One afternoon, the strong wind stole her red veil and lifted it high and far from the ship. Noki cut her black robe with his blade, bringing its hemline slightly higher than the knee. He then cut off the sleeves above the elbow, and she made a black headband with the fabric. It gave her head the illusion of long silken black hair. Noki asked me, his brow wrinkling with agony, if I wanted her.
“No, she’s all yours,” I said, loud enough for all men to hear.
A faint smile, silent, barely there, but unmistakable, crossed her face. Gratitude, brotherhood, sisterhood, admiration? One doesn’t care to read the smiles of a woman who has chosen another man. That was the first and last time I ever saw a Witch smile. Raven sang every morning, and when she did, Agathon, who was always wearing a headband similar to hers, sang too. Noki was smiling for the first time in this campaign. She was the one Story, the one woman among us, the one who gave us color—the black and the red—on our journey. What would any Story be without a woman, after all? Her soft moans at night sent me back to Kar-Tioo, to my first passion. The same recurring terror seized me: that I would return and find nothing and no one there.
“Is it death that floods your mind again, Da-Ren?” Baagh asked.
His earlier words had stuck in my mind, and they fed a fire of curiosity and hunger inside of me. Cunning sons of bitches, those Cross Sorcerers were. What was eternal life? How could I defeat death? If Zeria had perished, was there an offering worthy of her life that the Castlemonastery would accept? I was certain that Baagh knew. If I insisted, he would tell me:
“What is the ultimate sacrifice, Baagh? What do these gods of yours ask for at the Castlemonastery to grant me eternal life?”
In the mornings, he would grimace annoyed whenever I asked him such things. One afternoon, the wind died completely, and we had to row for a long time until we moored on the bay of a deserted island. I was resting my limbs on the deck, and the sunset’s light painted a shimmering path of gold on the water.
“The gate,” said Baagh, pointing toward the sparkling path that joined sky and sea.
Cross Sorcerers and Ouna-Mas had so many common tales, but they preferred to deny it. Their differences were their power.
“The gate for a man to reach your god?” I asked.
“The gate to eternal life.”
Baagh’s serious face eased, and for once he spoke more.
“I beg you to tell me the secret, Baagh.”
“I don’t know it yet, but wherever I traveled east or west, the wise men agree. It takes seven.”
“Seven what?”
“They ask for your life seven times before you earn the gift of eternal life.”
“I don’t understand. They ask for seven what?”
“Seven lives, seven souls, seven loves, seven innocents, seven hearts, seven times. That’s why I keep traveling east and west to live my seven lives in full before I am ready to find God. Only by dying seven times, going through seven hells and rebirths, will you be able to comprehend the meaning of eternal life. You will be invincible after you have passed through it seven times.”
Two days later we were approaching the northern islands, and I was talking with Baagh again on the deck.
“Send your men down, and tell them to brace. There is a black storm coming,” Agathon interrupted us.
A bit later without another warning my legs lost their balance on the deck. The moist air and the calmness of the sea were gone. Storm clouds were descending fast. Long before nightfall, the sky went dark, the sails started to tremble, and the waves surrounded us, hungry black and white drakons. The sea awoke in a foul mood and fell on us with vengeance. The men hid under the deck, facing the eyes of Raven, her chants becoming their last hope. Enaka did not favor this journey.
Baagh pointed to the north where the sky had gone black and was rapidly moving toward us. “Look, that mountain line where the bolts strike down. Do you see it? That island is the castle of the ancient god of the winds. So the pagans believed. There,” Baagh said.
But I saw only the green-black tongues of the sea swallowing the mountains out of the horizon. The pagan god was outraged that I was trying to steal the secret of eternal life. We endured his wrath all night and for most of the next day, but the boat proved resilient. The more the gods opposed me, the more I would defy them. I would steal their secrets and defeat them.
I asked again, more demanding than ever. “Seven lives, Baagh? How can you be immortal if you die seven times?”
“You plague me with things you don’t understand. You are not even in your second life, Da-Ren. You may not even be in the first. You and your Tribe are not even worthy enough to worship a god. You are animals who have mastered only the blade, monsters who had vanished from our cities centuries before until the dusty cunt of the steppe spit you back out again.”
Sometimes Baagh didn’t speak as a saintly man but as a drunken sailor.
“As our Legend says: to the four corners of the world you will ride and conquer,” I said.
“I hope for your own good that you do not find eternal life, Da-Ren, because it will be a life of endless torment, the greatest curse. What you did in Varazam… Believe me; I have traveled and worshiped in all the temples of the world, no god or goddess will ever forgive that. No repentance or prayer can redeem you. As the winters pass, the ghosts of Varazam will return each night to visit you.”
“The ghosts, and the wolves of the Ouna-Mas, and the Reekaal have been visiting me since my twelfth winter. They don’t scare me.”
“Oh, but they do now. That is why you abandoned your tribe.”
“I left because I am weak now, Sorcerer. I don’t even have the strength of my arm. I can’t carve a Story among this Tribe anymore. Malan sacrificed us as if we were lambs so he could hunt the wolves. I lost five hundred brave warriors at Apelo—men who believed in me, boys who looked up to me. I lost them all in one morning. To seal our deaths, he left us without horses. I am ashamed because I survived, because I craved for life when I saw you, and you offered your help. All of them dead, and I live.”
I tightened my left fist, and with the right, I clenched the tarred papyrus rope so I would not fall overboard as I climbed on the bulwark. I wanted to be heard from a Thousand Islands away.
“I am leaving for Sirol, where I will be free, but I will return, Baagh. I will return invincible, with shining iron in my hands, and all will know of Da-Ren, and the terror, the same terror that my first Ouna-Ma felt, will be written all over their faces.”
“Come down from there, or you will never reach Sirol,” he said.
“So, I have to know, Baagh. How can I become invincible? How did those monks find eternal life? Is it Drakon’s blood?”
“Drakon’s what? No such thing. Forget all that Agathon nonsense. Eternal life can be found in solitude. Wisdom is hidden in the studying of the books.”
The books. I had seen them many times in the campaign. I had seen people in the palaces of Varazam holding them like cherished children in their arms before we ran spears through them. I had even seen the Reghen taking slaves who marked with reed and color the lists that counted sheep, tents, oxen, and gold coins.
“What can one find in books? They are useful only for counting supplies and spoils.”
“Those aren’t books; they’re ledgers. Barbarous tribe! You can find the whole world in books. The most important truths. And the most redundant details. Those are my favorite.”
Truly, I couldn’t understand.
“Books are the stories that never change. They never change, even if the Emperors and the Khuns die and new ones rise in their place. That is why books are stronger than the Emperors and hold more magic than any of the sorcerers.”
“Who makes these books?”
“The greatest of men. The sages. Holy men. And those who are none of these things and become all of them when they write the books.”
I would understand books much later. But I understood even then, from the very first moment
, the Stories that never change. That sounded important. What would the book of Khun-Nan, the first leader, say, I wondered, if he had scribed it himself? What would Malan’s book say about me? What would it say if he had recorded it as a child, at the Uncarved, in the Sieve? I would do anything to learn something like that.
“What are the redundant details, Baagh?”
“In books, you meet the tribes of old, barbarians, pagans, and men of the faith for the first time. They come alive in the redundant details, their customs, myths, food, drink, and song, not in the stories of their king’s victories. And when you meet them in their daily lives, not in wars, you may not want to kill them anymore.”
“If I don’t kill them, they will kill me.”
“You have been drowned in black milk from the time you were an orphan, Da-Ren. False stories about demons, bloodsucking gods, and abominable hatred. All of your tribesmen have been fed these stories. They told you that with those stories you would conquer the world. Or at least survive.”
And so it was. That is the reason no one has stopped us yet. The Stories made us all-powerful.
“These Stories keep the Tribe united,” I told him.
“Yes, they do. They keep it together. In the clutches of your Witch and your madman Khun. They hold the tribe together, keep it from tearing itself apart. They imprison it. Devoid of life and love. They hold you tightly. What else could keep twenty thousand ravenous jackals together? A great chain? A wall of stone?”
“No, they would break like reeds.”
“Only one story,” said Baagh. “Kill it, or you will never be truly free.”
“I cannot defeat the Stories, the Legends, the prophecies. They have endured for countless winters now.”
“You can, Da-Ren. But not with blades. Only with other stories. Better ones.”
If only I could.
“But where can I find a story greater than the ones of the Witch?”
“You find it inside you. And you never let it go, till you die.”
I had no books. But I still had a few fading memories. The sleeves of Zeria’s green dress embroidered with gold thread. An irrelevant detail, yet it was etched in my mind as if it were yesterday. The leeches that sucked the poison from my body had the same shape and size as her black eyebrows. So incredibly beautiful. Her lips curving like the finest bow. I understood the redundant details.
For nights and days, the ship continued to tear through the waters. The wind was undying, like the Story itself that wanted to unfold, the sail as tireless as the tongue of an old witch. The star was leading us north. Back. Deep on the fifth night of the waning moon, Baagh came where I was sleeping and grabbed my arm. For the first time, I didn’t feel pain. It was healing.
“Hurry, hurry! Come up at the deck!” he said, his face glowing in the torchlight.
We climbed up the deck, and he pointed northeast. But he didn’t need to.
“Look, Da-Ren. Sometimes even books fail to record what we witness. There, the greatest wonder of the world, in front of your own eyes,” he said.
Our eyes were fixed on the brilliant sun that had painted the waters and the sky. The most luminous sunrise I had ever woken up to. But it was the middle of the night, and the sun could not be rising so early and from that northern direction.
“Look, Thalassopolis,” murmured Baaghushai, with a slight tremor in his voice and knees. He leaned on me to keep himself from falling. “O opulent Heaven, I return!”
LXVI.
The Barbarians
Twenty-Fourth Autumn. Barbarian
The engulfing darkness of the night was defeated by the radiance of Thalassopolis. Selene and the stars were dimmed by the splendorous brilliance of the Reigning City that was stretching out before us. Lighthouse fire beacons, castletower cressets, guards with torches in hand moving as shadows across the parapets, naval and merchant ships signaling to each other. All these countless man-made stars emanated their glow upon the sea and from behind the walls. From afar, they all shone together like a sun swimming and shimmering above water. Once we got closer to the mouth of the horned strait, the sea narrowed even more. The fires started to stand out one by one and outlined the walls forty feet high and the defense towers, one every fifty paces.
“So, this is the great Sapul that awaits Malan the Conqueror,” I said, smirking.
“The sea surrounds the city from three sides. You cannot challenge their warships. An army on foot can attack only the westerly side of the walls. But there are two walls there, the second one twice the height of these,” said Baagh.
“What kind of men could build such a marvel?” Noki wondered aloud.
“Craftsmen. And many slaves,” I answered.
“A day will come when we will crush those walls, unbury the dead, and reign over this city,” said the Reghen.
“How many people live in there?” I asked Baagh.
“How many does your campaign number?” he asked me back.
“Forty thousand—warriors, women, slaves, and all.”
“Ten times as many.”
“And how many of them warriors?’
“I don’t know. Does it matter?”
It didn’t. Whoever fought from up there was a giant armed with fire and iron because the walls made him so. They had thousands of giant warriors. It seemed easier to me to grow wings and touch the stars one day or to swallow an entire mountain, than for the Tribe to conquer Thalassopolis.
“I’m afraid that day will be a long time coming, Reghen,” I said.
Our ship lowered its main sail and cut its speed. The oars died as we rested our arms on them, but my heart beat faster. The lights and the shouts from the othertriber ships were getting closer. I ordered the men to put on tunics we had bought so we would look like the Crossers, and hooded mantles to hide our dark and savage faces.
“We cannot go through without their permission. They are signaling for us to wait,” said Agathon.
“If we made a run for it,” said the Reghen.
“Are you mad? You see where it gets narrower there, the strait’s entrance is blocked by an iron chain,” said Baagh.
“I told you of the sea chain before we left. We can’t sneak through,” Agathon said.
He had told me many times, but I thought it was another of the drunken captain’s tales. The two warships had now reached us at thirty paces, sailing next to us from both sides. “Everybody hide below in the hold,” said Baagh. “If they believe that we are a merchant vessel, we leave immediately. If not, I’ll have to try another plan.”
“What kind of plan?”
“I’ll tell them the truth.”
“Don’t you dare! If you betray me, I’ll cut you in half!”
“Da-Ren, trust me now and do as I ask. We’ll have no time for quarrels.”
Baagh and the captain remained on deck. The captain’s sons and two slaves, none of my men, were at the oars.
“Do you think they’ve heard what happened at Apelo? Do they know about Malan?” asked Noki, who had huddled next to me holding the Ouna-Ma in his arms.
“Yes, they’ll know about Varazam and Apelo and Kapoukia,” I answered.
“No matter what we wear, our faces are different. One look and they’ll know,” said Noki.
“All they have to do is look at the longskull here, and they’ll know,” said the Reghen, pointing at the Ouna-Ma.
Our boat was dead in the water, and the gentle waves were churning the agony in our guts, up and down. I heard the dull thuds of oars, and the enemy ships docked, their hulls siding ours. The othertribers were asking and shouting, and Baagh and Agathon were answering. Then I heard the dreaded words.
“Barbari! Barbari! Varazaaaam!” screamed Agathon’s eldest son, who was at the oars. I jumped up with Leke and got out of the hold, trying to shut him up. He was jumping up and down, waving his arms, and raising a ruckus.
Leke grabbed the boy’s head and banged it on the planks, knocking him unconscious. I stopped Leke before he cut th
e boy’s throat. If the blades unsheathed, we had no chance. The damage had been done. We tried to hide in the darkness next to the oars. Baagh’s face appeared in the torchlight as he knelt on the deck to order me:
“Get in the hold, dress back to your own clothes, and come up on deck. Da-Ren and the Reghen in front. Now!”
I shook my head in disagreement and clenched the hilt of my blade.
“Da-Ren, you have to come with me. This is our last chance.”
I lifted my head to look across the deck and saw the dark shadows of their soldiers, some with short spears and torches, others with bows on their hands. They only had to throw one torch and we’d roast like marmots on a spit. Following Baagh’s orders, I went to the hold and dressed quickly.
“Now the Sorcerer has us where he wants us,” said the Reghen.
He was right. Leke and three more of my men followed me, their blades sheathed, below their cloaks.
Each of the ships on either side of our boat had a couple of dozen men on deck. We could probably defend ourselves against them. But they would have hundreds of penteconters, biremes, and naval triremes, and even more ways of stopping us.
“Don’t make a move; we have no chance,” I said to Leke.
The men of the enemy ships were wearing acorn-shaped helms, and their extended bows were aiming arrows at our chests. Their captain to my left removed his helm and was ordering Baagh with a clear and thunderous voice. Baagh wore the robe of the Cross he had bought from Antia before we embarked, and it was probably that sacred garment that saved our pelts.
“The three of us will go with them,” Baagh said. He pointed to the Reghen and me to step from our bulwark to that of the enemy’s ship. “Leave your blades here. You aren’t going to need them.”
“Da-Ren, don’t,” said Leke.
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