The Lioness of Shadi : The Welcome of the Sut Resi 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.”
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K. Olsen
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