Irene hinted with a smile that this was all due to some miracle called “science.” Keren did not understand this, but was in awe all the same. Especially since the Necrow did not get to participate, and instead had to sit and wait in the entry hall while its cloak was washed.
Keren discarded the filthy borrowed shirt and trousers for good, and instead was given lightly used clothes from their eldest daughter who no longer lived with them. The fabric was lightweight and smooth; like silk, but different. Irene said it was called “cotton”. Yet another marvel! The dyes used in the cloth were brilliant to the eye, and Keren felt as if she wore a painted garden full of lilac, honeysuckle and jasmine hues. She felt almost human again.
That night they gathered around the dining table for supper – a rare occasion, Mr. and Mrs. Periecho said, since separate interests usually occupied them at mealtimes. This was the first excuse for a communal supper they’d had in a long while (Keren found this perplexing, to say the least, but thought better not to speak of it). The meal was the finest she’d had in – actually, she had never had a meal this good! The citizens of Xiramin traded with many parts of the world Keren had never heard of, and could afford a wide variety of spices, vegetables, fruits, fish and fowl.
Akar refused all food and drink, as usual. Whereas rejection of such hospitality would be a grave offense in Keren’s village, these people did not seem to mind in the least.
“Everyone has their own tastes,” Irene said soothingly. “It is not for us to judge if you choose not to accept our gifts.”
This response seemed rather strange to Keren, although she was mollified by the knowledge that Akar’s consumption of the gift would have been a waste of good food (she was fairly sure the Necrow were incapable of digesting things).
“So you come from Herayon to the north?” Gregory asked. “What a fascinating little country! We meet very few people from there.”
Keren rolled her eyes as she shoveled food into her mouth. “I’m from Herayon. Akar is just the spawn of some necromancer who decided to take over our country.”
Mr. and Mrs. Periecho were taken aback by this response. They looked between their guests in confusion. “That is…a rather rude way to refer to your companion,” Gregory said. “Unless it’s some inside joke you two have –”
“No, that really is an undead spirit raised by a madman to slaughter people!” Keren said. The Necrow merely sat and stared at its empty plate, a grimace twisting its mouth. Do you really think it wise to goad our hosts in this way? They may be alarmed and notify the local authorities –
But their hosts stared at Keren in alarm for only a moment before subsiding into polite chuckling. “We’ve heard the people from Herayon were of a…ah…superstitious bent!” They saw Keren’s horrified expression, and hastened to add: “Please don’t misunderstand us, we have only the utmost respect for you and your people. It’s just, we don’t happen to believe in, ah, undead spirits and such.”
Keren stared at them, the food on her plate temporarily forgotten. Then she looked at the Necrow next to her, as if to reassure herself that it hadn’t vanished in a puff of smoke. “But…but…you can see it, can’t you? It’s sitting right there! I’d dare you to get up and touch it for yourself, if you weren’t eating right now. It has no heartbeat, and only breathes when it decides to talk! How can you not believe in it when it’s sitting right there?”
Irene patted Keren’s hand reassuringly. “I know believing in these sorts of things is important to you, dear, but you can’t expect us to feel the same way you do. We are a logical people. If there was anything out of the ordinary about this young man, there must be some scientific explanation for it.”
“Are you saying I’m not logical?” Keren gasped, clutching at the table. The Necrow stirred beside her. You are not going to convince these people of anything over idle dinner conversation. Don’t waste your breath.
Shut up! Keren screeched silently.
“Please understand!” Gregory insisted. “Most of us who live in Xiramin – indeed all of Pouthenos – have no need for believing in spirits, ghosts, life beyond death, that sort of thing. We realize those in other locales like Herayon take their superstitions very seriously, and find them necessary to provide purpose and meaning in their lives. But we do not live that way. Every person here creates a private purpose and meaning for themselves. We realize that life is what you make of it, and that it is the very briefness of it which makes it so precious.”
“So…the longer your lives get, the less you value them?” Keren said, before she could stop herself.
Their hosts merely looked at her blankly. Keren realized with some embarrassment that she had overstepped the bounds of polite behavior. “Um, forgive me. I…didn’t mean what I just said –”
“Oh, don’t apologize!” They both exclaimed. “We know you mean well. It’s true that life can become rather dull the longer one lives. Many of us here live to be over a hundred years old!”
They laughed at the shocked expression on Keren’s face. “You see why we have no use for believing in the undead? We have plenty of time to appreciate our loved ones in this life, without distracting ourselves with illusions that we’ll get to meet them in another life as well!”
Keren didn’t say much after that, but dutifully cleaned her plate and helped to clear the dishes. Immediately afterward she pleaded exhaustion from the day’s travel, and was promptly escorted to the guestroom to rest.
At last she was alone. Keren stared out of the window at the city, glowing like so many fireflies, its tiers of whitewashed stone cascading down into the lake. Everywhere there was light. She collapsed into the beautiful feather bed, more comfortable than any she had known, and wondered what reason she had to be uneasy with this place.
Finally Keren clutched at a pillow and curled tightly in upon herself, fighting back sobs. With their hosts’ last words the awful thought had entered her mind that she might never see her friends or family again.
Akar did not sleep in the room with Keren as their hosts expected, but spent the night seated on the rooftop. He kept watch with his inner sight for any change in the landscape of light, and tried not to think of what phase the moon was in. It was harder to resist the urge to look without the mask, but not as difficult as had been expected.
The electric lights of this city, strangely, did not cause any pain. He kept his eyes closed all the same, from habit if nothing else.
“Hail, spirit!”
Akar spun around, one hand on the sword hidden beneath his cloak, amazed that a human had crept so close without triggering his inner sense.
Yet he saw no human.
The nearest living thing was a flicker of light unlike any he had encountered. It did not burn torch-bright as a human did. It was not even the right shape. Its pattern was more like that of a tree: fine veins of light spreading in all directions like roots from a dull, semi-solid center.
“Dost thou know what I am?”
It was so difficult to tell exactly what it was that Akar risked opening his eyes to look at it. A child squatted on the tiles not far away. Electric radiance from the streets below illuminated its face. Akar shook his head in wonder. “Nothing can explain what comes before me now.”
The child’s features were round and plump with baby fat, but its eyes were dark and glittered with terrible age. It was naked, but was neither male nor female. A wooden mask carved with strange runes hung from a cord around its neck. Its skin was dusky bronze, and its hair was coarse and stuck out like the twigs of a bush. It smiled, and Akar felt the twinges of a nameless fear. It was the smile of a wild animal staring out of a human face.
“Our names are many,” the creature crooned. Its voice was throaty and breathless, its tongue curling gleefully around each word. “Men have called us ae’she, bestia, masakh, and the fey folk. Thou hast not heard of these? I give thee another: yokai.”
“What is the meaning of that name?” asked Akar.
The creature bounced up and down on
its coiled knees. “Ahahaha! Spirit of damned man, dost thou know nothing of the world? Methinks the spawn of Necromancers should inherit a little of their wisdom at least, yet it seems thou hast none! Our nature is described thus: we are specters, we are charmers, and we are calamity. That is what yokai means.”
“Such names were never spoken in Belshazzar’s keep,” the Necrow mused. “Your kind must not have been prominent enough to be worth taking notice of.”
The creature hissed and made as if to lunge at him. Its tiny hands had claws as long and wicked as those of a feral cat. Akar sat motionless as it sprang towards him, but it recoiled in midair and skittered backwards before he drew his sword.
“It seems you know already what death awaits you if you touch me,” Akar said.
The yokai flexed its limbs restlessly, shivers of tension running along its naked spine. “The spirits of damned men drove our kind out of the dark kingdom. We are no longer safe to inhabit the forests and places of old where dealers of death now wander!”
“If you so hate and fear my kind, why do you approach now?”
“Why? Why? To ask what impudence hast brought thee here, damned spirit! Why dost thou wander so far from thy master’s keep? Is his bloodlust not sated by the thousands trapped within his borders? Must he press on to conquer all the other kingdoms now?”
“Is Pouthenos the kingdom of the yokai, then?” Akar asked.
The creature burst into laughter again. “Ahahaha! This denuded, sterile, passionless place? A kingdom such as this could only belong to the likes of men! The yokai wander whither they will; no boundaries can hinder us! And yet we take pleasure in marking our territories and playgrounds. Thou hast displeased us by encroaching upon our hunting lands!”
“Then be at peace, calamity. Belshazzar does not seek to invade this country. This one comes alone.”
Still crouched on all fours, the yokai cocked its head. “But thou is not alone. Thou wanders with a human at his side. Why is this? Do the damned now seek to sympathize with their prey?”
“If insult is meant, it is not taken.”
“Then the human is not your prey? Does this mean she is free for the eating?”
“If a threat has been made against the girl,” Akar said, unsheathing his sword, “then you have drawn your final breath.” He leapt at the creature, which screamed and scampered up the steep slope of the roof to the apex. The blade sang through the air and smote the tiles where it had been crouching. But the yokai was faster than Akar anticipated, and somersaulted backwards along the peak of the roof. It posed, balancing on a single toe at the edge of the eaves.
“Peace, damned spirit! Your companion is not endangered! There are far more tasty hearts to savor than hers!”
Akar paused on the ridge, sword held at the ready. “What kind of alien are you, truly? Your form is unlike any I have seen. You appear human, yet have the eyes of a beast. And you speak of eating the hearts of men.”
The yokai cackled. “We are no aliens, damned spirit! We are the true inhabitants of this world, more ancient than any breed of man. Ageless, primal, archaic, and ravenous. Our favorite fare is the human heart.” It grinned again, a black-inked tongue flickering between its teeth. “When thou tires of this kingdom, journey to the west! There is fairer weather there, higher mountains, deeper waters, and riper souls for the picking. A Queen rules there: one who knows the ancient secrets of the world. These wretched humans can offer you nothing! If thou desires answers, search there!”
The creature’s body shivered violently. Black quills burst from beneath its skin. Ebony feathers unfolded from hidden places, and great wings swept the air. The yokai screamed, its voice the harsh and mocking call of a crow. It plummeted from the brink, caught the wind and soared away into the dark night.
CHAPTER 6
THE INIQUITY OF XIRAMIN
Keren woke late the next morning. She felt so far sunken into the feather bed that she feared she’d never get free from it. Finally, after an hour of fitful tossing and half-hearted scrambling, she managed to extricate herself.
Outside the window the city glowed with reflected light; a peaceful sight Keren felt was worlds away from the land she knew.
Downstairs, Irene was reading from a large sheaf of paper. A solitary plate of victuals steamed on the counter. “Be a dear and eat your breakfast. Your friend has already gone into the city.”
Akar was gone? How was that possible? Keren felt vulnerable without her undead escort. On the other hand, she was also relieved to be rid of its intimidating presence. There wasn’t anything to fear in this city, anyway.
She eyed Irene’s paper as she chewed her breakfast. “Is…is there any news of Herayon?”
“Oh no, dear. The authorities don’t really concern themselves with that small country,” Irene said distantly. “We have a strict no-interference policy, you see. It doesn’t really benefit us to get involved with the affairs of other nations. And it’s not really fair to them, either.”
Keren nearly choked on her biscuit. “So, what you mean is, there’s no chance Xiramin is going to do anything to stop Belshazzar’s rise to power?”
“I am afraid not. As long as he keeps his affairs to himself, it stands to reason that we leave him and his people to decide things for themselves. We recognize that they follow a different way of life than we do, and it wouldn’t be right for us to get involved.”
“No. I guess it isn’t any of your business,” Keren muttered. “Thank you for the meal.”
“You are most welcome!”
“I think I’ll go wander around the city a bit, myself.”
“Enjoy yourself, dear!”
Keren left the house and went around back to check on the mare. There she was, ripping up clods of earth from the Periecho’s immaculate lawn. Keren sighed and tried to think of where she would like to start first. She hadn’t the audacity to beg for money, but figured she would enjoy perusing the shops all the same.
After an hour or so she ran into Akar on the street. “You! Where have you been?”
The Necrow shrugged. “Here and there, gathering supplies for whenever we choose to make our exodus. There are new maps, condensed rations, tools for making fire and purifying water –”
“How did you afford those?” Keren exclaimed.
“They were taken without recompense.”
“You stole them?!”
“That would be the defining verb, yes.”
“But why? Don’t you know that’s wrong?” (At the same time Keren asked herself why she would ever assume the Necrow would know anything about right and wrong in the first place).
“What is wrong with it? The shop owners are deprived of only a little of their daily income. They will not go hungry from as small a loss as this.”
“That doesn’t matter! What matters is…is…you give them their due for what was owed.”
“Why?”
“Because if everyone stole things, just because they thought it wasn’t such a big deal, society would fall apart!”
“Most humans do not steal. Hence it is tolerable for a few to steal if they please–”
“Tolerable, maybe, but not acceptable!” Keren cried. “What the heck is wrong with you?!”
“Most assuredly nothing, although it may be possible that something is wrong with humanity. It was discouraging to find, for example, that none of the shop keepers sold any type of weapon.” The Necrow lifted its cloak, showing Keren the items stashed in its inner pockets. She noticed with some surprise that it carried a sword at its waist. Why hadn’t she noticed that before?
“You, ah…weren’t happy with the weapon you had already?” she asked.
“It is insufficient for present and future needs. What you should ask is: why would a society fail to provide its citizens with even the simplest of weapons?”
Keren looked around sarcastically. “Gee, ah, let me think about that one. Maybe it’s because they don’t need to defend themselves? This place looks like it does
n’t even know what death is!”
“Have they really no need for self-defense?” Akar insisted. “They have allowed one of the Necrow to walk among them unmolested. That in itself is extremely unwise. They could be in considerably more danger than they are willing to acknowledge.”
“I wouldn’t underestimate them. Humans are known for paying good mind to their instinct for self-preservation!”
Akar shrugged. “No matter. The sword will serve until tools are found to make another weapon. What will you do now?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I’ll keep shopping…without stealing anything! Perhaps there is a temple somewhere nearby. It bothers me that the elders called these people ‘soulless blasphemers’. I would like to see what kind of deity they worship.”
“Should this one accompany you?”
“No, that’s all right. I’m sure most of the streets here are quite safe. Will I meet you back at the house?”
“Yes. What do you plan to do, following today?”
“I don’t know; we only just got here! Can’t a girl relax in paradise for just a little while?”
“So be it. Although it is doubtful this girl recognizes a paradise when she sees it.”
“What…?! How dare you! Get out of my sight!” Keren whirled away with as much offended dignity as she could muster.
She huffed along the street until she regained some of her composure. At which point she began to consider whom to ask about the nearest shrine.
She might have had an easier time deciding if all these people didn’t look so darned similar. In Herayon one could tell a priest from a trader from a craftsman from a laborer just by looking at them. It was also very clear which one of those was qualified to answer a particular question.
In the end Keren ended up blurting her query to the merchant in the next shop she entered. He sold artifacts, so Keren supposed he might be a somewhat learned fellow.
“Excuse me. Could you tell me where I might find the nearest temple?”
The large, balding man peered down at her in amusement. “Why would ye want to know that, miss?”
Necrosis (The Omens of Gaia Book 1) Page 7