Heretic of Set

by J. Steven York

  “You teach Teferi to read the old texts.”

  “And perhaps one day you will be able to avail yourself of his skills, though he has far to go. In any case, he is no sorcerer to use those texts himself, and he would no more knowingly pass to you knowledge that would do you harm than I. This is dangerous knowledge I share with you, Anok. Patience! You must absorb it in its own way, in its own time.”

  Yet comprehension was slow in coming, and often his thoughts drifted, thinking about the Parath, or his lost sister, or the secret plans of Ramsa Aál. One day, as Sabé read to him from an ancient tablet, his attention began to wander.

  Sabé stopped his recitation in midsentence. “The texts of power are not for the inattentive and weak-minded! A poorly swung blade can slay its master as easily as its enemies. If you cannot devote yourself fully to the study, you should not study at all.”

  Anok did not handle his criticism well. “Am I paying you, or are you paying me, old man?”

  Anok was sure that if Sabé’s eyes had not been covered, he would have been glaring. “I take Set’s gold because it suits, me, and I have chosen to instruct you for the same reason! I could cease instructing you just as easily. I have no need of your gold. I have secret stores I have not touched since before you were born. I am not your slave, your beast of burden, that you can whip me to do your bidding!”

  Something in the tone of the old man’s voice told him how far he had overstepped himself.

  “Forgive me, Sabé. It is I who am burdened, by the secret of my past and the mysteries of my life. Though the destruction of Set is my means, it is answers I truly seek.”

  Sabé’s frown softened. “There are no answers in destruction. Answers come”—he gestured at the tablets spread across his table—“from scholarship, study, and contemplation. Perhaps you have chosen the wrong road for yourself.”

  Anok shook his head. “That is not my way. I lived for years in the streets of the Odji slum, not as a mouse hiding in the shadows but as one who walked proudly through the middle of the street. If it was easier for trouble to find me, it was also easier for justice to be served. I once heard my father say, and I do not even remember the context, but I have never forgotten. He said, ‘let the wicked come,’ and I do.”

  Sabé leaned back against a marble column and sighed. “And if I am to understand, your father no longer lives. Make of that what you will. I hope, at least, that he died well.”

  Anok licked his lips. Had his father died well? There was no question of his mother, who had taken up arms in defense of her child. Yet even though Anok had watched his father die, the circumstances were less certain.

  For what had his father died? For what had he lived? And what of the muddled legacy he had left for his son, the burden of the Scale of Set, the mystery of a sister he had never known?

  His father had taught him everything, meant everything to him, yet it increasingly seemed he had never known the man at all. Did he truly serve Parath? Ibis? Even Set? Could Anok really be certain of anything?

  Sabé seemed to read his silence. He tilted his head quizzically. “Tell me, young master, do you wish to unburden yourself of these secrets that trouble you so?”

  Anok hesitated a moment. Nothing would be easier. He looked uneasily across the room at Teferi, who sat in the corner, staring intently at a scroll he could not yet read. Lies kept, he reflected bitterly, ferment into poison. And the longer they were kept, the more poisonous they became.

  The one person he could trust, and he could not share his secrets with him, and Sabé, the one person he could share his secrets with, he was not sure he could trust. Still, there might be something to be gained, a way of slipping some secrets and still keeping their nature hidden.

  “My secrets must remain my own for now. Perhaps someday I will share them, but not this day. But of mysteries, I will share one. My father once mentioned something, and I have always wondered what it meant.” He paused, licking his dry lips. “Have you ever heard of the Scales of Set?”

  Sabé frowned slightly. “Of course. They are mentioned many places in the old texts, sometimes not always directly.” He stepped down the table, sliding his fingers along the tops of the arrayed tablets as he did. He stopped on a polished slab of brown granite near the end. His fingers scanned over the text as he read. “And Lord Set had three coins of power, yet they were stolen before they could be fully spent.”

  “The Scales of Set aren’t coins!”

  Sabé turned toward him, and Anok instantly realized that he’d said too much.

  “I don’t think they’re coins,” he added quickly. “From the way my father spoke, that is.” He didn’t convince even himself.

  But Sabé turned his focus back to the tablets. “It’s a metaphor. Many of the old texts are full of such indirect statements, which is part of why so few can understand them even if they can decode their symbols. It is said that the three Scales gave Set dominion over all the snakes of the Earth, and all the cold-blooded things that crawl, and also those that worshiped such beasts. You see, the first beings to live in this world, be they men or not-men, worshiped only those things they could see: animals, mountains, rocks, storms, the sun above, moon, the stars in the night. Only later did gods come and seek to turn those first people to worship them.”

  Anok shook his head. “I thought that gods came before men, that they created men.”

  “As I said, these may not have been true men, in all detail of body and flesh, but believe what you will. I believe they were creatures not unlike us, in spirit if not in form, and they had no gods.”

  “What does this have to do with the Scales of Set?”

  “Some tales said he forged them himself. Some say he found them. Some say he stole them. Some say that he and two other gods each forged one, and Set took all three for himself.”

  Anok considered that. Could the three gods be Set, his ancient enemy Ibis, and Parath?

  Sabé continued. “But there were certainly three and three only, and Set wore them on a chain around his neck. Once he had taken dominion over those who worshiped snakes and serpents, Set became very powerful indeed, and the other gods were jealous, fearing he would use their power to take their worshipers as well. For in their hubris, the gods had commanded their followers to prostrate themselves before them, to crawl like Set’s beast, and in so doing, had made them susceptible to his power. So they stole the Scales and squabbled over them endlessly. No god could ever hold on to more than one for long, and they were scattered to the corners of the world and lost.” He let that hang for a while.

  “But this was long ago, before men. Sometimes in the old the texts I find tales that one or another of the Scales has been found, but I suspect they be just rumors. Besides, individually, their power is limited, and two are no better than one. Only with all three can they offer power worthy of a god.”

  Three Scales to grant the power of a god, and Anok had held two of them in his hand. He wore one of them around his neck this very minute, hidden in its cold-iron disguise. He shivered.

  Anok felt a need to distance himself from the subject. “My father was a trader and traveled through many lands in his youth. Perhaps he heard tales of them somewhere in his travels.”

  Sabé’s mouth puckered, as though he had tasted something sour. “Perhaps,” he said.

  THOUGH ANOK HAD a great deal of freedom from the temple, he was not able to avoid it completely. On the second day of every week he was required to return to collect his stipend, and he was also expected to meet with Kaman Awi if the High Priest was present and available.

  During his next few visits, Anok was able to anticipate times when the priest would be occupied with temple business. But he knew that tactic would eventually fail him, subjecting him to the priest’s scrutiny, and so the trips put him in a foul mood.

  On temple day it had become their custom that either Fallon or Teferi would be waiting to escort him when he awoke in the morning. But this second-day morning the villa wa
s empty except for Anok.

  He found Fallon’s bed unslept in, suggesting that, as often had been the case of late, she’d drunk the night away at some tavern. Teferi was already up and gone.

  He ate a hasty breakfast of fruit and bread before proceeding to the old scholar’s home.

  He let himself in and, hearing voices, moved quietly into the study. There he found Teferi helping Sabé sort though a large stack of tablets. The weight and bulk of the ancient texts made storing and dealing with them a constant chore. Teferi was happy to relieve the old man of this labor in exchange for his lessons.

  As Anok watched unnoticed from just outside the room, Teferi paused to read some word aloud that Anok did not recognize.

  Sabé smiled and nodded, directing him where to place the tablet.

  With a grin, Teferi then read a word from another tablet, and the process repeated.

  Anok wondered if Teferi had forgotten the day, and part of him was furious at the thought. Yet his friend was clearly enjoying himself, and Anok was reluctant to interrupt. His heart twisted with conflicting emotions, Anok quietly withdrew.

  As Anok stepped through the yard and onto the street, the Mark of Set again troubled him. It seemed to whisper to him, bidding him return to Sabé’s house, punish his disobedient friend, and wrest Sabé’s secrets from him by force. He had vague visions of terrible and painful torments that it would visit upon Teferi and Sabé.

  Anok growled at himself, lowered his head, and marched away from the house. Yet even as he walked, the Mark seemed to be trying to pull him back. Each step was an effort, and he felt as though he were walking uphill through soft sand.

  He turned at the corner and headed in the direction of the temple. It would have been simple enough to flag down one of the many carriages for hire that plied the streets, or to pay a street urchin to summon Barid, but he did neither.

  Certainly, it would have been a safer way to travel the streets, but walking was a distraction from his dark thoughts. Waiting for Barid would have been even worse.

  Still, it was not a fine day for walking, either. Across the tilted shallow basin that formed the central city, he could see the southern wall, and above it, dark clouds advanced, bringing moisture from the southwest.

  Kheshatta was a vastly different city than Khemi. The scale of the better buildings was smaller and less oppressive, the styles more diverse. Rich apartments stood only blocks from the homes of the poor.

  In truth, wealth had little meaning here. The only truly distinct class line was between wizards and poisoners, those who had mystical knowledge, and those who did not.

  By that standard, Sabé was a very wealthy man here, but since he chose not to use his power, it was little apparent. Is that my fate? To end up humble and alone with nothing but ancient texts for company? What good is power if it is not exercised? And if it is exercised, do I not deserve all the rewards it can give me? Yet here I am, trudging to my masters to beg for a handful of gold.

  So lost was Anok in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the group of men walking toward him on the street until he slammed into one shoulder first.

  The two rebounded from each other, and Anok was startled to find himself looking into the young face of one of the strange men Barid had identified as Khitans. The man’s face was narrow and angular and clean-shaven, his cheekbones high, his eyes dark, narrow slits that angled softly.

  Anok looked around. The man’s three companions were also Khitan, all older, though still strong and dangerous-looking, if not particularly large in stature. One among them was older even than the rest, his short, black hair and waxed beard peppered with gray. By his carriage and look of calm authority, Anok took him for the leader of the group, yet he held himself back from the others, watching the scene intently.

  The younger of the man’s two companions regarded him with the sort of detached disgust that one might hold for an unpleasant insect discovered in one’s bed. The face of the eldest remained impassive and unreadable. Only the man he’d run into showed something more: an obvious look of anger. “Are you blind, snake-lover, that you cannot make way for the servants of the Jade Spider?”

  Anok stood his ground, but tried to keep his temper even. “I have no quarrel with you. Our meeting was an accident. Let it pass as such.”

  The man glared at him with his narrow, strangely shaped, eyes. “Snake-lover, our quarrel with you and your foul cult is that you breathe at all! Drop to your knees and beg forgiveness, and perhaps we will let you live!”

  Despite his efforts at control Anok quietly seethed. He’d endured too much already this day to humor any strange fool. The men carried only small daggers, not proper weapons. Perhaps it was time that they learned what such weapons looked like.

  He took a step back, and in one swift motion drew his swords from their scabbards on his back. As he held their polished steel before him, the reaction from the aggressor was not what he would have expected.

  The young man laughed. “You draw steel against the servants of the Jade Spider? Your ignorance is appalling. I, Shi Bai-ling, will show you how foolish you are!”

  The man suddenly struck a strange pose, feet apart; knees bent akimbo, arms and hands raised into a curious pose, his hands rigidly flat and open. It looked more like a dance than an attack.

  Yet Barid had said something about their “open-hand sorcery,” and the remembrance of that gave Anok a moment to prepare.

  Abruptly, balls of glowing energy materialized under the Khitan’s palms, and he moved, almost too fast for Anok’s eyes to follow, launching that energy at his swords.

  The blades were ripped from his hands, flying through the air behind him.

  Instinctively his mind flashed on a spell of summoning. He reached out with his power, and before the swords could fall to the ground, he had them.

  He felt them with his mind as they reversed their course and spun back toward him. He plucked them out of the air, letting their hilts slap into the palms of his hands, then returned them to their scabbards as quickly and cleanly as they had been drawn. “It is well I know your name now, Shi Bai-ling. My name is Anok Wati, son of Khemi, and I would not wish to strike down a man unless we had been properly introduced!”

  Then he held up his own hands, ready to match sorcery with sorcery.

  Bai-ling’s smile faded as he realized he faced a more formidable adversary than he anticipated.

  “I say again,” said Anok, “I have no quarrel with you or your cult. Perhaps you should not be so quick to judge a man by his appearance.” Anok noticed that Bai-ling’s companions were standing back, and the eldest of them frowned with obvious disapproval.

  “Then” said Bai-ling, “I’ll judge you not by your appearance but your mettle!” His arm shot forward with blinding speed again.

  Anok’s defense against the attack was total reflex, there being no time to think. He placed his right hand out to deflect the attack, and Bai-ling’s spell of force met one of his own.

  The two energies met in the arm’s length between their outstretched hands with a ringing crash. The force of the blow was so sudden and great, that Anok thought his arm might shatter. He gritted his teeth, pushing back against the attack, but they were deadlocked.

  After several moments of struggle, Anok raised his right hand, tapping just the barest beginnings of the Mark of Set’s power. He gestured with his right hand, adding that power to his spell.

  Bai-ling was thrown backward into his companions’ arms, his spell shattered. He threw off his companions and was preparing to leap back toward Anok, when the eldest man laid a hand on his shoulder. Bai-ling hesitated, and the man leaned forward to whisper something into his ear.

  Bai-ling frowned. He flinched, and seemed to draw his anger back into himself. “It is a lucky day for you, snake-lover! My master Dao-Shuang tells me that Thoth-Amon has returned to his castle on the lake. Though we have no love of your kind, and you have transgressed against us, even we would not make war with such a powerfu
l sorcerer as he. By his shadow, even a gnat such as you can be spared!”

  He stepped back, and three of the men walked around Anok and continued on their way. He turned to watch them go.

  The eldest man, Dao-Shuang, lingered for a moment. “You must forgive my pupil. He is young, and brash. He has skill beyond his years and wisdom beneath them. Though our houses are enemies, I sense no malice in your actions, and it is written that while a man is always bound to his house, he is not always bound by it.” He bowed slightly. “May we meet on better days.” He walked past Anok and continued on his way.

  Anok stood, his heart still pounding from the encounter, his arm still aching. Yet he stood most affected by the words, not the blows.

  Was it true? Was Thoth-Amon even now in Kheshatta? Though his coming was expected, it was not welcome news. Ramsa Aál had promised he would have an audience with the great sorcerer, and he feared it was an audience he might not survive.

  He continued on his way, and as he did, a warm, misty rain began to fall. He took no caution to protect himself from it, and considered again his encounter with the Khitans. Thinking back on it, the young aggressor Bai-ling had shown no signs of being a powerful sorcerer. Though his attack had been potentially devastating, its power has been in skill, stealth, and speed, not raw force.

  Would that he had such skill. Again and again, Sabé had tried to teach him subtle magics, and always he had returned to the great spells of power. For all his knowledge, Sabé knew little of people, and for all his wisdom, he was not a great teacher.

  Those were qualities he had admired in his father, and he had sensed those missing qualities in Dao-Shuang. Part of him wanted to throw off the yoke of Set, run after them, and beg Dao-Shuang to be his teacher.