Mad God's Muse

by Matthew P Gilbert

  “Have they a leader?” Ahmed called.

  Sandilianus crossed the deck to join him. “No signs of one. I suspect he was among the few who leapt overboard before we could secure the decks.” Sandilianus’s face grew thoughtful, then sly. “Or else he is hiding here, still.”

  Ahmed raised an eyebrow in appreciation. “Aye. If he were here, and we were so inclined, it might go badly for him. Have the men do a search. There is much we might discover.”

  Sandilianus thumped a fist against his chest and departed to carry out his orders. Ahmed continued his tour, examining the men and machinery, at last reaching the bow where he had started. He looked back along the deck, trying to take in the whole picture, connect the strands of information that he had gathered. Beside him, one of the captives was squatted on the deck, busy doing something with rope. Ahmed considered asking the man what it was. Perhaps it, too, might somehow be important, but he decided it was merely a distraction.

  He knew that the small brown men ran the ship, the same men sold as slaves in Aviar. The ship was a Gruppenwalder vessel. The Gruppenwalders were notorious for their greed. They would sell their own mothers for the right price. Yet there were no Gruppenwalders here. Why would the brown men have such a ship? They could have bought it, but why? Why would they need a vessel capable of crossing the ocean? To trade? But they had nothing.

  Ahmed ground his teeth as it all fell into place for him. Of course they had something to trade: their brethren, their children. Fury welled in him, demanding an outlet. Ahmed provided one by kicking the man with the rope solidly in his backside, sending him sprawling.

  The roper looked up at him in fear and confusion. “What did I do?” he asked, his accent so thick it was barely intelligible.

  Ahmed considered explaining, but what would be the point? It would be far more satisfying to simply give this coward a beating. Perhaps he would sell the lot of them to the slavers once they reached Aviar. It would be just, and Ahmed could use the money.

  Sandilianus’s shout rang across the deck, interrupting Ahmed’s dark musings and turning all heads aft. “Ahmed! We’ve found something!”

  The man Sandilianus marched into Ahmed’s cabin was tall, an inch or three over six feet. But thin. My arm is nearly as big around as his leg. Blonde hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, all made Ahmed feel ill. The man regarded him with an air of resignation, and offered no resistance.

  “Who is this animal? Their Gruppenwalder contact?”

  The prisoner’s eyebrows arched in confusion. Sandilianus shook his head in frustration. “He is Nihlosian!”

  Ahmed had to struggle to keep his jaw from gaping wide. This was the last thing he had expected. He searched for words, at last finding some he was proud of. “You will have trouble making me believe you saw this through the spyglass.”

  Sandilianus stared back in confusion for a moment, then smiled as he made the connection. “Ah, my ‘leadership lesson’. No, this one was no part of that, but I see you have already worked out what I suspected there. These dogs sell their own as slaves.”

  Ahmed nodded, watching the Nihlosian man’s face for clues. “And you?” he asked the man. “What is your part in this?”

  The Nihlosian shrugged. “I swab decks.” He scratched at his chin with dirty fingers, and offered a roguish smile. “Coil ropes, polish bright work. Oh, and fight. I used to do a lot of that, but it’s less as the fools wise up and stop trying me.”

  Ahmed had just the perfect words come to mind to call the man a liar. The problem was that he did not believe them. “What is your name?”

  “Eleran.”

  Sandilianus cuffed Eleran in the head hard enough to stagger him. “What house, dog? We are not as ignorant as you think.” Eleran moaned and sank to his knees, sobbing, held up only by Sandilianus’s firm grip on his collar.

  Ahmed kept his face placid, seeing no reason to admit that he, for one, was indeed that ignorant. “You fold easily for one who claims to fight often.”

  “I’m better when I’m sober,” Eleran mumbled, and Ahmed suddenly realized the man had not been sobbing at all. He was shaking with barely contained laughter! “We’ve been in port here for a week. I used to have some money, but it’s gone.” He looked up at Sandilianus and pursed his lips in a kiss. “I don’t remember what it was like to be sober. So fuck you.” He erupted into a fit of giggles.

  Sandilianus released him and let him fall in a heap. “You’re hardly my type, dog. And you didn’t answer my question. What house?”

  Eleran oozed slowly to a face down position on the floor, then, with clear effort, levered himself onto his back. “House? You’re an idiot. Why would I be piss drunk and swabbing decks in this shithole if I were a fucking noble?” He pointed a finger at Sandilianus. “I’d just tell one of my slaves to chop off your head. So obviously, you’re the one that’s confused, and you can see now how that’s a good thing. I’m sure you’re very fond of your head, after all.”

  Sandilianus raised an eyebrow in appreciation. “Ah. You are that sort of culture. I am afraid I did not have time to absorb it all. I was fairly busy fighting for my life in one way or another.”

  “Yar, they’re bastards. That fucking guy Caelwen—“

  “You know him?”

  Eleran squinted at Sandilianus a moment, then nodded. “In a manner of speaking.” He raised himself to a sitting position and scooted backward to lean against the bulkhead. “In that his guys arrested me more times than I can really remember. That fuck Lorinal nearly knocked my brains out more than once.”

  Ahmed caught Sandilianus’s eye and grinned, then turned back to the Nihlosian. “So you are an outlaw, then?”

  Eleran shrugged. “Exile is a better word. As in, ‘If you come back we’ll kill you.’ It was nothing formal.”

  “And what did you do to earn such hatred?”

  Eleran chuckled again. “Fought. Stole. Drank. And definitely fucked the wrong woman.”

  Sandilianus nodded in sympathy. “Women can be quite cruel. I have no truck with them, personally.”

  Eleran gave Sandilianus a confused look. “I don’t think you understand.”

  Ahmed waved a hand. “We understand well enough. Our ways may differ, but we know women complicate things. I am more concerned about the business of this ship. How long have you been aboard?”

  A look of intense concentration came over Eleran's face, as if he were performing complicated math in his head. “Almost two years. And, yes, I know what they’re up to. I don’t care. I can’t afford to.”

  “How does it work?”

  Eleran scratched his head and yawned, bleary eyed. “They have a route they run, a bunch of small towns and villages. They catch people alone or in small groups, and eventually fill up the ship. They meet some other people on an island a long way out and trade people for gold. Then it starts all over.”

  “And you help them?”

  Eleran shook his head vigorously. “I swab decks, set sails, haul ropes, whatever they tell me, but I just do labor. I wouldn't take part in the rest, and they wouldn't trust me to do it even if I would.”

  Ahmed nodded, satisfied. “I plan on selling these dogs to the slavers myself when we reach Aviar. It would serve them right. But what shall we do with you?”

  Eleran shrugged again. “Well, I don’t suppose you feel like giving me a lot of money and booze and sending me on my way?” he said with a giggle.

  Sandilianus stroked his beard and offered a cruel smile to their prisoner as he waited for Ahmed to continue. You really are the perfect second in command.

  Ahmed shook his head and waved it aside. “Put him back to work. We will let the prince decide his fate when we reach home.”

  Sandilianus gave Ahmed a fiery glance that he quickly, almost ruthlessly forced back to a blank expression, then gestured for Eleran to show himself out. The elder soldier watched until he was certain Eleran was well and truly gone, then spun on Ahmed, cold fury in his eyes.

  I am out of t
ime. Ilaweh, give me strength and wisdom. The battle is joined, and everything hangs in the balance.

  Sandilianus drew in a deep breath, his fists clenched by his sides, his eyes dark with anger. “So you are giving up on the prophesy, going home?” he hissed. “Now, after everything?”

  Aye, it would not do well for this conversation to be overheard. Ahmed said nothing for a moment as he considered his second's unexpected reaction. “Never. You misunderstand me. To be honest, I've been working on how to get you on board without a fight. It's one I'd surely lose.”

  Sandilianus's anger faded as quickly as it had come, and he sighed in relief. “Good. I was certain I was going to have to beat you into staying!” he said with a laugh. “And even if I was of another mind, I am not that stupid.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Ah, you never heard this story! I forgot, you were back on the ship.” Sandilianus smiled wistfully at the memory. “Brutus quarreled with Yazid over such matters, and Yazid decked him with a single punch.”

  Ahmed nodded, remembering Yazid's discipline. “I do not doubt it. I heard as a child that he once laid out a bull the same way, and I believe that, too. I have been on the receiving end of his blows.”

  “Oh, I take nothing from Yazid. He was as fine a fistsman as I have known, but as Brutus told the tale, it was the hand of Ilaweh himself that struck him down.”

  Ahmed felt a sad smile on his lips. “A pity the lesson didn't stay with him.” He shook his head at the waste of it all. Too many dead on account of stubborn pride. But perhaps it was necessary to get us where we are. He would leave it to Ilaweh to judge such things. He had plenty to occupy him here and now.

  He had been expecting a war with Sandilianus, only to find they had been allies all along. If only all wars could end so cheaply. “I assumed you would stand against me, too. You sided with Brutus before.”

  Sandilianus's gaze wavered momentarily toward the floor, an uncomfortable look crossing his face and quickly passing as he recovered eye contact. “I took no side, as I recall. I did my duty and cheered the fight, and kept my mouth shut like a good soldier.”

  Ahmed felt true surprise at this, along with some anger. “You believed and did not side with me? We might have saved many lives together!”

  Sandilianus shrugged. “I doubt it. I knew Brutus well. Very well, you understand, yes? We would not have changed his mind, not short of Yazid punching sense into him again. All we could have done was lose his respect.” He looked at the floor again. “Perhaps I was weak, even so. Maybe I had carried enough beatings and didn't want another. Maybe I didn't want a man who was my occasional lover to think me a fool. I don't know the truth of it. I don't think much about motivations. I follow orders. All I can say is it didn't seem the right time to speak.”

  Ahmed, too, hung his head. “Ilaweh as my witness, I had no idea what Brutus was to you. I must have cut out your heart with my words.”

  Sandilianus waved a hand, dismissing the notion. “I was numb to everything. I had just seen Ilaweh intervene and force us back on course, and the price we paid.” Sandilianus paused and looked back up at Ahmed, an almost pensive expression on his face. His next words were nearly a whisper.

  “And I had just seen a man rise from the dead. At that moment, I knew it was all true. Everything those sorcerers told me.”

  Ahmed scoffed at this. “I was unconscious, that's all!”

  Sandilianus shook his head in vigorous denial, and folded his arms across his chest. “You were dead as stone, Ahmed. I took your pulse myself. I could lie to the rest of the men, to you even, but not to myself.” He hesitated, as if reluctant to speak of something, then charged forward. “And there was a green glow about you. I thought at the time it was sea creature caught in your shirt, and I had no intention of reaching in to be stung by it. But now...” He sighed and gestured towards Ahmed's makeshift necklace, a half-lion's head on a simple leather thong. “I am certain it was that. No reason, just my gut.”

  Ahmed fingered the talisman, his ‘souvenir’ as he tried to absorb what Sandilianus was saying. What is this thing? It was indeed something to consider, but later. More pressing matters demanded his attention. Slowly, carefully, he asked, “Why speak of this now?”

  “When was there time before? I should have trotted this out in front of the men?” He waved his hand as if to bat the notion aside like a fly. “Even you are close to calling me mad for this. If I had lost their faith spouting wild stories, where would either of us be right now?”

  Ahmed stared back at Sandilianus in silence, feeling as if the world were slipping out from beneath him. I died! It was madness, but what else could he believe? “Dead men do not come back!”

  Sandilianus's gaze was unwavering. “At least one has. I swear it Ahmed, I swear it before Ilaweh. Why else do you think a veteran like me would follow an unblooded boy, guide you and groom you? The same reason Brutus at last began to believe in Yazid.”

  “Yet he would not see it through.”

  “No. I think Yazid's death left him feeling a fool, and to have to flee the battle on top of that, it was too much for him. It's why I say we could never have changed his mind. Once he turned away from believing, he would never have gone back again, so Ilaweh called him home and put me in his place.” The veteran wore a wry, wistful smile. “Ilaweh knew him well, too, it seems.”

  Ahmed took a deep breath and let it out slowly, still having trouble digesting Sandilianus's revelation. “We must work out what to do next.”

  Sandilianus stared at him in horror. “Do you not know? Did not Yazid prepare you for this?”

  Ahmed shook his head, feeling terribly weary. “Yazid's writing and books are at the bottom of the sea, and even then, he kept most of it in his own head.”

  “But surely he taught you?”

  Ahmed knew his discomfort must show, but there was no good way around confessing. “I was a poor student. He tried to teach me much, but I often did not listen, even knowing I would get my ears boxed if he caught me daydreaming. I wanted to fight, not sit in a classroom. I thought because I could sometimes feel Ilaweh's will in my heart, it would be enough.” He stared at the ground, feeling tears of shame burning in his eyes. “In truth, I never imagined it would be me to bear this duty. I leaned too heavily on Yazid's strength, and now I am on my knees as Talifah smiles. I am not worthy of this task.”

  Sandilianus moved forward with the speed of a lion and crashed his hand down on the desk, his eyes aflame with fury. “You blaspheme! You are the man Ilaweh chose! Who is the fool, Ilaweh or you, eh?”

  Ahmed ran his forearm furiously across his eyes, full of shame at such weakness. “I am the fool.”

  “Then stop this whimpering and do his will!”

  “I would, if only I knew it!”

  Sandilianus stepped back, rubbing at his chin in appreciation of the problem. “I always assumed you prelates knew the answers, but perhaps that is unfair. Yazid seemed to know, but I suspect in his heart he had as many questions as we do. He put on a bold face to lead. There's another lesson for you, if you will learn it, poor student.”

  Ahmed smiled at this. “Your lessons are more to my liking. With Yazid, I wanted to fight, not study books. Your lessons seem more practical.”

  “They are. And here is one more. War is risk. Sometimes we must give orders without full knowledge, and sometimes men die because of it. If we do not gamble on occasion, the enemy will get ahead of us. If we cannot be certain, we must make a choice and pray Ilaweh guides us.”

  “Aye. We planned a day of rest, so let us finish it. Sometimes answers come in dreams. We will make our decision in the morning, whatever the case.”

  “You will make the decision,” Sandilianus corrected. “Rest well, Ahmed.” He hammered a fist to his chest and left without another word.

  Alone now, Ahmed bowed his head, folded his hands, and began to pray.

  Ilaweh, show me the way.

  Ahmed woke with a start, still seated at t
he desk. The lantern had burned out, and it was pitch black inside the cabin. Something is wrong! For a moment, he felt his innards chill with seawater, imagining they were once again sinking, but that was not it. The ship was rolling gently. There were no sounds of storm or breakage, no cries of terror.

  This was something entirely different.

  It was absolutely quiet. Too quiet. The night watches tried to be courteous, but there was always some conversation or accident that made noise. Now? Nothing.

  Ahmed checked his sword and moved to the door. He hammered the latch and threw the door open hard enough to slam against the outer bulkhead. Silvery moonlight streamed into the dark room through the open hatch as he stepped out onto the main deck.

  It was, indeed, bad. The decks were empty, meaning the ship was essentially out of control! Where was the crew?

  “Battle stations!” he cried.

  That seemed to upset someone. He could hear his own men scrambling to readiness, but he also heard cries from…overboard?

  He turned his head to the port side to see the ship’s small boat had been lowered. Damn them! They were fleeing in the middle of the ocean? It was madness!

  Ahmed sprinted over to the railing and saw he was right. The thirty or so natives were packed into the small lifeboat, and almost ready to depart. The Nihlosian was nowhere to be seen. The mutineers looked up at Ahmed in shock and fear, then redoubled their efforts to cast off their remaining lines

  “Fools!” Ahmed shouted. “We are deep at sea! You will all surely die in that punt!”

  One of them, the ringleader Ahmed supposed, shouted back, “It is a better death than sailing straight to the demon realm over the edge of the world!”