The Valley of the Gods

by Phil Tucker

  Jarek curbed his disappointment. “Yeah. I understand.”

  “Thank you,” said Acharsis, pulling Jarek by the arm. “A thousand thank yous, raining down upon your head like petals from the sky, perfumed vanities and delicious treats—”

  Jarek allowed himself to be pulled away, and a moment later they took the first turn into an alleyway. Their guide didn’t stop - in fact, he took off running, only to be snagged by the shoulder as Kish lunged after him.

  “Not so fast,” she said, turning him around with a hard smile. “We’re not quite there yet.”

  “How did you do that?” Acharsis asked.

  “Do what?” said Jarek, watching the alley entrance.

  “Swell up like that and suddenly look as dangerous as a jilted second wife. You practically had me wetting myself, and I wasn’t even your target.”

  “Doesn’t take much to make you wet yourself,” said Kish, throwing an arm around Acharsis’ shoulders. “I thought Jarek looked incredible.”

  “Incredibly obvious,” said Sisu in a low voice. “That guard won’t forget us any time soon.”

  “What’s done is done,” said Jarek, a ripple of irritation passing through him. “Next time, perhaps you can step in and help?”

  Acharsis clapped. “Well said! And on we go. Lead the way, Bapu.”

  “Tamu,” said their guide.

  “What? Never mind. Let’s move quickly, and stick to the alleys as best we can. Oh, don’t frown so, I’ll double what I’m paying you.”

  “You’re not paying me. Kheresh is.”

  “Oh? Then I’ll triple it. Lead on!”

  Tamu slunk out of the alley like a half-drowned cat struggling to not take responsibility for all of its mistakes, and led them deeper around the heart of the nobles’ quarter. Irella’s vast ziggurat loomed up like a mountain off to their right, so massive Jarek found it improbable that it had been built by mortal hands. It had, what, twenty levels? Maybe twenty-five? Dark clouds circled the temple at its peak, their undersides glimmering with green flashes of light, and Jarek shuddered. Could Nekuul sense them? Sense their intent? She’d been forgiving in her own realm, but here, on the eve of the great ritual?

  They stopped at the entrance to a broad street. “There,” said Tamu. “Fourth house down.”

  Jarek crossed his arms and leaned on the building’s corner, peering down the street at Istrikar’s new home. Like every other house, it was a windowless cube, a simple door cut into its side and leading into the darkness within. Still, it showed signs of ostentation; the tops of the walls were decorated with glimmers of blue, indicating lapis lazuli, and there was a constant stream of servants and slaves entering and leaving the premises.

  “Istrikar’s done well for himself,” said Acharsis, voice low and ambivalent.

  “Am I done now? Can I go?”

  “Run on home, Samu,” said Acharsis. “Tell Kheresh you did a good job.”

  The boy grimaced and ran back down the street.

  “So.” Sisu raised an eyebrow. “Plan of attack?”

  “In moments like these, I always find that the simplest approach is best. We shall present ourselves at the door and ask the master of the servants to announce us to Istrikar.”

  “You sure he’ll want to see us?” asked Jarek.

  Acharsis gave him a wounded look. “Why ever not? He was my spymaster, my most trusted servant.”

  “The last time we saw him we caused the closing of his Waystation and the cutting of the spider-rope bridge. He might not be… thrilled… at our return.”

  “Nonsense,” said Acharsis. “Istrikar can be brusque, true, and prone to flights of violence, but at heart he’s a good man. Sensitive to the needs of the world. Come on. I’ll show you.”

  They followed Acharsis down the street, the epiphling a little cinder on his shoulder. Jarek couldn’t help but glance back several times, but nobody was following them. Each home was bustling with activity, and from each door Jarek heard the sounds of industry. The homes here were large, easily two stories tall and big enough for several dozen people to live inside comfortably. Istrikar truly had done well for himself.

  “Hello!” Acharsis stepped forward and bowed to a young servant who stood beside the entrance, a clay tablet in hand. “Please inform Master Istrikar that old friends have come to congratulate him on his newfound success.”

  The youth had a sharp, lively gaze, and he bowed in return with a smile. “Be welcome! May the blessings of Nekuul be bountiful yet pleasingly delayed for awhile. Whom may I announce has come to visit?”

  Acharsis stood up a little taller at this reception. “Please tell your master that none other than Acharsis stands upon his doorstep with important news.”

  “Very well,” said the youth, and slipped into the house.

  Jarek raised an eyebrow. “Not as bad as I’d thought.”

  “My name opens doors across the civilized world,” said Acharsis, rising to the balls of his feet before lowering back down. “I command great respect if not affection from all and sundry - ah.”

  The youth had returned. Hands clasped by his side, he bowed very low. “Master Istrikar sends his regrets, but he cannot attend you at this time. If you would return tomorrow at the same hour…?”

  “Return tomorrow?” Acharsis struggled to keep his tone tranquil. “Did you inform him who stood at his doorway?”

  “Master Acharsis,” said the young man with studied neutrality. “Yes.”

  “And - he wasn’t amazed? Perplexed by his sudden fortune at my unexpected arrival?”

  “No, master. He did bid you return, however. Tomorrow at this hour. He said he might be able to see you then.”

  Acharsis’ face darkened but he gave a curt nod. “Very well. Thank you.” And with that, he spun on his heel and led them down the street, around the corner and out of the servant’s sight.

  Sisu grinned. “At least he didn’t tell you to use the servants’ entrance.”

  “Sisu,” said Kish.

  “Please,” said Acharsis. “Please, by the seven dead gods and their empty beer cups, spare me your witticisms. And do you honestly think a barred door will stop me after succeeding in crossing multiple underworlds?”

  “We could rush the door,” said Kish. “Force our way in, then demand Istrikar listen?”

  “Only if you stay outside to calm down the guards that will come running,” Sisu said.

  “No, this calls for cunning, for a certain base guile.” Acharsis tapped his lips. “Let me think.”

  “I don’t like his turning us away.” Jarek stepped in close. “Can we trust him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” asked Sisu, voice echoing off the walls. He ducked his head and glanced around guiltily before stepping in next to Jarek. “How can we go in there and reveal ourselves and our plan if you don’t know if we can even trust him?”

  “I don’t,” said Acharsis. He felt tired. Tired, and too old for this shit. “His telling us to come back in a day could easily be a ploy to set an ambush.”

  “Yes,” said Kish, “but even if we break in and force an audience, what’s to stop him from laying an ambush for the next time we meet?”

  “Nothing,” said Acharsis. “We could have his home watched to make sure a dozen deathless don’t slip inside, but Istrikar’s very sharp. If he wants to surprise us, he will.”

  Sisu scratched the back of his head. “Then why bother with him in the first place?”

  “First, because we need him. We need his connections. Second, because there’s still a chance we can convince him to join our side. He’s become a calculating creature. We need to make sure that our side of the scales is heavier than Irella’s.”

  “A tall order,” said Jarek. “How do we do that?”

  “I don’t know,” said Acharsis. He sighed deeply and rubbed at his hair.

  Kish shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “What about offering him the second apple?”

&nb
sp; Acharsis snorted. “Make Istrikar divine?”

  “Yes,” said Kish. “Precisely.”

  “That’s—” Acharsis stopped. “That’s at once a frightening and brilliant idea. Of course, we don’t actually have to give it to him.”

  “He won’t believe you have it without proof,” said Jarek.

  “Proof,” said Acharsis. “How do we prove we have a divine apple?”

  Kish’s smile widened. “You could take a small slice inside and feed it to a mouse or something.”

  Jarek stared. “You do not casually immortalize mice.”

  “It’d be proof, though.” Kish looked from one of them to the other. “Right?”

  “So we force an audience, ask him to join us, and then feed a mouse a sliver of divine apple that we stole from the garden of the gods,” said Acharsis. “I like it. The irreverence has me written all over it. But even better, we can pretend to have fed our little epiphling here a slice just before. Its magical nature will surely impress Istrikar.”

  “First we need to get close enough to talk to him,” said Sisu.

  Jarek peered both ways along the street. Carts rolled by, pulled by mules, while a patrol of the dead marched stiffly past. “What if we run with that lie of yours from before? Pose as merchants. We grab a cart and come bearing gifts—”

  “No, that won’t work,” said Acharsis. “The servant’s seen our faces.”

  “Then all normal approaches are out,” said Jarek. “Which leaves us with more unsavory options.”

  “That will only make it harder to get Istrikar on our side,” said Kish.

  “Look,” said Sisu. “His roof is guarded by the dead. He really has impressed my mother.”

  “Nothing really immoral about killing the dead,” said Jarek. “We could climb up under cover of darkness and force our way in.”

  “Why is it that brutes always think of brutal solutions?” Sisu gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “We are in Uros. Do you know how powerful I am here? Don’t tax your brain. The answer is: quite powerful. I could simply command the dead to ignore us.”

  “So we slip inside,” said Acharsis, eyes gleaming. “Down into the second floor, then find Istrikar and present our case.”

  “He’ll be upset,” said Kish, looking from one face to the other. “Don’t any of you realize that?”

  “Oh, we’ll win him over quickly with our plans,” Acharsis said.

  “My plan,” said Kish.

  “He’s right,” said Jarek. “The only thing Istrikar hates more than Acharsis is Irella.”

  “But he’s working for her now,” said Kish.

  “Probably didn’t have a choice.” Acharsis scratched at his jaw. “He’s a pragmatic man, Istrikar. He’d have chosen servitude over death.”

  “In which case we’re going to need some supplies,” said Jarek. “Rope. Bronze hook.”

  “Anything else?” asked Kish.

  “Rope and hook should suffice. A cage for the birdie.” He grinned at her. “Though some food and a chance to sit in the shade with you wouldn’t go amiss.”

  She took his hand. “Now you’re talking. Shall we all meet back here at dusk?”

  “Wait, you two get to go off and have fun and I get stuck with Sisuthros?” Acharsis scowled. “Not fair.”

  “If you don’t wish the pleasure of my company—” began Sisu, tone icy, but Acharsis cut him off.

  “No, of course I do. I’m dying to spend time with you alone. Come on. Let’s see what we can learn about Irella’s plans and this upcoming ritual.”

  Kish squeezed Jarek’s hand, and he felt his heart contract in turn. He let her pull him back out into the street, and as she smiled and walked backward before him, holding his hands in her own, he realized that he’d follow her wherever in this broad world she might lead.

  * * *

  They spent the day drifting around the main market, sampling different foodstuffs from around the world. Maganian rice balls wrapped in kheftir leaves; grilled hare covered with a paste of pistachio and honey; Dilmanian cockles fried in garlic and sun-bright beer. It felt irresponsible to simply drift through the thick crowds, hand in hand with Kish, pausing to watch street musicians, to step before stalls to examine jewelry from far Khartis, carpets from Rekkidu, carved panels of ash from Jalasha, large jars of incense and countless spices from all across the land.

  The sun was beginning its descent toward the Golden Steppe when they found themselves seated on cushions under a striped awning in a small square, the last of their coin having been spent on mint water and a platter of nuts. The owner of the small establishment was an old man so wizened Jarek had thought him one of the dead; but the humorous gleam in his eye and the appreciative manner he’d bowed to Kish had quickly put those doubts to rest.

  Kish leaned against Jarek’s arm, lazy in the late afternoon heat, a cup of cool water in her hand, and in that moment Jarek felt at peace. The sound of the market could be but dimly heard from several blocks away; thin, reedy music filled the air from some neighboring home, while a pair of kittens leaped and swatted at bronze butterflies affixed to slender rods sunk deep in a pot in the square’s center.

  “Jarek,” said Kish, voice dreamy.

  “Hmm?”

  “Have you given any thought to what might happen after?”

  “After?”

  “If we succeed,” she said, pushing away from him to sit and face him full on. “If we defeat Irella. What will you do then?”

  He didn’t want to think of the future. Of the blood he would have to spill. He wanted to be, to rest, to enjoy her company before they dove back into violence and madness once more. But something in her gaze stilled his protests.

  “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I never expected to get this far.”

  “Think on it,” she said. “Would you want to rule Rekkidu once more?”

  “Rekkidu,” he said, turning her hand over in his and tracing the lines of her palm with his finger. “That seems –it was - a lifetime ago. I’m no longer that Jarek.”

  “Are you sure?” She didn’t pull her hand away. “When we defeated Akkodaisis you got a taste of your old power, didn’t you? Would you want that once more?”

  Jarek frowned. Did he? That burgeoning sense of mastery? That strength, that authority, that ability to impose his will upon the world?

  “I would understand if you did,” said Kish. “It would be the most natural thing in the world. To return to being yourself.”

  “Perhaps,” he said. Then, on impulse, he raised her hand to his cheek, and, closing his eyes, pressed her palm against his face. The calluses were ridged and sharp, her fingers broad and strong, and her skin was warm, like a sun-baked rock. She cupped his cheek, and then he lowered her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

  “I don’t know,” he said at last. “This. Right here. This is more to my liking than ruling from the top of a ziggurat.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Mint tea on old cushions before a nearly forgotten store?”

  “Mint tea on old cushions,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “Before a nearly forgotten store.” He smiled down at her. “And maybe a few other details.”

  “I like it too,” she said. “I like it quite a bit.”

  “Hmm,” said Jarek. “Then maybe there are more old cushions in our future.”

  She laughed huskily. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me, Jarek, son of Alok.”

  “Hmm,” he said again, and bent down to kiss her.

  * * *

  They gathered at the base of Istrikar’s new home once the sun had set and Uros turned itself in to sleep. Traffic thinned out and then stopped altogether. The cries of merchants and street vendors grew sparse and then faded away. Lights within doorways were extinguished. The smell of cooked food filled the air, then was blown away by the breeze. Overhead, Ninsaba’s moon sailed into view, wisps of black clouds enshrouding her face.

  “It’s time,” said Acharsis. “Jarek?�
�

  Jarek hefted the heavy coil of rope in one hand, held the bronze hook in the air. It was a ponderous affair, almost a foot long and hammered out to Acharsis’ specifications. Heavy enough to throw, at any rate. Whether he’d be able to hurl it up over the parapet, however - that was another matter.

  He looked over to Sisu. “And the dead?”

  The young Nekuulite raised his left hand, and a faint green light enveloped it, casting his drawn features into a ghoulish hue. “Taken care of.”

  “Then here we go.” Jarek took a step back, peered up at the distant roof, and then swung the hook around once, twice, three times and launched it high into the night.

  It glimmered like a fish in a midnight stream, then clanked down distantly far above them. Jarek pulled on the rope, felt the hook slide and then catch. Two good tugs, and he nodded to the others. “It is done.”

  “And on the first cast,” said Acharsis. “You missed your true calling.”

  “And what would that have been?” Jarek asked.

  “Whale hunter, obviously. You’d have made a fortune in Khartis.” Acharsis took hold of the rope. “You at the helm of a skiff, hooking whales, then riding them to the point of exhaustion.Really. I can see it now. Riding whales across the sea. But for now, you’ll have to settle for being a mountain climber. Head on up. I’ll wait for last so you can haul me up.”

  “I’ll go,” said Sisu. “Though I hate climbing ropes. So… awkward. Undignified.”

  “Poor baby,” said Kish, her smile bright in the darkness.

  “Honestly, I couldn’t have dreamed up a more disrespectful team.” He sniffed and took hold of the rope. “The things I suffer for absolute power.”

  Kish snorted. “Yes, yes. Now can you climb?”

  A moment later Kish followed, a small wicker cage bouncing at her hip, leaving Jarek and Acharsis alone behind the house.

  “Sure you can pull me up?” asked Acharsis with a bleak smile.

  “I’m not that old yet,” said Jarek. “Just don’t fall off halfway.” He gave the alley one last careful look, and then hauled himself up, fist over fist, to the rooftop.