by John Marco
‘There were eleven of us who formed the village,’ Jahan explained proudly. He dipped bread into honey as he talked, then broke off a bit to share with one of his daughters, seated beside him. ‘That is the way the Simiheh do things. When we are growing up as boys we eat together, hunt together, learn together, everything. Then, when we are old enough, we leave together to form our own village. This village is twenty years old now.’
Lukien nodded, interested and full of questions. ‘How did you choose this land? Did no one else have claim to it?’
‘This is the territory of our people,’ said Jahan. ‘It is all Simiheh land.’
‘Simiheh? That is what you call yourselves?’
‘That is our name. My father was Simiheh, and his father before that, and all the fathers of the boys who came to build this village. We are three-hundred now, maybe more.’ Jahan beamed at his wife. ‘A strong village.’
Lukien felt happy for Jahan, and for the pride he took in his accomplishments. But for himself, Lukien felt disappointment. Clearly he was not in Tharlara. He took a drink from his cup, filled with a barley beer. He had taken an immediate liking to the beer.
‘The Simiheh are all around this area,’ Jahan continued. ‘There are five more villages, all nearby. When my sons are old enough, they will go off with the other boys their age, and they will start a new village.’
‘Then what will happen to this village?’ asked Lukien. ‘Who will defend it? Who will work the land?’
Jahan said casually, ‘When the people are gone, the village will be gone.’
‘But what about all you’ve built? What about the homes? I mean, what about the village?’
The question perplexed Jahan, who looked inquisitively at his wife.
‘The village is the people,’ said Kifuv.
Jahan nodded. ‘Yes, that is it. The village is the people. The village is not the things we build. Do you see, Lukien?’
‘I think so,’ Lukien replied. It was very different from the way things were in his part of the world. ‘But tell me again – this is the Simiheh land? Is that what this place is called?’
‘It does not have a name, except that it is the village of Jahan, or the village of the men who began the village with me.’
‘But what about this area? Does it have a name?’
Jahan shrugged. ‘This is the land of the Simiheh. I have told you that already.’
‘I know,’ said Lukien. He slumped a little at the news. ‘So this isn’t Tharlara, then.’
Jahan regarded him oddly. ‘Tharlara? How do you know that word?’
‘It is the word I was told, the name given to the land I seek.’
‘Tharlara is an ancient word. Who told you this word?’
‘A friend,’ said Lukien. ‘His name was Raivik. He’s . . . not from around here. He lives by the dead city I told you about.’
‘The dead city of the Akari? You met a man who came from there?’
‘Yes, but it is hard to explain,’ said Lukien. He had already told Jahan about passing through Kaliatha, but not about Raivik, the Akari ghost. Jahan had known nothing of the Akari or their city. ‘Jahan, I am looking for a land called the Serpent Kingdom. I was told that would be Tharlara.’
‘Ah, then you are near the place you seek, Lukien. This is the land of the serpents.’
‘It is?’ Lukien looked around the table. All the children nodded. ‘You mean this is Tharlara?’
‘That is the word for the lands by the river,’ said Jahan. ‘All the villages, all the people, everyone who takes life from the river.’
‘Yes,’ said Lukien, growing excited. ‘That’s what Raivik called it – the riverland.’
‘Wait, Lukien, let me explain. How do I say this? Tharlara is a big word. Does that make sense to you? Tharlara describes everything. It is not really a place, not the way you mean.’
‘I understand,’ said Lukien, ‘but I am looking for a kingdom. A serpent kingdom. You say this is the land of the rass?’
‘All of this land – everywhere that’s called Tharlara – has rass, Lukien. They are part of the land. They are great and special creatures.’
‘Where I come from, they are terrible creatures,’ said Lukien. He had stopped eating, too enthralled by the conversation to have much appetite. ‘Do you not fear them?’
‘They are revered.’ Jahan smiled at his young daughter as he spoke. ‘We respect the rass. We love them because the great rass gives us life.’
‘The great rass? What is that?’
‘The great rass turns the river to blood,’ said Jahan. ‘To feed the land. Without the blooding, the land would die.’
This bit of news made Lukien reel. He leaned forward in earnest. ‘Explain that to me, Jahan. I don’t understand.’
Jahan said, ‘Each year the river swells and floods the land. The waters bring life to the soil. Without the flooding, the land would be useless. And sometimes, the land grows weak, even with the floods. That is when the Great Rass comes. When she is killed, her blood flows into the river, and the river is born again. The river becomes strong, and when it floods the land, the land becomes strong.’
‘And this happens every year?’ asked Lukien.
‘No. Only the flooding happens every year, when the rains are heaviest. But the Great Rass comes only once in a great while. And it is almost time for her to come again.’
It was a fine tale, but fantastic. Lukien tried looking convinced. ‘And this is all true? It is not a myth?’
‘Myth? No, Lukien, it is not a myth,’ said Jahan. ‘The Great Rass is real, just like the rass that live in the rocks beyond our village. Without the Great Rass, the people along the river would perish. What you call Tharlara would die.’
‘What about the Great Rass, then? How does she die?’
‘She is killed in her mountain home,’ said Jahan. ‘By the Red Eminence, he who rules in Torlis. When the time of the Great Rass comes, the Red Eminence battles her and kills her.’
‘So where is Torlis? Is it very far?’
‘Torlis is a long ride from here, Lukien. I do not know how far precisely. None of the Simiheh have ever gone there.’
‘Jahan, I think your village is a wonderful place,’ said Lukien carefully. There was no way he wanted to offend his gracious host. ‘It is beautiful and peaceful, and I could probably be happy for the rest of my life in a place like this. But it is not a kingdom, and I was told to find the Serpent Kingdom. This place called Torlis – it sounds like the place I’m seeking.’
‘It does,’ Jahan admitted. Suddenly he seemed to have lost his appetite as well. He pushed his plate aside and looked at his wife, who smiled back at him, untroubled. ‘The people of Torlis are not Simiheh, Lukien. They are like us, but they are not us. They have never warred with us, but they have never come here to offer friendship either. I do not know what it will be like for you there, or how you will be greeted. Must you really go to Torlis? Is it so important?’
‘Yes,’ said Lukien. ‘It is.’
‘Will you tell me why?’
‘Maybe, but not tonight.’ Lukien grinned. ‘Tonight I want to rest and to eat.’
Jahan seemed satisfied. ‘Then that is what we will do. And when we are done and the moon has come out, I will take you to the river, Lukien.’
‘To the river? Why?’
Now it was Jahan who grinned. ‘I will tell you later,’ he said. ‘Maybe.’
Night had long since fallen by the time the meal ended, and Lukien, full and well rested, waited outside the little clay home for his host to arrive and reveal his strange secret. Most of the villagers had gone inside their own homes; for the moment, Lukien had the world to himself. While he waited for Jahan to say good-night to his children, Lukien gazed around the torch-lit village, smelling the burning incense that filled the air. The odour was sweet and wholly unknown to Lukien, not quite a stink and not a perfume, either. The little homes gathered near the river twinkled with light as parents put their childr
en to sleep and men and women finished their daily chores. Voices reached Lukien’s ears, but they were too far away to understand. The Bronze Knight reached beneath the shirt his new friends had given him and pulled the Eye of God out by its golden chain. The red jewel in its centre continued pulsing with life, shining on Lukien’s face. His wounded arm already felt remarkably better, but that was not the miracle that puzzled him. He rubbed at the jewel with his finger, hoping – wishing – for Amaraz to speak to him.
‘No?’ he whispered. ‘Not tonight?’
Lukien smirked as he stared at the amulet. Only once had he spoken to Amaraz, when Minikin had brought him to the Akari’s magical realm. Even then the great spirit had not spoken to him directly. Yet now, Amaraz was allowing him to speak to these foreign people, using his arcane strength to bend their minds to his eastern tongue. It was no great task for Amaraz, surely, yet he performed it the way he performed all his magics.
In secret.
‘Why?’ Lukien asked. ‘Why won’t you speak to me? Other Akari speak to their hosts. Why not you, Amaraz? Am I so unworthy?’
The silence seemed to confirm Lukien’s question.
‘Rot on you, then,’ he hissed. ‘You hear?’
If Amaraz heard, he refused to answer. As Lukien held the amulet before him, Jahan appeared from the house. He was all alone and smiling, and when he saw the Eye of God his almond eyes fixed on it curiously.
‘What is that?’ he asked. ‘I have seen you touching it.’
Jahan had been full of questions since they’d met, and so far Lukien had managed to dodge them all, at least the important ones. He didn’t like evading the man’s queries, but he still knew so little about Jahan and his people, and he supposed the truth might frighten them. He tucked the amulet back into his shirt.
‘Just a trinket. It was given to me by someone special.’
‘That is hardly a trinket, my friend. It is precious to you. Is it a magical thing?’
Lukien laughed at his deduction. ‘You see right through me, don’t you? All right – yes, then. But it’s hard to explain, and I’m not sure that I should. This amulet helps me.’ Lukien thought for a moment. ‘Jahan, when I talk to you, when we speak . . . what is it like for you?’
‘It is strange,’ said Jahan. ‘Like I told you – your mouth moves, but the words are different. I do not understand how you do this thing.’ He pointed at the amulet beneath Lukien’s shirt. ‘Is that what the jeweled thing does?’
Lukien nodded. ‘I can’t speak your words, yet you understand me. And I understand you, too, and everyone else here in your village.’
‘Remarkable,’ Jahan said, wide-eyed. ‘Wherever you come from must be a glorious place. I want to know all about it, Lukien.’
‘I wish I had the time to tell you everything,’ said Lukien. ‘But I have to keep on going. I have to get to Torlis, Jahan. It’s important.’
It was obvious Jahan wanted to know more, but he was respectful to Lukien and asked no more questions. Instead, he said, ‘I am grateful to you for what you did for my son. You know that, yes?’
‘I know,’ said Lukien. ‘And I am grateful for your hospitality.’ Then he laughed. ‘And for the shirt!’
‘Lukien, you have made all the village start to wonder. When I tell them you are seeking the Red Eminence, they will not believe me! No one has ever gone that far from our village.’ A trace of wistfulness crept into Jahan’s tone. ‘They will envy you.’
‘Jahan, why are we out here? What did you want to show me?’
‘Ah, we are not without our own wonders here, Lukien. There is something you are ignorant of. Tonight you will learn.’
‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that. Where are we going?’
The man with the pony-tail slapped Lukien’s back. ‘To the river,’ he pronounced. ‘Follow me.’
With only the moonlight to guide them, Jahan led Lukien out of the village, following the river bank westward. Lukien had seen the lush farmlands here earlier, when the sun lit the place, making it clearly visible from the village. Now, it glowed murkily on the moonlight, damp in places where the river had over-flowed its banks and shadowed by tall grasses that hissed when the wind blew. Lukien held out his hands and let the grasses tickle his palms. Behind them, the village disappeared beyond a hill. Jahan walked like a ghost, barely making a sound. He began to crouch a little, bidding Lukien to do the same. They were still near the river and could hear its gargling churn. The moonlight glistened on the water.
‘How far are we going?’ Lukien whispered.
Jahan pointed to an area of flattened grass up ahead. ‘There.’
It looked like the kind of place where children played, where their eager feet had trampled the grass again and again until the grass at last surrendered. The ground was soft, though mostly dry, slightly elevated and affording a good view of the nearby river. Jahan knelt down in the clearing. He gestured for Lukien to come down next to him.
‘What are we doing?’ asked Lukien as he knelt beside Jahan.
The village man’s voice was barely audible. ‘Wait.’
‘Wait? For what?’
‘Lay down,’ said Jahan. ‘Like this.’
Jahan got down on his stomach, resting his elbows in the grass and his chin in his palms. Not knowing why, Lukien did the same, discovering that he still had an excellent little window through the grass in which to view the river bank.
‘I’m going to show you something wondrous, Lukien,’ Jahan promised. ‘But we must stay very quiet. Do not move. If you must talk, whisper.’
Lukien nodded, though the position was uncomfortable and made his wounded arm ache. He remained completely silent, barely twitching, letting long minutes pass, wondering what he might see. Insects buzzed in the grass around them. An occasional bird took wing overhead. Jahan waited with endless patience, grinning secretly. By the time Lukien’s own patience began to ebb, the villager finally spoke.
‘Look there!’
He pointed a thin finger out for Lukien to follow, toward the river bank where a shadow slipped slowly into view. Lukien struggled to focus his vision. He saw the movement, yet heard nothing. He inched his head closer through the grass, then detected the flash of eyes and the quick lash of tongue. A great hood patterned with coils lifted slightly into the air. Lukien stopped breathing.
‘Holy mother of fate,’ he gasped. ‘That’s a rass.’
His first instinct was to flee, but Jahan grabbed his hand, holding it tight.
‘Don’t move,’ Jahan ordered. ‘It won’t hurt us if it’s not afraid.’
‘I’m the one that’s afraid, Jahan,’ Lukien snapped. ‘We have to go.’
‘Fool, this is why I brought you here! Now hush yourself. Just watch.’
Lukien tried to steady himself, but could hear his own heart pounding in his temples. He had never felt such revulsion before, so helpless as he laid prone in the grass. Next to him, Jahan licked his lips in excitement, his eyes full of wonder. The rass dipped its giant head into the river and began to drink, using its enormous tongue – muscled like a man’s arm – to slurp the water. As if all the other creatures in the world knew that a monster was around them, the river bank fell silent. The birds ceased to stir. The insects stopped their buzzing song.
‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ Jahan eased back, finally sitting upright. ‘It knows we’re here.’
‘Then we should leave.’
‘You do not understand, Lukien. It will not harm us. It has only come to drink. The rass come every night to drink from the river.’
‘This is what you wanted to show me?’ asked Lukien. ‘Why?’
‘To make you understand. You cannot go through our lands without understanding the rass. What would the Red Eminence think of you? No, you must see the truth of them, how glorious they are.’
‘Jahan, they are not glorious to me,’ said Lukien. ‘Where I come from, the rass are dangerous.’
‘Dangerous?’ said Jahan. ‘Yes, of course. Bu
t that is their nature. They are hunters.’
Lukien sank down in the grass, studying the rass. The creature was immense, yet moved with grace along the river bank, deliberately slithering through the mud, its colourful skin glistening. ‘All right,’ Lukien admitted. ‘It is beautiful. But dangerous. Why don’t the rass attack your village?’
‘The rass come to the river at night,’ Jahan explained. ‘We light the torches to keep them away.’
‘Ah, you mean that smell?’
‘That’s right. There is a tree that grows nearby. When the leaves are dried and burned, they make a scent that keep the rass away.’
‘So you fear them. Yet you love them?’
‘It is the balance. Seeing the rass means that the Great Rass will come. Do you see?’
‘I think so,’ said Lukien, trying to understand. It made at least some sense. ‘So the Red Eminence kills the Great Rass, and the land lives on.’
Jahan smiled, pleased with his pupil. ‘Precisely so.’
‘And when you see the rass, you know that the Great Rass will come and be killed.’
‘Good.’
‘I understand. But I still don’t like them.’
Jahan sighed. ‘You are hopeless.’
Together they continued to watch as the rass made its way along the bank, pausing occasionally before disappearing into the darkness. Jahan remained transfixed by the creature until the end, when at last he leaned back, his expression oddly satisfied. Lukien relaxed, glad to be rid of the beast. Tharlara might be the land of serpents, but that didn’t mean he had to court them.
‘Thank you, Jahan,’ he said, not sure what else to say. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe they are special. They’re special to you, at least.’
‘They are sacred creatures, Lukien. You must respect that when you go to Torlis.’
‘I’ll try,’ said Lukien. He got up from his knees, stretching his aching muscles. ‘Can we go back now?’
