by Phil Tucker
And she and Elu on the outside, fumbling for allies, fighting to understand veiled warnings, smirking innuendoes, sometimes only realizing far too late that they’d been snubbed or outright insulted to their faces.
Annara took a deep breath and straightened her back. No matter. Elu was the pharaoh, and if it took him a year or five to master court politics - well. He had his whole life to do so. They’d have to simply weather any storms that came their way, and then slowly winnow the ranks of their enemies as they raised up those who proved loyal. Brilliant in theory, but so damned hard to do in practice.
“You look beautiful,” said the head serving girl, Qalhata. “You shall outshine the very stars in heaven.”
“I’ll settle for not falling on my nose,” said Annara, taking her first tottering steps on the ridiculous shoes she was supposed to wear all night. “How does anybody walk in these things?”
The girls shared smiles with each other.
“You shall not have to walk far, my lady,” said Qalhata. “A palanquin will bear you to the docks, and from there you shall take a boat and another palanquin to the Third Tower of Heaven.”
“Good to hear. Thank you, Qalhata. Thank all of you for - this.” She waved vaguely at herself. “I am ready.”
“If you will come this way,” said her maid, and gently took her arm to assist her in passing out of her chamber, along the covered hallway and out into the Women’s Courtyard. Dusk was nearly upon them, and what looked like a hundred lanterns were lit about the open space, sparking shards of glass and metal hanging about each flame so that each seemed its own sun. The women of the Court were all present and dressed in their best finery, laughing and listening to one of the eunuchs play a strange, stringed instrument, servants bearing trays of sweet wine back and forth.
“You look stunning, Lady Annara,” said Isotep, emerging from the closest crowd to bow low. “I wish a blessed night upon you, and look forward to celebrating your every success.”
Annara’s smile was sickly sweet. “Thank you, Isotep. Your words mean more to me than you could possibly imagine.” Rot in the netherworld, you two-faced whore.
“If I can be of any assistance with future matters, please let me know,” said Isotep. Her smile was wide and seemingly genuine, but her eyes glittered with amusement. “I live but to serve.”
What do you know? What has Nethena told you? Annara forced her smile to remain steady. “Oh, don’t doubt it, my friend. I will call on you when the time comes.”
“Then I shall live in anticipation of that moment. May the lammasu bless you, my lady.” Isotep bowed and stepped away, and Annara was only too glad to leave her and her companions behind. She couldn’t say with complete certainty that the entire harem was complicit, but how could she dare risk otherwise? Her suspicions had turned her own home quarters into a hotbed of intrigue and duplicity, such that she now relished any chance to escape.
After a dozen more greetings she was finally able to board the palanquin and be borne down to the river. Dusk fell and darkened by the time her ferry crossed the river toward the lammasu’s tower, and with greater ceremony and much tedium she was conveyed the final distance to the vast temple complex that surrounded the Third Tower of Heaven, and there admitted into the great courtyard in which a thousand strangers seemed to have already gathered.
Lanterns and bonfires burned everywhere, so that for this brief hour the night seemed held back at bay by endless flickering fires, and the crush of voices bruised the darkness as people murmured and spoke to each other in excitement.
Annara bowed her head to everyone she passed, smiling politely and finally allowing herself an exhalation of relief when she reached her covered box. As part of Elu’s inner circle she held the same proximity to the events as Nethena and the others; she greeted them all in turn, and then turned at last to regard the site of the final ceremony itself.
Six great columns rose up to form thrones of carved marble, all arrayed in a semi-circle before a single cushion of imperial purple. Tiger and lion skins formed a path to this cushion, their hides strewn with rose petals and flanked by sticks of burning incense. Drummers were pounding a soft but persistent beat, and Annara leaned forward, expecting the ceremony to commence now that she was here - but it took another hour for the great crowd to settle, the priests to enter and line up along the sides, the conversations to still, and a sense of true immanence to descend upon the crowd.
Several priests orated at length, speeches were made by rulers of the other five great cities of Magan pledging eternal obedience to the pharaoh, and then finally, at long, long last, a choir began to sing, a heavenly sound to which Elu at last emerged from within the tower proper and walked the trail of animal skins toward the purple rug.
Annara’s heart surged at the sight of him. Young, yes, but so brave, willing to fight until the end against the invisible forces that were arrayed against him, able to temper his fury and restrain himself from giving rash commands. Oh, to think that her boy had come this far, that he was to now be hailed as the true ruler of so ancient an empire! With each step he solidified his claim on the Maganian throne, and when he finally knelt upon the purple cushions Annara sank back into her chair, some horrible source of tension finally leaving her, a dread that she hadn’t known she’d carried all this time.
They’d failed. Whatever Nethena’s machinations had been, they’d not come to fruition in time.
A cry went up, everyone raising their faces toward the night sky, and six great winged shapes descended upon them, infinitely majestic and feral, churning up dust and sending petals flying as they landed one by one upon their marble thrones, the center of which their resident lamassu took up, so that he stood pre-eminent amongst his equals as they gazed down with their alien, leonine eyes upon Elu.
The final ceremony began. Heart pounding, Annara cursed her lack of Maganian as the high priest welcomed the lamassu with many bows and genuflections, then turned to address the crowd, clearly extolling Elu’s virtues as he gestured to her kneeling son.
The lamassu spoke not, betrayed no emotion, but simply watched as the ceremony proceeded apace. Elu was anointed with oils, clad in the white lionskin of pharaohs, given the wheat-headed scepter, his eyes daubed with the black mud of the great river, and finally the generals stepped up to kneel before him, each setting down a weapon at Elu’s feet in a gesture of military obedience.
Queen Nethena rose, the Crown Eternal upon a crimson cushion which she was to bear to Elu and place upon his brow, finalizing the ceremony and marking him as pharaoh forevermore. The queen mother looked at Annara and smiled, and for the first time Annara was able to smile back in time, a full, honest smile, that of a victor feeling sudden largesse toward a defeated foe.
Silence, an aching silence as everyone waited for Nethena to step down from the covered box.
Instead, she spoke up, her voice carrying clearly through the night air.
“On this glorious occasion, I am moved by how we as a nation are changing. How new tides are entering the course of our history, mixing new ideas with the old. I, Queen Nethena, adoring mother of Senacherib, accept these changes with a full heart, and embrace whatever the future may bring. Let one such change take place now. Lady Annara. Would you bear the Crown Eternal to Prince Senacherib, and place it upon his brow, marking him our pharaoh forevermore?”
Excited whispers burst out from the massive crowd like an exodus of mice from a burning field, and Annara sat up in shock, a jolt of fire racing through her veins as she stared at Nethena’s gleaming eyes.
What was this? A trap? Could she say no? Why should she? Was Nethena mocking Elu’s true parentage? A final, derisive gesture? Would Annara invalidate Elu’s crowning if she enacted this final part instead of the queen?
She rose hesitantly to her feet, and gazed out across the assembled peerage of Magan. “I would be more than honored, if such an act receives the blessings of the high priest and in no way offends the lamassu.”
The
lamassu up on their high thrones didn’t react, but the priest, florid and fleshy, golden wig gleaming in torchlight, bowed his head with terrible dignity. “We thank the Lady Annara for the respect she shows in asking this question, and aver that no: fulfilling the queen’s request would in no way offend or otherwise change the outcome of the ceremony.”
“Then…yes.” Annara walked along the box, trying desperately not to let her headpiece sway. “I would be honored to crown the new pharaoh. My thanks, my queen.”
Nethena extended the cushion as she drew close, her smile growing perhaps a fraction wider, and Annara desperately searched her face for some hint of deception, some gleam of victory.
“I look forward to clasping you as a sister in truth,” whispered Nethena. “Dear Annara.”
“And I you,” said Annara, unable to think of another response.
Taking the cushion, she descended the shallow steps to the courtyard floor and made her way to where Elu knelt, watching her approach with consternation.
Where was the trap? Did Nethena hope she’d stumble and fall before the crowd? No, too petty. The priest had blessed the transfer. So where? Where the danger?
Elu turned to face her, still on his knees, and when she drew close enough she stopped and proffered the cushion.
“Repeat after me,” said the head priest. “In this you assume the role of the mother of Magan, and must bless Senacherib with the natural bounties of your body that gave him life. In this you also cut your ties to him, admitting that he is now become divine, and consequently much more than you could ever understand -”
General Pawura rose to his feet. “May the lamassu please excuse my interruption.” His voice rough and gravely, but it carried easily. “I am General Pawura, commander of the Maganian chariotry, and I speak for the good of the empire.”
Here it was. Annara fought the urge to snatch the crown from the cushion and place it on Elu’s head. Elu in turn was glaring at the general, expression livid.
“You do not have permission to speak,” said her son. “Be silent and kneel.”
Pawura ignored him. “It is an old custom in our land that any pharaoh under the age of twenty five be served by a grand vizier who may mentor and educate our lord as to the ways of ruling and the customs of our land. While this custom has been neglected this past century, I believe it appropriate that we reinstate it so as to help Senacherib fulfill his great potential without danger to Magan itself.”
“Preposterous!” A man wearing an ivory mask stepped forward from the ranks of the priests. “This custom hasn’t been observed since the fall of the Kusuji dynasty, and was only implemented due to their refusal to undergo the Quickening. It has no bearing -”
Pawura looked to the head priest, who nodded and gestured. Two temple guards stepped forward and placed their hands on the man’s shoulders. He swiveled his head from one to the other as if in shock, the stepped back.
The head priest as well? This was far, far worse than she’d imagined. Annara wanted to shout, to protest, but it wasn’t her place; instead she glared at Elu, who was kneeling in shock. Stand up! Speak!
Elu struggled to his feet. “Outrageous! There is no need for a regent when I am possessed of my full wits and faculty! I have passed the Quickening, been acknowledge pharaoh by the lamassu, and will not -”
“In this final ceremony is that acknowledgement made official,” said the head priest. “That has not yet happened.”
“Then I turn to them!” Elu looked up to where the great winged gods sat. “I lay the matter at their feet! They are our gods, our final arbiters! If they think me unworthy, if they don’t think the Quickening sufficient to mark me as fit to rule, then I’ll obey! But only their authority, and by no other!”
All eyes rose. Their lamassu had yet to move. So still did it lie that Annara could have mistaken it for a huge statue. Its eagle wings were draped down the length of its back, and in the light of the braziers its fur and wings glimmered like hammered bronze shot through with seams of copper and gold. Twin horns like those of a bull arose from over its triangular ears, each the length of a man, and though its upper lip was smooth, a great beard reached down to its paws, oiled and woven with metallic threads of crimson, blue, and silver.
It gazed down upon Elu with alien eyes, and finally bestirred itself. “Senacherib has proven himself fit to be pharaoh by emerging first from the Quickening.” Its voice was dolorous like the tolling of a bell. “This we have gathered to recognize.”
Annara felt a flare of hope.
Pawura smiled and bowed low. “This we understand and agree with, divine lords. Nobody contests Senacherib’s divine right to rule - eventually. But first he might best be served by being educated as to the ways of our empire.”
“I have divine blood,” said Elu, rising to his feet and taking a step toward Pawura.
“This we know.” If Pawura was intimidated, he gave no sign. “Alas, there is no means of judging the provenance of that divinity, so we shall exercise caution and insist on an education first.”
Annara’s blood ran cold. The provenance? Was he insinuating - before the whole peerage -? But of course. Her very presence by Elu’s side gave his assumed identity the lie. Nethena! That cunning bitch - but there was no time. The moment to act was now.
“As such,” continued Pawura, “I shall take it upon myself to act as regent, with the blessing of the priesthood, the queen mother, and the assembled might of the military leadership -”
“One moment!” Annara took hold of the Crown Eternal and raised it high so that it glittered in the firelight. “You presume too much, general!”
“Excuse me?” Pawura’s expression darkened. “What are you talking about?”
“If a regent is to be selected, it won’t be by you!” Annara turned to regard the crowd, spreading her arms wide so that everyone followed the path of the crown. “Prince Senacherib may indeed need an education, but no common general may make that decision for him.”
Pawura spluttered, and Nethena herself stepped down off the box in fury, eyes flashing as she restrained herself at the last moment to draw herself up short. “What nonsense is this?”
“I am the one who holds the Crown Eternal! In this moment I hold the position of Mother of Magan! Just as it was my right to relinquish the crown, so it is my right to select the regent, and do so with all the riches and resources of Magan embodied symbolically within my being!”
“Nonsense!” Nethena slashed at the air with an imperious hand. “Guards, remove her!”
Three of her personal guard moved forward, but hesitated under the baleful glare of the lamassu, drawing up short.
Annara turned to glare at the head priest. “Is my role not that of the Mother of Magan?”
“A ceremonial role, to be sure -”
“And is it not my duty to transfer the crown and that of no other?”
“My lady, you take your role too seriously -”
The lamassu stood. “Lady Annara speaks correctly. In this moment she does embody the wisdom of Magan, and stands as both the prince’s mother and that of the land.”
The head priest faltered and then bowed his head.
Pawura dared a step forward. “My divine lords, she is a foreigner, she cannot understand the immensity of the task she seeks to execute -”
“She is the Mother of Magan,” said the lamassu, voice obdurate and unyielding. “The role is as ancient as the ceremony itself. Do you state the ceremony to be an empty one, general?”
Pawura at last paled and stepped back, bowing down low as he did so. “Of course not, my humblest of apologies, my divine lord.”
“Then continue,” said the lamassu, reclining once more.
All eyes turned to Annara. She held the crown aloft, fought to not let it tremble. The moment of truth had come. Dared she declare herself regent? No. In her own role as Mother she couldn’t assume the role of regent - could she? No, she dared not risk invalidating this once chance at salvation. It had
to be another.
But whom?
She thought of Magrib. Banished the thought.
No. There was but one choice, as risky a gamble as anything she’d ever wagered on, a roll of the die that he was not yet dead, that he was not the degenerate he was portrayed to be, the wastrel and drunkard.
“As Mother of Magan, I choose the only man fitting for the role of regent,” she said, her voice wavering despite her best efforts. “I nominate Pebekkamen, lieutenant commander of the western military, and do summon him forth to assume this solemn role.”
Pawura’s face went from stricken to delighted, and even Nethena clapped her hands with what could only be glee.
As Elu stared at her in wounded horror, Annara slowly lowered the crown, her heart lowering in turn.
As all the generals and nobility and priests bowed to Elu, she could only think in growing terror: what have I done?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Acharsis sat with his back to the tree, arms looped around his knees, watching to see if Jarek would awaken or die. All was still. The silence was almost eerie. Darkness extended out in every direction, and even the ground was black and devoid of feature, like a plain of dull obsidian. There was no sense of height or scale to the night sky, no stars or moon. The horizon was hidden. Only the trees with their hanging lanterns gave any sense of dimension at all.
Jarek lay on the ground before him, body grievously wounded. Resting his chin on his forearms, Acharsis studied his friend with somber focus. He should be dead. Blood loss from the leg wound alone should have killed him. Bite marks covered his body, interspaced with actual missing chunks of flesh. It was a miracle his chest rose and fell. It had to have something to do with the nature of the netherworld. Anywhere else and Jarek would have died hours ago.
Kish slept by Jarek’s side, turned protectively to face him, hand resting on his shoulder. Sisu was snoring lightly to Acharsis’ side, head hanging over his chest. Everyone was exhausted. Acharsis himself fought to stay awake. For them to all relax their guard out here would be suicide. And yet the urge to sleep, to rest…