Yani opened her reticule and drew out a couple of wafers. “I only have two,” she said. “Do you want one?”
“You can have them.”
“One is plenty. They’re filling. Here, take it.”
They ate in silence. The wafer was dense, sweet, and refreshing. It grew dark outside. Keftu took off his armor.
“I’m sorry I said that about your people being extinct,” Yani said.
“It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not. I’ve misjudged you. You’re not a liar or a thief.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll be very sad if you die tomorrow.”
“How many have gone before? I’m just curious.”
“Five. Two died. Three ran away.”
“And you found them all yourself?”
“It’s all I’ve done since the coming of the worm.” She was silent a moment. “Do you miss your people?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to them?”
“They were poisoned. I was on my Walking. I’d just come of age. When I returned they were all dead. So I came to Enoch.”
“This is very wicked, but sometimes I’ve wished my people would all die, and leave me free to wander the world.”
“You wouldn’t say that if it really happened.”
“No, I know. Well, if you’re victorious tomorrow, you’ll have a place to call home.”
“We shall see.”
Yani shifted in the darkness. “This is a solemn occasion, you know,” she said. “There’s to be a rite. My sister has rehearsed for weeks. It’s not often that ceremony intersects with real life.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Well, the last champion who died made something of a scene when the worm got him. It didn’t really matter, because it wasn’t the time of the sacrifice. But I’d hate for something like that to spoil my sister’s day.”
“I’ll do my best to die with dignity,” he said.
She squeezed his hand in the darkness. “Thanks.”
“But I hope it won’t be necessary.”
“Oh, I hope so, too.” She squeezed his hand again. “You looked quite ridiculous when the Guardian threw you over the rim.”
“Yes, I suppose I did.”
She shivered. “I’m cold. Are you cold?”
“No. Come here.”
She snuggled up close to him, and he wrapped his arm around her thin shoulders. She laid her face close to his chest, so that the crown of her head rubbed his jaw. Her hair smelled of sweat and faded perfume.
“I can hear your heart beating,” she said.
* * *
They reached Anadogra when it was still dark the next morning. “We’ll wait here,” Yani whispered as they came to the brink of a spur.
The wind from the west was cold and dry, but every so often an eastern breeze smote their faces, sweet and wet and laden with the scent of growing things.
A line of distant rock teeth stood against shimmering silver now. Dawn crept across the dome of the sky. Rose touched its rim.
They stood above a deep caldera with walls of glittering black. A green carpet filled the basin, a grid of horsetail patties, with an island like a ship of stone at the center, crowned with a crystal palace. Here and there great amethysts stood in the water, and the lines between the fields radiated from them or swept around them in concentric circles. A bridge led straight from the base of the cliffs to the palace.
“My people should be coming out. I don’t understand,” Yani said. She gasped. “They’ve already come! Look!”
It was true. A slim figure was dangling from manacles on the largest crystal, which stood midway to the palace. The bridge was empty. The people must have come while they were waiting there in the darkness, mournfully, silently, without candles or lanterns, and returned immediately.
They looked up. A thread of black lay against the sky, spiraling ever lower. They could hear cries from the palace now.
“Do your people know how to make Calemishian fire?” Keftu asked.
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s something that was used in sea battles. Your wise men may know of it. Find out, and if so have them make it.”
“I will,” she said.
He handed her the heart in its casket, then leaped off the cliff. He followed the line of the bridge, mounting ever higher.
The worm was a long, lithe creature with six jointed wings, three on each side, each ending in an outspread purple fan. It had no legs, but its body was lined with black claws. Level sunbeams smote Keftu as he shot toward it. A shout went up from the palace.
He was above the worm now. It was descending upon its prey and still hadn’t seen him. Yolara awaited it with dignity. Keftu held his arms against his body and dove. At the last moment he lifted his sword and slashed, shearing one wing off at the joint. The monster whistled and dropped.
He swung up and out, just over the bridge, and saluted the archon’s daughter. She wore a dress of white silk. Her thick red hair streamed in the wind. He caught a glimpse of Yani running toward the city and then had to face the worm.
It came at him, hobbled now, but swiftly for all that. He avoided a jab of its pronged tail and caught hold of it. Swinging at its end, he retracted his wings and pulled himself along the worm’s body. It tried to throw him off, but he clung tenaciously to its carapace. He shore off a second wing and worked his way forward.
The chitinous spinners that lined the beast’s back whirled with angry glee. As a wing flexed and stretched he slashed at it, tearing the membrane. Now the worm began to drop. He hacked at a fourth wing. The creature managed to curl its tail around him. It latched its claws on his armor and tore him off.
The air rushed past as he fell. He extended his wings, but the wind snapped them. The pinion he’d shorn off the worm was fluttering down just beneath him. He snatched at it with both hands and held it over his head like a parachute. The worm struck the rush-carpet with an explosion of steam and water. He hit a second later and was struck senseless.
When he came to he was on his back in a bed of horsetails. It was midday. Yani was screaming at him from the bridge. “Wake up! Oh, wake up! It’s going to get her!”
He shook himself. “What’s happening?”
“We thought it was dead, but now it’s moving again! Look!”
“Did they make my fire?”
“They’re trying. Hurry, please!”
He leaped into the water and went bounding across the marsh. Each time he landed he sank deep in the ooze, releasing bubbles of methane, the Anadograns’ fuel. The worm was snaking through the water and could only be seen by the divide it made in the rushes.
Keftu tried to grab its tail but it slipped out of his hand. He leaped high in the air and landed on its back. With his sword he slashed a joint in its plates. Hot white ichor oozed out.
The worm curled and coiled itself around him, gripping him with a thousand black claws. It was a thing of phlegm and slime now. Its head shot toward him, a long proboscis surrounded by eyes, and tried to jab his face. He drove his sword up and put out one eye.
Released, he fell to his knees in the water. The worm reared up above him. Blue fire crackled at its mouthparts. Keftu uncovered his head, took up a helmet of water, and dashed it against the worm’s face. There was a muffled boom, and the creature made off with a squeal.
He waded to the rock where Yolara still hung and climbed to the top. “I’ll have you down in a moment,” he called.
“No!” she said. “This is my place. What if you fail? The worm must have its sacrifice.”
“As you wish.”
“What is your name?” she asked.
“My name is Keftu,” he said. “I am the phylarch of Arras.” He sat down, legs crossed, waiting.
Yani came running down the bridge. “They have it! They’re bringing it!”
“Good. Make sure it’s ready.”
They waited through the slow hours of t
he sun’s ascendancy. It was late afternoon when the worm returned. It shot up out of the water without warning, flying over the crystal like a centipede. Keftu chased it all over the rock, getting in slash after slash but unable to mortally wound it. He was tired. The strength lent by his panoply seemed sinking with the sun.
He stumbled upon the peak. The worm was on him in an instant. It wrapped him around so that he could hardly move. The sharp proboscis stabbed his armor again and again, seeking his flesh. The pronged tail probed him. A chitinous point slid up the inside of his thigh, seeking his life.
Yani saw it. “I knew it!” he heard her call. “You are a son of maugrethim! Good for nothing but worm food! To think I went through all that trouble for autochthon vermin!”
Keftu gave an angry thrust with his knees and tore a coil loose. Planting his feet firmly on the stone he pushed up with his arms and heaved the worm off. Before it could recover he spun and, his sword gleaming like a bolt of golden lightning, shore off its tail, spattering the rock with black bile. He swung again and cut its body in two.
“The fire!” he shouted. “Quickly!”
He leaped down to the water and caught up the wriggling front half of the worm. Holding it far out from his chest he bounded to the bridge and swung himself up. Yani was there with men from the palace. Admiration shone in her eyes. One of the men held a barrel.
Keftu dropped the worm, seized the barrel, and shattered it on the creature’s head. Thick yellow fluid formed a pool on the planks.
“A torch!” he shouted. “Then run!”
One of the men tossed him a torch. He cast it onto the worm’s head and threw himself into the water.
The bridge exploded in flames. With a squeal the worm perished.
* * *
Night was falling. Keftu stood before the Lord Baslark on the palace steps. Yolara stood beside her father, a vision of loveliness. Her hazel eyes glistened. Her face was full and glad. Auburn hair fell in rich curls to her waist. Her breasts were tame doves. Yani was with her, holding her hand.
“Noble sir,” said Baslark. “You have saved Anadogra. You have saved my daughter. Receive her hand.”
Keftu strode forward and bowed. Yolara put out her hand, and he kissed it. He stepped back.
“Yani,” he said.
“My noble autochthon.” Yani put her hand out, and he took it, but looked into her eyes instead.
“Be my wife, Yani,” he said.
There were gasps of surprise from the people gathered there to watch. “Idiot!” Yani said. “You’ll ruin it for yourself.”
“Think what you do,” said Baslark. “Her hand is yours, if she is willing. But she stands to inherit nothing.”
“I do nothing without thought,” said Keftu. “Perhaps she won’t have me, though. There’s many a deed that lies still before me, in the devious turns of Enoch. Will you wait for me, Yani?”
“Yes, but not long.”
“Until we meet again, then.” Without another word he spun on his heel and set out across the bridge. The sun was merging with the mountains, a ball of pink glare without heat, a wafer swallowed by the wide jaws of the encircling city. The god’s black heart throbbed in his hand. Whether he would find its owner again was more than he could say.
Copyright © 2015 Raphael Ordoñez
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Raphael Ordoñez is a mildly autistic writer and circuit-riding college professor living in the Texas hinterlands, eighty miles from the nearest bookstore. His stories have appeared multiple times previously in Beneath Ceaseless Skies. He blogs sporadically about fantasy, writing, art, and life at raphordo.blogspot.com.
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COVER ART
“Ancient Threshold,” by Sam Burley
Sam Burley is a matte painter turned illustrator and is believed to currently reside on the continent of North America. Eye-witness reports describe him as a tall, stick-like, camera-wielding figure staring at the sky or driving around aimlessly with his dog named Rygel. On rare occasions he has been glimpsed careening through the air by any of several flimsy and horribly unnatural means of flight, apparently laughing. If seen, approach with caution… and preferably root beer. View more of his work online at samburleystudio.com.
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