Revenge of the Zeds

by Stewart Ross

  9

  Sakamir

  “Sakamir! Sakamir!” The word scuttled about the settlement like a breeze, rustling round the square, pushing through windows and doors, and climbing the terraces above. “Sakamir is back! She’s escaped, escaped from the Zeds!”

  A crowd gathered in the square to watch in astonishment and admiration as Yash supported his long-lost copemate up the street from the gate and into the Emiron. Her shift was dishevelled and torn. She was still wearing her sandals, though she limped painfully. What attracted most attention was the tattoo: there, burned into her forehead, was the unmistakeable brand of a Zed.

  Standing on the end of the square nearest the Ghasar, Cyrus watched with a heavy heart. He had never liked Sakamir, but to have been captured by the Zeds… He wouldn’t wish that on anybody. He knew only too well what she must have endured. Roxanne, who had been through the dreadful experience herself, had spared him the grisly details. But she had said enough, and he shuddered at the thought of it. The brutality, starvation, rape, humiliation… Sakamir would probably never fully recover. He felt guilty, too, because the patrol had been his idea. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help wondering how she’d managed to get away.

  His mind recalled that fateful morning in Della Tallis when he and his best friend Navid had hurried to the barricades to beat off a Zed attack. Except it had not been an attack, but Roxanne struggling to reach safety before she was torn to pieces by Grozny dogs. A refugee with a Z tattoo. It was he who had saved her by persuading Taja to shoot the dogs. Staring over the palisade, even at a distance, he had noticed something different about the refugee staggering towards him…

  He remembered hauling her over the barrier and lying her down on the grass. In his mind’s eye he saw again the smooth, damaged skin and the pleading green eyes. She had indeed been exceptional. For her sake, if for no other reason, he had pledged to carry the Soterion Mission through. As she had once put it, reason, learning, art, truth and beauty had to triumph – or what was the point in anything?

  He was dragged into the present by a wet nose snuffling against his leg. Corby! “Hello, old boy,” he said, patting the dog’s broad flank. “Where’s your master, eh?”

  “Here!” Sammy, who had watched the arrival of Sakamir from the other side of the square, had made his way round to Cyrus. “So she’s back. What do you make of it?”

  “I’m pleased for her. Why?”

  “Nothing really. Just odd the Zeds didn’t take her shoes, isn’t it?”

  It was an acute observation, and Cyrus understood immediately what it might mean. But this wasn’t the place to talk. “Sammy, something really important happened just before Sakamir arrived. We need to talk about it – somewhere we won’t be overheard.”

  “Up the terraces?”

  “Ok.”

  They talked as they climbed, Cyrus explaining Yash’s monarchy idea and how he’d reacted when Cyrus challenged him. He was sure things were coming to a climax, but he still couldn’t fit the pieces of the puzzle together. Had Sammy any idea what linked Yash’s behaviour and Sakamir’s absence?

  Sammy paused before answering. “Well – stop me if I’ve got it wrong – but why didn’t Timur and them Zeds kill Roxanne?”

  “Because he was fascinated by her, like we all were.”

  “Yes. She were special looking and special in her person. But there was something else, Cyrus, wasn’t there? Something Timur wanted.”

  “You mean the Soterion.”

  “Exactly. Timur found out about it from her. She was the key to the door, and he wasn’t stupid enough to go throwing it –”

  “I know, I know,” interrupted Cyrus. “That’s just what I hope isn’t true. I don’t want to hear Roxanne’s story over again.” Sammy, looking his friend straight in the eye, said nothing. “Ok, so you reckon Sakamir survived because she handed over information about the Soterion?”

  “Can’t see no other way, can you?”

  Cyrus sat on the top terrace and considered the implications of what they were saying. He knew the Zeds used captured Constant women for entertainment before killing them. Only those young enough for breeding slaves were left alive. Sakamir was in her final year, so how had she survived if not by passing on information?

  “See what I mean?” said Sammy after a while. “It was them shoes that set me thinking.”

  “Sure.” Cyrus frowned. “It’s strange she was allowed to keep them. They tortured Roxanne to get information out of her. I wonder if they did the same to Sakamir…”

  “Dunno. Hope not. She actually chose to go out on that patrol, didn’t she? She said she went looking for the Zeds because she wanted to destroy Timur’s head.”

  “What if destroying it was actually the last thing she was planning to do? I don’t like where this is leading us, Sammy.” He paused for a moment before adding, “And she’s fascinated by the Soterion.”

  “Not as much as Yash.”

  “That’s because she’s more subtle, Sammy. She doesn’t want to give the game away.”

  He shrugged. “This is all getting pretty complicated, isn’t it Cyrus?”

  “Yes, and worrying. A while ago, I dreamed about what might be happening – a sort of nightmare fantasy. If we’re right, it seems to be coming true. Here’s what I think’s going on.

  “Yash and Sakamir – acting together – plan to take over the Soterion and its Salvation Project. It’ll make them and their children all-powerful. They know the Albans won’t let them do this, so Sakamir risks her life to get Grozny support. Meanwhile, Yash weakens Alba’s defences and tries to increase his power by becoming king. Remember what he said when we asked permission to try and make the laptop work?”

  “He said we had to wait to see what happens.”

  “Exactly. Wait until he’s taken over. So … Sakamir returns from the Grozny. Somehow she’s got their new leader on her side. All’s ready for a Zed-backed coup. Any day now…”

  Sammy let out a low whistle. “And Padmar’s warning comes true. Sounds like a story from a book… You honestly think it might be happening like that?”

  “Could be. It makes sense of what’s going on, doesn’t it?”

  “Most of it. But not that Zed attack where I got injured.”

  “You’re right. I don’t get that either. Perhaps Sakamir can explain – I’ll ask her if I get a chance. We’ve got to watch our backs, though. I was wrong to challenge Yash openly when he said he was going to be king. We can’t do much on our own. Strength will come through numbers – we have to build up a group of supporters. In the meantime, we must appear to go along with things. I’ll start by apologising to Yash.”

  Cyrus never made his apology. Returning from the terraces, he was arrested by a group of archers. He recognised several of them from Yash’s former patrol. Sammy was incensed by the move and got into a fight with one of the guards, and when Corby joined in, sinking his teeth into the man’s leg, the situation threatened to get nasty. It calmed down thanks to Cyrus personally restraining Sammy and getting him to call off his dog. In the end, the impetuous young man was fortunate to have got away with nothing more than a bleeding nose and a burning sense of injustice.

  There was no gaol in Alba, just a stone detention centre in which prisoners were held before trial. To avoid wasting time and effort with long-term incarceration, sentences were decided swiftly and punishment handed out almost immediately: flogging, exile or – rarely – death.

  Sitting in the dark of the cell, Cyrus speculated on what his punishment might be. It depended what he was charged with. The archers who seized him said he had challenged the authority of the Emir, but that authority did not extend to taking over the government and ruling single-handed, surely? It went against all Constant traditions. He wondered whether an assembly of Konnels would consider this an adequate defence.

  He hadn’t been alone for long when the bars of the door drew back and the cell was flooded with late afternoon sunlight. A moment later a figure appe
ared, silhouetted against the glare. Temporarily blinded, Cyrus didn’t recognise who it was. But the voice he knew instantly.

  “Hello Cyrus! I’m sorry to find you in here.”

  Sakamir.

  “Just the person I was thinking about!” he said, rising to his feet as he searched for the right words. “I feel bad, Sakamir. That patrol was my idea…”

  “I chose to lead it, Cyrus.”

  She was hardly recognisable from the hobbling woman he had seen in the square earlier in the day. She had combed her brown hair straight and exchanged her torn and tattered gown for a clean white one. Telling the guard to leave the door ajar so they had some light, she walked carefully to the wooden bench opposite the entrance and sat down. She signalled for Cyrus to sit beside her.

  “Well,” she began, turning her thin face full towards him, “I’m back.”

  He lifted his gaze from the dark, expressionless eyes to the raw scar on her forehead. It was real alright. Whatever else may or may not have been done to her, the branding would have been excruciating.

  “It was not a pleasant experience,” she said. “As Roxanne must have told you.”

  Cyrus winced inwardly at the reminder. “How did you manage it? Getting away, I mean.”

  “I was very, very fortunate. They let me live so I could teach their future leaders. ‘Teach’, they called me. I’d told them I could read, you see.”

  “We’re talking about the Grozny, yes?”

  “Just the Grozny.”

  “Ah! So there are Grozny Zeds who can read?”

  When she shook her head, a lock of fair hair fell across her forehead, obscuring her tattoo. She pushed it aside quickly. “Not really. I explained a few letters, that’s all.”

  He wanted to ask so many questions. How had she been captured? What had happened to Potr? What were the Grozny like? Did she remember any of their names? Anything to test her story. Lowering his gaze to those deep-set and impenetrable eyes, he wondered whether she sensed this.

  “I have come here to tell you that you’re a free man,” she announced.

  The sudden change of subject caught him off guard and, in a gesture of gratitude, he reached out and took her hand in his. “Thank you, Sakamir!”

  “You are still too precious to be locked away.” Having briefly responded to the pressure of his touch, she drew back her hand. “I told Yash to let you go. He can be rather foolish at times, though he regrets what he did.”

  “He regrets that king business?”

  She hesitated for an instant. “I’m not sure, Cyrus. What I mean is that he’s sorry for ordering your arrest. I wanted to give you the news myself.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, as I said, I value you. And I knew you’d be the only person to really understand what I’ve been through. The pain. The loneliness.” She swallowed as if holding back tears. “But at least we carried out our mission.”

  “So they’d taken the head, had they? And you destroyed it?”

  “Almost. You were right, Cyrus, they did cut off Timur’s head. But they didn’t guard it very carefully; I heard that wolves carried it off and ate it.”

  “Thank goodness!” He wanted to ask why, if the head was lost, the Grozny who attacked Alba had chanted about it? He decided that would be too direct. “And Potr? I suppose they killed him straight off?”

  “When we were captured. He died defending me.”

  “I’m sorry.” He tried a more direct question. “Roxanne said, apart from Timur, the worst were Jumshid and Jamshid. Did you see them?”

  “Jamshid, yes. But not the other one. There was also someone called Giv. Horrible, truly horrible.”

  “I can imagine. Who’s their new leader?”

  She replied without hesitation, “Jamshid. A brute – but not clever like Timur.”

  “Do they know about the Soterion?”

  “They remembered something Timur had told them – and I confirmed it.” Cyrus started. “Don’t worry, I told them Bahm had burned the books because he didn’t like the new-fangled ideas they contained. One of the Grozny – Giv, I think it was – said he remembered seeing smoke from behind the walls when he was collecting Timur’s head. After what I’d said, they assumed it was from the book burning.”

  “Lucky, eh?”

  “Very. Not that they understood what the Soterion really is. They’re too stupid. They lost interest after they learned it’d been destroyed and moved on towards sunhigh to find an easier target. That’s when I escaped.”

  “They were headed south?”

  “South, yes. I remember the word.”

  “Your escape – was it difficult?”

  She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “Sorry, Cyrus, but it’ll have to wait. You of all people must realise how tired I am. Absolutely shattered.” She stood up and walked slowly towards the door. “I look forward to getting back to your classes, by the way. When my strength returns. I’ve a lot to catch up on, haven’t I?”

  “You’re clever, Sakamir,” he said, rising to his feet. “It won’t take you long.”

  By the door, she paused and turned to face him. “A group of words have been churning around in my head ever since I left. I want you to tell me what they mean and how to write them.”

  “Of course. What are they?”

  “Hairy liaise marry clog.”

  He frowned and shook his head. “Not a clue. We’ll have to use the dictionary. Where did you read them?”

  “Oh, somewhere. I can’t remember. And I don’t suppose you’ve come across a picture of a dumb … a man with a large yellow hat?”

  “No.”

  “No matter.” She put her hand on the door and pushed it fully open. “Thank you for listening to me, Cyrus. And thank you for understanding. As I said, Alba needs people like you.”

  “And thank you for freeing me,” Cyrus called as she disappeared into the glare.

  After she had gone, he sat down heavily on the bench. Well! What was he to make of all that? Apart from one or two obviously contrived moments, she had been so matter-of-fact. The contrast with Roxanne after her escape could hardly be greater. And so many loose ends. Why had she persuaded Yash to free him? If Timur’s head had been lost, why had the warband used it in their chant? What did ‘just the Grozny’ mean? Why didn’t she want to tell him about her escape? And where on earth did ‘hairy liaise marry clog’ and a man in a large yellow hat come from?

  Instead of making things clearer, Sakamir’s unexpected visit had left him more confused than ever.

  On his way to the Ghasar, Cyrus was stopped several times by people telling him how pleased they were he’d been freed. He thanked them and said his detention had been a mistake, a simple misunderstanding. He decided there was nothing to be gained by openly challenging Yash at this stage.

  Sammy didn’t agree. He caught sight of Cyrus as he was nearing the hall and rushed towards him with outstretched arms. Corby, as delighted as his master, bounded along beside him.

  “Cyrus!” he cried, throwing his arms round him like a child. “You didn’t half have me worried! When I heard you’d been let out, I ran quick as I could to check it with my own eyes.” He paused to gulp in a breath of air. “So what’re we going to do about Yash, then?”

  “Shh! Not so, loud, Sammy!”

  “Eh? Come on! You’re not going to let him get away with it, are you?”

  Cyrus looked round anxiously. “Not here. I’ll explain everything when we’re indoors.”

  He found Miouda waiting for him in the hall. After a tearful reunion, she sat cross-legged on the floor while he ran through what had happened at the Konnels’ meeting and during his detention. His conversation with Sakamir, he confessed, had left him totally confused. Yes, she had definitely been with the Zeds. They had almost certainly captured her and made her one of their own – the horrible Z brand was genuine enough. She knew the name of the Grozny’s new leader as well – it was someone Roxanne had mentioned.

  Even so,
her story didn’t quite add up. Accompanied by Potr, she had gone looking for the Grozny; she had been held by them for a while before returning, alone, in a far better state than might have been expected. She had then arranged for Cyrus to be released because he was ‘still too precious’. What did the others make of it?

  Sammy thought the whole thing extremely suspicious. He wanted Cyrus to come out in the open and challenge Yash. He was sure most Albans would support him.

  Miouda urged caution. Whatever benefits Cyrus might have brought the community, she reminded him that he remained an Outsider. It would be a mistake to underestimate the Albans’ loyalty to their Emir, she insisted. Obedience had been drilled into them since birth. Besides, the return of Sakamir had strengthened his hand. Though not popular before her disappearance, she was now seen as a bit of a hero. A ‘second Roxanne’, one or two women were calling her. The Albans would turn against their Emir and his copemate only on hearing the strongest evidence against them.

  “And that’s just what we haven’t got,” said Cyrus. “But we can’t do nothing. At present Sakamir is untouchable, so we’ll focus on Yash. As Emir, he’s the strongest member of the partnership. But his impetuosity and lack of subtlety also makes him the weakest link. I shouldn’t think his king idea will go down well when it gets out. I can’t imagine what Bahm’ll say about it!”

  “Bahm don’t like anything to change,” said Sammy. “He wants every day to be yesterday.”

  Cyrus smiled. “I’ll have a chat with him tomorrow, sound him out.”

  “And I’ll tell you something else,” Sammy added. “He don’t like Yash making that wine stuff.”

  “Good,” said Cyrus. “That’s one thing we agree on, at least. I can start there.”

  The three of them sat talking until it was quite dark. When Sammy eventually left for his dormitory, Miouda went to the door to see him off. Cyrus joined her on the threshold. All was still. Even the crickets seemed to have taken the night off, and under a bright gibbous moon the settlement lay black-and-white before them like a photograph.

  Miouda rested her head against his shoulder. “How quiet it all is!” she said softly. “It’s like everything, even the buildings and walls, are asleep.”