Heretic of Set

by J. Steven York

  Anok trotted his camel along after Havilah, as they ranged ahead and slightly south of the rest of the caravan. Amid the splendor of the desert, the hill looked drab and uninviting, a rounded heap that seemed to be made of gravel and loose stone. He couldn’t imagine what Havilah hoped to show him.

  Then, as they grew closer, he realized that the stones that made up the hill were strangely formed, round, even spiral in shape. Havilah spurred his mount ahead, reaching the base of the hill and quickly dismounting. He bent down and began to pick through the stones, picking some up and throwing them back, gathering others in a fold of his robes.

  Anok pulled up next to him and stopped, bending over to examine the rocks more carefully. At first the shapes confused him. They seemed strangely familiar, but he couldn’t place them in this context. Then, at once, he realized what he was seeing and exactly how strange it was. “Shells! This whole hill is made of shells from the sea!”

  It was as though they had come upon a beach after a storm. There were shells in the forms of spirals and twisting points, cowry shells shaped like nut meats, sand dollars, and fluted clams, some as big as a camel’s foot. Their numbers were countless. It would have taken a thousand camels many lifetimes to bring them all from the nearest ocean shore. How, then, had they gotten here?

  Havilah grinned up at him. “You ask yourself the question we all have asked ourselves. How can this thing be?” He handed his collected shells up for Anok to examine.

  He rolled them over in his hand. They were rough and heavy, colored in tans and browns rather than the off-whites and pale colors more typical of shells.

  “They are made of stone,” Havilah said, “perhaps transformed by great age, or some ancient magic we cannot hope to understand. The stories of our people say that this place was once more than wet and fertile, it was part of the sea. The waters receded, and it became first grassland, then desert. It is said there is a cycle to all things, and over time, the mountains are all ground down by wind and until that are but basins for the ocean, and the oceans all fill up with sand.” His eyes twinkled. “You see?”

  “It is hard to believe.”

  “Stygia is very old. Older than the Cult of Set. Older than the age of men. Older, perhaps, than the gods. Some say it has always existed, mountains into sea, sea into mountains, on and on back to the dim beginnings of time. So if you tell me you have seen pack spiders, who am I to tell you it is impossible? In Stygia, all things are possible.”

  THE CARAVAN ARRIVED at a ruined stone building just before nightfall. There was a well, Havilah explained, but it had dried up in his grandfather’s time. “It is still a good place to camp,” he said.

  They set up tents in and around the walls of the old building. The young boys tended the camels and built fires, using what sticks they could gather and dry camel dung as fuel.

  Fallon’s servants set up a splendid tent for her, white with gold roping and tassels around the edges. Streamers of brightly colored silk streamed from the center pole and rippled in the slightest breeze.

  They fussed over her, preparing to cook her dinner from their own private stores, fetching her water, and waiting on her constantly. It clearly grated on her, her rage growing until she exploded, bellowing at them in a most unladylike fashion to go away and tend their own business.

  She vanished into her tent and emerged lugging a basket filled with wine jugs. One of the servants ran back to help, but she glared at him until he cowered and scuttled away.

  She carried the basket over to where Anok and Teferi were warming themselves against the growing night chill.

  “May I join you? I come bearing gifts.” She dropped the basket in the sand next to them.

  Teferi took one of the jugs, removed the stopper, and sniffed the contents. “City wine,” he said. “Good stuff.”

  She took a jug for herself, and plopped down cross-legged in the sand between them.

  Teferi passed Anok a jug.

  They sat, drank, and watched the fire for a while.

  At their own fire, just a little way away, Havilah and his sons sang songs in Shemitish, while the camel boys kept time on hollow wooden drums struck with mallets.

  As she started her second jug of wine, Fallon plucked at the translucent purple silk of her sleeve. “Am I not fine? I wear garb fit for a princess. Fit for a queen!” She got a distant look in her eye. “I could be a queen, you know. You know of Conan, proud Cimmerian king of Aquilonia? Who will he take for his queen? Some soft, civilized, Aquilonian woman? I think not! Such women might be fit for a dalliance, but to be his queen? No! King Conan needs a woman who understands barbarian honor, a woman who can share his bed without breaking like pottery, a woman who can take up arms and fight with him back-to-back, match him blow for blow!”

  She again looked down at herself and fell silent.

  Anok finally turned to Fallon. “You don’t seem happy.”

  She snorted. “Happy? Happy? Let me tell you, it was madness to seek wealth. Wealth is a curse.”

  Teferi just laughed. “Is that so?”

  “So,” said Anok, “what really happened back in Odji?”

  She glowered at the fire. “As I told you, I won a great deal of money from a gang lord. Truth be told, I didn’t expect to walk away with it, at least not without a fight. But it turns out there were rumors that I had been seen with you, Anok, and your name is apparently something of great significance to the gang lords of Odji these days. I didn’t fully understand it, but I thanked my good fortune and left.”

  “But your good fortune didn’t last?”

  “I didn’t wait to find out. I suspected that someone would come for me, and at best, I had made powerful enemies in Odji. Best to make myself unseen and seek to leave as soon as possible.”

  Anok reached out and touched her silken sleeve. “Who did this to you?”

  “Whores,” she said, matter-of-factly.

  Teferi sniggered, and Fallon shot him an angry look.

  “It wasn’t like that, but I needed to change my appearance. What better way for a warrior-woman to hide than dressing like this? Truly, you didn’t suspect me at first, and you know me well.” She glanced directly at Anok. “Very well. But who to show me how?

  “Then I had the idea. I went to one of the finer houses of Odji. Not the Paradise brothel, as, knowing your connection to it, they might have looked for me there. The women there were more than happy to take my gold for nothing more than a game of dress-up. Truth be told, I think they enjoyed it far more than I.” She scowled.

  “Then they helped me buy new clothing and to find these servants and camels. Enough gold has a way of silencing all questions, easing all transactions.”

  She drank more, and as she did, her mood turned darker. “Look at me,” she finally said with a tone of disgust. She stood and yanked at her silken clothing. “Dressing like a trollop, riding on soft pillows, fussed over by servants. This is not a woman worthy of Conan! This is no way for a proper barbarian to live!”

  Abruptly, she grabbed her silk blouse with both hands and ripped it apart. She broke into a growling fit, ripping her garments away until she stood before them naked but for a few tatters of silk. She panted and glanced over at them, unashamed of her nakedness.

  Teferi smiled broadly, but she ignored him.

  “I am a Cimmerian! I will not become soft and weak!” She stomped back to her tent, her shapely flanks looking pale in the moonlight.

  Still, Teferi grinned, and Anok kicked him in the ankle.

  Teferi gave him a hurt expression, then, the affront seemingly forgotten, took another drink from his jug.

  After a time, Fallon returned. The braids were gone from her hair, as were the flowers. She wore simple warrior’s garb, a leather kilt, leather tunic, and sandals. Her arming sword was belted proudly around her middle, and a large knife was tucked into the other side of her belt.

  She looked more comfortable to Anok than since they had begun the journey. She sat down heavily and
a little clumsily, immediately finding another jug of wine.

  “Wealth,” she said, “is a poison. You’re better off without it.”

  “Then,” said Teferi, “give me yours!”

  She stared into her wine for a moment, then laughed knowingly. “Spent,” she said. “All spent. The last of it on these silks and camels and servants, and”—she hoisted the jug high over her head—“on this fine wine. I am once again free of its taint.” She took another drink, then chuckled. “Until next time, anyway.”

  They all laughed.

  Yet Anok’s thoughts were darker. The wine had not dulled the tingling of the mark on his wrist. If anything, it had made it stronger, opening his mind to its dark whisperings.

  As he listened to Fallon, all he could think was, If only it were so simple for me.

  9

  ANOK THOUGHT HE had experienced the desert, but the next morning showed that it still had harsh lessons to deal him. The sun blazed as they broke camp. It was already hot, and he could tell it would soon be hotter still. A wind from the east brought with it nothing but more heat and blowing sand.

  He had thought that the cooling effect of the ocean air had ended on the hills above Khemi. But he saw that until now it had continued into the desert. They would experience the desert’s true heat this day.

  Fallon’s servants seemed utterly perplexed by her transformation. They watched, speechless, as she ripped the silk coverings from her camel’s canopy, threw away the soft pillows, and cut loose tassels and ornamentation from its tack. She growled at them when they approached, and she made her own breakfast despite their protests.

  They were soon under way, though their pace was even slower than the day before. The camels seemed to sense the impending heat and paced themselves accordingly. There was little chatter among the people in the caravan. With the camel’s soft feet, there were long stretches where they moved in eerie silence, broken only by an occasional moan or roar from the beasts themselves.

  They stopped more frequently for water, which Havilah personally doled out in tiny portions. It was at one such stop that a buzzing of flies caught Havilah’s attention. He walked over behind a nearby rock outcropping, returning a few minutes later with a frown on his face.

  He saw the curiosity in Anok’s face. “Can you fight, city man?”

  Anok quickly motioned for Teferi to come over and listen as well. “We can fight,” Anok replied, as Teferi arrived. “Why?”

  “Behind the rocks, horse droppings and tracks, no more than a day old, and from more than one horse by my eye. No one uses horses this deep in the desert but soldiers and bandits, and there are no armies on the march here that I’ve heard of.”

  Anok nodded. “Horses would need water.”

  “Perhaps they’ve found a lost spring or well, or maybe they have a large camp, and bring in water by camel.” He looked suspiciously at Teferi. “Will you fight your own kind, Kushite? Bandits in these lands almost always come across the border from Kush.”

  Teferi pulled his broad shoulders back. “I was born in Stygia. I will fight any who attack us, and I will not care for the color of their skin.”

  Havilah seemed satisfied. “Keep your weapons close and your eyes open.”

  “Fallon can fight, too,” said Teferi. “We will tell her.”

  Havilah frowned. “The rich woman? That she now dresses strangely and hauls a sword does not make her a fighter.”

  “She is a barbarian from the north,” explained Anok, “a Cimmerian.”

  Havilah shook his head. “I have not heard of this place.”

  “Have you heard of King Conan? He is her countryman, and in their land, the women fight alongside their men.”

  His eyes widened slightly. “We will see. Tell her then.” He gave his sons a few simple hand signals, which seemed to convey to them all the information he had spoken to Anok and Teferi. They immediately began scanning the horizon, and the middle son strung his bow.

  Anok considered their forces. He had no doubt that Havilah and his sons knew how to fight. He had gained considerable respect for the old man and his family.

  Teferi, Fallon, and he would fight well, of course, but this was not their kind of battle, and they were not good enough riders to fight from camel-back. They would likely have to dismount and that would put them at a great disadvantage against mounted attackers. He had no confidence that Fallon’s servants would be of any help at all, and the other travelers were older traders of mixed Stygian blood. He saw no sign they would be useful. Perhaps the camel boys would surprise him, as boys sometimes did in war, but they were too small and weak to be of much good.

  Seven fighters, protecting six against—how many? He considered asking Havilah what he thought, but it would likely just be a guess. If what the old man said was true, their opponents were a large and well-organized group. He doubted they would even consider an attack unless they thought the odds were strongly in their favor.

  Given that last thought, perhaps they wouldn’t attack at all. But it was a faint hope. If they were so organized, they would have resources, and he doubted they’d be out here unless they could mount at least a dozen men.

  The long day became longer as the caravan advanced slowly along the road in the oppressive heat, searching for any sign of bandits. The country was varied and broken, offering many places to hide. Great spires and arches of red-and-orange stone, shaped by wind, stood along the road like forgotten sentinels from the time of giants, and the blowing sand stung the eyes and made it difficult to see.

  The bandits appeared, finally, in the most unlikely place, after they had emerged from the badlands into an open plain of rolling ground and yellow sandy soil, dotted with flowering cactus and dry scrub. It was here, where the visibility was good and hiding places nearly nonexistent, that they saw the line of horses standing against the sun-bleached sky.

  Havilah pulled the caravan to a halt, and the seven who would fight gathered their camels together at the front of the group.

  “There are a dozen,” said Anok. “Unfortunately, I guessed correctly.” He looked around at the open land. “This is very bad, isn’t it?”

  Teferi frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “They didn’t attack us when they had the chance to hide. They don’t think they need to hide. They’re more concerned that we’ll hide from them.”

  Havilah scanned their surroundings. “There,” he said, “to the north of the road. See that light-colored spot? It’s a small basin, perhaps a dried-up pond where the sand will favor our camels more than their horses.”

  Anok nodded. “It’s as defensible as anything we’re likely to get to. Do we hurry, or take our time?”

  “Both,” said Havilah. He signaled the camel boys over. “You and the rest go to that white spot over there. Cush the camels in a circle, and get behind them. We will come later. Go quickly!”

  The boys urged their camels, turning back to herd the remaining camels and their riders toward what small safety the depression offered.

  “We ride after them,” said Havilah, “but taking our time about it. Rush only if they attack, and it seems advantageous.”

  As they began to move, a black stallion and its rider separated from the line, trotting down toward them.

  Teferi drew back his mighty bow. “I can get him.”

  Havilah gestured for him to lower his weapon. “He comes to talk. All the while they are talking, they will not be attacking us. Let them talk.”

  The horse that approached them was thin, seemingly by its breeding rather than hunger, with ropey muscles and fierce eyes. Its bridle and saddle were decorated with elaborate tassels made of some plant fiber.

  The rider was also thin and muscular, shorter than Teferi by a head. He was clothed only in a small loincloth, his dark skin burned almost the color of charcoal by the desert sun. He wore a headdress surrounded by a broken fan of red feathers, and many fine loops of gold wire around his neck, wrists, and ankles. His face, shoulders, ba
ck, and arms were covered by a tracery of rough, pinkish brown, scars, forming complex patterns and symbols in his flesh, some vaguely familiar to Anok, though he couldn’t place them. The Kush warrior carried a light lance, a long, curved knife, nearly as large as a sword, hung from one side of saddle, and a painted wooden shield carved with a demonic face hung from the other.

  The horse pulled up a spear’s throw away from them. The man looked at them for a moment, then he smiled broadly. Anok was surprised to see that his upper teeth were filed to sharp points. “You speak Stygian?”

  Havilah nodded. “We speak Stygian. What business have you with us, horseman?”

  The sinister smile grew even wider. “You know our business, nomad. We are bandits! Give us all your goods, your weapons, your camels, your woman, and boys, and we leave you enough water to walk to the next oasis. Save yourselves.”

  Teferi leaned closer to Anok and whispered, “He’s fair. I’ll give him that.”

  Anok shushed him, lest Teferi accidentally provoke something.

  Havilah grunted. “And if we lay down our weapons, what promise is there that you won’t put that lance through our backs? I think probably you would.”

  The bandit chief laughed. “Perhaps I would, but it would be quicker for you then.” The horse shuffled in place nervously, and his smile disappeared. “Choose your own way of dying, but die you shall.” He slapped the side of the horse and rode back to his companions.

  Teferi frowned. “Now, can I kill him?”

  Havilah shook his head. “They have bowmen as well, shields and perhaps even a sorcerer to protect them from your arrows. Even if you kill their leader, you will only enrage the rest. Wait till they are close and make your arrows count.”

  Anok’s eyes narrowed as he heard the mention of sorcery, but he said nothing. He remembered now the symbols carved into the Kush bandit’s flesh. He had seen them in scrolls at the temple, among the most ancient Stygian texts. Teferi had long claimed that the people of Kush had been corrupted by ancient Stygian magic. It did not seem so implausible now.