Longing's Levant

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  The Akkadian, too, collapsed. His heavy body pressed along hers in such a way that Tamara found it entirely comforting. With an effort, she lifted her arms and encircled his waist, delighting in the light kisses he pressed against the side of her neck.

  “You’re damned good at that, warrior,” she sighed. She lay exhausted in her lover’s arms. A faint sheen of sweat dotted her upper lip.

  “Glad to know you enjoyed it, wench,” he chuckled.

  * * * * *

  The jackal caught the scent just as the sun was sinking below the horizon. It lifted its muzzle and sniffed the air, the hackles on its back stirring, its oversized ears twitching this way and that in search of movement. Though the scent was one of sustenance, the scavenger tucked its bushy tail between its spindly back legs and stood there undecided. There was something not quite right about the scent wafting its way across the desert sands. As his mate joined him, the jackal growled low in its throat, warning the female that unseen danger was close by.

  With one more look toward the spot from which the strange scent originated, the male jackal shook its sandy-colored coat of wiry fur and turned with the female close at his side to lope back toward the den where the litter of pups awaited their evening meal.

  Slithering across the ripples of cooling desert sand, the Saw-Scaled Viper stilled, lifting its triangular head, its forked tongue lashing out to sense the nearness of its prey. Swaying as though mesmerized by music only it could sense, the viper wavered in position for a moment longer then dropped back to the sand. As it moved, the rough scales made a harsh rasping sound across the sand. Whatever had caught its attention was obviously not something the snake wanted to encounter and it quickly disappeared beneath a rocky outcropping.

  The yellow scorpion arched its lethal stinger and scuttled away, looking for a place to hide from the danger it sensed. The falcon and vulture, eagle and buzzard spied the danger as they rode the currents and flew quickly away, screeching a warning as they went.

  As the sun set and darkness settled like a heavy mantle on the sands of the Quesa desert, a hand thrust its way from the grave to claw at the evening air. Another hand shot up and sand cascaded from a naked chest as harsh, rasping air was dragged into lungs that had lain dormant. A bellow of rage broke the stillness of the night as a body pushed away from the ground. Growling sounds punctuated the movement of feet being pulled from the sand.

  From its hiding place behind a date palm, a sand cat watched in terror as the being righted itself, coming erect with another roar of fury. It watched as the being trudged woodenly to the nearby stream and bent over the slow-moving water, staring at the moonlit surface for a long moment before raising its balled fists to the heavens and shaking them. Unable to stop itself, the sand cat mewled pitifully, catching the attention of the thing that had risen from the sand. A little stream of urine ran down the little animal’s leg as the being turned scarlet eyes toward it and bared long, wicked fangs. For a moment, sand cat and entity looked at one another then the entity turned away and began plodding purposefully across the desert, its bare shoulders hunched against the chill, its powerful legs digging deep furrows in the sand.

  * * * * *

  There was a light scratching on the tent flap and Tamara came awake, flinging over on the pallet to reach for her weapon.

  “Be easy, wench,” Evann-Sin said. “I suspect it is my friend from Samarkan.”

  Tamara looked around at him, her eyes wide. “Your dead friend?” she whispered.

  Evann-Sin grinned and called out, “Is that you, Rabin?”

  “Aye,” came the gruff reply from the other side of the door.

  “Are you presentable?” the Akkadian inquired.

  “How would I know? I can’t see myself!” the gruff voice complained.

  “Stay here,” Evann-Sin told her. “I’ll see if Rabin looks any the worse for his time underground.”

  “You don’t really think that is your friend,” Tamara gasped.

  “I know it is,” the Akkadian snorted.

  Tamara winced at the thought, but remained where she stood as the Akkadian stomped over to the flap and flung it open. She was relieved when she heard him announce to his friend that he was as ugly as ever and not the oozing pulp he should have been. She watched a very handsome Dabiyan stride nonchalantly into the tent.

  “You look none the worse for being nearly sucked dry as a husk, either,” Rabin snapped. He looked at Tamara, bowed his head in greeting then turned to his friend. “How the hell am I to see to shave?”

  “I suspect nothing will grow on you from now on,” Evann-Sin replied.

  “That can’t be true,” Rabin grumbled. “I’ve seen corpses with hair down to their hips and fingernails a good six inches long.”

  “But have you seen corpses with beards?” his friend inquired.

  Rabin frowned, thought about that for a moment then smiled. “Nay, I have not!”

  “And think of it, Rabin. There will be no need for water or food!” the Akkadian exclaimed.

  “And I suppose no more long, satisfying pisses or healthy dumps,” Rabin sighed deeply.

  Both men looked at one another and grinned, saying at the same time, “No boogers to pick and flick!”

  Tamara winced. She wondered why the two of them would think of such a gross thing at the same time, but knew she probably wouldn’t want to be enlightened. A vague thought of some disgusting contest passed over her mind and she swept it away as the men clapped each other on the back and laughed.

  “I am glad you are here, my friend,” Evann-Sin said, sobering. “Together we will find those who did this to you and seek our vengeance and renewal there.”

  “The Magi said what I do with the ones who murdered me is up to me,” Rabin acknowledged. “I can either take their lives as they took mine or make them wish they had never been born!”

  “Vengeance is sweeter the longer it lasts,” Evann-Sin stated. “I’ve no desire to take the lives of those who waylaid me, but I have a great desire to make them regret having done it.”

  “As do I,” Rabin agreed. “That I fell victim to women who…”

  “Women?” Evann-Sin and Tamara questioned at the same time.

  Rabin nodded. “Hell Hags,” he said.

  Tamara’s face drained of color and she put a hand to her mouth. Slowly she turned her gaze to the Akkadian. “Sylviana spoke of him. It was done before I joined them on the road to Nonica.”

  “Aye,” Rabin said. “I was dead long before we were to meet, Riel.”

  “Why did they kill you?” the Akkadian demanded. “What had you done?”

  “Crossed their vile path,” Rabin snorted. “Apparently they were…hungry.”

  “They raped you, as well?” Tamara asked, ignoring the Akkadian’s hiss.

  Rabin blinked and turned to Evann-Sin, cocking a brow at the disgusted look on the warrior’s face. “They raped you?” he asked then hooted. “By the Prophet but that is rich!”

  “I’m honored you find it amusing, you worthless mealy worm,” Evann-Sin snapped. He waved away his friend’s laughter.

  “More amusing than…” Rabin began then coughed to hide his merriment for the look on his friend’s face was not conducive to continuing the teasing.

  “They didn’t rape you, then,” Evann-Sin wanted clarification.

  “No,” Rabin said with a shake of his head. “They killed me to keep me from telling what I know.”

  Evann-Sin blinked. “They are part of the alliance?” he gasped.

  “Hell,” Rabin snorted. “As far as I can tell, it was their idea.”

  “What alliance?” Tamara asked. She looked from one warrior to the other.

  “A Prophet-be-damned alliance,” Evann-Sin said, gritting his teeth. “An alliance I aim to squelch.”

  “Before or after we take our revenge on the Hell Hags?” Rabin inquired.

  “If those bitches are part of the plot, we need to see to them first. Pull the root and the weed will die,�
�� Evann-Sin replied.

  “I’ve never killed a woman,” Rabin sighed, “and I’m not of a mind to start, but I intend to see them punished for what they did to me.”

  “They will be,” Evann-Sin assured him.

  “What of the other one?” Rabin asked. “What do we do about him?”

  Evann-Sin frowned. “What other one?”

  Chapter Four

  Kaibyn Zafeyr turned his eyes from the glare of the blazing sun. Already his mouth was dry and his flesh hot. He could feel the searing heat beating down on his head and knew this would be an agonizing way to atone for his sins.

  “You should fear the Wrath of Alel,” the captain of the palace guard sneered. “He has judged you and found you guilty!”

  Where was his protection? Kaibyn thought hopelessly. Where were those who were sworn to protect him? Had they abandoned him? Did they, too, seek his death? What had he done to offend them?

  “Lay him down,” the captain ordered.

  The brutal hands of the Osteran slaves that held him tightened on Kaibyn’s arms and the heavy weight of the iron chains pulled painfully on his torn and bleeding wrists. The dark men dragged him down to the blistering sand and as his bare back touched the hotness, he cried out.

  “You will know pain far greater than this, you Rysalian demon,” the captain smirked.

  Kaibyn had no powers in the light of day, and he was helpless to prevent the Osterans from unchaining his wrists, pulling his arms wide apart, then anchoring them with heavy hemp to the iron stakes which had been driven into the hot desert sand. As his legs were spread apart and his ankles bound to another set of stakes, he felt the first moments of blind panic.

  The captain of the guard hunkered down beside him and snaked out a ruthless hand to yank Kaibyn’s face toward him.

  “My woman swears you did not touch her. If you had, I would have gutted you,” the captain hissed from between tightly clenched teeth. His fingers dug cruelly into Kaibyn’s chin. “How many women did you corrupt before you were found out, demon?”

  Kaibyn stared steadily into the captain’s glaring eyes, but did not answer. His life was forfeit anyway and he would protect his ladies for as long as he could.

  The captain’s lips thinned into a long, nasty line and he nodded, as though he could read Kaibyn’s thoughts. “You will scream,” he prophesied. He glanced up at the noonday sun, then back down at Kaibyn. He relaxed his fingers to slide them up Kaibyn’s cheek to pat him almost tenderly. “Before the Eye of Alel turns your skin as black as the darkest Osteran, you will talk. This, I promise you.”

  Grinning hatefully, the captain stood up, put his fists on his hips and stared down at the bound man. “But will you scream before the scorpions find you, I wonder?” He cocked his head to one side. “Before the blinding pain their venom spreads through your worthless body?”

  Kaibyn had never been so hot. The sun’s rays were like invisible fire scorching his flesh, and all the moisture in his mouth had fled. Not a hint of the life-sustaining wind that had borne him to this mad world stirred to ease his discomfort.

  “Perhaps a serpent will seek you out,” the captain chuckled. He nudged Kaibyn’s bare thigh with the toe of his sandal. “A strike here.” He touched the linen that covered his prisoner’s hip. “A strike there. I am told the viper’s poison will not kill you. Is that true?”

  “The sun will kill him, Meketre,” a bored voice put in. “Leave him to do its work. I am sweltering here.”

  The captain turned and bowed politely to the High Priest who sat beneath the relative comfort of the canopy of his litter. “As you will, lord,” Meketre replied.

  Kaibyn winced as the captain drew back his heavily muscled leg and delivered a particularly savage kick to Kaibyn’s side. “When the jackals come down from the mountains,” Kaibyn heard the captain saying. “They will tear the flesh from your bones and devour your organs. There will be nothing left of you to enter the Underworld.”

  “His kind are not allowed in the Underworld,” the High Priest reminded Meketre. “He has no ka.”

  Meketre shivered. A man without ka was truly a demon. With one last look at the bound man, the captain of the guard turned away, the memory of the sweating face and blistering flesh etched into his mind.

  Kaibyn strained to hear the last jingle of harness, the last huff of a horse’s nostrils, the fading laughter of the captain of the guards as they left him to die. He strained at his bonds, but knew he had no strength with which to free himself. The light of day was his rival, and the glaring red ball above him, his most vicious enemy. His existence would end beneath the sun’s eager glare.

  Steaming minutes passed into baking hours then heated to a suffocating intensity that made it hard for him to draw breath into his seared lungs. He could feel the skin over his lips cracking and darted out a dry tongue to touch the bleeding corners. All he could see was a white-hot blur before his eyes, but he knew soon the sun would blind him and he would be in at least one form of his precious darkness once more.

  Sudden sharpness pierced the calf of his left leg and he yelped with surprise, wondering what manner of predator had attacked. Although there was no animal, insect or reptile in the land that could take his life, during the daylight hours, he could experience their bites and venom just as a human man could, he could feel the pain just as any man would and be agonized by it.

  Another sting at his waist brought an involuntary jerk of his body and he felt something scampering over his naked belly and onto the linen breechclout covering his hips. When another sting kissed the top of his left thigh, he opened his mouth and bellowed with rage, pulling frantically against the hemp that cut into his wrists and ankles. As a venturing scorpion crawled up his shoulder and stuck its venomous tail in his throat, he screamed in pain.

  Zara and Dakhla looked at one another as the screams filled the hot desert air. The two women had risked much to come after their lover, but neither would turn back. Both would risk even more for Kaibyn, but they had to wait until the sun set before they could rescue him.

  “I can not bear the sound of his agony,” Zara whispered and as another piteous scream ripped through the air, she buried her face against Dakhla’s shoulder.

  “There is nothing we can do,” Dakhla replied. She put her arms around her sister and held her.

  There were four other women with the two sisters. All of them were sobbing quietly as the screams came. Each was clenching her fists, nails digging into bloody palms, head bowed beneath the weight of her guilt.

  “He can not last much longer,” one of the older women said.

  Dakhla looked over at her mother-in-law and nodded her agreement. Her gaze shifted to the sun that was now low in the sky. It would be an hour, maybe two, before this horrible day was ended.

  “How could she have betrayed him?” the youngest woman there asked. She put up a trembling hand to wipe at the tears coursing down her smooth cheek.

  The Lady Auklet shrugged. “To save herself from her mate,” she answered. “He is insane, we all know that.”

  “Hush!” Dakhla insisted. “You speak of our king!”

  Auklet gave an unladylike snort. “And because he is king he can not be mad?” She flung out a dismissive hand. “Ugly, insane and mean as a pit viper! This is his doing, not the queen’s.”

  “She betrayed Kaibyn to her husband,” the second youngest woman stressed. “It is no other’s fault save her own.”

  “Yes, Meritaten, and for your mother’s sin, we all must suffer,” Zara agreed.

  “Not as much as Kaibyn does,” Dakhla reminded her sister.

  “Her days are numbered,” Auklet grated. She looked to the beautiful doe-eyed girl sitting beside her. “I would not be your mother for all her beauty and grace.”

  Meritaten nodded. She understood well that her mother had fallen from the good graces of her mentally defective husband. The young girl shuddered, closing her eyes to the quiet of the late afternoon. There was no doubt in her min
d that the king wanted her as a replacement for his out of favor queen. This scandal involving the Rysalian would be all the impetus the insane fool needed to force Meritaten to wife.

  “Why must it be so quiet?” Teti asked.

  The other women raised their heads for the terrible screaming had stopped. In unison, their eyes went to the horizon where the sun was balanced on a single ray. As they held their combined breaths, the russet orb sank behind the shimmering western sands.

  “Now!” Dakhla spat.

  The women scrambled to their feet and raced to their horses whose reins were being held by their sole male companion.

  “We must hurry, Omahru,” Auklet ordered. She put her foot into the waiting hand of her Osteran slave and the hulking giant lifted her into the saddle.

  Omahru did not answer his mistress for it was physically impossible for the dark man to do so. The Lady Auklet’s husband, the High Priest, had cut out Omahru’s tongue when the slave was only a boy of three.

  “Without a tongue, he can not repeat what he hears in this household,” the High Priest had declared.

  At age ten, the dark man had been castrated to ensure the wellbeing of the lady and her daughters.

  Dakhla swung herself into her saddle and pulled cruelly on the reins to turn the beast toward the desert. Digging her heels into the stallion’s sides, she whipped him into a run, oblivious to the other women following closely on her heels.

  Their earlier ride out of the city of Marrupa had been nerve-racking for the women feared their husbands would see them and stop them. But, with the Goddess’ help, the six women had been able to flee the watchful eyes of their guards and individually make their way to a curve in the stream that ran just beyond the city gates. The journey to the place of Kaibyn’s execution took them across the stream and into the cooling desert—a distance that normally took fifteen minutes to travel was accomplished in less than ten. By the time they reached the Killing Ground, their mounts were lathered and the chill night air was settling in.