“MAKI!” Tiyharqu called out from somewhere and Samaki let go.
He looked around, not able to see his friend in the clash of bodies. He got to his feet and turned and saw a spear coming at his face. He dodged, but not fast enough. He felt the cold metal run along his right temple. Blood filled his vision and he called out, clutching at his face and falling. There was a sudden silence, and Samaki knew he was dead. The spear had gone through his head, and he was dead.
But then, why did he still feel so much pain?
“Do what she says, lads,” a Sephian’s voice called out.
Samaki looked up, his head felt like a boat in the middle of a storm, and he couldn’t see out of his right eye because there was too much blood, but he was able to make out Tiyharqu. The big woman was holding onto a small man, the man who was speaking, from behind. She was holding a knife to the man’s throat. The man, perhaps the captain judging from the way he commanded the others, had his hands in the air, trying to calm his men despite an uneasy look on his face.
“No more killing,” Tiyharqu yelled, the veins bulging on her dark forehead. Samaki couldn’t remember ever seeing Tiyharqu look so angry before…or even angry at all.
“Easy does it,” the captain chuckled uneasily.
“We are civilized, we can speak civilly,” Tiyharqu said, the knife digging into the captain’s throat deep enough for a few trickles of blood to drip downward.
“What shall we speak of then, friend?” the captain asked.
Tiyharqu took a step back, pulling the captain with her, making sure there was no space behind her for one of the Sephians to creep up and stab her in the back.
“I am not your friend,” she hissed in return.
“My life is in yer hands. I’d say that make us pretty close.”
“Did you come here to murder us? Is that what you want?” Tiyharqu looked like she was fighting a great impulse to pull the knife across and open his throat. That, or her hand was shaking in fear.
“Murder? No, no, friend. But who can stop murder when ye’ll die to keep what ye have from us?” The captain smiled, looking strangely relaxed for a man with a bleeding neck.
Samaki finally looked around the deck. There were only about a dozen Sephians, but each one had a bloody spear or sword, and on the deck his men lay in an ever-growing pool of blood. None of his crew was still standing, save for Tiyharqu.
“I will not die for what we carry. Take it and leave us be,” Tiyharqu said.
“No!” Samaki screamed, leaping to his feet, but it was of no use; he was too dizzy, and he ended up crashing between the oarsmen’s benches, his shoulder hitting hard. A few of the men chuckled as Samaki tried to get up again but nausea overcame him.
“It’s no good to us dead, Maki,” Tiyharqu called out, her grip on the captain relaxing a little.
“See, I knew we were friends,” the captain smiled.
“You are scum,” Tiyharqu spat.
“No,” Samaki moaned as he heard the cargo hold door open. The nausea overwhelmed him, and he nearly vomited as he heard them start to climb down the ladder.
He could hear the voices of the men below, happily calling out what they saw. Food, they cried, enough food to feed them for a year or more. There was laughing and even the captain chuckled to himself. Samaki might have been able to bear losing all their cargo, until the captain spoke next.
“You carry much,” his voice was as slick as an eel. “But no gold?”
Tiyharqu hesitated. “We suffered three storms since leaving Mahat. We barely kept what little cargo we still have.”
“You’re sailing from Caemaan.”
“The storm hit us hardest after that.”
“All merchants have gold.”
“Take the cargo. Food is what you want. Take the cargo—” but Samaki could recognize his friend’s voice wavering.
“No—” Samaki moaned, pushing himself up, locking eyes with the captain, who grinned back at him.
“There must be a secret compartment down below. Tell us where it is, or we’ll slit all their throats and leave you with a ship full of corpses.”
Tiyharqu looked at Samaki, uncertainty in her eyes. Samaki shook his head. Losing the crew…Losing the cargo…It was painful, worse than the pain he felt in his head, but the gold…It was everything he’d been saving since he and Tiyharqu first took sail. If they lost that, it would be the end. If he lost that, then why did he ever sail away from home in the first place?
“Haven’t you ever wanted more from life?”
“Harqu…” Samaki croaked. “Don’t—”
Tiyharqu looked away from him and whispered something into the captain’s ear. The man laughed, loud and long, and started barking orders to his men below. He could hear them hacking at the wood of his hull, opening the hidden nooks he’d filled with his life’s savings and let himself sink down again, feeling the throbbing pain in his head, and for a moment, just wanting to slip away into nothingness.
Tiyharqu stood vigilantly, never taking the knife away from the captain’s throat as the men took out every box and sack and vase and piece of gold or silver left in his ship. Everything. He lay completely still, feeling the blood pulsate from his wound. How could this happen? How could Tiyharqu let this happen?
“You have what you want, now go, friend,” Tiyharqu hissed.
Samaki didn’t look up but could hear the Sephians push away from the Afeth, laughing as they sailed away, calling back a hearty thank you. And then the only sounds were the lapping waves and the moans from his injured men. He heard Tiyharqu crouch next to him, felt her wrapping something around his forehead to staunch the bleeding.
Tiyharqu was speaking to him, but he couldn’t listen to the words, couldn’t stand the noises coming from her mouth. All he could think was how much he just wanted to reach up and grab her by the neck, how much he wanted to see that kind of surprise on her face, as he strangled the life from her.
THE PALACE OF THE RISING SUN
SHE USED TO CUT MY HAIR
“First thing’s first,” Tahye smiled. “Into the water,” she ordered.
“I can’t swim,” Kareth protested.
“Not to swim, to clean the filth off you.”
The canals that ran through Nepata had flooded earlier in the year, bringing rich black mud with the water. The waters had become dark, frightening to someone like Kareth who had never learned to swim and felt uncomfortable when he couldn’t see the riverbed. The flooding had passed, though, and now the water levels had lowered. Along the Hiperu River, the planting season had begun. Still, the waters were dark and murky.
“It’s not so deep here, your feet will touch the ground.”
He felt unsure, but he didn’t want to look like a coward in front of her. He stepped to the edge, his hands about to untie his loincloth, but the thought of being naked again in front of her made him blush, so he jumped into the warm water with it still wrapped around his body. His head went under the surface, but his panic was short-lived, as he felt his feet immediately connect with the mud below. He pushed off and his head broke the surface. He struggled a moment, falling below again and having to push up a second time, but he soon realized that by kicking his legs back and forth he could keep his head above the water.
At the side of the canal Tahye was laughing, the beautiful tweeting of a songbird, and he felt a strange contentment, like he could stay in that shallow canal forever, living off her laughter and the waters of the Hiperu. But he did climb out eventually. She had to reach down and help pull him up. He sat on the edge of the canal, his feet dangling into the water, while Tahye kneeled behind him.
“They won’t miss you?”
“Not today,” she tilted his head to the side and shaved around his ear with a large curved blade. “Mistress Ankhet told everyone she needed me to run errands all day.”
“All day?” Kareth smiled.
“I’ll have to get back eventually.” Her voice sounded distant.
“B
ut…I’ll see you again.” He felt her thin fingers push the back of his head forward, and he complied.
“Of course,” she took a deep breath. The blade moving across his scalp stopped suddenly and was pulled away. “Sorry!” she squeaked in surprise and Kareth smiled. It was nice to smile again.
“It’s okay,” he said, feeling the pain of the nick and the drops of warm blood, but he really didn’t mind. The memory of a greater pain was still fresh.
“I’ll be more careful,” she whispered.
He reached up and grabbed her wrist, tilting his head back slightly to see her leaning over him.
“It’s really okay.”
Their eyes met and held each other for a moment, before she nodded and brought the knife back against his skin.
Kareth watched the boats go by, and felt a strange lightness as Tahye shaved him, his matted hair falling away in tiny clumps into the water and floating away.
He’d waited for days outside Imotah’s villa. He didn’t care that by going there he was possibly missing out on free grain. Food didn’t matter, only fulfilling his duty to the gods. He hadn’t been waiting for Tahye—not really. He had been hoping to see some familiar face, someone who would be willing to help him send word to Mistress Ankhet. And then one day, it was Tahye who left from the gates with a basket in her hands and a linen veil draped over her head to block out the harsh light.
The last time he’d seen her had been beneath the pomegranate tree, the day Dedelion had taken him away. He thought he could still taste her kiss on his lips as he followed her to the market, keeping out of sight and waiting for a moment when she’d be alone. When she turned down a deserted alley, he’d finally run to her. She’d turned around, dropping her basket in surprise. He’d thought—hoped—she would be happy to see him, but when she recognized him she covered her mouth. She cried when she saw the scars on his back.
That was yesterday. That morning she had met him, sneaking from the villa as the sun was just beginning to rise, her basket in hand once more, but this time filled, and the tears from the day before were gone. Among other things, she’d brought him his cloak and the knife.
“Almost done,” Tahye sighed.
“My mother…” the memory was sudden and stung like the cut on his scalp, “she used to cut my hair.”
Tahye smoothed her hand along his scalp, brushing away the flecks of his hair, and slicing off any hairs that persisted.
“You’re lucky,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry…” Of course, Tahye had never known her mother. He shouldn’t have brought his up.
“Here, lean back,” her voice was suddenly full of energy again, and when he started to lean back he saw her face was smiling, but her eyes looked sad.
She helped him lean back until his head was nestled on her legs. He could feel her soft bare legs against his freshly shaved skin and found he couldn’t look at her face, instead staring up at the clear sky at a few birds circling above them. She splashed some water on his face and began to shave his young beard.
“Why did you wait so long?” she asked.
“So long what?” He was mesmerized by the birds. He wished he could fly. It would have taken him less than the turn of a moon to finish his task if he could fly. He still remembered the dream he’d had of him and Tersh on the backs of great white birds, and the disappointment he’d felt when he’d realized the birds had only symbolized sails. The gods didn’t come to his dreams anymore.
“To come back. I…missed you.”
He looked at her and saw her face was flush, and once more, he remembered the way she had stood beneath the pomegranate tree. The way their lips had met as though drawn together, like a moth to fire. He had the urge to reach up and touch her blushing face, but he felt suddenly self-conscious and could only manage half a smile.
“I was…scared.” Scared. What a weak word. He had been terrified. He had been ashamed. He had been hiding, cloaked in his failure and weakness. But he had needed his Ancestral Cloak if he were to try and speak to Harami. He couldn’t guarantee that Harami would recognize him and he needed to prove he was a Whisperer. He hadn’t expected to see Tahye, to find himself lying on her thighs like…a…What was he to her?
“I missed you,” she said again, and her dark eyes finally met his. He realized suddenly she was wearing more makeup than she normally did, or perhaps it was more carefully done. The black lines were thicker and flared out with a more delicate curl, and the colour on her eyelids was a deep crimson he’d never seen her wear before.
“When I’m done, I’ll come back, and—”
She pulled the knife away from his skin and leaned down. Their lips met again, this time not so tentatively and uncertainly. Their noses nuzzled the other’s chin. This time he felt her tongue slip between his lips. This time she pressed herself more forcibly against him. He wanted to…he didn’t know what he wanted to do. What did you do when a woman kissed you? He had never asked and no one had ever told him. He felt a strange sort of panic that if he did the wrong thing she would get upset and stop. So he did nothing, and soon the kissing stopped anyway. She pulled away, her eyes flitting around his face, not able to focus on any one feature.
“I…I’ll…I will come back soon,” he stammered, and she brought the knife back, running it down from his chin to his neck.
“You better,” she whispered.
The last time Kareth was at the palace, he’d been preparing for the Paref’s coronation feast. It had been busy and filled with people, and he had never gone beyond the kitchen and storerooms, but he knew where the hall was that led to the inner palace. He would make it inside, or he would die trying. This was the night. This was the moment. He took a final look at the sky. The crescent moon had yet to rise and the stars were overwhelming. He took a deep breath. It was time to fulfill his destiny.
He’d spent as much of the day with Tahye as he could. They had gone to the market and haggled for a few pieces of honey bread and beer and had a picnic along the canal. They found themselves joking and telling stories. Tahye told him all the recent gossip he’d missed out on, and Kareth had made up stories of his adventures, trying to get her to laugh.
He thought he’d be sad to see her go. He thought he might try to kiss her this time, but when the sun began to hang low in the sky, he felt a desire to be alone, for her to just leave and let him get on with his mission. He didn’t even feel guilty about his curt farewell. Now he was a mix of nervous energy and determination. He smoothed over the new tunic Tahye had brought him, and adjusted the basket in his arms, his cloak wrapped up into a bundle inside.
Kareth stepped through the servant’s gate, which led to a small courtyard. He’d spent several days sitting in that courtyard, grinding wheat or helping to slaughter the many animals that had been brought for the feast. Although there was no grand feast on this night, there were several servants in the yard, feeding the animals kept there, as well as fetching water and doing other chores. Kareth walked straight ahead, trying to look like he was meant to be there, but just as he reached the entrance a familiar figure blocked his way.
Mistress Baketwernal was tall and thin, with skin hanging from her old rooster neck. She put her arms on her bony hips and glared down at him. She looked comedic, a fresh black wig framing a face with skin like rotten papyrus, her black eyeliner encircling watery eyes.
“You’re not one of mine,” she said in a cold voice.
“No Mistress Baketwernal,” he smiled pleasantly. “I was sent by Mistress Ankhet, from the home of Tzati Imotah.”
She narrowed her eyes. He remembered how those two women had resented having to work with each other, both of them trying to enact their authority over the other. He knew it might be a mistake to mention Ankhet, but he needed to prove he belonged here, and Ankhet and Imotah’s names would be well known to the shrill old corpse.
“Why in the name of Khachet did she send you here?”
He hadn’t planned to say anything else, but then he re
alized he needed more than a couple familiar names. He needed her to remember him, and he was sure she would.
“Scorpions,” he said, nawse in her tongue. “There was an accident at the villa, and the last time I was here you had many, many scorpions. I used some to make medicine, for the man whose leg was crushed.”
Her eyes widened suddenly, and she looked thoughtful. He tried to keep smiling, but his heart was beating so hard he wanted to clutch his chest. Did she remember? She must remember. And even if she did, would she let him in or just have someone bring him a few? Maybe the scorpions had been a mistake.
She nodded. “He died,” she said, and her gaze seemed distant. Was the memory sad for her? She didn’t look like the kind of woman who would be bothered by some servant’s death.
“I heard,” and Kareth let his smile drop. The memory was a bitter one for him. He thought he had saved that man’s life. He had felt the Goddess of Life moving through him as he had made that medicine, but in the end all he could do was relieve the young man’s pain until death took him.
“Come in,” she moved to the side and he stepped in. The halls were lined with bright oil lamps, and she stared hard at his face. “Hmm, I remember you. Those eyes…strange eyes.”
“Um…down that hall, right?” He pointed down the hall away from the kitchen that led to the storerooms.
“Yes, but be quick,” the shrillness came back to her voice. “Don’t get in the way. We’re very busy.”
There was the sound of pottery breaking from the kitchen.
“You fool! What have you done!” she screamed and disappeared into the kitchen.
Alone, Kareth turned and started walking down the hall. He felt like he was lying in the sun, his skin warm and buzzing. It had worked. He nearly laughed at how easy it was. He went quickly past the different rooms. He had no idea which room had scorpions in it, but he certainly didn’t care. He found a room empty of people and set to work.
Pekari -The Azure Fish Page 30