The Venom of Luxur

by J. Steven York

  Distance had no meaning. Time had no meaning. The world was a dark void, and he could not find what he sought. Anok, where are you?

  “Help me!” The voice was small, and far away, but it was unquestionably his friend.

  It echoed through the fog. He followed those echoes, faster than any horse, faster than any eagle, the air screaming with his passage. “Brother, I am coming!”

  With each step, his aspect changed, the paint of battle appearing on his face and body, the feathered headdress of the warrior, his spear on one hand, his bow in the other, his arrows upon his back. He was Zimwi-msaka now, warrior-born, scourge of the darkness. “Brother! I come!”

  He burst onto a plain, to see Anok bound to a slab of stone, hanging lifeless, his head down, two streaks of blood running down his chest.

  “Brother! What have they done to you!”

  Even in the dreamworld, Anok was all but lifeless.

  But something else was alive here.

  Something evil.

  He looked to the shifting clouds of mist, sometimes taking the form, for just a moment, of rocks, or trees, or mountains, before drifting away with some tiny breeze.

  Something moved.

  He saw a long, serpentine form. A great snake, changing as it moved, into smoke, then back again. It looked at him. “He is mine!”

  Teferi stood his ground, holding up his spear. Lightning danced around the point like blue fire. “Never!”

  “Then my poison will kill him. Then he will die, and you will die with his dream!”

  “I will not let that happen.” He thrust the spear toward the serpent without throwing it. A bolt of lightning lanced out, striking its coils.

  The snake fell, writhed, turned briefly into smoke, then was whole again. “He is mine. He is ours!” With that last word, one voice somehow became two.

  A strange mist began to flow from under the bracelet that bound Anok’s left wrist. It flowed swiftly to the snake, flowing into it, joining with it, making it stronger, giving it more substance. “He will not die! He is ours! Come to us, Kamanwati!”

  Anok’s body began to turn to mist, and bit by bit, it was drawn into the body of the serpent. As it was, the snake began to change, changing into the shape and size of a man.

  It was Anok.

  It was not Anok.

  He wore the scarlet robes and golden yoke of a priest of Set. A veil of scarlet was drawn across the lower half of his face, and his eyes were slitted, like those of a serpent.

  “Anok!”

  “Anok is dead! I am Kamanwati, son of the serpent, and I have no more use for you.” He gestured, and a bolt of green fire swept out and smashed into Teferi like a wave.

  He shook it off, as a dog shakes off water. “And I am Teferi, son of Kush, Zimwi-msaka. Your magic cannot harm me!”

  The thing that called itself Kamanwati began to laugh. A cold, hollow laugh that made Teferi shudder. It reached for its swords, drawing forth long, curved blades that glittered in the pale light. “Then it will be two swords against none, and still you will die!”

  Reluctantly, Teferi reached for his bow. Still, a ghost, a pale shadow of Anok hung on the slab. Which was his friend? What if both were? What would happen if he mortally wounded this monster?

  It stepped toward him, blades dancing though the air. He had no choice.

  He let fly his arrow.

  Kamanwati flicked it away with his swords.

  He fired again.

  Again it was flicked away.

  Kamanwati laughed. “Even here, nothing can best steel but steel and Zimwi-msaka do not fight with swords!”

  Teferi suddenly realized that it was right. Sabé had warned him there were weaknesses in his magical immunity. Perhaps it could not protect him from some spell that simply kept him in the form he had chosen for himself. Through some trickery of Kamanwati, he was trapped in the aspect of the Zimwi-msaka, and the sword was not among their traditional weapons. Though he had used a sword most of his life, he could not wield one here.

  But I know one who can!

  FALLON WATCHED TENSELY as Teferi knelt before the fire. He did not move, and his eyes were closed, but she could sense something was wrong. Even in the chill of night, she could see beads of sweat on his body and face, glittering in the moonlight. His face was frozen in a scowl, and beneath his eyelids, she could see his eyes moving rapidly, frantically, as though looking for something unseen.

  She leaned closer, could hear his rapid breathing, even the pounding of his heart. Closer she leaned.

  Then he spoke, and her whole body jerked with surprise, her hand already on the hilt of her sword.

  “Fallon!” His eyes remained closed, but his arm suddenly thrust out toward her. “If you would aid Anok, give me your arm!”

  She hesitated. What madness was this? Anok was far in the desert, likely many days ride from here. How could she help him?

  “Fallon!”

  She was confused, but her instincts told her what to do. She put out her arm and clasped Teferi’s forearm. His powerful fingers closed tightly around her arm, and it was as though he yanked her a thousand miles in an instant—

  FALLON APPEARED BETWEEN Teferi and Kamanwati, instinctively fending off his attack with her sword. Teferi noted that, like him, she had adopted a warrior aspect, heavy Cimmerian clothing and armor made of leather and fur replacing the lighter Stygian garments she had more recently adopted.

  Immediately compensating for his second sword, she drew a long knife from a belt scabbard. Kamanwati continued his attack, and with fierce determination she fought back.

  “Fight woman! Fight with all your heart, for we battle for Anok’s soul!”

  Teferi looked at the rock slab, where the barest outline of Anok still hung, still and lifeless, wisps of its substance still being snatched away to become part of Kamanwati.

  Fallon’s bravery had bought him time, but what could he do? Though she was a fierce warrior, this demon in human form fought with all of Anok’s skill, even more strength, and ten times his ferocity. They had once called him the “two-bladed devil,” and now he truly was.

  Steel struck steel.

  Blades flashed.

  The clatter of swords echoed through the shifting fog.

  The sudden, horrible ripping of flesh.

  A gash appeared on Fallon’s arm, but she did not hesitate, did not falter. She roared her challenge and pressed the attack. Each step she pressed Kamanwati back was a triumph.

  Yet Teferi could see that her opponent was only biding his time.

  She will lose. Even if I had my sword, we might not win. The only person who could defeat Kamanwati was—

  Sabé had told him to trust his instincts. Now they told him what he must do.

  He turned to the phantom form hanging on the slab. “Brother, if you need substance, if you need strength, take mine!”

  He plunged his hand into Anok’s chest, felt his hand turn to smoke to be draw into the pale outline of his form, felt his very existence being drawn from his body. He felt himself fade until he was little more than an observer floating over the battle, unable to intervene or even speak. Had he made a terrible mistake?

  FALLON HAD NEVER fought such an opponent. There might have been some as strong, but none so fierce, none so skilled, none so relentless.

  Every stroke of her sword was met and parried. Every move countered. His twin blades flashed through the air so rapidly they seemed almost invisible. They surrounded her like a cloud of danger, closing in from all sides.

  Pain! A cut across her cheek!

  This foe did not seek the killing blow. He carved away at her, like a man whittling a stick. If this kept up, she would bleed to death, still fighting.

  Yet. . .

  Could there be a better way for a Cimmerian to die?

  “Have at me, demon,” she roared at him, “I will not yield!”

  Kamanwati laughed. “Then you will die!”

  “Step away from the woman, pretender
! Step away and face your true foe!”

  Fallon dared not turn to see whence the voice came, dared not take her eyes from the monster trying to kill her. But she knew the voice, though it was both familiar and strange.

  “Step away!”

  To her amazement, Kamanwati fended off one last attack, and did just that.

  She stepped back as well, wiping blood from her mouth. She glanced at the newcomer. “Anok!”

  And yet, not Anok. It was an Anok, younger than she had ever seen him, smooth-faced, thin and boyish, yet with eyes that were already old with experience. He wore dirt and rags in equal quantity. He held in his hands two humble and mismatched swords.

  Yet there was no fear in his eyes. Only the righteous anger of the just.

  She had once heard the story of how young Anok had rescued the whore’s daughter Sheriti from bandits in an alley. From that, the legend of the “two-bladed devil” had been born. From that had come the Ravens, and all that followed. Could this be that Anok?

  Kamanwati raised his swords, threw back his head, and laughed. “You are no foe! You are but a boy!”

  Young Anok sneered. “I am more than that! I am what I choose to be! I am my father’s son!” He glanced at Fallon. “Beautiful one, share with me your good heart. For like you, I will not yield!”

  She felt something wet on her cheek, not blood, but a tear. “My heart is ever yours, brave warrior, my sword ever yours, my faith ever true. Do now what you must.”

  She stepped back, for she sensed now that this was not her fight, that she had already given all she could to save her love. Now she could only watch, and hope.

  Young Anok raised his right sword in salute, then charged forward at Kamanwati, blades slicing through the air.

  He seemed no match for his larger opponent, but he did not hesitate, and when they met, steel clashed with steel as they had never before.

  Four swords moved like lightning, glints of steel surrounding them like a swarm of bees, the clanging and scraping of metal filling the air like terrible music.

  Smaller though Anok was, they seemed evenly matched. Faster and faster the blades moved, till they were just a blur. Not even Cimmerian senses could follow them.

  Still there was no end to it. Neither combatant could touch the other. No blood was drawn. Yet something was happening!

  With each blow, Anok seemed to get larger, his face becoming more angular, the muscles of his arms beginning to bulge. Before her eyes, Anok the boy was again becoming Anok the man.

  “Anok,” she gasped in wonder. “My Anok has returned!”

  And in the demon’s eyes, there was something new as well. There was no boastful arrogance. There was only fear.

  Back he pushed the demon. Back. Still their blades were matched, but not their force of will. Back he pushed it.

  Until—

  One moment of weakness. One opening. Anok jabbed forward with his right sword, plunging it deep into the center of Kamanwati’s belly.

  The demon screamed, then seemed to fall apart, into a flock of black things whose wings pounded the air, as they flew away into the fog.

  Anok turned to face her. He smiled at her, saluted her with his sword, then turned to face his other self, still imprisoned on the stone slab.

  As he did, he turned to smoke and was drawn back into the imprisoned form, which again took on substance and the aspect of a man. He looked up at her, and she felt herself falling.

  TEFERI GASPED IN shock. His eyes flew open. He tumbled forward onto his knees, the Kotabanzi still in his hand. Before him, the fire still burned high, and as he looked up, he saw that the moon had not moved. It seemed like mere minutes had passed, perhaps only seconds.

  He looked up at Fallon. She could barely stand. Red welts marked her arms, body, and face. Blood ran from her nose, and tears from her eyes. She looked at him with unbelieving eyes.

  “Oh,” he said, “it was real. That was as near to death as I ever care to be. Yet I fear it will not be the last time.”

  ANOK’S EYES OPENED, and he found himself hanging on the rock slab, the real one this time, still facing the great snake.

  All eyes were on him, and he stared back at the huge serpent, stared until it had to turn away.

  Satisfied, he strained against the bands of metal that bound him, with muscle both physical and otherwise. There was a loud report, then another, as the bands shattered, and he dropped to the platform below.

  He gestured, and the great snake seemed to sense its master. It turned and swiftly crawled back into its hidden lair.

  Ramsa Aál stepped toward him, eyes wide and hopeful. “Kamanwati?”

  Anok looked at him, then nodded. “Yes.”

  But that was not what he was thinking.

  Call me what you will, defiler. I will yet be the death of you!

  21

  TWO DAYS LATER, Teferi and Fallon sat in Sabé’s parlor, telling him in detail of their dream battle with Anok’s other aspect, Kamanwati. They had reported the events to him soon after they happened, but only briefly, as they wished to keep vigil when Anok returned to the world of dreams.

  It did not happen. Not that day. Not that night. And while they had come away from their encounter hopeful of Anok’s redemption, it had turned to dark concern.

  So, it came as a complete surprise when Anok came through Sabé’s front door, wearing the bloodred robes and golden yoke of a priest of Set.

  Teferi sprang from his chair. His first instinct was to greet his friend joyously, but he thought better of it and reached for his sword.

  Anok raised his hand, then, realizing it could be taken as a threat coming from a wizard, quickly put it behind his back. “That is not necessary, old friend. Despite my sinister finery, I remain myself, and as well as can be expected.”

  “It is true,” said Sabé. “If he had been consumed by the Mark of Set, he would no longer be welcome here and likely would have never made it past my door alive.” He leaned back in his chair. “Considering all that has happened, I had prepared myself for any eventuality.”

  Anok nodded. “You are wise, as always, Sabé.”

  Hearing this, Fallon ran to him and embraced him with an unbridled warmth that she would not have shown, at least not with others watching, even a week earlier.

  He returned her ardor, and they held each other with a desperate intensity that spoke less of passion than of some deeper emotion. Something had transpired between them during the dream encounter that Teferi did not entirely understand, but things were clearly different between them. Teferi found himself smiling.

  He waited patiently until the two lovers could tear themselves apart, then clasped his friend’s arm. “Brother, we were worried. For two days I have tried to reach your dreams, without success.”

  “For two days, I have not slept. I am still—adjusting to what has happened to me. I do not even know if I can sleep anymore. It is very strange.”

  “Sleep will return to you,” said Sabé. “You are not so different from your old self as it now seems.”

  He looked into Fallon’s eyes. “Perhaps, in some ways, I am more like my old self than I have been in a long time. But I fear our troubles are far from over.” He pulled out a chair and sat in it wearily. Despite his earlier pronouncement, Teferi wondered if he would suddenly fall asleep sitting up. “Many things have happened. Ramsa Aál now has the second Scale of Set, which had been kept in a secret temple of Ibis. He needs only the one that I carry to complete his schemes, whatever they be.”

  “Then,” said Teferi, “we should destroy it, at once! Chase the mysteries of your past all you wish, but to keep it is to invite disaster.”

  Sabé shook his head. “The Scales of Set are said to be nearly eternal. They cannot be destroyed by any force of man. Forged together in magical fire, they can only be destroyed together as well.”

  Anok hung his head. “In any case, those two things, the secrets of my past and the fate of the third Scale are more deeply intertwined than
you know, Teferi. I have found my long-lost sister.”

  Teferi’s eyes widened. “What?”

  Fallon smiled. “Anok! I am happy for you.”

  He frowned and shook his head. “It was a difficult reunion, a complicated reunion. My sister is a priestess of Ibis, whose duty it was to protect their Scale of Set. It was by my hand that the Scale was delivered to Ramsa Aál.” He saw the look on their faces. “It was the only way to save her from torture. She is their prisoner, and now that she has seen me anointed as a priest of Set, I do not know if she will even trust me if I try to help her. In any case, she cares little for her own life. She is sworn to her duty regarding the Scale, as am I.”

  Fallon shook her head. “I do not understand.”

  He removed his father’s medallion from under his robe. “My father entrusted this to me, not so that I could keep it, but so that I could give it to my sister. Until I can do that in safety, I cannot part with it.”

  Teferi could not help his frustration. He turned and walked away till he stopped, standing, staring into a corner. “This is madness.”

  “Whatever. I do not believe it will last long. All of Ramsa Aál’s preparations are done. We leave for Luxur the morning after tomorrow to prepare for a great ceremony. Teferi, Fallon, if you wish to accompany me, I suggest you go pack whatever you value. I do not think we will return here again.”

  Teferi turned, shocked. “So soon?”

  Anok laughed. “You complain at everything, brother. Soon, either the plot will be foiled and my sister will be freed, or I suspect little will matter.”

  “Then,” said Teferi, “we should go make preparations, and you, brother, should rest.”

  He nodded. “Perhaps you are right.” He looked at Sabé. “Scholar, you have been our friend and guide. I will miss your counsel and wisdom.”

  Sabé sniffed. “You will not miss it at all, for I intend to travel with you.”

  Anok looked surprised. “What?”

  Sabé shrugged. “Whatever remaining purpose I have in my life, it is invested in your destiny, young friends. I cannot but see it through to the end. In any case, I have not seen the fabulous pyramids and temples of Luxur since I was a boy, and though I will not see them again, I would walk its streets once more and wash my feet in the waters of the mighty Styx one more time before I pass into oblivion.”