The Venom of Luxur

by J. Steven York

Fallon nodded in agreement. “Aye!”

  Sabé could not help his lopsided grin. “You are young, my friends, and that gives you power, not just of body, but of spirit, that I no longer possess. Who am I to say what you can or cannot do? The fates have only so much power over optimists and fools.”

  Fallon raised an eyebrow. “Fools?”

  Teferi chuckled. “It is better we do not ask.”

  Sabé sat wearily in the chair where Anok’s swords still hung. “If I am not wise in all matters, believe me in this one thing that I tell you. You three are stronger together than alone. Accept that in some things, Anok is stronger than you can ever be, and that right now, he needs your strength more than ever. Alone, none of you can succeed in your quests. Together? Who am I to say?”

  Teferi looked at the door. “There may be little sense in it, but I am going to look for my brother.”

  Fallen nodded. “I, too, will go.”

  Just then they heard the rumble of chariot wheels and the sounds of large horses pulling to a stop on the street just outside.

  Teferi and Fallon looked at each other, and Fallon jumped on a table so that she could look out one of the high front windows.

  “It is a chariot from the Temple of Set,” she reported. “Someone is getting out, but I cannot see who for the trees.” She jumped down and moved to another window. “I see two guardians, but they are leaving.”

  The door opened, and Anok walked in. His robes were slashed in many places and covered with dark, rusty streaks and splotches that might have been bloodstains. He stopped at the door, looked at them, and blinked in surprise.

  Teferi rushed toward him. “Brother! Are you well?”

  Anok wobbled on his feet, then threatened to fall over, just as Teferi rushed to his side, steadying him. The Kush giant helped his friend to a couch, where he collapsed in among the pillows limply, staring at the ceiling.

  As his head went back, Teferi saw the fresh fang marks on his neck.

  Anok blinked. “Is it time for supper yet?” His voice was weak. “It has been a very long day.”

  11

  ANOK’S RECOVERY FROM the venom ritual was rapid. For this, Teferi was unsure if he should be pleased or alarmed. By the midday meal, Anok had his color back and was eating ravenously.

  Teferi watched as he deftly sliced a melon into wedges with a knife, separated the green, sweet-smelling meat from the rind, and diced the meat into chunks that he could easily eat from his knifepoint. He chewed eagerly, wiping a bit of juice on his sleeve as it ran down his chin.

  “If you keep eating like that,” said Teferi, “you will need to ask the temple for an increase in your expense payments.”

  Anok chuckled. “I expect there will be one due me when I am inducted into the priesthood.”

  Teferi frowned. “Do you not mean if you are inducted into the priesthood? Ramsa Aál’s plans seem to be progressing rapidly. Perhaps this will all be over before things go that far.”

  Anok took a chunk of melon away from his mouth and looked down at the blade, turning it so that the reflected sunlight from the window played across his face. “You speak as though we can simply thwart his plan and go home?”

  “Is that not your intent?”

  Anok bit off the rest of the melon, then stabbed the point of the blade into the tabletop, so that it stood there, quivering. “If Ramsa Aál can be thwarted without revealing myself as a heretic, why should I leave? I can continue to work within the cult to bring about its downfall, and I can do that most effectively with the mantle of priesthood. The higher my rank, the more power I will have, and the more harm I can do.”

  “You speak as though that is your true avocation, Anok. You must decide, are you a heretic or a true follower of Set?”

  Anok laughed humorlessly and leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. “You know the answer to that.”

  “Do I?”

  He leaned forward, his lips pressed together into a thin line. “What do you mean by that? Do you doubt me?”

  “I worry about you, brother, that is all. If I remind you of your mission, it is only because I feel I must. Do not lose sight of your true goals. You may be closer than you think, but not if you become entrapped in Set’s snare.” He pointed at the marks on Anok’s neck, already healing. “How could you let them do that to you again so soon?”

  Anok chewed the corner of his lip and did not meet Teferi’s eye. “I did not let them. I asked for the ritual.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You don’t understand, Teferi. My status in the cult is growing by bounds. I am celebrated. Ramsa Aál’s trust in me grows. Whatever his plans, I am now confident I shall be at his side when they are executed. I must continue to convince him of my loyalty to the cult.”

  “By subjecting yourself to poison?”

  “It isn’t so bad. The Mark of Set offers me some protection, and the venom is weak. In some respects, it is exhilarating.”

  “You speak of it like a bath in a hot spring. This is poison, Anok. Poison further tainted by Set’s evil magic!”

  “I am equal to the challenge. I will not yield.”

  Teferi sighed and paced the length of the room. “Fallon was here earlier while you were in the garden.”

  “I haven’t seen her this morning. Where has she been?”

  “On the streets, trying to pick up more information about Ramsa Aál’s plans. She heard some interesting gossip this morning, and in fact, says she has heard very little but. A follower of Set entered the alley of the Hanuman cult and single-handedly slaughtered them all.”

  He looked at Anok, who said nothing, his face emotionless. Finally, he said, “The Hanuman Cult is a foul one, even by the standards of Set. Unclean, animal-fornicating baby-killers. It is for the best.”

  Teferi looked at him, his eyes narrowed. “So say you.” He waited for Anok to say something else. When he did not, Teferi continued. “Why did you do it, Anok? Another creative act to impress your new master, Ramsa Aál?”

  “That was the result, but it was not my intent.”

  Teferi frowned. It struck him as significant that Anok had not denied the part about Ramsa Aál being his master. There was a time when he never would have let a thing like that go by. Now he merely quibbled about details of intent.

  “Then why did you do it?”

  Anok frowned. He pushed back the chair and stood, yanking the knife from the table, wiping it on a cloth, then pushing it back into its scabbard on his belt. “Since I have returned from the Tomb of Neska, I have sought a true test of my power and control. No such opportunity has presented itself, so I was forced to contrive one.”

  He spread his hands and looked down at himself. “As you see, even after that and the ritual of venom, I am whole. I am not mad. When I face my battle with Set, I will know what weapons are at my command and how to wield them. I did not know that before.”

  “And this slaughter brought you favor at the temple?”

  “In truth, many were outraged, including Kaman Awi.” He smiled as he remembered. “But Ramsa Aál jumped to my defense, in front of half the temple!”

  Teferi sniffed. “Listen to yourself, Anok. You speak of this with pride! Ramsa Aál is not your father!” The words were out before he had thought them through, and they landed in the middle of the room like a boulder from a catapult.

  Anok just stared at him, his expression unreadable. Finally, he shook his head and turned away.

  “Anok! I should not have said that! It was unfair of me.” Anok took a deep breath and slowly released it. “No. No, it needed to be said. Perhaps there is some truth to what you say. My father’s death at such a tender age, it has left a great void in my life. Perhaps I have always had a secret need to fill that void, and in my foolish way, I have let Ramsa Aál step into that role.”

  He just stood there for a moment, then turned his head and spat angrily on the floor. “What was I thinking?” He stomped to the open garden doors, leaning on the
door-frame, looking out at the greenery, still lush from the previous days’ showers.

  Teferi wondered if he was being too harsh, or not harsh enough. Still, Anok seemed genuinely repentant. He stepped up behind his friend and put a hand on his shoulder. “You have lost your way, brother. Let us help.”

  Anok laughed. “I can’t believe I left my swords behind.” He turned, and looked at them, still hanging on the chair in the corner of the parlor. “Do me a favor, old friend. Let us spar as we did in the old time. Let us take up arms and make the simple music of steel.”

  Teferi frowned. “Do you think you’re up to it?”

  Anok chuckled and walked over to pick up the sword harness. “I told you, I feel fine. Better than fine, now that I have rested some.”

  That did not make Teferi feel any better, but he said nothing. The villa’s garden was small, but lush, surrounded by a high wall. It had been neat and well tended when they had moved in, but it had become somewhat overgrown since their arrival.

  Of the three of them, only Fallon showed any interest in, or knowledge of, tending plants. Teferi gathered that her knowledge was gained during her time as a youthful slave. She did not speak of it much, but it was clear that her interest in such work was tainted by troubling memories; and she tended to work in the garden only occasionally and only for a short time. On occasion, they would hire someone to come in to clean the villa and tend the grounds, but this was not Khemi, and such labor was not cheap.

  They stepped out into the garden, following the flagstone path to the brick-paved center court. It was a sunny day, and bees buzzed around them seeking honeysuckle and the flowering shrubs that grew along the wall.

  Teferi turned to face Anok and drew his sword. “You recall,” he said, “our last attempt at sparring did not go so well.”

  Anok tilted his head. “Has it really been that long? I suppose it has. When I first saw this garden, I always assumed we would use it to practice our swordsmanship.”

  “As Fallon and I have.”

  Anok strapped on his own sword harness and drew one of his swords. He extended it forward and tapped the blade against Teferi’s larger weapon. Then he drew his second sword, moved into a relaxed stance, blades high, feet apart.

  There had been a time, on the streets of Odji, the slums of Khemi, when the swords of Anok Wati had been a source of terror and awe. He had been called the “two-bladed devil,” for his two-handed fighting style. He could fight as well as any man with left hand or right, and fight just as well with two swords as one. He could fight a man to a standstill with a sword in his right hand, then toss it to his left just to create confusion. He had been fast, agile, cunning, winning battles through speed, skill, and misdirection.

  That seemed an eternity ago. Mastery of the sword only stayed with those who lived by the blade every day, or by those who practiced it daily without fail. These days, it seemed like Anok wore his swords more out of habit than anything, and the previous day’s adventure seemed to show that even this habit was fading. “I will go easy on you,” he said.

  Anok just grinned, shifting his weight from one foot to another, crouching slightly in anticipation of an attack.

  He waits for me to move first? So be it.

  Teferi put his left arm back for balance, waving the point of his sword to confuse his intent, then lunged at Anok’s right side.

  Anok dodged left, using his right sword to deflect the point of Teferi’s weapon up and out, even as the left sword swung at Teferi’s exposed flank.

  Teferi spun and dodged, freeing his blade in time to swat Anok’s right sword away. His heavier weapon knocked Anok’s sword and arm wide, giving him an opening.

  Teferi lunged forward, stabbing at Anok’s midsection, prepared to stop the sword before it could do real damage.

  He need not have bothered. Anok was not there to meet the point when it passed.

  He dived to one side, used his sword to guide Teferi’s blade into the soft earth, then jumped onto a boulder while Teferi struggled to extricate his weapon.

  Anok laughed down from his perch. “First blood! I believe you have skewered a worm!”

  Teferi grunted, swung his blade at Anok’s ankles. Anok jumped at the last moment, so that the blade sliced only the air under his feet, then stabbed at Teferi’s face.

  Teferi dodged the blade, only to dodge immediately the other way to avoid its twin.

  The first blade slashed.

  He stepped back and deflected it.

  The second.

  Again he stepped back, steel clanging against steel.

  The blades moved faster and faster, so that all Teferi could do was fall back and defend himself.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shadow of a palm tree behind him. He angled toward it, saw the slight smile on Anok’s face that indicated that he thought he was going to corner Teferi.

  He felt the solid trunk against his back, saw the point of Anok’s blade coming at his face.

  He ducked and dodged right, using his sword for defense as he stepped around the tree, and the point of Anok’s blade stabbed deep into the wood and stuck there.

  Before he could remove it, Teferi lunged forward, using the tree as cover, forcing Anok to abandon one of his blades.

  Teferi grinned. “Now,” he said, “things are more even.”

  Anok grinned back and shook his head. He reached for his dagger with his right hand and drew it. “I am still the two-bladed devil!”

  If the different reach and balance of his two weapons bothered him, Anok did not show it. He was quickly on the offensive again, using his sword to keep Teferi’s blade busy while he stabbed and slashed with the knife. Always, Teferi was able to keep just out of his reach, but it was a distraction, and Anok was very fast with the dagger.

  Teferi feigned a thrust, then stepped back, swung the sword overhand, and brought it down in a powerful two-handed slash.

  Anok crossed his blades, catching Teferi’s sword between them, then suddenly fell back, using the power of his larger opponent’s blow against him.

  Teferi tumbled forward, off-balance, as Anok fell onto his back into a cushioning flower bed.

  Suddenly Teferi found Anok’s feet against his belly, carrying him over, tossing him head over heels onto the flagstone walk.

  There was a thud as he hit the rough stone, and he felt a hunk of skin scraped off his back. He grunted, rolled over, and came up crouched on all fours, sword still clutched in his hand, braced for Anok’s attack.

  Instead, Anok had run back and was recovering his second blade from the tree trunk. As he yanked it free he turned and smiled. “So, things are again not so even!”

  Teferi looked over and spotted a section of fallen branch next to his left hand. It was nearly as thick as his wrist, and roughly three feet long. He grabbed it and scrambled to his feet. “Then,” he said, “let us find another way to even things!”

  Near one corner of the garden, a trio of upright boulders were artfully arranged in a triangle. Anok turned and ran toward them, leaping nimbly onto the farthest one, then spun back to face Teferi, his twin swords at the ready.

  Not willing to give him a moment’s rest, Teferi roared a battle cry and charged across the center court at him, sword held high over his head, his makeshift wooden weapon held diagonally in front of his face in a defensive pose.

  He charged between the other two boulders, stabbing at Anok’s stomach.

  The smaller man danced aside, just as Teferi swung the branch at his ankles.

  He jumped, stepping across the blow and landing on the boulder to Teferi’s right.

  Teferi instinctively dived back just as the point of Anok’s blade struck the stone behind where his neck had been.

  Anok jumped again, landing even as he made a slashing blow that Teferi deflected with the branch.

  Anok had the high ground now, and took full advantage of it, stepping from rock to rock, his twin blades darting down from every angle. Teferi felt like he was t
rying to dodge lightning bolts, yet there seemed to be a rhythm, a pattern, that he could anticipate—

  Suddenly one of the swords reversed, the other slashing unexpectedly. He caught it with his sword as an awkward angle, the branch in his other hand poorly positioned and useless.

  The heavy pommel of Anok’s sword came down on the top of his head. There was thunder with the lightning, and he saw stars.

  Before he could see, one of Anok’s swords was tangled in the guard of Teferi’s blade. The blade was ripped from his hand, flying away to spin across bricks of the center court.

  Teferi managed to block a blow with the wooden branch, but he was instantly at a huge disadvantage.

  Anok toyed with him, herding him away from recovering his blade, keeping him busy responding to one attack, one feint after another, pushing him ever back.

  Then the blades swung in from two directions at once.

  He ducked back and held up the branch to defend himself, instantly realizing that he had been fooled again.

  The swords were not for him. They cut into the branch from either side, allowing Anok to use the strength of both arms to pull it from his hand and toss it aside.

  One of Anok’s blades was stuck in the branch, but he let it fly away as well, and instantly the dagger was in his hand.

  He shoved Teferi back, jumping onto his chest as he fell.

  Teferi landed with a painful thud, Anok’s knees driving him into the ground, his sword across Teferi’s throat, the point driving his chin back.

  He lay there, grunting, knowing that in a true battle he could be dead. “I yield!” he managed to gasp.

  The sword still lay sharp against his jugular, the point driving ever deeper into the soft flesh of his chin, until he felt a tiny trickle of blood.

  He realized something was wrong, and though his head was forced back, he managed to catch Anok’s eyes.

  His friend, his brother, panted, his face red and covered with sweat, and his eyes wide with rage and bloodlust.

  “I yield!”

  Anok just looked down at him like an animal, the hand holding the dagger trembling.

  “Anok!”

  Anok jumped back, dropping his sword, and casting aside the dagger. He staggered back, turning his face away, slumping as though he barely retained the strength to stand.