by Allan Cole
Iraj put the teeth in a leather pouch and tucked it into his belt. Then he covered up Giff's corpse, smoothing the snow until all looked as before.
"I wish I could convince you to stay in Kyrania, Safar said. This could all be a lie to entice you out of the mountains."
"At least part of it is a lie, Iraj said, rising to his feet and brushing snow from his knees. But they'll pretend otherwise for awhile. When Fulain becomes well the blood feud will start again. But I intend to be ready when that happens. He touched the leather pouch containing the demon fangs. I'm young, they'll claim. Untested in battle. These teeth will say otherwise. I'll keep where I got them a mystery, which will only add to their power."
Safar, wanting to avoid further discussion of the matter, said, I'm getting cold. Let's go back to the cave."
A half hour later they were crouched in the cavern, warming their hands over a small fire. The painting of Alisarrian hung over them, glowing eerily.
"You haven't mentioned your own plans, Iraj said, digging out some dried goat's flesh. What will you do after I leave? I still can't imagine you being content as Safar Timura the potter."
"I don't know why, Safar said. It's easy enough for me to envision."
"You know as well as I do, Iraj said, that you're dodging the truth. You're a wizard, Safar. The teeth I collected are nothing compared to what you have a right to. How can you possibly refuse Coralean's gift of an education at the finest university in Esmir?"
Safar sighed. I wish I could, he said, but I don't think my family is going to let me."
"Or Gubadan, Iraj pointed out.
Safar nodded. He's worse than they are, he said. He claims I'll be shaming all Kyrania if I refuse the chance. That there's much good I'll be able to do when I return home with all that learning."
"He's right about the first, Iraj said. It would shame your people. In the whole history of Kyrania it's unlikely any of its sons had such an opportunity. But Gubadan's wrong about the second part. You won't return, Safar. I'm no Dreamcatcher like you, but I know once you leave Kyrania you'll never return. Because you'll be with me, remember?"
"That was a false vision, Safar said.
"Are you sure? Iraj asked, smiling.
"Absolutely, Safar answered. You're the ambitious one. Not me."
"What of your other vision? Iraj said. The dancing people and the volcano? Do you think that's wrong as well?"
Safar hesitated, then, No, I don't. And that's the main reason I'll probably end up giving in to my family and Gubadan. The only place I can find out what the vision meant is Walaria."
"Whatever your reason, Safar, Iraj said. I beg you to make up your mind as soon as possible. Learn as much as you can. As fast as you can. For I promise that someday, when you least expect it, I'll show up to plead with you to join me."
"And I'll refuse, Safar said. You are my friend. But I'll still say no."
"Why don't we test it? Iraj asked. He hauled out the leather pouch and shook Giff's bloody teeth into a palm. Then, in a mock intonation, he said, Cast these bones, O Master Wizard, and pray tell us what the future holds."
"Don't be silly, Safar said. I'm no bone caster."
"Then there's no reason to be afraid, Iraj said. Here, I'll even clean them up for you."
He rubbed some of the blood off on the leather pouch and held them out. Safar didn't move, so Iraj grabbed his right hand, pulled it forward and dropped the four fangs into Safar's outstretched palm. Safar didn't resist, automatically closing his fist over them.
"What do we do now? Iraj said. Make some kind of chant and toss them, I suppose?"
"I don't want to do this, Safar said.
"I'll tell you what, Iraj said, to make it easier, I'll chant and you toss. Okay?"
Without waiting for an answer Iraj drew a breath and then intoned:
"Bones, bones, demon's though you be, Tell us what the future holds, What roads shall we see?"
As Iraj chanted the demon's teeth suddenly grew warm in Safar's hand. Instinctively he loosened his hand and shook the fangs like dice.
"Chanting was never one of my best subjects, Iraj said. He laughed. But if I can chance making a complete fool of myself, so can… and his voice trailed off as he saw Safar rattle the bones, blue eyes glowing in concentration.
Safar cast them on the cave floor and instead of a dull clatter, the sound was like the ring of steel against steel.
Red smoke hissed up, rising like a snake and the two lads drew back in alarm. The smoke was thick, smelling of old blood, and it swirled in front of them like a miniature desert dervisha slender funnel at the bottom, billowing into a fist-size head on top. Then a mouth seemed to form, curving into a seductive smile.
The lips parted and they heard a woman speak"Two will take the road that two traveled before. Brothers of the spirit, but not the womb. Separate in body and mind, but twins in destiny. But beware what you seek, O brothers. Beware the path you choose. For this tale cannot end until you reach the Land of Fires."
The smoke suddenly vanished, leaving the two young men gaping at the four small gray piles of ash where the demon fangs had been. It was as if they'd been consumed by a hot flame.
Iraj recovered first. You see? he chortled. We heard it from the mouth of the Oracle herself. He threw an arm around Safar's shoulders. 'Brothers of the spirit, but not the womb,' he quoted. What a pair we shall make! The King of Kings and his Grand Wazier!"
"That's not exactly what the Oracle said, Safar replied. Hells, whoever she was, we don't even know if she was speaking about us."
Iraj made a rude noise. I don't see anyone else here in this cave with us, he said. Who else could she mean?"
"There was also a warning, Safar said. Don't forget the warning."
"Sure, sure, Iraj said, impatient. I heard. And I'm forewarned. It's settled then. I'll return home with my uncle and start building my forces. And you'll go to Walaria and learn as much as you can until it's time for us to be rejoined."
"I'm not convinced that was what the Oracle was predicting, Safar said.
"Of course she was, Iraj replied. But it doesn't matter what either of us think. We'll find out for ourselves in the days to come. Just think of me sometimes. When you're in Walaria up to your elbows in dusty books and scrolls, think of me riding free across the southern plains, an army of horsemen at my back carrying my standard. It will be the banner of Alisarrian that I fly as I charge from victory to victory."
He tapped Safar's chest. And it will be the banner of Alisarrian you will be carrying in your heart, he said. We'll make a better world before we're done, Safar. A better Esmir for all."
It was then that Safar finally made up his mind. He'd leave his beloved Kyrania and go to Walaria. He'd enter the university at the Grand Temple, pore over every tome, soaking up all the knowledge he could hold.
The decision had nothing to do with Iraj's impassioned speech. Safar was remembering the Oracle's final words about the land of fires. Hadin was known as The Land of Fires! Hadin, where the handsome people of his vision danced and died and a mighty volcano raged, spewing flames and poisonous clouds into a darkening sky.
"You have decided to go, haven't you? he heard Iraj say.
Safar looked up and saw his friend's eyes ablaze with joy as he read Safar's intentions on his face. Yes, he answered. I've decided."
"Then let us say farewell now, brother mine, Iraj said. A great dream awaits us. The sooner we get started, the sooner that dream will come true."
And so the two young men embraced and swore eternal brotherhood and friendship.
Iraj took one road. Safar another. But neither doubtedfor entirely different reasonsthe roads would someday converge.
And that they'd meet again.
Part Two
WALARIA
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE THIEF OF WALARIA
Nerisa watched the executioner sharpen his blade. It was long and broad and curving and he stroked the edge with such tenderness one might
have thought his sword was a lover.
And maybe it was, Nerisa thought. She'd heard of stranger things.
The executioner was a big man, naked torso swelling out of baggy silk pantaloons of the purest white. He had thick arms, a neck squat and strong as an oak stump. His features were hidden by a white silk hood with two holes for his dark gloomy eyes to contemplate his victims sins. Masked or not, everyone knew who he wasTulaz, the most famous executioner in all Walaria. Five thousand hands had been severed by his legendary sword. One thousand heads separated from their shoulders. And he'd never needed more than one cut to accomplish his task.
There were seven condemned to test his record that morning. The plaza, set just inside the main gate, was packed with gawkers, hawkers, purse snatchers and pimps. Gamblers were betting heavily on the outcome for Tulaz had never attempted so many heads before. The odds were in his favor for the first sixa mean lot who hadn't learned their lesson from previous mutilations. The seventh, however, was a woman charged with adultery. She was said to be beautiful and there were many among the crowd who wondered if Tulaz might falter when confronted with such a tender and record-breaking neck.
Nerisa had an excellent vantage point to view the proceedings. She was crouched atop a high freight wagon just returning from market and had a clear view of the six felons chained to the dungeon cart. But the adulteress was hidden by a tent pitched on the cart. It wasn't out of humanity her jailers had provided such privacy. They knew a featured attraction when they saw one and were among the heaviest bettors. They were also, Nerisa noted, selling quick glimpses of the woman to all who'd grease their palms.
Nerisa didn't have slightest interest in the executions. In her twelve summers of life she'd witnessed many such things. For as long as she could remember she'd been a child of the streets. She'd awakened in alleys next to fresh corpsescorpses not so cleanly slain as Tulaz was wont to do. There were worse things, she'd learned, than being executed. She'd spent her whole young life dodging those things with a skill matched by few young denizens of Walaria. Her only fear of Tulaz was she might someday make an error that would cost her a handthe traditional penalty a thief paid for a first offense. Nerisa was a thief intent on keeping all her parts.
It was professional purpose, not entertainment, that had drawn her to the plaza; although she'd experienced an added thrill when she realized she'd be breaking the law under the executioner's nose. She peeped out of her hiding place to check on the stall keeperher intended victim. She buried a giggle as she watched him step up on a box so he could see over the crowd. He was a fat old turd, she thought. The crate would never hold such a skin load of grease.
True to her estimate the crate collapsed, sending the stallkeep sprawling. Nerisa hugged herself to keep from laughing. The joke was especially delicious because the crowd was so intent on the executions that she was the only one to see his humiliation. There was nothing that Nerisaby circumstance and nature a solitary personenjoyed more than a private joke. The merchant grumbled up, found a heavy barrel and rolled it over to the edge of his stall. He leaned on the trays bearing his wares and clambered gingerly onto the barrel. It held and he looked around, a yellow-toothed smile of victory dissolving when he realized no one was watching. With a belch, he turned to see Tulaz prepare for his legendary work.
Nerisa examined the trays set up under the tented stall. They were overflowing with all manner of poor quality merchandise; old lamp parts, broken toys, tawdry jewelry, spoiled cosmetics, healing powders and love potions of doubtful quality. The wares were typical of the stalls lining the old gray stone city walls inside the gates. Amid all that trash was an object that had great value to Nerisa. She'd spotted it while foraging the day before. But when she'd tried to examine the object closer the stallkeep had leapt from his wide chair and rushed her, driving her away with a thick stick, shouting, Begone boy!"
Nerisa, who was tall for a girl and slender, was frequently mistaken for a boy. It was a mistake she'd made a habit of not correcting. She'd even adopted a male urchin's raggedy costume of breeches and baggy shirt. Until recently she'd worried that the bumps and curves of womanhood would soon appear, making it more difficult than ever to avoid the evil-eyed men who preyed on young women with no home but the streets. If they ever did catch her there was no one to care about her fate, except the old bookseller who let her sleep in his shop. It was there she'd met the handsome youth who'd turned her thinking upside down. Now she worried that she wouldn't grow up soon enough.
A vision of the young man who'd awakened this interest floated into her mind and her heart knocked hard against her ribs. She pushed the image away. Don't be such a stupid cow, Nerisa thought. Keep your mind on that fat dog turd of a stallkeep. He'll get you if he can.
The crowd roared and Nerisa swiveled to see the jailers unchain the first felon and lead him to Tulaz's stone platform. Indentations in the stone marked the place where many a poor soul had been forced to kneel on hands and knees and the stone surface was stained black from all the centuries of spilled blood. The sudden realization that the gory platform would be the condemned's last view of the world sent a shiver down Nerisa's spine.
The crowd laughed when the first felon mounted the platform, heavy chains rattling. The man was a thief, a poor thief at thathe was already missing his ears and nose, as well as both his hands.
"Not much left to aim for, Tulaz, some wag shouted above the din. Already cut most of him off!"
The crowd roared laughter.
"What'd he use to steal with? someone else cried. His toes?"
Immediately an crone piped up, Not his toes, you blind shit. His prick! Can't you see it peepin out at us?"
Nerisa couldn't help but look. Sure enough she saw a long, very male part of the thief, dangling from his dungeon-rotted costume. The thief was a good natured fool and went along with the game. To the immense pleasure of the crowd he held up the two stumpy things that were arms and jerked his hips back and forth, humping the air. The crowd howled delight and rained coins onto the platform to bribe Tulaz to make the thief's agony short for rewarding them with such fine entertainment. Tulaz saw the copper mount up and dispensed with his usual ceremony, which consisted of ominous cuts in the air and much stance and grip shifting.
"Get him down, he shouted to the jailers.
Instantly the thief's guards threw him to the ground and jumped out of the way. Tulaz took one mighty pace forward and swung just as the thief's head bobbed up.
It was so swift there wasn't a cry or a gasped breath. Just a snick of resistance then blood fountained from a suddenly empty neck. The thief's head, broken-toothed grin still fixed to his face, sailed into the crowd where pigs, dogs and children quarreled over it.
"Oh, well done, Tulaz! Well done! Nerisa heard the stallkeep cry. He'd obviously had a wager on the first cut of the day.
Nerisa thought she saw her chance when they led out the second victim. The stallkeep was highly interested, raising himself on his toes to get a better look. Nerisa started to slip off the wagon. All she needed was a single moment of inattention and she'd snatch her prize and disappear into the crowd before anyone was the wiser. A barrel shifted under her and she had to grab to steady herself. Although there was little noise, the stallkeep sensed something was amiss and jolted around. Nerisa swore and ducked back into her hiding place just in time.
The girl settled down to wait. She'd have to be patient to get the better of this sow's breath of a stallkeep. Nerisa prided herself on patience and stubborn intent. Put a goal in her head and she'd achieve it no matter how long it took. The best time, she thought, would be when they brought the adulteress out. The jailers most certainly had been paid to strip the woman before she was killed. The stallkeep, along with the rest of the viewers, would be so fixed on all that doomed nakedness he'd never notice Nerisa's bit of business.
As she crouched there waiting for the moment to come, Nerisa thought of the poor woman waiting in the tent. The terror she had to be feeling mad
e Nerisa's heart pang in empathy. What a price to pay for something so natural as being in your lover's arms. The unfairness of it clawed at her. For a moment it was painful to breathe.
Stop it, Nerisa, she commanded herself, fighting for control. It's not like you haven't seen it before.
****
Safar sat in a small outdoor cafe, shaded by an ancient broad-leaf fig tree, counting coins piled in a sticky puddle of wine. A pesky wasp made him lose count and he had to tot it all up again. A little drunk, he rubbed bleary eyes and decided that he had enough for another jug of the Foolsmire's best. Which is to say it was the worst and therefore cheapest wine in all Walaria.
It was late afternoon and the summer heat lay thick over the city, stifling thought and movement. The streets were empty, the homes and shops shuttered for the hours between the midday meal and evening call to prayer. It was so quiet that in the distant stockpens the bawl of a young camel, lonely for its mother, echoed across the city. The people of Walaria dozed fitfully in shuttered darkness, gathering their energies to face the day anew. It was a time for sleep, for lovers trysts. A time for self reflection.
Safar rapped politely on the rough wood of the table. Katal, he cried. My strength is fading. Fetch me another jug from the well, if you please."
There was a muttering from the shadowy depths of the bookshop abutting the cafe and in a moment an old man emerged, carelessly dressed in worn scholar's robes. It was Katal, proprietor of the Foolsmire, an open air cafe and bookshop tucked into the end of a long dead-end alley in the Students Quarter. Katal had a book in his hand, index finger pushed between the pages to keep his place.
"You should be resting, Safar, he said, or tending to your studies. You know as well as I that the second level acolyte exams are less than a week away."
Safar groaned. Don't spoil a perfectly good drunk, Katal. I've invested a week's room and board to reach my present condition of amiable insobriety. It's drink I need, sir. So dig into your holy well for the precious stuff, my dear purveyor of bliss. And dig deep. Find me as cold a jug as these coins will buy."
