2.
If Yin’d been gone for a day, maybe even two or three, we wouldn’t’ve worried. We probably wouldn’t even’ve noticed.
But a month?
Even the Master—and he was as calm as a bird on a hot breeze—even he was getting worried.
So he sent me to look for him.
Other than Yin, I was the oldest, so it was my responsibility. But I also wanted to go.
Master Jehu—he’d finally revealed his name to me and Yin, and he’d told us to be careful about revealing our names and letting people name us because names are words-of-power—had been teaching me new words-of-power.
It was time to see how well I’d mastered them.
3.
At dawn I left the compound, with Falcon scouting overhead.
Thanks to the Master I was beginning to learn Falconic (I could understand it, but I could barely speak a squawk of it), so Falcon could tell me if he caught any sign of Yin.
From the ground, I was sniffing for what Master Jehu called heart-smoke.
Angry people, miserable people, terrified people, even joyful people, left it everywhere they went. Only people who barely felt anything went through the world without leaving a trace.
Yin’s trail was strong.
But Yin had been gone a long time, so there was no way for me to know how far he’d gone. That night I slept as a shadow while Falcon kept watch, and then he’d sleep on my shoulder for a while every morning (I rigged up a pad and straps with donkey leather so he wouldn’t rip my shoulder to hell with his talons).
On the second day I found a village. All the houses had been torched. The animals were hacked apart. Burned, too.
So were the people.
It was so quiet I couldn’t even hear the wind.
On the third day, even after all the horrors I’d seen in my young life, I saw something I’ll never forget.
“Who is the Destroyer?” I finally asked myself after I finished puking.
That’s what I found myself saying out loud whenever I felt like crying, but couldn’t. You see enough depravity and you think, that’s it: it can’t get any worse.
And then you see.
Hills.
Of hands.
On the fifth day I found Yin.
It was in an old, old place. Wrecked homes with crumbled bricks. Stone buildings, all were caved in. Must’ve been a hundred or so in total.
But the most amazing thing was that the city wasn’t abandoned. Thousands were living there. Thousands of dogs!
Thank gods they were peaceful, though. I pulled Fang out of my belt to keep ready, and Falcon on my shoulder was spreading out his wings to make himself look even bigger than he was.
But he kept hitting my head with his wings, which let me tell you were strong.
“Cut it out!” I told him. I didn’t know how to say that in Falconic, but he got the point.
Finally I found the centre of town, and the crumbling platform.
In the City of Dogs, the leader of jackals should’ve been king. But he didn’t seem like one. He was just a lonely kid crying by himself while thousands of dogs ignored him.
“Hey, Yin,” I called.
He looked up, shocked. “Hru! How’d you find me?”
“Hey, c’mon,” I smiled. “It’s me.”
He sniffed, looked like he had almost enough energy to consider smiling, then lost it.
“Have you been here the whole time?” I asked. “The Master’s worried about you. You’ve been gone a month, you know.”
He looked out into the distance.
“You got anything to eat around here?”
It took him a while to nod, like he’d forgotten how to understand. “Sure,” he said. “Come on.”
4.
Falcon and Yin’s jackals looked happy, like they’d missed each other. My feathered pal shared shreds of the roasted rat I was eating. The jackals ate the heads and spines—snapped them down in two-three chomps.
“So, seriously, Yin, why didn’t you come back?”
Finally: “I got sick of those little punks challenging me. Talking like, like I didn’t really have a sorceress.”
I nodded. Maybe I took too long.
“See?” He said. “Even you don’t believe me.”
“No, no, I do. Really. Look, c’mon, Yin, those kids are savages. You know that. They don’t believe anything until they see it.”
“Anyway,” he said, turning away from me, “she’s had me tracking things down for her for a couple of years now. I came out here to get her latest list.”
This was all news to me. “And?”
He shook his head. “She, she . . . she wasn’t here. I mean, she taught me some words-of-power so I could always signal her when I was coming here, which is where we always met up. But she never showed.”
He looked like he was going to cry. I’d never seen him like this. I didn’t even know how to comfort him.
Then one of his jackals farted and we both tried to ignore it. But the smell was so awful even Yin started laughing, and then I couldn’t help myself.
We headed back to the Master’s compound, and when it got dark we made camp. I was exhausted. Falcon stayed up to guard me, but Yin and his gang went to look for food.
I woke at the jackals growling and snapping, then leapt up seeing Yin ripping past me straddling a crocodile’s neck.
Yin plunged Fang handle-deep into the croc’s brains, and the monster kept thrashing and thrashing until its tail split a small tree in half.
Then it fell down, dead, with blood and brains leaking out of its skull.
Its dagger-teeth were just a finger away from my face.
“You must’ve been tired,” panted Yin. “You weren’t shadowed? And where’s Falcon?”
I glanced around. Where was Falcon?
I looked down again, saw how Yin had blinded the beast before splitting its head. If he’d come back only a moment later—
I don’t know what he saw in my face, but he looked embarrassed or maybe shocked.
Finally he said, “Just don’t be dying on me, all right?”
5.
When we got back the next night, Master Jehu was thrilled.
We feasted—boar roasted with mangoes, carrots and apples, and crisp bread, which soaked up the fat just beautifully. I mean, just the bread and fat alone would’ve been amazing, but everything together? Even the jackals were part of the party, gnawing on boar bones. So everyone was happy.
I was angry.
Why’d Falcon left me defenseless like that? I mean, yeah, I was probably shadowed when he left, but still. He and I argued in Falconic for quite some time, which the little kids thought was hilarious.
Finally Falcon, maybe irritated at the laughter, went to perch inside the sleep area. Fine. Be like that, I squawked.
Over dinner, Yin and I told the kids about our adventure, but we left out the worst stuff. Yin did a pretty good job on the crocodile story, though.
The kids’d been working hard while we’d been away, so they spent the night dancing and singing. Master Jehu said he’d use just enough words to keep the compound silent from the outside.
I hadn’t even known he could do that. It must’ve been taxing, because he looked strained the whole night. But he must’ve felt everyone really needed the celebration.
When the kids finally went to sleep, he looked doubly relieved, and I could finally hear crickets and cicadas again from beyond the wall.
The Master stopped Yin and me from going to bed, even though we were both exhausted.
“I wanted to speak with you boys about something important,” he said.
“Yes, Master?” said Yin.
“It’s time you both learned about the Destroyer.”
That had us both.
6.
“Until thirteen years ago,” he said, fire flickering gold in his black eyes, “the entire Blackland south of us was ruled by the wise and compassionate Lord Usir.
“He w
as from far, far south, further up the River Eternal than I’ve ever been. Here. This is a picture of him.”
He handed us the incense burner he sometimes used when he prayed to the gods (to set the mood, Yin told me). Lord Usir was in profile, sitting on a throne, with a tall crown shaped like a gourd. He was holding a flail, the kind farmers used on grain.
He took it back from us, burned some incense in it that smelled like honey-smoke, and continued.
“Actually, he’d been away in that thirteenth year, bringing his Instructions to peoples in the outside, even across the seas, to spread knowledge to create prosperity, justice and peace. He taught that it’s hard to have one if you don’t have the others.
“While he was away, his wife, Lady Aset, ruled, and his brother, General Set, was her second-in-command. Except . . . Set was Lord Usir’s brother. He resented being number three. In fact, he even resented being number two. Resentment . . . well, boys, you hold that long enough, it could break anyone. Even enough to wound the gods.
“So when Lord Usir returned from his mission, General Set set a trap for him. His own brother.
“The second night after Lord Usir returned, the General’s job was to set up the feast to honour the Lord’s labours for universal peace. There were delegations from all the towns up and down the River . . . presenting gifts, seeking blessings, performing music and acrobatics, everything.
“Naturally, Set kept the greatest gift for last, his own—a chest of perfect sleep, he called it. It was decorated in reliefs of pyrite and made of sweet-smelling cedarwood all the way from Rebarna across the Great Green Sea.”
I took a breath from the incense like I could smell the chest of perfect sleep myself.
“So Set asked his brother to try the chest out, and his brother obliged him.
“It was the last mistake he ever made.”
7.
“The chest was cursed,” said the Master.
“Once Lord Usir laid down in it, he couldn’t get out. Set’s men slammed a lid on it, then brought out pots of molten pyrite and sealed him in it, and took out daggers and turned them on everyone there.
“It was chaos—guests and delegations running, dogs biting and running and howling, food tables getting knocked over, Set’s men stabbing everyone until the sand was red.”
The fire was dying, and the darkness was creeping in around us.
“Of course Lady Aset fought back with all her strength,” said Master Jehu. “No one in the Blackland could wield double short-swords with more grace and speed. She dropped four of Set’s soldiers who were hauling away the chest. Took them at the knees before they even knew what was happening.
“But the chest was sealed, and before she could pry it open with her swords, dozens of Set’s men rushed her.
“She killed more of them, but it was no use, there were too many of them, so she had to flee and hide while her palace turned into orange fire and its smoke bled over the stars.”
He looked up as if he could smell that smoke. But above, the stars were visible, singing silently to the moon.
“Set’s men spent three days and nights seeking her with murderous knives and fingers cruel,” he continued. “But they couldn’t find her. They had to return empty-handed to collect Set’s rage. He executed the platoon leaders for failing him.
“But Lady Aset couldn’t track where the soldiers had taken her husband. She figured they’d gone north to the Savage Lands. She didn’t know if they’d taken Lord Usir out of the chest as prisoner, of if they’d killed him.
“But one day she found one of his hands. It still had a ring on it she’d forged for him herself.
“And a week later she found one of his feet.”
He shook his head, swallowed, chewed his lip.
“So she knew that her husband was dead,” he said finally. “But back then she was very devoted to the gods, and she prayed and begged them to help her find all the dismembered pieces of her husband and put them back together . . . so that with their power, she could resurrect him, and together they’d overthrow the Destroyer and his forces and once again rule the Blackland in justice and in peace.”
Yin and I looked at each other. We’d never heard of anything like this before. Making deals with gods? Bringing people back to life? Was this woman crazy?
Master Jehu leaned forward, looking at me sadly. It was tough to see his face because the fire had gone down to nothing but embers, and the moon was right behind his head like it was hiding there.
“My son,” said the Master, “when you were a boy, before the night-raiders came for you, what did your mother’s warriors call her?”
My heart stabbed me. I was afraid of where this was going.
“I, uh . . . I think it was . . . ‘Inetch.’”
“It’s an old, old word. Avenger. You were so young, you probably never even wondered why. That’s her war-name. She’s the Lady Aset. Lord Usir was your father.”
He turned to Yin.
“And you, my son . . . General Set is your father.”
The Book of Now
1.
Rap, blinking. Blinking crusty dry eyes into the daylight. Hearing them crunch.
Clock claimed 7:47 AM. Had to full-shoulder shove his thoughts to budge through the sludge between his ears.
Get. Out.
Of bed.
Closed his eyes, looking backwards in the darkness.
No dreams last night. Again.
8:03 AM.
Pushed back the covers. Trudged to the can. But his mother was in the shower, so he slogged to their patch-job PC in the living room.
An itch: click on the nest icon for the rooftop webcam, to check on the falcon chicks. But he’d deleted that icon . . . .
Hadn’t seen them in four weeks. Must be getting big. Maybe even flying?
He’d never know.
Brought up iTunes. Hit Random. Checked his Facebook. Tried to decide . . . already unFriended all the Street Falcons except JC.
Decided: finally deleted all of JC’s messages.
UnFriended him, too.
Took him a minute to realise iTunes had conjured up Leon Thomas to sing—and actually yodel—his song “Echoes”:
There is a place
Where love is king
It’s where echoes shine
And reflections ring . . . .
Sure there was.
Still, the man could sing. Double-clicked up Limewire, searched LEON THOMAS, found something called “Song for My Father” held by exactly one user uploading at about one bit per day. Clicked it. It’d be a while.
Had to get up—he was knocking his knees together to confuse his bladder off its DefCon alert. Searched for a Public Enemy/ULLA-dub-ULLAH mash-up he’d heard about. Five users. Click. Five other PE mash-ups. Click-click-click-click-click.
Clicked forward on iTunes and heard that Senegalese passion-ballad “Dée Moo Wóor,” the one with superstar Youssou N’Dour singing back-up. Just didn’t feel like an 8 AM song.
Turned off the music, but that song kept ringing like kora strings in a bottomless crystal cavern . . . .
His mother emerged from the bathroom, body in a threadbare purple bathrobe and head towelled up white. Steam pouring out behind her like a cloud, and for just one second, Rap’s brain rebuilt her into a butterfly woman bursting from a chrysalis.
“Tomorrow’s the big day, huh?” she said.
He frowned, looked back at the screen.
“Raphael, I askid you a question.”
“’Sno big deal.”
“Firrust day of grade twelve is a big deal,” she said, stepping towards him. “It’s a chance at a farresh start.”
Computer clock: flicked to 8:15. Hovered his cursor over it. Monday, September 5.
“Same teachers. Same school. Same kids. Same sack of shirts.”
“It’s up to you! My godt, you wannit things to turn out the same as last year? And the year before that? And—”
“Mum, how come you never t
alk to me about my father?”
His mother, hands frozen half-way from yanking down her head-towel.
Then she finished yanking. Two clumps of hair stood up on either side of her forehead, like a cow’s horns.
“Where’s this coming from? And don’t change the subject—”
Phone rang. His mother grabbed it, eyes still on him. No point in telling her, anyway: 8:15, September 5, five users on his search, five other mash-ups: Father-brother-son.
His mother caught the number on the phone, her eyes ping-ponging while she towelled her hair with her free hand.
Rap clicked back to iTunes and went headphones to overwrite her telephone conversation, but even NWA wasn’t loud enough to annihilate that laugh, that AutoTuned joy.
Finally saw her covering the phone with one hand. De-headphoned half-way.
“I saidt, have you gotten your school supplies yet?”
Shrugged.
“That’s no, then.” She went to her purse, pulled out five fives, handed them to him. “And no comics.”
After she was out to her latest contract with Catholic Social Services or the Mennonite Centre for Newcomers or Edmonton Immigrant Services Association or whatever she was doing, Rap did something he hadn’t done since his second Christmas out of the refugee camp and in E-Town.
Back in the day, kids at Sifton Elementary’d told him that at Christmas time, parents in Canada hid presents in closets or under their beds before wrapping them. He’d searched but hadn’t found anything because there’d been nothing to find.
But on the morning of September 5, he was after something way more valuable than a PSP or every season of The Boondocks on DVD.
Ear on high gain just in case his mum came back for something. Quick scan underneath her bed and in her chests of drawers yielded a negative. Went straight to her closet and the dozens of boxes stacked there.
Fifty-five minutes of unstacking, sifting and searching, and there it was.
The Alchemists of Kush Page 15
