Scion of the Serpent

by J. Steven York

  But no, he felt he had to be honest. “I did.” He couldn’t bring himself to look into her eyes. “It wasn’t my idea. She was more than willing, if you follow my meaning. But I confess that I did not resist her. Despite her strange nature, she is an attractive creature, and you must surely know that I’m hardly a virgin.”

  He glanced over to see if she was angry. She didn’t appear to be. Rather she was looking at him, eyes wide, her face revealing some emotion he couldn’t quite interpret. “I am,” she said simply.

  “What?”

  “A virgin.”

  He blinked.

  “You’re surprised?”

  “Well, yes. I knew you’d made certain promises to your mother and that you’d never been with one of the Ravens. But we were like family almost. And I’ve seen you with other men, flirting, embracing, kissing. I had assumed that there were other lovers you’d simply kept private.”

  “There have been other flirtations, liaisons, acquaintances, yes. But they were merely casual diversions. None has ever touched me in that way. That was the other promise that I made to my mother. Not just that I would never enter her profession, but also that I would remain chaste.”

  “Forever?” It slipped out before he could think the question through.

  She smiled slightly. “Until I had found a man to whom I could freely offer my heart as well as my body.”

  He suddenly felt a catch in his throat. “You’ve been looking for such a person?”

  She smiled coyly and nodded. “For a while, without success.”

  Relief, or disappointment?

  “Little did I know,” she continued, leaning toward him, “that one was living under my very floor.” She placed her other hand on his chest and leaned into him.

  He realized that he wanted this—very badly, but still he found himself gently pushing her back. “Sheriti, this isn’t right.”

  She gave that little bit of distance but did not withdraw. Her presence, the warmth of her body next to his, was intoxicating. “I’ve been thinking much about you lately, Anok. So long I’ve treated you as a brother, but that was a child’s game. You are not my brother. You are no blood of mine. And we”—she lingered long on that last word, letting it hang in the air—“are no longer children.” She leaned into him again.

  Though his body censed at her touch, he tried to remain detached and aloof. It wasn’t working. “Sheriti, this is—I don’t deserve this.”

  She looked at him, her face close to his, her head cocked slightly to one side. “Anok, I’ve never known one who deserved it more.” She kissed him hard, and he responded in kind, his tongue thrusting between her willing lips, his arms crushing her against him.

  Still, part of him said he should stop. He pulled away from her lips, the taste of her still tingling in his mouth. “This will not change my plans.”

  She shook her head. “If I can change them, I will, but if we are parting, then it is even more important I give you this gift.”

  I’m not worthy. But he was too weak to say it, too overcome to do what should have been done. He pulled her down next to him on the couch, their arms and legs intertwined. His hand slid up the back of her thigh, under the hem of the shift, only to find nothing under it but soft flesh. She gasped, and it turned into a laugh of delight.

  She began exploring him with her hands, her lips—soft, fluttering from place to place like eager butterflies, leaving delight everywhere they landed. He moaned. “Where did you—?”

  She looked up and laughed. “I am the daughter of the greatest whore in all of Stygia, Anok. I was raised in a brothel. I have been told, seen, and heard things you can scarcely imagine.” She laughed again softly, as she returned to her attentions. “Inexperienced I may be, but I am not ignorant!”

  It was a very long afternoon, which gave way to a very long night.

  14

  ANOK AWOKE TO see a beam of sunlight shining through the high window of his sleeping stall. Sheriti slept nestled under the crook of his arm, curled against his side, her leg hooked over his, her left hand resting on his heart. She snored softly, almost imperceptibly, like the purring of a cat, and he was careful not to wake her. He saw her lips curled up in a soft smile of contentment, and it made his heart swell to see it.

  He felt as drained and exhausted as when he’d awakened from his trial in the desert, only this time pleasantly so. Yet even this pleasure was tainted by bitter thoughts of what he must do next. Why did I let this happen? It just makes things more difficult. Sweet Sheriti, you deserve better than this. You deserve better than I.

  Yet some things, once done, could not be undone, and it was more true here than most. It was indeed a fine gift he’d been given, the best gift any man had possibly ever received. But it was not one he could keep, for more than a night anyhow.

  There was a knocking at the door, and Sheriti’s eyes shot open.

  Teferi!

  Anok looked into Sheriti’s eyes, and she looked back at him. Both shared the same, unspoken, question. The situation was awkward to say the least.

  Anok slid from his bed, finding a kilt to slip on. “I’ll let him in,” he whispered. “You dress.”

  He went to the door, paused, and tried to put on a sleepy face despite the pounding of his heart and the adrenaline that pumped through his veins.

  He opened the door. “Teferi, come on in.” He stepped back to let Teferi through the door, and as he did, he looked down to notice Sheriti’s shift lying in a silken heap on the floor under the couch.

  Teferi didn’t appear to notice the discarded garment as he flopped down on the couch. “No word again from Dejal.”

  Anok just stood there, trying to decide how he could rescue Sheriti’s clothing from just behind Teferi’s feet and get them to her. Then he heard the curtain on his sleeping stall rustle. He turned just as Teferi looked up at the sound.

  “Sheriti,” said Teferi, “I didn’t know you were here—” Then he noticed how she was dressed.

  She wore one of Anok’s kilts, cinched tight about her small waist, and one of his headcloths tied over her breasts like a halter.

  Teferi blinked in surprise, looked at her, then at Anok, then back at her again. He licked his lips uncertainly. “Well,” he finally said.

  Anok said nothing.

  Sheriti looked at Anok. “Our brother is no fool, Anok.”

  “No,” said Anok, “he isn’t.”

  Teferi managed an embarrassed grin. “Well, things keep changing around here.”

  Sheriti slipped in next to Anok, hooking her arm in his. “I hope you aren’t offended, Teferi.”

  He looked up uncomfortably. “No, it isn’t my business what you two do.” He looked away for a moment, then looked back directly at Anok. “Does this change—”

  Anok shook his head. “We go ahead as planned.” He saw Sheriti looking at him. She looked disappointed, but said nothing. Better she should know now, before she builds false hopes. “Go back and look for the sign from Dejal today. Failing that, I will have to consider going to him myself.”

  Sheriti stepped quietly past him, and as she walked away, he found himself missing her already. She casually bent over and plucked the fallen shift from under Teferi’s feet, crumpled it into an unrecognizable wad, and tossed it into Anok’s sleeping area.

  Teferi watched, but said nothing. “I should go then,” he said, rising. “I’ll return later this afternoon, one way or the other.” He glanced between the two lovers again. “I’ll leave you to be alone.”

  “Please,” said Sheriti, “you don’t have to rush off, Teferi.”

  He shrugged. “I hadn’t planned to stay long anyway. Anok is a prisoner here, not I, and I have business of my own to attend to.” He slipped through the door. “I’ll see you both later.”

  The door closed, and they were again alone.

  Anok glanced at Sheriti, the sight of her wearing his cast-off clothing somehow as erotic as the most exotic silks. He tried to ignore the feelings that
were stirring. “I’m sorry, Sheriti. I told you this would change nothing.”

  She hung her head. “It changes everything, Anok.”

  He nodded. “It does, as much as we would deny it.” He stepped up and held her by the shoulders. “Sheriti—Lovely Sheriti. You’ve honored me more than I can say. But you must find another, one worthy of your heart. My own heart was poisoned long ago, by loss and hate that I can never forget, no matter how I try. You have to understand.”

  “I understand that you feel cheated by the loss of your father. But at least you knew him, Anok. You remember him—his voice, his teachings, his love. You don’t know how lucky you are to have even that much, Anok.” She shook her head slowly, sadly. “I will never know my father, Anok. He was just some Mshai—a traveler, what the whores call customers when no outsider is listening. Here, and then gone forever. I don’t know if my mother even knows his name.” She put her hand to her lips as though stifling her emotion. “You have so much more than I ever will, Anok. Why can’t that be enough?”

  He looked at her, every step of distance between them seeming like a league, making him ache with loneliness. “Sometimes, to have a thing once and never to have it again, is even worse than never having it at all. I wish things could be different, but they can’t.”

  “I think—” She seemed to choke on her words. “I think I hear my mother calling. I have to go.” She ran for the stairs and up the steps. He heard the trapdoor squeak open and fall heavily shut.

  I have already lost more than most men could ever dream of having. How much more must I lose?

  ANOK WAS SULKING at his table, and the sun was low enough to cast horizontal shafts of light across the room by the time Teferi next arrived at the door.

  He’d set out some food earlier, but it sat in the middle of the table, untouched. All he could think about was Sheriti, and the shambles that his once simple (and he saw now only in retrospect, surprisingly happy) life had become.

  He sought someone to blame for his pain and loss. Someone he could crush. Someone he could—kill. But no matter how many times he pawed through the facts, there was no simple answer.

  Wosret? The gang lord was no different than a half dozen others in the city, or a thousand more who had ruled over the slums back into antiquity. In fact he was better than most, which is why Anok had often worked for him. Wosret was the fever, not the disease.

  The men who killed his father? Truly, they were deserving of his wrath, if he could find them, if they were even still alive. But they were only the fingertips of a far greater evil.

  It always came back to the Cult of Set itself. It, as well as the other cults that it had bested or incorporated into itself, was the root of all that was evil and wrong in Stygia. From the poverty, crime, and oppression of the slums, to the river of sacrificial blood that ran each Festival, to the festering rot of sorcery that plagued not only Stygia but also its neighbors to the south.

  Without it, he was convinced, Stygia would be a green and peaceful land as legend said it had been when the world was young. Perhaps it could have been the seat of a great empire that united the known world. Instead it had become only a sandblasted, sun-bleached corpse of its former self, slowly turning to dust while the maggots within fought over every remaining scrap of meat. Even its once-great empire of evil had crumbled, nothing but a distant memory.

  It was hopeless. How could one man bring down such an ancient and powerful evil? He couldn’t. Perhaps he could kill the men responsible for murdering his father. Perhaps he could do some small, temporary damage to the cult. But in the end, it seemed hopeless. Even if Parath was real, and not a fevered dream, what help could dry bones in the desert be? He was alone on a short road, with no likely end save death.

  So why did he leap to his feet when Teferi knocked at the door? Why was he so eager to hear of any word from Dejal? Why was he burning with curiosity about the inner workings of the cult, the secrets of its temples and shrines? Was some part of him eager to join the cult?

  He pulled open the door, forgetting even to hide himself from passersby.

  Teferi was slightly surprised by his sudden appearance. Then he seemed to read the question on Anok’s face. “No,” he said as he came in, “there is no word from Dejal.” He brushed past Anok and sat himself on one of the benches next to the table. He spied the food sitting on the table, picked up a dried sardine, and bit the head off. He seemed to reconsider after taking the bite, chewed quickly, and swallowed. He tossed the rest of the little fish onto the table.

  “I’m going to the temple, then,” said Anok. “I’m going tonight.”

  Teferi looked up in surprise. “You can’t be serious. It isn’t some merchant’s house that you can simply scale the walls and sneak inside. There will be guards, traps, and who-knows-what other horrors deeper inside. If it can be done at all, it will require preparation and planning.”

  “I don’t intend to look for Dejal yet. If this map of the temple is correct, the acolytes’ quarters are deep in the catacombs under the hall of Set, behind the altar. And I don’t know if the map is even slightly correct. This will be a scouting trip, to see if I can penetrate the inner temple and determine if the map is at all trustworthy. I’ll stay close to the outside and compare the map to what I see. I can also try to find—or make—an easier way into the building for my later return.”

  Teferi sighed. “That seems wise. I will come with you, and keep watch from outside.”

  Anok shook his head. “That won’t do. No one without Stygian blood is allowed on the streets of the inner city after sunset. Even my mixed heritage may raise questions.”

  “Then I will go with you as far as the temple, then leave before sunset and wait for you outside the gates to the inner city. I will not let you face this completely alone.”

  Anok nodded. “You’re a good friend, Teferi.”

  He looked past Anok. “Not good enough, perhaps. I should be more forgiving, more understanding. Perhaps.”

  “This is about Sheriti?”

  “What else? How could you do it, Anok?”

  “If you must know, it wasn’t my idea.”

  “But you didn’t resist very much, did you?”

  He clinched his jaw. “Not enough, I admit. I am only a man.”

  “A weak excuse.”

  “Perhaps. She was—persuasive.”

  Teferi almost smiled. “Perhaps I expect too much of you.” The smile vanished, and he shook his head as though to jog loose some troubling thought. “My feelings on this aren’t clear, Anok. Part of me is happy that the two of you have seen between you what I have long known was there. Part of me is jealous, for I confess I have loved Sheriti from afar as long as I can remember. But I have long known her heart was never to be mine, and I have promised my ancestors I would find a Kushite bride, to keep our broken line strong. But mostly I am angry that you have taken her heart, only to betray it, starting this night.”

  “I never denied my intentions, Teferi. I warned her my path was set. I have lied to her about things, but never this.”

  “That makes it no less wrong.”

  His shoulders sagged slightly, and he sighed. “That is so, old friend. And that is all the more reason that I must do this thing quickly. The longer I stay, the harder it will be for her to return to the new life she’s earned for herself. I have her heart, true, but I don’t deserve it. She was meant for better than you or me, and in your deepest heart, you know that, too.”

  Teferi nodded sadly.

  Anok turned his attention to getting ready. He found the bundle of nomad’s clothing that Teferi had earlier brought him as a disguise. The cloth was some strange fabric, lighter and less coarse than the wool worn by most northern peoples, but scratchy to one used to even the poorest of Stygian silks. There were breeks, which again felt strange as he pulled them over his legs, since he was used to the kilts most often worn by the underclasses of Odji.

  Before putting on the loose tunic and wide belt, he sought
out the new scabbards he had purchased at the market and examined them. He’d intended them for stealth, and that was just what he would use them for. He inserted his two blades, then strapped the weapons to his bare back. The leather straps crossed over his chest and fastened with metal hooks. Only then did he put on the loose tunic.

  He reached back over his shoulder to feel the hidden blades. The hilts of the swords projected up slightly, as though he had wings hidden under his clothing, but he still had a thick headcloth and a cloak left in the bundle with which to hide the protrusions. It wouldn’t pass close inspection at the city’s gates, but that’s what bribes were for.

  Once he’d finished dressing in the unfamiliar clothing, he packed a leather shoulder bag. He included a set of his regular clothing he could change into, once he was inside the walls. He also added some other items he might need, flint and steel, a few candles, two coils of rope, and a folding grappling hook he’d won from Rami in a dice game years before (after taking Rami’s infamous fixed dice out of play). The final item was a wooden bobbin wrapped with fine silk thread.

  Finally, almost as an afterthought, he found a scimitar among the Ravens’ trove of captured weapons and strapped it around his middle. “In case we run into trouble with the White Scorpions before we reach the walls. Besides, it will look suspicious if I don’t check any weapons at all before going through the gates.”

  Teferi raised an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose I get to take a hidden sword inside the city walls?”

  Anok grinned and shook his head. “Too risky.”

  Teferi frowned.

  Anok slapped his shoulder. “You did insist on coming, old friend.”

  DURING THE DAY, the various gates leading to the inner city always buzzed with activity and commerce. Just outside each gate was a small marketplace of stalls and street vendors selling foodstuffs, clothing, and other common goods. While the prices were far higher than in the Great Marketplace, in part because of the considerable bribes to the guardians of Set required to operate there, the quality of the goods was higher as well, and prices were still cheaper than at the few shops that operated within the walls themselves.