by Aderyn Wood
“So it would seem. I tried to meet with him on several occasions, but every day your high priest was engaged with those more important than my mere self.”
Sargan flushed. Was Rathaqar feeling snubbed? “I’m sorry to hear that, Grand Blessed. Perhaps Grand Blessed Lipit was busy with—”
“I know what Lipit was busy with,” the high priest’s eyes narrowed, his voice quietened once more. “Or rather who he was busy with.”
“Who?”
“Grand Blessed Zuran.”
Sargan’s mouth opened. “Urul’s high priest?”
Rathaqar nodded. “They met for hours, every day of the festival and Lipit took no other appointments. Strange don’t you think? That the head of Urul’s high temple, Azzuri’s so-called ‘enemy city’ holds such prominence with your high priest.”
Sargan frowned. “Yes, very strange.”
“Does your father-king know?”
“I don’t know.”
Rathaqar took a slow breath. “May I suggest that you see to it he does?”
Sargan had begun feeling queasy when they stood on the pier at dawn and High Priest Rathaqar had offered prayers to Praeta’s patron god Nethu. He performed an ancient ritual in the hopes of keeping them all safe, and poured fresh ox blood into the sea, but the wind took it and sent a spray of red along the stone wall of the pier.
Sargan had stomached that well enough, it was Rathaqar’s talk of the monstrosities that awaited them over the Sea of Death that had got his stomach in knots. The kraken, with heads larger than their two ships combined, the sea demons awaiting fresh meat to take to the depths of the Underworld, and the two-headed sea dragon, and Nethu’s servant, Cydas, who guarded both Underworld and Overworld with menacing fire. Not to mention the priest’s talk of maelstroms and whirlpools and waves taller than the largest of mountains.
By the end of the priest’s little blessing, Sargan’s knees were shaking so much he had to walk on his toes to board the ship.
“I cannot believe we get this space all to ourselves!” Ru said, practically prancing around the chamber.
“We don’t,” Lu snapped. “It’s Sargan’s quarters. He’s gracious enough to share it with the likes of you, princess.”
Ru withdrew the sword from beneath his skirt so fast it sung like a bird. “Say that again, Scribe, and we’ll see how you go speaking without a tongue.”
“Put your blade away,” Alangar said, without looking up from the tablets laid out on Sargan’s desk. “Lu’s right. We’re not meant to have the comfort of these quarters. No other band will enjoy such luxuries. Don’t flaunt them.”
“Fine.” Ru picked up his satchel and withdrew a whetstone, and sat on a bench to hone his blade, giving Lu a scowl as he did so.
“So tell us again how you’ll map our passage, Sargan?” Alangar said.
Sargan closed his eyes for a moment as another wave of nausea crashed over him.
“You all right?” Lu asked.
Sargan nodded. “I’ll be fine. It’s just the movement. It’s much worse than being on the river.”
“Lots of beer, that’s the secret. I’ll smuggle some in for us later,” Ubranum said with a wink.
“Don’t mention beer,” Nanum said. He was curled up on his bedroll in the corner. “I never want to see beer again.”
“I told you not to get drunk,” Lu said, kicking Nanum’s feet.
Sargan put the box of remaining blank tablets on the desk and noted the drawers. They’d be a good place to store the damp clay tablets and he began packing them away.
“Well,” he said to Alangar. “The trick is to chart our passage in line with a number of stars, and the moon of course.” He finished packing the top drawer and moved to the second.
“How do you do that?” Lu asked. The lean scribe had come over to inspect Sargan’s map. Lu was the only other member, aside from Ibbi, who could read. Not that Sargan had written much yet, only the inscription ‘Passage over the Sea of Death by order of King Amar-Sin.’ He would add landmarks and notes as they sailed.
“I’ll be using a special disk,” Sargan rummaged around in his trunk and withdrew the disk given to him by Qisht. He handed it to Lu and Alangar to inspect before grabbing another bunch of tablets. He opened another drawer and screamed, dropping the tablets as the biggest scorpion he’d ever seen jumped out and ran around the cabin causing pandemonium. Nanum was on his feet too, screaming with Sargan. Alangar was trying to give orders but no one was listening, Ibbi yelled out, “who wants to wager it’ll bite someone?”
While Ubranum, Lu and Tizgar tried whacking it with their sandals.
“Mind your feet!” Sargan warned them.
A blade sung out and the scorpion shuddered, stabbed through by Ru’s long dagger.
“Ru,” Alangar said, breathing hard. “What have I told you about swinging that thing in close quarters?”
Ru shook his head as he wiped his blade on a cloth. “You’re welcome.”
“It was that roach, Ilbrit,” Lu said.
“Shhh! Not so loud,” Alangar replied, glancing at the door.
Sargan’s knees started shaking again and he sat down hard on the bench seat.
“Sargan, it’s all right,” Alangar soothed as he began checking the other drawers in the desk. “We are your guards. We’ll keep you safe.”
“We will,” Lu said.
“We will,” Nanum said, before curling up in the corner again and closing his eyes, his face turning a darker shade of green.
“We will,” Tizgar and Ru said together, and Ubranum elbowed Ibbi to do the same.
Sargan looked at each of them. His friends, his allies and now his guards. “Thank you.”
They all sat or stood around the desk.
“You know, I didn’t find any snakes at the bazaar yesterday,” Ibbi said. “Well, they were there, but the merchant wanted an arm for them.”
Ubranum shoved him. “You’re a tight one, Ibbi.”
Ibbi lifted his chin and returned his attention to Sargan. “But I did get something else.” He stood and retrieved a small clay jar out of his satchel.
“What is it?” Lu asked.
Ibbi opened the jar and held it out to Lu. “Have a whiff of that.”
Lu leaned in and inhaled deeply before coughing and dry-retching with such violence, Sargan thought his eyes might pop.
Ibbi grinned. “You’re a goat, Lu.” He looked at Sargan. “Dung roaches. Real stinkers these two. I could slip them in your royal cousin’s bedroll. Or in a pouch in the seam of his skirt. He’ll stink like a rotting corpse. Not a bad plan for some vengeance, huh?”
Sargan grinned. “I don’t know. Atole says in his Verse on Wisdom that vengeance is the path to savagery.”
Ibbi smirked. “Savagery huh? Sounds like just the thing for cousin Ilbrit.”
Part VII
Estr Varg
Leaf-Fall
Fifth year of Khanassa Ashrael’s reign
5,847 years ago…
Danael
Danael worked with Fegarj the boat-builder and others assigned to the construction of the new war fleet. Today they were putting the finishing touches on two longboats. The high gangplanks, used by the spearwives to strike enemy boats, wouldn’t be added till the summer. Danael was sanding the hull, while Yora followed him, brushing the shavings away and applying a layer of sticky tar to the wood, filling the air with the strong scent of pine.
The Long Summer was finally drawing to a close, and leaf-fall made its imminence known in the yellowing tips of birch leaves. The days were still warm though, and sweat dripped from Danael’s forehead as he worked. He eyed the clean waters of the Drakian Sea with eagerness. But he’d only go swimming once the work was done. And the work was never done until Fegarj said it was.
He’d get a swim in before the sundown. The evenings were cooler now, and Hiljda shared his bed most nights. She was warm and soft, and sometimes when he lay aside her, glowing in the aftermath of their lovemaking, Danael w
ondered if the pleasures of a woman weren’t the very meaning of life itself. But then he’d come to the shore every morning, and Fegarj, Petar, and the other warriors and boat builders would convince him otherwise. War was at the centre of every Drakian’s life. Danael had learned that glory. Indeed he hungered for another taste of battle lust. Though his thoughts frequently returned to Ana, and her misgivings about war with the Halkans.
“What if it vexes them the way bees are angered when they're hive is threatened?” Her words returned to him often, and he couldn’t help wondering if an important warning lay within them.
“Longboats incoming,” a shout echoed from down shore.
Danael stopped his work to gaze into the bay. The others paused too, and silence fell over the work area.
“Warboats?” Victar, one of the village elders, asked.
“Surely not at this time of t’season.” Fegarj said with a grunt as he dusted wood shavings from his blond beard.
The water was calm today, as flat as a puddle. Fishing boats bobbed on the horizon, but when he squinted, Danael spotted a longboat crawling closer. In another few heartbeats a white flag came into view atop the first boat. Closer still, a blue squiggle on the flag came into focus.
Danael glanced behind him and shouted to Fegarj’s youngest, a girl of eight summers with hair as yellow as her father’s. “Alya, run and tell my parents Westr Varg requests an audience.”
The girl looked to her father who gave a nod, then she scampered off down the beach toward the steps to the village. Danael turned back to the incoming longboat. Such visits at this time of the season were rare. It could only mean trouble.
“You're quite sure?” Danael’s mother gave Khanassa Bera an impartial stare during her spiel, but a shadow now marked her brow.
It seemed the entire village had joined them in the longhus hall. It wasn’t just a messenger on the longboat, but four clan leaders. The news had spread through Estr Varg quicker than an outbreak of flux. All the table benches were occupied, and villagers continued to sneak inside as the various clan leaders spoke.
Danael’s mother sat on her seat of rule at the front of the hall. Hides of wolfskins beneath her. At some point between receiving Alya’s message and greeting the visitors she’d placed the polished whale-bone crown on her head – the indomitable symbol of her authority here in Estr Varg. Danael’s father sat to her right with his typically slanted mouth and simmering eyes. Danael should have taken the seat next to him, but it had been occupied by the seer, Sidmon, his dark, lined face appeared grim as usual.
Danael preferred to stay among the crowd for now, to better watch his mother’s face and determine her thoughts.
The four leaders from across the waters stood in a line to the left of his mother’s chair, each of them wore stony looks.
Behind them, on the bench seats, sat a number of warriors from the four isles, and Danael spied Ilyag among them. The Khanalla’s dark blue eyes remained fixed on him and she gave him one of her wicked smiles. Danael reciprocated with a subtle nod. He knew what that smile meant, and his eyes roamed the room for Hiljda. Thankfully the hus-thrall was nowhere to be seen. She knew about his dalliances on campaign, but he had no wish to shove it in her face.
“Aye, Khanassa,” Khanassa Bera of Uthalia Isht spoke. She had the full figure of an older woman, and it belied her past as a slender yet menacing spearwife. Her red hair, streaked with silver, shone like the coals in the central fire. It was her clan warriors who had spent early summer defending from the Halkans. The khanassa had dark bags under her eyes, her shoulders, so straight and square during the campaign, now slouched. “They’re in the mountains. During the night they’ve been raiding the village, taking anything they can carry back with them to the mountaintop where they’ve formed a stronghold of sorts.”
“Perhaps this was their plan all along,” Petar spoke up, and heads turned to him.
“Explain yourself, Petar,” Danael’s mother said.
Petar ran his hand along his jaw, a short brown beard now covered his face. “When you think about it, it was an easy victory. Too easy.”
Danael’s father grunted. “Be careful with your tongue, you’ll bring dishonor to our warriors with such talk. Gartul and Frijda died in that battle. May Vulkar look over them.”
Petar’s jaw moved side to side. He bounced on the balls of his feet the way he did when in full song. “They were among my closest friends.” He returned the khanax’s grim stare. “But, nevertheless, it was an easy battle, and now I wonder if the Halkan’s intention had been to distract us while a group of them fled to the mountains. Perhaps they plan to attack next summer with two prongs, one from the mountainside and one from the sea. Such a battle would be nigh impossible to predict. Our risk of failure, high. They intend to raise another Halkan flag on one of our isles, and they’ve got their sights on Uthalia Isht.”
Danael’s mother turned her attention from Petar to the Uthalian leader. “Khanassa Bera, how many Halkans have established themselves?”
Bera shook her head. “We can only get so close before they rain their spears and arrows down on us. We’ve tried to sneak in, we’ve tried to do reconnaissance at night, but they are always ready. The terrain also makes it difficult. It’s so steep even mountain goats avoid it. They’ve built their temporary village on a high escarpment. Only Prijna knows how they managed it but they have. Their structures loom like eagles’ nests. They stand guard on their ramparts and are always watching. They seem to know the very moment someone approaches. It is… strange.”
“They seem to know about our ambushes too.” Khanassa Verag from Kania spoke, Ilyag’s mother. She had long golden hair just like her daughter, and was also a formidable spearwife in her day, though now her age kept her to ruling the battle, rather than partaking in it. Verag, her husband and children and all the Kanes had fled to Uthalia summers past when the Halkans took their isle and raised their red flag to claim Kania Isht as their own. “They’ve always employed witchery, but now it seems more frequent and stronger than ever. We’ve tried forestalling them, but they know when we’ve laid a trap.” She shook her head. “I fear the same fate that befell Kania Isht is about to spread through all Drakia.”
“And what of the others isles?” Danael’s mother asked. “The five most powerful clans are represented now in my longhus. What of the other four? Has anyone gone to them?”
Khanax Brughal of Adalar Isht, the only male leader among them lifted his chin. “Khanassas Bera and Verag came to me first, Khanassa Ashrael. We decided our best course would be to bring the matter here to Varg Isht.” He nodded at Khanassa Gorjna. “Westr Varg first, where we collected Gorjna, now here where we seek your wisdom. As you say, we five represent the most powerful isles. It is for us to decide our next step, then we must send a delegation to the others with orders.”
Danael drew a sharp breath. All Drakian isles were proud and fiercely independent. Gisila Isht, Dagma Isht, Hildr Isht and Narseh Isht were all smaller in both size and populations, but they wouldn’t be satisfied they’d been kept from negotiations. Hopefully, they’d understand the urgency of the matter.
A pause stretched out, and whisperings fattened with uncertainty and trickled through the room. Danael studied his mother. She sat still, considering her next words. She had to say something to build confidence. Fear was their true enemy, particularly when it came to witchery, she’d told him that since he could talk.
But it was his father who spoke next. “We will face them next summer. They will not be victorious.”
“No.” A voice rung out, and Danael closed his eyes. It was Petar, again.
“Once again,” the khanax said, a flush of red quickening in his cheeks. “You forget yourself, and your place. This is for the khanassas to—”
“To wait for next summer will be too late,” Petar spoke over the khanax.
Danael’s father was on his feet. “This is not your decision—”
“Let Petar finish,” Danael’s mo
ther said.
Danael chewed his bottom lip. His father, red-faced and puffing had to swallow his pride and return to his seat.
“Go on, Petar,” the khanassa said. “I am giving you the floor you’ve wanted for so long. Tell us what is on your mind.”
Petar threw a smirk at the khanax, and Danael winced, but then the slender warrior arranged a respectful mien as he stepped closer to the circle of leaders. “If we were to join forces, and prepare a plan to break the Halkan defence, we could thwart them now, while they are a smaller force. Come the summer, their number will double, perhaps triple. I mentioned before they might be planning a two-pronged attack with the summer warring. But now I think on it, perhaps it could be more than that. If we allow them this ground, it will be a mistake. It is best to deal with the dormant adder then wait for it to wake, fully rested, from a healthy slumber.”
Danael’s mother turned her gaze to the guest leaders. “What are your thoughts?”
Bera spoke, flicking her red braid over her shoulder. “I’ve come to a similar conclusion. Their encampment marks the very centre of Uthalia. This last summer they attacked from the east. They’ve attacked from the north and the west in previous summers. I believe they will send three, perhaps four separate attacks, and mayhap these people at the top of our tallest mountains will communicate with them somehow and marshal the attack. It is no mistake they’ve chosen the very place where the old beacon stands to build their fortifications. We’ve seen it lit on more than one occasion.”
A ripple of murmuring bubbled through the crowded hall. Danael raised an eyebrow. The beacons were an ancient part of the isles, from an age past. Most of them were nothing but crumbling towers now. The beacon here on Varg Isht was still in fairly good repair. It’d been a long time since he’d seen it though.
“I agree with Petar,” Bera raised her voice and spoke over the murmurs. “We should rid the nest of adders while they sleep.”
