Fox's Bride

by Marling, A. E.

  Hiresha glared down at him, five emeralds clutched in her palm.

  Before he could begin climbing the steps, a servant who had been fanning the priests stepped forward. It was Maid Janny, and she threw down a rug in front of the steps. Its pattern of gilt foliage struck Hiresha as familiar. The Royal Embalmer did not hesitate but ran straight over the rug.

  And flew into the air.

  Hiresha then remembered the rug she had enchanted with Lightening, to escape the First Trader's Inn. She highly approved of Janny's selection as it positioned her attacker at the perfect height to receive a bombardment of gems. She opened her hand in a spray of glittering green.

  The Royal Embalmer pumped his arms and legs in the air. His teeth remained gritted as he began to fall back to the stone steps. Then two emeralds stuck to his chest and black kilt.

  A gust of wind swept the embalmer into the sky. He screamed at her. The fennec yipped after him, the priests gawked, and Hiresha watched with a certain satisfaction as he disappeared around the corner of the pyramid, scrabbling for a handhold. She expected she might see the possessed man again, but he would have to live with weighing as little as a gnat for half an hour.

  “Hiresha!” A grey turban and dress bounded between the priests and up the steps to collide with the enchantress.

  She understood that Maid Janny had only meant to hug her, but with the Lightening enchantment reducing Hiresha's ties to the ground, she bounced off the maid and skidded onto her side. The enchantress made certain she did not land on the fennec.

  “Have a care, Maid Janny. I've lost weight since this morning.”

  Below, priests pulled away the enchanted rug and ushered guards to the pyramid. “The bride will be smothered. And the fennec,” one man in a blue robe said. “Their immortal bodies must return intact to the tomb.”

  Men charged up the stairs, fists pumping in their run, leather lashes of flails thumping against their sides. Yellow cloth of their over robes flowed behind them with their speed. Paintings of figures to either side of the steps seemed to cheer on the guards as the men rushed to the enchantress intending no doubt to clamp hands over her mouth and nose.

  “Maid Janny, you may present my first sash.”

  Hiresha slid the side of her hand along the fabric to push many gems out of their individual pockets. The jewels filled her palm. She did not aim at the guards so much as scatter gems in their general direction, and the barrage glittered and shone as it struck.

  Some guards were Lightened, and they whirled in confusion in the air. A breeze carried them after the embalmer. Others hit by Attraction gems faltered into each other and fell, their knees finding a sudden affinity for their chests. Flails smacked into fellow guards and could not be pulled loose. One man was bent into a ball, and he tumbled down the side of the pyramid. Hiresha was thankful he landed in sand.

  Most of the jewels showered onto the steps. They Attracted the guards from full run to full stop, and the men crumpled against the stone. They groaned and shouted to each other.

  “She hexed me! Kill her, Akare.”

  “No, get back! This ain't hexing. It's worse.”

  “How're we supposed to stop her? She has the god of fortune on her arm.”

  Hiresha surveyed her work with approval. Not one guard still stood to attack her.

  The maid was pulling bejeweled purple silk out from between her breasts. “I have your gown. What you're wearing is in a state.”

  “Very well, I'll change in the tomb.” Hiresha wanted nothing more than to rid herself of her henna-smeared bridal gown. She stepped back toward the swinging doors.

  A priest wailed. “Sacrilege!”

  Hiresha had her garnet dress and slippers on in a few moments, shifting the fennec from one hand to the other. The maid also tucked the second sash over the enchantress' shoulder.

  Back in the daylight, Hiresha stepped off the stair and began sliding down the pyramid.

  Janny called out. “What're you doing?”

  “I must avoid the jewels on the steps. Quickly, Maid Janny.”

  “Dear me. Oh, no!” The maid scooted after her onto the pyramid, tipping to the side in a mess of grey skirts.

  The blocks of the pyramid fit into a smooth slope, though hieroglyphs scraped Hiresha's legs. Each painted, the etched symbols sped by in a whir of color. She leaned back, trying to control her descent. The fennec's ears flapped, and he chirped to her in excitement.

  The enchantress skidded to the ground, her slippers burying themselves in sand. The maid plopped down beside her. When Hiresha stood to brush herself off, her eye caught on a purple coat.

  Chandur rode a camel toward the pyramid.

  The spellsword had expected to find Hiresha locked in a sarcophagus, choking out her last breaths. Instead, he gasped at the sight of her coasting down the side of the pyramid. She left guards and a few priests kneeling behind her on the steps. At least, they seemed to be bowing.

  The enchantress' hair tangled in drifts and swirls of black. When she pushed it aside and spotted him, she smiled without restraint.

  Chandur leaped down from the camel. He jogged around the vizier on his ostrich and rushed toward the pyramid to her side. First, he thought to embrace her as he would have another guard after completing a mission. Then he considered kissing her forehead to show his happiness. Next he thought he should clasp both her arms, a sign used by Oasis citizens to show great trust.

  When he neared her, he could not help but look her up and down in wonder. She wore her gown of jeweled spirals. Her curves could not match those of the Incarnate of the Red Lotus, but at that moment, he felt the same awe for her. The fennec jabbered in her arms, and Chandur was happy to see him alive, too.

  “I thought...I worried....” He glanced up the slope of hieroglyphs and stone, shaking his head. “I should never've doubted you, Enchantress.”

  He decided he must show his respect in traditional Morimound fashion. He would touch her feet.

  ***

  Hiresha grabbed Chandur's arm before he could lower himself before her. “You have my permission to worry for me, a little.”

  She thought he had weathered his imprisonment with remarkable fortitude. He only looked a little haggard about the eyes. Or is that an expression of resolve? They had painted his face with the mark of the Plumed God, tufts of feathers on his cheeks and a line curving upward.

  Hiresha realized her hand had strayed to clasp his chin. Blood throbbed in her fingertips. She withdrew her arm, feeling it a presumption.

  Warmth spread up her chest and began to assault her face in a blush. She wanted to say something more to Chandur, how relieved she was to see him again, that he looked well, that she was proud he had taken whatever initiative was needed to bring himself and the vizier to her rescue, even if she had not needed the help.

  She did not know how to phrase any of it.

  Clearing her throat, she vexed herself by allowing her eyes to shy away from Chandur, to the man riding the ostrich. “Vizier Ankhset, you'll have to defer your apologies. The matter of a Soultrapper demands our attention.”

  The vizier said, “I admit I have lately been of two minds.”

  “Quiet,” she said. “The Soultrapper was the Royal Embalmer during the Golden Scoundrel's reign as pharaoh. I must learn where to find his tomb.”

  “I know which records to search.” The glazed shaft of his false beard bobbed as the vizier nodded. “What else do you need?”

  “Which gods were mummified after the Golden Scoundrel?” Hiresha suspected the Soultrapper had possessed each Royal Embalmer, age after age. He would have had access to the pharaohs as they lay dying on their sickbeds, and he could have drawn his glyph on them and ensnared the strongest souls in the empire. Hiresha would not dare confront the Soultrapper in his own crypt while he suckled from the willpower of gods.

  “The Plumed God,” the vizier said, running a hand down his ostrich's neck, “eight hundred and seventy nine years ago. Then the Opal Mind, thre
e hundred and—”

  “The exact dates are irrelevant,” Hiresha said.

  The vizier scowled and pouted.

  Hiresha winced, thinking of the spirit of the Opal Mind imprisoned in her own withered flesh. At the Academy stood a monument of water and gemstone for the legendary enchantress. The liquid statue had inspired Hiresha in ways no one in her family ever had. A burning pit of resentment opened within Hiresha, and she promised herself to be even less cordial when next she met the Soultrapper, in whatever form he took.

  The enchantress took a step away from the pyramid. “I require a chair to take me to the Pyramid of the Opal Mind.”

  Chandur touched her arm. “I think you'll have to ride. The guards are in a stabbing mood, and a camel is faster.”

  “If you think it necessary,” she said. “And wherever is your sword?”

  “Oh,” he said, “back in Bleak Wells.”

  “Incorrect,” the vizier said. “The city moved it after the spellsword attempted escape.”

  Hiresha said, “We'll want that sword.”

  “All will be arranged.” The vizier's ostrich sprinted off between the temple buildings.

  Feeling bold after her victory on the pyramid steps, Hiresha rested a hand on the breadth of Chandur's arm. “When we break into the tomb of the Opal Mind, I want you to be careful of traps. Never underestimate genius.”

  “Wait,” Chandur said, “you lost me at 'tomb breaking.'“

  The southern face of the Pyramid of the Opal Mind bore a mural of a woman of epic proportions with a spiraling tail. She reached into the sky holding a staff and a pink jewel, and hieroglyphs of stylized water flowed from her hands. As Chandur gazed up he could not help but wonder if Hiresha would be that famous someday. She could do without the tail.

  Janny groaned as she slid from the camel. She staggered and gripped her head. “That ride felt like two bottles of cheap port.”

  Hiresha mumbled something in agreement. She had sat in front of the maid, and she wore a new sash across her chest stitched with ruffles. Chandur descended his own camel to assist the enchantress in stepping down. When she did, bells jingled on the green rug draped over the animal's hump. Hiresha weighed less than he expected.

  Six scribes walked up. Ink speckled the hands that carried Chandur's stone sword. Hiresha's sword, I mean. The sight of the enchanted weapon gratified him more than a banquet held in his honor. He had gone too long without the sword. Though, his stomach gurgled to remind him that real banquet would not go amiss either.

  The scribes huffed as they shifted the jasper blade down from their shoulders. “We estimate this weighing more than one thousand coins,” a scribe said while he took off his wig and fanned his bald head with it. “How can you swing that?”

  “It gets Lighter.” Chandur felt like he reached to clasp the arm of an old friend as he closed one finger at a time over the stone hilt. He activated an enchantment within the hilt to Attract it to his hands in an unbreakable grasp. When he tried to Lighten the blade, he found the days away from the enchantress had drained it of power.

  Straining, he hefted all fifty pounds of jasper to point skyward. White wisps of stone threaded within the redness, speckled by blots and creases of black rock.

  One scribe scuttled to the enchantress. Finding her with eyes closed and a stance of sleeping on her feet, he turned back to Chandur. “The pyramid has a key. The high priest and the scholar who won this year's Baboon Award each wear half, but I can't find either of them. The vizier will kill me.”

  By the shivering of his stained fingers, the scribe did seem to fear for his life.

  Hiresha swayed toward the pyramid with a yawn. “I—awwhhh—anticipate the Soultrapper has them throwing the key amulets into the desert. No matter. I'm prepared to dismantle the enchantments on the door.”

  Hiresha clambered up a mound of chains strewn in front of the pyramid. The maid steadied her with a hand.

  The scribes called out in alarm. Royal guards shoved through them, and wigs flopped to the street. One guard growled at Chandur, and they all lowered their polearms and charged. Nostrils flared. Their axe blades touched edged to edge in a plow of sharp bronze, ready to cut Chandur in half, and if that failed, bash him until he stopped moving.

  “Hiresha.” Chandur struggled to steer his wedge of jasper in front of him. Without enchantments, he could not defend himself. “Help!”

  He needed her to go to sleep to power his sword, but he worried even she could not doze off fast enough. An axe shoved his sword aside.

  “Chandur, reposition—Get back!”

  He threw himself away from the onslaught of guards, dragging his weapon after him. The chains he landed on clanked.

  Jewels sprayed through the air in specks of orange, lilac, yellow, and pink. The gems rained their colors among the guards.

  The velvet lapels of Chandur's coat flapped forward as the gems Attracted. The guards were hurled together, forming a clump of axe handles, chest jewelry, arms, and legs. They cursed, and a few flailed against the tiled street.

  Chandur stared up at Hiresha, amazed. “Guess I was right. You don't need me.”

  Hiresha rubbed the back of her hand against her brows, looking as if she hid a smile. “The enchantments were only so effective because of the men’s proximity.”

  Chandur noticed she was not wearing gloves. Dark stones dotted the skin of her delicate fingers. Are those new?

  With another glance at the boulder of guards—Chandur did not think they had been hurt too badly—he followed the enchantress over the chains then down a sandstone ramp toward the pyramid, below the titan feet of the mural. The jasper sword was propped on his shoulder. Under the level of the street and shaded in the trench, they stopped before a slanted marble wall. Chandur recognized a few of the carved words.

  “'The wise may wish to reach my tomb. The wisest will not.'“

  Janny backed away. “Why would you want to go in there? And by 'you,' I mean not me. Can't. Feeling especially wise today.”

  “When the Opal Mind wrote that,” Hiresha said, adjusting her sash then leaning back against a circular door of bluish marble, “she didn't know her soul was going to be locked in her mummy.”

  “If she did, she'd have written 'Welcome, help, help?'“ Chandur asked.

  Hiresha had explained some about Soultrappers on the way. As he understood it, the Soultrapper was old, dead but still alive, and too strong to approach head-on. The pharaoh souls are like his shields. Have to take 'em away before we can swipe at him.

  The enchantress' head slumped. He was impressed she could fall asleep while holding a yipping fennec. The furry ears sagged to the sides as the animal seemed to fall unconscious at the same time her purple gems glimmered. Chandur had never said so, but he thought Hiresha slept with a pretty smile.

  The jewel at the end of the sword's hilt flashed violet, and a ruby light glared into Chandur's eyes from his circlet. He guessed Hiresha was sending dream magic through a bond with her enchantments. He tested his sword and found he could Lighten it. Swinging it upward, he allowed its weight to return, and the momentum of the jasper wedge hauled him into the air. The sword dragged him off his feet for a second. He landed with a thump of boots.

  “Careful!” Maid Janny shuffled back though he had not come close to hitting her.

  The fennec squeaked at the same time Hiresha woke. She said, “His eyes are not black.”

  “Er, what?” Chandur rested the sword on his other shoulder.

  “A highly saturated amber hue, yet not black.” She patted the fennec's head then straightened and stepped away from the blue-marble circle. “Attend to the door, Chandur.”

  Forgetting for a moment he stood on sandstone and not dirt, Chandur rammed his sword into the ground. It embedded a foot into the softer rock and stuck. Oops, he thought. Both hands free, he pushed against the slab door. Then he shoved. Heaved. Scraped his boots against the ground.

  Before he could turn to press his shoulders agains
t it, Hiresha said. “It is still locked. When I say, 'attend,' I mean 'smash to smithereens.'“

  Chandur backed away, enchanted sword in hand. Doubts to his own safety and the strength of the sword whisked past his mind, but he trusted Hiresha. He ran toward the door and leaped.

  The red jasper thundered against the blue marble.

  Rock blasted in chunks. Chandur had turned his face away, but shards knocked against the braids of his wig. Debris tumbled off his coat. The half-circle remains of the door rolled out of the pyramid. He was satisfied to see his sword had not so much as chipped.

  “Enchanted stone has superior strength.” Hiresha stepped up into the darkness of the round entrance. “Formidable, when combined with your superior technique.”

  Chandur listened for any notes of sarcasm. The enchantress was known throughout the Academy as a miser for compliments. “You haven't mentioned my form before.”

  “I might never have another opportunity. This pyramid will try to kill us, you understand.”

  “Oh, right.” He trudged into the tomb after her.

  The ancient air inside scratched his throat. The slap of his boots against the floor sounded irreverent. Air chilled by stone and shadows seeped into him like a judgment, and he shivered.

  The corridor ended sooner than Hiresha would have wished. A false door was carved into the marble with concentric frames that gave a symbolic impression of a longer hall. The stone illusion terminated in a portal no wider than Hiresha's palm.

  She asked, “Did we miss a side passage?”

  “Just more doors like this one isn't.” Chandur peered behind them. The entrance had diminished to a dot of light in the blackness.

  Hiresha ran her finger over a pair of lines indicating the number two above the false door. Her earrings tinted blue the surrounding hieroglyphs: the jagged line for water, a few ropes, boxes, and a dotted circle.

  She asked, “You don't happen to…?”

  “Never got as far as hieroglyphs,” he said.