by Phil Tucker
“She’s the blasted high priestess of Nekuul,” said Istrikar. “All she thinks about are corpses.”
“Then if needs be I’ll immerse myself in ice water and have you roll me into her quarters in a wheelbarrow,” snapped Acharsis. “Do what you can. Learn what you can. But will you at least try?”
This was it. The moment of truth.
Acharsis wanted to hold his breath, but instead forced himself to breathe naturally. To simply raise a single eyebrow and smile in wry amusement, a deliberately provocative expression to goad his old servant into action.
“Very well,” said Istrikar. “I’ll help you as long as I don’t have to risk anything in this venture. Agreed?”
“I’d prefer you to have a little more skin in the game,” said Acharsis, “so I’ll sweeten my offer.”
“Will you, now.” Istrikar didn’t sound all that curious.
Oh, Annara, thought Acharsis. Forgive me. “Sure. Remember how this whole plan depends on Irella eating a rotten apple, one that will rob her of her divinity?”
“Mhmm?”
“That wasn’t the only apple we left the God’s Mountain with. We left with a second apple. A fine, ripe one.”
Istrikar’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Speak clearly.”
“You’ve already figured it out. You always were quick on the uptake.” Acharsis crossed his arms, leaned back on his heels. Body language to put Istrikar more on the defensive.
“You’re offering me a bloody apple of immortality. Straight from the God’s Mountain?” Then Istrikar smiled widely, as if amused by his own gullibility. “Ha.”
“I thought you’d be skeptical. Which is why we arranged for a demonstration. Kish?”
She stepped forward, pulling the cloth covering off the bars of the wicker cage. The crimson bird within fluttered its wings and hopped up and down on its branch. Its plumage was striking: a black eye mask wrapped around its face, while its underside darkened to a charcoal black, stripes of which barred its wings.
“See?” Acharsis gestured at Cinder. “We fed him a slice not long ago. Now he is divine.”
Istrikar leaned forward and glowered at the bird. “Seems like a normal blood shrike to me.”
Acharsis frowned. “No. Don’t you see the burning wings, the…” He stopped. It was clear that Istrikar didn’t.
Damn it. So much for faking the giving of an apple.
“Very well, we’ll repeat the experiment.”watched as Acharsis dug out two thin slices of apple from his pouch.
“This one grants divinity,” said Acharsis, feeling a little foolish. “And this rotten one takes it away. We’ll demonstrate both for your edification.”
He extended the ripe apple slice through the bars. The air in the study filled with the crisp, tart tang of the fruit, banishing the dense, smoky scent of the lanterns.
Cinder hopped closer, quirked its head to one side then the other, then darted forward to peck at the fruit and tear a chunk free with its hooked beak.
A flash and the torn piece of fruit was gone.
Everybody watched in silence, the others crowding around Istrikar’s desk on which the cage had been placed.
After a moment, Istrikar gave a harsh bark of laughter. “I’d expected more from your trick, Acharsis! I must admit, you almost had me.”
“Give it a moment,” said Acharsis. Cindereyed him, inscrutable. What effect would feeding him a slice of divine apple have?
A moment passed.
“Enough,” said Istrikar. “I applaud your nerve, trying to trick me with a piece of apple and a bird, but I’m out of patience. Get out of my house. I’ll summon you when I’ve something to share.”
A faint shimmer ran along Cinder’s wing feathers.
“There!” Acharsis leaned in. “Did you see that?”
“No,” said Istrikar. “I did not.”
A second shimmer flowed over the bird’s wings, like a flicker of flame leaping high into the night air above a camp fire.
“All right,” said Istrikar. “That I saw.”
“Now, watch what happens when it eats the rotten—”
But Cinder leaped from its branch, shimmered once more, and somehow flew through the bars of the cage in a puff of sparks and smoke. It snatched the rotten slice from Acharsis’ fingers and fluttered up against the bare walls, leaving streaks of crimson in the air behind it.
“Catch it!” yelled Sisu, raising his hands.
Everyone clamored as they watched the bird flit about the room. “Cinder!”
“Cinder!”
“Get back!”
“Why did you open the cage?”
“Watch out!”
Then, with a fiery swoop, the epiphling flew out the study door and was gone.
Acharsis crowded out with the others onto the balcony, only to see Cinder fly down the length of the courtyard and then disappear through the doorway leading to the roof.
“Well,” said Kish, voice strangely dejected. “Goodbye, Cinder.”
“I told you not to name it,” said Jarek.
“How could I not? He was too beautiful to ignore.”
Acharsis turned to Istrikar. The heavyset spymaster had run to the doorway along with the rest of them, and only upon noticing Acharsis’ regard did his open expression of wonder close and resume his customary scowl.
“Convincing,” said Istrikar. “Though I’d rather not set things on fire while walking about my home.”
Acharsis placed a hand to his brow and shook his head. “The man has the soul of a poet! Who knows what form your divinity will take, my friend? I cannot guess, but you must admit, you’re dying to find out.”
Istrikar grunted as he sat back down. “You have the rest of this apple?”
“Yes,” said Acharsis. “Jarek here hid it. I told him not to tell anyone where. While you could conceivably torture its location out of me or the others, you know Jarek would die before telling you its location.”
Istrikar regarded Jarek and then gave a slow, measured nod. “No need to belabor the point, Acharsis. I understand well enough. Vow to me by your father - both of you - that this apple exists, that no more has been removed from it than that slice, and that if I help you pull off this plan, you’ll hand over all that remains of this apple.”
“I do so vow in Ekillos’ name.”
“And I swear it by Alok.”
“Very well,” said Istrikar. “Then I’m in.”
“I knew you’d be unable to resist joining us, heart and soul,” said Acharsis, reaching out to clasp Istrikar’s meaty paw. “Together until the bitter end, be it death, infamy, or being cast headlong into one of Irella’s corpse chutes.”
“Don’t make me regret this.” Istrikar pulled his hand back. “I’ll make inquiries about placing Kish in the kitchen. I’ve been given broad privileges, but have yet to try exercising them. Where are you staying? I’ll send word when I have results.”
“Let’s keep this simple,” said Acharsis. “Hang a white cloth over the edge of your roof when you have something, and we’ll present ourselves at the front door.”
“Where’s the trust, Acharsis?” Istrikar’s eyes gleamed. “But very well. A white cloth it is. I’ll also see what I can learn about the high priestess. Can’t promise anything there, however.”
“I don’t doubt you’ll turn something up.” Acharsis looked to his friends. “Anything I’ve missed?”
“Can you smuggle out one of the amulets?” asked Sisu. “I’m sure their design has changed since I was there. It would be good to see what I need to copy.”
“Tricky. They keep track of those amulets like you wouldn’t believe.” Istrikar paused. “Well, maybe you would. But I’ll see what I can do. Might have to kill someone for it. We’ve not much time. Ritual’s going to happen in three days.”
“Three days?” Acharsis felt his heart lurch. “That’s it? Three days?”
A slow, wicked smile spread across Istrikar’s face. “Surely you knew that, oh master p
lanner.”
“Fine. It’s fine. That doesn’t change anything. Good. Thank you, Istrikar. We’ll be on our way.”
“Use the front door,” said their host. “I wouldn’t want you to fall and break your neck on my doorstep.”
“Kind,” said Acharsis. “Most considerate. Thank you.” And with that, he led his friends back out onto the balcony and toward the staircase.
Three days. Was that mild panic he was feeling at the edges of his mind? Oh yes. Yes it was. Three days. It would have to do.
Servants glanced at them in surprise, but nobody stopped them. Out the short passageway to the front door, and back into the night. Acharsis led them a few blocks away to a small square, and there paused to cross his arms and lean against the wall, hidden in the shadows.
“That went well,” said Kish. “Except for Cinder escaping.”
“You can’t keep divine beings as pets,” said Jarek.
“No?” Kish grinned up at him. “I have you.”
“A very bad idea,” said Sisu as Jarek spluttered. “Fire bird means fire excrement. Also, what would you keep it in? A metal cage? How would you carry it around? And is it even appropriate to keep a divine bird as a mere pet—”
Kish stuck her tongue out at him. “He exemplified loyalty and devotion. Something you know nothing about. I’m sure he’ll be back.”
Jarek rubbed at the back of his neck. “Acharsis? You think we can trust Istrikar?”
“Yes. I think so. There was a moment there when I turned from the doorway, after Cinder had flown away. I saw it in his eyes. Wonder. Wonder that quickly became greed. That’s a fatal combination. We have him.”
“Good,” said Jarek. “Now to watch for that white cloth.”
“It had better come quick,” said Acharsis. “We’ve three days to put the most improbable plan I’ve come up with yet into place.”
“More difficult than making your son pharaoh of Magan?” asked Kish. “More difficult than bringing Alok back from the dead, even if only for a few hours?”
“Yes,” said Acharsis. “This is Irella’s seat of power. I’d wager there’s nothing out there below a true god more powerful than her right now. And we’re going to dance into her very own ziggurat to disrupt a ritual she’s going to be paying very, very close attention to.”
“That’s not very encouraging,” said Sisu.
“No.” Acharsis sighed and pushed away from the wall. “But we’ve a secret weapon I didn’t tell Istrikar about. Come on. It’s time we summoned my demon. If we’re going to pull this off, we’re going to need to know what Anscythia can do to tip the odds in our favor.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The scribe presented himself at dawn as promised along with six soldiers but Annara wanted nothing to do with any of them.
She longed to escape Magan. Wanted nothing more than distance between herself and the snarl of snakes that watched her every move, the constant sense of asphyxiation that clawed at her throat, the massive walls that seemed to close upon her at every turn, denying her the horizons.
So it was that she ignored perfunctory greetings and mounted her steed, waited impatiently for the men to finish their business and then urged her mount out through the stable gates, into the broad street that turned into a broader avenue.
Merchants were already walking the shadowed street, vendors moving to their stalls, the beggars rousing themselves from street corners, the fishermen heading out to their skiffs along the muddy banks.
Annara ignored them all. It took all her willpower to not gallop, but once they finally cleared the city walls she gave her steed its head and allowed it to open up its stride, to pound the road into oblivion as it coursed through the lightening shadows, heading south, neither toward the rising sun nor its dark opposite, but always south, racing, devouring the road, the thunder of its hooves a thrill of liberation, the wind in her air a benediction, the open countryside a blessing that levened her very soul.
But it could only last so long. She knew enough to rein in her mount after only five or ten minutes, to slow it to a canter, to not blow it on a furious and frivolous run. She didn’t look back. Didn’t care to justify herself in the eyes of her companions. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed firmly ahead. Let them think what they wished. She didn’t care. She was past caring.
They rode all morning, slowing occasionally to walk their mounts, and some instinct kept the men behind her, giving her the space she so desperately craved. South, always south, and even she, a stranger in this land, knew enough to navigate in that one cardinal direction, picking their route without hesitation, passing countless villages without stopping to say hello.
They ate a lonely lunch by a dried riverbed, and Annara felt her first pang of remorse when one of the soldiers handed her a tureen of stew and she turned away, barely giving him a nod, to sit alone upon a dessicated trunk and stare out at nothing as she chewed mechanically, not tasting the food, not wondering until far too late if it was poisoned, if she could trust these men, the regent, the world.
She wished she could lose them. Wished she could cut free altogether. Her love for Elu was boundless, but within arose a burning bird that yearned for nothing more than the boundless skies. For solitude, to no longer care for others, to no longer put the needs and weaknesses and priorities of the men in her life beyond her own.
To flee. To tear off her clothes and disappear into the wilderness, to stalk and hunt as a wolf, to be responsible to nobody but herself. To howl at the moon, to sleep in the hollows, to strive against the beasts until overcome, and then die a glad death, simple, clean, without guilt, without that crushing sense of love clamping about her throat so that she felt burdened and overcome.
But no.
She would not flee. Could not flee. So she let go of her fantasies and turned at last to face the men who had been muttering quietly amongst themselves while waiting for such a moment to arrive at long last.
“Hello. I am Annara, mother of Senacherib.”
Wide eyes, stricken expressions. Heresy. Unexpected frankness. The men glanced at each other, unsure as to how to react.
“My son, Elu, is masquerading as Queen Nethena’s dead child, Senacherib. He plans to announce this truth within a week, and I am too tired to hide it myself any longer.”
The men stared at her, only the scholar, obvious due to his age, lack of athleticism, and formidable beard, dared scowl at her.
“But if the truth bothers you, please, turn around and ride back to the capital. It’s all the same to me. No? Very well. We ride for Kusuj, as I’m sure you know. I hope to be picked up by a patrol without engaging them in combat so as to make my case. If we are attacked, do all within your power to not offend. Our goal is not to survive, but to open lines of communication. Am I clear?”
The captain, a dark skinned man who looked to have had every ounce of fat flensed from his muscular body placed his fist over his heart. “As you command, Lady Annara.”
“Good.” She gave him a mirthless smile. “We’ll speak more anon. For now, we ride.”
And she mounted, dug her heels into her horse’s flanks, and continued their headlong flight south.
If only she were more. More than Annara, devotee of Scythia, former temple priestess and lifelong mother and wife. If only she had that burning drop of divinity in her blood already, the genius that Acharsis and Elu and Sisu and Jarek and all the other godsbloods took for granted. If only her flesh were not so limiting, her mind so mortal, her spirit destined for nothing more than Nekuul’s cold embrace.
If she were more, she would surely see options that she was overlooking. Stratagems that would render their brilliance unto her own godly eye with ease. But she was but a woman. A mortal. Already her desperation was making her reckless. Should she have been so brazen with her own followers? What if they deserted her, returned home to spread word of what she said?
She buried her doubts and focused on riding instead, the rhythmic cadence of the horse’s hooves lullin
g her thoughts into a blissful nullity through which the hours finally passed without leaving their mark.
“Lady Annara,” called the captain, finally causing her to look back at where her followers were strung out along the path. “It is getting late. We just passed an overhang where we could camp for the night. If we press on much farther, we’ll be riding in the dark, and finding a good camp ground will be only more challenging.”
“Yes,” she said, and was surprised by just how quickly the dusk had stolen upon them. “Very well.”
She dismounted beside the great leaning rock, and allowed one of the soldiers to take her steed. She knew she should take care of it herself, but was suddenly bone tired; she sat before the small fire that was conjured by another soldier with a skillful application of a live coal to kindling, and then lost herself in the flames as the others murmured to each other, set up tents, established a lookout up on top of the rock, and cooked dinner.
So tired. And not just from the riding. More. These past weeks - months - had been an endless series of adventures and dangers. Ever since Acharsis had ridden into Eruk so many moons ago, bringing with him his demon and corruption. Ever since Elu had been stolen away by that damned leech, and she’d convinced Acharsis to rouse Jarek from his mountain home in a wild bid to save her son from the sacrificial knife.
The events played before her tired eyes: rousing the rebellion in Rekkidu, infiltrating the ziggurat, fleeing to the Way Station then all the way to Magan; Acharsis wild plan to have Elu undergo the Quickening, and then the deadly puzzles and battles they’d fought within that ancient cube. Victory, and a sweet night of celebration - only for Acharsis to plunge into the underworld and leave her to survive as best she could.
No wonder she was exhausted.
“A question, if I may?” The voice was rich with over- and undertones, indignant, quivering with anger, cast over with an unconvincing sheen of servitude, deep with erudition and rich as if spoken by a large soul.
Annara blinked and looked up. The scribe. He was sitting across from her, the only one to have joined her at the fire, and was positively glaring at her over the leaping flames.