by Phil Tucker
He hurried after her.
The landscape below was painted in swathes of velvety black and slate blues, the moon having not yet risen. Perhaps a half-dozen large wagons led by a carriage were making their way up the road to the cliff top, hauled by a team of what were probably dead oxen. They were massive and seemed to glimmer like wet stones.
Annara pulled her sleeves down to cover her temple tattoos. “Death wagons so soon?”
Acharsis stared down at them morosely. There’d be a master of Nekuul in one of them, one of Irella’s leeches. The thought made him want to slip over the far side of the roof and disappear into the night, but doing so would cause notice, and the locals would tell the master.
He forced himself to focus. “Again? When were they here last?”
“Three weeks ago.” She glanced up at him, considering. “Is this going to be a problem?”
He grinned humorlessly at her. “I learned how to hide from leeches years ago. Not a problem.”
The wagons reached the top of the hill and pulled up alongside the settlement. Death watch guards climbed down tiredly from the headboards as the doors of the lead carriage opened to disgorge a gangly master in long black robes.
Kenu, the apsus, and a dozen other men had already climbed down the ladders, and they stepped forward to greet the master, torches held high. The leech was a balding older man with round shoulders and an eager smile, and he clasped arms and gave blessings and then bowed his head gravely as he listened to Kenu’s report.
“How many have you got for him?” asked Acharsis.
“Four,” said Annara reluctantly. “I know, a high number for just three weeks. But the harvests have only been growing worse these past few years. People are weak. Three of our elders just faded away and gave up their ghosts.”
“And the fourth?”
“Azu. He was taken by evil spirits, began to fall over every day and shake. Kenu ordered his death so he wouldn’t pollute the rest of the village.”
Acharsis studied Kenu with new eyes. “The leech will be glad he came.”
“Yesu is always glad,” said Annara. “Always smiling, always apologizing and asking for favors. He’ll be up here soon to check our teeth and look in our eyes. See if any of us are about to drop and make his waiting worthwhile.”
Below, Kenu had finished making his report. Yesu had adopted a very grave expression, lips pursed, and turned to give his guards a nod, indicating that they should follow Annara’s husband. Then, true to her guess, he moved to one of the ladders, washed his feet, and began to climb.
The people of Eruk fanned back as Nekuul’s priest stepped up onto the roof, and Acharsis moved behind Annara. He studied the master carefully as the man reached the flickering torchlight.
“… very long day, and the heat... My, the sun must be getting hotter, or am I getting older? I swear the afternoons weren’t so punishing when I was young.” He was moving forward, ostensibly talking to Kenu, who had emerged by his side, but smiling affably at everyone. “And the conditions of the roads! I’d intended to arrive hours ago, but guiding dead animals is an art, not a chore, much as I try to tell my guards, but do you think they listen to me?”
Yesu’s gaze was restless, leaping from one face to another. He bobbed his head continuously, murmuring inaudible hellos to people in the crowd even as he rambled on. Acharsis kept the bulk of the crowd between himself and the master and watched carefully as Annara moved forward to stand beside her husband, who had brought Yesu to their family trapdoor.
“Really, my late arrival shouldn’t keep you all up. I know you were about to turn in. I do apologize! I almost decided to spend the night out in a field somewhere so as not to bother you, but my soldiers wouldn’t hear it. They insisted we come so that I might benefit from a proper bed.” Yesu had lowered himself onto a stool. “Oh, no, I really couldn’t accept your food. The empress knows there’s little enough as it is. But all right, yes, and some wine? And some more fish. Thank you.”
Acharsis drifted back to the building’s edge and watched as the four corpses were handed slowly down a far ladder to the guards, who hoisted them over to the silent carriages at the back and loaded them inside. Prayers were said over them continuously, ensuring that their ghosts wouldn’t return. A good haul for the leech - or was it? Perhaps each town he visited was equally providing.
Wary of drawing attention, he sat in the far shadows, his back against the short retaining wall that ran along the perimeter of the great roof. He watched Annara as she hosted Yesu, betraying no discomfort, smiling and laughing at the man’s poor jokes. She’d not lost her temple training or her ability to put a man at ease.
“You’re a friend of my mother’s?”
Acharsis looked up and saw Elu standing to one side, examining him. “An old friend, yes.”
“If you’re an old friend, then how come I’ve not heard of you or seen you before?” Elu came over and squatted beside Acharsis, completely at ease. “Which village are you from? One far away, like Regash?”
“Regash is only three days’ walking away from here,” Acharsis said, amused. “You consider that far?”
Elu smiled back. “I do. I’ve never been that far. But I mean to. When I’m done with my travels, Regash will appear as close as my nose. Have you been to Uros?”
“Uros?” The name summoned dangerous memories. “A long time ago.”
“That’s where I want to go,” said Elu. “I want to see the empress’s ziggurat. They say it reaches up to the clouds like the peaks of a mountain. Is that true?”
“No,” said Acharsis. “It’s big, but not that big.”
Elu thought that over. “I can believe that. People are prone to lying about things others can’t verify.”
Acharsis chuckled. “True enough.”
“Where else have you been? Have you been to Magan? Seen their lion goddesses with heads like people?”
“Not yet.”
“Oh.” Elu’s face fell. “Have you visited God’s Mountain?”
“That I have. Walked around it, too. Straight through the mountains and out onto the shores of the Khartis Sea.”
Elu narrowed his eyes. “I can’t verify that.”
Again, Acharsis chuckled. “No, you can’t. But you could choose to trust my word.”
“Well, suppose you’re telling the truth. What’s it like? The sea?”
“The sea?” Acharsis inhaled slowly, trying to remember how it felt to gaze out over that endless expanse of water for the first time, trying to summon the shock and wonder, the giddy joy muddied by fear. “Think of when you stand at the cliff’s edge over there and gaze out over the barley. Remember a time when the wind came whispering down from the Aloros and pulled on your hair before sweeping out over the fields. Picture how the barley danced as the wind blew waves across the stalks, as far as the eye can see.”
Elu nodded.
“That’s what the Khartis is like: an endless field of slate blue barley, with the wind blowing waves of white spume across its face. Salt in the air, the cry of gulls, cold wind, strange boats with black-tarred hulls and square sails.”
Elu was staring straight through him, caught up in the vision. Then he blinked. “What are gulls? Some kind of fish?”
Acharsis realized too late that they weren’t alone. He looked up and saw Yesu the master stopping before them. “Oh, don’t stop on my account.” The priest waved his hands. “Please. I only caught the very end. Something about girls?”
“Gulls, Master Yesu,” said Elu.
“That’s all boys your age think of, isn’t it?” The master lowered himself into a squat, robes bunching around his knees. “Though I’ll tell you, they’ll stay on your mind right up till you reach my age. Pretty girls, fat girls, tall girls, serious girls…”
He trailed off. Acharsis had been looking away, trying to avoid eye contact, but when he risked a glimpse at the priest, he saw that the man was studying Elu instead with a strange and terrible avidity.
&n
bsp; “You’re Kenu’s son, aren’t you? What’s your name?”
“Elu.”
“A fine name. I can’t believe I missed you during my previous visits. Well, Elu, I won’t interrupt you any longer.” He stood and backed away a few steps, then walked over to where Kenu and Annara were sitting to engage them in low conversation.
Acharsis watched as Annara’s face darkened and Kenu’s brow contracted in confusion, and then he shook his head. Yesu raised both palms and continued to speak quickly in a low voice. Again, Kenu shook his head. All the while, Acharsis and Elu watched, neither of them speaking, both sensing something of import taking place.
Finally, Yesu let out a bleating laugh, made a final entreaty, and when both parents remained silent, his shoulders sagged and he nodded slowly in acquiescence.
“What was that?” Elu’s voice was little more than a whisper. The boy looked ready to spring away at a moment’s notice.
“I don’t know,” lied Acharsis, cursing himself for a fool.
Most of the families had already descended through their trapdoors into their rooms. Doors had been swung over and then shut. All the ladders were being hauled up onto the roof and laid alongside the retaining walls.
Acharsis and Elu rose and approached Kenu as he stepped aside with Annara.
“What was that about?” asked Elu, his voice tight.
“Nothing,” said Kenu. “Come, it’s late. Let’s go down. Acharsis, we’ve been forced to give your bed to Yesu. My apologies. You must spend the night with my sister’s family.”
Acharsis nodded and watched as Elu and Kenu descended into their home.
Annara remained above, staring in the direction the leech had gone, and then she sighed. “I’m sorry too,” she said. “What terrible timing. Perhaps you can stay tomorrow so that we can talk?”
“Perhaps,” said Acharsis. “Annara, is he going to be trouble?”
She bit her lower lip. “No, I don’t think so. Yesu is a spineless worm. He wanted to sponsor Elu as a priest for Nekuul. Couldn’t understand why I’d refuse. But he’s let the matter drop. I’ll just be glad when he’s gone with our dead.”
Acharsis nodded. He fought a sudden urge to take her hand, to find a way to comfort her.
“It’s funny,” he said. “I’ve thought of this night so many times. Imagined our conversation. My asking you to tell me again about your life as a Scythian priestess, when you were all long legs and fiery impatience. My telling you about my own travels. The things I’ve seen, all the empty travels that have taken up my time. Drinking beer perhaps beneath the harvest moon. Instead we spent our time arguing and then were interrupted by a leech. Funny world, isn’t it.”
She looked up at him, her brow still furrowed, her eyes liquid and dark. Was that desire he saw in their depths? No; if he’d been feeling charitable, he’d call it compassion. Honesty might call it pity.
Acharsis inclined his head. “Good night, Annara. It was good to see you again.”
She didn’t respond. In her gaze, he saw a different world, a world that might have been, a future and a past that he had discarded, whose ruin he could blame on nobody but himself. At the very last, he couldn’t meet her eyes, so he bowed, turned, and did what he’d always done best.
He walked away.
Chapter 2
Acharsis awoke to the sound of screams. He bolted upright on his pallet, glaring at the unfamiliar dark confines of the room in which he had been sleeping. From the hearth, the embers cast a sullen glow on the other waking sleepers, illuminated the blackened underside of the pot that hung over them, and intimated at the rungs of the ladder that climbed to the closed trapdoor.
Another scream resounded, and then a panoply of bellows and yells. Acharsis threw aside the sheet and scrambled to his feet, hand patting ineffectively at his hip, searching for a sword long since lost.
“What’s happening?” Jasha, Kenu’s sister, gave voice to everyone’s fear and confusion.
Acharsis hurried to the ladder and began to climb, the poles flexing beneath his weight. Above him, he heard more shouts, the clash of weapons. He thrust open the trapdoor with his shoulder and peered out across the rooftop. The moon had risen while they were sleeping, and everything was limned in a ghostly glow. A score of men with curved blades were swirling in a knot like leaves caught in a wind devil, shoving and swinging at a handful of others who were seeking to repel them.
Acharsis clambered out onto the cool brick roof. He had no weapon.
A man screamed, a terrible, wounded cry, and fell onto his side. A woman’s protest of horror and outrage was cut short by a buffet to the head.
Acharsis kicked the bronze rods of a fireplace tripod apart and snatched one up. It was as thick as his finger and bent like a rib. To thrust or swing with it? There had to be a dozen attackers on the roof, their bodies almost formless in their sweeping robes, their attention on two or three trapdoors. They were barking urgently to each other in a language Acharsis hadn’t heard in years: Athite, one of the many languages of the steppe nomads.
Gritting his teeth, Acharsis stepped forward and brought his rod down onto the head of one of the raiders. The man cried out and went down, though more from surprise and pain than real damage. The blow bent the rod badly, and Acharsis began to retreat as two more men wheeled on him, their short, curved blades gleaming like shards of ice.
They attacked him together, and old instincts woke within him, along with a cold fury that made him reckless. The rod was flimsy, but it was all he had. He struck at their blades, moving out of their reach even as he sought to dismay them with the clamor of bronze on bronze. They didn’t press their attack; it was clear they didn’t want to pursue him across the rooftop. More trapdoors were opening, men spilling out, some with knives in their hands, others with clubs.
A cry of panic stopped him in his tracks. Elu! Acharsis saw him being plucked from his home like a coyote cub from its den. A blow across Elu’s brow silenced him. Another youth was hauled free, and then a third. One by one, they were dragged toward the settlement’s edge.
His attackers wove their blades before him, seeking merely to keep him back. Acharsis circled to the right, and both of them pivoted with him. Then, when he darted forward with a yell, they jumped back, one of them vanishing as if by magic when he retreated over an open trapdoor.
Acharsis hurled his rod at the second man’s head and darted around him, running toward the band who had reached the retaining wall and were lowering the unconscious youths to eager hands below. He bit back a cry and fell upon them, pounding one man with his shoulder. The man waved his arms, cried out in panic, and toppled forward off the roof, flipping in the air before he crashed onto the dirt below on his back.
Other Erukites were pressing around the raiders now, and an arrow whistled in to punch one of the Athites in the shoulder. Their leader gave out a cry of exasperation, and the group suddenly abandoned their retreat. They wheeled and lunged at the villagers and Acharsis, swinging their blades with new intent. In a matter of seconds, a score of wounds had been dealt, three men had fallen, and Acharsis was forced to back away, ducking and stumbling as a blade sliced close to his face over and over again.
Then they were gone. Like shadows, they slipped down the ladders. Acharsis felt fury and frustration boil up within him. He grabbed the top of a ladder, set his foot on the uppermost rung, and pushed off the retaining wall.
A raider looked up as he ran away, his eyes widening as Acharsis arced out above him, then came crashing down, ladder and all. Before the man could flee, Acharsis grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him to the dirt. The impact with the ground dazed him, but his hands seemed to act of their own accord; he held tight to the man’s robe with one hand, and with the other, he punched and gouged.
A booted foot glanced off his temple, and the world flashed brightly. Acharsis tried to push himself to his feet, but the ground slipped out from underneath him and he fell.
Yells and screams were echoing th
rough the night. The clash of sword on sword rang close by. Shaking his head, he managed to rise at last.
The raiders had mounted their horses and were riding away down the road to the fields below. A number of them were fighting the death watch guards who were defending the wagons, but as Acharsis swayed upright, he saw them disengage and flee as well.
“The dead!” someone was yelling. “Where are our dead?”
But it was too late. Panting, nauseated, Acharsis watched the raiders disappear down the steep road.
He cast around. Three guards were lying on the ground beside the wagons. Two raiders lay dead at the base of the settlement wall. Torches were being lit, their fitful light casting irresolute clouds of yellow brightness on the crowd who were now making their way down the ladders.
It was over.
Acharsis touched the base of his palm to his temple but found no blood. But he couldn’t catch his breath, and his pulse was pounding in his ears.
He stumbled over to one of the fallen raiders. The man lay twisted on his back, his face now uncovered, his empty eyes staring in mute appeal at the stars. Acharsis crouched beside him, and as he offered a prayer to Nekuul, he searched the corpse. The man had wet himself in death, and the acrid tang mixed sourly with the scent of a horse. He had a bronze dagger at his hip, a wooden talisman of a stallion strung around his neck, but nothing else of note.
Acharsis’ hand hesitated over the talisman. He’d never tried an Athite apotropaic amulet.
He closed his fist and left it around the dead man’s neck. If this one hadn’t saved its owner, it wouldn’t stop Acharsis’ demon.
People were shouting, demanding answers; others were wailing, sending up their pleas to the heavens.
Acharsis blinked. The blow to his head had muddied his thoughts. Annara. He climbed one of the ladders and made his way through the throng to where a group had gathered by Annara’s trapdoor.
Kenu was lying still to one side. Dead. Annara was lying with her head on Jasha’s lap, her eyes closed. In the light of the torch, Acharsis could make out the tight, gleaming skin on the side of her face that would flower into a gruesome bruise come morning.