Akiri: Sands Of Darkness

by Brian D. Anderson

  “I’ll pass that message on,” Dabo told him. “Though I doubt you’ll be seeing him for a while anyway. He’ll be back in Rath by now. We must concentrate on finding a way of getting Mahir out of the city unnoticed. It’s not as if men like us can care for a child. Am I right?”

  Akiri waved the question aside. “Before we go any further, all I want to hear from you is how you intend to get me away from the palace once my task is done.” Killing the Vizier when unarmed would be a simple matter, but to make it through hundreds of armed soldiers…

  Such a feat was beyond even the mighty Akiri.

  “I have a man inside who can get you out,” he replied, shoving himself to his feet. “We can go over the details together in the morning. First, I thought it would ease your mind if you were to see Lord Rashid. He’s done nothing but demand to see you ever since he arrived. He’s quite taken with you. He says you’re the greatest hero in the world.”

  He led Akiri from the room and down a long hallway. Though underground, the complex was quite expansive, with dozens of chambers and corridors. Rashid was playing with a wooden sword in a training room filled with practice weapons and life-sized mannequins. The moment Akiri entered, he ran full tilt to wrap his arms around him.

  “Are we leaving?” he asked.

  “No. Mahir is coming for you.”

  “But you’re staying too?”

  Akiri shook his head. “I have business I must attend to.” He glanced back for a moment and locked eyes with Dabo, who was standing in the doorway. “But I will return once I am done. That I promise.”

  The boy backed away and flashed an angry look at Dabo. “They took Kyra.”

  “Yes, I know. But don’t worry. They will release her when I return.” He looked over to the discarded wooden sword. “None of this need worry you. Show me how you hold a sword.”

  Akiri spent the next few hours teaching Rashid the basics of wielding a blade, the boy quickly impressing him by how well he listened and followed instructions. There was little doubt that, given the proper training, he could one day become a fierce swordsman. As it was, that potential would likely never be fulfilled. Life as a noble, particularly one who would possibly rule the kingdom, would leave little time for such instruction.

  After practice was over, they were provided with a meager meal of porridge and bread. Even before this was finished, Rashid was dozing. Akiri lifted him gently and placed him on a bed in one of the unused rooms. He could feel Kyra constantly throughout, but she was not afraid. Far from it; she was boiling with rage. He sent her thoughts of comfort, but they did little to quell her anger.

  “I’m coming for you,” he said, hoping she would understand.

  Satisfied that Rashid was safe, he requested to be shown the way out. Dabo gave his permission, and he was directed up a long stairway to a metal grate that led to the surface. Once outside, he saw that the outcropping of rock Palazar had taken them to was less than half a mile away. At least he knew where he was.

  Akiri allowed the cool night air to fill his lungs. The sky was awash with stars so numerous that he could not even begin to guess at their number. He had noticed the beauty of the night in this region when his journey first began, as if countless new stars that could only be seen in the east had been born. He enjoyed the tranquility. It stilled his heart from the ravages of the past that had plagued him since fleeing Acharia.

  “You can’t avoid your fate, Akiri.”

  His hand flew to his sword as he spun left. A young sandy-haired man in a tan outfit was standing a few yards away. He was smiling broadly, his hands folded at his belt.

  “Who are you?” Akiri demanded.

  “I think you can guess, Acharian.”

  Akiri’s face contorted. “Demon spirit.” He looked closely. “Hagrik, I believe.”

  The demon bowed. “In the flesh, so to speak. What do you think of my new form?”

  “Come closer and I’ll tell you.” During their last meeting, Hagrik had been in the disguise of a child. Even then, his speed had been amazing.

  “Considering how long it has taken for me to recover from our previous encounter, I think I will stay where I am.”

  “What do you want?”

  Hagrik laughed. “You keep thinking it is I who want something from you. Surely by now you know that is not the case.”

  “And where is your rival, Vazhta?”

  Anger flared. “Wallowing in a pool of his own misery. And when I see him…” He paused to regain his composure. “It doesn’t matter. I doubt he will be visiting you any time soon. He and I have had other encounters since last I saw you. Let us just say that it did not work out in his favor.”

  “So there is only one of you to tell me lies. A small consolation, I suppose.”

  “Always the skeptic,” Hagrik sighed. “But it matters not. In the end, you will dance to the tune that is played.”

  “You are testing my patience,” Akiri warned, his hand drifting to the handle of his dagger.

  Hagrik sniffed. “Impossible human. But since I have no more desire to be in your presence than you do mine, I will get to the point. You must kill Mirza Al’ Mohani.”

  “I intend to.”

  “Yes. But you do not understand what you are facing. Mohani is far more powerful and more dangerous than you think. He seeks to unleash the god Hajazar on the world. This cannot be allowed to happen. Not yet, at least.”

  “So he is a sorcerer,” spat Akiri.

  “No. He is much worse.”

  “If he is not a sorcerer, then what is he?” Akiri asked, when Hagrik did not continue.

  “Something far beyond your understanding. Do not underestimate him or your journey will end abruptly…and horribly.”

  Another demon spirit, thought Akiri. “Can he be killed?”

  “Only the gods are immortal,” Hagrik replied. “Even so, you cannot simply stab him with a sword.”

  “A dagger to the heart worked well enough on Vazhta.”

  Hagrik huffed. “When I stabbed Vazhta, I only destroyed his body. As you can see, they can easily be remade. But Mohani is a spirit of the old gods. Destroying his body only banishes the illusion that he is human. In that form, your sword will be useless.”

  “If he cannot be killed with steel, then how?”

  “The weapon you use must be one forged by the gods.”

  “And where do I find such a weapon?”

  Hagrik shook his head. “I am forbidden to say.”

  Akiri snorted. “Forbidden? By whom?”

  “What does it matter? There are rules, Acharian. Those I cannot break for any reason. You will just have to use your own limited intelligence to figure it out for yourself.”

  “Why should I believe anything you say?”

  “I do not care if you believe me or not. But remember this: If the Rahaji completes the rite and sacrifices the blood of an innocent, Mohani will rain down terror on this land the likes of which you cannot imagine.”

  The screech of hinges as the metal gate was pushed open sounded behind Akiri. He turned to see Dabo exiting the complex.

  “Who are you talking to?” Dabo asked.

  Akiri looked back in Hagrik’s direction, but he was gone. “Not anyone you would wish to meet,” he replied.

  “Are you ill? There is no one here.”

  “I wish that were so.”

  Dabo was holding a bottle of wine. “Care for a drink?”

  Akiri snatched the bottle and drained a good half of the contents in only a few seconds. “What do you know about the Vizier?”

  “Not as much as I would like,” he replied, holding up the severely depleted bottle and frowning. “His family is from somewhere in the north. Kantis, I think. The first I heard of him was soon after Bullo Plebus, the man who betrayed my father, was killed. He was an assistant to the Minister of the Royal Treasury for a time. Then, when my brother became Rahaji, he made him his Vizier.”

  “That’s all?”

  Dabo shrugged. �
��The Vizier leads a very secretive life. What do you need to know, other than that he must die?”

  Akiri related his conversation with Hagrik. He saw the disbelief in Dabo’s expression, but he pressed on anyway. “If the demon was telling the truth, then we need to find another way to kill him,” he concluded.

  “Do you take me for a fool?” scoffed Dabo.

  “If you ignore what I am telling you – yes, I do. I have no reason to deceive you.”

  Dabo met his eyes for several seconds. Eventually, he let out a long sigh. “Very well. Suppose there really is a demon spirit who told you this outrageous tale. What are we supposed to do?”

  “We need to find a weapon that was made by the gods.”

  Dabo threw up his hands. “Is that all?”

  “Otherwise your brother and this entire kingdom will burn.”

  “Why should you care about any of that?”

  “I don’t. Release Kyra and I will show you how little I care. You, your brother, and all of your people can die in flames, and I will be far away from here when it happens.”

  “And what of Lord Rashid? If the Vizier is a demon, as you say, will you abandon the boy?”

  Akiri wanted to reply, but his words stuck in his throat. The truth was, he did care very much about what happened to Rashid. Though he hated to admit it, seeing to his safety was almost as important to him as saving Kyra.

  Dabo’s question was waved aside. “Do you or don’t you know where we can find such a weapon?” he demanded.

  “Perhaps. There is an order of monks devoted to Imheti who guard a place called the Tears of the Sands. It is said they keep a dagger that belonged to the god himself. Whether or not that’s true, I have no idea. But it’s all I can think of.”

  “How far is it?”

  “Two days if we ride hard.”

  “So, you intend to come?”

  “I know the monks. They won’t speak to you if I am not there. And I would prefer that you did not kill them.”

  Akiri couldn’t help but laugh. “Then let us hope they are cooperative. How soon can we leave?”

  “I have matters to discuss with my people first. But we can leave at dawn.”

  Akiri could almost hear Mishna laughing at him as she continued to manipulate the world so that he had no choice but to do her bidding. He swore that, in the end, he would be the one laughing. No more would the world suffer under the yoke of a being who treated the mortal world like nothing more than a game of pashak.

  He tried to sleep, but the encounter with Hagrik had set his blood boiling. In the end, he spent the rest of the night staring into the darkness of his room. There had been a time when he was able to close his eyes and shut the world out completely. As a soldier, things were always clear. Back then he’d trusted his own ability to know right from wrong regardless of the circumstances. A horde of enemy soldiers could be outside his tent and he would still not feel a hint of anxiety. Blood, battle, death, and discipline. Those were the only things that mattered.

  Now, regardless of how hard he tried to escape it, the chaos of the world plagued him at every turn. Nothing he had studied could have prepared him for what life would be like outside the well-ordered world of the Dul’Buhar. All the riches in the land would not change what he was: a soldier, a slayer, and bringer of death. Perhaps that was why the gods needed him. If he were a merchant or tradesman, he’d wager they would not give him a second glance. But that was not a life he could lead. He was born of conflict and had lived a life drenched in the blood of his foes. Where other men would think such a life hell, to him it was bliss.

  He imagined Borlon standing in the practice yard, shaking his head with disapproval. You think too much, boy. Always remember, a dead enemy cannot harm you.

  Akiri chuckled. “Then I suppose there is only one way through this.”

  The door opened, and Dabo poked his head inside. “It’s time,” he said.

  “Yes,” Akiri agreed. “It is.”

  Chapter Eight

  Akiri shifted uncomfortably atop the tall beast Dabo had provided. This was the first time he’d ever ridden a camel. If he had his way, it would also be the last.

  “They may be slow,” Dabo told him. “But there is no better way to cross the desert.”

  Akiri frowned. “Why anyone would want to live in the desert is a mystery to me.”

  “Freedom, my friend. There is no other place in the world where a man can be as free.”

  “Free to bake in the hot sun,” he grumbled. “Free to die of thirst.”

  “You complain too much, outlander,” said Dabo. “The sands are where boys become men. Where your will is tempered to be hard as steel. Here, the world does not suffer the weak.”

  “I have yet to find a place that does,” remarked Akiri.

  Were the man not holding Kyra hostage, Akiri considered that he might find himself liking Dabo. He was clearly a man of conviction and strength. And to pit himself against the might of the Rahaji, with only the thinnest of hopes for victory, took both courage and cunning.

  Travel was easy, albeit much slowed by the limited pace of the camels. However, after a time Akiri found himself growing accustomed to their rolling rhythm. Just as Dabo had said, they were far superior desert animals, capable of surviving as long as fourteen days without a drink even in the harshest extremes, meaning they could easily reach the next oasis.

  On the second day, the sand gave way to rocky, uneven ground. By midday they had descended into a wide canyon, either side of which had unfamiliar symbols carved into the rock every few hundred yards. Akiri thought to ask what they were, but Dabo looked uneasy – as if he were expecting an attack at any moment. None came, though they encountered several bends and outcroppings that would have been perfect spots for bandits to lay an ambush had they a mind to.

  It was early afternoon when they came to a narrow track splitting the bottom of the canyon dead center. Judging from the sand and withered scrub covering its surface, Akiri guessed that travel here was infrequent.

  “How many monks live at the temple?” he asked.

  Dabo shrugged. “I’m not sure. A dozen, perhaps. I’ve only been here once before.” He gave Akiri a sideways look. “They don’t possess any weapons, so there is nothing to fear.”

  “That’s good to know. But there are other ways to fight. A clever trap can be as lethal as the sharpest blade.”

  “They will not try to hurt us. All the same, you must let me speak first. I would rather not anger them.”

  “You fear their god?”

  “Only a fool has no fear of the gods.”

  Akiri sniffed. “The gods are to be despised, not feared.”

  “One can do both.”

  They continued for another mile in silence. Then, just before they reached a sharp curve, Akiri caught the scent of flowers. They dismounted their camels and set off on foot.

  As they rounded the bend, Akiri saw that the canyon ended abruptly. An opening had been carved into the rock, on one side of which was the statue of a woman. She was pouring a pitcher of water into a black basin at her feet. The stream was continuous, yet mysteriously, the basin did not overflow.

  Dabo paused for a moment to bow his head and mutter a prayer to Imheti. Akiri did not do the same.

  Just beyond the entrance lay a vast hall with row upon row of brightly colored flowers growing in long clay planters. From the thirty-foot high ceiling hung several varieties of vines that dangled teasingly just out of reach above their heads. Akiri was impressed. Keeping so vast a collection of plant life thriving indoors and in such a hot, dry climate was no small achievement.

  On moving a short distance further inside, he felt the temperature cool significantly, and was more than a little surprised to see honey bees flitting from bloom to bloom. The aroma was almost overpowering, though far from unpleasant. At the far end was a broad descending stairway flanked by two columns. Akiri paused. An uneasy feeling of being watched came over him. He listened carefully, b
ut could hear nothing other than the buzzing of bees and the dripping of water. These alone were unusual sounds to encounter when in the desert.

  After waving away a bee hovering just above his ear, he continued down the stairway, which led to a long corridor where strange runes were carved into the stone floor. Akiri recognized them as being in the language of the Xilial tribes from the Black Mountains. This gave credence to his long-held idea that the same gods took different names in different parts of the world. Some, like Mishna, were worshiped in all lands. But he had discovered others that had close similarities during his studies of gods from different cultures.

  The expanse of water was visible even before they reached the archway at the end of the corridor. On the other side of this was a massive cavern with crystal formations jutting from the walls and ceiling. Stone braziers burned along the water’s edge, their shimmering lights reflecting off the surface of the water and the crystals so brightly that Akiri felt momentarily dizzy.

  Sitting on the floor to his left were three men clad in blue robes. Though their hoods were pulled over their heads, he could tell that they were watching them closely.

  “I thought you said there were more monks here than this,” he whispered to Dabo. He could see no other way in or out of the cavern, nor had they passed anyone since first entering.

  “There were last time I was here,” Dabo replied.

  “There are still more of us than you see,” said one of the monks. “But they will not reveal themselves until we know your intentions.”

  “Is that you, Brother Jaref?” asked Dabo.

  “Why have you come, Vareem?” he demanded. “You were told never to return.”

  “I was told that I should not return,” he corrected. “You did not forbid me to return.”

  Akiri flashed his companion an angry look. “If you knew you would not be welcome here, why did you insist on coming?”

  “You are not welcome either, slayer,” the monk said.

  “Whether I am or not, I am here,” Akiri responded. “And I will not leave until I have what I came for.”