The Sword Of Angels eog-3

by John Marco

  It was a fine tale, but fantastic. Lukien tried looking convinced. ‘And this is all true? It is not a myth?’

  ‘Myth? No, Lukien, it is not a myth,’ said Jahan. ‘The Great Rass is real, just like the rass that live in the rocks beyond our village. Without the Great Rass, the people along the river would perish. What you call Tharlara would die.’

  ‘What about the Great Rass, then? How does she die?’

  ‘She is killed in her mountain home,’ said Jahan. ‘By the Red Eminence, he who rules in Torlis. When the time of the Great Rass comes, the Red Eminence battles her and kills her.’

  ‘So where is Torlis? Is it very far?’

  ‘Torlis is a long ride from here, Lukien. I do not know how far precisely. None of the Simiheh have ever gone there.’

  ‘Jahan, I think your village is a wonderful place,’ said Lukien carefully. There was no way he wanted to offend his gracious host. ‘It is beautiful and peaceful, and I could probably be happy for the rest of my life in a place like this. But it is not a kingdom, and I was told to find the Serpent Kingdom. This place called Torlis — it sounds like the place I’m seeking.’

  ‘It does,’ Jahan admitted. Suddenly he seemed to have lost his appetite as well. He pushed his plate aside and looked at his wife, who smiled back at him, untroubled. ‘The people of Torlis are not Simiheh, Lukien. They are like us, but they are not us. They have never warred with us, but they have never come here to offer friendship either. I do not know what it will be like for you there, or how you will be greeted. Must you really go to Torlis? Is it so important?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lukien. ‘It is.’

  ‘Will you tell me why?’

  ‘Maybe, but not tonight.’ Lukien grinned. ‘Tonight I want to rest and to eat.’

  Jahan seemed satisfied. ‘Then that is what we will do. And when we are done and the moon has come out, I will take you to the river, Lukien.’

  ‘To the river? Why?’

  Now it was Jahan who grinned. ‘I will tell you later,’ he said. ‘Maybe.’

  Night had long since fallen by the time the meal ended, and Lukien, full and well rested, waited outside the little clay home for his host to arrive and reveal his strange secret. Most of the villagers had gone inside their own homes; for the moment, Lukien had the world to himself. While he waited for Jahan to say good-night to his children, Lukien gazed around the torch-lit village, smelling the burning incense that filled the air. The odour was sweet and wholly unknown to Lukien, not quite a stink and not a perfume, either. The little homes gathered near the river twinkled with light as parents put their children to sleep and men and women finished their daily chores. Voices reached Lukien’s ears, but they were too far away to understand. The Bronze Knight reached beneath the shirt his new friends had given him and pulled the Eye of God out by its golden chain. The red jewel in its centre continued pulsing with life, shining on Lukien’s face. His wounded arm already felt remarkably better, but that was not the miracle that puzzled him. He rubbed at the jewel with his finger, hoping — wishing — for Amaraz to speak to him.

  ‘No?’ he whispered. ‘Not tonight?’

  Lukien smirked as he stared at the amulet. Only once had he spoken to Amaraz, when Minikin had brought him to the Akari’s magical realm. Even then the great spirit had not spoken to him directly. Yet now, Amaraz was allowing him to speak to these foreign people, using his arcane strength to bend their minds to his eastern tongue. It was no great task for Amaraz, surely, yet he performed it the way he performed all his magics.

  In secret.

  ‘Why?’ Lukien asked. ‘Why won’t you speak to me? Other Akari speak to their hosts. Why not you, Amaraz? Am I so unworthy?’

  The silence seemed to confirm Lukien’s question.

  ‘Rot on you, then,’ he hissed. ‘You hear?’

  If Amaraz heard, he refused to answer. As Lukien held the amulet before him, Jahan appeared from the house. He was all alone and smiling, and when he saw the Eye of God his almond eyes fixed on it curiously.

  ‘What is that?’ he asked. ‘I have seen you touching it.’

  Jahan had been full of questions since they’d met, and so far Lukien had managed to dodge them all, at least the important ones. He didn’t like evading the man’s queries, but he still knew so little about Jahan and his people, and he supposed the truth might frighten them. He tucked the amulet back into his shirt.

  ‘Just a trinket. It was given to me by someone special.’

  ‘That is hardly a trinket, my friend. It is precious to you. Is it a magical thing?’

  Lukien laughed at his deduction. ‘You see right through me, don’t you? All right — yes, then. But it’s hard to explain, and I’m not sure that I should. This amulet helps me.’ Lukien thought for a moment. ‘Jahan, when I talk to you, when we speak. . what is it like for you?’

  ‘It is strange,’ said Jahan. ‘Like I told you — your mouth moves, but the words are different. I do not understand how you do this thing.’ He pointed at the amulet beneath Lukien’s shirt. ‘Is that what the jeweled thing does?’

  Lukien nodded. ‘I can’t speak your words, yet you understand me. And I understand you, too, and everyone else here in your village.’

  ‘Remarkable,’ Jahan said, wide-eyed. ‘Wherever you come from must be a glorious place. I want to know all about it, Lukien.’

  ‘I wish I had the time to tell you everything,’ said Lukien. ‘But I have to keep on going. I have to get to Torlis, Jahan. It’s important.’

  It was obvious Jahan wanted to know more, but he was respectful to Lukien and asked no more questions. Instead, he said, ‘I am grateful to you for what you did for my son. You know that, yes?’

  ‘I know,’ said Lukien. ‘And I am grateful for your hospitality.’ Then he laughed. ‘And for the shirt!’

  ‘Lukien, you have made all the village start to wonder. When I tell them you are seeking the Red Eminence, they will not believe me! No one has ever gone that far from our village.’ A trace of wistfulness crept into Jahan’s tone. ‘They will envy you.’

  ‘Jahan, why are we out here? What did you want to show me?’

  ‘Ah, we are not without our own wonders here, Lukien. There is something you are ignorant of. Tonight you will learn.’

  ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that. Where are we going?’

  The man with the pony-tail slapped Lukien’s back. ‘To the river,’ he pronounced. ‘Follow me.’

  With only the moonlight to guide them, Jahan led Lukien out of the village, following the river bank westward. Lukien had seen the lush farmlands here earlier, when the sun lit the place, making it clearly visible from the village. Now, it glowed murkily on the moonlight, damp in places where the river had over-flowed its banks and shadowed by tall grasses that hissed when the wind blew. Lukien held out his hands and let the grasses tickle his palms. Behind them, the village disappeared beyond a hill. Jahan walked like a ghost, barely making a sound. He began to crouch a little, bidding Lukien to do the same. They were still near the river and could hear its gargling churn. The moonlight glistened on the water.

  ‘How far are we going?’ Lukien whispered.

  Jahan pointed to an area of flattened grass up ahead. ‘There.’

  It looked like the kind of place where children played, where their eager feet had trampled the grass again and again until the grass at last surrendered. The ground was soft, though mostly dry, slightly elevated and affording a good view of the nearby river. Jahan knelt down in the clearing. He gestured for Lukien to come down next to him.

  ‘What are we doing?’ asked Lukien as he knelt beside Jahan.

  The village man’s voice was barely audible. ‘Wait.’

  ‘Wait? For what?’

  ‘Lay down,’ said Jahan. ‘Like this.’

  Jahan got down on his stomach, resting his elbows in the grass and his chin in his palms. Not knowing why, Lukien did the same, discovering that he still had an excellent little window through the gra
ss in which to view the river bank.

  ‘I’m going to show you something wondrous, Lukien,’ Jahan promised. ‘But we must stay very quiet. Do not move. If you must talk, whisper.’

  Lukien nodded, though the position was uncomfortable and made his wounded arm ache. He remained completely silent, barely twitching, letting long minutes pass, wondering what he might see. Insects buzzed in the grass around them. An occasional bird took wing overhead. Jahan waited with endless patience, grinning secretly. By the time Lukien’s own patience began to ebb, the villager finally spoke.

  ‘Look there!’

  He pointed a thin finger out for Lukien to follow, toward the river bank where a shadow slipped slowly into view. Lukien struggled to focus his vision. He saw the movement, yet heard nothing. He inched his head closer through the grass, then detected the flash of eyes and the quick lash of tongue. A great hood patterned with coils lifted slightly into the air. Lukien stopped breathing.

  ‘Holy mother of fate,’ he gasped. ‘That’s a rass.’

  His first instinct was to flee, but Jahan grabbed his hand, holding it tight.

  ‘Don’t move,’ Jahan ordered. ‘It won’t hurt us if it’s not afraid.’

  ‘I’m the one that’s afraid, Jahan,’ Lukien snapped. ‘We have to go.’

  ‘Fool, this is why I brought you here! Now hush yourself. Just watch.’

  Lukien tried to steady himself, but could hear his own heart pounding in his temples. He had never felt such revulsion before, so helpless as he laid prone in the grass. Next to him, Jahan licked his lips in excitement, his eyes full of wonder. The rass dipped its giant head into the river and began to drink, using its enormous tongue — muscled like a man’s arm — to slurp the water. As if all the other creatures in the world knew that a monster was around them, the river bank fell silent. The birds ceased to stir. The insects stopped their buzzing song.

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ Jahan eased back, finally sitting upright. ‘It knows we’re here.’

  ‘Then we should leave.’

  ‘You do not understand, Lukien. It will not harm us. It has only come to drink. The rass come every night to drink from the river.’

  ‘This is what you wanted to show me?’ asked Lukien. ‘Why?’

  ‘To make you understand. You cannot go through our lands without understanding the rass. What would the Red Eminence think of you? No, you must see the truth of them, how glorious they are.’

  ‘Jahan, they are not glorious to me,’ said Lukien. ‘Where I come from, the rass are dangerous.’

  ‘Dangerous?’ said Jahan. ‘Yes, of course. But that is their nature. They are hunters.’

  Lukien sank down in the grass, studying the rass. The creature was immense, yet moved with grace along the river bank, deliberately slithering through the mud, its colourful skin glistening. ‘All right,’ Lukien admitted. ‘It is beautiful. But dangerous. Why don’t the rass attack your village?’

  ‘The rass come to the river at night,’ Jahan explained. ‘We light the torches to keep them away.’

  ‘Ah, you mean that smell?’

  ‘That’s right. There is a tree that grows nearby. When the leaves are dried and burned, they make a scent that keep the rass away.’

  ‘So you fear them. Yet you love them?’

  ‘It is the balance. Seeing the rass means that the Great Rass will come. Do you see?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Lukien, trying to understand. It made at least some sense. ‘So the Red Eminence kills the Great Rass, and the land lives on.’

  Jahan smiled, pleased with his pupil. ‘Precisely so.’

  ‘And when you see the rass, you know that the Great Rass will come and be killed.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I understand. But I still don’t like them.’

  Jahan sighed. ‘You are hopeless.’

  Together they continued to watch as the rass made its way along the bank, pausing occasionally before disappearing into the darkness. Jahan remained transfixed by the creature until the end, when at last he leaned back, his expression oddly satisfied. Lukien relaxed, glad to be rid of the beast. Tharlara might be the land of serpents, but that didn’t mean he had to court them.

  ‘Thank you, Jahan,’ he said, not sure what else to say. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe they are special. They’re special to you, at least.’

  ‘They are sacred creatures, Lukien. You must respect that when you go to Torlis.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ said Lukien. He got up from his knees, stretching his aching muscles. ‘Can we go back now?’

  Jahan looked disappointed. ‘There will be others, but I suppose you do not care to see them. Yes, we can go back now, Lukien.’

  The two men began the long walk back to the village. As they walked, Lukien spied the grasses warily. He felt safe with Jahan, though, and liked the village man’s company. In the brief time he had spent with Jahan, he had learned a great deal. Finally, when they left the tall grasses and the village came into sight, Jahan stopped.

  ‘Lukien,’ he said, ‘will you tell me now what you’re looking for in Torlis?’

  Lukien thought for a moment. ‘Yes, Jahan, all right. A sword. I’m looking for a sword.’

  Jahan considered the statement. ‘This must be a very special sword. And you must have it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lukien nodded. ‘I must.’

  ‘Then you cannot take the chance of failing.’ The man’s expression grew pensive. ‘You have given me much today, Lukien. You have told me about the world beyond my village. You have saved my son. But what you’re doing now. .’ Jahan grimaced. ‘Dangerous.’

  ‘I know. It’s been a long journey for me already,’ Lukien said wearily. ‘But I have to go on. This sword is very important to me. If I don’t find it, many will die. Friends.’

  ‘I do not think you can find the way to Torlis on your own, Lukien. You do not even know that the rass are sacred! You need help on your journey.’ Jahan folded his arms across his wide chest. ‘I will come with you.’

  ‘What? Jahan, no.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jahan insisted. ‘It is my duty. You saved Naji from the hooth. If not for you, I would have been grieving tonight instead of learning from a new friend. I will go with you, Lukien. I will help you find this sword.’

  The offer was more than generous — it was genuine. Lukien put his hand on Jahan’s shoulder. ‘You are the founder of this village, Jahan. I can’t take you away from it. You’re needed here.’

  ‘You need me more,’ said Jahan. ‘When we have quested and found the sword, the village will still be here, and all its troubles, too. Remember, Lukien, the village is the people. All the people. They are strong. They do not need me the way you do.’

  ‘Jahan, I saved your son because it was the right thing to do, and if it wasn’t for me the other children wouldn’t have been distracted. I’m just as much to blame for what almost happened as I am for saving Naji. There’s nothing you need to repay.’

  Jahan’s face became stormy. ‘Perhaps where you come from, men are different,’ he said ‘But the Simiheh know when a debt is owed. I cannot let you go to Torlis alone. I cannot, and that is the end of it. Now, we will go to the village and sleep, and tomorrow we will leave for Torlis.’ Jahan took Lukien’s hand and held it firm. ‘Together.’

  Seeing his argument lost, Lukien did not pull away from Jahan’s grasp. ‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘Come with me.’

  Jahan beamed. ‘Good.’

  They walked back to the village together, and when they were almost at Jahan’s house Lukien paused.

  ‘I think you’ll be a very good guide, Jahan,’ he said. ‘One thing, though — you’ve never been to Torlis, either.’

  Jahan shrugged. ‘Better for two men to be lost than one, yes?’

  Lukien frowned. ‘That makes no sense at all.’

  Ignoring the jibe, Jahan headed eagerly for his little house. Completely unsure he had made the right choice, Lukien followed his odd new friend inside.

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  Jahan rode a donkey on his way to Torlis, a wide, floppy-eared beast with a coat the colour of rust and dark, disinterested eyes that only perked up when being bothered by a fly. Jahan bounced happily upon the donkey’s back, his pony-tail swaying from side to side, his face perpetually smiling as he spoke. Lukien rode beside Jahan along the river. Upon his horse, he sat at least three feet higher than Jahan, occasionally glancing down at his companion, more interested in their surroundings than by anything Jahan was saying. The morning had been bright and clear, a good omen for their long trip, but the afternoon was turning hot. Lukien pulled at his shirt, pumping the fabric to blow a breeze down his chest. He still wore the clothes Jahan had given him the night before, leaving his own filthy garb in the village for Kifuv to burn. With his white skin and golden hair, Lukien still did not look like one of Jahan’s people, but he supposed the native clothing would give him some cover. It had been at least five hours since they had left the village, following the river eastward, trotting casually along its muddy banks. So far, they had passed through two villages like Jahan’s, both without incident, stopping only to give respect to the elders and not bothering to explain Lukien’s odd appearance. Though the men and women of the villages eyed Lukien with surprise, they did not stare, keeping their conversation polite and blessedly brief. Later, Jahan explained how rude it would have been for them to do anything else.

  ‘You are with me,’ Jahan stated. ‘That is enough.’

  As they rode, Jahan told stories to Lukien, heartfelt tales about his village and his family, and about his place in the small world he inhabited. Lukien listened to the stories, rarely interrupting. Jahan’s pleasant voice rose and fell with each adventure, babbling like the river while the sun burned their necks. They stopped occasionally to rest their mounts, letting the beasts sip from the river while they slacked their own thirst from waterskins and fed themselves from supplies Jahan’s wife had packed for the trip.

  Then, at last, Jahan ran out of stories. He simply fell silent, looking satisfied as he rode his donkey. He glanced at Lukien, who smiled back at him, grateful for the silence. Sometimes, it was better for men to ride in silence, thought Lukien, rather than gossip like women. Did Jahan ever think so? Lukien doubted it. He watched as Jahan reached into his goatskin bag, the repository of everything important to him. From the bag Jahan produced a wand of wood, which he showed to Lukien.