by Karen Miller
At the end of the narrow crooked street stood a godpost.
Dexterity gasped. Yellow light played over the godpost, a torch had been left burning so it might be seen in the night. The torch was burning down, flickering and inconstant.
“What's that?” said Dexterity. “It's – it's horrible. So ugly. Grotesque .”
“ Chalava ,” Zandakar whispered, and dropped to the ground. There was pain as his knees struck the stone street, he welcomed it, he gave it to the god. An offering. A sacrifice. “ Chalava , Dexterity.”
“Oh,” said Dexterity, his voice sounded small.
Zandakar felt sinning to kneel before it, no godbraids, no godbells, no amulets. He stared up at the scorpion, at the coiled snake of Et-Raklion, he stared at the god's face and felt tears in his eyes.
I am here, god, do you see me? You called me, your voice was in my heart. I am come to Mijak, show me what to do.
In the night's silence, the sound of leather soles slapping the street.
“Get up, get up,” said Dexterity. “Quickly. Some-one's coming!”
He stood. Dexterity grabbed his arm, tried to drag him away, but he resisted.
“Zandakar, what are you doing? I know those guards didn't see us but Sun-dao's poorly, who knows how long his power to keep us hidden will—”
“ Wei , Dexterity,” he said. “Hush. Chalava hides us.”
The slapping sound came closer. Closer. A slight, robed figure stepped out of the night, it was a godspeaker novice, he served the god in the quiet time of Jatharuj. Strapped to his back was a bundle of fresh, unlit torches. As they watched, unseen in the god's eye, hidden in the wind, the novice took the almost spent torch from its holder, touched the fresh torch to its guttering flame, and when the new flame was strongly burning put the fresh torch in the holder.
Sun-dao had said touch would reveal them, if they desired it. Zandakar stepped forward and took the novice's wrist. “I am Zandakar, I must see the high godspeaker.” He spoke in their own tongue, in the sweet voice of Mijak.
“Aieee, the god see me!” cried the novice, dropping the spent torch. “A demon, a demon!”
“Zandakar, have you lost your mind ?” said Dexterity. “What are you doing?”
The novice could not hear the toymaker, but it was foolish to speak. He silenced Dexterity with a look then tightened his hold on the novice's wrist and dragged him close, till they were touching. “I am no demon, novice. You do not know my face, you must know my name.”
“Zandakar,” said the novice, his voice was thin and high. So young, he was a child still, the godhouse must be desperate. “But Zandakar is dead, the god smote him for sinning. You are a demon, I die strong in the god.”
Tcha. Lies told about him, who had done that? “I am no demon, I did not die. The god used me for its purpose and brings me here to Vortka.” He could break this child, he could snap him like a dry bone. “Will you thwart the god and die, novice?”
The novice's mouth opened and closed, he looked like a caught fish. His eyes rolled, he looked witless, fear had stolen his wits.
Zandakar shook him. “Serve me and you serve the god. You will not be tasked for it, you will be rewarded by Vortka.”
“The empress – the empress—”
“The empress is my mother, she is in the god's eye and so is her son Zandakar. Take me to Vortka high godspeaker, novice. If I lie he will know it and you will see me cast down. Vortka has the god's power over demons, his scorpion pectoral will kiss me to death.”
As the novice frowned, considering those words, Dexterity cleared his throat. “Zandakar, do you know what you're doing?”
He nodded, but did not speak so the novice would not be further frightened. Poor child, he was too young for this business.
Tcha. That is an Ethrean thought, we are in Mijak, the god chose him for the godhouse. He is not too young, he is a man in the god's eye.
“I will take you to Vortka,” said the sweating novice. “And if you lie he will kill you.”
“What did he say?” said Dexterity. “I can't understand a word of his gibberish!”
If he said one word in Ethrean the novice would think it was demon-tongue, and flee. So he shook his head at Dexterity, then crooked a finger to say he must follow.
“Oh dear,” said Dexterity, fretting. “I do hope you know what you're doing…”
The novice led them through the silent streets, they did not see another godspeaker or warrior or slave or any foolish sinner defying the quiet time. They were in the god's eye, it wanted them to reach Vortka. They walked in silence, they walked swiftly, up the steepening streets towards the shadowy buildings that overlooked the town.
“There is the godhouse of Jatharuj,” said the novice at last, slowing and pointing ahead to a tall building set back from the roadway. A wall encircled it, there were trees and a garden. It did not look like a godhouse, it had two great godposts at the gates, but it looked like a home some rich man might own. “Vortka is in the godhouse, he prays always to the god.”
The godhouse of Jatharuj had many windows, light shone through four of them. The god's business continued through the night, no godhouse in Mijak was permitted to sleep.
“Take me inside,” said Zandakar. “Take me to Vortka.”
“Oh, I don't like this,” whispered Dexterity. “My mouth's so dry I can't spit.”
The novice sighed, and nodded. “Come. I will take you.”
Five paces inside the godhouse the novice was challenged by a godspeaker who was burning golden cockerel feathers in an iron wall shrine. “Banto, what do you do here? You are tasked to work the quiet time, newsun is not arrived.”
The novice Banto flinched. “Ardachek godspeaker, I am…alone.” It was almost a question, his gaze darted left and right.
Ardachek stared. “Yes, novice, you are alone. Why are you here?”
Banto slumped, he stared at the floor. “The god sends me to Vortka high godspeaker.”
Ardachek did not challenge the claim. No godspeaker, not even a childish novice, would dare to say such a thing if it was not true.
“Why?” he said. “Have you sinned? Do you seek tasking?”
Banto looked up. Fishlike again, he opened and shut his mouth. “No, Ardachek godspeaker,” he said at last, his voice small and bewildered. “Godspeaker, I must see him.”
Ardachek frowned, then nodded. “Vortka high godspeaker prays in his private chamber. Go up to him, novice. If you are in error then you will be tasked.”
“Godspeaker,” whispered Banto, and walked on through the godhouse to the staircase leading to the godhouse's next floor and beyond. Zandakar walked behind him, Dexterity at his side. Ardachek did not see them, they were in the god's hiding eye.
On the godhouse's second floor they passed a room with its door removed, inside the room a novice knelt for tasking. The cane struck her naked flesh, she wept for the god. The room beside that one was without a door also, inside it a godspeaker sacrificed for the god. His knife slit the lamb's throat, the lamb's blood filled the sacrifice basin.
“Oh, sweet Rollin,” said Dexterity, his voice was full of pain. “This is barbaric . Zandakar, I'm going to be sick.”
He did not speak, he gripped Dexterity's arm at the elbow and held him hard until the toymaker cried out in soft protest. Then he looked at Dexterity and shook his head once.
“This is a dreadful place,” whispered Dexterity, there were tears in his eyes. “Why did I come here? I must've been mad.”
If he answered Dexterity the novice would hear him, he did not wish the novice to be distracted or call for help. He was sorry for Dexterity, he made a face to show his sorrow. Dexterity sighed. They walked up more stairs, the novice Banto silent and trembling.
On the highest floor of the godhouse there were no godspeakers burning feathers, sacrificing lambs or tasking novices. There were shadows and silence, this was Vortka's domain.
Banto pointed an unsteady finger at a closed door ahead of the
m. “There is the high godspeaker's chamber,” he said, and stopped.
Zandakar rested his hand on the novice's shoulder. “Vortka will want to see you, Banto. Do not sin against the god now.”
The novice Banto whimpered, he led them to the closed door and knocked upon it. When the door opened, Vortka stood before them.
“Banto?” he said, his face and voice were puzzled. “It is the quiet time, why are you not in the streets serving the god?”
Zandakar felt his heart pound, he heard the blood in his veins. Vortka. Vortka .
“Vortka high godspeaker,” said Banto, he sounded close to panic. “I am come – the god wants – there is a man – you do not see him? ”
Vortka looked around them. “I see you, Banto novice. I see you in distress.” He stepped back. “Come in, we will talk of this, you will tell me what this means.”
Aieee, the god see him, Vortka had always been kind. With a glance at Dexterity, Zandakar followed the novice into Vortka's private chamber. When the door closed behind them he stepped close to the high godspeaker, he took the old man's hands in his.
“Vortka, it is Zandakar. I am come. I am home.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Zandakar ?” said Vortka. His voice was a whisper, his body shaken head to toe. “Zandakar, am I dreaming?”
He tried to smile, his throat was so tight. Here was Vortka, his friend from boyhood, the man who had saved him when Yuma would kill him, when Dimmi would kill him. His face deeply lined, his eyes weary beyond anything, but he was still Vortka.
“No, high godspeaker. I am here, the god has brought me. We have much to speak of, the god tasks me with its want.”
“Zandakar,” said Vortka, and seized him close in a suffocating embrace. “Aieee, the god see me, you are come home.”
Never in his life had Vortka embraced him, never had the high godspeaker wept out his name. Something cold and hard within him broke, then, and he held tight to Vortka like a man drowning in a sea of grief, or joy.
At last Vortka released him and stood back. His godbraids were silver, as silver as his godbells. “You are not dead, the god told me you were not.”
“No, I am not, I am safe in the god's eye,” he said. Aieee, tcha, it was good to speak in the tongue of his people, the music of Mijak flowing like wine. “The god has kept me safe, Vortka, it is a journey!” Turning, he caught sight of the novice Banto's astonished face. “High godspeaker, this boy cannot be here now, he cannot remember I came to you.”
Vortka shook his head. “No, he cannot.” Stepping forward swiftly he took Banto by the shoulder, he pressed his palm to Banto's cheek. “Forget, Banto novice, let the god take this night from you.” Heat and light flared beneath Vortka's pressing palm. The novice cried out softly, his eyes rolling in his head.
“Stop that!” shouted Dexterity. “Are you hurting him? Are you killing him? Stop that at once!”
Zandakar turned. “ Wei , Dexterity, Vortka wei hurt or kill.”
“What is this?” said Vortka, startled, as the power faded from his touch. “Who do you speak to, Zandakar? What strange tongue is that?”
“Send this novice away, Vortka,” he said. “Then I will tell you. I have much to say.”
Vortka stared deep into the novice's glazed eyes. “Return to the quiet time in the streets of Jatharuj, Banto. You came to the godhouse to tell me of night bats, you feared they were an omen, you thought I should know. I told you there was nothing to fear, bats are bats, they are not demons.”
“Bats are bats,” murmured Banto. “They are not demons.”
“The god see you, Banto novice,” said Vortka, and patted the boy's shoulder. “The god see you in its eye as you serve it in the quiet time.”
“The god see you, Vortka high godspeaker,” the novice Banto replied, all anxiety wiped from his face. The glowing mark of Vortka's power shimmered like moonslight on water, then sank into his skin. Smiling serenely, he left Vortka's chamber.
“Always Banto thinks he sees demons,” said Vortka, closing his chamber door behind the boy. “No-one will question that he came to me because of bats.”
Aieee, such kindness in his voice. Zandakar smiled.
Dexterity was still distressed, his hands were turned to fists. “Are you sure he's all right, Zandakar? Are you sure that boy's not been harmed?”
Sighing, he nodded. “ Zho , I am sure.”
“Aieee, tcha !” said Vortka. “You speak again to the air, Zandakar, you speak in a tongue not familiar to me! What is this, you will tell me! Is Banto right, are you come here bringing demons , Zandakar?”
“No, no, Vortka, I do not bring a demon,” he said swiftly. He turned to Dexterity. “Touch Vortka. Show him you are here.”
“Show him and then what?” said Dexterity, stepping back. “He'll touch me and I'll lose my mind?”
“ Wei ! Trust Vortka. Trust me.”
“Oh, Hettie,” said Dexterity, his eyes squeezed shut. “The trouble you get me into, I swear!” Uncertainly he opened his eyes and stepped forward, his hand shaking. He reached out and took staring Vortka by the wrist. “There. Has that done it? Can your Vortka see me now?” He looked directly at the high godspeaker. “Sir, my name is Jones. I'm a friend to Zandakar.”
“Aieee, the god see me!” cried Vortka, and stumbled back against the door. “What is this? Who is this strange man who steps out of the air? Where is he from?” With a dreadful hiss of fury his stone scorpion pectoral came to life, tail lashing, eyes glowing, seeking for sinning flesh to sting.
“Oh, dear God and sweet Rollin defend me!” cried Dexterity, and tumbled to the floor in his haste to seek safety. “Zandakar, get him away from me!”
Zandakar leapt between them. “Vortka! No! This man is Dexterity, he is my friend, he saved my life! I was dying on a slave ship, he took me to his home, he healed my hurts! He is in the god's eye, Vortka, to hurt him is a sin!”
Vortka stared, his eyes wild and disbelieving. “He saved you?”
“Yes. He does not speak the tongue of Mijak, he does not understand what we say. Vortka, we are here for the god, you cannot hurt him, you would displease it.”
The hissing stone scorpion pectoral lashed its tail and clutched with its legs. It was stone and it was alive, he remembered Yuma's stories of Nagarak at Mijak's Heart, of the sinning warlords and their high godspeakers who would not obey the god's want. He felt sweat on his face and on his skin beneath his clothes, he felt his ribs drumming in time with his heart.
“You wear no godbraids,” whispered Vortka. His eyes were empty of love now, his eyes were wide with fear and disbelief. “You speak a tongue the god does not know. You come to me like a demon, with a man hidden in the air. Are you truly Zandakar? Or are you a demon wearing his face, are you come to destroy me, to destroy Mijak in the world?”
Zandakar shook his head, his heart still pounded. “No, no, I come to save Mijak. I come to save you, Vortka, before it is too late. You have known me all my life, you comforted me when my pony Didijik died, you saved me from the empress's snakeblade, you saved me from Dimmi. I am Zandakar, I am no demon, I live for the god.”
And before the fear stopped him, before he could retreat, he stepped himself into the stone embrace of Vortka's hissing scorpion pectoral.
“Zandakar!”
Two terrified voices, crying his name at once. In his pounding heart a third voice, distant and sweet.
Brave boy, brave warrior, do not flinch now. Have faith.
The stone scorpion stung him without mercy. Its stone legs held him, its stone breath scorched his sweating face. Every remembered pain in his life was nothing, his worst tasking in the godhouse of Et-Raklion, his knife wounds in battle, his hurts when Didijik fell and threw him to the ground. This was pain like the heart of the sun, so great he could not speak it, so great he was struck dumb.
Dimly he felt the stone scorpion release him, dimly he felt his body fall to the floor. Scorpion poison flooded his veins. He felt the convulsions
, felt his bones shake, his muscles twist. Felt his head banging on the floor. There was a battle within him, a raging war in his blood. It seemed as though his flesh was a battlefield, he heard again that sweet imploring voice.
Fight the darkness, Zandakar! Fight it! Don't surrender! The world is lost forever if you surrender now!
The god was in the stone scorpion pectoral, the god was trying to kill him, and the god was in his heart, it was trying to save him, it did not want him to die. It made no sense, his mind was in confusion, his blood burned, his world was pain. His eyes were open but all he saw was a red and black mist, he heard a roaring fury and that sweet, faint voice.
Fight, Zandakar. The god who loves you does not seek your destruction, it wants you to live.
So he fought the darkness, he fought the stone poison, he thought of Lilit and his dead son, he thought of Rhian, he fought to live.
“Zandakar!” someone cried, beseeching. “Zandakar, don't die!”
The words were Ethrean, it was Dexterity who spoke. He closed his fingers, felt the warm reassurance of human flesh. Heartbeat by heartbeat, the terrible pain faded. The red and black mist faded. He blinked, he could see again. He could see Dexterity on the floor by his right hand, white as goat's milk, staring down at him.
He managed a smile. “ Wei , Dexterity. I wei die.”
“In God's name, Zandakar, what was that?” Dexterity whispered. “What just happened?”
How could he answer when he was not certain himself? With trembling fingers he plucked at his roughspun shirt and lifted it, looked down at his chest and belly, saw the shiny red blotches welting his skin. Marks of the stone scorpion which did not kill him after all.
“ Chalava ,” he croaked, then rolled his head on the stone floor. “Vortka.”
Vortka knelt by his left side, his eyes wide and bright. The scorpion pectoral was cold stone again, it clasped his ribs harmlessly, it did not seek to kill.
“Aieee, the god sees you, Zandakar,” said Vortka, wondering. “The god's wrath smites you and yet you do not die. Like Hekat in the scorpion pit you defeat the god's scorpion.”
He knew that story too, how Nagarak had called Yuma a demon and she swam with the scorpions to prove he was wrong. She is my mother, I am her son. We have blue eyes, we dance with scorpions, we do not die . With an effort he stretched out his other hand and grasped Vortka's shoulder. “No, Vortka. The god sees me, for I must live.”