The Sorcery Within

by Dave Smeds

  “That was a mistake. If she dress as a woman, she is not attacked."

  “What does it matter who's right?” Elenya said sharply. “We're in trouble, and it's too late to do a thing about it."

  “No, you are safe, maybe."

  Eyebrows raised on both twins’ faces. “What do you mean?” Elenya asked. The comment had seemed all the more intriguing because, at last, Fumlok had addressed Elenya to her person.

  “This morning, Lonal save you by invoking niutap. It is adoption ritual. War-leaders have right to do this. If a widow is made in battle, the killer should take care of her. Niutap also brings new blood to T'lil."

  “How can you trust us?” Elenya interjected.

  Fumlok held his finger up. “War-leader takes risk. He is responsible until elders accept his choice. Later, you are educated, and you are blamed if you disobey. For now, Lonal is embarrassed if you offend the laws of the So-de'es. His honor is dirtied. This is bad to happen at this time."

  Alemar sucked a contemplative mouthful of wine. “Are you saying that Lonal will be punished for Elenya being a woman? And that she won't be?"

  Fumlok gave one of his nervous smiles. “If Lonal is punished, she is punished, too. Both. But ... maybe Lonal is not punished. Maybe his honor is saved."

  “How?"

  A cloud covered the Zyraii's expression. “I don't know."

  The twins tried to draw him out, but Fumlok wouldn't say more. If anything, he seemed anxious that he had spoken in the first place. Wine and dates bridged the awkward moments until Alemar thought of more questions.

  “We're not really members of the tribe yet,” Alemar stated.

  Fumlok drew his glance back from the stitches of the tent walls. “No. You must learn laws and rituals. And you must endure the rite of manhood. Then you are T'lil warriors. And if you prove your honor, then maybe you are hai-Zyraii."

  “If we did all this, could my sister and I go to Setan?"

  Fumlok stared back. “No. I don't think so."

  “Why not?"

  “Setan is holy. It is a sacred ground reserved for the training of the ken. The Bo-no-ken, the Zee-no-ken, and the Hab-no-ken go there to be tested. Warriors must have a special reason to visit, and must get permission."

  “How are the ken tested?” Elenya said suddenly.

  “That is for the ken to know. I only know that those with weak wills do not survive."

  More he would not reveal. His demeanor turned morose, and shortly thereafter he left them for the night, warning them that they must not leave the tent.

  * * * *

  “We should have come to the country dressed as priests,” Alemar said glumly, after their interpreter had gone.

  “We should have come as dune eagles,” Elenya suggested. “Then we could have flown above these madmen.” She rose and opened the flaps of the entrance. A heavyset Zyraii warrior stood a few paces away. Elenya didn't bother to step out. “We could have flown out of this camp, too."

  Omi entered to remove the clay bowls, timorous face constantly pointed toward the ground, except for an instant when she met Elenya's gaze and looked away immediately. She hurried off, as if stung.

  Elenya shuddered. “If I have to become like her to live among these people, I won't live among these people."

  “I have a feeling we may be lucky if we're allowed to live at all. We seem to be committing all sorts of mortal sins just by existing."

  “We're trapped,” she murmured. She drew a rapier, as if to skewer her invisible captor. Omi glanced out around the partition and ducked away again, eyes wide. “I feel like trying to escape now, and damn the chances."

  Wistfully she sheathed her weapon. She was more impulsive than her brother, but she liked realistic challenges. Time might be the only thing on their side.

  “Tell me, is this what you expected?” she asked.

  “No."

  Further conversation was equally pointless. Soon Alemar was sagging, eyelids helpless against the tug of gravity. The hard days in the eret-Zyraii, and now this evening, had exhausted him. She sat behind him, placing his head on her lap. He fell asleep rapidly, and would not wake, she guessed, until the night died. She stroked his hair pensively, unable to equal his tranquility.

  Eventually, Peyri emerged with a goatskin flask, and gestured inquisitively to Elenya, who shook her head. Alemar had started to snore softly. Peyri disappeared, to return a moment later, taper in hand, and cross the room to open curtains Elenya had not previously seen past, revealing sleeping compartments. It took little imagination to realize whose they had been and whose they were now.

  Peyri returned to the women's side of the tent. This was a section forbidden to men, as the twins had discovered when Alemar tried to enter. The boy shared that side. Soon the glow of the lamps through the woolen drapes was extinguished, and not long after the rustle of waking activity faded away.

  Elenya ignored the offer of the bed. Not only did her skin crawl to think of sleeping in those blankets, but the woven straw mats that served as mattresses for the Zyraii seemed much too luxurious to her, after the desert's bosom.

  She was listening to Alemar's serene breathing when she heard a deep, threatening boom. She felt it through the sand under the hides. It set her heart to pumping loudly. But no noise came from the women's side, and the camp beyond the walls raised no alarm. Gradually her uneasy meditation resumed.

  She imagined islands and coastlines, a warm, shallow, beckoning sea. Ships plied its waters, buildings rose around its harbors, and beneath the surface, men lived. Majestic edifices and an empire without peer stood in homage to one man's power and dream.

  And in the sky above, a dragon hovered, patient and amused.

  “Oh, my father, we have failed you,” Elenya murmured.

  * * *

  VI

  THE TRIBESMEN OVERFLOWED the great tent even before all of those permitted to enter had done so, and many had to be content to listen at the flaps. In the inner circle, the clan's ten Ah-no-ken ringed the traditional silver brazier, which glowed with a low, almost heatless flame of ibsinthe oil. Toltac and Jathmir, the two Bo-no-ken, conducted the gathering. Lonal stood across the brazier from them. At the tent walls, several dozen Po-no-pha had managed to crowd within. The body odor in the air was like a solid wall.

  Lonal's second, R'lar, had just finished recounting the story of how they had found Alemar and Elenya. The crowd maintained utter silence, not daring to murmur in front of the two high priests. A nod from Jathmir allowed R'lar to sit.

  A long pause followed. The Bo-no-ken sat impassively, their austerity and authority settling over every person in the room. Lonal waited obediently, feeling the cloth under his arms grow damp.

  Eventually Jathmir spoke, his voice soft yet easily audible throughout the tent. “Simple matters first. You agree with R'lar that Am, Roel, and Quom acted upon their own decision?"

  “They were on point, yes, and chose to attack by themselves, rather than wait for the support of the entire patrol."

  Jathmir frowned. “The desert breeds both smart men and dead men. So be it. These strangers—Tebec and Yetem—shall not be blamed for the casualties."

  Lonal bowed his head, not to Jathmir, but to Toltac. Though the former acted as spokesman, the latter had the final authority. Toltac was the opsib, high priest not simply of the clan but the entire tribe, and deferred only to the High Scholar at Setan.

  “I am puzzled, war-leader,” Jathmir continued almost conversationally. “It is obvious that the kin of Am and Roel needed to be cared for, but why invoke the niutap? These were water-stealers, trespassers who admitted they sought Setan. What inspired you to spare them?"

  “I was impressed."

  The Bo-no-ken stared back. Jathmir had asked his question not only to satisfy the curiosity of those assembled, but to fulfill the requirements of law. By that time, the Bo-no-ken might already have made their decision to support or deny the adoption, but ritual demanded that the war-leader be asked, an
d be given the opportunity to formally explain, why he had exercised his privilege. They waited.

  Lonal wondered, if he were to stop there, whether these men, with their austere view of the world, could understand his feeling. He was Po-no-pha, and war and its preparation defined his existence. If he were not appreciative—no, even awed—at the performance of the strangers that morning, he would be no more than one of his common riders.

  “I was moved by their mastery of the sword. I prevented their deaths to ask their names and country, so that, should I kill them, perhaps one day their family would know that they had died as warriors. I liked the boldness of their answers. Furthermore, they had come across the eret-Zyraii."

  The audience mumbled. A few hadn't heard this yet. The priests deliberately assumed unastonished poses. They had, of course, learned this information soon after the riders returned to camp. Raised hands signalled quiet.

  “You weren't concerned for the holy grounds?” Jathmir asked.

  “No. If they had known where the citadel stood, they would have since turned north. I considered it, and it seemed we had little to lose. They were good warriors, certainly better than Am or Roel. Why not add them to our ranks? We will be needing fighters of exceptional caliber soon."

  Jathmir nodded gradually. “True, but it is rare that the niutap is invoked upon individuals not of the Eastern Deserts. They may not understand the irrevocability of the ritual. We can't waste men continually guarding them."

  “No,” Lonal conceded. “We'll watch them only a few days, until the march to Ahloorm begins. I believe I can convince them by then of the wisdom of staying. And if they try to escape, where in the desert could we of the T'lil not track them? If they are too much trouble, they can be dealt with at the time."

  When no further comment arose, Toltac and Jathmir leaned closer to each other and exchanged a handful of words that none but they two could hear. Jathmir straightened up and announced, “In that case, son of Joren, the niutap is confirmed. It is up to you to do as you've promised."

  The mood of the crowd grew more intense. A bead of sweat formed at the end of Lonal's nose. The first matter of the night, really no more than a formality, had been resolved. No one there had seriously believed the priesthood would embarrass their war-leader by failing to support him in a matter traditionally within his prerogative. Not so the next matter.

  Toltac himself spoke. “War-leader, when you adopted these persons, did you suspect that one of them ... might not be a man?"

  “No,” Lonal said.

  Toltac lowered his head, shadows thick under his brow. “I understand that they gave you male names, and to be sure, one would not guess that someone wearing the white would be female. Still, if this is the case, the laws of the So-de'es are explicit.” The aged Bo-no-ken's eyes fixed on Lonal. On his countenance the lines of desert wind and many years were prominent.

  Despite himself, Lonal trembled.

  Jathmir's voice dominated a somber tent. “The Po-no-pha and its leader will retire from these walls. The ken must deliberate privately."

  Slowly the warriors filed out, leaving only the circle of the priesthood. The holy men all looked like workers preparing for hard labor.

  Lonal wandered to the central firepit, glad to be out under the open sky. As he stared at the embers, several of the Po-no-pha, mostly those whose ranks were only slightly below his, began to mill next to him. A low babble of voices travelled across the camp.

  “Well, what are the chances?” Lonal asked.

  R'lar, a lanky, desert-worn individual, and, as it happened, one of Lonal's uncles, said, “Females are always trouble."

  This brought more laughter than it deserved, but it broke the tension.

  “True,” Lonal said dryly.

  An imposing form shifted to the forefront. “I'm sorry, war-leader,” Shigmur said.

  Lonal shrugged and draped an arm about the shoulders of his huskiest second. “No, my friend, you only compounded the disaster. You may have to offer up your robes and your testicles, but I have offended God.” The payment for that was worse than ritual castration and loss of rank. He faced banishment, the severest penalty of all.

  Shigmur stooped to stir the coals and toss more oeikani dung on the fire. “It's ironic. After the duel, I told myself, ‘So now Lonal's not the only man of the T'krt who can best me with a sword.’ Then she dropped the veil."

  Lonal chuckled. “She used a trick. It wouldn't have worked again. Nor would you have been so polite."

  “I only meant to discipline, not humiliate,” Shigmur said. “I was afraid she would fall over if I breathed too hard."

  “Now it's all the worse,” R'lar said. “Our war-leader has adopted a woman, and one of our best has been beaten by her. The men of the Alyr will laugh at us. Such a loss of haiya as could have been arranged by our enemies."

  “Now there's an idea,” said Granyet, a young Po-no-pha. “Do you suppose?"

  “No,” Lonal answered. “Even the Buyul and the Fanke would not conceive of it. It would offend the laws of God even more than what I have done."

  “Holy law could be wiser,” R'lar said forcefully, though not so loudly that those in the great tent would have any chance of hearing.

  “Ah, but Uncle, the other tribes will judge us by those laws, just as we judge them. We are Zyraii, the noble of God. If we are to ask the tribes to rally behind me in battle, I must not only fail to be banished, I must be known as a righteous man. I must be hai-Zyraii. I cannot be opsha without the sanction of the ken any more than without the respect of the common people."

  “But you must be opsha. You are the son of Joren. You're the only one who could manage it. Even the Alyr concede that fact in their hearts."

  “The legend of an opsha could be only another mirage of the desert. Perhaps our people are meant to lose command of the trade routes."

  “To city-dwellers?” R'lar spat.

  Lonal withdrew into silence while R'lar, Shigmur, and Granyet continued to debate, not so much because they disagreed, but out of frustration. They didn't like feeling helpless. Like the majority of adult males, they were Po-no-pha. They herded, they raided, they conducted commerce. But on moral issues, they relinquished all authority. The Bo-no-ken dictated what was right, the Ah-no-ken spread the word and saw that it was heeded; and that was the way life was among the Zyraii.

  “Priests and women—fah!” R'lar muttered.

  * * * *

  The ken did not call the Po-no-pha back into the great tent until nearly dawn. The time had passed slowly, and Lonal walked into the circle red-eyed and stiff-kneed. The expressions of the priests mirrored his own.

  Toltac's words were metered and precise. They were more than an announcement; they were a command.

  “The laws of the So-de'es state that a woman may not wear white or carry weapons, nor shall any Zyraii sanction such behavior upon peril of exile. And it has been seen by this clan that the strangers who call themselves Tebec and Yetem have done these things. Therefore, both are men, whatever the appearances may be, and from this day forth, no member of the tribe will say otherwise."

  Toltac's voice echoed slightly before the reaction arrived. The war-leader had been saved. At the same time, it was difficult to believe what the price had been.

  When the crowd had calmed themselves enough to listen again, the opsib continued, “Every member of the tribe is called upon to assist in the education of this pair. They will learn our language, be inducted into the rituals of manhood and ordeal of the Po-no-pha. When they have completed these, the adoption will be finalized and, should they later earn it, they may be admitted to the rites of the hai-Zyraii. I have spoken."

  Lonal and Toltac exchanged stares, and the war-leader saw the revolution that had taken place within the opsib to have permitted the decision. Toltac knew that without Lonal, he risked becoming opsib of a defeated people. The word of God had been swayed by practical necessity. But the message was blatant: No man, however important to the we
lfare and future of the tribe, would manage such a feat again. At this moment, if they were all to look up with the proper sort of vision, no doubt they would see the foundations of Heaven trembling.

  * * *

  VII

  KING'S RANSOM LOLLED IN THE CALM waters off the Cilendri coast, sails slack. At some distance to the west, a ketch and a sloop of its fleet tacked lazily, nets out. The fine weather invited the men to indulge in a swim, but despite the grime of shipboard life, none did so. Some sunned; still more slept; none strayed far from their posts. The lookout was vigilant in the crow's nest, and unease wandered from face to face among the crew.

  Three figures occupied the smallest of the four cabins at the stern. A man about forty-five years of age, and a woman near thirty, stood watching a much older man seated at a small, finely wrought hardwood table.

  An unadorned pewter bowl rested in the center of the table, containing what appeared to be fresh blood. The seated man's attention, like those of his companions, was riveted to it. At random intervals, a swirl or a ripple appeared on the surface of the liquid. Once, it geysered, and the woman sucked in a sudden breath.

  As she bit her lip, the geyser subsided. In a moment, the blood resumed a glassy-smooth texture, affected only by the slight yaw of the ship. The man wiped off his balding head and sighed, but never took his gaze away from the bowl. Sweat dripped off his chin and had already stained the underarms of his garment down to the waist. His eyes were red.

  “Come, milady,” the other man said, “we're doing no good here."

  Reluctantly the woman allowed herself to be led from the little cabin to her own stateroom, where she wandered across the chamber and stared out the broad grillworked windows at the ship's wake. Windless, the vessel's passage hardly disturbed the water's surface. Her escort waited just inside the portal.

  “Will he live?” she asked, afraid to speak up.

  The man strode to her, while she kept her glance away, and lifted hands as if to embrace her, but he stopped, close enough to have dreamed he felt the lace of her blouse.