by Phil Tucker
“Yes?”
“How have I offended you, my dear lady? What deed did I commit, or which word did I utter over the storied length of my life to have so earned your enmity that you not only dragged me forth into this savage wilderness, but now seem intent on both riding me into ragged oblivion while summarily ignoring me all the while?”
Annara sat up straight. “Enmity?”
He spread his hands. “I can only assume. At least, so I hope, for the alternative is far worse: callous indifference, a cruelty born of privilege without thought or care for the wellbeing of others.”
Annara didn’t know what to say. The man’s fierce glare made it clear he’d not be sympathetic to her woes, nor did she wish to share them with him. “What is your name?”
“My name?” His indignation spiraled higher. “You don’t even know who I am?”
Annara didn’t bother to respond.
“I am Sennefer, Scribe of the Seal, Master of the Three Fronds, Magister of the Jade, Ivory, and Bronze. The man you ordered dragged out from his abode in the middle of the night to accompany you on this hellish expedition!”
“Sennefer. My apologies. I did not request for your presence by name, but instead asked Neferhotep to select a suitable expert on the Kusuji. I suppose he chose you.”
The old man sat back as if stunned, eyes widening as understanding hit him like a brick. “Neferhotep… volunteered me?”
Annara nodded sympathetically.
“By the…” The scribe turned to gaze out at nothing, then seemed to crumple, shoulders slumping. “The bastard.”
“Politics?” asked Annara.
“Politics. I’ll not bore you with the details. But Neferhotep played his hand quite nicely. I’ll give him that. With me off on this mad hare chase, I’ll not be able to… never mind.” Sennefer blew out his cheeks and stared morosely into the flames. “What a bastard.”
“Do you, by chance, know anything of Kusuj?”
“Yes.”
“That at least is welcome news. I aim to walk their Path of Righteousness so as to become divine in order to return to Magan and save my son. What can you tell me that pertains to my quest?”
Sennefer fluttered his eyelids as if having trouble understand the very words she had spoken. “You… you what?”
“You heard me.”
He opened his mouth to object, sitting up straight, eyes flashing - but something about her expression stayed his explosion. “You’re serious.”
Again, no need to answer.
“You are serious. By the Third Tower of Heaven. As serious as you are mad.”
“I wouldn’t say mad. More… simply out of options.”
“Walking the Path isn’t an option, Lady Annara. It is a bid for divinity.” There was some measure of outrage there in his voice. “By what right do you believe yourself fit to become divine?”
It was Annara’s turn to slow down and encompass that question. She’d not even considered the question of ‘right’. No. It had been simple political expediency.
Sennefer watched her over the flames that painted his face a dusky red. His gaze was too sharp, too intelligent, for her to satisfy him with a shallow answer.
“I have known men and women with divine blood,” she said at last, speaking slowly, picking her words with care. “My son has the blood of a god running in his veins. Ekillos, the god of wisdom and male virility. His father, Acharsis, is a godsblood. I have fought alongside others. Come to know then in all their strengths and weaknesses. And this I can say with assurance: as powerful as they may be, they are really not all that different from us beyond the scope of the challenges in which they feel comfortable attempting. It is not a difference of kind, but rather of degree.”
Sennefer snorted. “I would argue the very opposite! We do not shade toward divinity; either you have divine blood, or you don’t.”
“But the blood is irrelevant,” said Annara, figuring it out as she spoke. “The men and women who carry it in their veins are not that different than you or I.” She paused. “Well, perhaps they are when their gods are alive and well. But Kish, Sisu - two other godsbloods I’ve travelled with - are one or two steps removed from their divine fathers and mothers, and they’re just like regular people. Well, Sisu isn’t normal, but Kish is.”
Sennefer was frowning at her.
“My point,” she said, struggling on, “is that divine blood grants you powers, yes, but it’s just a different form of authority. Is Queen Nethena truly different in a factual, measurable way from any other woman? No. But she is treated differently due to her station, and acts differently because she knows so much more is permissible. The station makes her queen; she, the woman, does not make her station. The same with divinity. Being descended from a god accords you the kind of respect and opens the world to the kind of behavior that allows them to seem apart from us, when in truth…” She pictured Acharsis’ lazy smile. “In truth, they’re just like us.”
“An interesting point of view,” sniffed Sennefer. “Different, to be sure. But not one that I think the Kusuji would be open to.”
“I hadn’t planned to explain my desires to them in such fashion.”
“No? Good. Then how exactly were you intending to phrase it?”
Annara looked down at her hands. “I’m not sure yet. Perhaps you can tell more of them. The more I learn, the better equipped I’ll be to negotiate.”
“Very well,” sighed Sennefer, making himself more comfortable. “Why not begin with when Kusuj was first recognized as a polity, nearly three hundred years ago? Of course, back then, they were little more than tribes people and nomads…”
* * *
They ran into the first Kusuji patrol five days later. A lone figure standing atop a distant ridge was all the warning they received that they were being watched, and even as Annara spotted him by following the direction of Wehemka’s pointed finger the figure stepped back and out of sight.
“Not long now,” said Wehemka, turning to regard his five men. “Be ready.”
“And don’t forget,” began Annara.
“- that we are not to fight unless given no other recourse,” said Wehemka with a smile. “Yes, Lady Annara. You have made this abundantly clear.
“Yes,” said Annara, smiling apologetically to the captain. “Thank you.”
They were in hill country by then, following a goat path that wound its way amongst the sandy slopes as if trod by dream sick animals, looping and doubling back seeming without purpose. Yet upon turning the flank of a hill two hours later, Annara caught her breath at the sight of the group awaiting them in the center of the path.
There were just two men. Both dark skinned, both as immobile as if carved from teak, impossibly slender spears propped against their shoulders to rise to nearly double their height in the arid air. One man’s hair was grizzled to an iron gray, the other’s yet jet black, but the resemblance was such that Annara knew them to be related.
Sennefer raised both hands and called out to them in Kusuj.
The two men didn’t respond, instead taking their time to study them up close, and only then did the younger speak up, his tone confident and clipped.
“He asks your name and intention here in Kusuji land,” said Sennefer. “Though I’ll point out we are still with Maganian borders, so he is being purposefully provocative.”
Annara kept her shoulders thrust back, her chin raised, and decided on impulse to address the elder of the two strangers. “Tell them I am Lady Annara, mother of the pharaoh elect, originally of the River Cities and devotee of the war goddess Scythia. Tell him I have journeyed far across Magan to meet with him, and share words.”
Sennefer’s words caused the youth to raise his eyebrows in skeptical surprise, but the elder man remained impassive.
A response, and Sennefer translated. “He doubts your word. The mother of the pharaoh is Queen Nethena. She would not travel without a hundred soldiers and five hundred slaves. He warns you not to lie again.”
Annara forced herself to remain unperturbed. “Tell him the pharaoh’s true identity is that of Elu, son of Acharsis, a godsblood of the River Cities. That he passed the Quickening under the guise of the name Senacherib, but that has not been accepted by the Maganian court. I have come to forge an alliance, and have traveled quickly and lightly both due to urgency and a desire to place myself in your hands so as to engender trust.”
Again an exchange.
“He says words are worthless. He recognizes Wehemka’s uniform and that of his men as royal guards, which is why they did not immediately attack. But your claims are wild and dangerous, and you must prove them before they are to be believed.”
All the while the elder of the two men watched Annara, his eyes liquid and impossible to read.
“Ask him what would convince him? Royal seals? I have those. Gold? I have those, too. But he knows as well as I they could be stolen. No. Tell him to gaze upon me and call me a liar to my face. Tell him to stare in my eyes, for he will see the truth in their depths.”
Sennefer spoke, and the younger of the two men moved forward to stand before Annara’s horse, gazing up at her with narrowed eyes. Annara returned his gaze with equanimity, feeling something akin to peace now that the dice were cast. There was no going back now. If they should all die here, on this sandy shoulder of a hill, then so be it. She would die knowing she had tried to move heaven and earth for her son, and failed. And though she failed, she would die content.
Annara didn’t know for how long they stared at each other, but finally the young man grunted and stepped aside. The elder stepped forward, and took hold of her mount’s bridle in a gentle manner. He spoke, voice soft, barely audible, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Sennefer lean forward to catch his words.
“The elder asks by what authority you offer an alliance with the Kusuji, who are the traditional enemies of Magan.”
Had she passed the first hurdle? Was he merely testing her further?
“I am the mother of Elu, known as Senacherib, and am seeking to save his life. If Kusuj plays a role in that endeavor, then they will have a grateful, foreign pharaoh with whom to contend. Elu and I will demonstrate our gratitude by opening new relations with Kusuj. And if the royal court of Magan dislike our terms, then they can go burn.”
The younger man laughed, a bright bark of sound, but the elder remained solemn. He considered her, turning his head slightly from side to side as if examining the different angles of her skull, and then released her horse.
“What is it you ask for?” interpreted Sennefer. “What is you desire of Kusuj?”
“Before we talk terms, I would know with whom I spoke,” said Annara. “I have stated my bona fides. What are his?”
At this the older man did smile, a subtle expression, and inclined his head as he spoke.
“He is Talakhamani, a former king of Kusuj, and leader of the Hamani tribe.”
“Former king?” Annara glanced uncertainly at Sennefer.
“Recall? The Kusuj claim that divinity makes them immortal? He would appear to be an adherent of that creed.”
“Greetings, Talakhamani. I do ask for nothing more than the right to walk the Path of Righteousness so as to empower my son. He has been forced to accept a regent, and will no doubt be assassinated before being confirmed as pharaoh in full. My divinity will flow to him, and remove all opposition to his reign.”
Despite herself, Annara felt prickles of sweat bead upon her brow. This was it. Her heart was a hummingbird trapped within her chest. Yet she sought to betray nothing, reveal nothing of her anxiety.
All the while Talakhamani watched her, his eyes fathomless, dolorous, treacherously kind. Again his son gave a bark of laughter at Sennefer’s translation, but not even the ghost of a smile crossed the elder’s lips.
Silence. A lonesome wind blew along the goat trail, scouring them briefly with stinging dust, causing the horses to stamp and snort and turn away.
Talakhamani watched her without narrowing his eyes.
Annara forced herself to meet his gaze though her eyes watered and burned.
Finally, the elder spoke, and at length. What began in a forthright matter ended with sadness. When he finished, Sennefer bobbed his head and turned to her.
“Those whom Amubastis deems unworthy never return from walking the Path. Therefore, your worthiness is not his concern; that is a matter for the lamassu to judge. Rather, he wants to discuss the particulars with Annara the mortal before she becomes Annara the divine. He wants your oath that whatever you agree on now in terms of alliances, favorable trade negotiations and boundary disputes shall be upheld by your future divine self, though - well.”
“Though what?” asked Annara.
“He honestly does not think you will survive the attempt. Out of courtesy, he promises to escort the rest of your party back to Maganian lands, and do us no harm.”
Annara’s heart skipped a beat. “Please tell him I thank him for his consideration, and am happy to discuss terms in as much detail as he desires. But let him know I have run out of time in which to effect my apotheosis; ask him how far away the Path lies, and whether we can begin journeying toward it if it is not near?”
They conversed briefly, and then Sennefer nodded. “The Path is three day’s travel from where we stand. We can travel there during the day, and negotiate at night.”
Annara closed her eyes. Three days. One too many. Would Elu wait? Would he survive that long? And even if she passed this trial, how would she then cover a distance of eight days’ travel to return to him?
A deep breath as she pushed her panic and anxiety aside. A second deep breath as she shouldered her new fears. A third as she waited to see if she would hold, and then she opened her eyes and bowed her head to the Talakhamani.
“Please tell his majesty that this is agreeable, and that I thank him from the depths of my heart.”
The elder man did not need those words translated. He bowed shallowly, eyes never leaving her own, and then raised his hand.
Commotion along the hill tops. Over a hundred men with spears and tall shields rose into view, some seeming to simply materialize in plain sight upon the very hill sides. Talakhamani’s smile was broad, his teeth almost startlingly white.
“Come then,” he said, his River Cities common perfect but for his strange accent. “Let us ask Mother Amubastis as to the composition of your soul.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sisu approached the ziggurat complex with a thrilling mixture of terror and elation. To be so close to his home, his old center of power, it was beyond invigorating. Intoxicating. The others couldn’t imagine. Lost as they were, bereft of their gods, they were pale shadows of the demigods they had once been.
For Sisu, though? The future was wide open and paved with the gilded skulls of his future enemies.
He slowed as he drew closer to the outer walls. It would be a small matter to force entrance, to snap his fingers and command the undead, to stride in, clothed in power and demanding the respect that was his due. But that would be short lived. Enough priests and Seekers could undo him, not to mention his mother.
Sucking on his teeth, Sisu stopped altogether, hands on his hips, and gazed over the walls at where the apex of the great ziggurat rose into view. The temple at its height where even from here he could sense Nekuul’s presence. Could she sense him in turn? Undoubtedly. But she wouldn’t warn his mother. At least, she hadn’t yet. Why would she change now?
But how to gain entrance? A manner subtle and insidious, something that even Acharsis would never think of? Sisu eyed the constant stream of supplicants presenting themselves to the guards, the undead moving by in their guided patrols. Emulate a leech? Not as easy as it looked; he didn’t know the latest passcodes, was without his own amulet. He could perhaps bluster his way through the gates, but to then enter the ziggurat proper… no.
Something else.
He was too striking a specimen of his sex to simply stand there for
long without drawing admiring glances, so he decided to circle the walls, waiting for inspiration to strike him. Ducking his head, pulling his hood forward, he slouched along, suddenly irritable and anxious. To skulk! So beneath him. Irella would fall, and then all of this, all of the River Cities, would be his.
Well.
If Acharsis and Jarek didn’t mind too much. At least, there’d be some deliberations. Concessions would have to be made. Irella’s power would pass on to him, making Sisu a force to be catered to. No more jokes at his expense then! Oh no. The smirks would fall away, and he’d see real fear in their eyes, even Kish would stop teasing him…
Sisu thought of Ishi then, the old lady who’d taken him when he’d fled his home for Rekkidu. A former high priestess of Ninsaba, she’d devoted the last years of her life to taking care of the few godsblood she could find, Kish and him being amongst their number.
He thought of Ishi’s kind, worn face, her bright eyes, her every attempt to foster a sense of brother and sisterly love between him and Kish, and sighed. Fine. Perhaps he wouldn’t crush the wills of his friends beneath his iron-clad heel. Perhaps he’d be more generous. Yes. True power lay in restraint, did it not? Actually, no, it probably didn’t. But there was something to be said for mercy. And gratitude was more his style these days then fear. Or perhaps a mix -
A couple of corpses shuffled by, carrying a third body between them. A fresh death; the body was wrapped in a threadbare linen blanket, still limp. Sisu stopped and watched. The ambulatory corpses were twin purple flames in his mind’s eye, animated by a sliver of Nekuul’s might. Taking their find into the complex? Yes. Toward that slender doorway. Four guards.
Sisu watched. A corpse gate. The dead of Uros would be collected in such fashion and brought back to be animated and sent out. Of course. How simple!
Sisu laughed, restrained the urge to clap his hands, and instead moved back, around the corner and out of sight, to wait the next couple of undead.
They appeared ten minutes or so later, carrying another corpse. It was a simple matter to reach out to them and take over their wills; child’s play, really. He forced them to drop the body and approach him.