The Valley of the Gods

by Phil Tucker

  “And I know that General Nekhebet speaks River City, because he used to with Jarek, and Lieutenant Commander Sitamun pretended to barely understand me. I could have throttled him! Dagi, who oversees the coastline forts, kept insisting we couldn’t pull men away because of pirates, and -”

  “Elu,” said Annara, raising a hand and cutting him off. “Who didn’t talk at all?”

  That stopped him cold. He blinked at her. “Who didn’t talk?” He frowned at her, scratching the back of his head. “General Pawura didn’t talk much. He just sat there, arms crossed, kind of half smiling at me the whole time. Why?”

  “Pawura,” muttered Annara, tapping her lips. “Jarek told me about him. What does he oversee?”

  “The chariots.”

  “I’ll bet there’s a connection between him and Nethena. What are they angling for? To depose you? No, not so soon, you were just made pharaoh…”

  “Mother?” Elu stopped before her. “What are you thinking?”

  “We’re in danger.” Annara rose to her feet and moved to stand before the complex latticework that covered the window. Peered out at the lush garden that grew just beyond, a fountain in its midst. “Nethena is clearly moving her pieces across the board. I’d wager Isotep back in the Women’s Courtyard is on her side, and her brother the high steward is clearly working with her as well. Pawura… We’re going to need to find allies, and fast. Whom do you trust?”

  “Trust?” Elu gave a bark of laughter and reached under his headdress to scratch at his scalp. “With Jarek and Acharsis gone? I’ve no idea. Everyone’s beating themselves up in an attempt to lick my feet first, but I’d not dare turn my back on any of them. I don’t even understand what most of them say. I trust Ahktena. And the lamassu, I guess.”

  “Ahktena is her mother’s daughter, and I trust her as much as I trust Nethena. And something tells me he won’t be very interested in this kind of court politics.”

  “No,” said Elu, looking glum. “He’s made it very clear that my being worthy involves fending for myself and being able to lead. He won’t step in and chastise anybody.”

  “Then who?” A face came to mind. The sailor boy who had helped guide them through their first few days in Magan. “What ever happened to Magrib?”

  “Magrib? I gave him a small fortune in gold and wished him well a week ago.”

  Calm. Stay calm. But it was hard to take her own advice when she was so desperate that she’d yearn for the help of a river rat who probably knew less about court life than she did. “We need to be very careful. The next time you don’t wish me to attend you, tell your messenger to use the word… I don’t know. ‘Royal palm’. That way I’ll know you really commanded it. Without that phrase I’ll insist on joining your side.”

  “Smart,” said Elu.

  “Acharsis spoke highly of one of the lieutenant commanders. What was his name? Pebekkamen? Was he in attendance today?”

  “No,” said Elu. “He was not. And Acharsis approved of him? I can see why. Pebekkamen was always drunk at our councils, if he showed at all. The others ignored him or spoke to him with complete disdain, and once when he stumbled in late to a meeting I heard it whispered that his men had found him by the usual method, which was to search all the whore houses in Magan.”

  Annara curled her lip. “I can see why Acharsis found him appealing, then. Still, we should find him. We desperately need allies, people who can give us trustworthy information. We’ll build our own network of supporters, and slowly regain control of the generals.”

  “Why don’t I simply have them replaced?” Elu’s voice was plaintive. “I’m the pharaoh - they serve at my pleasure. I can simply install new generals, problem solved.”

  “No, my son.” And despite the early morning hour, a great weariness draped itself across her shoulders. “It’s not that simple. A general is more than a token on a battle map. More than just his rank. He’s a man who has relationships with those who serve him. He wields an authority that must be reckoned with. Remove him unceremoniously and you’ll stir anger in the ranks. His subordinates will resent you, resent the new general, and if you have little support to begin with, you may find yourself creating a bigger problem than you originally had.”

  “Worse than generals who don’t listen to me?”

  “Better that than ex-generals leading a rebellion against you,” said Annara.

  “Oh,” said Elu, and then repeated in a more shocked tone: “Oh.”

  “Exactly. I’m not saying we can’t order generals to different parts of the empire to get rid of them, or eventually order them to retire once we have our own loyal faction ready to act as a bulwark against resentment, but right now we’re too weak, too vulnerable for such hasty actions. Caution. We need to learn the lay of the land, figure out who our enemies are and whom we can trust, and then act.”

  Elu sank down onto a crimson setae, face slack as his eyes darted from side to side, as if seeking out invisible enemies. Finally he rubbed at his cheeks, smearing the gold dust that had been pasted there, and turned to her.

  “Why did Acharsis have to leave now, mother? Why did he abandon us when we need him and Jarek so badly?”

  Annara steeled her heart against the bitterness and anger that threatened to bring tears to her eyes. “He had his reasons, Elu. The good of the River Cities.”

  “But what about us? What about you and me?”

  And to that question Annara had no answer.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jarek’s eyes opened as if by their own accord and he saw that he was seated in a glade, arms looped around his knees, feet lost in the tall grass. Silence. For a moment he felt ineffably lost. Blinking, he raised his head and looked about the clearing. Kish lay in the grass by his side, one arm flung above her head, the other resting on her stomach. Acharsis sat against a tree, eyes closed. Sisu was slumped over close by. Where were they?

  “Welcome.” Nahkt stepped into view, hands linked behind his back, head jutting forward.

  “Where are we?” Jarek struggled to his feet. The light was crystalline, but when he looked up he could see no sky, no sun. Just a blank, milky whiteness that hurt his eyes and made him feel dizzy.

  “You know where we are,” said Nahkt softly.

  “I remember…” What did he remember last? Being seated behind Acharsis on the lamassu’s back. Flying under increasingly disorienting stars. He held up his hand. His skin looked bleached by the light. A breeze blew through the canopy, but instead of a whispery susurrus the stirring branches and leaves sounded like metallic wind chimes, a gentle tinkling that made him stare in confusion.

  “This is not the world you know,” said Nahkt, his voice almost sorrowful. “And as we journey on, things will only become stranger.”

  The leaves were iridescent, like tapering spearheads of the finest iron, shimmering with waves of blue and white and green. He’d never even dreamed their like. And the grass; each blade was distinct and vividly green, an impossible, feverish hue.

  “The netherworld,” he said. “But how did we get here?”

  “The lamassu set us down a few hours ago. You and your friends descended from its back, thanked it, and then sank down onto the grass, where you fell into a deep sleep.” Nahkt studied Kish where she lay. “Acclimating, perhaps, to this realm. To be honest, I don’t understand. Never have I heard of the living coming to the land of the dead.”

  “We’re godsbloods,” said Jarek, kneeling beside Kish. “I’m a demigod, son of Alok. My name’s Jarek.” He reached down and took Kish’s hand.

  “Ah,” said Nahkt. “That explains much.”

  Kish’s eyes fluttered open. She stared straight through him for a spell, and then her gaze focused and she smiled. “I had the strangest dream.”

  Acharsis groaned as he struggled to his feet. “I missed it. The transition. Was there a gate? A line of demarcation, or…?”

  “Yes,” said Nahkt simply. “You were very impressed when you saw it.”

  “Ro
bbed,” said Acharsis, rubbing at his face. “Robbed!”

  “No dream.” Jarek stepped over to Kish and extended his hand. “Come. We’re just getting started.” He helped her rise to her feet, placing his arm around her shoulders as she stared about them with childlike wonder.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. The wind blew once more, and again wind chimes sounded from all around them.

  “Not what I expected,” said Sisu, climbing to his feet. “I thought your netherworld would be all desert, like Magan.”

  Nahkt shrugged. “Once Magan was forest, or so it is said. A long time ago.”

  “How far to the border?” asked Acharsis. “And I’m guessing we’re not going to need food?”

  Nahkt hesitated.

  “What?” asked Acharsis. “You were hoping to stop somewhere to eat?”

  “You are not versed in our religion, are you?” asked Nahkt.

  “No,” said Acharsis. “Not really.”

  Sisu also shook his head. “I’ve specialized in Nekuul’s realm.”

  “Remember how I described this form I wear as an illusion? A necessity created by my own inability to apprehend eternity? The same goes for geography.” Nahkt pointed at a tree on the other side of the clearing. “Look there.”

  Jarek turned and saw Nahkt by the tree. Startled, he took a step back. “How…?”

  “We are in a realm of spirit. There is no distance here. No actual land. The realm of Nekuul is infinitely far away, but it is also here, just within reach.” Again, he gave his apologetic smile. “Please, bear with me. I know it is complex. But though you are semi-divine, you are completely alive, and have brought with you the… shall we say, ‘biases’ of the living. Your presence here imposes your own constraints upon the land.”

  Acharsis licked his lower lip and looked about himself. “You’re saying that this forest - the distances we see - we’re making them? It’s our… what? Innate need to translate the realm of the spirit into something we understand?”

  “Well said!” Nahkt gave an approving nod, and suddenly Jarek saw the old man within the youth’s frame, the encouraging teacher. “Yes. The length of this journey will depend on you. All of you. In a sense, your journey will not be measured in leagues, but by time; how long it takes you to adapt to the realm of the spirit.”

  Sisu frowned. Kish glanced up worriedly at Jarek. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “All right. We all know we’re in the netherworld here. I take it that knowledge isn’t enough?”

  “No,” said Nahkt. “Your mind might know it, but your body, your living essence, it doesn’t believe your mind. So, for awhile, we shall have to travel as the living do. To answer your question, you shall hunger for as long as your body believes it needs food.” Nahkt stepped forward and was amongst them once more. “But you don’t need to eat. And nothing here can hurt you unless you allow it.”

  “Allow it?” Kish held tight to Jarek’s arm. “What do you mean? We have to give our permission to be wounded?”

  “In a sense. We will face many dangers. But you must always remember that these are dangers of the soul. Your body, as it were, cannot be injured here unless you believe that injury to be real. In a sense, your body isn’t here. It can’t be hurt. But if you see a knife plunged into your side, your instinct, your physicality, your very sense of being alive, will betray you. And you will be stabbed. And you will feel pain and bleed.”

  “Can… can we die here?” asked Sisu. “I mean, of course we can. Sorry. But if we die here, do we turn into spirit?”

  “No,” said Nahkt. “You did not spend time in the Fields of Reflection. You haven’t been purified. If you die here, you will most likely become one of the damned. A restless spirit, doomed for eternity to wander the night, or - given your divine blood - a demon.”

  Jarek’s breath caught in his throat. “A demon,” he said.

  Nahkt nodded.

  Acharsis narrowed his eyes. “But if we can only be injured here by our own belief in the injury… then doesn’t it follow that we can only be turned into demons if we allow it?”

  “Yes,” said Nahkt. “In the end, if you become a demon, it will be by your own doing.”

  “By Scythia,” whispered Kish. “If I’d known this would be so perilous…”

  “We’re here now,” said Jarek. “We’ve all got to focus on getting this done. And we have Nahkt here to guide us. You’ll keep us safe, won’t you?”

  “I will try,” said Nahkt. “But I can’t guarantee it. I did not finish my vigil in the Fields of Reflection. I am not wholly pure, and as such, though I imagine it would be difficult, I could still turn against myself. Die, just as you.” His smile was mirthless. “But I will do all I can to avert such a fate.”

  “Great,” said Sisu.

  “Thank you,” said Acharsis. “For doing this. For taking such a risk.”

  “Don’t thank me,” said Nahkt. “I had no choice in the matter.” The bitterness in his voice was sharp, but he raised a hand as if to forestall protest, closed his eyes, and forced a smile. “See? My resentment betrays me. I, too, will have to be careful. Now, if you’re ready?”

  “Lead on,” said Jarek.

  “First I shall cast spells of protection on us all. Please, gather round.” So saying, Nahkt raised both hands and turned to face the distant source of light. “Oh you Great Soul, greatly majestic, behold, we have come but shall not see you; open the netherworld and afford us your protection, O Amubastis, light our way and drive away the shadow. Open every path to our feet, guide us between the stars and sky, for we are well-beloved by the lamassu. We are noble. We are spirit, we are equipped. O Amubastis and all you spirits, prepare a path for me.”

  Acharsis nodded his approval. “Do you think your spell will protect us even if we are non-believers?”

  “I can only hope,” said Nahkt. “It should help guide us away from the slaughter-places and allow us to pass by Chorios, the world serpent who guards the far reaches of the netherworld. Now, a few more. One to protect us from the animals, serpents, and crocodiles that wander this land. Another to preserve our parts of being, ensuring that our spirits do not diminish and do not hunger for Amubastis’ light. One more to ensure we do not forget our names, and a final spell to guard against the corrupting powers of malicious prayers or memories of the living.”

  Jarek bowed his head in respect, patient and appreciative as Nahkt intoned his prayers and cast his spells. They were so far from home, so far from their apsus that even this heathen magic was appreciated.

  “Remember,” said Acharsis once Nahkt finished and walked past them toward the glade’s edge, “we’re not really walking here. We only think we are. This is all… illusory. Focus on that, and focus on where we want to get to. Nekuul’s domain. All right?”

  “Yes,” said Kish in a small voice.

  “Yes,” said Sisu, perhaps too loudly.

  “Yes,” said Jarek.

  They followed Nahkt through the trees. They were slender like aspens and extended as far as he could see in every direction. The grass underfoot crunched as if made brittle by frost, and for a while they moved in silence, each sunk in their own private thoughts. Jarek held tightly to Kish’s hand. Her eyes were wide, and she seemed to drift forward as if lost in a dream.

  “We’re going to be all right,” said Jarek. “Don’t despair.”

  “Yes,” said Kish. “I know.”

  “Over there,” said Acharsis, coming to a stop. “Movement. You see that?”

  Nahkt stepped back and looked in the direction Acharsis was pointing. Jarek squinted and saw something akin to a massive deer regarding them from perhaps fifty yards away, barely visible through all the slender trunks. Its antlers swept all around it, curling before its face and over its back, a thorny mazy of ivory and gold.

  “It has no legs,” said Sisu. “You see that?”

  Jarek narrowed his eyes. Sisu was right. The lower half of the deer seemed to split into a dozen streams of white-furred flesh
that coiled about the trunks of the closest trees, merging with them.

  “Is it dangerous?” asked Kish.

  “It could be,” said Nahkt. “If you let it.”

  “It’s moving!” said Sisu.

  The deer slipped silently forward and disappeared, moving through the tree trunks but losing segments of its body as it did so. In rapid succession it became a series of vertical segments, as if each tree were a blade, and then it was gone, absorbed by the forest.

  “Where did it go?” Sisu swung around in a circle. “It was moving this way!”

  “Calm yourself,” said Nahkt. “We are still very close to Amubastis. That spirit is not intrinsically antagonistic, but it will respond to your emotions—”

  “There!” Kish wheeled around and Jarek turned with her. The deer - he called it such even though it no longer resembled any kind of deer he’d ever seen - was flitting around the edge of the clearing. Or at least, parts of it were. As if its passage through time had been shattered, so that they caught glimpses of it here and there between the trees, impossible snatches that gave Jarek no fixed sense as to where it actually was.

  “You’re upsetting it,” called Nahkt. “Please! Control yourselves!”

  Kish had drawn her hammer, and Sisu had raised his hands. “We’re not doing anything!” he said. “It’s the one approaching us!”

  The glimpses of the spirit were growing in frequency, but now it was impossible to tell if it was one or many. Flashes of white fur appeared all around them between the trees, the occasional hint of antlers growing ever longer, till Jarek realized that the antlers themselves weren’t disappearing but rather sprouting more and more horns as they became something akin to a bank of ivory fog all around them, interlaced between the trunks. The deer’s actual body continued to flit in and out of sight.

  He wanted to draw his Sky Hammer. See if he could break a path through the cloud of gold-tipped horns that were growing thicker and more impenetrable with every moment.

  Instead, he released Kish’s hand and moved forward. He closed his eyes. He was no longer a novice warrior, eager and desperate to draw blood. He was Jarek, son of Alok, and had known grief and love in equal measure. He thought of Alassa, then, of his dead first wife, and how she’d laughed in the light of the mountain sun, sitting on a rock upstream, her dress bunched about her thighs, amused by his fall into a pool. Thought of Alok hovering amidst the flames at the apex of his ziggurat. Thought of the taste of freshly baked bread, the feel of hot stone under the soles of his feet, the way the Golden Steppe rippled beneath the wind.