, like Araxa or Thriti or Babak."
Ilati shrugged. "Maybe someday. For now, I need a slow horse, Roshanak, or I will fall off."
The sound of someone approaching stirred them from their conversation. Eigou took a seat across the coals from the pair of them and flashed a distracted smile. Ilati was no expert on the man, but his thoughts seemed a thousand leagues away. Roshanak cocked her head slightly to one side as she looked at him. "What's wrong, Eigou?"
Eigou sighed and rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. "I feel a change in my bones, like a storm is coming."
Roshanak frowned. "Tahmasp said there would only be clear skies from here to the River Ninti."
"Not that kind of storm, little one." Eigou's gaze flicked over at Ilati. "If something is coming, it would be wisest to prepare."
Ilati nodded. Even not knowing what manner of man Eigou really was, preparing for something bad made sense. Besides, he had worked to save her so far, and she owed him dearly for that. "What should we do?"
"I saw," Eigou said, tapping his cheekbone below his missing eye. "To the south, there is a giant olive tree, taller than all others of its kind that I have ever seen, that endured the strike of a thunderbolt. A great black scar that splits it in two, yet it grows. Wisdom lives tangled in its roots, and so long ago the men of Kullah dug a well there and lined the top with stones. They say drinking the water grants flashes of insight."
The priestess had a feeling that she was about to be involved in this vision. "You want someone to find this place?"
Eigou nodded and scratched at his beard thoughtfully. "We are close to it. I want you to seek it out, Ilati. Perhaps it will help you tap into the gifts that K'adau gave you."
Roshanak shook her head. "On Vanushe? She will have trouble catching us if we move on."
"I will ask Artakhshathra to slow our pace for the day or two she will need to reach it and return." Eigou fixed his gaze on Ilati. "I would not suggest the course of action if I did not feel it prudent."
There were a thousand reasons Ilati knew she should object. She wasn't the best rider and if she lost Vanushe, there would be no way to catch up again. If she ran into Nadaren, her bow was not as swift, powerful, or accurate as Shir Del's. She knew full well she would die in such a contest, even with all the training Menes put her through. "How certain are you of this well, Eigou?"
His face was as serious as ever. "I have no doubt. The place is important."
Ilati bit her lower lip, weighing whether she wanted to agree. "Fine," she said finally, "but only if you will speak of how you came to know my grandfather when I return." Her desire for knowledge trumped her doubts about Eigou's motivations.
Eigou eyed her carefully, obviously weighing her intent. "A shrewd bargain."
The priestess didn't waver for a second. "Only because you will not tell me unless I compel you. I swear it would be easier to pull a tooth from Araxa's mouth."
Sighing, the old man crossed his arms and leaned back. "Very well. When you return, we will speak of the days gone by."
"When do I leave?"
"Tonight," Eigou said firmly. "We cannot afford to waste time."
Ilati took stock of herself. Her muscles ached from use, including her core and legs from riding, and now Eigou wanted her to push more? Menes and Shir Del barely gave her a moment's respite as it was. Taking care of Roshanak was a rare break she had enjoyed for a singular evening. "I do not know if I can."
"You must," Eigou said firmly. "The darkness is an advantage: the birds of ill omen do not fly at night."
Roshanak's attention seemed to perk at that. "Birds of ill omen?"
Eigou waved a hand. "All to be said of them is that such creatures mean misfortune. Besides, Ilati, you are daughter to the night winds. What do you have to fear from the darkness?"
"I can think of many things to fear in the darkness," Ilati muttered.
The old man's counter struck like lightning. "And how frightening are they, after all you have endured? After all that Shadi endured?"
Ilati stilled at Eigou's point. What nightmare could there be beyond everything she had seen and experienced there? What demon was more destructive than the men of Nadar at their king's decree? She said nothing as she grabbed her bow and strung it, again using her feet to pull the bow into shape enough to slip the string on. Then she rose, heading for where she'd left her saddle.
"Ilati!" Roshanak called after her.
The priestess didn't slow her pace. She lifted the saddle and the quiver full of arrows strapped to it, letting it rest on her shoulder as she approached Vanushe. She knew now to walk the mare around after putting the saddle on, tightening the cinch a few times so she wouldn't slide off. The old horse huffed at her, as if indignant that she would dare ride in the dark.
"I know," Ilati murmured sympathetically. They would have to go carefully. "I wanted my rest too."
The sentinels that watched over the camp were more concerned with people coming in than leaving, but one stopped Ilati on her way: Farhata, the squat Sut Resi man who had made her bow. He perched on his lanky horse, one hand on his bow until he realized who she was. "Where are you going, priestess?"
Ilati felt Vanushe shift nervously under her. Leaving the herd at night was perilous for an old horse like her. "Following a vision."
"Go carefully." Farhata's voice was rough, like the sand he used to smooth bows. "There are many Nadaren in Kullah, even if they have no quarrel with us, and other tribes too. With no army to beat us back, many will think of crossing into the land of sweet grasses."
"I will," Ilati promised. For all of his wildness with drink and rough manners, Farhata was a good man at heart. His warning came sincerely.
Farhata whistled softly and his horse danced out of her way. The Sut Resi horses used pressure and sound to direct them, not reins, so their rider would always have hands free for a bow. "May that bow and Vanushe take good care of you, Ilati."
Ilati gently tapped her heels against Vanushe's sensitive sides, just enough to urge the horse forward with some speed.
Her thoughts spun around what might be waiting for her. She had never heard of such a tree or well, but she knew little even of the land her family had ruled beyond Shadi itself. Seeing it as it was, little clusters of reed huts separated by leagues of grasslands and marsh, gave her a very different view than the one seen from the top of Zu's ziggurat or the palace steps. The people were different too, not the chattering city dwellers who thronged Shadi's streets. In the land between the rivers, most lived quiet lives, seldom venturing more than a day or two from their own village.
Ilati understood why they found the Sut Resi so strange, not only because they spoke in rough tongues and carried themselves as clear and present danger. Once eyes had seen a thousand leagues, they carried an experience no farmer could dream of.
To be boundless on the steppe, moving with the herds and the seasons, that was the freedom of the Sut Resi. As Ilati rode towards the well, her thoughts turned for the first time to seeing the world. Her quest would take her far if she was to succeed, further than any of her people had been since the days of Ilishu the Conqueror.
Her grandfather had come with a conquering army. Now she would come with the outstretched hands of a supplicant, praying for the freedom of her homeland. Eigou spoke often with great respect for Ilishu, but as the night winds rushed around her, Ilati remembered the great king's deathbed again and his fevered challenge to his grandsons.
He who would be my equal, where I have gone, let him go!
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior woman who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse. |
By K. Olsen
The drumming of Vanushe’s hooves hit a rhythm that soothed the worst of Ilati’s nerves. Riding was still not a comfortable experience, particularly after doing so for hours upon hours, but the knowledge she was in motion towards a goal gave Ilati a reason to continue. Morning broke across the eastern horizon, a gleaming golden disk shedding its light across the sea of grass all around her. There was little cover for miles in any direction, only flat land and the occasional thread of water, blazing brightly under the light of Ninshe’s child.
Ilati drooped in her saddle, shoulders rolled forward as she tried to keep her eyes open. She felt utterly spent, yet the road continued. Her horse grunted now with every stride, a sign that Vanushe was just as desperate to rest.
Finally, as the sun completely departed the horizon to make its climb across the sky, she slid from the saddle, too tired to continue. Ilati lay back in the grasses surrounding a twisting little stream, aching bones and muscles soothed by the cool earth beneath. She wanted to curse Eigou for sending her to chase down his vision. However, that would have required energy that she no longer possessed. She fought to keep her eyes open as Vanushe guzzled stream water with abandon.
How could she even say she knew where she was going?
Perhaps it was time to imitate Eigou. This was his vision, after all.
She closed her eyes tightly and dug her fingers into the soft soil like roots. Ilati tipped her head back and spoke the name Eigou had invoked when he showed her the growing grass. If it had worked there, perhaps it would help her here.
It was slow, not the instantaneous flash of insight that Eigou’s command had been. A quiet, tremulous sensation washed through Ilati first, as if the grass was timidly testing her resolve. Ilati pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly through her nose, sinking down into the sensation as the barriers between her soul and the souls of the grasses faded.
—her roots running down into the earth, spreading wide, drawing life from the soil, leaves reaching ever upwards to the sun—Ilati tried to picture the well in her mind, a tree bearing the scar of a lightning strike with roots curled around water—cool, deep, pooled amongst the tangled roots and ringed by mudbrick, shaped by the touch of warm, rough hands, waiting for—
Ilati’s will frayed as she started to sense the well and disintegrated before she could get more than those fleeting sensations. Still, it was enough: the roots had drawn her towards the horizon of the setting sun. It was strange, to feel that expectation clinging to something as simple as water. Then again, if it truly contained wisdom, perhaps some spirit dwelt in it. Best of all, it couldn’t be far if someone as weak as her could sense it.
“Vanushe,” Ilati called, forcing herself up. Her arms quaked under her own weight after a day’s exertion followed by a completely sleepless night. The bow slung to her saddle would be useless if she came across any foes.
The old horse looked in Ilati’s direction grudgingly, grass strands slowly vanishing behind Vanushe’s lips as she chewed. The mare’s coat was sweaty and stained by mud on her legs from their travels. Ilati knew she hardly looked better herself, covered in horse sweat and her own perspiration, mingled with the clay-like mud of Kullah.
The priestess caught hold of the saddle, using it to steady herself. “We walk together. You may graze when we reach it. Just a little further.” She didn’t know if the mare understood a word she said, but she would treat Vanushe like a person until proven otherwise.
They pressed on together for another mile, drawing closer and closer to the copse of trees to the south, no doubt clustered around some water source. They rose taller than the others, almost towering, like no other trees in this part of Kullah. The twisting branches all interwove, as did the trunks, as though…it was all one tree.
Ilati sucked in a breath as they approached. It stood as tall as a tower, the center blackened by the scar of a thunderbolt’s wrath. Yet, despite the damage, the tree flourished and stretched wide branches over a shaded area. She approached carefully, releasing her hold on Vanushe’s saddle. She grabbed the bow and quiver, even knowing she had no strength to use them. At least it would give her the appearance of a threat if there was danger.
A circle of stacked mudbrick five cubits wide, eroded almost to nothingness by exposure to rain and the elements, tangled with the roots. At the center of the circuit was only a flat piece of ground. There was no well, no water, no spirits. Such a thing had long ago dried and been buried.
Ilati cried out in frustration, gripping the bow more tightly as she stumbled towards the ring. She crashed down onto her knees at the edge of the circle and beat one fist against the ground, testing it to see if it might be some illusion, hiding the water.
The ground was firm, only earth. How was this possible? She was so certain she had felt it. Was that only a memory of the grass?
“Eigou,” Ilati hissed, covering her face with her hand. She was exhausted and for what? When she returned to camp, there would be harsh words.
Moving around the circle, Ilati put her back to the trunk of the great tree and tipped her head back, her bow and quiver in her lap. Her eyelids drifted heavier and heavier with every blink until finally the priestess succumbed to sleep’s insistent presence. As with every night, she dreamed, but this was not the fiery destruction of Shadi.
—She lay frozen on the desert sands, the unmistakable sensation of eight small legs crawling up her leg. The scorpion was back, tail poised and claws at the ready. Ilati took deep, even breaths as the creature advanced up her body. So delicate, so deadly. It stepped with a precise grace, picking its way slowly along her midsection. The only true emperor of the Desert of Kings, it stood on her breastbone with alien intensity in its many eyes.
Is a mirage an oasis, that you think dreams are water? The winds caressed her hair like a loving hand, stirring sienna strands.
Ilati shuddered at the sound of her goddess’s voice, coming from everywhere at once. Even with a clear sky above, she felt the roll of thunder in her bones with every syllable. The scorpion perched on her poised its tail to strike when she moved, little eyes staring deep into her soul.
Afraid of such a little thing?
“Their sting brings death as surely as an assassin’s knife.” Ilati forced herself to be still in hopes of soothing the creature, but it remained ready to strike.
But is it the sting that you are afraid of, my poet, or the uncertainty of whether or not it will use it? The voice seemed to come from the scorpion itself now, though it stood completely still with its tail curled to strike. You lay beneath your killer still and yielding, offering no hint of resistance, because you do not understand that the uncertainty goes both ways.
Ilati focused on the scorpion, poised with its claws and tail ready, but let her hand close around her scarf. If she understood K’adau…
Uncertainty is advantage, my poet.
The moment the scorpion’s stinger twitched, the priestess swept it off her chest with one hand, using the wrap of cloth to catch the deadly spike before it could pierce her throat. She threw hard, casting the scorpion down the slope of the dune, and sprang up to her feet.
K’adau’s voice purred like a lion, deep and resonant. Better.
She stared in shock as the scorpion fled, one hand coming up to cover her throat. “It could have killed me. When I met it in the desert, it just walked away.”
The goddess’s presence enveloped Ilati again, sharp claws running down her spine. A valuable lesson in many respects. When you wake, remember the scorpion. He holds in his tail the insight you seek, the insight your sorcerer promised.
Ilati nodded and turned, the winds whipping up around her in a column—
A horrible sound woke the priestess from her sleep: the dying scream of a horse. Ilati shot to her feet with her bow, body aching but considerably more energized. On the western horizon, the sun set in a blaze of orange. She had slept the day away at this empty place, far too long. Her first thought was Vanushe, but the horse was nowhere to be seen.
A deep, sonorous caw split the air and the priestess looked up. There, in the tree above her, was a large black bird. Its head swiveled down towards her, taking in everything about her. The intelligence in the avian’s eyes pierced her to her core like a needle. Something about it was frighteningly human, as if she was matching gazes with not the bird, but its master.
Birds of ill omen do not fly at night.
It was day. The priestess felt a sudden stab of cold fear as the bird launched itself upward with a sudden beat of wings. It flew faster than any bird she had ever seen, racing into the distance like the arrow of a dark god.
Ilati slung her bow across her back and climbed into the great tree’s branches to get enough of a vantage to see where Vanushe had gone. The answer, swiftly found, knotted her stomach into a hard stone.
Six men in armor stood over the bloody corpse of the mare, one with a dripping sickle-sword gleaming crimson in the dying light of the sun. Their own horses were saddled nearby, whinnying on the other side of the tree. They had not yet made their way around to find her.
One, his square beard braided with a crimson ribbon, pointed at the others. “Spread out and find the scout. Sut Resi are never far from their horses. No survivors.”
The priestess swallowed hard. There was no way on earth that she could fight with six Nadaren soldiers. They would find her and kill her. That much was absolutely certain.
At least, if she stayed to fight. Ilati thought of the scorpion, poised on her chest. Certain death, but at the right time…
She turned, grabbing the roughened bark of the tree. She climbed quickly with arms strengthened by archery and hands callused by bowstring, paying attention only to the amount of noise she was making. So great were the branches of this behemoth, they barely moved at all when bearing her weight. Ilati focused on going higher and higher while the men below spread out, until she was high enough that the trunk split. Surviving this would not be enough, not if they could go on to attack her friends. Besides, without Vanushe, she was without a way to return to the Sut Resi. They would move on and abandon her, or search with no way of knowing where she had gone except Eigou.
“What were they even looking for? Natan said this whole route would be abandoned,” one grunted below, rounding the trunk to approach the stone. “Surely not water.”
“The grass here is flat!” his partner said, bounding forward. “Someone slept here.”
Ilati sucked in a deep breath as she maneuvered through the higher branches towards their horses, then started easing herself down. She had seconds to do this and she was nowhere near as brave or trained as Shir Del or Menes. Beneath her, the horses shifted, flicking their ears. They had a minder, so their reins were not tied.
“Bark! They are up in the tree! They are up in the tree!”
The man watching the horses looked up, directly at Ilati. His eyes went wide as she dropped the last six feet, landing directly on the saddle of the lead horse. She cursed in pain and almost fell, but grabbed the saddlehorn as the horse shot forward like an arrow from a bow, startled by the sudden acquisition of its passenger.
Almost immediately, the first arrow zipped after Ilati. Fortunately, she was essentially laying on the back of the horse, trying to fumble vainly for the reins that were hanging down from the bridle rather than back on the saddlehorn where she might have been able to use them. The next arrow grazed her leg, leaving a burning laceration in its wake as it passed her. These were not the bone-tipped barbs of the Sut Resi: these were metal broadheads, wide and wicked.
The priestess struggled to settle into the saddle. It was entirely different from a Sut Resi one, sculpted to suit a different style of riding. This horse likely knew none of the whistle-cues and different calls that she’d learned to steer a horse. She would have to rely on pressure. As soon as the horse started to slow, out of its fright, she pressed tightly with her heels against its sensitive sides, driving it forward again.
A glance back revealed what she’d been afraid of: the men had quickly mounted their own steeds and given chase, one horse at the back carrying two riders. That was not the one that would spell her end, of course. It was the leader.
Think of the scorpion.
Ilati drew her bronze blade and cut away the saddle bags, nicking her own hand in the process. It was razor sharp enough that she barely felt it, even as the blood began to run down the heel of her hand towards her wrist. The heavy load on the saddle lightened immediately, leaving her horse an ease for speed. This would be endurance, not just the immediate escape. They would hound her all the way back if they were even halfway competent riders.
They had to be. They were able to fire arrows at her from horseback. Perhaps not as well as the Sut Resi would, but there were definite similarities to the style of draw. Their bows were bigger, though, more unwieldy on horseback than her own.
She slid the blade back in the sheath once the horse’s load was significantly lighter, everything extra cut away. Behind her was the relentless drumming of hooves, coming closer and closer. Ilati abruptly changed course by grabbing the horse’s mane and tugging to one side as she pushed on the other side with her hand. It was cruel and she hated to do it, but this was ride or die.
“You will not escape, cur!”
Ilati turned her horse to the west and pressed her heels tighter, riding it like a demon with the setting sun shining directly into her pursuers’ eyes.
Something moved to her left and she turned her head sharply, expecting to see a lion.
A horse charged out of one of the moist gulleys, hooves churning the soft earth. The priestess knew the mare’s identity without a thought, that burning link between them suddenly flaring: Youtab. Youtab had followed her.
The Sut Resi horse let out a war scream and kicked out at an angle as she came even with the flanks of the lead horse, shattering that horse’s leg from the side. It fell, trapping its rider, and Youtab surged forward.
“Shoot that horse!”
Ilati heard that command and her heart seized. Instead of panicking, she fixed her will on the image of a great sweeping gust that would blow any arrows off course. “Night winds, do not forget your daughter!” Her answer was an immediate, burning agony in her hand, where the blood suddenly flowed in the patterns of sigils before spattering against her leg and the side of her horse.
A howl split the thunder of the hooves as they raced across the open terrain, a great wind arising from the east. It hit just as the archers let their arrows fly, driving their murderous projectiles away from Youtab.
The priestess grabbed an arrow from her tightly packed quiver, almost fumbling as she put it to the string. Ilati turned, keeping her thighs tight to the horse and isolating her upper body, like a dancer…or a Sut Resi about to use their famous parting shot. She looked towards the second rider, who had lost his grip on his bow in the great wind.
“Be still a heartbeat, breath of my mother,” Ilati prayed. The blood dripping down her arm seemed to crackle with the power of lightning, flowing across flexing muscles.
The split second the winds died, she loosed her arrow like the stinger of a vengeful scorpion.
Fletching seemed to sprout from the throat of the third man back and he fell like a stone. Ilati cursed when she realized she’d missed the foe she was aiming at. A lucky shot, at least, to have felled one. She turned back to face the path her horse was traveling, bow in hand still.
It felt like something struck her hard in the back of the calf, like a punch that ended in a rip. When she looked down, she saw that an arrow had sprouted from her lower leg. Another sliced across her ribs, dangerously close to actually penetrating and doing damage. The pain hit her a second later, sharp and stabbing held somewhat at bay by the surge of strange energy through her body as it pushed her through flight. It was like a sudden jolt of anger, to see a Nadaren weapon draw her blood again. She turned again, fingers this time far more confident on the string. She sensed Youtab’s approach to the man’s right. If she could unseat him, surely Youtab could send the other horse fleeing.
She waited until the rider was barely more than a spear’s length from her to fire her next shot, correcting her aim position. This time, the arrow hit her intended mark in the shoulder, ricocheting off his armor but jostling him just enough to knock him out of position. Not even entirely off his horse, but enough.
Youtab caught the man’s arm in her teeth and yanked him off his horse now that he was within her reach, then stomped him to death with her hooves in a series of sickening cracks. Ilati paled at the sight and the sound, bile rising in her throat. Apparently an enraged Sut Resi horse was something to fear. That, or Youtab’s wildness made her savage.
The rest of the Nadaren riders hesitated for a moment, testing her sudden stillness. Ilati let her fingers dance on the bowstring in pale mimicry of Shir Del’s confidence. They broke contact, racing their horses northward. She didn’t know if they meant to cut her off ahead or if they were joining with some other force.
Even untrained in the art of war, Ilati knew that wisdom was to warn Artakhshathra of the threat. He and Tahmasp would know what was best.
Ilati looked down at her dripping hand. The pain there was coming back to her as well. She turned to press on with her stolen horse, hurrying as fast as she was able. Youtab followed close behind, almost as if shepherding Ilati back to the herd.
It was the dead of night when she reached an overlook of her friends’ camp. Flames greeted her, not the burning cookfires of Sut Resi, but great gouts of conjured fire sweeping up into the night sky. It seemed the sound of battle came from every direction.
Her fight was far from over.
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse with a strange connection to Ilati |
By K. Olsen
Great columns of orange flames roared around the edge of the Sut Resi camp, curling and sweeping along like the speeding of some giant snake's coils. It was thick enough that a horse and rider could not escape, tightening closer and closer as the archers beyond it rained arrows through the flame at the camp.
Save us! Save us! For the love of Zu, please!
Ilati's fingers quivered on her bow. In her ears, she could hear the screaming of the initiates given over to flame in Shadi's temple. The smell of burning flesh and crackling skin sickened her and she hesitated, caught between memory and the reality in front of her.
The scorpion. Think of the scorpion.
What good would her fear do her friends?
The center of camp retaliated against the Nadaren with flurries of arrows, aimed high enough to sweep above the wicker shields and strike the lightly armored archers behind. Ilati gripped her bow tightly and then looked down at her quiver. It was about half full, perhaps some fourteen arrows. That was not enough to make a dent in the enemy, not even if her aim was true and powerful. Her strength would not be enough.
But what of guile? Strength applied with precision, the scorpion's tail flashing towards her throat. She would mirror it, moving lightly across the earth, ready with a lethal sting.
The priestess urged her horse forward, not into the flames, but around the flanks of her foe at a distance where she would not be easily spotted, moving in the darkness. Alanni's child was a waning crescent, barely enough for Ilati herself to see by. She focused now. Every spell had a conjurer, surely, and while he would be guarded heavily, perhaps her luck would hold.
From the side, Ilati looked for a cluster of armored men, using the light of their own fire to illuminate them.
There he was: arms raised, face exultant in triumph, painted in amber by his own flames. He was fixed in his victory, almost motionless and focused on his spell. Ilati's thumb hooked around her string, feeling K'adau's presence for a moment, like the eyes of the scorpion piercing her soul.
She drew her arrow back with vengeful purpose, pulling to her cheek rather than her chin for the extra power. Ilati took careful aim, trying to correct her tendency to fire left of where she was aiming. This shot mattered.
Ilati flicked her index finger and thumb open, letting the string free. An arrow sprouted from the guard just in front of the sorcerer, piercing him in the side. Ilati cursed savagely as the injured man wheeled around to face her. This time, she had over-corrected. She drew a second arrow up and loosed it, hitting a second guard in his shield to no effect. They were likely to identify the direction of the shot quickly, but there was a moment of hesitation.
The priestess wasted no time: she moved, urging her exhausted horse on. They could guess in the dark whether another shot would come. Uncertainty was her ally.
Nadar's sorcerer turned, concentration wavering for just a moment. Flames flickered and fumbled as they lost connection with their wielder.
Through the lesser flames came a surging figure on horseback from the center of the camp, riding with the fury and power of a raging god. The fire lit Artakhshathra's leaping attack with an infernal glow. The great Babak cleared the jump as only a Sut Resi warhorse could. Like a thunderbolt from on high, the cheiftain loosed an arrow with a masterful draw.
Artakhshathra's arrow struck the sorcerer in his eye, burying itself in his skull. The man twitched as he fell to the ground and the flames evaporated in an instant. Sut Resi who had been in the center of camp sprang into motion, firing parting shots if young or injured where they could before retreating into the night. The rest charged after Artakhshathra, their war cries like the screams of hunting hawks.
The Nadaren infantry bunched together more tightly, bracing for what was to come, but Ilati knew the Sut Resi had no intention of closing with them and fighting on the infantry's terms. Instead, the horse warriors drew back into the darkness, angling their bows to rain arrows down like deadly hail on their enemy. There was no organized volley, only an almost continuous loosing of arrows on the Nadaren.
Most of the enemy were occupied, but not all. One of the sorcerer's guards turned and leveled his hands at Ilati with a chant of words of power. An apprentice, something she had foolishly not considered. The earth around her surged upwards, entrapping her horse's legs and then breaking all four at once. With a scream, her mount fell on its side. The dying horse flailed as it pinned Ilati's good side to the earth. More and more of the stone spread, consuming the body of the animal.
A sharp jerk at her back yanked Ilati out from under the fallen horse. Youtab's teeth bit deeply into her cloth and hide clothes, pulling her away from the dying horse.
"Shoot it!" someone shouted.
Ilati fumbled for her bow, snagging it with her fingertips as Youtab bolted. The thundering of the horse's hooves was dangerously close to Ilati now, hitting within inches of her head. There was no saddle on Youtab to grasp, not that Ilati had the strength to pull herself up. The arrow in her leg snagged on the earth and then snapped. Ilati screamed in pain at the savage pull that ripped her wound even more open. Half the arrow in her leg remained, but the side with fletching was gone.
That strange connection burned between Ilati and the divine-blooded horse. Not once did Youtab step on her, even as the canter became a gallop. It was agony to be dragged and pummeled across the grass, but it grew thick enough to hit only the occasional stone. Ilat felt her ribs crack against one and cried out in a ragged bark.
Soon the Nadaren and their raging sorcerer’s apprentice were behind. The Sut Resi appeared out of the darkness in a tight mass of riders, no doubt readying themselves for either retaliation or retreat.
Artakhshathra spotted her approach and pivoted, bringing his fatal bow to bear on her just as Youtab dropped her and stopped.
"It is Ilati!" Eigou called from Artakhshathra's side. Ankhu the mule was apparently braver than the priestess had credited him for, to stand beside a warhorse.
"Follow!" Artakhshathra pointed to the west even as he turned to fire a last shot into the mass of Nadaren. "We go!" Even he, greatest of warriors, was not so arrogant as to think his people could fight this enemy in a pitched battle. The power of the Sut Resi was in their motion. No doubt they would have their revenge, with ambushes of their own.
Ilati tried to get to her feet and fumbled, catching hold of Eigou's saddle to save herself. The old man pulled her onto the mule's back behind him with surprising strength. Even with her anger towards the old man, the help was welcome. As the haze of battle cleared more and more from her thoughts, more and more pain came rushing in. She bit her lower lip until it bled to avoid crying out in pain because of her leg. She and Eigou followed Artakhshathra, one hand covering the gash along her side from the wide, sharp head of a bronze arrow.
They rode on for at least another league before Artakhshathra turned his horse, his bow still in his hand. Ilati saw the gleam of his thumb ring beneath the crescent moon and the true face of the man even if it was half lost to shadow: a towering, vengeful rage. "Did you bring those men to us, priestess?" His voice rumbled from his chest like an earthquake.
The wounded priestess shook her head. "Eigou sent me on a fool's errand," she said through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the faintness creeping into her consciousness. When she looked down at her leg, dark streaks had stained most of it. She bled every time the arrow bumped away from the blood vessels it had gashed. Ilati glared at the back of Eigou's head. "Nadaren came upon me at your dried up well."
"It was dry?" Eigou's shoulders slumped visibly. "Why would he..." He seemed to collect his thoughts quickly, a humorless smile twisting his lips into some parody of amusement. "I suppose I should have expected it. He was not a sharing man."
"Speak plainly, sorcerer," Artakhshathra ground out. "They should not have known the course we were taking across Kullah."
"They have spies everywhere their dark birds fly." Eigou scratched at his beard. "I sent Ilati to find a sacred site, one apparently destroyed. I had hoped she could drink from the knowledge within and glimpse into the future herself. It seems the last one I took to that well made certain that no other would have its powers."
Ilati thought of the dark bird she had seen and the malevolent intelligence in its eyes. "They knew I was there."
"Perhaps they sought it too. Stories take longer to die out than wells take to fill in. It doesn't matter." The sorcerer sighed, his solitary eye glancing at the ground. "We will find another way to awaken what is within you."
"K'adau spoke with me." The priestess steadied herself by gripping the saddle. "She showed me a scorpion..."
Shir Del and her daughter appeared with a thundering of hooves, both pale under moonlight as they approached from the poet's wounded side. "Ilati!" Roshanak called out in a voice tight with fear.
Ilati was far too aware of Artakhshathra's eyes on her to admit pain or even injury. A silent suffering was preferable to disappointing the man. "It is nothing."
The chieftain nudged his horse, circling around to observe the wound. "That is a Nadaren arrow." A flood of hostility ebbed from his voice and his shoulders relaxed. "They would not shoot their own."
"We should tend to it," Shir Del said. Beneath her, Araxa stomped his hooves and pawed at the earth, ready for the next challenge.
Artakhshathra turned his horse and his face away. "We have leagues to go before dawn."
Shir Del scowled. Eigou nudged his mule into motion and the priestess had to actively ignore the pain such a motion sent through her calf. The warrior woman followed them with a deepening anger. "You do not need to kill yourself for him, Ilati."
"She is not one of us, Shir Del." The chieftain's words struck bluntly, like the blow of a mace. "She was not in the battle."
The warrior woman bristled. "Let me at least bind it or she will die of bleeding."
"Fine."
Ilati looked down at her savaged leg, holding her bloody, cracked ribs. The gleam of wet, exposed muscle sent a frisson of terror down her spine. Was this how she would die?
No, she told herself, as long as Nysra rules, you cannot lie down and die.
The priestess grit her teeth as Shir Del bandaged her leg tightly enough to stop the bleeding. She felt weak and dizzy, only able to cling to Eigou's back like a sick child carried to one who knew oils.
Roshanak grabbed her bow, miraculously intact despite the divine-blooded horse's frenzied rescue. "Youtab saved you, Ilati?"
Ilati nodded and looked over at the mare. Feral beauty gazed back, hooves and mouth spattered with blood. The intensity of Youtab's eyes spoke of an entire world of fire within. "Thank you."
Instead of the war dance or shying away, Youtab leaned her head close.
The priestess expected to be bitten if she wasn't careful, so she ran her hand across the mare's neck in a tentative touch. Youtab was sleek and almost soft, with solid muscle beneath. Her hot blood clearly burned after battle, because the warmth almost felt like a fever. Ilati felt a crackle of connection as she touched the horse and the weight of the gods' eyes bearing down on her with a fated gaze.
Whatever was coming, they both had a role to play, perhaps even together. It lasted only a moment before Youtab stepped away, leaving her with Eigou and the others.
Ilati tightened her grip on their sorcerer, putting her lips near his ear to speak without being overheard. "You promised to tell me of my grandfather, Eigou, and how you knew him."
"I did." Eigou's even tone betrayed nothing of his feelings on the matter. "When we have stopped, I will speak of it. That leg of yours needs proper tending first, as does that gash across your ribs."
Ilati knew he had a point. Even the smallest battle wound could spell death, if infection made its home there, and her wounds were not small. Walking would be impossible. Even so, she found his answer unsatisfying. "Eigou, you promised me." She clung tighter, partially to deal with the dizziness and partially for emphasis.
"Do you compel me, o lioness?" Eigou asked. The question seemed light as a feather, but Ilati felt a tension in it, like a snake coiled for a strike.
Ilati had never seen Eigou pushed to the limits of his patience, yet something about this did. Words burned on her tongue to repeat the demand, but something in her whispered that this was not the time. "I only remind you of your promise."
Something in the old man eased, and the invisible threat in the air subsided. "Good." He cleared his throat. "Do you know the tale of the Monster of the Great Forest?"
"As much as any proud child of Shadi," Ilati murmured. "It is a tale of the golden days of Ilishu, when he was a boy."
"A boy born to battle and brazenness. In those days, none touched the trees nor entered the forest, for it was the realm of a powerful beast placed there by the gods to keep the cedars for themselves, carved from the very heartwood of the oldest tree. Only Ilishu dared go where all others feared to tread."
Ilati frowned slightly when the old man began to recount the story. The sorcerer had a purpose, but it was as opaque as Eigou himself. "And so he went into the forest and slew the beast. What is the point of the digression, clever one?"
As if he had not heard her, Eigou continued, "Proud Ilishu walked the dark paths beneath the cedars and shouted out his challenge. The beast appeared and charged the boy, but Ilishu was already stronger than most. He wrestled it into submission, gouging its eye. It was only then that he realized the nature of the creature, not so different from his own. This guardian, sacred as the wood the gods carved it of, was a nameless thing, yet knew the names of all things in the natural world. What did Ilishu do? He named it and in doing so, ended its free connection with the world." Eigou's tone sharpened like a knife. "You see, Ilati, there are many ways to kill a beast."
"That is not the story my grandfather used to regale Kia and Duga with," Ilati said slowly, almost chewing over her thoughts as she spoke. It was a welcome distraction from the pain. "Nor what my father had me commit to clay. If the beast was not slain, what became of it?"
"Ilishu took it with him to Shadi and tamed it. The beast cut its nails and hair, learned to dress and speak the tongue of men instead of the speech of gods, and became a man."
...gouging its eye…
The priestess's eyes widened. "Eigou, are you saying—"
"For many years, the beast followed Ilishu more faithfully than a hound," Eigou said, again as if she hadn't spoken. "But the hearts of men are dark with pride and selfish love of power. Even such faithful beasts can be spurned and whipped when they growl at their master's abuses."
"You were that beast."
"It is a fine story." Eigou's voice was smooth as a river stone and just as hard. "Like all stories, it is a fire's shadows dancing on a cave wall. The one who perceives those umbral figures judges for themselves what is true and what is invention."
Ilati sighed. "And what of merely speaking the truth?"
"A man can tell what he knows to be true while absolutely believing a thing that is wrong. Is that a lie? Again, it is in the mind of the listener that such things are evaluated, not the speaker's. He knows only what he knows."
This sparring with words felt like another of Eigou's tests. "You are trying to distract me from your story, because there is truth woven into it. I feel it."
"Perhaps." The old man shifted his grip on the reins of the mule. "I tell you what you will understand, piece by piece. You may decide for yourself if such things are true or not."
Just like that, the conversation closed.
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse with a strange connection to Ilati |
By K. Olsen
"Explain this well, sorcerer," Artakhshathra said. "If it was worth sending a warrior away to find before a battle..."
"An ambush, in fairness," Eigou said mildly. The old man perched on his mule with an air of contentment, while Ilati rode behind. "The well was a place of knowledge. Once, it was filled with cool, clear waters that provided insight and foresight alike, depending upon what one drew their focus to."
"Yet it was dry."
A hint of grimace spread across Eigou's features, lips twisting as if he had bitten into a wild almond, all bitterness and poison. "Someone who knew of it, who knew of its properties, ensured they would be the last to draw water from it."
The great chieftain leaned forward to pat Babak's neck. Everyone was tired, and they had many leagues yet to go. "It surprises me. If this was a thing of such power, surely it would be harder to destroy. Or guarded."
Eigou sighed. "Such things, the gods intend for all. A rare generosity on their part, given their predilection for demanding offerings. Such things are fragile and gods easily angered, however. No doubt the One with a Thousand Faces withdrew their blessing."
Shir Del rode up alongside, a frown etched into her features. "I do not know this god."
"Fate." Eigou cleared his throat slightly. "In the tradition of the land between the rivers, that force is called so because one may meet that god on the road wearing any number of such faces. You never know if the stranger you meet may be that one. That is why it pays to be polite, I find."
"You did not say who ruined the well, old man," Menes pointed out. He rode on the opposite side, Roshanak's protective shadow.
Silence stretched on for what felt like leagues before Eigou finally spoke. "There were only two who knew of the well likely to have done such an evil." His face hardened and lost its bitter expression, taking on again the blankness of desert sands. "Either Amar-Sin or perhaps even the great Ilishu himself."
Roshanak wiggled on her saddle to get more comfortable, hand still near her little bow even if she had no intention of using it. Everyone still had their weapons ready, whether as a strung bow or Menes's hand on his sword. "Why would they do such a thing?"
"Selfishness." Eigou reached over, patting Roshanak on the back. "Something you will unfortunately understand better when you are older."
"Wouldn't they want Ilati to have it? It would help her. She is avenging them," the girl said, brow furrowed in confusion.
"They would have wished it for the sons of Amar-Sin more. I wonder if the princes ever visited it, or if their fates claimed them before." Eigou's musing still had that bitter edge to it. He tried to twist in the saddle. "Ilati, did they ever speak of it?"
Ilati tried to clear her thoughts through the pain. Her leg seemed to throb worse and worse with every passing hour. "A mystical well? No, but I was seldom with them and even less with them and the great king both."
Roshanak eyed her owlishly and Shir Del furrowed her brow as well. "I do not know how the great tents are so large that anyone could not know what everyone was scheming," the girl said.
The priestess smiled faintly. "They have many rooms."
"How many?"
Menes chuckled at that. "In a palace? Some have a thousand rooms, Roshanak."
"How many is that?"
Ilati smiled despite herself. "How many fletchings can you make from an entire flock of geese flying south for summer?"
Roshanak's eyes went wide. "Was your house that big?"
Eigou snorted, his bitterness disrupted by the earnest shock of their youngest friend. "I take it you have not seen many houses, Roshanak."
"I have seen many hands of them since we came to the land between rivers," Roshanak said defensively. She narrowed her eyes slightly at Ilati and Menes. "Are you teasing?"
"No," Menes promised with a smile. "In Magan, the Sun Palace in Araka is a city within a city. New servants could get lost within its walls until they were practically faint with hunger. I imagine that the seat of Kullan power was no different, given it was once home to the King of Kings himself."
Ilati smiled slightly, an edge of humor to it. "My mother used to note that the palace in Shadi was larger and more extensive than the temple grounds. She said it spoke volumes about the builder of both buildings. She would always say that at least, in his kindness, Ilishu gave Zu the better view. Admittedly, it was mostly a better view of his palace."
Shir Del laughed. "Prideful. No wonder his empire collapsed."
"The sin of Kullah has always been its pride, even before it was an empire. Every squabbling village was home to some halfwit braggart calling himself a king at least, in the old days." Eigou took a swig from his skin of beer. With the horses at a walk, it was much easier for them to talk. "To think they went from quarreling infants to masters of the four corners of the world in a single lifespan."
"And lost it even more quickly," Ilati murmured. It was hard to feel anything for the glory of the empire that had crumbled with Ilishu's death, not when it had so little attracted her while it was around. In her life before, she had trained scribes who came from as far away as Hatti, across an entire sea, to learn the secret of writing from those who birthed it. She had seen the lords and masters of the other Kullan cities put their faces to the floor before her father and grandfather.
She knew in the abstract that even in its diminished state, her parents had ruled a kingdom beyond any compare to others in its wealth and power, so great that the city's people decorated their great fortifying walls with silver and lapis lazuli, that the gardens held trees born of seeds from across far western desert of Magan and the coast of Hatti, that her parents wore silks from beyond the Desert of Kings borne by traders up the Ab-Larssan coast meant just for the riches of Shadi.
All this and so much more greatness she had seen, touched, smelled, tasted, and heard in the place of her birth, the City Without Equal, the navel of the world.
Where was it now? Dead, with all those joys and loves and pains she had once known.
The finality and hollow ache to that thought brought Ilati to the verge of tears in a way that no other pain could, yet they refused to fall. I shed my last tears into the River Esharra. That was what she had told Eigou and the desert alike. Even her senseless flesh, normally so weak, seemed as resolved as stone in honesty to that truth.
"I have never seen a temple," Roshanak admitted, looking over at Ilati with those wide blue eyes. "Skyfather and Earthmother don't ask the People for big houses. Just offerings."
"A ziggurat is just a stone offering, Roshanak. It is a magnificent house for a god, where they live in a city that they have chosen."
"What was Zu's house like?"
"Roshanak!" Shir Del snapped. She seemed well aware that they were into sensitive territory, a rare consideration for a woman used to thinking like a fist. Clearly, the priestess was not hiding her pain as well as she thought.
"No, it's alright," Ilati said, offering them a wan smile. The ache in her chest distracted her from the throbbing in her leg. "If she has never seen a temple, maybe I can tell her. That way when she sees one, she will know what it is. Besides, it will be better to think of it in the good days."
The Sut Resi woman nodded slowly. "If you are certain."
Ilati shifted slightly to relieve some of the pain in her leg. "Do you remember the three stone steps at the door to the place of beer in Aham-Nishi?"
Roshanak nodded meekly, clearly still cautious after her mother's correction.
"Imagine a mountain of bricks with three great roads made of stairs like that, that comes to a top that is square instead of pointed. It is so great that looking up at it from the River Gate, it blocks the sun until almost midday."
The priestess smiled as Roshanak immediately closed her eyes, expression tight with concentration.
"It takes an hour to walk from the Esharra to the doors to the holy house on a quiet day, longer if the markets are at their normal frenzied energy. Closer to the bottom of the ziggurat is the main temple, surrounding an open square where offerings are burned constantly every day for the goddess, in front of her likeness in stone, draped with the finest purple cloth." Ilati had to use her own word for the color, since Sut Resi didn't seem to have a word for it.
"What color is purple?"
"Do you remember the shells of the little snails they crushed on the shores of the sea very north and east of here, Roshanak? The...not-red?" Shir Del interjected when Ilati froze on how to answer that question.
"Yes!" Roshanak said immediately. "It was very sad. They were pretty shells."
"That is...purple," Shir Del said, parroting the word with terrible pronunciation. Ilati couldn't blame her. It was a word the warrior had no practice with no reason to practice with. The Sut Resi warrior seemed as fascinated as her daughter, but was hiding it much better.
"The lower part has living places for priestesses, comfortable chambers for worship, ritual baths in pools with mosaics of beautiful flowers at the bottom and petals floating on the mirror-like surfaces of fresh water. It is busy in the front where people come to be healed or to seek the arms of Zu's chosen or to ask the goddess for any number of things: rich harvests, many children, good luck, protection. "
Roshanak nodded. That kind of thing she understood.
Ilati continued, "It is quieter the closer one gets to the inner stairs. There you see a great door of red cedarwood inlaid with brilliant gold in writing. The doors lead to more stairs stretching the rest of the way up, guarded by the temple guards who wear bronze from the bottom of their feet to the crown of their head, like living statues."
"Writing. Those are the word pictures?"
Ilati smiled. "Yes."
"What words do they show?"
"They are invocations, calling to the goddess Zu, welcoming her into her home," Ilati said lightly. "The highest part of the temple is hers alone, where only her high priestess can go in with offerings and to clean."
"What is it like up there?"
It would shatter a vow of secrecy to speak of what was at the highest peak of the ziggurat, a shrine where only the initiated and chosen of Zu could go. Lower priestesses knew in theory, but even then it was mostly gossip. Ilati couldn't count the number of times she'd heard wilder rumors from girls in training than from the young men they were making eyes at.
However, given everything that had happened, Ilati was very ready to violate that secrecy. "It is a shrine more than a temple, smaller, but even grander. The floors are lapis lazuli ornamented with sapphires. The walls are paneled in cedar inlaid with gold as thick as a man's thumb. There is a statue of Zu where the goddess dwells, high above everything else, where earth and sky can join."
Artakhshathra's voice cut through the story like a sword. "You were her high priestess?"
Ilati almost jumped out of her seat on Ankhu's back, just as Roshanak almost leaped out of her own saddle. She hadn't realized that the chieftain was still listening. He had to have drifted closer back when she began her description of the temple. For a moment, the pounding of her heart distracted her from her throbbing leg. There was no sense in lying now that it was guessed. The chieftain had not lived to his present age by being easy to fool. "I was."
"Is that bad?" Roshanak whispered, glancing at the adults around her.
"No," Shir Del said as soothingly as she could while glaring at Artakhshathra for spooking her daughter.
"You left your goddess?" The question lingered in the air, but this felt less like a bared blade and more like Artakhshathra trying to make sense of her. He eyed her like an asp with its hood up. "Are there not vows?"
The harshness in Ilati's voice was even more forceful than that he had spoken with. "There are: those that Zu broke when she fled her own people at the points of Nadaren spears. If she wanted her priestesses, she would not have let them burn like offerings or bleed at the butchery of their tormentors." The venom that welled up almost surprised even Ilati: everyone around her flinched. She supposed the sting was twice as bad for being unexpected, like a bite from a beloved hound.
Artakhshathra cocked his head slightly. "You survived this."
"As long as Nysra is alive, I will live and have my revenge. After that, I do not care." Ilati hated Nysra for the destruction of her city and the deaths of her family, but she despised Zu. Knowing that she had been given over to a goddess whose shrine she had cleaned and tended so diligently, whose prayers she had sung so perfectly, who she had given everything to only to receive nothing in that hour of most desperate need...it inspired something that cut deeper than any knife could go.
"And what of your goddess?"
Ilati looked unflinchingly into his eyes, no longer able to perceive any pain past her anger. "My goddess is the Mother of Demons, Lady of Tempests, Howler in the Desert. I have no other and will have no other."
Artakhshathra considered that for a long moment before speaking, clearly weighing his words. "I see how you survived," he said finally. "And the why. This is good." He whistled to Babak and the stallion immediately paced away more quickly, straight towards Tahmasp.
Eigou let out his held breath in a hiss. "That was a risk, Ilati, to say so much." It was impossible to tell from his tone if it was approving, not that Ilati cared at the moment. She was in incredible pain, a chill swept through her whole body now, and incandescent rage burned at her core like a smelter's furnace.
"What would you have had me do, o wise one?" she demanded, words barbed. "Search out an absent well?"
"I think you spoke to Artakhshathra what was wisest in that moment," Eigou said mildly. Ilati wondered if he was being so reasonable only because he could tell how angry she was. "The Sut Resi value truth highly."
Ilati pulled in a sharp breath and then let it out slowly, reminding herself that she had just dug thorns into a man who had helped pull her out of the same sacred river she had nearly died in. "I am sorry, Eigou. My anger is not with you. It is not right that I put it on you."
He patted her good leg. "I am old enough to know what is my fault and what is not, Ilati. The well I take full credit for. The destruction of Shadi, not so much."
"Nysra can have that." Ilati shook her head, trying to pull together her thoughts. It was growing harder and harder. Every time the wind picked up, the chills seemed to worsen. "I am tired of talking."
Menes's brow furrowed. "We should take a look at your wounds again, Ilati. You seem pale."
Ilati almost said something heated, a barb at the person who deserved it not even in the slightest, and bit her tongue for a moment. "It is fine, Menes. It just hurts."
"You are shivering."
"That wind is cold," Ilati muttered. Coming across the surface of a small lake, the breeze was noticeably chilling the air. She could hear the relief in their tired mule's grateful puffs.
"Leave her be while you still have all your fingers, Menes. Too close and she may bite them off," Shir Del said. She nudged Roshanak a little. "See if you can bring down dinner, Roshanak. There are plenty of fowl alongside the lake. I will follow close."
It was only after Shir Del and Roshanak had left that Eigou said quietly, "This may cause more trouble, Ilati, if Artakhshathra and Tahmasp put the pieces together in a way where the whole tribe hears of who you are."
"Would they know?" Ilati asked. "The customs of my people are strange to them."
"We should assume they will know that you are at least highborn and that will spread," Eigou said. He sighed. "Artakhshathra and Tahmasp will need to know the full truth before we reach Sa Dul. I had hoped to delay things."
Ilati wished she had the mental fortitude to fully comprehend what the fallout of her little slip was going to be. "Why?"
"Rumor to the wrong ears could ruin us," Eigou said quietly. "Another ambush like the last..."
She didn't have it in her to answer, not as the anger ebbed and the pain took over again. Her molars felt like they would crack, but gradually she could feel the heat in her leg spreading to chase out the chills, even though it made no impact on her shivering. Through everything, she turned one last thought to Zu. I am not finished with this thing you have done to me, she promised.
Ilati spat in the dirt and turned an evil eye towards the northern sky.
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior womanwho can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse with a strange connection to Ilati |
By K. Olsen
Somewhere in the distance, someone was calling the poet's name. All she could feel was the fire, consuming her alive. She was burning with her sisters: the coals coiling around her leg like a serpent and the flames pouring through her veins. For two days, the Sut Resi had moved, and as they did, Ilati shivered and sweated.
Now, with ashen skin and no connection to the reality of the others, she drifted into endlessness. Her struggles to continue without showing pain, to brave her wound without succumbing, those were not enough to save her from infection.
Once she had realized what she was, it was too late to do more than suffer in silence. The fever had dried her mouth into the Desert of Kings itself and then came the delirium.
Again, she heard her name. Slowly, Ilati realized she was no longer on the mule's back. The swaying movement of a beast beneath her had stopped. The priestess turned her head and let her glazed gaze fall on a dark face, almost the indistinctness of a shade. "Ilati, hold on!" it urged in her brothers' voices.
Ilati could not speak through the agony of the fire. She was burning. Could the dead not see that? Surely they knew best that it already consumed her leg, roasting with the awful intensity of flaming oil as the rest of her suffered this terrible heat.
A voice, familiar and female, barked with disapproval. "We should have checked the wound sooner!"
"I will do everything in my power..." An old man began, but the rest of his words washed away like mud-brick in a flood.
Slowly, Ilati's perception unraveled. Her mind opened more and more until the limits between her spirit and the Beyond felt immaterial. The dead were coaxing to her, calling her name. Ilati, come back to us, they whispered over and over. Ilati, come back to us. She was sinking into the river of fire that marked the entrance of Ersetu, land of the dead. They were waving at her from shore, their hands passing mere inches from her face.
Her eyes fluttered closed and Ilati dreamed of being someone else, somewhere else.
—a deep knot of worry wormed its way closer and closer to the center of her stomach as she watched him, a king prowling back and forth before his throne. "You say this oracle will require a sacrifice?"
"One must treat with the One With a Thousand Faces. That is not so easily done," she said. "Fate is jealous with its secrets. Sacrifices are necessary to appease it when you seek to look into the truth."
"How much?"
She purposefully kept her gaze away from any in the room, fearing that to gaze at any would spell their destruction. "You wish to know the course of a life. The One with a Thousand Faces has spoken: a life in exchange."
A hiss of indrawn breath from the left, where the king's daughter by marriage waited, one hand on the curve of her belly. The woman shook her head. "That is too much to ask, creature."
It stung to be insulted so. Was it Ilati's fault that the overseer of souls was so exacting? Still, she could not say that she wholly disagreed. It was a terrible price and worst of all, it was one the warrior king would be all too eager to pay. Great power brought with it cruelty, an insensitivity to the life around him.
The king drew his sword, bronze gleaming in the lamplight. "Bring the magi to me," he ordered. "Let us see if their augury is more honest than their gifts."
Ilati tensed when the guards dragged two struggling men before the great king and his burning eyes. Merciless knots bound their hands to prevent them from casting spells and the removal of their tongues with hot pincers ruined any chance of escape by incantation. The maiming and agonizing wounds on their bodies, washed in vinegar, made her almost regret having exposed the plot. She closed her eyes just as the gleaming blade gashed open the throats, one after another.
"Speak!" The command burned in the air like a fiery sun. "Here are your offerings, O One with a Thousand Faces."
She stared at the body. This was not the prosecution of a battle, but an execution. The magi lay with their throats cut like sacrificed lambs. She knew she should have never spoken of the future at all, but knew with dreadful certainty there was no way out now but forward. When she spoke, it was not in the tongue of the common people.
Her words rolled out like thunder, understood in the bone rather than in the ear, quaking in the souls of all but the great king himself, who goaded and challenged with his very posture.
"The next son of your blood will burn with the heat of a sun and be as brave as the befits the ruler of the four corners of the world." The great king smiled, but then she kept speaking. "Yet he will stand as I have stood, not a man, in the shadow of one to come. He will play at his birthright, but it will always lie beyond his fingers, until his blood spatters into the dust."
Fingers closed tightly around her elbow: the king's daughter by marriage. "You do not have to keep speaking." It was clearly a wish that he say no more.
Wrathful, the king bared his teeth in a rictus grin. "Let us hear the fool out, if this is the prophecy the One with a Thousand Faces sends us."
Her focus shifted to the next born. "His brother will be fierce like a shepherd when confronted with lions, but like a dove to his people. He will win their love with his passionate words and marry well, uniting his people with a stronger tie. Yet he will perish in youth, twisting and writhing under the relentless sun, abandoned by them all, even the one who shared with him the water of the womb. With him dies all the sons ever to come of your line."
The great king closed the difference between them in a single bounding step, cracking his fist in a backhand across Ilati's face that sent her staggering with the sheer force of it. Blood gushed from her split lip, caught in her hands, and anger welled up in her as well as tears.
"Lies! You speak with the tongue of twisting demons, the treachery of a serpent!"
It took her a moment to compose herself again enough to speak, mouth dripping blood down her chin in a crimson flow. A third prophecy opened in her mind's eye. It was a rare thing to be given anything by the One with a Thousand Faces without paying a cost, but the god was only truth and could not be ignored. "Look into my eye and tell me I deceive you when I say this, great king."
The challenge did not go ignored.
"Look and hear the voice of one who loves you: there will be another."
"Another child?" The savage king seemed no less ferocious or confrontational.
She nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact. "You have conquered the four corners of the world with the sword and the strength of your arm. It will be done again with words."
He laughed, cruel and biting."Words?"
"Do not mock something you have seen shatter armies yourself." Ilati raised her chin. "Those words will tear across the land, fueled by the fury of the Great Flood. They will set mountains aflame and ruin cities. A war as there has never been a war will write the story of this great house into the earth and sky, to be surpassed by no other. When the gods have abandoned you and all your works, feeding them to the deserts and storms, she will raise them to the very summit of the joining of sky and earth where only immortals may set foot, and slay the deceiver who abandoned the last sons of your blood."
"A girl?" He snarled in disbelief and struck Ilati again, this time knocking her to the floor. "I should have you crushed like the crawling thing you are, for you bring the evil eye into my house. You have spat your poison, serpent! Begone!"
Gentle, trembling hands went to help Ilati up.
"I forbid you to assist this pestilence, wife of my son." Scornful eyes looked over Ilati. "You do not even have the spine to strike at me with your magic, serpent? Then you will crawl beyond this city's gates on your belly. Return, and I will have you stoned." The great king looked to his advisors. "It seems you were right. These magi are all the same."
Ilati went to pick herself up, and a heel slammed down into the center of her back. "You heard the King of the World," the king's son said, something between satisfaction and sorrow in his syllables. "On your belly."
Humiliation burned in her cheeks even more hotly than her terrible wrath. For a moment, she considered cursing every member of the court. The words of the evil eye, of destruction and famine and pestilence, boiled up to the tip of her tongue.
It was only out of love that she stopped and started her slow crawl away—
Ilati screamed in pain as she awoke, the cold of a river's depths sweeping through her body, turning her bones to ice. The fire was gone, replaced by this horrible feeling that gnawed at every sinew and fiber of her being. Hands framed her face as someone knelt beside her head. She struggled with everything she had to escape, but there was no way she could fend off anything after the ravaging of fever and infection.
"Let it go, Ilati," Eigou soothed. "Let the poison leave you."
She could feel something draining from the wound in her leg, some mixture of blood and, by the smell, pus. The priestess gagged at the stench of her own suffering and went still, though she remained as tense as a bowstring and her teeth were chattering.
"Color is coming back to her," Menes observed with relief. He held the bowl beneath her wounded leg, catching the spilling liquid until it trickled to a stop. "It seems the herbs worked after all. I thought you would kill her for sure with all of that."
Her leg was still throbbing, but no longer did it feel as though it burned and split open like roasting meat.
"I am aware," the sorcerer said dryly. "You protested most vigorously. You and Shir Del."
The warrior woman huffed, seated at Ilati's right hand with a nervous Roshanak crouched beside her. "You nearly killed her twice, Eigou. We had reason to be wary."
"And yet she lives, so what have we learned?" The old man sounded rather smug.
Shir Del rolled her eyes as she looked down at Ilati. "That you are insufferable when finally correct. How do you feel, little sister?"
Ilati shook her head slightly, still shivering even as the cold subsided. She felt drugged, tongue thick and lips slow to move. When she tried to turn her head to look at Eigou, everything spun until she felt like vomiting.
"Perhaps save your questions for when she is better?" Tahmasp said sourly. The old Sut Resi shaman gave Eigou a nod. "A better use for many of those herbs than most know."
"I was an herbalist once," Eigou said. He brushed some of Ilati's hair back and squeezed her shoulder in reassurance. "In Ulmanna."
"How long?" Ilati croaked out.
"You have been sick for five days, maybe six," Tahmasp muttered. "Too sick to move for the past two. Next time, girl, tell us when the burning starts. Don't wait until you drop out of the saddle."
"I...dreamed."
Eigou's hands stilled against her body, but then he gave her another reassuring squeeze. "It is common to have such deliriums with a fever like yours. I have heard those on death's door speak of many things in the Beyond. Demons and spirits enjoy playing tricks when one is so fragile and so close."
Her teeth still chattered as she tried to speak again. "Cold."
"Is it safe to wrap her up?" Menes asked as he picked up a linen blanket.
"With the fever broken? Yes." Eigou wrinkled his nose slightly. "Though I suppose she will wish to bathe as soon as she is strong enough. Let me wash and bandage what remains of the wound first, though."
Tahmasp inspected the piece of grass he'd been chewing thoughtfully. "She will not be walking on that leg for some time."
The one-eyed sorcerer bustled about his task. "Motivation for her to become a better rider."
"Painful," Tahmasp grunted.
"If there is one thing now known, it is that Ilati can tolerate pain. Enough to die without a mouse's squeak. If she had not fallen, she would have passed on," Shir Del snapped. "You and Artakhshathra were pushing her too hard."
"The tribe needed to move, Shir Del. The chieftain will not sacrifice all our people for one person's sake."
Before Shir Del could retort, Menes intervened. "It is past," the charioteer said, mahogany features gentle. "Let us leave it there."
Both Tahmasp and Shir Del glared at him, each for their own reasons. It didn't seem to perturb the charioteer in the slightest.
Roshanak perched at Ilati's side, hunkered down on her heels. "The bad men are gone."
"Always the peacemaker," Eigou said with a chuckle. "Yes, we are far from the Nadaren and only a week from Sa Dul. By the time we reach the village, this wound will have mended in full. It will be tender, but not open. I know the people there and their generosity. They will give us rest before we pass what remains of the way to the forest."
Shir Del raised her eyebrows. "So quickly?"
"I do know a bit of magic." Eigou winked at Roshanak when he saw the girl still worried, wiggling his fingers at her.
His little gesture worked, a bright smile spreading across the young Sut Resi's face. "Ilati will be all better?"
The sorcerer nodded. "Most certainly better."
Relief washed through Ilati at the knowledge she would be whole soon. She hated the idea of slowing down the tribe or placing them in danger. "Thank you, Eigou," she said, voice ragged in her throat.
Shir Del sighed, letting some of the tension in her body ease with the departing breath. "What of Vanushe?"
Ilati felt a pang of guilt, even with the fog in her mind. "The Nadaren killed her at the well."
The warrior woman made a faint keening sound, grief creasing her brow, and tears welled in her daughter's eyes. Vanushe was an old and well-loved horse, one Shir Del and Roshanak would miss dearly. She was not as bonded to them as Araxa or Thriti, but was still certainly part of their portion of the herd. Ilati knew there were funerary rituals for dead horses among the Sut Resi, though usually they were performed over the horse's body. For Vanushe, the tribe would pray and make offerings.
"That explains why you came back on a stolen horse," Tahmasp grunted. "You will need another. That horse knows only the rein and whip. It will take much training and healing before it knows better."
"We'll figure something out. Until then, Ilati should rest." Eigou's tone brooked no argument. "We can move in the morning. Someone must tell Artakhshathra that she is on the mend."
Shir Del rose to her feet, scrubbing at her eyes. "I will. Roshanak, you will come."
Roshanak clambered to her feet obediently, still despondent as she left the tent.
"There are other things I should see to," Tahmasp said, levering himself up from his seat with a grunt of ache. He departed as well, leaving Ilati alone with the two men who had saved her from the river.
Menes touched her arm, warmth radiating out from his hand. "I am glad you are better, Ilati. Not even the omens were clear that you would live, according to the Sut Resi."
Eigou shrugged a little. "Gods seldom account for mortals, so far are we beneath their notice. Besides, omens are difficult to read at the best of times."
"You are fortunate Tahmasp left," Menes said, raising an eyebrow. "He would take that as an insult."
"I did wait until he left, yes." The sorcerer sounded mild, but unapologetic. "I suppose I am more confident in our priestess than he is. The opportunity to rectify that will be before us soon enough, however."
"How am I to do that?" Ilati almost sighed from just the effort of speaking. She was exhausted from her wounds and the accompanying infection.
Eigou gave her a faint smile. "Something to speak of when you have more strength. Rest well, Ilati. You will need it."
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior woman who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse with a strange connection to Ilati |
By K. Olsen
Eigou carefully unwound the bandages from Ilati's leg, displaying the healing wound. Every cut had already closed, even those used to drain the infection. Where scabs had formed, the edges were not even red and angry. There was no hint of exposed muscle or blood as there had been in the frantic escape. To think, it had only been three sunrises since the sorcerer's herb cure had banished the pestilence in her blood. "There, not half so terrible as you feared."
Ilati had seen magical healing work, but Eigou had done this without the intervention of a god, without an invocation of power. Just his foul-smelling paste of green herbs applied liberally every day. "Is this forest magic?" she asked, turning her leg slightly to see it more clearly in the light of the rising sun.
The old man's golden eye caught the sunlight like a glinting coin. "It is just some herbs and a few tricks."
"Tahmasp is impressed. That is difficult to do." Ilati's leg was still weak and sore, but it was magnitudes better than it should have been for an infection that had nearly killed her. She was already eating normally again, though Eigou had been very insistent that she eat plenty of meat. The others were already awake and getting ready to move camp again: Shir Del and Menes had gone scouting with some of the other warriors.
Sa Dul stood only a day and a half away, the last vestige of civilization before the deep wilderness of Kharsaanu Saquutu. Ilati knew little of the forest except its primeval power and the beautiful cedar wood that came from it. Of course, if Eigou had been telling the truth in his obtuse way, it was also the point of his origin and where he had met her grandfather, the great king. Ilati wondered what other mysteries hid under such branches.
The one-eyed sorcerer sighed. "Speaking of Tahmasp..."
Ilati looked up from the wound with the wariness of a wild animal. "Is this about me impressing him?"
"Yes and no." Her mentor looked grave. "There is a task waiting at Sa Dul, one that I do not think any other could accomplish, and to attend to it would certainly earn his respect."
"Last time you sent me on an errand, Eigou, I nearly died."
He pursed his lips and shook his head. "That was a possibility of conflict. This is a certainty."
Ilati frowned. She was still anything but recovered, even with how well she was healing. Her draw on the bow was as it had once been, but walking and even riding was painful. "Must you speak in riddles?"
Eigou leaned back and regarded her with crossed arms. "No, I need not always, though often I find it useful. In this, though, I will be straightforward. Sa Dul is plagued by a demon. We met a man while you were delirious, a merchant who had come from Ulmanna by the forest road. He spoke of a great misfortune and a howling beast that terrorized the people at night. He said that it came upon one of his guards at night in the street, for they arrived in the late hours, and ripped the poor man in half."
Dread welled deep in Ilati's stomach. The men of Nadar were fearsome foes, but they were still men. Some creature born of midnight and malice like a demon was an entirely different matter. "In half?"
"Such that his torso lay in one street and his legs in another." Eigou studied her expression. "You have dealt once with a creature of the night winds before, Ilati. One more powerful than this creature, whose powers you now carry."
Ilati shook her head. "As a supplicant, Eigou, not a foe. If it could rip a man asunder, how can I stand against it? I cannot even stand against Menes."
Eigou prodded the center of her forehead with two fingers. "That is why the gods gave you this, Ilati." He clucked his tongue reprovingly. "It is well known that a normal weapon cannot slay a demon, not even held by the greatest of warriors. Even magic, many of them may resist or counter. You must find the true way, not the brave way. Your inner eye will aid you a great deal in this endeavor."
"Why me?"
"Who else?" Eigou said. "Would you put Menes against a demon? Shir Del?"
Ilati pulled in a deep breath. "What of you, Eigou?" she asked softly. "You are more powerful than I."
"Wiser, perhaps, but that is only from existing in this world longer than you." Eigou's expression turned stern. "Do you wish to take your war to Nysra or not? If you allow fear to drive you from this battle, how much easier it will drive you from that one!"
She knew he had a point. The King of Nadar was spoken far and wide of as a sorcerer without equal. His flesh could turn even blessed bronze, something that not even every demon could say. "I am not powerful, Eigou. I cannot even hit what I aim that bow at half the time."
"Listen well, o lioness, when I tell you this: power is not what you believe it to be." Eigou's missing eye seemed back in its ghostly form, staring at her with the same intensity as his gold one. "The greatest warrior of them all will be struck by a fated arrow. The mightiest king will be laid low by a fever. The wisest sorcerer will succumb to age. All these things are fleeting, no more powerful than the cities of men were in the Great Flood."
"Then what is power?"
"It is the intangible, the eternal."
"Gods?"
"They are close to it, so very close, but they have their limits," Eigou reminded her more gently. "They are nothing without the mortals they have created to toil for them, for what is strength if not shown, blessing not bestowed, wisdom if not taught? That they are immortal is true, but a wind that blows never making contact with a grain of sand or blade of grass, what impact does it have?"
Ilati ran her fingers over the lacquered wood and horn of her bow. She kept it at her side always, like a proper Sut Resi warrior even though she made no claim to be one. "Menes always says that gods are only as good as how far they can reach."
Eigou smiled slightly, encouraged by that answer. Maybe he thought she was drawing more wisdom from him than she felt like she was. "Would you have feared the power of Lugal, god of Ulmanna, standing in Shadi?"
"No," Ilati said immediately. Her heart hardened. "I would have thought that I had the protection of Zu."
His smile faded into the impassivity of the desert, that blankness of expression that Ilati most associated with the inscrutable Eigou who vexed her with lessons. "And what did you have when Zu abandoned you?"
"Nothing."
"Yet you lived when all other things perished." Eigou's voice held a challenge when he spoke again. "Tell me again what you had. Tell me what made you worthy in the desert."
Ilati's brow furrowed. "Grief," she said finally.
He shook his head. "Look deeper."
"Anger."
Again, Eigou shook his head. "Deeper."
Ilati took a deep breath, realizing that her hand was clenching the bow. "What is deeper than those in my heart, Eigou?" she demanded.
"Your refusal to stop. Your willingness to face oblivion." Eigou pushed his two fingers into her forehead again, prodding meaningfully. "Grief and anger may do many things, but you were their master. You made a choice. There is power in choices just as there is in names, in what you choose to embody and channel, because both come to the truth of a thing." He studied her seriously for a long moment and then rose to his feet. "I will not command you to face the demon in Sa Dul, as I commanded you to seek the well. We may easily circumvent the city and pass it by. But I have given you knowledge of it, and that forces a choice. What Ilati do you wish to be: the girl who died in the temple when her goddess abandoned her or the woman who walked out of the desert bound by her own choice?"
Ilati looked down at her hand on the bow as he walked away. If she did not fight the demon, it would continue to terrorize the town of Sa Dul, but if she fought it, she would likely die. The stories she had heard her entire life of such creatures made small no part of their malice or prowess in battle, and she was not Menes or Shir Del, who carried themselves with such confidence in their skill.
Still, if given the option, she knew what she would be.
"Eigou!"
The sorcerer turned back to face her, his unseen eye burning a hole into her heart. "Yes, Ilati?"
"Is this the easiest it will ever be?" she asked, hating the tremor in her voice.
His expression softened, not with mercy, but with sorrow. It was an expression she had seen before, such as when she told him that she had cried her last tears into the river he had saved her from. A mirror of her own grief, but more ancient in its roots. "Yes."
The answer was not a surprise. Ilati realized she had been expecting it, as if her body realized the truth before her mind did. She bowed her head to the old man. "Thank you for your wisdom, Eigou."
She lowered her eyelashes and did not watch him go, running her thumb along the leather wrapping of the bow's grip for a long moment as she collected herself. She knew only a little about demons despite her goddess's nature, but she remembered enough about purification and driving them off from her life as a high priestess to try and make some preparations. She limped over to Eigou's belongings and pulled out his bag of salt, taking a portion into her hand before hunting out Menes's cookpot.
"What are you doing?" Roshanak asked curiously, looking up from her own task. For such a young girl, she had already become quite good at knapping stone, and was making arrowheads out of some obsidian with a piece of horn and some leather. It was much easier for the Sut Resi to find sources of flint and obsidian or use bone than to rely on bronze, so they worked with what they had.
Ilati knelt down by the fire, rearranging the pieces of broken pottery to take the weight of the pot. She added water from her own waterskin before the salt. "Preparing," Ilati murmured, sitting back on her heels to watch it heat. She looked over at Roshanak's little pile of arrowheads. "May I please have some of those?"
"Uparmiya's are better."
The priestess smiled, stirring the pot until the purity of salt disappeared into the water. "And what if I want help from my young wisewoman instead of my old wisewoman?"
Roshanak set aside her knapping and sorted through her pile, carefully collecting the best ones. "What am I helping with?"
Ilati forced herself not to think of the horrors of a demon's claws or teeth. "Fighting a monster."
The girl studiously double-checked her selection, discarding one. She held five arrowheads in her cupped hands now, blue eyes worried as she looked up at Ilati. "These are the best that I made. Do I need to make more?"
If I have made it to the third arrow, I will be doing better than I ever dreamed possible, Roshanak, Ilati wanted to say. Instead, she nodded. "I think this is enough."
Roshanak nodded. "Uparmiya should fletch them," she said. "I'm not very good at glue yet. Her arrows always fly straight."
"I will ask," Ilati promised as she accepted the arrowheads from Roshanak.
"You shouldn't get them too hot," Roshanak advised. "Mama tells me to keep the heads out of the fire. It makes them brittle."
"Only warm as a body," Ilati promised, checking the temperature of the water with her skin. She added each stone head one at a time, until the five were carefully placed in a circle at the bottom of the salt water in the pot. She bowed her head and covered the pot with her hands. "Your priestess calls out to you, Lady of Tempests. Lend her your strength when these arrows fly, bearing the purity of salt."
"Will it work?" Roshanak asked in a hushed voice.
"I have faith that it will." Ilati did not take the stone arrowheads out until they were warm, and let them dry in the palms of her hand. She leaned over and bumped Roshanak with her shoulder. "Thank you for giving them with love, Roshanak. That will help."
The girl still looked worried. "Is Mama going to help fight? Menes?"
"I will talk to them about it when we reach Sa Dul," Ilati promised. "Not a word about it until then. This is our secret."
Roshanak nodded. Sometimes, her eyes really did seem older than the rest of her. "Uparmiya is at the center of camp with Farhata."
Ilati nodded, trying to focus on the goal instead of her own fear. The maker of bows was Uparmiya's only surviving son, so he and his wives took an almost religious care of her. "Thank you, Roshanak." She gave the girl a squeeze. "I feel much better about it now."
The young Sut Resi touched the tattoo down her own face, a nervous habit that showed she wasn't quite as comfortable with it as Ilati seemed to be. "I will pray to Skyfather that your arrows fly straight and true."
"Uparmiya would be a force to behold if they didn't," Ilati said with a wink.
Roshanak laughed, the tension breaking. "She could fight the monster."
"I am sure she fought many such things before she reached the age of gray." Ilati stood up with her careful handful of arrowheads. "I will be very careful, Roshanak."
Once she was outside and a distance away from the tent, Ilati took each arrowhead and cut a small line into her forearm, blood welling instantly. The obsidian was so sharp she barely felt it. "This is for your hunger, Mother of the Night Winds," she said quietly, holding each arrowhead against the wound it had caused. "Let it whet your appetite for the defeat of the one whose path I cross."
Ilati knew her prayer had been heard when the stones drank in her blood like water into desert earth. She pulled them away as the wounds clotted, catching an extra hint of crimson to the inside of the obsidian. Whether her prayer would be answered or not, only time would tell.
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior woman who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Farhata - a Sut Resi warrior and bow-maker. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse. Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse with a strange connection to Ilati. |
By K. Olsen
Once upon a time, the vineyards of Sa Dul stood as proud, beautiful works created by the sheer determination of their keepers: rows upon rows of sweet grapes flourishing amongst emerald leaves that cast golden sunlight and dappled shade across the calm surface of well-tended canals.
Rich, dark earth deposited by the river had made the wines of the region quite famous, and while Ilati had never been to Sa Dul, even secluded away within Zu’s temple she knew the name. Poets deep in their cups sang of its beauty, gentle pastoralism, and the delights found in its fruits. Many similar communities up and down the river had done well for themselves, and Sa Dul was the crown of all of them, if the songs were true.
No such beauty existed now. Choking weeds with dagger-like thorns had sprouted everywhere throughout the vineyards and garden spaces. The withered grapes that endured hung limply on the vines, turning slowly in a breeze that rattled dying leaves. Here and there were the desperate signs of farmers’ attempts to uproot the interloping plants, but it seemed all such efforts were abandoned. Broken hoes and other tools lay on the ground discarded.
Even the water of the River Nintu seemed brackish in the canals, sluggish flow topped by a stinking yellow foam not unlike the pus from an infected wound. Not a shred of green could be seen, only brown. Even the banks of the river were barren of reeds, dry and pale where they should have been moist and dark.
“What a ruin.” Menes drew his horse to a stop beside Ilati and Eigou as they crested the last of the low hills overlooking Sa Dul. The devastation stretched outwards from Sa Dul in every direction. “Woe to the villagers who tend this crop.”
Eigou glanced over his shoulder at Ilati, who rode Ankhu behind him. The mule flicked his ears nervously. “It seems the rumors were true.”
Despite knowing what awaited in Sa Dul, Ilati was grateful they had come instead of circumventing it. Ilati thought of the five arrows waiting in her quiver. She had checked three times to ensure the glue had dried since Shir Del came back with the first scouting reports.
Tahmasp scowled, shading his eyes from the sun with one hand. “It will be impossible to graze here as we had hoped, and that water…better that we pitch camp with the herds back at the bend in the river and stay far from this accursed farmland.” He eyed Eigou. “Rumors?”
Eigou offered the clearly displeased Sut Resi seer a disarming smile. “The man we encountered, my countryman, he told me that there was a demon plaguing Sa Dul.”
For a moment, Ilati could see an incandescent rage building in Tahmasp, one she was well familiar with after being his pupil as well.
“You said nothing of this!”
“Would you have come this way had I warned?” Eigou asked mildly.
“Of course not!” Tahmasp almost sputtered, clearly not expecting the question.
The sorcerer was the very picture of good cheer. “And that is why I did not. These people need our help.”
“They need our help?” Tahmasp pointed at Ilati. “Is one demon not enough for you, madman?”
Shir Del approached from the direction of the setting sun, announced by the clopping of Araxa’s hooves. The stallion was as eager for battle as the sons of the northern kings. “There is something moving in the area. Roshanak said the water further back is safe enough for the animals, but I would not risk drinking it.”
Menes rubbed at the back of his neck. “It is stalked by a great evil, it seems. We should have taken another path, Eigou, or at least decided as a group. Guile wins you no friends.” His horse shifted beneath him, not as brave as Araxa. “Better to camp away. I do not think the beasts will get close to the place anyway.”
Ilati caught movement among the vines and pointed to a handful of figures moving towards them like the living dead. The women and men shambled forward, weeping and tearing at their hair. “I would say the people’s sorrow is well known to them.” A distinct twinge of pity struck her as the miserable villagers moved through their devastated crops.
Without the grapes, they could not make wine to trade for other things they might need, tools or grain. If the curse afflicted their vegetable gardens too and drove off the animals, the people would starve. Sa Dul was dying.
The villagers stopped a short distance away, respectfully allowing the riders to decide if they were real or not. Three were young men, wasted from hunger with a desperate fear in their eyes, and the last was a woman with careworn lines carved into her forehead as if into lifeless clay. “You have come to a place of great misfortune, travelers. We cannot offer you hospitality,” she called, clearly the elder of the group.
A fevered light struck the youngest man’s eyes at the sight of their bows and Menes’s sword. “They are warriors. Please, you must spare us this torment. Chase the evil that lurks here from this place with fire and bronze!”
“Such things are not so simple,” Tahmasp growled. He had never been very sympathetic to those beyond the Sut Resi, and Eigou’s deception had not endeared outsiders to him.
Ilati wiped a hand across her forehead, smoothing away the hair that clung to the sweat on her brow after a day of hard riding. They looked dirty and feral, probably more like bandits than anything else, but there was nothing here to steal. “We hear you, people of Sa Dul,” she said as gently as she could manage with Tahmasp glaring at her. She straightened and tried to conjure the bearing of a high priestess, even months from the palace and the ziggurat she had called her home. “Let us speak and see what might be done.”
The young men blinked, startled that it was Ilati who had spoken, not Eigou or Menes. She had her bow and a bronze dagger, but the sorcerer partly obscured her on the mule and she looked far less impressive a warrior than Shir Del, Menes, and Tahmasp.
Whatever their feelings on the matter, it was the older woman who spoke. “Any aid you and your fellows can offer would be welcome. I am Hedis. These are my sons, Shammu and Kaspum, and my daughter’s husband, Tirigan.”
“My name is Ilati,” the priestess said, covering her heart with both hands. “Hopefully we can put an end to your troubles.”
Tahmasp sighed, clearly now resigned to the part his people would play in this. “I will tell the chieftain,” he said, turning his horse. “I leave this matter in your hands.”
“How dour,” Eigou commented, tastefully waiting until Tahmasp was out of earshot. The sorcerer had some sense of self-preservation. He nudged Ankhu forward, but the beast refused to step a foot closer to the withered vines, planting as only a mule could. “Ah, it seems we will be walking.”
“Our horses are bolder,” Shir Del said with confidence. She looked eager for a battle, even against a demonic foe. “Still, better that Roshanak and the others stay back. The horses will want to eat. I will take Ankhu back to the herd, then meet you in the village.”
Ilati dismounted with Eigou’s help, landing as tenderly as possible on her wounded leg. The limp was getting better, particularly since she could rest her leg while riding.
Hedis forced a smile, face still stained by her tears. “Be welcome, strangers. Just know there is little comfort here, I warn you. Several armed parties have passed by, all losing souls to the demon. You are welcome to sit beneath the shade of the date palms and hear of our desolation, but do not wander in the dark. That is when the creature comes.”
Ilati and her companions followed the group of villagers to a squat mud-brick building near the center of the vineyards. Wan-faced misery watched their approach from the other thresholds in the town, but no one else approached. Ilati made a sign to avert the envious eye, aware that the desperation of starving souls was a danger unto itself.
“How long have you suffered so?” the priestess asked as they approached the shade. Even the palms had thorns growing around their roots that slowly squeezed life away, ounce by precious ounce.
“A cycle of the moon.” Hedis took a seat on the low wall that ran alongside the palms. “It came as suddenly as a summer storm and you see what it has done to the place. We wither just as the fruit upon the vine does.”
Eigou put a hand on Ilati’s shoulder as he studied Hedis. “Do you have any idea what might have called forth the demon?”
The woman hesitated, so her youngest spoke up. “The envious eye,” Shammu said. He squared his jaw, something between anger and the wariness of an asp with its hood raised in his expression. “Sa Dul was prosperous beyond many. They would be pleased to see us fall so they might take our place.”
“Evil magic?” Ilati weighed the suggestion carefully. It made sense that such a thing could break the natural order. “You did not invoke your gods when it wronged you?”
“We cried out and burned many offerings.” Hedis shuddered slightly. “It only seemed to make the beast bolder.”
Eigou squeezed Ilati’s shoulder meaningfully. “That is unusual, from what I understand of such things. Gods normally cluster to offerings and hear such prayers. For a demon to defy them…”
“Perhaps there is more that we cannot see,” Menes said thoughtfully. He glanced towards the horizon. “The sun is low, Eigou. Are we going to confront it tonight?”
Ilati took a deep breath. She was terrified of what waited in the darkness, but she had all but given her word to both Eigou and Hedis. “I will try to stop it tonight. The rest of you will have to defend the villagers.”
The ferocity of a leopard, so often hidden behind Menes’s gentleness, suddenly reared its head. He was on his feet in a moment, sending Hedis cowering. “Alone? Absolutely not!”
The priestess reached down into herself, seeking the stone foundation laid by her mother. Ilati’s bearing straightened just like the dead queen’s would have and she met Menes’s eyes with a fearsome glare. “That was not a request, Menes. The villagers are defenseless. I am not. They will need you more.”
The man of Magan’s brow furrowed and he moved his gaze to Eigou with an accusing sharpness. “You are fine with this?”
Eigou leaned back slightly and scratched at his beard. “One does not know how bronze has set until the mold is broken, Menes.”
“It is her broken bones I think of, not your poetry!” Menes thundered.
“What good are your lessons if she never applies them, o leopard?” The sorcerer hardened and leaned forward, planting his palms on his knees. “You said that you would prepare her for battle, here is a battle.”
“Against a demon?”
“Easier than the one we will face in the end.” Ilati put a hand out, touching Menes’s arm. “I do not need your approval, my friend, only your assistance.”
Menes lost none of his fearsome aspect. For a moment, his dark eyes flashed to meet hers. “You will get yourself killed. You are injured and half-trained.”
“Perhaps, but at least it will be my decision. You trusted me in the desert to return, Menes. Trust me to do the same here.” Ilati softened her tone. “I am grateful for your protection, but if we are to go to war together, then there must be trust.”
A shadow fell across the group of them: Shir Del on Araxa’s back, bow hanging at her side. She had not bothered to string it, more than capable of doing so even from her horse’s back. It was a feat of dexterity that Ilati had yet to master. “I think it is a fine idea,” the warrior woman said approvingly. “Who among us is better equipped? She can ride, she can fire a bow, and she has her magic.”
“Of course you would,” Menes muttered darkly.
Tahmasp pulled his horse to a stop at Araxa’s shoulder. The old shaman still seemed dour, particularly to be present. “She can at least earn her keep. We don’t have much time if the demon comes at nightfall. There are doors to ward, protections to lay.” He looked over at the three young men of the village, hungry and sick. “Come with me and the one-eyed troublemaker. We know something of warding away the evil eye.”
Ilati turned back to Hedis. “Go tell everyone to go within their homes and bar the doors. We will have a warrior at each house to guard. I will meet the creature at the center.”
Shir Del stroked Araxa’s neck. “You will want a mount, Ilati. Demons are swift and your leg is still not healed.”
“I will stay above it and attack from hiding,” Ilati said, motioning to the flat roof of the granary closest to the well.
Kaspum, the elder son, put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “What would you ask of us to be rid of this demon, sorceress?” His voice was a deep, resonant baritone that seemed much stronger than his wasted flesh. There was wariness to him, but also gratitude. “Magic is not a small thing, nor is challenging a beast that has slain everyone who sought to strike it down.”
The priestess’s expression stayed gentle. “Am I so miserly, son of Hedis, that I would demand talents of silver or bushels of grain from those who have suffered so? I require nothing.”
“We must give you something.” Kaspum raised his chin with the remnants of his pride. To rely wholly on the charity of another was not in his nature. “A debt unpaid is a stone in one's heel.”
She supposed that in his position, she would have felt the same. “Then when the demon troubles you no longer, you will make an offering of your finest wine as a libation, poured out to my goddess.”
The young man nodded. “And what god has sent you, that we may sing their praises?”
“I will teach you the words when it is finished.” Ilati’s life as high priestess of Zu had taught her much of what sacrifices were most pleasing to gods. The Mother of Night Winds did not have an appetite for things of civilization as her old goddess had, but she would no doubt understand the gift of something so deeply prized and intertwined with the wellbeing of Sa Dul.
Sacrifices were symbols as much as the actual substance that made them up.
“Then it will be so,” Kaspum promised.
Shammu crossed his arms. “Has magic not done enough?”
His brother glared at him. “It has not taken your voice.”
Hedis snapped her teeth together in disapproval. “Kaspum, speak not so! I would not have you will such a curse into being.”
“Wise.” Eigou stood with a groan, then stretched out each of his old knees. “Too long in one place. So, Tahmasp and I will see what we can come up with for protections for each house. Salt and water painted upon the door in a sign of power will do much.”
“I will pray to Earthmother for their protection as well,” the seer grumbled. “Shir Del and Menes will fetch more of our people to wait with the villagers, but upon your shoulders is the demon, Ilati.” For a moment, she thought she saw a flash of concern cross his leathery features. “I trust you will not be a fool, nor falter.”
Shir Del couldn’t resist the opportunity to prod the shaman. “That is the kindest thing I think you have ever said to her. Soon you will be as much in her camp as Eigou.”
Both old men exchanged a wordless look at that pronouncement before heading off to secure the defenses of the village. Ilati had full confidence in their abilities, even if their personalities had a habit of clashing. Shir Del looked toward the setting sun. “They had best hurry. Menes, come, let us fetch others swiftly.” She leaned down, putting a hand on Ilati’s shoulder and squeezing tight. “Be careful, little sister. To combat a demon is not to combat a man.”
“I prepared,” Ilati said as she pulled out the bundle of five arrows. Uparmiya had fletched them with a peerless hand, carefully binding and trimming gray goose feathers. They were shorter than normal, designed to be fired with the duma that Sut Resi archers used: a grooved piece of wood worn on the hand holding a bow, so it could generate even more power by firing an arrow too short for the bow. It meant that enemy archers could not fire them back. Not that such was a concern here, but Ilati wanted the shots as strong as possible.
Ilati had coated each shaft in charcoal and dulled the gleam of the obsidian heads to make it harder for the demon to find her by sight. She couldn’t help if it had other senses, but she hoped it would buy herself time. Everywhere on her arms and hands that she could write was stained with the wedged-shaped writing of her people, prayers honoring K’adau and inviting in her power.
“I was wondering what you were doing with that paint,” Shir Del said. “You knew of this demon?”
“Eigou warned me,” Ilati said. She squeezed Shir Del’s hand on her shoulder. “I will be careful.”
The warrior woman nodded, then turned Araxa back towards the Sut Resi camp. “That is enough for me." She looked over at Hedis. "Woman of sorrow, does this demon come from a direction?”
“East with the moon,” the village woman said as she rose to follow her sons into their home. “Gods guide and defend you.”
Ilati nodded and wasted no time, heading for the granary’s flat roof. It stood about ten feet tall, but there was a ladder there to climb. She pulled in a deep breath and turned to the east, stringing her bow with the help of a foot once she was ready. Her fingers danced nervously on the string and her leg ached. Hopefully, the Mother of Night Winds would send her a sign.
Her heart sank into her stomach as the waning crescent of the moon slowly crept up the sky into the sky, leaving much of the world below in darkness. Her arrow shots were even less likely to strike their target. Worse yet, the omen: Alanni’s child shone a dull, bloody red.
As the night swallowed the land, Ilati heard it coming: a deep, low growl that rumbled through the abandoned streets, rising and rising in pitch and growing in volume until it became the demented howl of a madman shrieking like the night winds themselves.
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior woman who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Farhata - a Sut Resi warrior and bow-maker. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse. Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse with a strange connection to Ilati. |
By K. Olsen
The Story so Far: Ilati's homeland has been destroyed by the northern kingdom of Nadar at the command of Nysra, who has taken her family's title as King of Kings and spread his dominion far. With the help of the goddess she sought out in the desert, K'adau, the Mother of Demons, a mysterious one-eyed sorcerer named Eigou, and Menes, a warrior from a far away land, Ilati is on a quest to defeat Nysra. They have joined forces with the Sut Resi, a nomadic horse-riding people. Coming upon the town of Sa Dul, plagued by a demon, Ilati has promised to fight it in single combat.
***
The great wailing and gnashing of fangs split the otherwise silent night air, but the distorted echoes through the buildings of Sa Dul told Ilati nothing of where her quarry was. With the darkness beneath the crescent moon and the bloody light it shed, the advantage was most certainly with the demon.
Ilati took a deep breath and tightened her grip on her sanctified arrows as she watched the road from the east. She tried to focus as Eigou had taught her, not with her own two eyes, but with the inner perception he insisted was key to seeing into the world of such creatures.
The priestess closed her eyes, adjusting her hold on her bow and arrows. With only five, she had abandoned her quiver in case it slowed her down, preferring to hold her arrows in the hand holding the string. Then she heard it, a clatter on the street below so much closer than she had expected. She flicked the first arrow up and caught it, drawing it back without hesitation. The small symbols of protection etched onto her thumb ring burned hotter and hotter as the creature approached. Her perch on the roof of the granary would not be hidden long.
When she opened her eyes, it took biting her own lip almost hard enough to draw blood to avoid a gasp. Rippling and writhing, the hulking figure of shadow moved through the dimness in an undulating path, growing fresh limbs with every step and absorbing the old. Its many eyes flashed like a lion’s in the moonlight, a maw full of needle-like fangs dripping ichor onto the city streets that burned and corrupted even the stone. Ilati had never encountered a beast so large, greater than even a bull. A thick mane of darkness wrapped around its neck, but its back and tail bore deadly-looking spines.
Not for the first time, Ilati felt her death close at hand.
Be brave, Ilati, she told herself. Be worthy.
She drew the arrow back further, anchoring at her cheek rather than her chin, and held her breath. In this, her aim mattered more than it ever had before. She let the arrow fly with a flick of her thumb and index finger. Light flashed as the arrow soared, like a crackle of lightning.
The arrow struck the demon in the hindquarters rather than the heart she had aimed for. Jaws opened and a wail shrieked forth that left Ilati deafened and stunned for a moment. It was muscle memory that drew her next arrow to her even as the horrible sound drove like a red-hot needle into each ear. Her eyes flooded with tears of pain and the muscles of her wounded leg quivered. Suddenly, her shot was not as clear. She pulled back away from the edge of the granary, hoping against hope it hadn’t seen her.
A snarl told her otherwise. The ladder leading up to the roof disappeared, a horrible cracking telling her exactly what had happened: the demon had seized it and broken it. She had a ten foot drop on all sides to reach the street, and that was no salvation. Ilati let her arm slacken as her heart pounded with fear, hands trembling on the string. Even without a wounded leg, that was more of a jump than she dared make. A drop perhaps, but then she would have the demon upon her.
In a moment, it didn’t matter.
The flash of seven rage-filled eyes at the edge of the roof announced the demon’s arrival as its claws dug into the mudbrick of the granary walls, hauling itself upward with her arrow still embedded in its flank.
There was no time to think. Ilati drew her arm back and let the next arrow fly, holding her ground. This one struck the demon in the shoulder as it hauled itself up onto the granary roof. She could see the purity of the salt spreading in the wound she had created, a place of crackling light on the evil one’s hide.
It was not enough, even as a second wail split the night air. She was more prepared for it now, but ice ran through her veins and her body screamed for her to flee even though she couldn’t move.
Ilati had no time to draw the next arrow. Ebony muscles flexed and the creature leaped straight for her like a great lion.
She hurled herself to the side, colliding with straw baskets and the narrow edge of the rooftop, arrows clenched in her fist. Ilati forced herself up onto her knees, coming truly face to face with the demon as she fumbled to draw her next arrow. Its breath reeked of old blood and rotted flesh, sparking memories of the dead in her mind. Huge claws dug into the hard roof, flexing only feet from where she stood.
“Your pitiful sting will not save you. I am not so easily slain, mortal,” the demon growled. Instead of leaping at her, it lashed out with a single, twisting limb that seemed to have far too many joints.
Ilati’s third shot went wide as the claws struck not her arm, but her bow, ripping it from her hands. The demon snatched up the weapon before she could even react, snapping it contemptuously and hurling the shattered wood and sinew off the edge of the building.
Now unarmed, Ilati felt a surge of anger pour through her veins, overpowering even the fear left by the demon’s shrieks. “Neither am I, child of my mother,” she hissed. When it went to claw at her face, she grabbed a pot from the edge of the roof and swung it as hard as she could. The pot shattered, but it saved her face. She scrambled back across the roof to the far edge in an effort to create distance.
The demon growled deep in its chest. “Your death will be one of many. I will destroy Sa Dul for its crime. I look forward to the taste of your flesh, mortal, as I will taste all who dwell in this place.”
Ilati’s brow furrowed, but she knew she had no time to question. The creature already hunched its massive form in preparation for another pounce.
Behind and below her, she heard a sharp whinny. A sudden, burning connection awoke inside the priestess, like the familiar crack of lightning. Again when the demon pounced, Ilati hurled herself to the side. She went too far, sliding off the edge of the flat roof. One of the arrows went flying as she dangled by a jarred shoulder, barely stopping herself from plunging to an injury that could have spelled her end.
The demon whirled and lashed out at her hand, claws extending out further than a lion’s.
Ilati closed her eyes, whispered a prayer of thanks, and let go. She landed hard on a moving horse’s back, a sudden oneness exploding on contact through every fiber of her being. Youtab charged for distance beneath her, the courage of the horse far beyond anything that the demon’s howl of anger could frighten.
Ilati tightened her thighs as much as she could to stay on, crouching low on the racing horse’s back as Youtab charged to the west, turning a sharp circle near the well to face the direction of the demon. There was no need for whistle cues or the pressure of a knee: where Ilati began and ended was lost in the oneness with the wild horse.
The gratitude she felt for Youtab’s rescue could have moved mountains.
“We have to fight it.” Ilati put a hand on the horse’s neck. “You can set me down and go.”
Youtab pawed at the earth, already in the war dance of the Sut Resi horses. The message was clear: the priestess would not fight alone. Ilati felt the horse’s muscles twitch beneath her, readying for a charge as the demon undulated down the side of the granary. The horse was ready for combat, divine blood fearless in the face of such evil. People watched from doorways and windows on all sides as the demon let out another wail.
This time, connected to Youtab’s strength, Ilati felt only a surge of determination. She leaned forward with the only remaining arrow gripped in her left hand. The mare needed no further instruction: she exploded forward into a charge straight for the creature, moving with the speed and deadly grace of the greatest of Sut Resi horses.
The demon howled and threw itself forward to meet the charge, but Youtab veered before it could react even as Ilati leaned into the demon’s path, holding the arrow forward. The priestess focused every ounce of will on the obsidian head, reaching out in the same split second for the power of her goddess. A flood of power surged down her arm, a sudden wind enveloping her in the half a heartbeat before they met.
She struck it with the crack of lightning, thrown from Youtab’s back by the impact. Ilati tried to turn it into a roll as the demon flung her hard down a street, curling her left hand against her body. That whole arm was bloody from claws and singed from her goddess’s power, not to mention the bruising all across her body from the roll and the glow of lightning after-flash in her vision.
Youtab whirled and charged back in her direction as the demon slumped to the ground. The horse stopped herself just beside Ilati, leaning down her head and seizing the priestess by her clothes with teeth. Ilati was grateful for the help getting to her feet, as her wounded leg was quivering under her weight. She leaned against the horse, using Youtab as a crutch.
“Let us be sure it is finished,” Ilati said, limping back towards the demon as blood rolled down her arm.
The demon twitched and writhed on the ground. It strove to grab the arrow buried in its heart with its claws, but the power painted onto the short shaft seemed to burn it every time it tried. “What sorcery is this?” Its struggles grew weaker and weaker as the purity of salt spread, but clearly it was not dead yet.
“Give me your name, demon, and I will spare you for the love of my mother.” Ilati’s voice sounded harsher than usual from her ragged breaths, eyes flint hard as she stared at the wreckage of the demon.
It looked up at her, seven eyes reflecting crimson in the light of the moon. It had no face, only a shadowy suggestion of a maw and teeth that gleamed numberless in its jaws. “I am Ezezu, o daughter of tempests.”
“Be still, Ezezu, and do no harm.” The name buzzed with power on her tongue and the demon immediately went still.
“I will harm none save your command, and should I strike at you, may our mother rip me to pieces and banish me to Ersetu.”
Ilati dared to pass within its reach, still using Youtab for support. The horse stomped hooves menacingly, but the demon did not react with violence. She gripped the shaft of the arrow sticking in its chest. “Why have you come to this place? You spoke of Sa Dul’s evil as if they had wronged you.”
Ezezu growled, clearly enraged, but did not lash out. “Destruction, fueled by greed, and a wound to me that they cannot heal.”
“Speak of this. Tell me what was done.”
“A tree, o lady of tempests, grew just beyond the bounds of their vineyards of grapes that have brought them such prosperity. Never have they wanted before for food or drink, clothes or tools. Yet they looked upon the great nobles who traveled from Sarru to the great cities of Kullah and envied their wealth, their fine jewels, their sweet scents. To purchase such extravagances, they expanded their vineyards and uprooted this tree. They burned it in their fires with no thought to the offering. My place of resting, my dwelling, my tree.”
Ilati pursed her lips. “Did you entreat them before you savaged them, Ezezu?”
The demon bowed its head in a nod. “When they brought their axes to my home, I begged them in the guise of an old man to spare the tree. I warned them their cruelty and pride would bring them ruin if they did not make a pleasing offering and a new home to the one who dwelt within. They laughed and chased me from their presence with insults and the beating of sticks.”
The priestess wrenched the arrow from the demon’s chest, ending the spread of the purity of salt. “How may they repay this offense without their destruction? They have wronged you, but deserved or not, this will not grant you what you desire.”
Ezezu growled. “I desire their suffering.”
“And what of a home? What of your peace?”
The demon reached out with its claws, but Ilati refused to flinch. It dragged a heavy, lion-like paw over her wounded arm and the blood clotted. “What do you offer, o lady of tempests?”
“If they made you offerings and a home, would you relent?” Ilati appreciated the healing, even if her arm still throbbed in agony. “I will impress upon them what we have spoken of.”
“If they pray to me every year equaling the number for which my tree stood proud beneath the sky, if they pour out libations from every batch of wine and offer me grain in every harvest, I will restore their fields to them and purify their waters. What they offer I shall return seven-fold, good or ill.” The seven eyes that gleamed in the light seemed sincere to Ilati. She kept her grip on her arrow, switching it to her better hand.
“Most generous, Ezezu. I will tell the people of Sa Dul. How many years did your tree flourish beneath the sun?”
“Twelve and twelve. They have a day to decide, o child of my mother.” Ezezu slumped to the ground. “If they reject my terms, my desire to make peace will be at an end.”
“I understand,” Ilati said. She leaned heavily against Youtab’s side, stroking the horse’s neck with her burned and bloodied hand. She still held the arrow. Perhaps it would have been wiser to kill the demon, but Ilati knew she would regret the action knowing what had transpired. “I release you from my presence, Ezezu. Return to the wilderness. I will meet you here again at the well with their answer tomorrow night.”
The demon bowed its head again and melted away into the shadows, ripping out the arrows as it went.
Ilati hoped she had not just made a terrible mistake.
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior woman who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Farhata - a Sut Resi warrior and bow-maker. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse. Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse with a strange connection to Ilati. Kullah/Kullans - the Land Between Two Rivers and the people who dwell there. Ilati's people. Nadar/Nadaren - the northern kingdom ruled by King Nysra, destroyer of Ilati's home, and the people who dwell there. Sut Resi - a nomadic, tribal society of horse riders and warriors. |
By K. Olsen
The Story so Far: Ilati's homeland has been destroyed by the northern kingdom of Nadar at the command of Nysra, who has taken her family's title as King of Kings and spread his dominion far. With the help of the goddess she sought out in the desert, K'adau, the Mother of Demons, a mysterious one-eyed sorcerer named Eigou, and Menes, a warrior from a far away land, Ilati is on a quest to defeat Nysra. They have joined forces with the Sut Resi, a nomadic horse-riding people. Coming upon the town of Sa Dul and the demon that terrorized it, Ilati met the creature in single combat and defeated it with the help of her wild horse...but spared its life after it claimed the people of the town destroyed its home.
***
As her blood cooled, Ilati looked down at the scorched remnants of the arrow she held in her hand. The obsidian head had split in half and the wood splintered from the power that had coursed through it. The throbbing pain in her arm became more and more real as she stared at the last remnant of her weapon, even though the demon had stopped the bleeding. She would likely bear the scars of Ezezu’s claws for the rest of her life, much as she carried the ones K’adau had ripped into her face.
She leaned against Youtab’s side more heavily as the exhaustion set in. A fight with a demon after a long ride to reach Sa Dul drained more energy from her than she expected. The mare responded with a gentle nicker, turning her head to look at the wounded priestess.
The divine-blooded horse’s eyes shone with intelligence. Only a fool would consider any horse simple, Ilati had learned, but her savior was above the rest of her kind, standing only beside Babak and Araxa, her siblings. Ilati leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Youtab’s nose and wrapping her arms around the mare’s neck. “Thank you for saving me,” she whispered.
Youtab needed no words to respond, not with the connection that crackled between them like lightning between clouds in a storm. She understood, and so did Ilati.
“Ilati!” The next thing she knew, Menes swept her off her feet, the warmth of the sun emanating from his chuckles. “That was a battle to be remembered!”
“Yet it lives.” Shammu, the youngest son of Hedis, had stepped out of his mother’s house, his family following close behind him. The young man’s brow furrowed deeper than a vineyard’s soil. “Why did you not slay it?”
Menes set Ilati down, steadying her when he realized she was swaying. “Is it not enough that it is driven from this place, man of Sa Dul?” the charioteer said.
Ilati gripped the arrow’s shaft more tightly. “It will return,” she said with grim certainty. She could not share in Menes's elation at her victory, not with an evil deed unaddressed.
Shammu’s words came untempered by reason, even when his older brother seized his shoulder. “Then what was the point of your battle? We are no better now than before you arrived! Perhaps now its anger even grows! Your mercy to such an evil thing was a mistake!”
Ilati leveled the remnants of the arrow at him like an executioner would point a sword. “Your plague was of your own making, Shammu, son of Hedis,” she said in a low, even tone. “Who drove off the old man with sticks and insults? Who hacked apart the home of the one who has tormented you? You were warned.”
Shammu went red in the face. “It was the evil eye!”
Ilati’s voice sharpened like a dagger. “Your own!”
Now that they were certain the demon was gone, the townspeople and their Sut Resi defenders clustered around to hear the words spoken. Ilati knew she was now watched by many eyes, listened to by many ears. She had a chance to persuade the people of Sa Dul away from their own destruction.
“That is a lie,” Shammu spat.
Menes stepped forward, seizing Shammu by the front of his shirt. “You will not call her words falsehood in my presence, boy.” The gentleness of the charioteer vanished in a snarl of anger, worthy of the leopard whose skin he wore as armor.
“He speaks so because he is guilty,” Shammu’s brother said, releasing his shoulder and leaving him to Menes. Hardness settled in Kaspum’s face as he looked at his sibling. “I heard what the demon said, Shammu. Your envy doomed us all.”
The simmering tension in the air would boil over, Ilati knew. Neighbors looked to neighbors, trying to seek the shame of those who had acted so thoughtlessly, to punish them for their misdeed. “You cannot return to the demon his tree,” Ilati said, raising her voice to be heard. “That does not mean you cannot restore your lives and your crops to better than what they once were.”
Everyone halted at that pronouncement, turning their attention back to the priestess. “How?” Hedis asked, stepping past her sons.
“The creature will return to you what is done to it sevenfold, whether scorn and injury–” Ilati turned her gaze to Shammu as she spoke before fixing her gaze on his brother. “–or reverence and benevolence. You have a choice, people of Sa Dul. You can leave this affront, this wrongdoing, as a black stain upon your town and it will spell the destruction of it, or you can offer contrition to the beast you have made for yourselves. The demon gave me an ultimatum: you may offer it a home and the sweetest of offerings for twelve and twelve years, earning a bounty beyond that which your greed imagined, or it will destroy you.”
“Words easily spoken by one in league with it,” Shammu growled out. “If you had simply slain it, there would be no need for us to enslave ourselves to it.”
“And left your fields fallow with its lingering curse, your vineyards and gardens choked with thorns, the waters of the life-giving Nintu stinking with foam?” Ilati did not know if killing the demon would have ended the effect, but she doubted it. Creatures of the night winds were famous for having vengeance that lasted far beyond even their own deaths. “Which is sweeter to you, Shammu: your pride or your home? Can you not admit your wrongness?”
Shammu’s balled fists tightened as he glared at Ilati, words barely kept locked behind his pressed lips.
“This is a chance to redeem yourself,” the poet said more gently. “Your envy and cruelty brought this evil upon you, but this does not have to be the end. You can work to put things right, for yourself and for all of Sa Dul.”
He let his hands fall open, shoulders slumping slightly. “Perhaps you are right.” He hesitated. “How do we know the demon will truly relent?”
Ilati quashed her sigh of relief while it was still internal. There would be a time for that, but not in public. “I have its vow and its name.”
“Then you have nothing to fear, young man. Even a demon cannot break its word to one who knows its name,” Eigou said. The old man clapped Ilati on her good shoulder, practically beaming with pride. He leaned in close enough to speak in her ear. “Well done. It seems the blood of victory did not die with Ilishu.”
“I could not do it again,” she admittedly freely to the sorcerer, leaning back against Youtab’s side.
“I will look at your wounds as soon as they have been set to their tasks,” Eigou promised.
The priestess nodded, clearing her throat. “People of Sa Dul,” she called, letting her voice carry. “If you wish an end to your sufferings, take the greatest stone of your village and place it upon a raised mound. In the morning, invite the one you have transgressed against to its new home with offerings and build a shrine around the stone. For such a kindness, the creature will reward you sevenfold.”
“It will be done.” Shammu’s tone was subdued, but there was a faint hope in his eyes after Eigou’s guarantee. “I will argue with you no longer, sorceress. I displeased the gods with my cruelty and wronged my neighbors with my pride.”
Kaspum put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Then come help me move the stone.”
With that said, the villagers set about following Ilati’s directions, leaving her with her companions. Eigou immediately pulled out his kit of healing herbs and poultices. “You will have some marks, but I can heal these wounds.”
Ilati limped over to a low stone wall and sat, still brushing her hand over Youtab’s side. “Next time, Eigou, you fight the demon,” she said, allowing a faint smile to crack through. She hardly knew what to say now that it was over, exhausted and beaten. Even after defeating Ezezu, the demon’s blows had made short work of her endurance. “I would have died without Youtab.”
Shir Del was the first of the Sut Resi to approach, perched on Araxa’s back. “It seems you are who she awaited,” the warrior woman said. “She chose you.”
Tahmasp frowned at the sight, riding in at Shir Del’s side. Ilati doubted he appreciated the fact that Youtab showed any affection for her. “The loyalty of such a horse is not given lightly,” he said instead of rebuking her, however. “You know Youtab was sired by the divine.”
Ilati held still as Eigou bandaged her wounds. “I do not take it lightly, Tahmasp. She will have my gratitude for all the days of my life.”
“Good,” the Sut Resi seer grunted. “Artakhshathra will not be pleased to lose her from our herds.”
“She does not have to follow me.”
Tahmasp shook his head. “Have you paid no attention to Araxa and Babak? They would follow those they give themselves to unto the ends of the earth and beyond. Youtab is no different. She is yours now, and you are hers, until the gods have decided your fates should be severed.”
Ilati looked up at Youtab. “Do you want to follow me?” she asked softly, reaching up to the horse with her good hand.
A soft nose pressed into her hand and then huffed. The Sut Resi mare was just as intense in her gaze, but she seemed much more comfortable with Ilati’s presence.
Shir Del grinned. “Let us not forget the stunning victory they won together. Surely that is a tale worth telling to Artakhshathra. Perhaps it will convince him that Ilati is worthy of such a companion.”
“No need.” The voice of the Sut Resi chieftain rumbled out of the darkness. Seated atop the beast of a stallion that was Babak, Artakhshathra emerged from the shadows between two houses. “Did you think I would lend warriors and not see for my own eyes what was to become of them, Shir Del?”
The warrior woman inclined her head to her chieftain. “It is good you are here. I think Youtab has chosen rightly.”
Artakhshathra observed Shir Del for a long moment before speaking. “Youtab is not the only who intends to follow, I think.”
“This one has a destiny that leads far from the herds,” Eigou said, one hand on Ilati’s shoulder. “You would travel many miles into unfamiliar and unfriendly lands, Shir Del.”
Shir Del shrugged. “I have no fear of this journey. Besides, Ilati is a worthy companion and a capable fighter. With such a friend, few dangers are a problem.”
“You will find many that are. The battles that face us are not few or small.” Eigou’s warning was serious. “Besides, you have another person to worry for.”
“It would be safer if Roshanak stayed with her people,” Artakhshathra rumbled.
Something in their warrior woman’s eyes flashed and Shir Del straightened her back to almost rigidity. “She is my daughter, chieftain’s son for a father or no. I brought her into this world with blood and water. I held her body when it was still and wept, rejoiced when a second life breathed into it. In all things, she has been my only treasure and heart. Do you think I will suddenly cease to defend her because I follow Ilati?”
The chieftain’s expression stayed stony, eyes dark and serious in the night. “You are ersham, Shir Del. I cannot forbid you from going, but by kinship ties, Roshanak is ours.”
Tahmasp sighed and rubbed his forehead. The words he spoke seemed to cause him physical pain. “Let her go.”
“Have you seen something you have not spoken of, seer?”
The cantankerous old man looked up at his chieftain. “No, but I know Roshanak. She would wither like a cut bloom without her mother until sorrow was her end. It is not right to part them. Besides, the second-souled are meant for greatness. Her time away will make her wise to the ways of those who are not Sut Resi.”
“And if she does not return?” Artakhsthatra challenged. His voice held no heat, only focus.
“She will return. Sut Resi always heed the call of the silver-grass plains,” Tahmasp advised. He raised an eyebrow at his leader. “If you are so worried, sire another son.”
Ilati sat quietly, watching all of this play out. She wasn’t certain Shir Del and Roshanak coming was the wisest plan, but she was grateful for the company. Both the warrior woman’s prowess in battle and her daughter’s strange insight would undoubtedly be of great assistance in things to come. She knew it was not her place to speak without invitation on the matter, of course.
Artakhshathra looked back at Shir Del. “Your daughter must return to us,” he said firmly. “She is my chosen.”
“I would not keep her from her people forever,” Shir Del said, softening slightly. “Nor do I intend to spend the last of my days in the lands of crawling anthills.”
“You are a warrior, Shir Del,” Tahmasp pointed out. “You do not choose where the last of your days are spent. Only Skyfather and Earthmother know.”
The warrior woman shrugged, but gave no argument. “I will speak to Roshanak about it tomorrow morning.”
Eigou nodded as he started bandaging Ilati’s wounds, applying salves and poultices where needed. “Tonight has had enough event. In the morning, our priestess here will help them consecrate the stone and offer an invitation. Back to your beds, everyone. Everything that can be done has been done.”
The others murmured assent and parted, leaving Eigou and Ilati alone except for Youtab and Menes’s watchful presence. The charioteer prowled back and forth along the street, keeping an eye out for any hint of return from the demon. “Are you certain of this, Eigou?” he asked more thoughtfully.
Their one-eyed sorcerer chuckled as he worked. “You will have to be more specific. It seems a great many things are changing at once.”
“Bringing Roshanak.”
“That is not my decision,” Eigou said, quickly finishing with Ilati’s clawed arm. The bandages were fresh and the herbs applied beneath soothed the pain very well. “That said, I do think it will be quite helpful to have her. If your concern is that she will come to harm, well, she has very capable defenders. I have it on good authority that Magan’s best charioteer and a priestess of the Mother of Demons intend to help ward her from harm.”
“Most assuredly,” Ilati promised.
Menes seemed unsatisfied by Eigou’s answer, however. “We are walking into a war against the great sorcerer-king Nysra. There is no safety in such a thing.”
“You could have spoken when the Sut Resi discussed it.”
“You know how easy it is to convince Shir Del of anything once her mind is made up. Besides, it was not my place,” the charioteer muttered, running a dark hand over his shaved head. “I am uneasy.”
Ilati offered him a smile that she hoped was comforting. “She has us to protect her, as Eigou said. We will be very careful.”
Menes nodded and waited until Eigou had finished bandaging Ilati up before stepping over, offering the priestess his hand up from her seated position on the low wall. “Are you certain of this demon’s sincerity?” Even with the change of subject, Ilati knew his misgivings about bringing Roshanak were not gone.
“When I spoke its name, I tasted its power,” Ilati said with more confidence. In this, she was quite certain. “I do not think it can contend with me any longer, not so long as I have that.” She leaned against Youtab as they walked back towards camp, smoothing her hand over the horse’s dappled gray coat.
“And it will suddenly be benevolent?”
Eigou smiled, but there was a hint of hardness to it. “That depends on the people of Sa Dul. I suppose we will see in the morning.”
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior woman who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Farhata - a Sut Resi warrior and bow-maker. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse. Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse with a strange connection to Ilati. Kullah/Kullans - the Land Between Two Rivers and the people who dwell there. Ilati's people. Nadar/Nadaren - the northern kingdom ruled by King Nysra, destroyer of Ilati's home, and the people who dwell there. Sut Resi - a nomadic, tribal society of horse riders and warriors. |
By K. Olsen
The Story So Far: Ilati survived the destruction of the city of Shadi, the capital of the Kingdom of Kullah, and the massacre of her people and family with the help of the sorcerer Eigou and the warrior Menes. She is now bonded to the goddess of the wilderness, the Mother of Demons, K'adau, after entering the desert and returning. For the past few months, they have traveled with the nomadic Sut Resi horse-warriors who have taught Ilati much of riding and fighting with the bow. Despite a battle that wounded her badly, she faced down a demon plaguing Sa Dul with the help of Youtab, a divine-blooded horse she shares a strange bond with. Ezezu was drawn to the town when the villager Shammu and some of his friends beat him in his disguised form, ignored his warning, and felled the tree that was Ezezu's home. Now Ilati has urged the people to make right the wrong that was done.
***
For a spirit of the night winds, a simple stone atop a mound would probably be home enough, but Ilati wanted to make certain the people of Sa Dul successfully appeased Ezezu. It was always better not to anger such creatures. "I wish we had a mason's tools," the priestess said as she looked up at the raw piece of stone, uneven and jagged.
"Tell me what you wish carved into it and I will make it so," Eigou said. The one-eyed sorcerer stood at her side as the people of Sa Dul continued to work, wrapping reeds into tight bundles they would use to build a shrine around the stone. It was the same construction as their houses, far less grand than the temple Ilati had once spent her days in. "Here." The sorcerer pressed a piece of chalk into her palm.
The priestess nodded and approached the stone, watched by the almost reverent eyes of the villagers. She still ached from her battle with the demon, particularly her healing leg. The claw marks up and down her arm were already healing thanks to Eigou's herbs. She heard a few shocked breaths from behind her when she wrote on the stone. Likely no one in the village of Sa Dul knew how, but they'd dealt with merchants who had learned literacy in the kingdom's centers of learning. To even know how to read was a mark of status.
Here is the home of the god
Of the vineyards, of the fallen tree
Most powerful and most giving
Many are his blessings
Many are our thanks
For twelve and twelve years
His tree stood proud
May this stone house him now
And remind
That all praises and gifts
All beneficences return sevenfold
Ilati took a step back once she had finished marking the stone. "If you could make this last, Eigou, I would most appreciate it."
The sorcerer smiled, scratching at his jaw. "Of course." He gestured with his hands and muttered something under his breath.
On the stone, the chalk markings seemed to burn with a sudden bright white light, etching themselves deep into the stone. A symbol appeared beneath them: the trunk and branches of a leafless tree. The villagers clustered together with a sharp collective inhale of awe, watching. They looked to Eigou and Ilati. "Two sorcerers?" Shammu said with a mix of caution and fascination.
"I am only a priestess," Ilati said as she stepped down from the mound. "Are you ready, Shammu?"
The young man nodded, holding the last jar of Sa Dul's fine wine to his chest and the best of the grain they had remaining in the pouch in his fist. "Are you certain of this, priestess?" he asked as he approached the mound, eyeing the new impromptu stela nervously. "I do not wish to be struck dead by its anger."
Eigou dusted off his hands. "You are at no greater risk than you were before."
Shammu did not look comforted by that comment, at least until Ilati put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed slightly. She was still weak from the rending of claws, but she offered him a smile all the same. "As long as you are a man of your word, you will be safe under our protection. Trust in us."
He straightened his back slightly and gave her a much firmer nod. "For Sa Dul." Shammu sucked in a deep breath and looked again at Ilati. "What do I say? How do I sway such a being? If you are a priestess, you know what such things find pleasing, surely."
Ilati thought of K'adau and her time in the desert, crawling through the dunes as she died of thirst. For a moment, she could again taste the actinic flash of lightning against her lips. "The truth. Any child of the night winds will know a falsehood for what it is. The contents of your heart are more important than pretty words." She stepped out of Shammu's way, so he could come to the base of the stela where a small stone bowl sat ready for offerings.
The young man knelt with a bowed head at the base of the standing stone, wine in one hand and wheat in the other. "Spirit of the tree that I felled, hear me," the young man called out, his voice shaking despite all his resolve to be calm. "I am Shammu, son of Nabon. You were bound to the land that I coveted, and I wronged you with stinging words and stinging blows when you warned me of my trespass. I brought your wrath upon us and a great woe to my people."
A wind rose from the north, sudden and biting. At her side, Ilati caught a slight intake of breath from Menes and the shifting of Shir Del's fingers on her bowstring. Both warriors could feel the change in the air just as she could. It was like the charge in the air she had felt before the great thunderstorm in the desert had swept over her. Even under the sun, Ezezu's power and presence were palpable as the wind coursed around Shammu.
To his credit, the young man did not falter. "I have robbed you of your home, o spirit of the tree. Together we have made you another, with the help of these strangers. I invite you in to sit within our town as an honored guest, a beloved presence, a watchful guide on following what is proper. For all the days of my life, I will fill your cup and bring you grain, and I will teach all the sons of Sa Dul who I see grow to treat you with the same reverence." As he spoke, he poured the wine into the bowl and sprinkled the grain atop it. "Drink deeply, one whom I have wronged. My service will be my atonement, and for every year your tree has stood, I will guard this stela and venerate you as is proper."
A crack of thunder split the blue sky and Ilati felt the presence step into the stone like a king assuming his throne. For a moment, she saw Ezezu in her mind with crystal clarity, not the devouring monster she had encountered, but a primal spirit of nature, calm and alive with green growth. A sigh of wind pulsed this time not from the north, but outward from the stone itself. As it passed over the people, fresh green grass worked its way up through the paving stones in a ripple outwards.
The choking thorns in the vegetable gardens and vineyards crumbled into nothingness as the wind moved further and further out. Withered grapes suddenly swelled with sweetness and abundance, hanging heavily on reinvigorated vines. The many channels and irrigation flows that once stank with yellowed foam ran clear, the life–giving waters of the River Nintu restored to their pristine state. The sound of lively, hungry goats echoed from the depths of several sheds, where the animals had lain in their sick-beds.
Shammu collapsed forward, pressing his forehead to the earth in front of the stone. In an unsteady, but fervent chant, they could hear his gratitude as a simple, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
All around, the pall of sorrow lifted like the joy of waking from a terrible nightmare. Green growth and flowers bloomed out from the stone, fed by the power of the one who now called it home. While jubilation and gratitude filled the air, Ilati made her own prayer silently.
May he forever remember his promise.
Hedis seized Ilati from the side, squeezing the priestess in a sudden hug. "Thank you for your part in this," the older woman whispered, tears of relief running down her cheeks. "I thought I would lose my sons."
Eigou crouched down near the base of the mound that the stela sat on, his fingers caressing a few of the small purple irises that had just sprouted in the freshly compacted earth. He made no move to pick them as they blossomed and grew in height. For a moment, Ilati didn't even hear Hedis's words. She was watching the sorcerer, the love in his expression, the tenderness of his touch to such a little thing. The flowers seemed to lean into his touch. When he finally turned his eye back to the people of Sa Dul and their celebration, the bringing of more offerings, Ilati had expected to see a reflection of their joy.
Instead, there was a strange wistfulness to the old man's expression as he left the flower behind.
"Are you well, Eigou?" Ilati asked.
He blinked out of his daze and then scratched at his beard. "Not half as well as the people of Sa Dul. They seem most pleased with the outcome, may they honor their neighbor for many a year." He looked past Ilati at Hedis, chuckling at the widow's enthusiastic gratitude.
"For all the days of my life," Hedis promised fervently. "We will take fine care of the god of the vineyards." The woman released Ilati when her sons called her name and scurried off to join the congregation of villagers around the stone.
Shir Del moved her fingers from her bow's string, relaxing as the growth continued. "A demon one night, a god another. I do not understand your people."
"Well, you only have two gods. That simplifies things greatly," Eigou said cheerfully. "Try a city like Ulmanna, where there are almost as many gods as people."
"I had not realized that you collected such things, staying in one place all the time." The warrior woman considered the idea, trying it on for mental size. "Is that why you build so many huts of earth and never travel? The gods weigh you down?"
Menes chuckled and shook his head. "Perhaps we will be fortunate and the answer to many shadows along the path will be so amicable." The dark-skinned warrior seemed as pleased as the villagers as he watched them pour libations in celebration.
Shir Del raised an eyebrow. "Amicable? Eigou can be forgiven for overlooking the claw marks on Ilati, he is half blind, but you have both of your eyes, Menes."
"On the grand scheme of things. It could have been much worse." Even with Ezezu's name, Ilati was certain that the beast could have destroyed Sa Dul and devoured every one of its inhabitants. The priestess was profoundly grateful that had not come to pass. Enough Kullan villages had burned at the hands of the Nadaren already, so one being spared misfortune was a great mercy in her eyes. "What ends well is well, yes? Not that this is over, exactly, but the danger is past so long as they hold to their oaths. There is hope in that."
"Indeed," Eigou said. He clapped his hands together. "Let us leave the people of Sa Dul to their celebrating. We have other matters to attend to."
Menes frowned slightly. "Such as?"
"Our farewells." The sorcerer gestured to Shir Del. "I am told that we will be parting ways with the Sut Resi at the edge of the forest, and that is only half a day's ride from here."
Ilati felt a pang of loss at that. She knew that Shir Del and Roshanak were going to accompany them, but there were many among the Sut Resi tribe they had come to know who she would miss.
As if in answer to that thought, Youtab butted her nose into Ilati's hand. The wild horse was affectionate in her own way, even if she let no one besides the priestess touch her. Warmth flooded through Ilati's hand, a gentler version of the burning connection between mare and rider than had flared the night before.
"We will see them again," Shir Del said with confidence. "Artakhshathra will not sit idly by while the snake-tongued king sits on his golden throne."
"Oh?" Eigou said thoughtfully as they walked towards the riders gathered on the edge of town.
"The tribe will move south. Artakhshathra has already called for a meeting of our people on the silver-grass plains and much will be said of the evils Nysra has worked. There are other chieftains linked to our own by blood and dreams," Shir Del explained. She leaned down, plucking a purple iris from a different patch for Roshanak. "When the time comes, they will remind the Nadaren why they should quake at the thunder of hooves."
"How has he sent for them?" Menes asked.
Eigou answered before Shir Del. "A dream-walker can travel faster than birds or riders. It is a great advantage the Sut Resi wield when they wish to be more than just raiders."
It gave a new dimension to the stories Ilati had heard as a girl of the great hordes of Sut Resi that sometimes formed that had nearly shattered the southern kingdoms, even cracking the rule of her own father. Then again, Amar-Sin had never worn the title Conqueror the way her grandfather had. In life, he had been a man who saw war as a necessary, but unpleasant, occupation. It was not a passion, not a way of life, the way it had been for her grandfather and her brothers.
Now she would carry on that mantle without them and bring ruin to the one who devastated their home. It was a bitter thought.
The waiting Sut Resi greeted them with whoops and the strange hawk-like cry they saved to celebrate their victorious warriors. Artakhshathra swung down from his giant stallion's back, a wrapped bundle in his hands. "You took your time," the chieftain rumbled. "Farhata wished that I give you something, Ilati, though he said that he hopes you will treat this one with more care."
Behind Artakhshathra, the man in question chuckled, leaning forward on his horse to run his hand over his mount's shoulder. The Sut Resi horses seemed far more pleased without the strange curse lingering over the place, grazing contently even if their riders did try to nudge them away from the grapes. "No more letting demons take your weapon from you, priestess. Arrows are not meant to be used as daggers."
Ilati unwrapped the bundle, revealing the curve of a new bow. It was horn and wood lacquered and layered together, finely crafted in Sut Resi style. Her first bow had been barely more powerful than a child's and was of similar quality. This had been given far more thought and intention. "When did you make this, Farhata?" she asked, running her hand over the limbs of the bow with awe. It was simple and barely decorated, but every inch of it had been shaped to smoothness that fit the hand perfectly.
Farhata smiled faintly. "I began it the first night you came into our camp. I finished it this morning."
"I think his mother spent less time and far less effort in birthing him," Tahmasp said. The Sut Resi seer's gruff tone had lost much of its biting edge.
"One does not rush quality, Tahmasp."
"Hmph." The seer looked down at Ilati and her companions. "You're welcome, by the way. For sheltering you."
"You have our gratitude," Ilati said, bowing her head. She paused for a second, realizing a strangeness to this. "Why did Artakhshathra give me the bow, Farhata? Are your hands tired from the work?"
"There is a significance to it," Artakhshathra said. His sapphire eyes studied Ilati intently. "A bow given by its maker is a gift. A bow given by a chieftain is a challenge."
If Ilati knew anything about the Sut Resi after spending several cycles of the moon on the road with them, it was that the challenge not so different from the one Eigou had given her, of facing Ezezu in combat: it meant being willing to face mortal peril. "What is your challenge?"
"You have promised me the tongue of Nysra, he who would be King of Kings," Artakhshathra said as he watched her with the same hawkish intensity. "This is yours with the understanding that you will send as many of his warriors to the afterlife before and after him as your arm can."
Ilati met his gaze without hesitation or insincerity. "I will do this."
"Good," the chieftain said. "Then let us be off to rejoin the rest of the tribe. We will part ways at the bounds of the Great Forest."
A shiver ran through Ilati at the mention of the Kharsaanu Saquutu. Already she imagined she could smell the cedars. It was a place of mystery, beyond the land between the rivers that she called home. To step foot there would mean setting foot further from Shadi than either of her brothers had ever gone. The forest was the first threshold to cross before the Kingdom of Sarru and Ulmanna, the city that was its beating heart.
Beyond lay a world she had only imagined in flights of fancy as a temple priestess, something almost as daunting as the thought of avenging her home's destruction.
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior woman who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Farhata - a Sut Resi warrior and bow-maker. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse. Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse with a strange connection to Ilati. Kullah/Kullans - the Land Between Two Rivers and the people who dwell there. Ilati's people. Nadar/Nadaren - the northern kingdom ruled by King Nysra, destroyer of Ilati's home, and the people who dwell there. Sut Resi - a nomadic, tribal society of horse riders and warriors. |
By K. Olsen
The Kharsaanu Saquutu was said to be the greatest of all the world’s forests in both breadth and beauty. Standing at its edge, watching it stretch off beyond the horizon in either direction like an endless parade of emerald statues, Ilati could believe the truth of it. Every footfall on the soft, rich earth beneath these branches sent up the perfume of cracking cedar needles and fragrant wildflowers that grew amongst the loam. Birds sang symphonies in the branches, more than she had heard even among the rushes. They filled an otherwise silent air with golden notes that lingered in the sunbeams like chimes echoing through the halls of a temple. The songs and stories of its beauties and mysterious depths could only come to a fingernail’s worth of its truth, as immeasurable as the endless grains of sand in the Desert of Kings.
As much as she wanted to stay merely staring spellbound into the maze of trunks and branches, Ilati knew that this first glimpse would only be improved upon by entering the depths of the wood. Besides, after Eigou’s hint at his possible origins, she was curious what his reaction might be.
The old man was as transparent as a mudbrick, humming to himself as he brushed Ankhu’s coarse hair. The mule who had endured so much, including the pace of much swifter horses, was taking his opportunity to rest and bask in Eigou’s care while Shir Del and Roshanak said their goodbyes to their people. They had made a small camp at the very edge of the wood, stopped at the mouth of a path weaving through the great cedar trunks.
“We will not be able to see the stars,” Menes commented, testing the edge on his sickle-sword carefully. “You will have to be our guide, Eigou. This is not the Kingsroad.”
The sorcerer shrugged, apparently unconcerned that their navigation would not be so easy. “Until we know how far the Nadaren have spread, I thought it wiser to avoid a known thoroughfare. Besides, with the fall of Kullah, if there is an absence of Nadaren on the eastern half of the path, there will undoubtedly be unsavory people ready to fall upon travelers.”
“We do not look like a caravan,” Ilati murmured, tearing her eyes away from the woods. She stepped over to Youtab’s side, running a fond hand along the arch of the horse’s neck. Her equine friend was calm at the moment, clearly content in her company. Eigou was right to take the time to prepare, and part of that meant caring for their four-legged companions. Menes had taught her how to check a horse’s hooves and care for them. Years of working with a chariot’s team had made the dark-skinned man excellent at handling horses. Even Tahmasp grudgingly respected the man’s knowledge.
Ilati clicked her tongue against her teeth, running her hand down Youtab’s front leg and then tapping the back of it. Sut Resi only used whistle cues and tactile signals, feeling no need to jerk their mounts about with reins or prods. Youtab shifted her weight, then lifted her hoof for Ilati to look. The priestess supported the hoof with one hand, taking the stiff-bristled brush that Menes held out to her. She used it to gently clear all the earth away, checking each part of Youtab’s foot in turn. Mercifully, there was no sign of a stone or thorn or other discomfort to trouble her. Ilati still made her rounds diligently, checking each hoof and brushing away dirt and stones wherever needed to ensure her friend was well enough to run all she pleased.
“She is so gentle with you,” Menes observed with a smile. “It’s hard to remember sometimes that she would bite off my fingers if I tried to touch her.”
Eigou grinned as he sensed an opportunity. “I agree. Ilati is being most well mannered.”
Ilati snorted at that, looking up at the one-eyed man. “I thank the one who shaped you that you are a better sorcerer than a jester.”
Menes just shook his head in exasperation before looking toward the Sut Resi tribe. Whatever ceremony they were doing was hopefully almost at its completion, hidden at the center of the circle of their tents. “He cannot resist being a pest when in a good mood.”
Ilati finished her circuit around Youtab, all four hooves cleaned and checked. She knew that Menes was anything but wrong: the mare still fiercely resisted anyone who came too close except Ilati. Her hooves and teeth had maimed and killed before. No doubt they would again. “I pity the stablehands of Ulmanna.”
The sorcerer rubbed at his sole remaining eye. Clearly it was something he had considered, because he said, “Hopefully by then she will be used to human company, though I suspect you will have to care for her each day in such a situation. If she cannot handle the press of a city, however, she must remain outside it.”
The thought was an ache in Ilati’s heart, but it was better than having Youtab hurt or taken from her. “I would hate for a creature of endless plains to be confined in a box.”
“The stables where we go are most expansive. She could remain outside. The problem I see is the city streets,” Eigou explained.
Menes sighed. “And where are we going, old man?”
Their guide shrugged a little. “Even the help of the Sut Resi will not be enough alone to rid ourselves of the King of Nadar. His army is professional and more numerous than even Kullah’s, not to mention his magic and his other servants. We need Tudhaliya’s help.”
“Tudhaliya?” Ilati looked up, surprised. “He still lives? By now, he must be older than my grandfather was when he died!”
“When I was last in Ulmanna, he still ruled, though you are correct: his age is considerable. He was gods-blessed to sire sons when he did. Dying without an heir would have made Nysra’s job all the easier.” Eigou smiled, though there was a hardness to it that Ilati hadn’t expected. “That said, he has seeded the roots of his own undoing.”
“You think one of his sons means to kill him?” Menes said bluntly, sliding his sword back into its sheath.
Eigou shook his head. “No, no. Nothing so direct.”
“But there is something there,” Ilati said as she studied the old man. “Something dangerous.”
The sorcerer scratched at his beard, clearly weighing his words before speaking. “The end of Tudhaliya’s days fast approaches, though he would deny it. His court is divided regarding which of his two sons, Hattusa or Zidanta, should inherit upon his death. One is brave, noble, and kind. Unfortunately, he lacks any acumen or wisdom for rule and trusts too much. The other is shrewd, cruel, and warlike, but clever and well-suited for command.”
Menes sighed and ran a hand over his head, clearly not pleased with the problem now looming in their future. “Which is which?”
“Hattusa is the kind one. Handsome, endowed with all manner of courage and benevolence, but utterly lacking in wisdom and subtlety. Many of the common folk love him for his generosity and grasping men of power adore his foolish trust. Zidanta is cold and cruel, but wise in his choices and brilliant in his stratagems. He has his own supporters and the nobles would bow to his will quickly if he were to come to power, but does not wield the same adoration of the crowd.”
“What of the princes themselves?” Ilati asked softly, thinking of her own brothers. “If Hattusa is as you say, surely he should at least wish an amicable outcome.”
“Many have hitched their fortunes to one or the other, and for them to come to an accord would cause such men to potentially lose their own grip on advantage. There are plenty of things that have pitted them against each other, and neither have bridged the gap. When Tudhaliya dies, Sarru is poised to fall into a war of brother against brother.”
Ilati felt her hopes sink. “If that happens, they will surely succumb. We faced Nadar with a united front and could not endure.”
“Then we had best be certain that such an occasion does not arise, by hook or by crook.” Eigou’s gaze settled on the priestess, the ghost of an eye in his empty socket seeming to focus on her again. It was unsettling to be the recipient of such a look. “Tudhaliya’s court is a den of scorpions second only to Magan, Ilati, but there is no avoiding it.”
Ilati wondered if the word choice was intentional, if Eigou knew scorpions had meaning beyond merely danger in her life now. How much did the sorcerer know about what had happened in the desert? She had told him about her dream of one at the well. The old man always seemed to know more than he was saying and she was not inclined to believe nearly as much as she once had in accidents. “If that is where we must go, that is where we will go,” the priestess said with firmness.
Eigou softened slightly, as if he was setting the weightiness of such thoughts aside. “We can at least enjoy the forest.”
“That I look forward to,” Menes said with a faint smile. “Our last trip brought us much further south than the great forest, and I have never seen trees such as these. The palace gardens of Araka pale in comparison.”
“You knew a palace?” Ilati asked curiously. Menes had never carried himself with fine manners or anything approaching what she considered royalty. He seemed more like a mercenary most of the time, if gentle around Roshanak.
Menes rubbed the back of his neck. “I was a soldier,” he said finally. “As Eigou said, a fine charioteer favored by the royal court. I spent more time than I ever should have there, for all the trouble it has brought me.”
“It looks like they are finishing,” Eigou said abruptly, rising to his feet. “I will go tell Shir Del and Roshanak what we intend and return with them.” He strode off, Ankhu’s lead still in his hand. The mule followed him like a faithful hound.
The strangeness of the turn stuck like a burr in Ilati’s thoughts. “What just happened?”
Menes sighed heavily. “He goes to delay Shir Del and Roshanak, so we may speak a moment. There is something you should know, Ilati, that Eigou is well aware of.”
The priestess could tell that whatever it was, to dredge up even words was painful. Her demeanor softened immediately. “You do not have to tell me, Menes. Not if it cuts at you as it seems to.”
“I thank you, but you should know all the same,” Menes said. “I carry a curse, Ilati. Shir Del has seen it, that is why she calls me cat, but she does not know the reason. For the rest of my life, I carry the spirit of a beast, a leopard. Should I ever give my heart, I will become one. The skin I wear is no mere trophy: it is a reminder of what one foolish choice has made me.”
“Why would giving your heart do such a thing?”
Menes paused, hunting for words. “I loved a woman, Ilati,” he said slowly. “One who was wed to another man, a powerful one with powerful friends. When a cruel betrayal bared my feelings, his jealousy bid him to use the favor of a dangerous sorcerer to chain me so. I left Araka in a cage, a prowling and mindless thing. Eigou was charitable enough to use his magic to return me to this form, but he could not remove the ensorcellment entirely. So the threat remains.” He gave her a faint, bitter smile. “I am more beast than man, even now.”
Ilati sat down on the fallen cedar that marked the western edge of their little campsite. It was hard to believe that the gentle warrior could truly be a beast, even after seeing hints of his fury. “You seem like a man.”
“Many monsters do.”
She shook her head. “I have seen monsters, Menes,” Ilati said firmly. Her thoughts were not even with the demon of Sa Dul. Instead, all she could hear for a moment was the laughter of the men of Nadar and the screams of burning priestesses. “You are not among their number.”
He sighed, this time in relief. “Thank you, Ilati. I did not want you to be frightened of me, even if it might be wiser to.”
“I can handle a leopard.”
Menes rubbed a hand over his head and offered her a wider smile. “How fortunate for you. I do not think I could handle a lioness.”
“My combat training is nowhere near your own,” Ilati said dismissively. “Even if I was shooting, I’d probably hit Eigou by mistake.”
“Not a mistake you would make twice.” Menes bowed his head slightly towards her. “My gratitude for your friendship, Ilati.” He looked over, spotting Eigou on the return trip with Roshanak and Shir Del. The warrior seemed as focused as ever, but her daughter’s eyes were red from shed tears. When he smiled, Ilati wondered if he thought of the sisters and nieces he had left behind in Magan. It had never sunk in quite so deeply before, but the curse meant he likely could never return to them for fear of again being transfigured into a beast by the sorcerer dwelling in Araka.
The priestess moved her thoughts to their more pressing problem: Ulmanna and the kingdom around it, both poised to rip in two the moment Tudhaliya died. She wished the man long life under her breath, whatever role he might have had in causing this situation. Hopefully if they could somehow obtain an audience, they could help.
But how?
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior woman who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Farhata - a Sut Resi warrior and bow-maker. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse. Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse with a strange connection to Ilati. Kullah/Kullans - the Land Between Two Rivers and the people who dwell there. Ilati's people. Nadar/Nadaren - the northern kingdom ruled by King Nysra, destroyer of Ilati's home, and the people who dwell there. Sut Resi - a nomadic, tribal society of horse riders and warriors. |
By K. Olsen
Author's Note: This chapter was accidentally omitted originally.
***
The Story So Far: Sole survivor of the destruction of Shadi, the world's oldest city, the priestess and daughter of King Amar-Sin, Ilati, seeks to avenge her people and end the rule of Nysra and his dark gods. Abandoned by her goddess, she sought out a new deity in the desert and connected with K'adau, the Mother of Demons. After traveling months with the Sut Resi, nomadic horse warriors, a one-eyed sorcerer named Eigou, and a charioteer of Magan named Menes, she fought and bested a demon at Sa Dul. Now they look to travel through the greatest of all forests to seek allies in the Kingdom of Sarru, but that task will not be easy.
***
They could not ride through the Kharsaanu Saquutu on the path that Eigou had chosen, not with the many branches that hung low enough to knock a mounted person from their horse’s back. It slowed their progress considerably, but the boughs above were densely packed enough that the undergrowth was relatively manageable. For all their endurance on the backs of their horses, Shir Del and Roshanak clearly felt the long walk far more intensely, bowed legs and long, narrow feet ill-suited to such a trek. Ilati suspected that part of their quiet was discomfort from being hemmed in on all sides by trees as well. For children of the silver-grass steppes, this place no doubt seemed unnatural.
A hush lingered around them, even the clopping of hooves softened by the thick layer of loam and needles underfoot. The perfume of cedar filled their senses, sweet and clean. Breezes rustled in the branches high above as a gentle susurrus of needles and soft birdsong still filtered down alongside the patches of sun sculpted by the branches. The peace of the place soothed some of Ilati’s fears like Eigou’s healing balms.
Ilati struggled to imagine a man like Ilishu striding down a forest path, every inch a king even as a boy, with combating a great beast on his mind. Ilati wondered if he had stopped to observe the beauty of the place he would one day order logged for its wealth. Had he run his fingers over the rough bark and brought fingers away sticky from aromatic sap? Had he smelled the red-brown needles crushed underfoot and the clean scent of sweet waters flowing as little streams through the forest like silver threads in a tapestry? Had he, for an instant, thought of anything except conquest and domination? Was there once a wondering boy there or only the hardened old man she had known?
“You are being very quiet, Ilati,” Menes observed. The two of them were at the rear, since Shir Del and Eigou had taken the lead and Roshanak was most protected in the middle.
“Just letting my thoughts turn.” The priestess heard Shir Del snapping at Eigou by tone, even without catching the words. The press of trees and bushes was getting to the warrior woman after several days of travel. “This place is so strange.”
“After the desert and grasslands of Kullah, I agree. It reminds me of home.” Menes spoke with a wistful hint in his voice.
Ilati cocked her head slightly in question. “I thought Magan was rocks and desert.”
“It is, but I spent my boyhood south of that kingdom. I was not taken into the King’s service until I had seen ten summers in the place of my birth, Kashta.” Menes smiled fondly, taken back to some halcyon days. “It is a place thick with broad-leaved trees and rain, mists and red clay. There is not one great river, but many, and lakes, all rimmed with great banks of tangled roots. I used to fish amongst them, sitting in a canoe made of a tree so large a man could not link his arms around it, the center burned out and the wood carved to suit, while my older brothers herded cattle. Flowers like you have never seen bloomed everywhere. I remember my mother collecting them for my sisters and nieces…” He trailed off, a shadow passing over his joy.
“Why did you leave?” Ilati asked gently.
“You must understand, Ilati, that Magan has a great hunger for many things from the south: hardwoods and ivory, incense and gold. They invaded when I was a boy, destroying much and stealing more, including many of its people. Some would work in the construction of their magnificent monuments or serving their people. I was strong even then, strong enough to learn the soldier’s life. My brother Tebeb and I were pressed into service. We did not see our family again, not after Araka.”
The priestess felt a sympathetic ache in her chest. She was all too familiar with that feeling. “What became of Tebeb?”
“A spear to the stomach,” Menes said quietly. “He was older. He had to challenge them, prove he was still a man of Kashta, to honor the blood of ancestors demanding revenge. I took the coward’s path and bear the name of Magan to prove it.”
Ilati put a hand on Menes’s arm and squeezed gently. “What did your father name you?” she asked quietly.
He offered her a small smile, but his gaze did not rise from below hers. “In Kashta, it is the mothers who name, for the child could be any man’s but is most certainly hers. I was closer to her brothers than my father.”
“So, what did she name you?”
“Zenabu.” Menes spoke the name with a hint of shame still lingering. “It is the name of the rain-spirit that brings new life.”
Ilati squeezed his arm again gently before letting go. “You could wear that name again. We are not in Magan and you are free of those bonds.”
The charioteer shook his head. “It is a good name for the boy who grew playing on the lake, far from every thought of war, but men outgrow such things.”
Her heart ached for her friend. “Perhaps they will meet again, the man of war and the boy playing on the lake.”
“I wonder what he would think of me,” Menes said quietly.
“Ho there!” an unfamiliar voice called out ahead on the small path. “Is that Master One-Eye I see?”
Ilati caught a flash of bronze above their heads, a raised spear’s head gleaming in one of the falling beams of sunlight through the branches. Her stomach knotted. In a move more instinctive than considered, she put a hand on her quiver, but the sound of Eigou’s laughter tempered her caution. As strange as the sorcerer was, she doubted he would be so welcoming to an enemy.
The path widened slightly ahead into a small clearing, which allowed them to move their horses out into a less cramped space. Shir Del pushed Roshanak up into the saddle before turning to face the new arrival. The movement allowed Ilati and Menes to see several guards with wicker shields and bronze-tipped spears greeting Eigou, led by a man whose breastplate gleamed like gold in the sun's light. He wore no purple, but carried himself with confidence that seemed to bolster the surrounding men. The stranger’s beard came to a sharp point, carefully trimmed and oiled in accordance with Sarru’s style.
“Ah, Captain, what an unexpected delight!” Eigou embraced the man fondly, squeezing his vambraces. “You are a ways from the palace, my friend.”
“And you are not far from trouble, I am certain. I hope you are returning to Ulmanna. The great king will be most pleased to see his most honest soothsayer.”
Eigou grinned at that, a familiar mischievous twinkle in his good eye. “Will he now? A change in tune.”
“Well, you know how he is. Nor do you help by speaking truth to all and then fleeing the consequences of displeasure, not that I blame you.” The captain shrugged expressively and then looked over the rest of them, his own smile still in place even when confronted with the wariness of Shir Del and Ilati both. “You have such interesting companions every time I see you, Eigou, but your rudeness persists in not introducing them.”
“Of course.” The sorcerer cleared his throat. “May I introduce the deadly Shir Del and her delightful daughter Roshanak? They hail from the sea of silver grasses, Sut Resi who have graciously aided us on our path. The man of Magan with us is Menes, a charioteer, and the young lady with him is my granddaughter, Hedu.”
Ilati understood by his introduction that she was not to use her real name while in Ulmanna, which made sense given how many scribes and tradesmen went to Kullah to learn cuneiform, particularly from royal court to royal court. She was much more likely to be identified, though the scars on her face would do much to conceal her visage.
“A pleasure,” the soldier said with a courtly bow. “Now allow me to correct my own poor manners. I am Kulziya, son of Prince Duhusili, Captain of the Royal Guard.”
Ilati raised an eyebrow despite herself. “King Tudhaliya sends his brother’s son out into the woods with only a small guard?”
Kulziya grinned. “Hardly a favorite nephew. My late father was most unpopular with his older brother, and as the son of a slave concubine, I enjoy the privileges of station without the odious responsibilities. It is so much easier to simply follow orders.”
“Orders that brought you here, I imagine,” Eigou said more thoughtfully.
“It is so,” Kulziya confirmed, leaning his spear against his shoulder. It was clear he found them no threat, or at least trusted Eigou. “The King had a strange dream that he made known to all who might interpret it: a red star rising in the East. A few days ago, a huntsman saw your group at the edge of your forest and told the guard. When he gave his description of the bandits, well, you are hard to miss, Eigou. I assumed the two were connected and came this way myself.”
“Leaving your post?” The sorcerer clucked his tongue. “For shame.”
Kulziya shrugged, still clearly amused. “To please the great king by returning with you is surely worth the inconvenience of him having to bellow at another for a while. Shall we camp and speak in the clearing? The sun grows nearer to the horizon with every breath and it is not wise to move through the forest in the dark.”
Eigou nodded and started to continue down the path in the direction where Shir Del and Roshanak waited. “I am most eager to hear the situation in Ulmanna.”
Ilati glanced over at Menes, who shrugged and relaxed. She let her fingers fall away from her quiver, limping after the group. Days of walking were much harder on her healing leg than riding was. Youtab followed behind her, never far away. The mare needed no lead or reins to follow, just as Araka and Thriti shadowed their respective riders. Even with the strange beauty of the forest all around, Ilati grew homesick for open fields, vast marshes, and though it was perhaps odd, even the endless expanse of the Desert of Kings.She had never set foot beyond Kullah before and the thought that she might never return to it troubled her more than it probably should have.
Kulziya’s eight soldiers tromped along behind them, spreading out and quickly raising tents in the clearing. They kept their distance from Shir Del, Roshanak, and Ilati. The priestess imagined their hesitance came from her style of dress, not very different from a Sut Resi warrior, though she did not expose a breast the way Shir Del did. Ilati was not going to correct them, not until Eigou said it was safe to do so. The forest already was starting to grow dark as evening set in, so they hurried through setting up camp.
The Captain made no move to hide his curiosity about Ilati as he sat down with them at Eigou’s fire. “I did not realize you had a granddaughter, Eigou.”
“Much of my intent,” Eigou said airily. “Why should a girl be exposed to such dangers as the court of Ulmanna, hmm?”
Kulziya chuckled, stroking his beard. “Those scars say she is no stranger to danger.”
“There are many kinds of danger. Some are much more easily navigated. I preferred she enjoy her innocence while she could.” Eigou’s lies were smooth as silk and easily stomached as honey, for Kulziya seemed to swallow them without any suspicion. “Now tell me, how does the great king fare?”
The soldier shrugged, glancing back at his men. “Do you want his words or mine?”
“You know the answer to that, my friend,” Eigou said.
“He does not have much longer under the sun.” Kulziya seemed blunter now, almost jarringly so after his jovial bearing earlier. “His illness consumes him and he coughs up the very life-blood that drowns him, though he is too stubborn to die just yet. Hattusa mourns him already and Zidanta counts the days until he is free of his father’s shackles to murder his brother and claim the throne. Meanwhile, Sarhad slavers like a hound at the thought of the war to come.”
Their sorcerer’s eyes narrowed. “Sarhad?”
“Ah, forgive me. An emissary from Nadar arrived in your absence, a commander named Sarhad. We have permitted him a sizable honor guard in the city, but the bulk of his ‘escort’ waits outside the borders in the form of a force designed to test us. He has attempted to wring tribute from the great king with the threat of a fate alike to Kullah’s as his cudgel, but King Tudhaliya is stubborn as a mule and the King of Serpents has not made an overt move.”
“Has he courted the favor of the princes?” Eigou’s tone sharpened as he spoke, clearly turning the situation over in his mind.
Kulziya smiled humorlessly. “Of course. Hattusa placates him as best he can without committing to anything that might anger his father. He has no desire for Ulmanna to suffer for the sake of his pride. As for Zidanta…he spends much time in the company of Sarhad, but what they discuss on their hunts is as unknown to you as to me. Whoever wins the struggle of brother against brother will have to answer to Sarhad, a position the serpent enjoys overmuch.”
“You do not like him,” Menes commented as he placed their cookpot over the fire and began adding plants that Eigou had told him to gather along the way.
Kulziya shrugged expressively, spreading his hands wide. “He is a man of excellent manners, but his blood flows with the cold of a serpent’s. As any good Nadaren commander, I suppose. They say his battle standard is the flayed body of one who has insulted him, changing as each begins to rot. How his patience has borne Tudhaliya’s tongue is beyond me.”
Eigou glanced towards Ilati for a split second, golden eye flashing in the firelight.
The priestess pursed her lips for a moment before speaking, trying not to think of Shadi. “He knows that he will have the last laugh at your king’s expense.”
The Captain studied her scarred visage for a long moment, clearly trying to place something about her. “We will see. Sarru threw off the yoke of one King of Kings. We can do it again.”
Ilati closed her eyes, trying not to think of the army that had swarmed Shadi. The reek of blood and smoke filled her nose all the same. She doubted Kulziya would be so confident if he knew that the eastern armies were likely already bearing west, sweeping up from the plains and back across their mountain passes, headed for Ulmanna through their friendly territory like a sea of demons. They were so many that their fires could blot out the stars, and you think you can simply turn them back alone?
Perhaps the gods of Ulmanna would be more merciful than the gods of Shadi, and destroy the city themselves before the Nadaren could unleash their own hell.
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior woman who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Farhata - a Sut Resi warrior and bow-maker. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse. Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse with a strange connection to Ilati. Kulziya - nephew of King Tudhaliya, commander of the Royal Guard Commander Sarhad - Nadaren emissary to Sarru and one of the men who tormented Ilati. Kullah/Kullans - the Land Between Two Rivers and the people who dwell there. Ilati's people. Nadar/Nadaren - the northern kingdom ruled by King Nysra, destroyer of Ilati's home, and the people who dwell there. Sut Resi - a nomadic, tribal society of horse riders and warriors. Sarru/Sarrian - a western kingdom ruled by the aged King Tudhaliya, poised for civil war between his sons |
By K. Olsen
The Story So Far: Sole survivor of the destruction of Shadi, the world's oldest city, the priestess and daughter of King Amar-Sin, Ilati, seeks to avenge her people and end the rule of Nysra and his dark gods. Abandoned by her goddess, she sought out a new deity in the desert and connected with K'adau, the Mother of Demons. After traveling months with the Sut Resi, nomadic horse warriors, a one-eyed sorcerer named Eigou, and a charioteer of Magan named Menes, she fought and bested a demon at Sa Dul. Now they are traveling to seek allies in the Kingdom of Sarru, but that task will not be easy even with the possible help of Kulziya, Captain of the Royal Guard in Ulmanna. An unexpected and unpleasant surprise awaits.
***
The forest again opened to great plains several days before they reached Ulmanna, much to the great joy of the Sut Resi horses and their riders. Even Ilati, who found the sweet smell of cedar so enchanting, couldn’t help the thrill of electric joy at the idea of riding free again. Youtab danced underneath her as the last of the trees gave way to the great expanse of the flatlands that led down to the valley of the Suen River, a distant serpent of silver surrounded by rich green farmland.
“Eager to run?” Ilati asked fondly, stroking her mare’s neck.
Youtab answered with a huff and a toss of her head, muscles rippling with excitement at the idea of a chance to break loose from all the confinement of the trees.
Shir Del laughed. “Bring us back some breakfast if you are going to go darting off, lioness. It will be excellent target practice.”
Ilati shook her head. She knew her accuracy still left a great deal to be desired, even on stationary targets. She had learned a great deal by practicing for hours every day, but she didn’t consider herself anywhere near the mastery that her Sut Resi friends had achieved. “You mean a way I lose us many arrows? You would be better off sending Roshanak.”
“I said practice, not perfect.” Shir Del stretched lazily on Araxa’s back, eyeing the woods behind them as Kulziya and his men followed them out, still engrossed in conversation with Eigou and Menes. The soldiers of Ulmanna seemed much more comfortable around the sorcerer and the charioteer, not quite certain what to do with the three women carrying weapons in their midst. They were even more careful around the Sut Resi horses, particularly after Youtab had nearly kicked one for coming too close. “We will see you when your wild one is ready to return.”
There was a certain truth to that nickname for Youtab: the horse was wild in a way not even Thriti or Araxa were. They were fearsome Sut Resi horses to be certain, but they seemed far more used to people and were willing to permit Eigou and Menes close. Youtab barely tolerated even Shir Del’s touch, always warning with her teeth and ears. She was still virtually a feral horse, gentle only with Ilati. Ulmanna would be a hard trial for her.
The priestess whistled sharply in the morning air, holding on as tightly as she could. The Sut Resi barely had a saddle and no reins or bridle, so staying on was something of an art form. Youtab let out a blown breath of delight and surged forward. The strange, burning connection between horse and rider was always at its strongest in moments like these, when Youtab’s breathless joy crashed into her own exhilaration in a wave of elation. Ilati barely heard Eigou call after her and paid his words no mind, conscious only of moving and leaning in time with the horse beneath her.
There was a rhythm to Youtab’s gait that her body matched automatically, and while she would be sore by the end of the day, her core and legs were finally strong enough to keep her seat properly all day long. She knew to stay as loose as possible and keep her weight in her heels. With her bow slung across her lower back and her quiver secured, nothing rattled or jostled her in a way that risked her balance, and Youtab had been kind enough to practice turns and maneuvers with her many times in the forest since their battle with the demon.
Ilati and Youtab raced forward together, neither aware of a place where horse ended and rider began. There was only the rush of wind, the thundering of hooves, the pulse in their veins, and the sudden delightful thrill of being so vibrantly alive. The grassland went whipping by in a blur as Youtab stretched herself to her full potential after days of being cooped up in confined spaces, Ilati’s laughter caught and carried off by the rushing wind.
The horse only slowed when Ilati’s still healing leg ached, gradually decreasing her pace as they neared a fork from the river so that she wouldn’t abruptly dump her rider. Once they were down to a walk, Ilati leaned forward, stroking Youtab’s neck and then whistled a different cue softly. The horse stopped obediently just before the mud, allowing Ilati to slide off and walk beside her.
Contentment was not an emotion Ilati experienced often these days. Once upon a time, it had been most of her existence. To be Zu’s high priestess was all she could have asked of the gods for a life, closely connected to her family and serving a vital role for her people. It wasn’t as though she had hated it or longed for more. Had the Nadaren never come, perhaps she would have never even dreamed of leaving Shadi or that world. Now? She could not return to it even if she wanted to. That was the question, though.
Would she even want to?
Ilati leaned against her horse’s side slightly as Youtab stopped at the water’s edge to drink, trying to think of what she wanted the future to look like. Most of the time, her answer was crystal clear: Nysra’s end. It was these rare, brief glimmers of happiness that made her wonder if that was all she wanted. She ran fingers along the scar that tugged at the corner of her mouth, a grimness quickly returning. She had many promises to keep still: to her beloved dead, to her dark goddess, to the one who had abandoned her, to her allies, to her enemies.
An arrow does not think of what will become of it once it reaches its target, Ilati reminded herself, only the target.
The breeze stirring the surrounding reeds shifted and Youtab snorted a warning, her ears flicking. Ilati unslung her bow in a moment and strung it with a practiced ease. She plucked three arrows from her quiver, letting two hang from her draw hand as she nocked the other on the string. If Shir Del, Eigou, and Menes had taught her anything, it was to trust her instincts. Something wicked stirred in the wind, wreathed in copper stench.
A deep caw split the air above and Ilati glanced up to see a large, dark bird flying away. She didn’t waste an arrow trying to bring it down. She doubted an arrow could fell a bird of ill omen even if one found the creature.
The priestess took several steps backwards into the reeds, dropping into a low crouch. Youtab circled into the shallows herself, taking a quiet stance shielded from view by thick, tall reeds. The priestess’s leg twinged slightly, but supported her weight with no problem. She let her breathing settle lower into her belly to keep her hands steadier and waited patiently.
After a few minutes, a man in Nadaren armor strode out into the clearing, followed by several other men wearing the same cut and fashion of clothes as Kulziya. Her eyes traced over him, a sudden hate exploding outward through her veins like the fire of a nova. He was a long-jawed, almost kingly man in his bearing, with striking green eyes and a ring set with several emeralds woven into his square-cut beard. The last time she had seen those eyes, they had danced with the light of flames.
She knew this one.
For a moment, the screams of the dead were deafening in her ears. Ilati drew her bow back carefully, pulling it to her cheek. Everything in her wanted to release it, to send an arrow flying into his miserable throat. The quiver of her fingers on the string had nothing to do with weakness of muscles. Her vision narrowed until her eyes focused only on him, as if they were the only two people left in the world. Soon there would be only one.
“Commander, there is nothing here,” one of the Sarrian guards said. “His Highness will be most disappointed if you abandon his hunt to chase thin air.”
The Nadaren man looked down, eyes lingering on the hoofprints in the soft earth. “Prince Zidanta is far more patient than you give him credit for,” he said thoughtfully. “A rider came through here recently. Was a courier expected?”
“No, Commander Sarhad.”
The name stopped her just before she let her arrow fly. Ilati didn’t dare move and slacken her arm for fear of revealing her position, but she knew what Nysra would do to the Kingdom of Sarru if she murdered his emissary. They could not yet afford to draw his ire, not without a single soldier to their names. If she wanted Nysra, this miserable creature would have to endure. Ilati swallowed down the hateful notion and thought back to the wilderness. If a lion could be patient as it waited in ambush, so could she.
Sarhad glanced around, but Ilati was below eye-level and well-concealed among the rushes. She knew riverbanks well as a daughter of the Esharra. “Perhaps they were seeking His Highness. Very well. Let us return, and perhaps we will see.”
Ilati waited until they were out of sight to relax her arm, shrugging out the tension in her shoulder and counting the seconds until a full minute had passed before whistling softly to Youtab. The horse emerged from her own hiding place in the shallows, climbing up the gradual bank with a few steps. It wasn’t until she had her fingers in Youtab’s mane that Ilati felt the prickle of tears threaten in her eyes.
She blinked hard and tucked the arrows back into her quiver. You wept your last tears into the River Esharra, she reminded herself, burning away her feelings with the hate that knotted in her stomach like a writhing coal. When the anger of her grief was all she allowed herself, the tears vanished. Harden your heart, daughter of Shadi. There is much work to be done.
If she was not very careful in Ulmanna, the man could easily recognize her. The scars of K’adau’s claws might not be enough to obscure her identity and exposure could mean death if Sarhad had the princes under his thumb. She didn’t know Tudhaliya to trust in his protection. Ilati rested her forehead against Youtab’s for comfort, trying to piece together a plan. She needed to talk to Eigou without Kulziya nearby, just in case. However amiable the old man was with the captain of the guard, they were no longer guaranteed to be among friends.
By the time Ilati returned, her companions and their escort had made good time, rejoining the main road to Ulmanna as it followed the edge of the forest down towards fertile pasture and farmland. Farmsteads and the occasional logging camp dotted the area, though few ventured too deep into the forest even knowing how valuable the cedars were, for fear of evil spirits. Those who passed through it used the main road almost exclusively and made offerings to the different gods who warded the woods and travelers alike.
“Are you certain your granddaughter is not Sut Resi, Eigou?” Kulziya said with a chuckle as she slid off Youtab’s back, landing neatly beside them. Her injured leg twinged a little, but so far it wasn’t bad.
Ilati knew she probably looked windblown and wild, a far cry from her old life, but she allowed Eigou to speak on her behalf. They hadn’t exactly agreed what her story was, since the sorcerer had been so busy wringing every bit of news out of Kulziya since they’d begun traveling together.
Eigou chuckled. “I think she is more full of surprises than you give her credit for, Captain.” He seemed to catch that something was bothering her, because his eye narrowed slightly.
“I speak only from what I see. She seems every bit as wild.”
The old man clapped one hand on Kulziya’s shoulder. “You are not wrong. Will you excuse me, my friend? I must warn her about the men of Ulmanna before we reach it.”
Ulmanna’s guard captain laughed in good nature, leaning on his spear. “Shall I take offense at that, Eigou?”
“If it pleases you.” Their sorcerer strode down the path, beckoning for Ilati to follow him out of earshot. “If I am not mistaken, my dear Hedu, something bothers you.”
Ilati followed on his heels, one hand still against Youtab’s neck as the mare kept pace beside her. “Down by the river, I saw Commander Sarhad on a hunt,” she murmured just loudly enough to be heard by her mentor. “I recognized him from the destruction of Shadi.”
Eigou scowled, immediately recognizing the danger that posed. “Did he recognize you?”
“I stayed hidden in the reeds, unseen, but that will not work in Ulmanna.” The priestess touched the scar that twisted the corner of her mouth. “I do not know if this will be enough, even with the work of sun and wind.”
“Your demeanor has changed too.” Eigou rubbed at the back of his neck. “He will not see in you a meek and battered priestess, at least not if you are careful. In my experience, the context of people often is more remembered than their faces. I cannot conceal your appearance without prompting questions from Kulziya that we may not wish to stir. In this, your acting skills are our best defense.”
“And how am I to act?”
“In this, we will let your goddess be our guide.” Eigou stroked his beard. “I have already planted the seeds and told Kulziya many fanciful stories that he is certain to spread. As far as he is concerned, you have always lived in the wild places of the world, far from the cities of men. Your accent is only Kullan because that is where your mother taught you speech.”
Ilati felt a pang behind her breastbone as she thought of her mother’s body in her arms, cold and lifeless. “And who was she?”
“An outcast, spurned for casting the evil eye on her husband when he set his affections on another woman. A daughter of a sorcerer is not likely to take such an insult with magnanimity if you believe the stories. Remember what I said to you of shedding that nature like a serpent leaves its skin? So too the fine manners of Kullah must be behind you for the time being.”
“I do not want to offend in a royal court.”
Eigou waved a hand dismissively. “Remember why we have come here. Impressing King Tudhaliya with table manners is not the goal, and discovery would be far more detrimental than a little rudeness. I will smooth over any ruffled feathers.”
She sighed slightly. “And if I misstep?”
The sorcerer put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing slightly. “We will devastate that dam only if we reach it, but I have faith in you. Consider it only another test, one where both K’adau and I will be your guides.”
“She does not speak beyond the wild places,” Ilati murmured.
Eigou shook his head slightly. “Her power does. I promise you that Tudhaliya will hear that above all other things.”
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior woman who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Farhata - a Sut Resi warrior and bow-maker. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse. Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse with a strange connection to Ilati. Commander Sarhad - King Nysra�?????�????�???�??�?�¢??s emissary to Sarru and one of the men who tormented Ilati. Kullah/Kullans - the Land Between Two Rivers and the people who dwell there. Ilati's people. Nadar/Nadaren - the northern kingdom ruled by King Nysra, destroyer of Ilati's home, and the people who dwell there. Sut Resi - a nomadic, tribal society of horse riders and warriors. Sarru/Sarrian - a western kingdom ruled by the aged King Tudhaliya, poised for civil war between his sons |
By K. Olsen
The Story So Far: Sole survivor of the destruction of Shadi, the world's oldest city, the priestess and daughter of King Amar-Sin, Ilati, seeks to avenge her people and end the rule of Nysra and his dark gods. Abandoned by her goddess, she sought out a new deity in the desert and connected with K'adau, the Mother of Demons. After traveling months with the Sut Resi, nomadic horse warriors, a one-eyed sorcerer named Eigou, and a charioteer of Magan named Menes, she fought and bested a demon at Sa Dul. Now they are traveling to seek allies in the Kingdom of Sarru, but that task will not be easy even with the possible help of Kulziya, Captain of the Royal Guard in Ulmanna. To make matters worse, one of the men responsible for Shadi's destruction will be present as a protected diplomat: Commander Sarhad of Nadar.
***
On all sides of the frothing joining of the Suen and Adbattii rivers, the great city of Ulmanna sprawled across five hills that formed an approximate ring. Untidy warrens of streets stretched out like tangling spiderwebs from the river sides, presided over by the great ziggurat of Lugal to the south of the joining and the expansive palace complex to the east of it. Most of the wealthy parts of the city were upstream and surrounded by towering walls. Ulmanna had burst beyond its gates, many rougher hovels constructed of mud brick or just bundled reeds outside of the city wall, crammed into each other beside the flurry of activity that was the docks. Tens of thousands of people lived in Ulmanna and the surrounding river lands, every inch of ground given to human use. What was not the city was farms or orchards, watered by a canal system that rivaled Shadi’s, though it was only two-thirds the size of Ilati’s home.
“Ah, home! What do you think?” Kulziya said, letting his bronze-tipped spear lean against his shoulder. He chuckled at the wide-eyed stares from Shir Del and especially Roshanak. “Civilization at its finest!”
Roshanak blinked owlishly, squirming slightly on her horse’s back to get a better view. At her small height, there was only so much she could do. “The people, there are so many…”
“Like a busy anthill.” Shir Del turned to look at her daughter, tugging Roshanak’s braid gently. “Stay close to us and on Thriti’s back.”
Ilati took in a deep breath at the sight of Ulmanna, the first proper city she’d seen since Shadi’s destruction. It brought memories arcing up from the depths of her mind like wounding arrows. She turned her face away, looking back towards the road to the forest, but even that offered little comfort with the sheer volume of travelers flocking to Ulmanna. Youtab shifted beneath her as if the mare could sense her disquiet. She buried her fingers in her horse’s mane, trying to project a calm she didn’t feel in the slightest.
Kulziya glanced over at her and offered a slight smile. “Have no fear, wild one. To arrive at the beginning of the Festival of the River God is most auspicious.”
Menes frowned slightly. “A strange thing to say with a dying king and two princes poised for civil war.”
“He didn’t say it was most auspicious for them,” Eigou said cheerfully, nudging Ankhu forward. The trusty mule trudged along with the sorcerer on his back.
Shir Del snorted, features touched by a wry amusement. “Spoken like a true jackal, Eigou.”
He laughed and turned slightly to look back at them. “Come, let us make our way to the gates. There is no sense in dawdling. This jackal would like to eat his meal at a table.”
A gust of wind rose from the east, sweeping across the grass behind them with such a force it left even the river reeds bent like supplicants at the foot of a ziggurat. The others kept moving, but Ilati froze at a familiar smell: lightning on the wind, the dryness of the deserts, the hint of myrrh and bittersweet herbs. Youtab flicked her ears and let out a soft whinny as the others moved forward, pawing at the earth. Restlessness played in the mare’s muscles, flexing and rippling under her rider.
Darkness swallowed Ilati’s vision. She turned her eyes towards the sun, but saw only the bright ring of a corona: a total eclipse. The wretched copper taste of blood burst across her tongue as if she had just swallowed a draught of it. She couldn’t even call out, not with the sudden sense of scorpion legs climbing her back, nestling against her neck. Wails and groans filled the air, the weeping dirges of women and men alike.
They should quake at the very thought of their future. It will devour them like the desert sands swallow bones. You know that well.
Ilati felt a shudder run through her whole body at the dreadful weight in her goddess’s words. Before her, she saw a shadowy Ulmanna unraveling as if by the hand of an unsatisfied weaver. The rivers themselves coursed with fire instead of water, as if flowing straight from the pits of Ersetu, the land of the dead. K’adau’s laughter boomed across the countryside like the very rolling of thunder. In the east, a star brighter than all the others moved towards the zenith of the sky, burning red as blood.
There is more to your future than crushing a serpent, my poet. Your road ends where earth and heaven meet.
“Ilati!” Roshanak called, tinges of worry in her tone.
The image vanished in a blink, her eyes struggling to adjust to the warmth and light of the summer sun after the darkness. The others were moving already down the path towards Ulmanna, but Roshanak had stopped and turned on her horse’s back to face her. Ilati swept her hand across her brow, a cold sweat mingling with the dust on her face.
Shir Del stopped at her daughter’s cry and turned, brow creasing with concern. “Is something wrong?”
Ilati knew she needed to talk to her companions about what she had seen, but not with Kulziya and his men in earshot. The priestess whistled softly, urging her horse into forward motion. The others still headed towards Ulmanna, guided forward by Eigou’s eagerness. “I saw something,” she said in a low voice to the pair of Sut Resi. “Something that has not yet come to pass.”
“An omen?” Shir Del’s brow furrowed deeper.
Ilati nodded, reaching out to catch Shir Del’s leg to stop her from urging her horse towards the others. Roshanak pressed close on her other side to hear, clearly worried. “I saw a great misfortune,” she admitted quietly. “I do not think Ulmanna will escape Shadi’s fate. Even the sun itself went dark.”
“Nysra has great magic and dark gods. Perhaps he could make a thing such as this happen,” Shir Del said, flicking her fingers against her bowstring thoughtfully.
Roshanak gripped her small bow tightly, pressing her lips together into a firm line. Lapis lazuli eyes fixed on Ilati, her face suddenly smooth and expressionless, gaze penetrating and ancient. “It was not him.”
Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Roshanak was second-souled, dead and living at once. In that moment, however, Ilati saw it with frightening clarity. Beneath the sunny disposition of the young girl was an unfathomable depth, a spirit lodged between worlds. The priestess swallowed hard.
“What do you mean?” Shir Del asked, apparently unfazed by the strangeness of it. Then again, she was Roshanak’s mother and a dream-walker herself. She was probably accustomed to such things.
The girl faltered for a moment, that intensity suddenly fading from her visage. She blinked a few times and then rubbed at her eyes with one hand. “We should warn them.”
“Would they listen?” Ilati said, stomach knotted with nerves still. “We are strangers and said to be wild folk at that.”
Shir Del shrugged at that, looking back towards the others. “To Eigou, perhaps. If what Captain Kulziya says is true, he is a seer of great renown in Ulmanna. If their chieftain truly wishes his counsel on this dream of a star rising in the east, surely he would listen.”
Ilati touched the scar that twisted the corner of her mouth. Her father had never held much fondness for his brother-king in Ulmanna, still chafing in some ways from the revolt that had broken the Kullan power in the west. Amar-Sin had kept most of his thoughts on such matters away from his only daughter, reserving them for the education of his sons, and she had never really been curious enough to ask. Since her first menstrual blood, temple duties had dominated her attention, and before that, the task of learning to read and write at her mother’s behest.
If even a fraction of what little had made it to her from scribes and acolytes was true, however, she doubted Tudhaliya would hear anything he did not wish to. The uncertainty worried at her mind like a hound with a bone as she followed Shir Del and Roshanak to the others, their horses closing the open ground quickly. Eigou’s mule plodded along at his own speed, keeping pace with the guardsmen they traveled with. The great forest was no place for chariots, so Kulziya and his men had traveled on their own two feet.
“...hopefully your countrymen will be wise enough not to crowd my granddaughter’s horse,” Eigou said as they approached the gate, thronging with people. Drumming and flutes were audible from beyond the gate, the whole city humming with the festival’s excitement.
“Does she ride a horse or a lion, Eigou?” Kulziya said with a laugh, glancing backwards towards Youtab. The mare flicked her ears and snorted as she slowed, turning her head to gaze at the man with a baleful eye.
The one-eyed sorcerer shook his head at that. “In my experience, lions are far more demure.”
“Even a wild horse can be broken.”
Ilati thumbed an arrow’s fletching, tightening her grip on her bow as she glared down at Kulziya. Her temper was more fearsome with thoughts of Nadar and Shadi’s destruction clinging to her, as well as the unsettling vision. “You will sprout feathers enough to fly if you try,” she said fiercely. While she was nervous around armed strangers, there was absolutely no way she was letting him lay a finger on Youtab. The mare could protect herself, something evident both against the men of Nadar and a demon, but Ilati was not about to abandon her companion’s defense.
“Are your arrows as sharp as your tongue?” Kulziya said with amusement, something challenging in the undercurrents of his speech.
The priestess knew she was being baited for the amusement of the man and his troop. She felt her temper cool into something hard and sharp under their eyes. Weakness here was not an option, not if it would travel to Commander Sarhad’s ears and reveal her. When she spoke, it was with an imperiousness befitting a queen. “If you wish a dog that performs tricks for the laughter of a crowd, gaze into the waters.”
Kulziya laughed. “For what? A fish?”
Shir Del grinned with a certain relish, clearly catching Ilati’s meaning. “I think she means your reflection.”
The guard captain narrowed his eyes at that. “You insult the nephew of your host, the great king? You are foolish.”
The Sut Resi woman wasn’t above twisting the knife. “Yet not so foolish as to need words explained.”
Eigou’s good eye gazed up towards heaven for a moment as if he was searching for some divine stroke of patience. “I think it would be rather unwise for everyone involved to start a feud. That is enough. Captain, if you would kindly cease provoking her, I am certain my granddaughter will extend to you the same courtesy.” He gave Shir Del a stern look that the Sut Resi woman seemed absolutely impervious to. “And you, Shir Del, should know better than to needle.”
“When have I ever started something I could not finish, Eigou?” the warrior woman shot back even as Ilati relaxed slightly out of her tense posture.
“Eigou has the right of it,” Ilati said, though she knew she had been part of that quarrel when perhaps letting it go would have been better. “We are not here to make enemies with King Tudhaliya or his people. You will have your fight with another in the future.” She knew better than to directly reference Sarhad or the Nadaren. That enmity would stay buried until it was too late for Nysra’s hounds, if she had any luck at all.
“The manners of the wild folk are as unkempt as they are,” Kulziya said with a shake of his head.
Menes, who had been watching quietly with his hand lingering near his bronze sickle-sword, studied the guard captain. “I find, noble one, that they repay all things in kind.”
“Perhaps that is so,” Kulziya acknowledged more carefully, turning to face the warrior. If he noted Menes’s hand position, he said nothing of it. “I am surprised that a man of Magan is so comfortable around immodest women.”
The charioteer shrugged. “I consider myself a warrior first, and I respect those who acquit themselves well in battle.”
“Tell me of this battle, then,” Kulziya said to Menes as he resumed their progress through the gate. “I am most eager to hear of it.”
Eigou let the others lead the way, moving his faithful mule to one side of Ilati’s horse. Shir Del took up the opposite side, intending to keep people from jostling Youtab’s flanks. They all knew that of the Sut Resi horses, Ilati’s mare was the most likely to lash out. “I expected you would have a harder time abandoning proper manners,” the old man said.
Ilati loosened up a little, relaxing more completely despite the press of the crowds and the din of the celebration ahead. She moved her fingers away from the quiver at her belt. “You were the one who told me I must leave them as a serpent sheds its skin.”
“I suppose I am not used to people listening so intently,” Eigou said with a shrug, offering her a wry smile. “Let us hope it will be enough, especially once we reach the palace.”
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior woman who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Farhata - a Sut Resi warrior and bow-maker. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse. Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse with a strange connection to Ilati. Kulziya - captain of the Royal Guard in Ulmanna, nephew of the great King Tudhaliya Commander Sarhad - the Nadaren emissary to Sarru and one of the men who tormented Ilati. Kullah/Kullans - the Land Between Two Rivers and the people who dwell there. Ilati's people. Nadar/Nadaren - the northern kingdom ruled by King Nysra, destroyer of Ilati's home, and the people who dwell there. Sut Resi - a nomadic, tribal society of horse riders and warriors. Sarru/Sarrian - a western kingdom ruled by the aged King Tudhaliya, poised for civil war between his sons |
By K. Olsen
The Story So Far: Sole survivor of the destruction of Shadi, the world's oldest city, the priestess and daughter of King Amar-Sin, Ilati, seeks to avenge her people and end the rule of Nysra and his dark gods. Abandoned by her goddess, she sought out a new deity in the desert and connected with K'adau, the Mother of Demons. After traveling months with the Sut Resi, nomadic horse warriors, a one-eyed sorcerer named Eigou, and a charioteer of Magan named Menes, she fought and bested a demon at Sa Dul. Now they are traveling to seek allies in the Kingdom of Sarru, but that task will not be easy even with the possible help of Kulziya, Captain of the Royal Guard in Ulmanna. To make matters worse, one of the men responsible for Shadi's destruction will be present as a protected diplomat: Commander Sarhad of Nadar.
***
Caught by soft breezes wafting down from the north, hundreds of red petals showered down from the top of the grand Eastern Gate. The crowd pressed through the great bronze doors, flanked and guarded by statues of Lugal’s servitors, fierce winged bulls with stone bodies and golden horns. Together, they embodied the twin gods Eta and Mursu, evil destroyers vanquished by Lugal in the days before days and then forced to bear his yoke. With their ferocious expressions and wild eyes, they towered over the throngs of people moving between them.
Shir Del looked up at the statues fearlessly, ignoring the reverential gesture made by Kulziya as they passed beneath the gaze of the bulls. “Strange that no thief has made off with their horns.”
Kulziya laughed, but there was an edge of subtle apprehension to it. “It is not wise to anger the Twins, or one will have worse than a legion of howling demons behind them.”
Ilati arched an eyebrow. “Is Lugal not their master?”
“He is a god of justice and law. He does not extend his protection to thieves and blasphemers.”
“Why keep your gods in stones?” Roshanak craned her neck, fascinated with everything she could lay eyes on. “It would be very cramped.”
Eigou chuckled and reached over, affectionately flicking at Roshanak’s braid. “Even the gods in Ulmanna are civilized. We make our homes in brick. Why should they not do the same?”
Ilati swept petals from her hair with one hand, rubbing at Youtab’s shoulder with the other. The mare danced beneath her as they moved, restless energy magnified by the noise and strangeness of this new place. The priestess was at the center of the group so that the other horses and Eigou’s faithful mule could guard the crowd from Youtab’s wrathful hooves. Already they were drawing many stares, even in the chaos of a festival. Sut Resi barbarians came with their own reputation, and these ones rode beside men of King Tudhaliya’s personal guard unchained.
After moons on the grasslands and the forest road—the smell of water and growing plants, horse and wind, the black earth of Kullah and the fallen needles of cedar—the chaotic mix of scents tied to a city struck Ilati like a fist. There was the smell of the crowd’s sweat, the smoke of fires from roasting pits, bread baking and beer fermenting, river water diverted into canals teeming thick with reed boats, and a thousand other scents she could only identify as city. Ilati scraped together a handful of flower petals and held them to her nose, crushing them in her hand to release a sweeter scent.
How strange, that something she once would have never thought a moment of could come across so offensively. After a few moments, she let the crushed petals fall from her hand. Her nose would learn again to ignore it.
The noise was no less overwhelming: hymns to Lugal sung by the crowds thronging the broad, main streets of mud brick, punctuated by the clanging of bronze gongs, the hammering pulse of drums and cries of dancers lost in a flurry of ecstatic movements, the endless chatter of the crowd. Compared to deafening thunder on the open ground, it was not painful, but it was relentless. Ilati wanted to scream, but knew it would be devoured by the din of the crowd.
They were close to a parade snaking along the length of the Suen River as it approached the joining, towards the towering ziggurat to the northeast. The Temple of Lugal perched high on the central hill south of the rivers’ joining, across a great bridge of cedar wood sealed against the water by black bitumen and tiles that shimmered in the sun like the green and blue of fish scales seen through water. Accents of mother of pearl decorated the bridge between tiled patterns and the bitumen, glowing gold.
While all the others were drawn into the splendid, joyous energy of the celebration that arced like lightning from cloud to cloud, Ilati felt a coldness uncoil in her stomach the closer they moved to the city’s center.
Eyes were watching, and not simply those of gawking passersby.
Ilati’s thumb stroked the string of her bow to calm herself, thumb-ring already in place in case she needed to draw forth a vengeful arrow or two. She had not unstrung the weapon, wholly intending to meet the viper with fangs of her own if Nadaren men accosted them in the streets. Shir Del and Roshanak had both followed her example even though they knew how to string theirs on horseback, something Ilati still struggled with.
The priestess tried to identify the source of the coldness, looking ahead, then to the left and to the right. She even twisted to see behind, but nothing seemed amiss. The festival obscured everything except itself, beaming people thronging on every side.
Ilati took a deep breath, low into her belly, and forced her mind to focus not on the chaos outside, but the coldness within. Fear. Ilati’s fingers hooked an arrow. What am I afraid of here?
The closer they drew to the bridge, the feeling intensified. Ilati turned her gaze not on the work of art that was the great span across the waters, but the river flowing placidly beneath. She drew on her focus as Eigou had taught her, opening her eyes and then, with a deep breath, letting her mind discard the reality around her to peer beyond. Without closing her eyes, they seemed to open again. The forms of the people around her seemed to freeze and stutter, moving so slowly they were barely more than statues.
Roshanak glowed like a beacon to her left, a luminous purple-blue third eye made of light open on her forehead. Six spectral arms of the same color sprouted from her back, each ending in a delicate and purposeful hand. The girl abruptly turned to look at Ilati, the only other who seemed able to move normally. Or at least, the spirit within the second-souled girl could.
Ilati couldn’t be distracted by her long, not when she could feel a far greater presence uncoiling in the waters of the river.
The voice came from all sides, deep and rumbling, like the churning of river waters in a storm. There was no physical form rising from the river, but Ilati felt the god’s presence all the same. The indescribable sensations that rushed all around her like fearsome currents allowed her a window into Lugal’s mood: the river god was disturbed, verging upon displeased. Why have you come to my city, creature of the night winds?
Even with Eigou's lessons, Ilati wasn’t certain how to respond without speaking aloud, but forced her thoughts into order and hoped the god would hear them. I am only a messenger, a priestess, of the Mother of Night Winds. A demon I am not.
Yet you bring ruin in your wake. I see you.
Ilati kept her calm. Nysra and his dark gods are the ones you should rage against, mighty one. They intend to destroy your city as they destroyed Shadi.
They are welcome to try. I will devastate them, as I have destroyed all who seek the subjugation of my city.
She knew she was on dangerous ground, but forged ahead anyway. As you destroyed the great Ilishu, who made your chosen king kiss the earth before his feet?
You speak with insolence, priestess of the night winds! You would be wise to curb your tongue!
The priestess let go of her arrow, drawing on her memory of K’adau’s power to ward off the frightful shivers of dreadful awe Lugal’s anger inspired. I do not think you to be weak, mighty lord of Ulmanna and all it commands, but I have seen Nysra’s power first hand. He fell upon great Kullah like a lion upon a hound, and laid waste to its peoples like the sickle cuts grass. You will find in me a better friend than enemy, o wise lawgiver. Ulmanna is about to plunge into war, brother against brother. A kingship divided will fall like a sacred cedar to Nysra’s powerful ax.
Yes, I have heard the prayers of the princes, each seeking my favor. Lugal’s seething rage receded slowly, like floodwaters, replaced by something more thoughtful. You speak with a mind for strategy and a tongue for diplomacy, more than I expect from one of your nature.
Ilati took a deep breath. I wish an alliance against Nadar. They and their sorcerer king cannot be overcome without your people’s aid, great one. That is why I dare enter your city: as supplicant and warning. I have seen the sun blotted out and Ulmanna undone like a weaver destroys their work.
How do I know you are not their treacherous servant? The question struck like a barbed tail lashing forth from the waters.
Would the Mother of Demons ever consent to bend a knee to another?
Lugal paused, absorbing that. No. That is why she roams the wilderness. She cannot be tamed, not even by the gods of men. It is anathema, and her power is known from the days before days. But why does she care what becomes of a city of men?
I cannot say if she does, Master of the Two Waters, but I do. I would not see your people suffer as mine have suffered.
Vengeance is in the nature of the Howler in the Desert. Still, there is a strangeness to it. Lugal seemed to calm further, presence as placid as the river’s flow beside them. The would-be kings must prove themselves to me or resolve their quarrelsome weakness. Their rift has been deepened by the cancer among them. Perhaps you are the knife to cut it out. This would prove your intentions are as you say to my satisfaction.
With great pleasure, o mighty one, Ilati said. The face of Sarhad appeared in her thoughts, sending a current of rage down her spine.
The cold receded with Lugal’s fading presence and the world around Ilati stuttered back to life. She realized that everyone was staring at her, probably because she and Youtab had stopped at the riverside near the bridge, frustrating the crowd behind who wished to move to their god’s temple. Well, Roshanak was probably staring for another reason.
“What is so fascinating about the waters?” Kulziya called, turning around. He was in the lead now, best suited to guide them through the city streets.
Ilati blinked like a sleepwalker suddenly roused. “I thought I saw something moving.”
“There are many fish.” Something in Eigou’s tone told her he suspected something more had just happened, but he was less certain than the second-souled with them likely was.
She nodded slightly, whistling to Youtab. The mare had fallen still, though her ears kept flicking wildly as she tried to sort through the chaotic din of the festival. At her direction, the mare perked up and started to move again.
Roshanak leaned over, almost enough to fall off Thriti’s back. “What was that?” she asked as the others refocused on the path ahead.
So no other would hear, Ilati kept her voice quiet. “The patron god of this city.” The effect was not as powerful or profound as her audience in the desert, but she still trembled slightly from the aftermath of Lugal’s presence and the voice rushing like floodwaters around her. In a past life, she would have made an offering to any god upon entering their city, let alone hearing them, but now she thought only of K’adau’s approval. Still, it was a harrowing experience that dominated her thoughts even as they drew closer and closer to the palace.
Tiered towers and high, crenelated walls marked the exterior of the palace, a fortress with few equals. Fired mud-brick with a white glaze formed much of the exterior, patterned with fired tiles of blue-green in elaborate geometric patterns that looked like the currents of the river. Golden fish gleamed on the walls, each one radiant in the sunlight. The gate was framed by two long, serpentine dragons carved of white marble with dark veins on either side: their fearsome heads near the height of a man’s with neck descending and then rising behind, their front legs against the ground, and their bodies rising into an arch of twisting tails.
Menes looked over at Kulziya. “Which gods are these?”
Eigou chuckled as he clambered down from his mule’s back. “These are the spirits of the two rivers that Lugal rules. You will find their likenesses in many places throughout Ulmanna and all of the kingdom it rules: the Suen and the Adbatti. It was here that Lugal split their courses with his fearsome ax, widening the fertile lands so a great kingdom could arise, and spread their rich soil with the help of the Twins’ yoke.”
“Yet they are fearsome beasts.” Menes eyed the dragons’ fangs and claws with a skeptical expression.
“They seem docile now, but even Ulmanna must fear the floods that come from the gods if they are angered. The rivers can be quite savage beasts,” the sorcerer explained. “They are as the Esharra and Nintu of Kullah can be, devastating when the waters rise. That is why the greatest parts of Ulmanna perch upon the hills, even with the many channels and flood controls its people have hewn into the earth.”
Kulziya nodded in confirmation. “Truthfully, though, even as dragons they are tamer than the rivers of Kullah. I do not know how those cities have survived, so terrible is the River Esharra. The kings of Kullah were mad to build their greatest city along its banks.”
“They believed their gods would shelter them from all evil.” The words fell from Ilati’s lips as bitter and poisonous as wild almonds. “They were not mad. They were deceived by unworthy flies clustered around their prayers.”
“You speak with such anger, wild woman. Even here, I would not dare blaspheme against a god,” Kulziya said, a bit taken aback despite Eigou’s fiction that Ilati detested the civilized lands of men.
“Perhaps if they had spines, they would strike me down.” Ilati slid off her horse as the others did, landing beside the head of King Tudhaliya’s personal guard. He took a step back, less to make needed room and more to distance himself from her glare. “I do not fear the gods of Kullah, nor any anger that springs from their craven hearts. They could not slay me if they wished it.”
Kulziya’s eyebrows rose and he glanced at the blue sky and then Eigou nervously. “Does she speak so of all gods? Shall I keep my distance before she offends Lugal?”
Eigou’s lips twitched with amusement even as he sighed in exasperation. “She has her reasons, Kulziya, but I hope she does not intend to sharpen her tongue against our divine host.”
“I have no quarrel with the Lawgiver,” Ilati said, adjusting her quiver at her side. “So long as I am not given cause, I will keep a more civil tongue.”
For a moment, the wind touched Ilati’s hair like the caress of a proud mother. It was a brief, fleeting sense of approval and amusement, and a surprising reminder that even here, K’adau had not abandoned her. Ilati’s shoulders relaxed slightly, some of the angry tension fading. Youtab butted a nose against her arm as well, affectionately tugging at Ilati’s sleeve with teeth. It was enough to pull Ilati from her hateful thoughts. She scratched behind her horse’s ears before stroking her neck lovingly.
“The stables are this way,” Kulziya said as they passed through the gate. “Will your horses submit to non Sut Resi hands?”
“They will honor those who honor them. Woe to he who brings out the bridle or the whip,” Shir Del said, narrowing her eyes slightly at the guard captain as she pulled off her saddle bags while Roshanak and Ilati did the same. She amended, “I would not send your stable boys anywhere near Youtab. Let her eat under the open sky and give her as much space as one can, even from the other beasts.”
Ilati looked up from Youtab’s dark eye, leaning her head against her horse’s. “I cannot guarantee safety for any who approach. She is her own.”
“That may be seen as a challenge for some stablehands,” Kulziya admitted.
“Remind them that the harm they do to our horses will fall upon their heads tenfold,” Shir Del said fiercely. “Araxa, Thriti, and Youtab are heart-bonds, not servants, and I will think considerably less of whipping a man than I would plucking a burr from their hide.”
Ilati shrugged a little when the approaching stablehands all blanched. “I was merely going to fill them with arrows.” It was a bluff on her part, but well worth it if they treated Youtab with respect. Besides, there was a level where she meant it. She kissed Youtab’s nose and rubbed the horse affectionately between her ears. “Go with them to the stables, wild one, but do not go within. Stay in the pasture where earth and sky meet.”
One of the stablehands approached nervously, his attention darting back and forth between Youtab and Ilati. “How are we to guide them without lead, noble warrior of the wilds?” he asked, bowing low to the priestess.
“Respectfully,” Ilati said coolly.
“I will see them to the stables,” a voice said from behind, rich and cultured. He spoke with a formal accent, one of the delineations between the commoners of Ulmanna and the wealthy palace-born. “I would not have our guests, whether two-legged or four-legged, treated with anything but the greatest hospitality.”
The group turned to see a man in bronze armor much like Kulziya, but burnished and adorned with complicated images of winged bulls plated in gold. He stood tall and handsome, dark beard sculpted into a triangular point with jeweled bands and trimming, his tunic a rich purple shade. Ilati did not recognize him, but knew to whom they spoke by his dress and regal bearing: a prince of Sarru. He smiled at them, a warmth suffusing the expression.
Eigou stepped forward, clasping the prince’s hand fondly. “Prince Hattusa, it is always a pleasure to see you.”
The prince pulled Eigou into a hug, clapping the old man on the back with a broad grin. “If only I could say the same, you rascal. Spitting out the truth to powerful men and then fleeing the consequences…it is a wonder you yet live.”
As Hattusa released him, Eigou shrugged and grinned. “I have my wily ways. Now, I think introductions are in order. This is Menes, Magan’s finest charioteer. The elder Sut Resi you see is Shir Del and the girl is her daughter, Roshanak. Our other wild woman is my granddaughter, Hedu.” He indicated each in their turn for the Prince’s sake.
“Welcome, all of you,” Hattusa said, spreading his arms wide as he gave a respectful nod. “King Tudhaliya and Ulmanna receive you as honored guests.” His eyes darted over the group, pitying as they took in Ilati’s scars.
Ilati looked down at the ground, feeling a sting in her heart. She disliked the pity. It reminded her too much of the priestess of Zu who had died in those desert sands. When she looked up again, her expression hardened and her lips pressed into a grim line.
If Hattusa noticed, he gave no sign, turning instead to Eigou and stepping closer. “My father hopes you have come with answers about the red star rising in the east.”
Eigou raised an eyebrow, mouth twitching into a wry smile. “He should be careful what he wishes for. Nonetheless, I think I can satisfy some of his curiosity.”
“There is another matter better spoken of in private.” Hattusa turned his smile back on the group. “Not that it needs to trouble your companions. They have come quite the long way, by the looks of them. Baths and fresh clothes before a fine meal, I think. My father will welcome you with a feast, but you will have time to rest again. It is tradition to eat after the setting of the sun on the first day of Lugal’s festival. You have come at an auspicious time.”
“What is wrong with how we dress?” Shir Del asked with a frown.
Hattusa looked flummoxed for a moment, uncertain how to explain that the court of the mighty king would probably not appreciate hide armor and a bared breast from the woman. It was expected for a Sut Resi among her own people, but the shock and discomfort it would create were not insignificant.
Ilati looked over at her friend. “We smell of horse and these are clothes of war.”
Shir Del’s brow furrowed. “You say that as if it is a problem. How else will they know I am a warrior of the Sut Resi? Next you will tell me I must leave my bow or cut my hair.”
“We should at least be clean,” Menes said, glancing to Hattusa. “Perhaps there is a middle ground?”
“If you have hides that are not so…” Hattusa searched for a diplomatic term. “...worn, perhaps those will suit. But at dinner with the great king, you will not be permitted to carry your bows, lest you be thought assassins.”
Ilati put a hand on Shir Del’s shoulder and squeezed hard before the woman could let loose the sharp rebuttal clearly building on her tongue. “Generous prince, could we be permitted them if they were unstrung or peacebonded?” She made sure her request was tendered with the appropriate level of deference. “Your mighty king is most hospitable, no? It is a venerable tradition that Sut Resi will always have their bow with them, but we have no intention of harming anyone with them.”
Hattusa cleared his throat, contemplating the suggestion. “If they are peacebound,” he said finally. “I know how swiftly a Sut Resi can string their bow.”
“Is that satisfactory?” Ilati looked to Shir Del. It was phrased as a question, but the undertone was emphatic and firm.
An argument bloomed across Shir Del’s face and her eyes narrowed at Ilati, but after a moment she sighed. “If that is what we must do.” Under her breath she added, “Not that I am contented with it.”
Ilati squeezed Shir Del’s shoulder again, this time comfortingly. In the Sut Resi tongue, she said, “I promise you that if we have need of them, that binding will pose no obstruction.”
“I am holding you to that, little sister,” Shir Del said. She wrinkled her nose slightly. “Let us bathe, then.” She whistled a command to her horse, then nudged his rump towards the stable area. “Araxa, lead the others. We will see you again soon.”
To the surprise of the stablehands and Hattusa alike, Araxa immediately began to move towards the stables with Thriti following. The two horses were never far apart, each taking comfort in the presence of the other. Youtab followed after a moment of hesitation and a glance back at Ilati. The stablehands made no attempt to touch the horses, but guided them by walking alongside.
“Your beasts are clever,” Hattusa said, marveling. He bowed his head again to the group. “The servants will guide you and I will see your horses are well cared for. Eigou, I will find you inside the palace before dinner to discuss the other matter.”
“I pity the first to try to lay a hand on your wild one,” Shir Del said, watching them go. “I doubt they will leave the experience with bones all intact.”
Ilati shrugged slightly, more worried about Youtab than anything else even though she knew the horse could take good care of herself. “If she can handle battle with a demon, what are mere men? Let us see what the palace holds.”
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior woman who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Farhata - a Sut Resi warrior and bow-maker. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse. Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse with a strange connection to Ilati. Thriti - Roshanak's horse, divine blooded daughter of Araxa. Kulziya - captain of the Royal Guard in Ulmanna, nephew of the great King Tudhaliya Commander Sarhad - the Nadaren emissary to Sarru and one of the men who tormented Ilati. Hattusa - Son of King Tudhaliya, the eldest prince of Sarru. Kullah/Kullans - the Land Between Two Rivers and the people who dwell there. Ilati's people. Nadar/Nadaren - the northern kingdom ruled by King Nysra, destroyer of Ilati's home, and the people who dwell there. Sut Resi - a nomadic, tribal society of horse riders and warriors. Sarru/Sarrian - a western kingdom ruled by the aged King Tudhaliya, poised for civil war between his sons |
By K. Olsen
The Story So Far: Sole survivor of the destruction of Shadi, the world's oldest city, the priestess and daughter of King Amar-Sin, Ilati, seeks to avenge her people and end the rule of Nysra and his dark gods. Abandoned by her goddess, she sought out a new deity in the desert and connected with K'adau, the Mother of Demons. After traveling months with the Sut Resi, nomadic horse warriors, a one-eyed sorcerer named Eigou, and a charioteer of Magan named Menes, she fought and bested a demon at Sa Dul. Now they are traveling to seek allies in the Kingdom of Sarru, but that task will not be easy even with the possible help of Kulziya, Captain of the Royal Guard in Ulmanna. To make matters worse, one of the men responsible for Shadi's destruction will be present as a protected diplomat: Commander Sarhad of Nadar.
***
The reactions of King Tudhaliya’s servants to the strangers in their midst told Ilati everything she could have asked for. They gazed wide-eyed at the barbarians entering the palace for only a moment before dropping their gazes and scurrying about to complete their tasks. Many men seeking audience with their king peeled away from the throngs of people when Eigou appeared, more interested in the sorcerer’s counsel than the strangers he surrounded himself with. Kulziya stayed near the one-eyed man’s side, directing servants to escort the wild women to the baths. Menes remained with Eigou. The idea of sharing a bath with any of them was perhaps more immodest to a man of Magan than even he could stand.
No one seemed thrilled with the arrangement, least of all Shir Del, who grumbled fiercely as she followed Ilati with one hand firmly on Roshanak’s shoulder. “Skittish beasts,” the warrior woman muttered when one of the handmaidens flinched away from her glare.
Ilati smiled despite herself. “As far as they know, Shir Del, your people are cannibalistic barbarians who eat their victims raw and slay whoever offends them. Of course they are wary of you.”
Shir Del looked annoyed. “And when have you ever known me to consume the flesh of men?”
“Stories are often exaggerated, and it is not as though the Sut Resi have ever sought to correct those who tell them. There are advantages to being feared on the field of battle, no?” Ilati inhaled sharply as they passed through the cedar doors into the baths, the distinctive smell of frankincense and sandalwood filling her nose. Rose petals floated on the surface of the baths, set into the stone floor. The pools staggered down like naturally formed springs, each one fed by the one above it. At the top was a small channel of water that filled the slow cascade, no doubt diverted from either a spring within the hill or an aquifer. At the bottom of the arrangement, water followed channels out through open doors into verdant gardens, where they served as irrigation for fruit trees and many other plants.
Compared to the great hanging gardens of Shadi, these were little more than planters surrounded by channels, but Ilati still saw the beauty in them. It demonstrated Lugal’s favor, if nothing else, as the ability to cultivate such growing life in such an urban setting relied upon water gods.
Shir Del wrinkled her nose at the scents of perfume. “Extravagant and indulgent,” she muttered. “Must we even smell like them?”
The poet smiled with a trace of amusement. “It is the King’s hospitality. Refusing would invite disadvantage. Besides, if Tudhaliya is anything like his reputation, he is hoping you will balk and make a beast of yourself.”
The warrior woman sighed and looked over at her daughter, who seemed absolutely fascinated by the flow of water through the garden-enclosed pools. There would be no keeping Roshanak from the water in another minute or two. “I do not like this, priestess.”
“I know.” It was hard to keep her amusement out of her voice, but Ilati managed. She stripped down at the edge of the water, taking the time to examine herself for a moment.
Her battle scars still showed bold and red even with the wounds closed, raised and twisted strands of stretched skin. For the first time since the destruction of Shadi, Ilati allowed herself to see her body. Hard living and training relentlessly had changed it from what she remembered, in ways far beyond the disfiguring marks left by demonic claws. She could see the outline of toughened muscle instead of soft curves as she traced the swell of her calves and thighs with her eyes, feel the ripple of it as she moved her shoulders. Her abdomen had flattened, the softness there mostly gone. Her hands bore rows of calluses, nails worn or broken short and uneven, and her dark hair had taken on a slightly lighter, reddish quality from exposure to the sun. Even her skin had changed, bronzed by sun without the shade of palace walls and gardens to spare it.
She was no longer a pampered, sheltered woman of privilege, kept inside Zu’s own house or the palace like a child’s cloth doll. To actually see the change, though, was a strange and almost indescribable feeling. For a moment, she could feel every mile between her and Shadi here, across the knotted map of her skin. Ilati discarded her clothes to the side and turned her attention back to her companions at the sound of a particularly raucous splash. “Roshanak, you are supposed to undress first, and enter with a step, not a leap.”
The girl turned in the pool, beaming with an excitement only matched in intensity by the looks of shock on the handmaidens’ faces. “But it’s almost deep enough to dive!”
Shir Del laughed in the way Ilati had come to associate with the Sut Resi: from deep in the belly rather than the tittering of court women. The Sut Resi warrior seemed to mightily enjoy the reaction to her daughter’s antics. “That will save me the trouble of trying to explain how to wash your clothes, I suppose.” The warrior woman unstrung her bow first and wrapped the sinew string away in a leather pouch treated with grease to keep water out, then placed both her weapons and her clothes away from the water’s edge, with Ilati’s. Roshanak had left her bow well away from the pool, but still had her little knapped flint dagger on her.
One of the younger handmaidens edged slightly closer to inspect their animal-skin clothes once the warrior herself stepped into the baths to pursue Roshanak. Ilati turned to face her and spoke in the tongue of their hosts. “You cannot wash that as you wash fabric or you will ruin it. Leave it to us to tend.”
The servants all blinked in surprise. “You speak with a civilized tongue,” the bold handmaiden marveled. “We thought you Sut Resi.”
Ilati supposed it was a fair assumption. She was wearing Sut Resi clothes, carrying a Sut Resi bow, and had not spoken anything but the wild peoples’ tongue so far in this company. Her conversations with Shir Del and Roshanak had stayed strictly in their speech since they parted ways with the others and she’d spoken little else inside the palace. “I find it is useful to speak many languages.” Ilati could practically see the questions burning on the lips of the others, but they were careful to avoid eye contact and maintain their meekness.
The youngest, though, forged ahead. “You do not mark your face and body with those strange paints either, the ones that stain until they do not wash.”
Ilati glanced over at Shir Del and Roshanak. It was true and an oversight on her part: the Sut Resi were famous for marking their bodies and faces with tattoos, and the absence of them on her was telling. She had also chosen to wear her hair loose rather than in the braid common to the Sut Resi. “No, I do not.”
“Where are you from, stranger? What place birthed a woman warrior besides the silver-grass steppe?”
The priestess’s expression hardened. While the questions could be innocent, it was also possible that Commander Sarhad had people inside the court who sought information. “The Desert of Kings.”
“Surely not,” the handmaiden said, recoiling from Ilati’s clothes like she expected them to contain a scorpion. “We have heard tell of this place, where demons stalk the barren sands.” She made a sign with her hands, something Ilati assumed was to avert the evil eye. “There is no water, no life, nothing may grow. All that is alive perishes to the gnawing of the evil ones in that accursed place.”
“This is so,” Ilati said, turning and stepping into the cool, refreshing waters of the bath. If Sarhad wanted rumors, he would most certainly have one now.
“Have you not seen those scars?” one of the older handmaidens hissed to the youngest, just low enough in volume to be barely within Ilati’s hearing. “They did not come from a lion!”
“How do you know that?” the bold one replied petulantly.
“Number those on her shoulder and you will see the lines from seven claws upon one paw. She is marked by demons!”
Ilati gave no sign that she had heard either the comments or the gasp of horror from the young one now rapidly scrambling away from her belongings. Instead, she scrubbed over herself, trying to work away the dirt and sweat, massaging around the hard tissue of the scars. It felt so good to soak that she lost herself in the sensation, dunking her head below the water. By the time she resurfaced, the handmaidens had withdrawn to what they presumed was a safe distance and Shir Del had finally managed to finish stripping Roshanak in the bath.
“They seem more frightened of you now,” the warrior woman commented with something approaching a secret glee as she looked over at Ilati, scrubbing away at Roshanak despite the girl’s squawks of protest. Ilati knew that Shir Del, despite her pride, had learned to speak the languages of the settled peoples of Kullah and Sarru both. The exchange was entirely within her comprehension. “Eigou will be pleased.”
“News will travel quickly,” Ilati said. “The great stone house of a king is not so different from a Sut Resi camp when it comes to rumors. Well, except that it is easier to learn the truth among your people. One need only ask. It is not so simple in places like this.”
“Those who build their houses from stone rather than the skins they have hunted are always careful to keep two faces and three hearts,” Shir Del said with scorn.
Ilati thought of all the intrigues she had seen both in the palace and the temple in Shadi. “Perhaps that is true of some. Perhaps most. Not all. Even soft clay can be hardened in a fire until it is like stone, yes?”
The warrior woman gave her a hard look, not angry, but shrewd. “I suppose you are proof enough of that, priestess,” Shir Del said more thoughtfully. “Yet sometimes I wonder how well even I know your measure.”
“I’m no Eigou.”
The Sut Resi warrior shrugged. “All things have their nature. Eigou is like the deepest parts of the Great Forest: full of many hidden spaces, secret things, and ancient powers. So it is fitting, what you said to them: I see the burning sands in you, the fiery sun, the unrelenting howl of the night winds.”
Ilati shook her head slightly. “You know me, Shir Del.”
“As you are now, but beyond? The sands shift. It is in their nature.” Shir Del’s hooded eyes of lapis lazuli were almost as piercing as Roshanak’s gaze had been when the spirit looked at her. “Even when we met, you were not what you appeared, and you change more and more in my dreams now with every passing moon.”
That alarmed Ilati. “What am I becoming?”
Shir Del shrugged. “It is subtle. I could not say, but perhaps Roshanak could. Second-souled children see more clearly than even we who can stride among dreams.” Shelooked down at her daughter expectantly.
Roshanak squinted up at Ilati, expression fiercely concentrating for a moment. It was an expression that very much matched her mother’s most thoughtful scowl.
“Well?” Shir Del prompted after a long moment, flicking her daughter’s braid.
The second-souled girl blinked and her expression returned to normal. “I don’t know. I don’t see anything different.”
Ilati shook her head slightly. “Don’t look at me with those eyes, Roshanak,” she said quietly before touching the center of the girl’s forehead, where she’d seen the glowing eye of the spirit within Roshanak using her own sight beyond sight. “Look at me with this one.”
The girl hesitated, fingers rubbing along the concentric rings of the tattoo on the back of her neck. “Are you sure?”
Now even more apprehensive, the priestess still nodded. “I would know what I am becoming if it is changing my spirit too.”
Roshanak nodded. This time she closed her eyes. Instead of the strained concentration, her face smoothed into the composure of a corpse and even her breathing slowed almost to a stop.
Ilati felt an itch at the back of her neck, a sense of being observed not just by Roshanak, but by many eyes all around. It was a feeling she’d experienced before, but it took her a moment to place it: Shadi, when through lifeless, glassy eyes the dead had watched her stagger through city streets alone.
Shir Del twisted her thumb ring into position automatically, even without her bow, responding to a threat she could feel, but not see. “Roshanak, that is enough.” An urgent caution ran through Shir Del’s speech like the River Esharra’s fast-moving current.
Roshanak’s eyes opened, devoid of the spark of life. They did not move their gaze, fixed instead on Ilati. Her words came as a whisper through teeth, like the wind through a hollow skull. It was distinctly not Roshanak’s girlish voice, but instead a chorus of thousands speaking at once, though not as the thunderous roar it had been the last time Ilati heard it. The words were not spoken in Sut Resi, nor in Sarrian, nor even in the tongue of Kullah. They came without need of the ears, instead a frigid cold setting into the bones.
“Hail Ilati of Kullah, Queen of Thorns, Lady of the Floodwaters.
Hail the Devastator, the Destroyer, who breaks chains and kingdoms alike in her teeth.
Hail the Exile who shatters the cages of her people.
Hail the Mother of Havoc who stirs the dead from Ersetu and sets mountains aflame.”
Ilati surged forward in the water, catching Roshanak as she collapsed once the words were spoken, looking to Shir Del. “What was that?”
For the first time since they’d met, Shir Del’s eyes widened with distress. “I do not know. Help me get her out of the pool.”
Together they hoisted Roshanak out, ignoring the confusion of the onlooking handmaidens. “I have heard those words before, in the Desert of Kings, just before the Mother of Demons appeared to me,” Ilati admitted, voice low.
“Demons?” Shir Del said as she fussed over her daughter, pulling over a large square of cloth to dry off Roshanak and then wrap her. “This has not happened before. She is cold as death.”
Ilati wished she had an answer for Shir Del. “I should not have pushed her.”
Shir Del leaned down, studying her daughter’s face with one hand over Roshanak’s heart. “She is breathing, but not awake.” She hesitated for a second, still watching the utter lack of movement on the girl’s face. Not even her eyelashes were fluttering. “She does not dream. Tahmasp would know what to do, but he is not here.” Shir Del hissed in frustration. “Fetch Eigou, sister of battle. He is a skilled healer and knows much of things beyond mortal ken. I will try to wake her in your absence.”
Ilati nodded, rising from her kneeling position at the edge of the pool to dress swiftly in the clothes laid out for them: it was cloth that Shir Del would likely refuse, a simple white dress bordered in blue that gathered at one shoulder with a pin, leaving the arms and most of the shoulder bare. Ilati’s scars from Ezezu were still on full display.
A matronly handmaiden broke from the whispering group at the sight of the girl in distress, an older woman with coiled gray hair and a soft, heart-shaped face. They had been well out of earshot of the whisper. “What happened? Shall we fetch the one who knows oils?”
Ilati shook her head. “Take me to Eigou,” she said firmly. “He is here in the palace and we need him at once.”
The older woman nodded and immediately started walking swiftly, though she had her own questions for Ilati still. “The soothsayer? Her affliction is magical?”
“He is a healer of great skill as well.” Ilati appreciated the fact that the older woman was moving with speed and purpose. Together they departed the baths for the main palace halls, drawing many eyes as they went. Ilati knew she probably looked a frightful sight between her wet, tangled hair and the fearsome scars across her face and arms. “Hurry. When even her mother has not seen her this way, it is serious.”
With a nod, the servant sped her pace until it was almost a lope through the halls, Ilati right beside her. They found Eigou in a smaller dining hall across from Prince Hattusa, Menes and Kulziya still at his side. Those who had sought the sorcerer’s counsel were otherwise gone, no doubt dismissed by their crown prince.
“...so he is worse than even I thought–” Eigou cut himself off as they arrived, looking over at Ilati. His brow furrowed. “Is something the matter?”
“Roshanak took unwell,” Ilati said, aware they had an audience. She was not ignorant of Hattusa’s stare at her scarred shoulder and arm. “We need you at the baths.”
Menes sprang up at once, nearly knocking his chair over backwards. Eigou was only barely slower, probably only because of age’s hindrance. Both had a significant soft spot for the girl. “What happened?” the warrior of Magan asked, all thought of impropriety yielding to worry.
“She fainted.” Ilati wasn’t certain if it would be safe to speak the truth in the company of strangers, particularly with Sarhad in the palace.
Together the small group made their way to the baths, followed by Kulziya and a concerned Prince Hattusa. It was the crown prince who could not leave the matter lie at Ilati’s simple explanation. “What is the nature of the malady? Has it happened before?”
“Not like this, not as far as I know,” Ilati said. She cursed herself for putting Roshanak at risk even as she looked to the one-eyed sorcerer and spoke the truth of what had happened in the Sut Resi tongue. “It was my fault, Eigou. She was trying to discern things about me and something overcame her.”
“Gazing with her second-souled eyes?” The old man picked up his pace, practically running through the palace. “Likely overexertion, but it could be more.”
When they arrived, Shir Del had Roshanak cradled in her arms, forehead pressed to the girl’s. “Come back to me, sweet one,” the Sut Resi woman crooned to her daughter as she rocked the girl back and forth. She didn’t look up at the sound of their footfalls, her panic barely contained by a facade of calm. “Do not listen to the shades that call to you.”
Roshanak’s eyes fluttered like a fevered dreamer’s, the only part of her body in motion except for the shallow rise and fall of her chest.
“What has happened, Shir Del? Is it dream magic?” Eigou asked, kneeling beside the frantic Sut Resi mother.
The warrior woman looked up at him. “She dreams of the restless dead calling her to join them. They are hungry, twisted things.”
“She would be more sensitive, given what she is,” Eigou said, scowling. “But dead beyond Ersetu? How could such a thing–”
“The unburied of Shadi,” Ilati said quietly. “I see them in my dreams.”
Eigou’s expression hardened. “That is a great many spirits to confront. They will not heed me, but they might heed you, priestess. I can bridge the gap, but you must contend with them before they take Roshanak away.” Without waiting for an answer, he fished around in the satchel of herbs he carried, pulling out a pouch of myrrh and another of cedar bark.
“I will not let them take your daughter, Shir Del,” Ilati promised as Eigou conjured a flame in his hand and touched it to the cedar bark. “This is my fault, but I will make it right.”
Shir Del nodded and reached out a hand, squeezing Ilati’s fingers in a crushing grip. “Good hunting, sister,” she said fiercely. “Bring my daughter back.”
Ilati watched as Eigou added the myrrh to his small fire beside the pool, fragrant smoke rising from the dancing flames. “What do I do?”
“Breathe deep and open your eyes as she did, Ilati. I will sustain it for as long as I can, but we have little time.”
The priestess lowered herself to her knees beside Shir Del, breathing deeply of the smoke as she placed her hand on Roshanak’s forehead. She let her awareness of the world fall away, opening her inner eye again as she had when speaking with Lugal.
Whatever Ilati had expected, she was not ready for what she saw.
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior woman who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Farhata - a Sut Resi warrior and bow-maker. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse. Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse with a strange connection to Ilati. Thriti - Roshanak's horse, divine blooded daughter of Araxa. Kulziya - captain of the Royal Guard in Ulmanna, nephew of the great King Tudhaliya Commander Sarhad - the Nadaren emissary to Sarru and one of the men who tormented Ilati. Hattusa - Son of King Tudhaliya, the eldest prince of Sarru. Kullah/Kullans - the Land Between Two Rivers and the people who dwell there. Ilati's people. Nadar/Nadaren - the northern kingdom ruled by King Nysra, destroyer of Ilati's home, and the people who dwell there. Sut Resi - a nomadic, tribal society of horse riders and warriors. Sarru/Sarrian - a western kingdom ruled by the aged King Tudhaliya, poised for civil war between his sons |
By K. Olsen
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
The Story So Far: Sole survivor of the destruction of Shadi, the world's oldest city, the priestess and daughter of King Amar-Sin, Ilati, seeks to avenge her people and end the rule of Nysra and his dark gods. Abandoned by her goddess, she sought out a new deity in the desert and connected with K'adau, the Mother of Demons. After traveling months with the Sut Resi, nomadic horse warriors, a one-eyed sorcerer named Eigou, and a charioteer of Magan named Menes, she fought and bested a demon at Sa Dul. Now they are traveling to seek allies in the Kingdom of Sarru, but that task will not be easy even with the possible help of Kulziya, Captain of the Royal Guard in Ulmanna. To make matters worse, one of the men responsible for Shadi's destruction will be present as a protected diplomat: Commander Sarhad of Nadar. In a failed attempt to discern more of Ilati's nature, Roshanak accidentally encountered the spirits of the dead, who called her out of her body. Eigou has used his magic to send Ilati into the spirit world after the girl.
***
The cooling white ashes of burning reed roofs drifted down in waves from an ominous sky, as black as pitch with a great star burning infernal red for its only illumination. Ilati stood under the moonless night, her surroundings lit by the flames that had roasted alive any who hid in their homes, turning mudbrick into ovens of death. All around her, the dead contorted on city streets in a scene worthy of nightmares, groaning from the pain of their wounds. Some fumbled in the dark, sticky mud of their own blood for their severed heads. Others screamed as shadows of the men who had killed them continued their torture, tearing flesh from bone with hot knives. The evils Ilati survived played themselves here in endless repetition, the spirits trapped in this existence by their unburied bones.
To be dead without the proper rites, without descending into Ersetu, was worse a fate than even plunging into the river of fire.
Ilati’s stomach knotted as bile rose in her throat, watching every cruelty she had seen in the temple replayed beyond it. No one who dwelt in Shadi was safe from the fire, the knives, the cruelties of the Nadaren soldiers. Nysra had tasked them to destroy the city so thoroughly that no other Kullan city would dare resist or raise an army against him. Knowing that, Ilati could not blame anyone who had simply opened their gates in fear of reprisals.
Yet no amount of death was enough for Nysra or his gods, no amount of submission sufficient to escape some version of Shadi’s fate. In the face of the reality, Ilati felt her tears building in her eyes unshed.
But grief could not, would not, pin her in place like a doll: Ilati refused to allow it. She had to find Roshanak in this place and retrieve her, or the second-soul in the girl would move on and Shir Del would lose her daughter.
Ilati hurried forward through the streets of Shadi, feet catching in the mud as she moved towards the voices she could hear calling, beckoning. Join us. You know you do not belong in the world of the living. Join us. She picked up her pace as she reached the temple steps, racing up them with an ease beyond purely physical. As much as she dreaded returning to the scene of her own personal horrors, she knew in the pit of her stomach Roshanak would be at the heart of the city by now.
She pushed the door to the antechamber open and gagged on the smell of burnt flesh, that of those who had once burned offerings in Zu’s name. The priestess saw them in the fire, twisting forms of shade and blackening flesh, trapped in their own moment of death. Skeletal hands reached out in supplication as she passed, begging, pleading. Sister, save us! Ilati, save us!
In life, she had heard their screams from the next room. Seeing what had become of them truly was even more agonizing. Ilati ripped her eyes away and kept her head down as she ran, even when she felt them tug at the hem of the dress she wore. You cannot save them. You can only save Roshanak, she reminded herself, pushing open door after door as she sprinted to the sanctum, taking stairs two at a time. The statues of Zu seemed larger than she remembered here, looming, the goddess’s serene smile transmuted into a twisted parody of rapturous joy, as if every death here was a sacrifice to her as well.
Scorching smoke hung thick in this highest of sanctums, even as Ilati passed the temple guards in their bronze, drowning in their own blood from cut throats. The perpetrators were not truly here, but their evil acts had so scarred the spirit world that Ilati could feel their presence still. Her bare feet splashed in puddles of half-congealed gore as she stepped into the scene of her own worst nightmares, the holy house’s sacred innermost room.
Roshanak’s spirit stood ahead, much brighter than Ilati had seen by the river without flesh in the way, taller and older than the girl it inhabited. It shone a brilliant violet with shimmering hues of blue, eight perfectly formed arms curled close as it suffered the visions of this place. Roshanak looked back and forth uncertainly, three glowing eyes seeking something in the suffocating darkness filled with groans and screams. Ilati recognized her own voice here in the smaller chorus, tortured into something worthy of a beast.
“Roshanak, come back to me!” Ilati called as she slid to a stop just short of the girl. “Believe nothing here! It is not your time!”
The girl’s spirit turned. “Ilati?”
Before Ilati could feel any relief at all, she saw a hand settle on Roshanak’s shoulder, slick with blood. This shade, of all the dead in Shadi, was far more solid and real than the others. Ilati’s heart lodged in her throat as she looked past Roshanak to the face of her own mother, composed in a pale death-mask of an expression. Queen Eresh was every bit as regal in death as she was in life, every bit as stern.
Do not take my daughter away from me, Eresh said, voice hard and stinging.
Ilati hit the ground on her knees as she tripped over an arm, eyes wide and desperate as she looked to the hate-filled shade. “She is not your daughter, Ama, I am!” The poet pulled in a deep breath. “Roshanak, come here. Run to me. We have to leave this place.”
You? You think you can run from your fate and call yourself my daughter? Coward!
Grief and a terrible rage smashed upward into Ilati’s frantic worry, shattering her heart all over again. “I ran?” Ilati shouted bitterly. “I ran? You couldn’t bear the thought of the tortures I endured. You drove your own blade into your heart and you call me the coward? I bore the unbearable alone!”
The shade’s grip seemed to tighten on Roshanak. You should crawl from this place on your belly for that insult.
“Like you let Eigou when he spoke the truth of what would become of our family?” Ilati demanded. “If you want a daughter to comfort you in death, Ama, come claim her. But do not debase yourself into a thief out of selfish desires!”
The shade released Roshanak in an instant and the girl disappeared, leaving Ilati alone with her mother. You fled. You fled the city. You fled your name. You are nothing any longer and I will accept no part of you!
Ilati pushed herself up onto her feet. “Are you so poisoned by your own loss that you cannot see mine, Ama?” she said as the grief transmuted to an inescapable hurt. “I lost you. I lost Abba. I lost the twins. Everything I was, everything I held and loved, was taken from me by them. Yes, I left Shadi. Yes, I ran. And yes, I will have our revenge on the one who was responsible for this, even if it destroys me!”
The shade seemed to waver. For a moment, the shadows receded and the death mask expression softened. Ilati saw tears in her mother’s glassy, dead eyes. I am alone here, Ilati. I cannot reach my husband, my sons, or you. All I do is suffer the torment of listening to your screams, of knowing nothing of what has become of any of those I loved. I have no comfort, no solace, no peace. It will go on for eternity.
Ilati moved forward, wrapping her arms around the shade. All she could smell was blood and the faintest trace hints of her mother’s perfume buried beneath the smoke. “It will not. I promise you it will not.” She ran her fingers over her mother’s hair and felt a shudder of tears pass through the shade. “I will bury Shadi and all its dead beneath the sands. I will send you to your husband and sons, and one day, once Nysra suffers as you have suffered, we will see each other again, in Ersetu.”
Eresh wept into her daughter’s shoulder, shadowy arms winding around Ilati. Forgive me my rage, Ilati. Forgive me for abandoning you. I cannot lose you again. You must stay.
Ilati rocked her mother back and forth, even as her own heart ripped itself in two all over again. “I forgive you, Ama,” she whispered. “All I ever wanted was your love and pride.”
Forgive me, Ilati. Forgive me. Without you, I am becoming a monster.
“Shh. You will see Abba soon. I promise,” Ilati soothed, stroking her mother’s hair. “I forgive you. I forgive you. I know you are not a monster. I love you, Ama.”
The vision all around them started to shift, and the figure in Ilati’s arm evaporated like smoke. The priestess hit the ground on her knees, back in the baths in Ulmanna. Everyone was staring at her with wide eyes, including an awakened Roshanak. The only smell was rose petals, fresh water, and incense, most potent the myrrh that Eigou had produced. Ilati felt a hand settle on her shoulder, weathered and heavy. She knew it was Eigou, knew that her pain showed on her face, knew she had an audience.
“Hedu, what happened?” Menes asked, barely catching himself in time to use the fake name they agreed on.
Ilati rocked forward, slamming her fists down on the stone hard enough to bruise the heels of her hands. An animal cry of grief and anger tore out of her throat, sending the servants of King Tudhaliya scattering. She sobbed, tears burning in her eyes but refusing to fall.
Shir Del still had her arms wrapped around Roshanak, keeping her daughter from sprinting over to offer Ilati comfort. “You are newly returned, my treasure,” the warrior woman said to the girl, recognizing the pain for what it was. “You are too weak to move and she may yet strike those who get too close. Such agonies are blind.”
The priestess didn’t hear it. She heard nothing but the frantic agony in her mother’s voice. Forgive me, Ilati…
Gods, how she wished she could unspeak the words she had said in anger to get Roshanak away.
Eigou put his hand again on her shoulder, kneeling beside Ilati to speak close to her ear. “There is nothing you could have done, Ilati. There were too many to bury and the Nadaren would have killed you in the attempt. You did the right thing.”
“I abandoned them!” Ilati screamed. “I left them to rot and look at what they have become! What daughter is so cruel that she can do such a thing to her own mother?”
“Ilati, you must stop. If Sarhad hears of this, he will know too much.” Her mentor’s voice was gentle and barely more than a whisper, but still warning. “The baths are too public.”
“I will kill him! I will strip the flesh from his bones with red-hot bronze and scatter the pieces so none may ever bury him! May he suffer the eternity he sought to inflict upon all my people!” Ilati pressed her hands against the floor and closed her eyes, envisioning Shadi in the distance. She managed to collect herself enough to lower her voice, something dark and hateful in her voice. “Mother of Tempests, hear my prayer. Mother of the Night Winds, know what is in my heart.”
“Ilati, stop,” Eigou said urgently, a note in his voice that Ilati had never heard before: fear. “You cannot invoke any power across so great a distance. The effort will kill you.”
“Howler in the Desert, I beseech you, end their suffering and I will inflict it a thousand-fold on Nysra and his dark gods.” She was not going to stop, whether it killed her or not. The smoke of myrrh and cedar in the room started to swirl around her, moving without a natural wind stirring it. “I will go to their armies and I will devastate them in sacrifice to you. Mother of Demons, claim the city of Zu beneath your sands.”
“Ilati!”
A brilliant flash lit the room like a bolt of lightning and the deafening boom of thunder echoed through the stone room. The smell of a close strike filled the air, overpowering every hint of perfume and pleasant luxury. Energy crackled across Ilati’s skin unseen as she felt something inside her flower open. For a moment, she felt the legs of the scorpion brush against her neck.
The vision struck all of them like the wind of a sandstorm, bowling everyone away from Ilati. In their minds, the devouring walls of sand and flashes of thunder surged across a great plain towards the ruins of Kullah’s greatest city. Just as the devastation of a flood could sweep away even a great ziggurat, so the sands scoured the stones, consuming them like a ravenous maw. In moments, the greatest city of men was only sand and storm, the River Esharra itself reshaped.
Ilati dropped to the stone gasping, her heart still torn into shreds. The clawmarks on her face stung in her senses like they were fresh and her right hand shuddered and twitched uncontrollably, fresh red welts burned into her flesh in the fractal patterns left by a lightning strike. When she managed to turn over her hand, she saw her own words seared into the flesh of her forearm.
I will kill him. I will strip the flesh from his bones with red-hot bronze and scatter the pieces so none may ever bury him. I will inflict it a thousand-fold on Nysra and his dark gods. I will go to their armies and I will devastate them in sacrifice to you.
K’adau had done as she had begged, but there was always a price with the Mother of Demons. It was not one the goddess would let Ilati forget.
When Ilati managed to recollect her senses and look around again, she saw her friends and the crown prince of Sarru as pale as ghosts. Even Shir Del, war-hardened, looked shaken.
“They are buried now,” Eigou muttered, staring at his pupil with his sole remaining eye wide and worried. “Are you well, foolish girl?”
Ilati covered the burns on her arm with one hand and struggled up to her feet with what little strength she had left. Even with the Mother of Demons doing the task, she had taken most of her own vitality just to force the connection between them open here in a city of men. No doubt the god of Ulmanna would have an opinion on that display of power. “I am not now,” she said bitterly, “but I will be.”
Menes and Eigou approached, moving to support her. The charioteer took most of her weight, since Eigou’s muscle had largely faded in his age. “King Tudhaliya provided us with rooms,” Menes said quietly. “Perhaps it would be best if you rested and let Eigou tend those burns.”
Eigou looked down at Ilati’s arm. “I can cover them and keep away infection, but they will pain you until you have completed your oath.”
“Did Hattusa see them?” Ilati was certain the entire palace had probably heard that boom and the prince had been standing close enough to catch a glimpse of her arm.
“He does not have the scholar’s knack to know their meaning. Prince Zidanta, however, is a man of letters. Given he knows Sarhad well, better that he not see them,” Eigou muttered. “I thought we were retrieving Roshanak, Ilati, not creating a scene.”
“If you had seen what I saw, you would not have been able to withstand it idly either.”
Menes cleared his throat slightly. “And what of Shadi?”
“Buried, with all its beloved dead,” Ilati said quietly. “At least Ama and Abba will be at peace now.”
Eigou’s arm, wrapped around her midsection, squeezed gently. “You saw them?” the sorcerer said more gently. “They were suffering greatly, then.”
Ilati felt the burn of tears returning to her eyes as they walked. “I do not wish to speak of it,” she said harshly. “I have done what I have done.”
The two men exchanged a worried look over the top of her bowed head, but nodded their agreement. “Let us get you to your rest,” Menes said comfortingly. “Shir Del and Roshanak will join us when they are ready.”
Eigou grunted in agreement before expounding on his own thoughts. “The great King will hear of this from the servants and his son. I doubt we will be able to conceal your power from him, though we can still hide its source as best we are able. Perhaps it will help, perhaps it will be dangerous knowledge, but he will have questions that even I cannot answer.”
“And if I do not answer to his satisfaction?” Ilati asked quietly.
The old man nodded to the servant who opened the door to the visitor’s quarters for them. “He is shrewd and cunning, but if you are clever, perhaps we can keep him from learning too much without angering him. My advice, presuming you are willing to take advice from me still, is to rest. I will intercede and obscure if I can wherever and whenever needed.”
Ilati sighed. “I had no intention of ignoring your advice in this matter, Eigou.”
Eigou and Menes helped Ilati over to a bed and eased her into a sitting position. The old man unslung his small satchel to start pulling out healing herbs and bandages. “You remind me so much of him sometimes,” the old man said. “As proud, wrathful, and impetuous.” He smiled ruefully. “A pity the greatest of the kings of men never saw his granddaughter become the greatest star of his house.”
“Hardly,” Ilati said. “Ilishu conquered all four corners of the world. I cannot compare.”
“Yet I think you will eclipse him before these deeds are done,” Eigou said, tapping gently on the words seared into her flesh.
Ilati didn’t flinch at the pain. If there was one thing she was becoming mightily accustomed to, it was physical discomfort. “I doubt that very much. My words are stronger than my sword arm.”
The ghost of Eigou’s missing eye seemed to focus on her even more intently than his living one. “In this, o lioness, I think my vision is clearer than your own.” He looked down abruptly, getting to work on her arm. “Rest now. Those words of yours have a great deal to do before we are finished in Ulmanna. Sharpen them well.”
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior woman who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Farhata - a Sut Resi warrior and bow-maker. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse. Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse with a strange connection to Ilati. Thriti - Roshanak's horse, divine blooded daughter of Araxa. Kulziya - captain of the Royal Guard in Ulmanna, nephew of the great King Tudhaliya Commander Sarhad - the Nadaren emissary to Sarru and one of the men who tormented Ilati. Hattusa - Son of King Tudhaliya, the eldest prince of Sarru. Zidanta - Son of King Tudhaliya, the second prince of Sarru. Kullah/Kullans - the Land Between Two Rivers and the people who dwell there. Ilati's people. Nadar/Nadaren - the northern kingdom ruled by King Nysra, destroyer of Ilati's home, and the people who dwell there. Sut Resi - a nomadic, tribal society of horse riders and warriors. Sarru/Sarrian - a western kingdom ruled by the aged King Tudhaliya, poised for civil war between his sons "Ama" - "mother" "Abba" - "father" |
By K. Olsen
The Story So Far: Sole survivor of the destruction of Shadi, the world's oldest city, the priestess and daughter of King Amar-Sin, Ilati, seeks to avenge her people and end the rule of Nysra and his dark gods. Abandoned by her goddess, she sought out a new deity in the desert and connected with K'adau, the Mother of Demons. After traveling months with the Sut Resi, nomadic horse warriors, a one-eyed sorcerer named Eigou, and a charioteer of Magan named Menes, she fought and bested a demon at Sa Dul. Now they are traveling to seek allies in the Kingdom of Sarru, but that task will not be easy even with the possible help of Kulziya, Captain of the Royal Guard in Ulmanna. To make matters worse, one of the men responsible for Shadi's destruction will be present as a protected diplomat: Commander Sarhad of Nadar. In a failed attempt to discern more of Ilati's nature, Roshanak accidentally encountered the spirits of the dead, who called her out of her body. Eigou has used his magic to send Ilati into the spirit world after the girl. Ilati saved Roshanak, but at the cost of experiencing the suffering of the unburied dead, including her mother.
***
Grief stayed with Ilati like a ball of thorns in her chest, every movement sending a new lancing thought of pain through her being. Eigou’s bandage over the burned writing on her arm did nothing to salve her heart. She’d even tried leaving the bed for the sunlit gardens attached to the visitor’s quarters in the hopes that golden light would ease the shadows, but they followed her wherever she went, growing as the shadows of the setting sun spread. Her eyes burned every time she thought of her mother’s tortured spirit, unshed tears building without falling.
What daughter is so cruel that she could do such a thing to her mother?
Ilati sat curled on one of the benches under a citron tree, its straggling branches and evergreen leaves offering shade even as its almost-ripe green-to-yellow fruits weighed it down. She remembered a tree like it in Shadi’s famed hanging gardens and the way servants would take leaf and fruit alike to put among her family’s clothes to keep away moths. As a little girl, she loved the scent and would bury her nose in her mother’s dresses just for the smell. The fruit was bitter, but a powerful antidote for poison, as it would make someone retch miserably and bring up any toxin swallowed.
The priestess rose unsteadily and plucked a single leaf from the tree, crushing it in her hand to release the smell: sharp and citrus, fragrant and clean. So many joys of that old life were gone forever and even this haunted her with the reminder. Yet, how could she let go as the lone survivor?
Soon all that Shadi was would disappear in the minds of the world until it was nothing but a fable. The idea hurt Ilati more than she could possibly put into words. But what could she do? Weeping was beyond her. She cleared her throat slightly, the smell of the citron leaves stirring something in her. For the first time since Shadi’s destruction, Ilati felt words rising in her heart. If she could not weep, she could sing her grief. The notes came spilling out like liquid gold, hanging suspended in the air like a spirit of sorrow itself. She needed no instrument, pure and as perfect in her pitch as she had ever been.
“You fade like amaranth severed from its stem,
more beautiful than any jeweled gem,
yet your daughter recalls as if yesterday
the gleam of gold across your doorway.
You fade, you fade, you fade.
Yet I remember, I remember, I remember.
You fade like scent of frankincense burned out,
like copper dreams of chained men lost in doubt,
yet your daughter recalls as if she just departed
emerald green of sweet barley freshly started.
You fade, you fade, you fade.
Yet I remember, I remember, I remember.
You fade like petals cast into sacred river
at merciless whims of current running silver,
yet your daughter recalls your beloved faces
and endlessness of your garden graces.
You fade, you fade, you fade.
Yet I remember, I remember, I remember…”
She sang of the broad avenues and countless joys she knew so well, the temple festivities, the vibrant life of her home: the potter’s wheels, the forge hammers, the women singing to their children and lovers as they washed their laundry, the cries of merchants hawking wares, the delicate chimes and gongs of the priestesses as they honored their patron. This time, she did not linger in her bitterness towards Zu: she neglected the goddess altogether, because this was for her sisters, not the one who had abandoned them.
Ilati caught a soft sound from a side entrance to the garden and turned, her breath seizing in her chest as she ended the last note abruptly. She was no longer alone in the garden and it was not one of her companions intruding.
A man in gleaming bronze armor stood in the archway, his tunic a rich purple that left no doubt as to his status. His dark beard was carefully cut and oiled into a point, a simple band of gold holding it in its place. The tracks of tears left the kohl beneath his eyes smudged. Ilati’s eyes darted to the bronze sickle-sword through his belt, then looked up at his scarred face as he dabbed at his cheeks with a square of cloth, trying to clean himself up. She wasn’t certain how long he had been standing there in her all consuming grief. All of the evil intent and piercing coldness she had expected from this one was nowhere to be seen. He said nothing, clearly struggling.
“Prince Zidanta,” she said quietly, bowing her head in the most polite greeting she could offer while seated. “I hope I did not offend.”
He cleared his throat and shook his head. “Such beauty, even sorrowful as it was, is never an offense. My heart grieves your loss.”
Ilati hesitated. The man she saw standing before her, clearly profoundly moved, resembled nothing of the stories she had heard Eigou tell of him. Was this an act or was the old sorcerer mistaken? “Thank you for your sympathy."
He pulled in a deep, shuddering breath and then wiped away the last evidence of his tears. “Would that I could undo your suffering. Shadi was a beautiful city beyond compare, and undeserving of its fate.”
The priestess hesitated, knowing she was in danger. She had been careful not to name the city in her song, but clearly he knew it well enough to recognize it from description. “You knew it?”
“When I was a boy, my father sent me to the court of King Amar-Sin, to learn the art of writing and much of war. I have fond memories of playing amongst the rushes with his sons,” Zidanta said with a warmth that seemed only genuine, approaching slowly. “They treated me with a kindness I have not known even here, but nothing lasts forever. Too I remember their daughter, a soul of rare beauty seen only ever from a distance.”
“The Nadaren destroyed every beautiful thing in Shadi. Even her.”
Zidanta knelt down in front of the priestess, looking up at her with dark, hawkish eyes. It was a position no high born prince she had known would take with a wild stranger. “I disagree, o lotus of Shadi. I would know your voice anywhere, as perfect as last I heard it amongst the rushes.”
Ilati felt her eyes well with unshed tears again. “You mock me if you think to call me beautiful.”
He shook his head. “I would never mock you, daughter of Amar-Sin,” he said, offering her a small smile. There was a tightness to it, not insincerity, but as if the expression was not one he made often. “Never.”
“You speak so kindly, yet are a man famous for his malice. I do not know what to believe.”
A bitterness twisted at Zidanta’s lips, his smile vanishing. “I am tasked with all my father does not wish to sully his firstborn with. Hattusa is of the King’s open hand, while I am of his closed fist. He would have his heir be beloved, but a kingdom cannot stand on a foundation of benevolence alone, especially not when it is surrounded by its foes. Yes, bitter war has been my life for many years, and yes, in it I excel.” His hawkish eyes sought her gaze. “Perhaps the boy who played amongst the rushes is no more. Yet when you sang, you stirred him from his oblivion.”
Ilati had so many more questions than answers now. “You know Sarhad,” she said, this time gauging very carefully for a reaction. “You must know what he has done, then.”
“I know that he was part of the destruction of Shadi,” Zidanta said quietly, not looking away from her eyes. He stayed open, inviting her wordlessly to judge him. “He boasts of it whenever talk turns to war.”
The priestess felt her own bitterness well. “He was the worst of my tormentors. I suffered at his hands for days.”
Zidanta let out a hiss of breath, eyes widening slightly. “You were in that city, o lotus? We were told that none who were there survived. I had thought…” He took a deep breath, hand moving to his sword and gripping tightly. “He has been very careful here, insinuating himself as the emissary of Nysra. Even I cannot simply strike the head off that snake, whatever my desire.”
“Help me stop him before he sinks his fangs into Ulmanna’s heart. You will not survive his venom any more than we did.”
The prince smiled again, this time humorlessly. “I have sought to do so since he arrived. It is clear to me now that his motives are to agitate things and divide the Kingdom of Sarru against itself. Unfortunately, my father does not seem to understand our unenviable position, and worse, Hattusa swallows the serpent’s false sweetness at every meeting. Hence why I seek to keep Sarhad out of the city at every opportunity.”
“That is why you hunt with him?”
Zidanta nodded, then pulled in a deep breath as he looked up at her. “It seems both our fortunes have changed much since last I saw you, flower of the Esharra.”
“More than you can know.” Ilati sighed, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. “You are gentler than I expected.”
He smiled faintly, sadly. “A luxury I can afford only for a few. Perhaps the one my father would deny me most.”
“Most generous of you to extend it to me.” She hesitated for a moment when she realized the second-born prince of Sarru was still kneeling in front of her. “Please sit. This is not proper. If someone sees, it will cause remark.”
Zidanta bowed his head. “I care nothing of their remark, but as you wish.” He rose to his feet and then settled himself on the bench next to her, unbelting his sword and placing it at his feet. Ilati’s anxiety eased a little more at the gesture. “When Hattusa mentioned visitors, he mentioned a granddaughter of Eigou, not Ilishu.”
“My name is Hedu while I am here,” the priestess said quietly. “Better that Sarhad does not recognize me.”
The prince’s hawkish eyes flicked their gaze across her scarred face, then down to her bare shoulder and the marks of the seven claws. “Are these his doing?” Zidanta’s question was sharp and serious, but Ilati had a feeling his displeasure was not with her. “I would know how many blows into his skull my blade should strike when his moment comes.”
Ilati shook her head. “The scars he left cannot be seen. These are…reminders.”
“May I?” Zidanta said, gesturing to Ilati’s shoulder.
Ilati extended her arm, displaying the vivid, dark scars from the demon’s claws. Zidanta’s fingertips touched lightly on the knotted, imperfect flesh, almost as if he was afraid of hurting her even with a healed wound. “There was a demon in Sa Dul, and this its mark."
“You slew a demon.” Awe infused Zidanta’s voice without a hint of questioning disbelief. “You have become quite the fine warrior, then.”
“Shir Del is a finer teacher.” Ilati held still as he traced the lines of the seven claws down her arm. She couldn’t really feel his touch against the scar tissue, other than as a gentle pressure.
Zidanta chuckled at that. “The Sut Resi warrior woman? I have had the pleasure of meeting her at the stables, tending to your horses. She keeps a tongue like a blade. Kulziya was rather bristling about it.” He moved his hand away from her arm. “If you are willing, o lotus of Shadi, I invite you to a hunt.”
“Will Sarhad be there?”
The prince shook his head. “I think your companions will keep an ample eye on Sarhad. After the feast, on the morrow, I would hear the story of your deeds beyond Ulmanna’s walls and see what game we come across.”
Ilati smiled faintly. “Do women hunt in Ulmanna’s courts?”
“It is not customary, but you are the wild Hedu of the Desert of Kings, granddaughter of a sorcerer. I have a feeling you will be able to keep up.”
“And that is all that I am, if anyone asks,” the priestess said firmly, keeping eye contact with Zidanta. “The viper will have spies.”
Zidanta held her gaze, no sign of deception in his dark eyes. “I would not expose you to the viper or the power he represents. You are under my protection and my secrecy while you are in Ulmanna, lotus. I remember well the great debt I owe to the kindnesses of the family that took me in when my own sent me to be a stranger in a strange land.”
A door opened to the left again and Zidanta’s entire expression hardened. He kicked his blade up to his hand and rose to his feet, belting on his sword again. Ilati felt a sharp pang of sorrow, seeing all that openness and gentleness dying abruptly, like a flame snuffed out. “What do you desire, Hattusa?”
Hattusa seemed startled to see his brother in these quarters, a hint of guardedness flashing across his face. “I see you have met Eigou’s granddaughter now,” the Crown Prince said cautiously. “Shall I take it you are on Father’s business?”
Even Zidanta’s voice was harsher as he answered his brother. “I serve always at the pleasure of the great King.” There was no familial warmth to the mention of his own father and the use of a formal title seemed very intentional.
“The feast is prepared,” Hattusa said. “Father expects you and all of our guests in attendance.”
“You could have sent a servant.” Zidanta spoke brusquely even as he strode straight past his brother towards the door. It was not until he was past Hattusa that he looked back, a regretful expression on his face. Ilati felt the apology in it, even unspoken.
Hattusa bristled. “I wished to see that our guest well. Surely such courtesies do not escape even one as cold as you.”
The younger prince exited the garden space without deigning to respond, one hand on his sword’s hilt as he stepped through the door. Ilati understood all too well: Zidanta too was playing a role, one assigned to him at birth, and it was crushing the man he was at heart.
“I am sorry if he offended you,” Hattusa said as he approached her. “You are seated beside him at the feast, but if you wish, I can make arrangements–”
Ilati shook her head. “He gave no insult. I have no objection to sitting beside him.”
“You are a generous woman,” Hattusa said with a hint of relief, offering her a smile. “His bitterness is a thing legendary in its proportion, at least here in Ulmanna. It is normally only those of a similar disposition who can stomach him.”
“I can be patient,” Ilati said mildly, a hint of anger towards Hattusa bubbling underneath her calm demeanor. Your brother needs you. Can you not see how he is hurting? “The King expects us now?”
Hattusa nodded. “The feast is laid out and will commence with the setting of the sun, but my father has questions and your grandfather is being very obtuse in answering them. No doubt he will have questions for you as well, given…well…the baths.”
The priestess thought again of Shadi, devoured by the sands, and her forearm burned beneath its bandages. She rose to her feet and tried to rally her courage. “Lead on. Are the others already there?”
“Yes. You will be the last to arrive. Eigou wanted us to let you rest.” Hattusa gestured for her to follow him and strode out into the halls of the palace with Ilati at his heels. “Be careful, Hedu. Ulmanna’s court is not as…peaceable…as it once was.”
| Author Notes |
Ilati - protagonist and former high priestess of the goddess of love, daughter of the Royal Family of Kullah.
Menes - warrior and charioteer of Magan. Eigou- sorcerer/soothsayer from Ulmanna, the capital of the neighboring land of Sarru K'adau - Mother of the Night Winds and of demons, goddess of the wilderness also called Ki-sikil-lil. Shir Del - a Sut Resi warrior woman who can walk among dreams. Roshanak - Shir Del's daughter, a second-souled girl. Artakhshathra - a Sut Resi chieftain. Tahmasp - a Sut Resi seer. Farhata - a Sut Resi warrior and bow-maker. Araxa - Shir Del's divine-blooded Sut Resi warhorse. Youtab - a divine-blooded Sut Resi horse with a strange connection to Ilati. Thriti - Roshanak's horse, divine blooded daughter of Araxa. Kulziya - captain of the Royal Guard in Ulmanna, nephew of the great King Tudhaliya Commander Sarhad - the Nadaren emissary to Sarru and one of the men who tormented Ilati. Hattusa - Son of King Tudhaliya, the eldest prince of Sarru. Zidanta - Son of King Tudhaliya, the second prince of Sarru. Kullah/Kullans - the Land Between Two Rivers and the people who dwell there. Ilati's people. Nadar/Nadaren - the northern kingdom ruled by King Nysra, destroyer of Ilati's home, and the people who dwell there. Sut Resi - a nomadic, tribal society of horse riders and warriors. Sarru/Sarrian - a western kingdom ruled by the aged King Tudhaliya, poised for civil war between his sons |
|
You've read it - now go back to FanStory.com to comment on each chapter and show your thanks to the author! |
| © Copyright 2015 K. Olsen All rights reserved. K. Olsen has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
© 2015 FanStory.com, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Statement