Heretic of Set

by J. Steven York

  By the time the ocean winds cross the border into Stygia, they have already given up most of their precious water, and were it not for an accident of nature, would do little to change its parched land.

  But the city of Kheshatta is built in a basin, surrounded on the north and west by low mountains, which catch those winds from the distant ocean and wring from them every last drop of their remaining rain.

  The rain gives life to the surrounding mountainsides, where the poisoners grow their special plants and lotus flowers, and great wizards build their castles, looming over the city. The water runs down to nourish Kheshatta, and to form Lake Nafrini, which bounds the east side of the city.

  The basin is open to the south, which some call “the Mouth of the Winds.” But while this opening is Kheshatta’s blessing, it is also its curse. For centuries, raiders from Kush crossed into Stygia and sacked and looted the city, until finally a great wall was built, beginning in the mountains on the west and extending well into the waters of the lake on the west.

  At last protected from peril, blessed with water amid the desert, located at the junction of many caravan roads, Kheshatta could have become a peaceful center of farming, trade, and culture.

  Instead, the sorcerers came . . .

  THE GATEWAY BETWEEN Kheshatta and the desert was a winding, sandy-bottomed canyon that had likely been the bed of some ancient river. At regular intervals along the high walls of the canyon, small, defensive towers stood, ready to rain down arrows upon raiders or bandits and to light signal fires to put the city’s defenses on alert.

  In this narrow passage, Anok could almost imagine himself back on the streets of Khemi, as a constant flow of caravan traffic wound through in both directions, with high stone walls surrounding them instead of buildings.

  But the illusion did not last long, as the walls slanted away, and the valley opened up, increasingly covered with low brush and other plant growth. Finally, they rounded a last bend and got their first, though limited, view of the city.

  Only a slice of it could be seen trough a gap in the mountains, but it was enough to pique Anok’s interest. In some ways, what he could see resembled the packed sprawl of Odji, but in general the buildings were taller, rarely less than two floors, and often four or five in the center of the city. There were also many grand buildings, temples, and towers, but unlike Khemi, where they were mostly concentrated in the walled Inner City, these were widely dispersed among smaller and lower buildings.

  In the distance, he could see the wall defending the city’s southern edge, an undulating affair that followed the contours of the land, broken occasionally by wide, squat towers that seemed to be fortresses in themselves, and broad enough so that war chariots could ride along its upper roadway.

  But the most striking feature for the weary desert traveler was the lake that lay beyond the city, a broad expanse of shimmering silver reflecting the morning sun. The surface was dotted with small fishing boats and cargo vessels. The lake’s boundaries could not be clearly seen from where they were, and it was easy to imagine it wandering away forever, curled between hills and mountain peaks. The sight of it filled him with longing. He wanted to run to it.

  Havilah looked at him and grinned. He had doubtless seen that same expression on countless travelers’ faces in his lifetime. “You think of swimming, perhaps? I would temper that thought if I were you. There are freshwater crocodiles, and catfish big enough to swallow a man whole.” As they rode on, more of the lake came into view, including a tall, rocky spire of an island connected to the land by a narrow causeway. At the island’s highest point, a tall, shimmering castle, seemingly made out of black glass, raised its sinister spires. “That,” he said, “is the palace of Thoth-Amon. I do not know if he is there now or not. The Lord of the Black Ring is mysterious in his comings and goings, and for myself, I do not care to know.”

  “If he’s not there,” said Anok, dryly, “he soon will be.” Perhaps sensing something in the tone of Anok’s voice, Havilah glanced at him curiously. “You do not think well of your cult’s master?”

  Anok said nothing. He suspected the old caravan leader understood more about his feelings for the cult than either of them was willing to discuss.

  Before them, the valley widened out into an expanse of trees and dry grassland, bounded by fences, where camels, mules, and a few horses grazed. In the center of it all, a cluster of houses, barns, and large storage sheds bustled with activity, both animal and human.

  “The camel station,” explained Havilah. “This is where our journey ends. It is but a short distance to the city’s edge, but as you can see, your journey may yet be some distance depending on your final destination. The Temple of Set is in the eastern part of the city, near the end of the causeway to Thoth-Amon’s palace. Here you can arrange passage for yourself and your belongings into the city.”

  “It is early in the day,” said Anok. “Perhaps we should walk and get to know the city.”

  Havilah shook his head. “This is not Khemi, where Set’s power dominates all, and one who wears his robes is safe on any street. Set has enemies here, and there are places where one such as you should not go. Better to hire a cart and driver who knows the streets and can guide you safely through them.”

  Anok was surprised, but simply nodded. He had lived all his life under the shadow of the Great Temple of Set. To know that Set’s hold could be so weak, especially within the borders of Stygia, was almost invigorating. The cult was powerful, but it was not all-powerful. Perhaps there was some small hope for his quest.

  Havilah studied his expression, then laughed. “I sometimes forget! City dwellers think they know everything! That another city could be so different from their own—unless they have traveled, as we have, how could they know?” His expression turned more sympathetic. “I will find you a driver. Someone knowledgeable and trustworthy—as trustworthy as city men come, anyway!”

  WHEN THEY ARRIVED at the camel station, workers appeared to unload and unsaddle the camels quickly and efficiently. Their belongings and cargo were taken to a holding area in one of the sheds, and the camels were led away to graze and water.

  With just as little ceremony, a healer appeared to treat Moahavilah’s wound.

  Seeing his surprise, Havilah explained, “Despite the army patrols, there are many dangers along the caravan roads. It is not unusual for new arrivals to need the services of a healer.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you don’t need to be looked at? You were much bloodied in the battle, and Fallon would hardly let anyone near you.”

  This last report surprised Anok.

  Well, at least she only fears me when I’m awake.

  Anok shook his head. “I heal quickly,” he said, avoiding any further explanation. “So it’s common for the wounded to arrive with the caravans? It’s interesting that you didn’t tell us this before we left. Or can we blame that on Moahavilah?”

  Havilah grinned slyly. “In that, he has learned the lessons of his father well. Only a fool would think that travel is without peril—but if the fool has money, what am I to do?”

  “Perhaps if we travel together again, I will not be such a fool.”

  Havilah reached out and clasped his shoulder. “May it be that we do. Consider well my counsel as you navigate this city.” He pointed to the main building of the station. Around on the far side a line of wagons, carriages, and chariots waited. “Look for a red-painted wagon driven by a man named Barid. He will treat you fairly and guide you well. Farewell, and may Jani watch over you.”

  Anok grinned slightly. “I won’t count on it.”

  As he walked to find the others, he considered the irony. Constantly befriended by gods he did not know or believe in and pledged to destroy the one he knew all too well.

  He joined Teferi and Fallon, who were standing near the shed where their belongings had been stored. Teferi frowned at the shed. “They say our things are safe here, but I do not trust them.”

  “Well,” said Anok, “w
e don’t have to trust them much longer. I’m going right now to secure us a wagon into the city. I’ll be back.”

  He turned and started to leave when Fallon reached out and touched his arm. He turned back. Her expression was sheepish. “There is a matter I would discuss with you.” She looked away, as though her pride were wounded. “I need to borrow a bit of silver from you.”

  He found himself laughing. “Borrow? A few days ago, you were bragging how you had spent all your money. Why do you need money?”

  “I wish to secure boarding for my camel.”

  “You’re keeping the white camel? I was about to suggest that you sell it. It’s apparently quite valuable, and what use do you have of it now that we’re here?”

  “I’ve grown . . . fond of the beast. We’ve known battle together. Am I to sell Fenola to some stranger who might work her to death or cut her up for skins?”

  Anok couldn’t help but grin. “You named the camel?”

  She glared at him. “Please, do not make this any more difficult than it already is. Cimmerians are not in the habit of borrowing. We take what we want.”

  “Well,” he said with mock seriousness, “we can’t take that chance, can we? I’ll give you an advance against the services of your sword, then.” He reached into his bag and extracted five pieces of silver. He placed it in her palm, and as their skins touched, found he rather liked the idea of her being beholden to him. “Will this be enough?”

  She looked at the coin. “For now.”

  “If you spend everything I pay you to feed this . . . creature, what will be left for yourself?”

  She grinned slightly. “I am told that the calves of a white camel are highly prized for their strength and size, and if one of them should be white as well, even more fortune will smile on me. I expect I can make a profit over time.”

  He laughed. “You always find a way to turn things to your advantage, Fallon. Very well. Now let me get us a ride.” He turned slightly, then hesitated, looking down at his nomad’s robes. He scowled. “There’s something I must do first, though.”

  THE CARRIAGE WAS small and solid, yet ornately painted, predominately in red, as Havilah had described it, but covered with lines and scrollwork in white, gold, and green. Anok had heard that the mixing of paints and pigments was yet another trade associated with poisoners, and this seemed to confirm it. The little vehicle had four spoked wheels, a low center floor with two inward-facing benches, and a box on the rear for cargo.

  Barid was a small man, bald, his skin tan and smooth, though his beard was streaked with gray. He was tending the two mules that pulled his cart and looked up as Anok approached. He smiled, though there was an air of apprehension in it. “Good sir of Set, may I be of service?”

  “My friends and I need passage into town and a guide as we seek lodging and come to know this place. Havilah sends his greetings.”

  The little man’s dark eyes widened.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  Barid seemed hesitant to speak, and his expression was apologetic as he finally explained, “With pardons, sir, but while Havilah does business with everyone, as he must, he is no great lover of the Cult of Set.”

  “Well,” said Anok, his hand unconsciously twisting the silver ring of Jani, “he seems to like me. Or have I been misinformed about the quality of your services?”

  Barid glanced at the ring, then seemed to reassess Anok. “I see that you are an unusual man, for a follower of Set. My friend Havilah knows that I have an interest in unusual people and their stories. It seems he has sent you to me as a favor. I would be honored to serve you.” He looked around Anok. “Where are these friends you speak of?”

  “Back by the sheds with our belongings.”

  Barid gestured toward the carriage. “Then get in, please, and we will fetch them.”

  Barid drove the chariot back to the sheds with the confidence of one who had done it many times before. He greeted many of the workers and camel drivers with a smile and wave and, following Anok’s instructions, quickly found Teferi and Fallon. He found a worker to load their belongings into the back.

  Teferi watched closely, to be sure everything was put aboard and nothing was pilfered in the process, then settled into his seat as they got under way. “This is a strange city,” he explained. “I think it wise to be suspicious.” He glanced toward Barid.

  “Havilah vouches for him, and I trust Havilah.” He glanced at Fallon. “Is your camel taken care of?”

  She frowned, and looked uncomfortable. “Yes, it is attended to.”

  Anok smiled but said nothing more. The barbarian heart is not so hard as we have been told.

  The road into town was wide, well kept, and paved with crushed stone. As they bounced along, Barid kept up a constant patter, explaining the general lay of the place, the wall, the lake, the hills with their castles, farms, and great estates, and the palace of Thoth-Amon. “You have never been to Kheshatta before?”

  Anok shook his head. “I’ve lived all my life in Khemi and rarely ventured beyond its edge.”

  “Then there is something you must understand, especially with those robes you wear. Khemi is the center of Set’s power in Stygia, and Kheshatta is the ragged edge. There are many factions here, many wizards, and many gods. Your robe will not protect you in Kheshatta. In fact, in the wrong neighborhood, it will make you a target for scorn, or worse.”

  “I thought Thoth-Amon held sway here.”

  Barid laughed. “That is a simple way of putting it. But yes, when he is here, which he frequently is not, his power is rarely disputed. But what power he enjoys over Kheshatta is granted to Thoth-Amon, the mighty sorcerer, not Thoth-Amon, the leader of your cult. Many things are respected in Kheshatta, wealth, power, and, above all, knowledge. But those fine robes will earn you nothing here that you do not earn yourself.”

  They passed along a street of strangely constructed buildings marked with many red-painted columns holding up tiered, gracefully curved tile roofs. The doorways and windows were marked with strange symbols and hidden behind ornate wooden screens carved of dark wood.

  Anok caught a glimpse of one of the residents who, from the unusual tone of his skin and his narrow, strangely shaped eyes, Anok at first thought some sort of demon. A thin moustache hung from the corners of his mouth like the whiskers of a catfish, adding to his unworldly air, and his long silk robes with bell-shaped sleeves that hid the hands disguised even his human shape.

  Barid laughed. “I see you have never seen a man of Khitan before. They come from the shores of the distant Eastern Ocean seeking magical herbs and objects of power. Though their appearance is strange to our eyes, they are men like any other. Still, you would be well to stay clear of them. They are followers of some nameless spider-god, and practice a deadly form of open-handed sorcery. They care little for Set or his followers.”

  They passed a company of foot soldiers marching toward the wall. Anok watched them pass, impressed with the precision of their march, something he’d rarely seen in the slave armies of Stygia. “Set seems to have many enemies here, yet from what I’ve heard, without the protection of these soldiers, the city is barely livable.”

  “Do you see any red sashes on the officers? These are not Stygian troops. They are a private army, paid for by the poisoners, the great sorcerers, and their ilk.” He chuckled. “Doubtless you saw the many garrisons and troops along the caravan road. They protect the caravan trade, yes, but they also serve to ensure that the army of Kheshatta remains in Kheshatta!”

  Anok nodded. “Then where could one such as I find lodging? I had hoped to rent a villa or house.”

  Barid glanced back. “You came to study, yes? The libraries and halls of antiquity are everywhere in Kheshatta, but there is a district near Set’s temple where some of the finest are to be found. I know a man who owns several houses there. Perhaps one is vacant.”

  Anok opened his purse, took out a handful of coins, and handed the rest to Teferi. “Can you and F
allon see to securing us a place to stay? If this isn’t enough, I’m to receive a stipend from the temple.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” said Barid. “While Set’s power here may not be absolute”—he grinned—“his credit is still quite good.”

  “Take me to the Temple of Set then. I should announce my arrival and speak with the priests. I know little enough about what they have in store for me here. Then take my friends to see after our housing.”

  “I’d sooner look for a place to drink,” said Fallon. “It’s been a long trek across the desert.”

  Anok smiled slightly. “First one, then the other. But be mindful, this may seem a holiday for you, but it is serious business for me.”

  Her expression became more serious, and she nodded.

  He felt a little bad for that, but he was filled with uncertainty at the moment. As much as Ramsa Aál had seemed a constant threat back in Khemi, he had become used to dealing with the scheming Priest of Acolytes. The only certainty he had here was that things would be very different from his life at the old temple.

  For a time, Anok wondered if they were going the right way. Kheshatta was a jumble, in more ways than one.

  In the slums of Odji, where Anok had lived most of his young life, the people were jumbled, of many races and creeds, but the great majority of them were descended from slaves and had lived in Stygia for a very long time, adapting to Stygian ways of living.

  For the most part, their dress, the construction and decoration of their homes and shops, all had been Stygian in fashion.

  Here, the people all seemed to have just arrived by caravan from every corner of the world, each with their own food, their own style of dress, their own ways of building.

  It was strange and exciting, but unsettling as well. Some deep part of him wished they would all conform, dress as Stygians dressed, and live as Stygians lived.