John thought about them, a little saddened. Life was poor, nasty, brutish and short. It always had been.
But perhaps, in this new world, he could make it a little better for everyone, if only as a way to atone.
He went around to the trunk of the car, retrieved an old and battered copy of The Doomsayer Journeys and a bottle of whiskey. It wasn’t the old Black, but it was close enough. He raised a toast to the ghost casket and tried to find words to say.
There were none.
“To us,” he said at last. “To a different world.”
Then he sat down and began to read.
BIO
Yudhanjaya Wijeratne is a data researcher and former journalist as well as a Nebula Award-finalist. He spends his time filling notebooks with strange ideas and code. He's run news operations, designed games, and fallen off cliffs (most of these things by accident), but he's known in his native Sri Lanka for bringing data analysis to political commentary. He's currently working on the Commonwealth Empires trilogy for HarperCollins.
LINKS
Author Website: http://yudhanjaya.com/
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Yudhanjaya-Wijeratne/e/B06ZYXKYXY
Twitter: https://twitter.com/yudhanjaya
Effigies in Bronze
Colton Hehr
I stand before you, O King, priests and oracle, kith and kin, and the Creator grant me the tongue to speak all that I have seen and done. I pray to the Creator, Molder of Men and Clay, that the oracle divines truth from my words. Just as she hears the spirits and knows their will, let her see in me the truth of words and deeds. All that happened is as I tell you now.
It began when we came upon the village. Not the whole vanguard army, just my spearmen and I, I in my chariot, and with us a band of archers led by Lugal, whose bald pate I can see even now among the crowd of listeners. We had ranged ahead of the army, and the swift horsemen farther afield than we, on the trail of the Kascians. We thought to find them among the hills and cedar trees where they might have hid from our horsemen, but instead we found a village, rude and unwalled. A cairn, stone piled on raw stone, stood in the center of the cluster of huts. Children, young and naked and dirty, ran round the hovels’ walls of mud-daubed reeds. The cairn marked it as a Kascians camp, but it looked little more than a handful of farmers—a dozen huts, crudely built.
A faint thread of tracks led to the village. We thought it a few of our foes, breaking away from the main force. Now, I knew it to be a goatherd’s trail, or a path for some villager to draw water from the nearby stream. We had discovered the tracks there and assumed our foe had crossed running water to cast confusion on his trail.
I arrayed my spears, bronze points gleaming in the noonday sun. Our pursuit of the Kascians bands took us from the sea’s edge, and we could no longer see wine-dark waters on our eastern horizon. Below, between the rising crests of two hills, the village sat, silent and ignorant of our presence.
I went to Lugal’s archers and sought him out, looking for the silver clasp on his thick girdled belt, a twin to the one that I wore. He and his archers were preparing their bows. I found the sight strange and told him so.
“We have the enemy before us and ample arrows, cousin. We go to our work.” Lugal strung his bow, a weapon of yew and horn. I saw him lance a man through a bronze corselet, leaving the man dead in the dust of his chariot from two hundred paces, with that bow. “Up, men! String bows.”
I grasped hawk-eyed Lugal’s forearm and held him fast. “Cousin, hold a moment. Men, loosen your bows. Put away those arrows that prick men out of their chariots and darken their eyes.”
“Your poetry flatters, Esar. What troubles you?”
“This village is a slick of mud compared to Eridu. Look—see you any men? Gleaming bronze, shields and spears?” I held out my other hand to the squat of ramshackle huts. “Your enemy is somewhere beyond this place. This holds no glory for your arrows or my spear.”
“A dozen huts might hold twice as many foes. Let our arrows fall among the Kascians. We might yet see bronze’s flashing gleam.” Lugal gestured with one of his arrows. “Let this dart of mine find its mark.”
“Cousin, the Sage Iodonna taught our people their virtues. Did she ever say there was glory in fletching your arrow in an old man’s back, or in seeing a child fall beneath your chariot’s wheels?” I squeezed his forearm tightly. “Mercy. You will send more Kascians to their forefathers before we see Eridu again. We will return home more than captains and soldiers—heroes for an age.”
Lugal smiled. “You have always held Iodonna’s teachings foremost in your heart, Esar.”
I let go of his arm and turned, motioning for my spearmen to stand down, to unshoulder their bronze burdens from chafed and aching shoulders.
“All the same—fire at all.” The soft hiss of an arrow in flight sounded behind me. “We must be sure, cousin.”
Lugal pulled another arrow from his quiver. He was setting it to string when I rounded and bulled into him, shoving him to the ground with my shield’s broad face. The arrow snapped in his hand and he stood, casting its feathered end at me. I threw down my shield in anger.
“You sack of wine! Don’t treat me like a cur.” Lugal flung his bow to the ground and strode towards me.
“You make a cur of yourself, nipping at the old and the young with your arrows!” I caught him mid-stride and we struggled for a moment before I cast him to the ground. Lugal, you stand among the witnesses here, and I tell you: you have always been a favorite kindred of mine, but you should have known who of us held the advantage in wrestling, even in anger.
“You would strike a kinsman? That is beneath you.” Lugash, sharp eyes glowering with anger, glared at me.
“And attacking a village is beneath you. I save you from yourself.” I took a deep breath and settled myself. My men bristled behind me, and so too did Lugal’s before me. I wanted no quarrel between us, as kin or as captains.
I held out my hand to Lugal. “I acted in haste. Forgive me, but I would not have you lessen yourself with the blood of these people.”
Grimacing, his lower lip split, Lugal took my hand and I pulled him up from the ground.
“An accord,” I suggested, “Let us show the villagers we are here, in strength and bearing sharp bronze aplenty. If they hide warriors, these men will rush to meet us. If not, the villagers will flee. We will fire the buildings with these swift arrows of yours, to be sure that no enemy ever hides in them.”
Lugal picked up his bow and nodded, wiping blood out of his curled beard. “As you say, cousin. All the same, I will speak to your elder brother. You are stronger than me—there was no need to treat me so foul.”
“I agree. Consider it an urge to do right by a man well loved by his kin. I will pay whatever recompense my brother sees fit, to you and to the Creator.”
“Damn you, but you are a hard man to hate.” Lugal laughed and slapped my bronze-scaled cuirass. “You heard him. Make fires. You, Esar—take those spearmen, and make the air ring with spear against shield. Let those below hear us.”
I embraced Lugal, our quarrel forgotten for the time being. “It will be like waves beating on the shore. Shields!”
We left the village in ashes, its people fled, no warriors within. We returned to find the army encamped, ditches dug, cedar spikes laid and guards posted. Tents by the thousand dotted the ground, many smaller ones clustered around a larger like cubs clinging to their mother. My own tent, and those of my men, sat near the largest in the camp, where Eshua held court among the noble-born sons of Eridu.
Lugal had raced ahead in his own chariot, so that a quick-footed courier waited for me at the camp’s entrance, its packed-dirt path flanked by upright poles of painted wood.
“Eshua, Under-the-King, requests your presence.”
I gave the man a silver piece. “Make a libation of wine at the camp’s shrine for me. Keep the rest of the libation for yourself.”
The courier tucked the coin into h
is belt. “Gladly. To the Sage?”
“And to Ninurta. We need the spirits’ favor.”
“I will see it done, captain.”
My brother sat on a broad, low stool of cedar and river rushes in his tent. His armor sat on the floor beside his chair, still earing the dust of the day, and grim clung to his bare arms and legs, darkening the linen of his tunic where the armor sat heaviest and hottest. Only his attendant remained with us, mixing date wine with water in a bowl. The table in front of Eshua was low and broad, and many clay tablets sat on it. Missives from the king, messages from the other armies, and one attempt at a rough map of the mountains that yet laid northward.
We disagreed on many things, but none respect your willingness to work and share alike with the others of our city, my brother. There he sat, receiving his captains, still in his marching tunic and sandals, unwashed and no doubt unfed.
Eshua served a small bowl of watered wine to me with his own hands and took one for himself before we spoke. The rest he sent to the nearest group of soldiers outside. Once his attendant left to portion out the remaining wine, my brother spoke. “Lugal brings me distressing news. He said that my youngest brother quarrelled with our cousin. Struck him, even. Is that so, Esar?”
“Let doubt depart from heart. Lugal spoke true.”
“He claims it came from dealing with a Kascian village.”
“It did.”
Eshua slapped his thigh. “Does dust dry mouth, or wine drown tongue? Tell me why!”
“He wished to attack. Our foes would have been but lambs—women, a few men, children. Folk with wheat-reaping scythes and stout staffs against spear and bow.”
“Your devotion to the Sage’s Path is why your siblings love you best among our father’s children, but we are not in Eridu giving bread to our fellows.” Eshua tugged at his dark beard and leaned forward. “We ride to rid our city—and the others—of the Kascian hordes. That means bronze, brother.”
“Against soldiers, not some shepherds.”
“I share your faith in Iodonna’s ways. They are how we exist in harmony with our world and our Creator. All born from the clay of Eridu do, but we may have to fail in those vows to win this war. If so, we can beg forgiveness from the Molder of Men and Clay, beseech the spirits’ aid, and redouble our devotions—after we win.”
I drank from my wine bowl to gather my thoughts and then spoke. “The Sage did not set a path for our people that we might walk it or stray as we will. We cannot go our own way when her virtues become as burdens on our backs. That is when we must stay true, Eshua.”
Eshua held up a hand. “Enough. We will speak of this another time. I have word that our scouts have found tis Merabanna’s band again. We continue our march at dawn. They go still to the mountains, and we will follow them.”
I stood and bowed. “As you say, brother.”
We grasped hands and I left. Kin or not, Eshua commanded the army. He is the king’s scepter and sword. I left the tent and obeyed, though my heart sat heavy with fear and concern for my brethren.
We put feet to ground early the next day, just as my brother promised. We marched steady throughout the morning, watching as the sun burned away the mist and the cedar trees gave way to hard scrub and rocky, thin soil. I marched with my men, letting my attendant—a young cousin from some distant family lineage—drive my chariots and my two strong horses. Some captains kept to their chariots, but I kept to my spears, to the men who wielded them. This I learned from Eshua, who believed that the noble-born captains ought to live and die alongside the common soldiers, as we and they are brothers born of one city. Our fortunes and fates are bound.
When the army halted, I went ahead with some of the scouts who had made promising discoveries on the trail. We came again to a village, but a wall rung round this town, and hundreds of tents bordered that wooden bulwark. It spread out through a broad, gently-sloped valley, and even from a distant hilltop I could make out the telltale glint of bronze among the tents.
When I returned to the camp, Namhu waited for me with my men. The magus sat at our cooking fire, showing the men the length of shaped brass, capped with carven chalcedony that he used for his thaumaturgy. Some gave him wide berth, other eager ears.
Namhu and I embraced when I drew near. I have known Namhu nearly all of my life, his father the charioteer for mine. Though he didn’t lack for his father’s talents, he has gone on to master the subtle energies of the world, as many here today know well. His thaumaturgy has driven many a stone block into place and brought rain to more than one thirsty vineyard.
Nearly anyone could wield the wand he carried on his belt, charged with energy as it was, but few possessed the will or the training to manage that wild storm of power. A magus's focus was a tinder waiting for an errant spark, in the wrong hands it became a wildfire.
“What brings you to my tent, Namhu?” I led him inside and offered him a crust of bread and a small, clay pot of honey. He refused, but I indulged, eating while I yet had time.
“You missed your brother’s assembly of the captains.” Tan brushed his fingers through his beard. Like all magi, he wore it shorter than was usual in Eridu. Long beards make for ample fuel, he says.
“I was out with the afternoon scouting party. I wanted to see this village the morning scouts mentioned.”
“Your brother means to attack it before dawn’s light tomorrow. He wants to overrun it—first with flames, then with bronze.”
“Sound thinking. He means to catch them while most slumber. He will fire the tents?”
“And the village.” Namhu crossed his gold-girded arms over his chest, charms and talismans jingling. “I like it not—my flames were meant for more than turning some farmer’s hut to ash.”
“What would you suggest?” I asked.
Kohl-ringed eyes hooded and squinted with contemplation. “Fire the tents. The gate and section of the wall nearest us, too. Drive the villagers away, force the warriors to face us in the field.”
“I’ll broach the idea with Eshua. May my brother see wisdom, honestly offered.”
My brother did not receive Namhu’s wisdom as graciously as I hoped, nor did he believe his plan to have issue.
“We cannot go into the village and strike down all we see. You know what the scouts saw, just as I do.” I stood before him again, and again we argued in private, without the other captains. The privilege of brotherhood.
“The Kascians do it. Think you that they built that village? They took it, no doubt after putting the people to the bronze.”
“Are we Kascians, brother? If they lay waste to a city, leave its people to the carrion birds—do we do as they do?”
“It would be justice, fairly given!”
“It would not be our way on the Path! If we do as they do, what difference separates us? Virtues we no longer hold to?” I slammed my fists on the table hard enough to slosh watered wine and rattle bowls. “We cannot become as they are and still be who we are. Who we ought to be.”
“You would let the Kascians burn us from the earth and cut the Eridui root and stem from the world before you strayed from the Sage’s Path, Esar.”
“No, but I would not take their path and forsake the one Iodanna laid before us. I would not walk that road simply because it was easier than our own.”
Eshua glowered, sun-bronzed face darkening with blood beneath his beard. “You go too far. Cease arguing, close mouth and lend ear! I lead the army; the king gave me the point of his spear to drive away our foe—not you. We will do as I say. You will do as I say, be it as captain or as brother.”
Tension flared between us, glowing hot as bronze does when poured molten into a casting mold. For a moment we both stood, staring at each other. If we were not kin, one of us would have surely struck the other.
My brother tugged at his beard in frustration before smoothing it out with his fingers. He sat back down and motioned to my chair. “Come. Sit. You mean well, I know. Angry words, spoken in fervent faith. I wou
ld not have my own blood think me without devotion.”
He took an unfired clay tablet and watered it. Once smoothed beneath his hand, he began to write with a blunted river reed on its surface. “You must stand by your faith if you demand a measure of mine, Esar. Tomorrow, you go to their village under flag of truce. Tell them what you will, ask what ever you think they will agree to, but not let nothing of my strategy pass your lips.”
“And if I forge no pact with this Madrubanna?”
“Then I will attack as planned.” Eshua rose and placed his clean hand on my shoulder, the other grimed with water and clay. “If they will not accord with you, then they must reckon with me. The village makes no difference in the matter of our city’s safety.”
At dawn, I rode out into the valley. A standard bearer rode with me, his chariot beside mine as we made our way down the rough, hoof-beaten path. I drove the team myself and left my kindred charioteer in the camp. Not for you, this meeting—still too young to keep voice firmly in mouth, dear cousin.
Eshua sent a messenger before me and the Kascians waited for me in front of their camp. All their warriors in their hundreds stood before the tents, arrayed by clan kinship, sheathed in bronze and leather. Plumed helmets swayed in the morning breeze, horsehair and feathers added to the heights of the wearers. At the forefront of this panoply of men stood one alone, gray of eye and gray of hair. A band of beaten silver hung around his wrist and it shook when he raised his hand in greeting.
I stepped off of my chariot to meet him. His face looked cut from granite and crudely done, at that, eroded by hard living. He spoke our language well, though simply and sometimes with pause as he searched for the proper word or phrase to suit his desires. His careful words cloaked a studied cleverness that many here, general or priest, would tell you does not exist among marauders like the Kascians. I tell you now, what I convey to you now is just as we spoke.
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