by Phil Tucker
Jarek stiffened by Acharsis’ side.
“Now,” said Ahktena, gesturing to a servant who hurried to pour her a cup of wine. “Let us review the basics of the Quickening. Fortunately for you, the particulars are a secret to all; whatever takes place within the cube is such that participants do not speak of it upon emerging.”
“Cube?” asked Elu, moving to sit. “The Quickening takes place within it?”
“I’ll leave the cube for you to experience in person,” said Ahktena with a sly smile. “Just so I can observe your face. But yes, the trials take place within. What is known from observing previous trials is that the doorways into the cube are riddles in and of themselves, great eyes on whose surface are carved Maganian symbols of religious import. You see? Without me, you wouldn’t even have been able to enter.” She gave Acharsis a perfectly infuriating smirk.
“But inside?” Elu leaned forward. “Nobody knows what to expect?”
“There are endless amounts of speculation,” said Ahktena, taking her cup. “And much has been inferred over the centuries. The trials are designed to determine who is the best-suited to rule Magan, which in turns means scholars and philosophers have studied the winners to see what traits they displayed, and then worked backwards to guess at the trials they might have passed. From that body of study have emerged a few ‘truths’ on which all are agreed.”
Acharsis took a cup of wine from one of the servants, momentarily regretting that it wasn’t beer.
“First, obedience to the lamassu is the hallmark of any pharaoh,” said Ahktena. “All who have won through have shown unwavering loyalty to the gods. As such, one can expect that love to be tested. Having been raised in foreign lands, dear brother, your own commitment to Magan’s gods might be a weak spot. I would urge you to keep your devotion to them front and center at all times once we are within.”
“Great,” said Sisu.
“Second, the pharaoh must be a strong defender of Magan. He must be able to defeat all manner of threats, and so all pharaohs have displayed physical courage and resolve. But nobody expects a pharaoh to fight on the front lines, which is why most teams that enter the cube feature a handful of warriors. There will be violence within, and we must be able to win through any contest.”
“Jarek and Kish can see to that,” said Elu. “Haremhab will also help. I’m not completely useless with a blade myself.”
Ahktena bowed her head in gracious acknowledgement of Elu’s prowess. Damn it, thought Acharsis. Is he flirting?
“None can deny that the pharaoh need also possess uncommon luck, but there is nothing you can do to affect that element of the equation; either you have it, or you don’t. The final principle on which all the scholars have agreed is a pharaoh’s ability to inspire and lead his or her people. What that translates to within the cube, nobody knows; but you must be the leader of your team - you cannot let others make your decisions for you.”
Acharsis stiffened and tightened his grip on his cup. Still he said nothing. Though Ahktena didn’t look at him, he felt as if her words had been arrows launched at his heart. Her wording was too precise. Had she listened in on their arguments? Had Elu shared his concerns with her?
“Don’t worry about that,” said Elu, sitting up straight. “I’m young, but I know my own mind.”
Acharsis wanted to set down his wine and step back outside. He felt petulant and petty. There were a dozen things he wished he could say, a score of ways that he could infuriate Elu and cause their enterprise to go up in flames. Instead, he sipped his wine and stayed quiet. How could he win back Elu’s trust? Annara had proven inadequate to the task. There had to be another way.
“Tomorrow morning, all six teams shall present themselves to the lamassu,” Ahktena said. “There will be a number of ceremonies, and then the trials shall begin.”
“Very well,” said Elu. “The rest of my day is full of meetings, apparently. I’m to be introduced to the other royal families and who knows what else.”
“If you wish,” said Ahktena, lowering her eyes, “I would be honored to help you navigate these meetings adroitly. I know the other families well, and could help make these meetings both more pleasant and more productive.”
“Yes,” said Elu, sounding surprised. “That would be, ah, much appreciated. Everyone else, you’re dismissed.”
Acharsis bowed, took the wine carafe from the servant and stepped outside into the sunlight. Already, the space around them was completely different: tents had arisen everywhere, and dust hung in the air as countless servants and slaves rushed to and fro.
“Acharsis,” said Jarek. “What in Alok’s name just happened in there?”
Acharsis raised a hand, forestalling the outraged comments the others clearly wanted to make. “Follow me, follow me. Let’s not bray our displeasure like asses before Elu’s tent. Come.” He had no idea which tent was meant to be theirs, and didn’t honestly care. He ducked into the first empty one that he found, then turned to his friends.
Jarek and Kish stood on opposite sides of the group. They’d not mended the rift that had sprung up anew between them after Jarek’s poisoning. Annara was hugging herself in the middle, while Sisu stood hunched and miserable beside her.
“So. Let’s take a moment to appreciate where we are. How far we’ve come. A few weeks ago, we were fleeing Rekkidu, determined to attempt the impossible. Now we’re in the royal camp, about to be presented to the lamassu, and to attempt to raise one of our own to the rank of pharaoh. An improbable accomplishment! I think we all deserve a round of applause.”
Nobody clapped. Kish crossed her arms. Jarek shook his head.
“Yes, well, we still face some difficulties. I didn’t say we could relax.” Acharsis began to pace, refilling his cup as he did so. “We’re about to enter some legendary trial tomorrow and compete against five other teams, facing violence and tests that are probably going to be quite unpleasant. Not only that, but Elu is… how shall we put it?”
“Talking to the woman who tried to poison me, and teaming up with the man who tried to kill me,” said Jarek.
“Flirting,” said Kish. “Though I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it.”
“Wait,” said Sisu. “He was flirting? Was she flirting with him?”
“Yes.” Kish shook her head pityingly. “Though she was much better at it than he was. But it was pretty clear she was just leading him on.”
“See, that’s what I don’t understand,” said Acharsis. “He’s furious with me for manipulating him - which I haven’t. Not recently. But now he’s replaced me with someone who’s even more obvious at it, and who clearly can’t be trusted.”
Annara pressed her fingers to her temples. “We can’t contradict him. Not while he’s taking his role as Senacherib so seriously. We’d risk being pushed away even farther. So how do we protect him inside? How do we prevent Ahktena from betraying us?”
“Are you so sure she plans to?” asked Sisu. “Maybe she’s just angling for as much power as she can get.”
Acharsis drained his cup. “I doubt it. She’s recognized her influence on Elu and is using it to get what she wants.”
“She got him to accept Haremhab into our group,” said Jarek. “What if I snap his neck the moment we walk into the cube?”
“Snap his neck?” Kish gave him a look of disgust. “That the kind of person you are now?”
Acharsis sighed. “We need Elu to trust us. We need to trust each other. I don’t know what we’re in for when we enter that cube, but if we’re to stand any chance of winning this ordeal then we need to operate like we did back in Rekkidu. We need to trust each other. To complement each other’s strengths.”
“Easy for you to say,” said Sisu. “I lost my strength when we left the River Cities. I’m about as useful right now as a pitcher with no bottom.”
Kish threw her arm around his shoulders. “Don’t be too hard on your bottom, Sisu. I’ve seen how the dead girls look at you.”
“Great,�
�� he muttered. “That cheers me up to no end.”
Acharsis fought to stave off the despair that threatened to swamp him. Jarek and Kish weren’t even able to meet each other’s eyes. Sisu was a powerless, sullen teenager. Annara was consumed by concern for her son. And Elu? He’d become as alien as the Senacherib he was imitating. Which left Ahktena and Haremhab to round out their group.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. He had to pull this together; had to remember that this was about more than just their survival. The fate of Magan depended on their success. The fate of the River Cities. The revival of his father, of Alok, of all the dead gods.
“In our veins runs the blood of gods,” he said, cutting off the conversation. He raised his head. “Even Annara here stands close to Scythia, having dedicated her youth to the worship of the goddess. We are no mortal team. We are not common people. We are demigods and godsbloods. That divinity enable me to stand before the lamassu and sway his mind, allowing us this shot at redemption. Nobody else in this competition can make that claim. Nobody.
“I don’t know how we’re going to make it through this trial, I don’t know how we’re going to win through, but I do know this: the fate of Magan and the River Cities depends on our victory. Tens of thousands of innocents depend on us putting our grudges and doubts aside and doing our utmost tomorrow; depend on our manifesting every ounce of skill and determination and bloody-minded resolve to win through. And we will. We cannot fail. The fates are at our backs. That we’ve come this far against such odds is a testament to the righteousness of our cause. Tomorrow, we will overcome the obstacles set in our way, and by tomorrow night we shall stand united beside Elu as he is crowned pharaoh.”
He felt his own inner fire rekindling, his own determination solidifying in his heart. He held each person’s eyes in turn, a sense of mastery and power invigorating him and banishing his fears. “Just as we did in Rekkidu. Just as we did in the steppes. Tomorrow, we shall—”
The silver talisman that lay against his chest crumpled as if squeezed by an invisible fist, and then jerked free of its chain to fall down the inside of his tunic. Acharsis clamped his hand to his chest, but it was too late. The sound of chains clanking came to him from the outside of the tent. The sound of bare feet padding on the sand as his demon danced, her breathing hoarse, wheezing with delirious laughter. He stood, frozen, his friends gazing back at him with growing concern.
“Acharsis?” asked Annara.
He could picture her with perfect clarity. Her sooty skin, her wild, stringy white hair, her emaciated body, the manacles that had rubbed her wrists and ankles raw. Her rolling eyes. Her savage grin. Dancing, chains clanking—
He turned, drew his knife, and stabbed at the tent wall. Then he gripped it with both hands and hauled it down, tearing a vent in the fabric, thrusting his way through, seized by an incoherent fury - and saw nothing outside.
She was gone.
“Acharsis?” Jarek was by his side, scanning the closest tents, the curious servants who had paused to look at them.
He couldn’t catch his breath. He fell into a crouch and buried his head in his hands. Damn it. Damn it all to the underworld, piss on it and set it on fire.
“It was her, wasn’t it?” asked Annara, emerging on his far side. “Your demon.”
“Yes,” he said, forcing the word out between his lips. He fished into his tunic and drew forth the crumpled silver talisman. “I’d thought Ninsaba could protect me. I’m such a fool. How can a dead goddess keep my demon at bay?”
“What does it mean?” asked Kish from just within the tent. “Are we doomed?”
“Remember what happened last time she appeared?” Sisu’s voice was shaking. “All our plans to save Elu from Rekkidu were ruined. We all nearly died. And tomorrow we’re going into a death trap? Of course we’re doomed.”
Acharsis wanted to argue. To salvage the situation. But he felt paralyzed. Numb. He stared at the crumpled silver moon, then let it fall from his fingers to the sand. Doomed. His demon always, always presaged a terrible turn in their luck. He buried his face in his hands.
Doomed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jarek stood outside their tent, arms crossed, staring impassively at everyone who glanced his way. He felt monolithic, rooted to the spot as if he were an outcropping, as unpassable as a cliff face. Darkness was falling over the bowl, and everywhere glimmers of firelight and torches were springing up like a band of crimson stars that circled the plain of sand below with its six columns.
The lamassu had descended at sundown to sink their talons into the slaughtered bulls and fly them up to their perches. The sound of their maws rending flesh had echoed across the tent city, which had stilled for the feasts’ duration. Once the meat was devoured, the lamassu had snapped bones, the reports sharp and unnerving.
Jarek knew how hard it was to shatter a bull’s femur.
The night was textured by the familiar sounds of a thousand people settling down to rest. Strains of music were carried to him on the winds, along with laughter, the occasional barked reprimand, and the scents of honeyed meats, cloves, pepper, and human offal. A thousand bowels were emptying themselves tonight, and nobody was about to let that shit run downhill onto the sacred arena.
Kish approached, a platter of steaming food held in one hand, the fingers of the other glistening greasily in the torchlight. For a moment, Jarek thought she’d brought him dinner, but no; she stopped beside him and made no move to hand over the plate.
“He still inside?”
“Yes,” said Jarek. “Annara’s with him.”
“You spoken to him?”
“I thought it better not to. Out of our group, I’m probably the worst person to try and cheer someone up.”
“After Sisu, perhaps.” She picked up a sliver of meat and popped it into her mouth. “It’s not looking good, is it? I was just starting to feel a little hope there at the end of Acharsis’ speech, but now?”
“It’s not looking good,” said Jarek, “but what can we do? We’ll fight as best we can.”
“We’ve got to do better than that,” said Kish.
“You going to give me a speech?”
Kish snorted and then popped some kind of vegetable into her mouth. It must have been piping hot: she chewed it quickly then swallowed it down, giving quick, sharp breaths in an effort to save her tongue. “No. But I’ve been thinking about Scythia. Thinking about Numias, Scythia’s daughter. What she would have done if she were here.”
“If Numias were here?” Jarek rocked back on his heels, recalling the demigoddess now two decades dead. “She’d have whipped half of us to death, demanded a feast, killed somebody, then led an attack on the lamassu.”
“Exactly,” said Kish. “And what have I done? Spent my time being hurt by your actions, worrying about our relationship, observing events and feeling out of my depth. Nothing that would have impressed Numias.”
“Kish—”
“No.” It was quietly, firmly said. “I don’t want to talk about us. There’s no time, and I don’t have the patience for it. I’m here to talk as your companion-in-arms. As warriors. We’re losing this battle. Acharsis is laid low by depression and guilt. Elu’s consorting with the enemy. Sisu’s a spineless wreck. Annara is too busy playing the aggrieved mother and widow to remember she’s a warrior priestess of Scythia. We’re going to die tomorrow unless we turn this around.”
“You’ve a solution?”
“Yes. We take the initiative.” She scarfed down another searingly hot tuber. “Ah, ah, ah.”
“If you wait, those will cool down.”
“I like them hot. Now. What’s our largest problem?”
“Acharsis’ demon. The ill luck it’s brought us.”
“All right. Now, I’m no apsu, but here’s what I’m thinking. His demon is a threat from the spirit world, correct?”
Jarek moved his head from side to side. “Close enough. Demons are—”
“If we were in th
e River Cities, we could approach apsus, but I’m sure Acharsis tried that long ago. But we’re in Magan. Why don’t we go ask the lamassu for help?”
Jarek paused. Ran her words through his mind again. “The lamassu?”
“Sure.” She licked her thumb clean of grease. “Our patron lamassu let us in to the trial, didn’t he? We go tell him we’re being interfered with. That a demon is attacking us, ruining our chances of becoming pharaoh. Ask if he can intervene.”
Again, Jarek paused. He wanted to laugh her suggestion down, but her eyes gleamed with anticipation, daring him to do just that. “Approach the lamassu.”
“Yes. What do we have to lose?”
“All right. Then what do we do about Elu?”
“One thing at a time. Let’s rouse Acharsis.”
“No need,” said Acharsis, opening the tent flap. “I’m aroused.” He stepped forth, Annara by his side.
“You think she’s on to something?” asked Jarek.
“She’s a genius. I bow to her wisdom, and consider myself for the millionth time in my life to be a fool. If I hadn’t been so caught up in despair, I’m absolutely sure I’d have thought of it myself.”
“But you didn’t,” said Kish. “I did.”
“Indeed, and so let it be recorded when our epic quest is said and done. But yes: we frame our argument as a plea for neutrality, to remove an outside influence that seeks to meddle with the politics of Magan.” Acharsis rubbed his hands together. “Ready?”
“Ready,” said Jarek, lowering his hand to his Sky Hammer.
“One moment.” Kish devoured what was left of her meal, hissing and hopping from one foot to the other as she gingerly chewed and swallowed her food. She cast her plate aside, wiped her hands on her shirt, and nodded. “Ready.”
Acharsis led them toward the royal tent. Its form was illuminated from within, causing it to glow in the night with a crimson light.
“Elu?” asked Jarek, moving up alongside his friend.