The Ravens of Death (Tsun-Tsun TzimTzum Book 4)

by Mike Truk

  Ementina rushed forward to the leader of this new group and seized her arm. “Assana, save me - the men wish to drive me screaming into the sea with their jokes.”

  “There is no saving any of us,” said the other, a tall, raven-haired woman with a stern visage and subtle smile. “But we’ve brought food to soften the blows of their company. Come. Let us feed them, wait for them to fall asleep, then roll them snoring off the cliffs.”

  “A good idea,” said Ementina. “Set your dishes on the side table there.”

  The courtyard filled with people, the men and women not failing for a moment to trade jibes, everybody seeming to know everyone else by name. In a matter of moments, more chairs were brought forth, a second table wrestled through a window, tablecloths brought from a wicker basket, and bottles uncorked. Soon a party was underway, with the women crammed around the tables and the men mostly standing against the walls. Everyone with a plate in hand, the aroma of a dozen dishes competing with that of the flowers to fill the air with a heady scent.

  I had to admit, it was delightful. For too long I’d labored in darkness against terrible odds, slogging across Ghogiel’s dusty plains or skulking through Tagimron’s dank bowels. To see such animation, to hear cries of feigned shock or the raucous laughter of the women as they dressed down this man or that, to be surrounded by such vivid color, to plates of food and cups of wine pressed into my hand, and best yet, to simply be part of this celebration - it eased a part of my soul that had grown thin and worn, that had longed for such company, for such joy, for a taste of normalcy and life.

  Valeria somehow got herself wrangled into an eating competition with Vassos, a prodigiously fat smith whose gleaming curls soon matched his greasy cheeks. Imogen found herself a perch on a windowsill and there sat sipping her wine, drinking in the festivities with as much appreciation as I felt, her feet drumming gently on the wall.

  Brielle emerged a moment later to general acclaim from all the men. One among them, a boisterous, handsome fellow with skin tanned a dark leathery brown from a life spent on the sea, went down on one knee. Arms spread wide, he proclaimed, “It is Virginalia, the goddess of foam and delight, come to bless us with our presence! Where have you been these long years, sweet goddess, and how best may we worship your beauty?”

  Brielle looked down her nose at the man with such icy contempt that the seated women crowed with laughter. Such was the power of Brielle’s stare - the man wilted before her, arms drooping, smile growing forced. At last, the other men came forward to grasp and drag him away, laughing and smacking his back and chest as they thrust a cup of wine into his hand.

  “My apologies,” said a buxom lady with a marked gap between her front teeth, her brown curly hair bound back by a brightly colored scarf. “Rerarkos has been dropped on his head too many times to count, and his mind - well.”

  “Dropped on my head?” Rerarkos pulled free from the hold of the other men. “More like I have been beaten upon the crown of my head by your saucepan, Vishatta, and most often while I lie sleeping, innocent as a babe!”

  “Finally, we agree on something, dear husband: you are in almost every way a baby.”

  The men let out howls of laughter; the women wiggled their fingers before their mouths in a way that I was learning indicated high approval and amusement. Rerarkos threw up his arms to turn back to his drink.

  “What are we celebrating?” asked Brielle, taking an offered plate with a gracious bow of her head before turning to me.

  “The first warden is gone,” said Khandros, voice made bold by wine. “Elleria is a free city once more! The fools thought that only three Morathi were needed to keep us in line, but now, ah! They will see the error of their ways.”

  “We shall be the fools if we think they’ll leave us alone,” said Ementina, tone dark. “Let us not get ahead of ourselves. Khalistria yet reigns in Argossy, and she needs but send her black arks to darken our harbor. Then all will be as before.”

  “Or worse,” said Markos, setting a chicken bone down on his plate. “How do you think she will react to this turn of events? What message will this send to the other islands if she doesn’t crush us completely?”

  “Exactly,” said Ementina. She clearly had authority within the group; the other women deferred to her, and even the most boisterous of the men grew quiet. “We have done nothing here today. It is the Savior who has killed the wardens, and it is his presence that saw the other run away. Come dawn tomorrow he shall sail from our shores, and we shall be left with - what? Old blades held by old men?”

  “Come, wife,” said Khandros reprovingly. “This is a moment to celebrate! We have labored too long under their lash -”

  “And we shall be given reason to long for those days when they come back wielding their blades,” said Ementina, tone sharp. She then turned to me. “What will you do next, Savior? Will you take responsibility for the chaos you have sown?”

  “I will,” I said, stepping forward. “We journey to Argossy. There I shall kill Khalistria and scatter her forces before moving on to the next realm.”

  Mutters greeted my pronouncement, and more than one local refused to meet my eyes.

  “Fie on you all!” said Khandros. “Where is your faith? He is the final Savior. You saw what he and his companions did to Verlech and that pervert, Mohebeth.”

  “Those were two wardens,” said Markos gravely. “There are thirty on Argossy alone.”

  “We don’t need to fight them all,” I said. “Just Khalistria. Her death will throw their numbers into turmoil.”

  “Just Khalistria,” said Ementina mockingly. “What do you know of her, Savior?”

  “That she is a child of Lilith’s,” I said, “and thus must die.”

  “Ha! Savior he may be, but he is a man like the rest of you.”

  “Perhaps,” said Brielle, her lazy drawl cutting through the hubbub like a knife, “you could tell us what to expect instead of mocking our ignorance.”

  “Khalistria - where to begin?” Khandros turned to his compatriots for support. “She is…”

  “Deadly,” said Senca.

  “A wielder of great magics,” said Rerarkos.

  “Undefeated in battle,” finished another, a dour man who’d not joined in the revelry, but remained quiet at the back of the group. He moved forward now, and the others gave way.

  He was tall, his face somber; a vertical scar ran from his brow down the length of his cheek, a pale mark against his otherwise dark skin. “None of the previous Saviors fought her. All found a means to escape her wrath and pass through her portal.”

  “Even Pelleas?” asked Imogen.

  “Even Pelleas the Golden,” said the scarred man. “Pelleas. Jevenna. Obui. One by one they came through our islands, and each in turn found a way to trick Khalistria and lure her away from her temple. Pelleas started a great battle in the harbor, lured her down with her wardens, then slipped past her and away. Jevenna allowed herself to be captured, to be tortured further, and then - somehow - slipped her bonds and disappeared. And Obui presented himself at her court and beguiled her with his magics and charms.”

  “Sounds like we’ll have to be equally cunning,” said Brielle. “That shouldn’t present a problem.”

  “Not for you, perhaps,” said Ementina. “But for us? If you slip through her fingers like smoke, you will leave her might unchallenged, her hammer poised to come crashing down upon our town in payment for our defiance.”

  “That is true,” said Khandros. “We lost an entire generation of young men when Pelleas abandoned us in the harbor. Each was either killed in that battle or hunted down in the years that followed. All were slain.”

  “Then we’ll kill Khalistria as planned,” I said.

  But Khandros merely shook his head with doubt.

  “We’ve fought hard battles before,” I said. “And won through every time.”

  “Khalistria…” Khandros scratched at his beard. “She is not human.”

  “We’ve fought
shoxar,” I said. “Killed ur-grouths and more. Won’t be a problem.”

  “Why?” asked Brielle. “Is she a dragon or something?”

  The men exchanged dark looks, and for a moment my heart seized up. Don’t let her be a fucking dragon, I thought. Just - just - no.

  “Not a dragon,” allowed Khandros, “but a naga.” He said the word as if it were an insult being hurled into the teeth of his enemy. “A sorceress of terrible power. Six arms, she has, and a mane of snakes falls from her head. Her eyes can pierce the darkest night, and it is said she can swim beneath the waves for days without needing to come up for air.”

  “Naga,” breathed Imogen. “A nagathronessa, here in the flesh?”

  “You know of them?” I asked, turning to where she sat in the window.

  “Legends, only. They come from a world that is all abyss, all falling darkness and fell magic. It isn’t even a world - more a state of perdition. They serve Lilith, but not as slaves. They are her duchesses, and along with the betheliim are counted as her most powerful followers.”

  “Great,” said Valeria darkly.

  “And Rerarkos is correct,” continued Imogen. “Though they are terrible in battle and are said to be able to freeze a person by merely looking at them, they are infamous for their mastery of Hexenmagic. For variations and spells that reflect their strength and long studies. There is no telling what she can is capable of.”

  “Pelleas got past her,” I said. “Obui and Jevenna as well. She’s not infallible.”

  “No. I don’t think anybody said that,” agreed Imogen. “But while she might be bypassed, I don’t know how we’d actually kill her.”

  Imogen’s words hung in the air like a death sentence handed down from a hanging judge. Bees buzzed overhead in the silence, and somewhere a bird trilled a sweet song.

  “One step at a time,” I said. “That’s all we can do. First, we must get to Argossy. Then we’ll scout and develop a plan.”

  “Just as you did at Mrakina’s?” asked Ementina, crossing her arms.

  “Woman,” said Khandros.

  “Don’t you ‘woman’ me,” said his wife. “This is no game. He’s risking our lives, our home.”

  I spread my hands. “Something tells me there’s nothing I can say that will placate you. So be it. I’m the Savior, and I will do my very best. But I learned on Ghogiel to never forget my true goal, which is to win this war, and not every battle that comes my way. For that, you have my apologies. I will do everything I can to protect Elleria and your family, Ementina, so long as it does not conflict with my chances of destroying our true foe.”

  As if puffed out by invisible breath, the defiant light within Ementina’s eyes blew out. She sat once more, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. “I understand, Noah. Of course.”

  Khandros moved to stand by her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We can only do my best.”

  “In this world we live in?” Ementina’s voice was bleak. “That is seldom good enough.”

  For a moment, an awkward silence lay over the gathering, then Brielle set aside her plate and stepped forth.

  “Think on this, and take comfort: within a month, perhaps a little less, or a little more, we shall meet with Lilith and either defeat her or be defeated in turn. If we win? Then Khalistria will no doubt flee if she still lives, and the power structures that oppress you here shall fall apart. If we lose?” Her smile was mirthless. “Then the whole universe will fall under Lilith’s shadow, as Kether becomes Thaumiel and all hope is extinguished. What will it matter then if Khalistria rules in Argossy? Not a whit.”

  The men and women gaped at her, taken aback by the lightness of her tone.

  “So, you have one month in which to endure,” she said. “And then, one way or another, your troubles will be ended. One month, give or take. Can you do that much, people of Elleria? Can you hold fast while we risk everything we are in a final confrontation with the universe’s greatest evil? And, why yes, that’s a rhetorical question. Because you have no choice in the matter, just like us.”

  All nodded. Faces were clouded by concern, brows lowered, lips pursed, but I saw in their expressions a grim acceptance of the facts.

  Brielle took up her plate, leaned back against the wall, and smiled sweetly at me. “Why don’t you say something comforting, Noah, to bring a little merriment back to this occasion?”

  Khandros snorted, and a few of the men cracked dour smiles.

  “Something comforting. Right. I’ll need a refill of my cup of wine.”

  This was duly done, and I held my cup aloft. “A woman I truly love just taught me this toast, and its words ring truer than ever:

  Between what we shouldn't and that which we aught,

  Lies a perilous life where all is for naught,

  We live and we suffer, and we strive all in vain,

  But for one of your smiles, I'd do it all once again.”

  Cups were clicked together, and everyone drank deep. I turned to regard Valeria and saw her watching me, eyes gleaming, a quiet, private smile on her lips. I raised my cup to her, and she raised hers in turn.

  Then I turned to the assembled gathering and raised a hand. “Now come. We sail at dawn tomorrow. It’s high time we got down to business and discussed our best approach. Who here has been to Argossy, and can tell us what to expect?”

  Markos moved to sit on the corner of a table, resting his cup of wine on his broad thigh. “I have been many times. Listen well, Savior, and I shall tell you what perils await you.”

  Chapter 10

  The next three days were impossibly idyllic. The sky was cloudless and righteous in every direction; the sun caused the waves of the wine-dark sea to glitter as if a million diamonds were scattered across their surface.

  Senca’s trading vessel was a chunky cog, deep-hulled and wide around the waist. A broad, patchwork sail bellied out as she cut close to the wind, tacking from island to island or occasionally cutting straight across the dark stretches of deep water.

  Senca, Khandros, and Karios manned the ship with expert ease, while the rest of us did our best to help in what little ways we could, or simply stayed out of the way.

  Brielle made no attempt to help; she staked out space by the bow and there lay in a luxurious state, drinking in the sun. Her pale, freckled skin slowly darkened; her body glistened with sweat and proved no end of distraction to the sailors.

  The rest of us remained seated along the railing, backs to the sea, tunics growing sodden with spray. When no other boats were in sight, we practiced our wards, delving deep in meditation, or following Imogen’s instructions as we bonded ever more powerfully with our sanskaras.

  Each night we stayed at a different island, pulling into sheltered coves where we dropped the anchor then waded ashore. And the sea - I’d never seen such beautiful, beguiling water, the azure hues so pure they seemed to glow until you got close to the shore itself. There one realized just how unpolluted and crystal clear they were. I spent hours each day simply staring into the depths that rolled by beneath us, catching sight of schools of fish, the occasional shark, and other beguiling wonders.

  We lit fires in hidden caves over which we cooked fish, Karios seasoning them with lemon and rock salt; everything washed down with some of the wine Senca was transporting in the hold of his ship. We’d then explore a little up the cliffs or along the ravines, scrambling along in the dusk to stretch our legs, Imogen checking every so often to ensure we were alone.

  On our last night, we camped on a beach of colored stones hidden within the cupped arms of tall cliffs. There we took turns diving off a high ridge to plunge into the peerless water, knifing down a dozen yards into that impossible blue before swimming back to the surface amidst a storm of bubbles.

  Later, sitting about the campfire, our stomachs full, our features made ruddy by the fire, contented, sunburned, and aware that tomorrow would bring madness, death, and worse - I realized I was impossibly happy.

  The fir
e sent sparks spiraling into the chill night, and the island was dark all about us. Senca’s ship was a shadow lolling on the waves, whose constant whisper as they crashed upon the shore and then withdrew was the only sound to be heard. Hair thickened by sea salt, skin tight and prickly from the same, I felt a deep sense of contentment flow through me. I studied each of my companions’ faces in turn; though there was much to lament, I found that moment infinitely precious, a gem I knew I’d treasure in my heart forever.

  A moment of peace and beauty amid so much chaos, violence, and horror.

  Our plan was to sail slowly to the rear of Argos, the great island on which the capital was built, and there, under cover of night, put to shore in a smuggler’s cove that Markos had told us about. It would be a perilous maneuver due to the fast-flowing current that ran along the southern shore, but we couldn’t risk being detected by lookouts who Khalistria would no doubt have posted in anticipation of our arrival.

  “And this first warden from Elleria?” Emma asked. “Won’t she detect us, warn Khalistria of our approach?”

  “No,” Khandros replied. “It is well-known that her ability to perceive others does not function over water. Once you are ashore, yes, it will be a peril. But our approach will be beyond her talents.”

  “And how will we enter the city?” I asked. “Won’t we stick out like a sore thumb to the guards?”

  Khandros hesitated. “That will be dangerous. But I have come up with a story that should suffice. You are all off-worlders come to trade, and I will have taken you on a tour of Argos’ villages and vineyards. We will be returning to Argossy so that you may go home and deliberate a trade deal.”

  “It’s that common to have off-worlders walking around?” asked Brielle, the fire dancing in her eyes.

  Khandros shrugged. “Anywhere else? No. But in Argossy itself? Conceivable. We will say you came with the Druach, and if the guard asks too many questions, bribe them with some coin to stay silent.”