by Phil Tucker
That checked Nethena’s approach. The Queen Mother stopped as if she’d run into a wall of glass. Hesitated, waiting to see if the lamassu would speak on. When it was clear he wouldn’t, she licked her upper lip slowly, considering. “The Kusuji ceremony? Interesting. But that is a rite from another land. Are you saying it is pertinent to us here in Magan, my lord?”
The lamassu remained quiet, and Annara knew in that instant it had said all that it would say.
The rest now was up to her.
“I have walked the Path of Righteousness, which the pharaohs of old did once walk in proof of their humility so as to learn the meaning of servitude to the people -”
“But you are not the pharaoh,” hissed Nethena.
“And that divinity, such as it may be, passed through me to my son, Elu, stylized as Senacherib. Recognized by the lamassu, he now no longer needs a regent -”
“A rite which does not pertain to Maganian royalty,” said Nethena, pitching her voice to carry. “A rite of heathen pharaohs who ruled over us as despots, failing to pass the Quickening -”
“Which Elu has also passed! Nobody else here can make that claim, either to the Quickening or having earned divinity through royal lineage through the Path -”
“He is not of royal blood!” Nethena fairly spat. “He is not my son! Senacherib is dead! Elu is but a common imposter, a liar, a cheat, who should never have walked the Quickening, never been given the opportunity, and as such his passing of that trial is rendered null and void -”
“Are you a lamassu, that you dare override their own judgement?” Annara pointed at the queen. “They all recognized Elu’s right to both undertake the Quickening and then recognized his passing by presenting him to the people of Magan! Dare you say them wrong!”
Nethena hesitated, glanced to the impassive lamassu, and then smiled. “They recognized his having passed the Quickening. Yet the right to choose the candidates in the first place by tradition belongs to the nobility of Magan. We chose Elu believing him to be someone else. We therefore withdraw that submission, and in so doing invalidate his right to have walked the Quickening.”
The entire square grew hushed as everybody turned to stare at the lamassu. Would he speak? Intervene? Would he blast the queen for blasphemy where she stood?
The lamassu gazed down upon Nethena with burnished eyes but did not move.
The crowd exhaled, as if in sorrow or wonder.
Nethena’s smile was as cold as it was victorious. “As such, he is to be consigned to his quarters until we decide how best to deal with his insult to Maganian sovereignty, and shall proceed with the execution of his false regent so as to clear the way for the appointment of a royal vizier who shall rule during the interregnum.”
“Bold,” said Annara. “I have to give you that, Nethena. You’re no coward. But you are also no ruler. I would dare you to walk the Path of Righteousness yourself, but know you would rather die than risk facing the judgement of true divinity.”
Nethena sneered. “You hide behind heretical rites. I see no need to acknowledge them nor you. Guards. Seize her.”
A gasp was torn from the hundreds of throats. Annara could sense their disbelief; she stood beside the lamassu itself. Had been born here on its back. To arrest her - was that not an insult to their god?
Who remained still, watching, inscrutable and immobile.
“Guards!” Nethena’s voice was imperious. “Bring her down, now!”
Still nobody moved.
Annara extended her arms, drawing all eyes to her.
“I am Annara of Eruk. No divine blood flows through my veins. I was once a devotee of Scythia, a foreign goddess, but she is dead and sleeps in the underworld. I am a common woman, like yourselves. But I have walked the Path of Righteousness, which once the pharaoh’s of Magan walked so as to prove themselves worthy of the mantle. For back then, they styled themselves not as rulers, but first among servants.”
“Enough! Seize her!” Nethena was shaking with fury, glaring at the guards, but they however stared up at Annara.
“I walked the Path. And I can tell you this, I walked it so as to become divine and protect Elu, my son. I did this out of love. But halfway along that roseate path I stopped and fell to my knees. For I understood that I was not worthy of divine blood. I could not take upon my shoulders the responsibility that any true divine servant must. I did not have the hubris to think myself worthy of being divine, and for that, I was spared. Amubastis allowed me to survive and return here, blessed not with power but humility. The lamassu himself has agreed with this verdict, and bore me here upon his back. He stands by my side, not to reinforce my right to rule, but to underscore the meaning of what I did. What I accomplished. That I am now no longer of Eruk, but of Magan. That I return not as a divine ruler, but as a mortal servant, and with your blessing, people of Magan, would ask that we return to the old ways. Where the pharaoh - my son, Elu - would in turn walk the Path of Righteousness as well as pass the Quickening. Where he would rule with your interests in mind, where he would be the first amongst servants, as it was, as it should always be.”
“Blasphemy!” Nethena’s scream was shocking in its violence. “This is madness! You speak of tradition? Tradition lies with me and mine! I am the Queen Mother, wife of the last true pharaoh, and I say to you my people that this heretic deserves nothing more than a quick death so that we can return the nation to its proper state -”
Annara shook her head. “Magan suffers just as the River Cities do. The crops fail. Poverty is rising. Death comes for us across the Desert of Bones. We cannot return to the past, for that past was failing us. We need to turn to a new future. A future where the people are placed first, and the nobility must bend knee to necessity.”
Nethena’s face grew mottled with outrage, and she turned to Pawura. “Do something! Have her shot down! Kill her! Now!”
Pawura blinked. “But she stands beside the lamassu…”
“The lamassu will do nothing! It never does! It is but a symbol, one which we give meaning! Kill her, and the lamassu will bless us -”
The crowd rumbled.
Nethena stopped, perplexed, and turned to regard the hundreds that ringed the square.
The lamassu rose to its feet, wings extending to beat powerfully once, twice, sending dust devils across the square.
Annara felt a jolt of exhilaration. “She insults the lamassu! She insults the very soul of Magan!”
“No,” cried Nethena. “I misspoke, you don’t understand -”
The crowd began to move forward, closing upon her, voices raised in outrage. “How dare she!” “Queen or no queen, nobody speaks of the lamassu in such manner!” “That insult can only be paid in blood!”
Nethena backed away, but there was nowhere to go. “Pawura! Your men! Order them to encircle me -”
The crowd let out a roar and fell upon her like a wave, sweeping her out of sight in a storm of fists and yells.
Her death was as quick as it was bloody.
Annara watched and felt little more than a twinge of horror. To her surprise, however, the crowd did not grow in its madness; instead, the deed done, the hundreds turned to regard the lamassu. They fell to their knees as five or six men carried Nethena’s broken body forward and laid it before the pedestal, and there knelt in turn.
The lamassu folded its wings and bowed its head.
“People of Magan,” said Annara, voice cracking. “You have done justice. A new age is upon us. A time of greater unity and strength.”
She gazed out over the kneeling hundreds that spread out across the square and into the mouth of each avenue and road. At those who knelt on balconies, on the docks, even on the decks of the closest ships.
She had walked the Path of Righteousness and renounced the right to rule. Yet somehow the people were bowing to her.
“We have much work to do! Wounds to heal, bridges to rebuild, and most importantly, an army to crush. First, free Regent Pebekkamen.”
Gua
rds lifted Pebekkamen to his feet, cut his bonds and removed the gag from around his mouth. He gazed up at her, rubbing his wrists, and then bowed his head.
“What does Lady Annara wish of the regent of Magan?”
“Regent Pebekkamen.” Annara found that her voice carried easily upon the night air. With hundreds if not thousands watching her, she extended her hand to where he stood on the platform. “Please confine General Pawura to his quarters. Have the Queen Mother’s remains returned to her rooms and prepared for burial. But most importantly, send word to Pharaoh Elu that the lamassu awaits his presence, as does his mother and the people of Magan.”
Pebekkamen grinned, a roguish smile that was all teeth, and bowed low. “As you command, Lady Annara. Guards!”
The square exploded into a frenzy of activity as people rose to their feet, still awed by the lamassu’s continued presence but unable to refrain from speaking loudly with each other, clutching at their heads, pointing and marveling as Nethena’s body was draped in white cloth and carried away, as Pawura was escorted back to the barracks, and as guards prostrated themselves to the regent whom but minutes ago they had sought to execute.
Annara was glad for the height on which she stood, for it insulated her against the desires and questions of those who would have mobbed her otherwise, demanding answers she didn’t have. Instead, she looked up to the lamassu’s great visage. “And?”
The lamassu’s unperturbable face cracked into a smile. “Were I one to judge, I would say: well done, Annara of Magan.”
The words were a benediction she hadn’t known she needed. Annara closed her eyes as relief coursed through her, feeling her knees go weak for but a moment. Almost she steadied herself by placing a hand on the lamassu’s flank, but at the last caught herself; how heretical would that have been?
Twenty minutes later the square cleared as guards entered in two orderly columns, opening a path down which Elu strode, his whole body vibrating with fury, his hands balled into fists, his eyes flashing as he gazed about if seeking a target for his wrath.
When he saw Annara up beside the lamassu he stopped. “Lady Annara?”
“My son,” said Annara, loudly, and her eyes teared up at the words, her heart beating powerfully. And her reserve cracked, her control slipped, so that she couldn’t help but beam down at him.
“…son?” He blinked, taken aback, and then grinned. It was a smile of such pleasure, such joy, that Annara felt her heart crack and her eyes teared up once more.
“Pharaoh Elu,” rumbled the lamassu, and his voice silenced the crowd, seemed to press down with such utter authority on every upturned face that there could be no doubt as to the authenticity of the pharaoh’s true identity. “Be welcome. Your mother is a woman of the ages.”
“That she is,” said Elu, moving forward to grin up at her, hands on his hips, and in that moment Annara saw Acharsis dwelling within her son’s face, saw the similarity so that it stole her breath away.
Pebekkamen moved up beside Elu and bowed low. “Pharaoh, may I, ah, relinquish my title as regent? Please?”
Elu laughed, turning to the large man and raising a hand. “I hereby do relieve you of the title and post of regent, and do promote you to that of general in Pawura’s place. You have done well, general, and Magan is proud of its son.”
Pebekkamen was clearly taken aback but recovered with a jovial grin and bowed even deeper. “My thanks, pharaoh!”
Elu turned to look back up at Annara. “The Queen Mother?”
“Dead,” said Annara, and to her surprise the words tasted bitter on her lips. “She insulted the lamassu. Failed to understand their true role in the center of Magan’s heart. She was dealt justice by the people.”
Elu nodded somberly. “Has Ahktena been sent for?”
Annara raised an eyebrow. “She is also being held in her quarters?”
Elu’s nodded with obvious pride. “She defied her mother. Refused to leave my side. Guards! Ask Princess Ahktena to join me here in the square. Immediately!”
Two men snapped out rapid salutes and ran down the length of the path that had been cleared in the center of the crowded square.
“You’re late, mother,” said Elu, turning back to her. His grin was teasing. “You said you’d be back yesterday.”
“I know,” she said, and wanted to laugh. Wanted to cry. Wanted more than anything to rest, to hold her son, to step out of everyone’s line of sight. “I -”
The lamassu suddenly rose up on its rear legs, wings extending to blot out the moon and stars, burnished eyes widening with an alarm that struck mortal terror into her heart. Never had she seen the god so provoked. If she didn’t know better, she’d guess the god was afraid.
“Lord?” Her voice quavered. “What is it?”
The lamassu stared off to the east, toward the dark horizon, its whole body straining as if it fought the urge to leap into the sky. “Danger,” it rumbled. “A danger enters the world such as I never felt before. Prepare yourselves, my children. The end might be upon us.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Acharsis ducked his head as he was thrown into the holding chamber; the lintel was low and he had the distinct impression that the Death Watch guard would have loved to watch him crack his brow upon it. As a result, he stumbled into the large chamber, nearly tripping and going down on all fours. With heroic effort he kept his balance, staggered aside as if doing an inebriated dance step, and then turned to watch Jarek be thrust in after him.
“Kish?” Jarek stared about the dark room with desperate hope, and then his shoulders sagged. “Damn it.”
The room was small and banded with glowing green runes that Acharsis recognized from the ziggurat in Rekkidu - mystical runes that suppressed a godsblood’s powers. Not that they had much to draw on as it was.
“No chair. No beer. Not even a cushion. Positively barbaric,” he said, rubbing at his stump where the guards had tried with increasing anger to make the manacle stick. “I won’t be recommending this place to my friends.”
“How can you laugh even now?” Jarek turned upon him, face grieved, eyes wounded holes to his soul. “We’ve lost, Acharsis! Sisu is taken. Kishtar missing. We’re hours from being sacrificed to further Irella’s mad schemes. And still you jest?”
Acharsis did his best to control his roiling emotions. Despite his victory, despite how well everything had gone, he felt assaulted, some deep, untouchable part of him poisoned with outrage. “I’m not dead till I can’t tell a joke,” said Acharsis. “Speaking of which, did you hear the one about—”
“Acharsis!”
“Very well! Fine. Yes. I have a secret and very cunning plan. It’s what’s keeping me in good cheer.”
I’m content, Acharsis. Something a restless bastard like you will never understand. The words seared him as he heard Istrikar’s voice once more. Damn that man!
“You do?” Jarek took a step closer. “Thank Alok. I’d hoped - but couldn’t guess what it could be. Something to do with the rotten apple?”
“No, alas. That ploy failed.” Acharsis lowered himself carefully to the stone floor, hissing and wincing as his many wounds tugged at him. “A brave plan, but we can’t count on it now. No. I put into effect a second and - dare I say it - nefarious stratagem that I believe will see everything work out quite well in our favor.”
Jarek settled his shoulders. “Don’t make me beat it out of you.”
“Barbarism, wherever I look. What’s a man of refinement to do?”
“He’s to tell me at once what his plan is, is what.”
“Very well. You recall our encounter with Irella, not moments ago?”
Her image flashed before his eyes once more. For some reason he’d been profoundly shocked at how much she’d aged. Had - unreasonably, stupidly - expected her to be as young as the vision Sumala had vouchsafed him in the grove high atop the God’s Mountain. To see her hair grayed, her face wrinkled, to realize that his great opponent, his wondrous foe, the epitome of eve
rything he’d feared and hated and desired all this time had bowed her head to time just as he had - it had stolen his breath away, hurt something deep within him.
Jarek was clenching his jaw and fists with exasperation. Clearly not a good sign.
“Yes, yes, all right, the quick version. Recall that I summoned Anscythia, our delightful ally, and bid her do as I’d commanded?”
“Yes. She attacked Irella and failed.”
“She failed to harm Irella, true, but that wasn’t her command. What I’d ordered her to do was to switch my blood for Irella’s in the chalice.”
Jarek blinked, stunned, and then shook his head as if trying to clear it of an annoying buzzing sound. “You what?”
Acharsis grinned, went to interlace his fingers behind his head and scowled at his one hand. “Yes! The problem with people like Irella - and you and me, to be honest - is that we think everything’s about us. Didn’t Irella say something to that effect? She didn’t anticipate my command being about anything else. Ironic, really. Recall how Anscythia asserted she could move blood back and forth? Sisu even thought of having the blood removed altogether. But what use that? No. So I went one step further. I had her blood swapped for mine.”
“Which means…” said Jarek.
“Which means when the ritual goes off, the power that is meant to open the gate to the netherworld will instead pour into my own blood.”
“Which is that of Ekillos…” whispered Jarek.
“And which will no doubt rouse my father from his deep slumber, causing him to come roaring up from the depths of Nekuul’s realm to come to our aid. Irella will be faced with an enraged god, and then shall we have our vengeance.”
“Acharsis…” Jarek shook his head with wonder. “That’s…”
“Brilliant? Sly? Cunning beyond belief? I’m a genius, a paragon of subtlety and duplicity? Yes, yes, and yes.”
Restless bastard.
Jarek fell into a squat, clutching at the sides of his head as he stared out into his own thoughts, marveling. “So this sacrifice - you’ll be able to undo it?”