The Hand That Takes

by Taylor O'Connell

  Nabu looked from Sal to the bodyguard and back to Sal.

  “You were following me, then?” Sal asked.

  Damor cleared his throat.

  “A most fortuitous occurrence it was that such an imposing figure would take to following you, I am thinking,” said Nabu.

  “Why would you follow me?”

  “Her ladyship. I would not allow such as yourself contact with her ladyship without knowing more about you. I followed you to learn what sort of man you were.”

  “And why then did you bother helping?”

  Damor Nev sheathed his sword and ran a finger along his coal-black mustache.

  “Reasons matter little in such an event,” said Nabu, his jovial demeanor getting the better of Sal’s irritation. “I for one am most grateful to you, Master Nev. Should you ever be in need, know that I am indebted to you, good sir. ”

  Damor Nev gave Nabu the slightest of bows. “I must depart. Under other circumstances, it would have been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”

  “The very words from my lips, Master Nev, the very words,” said Nabu. “A most pleasant Fitzen to you.”

  “Indeed, and yourself, Master Akkad,” said Damor Nev, and looking more than a touch awkward, turned to address Sal. “Lorenzo.”

  Sal grunted.

  At that, the man-at-arms strolled back out of the alley the same way he’d entered.

  “Salvatori, my boy, this was a most fortuitous happening indeed. There is no telling what might have become of poor Nabu had I been left to deal with those thugs alone.”

  “It was nothing. I could never have stood by and watched those men beat you to a puddle.”

  “Nothing? No, nothing this thing was not. You have saved my life this day, and I owe you as much a debt as this Master Nev. Should ever you need of anything, my boy, you say the very word and Nabu Akkad shall make it so.”

  The sketch of an idea formed in Sal’s mind, but rather than voice his thoughts, Sal said, “Let’s get you home, Nabu. Are you certain you don’t need a mender?”

  Even had Nabu been well, the walk to his shop on Penny Row would have taken a significant amount of time. As it was, with Nabu less than sound, the short distance took them nearly half an hour to cover.

  They were greeted by the familiar stagnant smell of mildew, cobwebs from ceiling to baseboards, Miniian rugs so threadbare they were more dirt than carpet.

  Nabu closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his wide nostrils. “Good to be home, yes.”

  Sal looked about at the figures and oddities. A walking cane, the handle replaced with a raven’s talon clutching a glass orb; an ancient suit of armor; a glazed vase from the Far East; a tapestry depicting the early conquest of Pargeche; and a layer of dust that had settled over everything.

  Sal’s hand wandered to his collar and grasped the locket beneath his shirt.

  “Your uncle, you have gone to see him?”

  Sal nodded, hardly hearing the words. His mind was on the locket, on what had happened in the alley. The way it had failed him in his time of need.

  “Do not take offense at the direct nature of my speaking, but I wish now to be alone so that I might rest for a time.”

  “Right, of course, it’s only—that debt you said you owed me. I thought I might collect early.”

  “Very much early, no? I made this promise with little expectation that I would be forced to act upon my words at so soon a time, but keep promises does Nabu Akkad. Tell me, what is this thing you would have of me? You are only to name it, and I will do all to make it possible.”

  Sal reached into his shirt collar and pulled on the delicate silver chain until he held the tarnished gold locket in his palm. The locket sent tendrils of energy pulsing through him. He could feel the power of the storm within, like snakes of lightning slithering beneath his skin.

  Nabu flinched.

  “I want you to tell me what this is, and why you fear it so,” Sal said.

  For a heartbeat, Sal thought the Shiikali would start into a torrent of curses, but instead, Nabu closed his eyes and stroked his mustache. The oiled braid glistened. When Nabu opened his eyes, there was something in them that Sal had never seen before.

  The look frightened him more than Sal cared to admit, and he tucked the locket back out of sight. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and again asked Nabu to explain what he knew of the locket.

  Nabu sighed, as though what Sal asked weighed on him physically .

  “To understand why it is I fear this thing, there is much you must know of history.”

  “I know history, Nabu.”

  The fat Shiikali scoffed. “Knowing something of this city hardly counts as history. Tell me, my boy, what do you know of the time of empires?”

  “Little and less,” Sal admitted.

  “This does not surprise me. The young are ever ignorant of all that comes before them. A foolish oversight, yes.”

  “I am interested to learn. That’s why I came to you. If you eased my ignorance, I would be grateful.”

  “This time was much a different age from our own. It was a time when empires warred and conquered and expanded across the earth. Empires so vast as to make the kingdoms of this day seem but pitiful things. Our kingdoms of Nelgand and Naidia, once ruled by one empire, yes. Prophets and priests walked the very ground, these men who spoke with the gods. A time of wars unending, for men, for their prophets, and for the gods. This was a time for heroes.”

  “Myths,” said Sal. “You asked if I knew history. Not ancient fables of gods and heroes.”

  “Ancient myth, yes, rooted in truth. But if you would not hear this thing, I would rather be to bed.”

  “No, I apologize. Please continue.”

  “There is so much to know, and yet so little you are already knowing. This thing could take past the sun’s rising with the little you know of history. Should we not continue another time?”

  “Please, Nabu. I do know of the First Empire, but I’m eager to know more.”

  The fat man sighed. “Very well. Let us see, then—what is it you know of the Sahyasa?”

  Sal wrinkled his brow. He had never heard of such a thing.

  “The Nelsigh have stories of the Sahyasa, yes? Of this I am most certain.”

  Sal shook his head.

  “Your people tell stories of the Sahyasa, servants to the Dark, I know this thing. ”

  Servants of the Dark was a term he knew. “The Beasts of Six?” Sal asked.

  “Yes, six, this is a good number to start from—”

  “Should we sit down?” Sal asked.

  Nabu tucked his chin, jowls wobbling, eyes narrowing. “You’ll not be staying so long as this. Not with that thing about your neck. Now, where was I?”

  “Six,” Sal said helpfully, smiling despite, or like as not because of, Nabu’s blunt speech.

  “Six, yes, six Sahyasa, six beings of darkness fell, chosen to guard the realms below. Six summoned by the Shattered One when this god sought dominion over the world of men a second time. Seven was the number to answer this call. Seven heroes chosen by the Light to come to the aid of mankind and make battle with that which sought to usurp the Light’s domain.”

  Sal did his best to understand, to process the information and make connections between Nabu’s disparate threads of thought, but he couldn’t.

  “Six and seven, right, and what does this have to do with the locket?”

  “Your impatience is as vast as your ignorance. Perhaps I will be taking a seat if this telling must happen at such a pace.”

  Nabu led Sal behind the counter and into the back room. Among the piles of unidentifiable objects were a table, three chairs, and a cooking hearth. There was a staircase which led to an upper-level loft that apparently contained Nabu’s sleeping quarters.

  “Place that kettle in the hearth,” Nabu said, slumping into a chair twice the size of the other two.

  Sal did as the man asked, lifting the kettle and hanging the handle
upon the hook.

  “The Shattered One, yes, Sacrull as you would say. ‘Three of six,’ this is a saying among you Nelsigh?”

  “Sure, three of six,” Sal said with a shrug. “I always thought it was a dicing term. What does it have to do with the Beasts of Six?”

  “Have you never wondered why the tales of those Vespian monks only name three of his Sahyasa? Only three, not six? ”

  Sal shook his head slowly. “Karull,” Sal said, “the arbiter, and Nithrull, eater of flesh. I don’t recall the third.”

  “The flayer of souls, Berull,” said Nabu. “But Beasts of Six, not three. When the Darkness returned, his beasts snapping at his heels, they were seven in all. The holiest of numbers this, and a most unholy mockery it was. The Light does not retreat before the Dark, and seven were chosen in the answering. Seven in the stead of one. They were led by Kellandravast, the one known to the Nelsigh as Kellenvadra the Fifth, forger of the final path.”

  “Kellenvadra? I’ve heard that name before, but Nabu, doesn’t the Vespian Order claim Susej defeated Sacrull? It’s known as the Sundering. Susej banished Sacrull, opened the paths and healed the shattered world, stitching it back together with the roots of the World Tree.”

  Nabu nodded, chins jiggling. “This is the truth of it, yet legends tell this sundering was thousands upon thousands of years before the time of empires. Though I do not doubt these Vespian monks find the stories of that time an inconvenience to their narrative.”

  “And how is it you know so much of this time of empires?”

  “Why, the very nature of my trade. It is a poor fence who does not know his history. Such a man is liable to be taken advantage of. Also, I am the blood of Akandi and Panalu. I do not come from this land of the Nelsigh where your knowledge of the past has been shaped and pruned by men with brown robes and shaved heads, wanting to convey their own set of truths. These Vespian monks would seek to abolish all knowledge of this second coming of the Shattered One. It contradicts much of their teachings, but the holy orders of my nation can do no such thing, for the events of the second coming took place in the holy deserts of Shiikal.”

  “What events?”

  “The final battle of Light and Dark, the last stand of the Seven, and the chaining of the Shattered One.”

  “I’ve not heard this tale.”

  “And this should surprise me, yes? No, this order of Vespians has done well in this. Few of your people know of these things which I speak, but I assure you, mere ignorance of a thing does not make it false.”

  “And what of this last stand? What happened?”

  “Is it not apparent, this thing? We do not stand in darkness this day.”

  “So, the Seven defeated Sacrull and his Beasts of Six?”

  Nabu nodded. “It is told the Sahyasa returned to this realm upon the paths of Susej, paths warped and corrupted and festering with evil until only the most fell could walk them. These Sahyasa forged paths of their own, paths to lead astray wandering sheep, charms to lure, and traps to snare. These six paved the way for his coming, this shattered lord of theirs, with corruption and fear, fire and plague. Still, the Seven stood in the path of the Sahyasa. The heroes chosen of the Light were victorious, they defeated the Sahyasa and chained the Shattered One. The details of this have been obscured by time, yet certain things are rumored. Things such as bindings, ancient magics used to mate the essence of a thing’s power to an object which can serve as a vessel, sealed inside by a rune.”

  An uneasy feeling formed inside Sal’s belly. He didn’t like where Nabu’s explanation was leading.

  “There have been tales through time,” Nabu continued, “tales from all over the known world, of these objects. Artifacts that contain a certain power, magics long dead to this world. Rumor of these objects tells of a rune. I know of one, written of in the text of Kellenvadra herself, that speaks of the rune which you have shown me. The very mark of the Shattered One. Three vertical lines. A simple thing, these three lines, unmistakable, yes.”

  Suddenly the pieces fell into place.

  “I see by your looking that you understand this thing. Now that you are knowing, surely you see why this must be done, why you must be rid of this thing?”

  Sal put a hand to his collar. He could feel the warmth of the locket through the fabric of his shirt, the rivulets of energy streaming into him. When Sal spoke, the words came out slowly, as though each word were being dragged past his teeth .

  “How can you be certain?”

  “Certainty is what you are wanting, yes, but I cannot give you this. I can only say that I believe it is so. Tell me, when you touch that pendant, do you not feel the power within? Anything out of the usual?”

  Sal squirmed like a man come face to face with the Royal Inquisition.

  “I see,” said Nabu. “Any odd happenings?”

  “Odd happenings? What do you mean?”

  “I would that you told me. You know what I mean when I ask, I am thinking. Do not forget, this is not the first you have shown me of this thing, and I have touched it, yes, with my very hand.” Nabu held up a plump hand, each sausage finger with a ring of silver or gold bedecked with jewels.

  “Right,” Sal said, his mind spinning with all the information. It was almost too much to take in. “I’ll do it.”

  “Are you certain, my boy? I would do this thing. You are only to be asking it of me.”

  “No,” Sal said, fist clenched. “I’ll destroy it myself.”

  18

  The Rusted Anchor

  T he anchor was a head taller than Sal, a massive hunk of orange iron, the surface pocked by years of weathering. It stood upon three curved hooks, a ring the size of a man’s head atop the stock. It was rumored to be a remnant of the First Empire, but Sal had heard other rumors that the design was not nearly so old as that. Still, the thing was old and big, so big Sal had trouble imagining how it had come to rest this far inland.

  The Rusted Anchor alehouse was named for the great anchor just outside its doors. Located near the toe of the Shoe district, the Rusted Anchor wasn’t well known to anyone with any sense of dignity. The Rusted Anchor was a hole, filled with dice loaders and card sharps. The beer was flat, the shiplap walls moldy and peeling, and the rushes so old they crackled underfoot. Within the Rusted Anchor, the smell of the salt sea was replaced with that of stale smoke and sweating men.

  As Sal passed a man making sick by the door, a young working girl locked eyes with him but didn’t pursue when Sal shook his head. He stepped into the taproom and looked to the back. Valla sat at her usual table, sipping a mug and watching him with her sharp eyes.

  The Rusted Anchor was an independent joint, much like the Hog Snout. It wasn’t owned by anyone connected, but just like everyone else, connected or not, the Rusted Anchor paid dues to the Commission. Valla made the collections, paying up the ladder to Don Moretti for the privilege. She was a good earner, and likely would have been dubbed a made man years ago, had she not lacked one crucial part of the anatomy.

  Sal nodded and took a seat across from Valla.

  “Shouldn’t you be out scouting for Luca?” Valla asked. “Or have you only been claiming to work?”

  Sal smiled. “Scouting encompasses a broad field. I like to look at all the angles before I commit to any specific strategies.”

  “What are you drinking?” she asked.

  “Not today,” Sal said. “This is purely business. I want a clear head.”

  “Business?” Valla said, arching an eyebrow and moving a hand slowly across the tabletop. She wet her lips and looked deep into his eyes. “This the sort of business you had in mind?”

  Sal’s pulse quickened.

  “Is that what you think about when you see me?” Valla said, her voice almost a purr. “Hmm? You see me like some whore?”

  “Whoa, Valla, I—”

  “You want me to suck your cock, Salvatori? Is that why you’re here?”

  “No, come on, Val, don’t be that way.”

/>   “And what way should I be? I see the way you look at me. Same way they all look at me. Difference is you aren’t man enough to come out and say it.”

  “Slow down,” Sal said. “I told you, I’m here about business.”

  “How many times you think I’ve heard that one?” Valla said, sneering.

  “Anton,” Sal said. “I’m here about Anton, then.”

  “Not going to suck him off neither. Especially not now.”

  “Funny,” Sal said. “Did something happen? You seem a tad touchy today.”

  Valla pursed her lips. Then slowly a snarl formed. “Fucking Dirge, that goddamn whoreson. I swear I’ll cut off his cock the next time that pimp opens his mouth.”

  Sal understood. “The big pimp, over by the door?”

  “If he weren’t paying up the ladder, I’d have done it already. He won’t always be in favor, though. Just you wait. I’ll be made soon enough. Word came down from Alonzo Amato saying he would sponsor me.”

  “Truly? Valla, that’s some good news.”

  “Ask me. It’s a long time coming. If I had a cock swinging between my legs, I’d have been a made man years ago.”

  “Still, Alonzo Amato as sponsor, that’s nothing to scoff at.”

  “Yeah, well, saying ain’t doing. Word’s come down, but word is all I have thus far.”

  Sal shrugged. “Well, listen, you hear word of anything else that’s come down from the Commission of late?”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as word on Anton. Who approved the hit, and who might have carried it out.”

  Valla’s eyes began to well, her bottom lip trembling slightly. Anton and Valla had been in the same crew for years, nearly as long as Sal had worked under Anton. Back before Anton and Fabian even. Valla shook her head. “The big man and I have been looking into it. Seems to me whoever did Anton did it outside Commission sanction. Still, it could be someone is just playing their cards close to the chest.”

  Sal shook his head. “That worries me.”

  “Look,” Valla said. “In this business, people die all the time. Everyone knows that coming in. Anton as well as anyone.”