“You might want to clean it out before baking your bread today.”
The market was already bustling with business, though many looked tired and bleary-eyed from the traditional Festival-night parties. There was little sign of the horrors of the previous night, and all shared in the lie that it had never happened.
Anok knew otherwise.
He stopped at a stand to buy an assortment of dates and dried fish for their breakfast, then led Fallon to the bell tower at the western corner of the market. It had been built by the ancients as part of some great temple. The main part of the building had long ago fallen in on itself, its floor forming the greater part of the market, but the tower still stood.
She followed him up the circular stairway, turn after turn, until they were the height of twenty men above the ground. A small balcony surrounded the tower just below the highest level, and it was here that Anok emerged. From this vantage point they had a sweeping view down across Odji to the waterfront and the mouth of the River Styx with its delta of low islands, and to the Western Ocean beyond.
Fallon stepped onto the balcony, momentarily stunned with the view. Then she gasped in surprise. “I did not believe it could be true.”
Anok leaned both hands against the hip-high stone wall that surrounded the balcony. “Now you know.”
The sewers of the city emptied through a culvert inside the great seawall that jutted out to the north of the harbor, and beyond the end of that wall, a ribbon of scarlet flowed out into the ocean, fanning out and becoming more diffuse as it reached for the horizon.
“Welcome to Stygia,” he said. “May your visit be a pleasant one.”
THEY ATE THEIR breakfast on the tower. As they were finishing, Fallon happened to glance west to the harbor. “Our ship is gone,” she said with little emotion. “We left a skeleton crew aboard. Either they double-crossed the captain and sailed during the night or, more likely, some of my former fellows survived and returned to them with news of our troubles.”
“You almost sound relieved.”
“I’m just as happy I’ll not have to kill any more of them over the matter of these jewels or our lost cargo. With them gone, there will be no false claims against my bounty. If the ship remained, we might have taken it for our own, but I have little use for a ship now and none at all for the crew that remained.”
“I might have had a use for a ship,” Anok said. He thought wistfully of the Ravens’ long-ago talk of gaining a ship and forming a pirate crew. The dream opened for him again painfully, like an old wound ripping apart. It might have been one way the Ravens could have stayed together. Instead, it was, once again, nothing more than a foolish and impossible dream. “Let’s get going,” he said.
They climbed back down the long, winding stairs to the market. He was eager to ensure that the rest of the Ravens were safe. It turned out they were just as eager for news of him.
They had barely left the market, heading west toward the Paradise brothel and the Nest, when he spotted Teferi across the crowded street. He put two fingers to his lips and whistled.
Teferi turned and smiled widely. He bent down for a moment and effortlessly hosted Sheriti up onto the crook of his arm, where she waved furiously, even as Teferi started walking toward them. He dropped Sheriti back to the cobblestones, and, a few moments later, Teferi, Sheriti, and Rami emerged from the throngs crowding the street.
Sheriti leapt upon him with a whoop, throwing her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, and planted a big kiss squarely on his lips. There was an awkward moment as, still clinging to him, she noticed Fallon standing at his side. Sheriti slid down off him, still holding on to his hand, but said nothing.
It was too loud and crowded to talk anyway, so Anok jerked his thumb toward a nearby tavern, and they slipped inside.
The place was clean and orderly, all the furniture upright, a sure sign that it had closed rather than hosted a Festival party the night before. They pulled up benches around a barrel set up as a makeshift table, and Anok ordered thick beers for everyone. The tavern keeper returned quickly with five large mugs. Anok grabbed his and tossed back a gulp. The beer was thick, yeasty, sweetened with mashed dates and honey. As much food as beverage, it was traditionally served in the morning. Anok wiped his upper lip with his fist and noticed that nobody else was drinking.
In particular, Teferi’s suspicious gaze never left Fallon, and his hand never left the hilt of his sword. Rami sat back a ways from the table, seemingly ready to bolt, while Sheriti leaned across the table, her eyes wandering from Anok to Fallon and back again, as though studying a particularly vexing problem.
“This is Fallon, of Cimmeria. She and I fought back-to-back last night, and I vouch for her character. She has forsaken her crew, those that might have survived yesterday.”
Teferi had relaxed somewhat, but he still looked suspiciously at Fallon. “What of the medallion? Do you have it?”
“Dejal has it. We were pursued by acolytes, and he trapped us behind a locked gate until we surrendered the prize to him. Just as well, as it was he who hired us to claim it.”
Teferi raised his eyebrows. “That doesn’t make sense.”
Anok shrugged. “Dejal has finally and truly left us now. He has been seduced by Set and his father’s cult. Who can say what his reasons were. But I suspect it was a way of squandering his father’s money, a petty act of revenge upon him. As for us, in his twisted way he may have been trying to give us a gift. One last trip into danger for the Ravens. Never mind that he manufactured the danger himself.”
“He fired the arrow that killed the captain,” said Rami. “I saw him.”
Anok nodded. “He admitted as much. Idiot.”
“He was,” said Fallon, in a tone that some might use for discussing the weather, “wiser than you think. The captain had planned to take both the medallion and the payment and slit all your throats.”
Teferi rose for his stool, reaching for his sword. “What! You were planning to kill us then?”
Fallon put her hand on her sword casually, but did not draw steel. “Not knowing you all, I wasn’t sure how I felt about his plan. I held back taking blood until I saw the nature of your character. Then, when it seemed you had double-crossed us, Anok would not let his blood be taken. My doubts returned, and it was clear that my crewmates would not prevail in the battle. So I decided to claim the prize and go my own way.”
“You mean,” said Teferi, sarcasm in his voice, “you stole the medallion and ran.”
She did not seem insulted. “If you prefer.”
“Seems sensible to me,” said Rami, holding his mug in two hands, a bit of foam stuck to his upper lip.
Teferi shot the little pickpocket an annoyed glance.
Rami just rolled his eyes and shrugged. Then he seemed to remember something, and his eyes narrowed. “What about the jewels?”
“Dejal returned them to me. In turn, I have given half to Fallon.”
The outrage from the others was immediate.
Anok stood trying to calm them. “She acted in good faith, and it was Dejal who first broke the truce. Later, their cargo was delivered to our employer as planned. She felt she deserved the entire payment, but I convinced her otherwise.”
“Your mind is clouded by this woman,” said Teferi. “She deserves nothing.”
Rami’s expression turned into a leering grin. “You say you fought back-to-back with her. Did you joust front to front as well?”
Sheriti looked at him, seemingly waiting for a denial, but none was forthcoming.
Teferi rolled his eyes and groaned. “I should have known it.”
“So,” said Rami, “barbarian women. Are they good?” Sheriti glared it him. “Shut up, Rami.” Then she looked at Fallon, and her expression changed. It said something, but in some woman’s language that Anok couldn’t grasp.
Was Sheriti jealous? Angry? Disappointed? Simply upset about the jewels? He couldn’t be sure, yet he was puzzled. He was no virgin, and she
knew it. Why should she be upset that he’d been with Fallon? In any case, he had more immediate concerns. “What may or may not have happened between Fallon and me is no concern of yours, and no influence on my decision. I have always been fair, you know this, and I judge her to be a person of honor. She is worthy of our respect, and we must deal fairly with her. It’s always been the way of the Ravens, has it not?”
Teferi and Rami looked at each other.
“It has,” said Teferi.
“To my frequent regret,” said Rami.
Sheriti said nothing for a while. Then finally, “Give her the gems. She’s earned her share.”
Fallon took a swig from her cup, then put it down solidly on the table. “Indeed I have,” she said, without irony. Her eyes scanned the four of them. “And know this, I am fair with you as well. I could have taken what I wanted last night, all the gems and more, but I did not. Better I should settle for less. I’ll only squander the gems on soft beds, fine food, and drink, and a barbarian can only stand so much of such fineries. Better I should pay generously”—and here, she grinned slightly at Anok—“for services rendered, so that if I one day should need friends or allies in this foul land, the Ravens might look upon me with favor.”
She raised the cup high, gulped the last of the beer, then slammed it down on the table. “I take leave of you now, Ravens. I have money to spend and places to see. We will meet again if the winds will it. If so, let it be with open hands and not drawn swords.”
Anok watched as she marched purposefully out of the tavern.
“Everybody,” said Rami urgently, patting his tunic and purse, “check your pockets.”
“Why,” said Teferi, looking after Fallon and considering whether to give chase, “is something missing?”
“No,” said Rami, “but I’d have picked everyone’s pocket if I were her.”
“Then,” said Anok, “we’re fortunate that she isn’t you. Sit down, Teferi.”
He sat, and there was silence for a while. Anok noticed that they all looked tired. He doubted any of them had slept. “Did you make it back to the Nest last night?”
“We waited as long as we could,” said Teferi, “but the acolytes were thick on the streets last night. We did as you said and returned to the Nest.”
“Where,” said Anok with a slight grin, “you celebrated well? I hope the refreshments I laid in were adequate for the night.”
The look Sheriti gave him was surprisingly tender.
“There was no party without you, Anok. We held vigil, hoping you would return, but you never did. So we waited until dawn and returned to the market to search.”
He nodded. “You’re good friends, but if what you say is true, the refreshments sit wasting, and we’ve all been deprived the Festival party that is our due.” He tossed several coins on the table that would more than cover their beers. “Come then. Time is short!”
5
THEY RETURNED TO the Nest, a large room with several stall-like sleeping areas, located under the Paradise brothel. Actually, the smaller rooms had been built as stalls for horses and mules, though it had been decades since animals had been kept there.
The furnishings were mostly brothel castoffs, ornately carved chairs covered in faded but elaborately woven fabrics, worn and patched silk pillows decorated with tassels and gold thread, mismatched curtains and tapestries, some bearing nude figures, depictions of lovemaking, or vast and elaborate orgies. They all seemed far too fancy and garish for the simple rooms constructed of crudely fashioned boards and undressed stone.
But the place was comfortable and familiar, and it seemed to Anok that he had lived here forever, sometimes alone, often with guests or companions. Teferi had lived there for several years before securing his own room over a tavern a few blocks away, and Dejal had frequently come to stay for days at a time, avoiding the oppressive home of his father.
Sheriti’s room was upstairs, in the private area in back of the brothel where the customers were never allowed, and men, even those as closely associated with the brothel as Anok, were rarely permitted. Though she didn’t sleep here, she had been a daily visitor, often bringing meals or wine left over from parties upstairs, or crusts of bread and fruit pilfered from the kitchen when there was nothing else to be had.
Anok had always looked forward to seeing her smiling face as she descended the narrow stairs to the Nest. It meant more to him than all the naked flesh wantonly displayed by the whores who lived and worked just above his head. Not that he objected to that sight either. He was only human after all, and he had even, on occasion, taken his payment for some special service, to the brothel or one of the whores, in trade.
Kifi, Sheriti’s mother, had once told him that the whores believed lust and love were separate, if related, matters, and that only simple people allowed them to become indiscriminately entangled. The whores had many such beliefs, their own code of honor, and their own secret goddess they worshiped at a private shrine that even Anok had never been allowed to see. Some people—not Anok of course—looked down upon whores. It was only appropriate that they, in their own way, looked down on almost everyone else.
Or so they said. Yet whores rarely had children, despite ample opportunity, and despite her pride, Kifi’s greatest wish was that her daughter have almost any life other than the one she had taken for herself.
As they entered the Nest, Anok pulled back a tapestry covering a low, round table covered with jars and baskets: strong, amber-colored evening beer, sweet Argosian wine, likely pirated from some passing ship, flatbreads sweetened with honey, all manner of dried fruits, dried squid marinated in exotic spices, pickled duck eggs, and other exotic treats.
Anok tried to put on a good face for his companions, but his heart wasn’t in it, and in the end, neither were theirs. They were bone-tired from fighting and sleep-deprived. The four of them ate their fill, and the wine and beer began to do their work. Teferi eventually wandered off, and they soon heard him snoring softly in one of the little side rooms.
Rami curled up on a pillow with a large jar of beer, which he scooped out by the mugful until he finally passed out, spilling his last cup onto the floor.
That left Anok and Sheriti. He watched her, eyes closed, sitting with her back against the wall, a cup of wine still cradled in her two hands. Thinking her asleep, he quietly slid off the pillow where he’d been sitting the last hour and withdrew to the farthest sleeping chamber from the door, the one he considered his personal space.
There was no door, only a curtain that he slipped through. Inside there was a small but ornately carved bed held off the floor by what seemed to be lion’s legs, a chair, a few large baskets for his clothing and other belongings, and an oil lamp. A small window, high in the wall, permitted a single shaft of light to enter.
He sat on the bed, but he did not feel like sleeping, despite his fatigue. His arms ached from battle, and a dozen bruises and cuts nagged him with their small pains despite the numbing glow of his recent drink.
He put his hand against his chest and felt the lump there under his tunic, the cool circle of metal against his breastbone. He reached up with both hands to grasp the simple chain and lift it over his head. He held the medallion in his hand. It was large, the span of it such that it completely covered his outspread fingers. The metal was iron, and not very well forged. A simple outline of a crescent moon and two stars was carved into its surface.
It was a simple thing. Some might even say ugly, hardly even worth stealing, but Anok was now sure its crudity was intentional. He’d had the thing for years, the only reminder he had of his murdered father, and the only clue to a sister he had never known. He’d looked at it hundreds of times, never suspecting that it was anything other than a solid piece of iron. But the medallion had hidden secrets.
He was not sure how he had accidentally discovered the trick, but discover it he had. He pressed the medallion between the palms of both hands, with the chain attachments pointing upward, the carved side again
st the left hand, and twisted his hands in different directions, left hand twisting away from his body, right hand toward it. What seemed to be a solid piece of metal was actually two, connected by a joint along its edge so fine, so cunning, that even close inspection by eye could not detect it. He twisted the two pieces against each other, just a certain distance, far enough, but not too far. There was a barely perceptible click, then the left half pushed upward, again, just the right distance, not too far or too little. Only then did the two halves hinge apart and reveal the hidden space within.
It was empty now of course, but it hadn’t been the first time he’d opened it. He stared into the empty recess for a moment, then pushed the halves back together. It closed with an audible snap, and again appeared to be a solid piece of metal. He tossed the medallion on the silk sheets and turned to reach down behind the bed. His fingers found a particular stone with a broken corner. He grasped the edges of it with his fingertips and pulled. The stone pulled outward and came free. He put the stone down on the floor behind the bed and reached into the recess, finding the cool metal within.
The object shimmered as he pulled it out into the light. It tingled in his fingers as it always had, but he’d never understood that until the previous night. Like its twin, which was now in Dejal’s possession, it was an object of mystic power. He’d long suspected that this sole legacy that his father had passed to him was a kind of a curse. Now he was certain of it.
He looked at it. It was flat, oblong, cut straight across the top, and slightly thickened, forming a tube through which a cord or thin chain could be threaded. The sides were curved, tapering to a rounded point. The shape was like some kind of seashell, shield, or even leaf.
But Dejal had called it a “Scale of Set.” That made sense, based on the fine relief carving on the front side. Running down the middle was a stout-looking sword, hilt up. Running down either side of the sword were twin serpents, their bodies undulating upward, until the heads curved back toward the blade and down, almost as though bowing to the sword.
Scion of the Serpent: Anok, Heretic of Stygia Volume I Page 7
