by Aderyn Wood
“It’s a dark night to seek me out, child.”
Heduanna jumped at the sound of the voice, and turned, squinting into the gloom.
An old hag stepped into view under the sconce. Her hair hung in messy grey strands. Her eyes were dark, and the thick kohl that lined them gave her a sinister appearance matched only by the deep crevices of wrinkles that webbed her face. She wore silver loops on her lobes that chimed softly as she moved. “What is it you desire? A secret, no doubt. A cure for the Reaping, or some other bout? Or do you also require poison?” A knowing smile formed a lazy curve on her lips.
Heduanna’s heart raced, and she took a slow breath. “I wish for a phial of rue.”
The woman stared at her in a way that chilled Heduanna like the icicles had outside.
“Poison then.” The witch moved silently to a large clay jar which she took down from a high spot on a shelf and placed on the bench. “You know how to use it.”
It was a statement, not a question, but Heduanna confirmed that she did.
With wrinkled hands the old witch placed three spoonfuls in a phial, which she sealed with a cork stopper and melted wax. She held the phial before her. “Herein lies enough for a vice of thrice.”
Heduanna nodded, her throat sore with tension. She glanced back at the black polished orb. It called to her still. Its grasp clawing for her. “What is that stone?”
Alarm seemed to flash in the old woman’s eyes, or was it just the flicker of the sconce? “That stone, a concern not your own. Leave it be. Come to me.”
A giddy sensation swept through her, and Heduanna shut her eyes, then the feeling was gone as quick as it had come, and when she opened her eyes she no longer stood by the orb. Rather, she was an arm’s length from the old woman. The air was thick with myrrh, the orb’s presence dimmed. Heduanna gaped. “How did you—”
“Secrets and lies, fear and truth, balance the trade, it is fair, forsooth.” The woman nodded toward the phial, still clutched in her wrinkled hand.
“But—” Heduanna glanced back at the orb. Its energy no longer seemed to sing to her the way it had, but she could feel it still. “What of the orb?”
The witch shook her head. “Put it out of your mind. Now, the payment.”
Heduanna licked her lips. She took the pouch from her sleeve and opened it to withdraw a small stone of amethyst.
The old woman’s eyes fell to it, the way a cat eyed a rat. She clutched it with her gnarled hand and held it up to the light. “Too much. No balance.” She put the gem back into Heduanna’s outstretched hand.
“But, it’s all I have,” Heduanna said. “Please, you must accept it. Unless—” Heduanna’s eyes returned to the orb. “Unless I can also take the orb.”
The woman shook her head. “No. Look at me.”
Heduanna looked into the witch’s eyes and the giddiness returned.
“Here be my settlement, though it be rough. Do Phadite’s work. Payment enough.”
Heduanna blinked, panic making her throat restrict once more. Do Phadite’s work? Could it be this old hag knew who she was? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask it, but perhaps she didn’t know after all. Heduanna frowned. “Do the goddess’s work, that is enough payment for you?”
The old woman nodded, forced the phial into Heduanna’s hand, then turned back to the bench, throwing a hand in the air. “Now, begone. You’ve lingered too long.”
Heduanna swallowed and turned to face the exit. She placed the phial into her pouch with the gemstone and returned it to her sleeve. “Thank you,” she said to the witch.
But the old woman was busy with her stores.
Heduanna moved slowly to the exit, thinking of the witch’s words and the strange ceaseless pull of the orb. Outside, the sconce flickered still and the icy night filled her lungs. She thought of the robed figure who’d exited the store before her. The way he had stalled, just as she had, with the shock of the icy night. Then his effortless stride…
She snapped her head up. That gait, I know it. What had the witch said? ‘Do you also have need of poison?’
“No,” Heduanna whispered. But a new truth settled in her mind, and her heart, like the ice that settled on the city. She spun and turned back to the entrance, strode through the door and up to the old woman. “That man,” she said in earnest. “The one who came before me, he was from the palace wasn’t he? Tell me, what did he want from you? What poison?”
The old woman stopped her chores and placed the jar in her hands on the bench before looking up into Heduanna’s eyes once more. “Now, that would be telling, Princess.”
Heduanna’s mouth fell open. “You know who I am!”
“So it would appear, but know this—” The old woman smiled a lazy grin. “You’ve nothing, nothing to fear.”
Danael
Danael opened his eyes. He was in a strange bed, a strange room. A dull light emanated from somewhere, but whether it was daytime or nighttime, he couldn’t say.
“He wakes,” a familiar voice spoke the strange language Danael somehow understood.
He scrunched his face and blinked out the blurriness and tried to sit up, but a heavy grogginess filled his head and he lay back down and closed his eyes.
“Danael?”
“Mmm? Mother?” Danael murmured. No, that was not his mother. It was Qisht. The reality of where he was rushed to him now and he tried to sit up again, but a streak of fire sliced through his arm and he winced.
“Don’t.” Qisht came to him. “You must go slowly. Here, try some water first.” Qisht handed Danael a cup and put a hand behind his head to help him drink it.
The water was cool and refreshing, and Danael suddenly realised how very dry his throat was.
He nodded and Qisht took the cup away. “Who won?” he asked, his voice rasping.
“The general.” A new voice said. It was the king. He stepped into view as Qisht helped Danael to sit up a little, shoving pillows behind his back.
“Agh! Shoulder hurts. Why?”
“You don’t remember?” the king asked.
Danael frowned. “More water?”
Qisht obliged with the cup and Danael gulped its entire contents down.
“Combat ring, I remember. Getting cut, I remember… A sword of fire…”
The king nodded as he took a seat by Danael’s bed.
“Where am I?” Danael asked.
“You’re in the palace. My daughter’s suite.”
Danael frowned. “Princess? But, where?” It seemed impossible that the king would allow him to share a room with his daughter.
The king smiled. “She lives in the temple now, as is required for her studies.”
“Oh.” Danael put his hands on the bed and pushed, sitting up further. His head remained groggy, his limbs heavy and his stomach awash with emptiness. “What wrong with me? I lose blood?” A sudden fear clenched like a vice in his chest and he looked hard at the king. “Do I die?”
“Not quite that dramatic. But dramatic, nonetheless.” The king glanced at Qisht before returning a level gaze at Danael. “You were poisoned.”
Danael’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“Asp venom,” Qisht said. “A common enough poison around these parts.”
“Common? Poison common? In Drakia, poison weapon of coward.”
Qisht shook his head. “Here in Zraemia, it is rather favoured, I’m ashamed to say.”
“Who poisoned me?”
The king glanced at Qisht once again, a look of wariness heavy on his brow. “I’m afraid, my brother-general coated a heavy layer of the venom on his blade.”
“Mutat?” Danael shook his head, trying to digest the ridiculous notion that such a high ranking and trusted member of the royal family would bother to do such a thing. “Why?”
“It’s complex. Let me say for now that my brother-general is and always has been a threat to my rule here in Azzuri.”
“You mean, he wants usurp?” Usurp. Danael had only learned the word rece
ntly, when Qisht taught him of an ancient Zraemian battle in which one king claimed the throne of another.
The king nodded.
“What do I have to do with?”
The king shifted on the stool. “As you know, I sought you and your people out after a direct message from our goddess Phadite.”
Danael nodded. Qisht had explained the king’s reasons, and the threat of the Great War the Zraemians referred to as Gedjon-Brak. It seemed like nothing but a child’s tale, but the longer he stayed in Azzuri the more Danael came to understand how the Zraemians believed it more than any other tale. They called it a prophecy, and awaited the day when a great war, involving every Zraemian city would bring about the one king who would emerge triumphant to rule them all.
“So, you see,” the king continued. “Some consider you to be the blaze bearer.”
“Blaze bearer?”
“It is part of the prophecy.” The king shrugged. “The blaze bearer will assure the one king’s ascendency. No doubt, my brother wants to eliminate you as a threat.”
Danael shook his head. “If your brother is threat, why make him general?”
“A good question, also complex. With my brother as general, I keep him close.”
Danael looked the king in the eye. “What if he poisons again?”
“It is possible. We must be careful. But for now he will pose no direct threat. I have sent him to Ashfal to deal with yet another uprising there.”
“I see.”
The king stood. “We shall meet again, soon, Danael. The time is coming for more confidences to be shared between us. I am keen to learn more about your people. But for now, you must focus on your healing. I will leave you in Qisht’s capable hands. He will have you on your feet soon enough.”
“Within a day or two now I should think,” Qisht said, as he approached with another cup in hand.
“Focus on healing,” the king said. “We shall meet soon.” Then he turned and left.
Qisht’s words proved correct and in the days that followed, Danael’s health was nearly fully restored. It was the burn wound to his upper arm that bothered him most, and Qisht told him it would take longer to heal than the other cuts. Danael took to walking the palace terraces, and marveled at the effect of the Reaping on the city. At home, in Estr Varg, snow drifts would be as high as a man in parts. Higher. There was no snow here in the desert, but the thick slabs of ice that covered everything in straight-angled blocks was nothing short of amazing.
On the third day since he woke, his friends came to visit him. After they gave him jibes about sleeping in the princess’s bed, Danael begged them to take him out into the city, to explore the effect the darkness was having there, and escape the confines of the palace. Qisht protested about the dangers, but they assured him they would be safe enough from demon and assassin alike. Ru and Tizgar showed the servant their swords strapped into their belts, while Varashti brought out the little idol of Phadite he kept on a string about his belt and under his skirt. “The goddess will look over us.”
Nanum slapped him. “Better than looking over your balls, Varashti.”
Qisht tutted them and told them to be back before the noon bell.
The city was eerily quiet. In Estr Varg the village bonfires would burn tall and long, and every rondhus would place flame-lights on their walls and candles in their window cutouts. But here in Azzuri, the city was kept as dark as possible. Only about one in every ten city lamps burned, and those that did glowed so low as to cast the smallest ring of dim light.
Tizgar carried an oil lamp to light their way through the dark alleys and streets. Danael suggested they get a large blazing torch, but the others shook their heads.
“Too much light attracts the demons,” Alangar told him.
Danael scoffed.
“Don’t laugh about it, barbarian,” Ubranum said, his charming smile gone and his handsome face unusually serious. “We don’t want to tempt them.”
“Yes,” Ru replied. “They say the Reaping has already claimed over fifty souls.”
“Mostly the elderly, though, like Nanum’s dear old grandmother.”
Nanum grunted.
Ru shook his head. “It’s taken children too. Tizgar and I walked to the river yesterday, it was full of the little rafts with little bodies, and mothers wept quietly on the shore. The priests at Praeta will be busy come the new year.”
“And their pockets will fill with gold,” Ibbi chimed in.
A renewed solemnity fell over them as they explored the bazaar. Every trading, tea and beer house remained dark and lifeless, so different to their usual noisiness. Thick ice had sealed the doors shut, and Danael hoped no one was locked within, suffering some illness from the Reaping, unable to summon the priests for help. He asked his friends if they should try to open the doors in case.
“No,” Lu shook his head. “The demons take only those who are ready and Phadite will protect those who are not.”
They went to the barracks and the combat ring next, its sandy center was also covered in ice. They sat on a bench in the stalls that had been protected by the half roof that offered shade in the usual heat of the Zraemian sun. Tizgar placed the little oil lamp in the middle of their circle. The steam from their breaths clouded the space.
“How did you do, Ibbi?” Danael asked. It was finally time to talk of the fight. “With wagers.”
His friends looked at him, then each other.
Ibbi shook his head. “No one won that day, friend.”
“What happened, Danael?” Ru asked. “They told us your wounds festered.” He looked at the others. “But we don’t believe it. You’re too healthy for that, and the general’s blades are cleaner than his skirts.”
Danael clenched his jaw tight, wondering how much he should reveal. The king had told him he could trust Qisht; well, his friends were at least as trustworthy, if not more. “Poison,” he whispered.
“No!” Lu said.
Ibbi slapped his arm. “Hand it over.”
Lu slouched and handed Ibbi a pendant from the leather strap he wore around his neck.
Danael shook his head. “You wagered on my health, Ibbi?”
Ibbi raised his hands in front of him and looked at each of them with an innocence that didn’t suit him at all. “What?”
“You truly have no morals, do you?” Lu said.
“Well, you’re the one who agreed to it.”
“Yes,” Lu said. “But I didn’t believe the general would stoop so low.”
“I did,” Ibbi said, the faux innocence fading from his face. “Danael is a real threat. He proved as much in the ring. What’s more, I’ve heard what the old men in the Bazaar are saying about him.”
They all looked at Ibbi, who stared back at them with wide eyes, the steam from their breaths grew thicker.
“Well, are you going to tell us, ass?” Ru hissed.
“Blaze bearer,” Ibbi whispered back. “That’s what they’re calling our barbarian.”
Lu sucked in his breath, as Ru put his hands through his hair.
“I was told this too,” Danael said. “What does it mean?”
“It’s all part of the prophecy,” Lu began. “As written in the Aurannan. With the onset of Gedjon-Brak a hero will rise to—”
“Let’s not talk of that now,” Alangar cut in. “Another time, friend.” He gave them all a knowing look. “The demons.”
“What are we going to do about it?” Lu asked.
“Do?” Danael asked.
“About the general. We can’t let him get away with it.”
Danael looked at each of them. “You lot do nothing. Keep heads down, out of trouble.”
“Agreed,” Nanum mumbled.
Lu shook his head. “No. You’ve started something now. You stood up against that tyrant. You have my sword,” Lu said and he withdrew his khopesh and placed it on the the seat beside the oil pot.
“Mine too,” said Tizgar, and his sword clanged gently on Lu’s.
; “And mine.”
One by one they withdrew their swords, pledging their protection to Danael, even Nanum. Treacherous tears threatened to spill from Danael’s eyes until Varashti placed his little table dagger on the top of the other swords. Making them all laugh.
“What? I’m not wearing my weapon,” Varashti protested.
Ru picked up his little dagger. “What do you think you’re going to protect Danael from with this? A rat?” He gave Varashti a shove.
The merchant’s son screwed up his chubby face. “If I have to.”
Danael laughed. “Thank you, friends. I hope your swords not needed.”
“It’s good to see you healthy again, barbarian,” Alangar said.
“I agree,” Ubrabum added. “And I know just the thing you need to get that rosy glow back in your barbarian cheeks.”
“Aktu?” Tizgar said with a grin.
“Exactly.”
They all looked at Danael.
“Why you smile?”
“Tomorrow eve,” Ru began. “The Reaping ends and Phadite will demand our love.”
It was the last night of the Reaping and it seemed to Danael the entire populace now convened in the temple square and spilled out onto the streets to celebrate the festival known as Aktu, to bring in the new year. Unlike the past few nights the city was ablaze with light and fire. Every city lamp was lit and burned brightly, and the streets of the bazaar were lined with cook fires from scores of food stalls roasting almonds and river scampi.
The night itself remained as dark as the others, though Danael suspected some of the stars shone a little brighter in the night sky. The whole city, indeed the world, eagerly anticipated the rise of the sun that would come with the morning and melt the ice.
