by Marcin Wrona
Chapter 11: Mothers and Uncles
Never before had he spent so much of his time on the run. Certainly, Leonine was no stranger to escape, but this?
He dipped his oar into the Shalumes, back and shoulder screaming in protest. They had set a hard pace after leaving Numush-ummi in a stolen coracle, but what other choice did he have? Pursuit was a certainty. Not by the guards, perhaps – Numush-ummi’s finest had likely given up hours ago, if they’d even bothered to search for him in the black of night – but Ibashtu would not be so easy to lose. And the Hounds?
They’ll be after us, if they weren’t already. Hell, they may well have moved on to Nerkut by now. Our path is not exactly a secret… and they’ll know Ilasin’s story.
Which meant, of course, that going back to Nerkut smacked faintly of suicide. Still, what other way was there? They had to leave the country, and the only safe path lay across the desert. Safe indeed.
Besides, he’d promised to visit her mother’s grave. That too had seemed suicidal, until Ilasin explained that it was outside the city. If he could find a safe place for her to hide somewhere outside the walls, he would likely be able to make travel arrangements easily, and unobtrusively, by himself.
How many stupid risks must a man take? If I want to avoid being staked out in the desert, I’m going about it in all the wrong ways. And Ilasin… Ilasin was more vulnerable than he.
She lay curled up in the boat’s bow, sleeping peacefully. Leonine wished he could do the same, but sighed instead and pulled at the oar.
Ilasin woke to the dawn-song of croaking frogs. “Navid?” she called.
“I am here, Ila,” said Leonine.
Ilasin smiled and came to sit beside him. He threw an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.
“I’m starving,” Ilasin said.
“I’ve been waiting for you to wake. I mean to take our chariot ashore and start a little fire. I’ll show you how we used to hunt frogs in the salt marsh.”
“Frogs? You eat frogs?” Her voice was incredulous. “That’s disgusting.”
Leonine chuckled. “It’s frogs or nothing, princess. Besides, they’re not so bad.”
She crinkled her nose, coming to terms with the prospect. “What… what do they taste like? They’re not slimy, are they?”
He shook his head. “No. A bit chewy, maybe, but they taste fine. Like muddy, fishy little hens.”
“Oh, that’s comforting.”
Leonine had found a suitable thicket of rushes at the riverbank and cut several free. They were somewhat more flexible than he would have liked, and hollow besides. Still, there was only so much a man could ask for in a place like this. He cut the end from the reed, and whittled it into a makeshift spear. It would do.
“Come now.” He handed her another stick, this one smaller than his own. “I’ll need you to spit them on this.”
Ilasin looked as though she wanted to protest, but hunger got the better of her. She nodded resignedly.
The first frog adroitly escaped Leonine’s wrath, bounding away from a missed thrust and diving deep into the water so quickly that he could not follow it with another.
How long has it been since I’ve done this? Fifteen years? Twenty?
Longer still, perhaps. As a child, he often accompanied his father into the marshes of the delta where the rivers met and emptied into the sea. Father would wield the spear, and Leonine the spit on which the caught frogs were impaled. They would leave before dawn and come home before noon, with enough frogs between them for a few days’ meals, at least. His father was a passable musician, but not a good one. And in Sarvagadis, a passable musician needed to spend his mornings in the swamp catching dinner, especially if he had a son to feed and no wife to help.
“Navid,” his father had told him, at least once every month. “When you hunt frogs, you must strike once and cleanly, or they’ll be gone and you’ll be hungry. You don’t always get a second chance in life.”
Twenty years? Twenty-five? His father had not been given a second chance either. One successful robbery, when the frogs hid. Then another, and another. Eventually, one ended on the wrong side of a guardsman’s cudgel, and he had not the money to pay his fine. That was the last Leonine had seen of his father.
“Run, Navid! Never let them catch you.”
Oh, father, I hope what remained of your life was happier than mine. Hard though his own life had been, it was doubtful. A man who could not pay the penalty for his robbery was a man slaving in the copper mines in Sarvash. That should have been his own fate, but few things are as difficult to catch as a young boy running for his life.
“Navid? Are you well?”
“I’m sorry, Ila. Just lost in my thoughts. I used to hunt frogs with my father, just like this. It seems I spend as much time in the past these days as I do in the present.”
“So… we’re not going to have breakfast, then?” She sounded hopeful.
Leonine could not help but laugh. “Quiet, you. I just need a moment to get used to it. The last time I did this, you hadn’t even been born.”
He scanned the area in front of him, looking for a likely target. One sat atop a fallen branch that poked out of the clear water of the Shalumes.
“The key,” Leonine said, his tone measured, “is that they do not realize you’re a threat until the spear comes down – but once you strike, you either hit and have something to eat, or the frog realizes you’re a predator and you’ll never see it again.”
The spear came down, quick as lightning.
“And that, my dear, is how we catch breakfast.”
By the time they sat before a merrily crackling fire, the pink sky of dawn had already turned a brilliant blue.
Ilasin tore the charred meat from a leg-bone, and chewed meditatively. “These aren’t so bad,” she said, her relief obvious.
“They’re better cooked in a pot, with spices and vegetables… but no, they’re not bad at all.” After the hunger and rough pace that had characterized their impromptu flight from Numush, Leonine was just about ready to eat slugs. He’d eaten better than plain, roasted frog legs, but there had been days when he’d eaten worse, or nothing at all.
Ilasin slid over to his side, and reached over for another frog to roast. She leaned against him and yawned, then stuck the new frog on a stick and set to cooking it. A moment later, the frog, stick and all, fell into the sputtering flame.
“Ila,” Leonine said. He pulled her skewer out of the fire. “You’re falling asleep again.”
“Huh?” she said, wiping her eyes. “I guess I did.”
“I’m sure we’ll have a nice featherbed for you soon enough, but you should try to stay awake for now. You need to learn master your weariness.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Talk to me. Keep me awake. What was your father like?”
“My father?”
She nodded. “You said you used to catch frogs with him. What was he like?”
“He was a kind man. A bad musician, and a bit of a drunk, but he was always good to me. My mother died when I was a boy, from a fever. Like yours. My father raised me by himself. Never remarried – he was poor, and getting older, and there wasn’t the opportunity.”
“Did he teach you how to play?” she asked. “Music, I mean.”
Leonine nodded. “He taught me everything. Taught me to play, taught me to sing, taught me to fight... taught me to steal. He wasn’t very good with a lyre, but he was a good boxer, and dangerous with a knife. I’ve always wondered where he learned that, but he never told me.”
“Was he ever a soldier?” Ilasin asked.
“No, I don’t think so. Probably a thug, when he was a younger man, at least. Maybe not, even. We lived in an ugly part of the city. Men there needed to know how to defend themselves. Especially men who looked like us.”
“Sarvashi, you mean?”
Leonine nodded.
“So what happened to him?” she asked, then her eyes widened and she shook her hands in
front of her, as if to wave the question away. “No, wait. I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”
“It’s fine. I’ve had many years to come to terms with it.”
Run, Navid! Never let them catch you.
Something caught in his throat. Another part of his life he’d thought sealed away. “One year, we had no money, and couldn’t hunt enough to feed ourselves. So my father started to steal. Surreptitiously, at first. Then I followed him one night and found out what he was doing.” Leonine winced. “I caught quite a lashing that day… but then, after that, my father would take me with him. I guess he decided if I already knew, I might as well learn a little bit in case I ever needed to do the same.
“We stole a lot, he and I, but it was never enough. There was a man named Hechal, a big, bald Ekkadi… used to be a guardsman. He controlled our streets. If people wanted to steal, they had to work through him, or they’d never live to see a judge. And he asked a lot, so we kept stealing and stealing, and it seemed like our take was never quite enough to eat any better than we had when we were hunting frogs. Then, one day, my father was caught by the guards.”
Ilasin squeezed his hand. “Did they kill him?” she asked.
“They asked him to pay the fee, and he couldn’t, so they decided to take us both into slavery. I managed to run away, but he could not. I don’t know if he is still alive.” Perhaps he was, at that. He was not so old, yet, and he’d been a strong man.
“So what did you do?” Ilasin asked. “After that, I mean.”
Leonine shrugged. “I did the same thing my father had done: I stole, I played music, and I hunted frogs. I wasn’t as good at the frog-hunting, but I learned to be a better musician and a much better thief. I ate well enough, I grew up strong, and eventually I had enough money to buy a house and lead a respectable enough life.”
“Is that when you met your wife?” she asked.
“Yes. But that,” he said, tweaking Ilasin’s nose, “is a story for another day… and you already know that it ends badly. Now eat your frog. We’ve spent enough time here. Maybe this time you’ll row and I’ll sleep.”
Ilasin’s face told him that she did not find that funny.
Hours later, Leonine found himself barely able to stifle his yawns, while Ilasin slept once more, happily curled up in the boat. His exhausted arms quivered, reinforcing the unfairness of the situation.
“Ho there!” a shout from the shore. Leonine froze up momentarily, hand dropping to the hilt of his knife, then looked towards the source of the noise. By the riverbank, a man sat atop a donkey-cart, waving in his direction. He had the look of a merchant.
“Good morning,” called Leonine, stopping the boat. Ilasin stirred, then sat up, yawned, and rubbed her bleary eyes.
“Do you come from Numush?” asked the man. He was short but broad, with an oiled beard – the archetypal Ekkadi, the sort one saw in frescoes and paintings.
“We do,” Leonine called back. “It is much the same as ever. Good trade to be had at the docks, and thieves prowling at night to relieve you of the proceeds.”
The man laughed. “Yes, that is the Numush I remember. But then, could not the same be said for any city?”
“Indeed,” Leonine nodded. “But I have heard it said that other cities have guards, where Numush has only thieves and thieves wearing the city’s colours. Have you no hired men?” He poled the boat to shore. This man was no threat, and perhaps some trade could be arranged. They had no food, but the boat they’d stolen had contained some sturdy, if unadorned, bolts of cloth.
The man raised his hands, as if imploring the heavens, and shook his head. “No, friend. Nerkut was unkind to my pockets,” he said, spitting on the ground. He seemed to catch sight of Ilasin, then, and his eyes narrowed in a way that made Leonine nervous. Another murder? If need be.
“Your daughter?” the man asked. Ilasin’s boyish disguise, alas, seemed a failure. Leonine nodded. “There are Sarvashi in Nerkut.”
His voice was taut with anger, and Leonine found himself wondering if in fact his own Ekkadi disguise was better than he’d anticipated. “They are asking everyone they can find questions about a girl her age, and they’re being forceful about it. Some noble’s daughter ran off, best I can figure out, but they’re not being very particular about who they waylay. You might do well to avoid the city altogether.”
“Damn,” said Leonine. The Hounds? How could they have gotten so far ahead of him… unless a second group had been called in to make up their losses. That was, on reflection, not unlikely, and Ilasin’s hometown was a better place than most to continue the search. “Unfortunately, we have little choice in the matter – our pockets are likely no more full than yours. On the bright side, I doubt anyone will take us for nobility.”
The other man chuckled. “There is some benefit to looking the part of a Mushkenum. Then I shall be going, I suppose. Thank you for the information.” The man quickly rummaged around a bag to his side, and took out a small package wrapped with palm leaves. “A honey cake – I’ve a horrible weakness for sweets, and my faithful wife indulges it.” He handed the pastry to Ilasin with a smile.
“For me?” she asked, eyes brightening.
“I’m old and fat,” the man said. “I’ve eaten plenty of them.”
Ilasin thanked him, and they said their goodbyes after Leonine secured a small trade – a bolt of cloth for a jar of beer, a jar of dates and some bread. It was a fair enough exchange. More importantly, it was food he didn’t have to hunt; food that wouldn’t dredge up memories he preferred not to face.
“Navid, I think we should avoid Nerkut,” said Ilasin. “You heard what the merchant said. It’s too dangerous!”
Leonine nodded. It was. Still…
“It isn’t so simple, Ila. If we’re to go to Haksh as we planned, we’ll still need to join a caravan with means of crossing the desert – we won’t be able to get to Adarpa otherwise. And where else can we find such, if not Nerkut? I don’t think we have a choice.”
“So what will we do?” she asked. “It sounds like the moment we show ourselves, the guards will take us for questioning.”
Leonine nodded. “Simple, then. We get into the city without passing them.”
Ilasin cocked an eyebrow quizzically, and folded her arms across her chest. “You call that simple? How do you expect to get in?”
“How did you get out?”
“I had help. My uncle was a temple servant. He hid me in the tithe when he went to collect taxes. I slipped out in a nearby village and ran.” Her face clouded over for a moment. “I hope he wasn’t caught…”
“Are there no other hidden ways in or out of the city?” There had to be something. A storm drain, a sewer, a thief’s dig… But then, Ilasin would know little of such things.
“I left inside a bag, Navid. And it’s not like the High Priest’s daughter has a whole lot of opportunity to sneak around the city and explore.”
That sealed it. If there were other ways in and out of the city – and there were; there always were – they would remain a mystery. Still, there were other options. He returned to prior musings.
“We’ll find a place for you to hide. I will go into the city alone, and try to arrange a caravan. We’ll decide what to do then.” It was not a perfect solution, and the thought of leaving Ilasin alone worried him somewhat, but he could think of no other option short of climbing the walls – and that was the sort of thing one did not try in the affluent and well-guarded cities of the east.
Ilasin spat a date pit into the river and popped another fruit into her mouth. “I suppose that will work. I know a place.”
They reached a village in the mid-afternoon of the next day, after a lazy morning of boating and singing under the hot sun. The Shalumes was sluggish here, its ire diverted and dispersed by a thousand straight canals carrying water to perfectly square fields of golden kamut and barley. The shore was dotted with shadufs and with the men, ant-small at this distance, who dipped them now into one
canal, now into the other. Before their coracle, a veritable wall of fishing boats bobbed in place, nets cast overboard.
“This is the place!” Ilasin said cheerfully, pointing to a small pack of huts. “This is where Utar’s family lives. They’ll help us!”
“Utar?”
“Oh, he’s Uchu’s son. Uchu is the uncle that helped me get out of the city. We’ve been friends for ages.”
Leonine laughed at that. “Ages, you say? Would that be two years, three?”
“Six, if you must know!”
“Ah, well. Ages, indeed.”
Leonine squinted. The water shimmered in Shimurg’s light, making it difficult to see. In the distance were the walls of Nerkut, perhaps an hour’s ride from the village.
“Can they be trusted?” he asked Ilasin.
She nodded. “Utar would never tell anyone, not if I make him promise not to.”
And how can you be so sure of that? “Just be careful,” he said. “If at any point it looks like you’ve been betrayed, run into the fields. The wheat is growing tall, so you should be able to hide. If you’re not here when I return, I will meet you…” He scanned the horizon for a likely place. “…there, in those trees.”
He pointed at a small grove of fig trees that seemed to waver in the heat, tucked into the corner of a field that looked more than a little unkempt. Hopefully, that meant it was tended infrequently.
They followed the bank of the broad Shalumes to the village. In the distance gleamed the golden roof of Kutuanu’s great temple; the light could have been that of a second Shimurg, watching over the city and the ill-omened swamp to its south, where neighbouring Alu-nin-hura had once stood. Men tending the shadufs looked at them curiously, some with friendly nods or waves. None challenged their passing, nor indeed gave them a second look. That was encouraging.
Still, be careful. This was Ilasin’s city, and though her hair was cut short and her clothes were rough-spun, it was entirely possible that someone would recognize her.
Someone, as it happened, did. They came across a boy, perhaps five or six years older than she, dipping a shaduf into the river with the blank expression of the very bored. As he looked at them, that expression changed.
“Ilasin!” he whispered, a little too loudly for comfort. He must have realized that, because he clapped a hand over his mouth and looked this way and that to ensure that he’d not been overheard.
“Hi, Utar,” said Ilasin cheerfully. The boy’s eyes widened further.
“What under Anki’s Chariot possessed you to come back here? Are you insane?” he asked. Guilty as charged. “Do you remember which house is mine?”
Ilasin nodded.
“Get inside, now. Mother will recognize you. I’ll come back as soon as I’ve finished in the fields. And try not to talk to anyone. If they ask questions, tell them you’re… Lantu and his daughter Chasha – they’re cousins of ours – come to visit.”
The boy's sharp mind made Leonine feel somewhat better about the whole affair. Perhaps they would manage this yet.
Utar’s mother was no less surprised than he. She pulled them through the door as soon as it was opened, and poked her head through to ensure they’d not been followed. Seemingly satisfied, she scooped Ilasin up into her arms and squeezed tight, tears forming in her eyes. She was tall, and run somewhat to fat, but something in her features reminded Leonine of the girl.
“Oh child, we’ve missed you so! But why in the world have you come back?” she asked, concern and joy warring for control.
“No choice,” said Leonine. “We are being hunted, and need to find safety. We had to double back here.”
Utar’s mother seemed for the first time to notice Leonine. “And who are you?”
“This is Leonine,” said Ilasin. Leonine was glad she’d remembered to avoid using his real name. Did that mean there was distrust here? Probably not, but he’d have to ask her a few questions when the opportunity arose. “He’s been helping me run away from the soldiers.”
“Welcome, then, Leonine. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Awasha.” The words were kind enough, but her suspicion was clear. Perhaps she thinks I’ve come here to turn Ilasin in? It did not matter, particularly.
After looking Ilasin up and down to ensure that she was unhurt, and subsequently clucking her tongue over the girl’s sunken cheeks and bony wrists, Awasha set herself to bustling about the kitchen, all the while babbling a stream of gossip concerning people whose names Leonine had never heard. Ilasin giggled now and again, while the scent of roasting goat grew stronger and stronger, making Leonine’s mouth water.
Soon, they were eating, and the meat, though overcooked, stringy, and bland for lack of spices, was a welcome change from the bread, fruit and frogs of the journey. Ilasin tore into a haunch with abandon, grease dripping down her chin. Awasha seemed to approve.
“Where’s…” Ilasin said between mouthfuls, “Uchu?”
“In the Temple. The diviners have needed help with something or other, and Uchu has been coming home late. Uchu says Anki is about to win some sort of battle, and that it’s a sign of a good harvest and peaceful times ahead. Not that we’ve been struggling here, mind.”
“He didn’t… get into any trouble? On my account?”
“Oh, no, child,” Awasha said, her eyes darting momentarily away. “Nobody thought him responsible for your escape. Why would they?”
Because you’re family. Do you take us for idiots? Still, if this Uchu was still alive, whatever suspicions might have rested on him had obviously failed to bear fruit. He had probably covered his tracks well. Well enough that no man dared accuse him, at any rate. Still, he would have to talk to Ilasin about this too.
The door banged open, startling Leonine and disturbing his reverie. His eyes shot towards the house’s entrance, knife in hand and ready to be drawn. He relaxed when he saw Utar, the shaduf boy, a stupid grin on his face. He rushed to where Ilasin was seated and wrapped his arms around her, lifting the girl clear off the bench and squeezing until she laughed and started to tickle him in a vain attempt to wriggle free. Leonine found himself smiling.
“You big oaf. Do you treat the village girls like that?”
Awasha laughed, and Utar set Ilasin down, his face reddening.
“What?” Ilasin asked, confused, looking first at Awasha, then Leonine.
“Our young son has just recently learned how some girls like to be treated,” Awasha said, “and has got himself into a wedding arrangement quite by accident.”
Ilasin put her hands on her hips and shot the boy a baleful glare.
“Oh, you idiot, her father caught you two? Who is it? Tell me it’s not that fat cow Asha.” No nervous laughter, no confusion. Leonine found himself surprised yet again at just how worldly Ilasin sometimes seemed.
“She’s not fat anymore,” the boy said in a small voice, eyes fixed on his sandals. “We’re to be married after harvest.”
Ilasin shook her head and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Boys are so easy to tame,” she said, prompting a laugh from Awasha. Farshideh had once said something similar. Leonine could not help but agree.
Leonine shifted his weight uncomfortably. He stood first on his left foot, until the hot sand grew too painful to endure, and then on his right. Shimurg flew low to the ground already, but the desert had not yet cooled. He found himself wondering if the noonday sands were fiery enough to singe the leather thongs of his sandals. It was an amusing thought at first, until memory whispered spitefully of days he’d sooner forget. Farshideh had died in a place much like this one.
The heat did not bother Ilasin. She knelt in front of him, brushing grains of sand from a heap, gradually revealing a flat white stone scored with the darts and arrows of Ekkadi script.
“See! I told you it was here.” Ilasin stood up, her face passing through the long shadows cast by a jagged cliff and into the golden light of afternoon. She looked satisfied, though a hint of melancholy played about her almond eyes.
Leonine took her hand, and bent down to read the inscription.
Here is the tomb of Ananta, most holy servant of Kutuanu, and his family. May Dagush avert his gaze, and Kutuanu gather them to his bosom. Ananta, if Ilasin was correct, was almost certainly not yet dead, but it was not unusual for the nobility to erect such crypts well in advance of needing them. Below the first inscription was a more recent hand. Shawa, beloved wife of Ananta, passed in the Year of Locusts. May she never be forgotten.
“Why is the tomb all the way out here, and not within the city walls? I should have thought the high priest’s wife would be granted a somewhat more luxurious resting place.”
Ilasin shook her head. “The priests of Kutuanu have been buried in this pass since the Merezadesh came. I think they were afraid your people would decide to knock our temple down and rob the graves like they did in Alu-nin-hura. Only the priests and their families know of these tombs. The slaves who built them were sealed inside to die.”
“Pleasant.”
“My father said it was so that their uneasy spirits would stand guard against robbers,” said Ilasin.
“Better still.”
Ilasin sighed. “How mother must be shamed by all this.” Leonine elected not to ask what she meant.
“I miss her so much, Navid.”
He took her hand and squeezed it. “I know. There is no greater pain than losing someone you love.”
“I think she would have liked you,” Ilasin said. “You would have liked her too.”
“The Sarvashi have a custom,” said Leonine. “When we hold a funeral, we tell stories of the fallen. Will you tell me about her?”
Ilasin told him of a mother as kind as she was beautiful, and of daily walks in the Temple garden. They were a child’s memories, polished unto gleaming by the pain of loss, but they wove a tapestry of joy and love, of happy times cut brutally short by the impersonal ravages of the Weeper. As she talked, Ilasin’s eyes grew wet with tears.
So did his own.
Evening had slowly darkened to night by the time they returned to Uchu’s hut, and the relieved hugs of Ilasin’s teenage cousin. A third person was inside, sitting at a chair beside the table where they had eaten, a bowl of legumes in front of him. His face was like Utar’s, but his tired eyes were those of a harried man.
“And this is uncle Uchu!” Ilasin said brightly. She threw her arms around the man’s neck and kissed his cheek. Leonine nodded and tried to smile, but managed only a yawn.
“A long day, I think,” said Uchu. “Were you able to find the grave?”
Ilasin nodded. Her fingers darted into her uncle’s bowl and came out with a bean that she quickly swallowed.
“You must be starved!” said Awasha, wringing her hands. “I will prepare some more food. Please, sit.”
Leonine sat down at Ilasin’s side, across from her uncle, while Awasha descended upon her pantry, a matronly whirlwind.
“You cannot stay here long,” said Ilasin’s uncle. Awasha stopped her bustling just long enough to throw the man a dirty glare.
Leonine nodded. “I don’t intend to. I will go into the city tomorrow and search for a caravan to take us away from here.”
“Where do you intend to go?”
Leonine reminded himself that he had no reason to trust this man or his wife. “It is not important. Suffice it to say, we will be out of your hair as swiftly as is possible.”
Uchu gave him a measured look and nodded, sighing in what appeared to be relief. “Good,” he said. “The last escape was a narrow one. I have no desire to be part of another.”
“Father!” Utar was aghast. “Ila’s family.”
“Be silent when I speak, boy,” said Uchu. “You are not the man of the house yet.”
Leonine broke the awkward silence that followed. “Your father is right, Utar.” Even if he is a coward. “The longer we are here, the likelier it is that we will endanger you. Nobody here wants that.”
Three days later, he began to despair of ever finding passage to Adarpa.
An hour spent wandering the market had left Leonine at wit’s end, his ears close to bleeding from constant bellowed reminders that this stall or that had the freshest fruit, the sturdiest baskets.
More annoying still was the fact that he had to subject himself to the predations of all these money-hungry merchants while he sought what must have been the one bloody man in all of Nerkut with a caravan ready to ride.
The last merchant had suggested that he talk to an Akushu-Ti, a dealer in fruits and other foodstuffs imported from far countries, and one known for the speed and reliability of his deliveries. It seemed a promising enough lead, if an expensive one, but the man's directions were easy to follow and he soon reached the shop under a green awning of which he'd been told.
“Fresh fruit! Plantains from the south! Pears from the north! Ah, and what would you like from my humble shop?” Akushu-Ti was a mustachioed Ekkadi, his head wrapped in a cocoon of silk cloth like that of a Bachiyan sultan.
“Answers. Not fruit. You are Akushu-Ti?” If the experiences of the last few days had left him curt, so be it. He had no more time to waste befriending this fat shopkeeper or the other. Money loosened lips more easily, and more swiftly at that.
“I am, but you have come to the wrong place, for I deal in fruit and not answers,” the merchant replied with a smug expression that begged for a sharp knuckle. Yet another exemplary specimen of his kind, he decided, thinking back to the oily man in Numush who’d sold him a harp. That harp had remained behind, another casualty of his haste.
“Plantains from the east!” called Akushu-Ti, turning away from him.
“I’ll make it worth your while. Only a few questions.”
“Oh?” The merchant seemed confused, as though the game’s rules had changed into something he did not understand. “Then what is it you need, and what do you propose in return?”
At least this one got to the heart of the matter swiftly. “A reasonable amount of coin. I’ll even buy some of these plantains you’re peddling, if you like. I need to book passage on a caravan to Adarpa for myself and another, and I would prefer to leave soon. I mean to negotiate the sale of some rare art, but I was delayed in reaching here, and the man I need to meet will not wait much longer until he takes to sea.” It was as good a lie as any. Leonine dug into the pouch inside his tunic and withdrew a silver shekel – an extravagant enough gift to appear well-to-do, but not so much so as to appear desperate, or worse yet, criminal. “You obviously range far afield. Can you help me?”
“Hmm,” the merchant pursed his lips and pocketed the coin with practiced ease. A common language is a fine thing. “I cannot help you myself, you understand. I do not import my wares directly, but rely on some men I trust to do it for me. The last shipment was delivered by a man named Lumurta. I believe he is still in the city, but he will not be planning another trip for at least a month.”
A month?
“So you cannot help me?” Leonine mourned the loss of yet another perfectly good coin. Not because he needed the funds, particularly, but because the men in whose hands his coins ended up never seemed to deserve them.
“I did not say that. How significant a sale are you planning?”
“Tapestries and some crystal-ware. It should be about thirty mina in value, if it is all sold, and half of that profit.” Leonine hoped those numbers were reasonable. Akushu-Ti tapped his chin, obviously thinking something over, and nodded.
He clapped his hands and rose to his feet. He was taller and broader than Leonine had anticipated. A younger man with a definite family resemblance and a similar turban ran up and bowed his head.
“Mind the shop,” said Akushu-Ti. The younger man nodded.
“My son,” said the merchant. “Come inside with me, and we will talk.”
Akushu-Ti led him around the building, to a heavy door with an ornate brass lock. The house behind the door was clean and smelled of sandalwood. The waiting room was clearly that of a wel
l-traveled man – or, at least, one with associates that traveled for him. Urns in unfamiliar shapes stood atop rugs sewn in unfamiliar patterns, and the walls were hung with paintings of foreign beasts and deities, polished wooden masks and bronze plates etched with writing Leonine could not recognize, let alone read.
Akushu-Ti gestured to a stack of pillows before a small table. “Please, sit down,” he said. After the bone-wearying investigation of the last few days, such opportunities for comfort were all the more welcome. Leonine sat down and leaned back into the pillows, sighing contentedly. Akushu-Ti clapped his hands. A servant with the nut-brown skin and almond eyes of Bachiya entered the room. He asked a question in his unfamiliar language, and Akushu-Ti responded in kind. The servant scampered off.
“He will bring us a delicate and flavourful tea from his homeland, that I think you will quite enjoy. Now, let us discuss how I may help you.”
It would no doubt be costly. Still, I’m quite willing to share the proceeds of an art sale that does not exist. “Thank you,” Leonine said. “I listen.”
Akushu-Ti’s plan turned out to be precisely what he’d expected. Sales had been uncommonly impressive, he said, and his stores were depleting to the point where it would not be entirely unreasonable to schedule another trip, though of course he would need some compensation for the change in contract with his man Lumurta. Yes, quite natural. Leonine agreed, nodding his head. He wondered when it would all be over.
He was not a man that specialized in art, Akushu-Ti, but one who nevertheless had a certain fondness for the handicraft of other lands, and so on, and so forth. The tea arrived, a merciful respite from his self-aggrandizing ramble. It was indeed delicious, redolent of the sharp, sweet tang of ginger and pungent cloves.
Akushu-Ti continued. He would arrange for a trip to leave within three days, on the condition that Leonine pay him twenty shekels to mollify Lumurtu – not pocket coin, precisely, but nevertheless a humble sum to a man such as this. Which means, of course… There was a way this could prove quite beneficial to them both! Akushu-Ti asked but for the small sum of a coin every twenty on the art sale, which surely was a fair compensation for the trouble involved in arranging a caravan.
It probably was at that. Perhaps I ought to go into art sales.
“I am glad you agree,” said Akushu-Ti when Leonine finally nodded, after a pretense of careful consideration. “You will not object, I imagine, to my sending a man along with you? He is handy in a fight, and educated enough to represent me in the negotiations. I would feel better if I knew you were safe from bandits.” It was a thin pretext, but hardly an unreasonable precaution for an intelligent merchant.
“That would be most welcome,” Leonine said. “The blasted sand-eaters grow more daring every year. When shall we draw up a contract?”
“Tomorrow, I think, over a midday meal. One of my cousins is a notary, and he owes me some favours. It shan’t cost us a shekel.”
Fantastic. I look forward to entering into a bond blessed by this and that Ekkadi god of prosperity. I do so hope he doesn’t judge me too harshly when I kill your man.
“That is excellent. My thanks for all your help.”
The notary was a vaguely bored-looking man, who with some rolling of eyes recorded the details of their agreement on a tablet, posing occasional ritualized questions about whether or not they were bargaining in good faith.
The deed was done soon enough, and after some clasping of hands and patting of backs, Leonine was free to roam the city in search of food and perhaps some clean clothing. Ilasin would no doubt appreciate having something to wear that had not been repeatedly caked in the filth of road and sewer. She had been given some clothes that Utar must have outgrown years ago, but deserved something nicer.
The caravan would leave the morning of the day after next. And once they reached Adarpa, finding a ship out of the country was a simple enough matter. It seemed strange, to leave his homeland for the teak cities of Haksh, for endless savannah dotted with baobab trees and watering ponds, disturbed by the cackle and crow of a hundred foreign animals.
Still, he thought, as he passed a rag-clad prophet crowing about drought and famine, what had Ekka given him that was worth staying for? Farshideh was dead, and he and Ilasin would follow her soon enough if they stayed. The Hounds would not pursue them over the sea, would they? What more reason could he need?
Learning a new language would be difficult, more so for him than the child, but it was not an insurmountable challenge. And while some considered Haksh to fall somewhat short of the ever-so-civilized land between the rivers – the word “savage” came up not infrequently – Ibashtu told a different tale, of mysticism and wonder, rich cities with great libraries, and ineffable spirits.
Not that Ibashtu was trustworthy, but she had little reason to lie about this. Leonine knew full well that Haksh would fail to live up to her nostalgia. Even still, a land that accepted and even venerated sorcery had to be better than Ekka. Are you a child? At best, there will be different problems. And besides, you’re not there yet.
A member of the local guard shouldered him aside, throwing a dirty glare after him. “Forgive me,” Leonine said fawningly, “I did not see you.” The guard grunted and continued on his way. Leonine felt suddenly exposed. It was true. He was not yet in Haksh, and there was little doubt the Hounds were not far behind. He’d seen none of the Sarvashi spoken of days ago by the chance-met merchant, but that failed to reassure him.
His buoyant mood of moments earlier evaporated, and all of a sudden the thought of shopping for more clothing seemed like an exercise in unreasonable risk. It would be wiser to return to the village. He could send the boy to shop for them. That would draw less attention. Leonine thought back abruptly to the chase in Inatum. He could not afford such a thing here, not in a city he did not know, and not in a city with streets as tight and narrow as some of the alleyways he’d passed through earlier in the day.
I’ll send the boy. Much easier.
That settled, Leonine turned and started on his way back to the River Gate and into the fields. Then he stumbled, a frigid chill picking at his spine with spidery legs. Sorcery.
Gods, not again. It came from the direction he expected. Oh, gods above and below, not again. He saw Farshideh, staring blindly at a desert sky, then Ilasin in her place.
Leonine broke into a run, weaving around people where he could, barreling through them where he could not. He pushed and prodded, even leapt onto and over a horse-drawn hay-cart. Anything to move faster, until his lungs burned with the exertion. Oh, Ilasin, please tell me you got away.
He ran until he could no longer feel himself running, until his legs grew numb and it felt as though he moved solely through force of will. City walls turned from hard edges and sharp corners to a white blur. A guardsman stepped into his path, eyes wide, struggling to pull his cudgel from his belt. He thinks me a thief? Leonine struck him savagely in the face, and felt bone give way beneath his elbow. He’s not wrong. He heard screams behind him. Had he killed the man?
Ilasin! It was of no concern. The walls were closer now, their squat gate towers rearing up before him. Think, idiot! How will you get through? He ducked into an alleyway to catch his breath. The guard he’d struck was far enough behind that news of his attack could not have reached the gate. None of the soft guardsmen of a peaceful city like Nerkut could keep pace with him. Still, to get to the village, he had to get through the gate, and one did not normally run past its spear-armed guards.
Breathe. Slow down. There was no time. He sweated a little too profusely. He’d blame it on heat, perhaps. It did not matter. If they stopped him, he was prepared to kill.
“Name?”
What name? Damn, what name did I use here?
It came to him. “Mushkenum Walid. I entered the city several hours ago through this gate.” The guard looked over to the gate scribe, who eventually nodded and scrawled another entry, then waved him through.
“Name?” He coul
d hear the gate guard accosting the next passer-by, but already it seemed far away. He broke into a run again, trying to decide whether it was wiser to first go to the village or the copse where he’d told Ilasin to meet him if anything went badly.
He decided on the copse. Ilasin’s sorcery meant someone would be dead. They could not capture her so easily, could they?
If they have a Hound… Still, he found himself running, trampling kamut in a mad rush to reach the grove. Oh, Ilasin, please.
The ground dipped suddenly, almost throwing him off his feet, and then he was leaning against a fig tree, trying to catch his breath. “Ilasin!” he hissed, a whisper with the urgency of a shout. “Ila!”
She was not there.
Nobody was there.
“Ilasin!”
Leonine became acutely aware of his heart pounding in his throat, of white-hot rage bubbling up in him like bile, threatening to spill over. With a strangled cry, he ran again. He could feel neither the ground nor the wind against his face. He had only visions of Ilasin being given to the Shimurg, and an anger that threatened to devour him.
It could not happen. Not again. He would not allow it.
Leonine burst through the door to Utar’s hut, startling the husband and wife. Her eyes were red from weeping, his dry. Utar sat in the corner of the main room, his expression first startled, then showing something faintly like disgust. They were alive. Which means…
“Where is she?” Leonine asked, his voice cold, menacing. “What happened here?”
Uchu shook his head. “I am sorry, friend Leonine. She and Utar were playing achi out in the field with the other children. She lost control of her sorcery. Utar did not know what to do, and we were not here. They hid, and… and then they came.”
Lies. The man lied. Ilasin could not have lost control of her sorcery unless she was terrified, and she could not possibly have been stupid enough to play in the fields. The miserable shit of a man was lying.
“You sold her out.”
“Wh-what?” Terror showed itself suddenly, in his eyes and the too-swift, too-nervous shake of his head. “That’s insane! How could I do such a thing to my own kin?”
“Who was it?” Leonine asked, barely able to control his rage. He saw movement to his side. Awasha tried to edge closer to the door. He turned on her. “Don’t move!” he said, “Or you both die. I ask you again. Who was it?”
Why even ask? There were no bodies, and Ilasin had screamed. It had to be the Hound. Who else could be powerful enough to nullify her sorcery? Ibashtu? Perhaps.
“I… please, you must believe me. It happened exactly as I said. I understand your anguish, but do you not think we are also grieving?”
Bastard. Arrogant, ignorant, cocksure bastard. I will spit you, roast you, and feast on your damned flesh.
Leonine leapt across the room, drawing his knife. He caught Awasha by the hair, jerked her head back hard, and put his blade against her neck. “Do not think me some naive idiot who will swallow your lies. You lost face when you helped Ilasin escape the first time, and now you’ve sold your soul to get it back. Am I right?”
Uchu blanched and shook his head, but the truth was written in his face.
“He did!” Utar, the son. He wept now, pointing an accusing finger at his father. “He did sell her to the Sarvashi! He condemned his own niece!”
His suspicions confirmed, Leonine found himself possessed by an icy calm.
“Tell me what happened,” he said, turning to the son. Utar looked up at him, seemingly confused, unsure where to begin. A look at his father’s face, now mottled with furious patches of red and white, steeled his resolve.
“We were sitting and talking about the temple, and some of the new priests, how things had changed… then some armed men burst in. Sarvashi ones, all in armour, led by a horrible man with one arm.
“She screamed, and suddenly I felt a terror, like I was going to die… but the one-eyed man started shouting something I could not understand, and the fear went away. Then Ila… Oh, Ila.”
So there is another Hound. He’d killed two already. He’d kill a third.
“Continue.” Leonine said.
“She looked so scared, and she scrambled back into the wall, trying to get away, but the men just ran in and started hitting her. I tried to get in the way but one of them threw me into a wall, hard. And then one of them said ‘You did well’ to my father, and I knew what he had done.”
Utar looked at his father with hate in his eyes. “Beat me if you want, you filth, but that is the truth.”
“He will not beat you,” Leonine said with icy certainty. He turned to the wife. “If you scream, or send anyone after me, I will return and kill you both.”
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head slowly, imploringly. Uchu must have understood what was coming. He opened his mouth to scream for help, but gurgled instead, his throat spraying the wall with blood. Uchu clawed at his ruined neck and fell to the ground twitching. His wife sobbed, shoulders heaving, but she was silent. The boy merely looked at Leonine. There was horror in his face, and hatred, but also a grim satisfaction.
They would not stop him, he knew. They could not stop him.
Ilasin. Oh, Ilasin, I’m coming.
